by Gene Epstein
Stasha grabbed the door handle, opened the door and screamed. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Stasha shook her but there was no life.
Mrs. Jacqueline Moore was motionless. Blood had oozed out of her forehead. She was dead. Stasha then started screaming and ran to Robert’s apartment to tell him. She never moved so fast in her life running up the steps of the carriage house apartment. She hammered on the door with her hand, yelling “Mr. Robert Mr. Robert!” Robert opened the door to see Stasha panicking. She told him that Mrs. Moore is dead. He left her there and ran full speed straight to the house.
Then opening up the front door his eyes moved right to left witnessing the disarray of furniture and items thrown around. Moments later Stasha was there still screaming. Then he saw her lying there with her head hanging over the side of the bed and a pool of blood on the floor. Robert panicked. His adrenaline was pumping. He started screaming “No, no, no, why? Dear God, why?” He was shaking never thinking for a moment that whoever did this may still be in the house. He ran to get the phone and called the police.
Within three minutes lights were flashing in patrol cars and an ambulance crew jumped out of the rear doors with emergency gear. It was to no avail since Mrs. Moore was dead.
One officer from Upper Kellington Police Department went into his patrol car and placed a call for a homicide detective and a fingerprint specialist. Moments later yellow tape was being stretched around the house as other officers arrived.
In the meantime Robert was pacing feverishly and mumbling, “It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault.”
At the same time, Stasha was sitting in the club chair crying with her head bent over into her cupped hands. “No! No! No!”
Neighbors came over to see what all the excitement was about but the police told them to please leave the premises. A few newspaper reporters were at the front door trying to get in when the newly arrived Detective Theodore Harrison stopped them in their tracks. “Stand back behind the tape. This is a crime scene.” His six-foot four-inch large-framed body spoke volumes. As he entered he shouted to everyone, “do not touch a thing.”
Detective Harrison asked, “Which officer arrived here first?”
One police officer said “Aldrich” at which time Aldrich walked up to identify himself as the first officer on the scene.
“Paul, have you spoken with anyone here yet?“ Detective Harrison asked.
“So far it seems as though there's just two people here. One a housekeeper or maid who just about speaks English and the other a young man who appears to be Mrs. Moore’s administrator or property manager who lives in the carriage house next door.”
“Any observations that I should know about?” asked the detective.
“Looks like somebody got in and was looking for something in particular to steal since drawers and cabinets were opened and items thrown all around,” Aldrich responded. At the end of the hallway on the right is Mrs. Moore's bedroom. It looked like a small-caliber bullet to the forehead.”
“Did anyone call to get this place dusted? “ asked Detective Harrison.
“I did, and Howard is on his way,” stated Aldrich.
Wanting to see the body first, Detective Harrison walked through to the end of the hall passing both Robert and Stasha.
“This had to be a 22-caliber because the back of her head is still intact,” Detective Harrison mumbled to himself.
Within 15 minutes Howard was dusting the areas around the crime scene starting first in the bedroom. When that was finished he spent the next several hours going from room to room. During that time Detective Harrison interviewed Robert Snyder and Stasha individually and recorded his notes.
Detective Harrison questioned Stasha, who was not easy to interview. It seemed as though every question she would nod her head every time, when in reality she didn't understand half the questions. He was able to ascertain that she has no husband and lived with her boyfriend Aleksander. She had been in the country for nearly 20 years and is a naturalized citizen. She was at home with her boyfriend since 6 p.m. the previous day and did not leave to come to work until 7:30 this morning. He jotted down the information on her driver’s license and Social Security card so he could further investigate and asked her to get him the same information on Aleksander.
At least it was easier questioning Robert Snyder once he was able to settle him down. Harrison felt that Robert really was in a traumatic state seeing him shake and tremble while he kept walking around in a state of shock constantly repeating, “it was my fault, it was my fault. I should've never have gone to sleep so early.”
Robert told the detective that he had been working for Mrs. Moore for about a year and a half but the date he first started had slipped his mind. He was in charge of the estate. He was authorized to write checks and pay bills. He was to hire contractors and or laborers for whatever work he thought was necessary in order to keep the property in proper condition. He was to check on Mrs. Moore’s health status and make certain that she ate properly and took all her medications on time. Detective Harrison asked Robert for the names of any other employees and recent contractors or subcontractors that had worked on or about the premises. Robert told the detective that besides the housekeeper there was only Victor who took care of the grounds. The detective wanted to know where he could find Victor and Robert looked through the address book on his desk and provided Victor's full information including his phone number. Robert was still visibly shaking when looking through the address book and the Detective took note of this.
“There were similar break-ins with violent deaths that occurred in this and surrounding areas over the past years,” stated the detective. However, that did little to assuage Robert’s emotional state.
“Mr. Snyder. Please tell me what work you have done prior to being the manager here at Hampton Court?” asked Harrison.
