“Not good enough,” said Elise. "How are we ever going to get rid of Michael and Marcel?”
"Michael, I think we can handle now. Marcel, we will wait until he comes to us. Which he will do once Michael is gone."
"Tell me about Michael. What are we to do?"
Jennifer smiled. "We are going to bring him here, and we are going to invite him into our web. Help me get Michael. Loving that Michael!”
"And how? Where will we do that?"
"Right here in my summer house. Specifically, in the basement. Have you ever been tied to a pole?"
"What are you saying?"
"I am saying that you are the cheese and Michael Gresham is the rat. A dear rat.”
“You're bringing him here?"
"No, Verona is bringing him here."
"His wife, Verona?"
"Exactly. I sent a text message to her, and I’m sure she will react. It will bring her here with a great desire to speak to me. I have prepared her, and now I own her. Once I have her, I have Michael.”
“And I will go away and leave you alone."
"That's all I've ever wanted—to be left alone. With Michael.”
Elise was pawing through her bag but then looked up. “Are you on speed?”
“I’m on Michael!”
“Never mind about Michael. I’ll be taking my money and going where no one will ever find me. Çidde and I will live a long and happy life together. No one will ever know."
"All I ask is that you help me with Michael first. Marcel, I'm not worried about. He will eventually come looking for Michael, but there will be no Michael. There will be no Verona. There will be only me at my medical practice, doing my job with Michael.”
“Stop that. You don’t do your job with Michael.”
“Watch me.”
“Please.”
Jennifer returned the vase to the small safe. She closed the door. "What is the combination to the safe?"
"Joe."
"What do you mean, Joe?"
"Count the letters in the alphabet to the J, count the letters in the alphabet to the O, count the letters in the alphabet to the E, and you have the combination. You can't go wrong."
"Very well. I'm going to make you a sandwich, and then I'm going to take you to the basement. Is there anything else first? Restroom? Coffee? Whiskey?"
"Restroom and a small glass of wine. Preferably, French."
"Can do. The restroom is right down that hall, and then we'll both have a glass of wine and make ready for Verona."
70
Verona
Late the following afternoon, Verona was alarmed by the email. She knew that her patient was acting out, and she also knew the patient was going through a traumatic time. She did not want to see Jennifer injure herself, and she knew that the email was a sign of psychosis.
She predicted that Jennifer thought she was Verona when she wrote the email and sent it to herself. It was a terrible game and a dangerous one. It pulled Verona along like any caring psychologist.
She went into her office and closed the door. She opened her file cabinet and withdrew Jennifer O’Connor’s chart. What an actress, what mime, what a genius production, fooling me all that time.
She went back over her notes from the last three visits and saw how worried she’d been that Jennifer might be on the verge of doing something bad. It had been building and building, and now Jennifer was acting out. It was going to get worse, much worse than a simple email. She knew that she had to see her patient and try to talk her down. Not only that, but there was also more than merely caring for her patient. She was also afraid for the safety of Michael and the children. A sick mind could latch on to any of them and do extreme damage before anyone would even see it coming.
She placed a call to Jennifer's office, determined to set up a meeting with her.
But the office told her that Jennifer was busy with patients and was not taking any personal calls. Verona tried explaining that it was a professional call, not a personal call. Verona asked the front desk to talk to Jennifer a second time and plead with her to come to the phone. She said it was that urgent. The front desk person said she would, and Verona was put on hold, complete with some Kenny G sounds.
Minutes later, the front desk person returned and said that Jennifer had left for the day. Verona questioned her repeatedly, and when she hung up, she knew that Jennifer was avoiding her. She did not doubt that Jennifer was at her office and seeing patients. Verona decided she would go to Jennifer if Jennifer would not come to the phone.
Verona exited through her private entrance, never realizing she had ditched her bodyguard.
She went out to her Impala and drove east on Moser Road to its intersection with Western Avenue. She drove down two blocks and turned into the parking lot at Evanston Pediatrics and Adolescent Care. She pulled around back to where she had a clear view of the door marked private. Then she put the Impala in park but left the motor running. She sat back and peered through her sunglasses at the brown door. The time was 4:45 p.m., and people were beginning to leave the building.
Waiting in her car and studying each woman who came out of the building, she read their faces out of habit. It was a professional trait, reading others by their faces and their body language. It was amazing how much she could learn just by doing that. It was something she did all day, and she didn't just set it aside when her professional day was over.
As she waited, thirty minutes went by, and they were still coming out. Then, at 5:30, Jennifer opened the door and walked outside. She had a book bag over one shoulder and a medical kit over the other. She stepped forward several steps and then paused, cupping her hand over her eyes and looking around the parking lot. Evidently, she had forgotten where she'd left her car. As bad luck would have it, Jennifer began walking right toward Verona. This wasn't what Verona wanted, so she looked away, trying to hide her face as Jennifer approached.
As it turned out, Jennifer was parked right beside Verona. Verona heard the car next to her start up, and she watched as it slowly pulled out of its slot. The car, a Volvo sedan, rolled around to the corner of the building and then went out of sight.
