"Thinking back, I believe you told me at our first meeting that Joseph wanted $1 million of the $2 million life policy to go to Elise. I'm sure if that were done, she would go away happily, and the two of you could consider your lives disconnected in a peaceful way for both of you. As a practicing physician with a busy schedule and probably umpteen patients per day, I'm sure you're looking for a quick out like that. I would suggest you let me contact her back and make such an offer to her."
"What, you're suggesting I actually give her one million?"
"Yes, that seems to be what was in Joe's mind at the last minute. What would be wrong about it?"
"That money is mine. I paid one-half of the premium on that for ten years. Why should I give away any part of it now to some hussy who bedded my husband, knowing he was a doctor and probably making good money? I don't want any part of that. No, you do not have my authority to make that offer."
At that moment, Judge Stormont entered the courtroom, and we got back down to business.
14
Jennifer
Elise had told me she wanted my vase. I would die first.
It was a Pinner Qing Dynasty vase. It was on record as one of the most expensive antiques ever sold—the Chinese vase sold for $1.5 million, after-tax, at a private auction in London. There were only two known in existence. They boast the Imperial seal, indicating that they were likely explicitly designed for Emperor Qianlong in the late 18th century.
Now I'm going to tell you the true story about how this vase wound up on the auction block in London and made its way to my office in the medical building.
When I was a small child, I spent my summers and holidays at my grandma's house downstate. She lived on a farm with her husband and four boys.
Like all farmers, my grandpa and his four boys were always ravenous. Grandpa kept six dairy cows on the farm just for his family. Milk was plentiful and free. All you had to do was squeeze the teats, skim the cream, take it in the house, and put it in the refrigerator, which is where the Qing vase comes in.
The first time I remember seeing the vase was in my grandma's refrigerator. It was filled with cows' milk. It was filled and refilled every day with milk fresh out of the cows in the barn. The men preferred drinking the milk straight out of the vase. The top was fluted, the neck perhaps four inches long, and then it spread into a vase approximately 14 inches high. It held exactly one gallon of milk. Embossed on the vase's front was the Emperor's seal, a gold circle filled with the blue sea and two goldfish swimming in the sea. The entire bottom two-thirds of the vase looked like a basket weave. Above that, the vase was yellow and covered with blue branches and red and white flowers.
All in all, it wasn’t a particularly attractive antique, but for me, it was emotionally powerful.
Grandpa went first, and grandma went ten years later. The vase was sold at a farm sale, I later learned, while I was in college in Chicago. It brought exactly one dollar.
It then found its way into the hands of a woman in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She gave it to a traveling antique buyer who paid ten dollars for it. He then took it on the TV show called Antiques Roadshow and learned that it was priceless.
From there, the trail got vague, but I did know the vase made its way to London and was sold there to a man from Monte Carlo.
Now he had two of them, the only two in existence. He decided to sell one, and it was my grandma's vase that showed up online on the Sotheby's website. I attended the auction by proxy, determined to repurchase it. Joe had died, and I had collected two-million dollars on his life insurance. Plus, I had some liquidity of my own.
My proxy attended the auction in New York City, but at the last minute, the item was withdrawn from the auction and its owner returned with it to Monte Carlo. However, we had learned his name, which was Monsieur Jamison Ellington.
I decided to hunt him down and buy it for myself. This was a week after Joe’s death. Of course I was dying inside over the loss of my Joseph. But the vase was there and Joe wasn’t. That made all the difference. To me, at least.
I flew to Monte Carlo and put out my feelers from the hotel where I was staying. I was in luck because word came back to me through the art dealer representing me that Monsieur Ellington would sell. The price: $2.3 million. I was given directions to follow exactly or I would lose the purchase.
They sent a car for me, a long black Cadillac Escalade, and put me in the backseat. Then I was blindfolded and told that if I touched the blindfold, I would be returned to the hotel and the sale would be canceled. I agreed to keep my hands to myself.
The drive took all of an hour, and distances being so limited in that country of Monaco, I didn't know whether we ended up in Monaco or France.
At last, we came to a stop, and I was assisted in stepping down from the Escalade. Since I was wearing heels, my feet did a tattoo along the walk, which seemed to be stones laid at odd angles, causing me to stumble two times.
I then heard the creak of a door and was told to step up. There was an arm on either side of me, escorting me at this point, and a voice told me I was being taken into a room where I would be able to remove the mask and view the vase.
I proceeded several steps, took a left, walked ten paces or so, and was then told to sit down. I followed instructions, the blindfold was removed, and I found myself sitting in a darkened room with a lamp in front of me on a small desk.
After several minutes, a man wearing a black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie appeared before me from out of the shadows. He was wearing white gloves, and he placed the vase before me on the desk.
I was handed gloves and told to turn the vase for inspection once and then remove my hands. I followed instructions and confirmed that the vase was my grandma's vase. A small chip, a careless bump in grandma's refrigerator perhaps, left one goldfish at the bottom of the sea without a dorsal fin. While the item was flawed, it had never affected the value of the piece. I was ecstatic to again be in the same room with Grandma's vase. After several minutes, the black suit man stepped out of the shadows and removed the vase.