“Honestly, not much of anything. After graduating Temple University I entered law school but my desire to be a famous actor was more overwhelming than my desire to be a lawyer so after one year I dropped out of law school to be an actor. I took classes in drama I had small jobs here and there that my agent found for me. I took whatever parts that I could, even one time in a musical that failed during the first week. I loved that woman. She was like a mother to me and she treated me as if I was the son that she never had,” Robert answered, nearly crying.
The detective also wrote down the information on Robert’s driver’s license and his Social Security card. He seemed to believe that Robert was very sincere but his background in acting made the detective’s ears perk up.
While Robert was questioned, the medical examiner was photographing the corpse of Mrs. Jacqueline Moore. When he was done, the coroner and his aide placed the body on a gurney, covered it, and wheeled it out of the house to be placed in the back of the van and then taken to the morgue for further examination.
Detective Harrison instructed the housekeeper and Robert not to touch anything, hoping that Stasha understood. To be emphatic, he told her once again. To no avail, she nodded her head in agreement.
The detective asked if Victor the groundskeeper was on the property the day before.
“I didn’t see him, Robert replied. “All the grounds are in order and not in need of attention. I assume that he will be here within the next day or so since he also has other people locally that he does work for but mainly here at Hampton Court.”
“Mr. Snyder. Who has keys to enter the main house?” questioned Detective Harrison. “Since nowhere do we find any sign of forcible entry.”
After Robert settled down somewhat, he remembered that Mrs. Moore lost a set of her keys weeks before. He was going to have all the locks changed but she refused saying that, “They will show up. I've lost them many times before and found them a day or two later.”
“Several months ago she lost them when the therapist was here but subsequently found them about a week later.”
“That's not uncommon,” stated Detective Harrison. "At he
r age, people are lucky if they remember who they are. What I need to know is who else had keys to this house.”
“Stasha has a set of keys for all the buildings, Victor also has a set of keys just as I do. I don't know of anyone else that does.”
“That’s it?” asked Detective Harrison.
“No one else at all, detective, that I know of. Well, there's her attorney."
Chapter 6
By 6 p.m. that evening, the house of been cleared of the fingerprint specialist, several police officers, the medical examiner and Detective Harrison. Robert looked around the interior of the house and felt a terrible void. He kept blaming himself but one part of his brain knew that he did nothing wrong. He went to the carriage house apartment, opened the bottle of vodka dropped in a few ice cubes and sat there sipping it feeling so sad. He did not feel this way when his own mother passed away. There was something special the way he cared for her and her kindness towards him.
He took the list Jacqueline Moore’s relatives from her personal directory and was about to call her nieces and nephews when he realized he forgot to call Bill Spaulding. Bill had already left the office so Robert called him on his car phone. Moments later Bill picked up the phone and Robert started to cry. “She's gone. Mrs. Moore was murdered last night. I can't believe this. I don't know what to do. I've never been in a position like this in my life.” Robert kept rattling on as his nerves were getting to him.
“What? What the hell are you talking about? Jackie is dead? She has been murdered?” Bill yelled into the phone. You could hear how upset and shocked he was.
“I'm sorry I didn't call you earlier, honestly. It has been pure mayhem. I've been questioned by everybody and I'm still shaking knowing that she's not here anymore. Somebody came in and killed her either late last night after we came back from dinner or very early this morning. The police detective said that she was shot in the head with a 22-caliber bullet. "
“This is horrible,” said Bill. “I can't believe it happened. If anything, the way she seemed when we all were at dinner for your first anniversary working for her she seemed like she could live forever. Then when I met with her months ago to update her will she seemed so happy between her medical results and your help”… He stopped as if he was gasping for breath. “I'm going to have to come over and go over funeral arrangements. Where is her body?”
“The coroner took it,” replied Robert. “I was just going to call her nephews and nieces when I realized that I hadn't called you. Please forgive me that I didn't call you first thing.”
Robert didn't even realize that less than a minute or two before he had told Bill the same thing. Bill must realize that Robert’s nerves were shot.
“I'm not going to go to the office tomorrow morning. I'm going to come straight to you. See you at 8:30?” Bill asked.
“Yes.” Robert hung up the phone and sipped the vodka even though the ice cubes were almost melted. He went on to call both nieces and both nephews. They were the only living relatives that Mrs. Moore had. He told them that he would get back to them when he knew what the funeral arrangements were going to be. None of them seemed to care.
***
The following morning promptly at 8:30 Bill Spaulding pulled up in his black Mercedes sedan reached into the telephone box and then decided not to call ahead being that Mrs. Moore was dead. He used his remote gate opener and drove to the parking area in front of the carriage house. Mrs. Moore's black Buick sedan that Robert had used for errands was outside. He looked up to the carriage house to see if a light was on thinking that he might have to wake up Robert when he heard—
“Bill. Thank God you're here.” Robert had just opened up the front door of the carriage house apartment and started to walk towards Bill. As soon as they were face-to-face Robert put his arms around Bill hugging him and then he started to cry once again repeating. “If I had not gone to bed so early, this may never have happened.”
