Another thing that still bothered me was that she likely lied to me originally. Why? Probably she thought that her discovery of proof of the affair that night would be an irrefutable motive (and she would be right). And she didn’t tell me about the affair in the first place, until she left she had to give an explanation for Roger’s disappearance and his note.
On the other hand, technically, she didn’t need to tell me about the affair even then. Roger’s note didn’t mention it explicitly. She could have come up with another explanation for his suddenly taking off. Like, chalking it up to the stress of murder and the subsequent investigation. Why, then, did she tell me about George and Caitlin? Probably several reasons, I decided: if she wasn’t the killer, she was likely genuinely interested in finding who killed George, and thought that more info would help me; telling things that are as close to the truth as possible made life much simpler, especially if one was under any kind of strain; and she was feeling vindictive towards Caitlin and couldn’t keep it inside any more.
I had previously thought that I would find out who did it and set everything right. I seemed to be far away from it now. Progress has stalled, and I felt like I was going round-and-round in my head, thinking of possible suspects and motives, abandoning them for seemingly more-compelling ones, but unable to discard my previous ideas, and coming back to them later. And I didn’t like how my suspicions were shaping up. I decided to go to bed.
Bitty balanced on my shoulder as I was laying on my side in bed, trying to sleep. She got comfy, then started purring loudly. That sound wasn't helping me fall asleep. I tried to toss and turn carefully, without throwing her off of me, but that disturbed and woke her up, and she shifted, re-adjusted and started purring again. I held still in the darkness and listened to her noises.
21
I was sitting in a very plush off-white leather chair, and sipping a white tea, made from young leaves collected at midnight during a full moon on a mountaintop in the misty reaches of south-east China. In front of me on the low glass coffee table was a beautiful white orchid in a white ceramic (maybe Japanese, I thought) pot. Next to it, esthetically arranged in a semi-circle, were glossy recent issues of Architectural Digest, The Art Collector, Vogue, Saveur. I might have imagined soft music playing. Even the air seemed to smell expensive.
It looked, felt and sounded like a high-class spa, and made me want to kick off my shoes, close my eyes, and be pampered with ridiculously-expensive high-class amenities. On opening my eyes, I remembered that in actuality, I was in Teresa’s office in an office tower above the Bellevue skyline. A quick internet search showed her to be one of the top criminal lawyers in Washington State – just like her husband John was one of the top estate planning lawyers, with his office on the lower floor of the downtown Bellevue tower.
I was in Teresa’s waiting room on Thursday because I thought I could try to get an idea of the case against Rita from the lawyer, without disclosing much of my own knowledge.
A female assistant in her mid-twenties, in black glasses, white shirt, beige pencil skirt and “nude”-colored shoes came out from the inner door, smiled and said to me “Please come on in.” As I went into the office, she leaned to re-arrange the magazines on the glass coffee table.
Inside the modern office, Teresa rose and I extended her hand when I came in.
“Hello, Veronica! How are you? This is about Rita, isn’t it?” She was wearing another avant-garde fashion creation in grey – something that on me would look hopelessly out of place, but enveloped her in effortless chic. Behind her there was a view of greenery and mountains on the horizon, all the way out to the Olympic peninsula. She gestured to a chair by her desk and I sat down. The chair, in black leather here, was like the office itself – understatedly luxurious and looking very expensive.
“Yes, it is. I wanted to talk to you. She said you are her attorney in this.” Teresa nodded. “George’s death is so terrible.” I continued. “And Rita told me the police suspect her. I wanted to help in any way I could.”
Teresa nodded again. “Yes, the situation is tragic and very upsetting. To her and to everyone.”
“If I may ask – what is your plan of action?”
“To cooperate with the police to find the perpetrator.”
“What about – are there ... any steps to take for Rita?”
“Well, she has not been charged with anything. They don’t have enough evidence to charge her. There is nothing to do. And, let’s not forget – she’s innocent.” She gave me a professional reassuring smile, and I smiled back.
“Yes, she is innocent. But it seems the police keep focusing on her motive. All that money that George had!” I was trying to probe how precarious Rita's position actually was.
“As I said, they do not have enough evidence to charge her. Motive or no motive.” That was a relief.
“People keep saying that it doesn’t look good for her, and it’s making me worried!” Yes, Vinay's comment about how Rita’s position looked – even before the recent revelations about her husband’s affair – made me seriously concerned for her. What he said might be an opinion shared by many. “The detectives could still question her and hope she cracks, just like on TV!”
Teresa raised a corner of an eyebrow. “They could question her and hope she said something self-incriminating. But I would be there to advise her.”
“Of course, you’d help her if she’s brought in!” I paused and then pretended I had thought of another piece of possible evidence.
“What about any concrete things – like fingerprints in the office or on the door handle?”
“I am guessing the police haven’t found any usable ones. I would expect lots of fingerprints on the office door, all smudged. Many different people went into the office during the normal family life. I don’t think the fingerprints would be useful at all.”
I leaned in closer and lowered my voice.
