Easter Bunny Murder (17 page)

“No. I was let go by Mr. and Mrs. Allen just after Easter but I was rehired when Mr. Goodman became Mrs. Van Vorst's guardian.”

“Why were you let go?”

“The official reason, as explained to me by Mr. Weatherby, was that Mrs. Van Vorst could no longer afford to pay my salary.”

“Who is Mr. Weatherby? Can you identify him?”

“Yes, he's in the courtroom.”

“Will you point him out?”

Willis was apparently unable to do anything as rude as pointing to Weatherby, but he gave a nod in his direction and described him as “the man in the gray suit in the second row, seated under the window.”

“And what was Mr. Weatherby's role at Pine Point?”

“He was an attorney in the employ of Mr. and Mrs. Allen. When the Allens petitioned the court and became Mrs. Van Vorst's legal guardians, he took over from Mr. Goodman, who was Mrs. Van Vorst's attorney, and began managing her legal and financial affairs.”

“How did this change impact Mrs. Van Vorst?”

“It was very negative. He immediately began dismissing staff members, cutting more than a half-dozen employees. Economies were taken, there were no more fresh flowers, laundry service was cut, even food.”

“That must have been very difficult for you,” said Aucoin.

“I did my best to manage within these constraints so that Mrs. Van Vorst was not affected, but it became increasingly difficult. I was also aware that Mr. Weatherby was pressuring Mrs. Van Vorst to sign legal documents. She used to ask me what the papers were for, but I couldn't tell her. The Allens were also taking things from the house.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Mrs. Allen took some jewelry and furs. She said Mrs. Van Vorst wanted her to have them.”

“I have here a photo of Mrs. Allen,” said Aucoin, handing it to Willis at the same time it appeared on a video screen. “Can you identify the jewelry she is wearing.”

“Yes, absolutely. Those are Mrs. Van Vorst's pearl and diamond earrings. They were her favorites and she wore them almost every day.”

Another photo of Vicky appeared on the screen. This time, she was wearing a leopardskin coat.

“That is Mrs. Van Vorst's coat; again, a garment she wore almost daily in the winter,” said Willis.

It wasn't something you could measure, but Lucy sensed an atmosphere of disapproval beginning to develop in the courtroom. People whispered to each other and their expressions were grim.

“At first, I thought that Mrs. Van Vorst gave the Allens permission to take these things,” said Willis. “That's what Mrs. Allen said when I questioned her about some paintings that she was carrying out of the house, and I accepted that explanation. It wasn't until they took
Jelly Beans
that I began to doubt that Mrs. Van Vorst had given them permission.”

“What is
Jelly Beans
and why would Mrs. Van Vorst have been unlikely to have given it to them?”

“
Jelly Beans
is a sculpture by Karl Klaus and Mrs. Van Vorst was terribly fond of it. She displayed it with pride on a table in the foyer. It was a gift from the sculptor and her very favorite possession.”

“What happened to
Jelly Beans
?”

“Mr. Allen took it just before Easter this year.”

“You saw him do this?”

“Yes. I saw him putting it in a box and I asked him what he was doing.”

“What did he say?”

“He said I should mind my own business, and then he picked up the box and carried it out to his car.”

“What did you do then?”

“I called Mr. Goodman, but he said he had no legal standing in the matter since he was no longer retained by Mrs. Van Vorst. He advised me to make a memorandum of the date and time, which I did. I also began keeping a record of other things I found questionable.”

“It was shortly after this that your employment was terminated?”

Willis nodded. “Van Vorst Duff, Mrs. Van Vorst's grandson, died the week before Easter. They kept me on through the funeral, but let me go the day after.”

There was a little buzz in the courtroom; more than a few observers had lost their jobs in the recession and took a dim view of cost-cutting employers.

“Thank you, no further questions,” said Aucoin.

The defense attorney, Zuzick, hesitated a moment, but, receiving a pointed glare from Henry Allen, got to his feet.

