“How long where you in his office?”
“Maybe... 5 minutes. It wasn't a very long conversation.He was drunk and stubborn, as drunk people can be. And then suddenly laughed out loud and wrote me the check”.
“Did you cash the check?”
“Yes, I did. It went through OK, after my conversation with the police”.
I didn't know whether I would cash a check under such circumstances. But then, Paul and Claire needed the money, that much was evident.
“What do you do, by the way?”
“I am an editor for a vegan food website and magazine. And I do freelance writing and editing. But life is expensive.” Yes, definitely – on what I estimated he earned, it would be tough to live in the fanciest part of Bellevue, trying to support a daughter through college and law school. “The house prices are back up, though. I am planning to put this house on the market, maybe next week, and move somewhere smaller when it sells. “
I thought that it was a good plan – the place, even in its current semi-dilapidated condition, should draw several offers. And the sale would provide him and Claire an infusion of cash.
I thought some more and said:
“Did you have a written agreement for these payments?”
He nodded. “I showed it to the police already.” So some such document existed, then. Although I doubted it fully outlined what the payments were for.
“Could I see it?”
He looked straight at me. “No. I've answered your other questions. That's enough. I don't have to show you everything.”
He held the front door open for me again.
“I didn't kill him. That is all I have to say”.
“Thank you for telling me the story. I wish you and Claire the best.” I walked through the open door.
As I drove home, I thought about Paul. The things we do for family. The dreams we have when we are young and idealistic. The promises we make. What remains of them after the years chip away at their crystal clarity; and the humiliations we are willing to subject ourselves to. I no longer though that he was a suspect in the murder. Evidently, the police were of the same opinion – Paul has not been detained.
Even if he knew the camera was there, could he have been able to figure out whether it was on or off? Besides, he told me during the party that he was going to talk to George – if he had any thoughts of the conversation turning violent or lethal, he wouldn't have said it. The rain and the darkness weighed on my mind, and I didn’t know what to do next.
When I got home and opened my mailbox, I saw a full-color, plastic-wrapped booklet from Mayfair Motors, personally inviting me to test-drive a Maserati or Aston Martin, showing fancy and fast cars on the cover. I stood by the mailbox, turning the brochure over in my hand, making sure it was really addressed to me. The post mark on it said Saturday.
8
The next morning I read what the local news said about the incident. The write-ups on the websites of the TV stations and the local paper were about a sudden death from unknown causes. George Ellis was described as both a “self-made man” and “belonging a well-known local family”, well-established in the area, and very rich. (That caused me to ponder for a little bit to what extent one can be a “self-made man” in the financial sense of the term if one comes from a very rich background). They talked about his recent marriage to Rita, and mentioned Roger in passing. I also learned about George’s support of various causes through car shows and auctions and participation in charitable golf tournaments.
I had Vinay's business card from the party, and decided to send him an e-mail. Maybe I could glean something useful from talking to him, since he and George apparently had been golf buddies. In any case, from conversing with him the evening of the tragedy, he seemed like an astute person to talk to.
I typed out a brief e-mail on my phone, telling Vinay I'd like to meet for 15 minutes whenever he had time. He wrote back quickly, saying he could do so that afternoon. I suggested we meet at a French bakery next to his office. His response said “I love baked goods!” Our meeting was all set.
I ducked out of work for a short while to talk to him. Entering the popular bakery on Capitol Hill that Tuesday afternoon, 5 minutes before our appointment, I looked over all the desserts laid out in the glass cases, savoring the moment of choice. The cases were full of delicious fruit tarts, elaborate chocolate and waffle creations, breakfast pastries, and on and on. The air smelled of apple pie and cinnamon. A couple of students, likely from a near-by college, dressed in a manner of Boy George (so much so that I fully expected them to have pink eye shadow and emulate his dance moves) were ordering coffee and getting a baguette to go. I picked a chocolate-almond-croissant. From experience, I knew it would be sheer croissant-y deliciousness. I got a hot chocolate as well, and found a table in the corner to wait for Vinay.
He walked in right on time, casually dressed, came over smiling and shook my hand, and ordered a coffee. From where I was sitting, I noticed he left a big cash tip for the barista. I was liking him more and more.
After the preliminaries of me saying that I appreciated him giving me some time out of his busy day, and that I was a friend of Rita’s who wanted to help her out, I fortified myself with a bite of the flaky croissant, got out my notebook, and dove into the questions I wanted to ask.
“How long have you known George?”
“Oh, I’d say 5 years. We met when I bought a car from his dealership. Then it turned out we played golf at the same club.” He gave a name of the best country club in the Seattle area, popular with the local super-rich – rumor was, Bill Gates and Steve Ballmer were members.
“How was he, as a person, I mean?”
“Very hard-working, ambitious. Could be single-minded. He was pretty generous, too, from what I saw – gave money to those who asked him.”
