Poisoned Love Read online

  Frequently, they’d discuss renting a video or two to watch the same night. American Beauty was one of Kristin’s favorites, and she’d seen it three or four times. Greg liked basic guy movies, but he also enjoyed more thoughtful films, such as A River Runs Through it, Legends of the Fall, or Shakespeare in Love.

  The e-mails they exchanged rarely had sexual overtones, although Kristin and Greg often said “I love you” and gave each other pet names like “Mr. Big,” “Sweetie,” “Dolling,” “Gregie,” “Wifey, “Bunny Kristin,” and “Kristinie.”

  But, in general, the gist of most of their messages was pretty mundane. They discussed emptying the dishwasher, dropping off the rent check, getting the car fixed, or planning a trip to visit the in-laws. The only notable exception was a series of quick notes that Kristin started on February 2, sending Greg a “giant, wet, slobbery kiss” and telling him she loved him. Greg said he didn’t usually like those wet kisses, but by e-mail, it wasn’t that bad. Kristin offered a “soft, tender, gentle” kiss instead, and Greg said he especially liked those kinds of kisses.

  Like best friends, they shared their good news with each other and celebrated one another’s successes. While Kristin was waiting to hear whether she’d get a permanent job as a county toxicologist, she explored other career options, including the Navy’s engineering officer program. But on March 1, Kristin got her dream job. She sent an e-mail to Greg—written in capital letters with two lines of exclamation points—to tell him how excited she was to get a job offer as a permanent toxicologist at the Medical Examiner’s Office.

  “Yippee for me!” Kristin wrote.

  “See, you are the best!” Greg replied.

  A letter from Lloyd Amborn said her new job would officially start March 17, as long as she passed a law enforcement background investigation and a medical screening. The starting annual salary was $32,448, with a 3 percent raise scheduled to go into effect in July. If county officials ever did that background check, they wouldn’t have had access to her arrest in 1994 because she was under eighteen when it happened.

  On May 22, when Greg was winding down at Pharmingen, Kristin wished him a good day in his last week before starting his new job at Orbigen.

  “I’m so proud of you,” she wrote.

  Many of Greg’s e-mails supported Constance’s claim that he was not in the best of health. He repeatedly mentioned feeling tired and sluggish, having a hard time getting out of bed, and being plagued by headaches.

  “I hope my head is not pounding by the end of the day, though! Still feeling achy and sore in my muscles! I just need to get more rest,” he wrote on April 24.

  Greg’s ailments continued throughout the summer. “I did not feel well this morning,” he wrote Kristin on the morning of July 7. “Feeling a little dizzy with a bad headache and also just feeling sick. It was something that seemed to hit me yesterday evening.”

  Nonetheless, Greg usually tried to rally after work so he could go with Kristin to swing dance lessons or yoga class or to watch her take a ballet class.

  At the same time Kristin was sending her husband these e-mails, she was also corresponding with other men.

  Joe Rizzo had worked with Kristin at the Medical Examiner’s Office as an accounting clerk while he was attending law school but then moved to the East Coast to work for a law firm.

  “I really can’t wait to see you, too,” he e-mailed Kristin on June 18, 1999, just two weeks after her wedding. He was coming to town that August and promised to call when he had a firm arrival date. “I was really worried you didn’t love me anymore.”

  In mid-December, he wished her a Merry Christmas. “I miss you terribly and think of you all the time,” he wrote. “I am truly sorry we have grown apart over this time.”

  By the spring of 2000, the tone of the e-mails had grown more urgent. Rizzo contacted Kristin on March 27, starting off a volley of increasingly intimate messages.

  “Oh my God!” she replied. “I’ve been thinking about you so much lately…. So when are you going to be visiting? Miss you terribly.”

  Rizzo must have taken Kristin’s welcoming reception to heart, because he invited her on an all-expenses-paid weekend in New York. “I am going to be all alone, and I thought immediately of you,” he wrote.

  Kristin said such a trip might be hard to explain to her husband, “but, hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?”

