The Esther Code

by Michael Danneman

  “How long will you be?” Brad asks before letting Simon disappear into the limousine.

  “Just a couple of hours.” Simon has already planned that, if either the limo driver or pilot asks about the trip, he will say that he is coming to Atlanta for a real estate closing. Luckily, Brad does not seem curious, and Simon departs.

  Simon instructs the driver to take him to Tower Place in Buckhead. The driver nods and turns the car onto the side streets leading from Peachtree DeKalb to Peachtree Industrial Boulevard. After some Atlanta traffic, the limo finally pulls into the multi-building complex. As he enters the circle drive in front of the main building, Simon instructs the driver, “You don’t have to wait for me here. I will call you when I am ready. It’ll be a couple of hours.” He hands the driver a twenty. “Why not go get some breakfast or something,” Simon suggests pleasantly, climbing out of the car with the rolling suitcase and cardboard box.

  The limo driver nods and smiles. Simon walks away from the limo, and the car pulls back into the busy streets. He walks past a nicely-landscaped square in front of the office building. Inside there is a classy lobby with leather chairs surrounded by tall, leafy potted plants and large oriental rugs that cover the polished stone floor. A uniformed security guard sits behind a concierge desk. Check-in is not required.

  Towards the back of the lobby, past the elevators, Simon sees the restroom signs pointing around the corner. He weaves through a few people waiting for the elevators and turns the corner to find the men’s restroom. The bathroom is just as luxurious as the rest of the building, with granite counters, sensor spigots, and several toilet stalls. Simon picks the handicapped stall and locks the door. He retrieves a burner phone and calls a Hispanic taxi company to arrange a pick-up. He then opens the package of a brand new bedsheet and uses it to cover the floor of the bathroom stall. Simon puts the box down and starts to change.

  He begins his transformation by placing a tight-fitting hair net over his thick hair. He then removes the clothes he is wearing and places them in a plastic garbage bag. Opening the suitcase, he removes his new clothing, each piece of which is still in the original plastic from the store. The pants and shirt are identical to what he currently wears. Simon pulls out a one-piece, white, disposable coverall suit and puts it over his clothes. He removes a brand new pair of shoes, three sizes too big, and slides them on. Simon has already placed weights inside the toes of the shoes, to fill the extra space. He places shoe covers over the new shoes. He tops off his outfit with a baseball cap and adds some dark sunglasses.

  Simon unlocks the stall door and throws away the plastic wrappings. He folds up the bedsheet and places it back in the suitcase, along with his tightly-bagged original clothes.

  The building is perfect for his plan, since there are exits on both sides leading to different parts of the complex. Simon turns and leaves the building through the opposite door from where he entered. A taxi waits at the drop-off curb of the building. The words on the side of the car are in Spanish. Simon approaches the car, and the cab driver greets him.

  “Hello, Señor!” He jumps out of the front seat to help Simon put his things in the back.

  Simon nods, pleased with what he sees. He is hoping the driver’s English is not good enough to comfortably watch the evening news. He gives the driver the address of a house situated near the victim’s street. Even if the driver radios in the destination, there will be no record matching the crime scene and no familiar address for the driver or dispatch to recognize. The taxi driver nods, and away the car takes off into the maze of Atlanta streets.

  Despite the early morning traffic, the taxi driver arrives at the address of the last house at the corner of the victim’s street in Simon’s desired window of time. He then tells the driver to make a right turn and go to the fifth house on the right. The taxi turns into the driveway, and Simon directs the driver to pull all the way up to the side of the house, blocking the driver's view of the front door.

  Simon reaches into his rolling suitcase and pulls out a fanny pack from the front pocket, along with a Playboy magazine. He hands the magazine to the driver saying, “I’ll be right back. Keep the meter running.”

  The driver smiles again, accepting the magazine and delving into its pages.

