“Yes, sir.”
“And he basically blows all that money and can’t afford to care for his wife the way she needs caring.”
“Well, ‘blowing the money’ is not how Simon put it,” says Jane. “Simon Dobias said the money was stolen.”
“Stolen by who?”
Jane glances at Andy before she answers the chief.
“Stolen by Lauren Lemoyne,” she says.
The chief stares at her. “Lauren. Our victim Lauren?”
“Lauren Lemoyne, now Lauren Betancourt, yes.”
“She stole the Dobias family’s money?” He slaps his hand on the desk. “She was the arm candy?”
“Yes and yes,” says Jane. “Lauren Lemoyne was Ted’s ‘arm candy,’ as you put it. They worked together at the same law firm. He was the senior partner, she was some young, beautiful paralegal. The cliché writes itself.”
“No shit.”
“No shit,” says Jane. “Apparently, Simon found them together in Ted’s office one night having sex. And the affair continued after that. Ted wouldn’t break it off. He was in love.”
“The complaint Simon Dobias filed was for theft, fraud, whatever Simon could think of,” Andy Tate chimes in. “He wanted Grace Park P.D. to arrest Lauren. He claimed she seduced Ted, had a long affair with him, convinced him that she was in love with him, and convinced him of one other thing, too—to put her name on the money-market account.”
“And did they?” the chief asks. “Arrest her?”
Jane shrugs. “There was no crime. Ted put her name on the account. She was made a signatory with full access. She had just as much a right to that money as Ted did, legally.”
The chief runs his tongue along his cheek, thinking this over. “How much she steal?”
“Over six million dollars,” says Jane. “Wiped the account clean. All of Ted’s—virtually all of the family’s money was consolidated into that account. She took every penny.”
“Jay-sus.” The chief shakes his head. “So she takes off, leaves the family in financial ruin, unable to support the mom.”
“Well, they certainly didn’t have the money to afford around-the-clock care anymore,” says Jane. “They decided on a nursing home.”
“And then she killed herself. Because of the affair?”
“Well, probably all of it,” Jane says. “She could hardly take care of herself, her husband was stepping out on her, the money was all gone, and she was headed for a nursing home—and who knows her mental state after having a stroke? But yeah, the affair could’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Lauren left some real carnage behind.” She opens her hands. “So now you understand why St. Louis PD is so sure he killed his father.”
“Yeah, he strayed from Mom and brought a lioness into the den.”
“And you can see why he had plenty of motive to kill Lauren Betancourt. She didn’t just screw his father and break his mother’s heart. That might be enough right there for some people.”
“But she did a lot more than that,” says the chief. “Simon probably blames Lauren Betancourt for the death of his mother and the destruction of his family.”
76
Jane
“Do I think Simon Dobias killed his dad? Yes, I do.”
Jane, Andy, and Chief Carlyle sit in front of the chief’s laptop, on a Zoom conference with a lieutenant in the St. Louis P.D. named Brenda Tarkington, and with Rick Gully, now retired and living in Wyoming.
“I’m with Brenda on that,” says Gully. “During final exams week his senior year in college, he drove down to St. Louis, clubbed Ted Dobias over the head with a wine bottle, then stabbed him in the stomach while he was down on the ground near his swimming pool and pushed him into the pool. Then he drove back up to Chicago and called up his shrink early that morning to confess his sins. Only, we couldn’t force the shrink to talk to us because of the privilege. Courts ruled against us. Even though he hadn’t talked to his shrink for a few years, the courts said he was still contacting her in a ‘patient-therapist capacity.’”
“And without that,” says Jane, “you couldn’t prove it?”
“We had no physical evidence,” says Gully. “The knife didn’t yield any prints. We pulled a print off the wine bottle and found some female DNA on a wineglass, but the print didn’t get a hit in the NCIC or match Simon’s prints, and the DNA database was a dead end, too. It was probably a weapon of opportunity; a bottle of wine Ted had shared with a lady friend some time earlier. And other than that . . .”
“It’s not like we had the tools we have now,” adds Lieutenant Tarkington. “Simon had some old model car, so there was no GPS function, no memory to prove where he’d driven that night, or even if he’d driven the car that night. The interstate didn’t have POD cameras like now. If he stopped for gas, he didn’t use a credit card. And we checked, I’d bet, damn near all the security cameras of every gas station off the interstate between St. Louis and Chicago. Some had taped over the footage that night by the time we asked for it. Some didn’t really have functioning cameras, just used ’em for show. The ones that had working cameras and still had the footage—we never saw Simon Dobias in any of the footage.”
“We couldn’t disprove what he said, that he was home all night studying,” Rick Gully adds. “There was no way to show that wasn’t true. D.A. didn’t have a case.”
“He had a receipt, I think, for a pizza he ordered,” says Tarkington. “Right?”
Yes. Jane saw that in the case file they sent over.
“Yeah, shit, I’d forgotten all about that.” Gully laughs. “That’s how we got our time window. He signed a credit card slip for a pizza delivery at some specific time in the evening, early evening, like around five p.m. The pizza delivery guy confirmed that Simon Dobias answered the door and paid for the pizza. Left him a really big tip, too, I remember.”
Jane smirks. He left a big tip so he’d be memorable to the pizza guy.
“This guy is good,” whispers Andy Tate.
“So when we took that time and compared it against the time he showed up for his final exam the following morning at eight a.m.,” says Tarkington, “he barely had enough time to drive down to St. Louis, stab his father with a kitchen knife, and drive back up to Chicago and show up for that final exam. Just barely enough time.”
“Just about a perfect alibi,” says Gully.
“No other suspects?” Jane asks.
“None we could find. The dad had money, but there was no robbery. A lot of big companies probably hated him because he sued them and got huge awards, but big companies don’t murder plaintiff’s lawyers. They’d probably like to, but another one would just pop up and take his place.”
“Ted Dobias didn’t have a girlfriend at the time,” says Tarkington. “From what we could tell, he was paranoid about women. He had some escorts he used, some working girls. But no real relationships. Probably because of Lauren Lemoyne stealing his money, as we later found out from Grace Park P.D.”
“Besides,” Gully chimes in, “we settled on Simon pretty quickly. First thought, of course, a rich guy’s murdered, who benefits? Who’s the heir? It was Simon. Stood to inherit, what, sixteen, seventeen million? But we came to find, Simon and his dad never talked after Ted moved to St. Louis. Not a phone call. Not a Christmas card. So Simon, as far as we could tell, probably didn’t even know he was inheriting the money, or how much.”