John had set up a meeting at a restaurant in Orinda, but Berger and his wife had not shown. The diplomatic passports John said Berger would issue didn’t appear either. How could a passport be issued in only two days? “You’ve never dealt with the FGCA,” John said. To add to my stress, I had to report for jury duty and was picked for a two-day trial.
The following evening, John and I finished dinner and started to clean the kitchen. “What did you do at lunch today?” John asked. “Have lunch with another juror?”
I hesitated, and swallowed hard. Was this the time to share? Good as any, I decided. “No, I went to the county recorder’s office, down the street from the courthouse.”
“What?” John stood erect and stared at me.
“You heard me.” I slunk back into the breakfast room, sat down at the table, and reached for my glass of wine. John followed and sat down, too. He looked genuinely puzzled. “What would possess you to do that?” he asked.
“I figured that while you’re away I might be able to do something about getting Jason to pay what he owes you, so I looked up your Danville property.” I took a sip of wine to wet my dry throat.
“Let’s not get into that,” John said. “It’s my business and I’ll take care of it.”
“I found out something very interesting. Jason purchased the property, all right, almost twelve years ago, but according to the records, he didn’t purchase it from you.”
“Damn family! What have they done now to cheat me out of my property? When I get back from Cairo I’ll have to get it straightened out.”
“I don’t see how. . . .”
“There’s lots of ways to change legal documents. You don’t know the half of it.”
“Then I’ll call Jason and ask him about it.”
“Let it be, damn it! Don’t meddle in my business. You are definitely not to call Jason. I’ll get an attorney to meet with Jason and me.” John poured more wine into his empty glass and took a huge swig. He almost drained it.
“Speaking of attorneys, we have an appointment tomorrow with Tom Landers to do our wills. We need to write drafts tonight.” With the impending trip, I had felt it was prudent to update our wills, and John agreed. The attorney came highly recommended by George. I reached over for the manila folder, yellow legal pads, and pens that I had laid on the rattan étagère. “Maybe Tom will meet with Jason and me,” John mused.
“Good idea. Now, let’s get down to work. I’m naming you my executor, John. I want my Antioch property sold immediately after my death and the proceeds divided per my list.”
“That’s unwise. You should leave the timing of the property disposition to the executor. The real estate market is extremely soft right now. In fact, it would be best if you left the Antioch house entirely to me because it would be easier for me to handle if I had full control.”
I bristled. “No! Antioch is my solely owned property and I want it disposed of exactly the way I said. You won’t have any worries. You’ll be getting my share of the Concord house, and you’re the beneficiary on all my insurance policies, including the two-hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy at Excelsior. If I die on company business, you get double my salary to boot. That’s another eighty thousand.” I was adamant, and angry. Why was he being so greedy?
“I was just thinking about how to maximize your wealth,” John said. “You’re making a stupid decision.”
“I don’t care. It’s my stupid decision and I will not budge. Let’s move on.” John let the issue drop, and I started to cool down. It was his turn. “I want to leave some of my fifteen-million-dollar estate to your nephew, and set up a scholarship at Juilliard School of Music in your dad’s name.”
“That’s nice, if the money ever appears.”
John continued writing, filling out a detailed list of more than five pages with his printed words. “Okay, that’s done,” he said, shuffling his pages and putting them in the manila folder. “We’re ready for Tom tomorrow. Hopefully we can get a Friday follow-up appointment to sign them.”
“That’s rushing it,” I said. “I have enough stress already. I leave for Hot Springs early Saturday morning and fly back from Indianapolis the following Wednesday. We’ll get an appointment to sign the wills on one of the three days before we leave for Egypt.”
“It’s important to get the wills finalized as soon as possible,” John said. “Anything can happen to either one of us, at any time.” John would not give up. He bombarded me with reason after reason until he beat me down. After all, I did get to say how I wanted my Antioch property handled. “Okay, okay. I can’t handle any more arguments tonight. We’ll try to sign Friday.”
My little voice was working but not hard enough. Although I had resisted John on some of the issues, what didn’t register with me at the time were his suspicious demands. Why would John want complete control over my will, and why did it have to be completed before my business trip? I also didn’t catch the clues with his reasoning about the real estate market, his deed of trust not being in his name, and his being adamant that I wasn’t to bother his cousin for the monies due. I was too focused. Debt free was on the horizon. I still believed in the fairy tale of living happily ever after, even if it had become a bit fractured.
Perhaps if I had been more diligent, I would have taken these puzzle pieces and built enough of the picture to see them adding up to my imminent demise, instead of blindly moving forward, although the conclusion would have been so far out in left field that I would have considered myself crazy for thinking it. Hindsight is always clearer than the present.
NINETEEN
The Fog
It was dark by the time I arrived at the Holiday Inn North in Indianapolis, and the parking lot was packed. I circled, looking for an open spot. This did not help my mood. Weather had delayed my flights, and I was physically exhausted from a long day of dragging bags and uncomfortable airport seats. More important, I was mentally exhausted. The visit with my grandfather had been pleasant, but clouded with feelings of remorse.
