“They came to me,” Gilberte said. “They came to me, but I told them no.”
Others who had dealings with Gilberte, including Jim McCormack, were stunned by the news of the felony arrests.
McCormack had trusted her, even breaking his promise to Becerra to withhold important information about the investigation and sharing it with Gilberte, who promptly, and behind his back, went to the press.
Joe Becerra just shook his head when he heard the news, though one could detect a slight measure of satisfaction. He knew that Gilberte was badmouthing him, and he knew about her duplicity at the courthouse in Pennsylvania. He heard the news from a reporter who witnessed the contact between Gilberte and Pirro, and Gilberte’s subsequently loud and unabashed claims that Becerra was off the case.
If anything, Becerra knew that Gilberte had poisoned his case. Bobby Durst’s chief accuser, the last woman to see Kathie Durst alive, was a convicted felon. The investigator realized that if Bobby was ever brought to trial in New York, his attorneys would have a field day with Gilberte.
For her part, Gilberte tried to call Ellen, but Ellen wasn’t home. When Ellen saw Gilberte’s number on her caller ID later that day, she decided she wouldn’t call back. She was thoroughly disappointed in Gilberte and didn’t know what she’d say if she spoke to her.
Ellen knew Gilberte had once had legal problems, that she’d been arrested for drug possession. Gilberte’s sister, Fadwa, had even called Ellen to ask for her help. Ellen obliged, with the understanding that Gilberte would seek counseling. But Ellen was surprised and shocked to learn that Gilberte had been arrested five other times, and angered that Gilberte never told her.
Ellen thought the friends were all on a unified mission, to bring Bobby to justice. Or so she had thought. Now she began to rethink her friendship with Gilberte, reevaluating everything Gilberte had told her over the last twenty years. If she could lie about her past, Ellen figured Gilberte could lie about everything else.
—
The People’s Bank was on Post Road in Westport, Connecticut, and Ellen Strauss hurried there from her home, down Route 53, to Route 57 past the Merritt Parkway. Once she arrived, she rushed inside the bank, her fur coat flying behind her. She said a quick hello to the bank manager, then asked him to retrieve her safe-deposit box.
As she stood waiting on the bank floor, a thousand thoughts filled her head. Ellen had wanted to come here first thing in the morning, but she couldn’t cancel what turned out to be a long day in court. So she raced to the bank afterward.
Ellen had spent the last couple of days thinking about Gilberte. Prior to Kathie’s disappearance, they had met only once. Gilberte belonged to another part of Kathie’s life, to a lifestyle Ellen had no idea Kathie was involved in.
Between Ellen and Gilberte, the only mutual connection was Eleanor Schwank. After Kathie disappeared Gilberte and Ellen became closer as they tried in vain to search for their friend. They had been drawn together by tragedy, and Ellen’s emotions had sometimes wedged themselves between her and common sense. Ellen wasn’t the suspicious type, and she’d had no reason to doubt anything that Gilberte ever said to her.
Years later, when Gilberte called her to help her out of a drug arrest, Ellen thought it was a simple, onetime event. A character flaw. She was an attorney and she obliged, figuring she was helping a friend. She even put aside stories she’d heard about Gilberte’s visits to several crack houses in the Danbury area.
When Joe Becerra began investigating Kathie’s disappearance, Ellen saw it as a last great chance for justice. Like most of Kathie’s friends, including Eleanor and Kathy Traystman, Ellen offered to help in any way she could. She even set time aside to search for Susan Berman, finding her address in Los Angeles and forwarding it to Becerra.
Ellen thought all the friends were working toward one goal, to find out what had happened to their friend Kathie Durst. So it came as a great shock when she read about Gilberte’s film deal. She was confused by the story and didn’t know what to make of it.
This can’t be true, she thought.
Then came the crushing blow—Gilberte’s criminal past, all of it.
