Broken Glass, page 22
“Excellent catch on o-p-p-i-h being Hippo backward; I wouldn’t have caught it.”
Kate smiled at the compliment. “Should we open the box?”
“Well, we have to know if the items are inside. Here’s a table we can place them on.”
Kate slowly lifted Ormsby’s vase out of the box; the large ruby glass necklace was swaddled in soft cloth underneath it. Kate carefully displayed the necklace on the table. Both women unconsciously stepped back. “So, this is it?” Lemon looked disappointed. “I mean, the glass beads are unusually big and pretty, but was it worth taking two lives over?”
“No,” Kate responded, her eyes wet with tears thinking about Eugene. “No object is worth that. But where is the pendant?” Kate paused and then picked up Ormsby’s vase and pointed to the numbers that were almost hidden in the cane work at the bottom.
“Here is an eight, a nine, two sixteens and a fifteen. What do you make of these numbers?” Kate didn’t realize that Annie Lemon was known to possess a unique skill with codes. She looked at the numbers and quickly made a pronouncement.
“These are the numerical correlates to the word Hippo.”
“Oh. That’s true: eight for H, nine for I, two sixteens for P, and fifteen for O. I wonder if they are pointing us in the direction of where the pendant is stored.” Detective Lemon and Kate began walking the storage area, turning at the numbers listed for the stacks. Finally, in aisle 16, Kate saw a large white storage box that had the title “Intern Glass Pieces” listed on it. She and Lemon lifted the box down from the stacks and placed the contents on a table. One piece, crafted in the Murrine technique, had been the work of James Lupinski, Father Lupinski’s nephew. Another was the work of Ormsby. And so, it went. Underneath the six pieces in the box, they found the pendant; Kate and Annie Lemon took it back to the table with the necklace and placed them together.
They spent a few minutes admiring the fabulously gilded ruby beads and the cold-painted image of Saint Augustine; Kate took a few photographs of both pieces with her phone. She turned the pendant over and gingerly opened the back. No gemstones were enclosed.
“I wonder what will happen to it?” Kate murmured, not addressing Lemon in particular. “By rights, it belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Rose, but I’m just not sure they will want it. I think I might talk to their Rabbi and get his ideas on the future of these deadly art pieces.”
“Well, the pieces have to go into evidence.” Lemon left both of Ormsby’s vases standing unceremoniously on the table. She placed the necklace and pendant into an evidence bag and took them back to the station.
Kate left feeling emotionally drained. From her car, she called Joan, who had been released to go home; Jablonsky didn’t charge her with interference in a police action.
“Joan, I was wondering if, after some time has passed, you would go to the Rabbi’s with me. I would like his counsel on how to approach the Roses. These are important art pieces that, unfortunately, have been irrevocably tainted by murder. Will you go?”
“Of course! By the way, I love you, kiddo; I’m so glad you weren’t hurt!”
Q
While the Pittsburgh airport wasn’t crowded, the International travel section did buzz with activity. People stood talking in small groups, too excited over upcoming trips to foreign climes to sit down. DeVille and Lemon walked slowly along the wide aisle between the two seating sections looking like any other travelers waiting to check in for their flight. Because of their uniforms, the regular police stayed well behind the detectives; everyone’s firepower was hidden. The airline worker standing behind her desk subtly indicated where the suspect was seated.
Antoine and Lemon circled around, came up behind Sarah Braithwaite, and quietly commanded her to stand up and put her hands behind her. Sarah’s head swiveled like Dr. Patel’s office chair.
“What are you two doing here?” she asked, remaining seated. It was as if she were meeting the detectives for ‘prinks,’ pre-drinks with friends before a flight or an event.
“Young lady, stand up and put your hands behind you.” It was Lemon who gave the command. She motioned to the police officers to come forward. “Cuff her.”
Reality set in for Ms. Braithwaite. “What are you doing? I have tickets to South Africa to see my relatives.” Sarah utilized her pretty blonde looks by starting to cry and comment to the travelers around her. “I’m just a young, innocent girl. These police officers are hurting me. I’m just going home to see my family.” It was a scene right out of a television series.