“I just have one question,” he began. “Do you not think it possible that you were terminated for cause? That the Allens may have found your attitude to them unpleasant? Perhaps they found you unreasonable and uncooperative?”

If this was intended to upset Willis, it failed. He thought a moment, considering his answer, then spoke. “That may have been the case, but that is not what I was told. I was told that it was necessary to let me go because Mrs. Van Vorst could no longer afford to pay my salary.”

“How much was your salary, by the way?”

“Seventy-eight thousand dollars per year.”

“Pretty good, hunh?” Zuzick turned to the jury, his expression implying that Willis had been riding the gravy train. “Plus room and board, right?”

“A studio apartment was provided, as well as meals, because I was on call around the clock.”

“You got vacations and days off, right?”

“I took a few days when my mother died. That was in 1993.”

“No further questions,” snapped Zuzick, hurrying back to his place at the table.

The last witness called that afternoon was Sylvia Vargas, one of VV's nurses. Aucoin got right down to business. “Are you a licensed registered nurse?” he asked.

“Not in the U.S.,” she said, speaking confidently with a slight accent. “I am licensed in the Philippines, where I trained at St. Lucia Medical Center, but I do not have a valid U.S. license. I was hired as a home health aide.”

“But you were actually performing the duties of a nurse?”

“I was hired with the approval of Mrs. Van Vorst's doctor.”

“Are you a legal immigrant?” asked Aucoin.

“I have a green card, yes.”

“When did you start working at Pine Point?”

“I was hired by Mr. Weatherby, just before Christmas.”

“What did you find when you came to Pine Point?”

“Mrs. Van Vorst is very elderly and frail. At first, we used to get her up in the mornings and take her downstairs for breakfast. She enjoyed sitting in the conservatory with the plants and the sunshine. She would have her lunch there, then a nap upstairs, sometimes dinner in bed. She liked watching TV, she especially liked the old movies. The hairdresser used to come twice a week, she had a massage once a week, manicures and pedicures, too.”

“Did things change over time?”

“The first big change was when they shut the conservatory and got rid of the plants. We used to change her sheets every day, now it's once a week and we have to switch the top sheet to the bottom. If the sheets are soiled, we wash them ourselves. Mrs. Allen told us no more up and down stairs, that Mrs. Van Vorst should remain in her room for meals. Then she told us the doctor says no more food, only nutrition drinks. The hairdresser, all that, she said was too draining on Mrs. Van Vorst's energy.”

“Did you ask the doctor about this?”

“Mrs. Allen said we should not bother the doctor with questions, she would communicate with the doctor and tell us what he said.”

“When Mrs. Allen reported the doctor's orders, did you find them consistent with good medical practice?”

“No. I trained for three years at St. Lucia hospital, the best hospital in the Philippines. There I learned that patients should not remain in bed twenty-four-seven. They need a proper diet consistent with their ability to eat, they need pleasant surroundings, and they need emotional support from family.”

“You believe the standard of care declined between Christmas and Easter?”

“I would not call it care, I would call it abuse. The worst was the constant harassment, as Mr. Weatherby brought her papers to sign. She used to cry, begging me not to let the man in the suit come into her room. Sometimes she had nightmares about it. She would wake up shaking and frightened by the man in the suit.”

“This man in the suit was Mr. Weatherby?”

“Yes, that's what she called him.”

“Why was she afraid of him?”

“I think because he would shout at her and threaten her. I always had to leave the room when he came, but I would listen at the door. One time I heard him tell her she had to sign the paper or she would be homeless, she would have to live out in the street, under a bridge if she was lucky.”

Hearing this, there was a collective gasp in the courtroom. Lucy studied the jurors' faces. She saw a few jaws drop, and she saw their eyes flicker toward Vicky and Henry, only to be quickly averted. Vicky and Henry didn't betray the slightest emotion but they must have been aware, Lucy thought, of the tide of revulsion that was building toward them in the courtroom. It was never a good sign for the defendants when the jurors refused to look at them.

