In changing his opinion of Don’s death, Ortiz-Reyes would have to issue an addendum to the certificate of death. He’d already written a certificate of death on Saturday and the medical examiner had signed off on it. Ortiz-Reyes had not yet filed it, however.
Don’s heart problems could have been, as Ortiz-Reyes later explained, “contributory” to the root cause of death. However, they had a major issue now: how did that alcohol get into Don Rogers’s system?
“We better do a complete autopsy,” the chief medical examiner suggested at the meeting. “We need to find out if anything else is going on here.”
Several in the meeting appeared perplexed by the proposition.
“What’s the problem?” the medical examiner wondered.
Don Rogers’s body . . . it was already gone.
CHAPTER 10
EVERY RECOVERING ALCOHOLIC KNOWS there’s a sleeping dragon, a beast, hibernating inside his or her soul. Even if the person finds sobriety, dries out and goes on to lead a productive, alcohol-free life, one day at a time, that beast sits, patiently waiting, ready and willing to breathe fire once again when a vulnerable moment arises. Since Vonlee had returned to the upper Midwest to live with Don and Billie Jean, she not only started drinking again, but she’d rattled the sleeping dragon wide awake.
While she had been back in Tennessee at her grandmother’s house, Vonlee later explained, she had given everything up. Vonlee had walked away, she said, from a “three-hundred-thousand-dollar town house” that her old boyfriend was willing to sign over to her in place of her going home to sober up. While living inside that bubble consisting of Denver and Chicago, and running an escort service, Vonlee considered that she had “hit [her] bottom.”
“I was going to meetings. I was going to therapy. I was doing all of these things while back home.” And through that, Vonlee said, she had “made an understanding with God,” her higher power. She’d pleaded to God while immersed in her addiction that she wanted out of it all. “Okay, God, this is my bottom . . . ,” Vonlee had told herself while ripping and running in Chicago before taking off for home. “And if this is not my bottom? Please, God, take me there.”
The chaos her life had taken on since moving in with Billie Jean was perhaps that new bottom she had asked God for, Vonlee began to think as those days and long nights at the casino carried on. Maybe Chicago and Denver were not enough? Perhaps God wanted Vonlee to see another layer of living hell that would finally shake her into believing she had a drinking problem to begin with and that things could not possibly get any worse.
With Don dead, the police asking Billie questions, and Vonlee being around it all, feeling guilty and a part of what seemed to be, at the least, some moral culpability in Don’s death, Vonlee asked herself, Is this it? Is this my bottom?
One of the main issues for Vonlee was that she had been blind drunk herself on the night they returned from the casino to find Don on the kitchen floor.
If I wasn’t drunk, would he have had a chance? Vonlee wondered now.
The guilt ate at her.
“I was literally in another world while all of this was going on,” Vonlee said. “I made an appointment to go to the psychiatrist because I just couldn’t deal with it.”
Don’s kids, even Billie Jean’s, were asking Vonlee what was wrong with her. She seemed so distraught. “Did you know Don that well, Vonlee? You are really taking this hard.”
Anytime somebody said something to Vonlee, she broke down. She couldn’t handle hearing Don’s name.
“Someone would say, ‘How well did you know Don?’ and I would bust out bawling like a child.”
There was a time a few days after Don’s death when all Vonlee could do was pop Xanax her psychiatrist had put her on and wash those pills down with vodka.
“I’d get up off the couch only to take more Xanax, have a drink, and then [I’d] pass back out.”
She couldn’t believe what had happened—Don dying the way he had.
But if Don was dead when Billie Jean and Vonlee entered the house, why all the guilt? Why was Vonlee harboring so much responsibility for Don’s death? What wasn’t Vonlee sharing with anyone?
Billie Jean saw Vonlee on the couch one morning. “Look at you!” she said. “Pull your damn self together.”
“I’m . . . I’m . . . ,” Vonlee tried to say.