Ellen had always considered herself smart, a good judge of people. She’d believed Gilberte all these years, even Gilberte’s claim that Kathie’s loss was the reason why she fell as hard as she did. But now Ellen felt used, manipulated, deceived. She realized that Gilberte had never been straight with her. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She began to dissect everything Gilberte had ever told her, particularly over the last year. The more she remembered, the more she saw through Gilberte’s duplicity.
Ellen decided to reach out to a friend named Tom Egan* who had at one time dated one of Gilberte’s sisters. She hadn’t spoken to him in years, yet when she called him at home he was pleased to hear from her. They chatted like old chums, talking about the old days and what had become of each of them. As the conversation continued, it shifted to Bobby Durst and all that had happened over the last two years.
Tom asked Ellen what she thought of Bobby dressing as a woman and the news reports that he had used several different identities, even those of old high school classmates.
“He’s obviously had some kind of breakdown. I mean, who would act like that?” said Ellen.
Tom had a different theory. He’d never met Bobby, but he read most of the newspaper and magazine stories and concluded there was more to Bobby Durst, more than anyone could imagine.
“Serial killer?” said Ellen. “That’s pretty frightening stuff.”
“I would suggest that he’s a pretty frightening guy. At least that was what Kathie was saying at Gilberte’s party.”
“Which party?”
“The one where Kathie disappeared,” said Tom.
Ellen was floored. “You were there? Do you remember it?”
Tom had been there, a guest of Gilberte’s sister, and he said he remembered the event clearly, even now, twenty years later.
“I’ve read in the papers and seen on television how Gilberte described it as a simple, catered, low-key family affair. I can tell you, that was no family party,” said Tom.
Ellen listened intently as he described the throbbing music, the catered food, and the cocaine and booze, which was flowing.
“You have to remember, this was 1982. Cocaine was the drug in those days. And we had never heard of AIDS. Coke, sex, booze. It was part of the times,” said Tom.
“I know, it was just never anything I got involved in,” said Ellen. “Did you see Kathie?”
Tom remembered Kathie, his heart dropping the moment she walked in the door. She was dressed in sweats and wore little makeup. But Tom was struck hard by her natural beauty. He said she arrived late in the afternoon and headed straight for the wine, downing several large glasses in succession. She then began snorting excessive amounts of cocaine. One line, two lines, three lines. When that wasn’t enough, Gilberte would be there at her side with a coke spoon. Kathie would dip it, then bring it up to her nose.
The more Kathie drank and snorted, the more she ranted about her problems with Bobby. She was wild, talking incessantly and loudly, telling anyone who would listen about the papers she had and how Bobby was beating her. And Gilberte was no help, said Tom, standing there egging her on, telling her again and again that it was finally time to get her divorce and her settlement and leave his sorry ass once and for all.
Between the ranting and the drinking and the drugs, Tom found a chance to walk by and say hello.
“I introduced myself, and she just smiled at me, drinking away. You could tell she was in pain. All that drinking and snorting, it was to hide the pain,” said Tom.
And there was something else, he said. It had to do with Gilberte, how she had reacted when Kathie finally arrived.
“Gilberte had a look in her eye. You could tell just by the way she gaz
ed at Kathie, how she hovered over her, how she touched her, that she had a thing for her. It was more than a thing. She was in love with Kathie. Someone actually said it at the party, that Gilberte was in love with Kathie. Jesus, if I had the chance, I would have been in love with Kathie. She was that beautiful.”
Ellen was shaken. This wasn’t what she had been told. This wasn’t what she was led to believe all these years. Gilberte had said the party was a quiet affair, that Kathie had perhaps a glass or two of wine. Cocaine? Gilberte never said anything about that. She always denied stories that Kathie was doing drugs.
As Ellen listened, it was apparent that Gilberte had hid a lot of things.
Tom said he remembered a phone call, that Kathie spoke to a man who he later learned had filed suit against Bobby. But the man told Kathie that the suit had been dropped, and she was infuriated, screaming between snorts of cocaine how she couldn’t believe how Bobby had gotten away with it.
“She was livid. Absolutely livid. And her anger was heightened by the drugs,” said Tom.