Chapter Seventeen

W
hen Lucy got home that afternoon, she took a glass of white wine into the family room and settled herself on the saggy old sectional, eager to see what the TV networks were reporting about the trial. Libby had already snuggled into position beside her, resting her chin on Lucy's lap, when Lucy grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on. She was just in time for the five o'clock news from Boston, and the trial was the lead story.

Veteran reporter Jack Hennessey was standing in front of the gray granite courthouse, mike in hand. “DA Phil Aucoin spent most of today building a foundation for his case against Victoria and Henry Allen, depicting the lifestyle of aged millionaire Vivian Van Vorst before the couple became her legal guardians. He first called Van Vorst's daughter, also named Vivian, to the stand and she described idyllic days at Pine Point, the Van Vorst summer home in Tinker's Cove, Maine.”

A short clip was shown in which Little Viv recounted happy times, a beatific expression on her aged face. Then the camera returned to Jack Hennessey. “Also on the stand were James Willis, Mrs. Van Vorst's butler, and a trained nurse, Sylvia Vargas. I'll report on their testimony at five-thirty.”

The anchor nodded. “Thanks, Jack. And now, Harvey Lyons has the weather. Looks like we're in for a heat wave.”

Lucy flipped to NECN, the regional cable channel, just in time to catch Attorney Zuzick giving a brief interview.

“What's your reaction to DA Phil Aucoin's line of questioning today?” the reporter asked. She was a young Asian-American woman with a serious expression.

“I'm gonna say what I always say on day one. It's day one. This is just the beginning. A trial is like a story and there's two sides. Right now you're hearing from the prosecution, but, believe me, we've got a terrific defense.”

“Why didn't you cross-examine the witnesses?” asked the reporter.

“Strategy,” said Zuzick. “The sooner we get through them, the sooner we get to tell our side of the story.”

“What do you think of the jury? Eight middle-aged women, three retired men, and one child-care worker.”

“Fabulous, best jury ever. I'm confident they'll come to a fair and just verdict, completely vindicating my clients.”

“Well, there you have it, Sandra,” said the reporter, referring to the NECN anchorwoman in her wrap up. “A confident reaction by defense attorney Zuzick on the first day of the Allen trial.”

“You were there, Ngaio,” said Sandra. “Do you think Zuzick's confidence is well founded?”

Ngaio looked straight into the camera. “Based on what I saw in that courtroom today, I'd say Mr. Zuzick has an uphill battle. Watching the jurors, I would have to say they seemed shocked at times by the testimony, at other times they seemed disapproving. By the end of the day they weren't even looking at the defendants, Victoria and Henry Allen.”

“What can we expect tomorrow?” asked Sandra.

“Attorney Weatherby is going to testify tomorrow and that should be very interesting because he has been cooperating with the prosecution against his former clients.”

“We'll look forward to that,” said Sandra. “Now, the traffic report.”

 

Next morning, traffic in the little town of Gilead was impossibly snarled. The trial was suddenly a big story and the parking lot at the courthouse was filled with satellite trucks from various TV stations, while the nearby streets were filled with cars as drivers looked in vain for parking spaces. Delivery trucks compounded the problem, double-parking as additional provisions were unloaded at the restaurants and coffee shops nearest the courthouse, which were anticipating a rush of business. Lucy joined the line of cars threading through the streets, all marked with
NO PARKING
signs, until she had a sudden brain wave and remembered the lot at the high school football field. It was already nearly full when she pulled in, but she did find a vacant spot at the very back. She then had to walk nearly a mile to the courthouse, worrying that she wouldn't be able to get a seat.

Her fears were confirmed when she entered the stately building's large lobby and found a line waiting at the door of the courtroom. She approached one of the court officers who was guarding the door, her press card in hand, but he shook his head. Fortunately, she saw Deb Hildreth pop up and wave to her, indicating she'd saved her a seat, and the officer let her enter.