“Sarah Braithwaite. We are arresting you for the murder of Eugene Rose and the international smuggling of antiquities. Start walking.” Antoine leaned over and grabbed the carry-on piece of luggage that was by her chair.
“Hey! That’s my luggage. That bag belongs to me; you can’t take it. I want an attorney.” The enraged young woman was escorted out of the airport and deposited in the back of a police car. Once at the precinct, she made a call to her parents; several hours later, her parents and an attorney arrived. Sarah was Mirandized and taken to the interview room.
Q
“Ms. Braithwaite, for such a young person, you’ve already become quite the accomplished criminal,” stated Jablonsky, beginning the interview.
“Don’t respond to that. Chief Jablonsky, is there a question here?” Her parents had hired Elise Rosen, a criminal attorney well-known to Jablonsky and the courts.
“Yes, there is a question, but first, It is show and tell time.” Stefan reached under the table and brought out two violins, one wrapped in several layers of fabric. He took his time with the reveal, watching Sarah’s complexion turn arctic white. Finally, he carefully laid both four-string violins side by side on the table.
“What can you tell me about these two violins?” asked the chief, his voice silky smooth. Like a cat charming his owner, he slowly blinked his eyes.
“Where did you get this?” demanded Sarah, pointing to one of the violins.
“Why, it was in your carry-on luggage at the airport. This piece of luggage, to be precise.” Jablonsky held up the bag they had confiscated.
“You can’t go through my things!” Indignant, Sarah turned toward Ms. Rosen. “He can’t go through my bags—that’s private property. Tell him!”
“You are under arrest for murder and international smuggling. He has a warrant that gives him the right to search your belongings, your residence, your parents’ residence, and even your student office,” replied Rosen.
“Let’s start here.” Jablonsky opened a laptop and clicked on a video of Sarah and Johnny at the precinct looking over the objects taken from Mr. Davies’ safe. It showed Sarah picking up the violin, examining it, playing it, and then laying it back down on the table.
“Here comes the good part, Sarah.” The video showed that while Johnny stepped out of the conference room for a few minutes, Sarah snatched the violin, placed it in her large fabric tote, and replaced it with a look-a-like violin. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Ms. Rosen, who hadn’t seen the police video, raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment.
“You were filming me? How dare you! You didn’t ask my permission!” Sarah struck an indignant pose, then looked at her attorney once again, who responded with, “This is a police station Sarah, all of the interview and conference rooms have cameras. Nothing illegal was done in obtaining this video.”
The chief continued. “You will remember that at the time, I asked you if you had stolen this instrument, and you lied to me.”
“No, I didn’t! This particular violin is from Davies collection,” answered Sarah, side-stepping the issue.
Jablonsky took the other violin in hand. “This violin is a reproduction of that one. You counted on Professor McCarthy and other evaluators to be ignorant of that fact—unfortunately, you were wrong. You have been lying to everyone, Sarah. You’ve been lying to your parents, to Zane, and your professors here and in Italy.” The chief placed the fake violin off to the side, leaving the authentic one lying between them.
Rosen looked at the chief. “Okay, Ms. Braithwaite is a liar. That doesn’t make her a murderer.”
Stefan slowly closed the laptop. He eyeballed Sarah and spoke in a low husky voice. “I want to know how and why you felt the need to murder your good friend Eugene Rose.” Like a puff of scent emitted from a diffuser, the chief’s threat was subtle, but both Sarah and Rosen took note.
Young Sarah looked to her attorney. “Do I have to continue?” There was a studied arrogance in her face but also the slightest bit of anxiety. Rosen addressed Jablonsky. “Chief Detective, so far, you only have this video that shows Ms. Braithwaite switching violins. What evidence do you have that she murdered Eugene Rose?”
