“Don’t thank me yet. First, we have to put together a case against her. That could take quite a bit of work and cooperation from you. I think I’m going to really need your help, Jennifer.”
“Michael, you’ve always known you can count on me. I’ll be there for you. I will get an email off to her tonight when I get home. My God, Counselor, thank you again.”
I then turned to Marcel after I had hung up the phone. He shrugged and smiled. “I heard every word. You own her, Michael,” he said to me.
I could only sit there and grin.
Hook, line, and sinker.
52
Michael
I was spot on because, sure enough, the next morning, before 8 o’clock, I received a phone call from Jennifer.
“You’re absolutely right, Michael,” she said to me. Her voice was lilting and determined. I knew right off that she was in. She had bought it.
“Tell me what you found out?” I asked. “I’m assuming by your voice that you’ve been in touch?”
“We have been in touch, yes. She sent me an email. Can I forward that to you?”
“Please do. Be sure, and don’t erase anything from it when you do. We will need that metadata in the header that came with it to prove it was from her computer and IP. I’m very excited about this and happy for you, Jennifer.”
“Wait until you read what she said. It almost bowled me over. All right, I’m forwarding now, and then I’m off to work. Please send an email letting me know what else you need, and let’s get to the bottom of this ASAP. Again, I’m eternally grateful. Goodbye, Michael.”
I set the phone down and sat back to wait for my email notice to chime. Sure enough, less than a minute later, her email arrived with the email that Elise had sent to her. It read as follows:
Jennifer, I'm so glad you contacted me. It was so good to hear that someone besides me was upset with Joe and how he was behaving. I think you know already, but if you don’t, when Joe proposed to me, I didn’t know he was already married. When we got married, he still hadn’t told me. I married that bastard, unaware he had another wife in the wings.
I would never have married him had I known. I can’t tell you how angry it made me when I found out.
I cried for a week straight while he was back in Chicago. I couldn’t even go to work. My eyes were red and bloodshot day and night. I had to tell Çidde that Mama had a cold. That’s what was making her eyes look bad. That poor little girl didn’t know what in the world was wrong with me.
This happened maybe six months before he died. And I have to be honest and blunt with you. When Joe died, I was not disappointed. I know I cried, and I was hurt, but deep down, I felt like justice had been done. I’m a very basic person, and I take things like that very seriously, but I believe that God is looking down on all of us, and there is going to be justice in the end. So, I think that Joe got what was coming to him when he died. I don’t want to say good riddance because that wouldn’t be loving, but now you know how I feel.
I called Marcel into my office. I turned my laptop around so that he could read the email for himself. When he finished, he whistled softly. “Our Jennifer has been a busy lady. There is no way Elise would’ve written this garbage. She’s French, and without overgeneralizing, something like this would never affect a Frenchwoman to where she would commit murder. She might throw a frying pan, but she’s not going to poison him. I think we’re on to something, Michael.”
“I can only agree. So, where do we go from here? What comes next?”
Marcel looked very thoughtful then began nodding. “Don’t you think it would be fantastic if we had Elise admit what she had done? I mean, I doubt if she will ever admit anything directly, but maybe we can start building our case a pebble at a time, getting pieces here and there out of her.”
“All right, what if we ask her how Joe might’ve died?”
“Exactly. Go back at Jennifer and pose it to her that we need Elise to show some knowledge of how Joe died. Anything along those lines will do.”
“All right, consider it done.”
I then wrote Jennifer and told her we needed, and prayed for, some admission from Elise that she had some knowledge of how Joe died. I told her we would take anything we could get, but the more specific, the better. I didn’t lose sight of the fact that I was dealing with a brilliant woman during all of this. I didn’t want her to see through me and knew that I must come across as very sincere. And so, I carefully worded my next email to Jennifer, taking care to sound as lawyer-like as possible. I then hit send and sat back to wait.
After dinner, I was sitting beside Verona, my laptop open, half-listening to CNN. They were having a special on Russia, Verona’s motherland, and she was intently watching. At any rate, my email notice chimed, and I clicked over to see what had come.
Jennifer had written:
Michael, below is the email I sent to Elise, and right above that is her answer to me. I really think we’re onto something here.
Here’s what “Elise” wrote:
Hello dear Jennifer and thank you for writing to me again. I’m sure I don’t know how Joseph died, but I do know I received a call from one of the crime lab experts in Chicago very early on. She told me that she had been involved in doing a workup on Joseph. She indicated she thought he had been poisoned with a substance called aconite. She said that it is a very deadly poison and one that causes a very painful death. She went into much more than this, and I don’t remember much of it. I wish I had written it down, but I did not think to. I hope this helps, and please let me know. Sincerely, Elise Ipswich.
I started laughing with pure happiness. We had scored again. It was so remarkable to me that the expert witness in Jennifer’s case, the toxicologist, had at one point testified the poison that killed Joe might have been aconite but a gas chromatography would be required to prove that definitely. The problem had been, of course, that Joe had been cremated and there was no tissue upon which to do the test. So here we were with Elise—who was actually Jennifer—telling us that Elise knew aconite had been used.