  Rizzo urged her to make it happen. “I don’t want to just imagine anymore,” he wrote.

  Kristin seemed open to the idea, saying they’d have to give it “some serious consideration.”

  Rizzo explained in some detail how he was getting physically excited at the prospect of seeing her again. “Those old feelings are back,” he said.

  Dan Dewall, whom she’d met in a plant physiology class at SDSU, sent her several e-mails at the lab. One invited her to meet at “that park” around noon. Another recounted the contents of an e-mail he’d sent after they’d last seen each other, which he thought might have gotten lost in cyberspace: “I like you a lot, etc., etc., etc…. I promise that the next time you tell me you are tired, I will slow the pace and hold you a while so you can rest.”

  In early March, a handsome, athletic Australian toxicologist named Michael Robertson started working as the lab’s unofficial manager, a title that would become official once his work visa issues were resolved. There was an immediate attraction between Kristin and her soon-to-be boss, a married man in his early thirties who came with a Ph.D. and an impressive resume.

  She later wrote in her diary that she’d had a teenage fantasy about falling in love at first sight, knowing immediately that she’d found “the one.” Well, she wrote, she wasn’t sure if that’s what had happened, but when she and Michael made eye contact, “My legs got weak and my tummy was full of butterflies.”

  Michael, who went by Mic or Robbo, had been offered the job of lab manager on December 1, 1999, but his visa issues were taking so long to resolve that he and Lloyd Amborn, the office administrator, negotiated a deal whereby Michael could start in early March as a “visitor.” That way, he could get familiar with how they did things in the lab until he could legally take over. In the meantime, Donald “Russ” Lowe continued as acting lab manager. Michael didn’t officially assume the position until June 12.

  Michael had been a forensic toxicologist at National Medical Services (NMS) in Pennsylvania since April 1996, performing, supervising, and certifying toxicology test results that were going to be used in court. He also testified as an expert witness.

  He testified, for example, in a highly publicized case involving several teenage boys who were charged with fatally drugging fifteen-year-old Samantha Reid of Lansing, Michigan, by putting gamma hydroxybutyrate—the date-rape drug known on the street as GHB, Liquid X, or Liquid Ecstasy—in her Mountain Dew. Reid’s death on January 17, 1999, led to the passage of the Hillory J. Farias and Samantha Reid Date-Rape Drug Prohibition Act of 2000, which added GHB to the list of drugs that are unlawful to manufacture, distribute, or dispense unless authorized by the federal government.

  Michael started at NMS as a postdoctoral fellow and trainee, using the High Pressure Liquid Chromatograph, or HPLC, machine for toxicology testing. He also taught classes at Thomas Jefferson University in Philadelphia. He got the job at NMS after his teacher, Olaf Drummer, called the company head, Dr. Fredric Rieders, to recommend him for an internship. Rieders, who was originally from Austria, found the Australian toxicologist to be “a very bright young man” and hired him. Michael, Rieders said later, turned out to be “a great pleasure to work with.”

  Michael had earned his doctorate in forensic medicine at Monash University in Melbourne in 1996, where he studied pharmacology and biochemistry on a graduate scholarship. From 1991 to 1996, he worked as a part-time scientist at the Victorian Institute of Forensic Medicine in Melbourne, an agency with functions similar to an American coroner’s or medical examiner’s office, earning an annual stipend of $10,000.

>   His would-be employees in San Diego were impressed by his qualifications and experience. When he applied to San Diego in 1999, his resume listed fifteen published articles. The subjects ranged from the forensic investigation of drug-related fatal traffic accidents to the concentration of benzodiazepines, a class of drugs commonly known as tranquilizers, in the liquid surrounding the eyeball, the vitreous humor, which can be key in identifying toxic substances in the body.

  Michael also had given a number of presentations at conferences in the United States, Europe, and Australia on topics such as date-rape drugs and how drugs can change in structure and concentration after a person dies. Clonazepam, one of the drugs found in Greg’s body, is a benzodiazepine and is classified as a date-rape drug.

