Chanukah Guilt, page 17
“Hello, Rabbi. Hope you’re not coming down with a cold. It’s Ted Silberman here. I had a chance to look over that case file you gave me and was wondering when we could get together to discuss it.”
“Hi, Ted. Boy, that was fast.”
“I was having trouble sleeping last night—at my age, I should know better than to have a mushroom-onion pizza late at night; or at any time, for that matter—so I decided to take a look. I thought the dry verbosity of officialdom, combined with poor grammar and worse spelling, would help me sleep, but I got so involved in analyzing the material that I was up even later than usual.”
I was sure he would have had a sleepless night anyway, worrying about Thelma, but she was undoubtedly in the same room, listening to his side of the conversation, and he didn’t want her to know how concerned he was about her condition. I played along, knowing that he knew he wasn’t fooling either of us. “You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble, Ted. I appreciate it, though.” I had another thought. “I’ve been pretty much ordered to let the detective who was in charge of the case know what I find out. Instead of my repeating your report to him and undoubtedly getting something wrong or forgetting something important, why don’t we make an appointment to see him together? That way, too, you won’t have to repeat your story to him when I get it all bollixed up.”
Ted chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll get it right, but I don’t mind at all. I’m free after about two—I’m leaving in a few minutes to take Thelma for some more tests, then she’ll come home and sleep for several hours, if past experience counts for anything, so she won’t need me. And our daughter is stopping by this afternoon, so she’ll be here if Thelma wakes up and needs something.”
“I have a luncheon meeting at one,” As much as I like Ted, he is a congregant, and I didn’t feel like letting him know it was a private, social lunch, “so why don’t we meet at the Walford Police Department at three? I’ll call Lieutenant Merino and see if he’s free then. If it’s a problem, I’ll call and leave a message on your machine. If you don’t hear from me, then you’ll know it’s okay.”
After telling him to give my best to Thelma and a reminder from him to do a mi’shebarach—the special blessing for renewed health said for those who are ill—for her on Shabbat, I dialed Lieutenant Merino’s number again. “Yes, Rabbi, what is it now?” I doubted I would be getting a holiday card from him this year. Or any year.
I quickly explained Ted Silberman’s involvement and asked if we could meet at three o’clock this afternoon. Merino actually sounded impressed. “I know Dr. Silberman. He’s a good man. He gave some lectures on forensics at the Police Academy. Very informative lectures. He struck me as a thorough, thoughtful investigator. I’ll be interested in hearing what he has to say.”
I glanced at my watch and realized I should get a move on if I were going to meet Charlotte at ten at Chez Phillips. I left a note for Liz, letting her know I probably wouldn’t be in the rest of the day, but could be reached via cell phone. I wasn’t in the mood to rile her again by being incommunicado.
Chapter 25
Surprisingly, the address Marilyn gave me wasn’t in one of Phillips’ developments in the Walford-Medford-Marlton-Shamong-Tabernacle area. I figured Phillips hadn’t wanted to be too close to the scene of his “crimes” and had wanted to make it more difficult to find him outside of work. But they also didn’t live in one of the uber-upscale neighborhoods in Voorhees or Cherry Hill. Instead, they had chosen the equally impressive town of Moorestown, about a twenty-minute ride from my office, in the northeast section of the town where the houses weren’t mini-mansions but mega-mansions. I knew the general area because a pair of bald eagles had nested there a few years ago. The nest could be seen, through binoculars, from the edge of the road, but some people must have intruded too close for comfort because the next year the eagles moved the nest deeper into the woods. Not only could they not be seen from the road, but the woods were on private property. Every now and then, I would drive to the area on the off chance that I would spot one of them coming back from a fishing trip to the nearby Rancocas Creek, but I never saw them again.