“Thanks,” said Lucy, plunking herself down beside Deb, panting from the jog to the courthouse. “You're a lifesaver. I had to park at the football field. It's crazy out there.”

“I run every morning. My route takes me past the courthouse and when I saw the parking lot filling up, I went straight home to change and hurried back. I got here around seven and there were already a bunch of people ahead of me in line. I couldn't believe it.”

Lucy was astonished. “You waited in line for three hours?”

“Two and a half. They opened the doors at nine-thirty. It was like a land rush in a Western movie.”

“Let me buy you lunch,” said Lucy.

“I figured the lunch places would be jammed so I grabbed some food, too,” said Deb.

Lucy was impressed by Deb's foresight. “Well, tomorrow I'll do the early shift.”

There was a little stir in the courtroom when Juliette arrived, and the news photographers lining the walls jostled for position, competing to get the best shot of the model. She was once again accompanied by Andrew Duff and Peter Reilly, but Little Viv had apparently stayed home. Spotting Bob Goodman, Lucy gave him a little wave, which he acknowledged with a nod. There was another flurry of activity when Vicky and Henry arrived, along with Zuzick, who made a point of greeting reporters he recognized from previous trials. It was a smart strategic move, thought Lucy, but even more likely was just an expression of the attorney's ebullient and friendly personality.

“I wonder why Zuzick agreed to take this case,” mused Lucy aloud. “The Allens are so despicable—he's bound to lose.”

“Money, my dear,” said Deb. “Mucho money.”

Lucy chewed her lip. “He must have found something positive about them. He must have something to build a defense on, don't you think?”

“Actually, no,” said Deb, as the judge entered the room and they all stood up. “But they've got to have a lawyer, that's the way the system works, and he probably figured it might as well be him.”

Judge Featherstone, as was his habit, got straight to business and Aucoin called his star witness, George Weatherby.

As he approached the witness stand, Weatherby was the very picture of a model attorney. His gray hair was clipped short and neatly combed, his complexion had the ruddy tone of a man who enjoys a glass of Scotch or two before dinner. He was wearing a neat gray suit, white shirt, and green and white striped tie. His sturdy black brogues were highly polished and, if you didn't know that this was a man who had conspired to defraud a frail old woman and had now turned on his co-conspirators, gave an impression of solidity and responsibility. Lucy, who had always considered a man's shoes a reliable indicator of his character, was insulted by his choice; in her view, he ought to have been wearing pointed-toe lizard mocs. From now on, she thought, perhaps she should only trust men like Bill, who wore white socks and tan work boots with thick Vibram soles.

Weatherby raised his arm and took the oath, then sat down and prepared himself for questioning by shooting his starched white cuffs. Lucy almost groaned out loud; it was a gesture she associated with arrogance and a show of power and which she detested. So, apparently, did Deb, who rolled her eyes.

After establishing that Weatherby was a graduate of Boston University School of Law who was a member of the bar in Maine and had practiced for more than thirty years, Aucoin moved on to his relationship with the Allens.

“Mr. Allen came to my office in Portland approximately two years ago, asking for my assistance in recovering money he had invested with Porter Stasko.”

There was a little stir in the courtroom when he pronounced the name of Stasko, known to everyone as the originator of a massive Ponzi scheme.

“Mr. Allen said he was virtually impoverished having invested his entire assets with Stasko. He was especially distressed because he had also invested his wife's trust fund and that had also been lost.”

“What did you advise him to do?”

“I looked into the matter, but found there was no realistic likelihood of recovering the lost assets. In fact, the Allens had actually profited originally from the scheme—using the so-called profits to buy an apartment in New York City—and there was a definite possibility that the court would require them to sell the apartment and return that money to the court to repay others who had been swindled.” He paused. “I told Mr. Allen I was terribly sorry but I could see no legal remedy to his problems.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He was very upset. He said creditors were pressing him and, in fact, he didn't see how he was going to meet his next mortgage and health insurance payments. He actually broke down and cried, saying he didn't know how he was going to explain all this to his wife. He said it had all come at a terrible time. She had just become a board member of the New England Ballet and had promised to make a major donation, as is customary. It would be a terrible embarrassment, a social disaster, if she couldn't fulfill her pledge.”