“How was he as a golfer?”
Vinay raised his eyebrows – the question surprised him. He thought about it.
“Full of himself. He though he was better than he actually was. A bit of a pain, honestly.”
“How so?”
“He liked showing off. And he’d be annoyed if people ahead of us were going too slowly.”
“Anything different recently about him?”
“No, not really. He didn’t commit suicide, if that is what you are implying.”
“Well, I was thinking about why he was killed during this party. Why this particular time? What has changed? What was different?”
“I don’t know for sure. He did win that car show very recently, he seemed delighted with that when we played golf on Wednesday morning last week. Besides that – well, the house remodel was done, hence the house-warming. ”
Yes, the Alluring Exotics car show kept coming up in conversation. I needed to look into that angle further. And maybe there was something connected with the house? The general contractor was at that party – Kevin from Moody Construction Co.
I took another bite of my food and asked:
“Was George happy, do you think?”
Vinay sipped his coffee and thought about my question. “He was very driven. Achieving his goals made him happy for a while. Then it was on to the next thing. I could understand that in him – I guess I’m sort of like that too, with all my start-ups.” He laughed.
Something occurred to me. “Speaking of which – you’ve done very well in starting companies. Are you connected in any way with Ba-Ele Tech Inc, Roger’s start-up?” I carefully tried to pronounce the name like Roger had.
“No, I’m not.”
“Not even in an informal or advisory role? I thought someone with your experience in start-ups would be helpful for Roger.”
“George played that one very close to the vest. It does sound very interesting, I wish I knew more about it. I don't know much besides what I got out of some short conversations with Roger a couple of times.”
“I hope he succeeds. Roger seems very dedicated and hard-working.”
Vinay nodded. “I hope he succeed to
o.”
“What about Stan Greenwich? He and George apparently were business partners when Mayfair Motors had just started.”
“I don't know Stan well personally. We run into each other socially sometimes. My opinion of him, based on what I do know, is that he got lucky, and George had been the business brains, and the passion, behind the operation.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I did talk to him at the party, he was talking… bragging is a better word for it – about some of the stuff he had been doing recently. I pressed him a little, and based on how evasive he became, I don't think any of his recent undertakings really got off the ground. It’s all talk.” Vinay took another sip of his coffee while I wrote that down in my notebook.
“Did George have enemies, do you know?”
“No, not anyone who would kill him, I don’t think. “
“What do you think was the motive?”
He paused and then said very carefully. “I’ve asked myself that. Most likely money.”
“Was there enough money to kill someone over?”
He spread out his hands on the table and shrugged. “People have been killed for much less. But yes, I would say George's estate is in the neighborhood of $20M, including the house, the business and the land in Bellevue that Mayfair Motors owns.”
This was the first concrete figure I had heard about George's money. Definitely an impressive sum.
“How much did he start with, do you know?”
“No, I don't. I would guess several million in seed money from the two of them. But I can’t say for sure, this is not my area of expertise.”
“What's your read on the whole situation?” I left the question open-ended on purpose.
Vinay said bluntly: “The police suspect Rita, and I can see the logic in that. She would inherit a lot of money at his death.”
“She seems genuinely upset.”
“I believe she is. I like her: she’s smart, generous, and dedicated to what’s important to her. But the circumstances don’t look good for her.”
“Well, lots of people have money, and their spouses don’t go around murdering them.”
He laughed and said “That's true, isn’t it?”
Then he got up and picked up his coffee cup.
“Well, I need to get going.”
“Thank you so much for your time! And for your honesty.”
He smiled again. “I looked you up before coming over, and called Rita as well. I believe you have her best interests at heart. I wish her luck.”
We shook hands and he left, and I continued to nibble on my almond croissant and think about what he said.
On one hand, Vinay had said that he liked Rita. On the other hand, he couldn’t name any other likely suspects.
He thought that money was the main motive. And that, quite logically, put Rita in a bad light as a suspect – as she would get the most money out of George’s death. And so far, I haven’t found anyone else that would definitely benefit from George’s being dead.
9
It rained the entire day, non-stop. Water seemed to come down from the sky in straight lines. Everything was grey. Pedestrians scurried along the streets, beaten down by the rain.
After work, I went to the Knotty Yoga aerial yoga class to try to blow off some steam. Mason brought fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies to the class, like he did regularly. I could not resist, and grabbed one (OK, two – one before class and one after). Surrounded by people climbing ropes and doing aerial exercises, I focused on the work-out as my abs begged for mercy.
When I got home, I was greeted with loud admonishments from Bitty. My cat had been a rescue, and had to go without food when she was young – and so was now very insistent on being fed on time. I opened a can of Turkey Giblets and she dove for them with ecstatic meows. I was watching her absent-mindedly, thinking of how what we went through when young shaped us.