Verona followed out to Ringer Road, where she could see that Jennifer had made a right turn. Verona waited at the exit, allowing two cars to come between her and Jennifer's car. Then she pulled out and tightened up the distance from two cars back.
They journeyed along Ringer Road for several miles before making a left and heading toward Lake Michigan on the east side of town. When they made that left, no cars were separating them, but Verona kept her distance.
She poked along, casually falling back and then catching up somewhat.
After several blocks, Jennifer pulled into a strip mall and drove beneath the overhang of a drive-through dry cleaner. Verona hung back, pulling into a parking slot 100 feet behind the woman.
She watched as the money was exchanged for the clothes, and then Verona made a shortcut across the lot and waited for Jennifer's car.
Within moments, Jennifer's car passed before her, moving right to left. Then she drove up to the exit and made a right turn. Verona followed from three cars back and, as they went along Tyler Street, the other intermediate cars began peeling off to the right and left. Finally, there was no other car between them, so Verona fell back. She allowed a motorcycle to zip out of a lot and pull up behind the Impala.
They drove in this configuration for another five minutes.
Then Jennifer made a left on Sheridan Road and pulled into the long driveway of a blond brick home on East Germaine. Verona passed on by and went down two more blocks before pulling over to the curb. Suddenly, she felt an urge. She whipped a U-turn and headed back up East Germaine Road.
She stopped and parked a hundred feet away in front of the neighbor’s house. She then exited her car, thought better of it, and climbed back inside.
She studied the blond house where Jennifer had parked. Definitely three-million dollars at least—two stories, fu
lly glassed-in front on the west and, Verona guessed, was fully glassed across the backside on the east as well. There was a two-car garage plus room for an RV. Deciding to be bold, Verona pulled in front of Jennifer's house. When she had stopped, she texted Michael:
Michael, I am at Jennifer Ipswich’s house on East Germaine. Did you know she is my patient? She goes by the name of Jennifer O'Connor. I did not know she was your client. She fooled us both. Come check on me. I’m a little nervous.
She left the cell phone caught between the visor and the roof. She knew it could be located by triangulation. Michael had the software. Help would be on the way, but she doubted she would need it. She planned to have a healthy discussion with Jennifer. Hopefully, they would work through Jennifer's pain and arrive at a solution, just like they had done at the office many times before.
She then climbed out of her car and headed for the front door, where she rang the bell and waited. She was still wearing her blue windbreaker, slacks, and penny loafers.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and there stood Jennifer. She was wearing blue jeans, a T-shirt that said Da Bears, and a sweater open down the front. She held a spatula in one hand and looked like a genuine housewife getting dinner ready for the family. Verona smiled and lowered her hand from the doorbell.
"Verona! What in the world are you doing here?" She stepped back as if shocked to find her psychologist at her door. “Did you bring Michael? Well done, you!”
Verona didn’t beat around the bush. “Jennifer, someone has taken my name and attached it to my email address, and now they’re writing emails and pretending to be me. I know it’s you, but I'm not going to be angry. But I do want it to stop. Could you invite me inside so we can talk?”
Jennifer smiled. She slapped the spatula against her open hand, threw back her head, and laughed. Real tears came into her eyes, and she wiped the sleeve of her sweater across her face. "Oh, one moment, please. My pot is boiling. Be right back."
Verona, caught by Jennifer’s sudden departure, had no idea what came next. On the one hand, she had delivered her message. On the other hand, she didn't want Jennifer to think she was a pushover. So she decided to wait and repeat her message if that was what it would take to get confirmation that the patient understood the game was over. It was a matter of helping her patient. Somebody had to step in and stop her from hurting herself or someone else.
Minutes later, Jennifer reappeared. This time, she held a silver pistol and came around the doorway, pointing it directly at Verona's chest. She smiled gleefully and said, “Come inside, Dr. Gresham. You and I have much to discuss." She laughed. “Not to worry, now. I’m prepared to pay for an hour of your time and get only fifty minutes again. You people!”
Verona was stunned. Her breath snapped in her throat, and she felt her knees buckle. A gun—that had never happened before, although she had had terrible times in Russia before leaving. But never anything like this where she was threatened with a gun. She didn't know what else to do except obey Jennifer’s order and follow her inside.
Jennifer said, “All right, we're going to go into the kitchen, and we’re going to sit down at the kitchen table and discuss this like two civilized human beings. Can we agree to do that?"
"All right," said Verona. "But you're going to have to put that gun away. I don't like being threatened, and I'm sure you wouldn't either."
Without lowering the pistol, Jennifer got behind Verona and prodded her with the barrel. She showed her where to sit at the kitchen table in a Captain’s Chair. She reached inside the pantry and brought out two plastic handcuffs.
"Now, bring your hands together because I'm going to tie you. Do you know why I’m tying you? So that you don’t try to run off after our hour is up!”
Jennifer began zip-tying Verona to the chair, holding the gun beneath her arm while she cinched up the nylon. Verona struggled and cursed in Russian, but Jennifer stuck the muzzle of the gun inside her ear. “No, no, no, my dear little Russian! Stop moving or I’ll have to shoot you!” Verona relaxed, then, and allowed herself to be fastened to the chair. Jennifer then went around the table and took a seat.