Right before I left home, John and I sparred about Jason’s unpaid obligation and the unfinished details of the Cairo trip. I was livid and downright nasty as I walked out the door. The next day John had called me in Hot Springs. He lovingly apologized and said I was right, and that he had set up an appointment with the lawyer for himself and Jason. “I miss you,” he cooed. “The doggies lying at my feet miss you. The kitties napping on the bed miss you. We all love you.”
His words softened my attitude and melted my heart. During every waking hour afterward, I wrestled with my feelings. Now I felt like a heel. How could I have doubted John? Why was I so hard on him? He tried his best for me, even if he wasn’t always successful.
I found a parking space at the end of the lot and braced myself for the cold. I trudged into the foyer and up to the clerk at the registration desk. “We have the room you requested,” he said, “secluded, at the back of the hotel. You won’t be bothered by any noise.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “I didn’t—”
“It’s right here, under your reservations.”
I was in no mood to contradict him, nor did I want to be at the back of the hotel. “I want to be near the front,” I said. The room was changed as I directed. I settled into it and freshened up, then headed to the hotel’s restaurant. Maybe a nice dinner would cheer me up. Comfort food was what I needed.
The San Remo reeked elegance from its wrought-iron gates to the marble floor of the entrance, from its formally dressed staff to its ambient lighting, soft classical music, red linen tablecloths, and flickering candles. The waiting maitre d’ flashed a warm, welcoming smile. “Table for one?” he said as he led me to the second small booth, not far from the entrance.
“Yes, unfortunately.” I laughed. “If you happen to see a single good-looking guy, you can send him my way.” I was joking. It never would have occurred to me to be unfaithful. It wasn’t in me.
I perused the menu while I sipped my rum and
Diet Coke. That, and the romantic atmosphere, helped me relax and unwind, and I found myself wishing John were with me. I wanted to caress him, whisper how much I loved him. I wanted to let him know how sorry I was I had been so unsettled lately. I was lost in such thoughts when I heard a commotion. I glanced up to see my husband bounding toward my table, holding one arm open for an embrace. The other arm was wrapped around his travel toiletry bag. “Surprise!” he sang out.
“Surprise” didn’t cover it. I was flabbergasted. John was supposed to be in California with our animals. My remorse vanished, and a warm feeling engulfed me. My man was here in Indianapolis just as I wished. “John, what are you doing here?”
John slid his shaving kit onto the bench opposite me, bent over, and gave me a tender kiss. He removed his hat and coat and sat down opposite me. Our waiter took John’s whiskey order.
“I’m on my way to Washington, D.C., to sign the contract with the admiral in charge of the peace project. The whole team is with me.”
This was good news. Even if it was squeaking in less than a week before we were to leave for Egypt, we had a contract at last. John explained that the team had caught a military transport at Travis Air Force Base earlier that afternoon. When the plane made a stop at Indianapolis to pick up some equipment for the Gulf War, John requested that they leave him at the Indy airport so he could spend the night with me. The plane flew on to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, but would return early in the morning to retrieve him before going on to Washington.
John’s comings and goings were always complicated, and this explanation was no exception. Still, here he was, with me, and on his way to sign the contract. Life was good. The waiter interrupted and gave John his drink. I was full of questions. John was full of answers.
“Where’s your luggage?”
“Don’t need any. We fly in, sign the papers, and go home.”
“What about the animals?”
“I took the dogs to Marie and Mark’s. The cats are fine for one night on their own with some extra food and water.”
“How’d you get from the airport to the hotel?”
“The hotel has a shuttle bus, so I hopped on it.”
The waiter came and took our order: filet mignon for both of us, medium rare, and a good bottle of wine. “I have to be back at the airport at five a.m.,” John continued. “The shuttle bus doesn’t go that early. Can you take me?”
I hesitated. This did not fit into my plans, as I had a breakfast meeting with a business associate. John said I’d be back in plenty of time. He cajoled me, said the team and Jack Berger wanted to meet me. How could I refuse? My man needed me, and my only sacrifice would be losing a couple of hours of sleep. I agreed.
We finished dinner and took the elevator to the second floor. I stopped at the first room on the left and dug around in my purse for the room key. “I thought you’d prefer a nice quiet room at the back of the hotel where nobody would disturb you,” John said.
“No, closer is better.”
Inside, John went into the bathroom with his toiletry bag and closed the door. I tossed my purse on the dresser, sat down on the bed, and called the front desk. “What time does the shuttle bus leave for the airport in the morning?”
The clerk told me the hotel did not have a shuttle bus to the airport. I was stumped. John emerged from the bathroom and I handed him the receiver. “Here, John, talk to the desk. They say there is no shuttle bus.”
John grabbed it and turned his back to me, blocking the phone. He braced himself on the nightstand and crumpled onto the edge of the bed. An animated conversation ensued. John was adamant that there was a shuttle bus, and after he hung up the phone he said the clerk was new. There was a shuttle bus, but it didn’t leave until five a.m. I would still need to take him to the airport. I sighed. I had hoped I wouldn’t have to go out that early in the morning.
