The Violin Conspiracy(104)

The unit was shallow—maybe three or four feet deep, with a cement floor. It was completely empty except for a medium-size cardboard box from Amazon, taped closed. He ripped away the tape.

Inside was a cheap black plastic laminate violin case.

He opened it.

PopPop’s fiddle—his own most loved Stradivarius violin—grinned up at him, unharmed.

Perfect.





Chapter 36


    Aftermath


In the months leading up to the trial, it all came out—and it was so very simple. The morning of the theft, while Ray was showering, Nicole put on a pair of gloves, took out the violin, and stashed it in her small roller bag, using her clothes to pad it. In its place she left the Chuck Taylor shoe and the ransom note. She’d bought the shoe at a Walmart outside Cleveland.

Ray, oblivious, followed her out the door and down to the lobby, slung her roller bags into her taxi, and kissed her goodbye.

The taxi took her to Penn Station, as the GPS and the driver’s own testimony corroborated. She exited the taxi, went down to the bowels of Penn Station, her route confirmed by dozens of video cameras along the way. She’d already bought her ticket on New Jersey Transit to Newark Airport, which she’d charged to her Visa.

She stayed on the train one station past Newark Airport, got off at Elizabeth Station wearing a baseball cap—detectives later found the video footage—went across the street to where she’d parked her car in an overnight parking garage. She took out the violin, slipped it in a cheap plastic case that she’d picked up at a pawnshop, slid the case on the back seat floor, and covered it casually with a towel. Then, after locking the car, she caught the next train back to Newark Airport. She’d missed her stop, she told the conductor, waving her Newark ticket.

She’d flown back to Erie and then, that night, when Ray alerted her to the theft, flew back to New York. When they finally left New York, she picked up her car and drove back to Erie with the violin in her back seat. None of the detectives thought of checking her last route from New York back home: the extra miles meant an earlier oil change. Gosh, she hated driving her car. If only she’d taken public transportation.

Pilar Jiménez, who’d delivered their breakfast that morning, was a particular bit of brilliance. Nicole had learned months ago that many of the Saint Jacques housekeeping staff had immigrated illegally. The day before the theft, Nicole had paid the housekeeper $5,000 to deliver the breakfast cart and return to Honduras: if the woman refused, Nicole would report her to US Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The woman took the money and went back to Honduras—a nice red herring to keep the detectives busy.

Back in Erie, Nicole met up with Marcus Terry, who’d already rented the storage locker, and he took the violin in a cardboard box to the unit.

Marcus Terry: her boyfriend. They’d supposedly had a terrible breakup, Marcus was out of her life, and she used a burner phone to communicate with him. Otherwise they stayed apart in case detectives were watching her. He’d been in on the theft from the beginning.

Ray’s whole relationship with Nicole was based on her lies. She’d seen an opportunity when she’d met a lonely violinist with a priceless violin—and she’d taken it.

In prison awaiting trial, Nicole reached out several times to Ray: she called, texted, emailed. He wouldn’t respond. He wondered if the only reason she wanted to see him was for him to plead with the prosecutors for leniency. He imagined her telling him that Marcus Terry had dreamed up the whole idea—that she went along with it only because Marcus Terry had some diabolical hold over her. Marcus Terry, criminal mastermind and Fruity Pebbles connoisseur.

And then she’d email. He’d deleted several earlier ones, but this email he opened.

    Dear Ray,

Are you getting any of my emails?

I know that saying sorry doesn’t ease your pain. I never wanted to hurt you.

I know you wont believe me but its true. My idea was that nobody would get hurt. Everybody wins. If Benson paid out the ransom right away like it was supposed to, you would’ve gotten your violin back before the competition. If they didn’t pay it out, you raised the money anyway. In any case you’d get your violin back and I get a nest egg so I don’t have to worry so much about making ends meet. Not everybody has your talent and you know I didn’t want to stay in a third-rate orchestra all my life. A little more money would have gone a long way. I could’ve bought a new viola and taken lessons with Caitlin Landuyt. You know how I always wanted to do that. It would’ve given me a shot. The same shot you had. You can’t blame me for wanting the same opportunity you had. It’s not my fault. It’s Benson’s.

Anyway I wanted to write you because I didn’t want you to be mad. I love you very much and I just want you to be happy. I just wanted to be happy too.

Please come see me and we can talk about this in person? I really want to see you and talk face to face.

Love,

Nicole



Ray didn’t respond and didn’t open any of the other dozen emails she sent him in the following couple weeks before he asked the prosecutors to make sure she couldn’t contact him again.

The trial took more than a year, and Ray videoed in his testimony from Sweden, where he’d been playing with the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic Orchestra before heading off to a special monthlong recital and retreat in Tokyo.