“That had to be Peter, Peter Schwartz,” said Ellen. “That’s the guy Bobby kicked in the face.”
Tom didn’t remember the name, but he did remember Gilberte telling Kathie that there was no way Bobby should be allowed to get away with this.
“Gilberte kept pushing and pushing,” said Tom.
By 7 P.M. Gilberte didn’t have to push anymore. Kathie had had enough and called Bobby, telling him she was coming home. It was time to settle this.
“She was going to go home and confront him. She was telling everyone that he was hitting her, but the way she was talking, she didn’t seem to be concerned. And neither was Gilberte.”
After Kathie said her good-byes to everyone, Gilberte walked her outside.
“I don’t know what they said, but I’ve heard Gilberte tell that story, about Kathie warning her that Bobby might do something,” said Tom.
“Gilberte’s told that story a thousand times, how they were outside and Kathie told her if anything happened to her, it was Bobby,” said Ellen, who was near tears. “Now I don’t believe it happened that way.”
“I never did,” said Tom. “And I never understood how Gilberte let Kathie drive home that night in her condition. And that’s not all highway. There were some dark mountain roads to go over on a rainy, snowy night. Gilberte must have thought that Kathie was serious, that she was going to finally end it with Bobby, and didn’t want to stop her. She was in love with her.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” said Ellen, her voice filled with a sadness that reached deep inside her soul.
“No one ever asked me,” said Tom.
The two old friends promised to stay in touch, and maybe even go out for dinner sometime. After hanging up the phone, Ellen wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She was numb. This was not what she had expected to hear when she called Tom. She needed a drink, and was walking over to her bar when she was jolted by a thought.
“Oh, my God!” she said.
—
The next afternoon she was at the People’s Bank, sitting inside a small room and frantically searching through her safe-deposit box. She was looking for the letter. It was here, in a book, tucked away in a cellophane covering. Ellen found it, pulled it out, and held it up to the window, the light illuminating the typeface. It was dated October 28, 1953, and it was addressed to a Dr. Ralph B. Jacoby of Park Avenue, New York. Ellen slowly read each line.
Dear Dr. Jacoby:
I am writing to you at the request of Mr. Seymour Durst with reference to Robert Durst. I have known Robert for the past three years. Physically the only abnormalities have been seasonal pollenoses. Robert tends to be somewhat smaller than the average child of his age, but this is not due to any endocrine disorder. Because of concern on the part of Robert’s grandfather, there was a complete checkup by Dr. Samuel Z. Levine in May 1952. Dr. Levine’s conclusions were that Robert was normal in all respects, that he had allergic rhinitis, and that most of his symptoms were on an emotional basis.
In last April I sent Robert to Dr. William Schonfeld for assistance. Dr. Schonfeld saw Robert only twice, further sessions being impossible because of marked resistance on the part of the patient. It was Dr. Schonfeld’s opinion that Robert’s hostility toward his father and his younger brother was of such intensity that it might constitute a destructive psychodynamic force sufficient to produce a personality decomposition and possibly even schizophrenia.
I might add that a glucose tolerance test was done with determination of the blood sugar approximately five hours after a meal. This was found to be quite normal.
Sincerely yours,
Alexander G. Silberstein, M.D.
Ellen read the letter over and over again, focusing on the paragraph that ended with the words “personality decomposition and possibly even schizophrenia.”
She’d read the letter before, back in 1982 and again that day more than a year ago when she and Gilberte went through her file, which she had kept in her home.
All the letter had ever meant to Ellen was that Bobby had once had some psychological problems as a child. He was only ten years old when this letter was written and the grim psychological diagnosis was delivered to the Durst family.
It was clear that the Dursts knew Bobby had psychological problems, and apparently severe problems at that. With Susan Berman and Morris Black dead, and news stories suggesting that perhaps there were still others, the letter now meant so much more.
Ellen now saw it as a clue into Bobby’s past, and to his future. Kathie had once told her that the death of Bobby’s mother caused him great anguish. Just how much no one really knew.