"Now, you were saying?" Jennifer smiled. The gun was laid upon the table. The muzzle pointed at Verona’s chest.
Verona said bitterly, “I just want to know why you're bothering my family. We haven't done anything to you, and I want you to leave us alone. Is there anything so wrong with that?"
"You just don't get it, do you? Your husband Michael is hot for me and won't go away. I've told him to leave me alone, that he's married, but he says he’s so charmed by me that he's not going to give up. It seems like we’re going to have to send him a message."
Verona had collected herself somewhat. It was time to try reasoning with Jennifer. “I can see you really believe that, and I’m not going to argue it. But I do want us to agree to get some additional help today. Can we talk about that?”
Without answering, Jennifer then stood, went back to the closet, and selected a crescent wrench. She bent to her knees beside the stove and slipped the wrench behind it.
Verona saw her move her hand up and down and heard a grunt. Jennifer turned her head back around and spoke to Verona with her hand yet behind the stove.
"You didn't ask, but I'm loosening the nut that fastens the gas pipe to the stove. Why? I’m sure you can figure that out, doctor.”
"Please, I've delivered my message, and you don't want Michael to bother you. I'll make sure he never calls you or talks to you again. Just let me loose, and we’ll be rid of each other. I promise."
Jennifer stood to her feet and smiled. "Women like you just don't get it. Men just can't leave me alone. Your husband fell, and he fell hard. The only way I'm going to get his attention and get him to leave me alone is to take you out of the picture and let him know I'm serious. I have to go to court in the morning, and I'm going to make sure you're well taken care of when I leave."
"What about the gas pipe?" said Verona. "You're going to blow this house up, leaving the pipe pulled off."
"Oh, I just loosened it. There's no gas escaping yet. But there will be when I go to court in the morning. In the meantime, you sit here and think about what you've done and try to get some rest. You're going to need to be rested up tomorrow when I leave. Promise you’ll try to sleep some?"
"My husband is going to come looking. And the first thing he's going to think is that you've done something like this. I have no doubt he'll come here and find me. You're making a huge mistake because Michael can be very unforgiving. If he catches you like this, holding me hostage and threatening me, I wouldn't want to be you."
"Darling," said Jennifer with a lilt in her voice, "not a chance. You could never be me!”
71
Paris
Marcel wasted no time locating Elise's mother in Paris. He called her and made arrangements to come by and talk.
She lived on the outskirts of Paris, so it took Marcel's driver a full hour to get there in the heavy noon traffic. This part of the city was old and rundown. Soot covered the buildings, and smokestacks were billowing black smoke and reducing visibility as they drove along. The houses were built right up to the sidewalks, and they looked to be multifamily units. There were no yards in front, but there were trees everywhere, none of which looked healthy. The streets were heavily cracked, and the streetlights and street signs looked desolate and unmaintained. Finally, they arrived, and Marcel asked the driver to wait. The driver said he would.
Marcel went up the stoop to the front door and read the several names of residents inside. When he came to the bell marked Sarah Milam, he pushed the button. When a voice answered, Marcel identified himself. Then the door buzzed, and he went on inside. There was a stairway to his immediate right. He walked up two flights to number 306 at the top of the landing, knocked twice, and the door was immediately answered.
"My name is Marcel Rainsford. I know about your daughter, and I know she disappeared. I'm looking for her, not to bring tro
uble to her, but to help her. I would appreciate so much if you would talk to me for a few minutes and help me understand where I might find her."
Mademoiselle Milam looked Marcel up and down. She pursed her lips and turned her head to the side. "Çidde," she called. "Please run into your room, darling, as Nana needs to talk to a man."
She then had Marcel come inside and directed him to the couch, where he took a seat. She was nervous, and Marcel smiled to put her at ease.
He held out both hands, palms up, and said gently, “Please understand. I'm probably as worried about your daughter as you are. I come from Chicago, and I'm working with the lawyer who's trying to get money for your daughter. That's my sole reason for trying to find her. So far, it's been not easy, and we don't know how to pay her. Is there anything you might tell me about her whereabouts?"
The woman, sixty-ish with gray hair and blue-tinted spectacles, shook her head and clucked her tongue. "I can only tell you she has disappeared, and I hear from her rarely. I do have an address in Mallorca, Spain. I have it memorized. 11 San Luis, Mallorca, Spain."
Marcel nodded and committed the address to memory. Then he asked, "I'm sure you must miss her very much. Has she ever done anything like this before?"
"Please understand, Mr. Rainsford. Elise is nothing like this. She is as solid as the Eiffel Tower.”
"If it's all right with you, I would like to confirm a few details about Elise."
"That would be fine, I'm sure."
"First, we have in our notes that Elise works for LVP Partners here in Paris. She’s an assistant, correct?"
Mademoiselle Milam's face clouded over. She shifted her feet uncomfortably and arranged her dress across her knees. "I don't know about that. Elise is a turnstile guard at LVP. Has been for ten years. I've never heard of her being an associate as you mention.”
Girl, Under Oath (Michael Gresham Series) Page 22