Billie Jean got down to Vonlee’s eye level, put her hands on Vonlee’s shoulders and stopped just short of shaking her, before saying: “Listen to me. You need to pull yourself together and move on. Forget about this. Forget it ever happened. Pretend it did not happen and get yourself back together.”
CHAPTER 11
A.J. DESMOND & SONS on Crooks Road, a major thoroughfare cutting through the city of Troy, intersecting with the Chrysler Expressway, has the predictable look of a funeral home: its redbrick outer shell, white Romanesque columns lining the front entrance from ground to roof and its lavishly plush green lawn and lavish landscaping, with each blade of grass and boxwood bush clipped to utter perfection. This was where the dead lay in a state of repose while their loved ones come to pay final respects. Make no mistake, in the Troy region, A.J. Desmond has provided its first-rate services to those in grief throughout this community for over a century. Terence B. Desmond himself had signed off on Don’s death certificate as the funeral service licensee when Don’s body came in for its final examination and grooming. Interestingly, with regard to Don’s death certificate, it had been signed by Desmond, Dr. Ortiz-Reyes and the Troy medical examiner, Dr. Dragovic, on August 12, 2000—yet, it would not be filed until August 17, 2000.
Don’s wake took place a few days after his death. All considering, Don didn’t look that bad lying in his casket all made-up, wearing his best Sunday suit. For many attending Don’s wake, it was a celebration of his long and prosperous life. Most thought of Don as a good guy, someone who gave to his community, helped out the less fortunate when he could, but had kept to himself and, for the most part, left other people alone. In the end, a man shouldn’t be judged by how much he drank. Don Rogers was a person of immense gratitude and humble beginnings, who appreciated what he had in life.
Toni Brosseau had worked for Don Rogers and his business partner, Don Kather, for the past sixteen years. She knew Rogers quite well and could vouch for how nice of a guy he was. She had seen Don Rogers, in fact, at about 2:00 P.M. on the day he died. Toni was the heartbeat of the company. Whenever Rogers prepared to leave the office for the day, he always made a point to stop by Toni’s desk and bid her a fond good night. As it turned out, Don had spent about six hours at the office that Friday, August 11. To Toni, Rogers looked and appeared fine. He had no markings on his face or lips. He wasn’t complaining about anything in particular, and he spoke of going home and staying put for the weekend. The last thing she would have expected to hear would be that Don had gone home and drank himself into oblivion, passed out and dropped dead on the kitchen floor. Don was the type of guy that went to work every day. He might not have stayed in the office all day long, and everyone knew he loved to watch television while in his office, but he showed up at 8:30 A.M. every day and did his work.
As Toni arrived for the wake and filed into A.J. Desmond & Sons, along with the line of mourners, she thought about her old boss. There was one conversation Toni had with Billie Jean the week before Don passed that now felt kind of strange to Toni as she went back and considered it. Billie Jean had called and asked to speak with Toni, instead of her husband.
“Mrs. Rogers, hi,” Toni said. It was rather surprising to be talking to “the boss’s wife.” Toni had made a habit of not getting involved. But here it was, Billie Jean calling, looking to ask Toni a few questions.
“Toni, I need to know something,” she said up front, holding little back. She sounded serious, but also anxious and maybe pissed off a little, too. “Has Don ever been improper with you in any way?”
It was altogether shocking and bizarre, this sudden accusation out of nowhe
re. Toni had met Billie Jean only a few times. She’d never heard from Don about any problems he and his wife might have had.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Rogers?” Toni asked.
“A pass . . . Don ever made a pass at you, Toni?”
“My goodness, no. No, Mrs. Rogers. Never.”
This call had come right around the time Vonlee had mentioned to her aunt about Don and what happened when Billie Jean was away in California. That I-got-something-on-you-now charge Billie Jean had allegedly made to Don after walking out of the room and coming back to find Don on top of Vonlee. Apparently, if he’d done it to Vonlee, Billie Jean must have been thinking, maybe he’d done it at the office, too. It seemed Mrs. Rogers was in the mood to get all she could on her husband.
“Well, he’s made advances toward Miss Titlow and . . . ,” Billie Jean started to say to Toni.