“And what was your response to this?”

“I asked if there were any family members who could help and he kind of laughed. He said, ironically enough—those were his words,
ironically enough
—his wife was the granddaughter of one of the richest women in America, Vivian Van Vorst.”

“And I suppose you suggested he approach Mrs. Van Vorst for help.”

“Exactly,” agreed Weatherby, nodding and tenting his fingers. He wore a solid gold signet ring on his pinky, but no other jewelry except for a solid-looking gold watch with a simple leather band. “But he said that was no-go. His wife was the beneficiary of a trust fund, which Mrs. Van Vorst considered ample for her needs, and that was that. The old woman absolutely refused to discuss money with anyone but her attorney.

“I suggested we set up a meeting with Mrs. Van Vorst's attorney, Bob Goodman, and also advised him to inform his wife, Victoria, of the situation as soon as possible. I arranged a bridge loan for the Allens, but it was purely a temporary solution. We met with Attorney Goodman and he agreed to approach Mrs. Van Vorst on the Allens' behalf, which he did, but unfortunately the timing was bad. This was October 2008, when the stock market plunged. He reported that Mrs. Van Vorst was panicked and felt herself unable to give them the money they needed.”

Lucy glanced at Bob, who was seated in front of the bar, behind the prosecution's table. His expression was grim.

“The Allens were very disappointed. Furthermore, the bank had called in the bridge loan. Things looked very bad indeed. It was after this meeting with Mr. Goodman when Mrs. Allen stated that she wondered if her grandmother was actually in her right mind. She said this panic was not characteristic and said perhaps her grandmother required a legal guardian.

“I saw that this might be a solution to their problem because a guardianship would give them control of Mrs. Van Vorst's assets. And, furthermore, it seemed that it would be in Mrs. Van Vorst's best interests to have a loving granddaughter managing her affairs, rather than a busy lawyer like Mr. Goodman, who had so many other demands on his time and attention. The court agreed and Mrs. Allen became Mrs. Van Vorst's legal guardian early in 2009.”

Checking Bob's reaction, Lucy saw his face had reddened; he was clearly displeased.

“And once they had control,” said Aucoin, “the Allens began to strip Mrs. Van Vorst of her assets, isn't that right? And you helped them, didn't you, by providing legal documents and forcing her to sign them?”

Weatherby hung his head. “I'm sorry to say that I did. The Allens' demands were quite modest, at first, but as time went on, they were determined to take complete control. They wanted everything. I resisted, reminding them that their immediate problems had been solved and it was only a matter of time before Mrs. Van Vorst would die and they would most likely receive a large inheritance. That did not satisfy Mrs. Allen, who felt she had been given short shrift by her grandmother and had not been able to live in the style to which she was entitled. She said I had better do as she wanted or she would report me to the bar and I would lose my license.”

All eyes were on Vicky, but she didn't react; she didn't blush or even squirm in her chair. She sat there, impassive as ever, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall above the judge's head.

“I presume you were rewarded financially for the work you did for the Allens,” said Aucoin. “How much did they pay you?”

For once, Weatherby's composure faltered and he mumbled his reply.

“Could you please speak up, Mr. Weatherby?” ordered the judge.

He raised his head, knowing he had to respond and that it would do him no good. “Something in the neighborhood of five million.”

There was a collective gasp.

“Five million,” repeated Aucoin. “And how much did the Allens extract from Mrs. Van Vorst?”

“Something in the neighborhood of twenty-five million, not including real estate.”

The gasp grew to a murmur of disapproval.

“No further questions,” said Aucoin, effectively throwing his star witness to the sharks.

Zuzick was on his feet, bouncing on his toes, eager to get his first bite.