Of course, the second email confirmed a terrible fact. Elise was missing, and Jennifer was doing her talking for her. I had dreaded this moment, but deep down, I had known it would come. Jennifer had done something terrible to Elise, which explained her disappearance. The fact that her mother said she would not stay in contact with her and the fact that she was missing from work confirmed it. Plus, she had not contacted her attorney even once about the money she so desperately needed. It was stacking up to be a terrible situation, and I was sick at heart for Elise. I also knew that I was also building a powerful case for the prosecution against my client with the emails I was receiving. This created all sorts of ethical problems for me as her attorney because I was, in effect, enticing her to compound any crime she might have committed in making Elise disappear.
That was a problem I would have to face, beginning right now.
53
Michael
Jennifer's texting and behavior had caused me to file a motion to withdraw from the liquidation part of her case. I had it called up for hearing, she didn’t show up to object, and the court allowed it. I had no sooner finished discussing the Jennifer strategy with Marcel when I received a text from "Elise" as follows:
Michael, I have it on good information that Jennifer would like to meet you for a drink. Please let me know where and when. She's too embarrassed to ask you herself. Elise.
My pulse skipped a beat when I saw the text. Jennifer had set her sights on me, which was a bad, bad development. In my opinion, and in Marcel's opinion, Jennifer had gone off the deep end. Now, what had happened to Elise that Jennifer was now sending out emails and texts, purporting to be from her?
The same night that I received that text, I was sitting in my family room, reading a novel on my laptop, which I read on to keep track of incoming business emails. I had eaten dinner and was getting drowsy when my phone chirped. Another text. Again, from "Elise”:
<
br /> I'm standing outside your window. I can see that you are wearing the yellow shirt that you like so much. Please come out back and let's talk about a meeting. Elise.
Out the sliding door, I ran, heading for the back gate at top speed, which was quite fast, even for a man my age. As I approached the gate, I thought I could hear feet running away in the alley. I unlocked the gate and got it open. Since the brick through the window episode, I had been keeping the gate locked. Having to stop and unlock it meant that I had lost whoever was there because of the delay.
I finally made it out through the gate and into the alley.
Without knowing which way the person had gone, I took a left and ran at top speed.
At this point, I figured I was a good minute behind. Nevertheless, I put my head down and ran as hard as I could.
I made it to the street and looked both ways but saw nothing moving--whomsoever had been there having lost me.
I glumly walked back to my house and back through the gate. Just for a moment, I stood and stared into my family room and realized how easy it was to look at my house at night from the alley. The fence was slump block, six feet high, and was easy to see over by pulling oneself up from the outside. I assumed Jennifer was out there because the text had been from "Elise," and no one else besides Jennifer was playing that game.
I went back inside the house and decided to get Marcel involved. So I called him and told him what happened and asked him to stake out my back alley for the next several nights. I explained the whole story. He agreed that something needed to be done and said he would monitor the alley for the rest of the week.
When I sat back down after refreshing my coffee, I noticed my hands were shaking. It had upset me to no end to be watched inside my own house. It was virtual trespassing and was as real as someone standing right outside my window.
Now I was in a quandary. Should I go ahead and confront Jennifer? Or should I continue to play the game with her and see how much I could get out of her before the confrontation that would inevitably occur? I decided on the latter.
I decided it would be an opportune time to get back to Jennifer to request more information. I sent her a text:
Jennifer, would it be possible to get Elise to take the next step and admit she had purchased aconite? I need to see her confession, so I'm hoping you can manipulate her into something more substantial. Good luck to you on this one. Michael.
I sent that text out the morning after the alleyway chase. I would've sent it the night before, but I didn't want there to appear to be a connection between the two. How long would I have to wait before I would hear back?
Not long. Less than an hour later, I was in my office and having my first cup of coffee. When my phone chimed, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I was developing a Pavlovian response to my cell phone.
I opened my phone and read an email from “Elise” to Jennifer and forwarded to me:
Jennifer, I know that it's not that hard to get aconite. Joseph had me purchase some from the chemist when we had a roach problem under our kitchen sink. He told me to line the corners of the underneath cabinet with the stuff, so I did. The roach problem went away. I'm sure other people can easily obtain it as I did without a doctor's prescription or anything like that. You should also know that it is called wolfsbane in some places—best of luck, Elise.
Now, I had “Elise” confessing that she had purchased aconite. I had only to translate that into Jennifer making the purchase, and I would have my case. This was going to require some stealth work by Marcel. I called him into my office. He filled his cup from my Keurig and took a seat across from me.
“What’s up, boss?”
“I have Elise confessing she has purchased aconite. But what I need is Jennifer confessing.”
“Simple. I break into her house, get into her medicine cabinet, find out which pharmacy she uses, and bribe someone. When do you need it by?”