  Simon opens his door and carefully removes his shoe covers, making sure his shoes do not touch anything in the car. He wants the first contact made by the brand new shoes to be with the driveway. He leaves the shoe covers on the floor of the back seat. Strapping the fanny pack around his waist, he reaches for the cardboard box, then exits the taxi, shutting the door behind him. Simon carries the box to the front door and sets it on the ground. He removes a pair of latex gloves from his fanny pack and puts them on. He opens the box and removes the smaller box with the flower arrangement. Without a second’s delay, he rings the doorbell.

  Simon waits a few seconds, then hears the removal of the deadbolt. The door opens only a crack. Martin Rossi’s eye glares through the space. “What?” the old man spits at him.

  “Floral delivery.” Simon replies with a smile, undeterred.

  “Fine, fine,” Mr. Rossi mumbles, shutting the door. Simon can hear him unlatch the chain lock. The door swings open, and Mr. Rossi stands there, wearing a bathrobe over white pajamas with light green stripes.

  “This is for Annette Rossi. Let me put it on the table for you.” Simon does not wait for an answer, but walks right into the foyer. He takes the flowers out of the cardboard box and sets the arrangement on a small side table. “There is a card here, too,” Simon announces, stepping back to let Mr. Rossi take a look.

  As soon as the old man’s back is turned, Simon swiftly pulls the garrote out of his fanny pack.

  Mr. Rossi reads the note aloud, mumbling, “I know who you are and what you have done. It is time for you to die for your crimes.”

  Before Mr. Rossi can even react to the note, the garrote is around his neck. It is over in a couple of minutes. Simon leaves the old man’s body slumped where it falls. He removes the garrote and places it in a large Ziploc bag, then puts it back in his fanny pack. Simon takes the note that Mr. Rossi read and also places it in the pack. He opens a Ziploc bag, and with a pair of tweezers he removes a small note from the bag and places it on the cardholder.

  It reads, “A.J. Ari Sai.”

  And, on the back:

  Fools

  Behaving

  Irresponsibly

  Simon smiles to himself. He always enjoys his finishing touch. The note seals the deal for him. It defines his work. With a quick movement, Simon snatches up the cardboard box and walks out the front door without touching anything else. He drops the cardboard box back into the one sitting outside. Then, picking up the larger one, he makes his way back to the taxi.

  The driver hardly looks up from the magazine as Simon opens the car door. He sits down and replaces the shoe covers before pulling his feet inside the taxi. Simon then directs the driver to take him to the nearest MARTA station. As the taxi backs out of the driveway, Simon pulls out a disinfecting wipe. He discreetly wipes down the door handle and anything else he might have touched.

  In no time at all, the taxi arrives at the MARTA station and parks behind a line of taxis waiting for the next train to arrive with its potential fares. With his latex gloves still on, Simon removes the correct amount of cash from the envelope with the tens and fives. Simon exits with his personal belongings and slowly walks along the line of taxis.

  The taxi Simon just exited leaves the station and disappears into traffic. Simon times his stride just right so that, as the taxi turns out of view, he stands right next to the first taxi in the line. Simon tells this driver, an African American, to take him to the Starbucks in the strip mall at the corner of Piedmont and Peachtree. The Starbucks is directly across from Tower Place.

  Simon has an envelope ready with money and pays the taxi driver in cash. Using a disinfectant wipe, he opens the taxi door and removes his belongings.

  Once t
he taxi drives off into the street, Simon walks around to the rear of the Starbucks, where several large dumpsters serve the stores in the strip mall. The most important step is to dispose of the murder weapon. He removes the garrote from his bag and wipes it down thoroughly with the disinfecting wipes. It consists of a three-quarter-inch wooden dowel cut into two, four-inch pieces. Simon drilled a hole through the middle of the dowel allowing enough room for the ten-gauge wire to pass through. He tied the wire in double-knots on either side of the dowel, producing a thirty-inch piece of wire with a handle on each end. A simple garrote.

  Simon is actually proud of his perfect weapon. He cuts the wire into approximately three-inch pieces with wire cutters. He pulls out a plastic jar of peanut butter and stabs each of the pieces of wire into the peanut butter, until it is submerged. He then wraps the peanut butter jar completely using two-inch-wide white bandage tape, until it is unrecognizable. Simon does not want some dumpster diver digging out a jar of peanut butter to eat and finding the most damning evidence. Once the jar is effectively mummified, he puts it into another garbage bag.