“I’m going to give you the evidence. It starts with the story of three pals, three young people interested in art history, art objects, and making a name and a career for themselves. Sarah, you knew that Zane was smuggling things out of Italy. You knew he routinely made deals with private collectors that were off the books. We showed this video to Zane, and in contrast to his previous statements, he has confirmed that you knew he was both purchasing objects on the down low, and then smuggling them into the States. He had the perfect set-up—the money could be laundered through his father’s manufacturing plants in Brazil.” Jablonsky continued.
“You decided to get in on the action, thus, the violin. You educated Zane about which antique violins were worth money, then you struck a deal with him. He could smuggle other items in your student luggage, and you would put the violin in Eugene’s suitcase, retrieving it when you arrived home. It would be stored in the safe at Zane’s father’s business until you were ready to go back to Italy. Because you shared a house with Eugene, you knew he could be absent-minded, giving you a chance to retrieve the violin when you both unpacked from the trip.”
“This is quite an intriguing and amusing story, Jablonsky, but where is your proof?” Rosen held out her hands, palms up, symbolizing their emptiness.
Slowly, Jablonsky took several sheets of paper from a file and arranged them on the table. “Here is a signed statement from Zane Davies attesting to your arrangement with him. Here is a copy of an email that we found on Eugene Rose’s laptop. And finally, here is the list of your Google searches made from your Italian professor’s computer—you ordered the Belladonna while you were still in Italy.” Ms. Rosen, who took her time reading the contents of each affidavit and email, slowly slid the papers over to Sarah.
Jablonsky said, “Read Eugene’s email out loud, Sarah.”
“She doesn’t have to do that!” cried Rosen.
“Then I will. The email is addressed to Zane.
Zane, I know that you have been smuggling antiquities and now have involved Sarah in your criminal activities. I saw her take a violin from my luggage that neither she nor I had bought. Either you stop, or I will report you to the police and the chair of your department at the university. Be a man, don’t involve an innocent girl in your nefarious actions. Eugene.
This is dated right after your return from Italy. Eugene thought Zane was manipulating you. He didn’t realize that the two of you were in league together. Why did you murder an innocent young man who was watching out for you?”
For the first time, Sarah’s facade of a sweet, dewy-eyed girl slipped—her green eyes grew narrow, and their color intensified with the knowledge that she might not be able to talk herself out of the situation. Jablonsky could see that fear was beginning to set in. Sarah looked at Elise Rosen, who nodded a go-ahead to her client. Sarah sat up straighter, and her voice gained volume as she made her case.
“You see this violin on the table between us? I love it. I adore it. I study the artists who have created this inexpressibly beautiful instrument. Look at its curves and the patina of its finish. Right now, it is mute, but without even drawing a bow over the strings, I can mentally conjure up its sweet high notes and the longing its midrange can create. There is no price one can offer that even comes close to its worth.” Sarah paused in her paean to the instrument to observe Jablonsky.
“And?” responded the chief, who was intent on bringing Sarah back to the reality of her actions. “You love the violin. Okay. And how do we go from your love of antique violins to murdering one of your best friends?”
“You are such a philistine! You can’t comprehend what an instrument like this violin means to someone like the musicians of the world and to me.” As if she were Dorothy Parker at the Algonquin Round Table, Sarah threw down her dismissal of Jablonsky; all she needed was a martini and a cigarette.
“I may be a philistine, but you young lady, are a murderer. I ask again, what was your motive for killing Eugene?” Sarah continued to stare at the chief. Minutes passed, tension built, then, finally she spoke.
“Eugene was about to ruin my life. I couldn’t let that happen. Zane showed me that threatening email—he said he would talk with Eugene and smooth things over, but I couldn’t rely on him. Zane is weak. But, as you correctly surmised, I gave the violin to him to store—and yes, he was going to bring it to me when I went back to Italy—but Eugene was in the way of my plans.”
“Eugene was in the way of your plans,” repeated the chief. “You loved Eugene, correct?”
“Yes. I loved him, and I respected him. He was smart and funny, but—” Sarah stopped in mid-sentence.
“In the way of your plans,” repeated Jablonsky again, holding a psychological mirror up to her face. Would she see herself for what she was?
