A separation dispute between psychiatrists, a young man who believes everything – and a murder weapon fresh from the hardware store
She knows that talking helps, she is a psychiatrist. She could call her ex-boyfriend and say: “I hate you, but we have to pull ourselves together, we have a son.” But she doesn’t want to talk. She hates her ex-boyfriend so much.
On a Monday morning in November 2012, this ex-boyfriend sits down on a chair in his office. His name is Michael Weiss and he is 38 years old and he also works as a psychiatrist. His practice is on the twelfth floor of a brick building in Manhattan, five minutes from Central Park. He has just taken their son to daycare and is now treating his first patient.
In the middle of the meeting the door swings open. A young man storms into the therapy room wearing a crisp white shirt and carrying a huge black duffel bag over his shoulder. Weiss knows him: It’s Jacob Nolan, his ex-girlfriend’s 20-year-old cousin. He pushes Nolan out into the hallway, says, “You can’t just barge in here like that,” and closes the door.
When he says goodbye to his patient, Nolan is still there. He hangs around in the stairwell and says he has to pick up documents for his cousin and that he also urgently needs to go to the toilet. Michael Weiss lets him in.