Someone who grew up relatively poor was Rita herself; she told me that she worked 2 jobs to put herself through undergrad, and her parents weren’t able to help out at all. Around the time her brother Roger was about to graduate high school, they got over-extended on borrowing against their house, and lost it in a foreclosure – and not one of those strategic ones either; they were wiped out financially. Getting married to George must have been a relief for Rita, at least on the financial front. 16th century Polish poets are generally not very lucrative! And it afforded Roger some amazing opportunities – like the chance to study at Stanford university; that certainly wasn’t cheap!
I decided to put the topic of Rita and her inheritance out of my mind for the time being. I didn’t want to think of it, even hypothetically – of my friend killing her husband for money. But the topic of pursuit of money reminded me that there was someone else I really should talk to.
Rita gave me Stan's contact info last time we talked. Now I settled into the sofa with a cup of tea and dialed his number; he picked up on the third ring.
“Hello Stan, this is Veronica. We met at George's party.”
“Who? Oh yeah, I remember. Rita's friend. The very attractive friend. How may I be of service, my dear?” His voice sounded almost physically oily to me and made me want to hang up. Instead, I took a deep breath and continued.
“I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about George, since you have known him for a while. Is this a good time?”
“Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”
“You’ve known him for several years, including before he met Rita, correct?”
“Yes. I met him through his family. He had really good business sense. Wanted to start an exotic car dealership with some of his family money. Thought there would be a market for that here. I put in some cash too. Did very well, then he bought me out.”
“When was that?”
“Around 2007. I thought that the housing market was going bust and would take all that easy money with it, and I decided to get out before that.” He snickered. I had wanted to ask why he decided to sell, and he preempted my question.
“Well, that was really smart on your part, I'm sure.”
“Oh yeah, it was. “ He chuckled. “Made a very decent return on my money.”
“Why did you go with a car dealership?”
“George did the market research. All those dot-com millionaires in this area – some even had money left over once that bubble burst.” True, Microsoft, Amazon and small tech start-ups have made many people in the area very rich through the first dot-com run-up, then the drop, then the run-up again – and also helped insulate a bit from the subsequent economic shock and resulting stock-market deflation. Like large bodies of water, acting as temperature control. “And they were just the demographic to want these cars – fast and flashy imports.” Yes, from observing people around me – well-paid engineers, mostly male, but not millionaires at all – I could see that there was a market for the Lotuses, Maseratis and such that Mayfair Motors was selling.
“And I guess it helped that George really knew cars, so I heard?”
“Yeah. He was always into car stuff. Had good ideas about how to sell them, and what to sell. And that little car start-up of his – I think that might be big.”
“Oh, the one that Roger is working on?”
“Yeah, that one. That's a neat idea.”
“Yes, I wish Roger success with it.”
“That kid certainly had a lucky break – his sister marrying the guy with all that dough to finance it.” He chuckled again. The clear implication was that Rita had married George for his money. I liked Stan Greenwich less and less. Out loud I said:
“Your investment must have left you feeling pretty happy.”
“Yeah. I did well out of it. Always knew how to pick them.” He chuckled again.
OK, there didn't seem to be anything to the ‘former business partner’ angle. Stan was not a suspect on my list, from anything I heard from him so far.
While I still had him on the line, I asked Stan some questions about
George’s past and character.
“I’ve heard that George was very smart, and very driven”.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“By all accounts, a very successful businessman.”
“He did well. I taught him a lot, you know.” Sounded like someone wanted to brag a little. I tolled my eyes into the phone. “That’s what we talked about recently – other business opportunities to get into together.”
Here he was again, preempting the question that had been in my mind.
Did he have a reason to guide the conversation? Perhaps to make sure I didn’t suspect him? But why would I even start to suspect him? His former business dealings with George Ellis appeared to have been dissolved very amicably, and they still talked to each other.
I was about to wrap up the conversation, but then, fueled by my new dislike of him, decided to take a wild guess.
“Is that why you came to talk to him in his office the night that he died?”
“I … What? No. There is no way.” Stan’s voice sounded panicked. I decided to press on with my guess.
“There are security cameras around the house, you know. What would you say if I told you one of them recorded you going into George’s office?” Technically, I wasn’t lying – I wasn’t saying that such a recording existed, I was just asking him what he would say if I told him that.
“How would you even have access to that? Wouldn’t it be evidence?”
“Rita had a copy.” She did have copies of the footage, that showed absolutely nothing, as the hallway cameras didn’t cover that last bit of the the corridor in front of the office door. In his panic, Stan didn’t realize yet that if what I told him was true, the camera would have captured the killer as well, and would have identified the chief suspect. Not to mention, the police would know that he went into the office, and likely ask him about it when they talked to him.
“George was alive and well when I left! Very drunk, but very much alive!”
“When was that?”
A Motor for Murder (Veronica Margreve Mysteries Book 1) Page 5