Jablonsky lifted up the violin and, with ballooning anger, stated, “Eugene was a human being; this violin is an object!” As he moved the violin increasingly out of her range, its physical separation from her incited an explosive response.
“Give me that! Give me that violin, you will drop it. Give it to me!” Sarah screamed, reaching into the air to grab the instrument the chief held high above her grasping hands. Sarah became wild and out of control.
“That’s enough! Sit down, Sarah! Chief Jablonsky, there is no need for these theatrics and moral platitudes.” Elise Rosen tried to lower her client’s accelerating hysteria. Jablonsky, on the other hand, got what he wanted—motive and means. Now, he went for her full confession.
Sarah shifted in her chair. She brushed her blonde hair away from her face, cleared her throat, then folded her hands and placed them on the table in front of her. She looked like a schoolgirl ready to recite her lessons. “I knew Eugene’s habits better than anyone. I knew when he would be at the glassblowing class. The poison was easy to acquire in Italy—the Internet sells everything. I went to one of the classes with him to case the situation and discovered that in between classes at the glass center, no one is watching the area or the equipment.” Sarah’s voice became breathy, almost sexual. “No one stops a pretty young blonde from walking around. I was able to line his blowpipe with the poison, then leave and just wait for nature to take its course. I really did love Eugene. He was a good person, but don’t you see, his goodness interfered with my plans. I couldn’t let that goodness ruin my future. Really, what else could I do except murder him?”
Q
Back in the office, Jablonsky poured a generous amount of Jameson Black into three glasses: one for himself, one for Annie Lemon, and one for Antoine. They toasted the closing of the two murder cases. Annie Lemon remarked that the world of art and art collecting was new to her, and while it was very interesting, she hoped never to be involved with it again. “Collectors seem driven by a compulsion to possess a material object to the point that they lose their minds.”
“I agree on the whole, but for Father Carlotti, possessing the pendant was more about his spiritual life… although why a picture of St. Augustine, rather than therapy, would help him with his chastity issues, seems a stretch to me,” remarked Jablonsky.
Antoine had the last word on motives. “Along with obsession and compulsion, I think we’d have to stir in a cup of greed and two cups of the pursuit of celebrity into our stew of motives.” The three clinked glasses.
Q
A few weeks had passed since the Rose family, the Carlotti family, and the press received the announcement of the charges against Andy Ormsby and Sarah Braithwaite. Annie Lemon was in the bullpen taking apart the murder board when Antoine walked by, heading into the chief’s office. “He’s here,” announced Coupe.
Father Lupinski sat across from Chief Detective Jablonsky in the interview room. Stefan waited for the priest to speak, but when he didn’t, he prompted him.
“You were brought here because I believe that you have something to give me. You have the gemstones that Grandmother Rose bought for her grandson, Eugene. Am I correct?”
“Yes.” Lupinski laid a small black pouch that usually held rosary beads on the table. Jablonsky opened it and took out the stones. He recited Izzy Zaideman’s description as he laid them on the table: “Two diamonds, one yellow and one white, in case Eugene needs money; a three-carat citrine, Eugene’s birthstone; and a four-carat aquamarine stone, for tranquility. How did you acquire these?” Jablonsky touched each stone lightly with his fingertip.
“I stole them,” replied Lupinski quietly.
“You stole them. Well, Father, I think you’d better tell me the whole story.” Jablonsky settled back in his chair.
“When Father Carlotti hired Bogey Johnson to toss Eugene and Sarah Braithwaite’s house for the flash drive, he didn’t find the drive, but he found these gemstones in a freezer bag under some frozen vegetables at the bottom of the freezer drawer. Apparently, Eugene’s grandmother had given them to him before his Bar Mitzvah, with a note about their meaning. I’m not sure anyone except Eugene knew about them, not his parents or even the girl. It was just luck that Bogey stumbled across them.” Lupinski stopped and drank deeply from a water bottle that had been placed in front of him.
“Did Sloppy Bogey ask for payment for the gemstones?” Jablonsky couldn’t believe that Bogey didn’t confess to finding the gems; the chief had to accept that he might have misjudged the grifter’s moxie.
