If You Only Knew

by M. William Phelps

  “Y’all better come and see me,” Billie Jean suggested.

  “Of course, I will, Aunt Billie.”

  Vonlee was taken by Billie Jean during the visit. Her aunt had made Vonlee feel as though she could do anything in life she wanted. She gave Vonlee hope. She planted within Vonlee the idea that anything she wanted was within her own potential, her own grasp. She taught Vonlee to go for it, if she truly wanted it.

  “My aunt was classy, beautiful, one of the most gorgeous women I have ever seen. But that entire time, while in Denver and then after I left, I had zero contact with her until I went back home for that visit. Growing up, though, I always thought of Aunt Billie as a movie star—she was so glamorous and just, well, she had that star quality about her. I wanted to be like her. I loved her.”

  Billie Jean and Vonlee’s mother, Georgia, grew up in a family of eight kids. Billie Jean stood out from the pack—always. She “had to have the best of things,” Vonlee shared. “She was also different, someone that was very smart. She had this aura about her that once you were around her, you just wanted to be around her. She was funny and she was talented, and I never had anything bad to say about her.”

  Contrarily, certain family members said Billie Jean had this “evilness” about her that only those close enough could see and actually feel. One family member claimed later that Billie Jean had asked him to kill Don once and she even drew a map of the house. The family member went to police with the map and told them the story. According to Vonlee, “Not long after that, he was beaten to death by a couple of men with chains . . . and I almost believe she had something to do with it.”

  * * *

  After starting out with an escort service in Denver, Vonlee decided it was time to move to Chicago. She had met a new guy and he allowed her to stay at one of his town houses in downtown Chicago. Barton (pseudonym) wouldn’t be living there (he had his own), but he wanted her around. He had even once told Vonlee that he’d pay all her bills and give her a stipend if she was there for him. By now, though, Vonlee was making so much money with the escort service, she didn’t need anybody else.

  There were no secrets between the two of them. Barton knew Vonlee was a transsexual and he didn’t have a problem with it. It was around this time that Vonlee began to meet a lot of men that preferred transsexuals, many of them straight men.

  “You have to understand,” Vonlee explained, “these weren’t ‘gay’ relationships. When we were together, I was the woman [and] he was the guy. . . . You know, it was there—I don’t know how to say it. Some guys, you have to recognize, are into it. They find the whole penis thing as being part of the package extremely attractive. Those ‘chicks with dicks’ videos are the most popular in the porn shops. There’s an entire market out there for it.”

  Why not capitalize on that market, then?

  “After moving to Chicago, I still had three escort services I was running—transsexuals, gay, straight. The transsexual phone lines rang off the hook.”

  She had five transsexuals and she would turn dates herself if needed.

  Vonlee’s Telegrams, as she called it, began in Denver. It was an escort service, but Vonlee set it up with a tax number and she paid herself a salary. She hired an attorney to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. All of her “girls” had to sign waivers that said they would not solicit customers for sex.

  But come on now . . . business is business.

  “I knew it was going on,” Vonlee admitted later. “But I couldn’t . . . Well, I was trying to be as legal with it as possible. Look, it was about making money.”

  When Vonlee took calls herself, there were only certain things she would do.

  “Limits,” she explained. “I never once had anal sex or kissed one of these guys—I just wouldn’t do it. Honestly, though, most of them just wanted to ‘do oral’ . . . on me. They had always fantasized about it and it was something they always wanted to do. These guys weren’t attracted to men. They were straight. Many of them were married. They would all say the same thing. ‘I’m not attracted to men, but I am very attracted to transsexuals. I love the way you look. I always wanted to give one oral sex.’ It was always the same story. They claimed they had never done it before. They were always scared and a nervous wreck. It would last about fifteen, twenty minutes and they’d pay five hundred dollars.”

  Moving to Chicago for Vonlee was her way of trying to get away from the escort business, though she kept doing it, running businesses in both cities at the same time. The money was too good. And by now, she was drinking a lot more than she ever had and dabbling in hard-core drugs.

  And so, with her new lifestyle caving in around her, the idea that one man wanted to “keep her,” Vonlee decided finally to bail on it all and go back home, get that job at the Waffle House, and then try to clean up her act. She thought she could leave it all behind and bury it for good.

  But then Billie Jean walked into the Waffle House and laughed at her niece, ultimately offering her a life in Troy, Michigan, with her and Don—a life that Vonlee Titlow, apparently, could not turn down.

  CHAPTER 40

  BILLIE JEAN ROGERS HAD two pushy cops sitting inside her home, pressuring her to answer questions about her husband’s death she thought she’d answered already. Did she need to remind them that Don’s body had been cremated and there had not been an “investigation,” which she was aware of, into his death? The ME, moreover, had ruled Don’s death a result of natural causes, and had found nothing out of the ordinary. What were these two cops doing, anyway? Trying to make a case out of nothing?

  As she listened to their questions, she certainly believed so.

