Page 19 of One of Us Is Guilty
22:31 – Female, blonde hair, tied back, long brown overcoat, white blouse and white pants, approaches the service entrance. She stands by the entrance door.
22:32 – Female looks up at security camera. Positive ID on female as Vanessa Vanderpool (VV).
22:32 – Security door opens. VV enters the building.
23:58 – VV exits the building through the service entrance. She carries a large black Nike gym bag with a white swoosh in her left hand.
4
Vanessa Vanderpool
January 3rd
Six weeks prior to the murder of Molly Green
Vanessa let the warm water run over her hands, rinsing the soap from her fingers – watching as the suds washed over her gold wedding band, and the diamond engagement ring.
She told herself she was clean now.
She had a thing about cleanliness. Some nights, her hands would sting from her moisturizer. Her skin raw, sometimes her knuckles cracked and bleeding. It was a combination of the excessive, maybe compulsive handwashing and the cold this time of year.
Every time she washed her hands it felt like a reset. That she was clean.
She turned off the faucet, braced her hands either side of her sink and leaned over it, head down, breathing in and out, willing her mind and body to slow down.
Everything was going to be alright.
A sharp pain at her temple. Advil or Tylenol would take the edge off.
She had a lot to do today. Final preparations for her anniversary party.
She moved away from her sink, to her husband’s. Opened his medicine cabinet.
He had old bottles of shower gel, unused bottles of cologne and several toothbrushes in jars, and of course his meds. Vanessa took a bottle of Tylenol from her pants pocket, opened it and took out one capsule, which she carefully placed on the curved rim of the sink basin.
She returned her attention to her husband’s medicine cabinet, found the bottle of Vicodin. That would do nicely. As she reached for it, she saw something hiding behind a bottle of mouthwash on the middle shelf.
She moved the mouthwash aside and saw a small, silver gift bag. She lifted it clear, opened it and gazed inside, then removed the slim jewelry box.
The name of the maker was engraved on the slim box.
Seinfeld, NY, Est 1948
She had seen this name before, on the box that had contained her engagement ring. She couldn’t help but glance at that ring now, still as breathtaking as the day when she’d first laid eyes on it. Seven carats, oval diamond cut by Seinfeld’s to enhance its brilliance. She knew that Patrick would propose to her when he took her to Seinfeld’s on a shopping trip. It was in the diamond district of Manhattan, as you might expect, but it didn’t have a store front. This was a place that only took customers by appointment, up a flight of stairs to a nondescript steel door, security cameras everywhere, and into a room displaying some of the world’s finest jewelry. Presidents and Saudi princes alike bought their diamonds from Seinfeld’s, each piece bespoke and handcrafted, with the maker’s mark engraved upon the exclusive white gold, which was their trademark. Her left and right ring fingers had been measured that day, and she knew why, even as she tried on some of their plainwhite-gold pieces, and pretended that she hadn’t figured out his plans.
She knew now, standing in her bathroom, before she even opened this rectangular box, that something special was inside.
Opening it, she stared.
A delicate white-gold bracelet.
Studded in diamonds.
Easily a six-figure piece of jewelry.
At least he’d remembered it was their anniversary next week. No, she was being unfair. This was a gorgeous gift. She had known him for two and a half years. In the early days, a beautiful gift like this would have stunned her. Now, despite the glorious nature of the jewelry, she was no longer stunned. It brought a strange sense of comfort. Or calm, perhaps. A reassurance that he still loved her.
She quickly closed the box, put it back in the gift bag, and placed the mouthwash in front of it. Then she took his bottle of Vicodin, opened it and poured a couple of the capsules into her hand.