  He collapses both cardboard boxes and wipes them down until they are wet with disinfectant and places them in the dumpster. He removes the coveralls, hat, and shoe covers, and places them in a heavy-duty garbage bag from his carry-on. He changes back into his regular shoes.

  He walks a bit farther to the next store’s dumpster and shakes the weights out of the shoes and into the bottom of the trash. He disposes of the clothes he wore on the plane. Pulling out a different heavy duty bag, Simon puts the large shoes in it, ties it up, and tosses it into a third dumpster.

  At the next store’s dumpster, he trashes the bag with the peanut butter. He bags the rolling luggage, with the hat and fanny pack concealed inside, into a large, black garbage bag and throws them away as well. He walks around to the storefronts and heads across the street to the high-rise. Inside the foyer, he informs the concierge that his cell phone has died and asks the man to call the limo for him.

  Once the limo arrives, Simon tells the driver to head back to Peachtree DeKalb Airport, where his private plane is waiting. He pays for the limo from the envelope full of hundreds. Once in the air, Simon smiles.

  In and out before the old fart's wife even gets home.

  Chapter 20

  The next day, Jamie meets with detective Joe Haley in Abilene, Texas. He is tall, built, and strikingly good-looking. His accent is so stereotypical Texan that Jamie is taken aback. Together they go over the file, which includes photos, reports, forensics, and the surveillance camera footage from the nursing home lobby. Human hair was found on the sheets. No DNA could be obtained because there was no follicle. Detective Haley informs Jamie that the hair did not match any of the nursing home employees. Haley reviews the timeline of events. At 9 a.m., Elizabeth Bierman-Colier, the daughter, visits the victim. At 11:30 a.m., Mr. Bierman is wheeled to the dining room for lunch. After enjoying gourmet macaroni and cheese with green beans and tapioca pudding, Mr. Bierman is returned to his room, between 12:15 and 12:30 p.m. On the sign-in register there is one female visitor with an unknown relationship to Bierman. The name is Esther Shushan. Esther Shushan? Here is Shushan again, this time paired with Esther. This all but confirms the connection. Jamie flips back to the pictures and looks again at the sign in sheet. The handwriting seems to match the strange, sloppy signature of “Simon W.” from Harwood Heights. In addition, the pen ink is not the same as the others on the sign-in sheet.

  They review the surveillance video. The surveillance camera is perched above the receptionist’s desk, looking out at the foyer. A woman comes into the frame. She wears a stylish pantsuit, wide-brimmed hat, and sunglasses. She signs in at the desk with her left hand. Immediately, Jamie notices that the woman’s hands are covered with white, lacy gloves. Perhaps to hide a man’s hands, Jamie surmises. As Jamie watches the woman in the footage, she can tell immediately from the woman’s behavior that the woman knew where the camera was—her head is turned down and away as she comes into view. Long black hair hangs down from under her hat. A time stamp on the screen shows 11:00 a.m.

  “She doesn’t sign out for another fifty minutes,” Haley explains as he moves the footage ahead a bit.

  The woman reappears at the front desk to sign out. The time stamp says it is 11:48 a.m. After signing out, the woman leaves.

  “Interesting,” Jamie mutters thoughtfully. Her brows are furrowed, and her eyes look past the screen. She is trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

  The woman returns to the sign-in window. After a brief conversation with the receptionist, she goes back into the nursing home. According to the time stamp, this occurs at 1:02 p.m.

  “The receptionist did report that the woman returned and claimed to have forgotten her cell phone and that she would only be a second. The lady returned to the front reception area, and the receptionist remembers the woman waving to her as she left,” Haley recounts, watching for Jamie’s reaction to the footage.

  “He probably hoped he could get back in unnoticed, and the cell phone ploy was a backup if he was spotted,” Jamie hypothesizes, not taking her eyes from the woman on surveillance, who waves a cordial goodbye. The woman leaves at 1:09 p.m.

  “He?” Haley queries, raising a dark eyebrow.

