Never Enough

  Between sobs, she managed to say that her husband had tried to force her to have sex on Sunday night and that he’d grabbed her and punched her and kicked her when she’d refused. She said she was in pain all over her body and that she was sure her ribs were broken. Dytham noted “slow to move, total body pain.”

  Then the doctor began an examination, searching for the sources of the pain. She observed a puncture wound between the thumb and forefinger of Nancy’s right hand. This was the injury that Nancy had told Connie was a burn from the toaster. She told Dr. Dytham that she had tried to defend herself against her husband with a fork that she’d held upside down and that the tines of the fork must have punctured her hand as Rob was hitting her.

  No matter where the doctor touched, Nancy flinched and gasped in pain. Dytham found this puzzling, because there were very few visible bruises. Nancy’s right hand was swollen, her lips were dry and cracked, there were rug burns on both knees and a bruise about six inches long and three inches wide on her right shin. There were also lighter bruises that appeared to be finger marks on her upper right arm. Nancy said her collarbone, sternum, ribs, and spine were hurting badly. She said she couldn’t bend over and could barely move her upper right leg. She was sure her ribs were broken, she said again.

  The examination was interrupted briefly when Nancy received a phone call from Michael del Priore. “I’m with Annabelle at the moment,” she said. “I’ll call you back.” After clicking off, she said, “That was a good friend from the U.S. He’s been giving me a lot of support.”

  When the X-rays came back negative, Dytham began to think that Nancy was exaggerating her injuries in an attempt to bolster any assault and battery claim she might later file against her husband. The only thing about which Dytham could be certain was that there was a significant discrepancy between the severity of the “total body pain” that Nancy complained of and the presence of any visible injuries that could have caused it.

  On her way home from the doctor, Nancy stopped at Tequila Kola again to buy two more carpets. Nancy said she’d take them with her. She didn’t care what they cost. A Tequila Kola employee managed to fit them in the Mercedes. When she got to Parkview, Nancy took them out and carried them, one at a time, to the lobby elevator and up to the apartment herself.

  “Min! Where’s the peppermint oil?”

  Min pointed to six one-ounce bottles on the kitchen counter.

  “I want you to go down to the storage room and make more space. There are some things I’ll be sending down there soon and right now there’s not enough room.”

  That afternoon Connie noticed the smell of incense coming from behind the closed bedroom door. That struck her as peculiar; she’d never known Nancy to burn incense in the bedroom before. She also noticed a white spot on the carpet just outside the bedroom door. It looked as if Nancy had used the new bleach powder to clean up a stain. That, too, seemed odd. Nancy was definitely not the sort of person who cleaned up her own stains.

  Isabel and Zoe stayed at HKIS for after-class activities again. As soon as Ethan awoke from his nap at 3:00 p.m., Nancy told Connie to take him to the Aberdeen Marina Club and to keep him there until dinnertime at 7:00 p.m. She said she needed some time alone.

  When Connie returned with Ethan, she noticed that several of the newly arrived packing cartons that had been stacked in the dining room were no longer there. She also was surprised to see a brand-new rug in the living room.

  Nancy emerged from the bedroom at dinnertime only to say, as she had the night before, that she would not be eating with the children. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. An hour later, in fresh clothes, she came into the kitchen and made herself some bacon and eggs. But she barely picked at the food.

  “Connie, I have to talk to you,” she said. “Get the girls into their rooms. Tell them they can read in bed. Ethan can stay in the playroom. He’ll keep himself busy. We can go into his room to talk.”

  Nancy sat on Ethan’s bed. Connie stood at its foot.

  “Rob and I had a terrible fight on Sunday night,” Nancy said. “That’s why I’ve been upset. He grabbed me and he hit me. He just kept on hitting me. He knocked me down and then he started kicking me. He really hurt me. Connie, look, he broke my ribs.”

  She lifted her top and pointed to the right side of her rib cage. “Can you believe that? He broke my ribs!”

  Connie looked but saw no sign of any injury.

  Nancy pulled up the right leg of her slacks. “And look: here’s where he kicked me.”

  Connie saw a bruise on the shin.