I’ve seen resort hotels that are smaller than the Phillips’ house. It was an updated version of an English country home, the kind seen on costume dramas on PBS. The central section was flanked by two wings, one of which concealed the four-car garage, the other of which I guessed was for the “staff”—it wouldn’t have been PC to refer to them as servants. In lesser houses, the wing would be called an in-law or teenage suite. The addition was larger than my townhouse. I knew they had an au pair, and I couldn’t imagine trying to run a house that size without a full-time housekeeper. Somehow, I couldn’t picture Jennifer vacuuming, or, for that matter, cooking. I wondered if the housekeeper doubled as a cook, or if they had a cordon bleu chef working for them, too.
The several acres of grounds, situated at the end of a cul-de-sac that had only two other houses on it instead of the usual fifteen, were professionally landscaped, with trees bordering the long, circular driveway that fronted the house. The lawn was still green, and I hated to think about the pesticides and fertilizers that would run off from that green sward and wind up in the Rancocas Creek that I was sure was on the other side of the backyard. I couldn’t see the Creek from the front of the house, as a high fence surrounded the backyard. Tall trees filled in the area between the Phillips’ property and their neighbors’.
I waited only a few minutes before Charlotte arrived. Her jaw dropped when she saw the house. “How can you keep a place like that clean?” she asked.
“If you live in a house like this, you don’t worry about keeping it clean. You hire people to worry about it for you.” I could speak with authority, since I had a cleaning service come every week to do all the heavy work, which to me is basically anything more strenuous than loading the dishwasher.
“I wonder which door we go in?” Charlotte’s head pivoted from side to side as she tried to figure out whether we were lackeys or guests.
“The front door,” I said decisively. After all, this is supposed to be a classless society.
The bell was answered quickly by a plain-looking young woman who was burping a baby. The woman’s mousy hair, in need of a major trim, was pulled into a messy topknot with a rubber band. She was flabby and pale, with colorless eyelashes and tiny eyes. Her nose was her most prominent feature. Its size made it easy to overlook the acne scattered over her cheeks. Jennifer was obviously taking no chances with her husband’s libido. She probably figured that one mistress was enough. “Hi, I’m Teresa, the au pair. You must be here to get Madison’s things. Let me show you to her room. Then I have to go get Samantha here down for her nap. Just close the door behind you when you leave. It will lock automatically.”
We walked into a foyer that soared three stories to the roof, where an ornate skylight, in brightly colored stained glass, overlooked a double staircase that curved gently from a balcony on the top floor to the marble under our feet.
“I’ve got to see the rest of this house,” I whispered to Charlotte. She nodded her head in agreement.
Teresa led us to an—I kid you not—elevator, and pressed the button for the third floor. “What is on the other floors?” I asked.
“The basement—I mean, ground floor—” obviously, a house like this could not contain something as mundane as a basement—“has a gym, movie theater, and swimming pool. The first floor has the kitchen, breakfast room, conservatory, music room, living room, dining room, family room, and library. The family bedrooms are on the second floor. The third floor is for guests, with a large space for storage.” No attic either, I guess. Although the house would have been perfect for stashing away a crazy wife, somehow I didn’t see William Phillips as Mr. Rochester or Teresa as Jane Eyre and Jennifer as the crazy wife.
Hearing about all the rooms, I was too stunned even to say, “Wow.” But I thought it. I did, however, with a modicum of tact, comment soto voce to Charlotte, “What, no gift wrapping room?” She grinned back at me.
The elevator doors opened into a long hallway that was the balcony overlooking the first floor. The skylight was right above us. If it wasn’t made of Tiffany glass, it was a good imitation. Not that I know Tiffany from plastic. Teresa showed us to the second door on the right. “This is where Madison stayed when she was here,” she said, opening the door to a spacious room, painted a soft mauve, with Wedgwood blue trim and accents. It was furnished with a king-sized bed, bookcases, a desk, complete with computer and an entertainment center containing a CD-player, a TV, a VCR, and a DVD player. I wandered over to the double window, which faced the back of the house, and was able to confirm that the house did border the Rancocas Creek.
Teresa pointed to an intercom panel next to the door. “If you need anything, press the number ‘four’ and the housekeeper will come right up. I have to stay in Samantha’s room while she’s napping. In fact, let the housekeeper know before you leave. You just have to close the door behind you,” she reiterated.