  After Don Zimmerman asked Billie Jean to go through that night once more, she balked at first, but then explained, while pointing, how she had walked in “that door” right there and saw him lying on the floor in the kitchen “right there.”

  This would become a major issue for cops as they thought about it and looked at the layout of the house, studied the crime scenes photographs and delved deeper into Billie Jean’s financial woes. It was that glass on the table and those shoes in the living room. One could not sit in the chair where that glass and the shoes were located and not see Don on the floor inside the kitchen.

  “Vonlee,” Zimmerman’s partner said, “has indicated that both you and she has participated—”

  They were now pointing a finger directly at Billie Jean.

  “Now,” Billie Jean said, interrupting, stopping just short of asking them to leave her house at once, “I know nothing.”

  The cop then finished what he was trying to say, adding, “. . . in smothering your husband. Now she says that you’re the one who did it. She says it was all your idea, and you had been wanting to get rid of your husband for some time past. Now, um, we have been in the police force over twenty-five years,” he said, pointing to himself and Zimmerman. “We know there’s two sides to this story, okay. We know that [Vonlee] has a little bit of a sordid past. You don’t have no criminal history . . . [but] the truth is that your husband was smothered to death. . . .”

  “I did not smother him,” Billie Jean said.

  Zimmerman cleared his throat. It sounded almost like a fake cough. “So . . . I’m getting the impression that you knew something happened that night?”

  This was a question, not a statement.

  She became irate. “Impression? What’s the matter with you?” she snapped. “Now you’re . . . you’re twisting my words.”

  They wouldn’t let up. “We know that this happened that night here. It wasn’t . . . that he just, uh, had too much alcohol. He obviously had a little bit too much alcohol.”

  “Well, if it happened here, somebody came in and did it when I was gone,” the widow said.

  “Two people . . . ’cause Nicole’s saying she did it with you.”

  Billie Jean said there was no way they should believe anything Vonlee said—not ever. She was making it all up. Vonlee was known in the family to tell
all sorts of stories. She’d get drunk and call back home and spew lies and make up things about people—only to turn around the next day and say none of it was true. She had been intoxicated.

  Zimmerman asked why she would do that in this situation. What could possibly be Vonlee’s motive to drag herself and her aunt into a murder? Why even tell Danny anything? It was as though Vonlee had wanted to set up a story by telling Danny that her aunt was solely responsible for the murder. She had, in effect, put herself in the same context of being responsible—at least in some respects. Why would she do that if it was not true?

  “Why would she tell [her] boyfriend . . . that this happened that night if it didn’t happen? Why would anybody ever do that? She told this guy, and we heard her telling this guy that this happened. . . .”

  Billie Jean walked toward the kitchen, stopped, turned around and walked back to where both cops sat. “I don’t know,” she said.

  They tried to convince her that her niece was singing loud and clear, and that it was going to be in her best interest in the end to come clean. Here was her chance. Right now. At this moment. Give it up and they might be able to help. Hold back and she was on her own from this point forward.

  Classic cop chess move.

  But Billie Jean wouldn’t bite.

  So they tried to appeal to her moral compass.

  “[Vonlee] can’t live with it anymore,” one of them said. “She cannot deal with it on her conscience anymore, and you’re going to have a problem with it on your conscience.”

  “I have nothing on my conscience,” she said clearly and without hesitation. It came out as sincere. If she had been involved, the truth was that she didn’t care.

  “I think you do,” the more assertive Zimmerman said.

  “Well, I think I don’t.”

  Both cops kept going back to what Vonlee had told Danny, but Billie Jean didn’t seem too jarred by it. She had a definite attitude: So what? Vonlee said this and that. Big freakin’ deal. Where’s your evidence?

  “I was very good to that man,” Don’s widow explained after being accused of not caring about her late husband.

  “I know,” Zimmerman said. “You married him twice, right?”

  “And he and I had a good relationship.”

  “Do you have like videotapes of you and him on honeymoon or anything like that?” Zimmerman’s partner asked in a tone that indicated he already knew the answer.

  “No.”

  “Why, though?”

  “We didn’t have anything like that.”

  “Yes, you did,” Zimmerman said snappishly. “’Cause you know why? ’Cause I have them. ’Cause you threw them away shortly after he passed.”

  She stared at the cop: And that is your evidence of murder?

  They got stuck on this videotape thing. Billie Jean said she and Don had taken off to Vegas to get married and were “not into” videos.

  The detectives disagreed.

  “You threw them out several days after his death and Danny picked them up. . . . Now, why would [you] throw out those videotapes if [they were] so important to you? I understand he was a very sick man. A lot of work for you. You did a great job with him.”

  The conversation stayed on the videotapes as the two cops could not let it go. Billie Jean seemed genuinely confused by this. She couldn’t recall if or when she supposedly threw out a bag of videotapes and Vonlee’s boyfriend took them.

  As they kept on it, however, Billie Jean admitted that perhaps, yes, she and Don might have videotaped their second walk down the aisle, but what did it have to do with killing him? Then, trying to steer both cops off the videotape thread, she offered, “I swear on my life [Vonlee] had nothing to do with it—and neither did I.”