  “And you’ve already seen this,” Nancy said and held out her right hand, bandaged between forefinger and thumb. She’d told Connie she’d burnt it on the toaster. She’d told Dr. Dytham she’d suffered puncture wounds from holding a fork the wrong way.

  “It’s worse than I thought. My wrist may be broken. He was really drunk. Totally out of control. You and Min were in your room so you wouldn’t have heard anything. And the children, thank goodness, stayed asleep. Besides, I was too scared to scream. I was afraid he’d kill me if I screamed.”

  “Mrs. Kissel, how long has this been going on?”

  “About a year. It’s been getting worse. He’s just—the stress of his work—he became a different person. His whole life—it got to be all about power and money.”

  Connie was shocked. Never in the six years she’d worked for Rob and Nancy had she seen any sign that he’d abused her. She’d seen him irritated, snappish, annoyed on occasion, but in general he was pleasant, thoughtful, caring, and calm, and always full of love for his children. He’d seemed a man in complete control of himself and his impulses. Nancy, not Rob, was the one with the temper.

  And Rob in a drunken rage? The only time Connie could recall having seen Rob even a bit tipsy—it had been at the end of August, as he’d celebrated his return from the surgery in New York—he’d been giggly, not angry, and the evening had wound up with everyone laughing themselves silly.

  “Have you been to a doctor?” Connie asked.

  “Yes, I got a checkup this morning. They took X-rays—my ribs and my wrist—but we don’t have results yet.”

  “Where is Mr. Kissel now?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t think he’s ever coming back.”

  Bryna had been expecting to hear from Rob. He’d said he’d call or e-mail to tell her how Nancy had handled the news that he’d be divorcing her. Instead, Nancy had called to describe the terrible fight. Bryna called him on his cell phone several times on Monday morning and left messages. He didn’t call back. Just before noon, she sent an e-mail: “Now I’m getting worried…” She did not receive a reply. She kept calling until late Monday night. Early Tuesday morning she sent another e-mail: “I couldn’t sleep…will you please call?”

  On Tuesday afternoon (the middle of the night in Hong Kong) Bryna remembered something else. She e-mailed Nancy: “Do you want me to cancel your surgery date?”

  She kept calling Rob’s cell phone. He had apparently turned it off. That night (Wednesday morning in Hong Kong), she called Nancy again. The more she’d thought about what Nancy had told her about the fight, the more skeptical she grew. For one thing, the night you tell your wife you’ve decided to file for divorce would not likely be a night when you’d chase her around the bedroom demanding sex. For another, Nancy’s distress had sounded forced. And she hadn’t cried. Bryna had seen Nancy cry when a store clerk told her a particular item was out of stock. But as she’d described the beating she’d suffered at Rob’s hands there had been no hint of tears in her voice.

  This time, she sounded aggravated when she picked up the phone. “That fucking Rob. I’m sitting here trying to deal with our bills, but he’s got all our money tied up at Merrill Lynch. I can’t even write a check to pay the school tuition.”

  “Have you heard from him?” Bryna asked. “Do you know where he is?”

  “He probably flew to New York.”

  “Why would he h
ave flown to New York?”

  “I don’t know. Where else would he go?”

  “Nan, think back to Sunday night. When he left, did he take his wallet?”

  “No, he just ran out.”

  “Did he take his keys?”

  “What difference does that make? No. No, they’re still here.”

  “How about his shoes, Nan? Did he put on his shoes before he left?”

  “I already told you: he just ran out.”

  “Without his shoes.”

  “Yeah, without his shoes.”

  “So he was beating you and trying to throw you onto the bed to force you to have sex and then he just stopped and ran out of the apartment without his wallet, his keys, or his shoes? Come on, Nan. That doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t have gone to New York.”

  “Well, maybe he didn’t. He’s a grown-up. He can take care of himself. And I’m fine, Bryna. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “But I guess I’d better cancel your boob job.”

  “No, don’t do that. I’ll be there.”