We thanked Teresa, who nodded and left to put her charge, who was already asleep, into her undoubtedly very posh and very expensive designer crib.
“Why don’t you see what you can find in here?” I suggested to Charlotte. “I’m going to snoop around. I know it’s an invasion of privacy, but when else will I get the chance to see just how different the rich are from the rest of us?”
“Not all that different, from what I’ve heard. They just live differently. They have different values. They believe if you’ve got it, flaunt it. You know what they say: ‘The one who dies with the most toys …’”
“‘… is still dead,’” I interrupted her. She laughed as she went over to the dresser and began checking the drawers.
I didn’t bother with the other rooms on the third floor. My specific goal was the master bedroom on the second floor. I particularly wanted to see the contents of the medicine cabinet. But I didn’t want Charlotte to know, so I told her I was going to check out the first floor. I didn’t take the elevator, though, because I didn’t want the housekeeper to hear it. I would have to leave enough time to visit the kitchen and the rest of the downstairs, though, in case Charlotte wanted to compare notes later.
The second floor corridor was closed off, not opened to the downstairs or the skylight, as was the third floor. More privacy, I guessed. And quieter. I decided that the master bedroom would be in the middle, while Sophie’s room was probably at the end, as part of the au pair wing. It was.
The master bedroom took up most of the second floor. And it was basically two rooms—his and hers—which I found interesting. Jennifer’s side was very feminine, pink and frilly, not at all what I would have expected. Next to the bedroom was a warren of walk-in closets, one of which held only shoes, organized first by type and then subdivided by color. The bathroom—or, rather, bathrooms—came next, followed by more closets and William’s room. William’s room was very high-tech, with lots of chrome and glass. He had been living in a fantasy of a bachelor pad while being married.
The bathrooms were mirror images of each other, and each contained a sink, toilet, shower stall, and soaking tub with Jacuzzi. I headed first for the medicine cabinet in Jennifer’s bathroom. I knew it was hers because I doubted if William used the cosmetics that littered the top of the vanity. I didn’t see any brands carried by my local CVS.
Brian hadn’t been exaggerating. Jennifer’s medicine chest was as well stocked as a small pharmacy. I didn’t even recognize most of the items. But there was one bottle that I noticed right away. Instead of a prescription label from a pharmacy, it had what looked like a hand-drawn picture of the Tree of Life with “Healthy Life” in fanciful script. The word “ephedrine” was under the logo. Healthy Life was the health store Alan now managed.
I had come prepared with zip-loc baggies. Using a trick I had learned while weeding poison ivy from my tiny backyard garden, I put one of the bags inside out on my hand, took hold of the bottle, and turned the bag right-side out, so my hands wouldn’t touch it and destroy any fingerprint evidence.
Right behind the ephedrine was another bottle, this one marked “Valium,” and with Jennifer’s name on the prescription label. I repeated my plastic bag trick with this bottle, too. Since both bottles had been on the top shelf—I had to climb onto the vanity to reach it—and were in the back of it, I hoped she wouldn’t notice they were missing.
I decided to check Williams’ cabinet, too. It hadn’t yet been cleaned out, but there didn’t seem to be anything suspicious in it at first. Then I noticed a bottle tucked behind a can of shaving cream. Covering my hands with a third baggie, I picked up the bottle and looked for the label. There wasn’t one. I wasn’t sure how I could get the top off without messing up any prints, so I held the opaque plastic bottle up to the light. I wouldn’t swear to it, but it looked as though the pills were blue. As in “the little blue pill.” As in Viagra. It looks like Billy Boy was having trouble keeping up, so to speak, with both a young wife and an even younger mistress.
I wondered why there was no label on the bottle, when I remembered what had set me off on this search to begin with—William’s death from a heart attack. And there was a bottle of medication for high blood pressure in the cabinet, too. No reputable doctor would prescribe Viagra to someone with high blood pressure and heart problems, which means he had gotten them on the black market. I pocketed the pills and quickly left. I didn’t want to be found where I shouldn’t be and didn’t know how long the housekeeper would be in the kitchen.