  “[Vonlee] did, because [she] is admitting to having something to do with it.”

  Both cops hinted that Vonlee could be in custody (she wasn’t), while not allowing Billie Jean a moment of reprieve. They continually badgered her about the situations that led them to change their focus from a simple death investigation into a complicated murder investigation.

  They had Vonlee on tape accusing Billie Jean and admitting her role.

  Danny Chahine backed it up.

  They pointed to all the money Billie Jean was spending.

  They talked about the drinking and gambling.

  They knew about the debt Billie Jean had created by gambling.

  There were cars and jewelry.

  The marriage had been in a bit of shambles.

  Vonlee had no reason to lie about any of this. They had not confronted or sought her out. She had essentially admitted this to them without knowing they were listening.

  Then it was back to the drinking, this time focused not on Don, but on Billie Jean.

  “. . . I don’t know if you drink or not?” Zimmerman wondered.

  “I don’t drink,” she said, contrasting what everyone else involved was telling police about her.

  “Okay,” one cop started to say, “so . . .”

  But he wasn’t able to finish. Billie Jean had an admission to make—something she needed to share regarding not only her alleged drinking, but also Don’s death.

  Both cops waited.

  She stared at the carpet and took a sip of water.

  CHAPTER 41

  BILLIE JEAN ROGERS STARED at both cops. She was ready to say something important—perhaps finally admit her role in this alleged murder.

  “I have a liver problem,” she began. Then: “I . . . I may not live . . . another six months.” She allowed it to hang in the space between them for a minute before adding, “Why would I want to do something like that?”

  In other words, if her time was up, why would she ever want to get involved with killing her husband? It made no sense.

  Or did it?

  Maybe Billie Jean wanted to live it up before she left the planet and knew that killing her husband wouldn’t matter. She was dying, anyway.

  What came across as interesting about the revelation of Billie Jean perhaps having only months to live was how these two cops reacted to it, responding as if she had made it up. Billie Jean said she was dying, and they missed the opportunity to ask her if she wanted to live it up on Don before she went—hence a motive for taking him out. Instead, they chose to ask her if she had a gambling problem.

  “How’s your gambling habit? Is it pretty bad?” one of them asked.

  “It’s not a habit,” she insisted.

  “I mean, you had a problem.... Your husband had a problem with your gambling, didn’t he? I mean, he was onto you about the gambling money?”

  “Well, he . . . well, every once in awhile, he was.”

  The interview went on and on and on. The detectives kept going back to the money, the insurance claims, the cars Billie Jean bought, the money she gave Vonlee, the casino, how Billie Jean did not seem at all bothered by the fact they were there questioning her.

  Follow the money, these cops knew. It always told a story.

  She shrugged it off: You have nothing!

  In a way, this was true. If they had anything, she would be answering these questions in metal bracelets downtown. But here they were inside her house, drilling her on everything they’d supposedly developed during their investigation. From where she sat, she looked pretty damn solid.

  Didn’t matter what Vonlee said.

  Didn’t matter that they had Vonlee on tape.

  Didn’t matter that Billie Jean had spent her husband’s money.

  Didn’t matter where she got that money: from a cashed-in mutual fund or his bank accounts.

  What mattered was evidence—old-fashioned evidence of murder—where was it?

  She became frustrated: “Okay . . . I just don’t know what’s going on here.”

  For another hour, they peppered her with questions about the money and Don’s bleeding from the rectum and his drinking and her gambling. They went back and forth, tit for tat, as she answered every single question they put in front
of her. It was exhausting just listening to the interview.

  Finally, near the end, she said, “You know what? Get realistic. If I was going to do anything like this, listen. If I was going to do something like this, it certainly wouldn’t be with her. . . .”

  “Well,” Zimmerman said, “according to her, it was. . . .”

  Billie Jean didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “Let me ask you this. Honestly, straightforward, honest answer. Have you ever spoken to [Vonlee] in any way, shape or form [saying] that you would pay somebody money to get rid of your husband?”

  “No!”

  “You never told her that?”

  “No.”

  “Not even as a joke?”

  “No. Never! Absolutely did not.”

  They asked again and again.

  No. No. No.

  Then it was back to the money.

  “This is your opportunity. If [Vonlee] did it and you’re covering for her, this is the time to tell it. Because let me tell you what [she’s] going to do.... She’s going to get prosecuted, then she’s going to turn around and she’s going to be a witness against you, because she has the minor part in this thing, okay? She’s going to testify against you and put you away as the main culprit in this whole deal. When she is the main culprit, you’re sticking up for her and you’re going to do the time for it and she’s going to be out getting her sex change. Okay?”

  Billie Jean said repeatedly that she didn’t do anything.

  They tried for another half hour and got nowhere.

  Zimmerman wanted to ask her one more question as they were preparing to take off. “Billie, you willing to take a polygraph test?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  They scheduled it for January 6, 9:00 A.M.

  She never showed up.

  “Billie, are you coming?” Zimmerman asked after calling.