  Employees, such as Cathy Hamm, who had worked in the toxicology lab for more than fifteen years, were hopeful he would make some changes to improve the operation.

  Michael seemed friendly, calling his new coworkers “mate.” He wasn’t a tall man, but he had a solid build and a nice smile. He quickly developed a schedule, outlining a division of work for getting things done in a more organized fashion.

  “Initially, we were excited,” Hamm said. “He was pretty aggressive, presenting studies, like a mentor.”

  But within a month of his arrival, the whole working environment had changed. When Kristin started her permanent job as a toxicologist in March 2000, it just so happened that the only open desk available was right in front of Michael’s office. The top half of his office door was made of glass, so the other lab workers could see what was going on inside, even if the door was closed.

  It wasn’t long before Michael was spending what seemed like an inordinate amount of time in Kristin’s workspace near the HPLC machine, and she in his office. Although Hamm noticed that Michael and Kristin shared the habit of standing too close to other people, the two of them stood even closer to each other.

  “When two people are attracted to each other, you can’t hide it,” Hamm said.

  Hamm and the other toxicologists found their working environment more and more uncomfortable. Plus, there seemed to be some favoritism going on.

  “It was just the way that they looked at each other,” she said.

  The toxicologists who had worked there for years started to talk. Michael was going to be their boss as soon as his visa issues were resolved, and the close relationship between him and Kristin was already breeding resentment. It seemed that most of his attention was focused on her and whatever projects she was working on.

  Kristin wrote in her diary that she never imagined she would develop such deep feelings for a married man, especially so soon after she’d gotten married herself, but it was out of her control. She wasn’t getting what she needed emotionally from Greg, and Michael felt the same way about his relationship with his wife, Nicole.

  Kristin and Michael quickly developed a close bond of friendship, sharing their feelings, their frustrations, and their dreams with each other. They soon realized they were kindred spirits, both in marriages with partners who did not share their values, beliefs, goals, or interests. She and Michael, she wrote, were “inspired by art and love reading, [and] we share a passion for music.” They also realized they had something else in common that was very dear to Kristin: They were both “die-hard romantics.”

  “We just shared so many philosophies on what it means to have a good life; what is important in life; basic, fundamental ideals,” Kristin wrote as she traced back her feelings months later. She described Michael as “witty, charming, intelligent, and handsome,” saying she admired him and was inspired by him and his professional accomplishments. He made her feel thrilled to go to work.

  “I realized that I really loved him and was truly in love with him,” she wrote.

  And the feeling was mutual.

  Michael already had a history of extramarital flirtations, at least one of which led to an affair. When he first started working in San Diego, a woman from Pennsylvania frequently used to call the lab. He would speak to her in low tones so no one else could hear. She and Michael communicated by e-mail at least through March 2000.

  The woman sent Michael an e-mail on March 17, saying she wished she had more photos of the two of them. She wrote that she could look at photos of him all day and wished she could hang one up at work, but then everyone would know about them. She said she’d even take one to work on a Saturday so she could look at it, but she never worked alone. She added that she would try to call him from work one morning when no one else was around, because the weekends were rough when she couldn’t talk to him. It drove her crazy, particularly if she was at home without enough to do.

  “Am I pathetic or what,” she wrote. “You probably think I’m crazy and obsessed.”

  On March 27, she sent Michael another e-mail, thanking him for writing her every day while she was in the hospital, even when she wasn’t there to receive his notes. She had just reread all of his recent e-mails and realized she’d missed a “get well” card from him.

  “Some days I don’t know which is worse, the pain in my side from the operation or the pain in my heart from missing you so much,” she wrote.

  Michael told some of his friends about his extramarital activities, but others knew nothing about them and thought he was happily married.