“No, no, Mrs. Rogers,” Toni insisted. “Not me. Not ever. He never, never, ever has done anything. He’s never even used four-letter words around me. He is always a gentleman.”
Billie Jean talked about Don’s health. Toni had no idea how sick Don might have been. Still, Billie Jean mentioned to Toni, “He’s been having problems with rectal bleeding lately—did you know that?”
“No, I did not,” Toni said, wondering why this woman felt the need to share such personal information with her. “But maybe you ought to get him to see a doctor, Mrs. Rogers.”
“He won’t go. He just won’t do it,” Billie Jean said.
The two exchanged some small talk and hung up.
* * *
Scott Hadley (pseudonym), Billie Jean’s future son-in-law, had never met Don or Vonlee, but he was in town from his home in Illinois, along with Billie Jean’s daughter, to pay his respects. Scott had just asked Billie Jean’s daughter to marry him in the weeks before Don had died. He was part owner in a software development firm in Illinois. He had some experience in finances and financial security, he and his wife-to-be explained to Billie Jean at the wake. Scott even offered to help the family wade through what could be temperamental financial waters after someone died unexpectedly.
The widow introduced Scott to Don’s brother and sister. Then she found Vonlee and introduced him to her.
“We had just a small conversation,” Scott said later. “Typical to what you would have with various people at a wake—just small talk about the family.”
“How’s Billie Jean doing?”
“Holding up rather well, considering.”
“What a tragedy.”
“Indeed.”
Someone at the wake suggested that Scott sit at some point with Don’s immediate family and Billie Jean to discuss Don’s finances and what should be done with what was a rather large bank account he had left behind. It was unclear later on about who had actually suggested the meeting. But in any event, as of August 2000, Don’s net worth was valued at $1,778,603.11. Eighty-nine percent of that was in investments, with 1 percent available as cash, the remaining 10 percent or so being part of Don’s fixed monthly/yearly income.
The guy had a nest egg, no doubt about it. Billie Jean was clearly looking to get this taken care of as soon as possible. She had to pay bills, run the household and make sure Don’s partnership in the company was being fairly represented. She couldn’t just curl up in a ball and be the grieving widow. That would not serve anybody well. And, to be honest, it had never been her way of dealing with problems and tragedy.
“I can help you,” Scott told his future mother-in-law. “I lost my father several years ago, and having gone through it myself with my mom, I can assist you in everything. Help organize the finances.... I know the process.”
Scott went on to explain that there was a lot of work involved in hunting down life insurance policies, getting Social Security documents changed, bank accounts situated, speaking with the financial institutions Don had his money invested in and anything else involved in trying to figure out a dead man’s finances and how the family could do what was in his (and now their) best interests.
What could she say? The offer seemed to be a welcoming gesture. Billie Jean agreed—she was all for it. She definitely needed the help.
They would meet in the coming days, she said, and get it all situated.
Over in another part of the room, her daughter, Vanette Vereeke, whose father Billie Jean had been married to before Don (one of two marriages for Billie Jean before she met Don), ran into Vonlee. The last time she had seen Vonlee, Vonlee was a child. Vanette, like pretty much everyone else in her family, considered Vonlee eccentric and maybe even a little over-the-top in the way she dressed, did her makeup, walked and talked. Vonlee was a presence, certainly. There was some narcissism in there, too, with Vonlee always looking to be the focus and center of attention. There were reasons for this beyond Vonlee being a Southern belle and simply wanting and needing constant praise. But on this night, as they all celebrated Don’s life and paid homage to him in mourning, Vanette noticed something else about Vonlee as she approached: Vonlee was wearing an enormous amount of what looked to be brand-new jewelry.
“Rings and bracelets, like diamonds,” Vanette said later.
So much that it stood out among a crowd of people.
One ring in particular was of great interest to Vanette and some of the other women who were standing around and talking during the wake.
“Wow,” Vanette said, staring at Vonlee’s finger, “you’re engaged?”