  As soon as Nancy hung up, Bryna started calling Hong Kong’s five-star hotels, asking if a Robert Kissel was registered. He wasn’t at the Mandarin Oriental. He wasn’t at the Ritz-Carlton. He wasn’t at the Grand Hyatt. He wasn’t at the Langham. He wasn’t at either the Peninsula or the Shangri-La in Kowloon. He wasn’t at the InterContinental. He wasn’t at the Excelsior in Causeway Bay.

  She called Merrill Lynch, was told Mr. Kissel was not available, and eventually was put through to David Noh.

  “Please bear with me for a minute,” Bryna said. “This is going to sound weird, but I’m a very close friend of Rob and Nancy’s from San Francisco.”

  “Bryna O’Shea,” Noh said. “Rob talks about you a lot.”

  “Well, I’ve been trying to reach him, but I can’t. He hasn’t returned calls or answered e-mails since Sunday. I’ve talked to Nancy a couple of times and she says she doesn’t know where he is. I thought he might be staying in a hotel, so I’ve been calling around, but—”

  “So have I,” Noh said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let’s save ourselves some time, Bryna. Rob has told me how he’s been confiding in you.”

  “And he’s told me he’s been confiding in you.”

  “So we can be frank. I’m worried. In fact, we’ve just had a meeting here about Rob. You and I both know that he was going to tell Nancy on Sunday night that he’d decided to file for divorce.”

  “And he was worried about how she’d react. But now she’s saying he attacked her Sunday night and beat the shit out of her and ran out of the apartment. She says she thinks he went to New York.”

  “Is that what she’s telling you? Well, he didn’t go to New York. His passport is still in his desk drawer. Bryna, I talked to him at five-thirty Sunday afternoon and he sounded completely out of it. Like he was drugged or something—not like a man about to tell his wife the marriage was over. Then he missed a conference call on Sunday night—a really, really important call. Everybody was stunned that he’d blown it. Then he didn’t show up for work on Monday. I called Nancy and she told me he was busy ‘resolving family issues.’ That’s what she said, ‘resolving family issues.’ I had no idea what she meant.”

  “Maybe she was talking about the divorce.”

  “When he didn’t show up for work yesterday or today either, I called Nancy again. This time she told me he was dealing with ‘health issues’ and might not be coming to work for a while. That’s when I called the meeting here. We’re not people quick to panic, but we’ve decided that if no one hears from him overnight we’ll contact the police in the morning.”

  Bryna took a deep breath. “David, do you think—please pardon the cliché—that Nancy ‘knows more than she’s telling’?”

  “Trust me: right now, you don’t want to know what I think.”

  Bryna stayed up through the night, sending Rob e-mail after e-mail: “I can’t be of any help if you don’t respond!!!” “YOUR FAMILY IS REALLY CONCERNED ABOUT YOU…CALL ME.” “Rob…Please call me…Please…I know something is happening and I’m really worried…Please let me know you are okay.” “Rob, this isn’t funny…Please call me…Nan’s okay. PLEASE.” “Rob…Please Please…call me. I’m all alone and want to talk to you…it’s very important…” “Rob, we have a very strong friendship…please call.” “ROB…YOU HAVE TO CALL ME NOW!!!!! IT’S VERY IMPORTANT…Please.”

  Rob did not reply.

  24.

  In temperate climates, early decomposition becomes manifest within twenty-four to thirty hours with greenish discoloration of the abdomen…followed by gaseous bloating, dark greenish to purple discoloration of the face and purging of bloody decomposition fluids from the nose and mouth. The tongue swells and progressively protrudes from the mouth, and the eyes bulge because of accumulating retrobulbar decomposition gases.

  As decomposition progresses, the skin becomes slippery with vesicles and slippage of the epidermis, and generally after three days the entire body becomes markedly bloated. Swelling is particularly dramatic in areas of loose skin (eyelids, scrotum and penis). The skin of the hands often sheds, together with nails, in “glove” like fashion and the skin of the legs in a “stocking” like pattern.

  —Spitz and Fisher’s Medicolegal Investigation of Death: Guidelines for the Application of Pathology to Crime Investigation, edited by Werner U. Spitz.