Ellen put the letter aside and reached back into the box, searching through the remaining documents and papers, looking for that other piece of paper that Gilberte demanded be hidden, kept out of view from the police and reporters and never revealed.
Ellen found it, in the corner of the box, and held it up to the window. She studied it, then began to cry.
It was a time line she and Gilberte had written in 1982 several weeks after Kathie’s disappearance. It was an attempt by the two women to reconstruct Kathie’s last day in South Salem and at Gilberte’s house.
Gilberte had recalled the day’s events, and Ellen, the budding attorney, wrote it down.
The time line began at noon, with a phone call to Gilberte from Kathie, who was with Bobby in South Salem for the weekend. Gilberte told Kathie to come to her house for the party. Kathie had other plans. She and Bobby had dinner reservations with Janet Finke and her boyfriend, Alan Martin. Kathie said she needed to think about Gilberte’s invitation. Gilberte reminded Kathie that she needed to get away from Bobby. They hung up, with Kathie promising to call back, which she did an hour later. Again Gilberte tried to convince her to come to her house. Kathie said she’d let her know.
At 2 P.M. Kathie called Larry Cohen, her medical-student friend from Einstein. At 3 P.M. she called Gilberte again, telling her she’d decided to make the forty-five-minute drive from South Salem to Newtown, Connecticut, and would probably arrive in an hour.
Kathie arrived at Gilberte’s at 4 P.M. and stayed until 7 P.M.
Written on the side of the time line were two short sentences.
“Two grams of coke. Two bottles of wine.”
That’s how much cocaine and alcohol, Gilberte told Ellen, Kathy ingested during her three-hour stay at the party.
“Oh, Gilberte! Gilberte! Gilberte!” screamed Ellen. “How could you have done this? You lied all these years.”
Ellen remembered what Tom had said the night before, that Gilberte had been prodding Kathie to finally end it all with Bobby. Don’t just ask for a divorce, demand it. And don’t just ask for a settlement, demand it. And if he doesn’t give in, then tell him you’ll release all those documents, the bogus tax returns and stock statements
. And you’ll tell about the mysterious fires, and Bobby’s embezzling from the company. Make him understand that he’ll be fired from the family business, and the Durst Organization will suffer great embarrassment. Make him understand that you finally mean business.
When Kathie left the house that night, her five-foot-five-inch body filled with enough cocaine and wine to floor an elephant, she was ready to explode at Bobby.
Only Kathie hadn’t known that her husband was a time bomb.
And she hadn’t known that she was the fuse.
And she’d had no idea that Gilberte was the match.
Ellen closed her eyes, imagining the crazed state of mind Kathie must have been in when she arrived home that night in South Salem, the cocaine and wine fueling a torrent of anger that rained on Bobby.
He didn’t plan to kill her, Ellen figured. It just happened. She didn’t just get into his face, she stomped all over it, and he struck back.
He even said so, in the newspapers in 1982. He said she came home in a foul mood, angry over their personal situation.
“Oh, Gilberte, how could you, how could you?” said Ellen, mumbling loud enough that her voice escaped the small room she was in and could be heard outside. She put her hand over her mouth but couldn’t stop talking.
“How could you let Kathie leave your house and drive home that night in that condition? You were supposed to be her friend! And how could you even think she’d leave her husband for you? And how could you hide all of this for so long? You knew what really happened that day, yet you told no one. You didn’t tell the police when Kathie disappeared and you didn’t tell them now. You manipulated everyone. How could you!”
Ellen was venting, her emotions spilling all over the bank floor. She knew Gilberte’s secrets. It finally all made sense. Gilberte had been obsessed all these years, but not because of some self-proclaimed mission to bring Bobby to justice because of a promise she made to Kathie. There had been no promise. Only guilt. The kind of guilt that consumes a person and twists their soul. Gilberte didn’t just lie to her friends, the police, and the media. She misled Kathie’s family—Kathie’s mother and brother and sisters.
A Deadly Secret: The Story of Robert Durst Page 26