Vonlee had known the guy she was dating only about a month. He had given her the ring, though they were not engaged officially. She told him she was not ready to get married. He told her to keep the ring, anyway, and “maybe it will change” her mind. The diamond was huge. Vonlee said she’d be crazy not to accept it. She wore it on her wedding ring finger.
Several other women came and stood around as Vonlee and Vanette discussed the ring.
“Look at that ring, Vonlee. It’s very noticeable.”
Vonlee, who was obviously distraught and cooked up on pills and booze while at the wake, took the ring off and passed it to Vanette, who put it on and held it out in front of herself. “My goodness . . .” As were the other women, she was impressed with the sheer size of the thing. She took it off and gave it to another woman standing in the circle.
“They were all passing it around, like girls do,” Vanette said later.
“Look at this . . . ,” one woman said.
“Incredible,” envied another.
“Lucky girl . . .”
As Vanette worked her way around the room, she walked over to where her mother was talking to a few people.
“Yeah, I came home around eleven and he was dead on the floor,” her mother told the group, according to what Vanette later claimed.
Eleven?
The call to 911 did not come until around 4:00 A.M.
Maybe she simply forgot?
Her mother was being herself, her daughter later explained, while schmoozing with people at the wake. Her mom was very skilled in adversity. She could take a bad situation and enter into it with a straight face and generally a positive attitude. She was an expert at meeting stressful situations and handling them. People wanted to know what happened to Don, Billie Jean surmised—and so she was going to be open and honest and tell them what she knew. She didn’t want people arriving or leaving with any sort of misinformation. That would only feed rumors.
“She could appear to have everything under control,” one family member later said of her. “She didn’t appear to be visually upset, but I’m sure inside her heart she was.”
Well into calling hours, Billie Jean found Vonlee sitting down by herself over in a corner. Vonlee was crying.
“I can’t do this,” Vonlee said, looking up.
Billie Jean stared at her. She looked around to make sure no one was listening to them.
“I was so out of it at that point,” Vonlee later recalled, thinking back. “I could not even function. I was so sick.” The situation, as Vonlee saw it then,
was strikingly opposite to what she had been used to ever since moving in with her aunt and uncle. When Vonlee first got to the house, she noticed her aunt was depressed and always angry, down and out, lying around a lot, sleeping late, not doing much of anything. Vonlee, meanwhile, was a ball of fire like her old party self, wanting to go out and own the night. Now, after Don’s death, it was as if they had changed places. “I became depressed and docile as Billie became lively and always up.”
Billie Jean became agitated, according to Vonlee. “Stand up,” she said, grabbing Vonlee by the shoulders.
“Billie, I . . . I . . . ,” Vonlee started to say before breaking down crying.
“You have to pull yourself together,” her aunt said. “Or you are going to have to leave right now.”
CHAPTER 12
BILLIE JEAN AND VONLEE were at the Rogers household. It was midafternoon, August 17. “Vonlee, where are you?” Billie Jean said, looking for her niece inside the house. “Vonlee?” she yelled.
Vonlee was upstairs. “What is it?”
“Come with me, I want to go somewhere.”
That afternoon, the two found themselves perusing the lot at Suburban Oldsmobile and Cadillac Buick on Maplelawn Drive in Troy. Don had not been dead a week and Billie Jean had her eye on a brand-new, flashy, fully loaded Cadillac. She’d always wanted one. Don would never part with the money. Now was her chance.
Ultimately, she chose a Cadillac Seville Touring Sedan (STS).
“Can we take it out for a ride?” the newly minted widow asked the salesperson.
She and Vonlee were gone for about fifteen minutes. When they returned, Billie Jean was all smiles. She said she wanted a sunroof put in and also “OnStar, with a one-year subscription.”
Done and done, said the salesperson.
She also wanted the dealer rebate that was being offered.
“You got it!”
With a deal in place, Billie Jean took out her checkbook, wrote a check for one hundred dollars and handed it to the salesman. “I’ll take it. When can you have it ready?”
If You Only Knew Page 5