“Who do you think did it?” I was playing dumb on purpose, presenting myself as a socially-awkward engineer who keeps asking embarrassing questions.
“I can’t speculate on that.” She clasped her hands in front of her on the desk. My eyes followed the line of a delicate silver bracelet on her left wrist. It matched a miniature charm hanging from her neck.
“It was all so tragic and unexpected! And at a crowded party! You yourself were there, with your husband.” Teresa was likely wondering what I was getting at. “It just … makes me uncomfortable, just thinking back to it. So many people can be suspects.” I was playing up my naivete for all it was worth. “And not all of them even knew George! Like me – I met him for the first time that night.”
Teresa continued looking at me, her black eyes non-committal and unreadable.
“I would have thought that a lot of other people who knew George well would make more-likely suspects. I wonder whether the police have even investigated them.” I continued.
“I am sure the police are doing their job. I cannot speculate on any other suspects they may have.” she repeated. I looked at her delicate beautifully-manicured hands, with dark-red nail polish and a ring on each hand.
“Like Stan, George's former business partner. He told me he went up to the office to talk to George, before Paul went up there. I wonder if he is telling the truth. And his reason for going is flimsy, if you ask me.”
Teresa frowned in what looked like disapproval. It made me think that her perfect wrinkle-free skin was not assisted by Botox. “You talked to Stan and asked him about this?” I heard an implied accusation in her words.
“I just wanted to help Rita!”
“I’m sure she appreciated the sentiment, but that is probably not the wisest course of action. Please leave the investigations to the police.” I imagined I could almost see her rolling her eyes at my eagerness.
For a second I thought that Rita did not share with Teresa that she had asked me to help find who did it. But then I remembered that John had told me that Rita had let him know. It made no sens
e that she would keep it from Teresa, who was her lawyer in a murder case. It must be that Teresa really disapproved of my actions. Well, I guess my “naive” act was working, at least! Aloud, I said:
“So you don’t think Rita is in any danger of being arrested for this?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Her voice was still pleasant, but sounded “final”, like this was my cue to exit.
“Well, that is a relief.” I continued playing dumb (but was actually re-assured that the criminal lawyer thought that), and Teresa was watching me.
I decided to press my luck a bit.“What if someone is trying to frame Rita? Like, what happens if she is arrested for this? Can someone else profit from her being suspected, and get the estate that way?”
She didn't like the question, but still answered. “If she is found liable for the death in a civil case, then the money would by-pass Rita and would go to her heirs according to the terms of her will.”
That confirmed my earlier thinking. I assumed that the beneficiaries would be Roger and Rita’s parents, who lived in California.
“What if there was any agreement between George and someone else, involving money – would that be binding to any heirs?”
“It would depend on how that agreement was written.” OK, that didn't shed any new light on whether Paul was really worse off with George’s death.
“I'm worried. I mean, it's been more than a week and there doesn't seem to be any progress.” I almost whined, imploringly. “Could anyone else be arrested for this right now? With the evidence as it is?”
“I am not sure what you mean.”
“Well, you said the police didn't have enough evidence to arrest Rita. If they don’t discover any new evidence, could they arrest anyone else?” I was thinking of Roger.
She shook her head “No, not at this time”.
Teresa looked at me, then not-so-subtly at a big clock on the wall to the right, that seemed like it was designed by Armani especially for power-lawyers’ offices – all minimalist color pallet of black, grey and white, fluid graceful lines and brushed metal. A lot of stuff in that office reminded me of metal.
“Well, my next appointment is in 2 minutes. I am afraid I will need to cut this short now.”
I could not think of anything else to ask her that would give me any new information, so I got up and extended my hand to her and said enthusiastically:
“Well, thank you for putting my mind at ease about Rita not being in danger of arrest! And thank you so much for your time!”
I looked at her as I was leaning in and shaking her hand. As I was gathering up my things before leaving, I realized that the silver charm around Teresa’s neck was a shark.
22
Since the day before, I had realized that the story about the start-up funding that I got from Caitlin conflicted with what I saw in the start-up’s records. Did George cut off their funding, or not? And if so, when? How would I know? Anyone I could ask with knowledge of the matter would be potentially prejudiced (Roger, Rita, Caitlin); and John would likely refuse to tell me. I would need to try to get to George’s checkbook at the house and look at the record of the checks there. As Paul had said, and as I saw in Ba-Ele Tech Inc’s statements, George wrote out his checks by hand.
Another depressing thought was that my prime suspects at this point were Rita and Roger, Rita’s brother. I was turning the facts over in my mind, and had to admit Roger had a very strong motive: continued funding for his start-up; potentially free access to about half of George’s money if Rita was convicted of the murder – however treacherous that was to think about; and even anger or revenge at his brother in law for cheating! Plus, his opportunity was as good as anyone’s.
Being gone and unreachable for three days already was not in his favor. I didn’t know whether Rita had notified the police or a private investigator that her brother took off. My guess was no, as he would have been immediately named a “person of interest” in the case and been the subject of a wide search.