“I’ll take my shower now,” John said. “That will save some time in the morning.” I proceeded to get ready for the next day, organized my clothes and paperwork, and started to get ready for bed. John was still steaming up the bathroom when I opened the door.
“Mind if I come in and brush my teeth?”
“Not at all. Climb in the shower with me, if you like.”
I laughed, set my cosmetic bag on the counter, and noticed that not only had John emptied his toiletry bag, but he had neatly arranged the contents on a hand towel, including two unusual items...latex surgical gloves and an amber pint bottle with no label. I reached for the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a cautious whiff. Ether! It was unmistakable. I quickly replaced the cap.
“What are you doing with ether?” I shouted above the din of the running water. John pulled the shower curtain back and poked his head out.
“Doc said to use it on the cut on the back of my neck so it will heal faster.”
“Well, the bottle should be labeled. What are the gloves for?”
“To protect my hands when I use the ether. It’s dangerous stuff, you know.”
I shrugged. It sounded strange to me, but John did have a persistent open sore on the back of his neck. I quickly brushed my teeth and climbed into bed. It was eleven p.m. and I was exhausted.
John returned to the room and told me to set the alarm for three thirty. He’d get up first and shave and dress so I could sleep a little longer. I smiled, grateful for his consideration, and happy that I could snuggle up next to his warm body for the next four and a half hours.
The fog was low and thick when I drove to the airport. If it didn’t lift I would probably be late for my breakfast meeting. The normal twenty-minute journey took forty minutes. John was concerned that he might miss his flight to Washington; he didn’t know if they would wait.
The inside of the terminal was desolate. A lone janitor pushed a dust mop over the shiny granite floor. The only sign of commercial life was the coffee shop, which, thankfully, was open. “Stay here,” John said. “I’ll go check out the flight and boarding gate. I hope the fog hasn’t screwed up the schedule.”
He disappeared around the corner and was back in a couple of minutes. “Bad news,” he reported. “All planes have been grounded because of fog. Why don’t you order a cup of coffee, and I’ll go see if I can get in touch with Berger.”
I looked at my wristwatch. “I think I’ll head back to the hotel, John. I have a morning meeting, and I don’t want to feel rushed.”
“Hang around just a little bit longer, please,” he pouted. “Berger wants to meet you.” All right. He seemed to be trying hard to please me. I watched him disappear down the near-empty corridor and checked my watch once more. It was five thirty. I would have to leave no later than six to make it back in time for my meeting.
I ordered a decaf coffee, black. The minute hand on the wall clock seemed to move incessantly slowly. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Where was John? I began to panic. I finished my coffee and ordered another. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. Panic turned to anger; my stomach was tied in knots. Last night was merely a peaceful interlude, I thought. Forty minutes later John nonchalantly strolled up. He might have had all the time in the world, but I didn’t. “Finally!” I exclaimed. I stood up and grabbed my purse.
“Sorry I was gone so long. It was difficult to get in touch with the group at Wright-Patterson. Berger says they’re socked in over there, too, and the plane won’t be able to pick me up until at least eight a.m.”
“Sorry, I can’t wait. I’m leaving.”
“I’ll go back with you to keep you company. I don’t want anything to happen to you in this fog.”
As I pulled up to the hotel, John announced he would come in, have a quick cup of coffee, and meet my business associate. “I’ll have time,” he said, over my protests. “The seven a.m. shuttle bus is sitting there right now. See? I’ll hop on it and go back to the airport.”
I was numb. My feelings had been stretched from one extreme to the other in less than twelve hours. I didn’t know if I could take much more. In my state
of mind, I never noticed that several additional crazymaking puzzle pieces had fallen into place.
Three days later, back home, I submerged myself in last-minute details and made several stops after work. The pressure was relentless as I tied up loose ends before we left for Egypt on Sunday. When
I walked into the house, I dropped into the first chair I came to, in the dining room.
“Hey, Babs,” John called. “Come up to the office. I have some papers for you.”
“Bring them down,” I hollered back. “I don’t think I can make it up the stairs right now. I’m beat.”
John joined me in the dining room and handed me a power of attorney and a W-2 form that appeared to be from the University of California. “You’ll need these to file the income taxes in April,” he said.
“Thanks.” I laid them on the table. Right now I wasn’t worried about taxes. “John, I stopped by the vet’s office to get heartworm pills for the dogs, and the receptionist said the strangest thing—that you were in a couple of weeks ago to pick up ether for the cat’s ears.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s what I told her. The university vet didn’t order any ether for Peaches.”
“Guess she mixed me up with someone else.”
John had said his medical doctor had prescribed the ether I saw in the hotel room in Indiana. I had no reason to connect it with the receptionist’s story. There were other, more critical, loose ends to tie up. “Did the tickets and passports show up today?”
“No. Jack said he would bring them to the airport.”
“Isn’t that cutting it pretty thin?”
“I’m at the mercy of our government’s bureaucracy. We have to be patient.”
The circumstances left me unsettled. When I lamented that I had not seen the signed contract, John scolded me and reminded me that none on the team had received theirs. They would get them in Egypt.
A Dance With the Devil: A True Story of Marriage to a Psychopath Page 21