A voice boomed forth from speakers set in the corners of the room. It said, "You have seen the article. Do you wish to purchase?"
"More than anything," I said. "Now, more than ever."
"How is the vase important in your life?"
"My grandma had it in her house. It's the only connection I have to myself at that age. Just seeing it takes me back, and it's all I can do not to break out crying. I have the money. I'm willing to pay if you're still willing to sell."
"You got my instructions about the wire transfer?"
"I did. I have to text my bank, and the money will be transferred to your bank. Should I do that now?"
"Yes, do it now while we are preparing the vase for shipment. My courier will bring it to your address in Chicago as we have agreed. You will assume responsibility for the item at your front door. Delivery will occur one week from today. Are these the terms you have agreed to?"
"They are exactly as I agreed."
"Excellent. You will now be returned to your hotel. Thank you for your courtesies."
"Thank you, sir.
I was then driven back to my hotel—the same blindfold along the way—and I was let out at the main door. I intended to treat myself to a drink at the Bar Hemingway in celebration. After all, it was the Ritz Hotel.
Now you know how I came to possess the vase, and you understand just how priceless it is to me. For that woman from Paris, that Elise woman, to now think that she was somehow entitled to a part of it puts me into a rage. It will never happen. I promise you that.
15
Michael
That night after court, Jennifer’s medical office was broken into. It was her first night out of jail. The drugs were untouched, the money was untouched, the equipment was untouched. Only one item was taken.
Jennifer came to see me about the burglary the following day. "Whoever did it," she said in my office, "knew exactly what they wanted.
The only thing missing is my Qing vase.”
I asked her, "Tell me about the vase."
We were in the lunchroom in my office complex where I was eating a sandwich. I held out a bag of Fritos to her and asked if she wanted one. She shook her head.
"The vase is what I purchased in Monte Carlo. It was and wasn't an impulsive buy. My grandmother had the vase in her kitchen when I was little. I had extremely good memories attached to it from my childhood. Then after she died, the vase went here and there and finally wound up in the hands of a man in Monaco who paid over $1 million for it. Well, this is the questionable part. When Joe died, I took his life insurance money and went to Monaco and bought the vase back."
"All right," I said. "Tell me how much you paid for it, and I'll try not to holler out."
"I paid $2.3 million for it. I know I'm in the middle of litigation over my assets and had absolutely no business doing that, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. He had listed it through a private house, and it wasn't going to be on the market again in my lifetime. So, I jumped at the chance, and now I own a Qing Dynasty vase valued at $2.3 million."
You never knew with people. I tried not to judge.
"Did you have it specifically listed on your property insurance policy?"
"I did because my property insurance guy told me it was necessary. I have pictures of it, and I have copies of the bank documents used in the wire transfer that I made to purchase it. So, it's all documented, but I really want you to submit the claim to the insurance company for me."
"Why would that be?" A red flag went up. When people are indicted for insurance fraud, it's because they have made a phony claim. If someone else makes the claim for them, it makes it that much more difficult for the prosecutors to prove the insurance fraud. If she got indicted, she would claim that it was all my idea and try to put the blame on me. There wasn't any way I was getting into this.
"I want you to do it because you have a lot more weight than I do. They're going to listen to you, and they're gonna laugh at me. Would you please help me with this?"
I still wasn't going to take the dive for her. "It would be very unusual for me to ever list an insurance claim for someone. Even a client as important to me as you. I will assist you in making your claim. But I'm uncomfortable doing it for you. No, I won't do it myself. When you're ready to fill out the forms, let me know and I will look them over for you. But as far as submitting a claim myself, sorry, no can do."
She looked crestfallen. She gave me a look like I was letting her down, and I suppose I was to her way of thinking. But I was firm in my decision, and she could see that.
I asked her, “Why don't you tell me about the break-in itself. What happened at your office?"
"Someone jimmied the lock on the front door and then somehow short-circuited the alarm system. The detective I'm working with said the person was very knowledgeable and had probably done this type of break-in dozens of times without getting caught.
“He said that most likely they had scouted my office, noted the alarm system I use, then gone to the manufacturer's website, found the owner's manual and schematic, and figured out how to short-circuit the alarm.
“He also said it might be an inside job, and the company that installed my alarm system might have an employee who pulled off this kind of crime.
“What gets me, though, is how they knew to go for the most priceless object in my office. Ninety-nine out of a hundred people wouldn't know that Qing vase was worth as much as it is. The detective said someone had been in my office who knew what the vase was worth and wanted it.”
I sat back and let this soak in. I already knew the answer to the question I was going to ask. "Do you have anyone in mind who might know the value of that vase?"
She sucked down a lungful of air and looked at me with a depth of sincerity in her eyes I hadn't seen before. "Elise."