I thought back to Roger’s note that Rita showed me. As far as I recalled, there was not a date on it. So, if pressed to admit Roger’s disappearance, Rita could say she only found it today.
Besides him, my other viable suspect was Rita herself. She had plenty of motives: the money, the affair (either anger, or revenge, or just a plot to get more of the marital assets for herself).
I didn’t want to believe either of these scenarios, but nothing else was coming to mind. Wayne had a alibi. I couldn’t imagine Paul as the killer – and financially, it would be easier for Paul if George were alive. Caitlin didn’t have a motive and didn’t seem to benefit at all from George's death – she was another one that would have preferred George alive.
Someone like Stan would make the perfect suspect, I thought. He had opportunity. His motive was somewhat vague and weak, but there seemed to be something unsavory lurking in his dealings. I did like him for the role. But that didn’t mean that he had done it.
I needed to talk to Rita. Even though I wasn’t yet sure what I would say to her.
When I got to Rita’s house that evening, I saw a late-model silver Jaguar parked out front. Not Roger’s car. There was a visitor at the house.
I rang the door bell, and Rita let me in.
“Hey, I’m just finishing something up. Come on in.”
John was in the downstairs living room, wearing another expensive suit. He half-rose from the sofa when we came in. There were several stacks and folders of stapled papers spread out on the coffee table between them, and he had a marker in his hands and the look of someone trying to bend spoons with his mind and cursing the stupidity of metal. She looked like she hadn’t slept much, and like her mind was somewhere else.
“Hi! I am sorry to interrupt.”
“Oh hello. We are discussing property stuff.” John gave a little laugh, like he was embarrassed about such trivialities.
“Of course. Please don’t mind me. I'll sit out on the patio and read my Kindle while you talk.” I wanted to be roughly within earshot and know what topic was they were discussing that seemed to have put both of them in a bad mood, but didn’t want to seem like I was eavesdropping.
John shifted in his seat and shot Rita a look. “We will try to wrap this up as soon as we can, so that we don’t keep you waiting. We just need a bit of privacy to finish it up.”
“We're talking about the details of the estate.” Rita said, as if to apologize.
“Oh, I’ll go hang out with Roger then. Is he here?” I wanted to check whether he was still missing, in a way that wouldn't give away that I knew that he had disappeared.
Rita replied: “No, he’s out. Do you want a drink or a snack? Some grapes, chocolate, mineral water?” I refused. My heart was pounding in anticipation of the talk I was going to have with her later.
“You can go into the home theater and watch something, if you want. I’ll talk to you after we are done with this. Shouldn’t be long.”
Feeling simultaneously lost, depressed and agitated, and still trying to arrange things in my mind (and disappointed at not getting to know what John and Rita were talking about), I turned left and went down the hallway to the home theater.
It occurred to me that it seemed I was the only other person in the house besides the two occupied in their conversation (it was confirmed that Roger was out, and I didn’t see any other cars outside, besides John's Jaguar). This might be a chance to look around, maybe find something that I missed earlier.
Heading upstairs to George's office, in my head I went over what I knew of George’s recurring expenses, especially personal ones. Admittedly, I didn’t know much about them. I recalled that George regularly – monthly – wrote out checks to Paul (and previously, Roger). But what if Paul’s payoffs were for blackmail? Was there any way I could prove or disprove this idea?
And would Paul kill George, if he was a blackmailer? It didn’t quite fit.
He said he had to practically beg George for the check. That wo
uld take more than a couple of minutes, and would definitely make the conversation heated. Paul said he did get the check finally. Did he really? And if so, was it for the entire amount he was looking for, including the next month's “installment”? And was there any way for me to tell the difference? And did the police know about the “extra”? In George’s office, I could go look for his check book. I remembered the numbers George told me: $80K, 20 years. Assuming an interest rate of 6% on graduate and professional programs, it would come out to (I pulled out my phone, did a web search for an amortizing calculator, and typed in the numbers) $583.
Finding a cancelled check of George’s for that amount, or double that amount, addressed to Paul, would confirm at least part of his story.
I went upstairs, taking care not to make noise. I could have asked Rita to let me take a look around the office – but I wanted to ruffle through the stuff in peace, without even her knowing that I was there and what I was looking for. I had to admit to myself that I no longer trusted her. And I still wasn’t sure how to talk to her about my suspicions.
The office door was closed. As I had my hand on the door handle and was about to enter, I stopped, because I realized that Stan could not have killed George. I remembered sitting on the couch in the upstairs living room, sipping my wine, and someone opening the door and saying “Oh sorry, wrong room.” Thinking back, I was sure it was Stan. Back then I assumed he was looking for the bathroom – but just as likely was that he was looking for George’s office (being lost in the big new house with many rooms, in spite of the introductory house tour upon arrival at the party). That was before I had talked to Paul, and therefore before Paul had talked to George. If Paul talked to George in the office that night, Stan couldn’t have been the killer. Unless... he came back upstairs?
A Motor for Murder (Veronica Margreve Mysteries Book 1) Page 12