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