  NANCY WAS SITTING AT THE KITCHEN TABLE ON WEDNESDAY morning when Connie came in at 7:00 a.m. to make breakfast for the children.

  “I’ve got a list for you,” Nancy said. “After you take Ethan to PIPS, I want you to go down to Stanley and buy a new bedspread. I’ve written down the size. It’s for the bed in my bedroom.”

  “The spread you have is very nice,” Connie said.

  “I know, but I have to put a new one on. The old one reminds me too much of Mr. Kissel. It makes me sad. It makes me feel very lonely.”

  Then Nancy told Min to go to Adventist Hospital on Stubbs Road in Happy Valley to buy a Velcro strap that she could use to support the ribs she kept saying were broken.

  “Everybody move fast,” she said. “We’ve got a lot to do today. Grandpa Ira will be getting here tonight. Oh, Connie, while you’re down in Stanley pick up some more peppermint oil. Oh, and Min, stop at the hardware store in Stanley on your way back and buy some more rope. I want nylon-coated rope. Do you understand that? Nylon-coated.”

  The morning was cloudy, with rising humidity. It was going to be a sticky afternoon. Min got back to the apartment first. As she walked into the living room with the Velcro strap and the nylon-coated rope she smelled something awful, like rotting fish.

  “Put those things down, Min. I need you to do something else right away. Go down to the storeroom and start clearing out those boxes you rearranged. There’s still not enough room. Bring them up and stack them in the hallway.”

  Trying not to breathe deeply, Min glanced around the living room. Nancy was standing on the new carpet from Tequila Kola. The old carpet had been rolled up and dragged behind the living room couch. Its bulkiness suggested that something had been rolled up inside it. It seemed to be the source of the stench.

  “Why big?” Min asked, pointing toward the old carpet.

  “Oh, I stuffed some old sheets and pillows inside it. I’m having it moved down to the storeroom this afternoon. Now you get down to the storeroom and start clearing out those boxes.”

  Min did not go directly to the storeroom. She called Connie. She explained about the rolled-up carpet and the smell. She asked Connie how soon she’d be back. In ten or fifteen minutes, Connie said.

  It was just after 11:30 a.m. when Connie carried the new bedspread and the peppermint oil into the apartment. The smell hit her as soon as she stepped into the living room. She looked at the new carpet on the floor. Then she looked at the old carpet rolled up behind the couch. The old carpet had to be the source of the odor. It was also so large in circ
umference that Connie knew it contained something more than old sheets and pillows.

  Connie and Min went into their tiny room behind the kitchen to confer.

  “I think Mrs. Kissel has done wrong,” Min said.

  “Yes,” Connie said.

  “Do you think—the carpet—the bad smell—”

  “Yes,” Connie said. “Mr. Kissel.”

  The two women hugged each other and cried.

  When she regained her composure, Connie e-mailed Bryna O’Shea, whom she had come to consider a friend. The tone of the e-mail did not suggest an emergency, but the very fact of receiving an e-mail from Connie would alert Bryna that something out of the ordinary had occurred.

  Hi Bryna,

  Just want to talk to you if you have time. Can you please e-mail me your phone number or you can call me @ this number.

  Home: 852-281-2274 Mobile: 852-9348-3902

  Thanks,

  Connie

  Chow Yiu-kwong rang the doorbell of the Kissel apartment at 2:00 p.m. Wednesday. He and a three-man Parkview maintenance crew had come to move the carpet to the storeroom. Min answered the door. Having dragged several tightly sealed moving cartons into the living room and pushed them next to the carpet, Nancy had gone into the bedroom to nap. The carpet was eight feet long. Chow could see that it had been rolled around a bulky object about six feet long. He and his crew could also smell the carpet. One of the men retched. Chow told two men to roll in the luggage trolley. Grunting loudly while trying not to inhale, the four men lifted the stinking, untidy heap onto the wheeled platform. They stacked the cartons next to it.

  Ethan had been napping, but the noise from the living room woke him up. He ran out from his bedroom just as the workmen were starting to push the heavy trolley toward the door. To be helpful, Ethan ran ahead and opened the door.