I went downstairs and took a fast tour of the first floor, so I could describe it to Charlotte. It was so large I couldn’t take it all in. My impression was of opulence and formality—not my style at all. I doubt if Ikea or Best Buy carry the furnishings and electronics I saw in the Phillips’ house.
The housekeeper looked up in surprise as I entered the professionally equipped kitchen. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I couldn’t resist taking a peek.”
“You must be one of the people here to get Madison’s things.” I nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry,” she laughed, “not many people can come in this house without snooping around. No secrets here—no crazy wife stashed in the attic.”
I laughed with her. “I was wondering about the same thing.” I didn’t add, though, that I was sure there were quite a few secrets here.
I thanked her for letting me intrude on her work and let her know that Charlotte would probably be taking the tour next. I went back up to Madison’s room where Charlotte was looking out the window. “Beautiful view,” she commented turning around. “I found the jewelry, so I guess we can leave now.”
“Why don’t you take a tour of the house? It’s phenomenal. And I already told the housekeeper that you’d probably be looking around. I’ll stay here and see if there’s anything else we should bring back to Marilyn.” What I really wanted to do was look at the computer.
Charlotte avidly agreed. As soon as she closed the door, I booted up the computer. There were almost no files on it, and very little e-mail. The delete folder hadn’t been emptied, but there was nothing in it that caught my attention. It was interesting, though, that someone—Madison or someone else?—had tried to erase the laptop, but not this desktop. It made me think that it wasn’t Madison, or she would have cleared out this computer’s trash bin before moving to the dorm.
By the time I examined everything I could think of, I barely had time to log off before Charlotte returned. We buzzed the housekeeper to let her know we were leaving and took the elevator back to the entry foyer. Neither of us spoke before we left the house, but as we walked to our cars, we began comparing notes. What we really did was try to come up with more and more outrageous adjectives to describe what we’d seen. “The place should be called ‘Conspicuous Consumption,’” I said, shaking my head in wonder at how much it must have all cost.
Charlotte agreed. “The price of those copper pots in the kitchen alone could feed a small Third World country for a year.”
We said our goodbyes and drove off, Charlotte to deliver Madison’s jewelry to Marilyn and me to drive around in the hopes I would spot one of the bald eagles. I didn’t have any success and drove instead to meet Caryn for lunch.
Chapter 26
Just as I pulled into the parking lot of the Mexican Food Factory, my cell phone rang. I glanced apprehensively at the screen, hoping it wasn’t Caryn canceling our “date.” It was Liz.
“Rabbi, I hate to do this to you, but Diane Greenberg just called. She’s worried about the weather tomorrow night—the bar mitzvah rehearsal and photographer are scheduled for then, but the forecast is getting worse. They’re talking about six to nine inches of snow by tomorrow night. Diane wanted to know if they could do it tonight instead. I told her you have to be at Triple-U by eight o’clock, and she said she’d talked to the photographer, and he can be at the synagogue by five. Will that work for you?”
I did some quick calculations. “I’ve got a three o’clock meeting, too, and I don’t know how long it will take. And I’ll have to run home and change first.” I was dressed nicely enough for a regular day, but not for bar mitzvah pictures. There were times when I felt like rethinking my opposition to clerical robes. “Tell Diane to have the photographer take the family pictures before I get there, and I’ll be there as early as I can for the rehearsal. If I’m not there until late, Ron can start without me.” I realized that it would mean that I probably wouldn’t have time to go to WUMPAH before the memorial service. But we don’t allow photography on Shabbat in general and certainly not during services, plus the kids always need a dress rehearsal before the Big Event. I had been neglectful enough of my job the past few days, and needed to make time for the pictures and the rehearsal today, even if it meant that some of my sleuthing was delayed. This wasn’t even a matter of priorities; there was no question that my responsibilities to my congregation came first.