“Damn it, Marcel, I don’t want to know how you do things. Haven’t we had that talk before?”
54
Michael
Burglary is a serious crime in Illinois. There had to be another way than B&E. The other way presented itself.
"I've got a more palatable idea," I told Marcel. "Let me call Jennifer, and we’ll make an appointment to meet her at her home. You'll excuse yourself and use the bathroom."
"Her bathroom will be upstairs."
"So, I keep her busy. No one's timing you."
"All right then. Upstairs, it is."
I then called Jennifer and lied to her. I told her that Marcel and I needed to bring her murder case file to her. It was all part of us closing her case. Being a doctor and a non-lawyer, she had no idea what I was saying wasn’t true—or so I believed at the time. So, Marcel and I appeared at her front door at seven that night.
"Hello, and thank you for allowing us to come to your home," I said.
"Hi Marcel, hi Michael. Come right on in, you two."
She showed us into her living room—a high ceiling great room with two linen couches, four wingback chairs, and two glass-top coffee tables. The pieces were all modern, and the wall hangings on two walls consisted of Navajo rugs—which I'm sure were authentic—and pastel Southwestern landscapes. Here's a woman, I thought, who would one day retire to the Southwest, maybe Santa Fe, and take up acrylics or oil painting. If she wasn’t in prison for murdering Joe, that was.
Once seated, I started right in. "We needed to see you tonight, Jennifer, and really appreciate you taking the time."
"No problem. Think nothing of it. I'm so glad and anxious that we’re getting this case over with that I can't tell you. Would you all like something to drink, or are you hungry?
“No thanks. We ate on the way over, and I'm about coffee’d out."
“Some water? I have ice water?”
“Not for me. But thanks,” I said.
"Nothing for me," said Marcel. "But I'm wondering if I could use the restroom. Just a wee bit too much coffee earlier."
"Certainly, you may—that door there and then down the hall, third door on the right. The first and second doors are bedrooms. Those are the kids’ rooms. You may ignore those. All right, Michael, what are we going to start with?"
She was sitting on the couch, so I moved from my chair to her side and opened my laptop. “Here is your case file, and here are selected portions of the toxicologist’s testimony. I have these marked because they’re now a public record and I’m concerned about your reputation. Now, I'm wondering about the expert witness’s testimony, the toxicologist who testified about the aconite and the gas chromatography. Do you recall whether you've ever had aconite in your home?"
“Oh, I would never have that horrible stuff around. That's probably one of the most dangerous plants on earth, that wolfsbane. Having it around home—no reason on earth for that. Except maybe—maybe—to kill pests beneath the kitchen sink. Don't forget, Michael, I have young children, and they get into everything."
"Would you mind if we check out the prescription list at your pharmacy for you and Joe over the last twelve months? Would that be all right with you?"
Her face grew flushed, and the lines around her mouth tightened. Now I was getting somewhere—she was visibly upset. I had hit a raw nerve.
“It’s just so I can see what the public might find out about.”
"I don't see what in the world that has to do with anything in my case. Are you seriously suggesting that my prescriptions need to be checked out to see whether there was anything that might harm Joe? Or are his prescriptions to be checked out to see if there was anything he had to do himself in?”
"That's exactly right. What I'm doing is foreclosing a path that I can see the news media going down. At this point, I expect them to stop at nothing because you’re a doctor. Now, which pharmacy do you use?”
“The CDN downtown on Birch and Eleventh. Many of my patients use it, too. They carry everything.”
At just that moment, I could feel her m
ove closer to me on the couch. It was almost imperceptible and looked innocent. But there we were, our thighs touching, and I’m getting that old familiar feeling from long ago, the sense of the first touch with someone. I wanted to stand and run out but didn’t. I was getting too close to finding out what I needed to know. Plus, I couldn’t tip our hand to her. She had to think we were acting in good faith and innocently—so I remained in place. As I talked on, pointing out pieces of the toxicologist’s testimony that I wanted her to review, I realized she had moved her left arm up onto the back of the couch and that it was slowly working its way down to my neck. Then she grazed my neck with her fingertips. I looked up. I smiled at her, gently reached back, and removed her hand. I held up my left hand and displayed my gold wedding band.
“Sorry,” I said as I looked into the soft light in her eyes. “Married.”
My mouth was dry, and suddenly that drink sounded like just what I needed. “I’m wondering if I could get water. Possible?”
“Certainly, married man. You can get whatever you need at my house. Be right back. She jumped up and headed—I hoped—for the kitchen. For the kitchen and not into any of the rooms where Marcel might have crept.
While Jennifer was away, I stood and stretched my back, and looked around the room. For a moment, I wanted to bolt down the hallway and retrieve Marcel. Then, just as I was about to do just that, here he came, hands stuffed in his pockets and whistling a non-tune like he did when he was playing Mr. Innocent.
Girl, Under Oath (Michael Gresham Series) Page 17