I nodded. "Agree. Didn't you tell me the first time she visited your office she said she wanted that vase? I'm pretty sure you did."
"You're right. She did say she wanted that vase. But how in the world would she know how to short-circuit my system? It takes a pro for that."
I could only shake my head. "She obviously used a pro. She knew or found someone who had the chops and he needed the money she was willing to pay for the job. My guess is she paid someone between fifty and a hundred-thousand. Why would she even care? The item has a value of over two million, so the cost of acquiring it wasn't a big consideration for her. My only question is, where did she get that kind of money to buy someone to do the job for her? I thought we were dealing with someone who was broke and couldn't afford her little girl’s medicine on a weekly basis?"
Jennifer grew flustered. Her mouth opened and closed without words, then, “I could kill that woman. I really could. That vase is priceless to me. No one in my office knew how much I paid for it. It wasn't even that pretty. But the dynasty it represented was rare, and most artifacts were gone to the four winds. That's what made it so valuable. So, what should I do? Break into her house and steal it back?"
"I only hope you're joking around. While she didn't get caught, I'm sure you would. Plus, it's really difficult to break into someone's home without leaving traces of evidence that can come back and put you in prison. Moreover, unlike you, she has it hidden somewhere. Probably somewhere away from home."
"Like where?"
"Like a family member's home. Or friend's home. Or maybe even one of those large safe-deposit boxes. They're expensive, but they work."
She helped herself to a handful of Fritos then opened the refrigerator door. She chose a Diet Coke and popped the top. She took a long drink and began munching Fritos while she stared blankly at the floor. "Oh," she shuddered. "If I could only get my hands on that woman, what I'd do to her."
"Please don't tell me that. You're making me a witness. And you don't want me to be a witness against you, I can guarantee that. I'm not listening anymore."
"Michael," she said between mouthfuls, "please don't take me so literally. I would never hurt someone. I'm a doctor, remember? Remember the Hippocratic oath?"
“Are you under a physician’s care by any chance?” I suddenly had to ask.
“Why, no! What a thing to ask! I’ve told you we’re not going there!”
"Yes, but your anger just erupts at times. It’s frightening to people on the outside. But I also remember that vase is priceless to you. Anyway, I need to get back to work. Please be sure and bring the claim form and let me have a look at it before you send it in."
She nodded and took another handful of Fritos. "Will do. Thanks, Michael."
I shrugged and walked out of the room, leaving her with Fritos and a Diet Coke.
For now, that would just have to do.
16
Jennifer
It's tough to sit here at my trial and say nothing. Every sentence someone says from that witness stand contains some untruth. At times, it's all I can do not to stand up and scream and tell them to stop, they're getting it all wrong, and they’re sitting in judgment of the wrong person as they’re making me out to be. If they had any idea what it took me in my life to get to the position where I am today as a physician and pediatrician, they would totally understand how impossible it would be for me to take the life of another human being, much less someone I adored like Joe.
Joe and I did everything together. When he was home during his two weeks with me, we went to all of the museums and art shows, we spent Saturday afternoons together reading in front of a fire, and we spent our nights together propped up against each other in bed, watching John Wayne movies and eating popcorn.
The children lived for the weeks when Joe would be home. When it was just me, we had our routines, and we seldom varied from those routines. But with Joe, anything could happen. He was mischievous and spontaneous, and you might think you were on your way to the dentist’s office when suddenly he would take a right turn, and you’d find yourself at 31 Flavors getting ice cream instead
of Novocain. That's just how Joe was. Nothing was so serious it couldn't be dealt with, and if it couldn't be dealt with, it could be changed.
To even suggest that someone in my position, and someone who loved her husband as desperately as I loved Joe, could somehow harm them was the height of conceit. It took a very small person sitting in a very dark office with all the lights out to imagine a scene where I would harm my husband, Joe. Any mind that could conceive that was not a mind that I could relate to and was certainly not someone who knew Joe and me.
But in the month before his death, the earth shifted beneath our feet: something between us had changed.
The last time he was home, I could tell something was troubling him. He arrived on a Saturday afternoon, sent the children off to their rooms, and sat me down in the kitchen.
"Jennifer," he said to me as if in a trance, "there's something I just have to tell you. It's something that's going to break your heart. It has already broken mine, and the burden has become so great that I can no longer carry it alone. I must share with you."
"Joe," I said, "come over here and sit down and let me fix you a drink before you take off on this. I know you're heavily burdened, and I know you need to relieve yourself of whatever is bothering you, but I want to see you take a drink first and try to relax. You’re bordering on meltdown. Your face is red, your voice is elevated, and your hands keep opening and closing randomly. I've never seen you so exercised."
I got up from the table and went to the cabinet, found a highball glass, and poured two fingers of Joe’s favorite bourbon. I dropped in three ice cubes out of the ice-trays—ice I had personally prepared—and set it down in front of him. "Please drink," I said. "You’re going to feel a lot better."
Girl, Under Oath (Michael Gresham Series) Page 6