Bill tried to comfort Robert, patting him on the back and hugging him. “This is terrible. Who in the world would do such a thing? What is here that’s worth anything? Her paintings? Nobody would try to steal the paintings, they’re too traceable.”
They went into the house, finding that Stasha had already been straightening up the since she returned at 6:30 in the morning much earlier than she ever had before. Stasha told them she couldn’t sleep at all after such a terrible day.
Bill Spaulding and Robert walked around the house not saying anything to each other and after less than a minute, Bill said to Robert. “How about we get out of this house and go to your apartment? I have three different funeral homes that we could use. Do you have any preference?” He showed Robert a list of names, none of which meant anything to him, as they exited the main house.
Once upstairs, Robert said, “Call whoever you want, Bill. I have no preference. I've never had anything like this experience before in my life.”
Bill then dialed using Robert’s phone.
Bill Spaulding took charge which was a relief for Robert. He made arrangements for the funeral home to pick up the body of Mrs. Jacqueline P. Moore and coordinated it with the coroner’s office after the medical examiner was through with the corpse. The funeral home had asked for any pertinent information that may be interesting about Mrs. Jacqueline P. Moore's background most of which was filled in and completed by Bill Spaulding, who had known her for many years with a few sentences of love and admiration inserted by Robert. A newspaper listing was placed in the Philadelphia Inquirer’s late-night edition in the obituary column and ran an extra day.
Robert then went through Mrs. Moore's personal directory again, this time trying to discern any friends that she had but since he found no notations it was difficult. He spent a couple of hours on the phone contacting person after person on the list hoping that he would find a dear friend, a previous college classmate or people who knew her and would like to attend the funeral service. To his dismay, the people that she had mentioned during his time with her were either deceased or in poor health. Only a few said they would do their best to attend.
As it turned out, the funeral attendance was sparse. There was Victor the groundskeeper, Stasha the house cleaner, and about a half a dozen neighbors. Two were former friends, however, not ones that were in touch. One was a frail 85-year-old frail whose husband had been a dear golfer friend of Jaqueline’s deceased husband. Robert, of course, along with Bill Spaulding, his wife and both their children were there. The service did not last 30 minutes and everyone seemed to disperse in different directions. Robert did not want to have anyone over to the house for he was in mourning.
***
Two days later Bill called Robert to tell him to be at his office the following Monday for the reading of the will.
“This should be short and sweet Robert, since you are the only beneficiary, see buddy. It's a shame that things turned out the way that they did. I liked the old fart myself,” he said.
Robert was furious. “Do not ever refer to her like that,” he commanded.
Chapter 7
The following Monday Robert appeared at the offices of Calhoun, Spaulding, and Fiengold, as directed. He went directly to Bill Spaulding's office where Bill’s secretary was expecting him and nodded as Robert walked in for his meeting. They shook hands and patted each other on the back in a comforting manner.
“Well, this is actually going to be easier than I thought it would be. I posted the proper notices in newspapers about her demise and received no responses with the exception of a few advertisements. Robert, you are the sole beneficiary of her entire estate. It seems as though I never had to convince her she wanted you to be the recipient. She really loved you as a son and a confidant,” Bill said.
Robert, still affected by the shock of her death, replied, “I cared so much about her. I miss her I don't know what to do without her.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about money. The home alone is worth nearly $2 million in a good market; however, with the rea
l estate market the way it is, I don’t know how long it will take to come up with offers or even a sale. Some of the real estate agents that I’ve used have informed me that there are homes in this area that have been on the market for over six months without one offer,” Bill stated.
Bill continued, “I can suggest a couple of agents for you, if you would like, even though I am the executor for the estate. I'd be glad to take your suggestions. From what I see you could stay there but, knowing you, where would you receive the income to pay the bills? What’s left in cash and CDs won’t last too long. She lived off her annuities, which were substantial as you know, since you recorded her income and paid the bills. But after death, Social Security and all annuities cease. Besides, dear friend you remember our agreement, I am sure, you owe me one-third of the value now.”
Robert really could not have cared less. He was still in a semi-state of shock with the passing of his dear friend. He asked Bill, “What do you suggest?”
***
The real estate broker arrived a few days later to look at the interior and take notes. A day after that someone installed a sign: ‘Hampton Court for Sale’ with the broker’s name and telephone number. It was up no more than two days when the broker called that he had an interested buyer. Robert permitted the broker to show the main house and the outbuildings, including the carriage house, while he drove into town to get a sandwich and coffee.
He stayed as long as he could and then drove back. The broker and the young couple were gone; Robert was glad. He did not know how to handle his mixed emotions. Now this is his property and he loved it but certainly could not afford to keep it.
The broker called Robert the following day to say that the couple turned out to be investors that were as she called it ‘bottom fishing,’ meaning they were quick to purchase—if the price was cheap enough—for them to make a profit when the market hopefully would turn around. He expressed the difficulty in selling a property when there were few buyers, if any, especially in the price range close to two million dollars.