  Dan Anderson, a fellow toxicologist at the Los Angeles County Department of Coroner, fell into the latter group. He and Michael were both members of the Society of Forensic Toxicologists (SOFT), an organization formed in 1970 for the “express purpose of promoting understanding and goodwill” among professionals in their shared field. The two men first met in 1996 at a SOFT conference in Denver.

  “We drummed around a little bit in Denver, and we became friends,” Anderson said. “He was a really nice guy.”

  While Anderson and Michael were on a bus, Michael told him how he’d met the love of his life in Australia—his wife, Nicole—who came with him to the United States. Anderson got the feeling that they were married after only a few months of knowing each other. Nicole worked as an auditor of medical research.

  The two men met up at another five-day SOFT conference in October 1999. This one was held at a resort in Puerto Rico, so both of their wives came along and made it a vacation. Cocktails were expensive, so Anderson and his wife invited a bunch of friends, including Michael and Nicole, to party in their room. They bought a blender, a few cases of beer, and fixings for banana daiquiris at Wal-Mart, filled their bathtub with ice and spent most of the time partying. They would lie by the pool or play volleyball during the day and go out to restaurants at night, piling far too many people into their rental car.

  Anderson thought that Nicole, whom he described as about five-feet-five-inches and sandy blond, was a pretty girl with a bubbly personality. She and Michael were affectionate with each other and seemed happy together, although Michael did confide in Anderson that she was very insecure and constantly needed reaffirmation of his feelings for her.

  While they were in Puerto Rico, Michael told Anderson he was getting ready to leave Pennsylvania and was hopeful after interviewing for a job in San Diego.

  The next month Anderson attended a California Association of Toxicologists (CAT) conference at a hotel on Shelter Island in San Diego. He saw an attractive blond girl working at the registration table and asked a colleague who she was. He was told that she was Kristin Rossum, a student worker at the local Medical Examiner’s Office who was helping out toxicologists Russ Lowe and Cathy Hamm, the conference hosts.

  Anderson gave a talk that afternoon titled “Basic Drugs: Extractions, Methods and New Drugs.” The day’s agenda also included a presentation on services offered by the poison control system.

  Anderson didn’t actually meet Kristin until the state toxicologists’ conference in May 2000, which was held at the Holiday Inn in North Hollywood. Kristin came with Michael, her new boss, who gave a talk on the pharmacology of rave drugs entitled “Why all the RAVE?”

 
During his presentation, Michael described the history, street names, effects, and chemical makeup of drugs such as ecstasy, methamphetamine, mushrooms, LSD, GHB, ketamine, also known as Special K, and the date-rape drugs Rohypnol and clonazepam.

  He said methamphetamine was first made in 1919 from amphetamine and was currently available for the treatment of obesity. It was used in World War II by the military to keep the soldiers alert in the United States, Japan, and Germany. Hitler was reported to be a meth abuser.

  In 1997, he said, 4.4 percent of high school seniors had used crystal meth, compared to 2.7 percent in 1990. He said the drug caused symptoms such as dilated pupils, constriction of blood vessels, hypothermia, and hot and clammy skin.

  Anderson hosted the conference. And because he knew that Michael was temporarily working without pay at his new job, Anderson invited Michael a month or two in advance to share a hotel room. Initially, Michael had accepted, but when Anderson saw him the first day, Michael said he didn’t need the room after all.

  That night a group of toxicologists went to dinner at Universal CityWalk, near Universal Studios in Hollywood. Anderson sat between Kristin and Michael at the bar but didn’t notice anything going on. Later that night, two female colleagues told Anderson they noticed an obvious attraction between Kristin and Michael. They saw her flirting and giving him the eye.

  Anderson was in denial about it at first and didn’t put it all together until later. “I think they were sleeping together at that conference,” he said.

  Based on e-mails that Michael sent right after the conference to a friend in Australia and shortly thereafter to Kristin, Anderson appeared to be correct.

  On Tuesday, May 9, Michael wrote to a female friend asking for advice. Yes, he said, he knew he was married, but he’d met a woman in the lab who’d swept him off his feet, calling it “déjà vu again.”