  “Yes. Esther Shushan is a man, hence the gloves, which hide his hairy, or otherwise masculine, hands,” Jamie informs him confidently. She continues, “He knew we would figure it out. I believe he even wants us to. The ploy was for the immediate aftermath, so that, in the crucial minutes after the body was discovered, the lady in the snappy suit would be in the clear.”

  Haley nods in response. “They did not discover the body until 3:15 p.m.”

  “The perp was long gone,” Jamie avers. “He was really smart. Most of the residents there probably take naps after lunch and that is probably when the staff breaks for their lunch. He came in during the ‘residents’ lunchtime. Probably prepared the room for his return. He then breezed back in after the staff went on break.”

  “Makes sense, but what about the hair we found? It does belong to a woman,” Haley counters.

  “The hair they found was probably human hair from his wig. A lot of human-hair wigs come from India. That would match the Asian characteristics they found at the lab. There is a ritual in India where women and even men grow their hair long and then cut it and offer it to one of their gods in the temple. The temple then collects the hair and sells it to wig makers and uses the money to maintain the temple. It’s a multi-million dollar business,” Jamie explains. “He planted it. How many did you find?”

  “Six. But, come to think of it, that’s a lot in one spot, isn't it?” Haley does not wait for a response. “I'm sure one of his kids did it. Do you know how much that nursing home costs per month? It will drain even a huge nest egg pretty quickly. And Bierman was still relatively healthy—could have lived for years more. Someone would rather have the money than dear old dad,” Haley avows, looking at the file in front of Jamie.

  “Possible, but which one? He has four kids, plus sons-in-law and daughters-in-law,” Jamie points out.

  “Oh, I've suspected them all at one point or another. We've got nothing other than family members as potential suspects. We even considered that it might be a crazy staff member. But the staff here has been stable, with not a lot of turnover. And all the staff said the victim was a very pleasant guy. Not an ornery old grinch that pissed people off and not someone that they would want to get out of the home,” Haley expounds.

  “And what about the note?”

  “Strangest part is how clean it is. As if it has never been touched by a human hand. Clearly planted. Something to divert us away from a family member. Makes it seem more like a mysterious serial killer or something. We've had nothing even remotely similar from here to Dallas.”

  “My only question is why a family member wouldn't poison him or do something else to make it look like he died of old age. This is so obvi
ously murder.”

  “Yeah, that has bothered me. But you know, if this was well-thought-out, they could use that as part of their alibi, that it would be too obvious to use a conventional cover-up. They could possibly have thought it out that far,” Haley rebuts. “What do you think?”

  “My hunch is that he was targeted by a non-family-member.” Jamie replies with a shrug. After a pause she abruptly closes, “Here is my card, and I have your info. Please let me know if anything turns up. I'll do the same.”

  “Will do,” Haley assures her, nodding his head again.

  With a quick handshake, they part ways. Jamie exits through the busy reception area and walks to her car. She punches in the address of the nursing home, then tucks the file into the front pocket of her suitcase.

  The nursing home is quite luxurious. An ostentatious water fountain sits in the middle of the circular driveway in front of the entrance. A roof over the drive is held up by some Grecian-style pillars. She pulls the rental car into the stall closest to the entrance, since the front door is blocked by a short bus, which is unloading a wheelchair-bound senior.

  Jamie wants to re-trace the killer’s moves. She does not need to interview any staff members, as only the receptionist saw “the woman”, and even then they hardly spoke. There is no point in raising flags with her FBI credentials. Jamie is not looking for evidence. She is just trying to accurately envision the murder.

  Walking through the sliding glass doors, Jamie is engulfed by the smell of cleaning products. Ignoring that overwhelming scent, she looks past the ornate furniture of the waiting room, to a camera placed precariously at a fixed angle. She sees for herself that it is easy for a person to prevent the camera from getting a head-on view. If the nursing home has any sense, Jamie is sure they will have fixed the security problem by now. Sure enough, she spots a new camera positioned at the top of a brick fireplace in the foyer; it pans the whole area. Jamie smirks to see her idea confirmed.