“David wanted me to spy on his dad. Feed him medical information. I refused. Michael? He just flashed a lot of cash. Showered his father with gifts he either didn’t want or couldn’t use. Michael’s filthy rich. Does all those ‘Crime And Punishment’ shows. ‘Crime And Punishment New York,’ ‘Crime And Punishment Chicago, Hawaii, San Francisco, Wherever.’ He makes like fifty million dollars a year. I saw it in People magazine. He’s the one who sent Monae to Dr. Rosen’s house. Apparently, he owed her sister, a woman named Raven …”
“Revae,” I say.
Kochman shrugs. “Whatever. Michael owed this Revae a favor so he insisted that Dr. Rosen hire Monae to work the night shift.”
“Let’s go back to David and his wife, Judith,” says Ceepak. “What happened after you refused to feed them information?”
“They accused me of stealing Dr. Rosen’s solid gold cufflinks.”
“Did you?”
“Of course not.” She holds up her arms. “I wear a uniform every day. No cuffs. Look, guys, Dr. Rosen was still with-it, but he was also old and cufflinks are small. He forgets where he put things.”
“Did you protest the accusations?”
“I said I didn’t do it, if that’s what you mean. But let’s be honest here: When you’re a home health aide, it’s not like you’re in a union or even a regular employee. Don’t call the IRS, but a lot of these families pay us off the books. When the person paying you says you’re fired, trust me, detectives, you’re fired.”
“So Dr. Rosen fired you?”
“That’s what David said. Dr. Rosen, himself, was taking a nap at the time.”
“Did you meet your replacement?” I ask. “Christine Lemonopolous.”
“Nope. And I didn’t want to. I figured the only reason she was hired was because she said yes to everything I’d said no to. Later, after I landed this job with the Silberblatts, I asked around. Talked to a few friends. Got a pretty good picture of who this Lemonopolous girl was and what she’d do to make money.”
“Care to enlighten us?” says Ceepak.
“Word is, she went nuts. Quit her high-paying job in the emergency room at Mainland Medical. She’s been scrounging around ever since, getting by with home health aide work. My friend Beatrice told me that this Lemonopolous gal worked for some sick rich kid at night in exchange for room and board. For cash, she did days with whatever old person she could bamboozle into thinking she was a sweetie-pie. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but all the old people who hired this Christine Lemonopolous didn’t live too long after she went to work in their homes. Most made it two months, maybe three. Just long enough to write her into their will.”
“Dr. Rosen did that,” I mumble. “Bequeathed her fifty thousand dollars.”
“I rest my case. I’m surprised you guys caught her. Nobody else ever asked any questions because, from what I heard, she only takes jobs that are, basically, death watches. It’s a pretty nifty little plan, if, you know, you don’t have any scruples or a conscience.”
Ceepak and I both nod grimly. Because, face it, neither one of us really, truly knows what makes Christine Lemonopolous tick. What kind of thoughts she harbors in her heart. We just wanted to help her when she was in a jam.
We might’ve also helped her get away with murder.
Means, opportunity, motive.
Christine had all three.
Provided, of course, she knew how to get her hands on some potassium cyanide.