Everyone was ushered from the house but not without an argument from Alex. He, above all, knew what was coming, and he protested that he wanted to preserve any evidence that he was convinced had been doctored. It was amazing how such a handsome face could look so sinister under pressure.
Declan emailed a copy of the photos to his office and retrieved a copy of the photographs to maintain the chain of evidence. However, in a few minutes, the crime scene techs would crawl all over the house, taking a hundred of their own photos. Arrangements were made for the broker and photographer to meet at the police station for a formal statement, and they were advised not to talk to Alex any further.
“How can they assume it’s blood under the paint?” Alex asked. “And I don’t want that information bantered about in public without proof. If it gets out into the papers, no one will want to buy the place.”
Refusing to take the bait, Declan responded, “You will need to find new housing quarters until the house is released as a crime scene. I’ll walk back in with you, and you can pack some clothes and toiletries. Next, I’ll need your DNA for exclusionary purposes, your fingerprints, and a list of people who’ve been in the house the last month.”
I watched as they entered the house, and Alex argued with Declan, who appeared to pay no attention to the rant. As I waited for the crime scene team to arrive, I took the opportunity to call Cillian and brought him up to speed. Unfortunately, with the turn of events, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to turn my charms on Alex today. But this scene shed light on what I needed to hone in on. He had a motive and opportunity, and the way he’d handled the news looked bad for him.
“Wow, that changes the whole direction of the investigation,” Cillian said. “The amount of blood should be able to tell us if there was a struggle and probable homicide. You say you saw the splatter on the wall, right?”
“Yes. It didn’t look like a fine arterial spray but thicker and concentrated in one area. Oh, one minute. Let me make a note to remind Declan to check the photos to see if any furniture or lamps and such were removed. They could still have a light spray of blood,” I said. “Someone had to have nerves of steel to come back and paint the room with little fear of getting caught.”
“I think we can conclusively say the paintings were stolen. I’ll give this information to Bill, but he won’t be happy to hear that. With a possible murder, that adds an element of chaos to a person’s mindset of what to do with the property. When you finish there, come back to the office, and let’s reshape our plan to concentrate on the angle of theft,” he said. “Don’t get too deep into the forensics. I know it’s an old pattern that you’ll want to be a part of, but we have bigger fish to fry from our end. Right now, we have to stay on the focus that they were stolen, not why or how.”
I agreed, and we disconnected.
Declan exited the house, and Alex followed, dragging two large luggage bags on rollers. By the scowl on Alex’s face, it appeared he had come out the loser of whatever argument that ensued. The techs arrived and worked their way around Alex and his bags.
While Declan moved toward me, Alex remained at the door. I was about to ask why he was standing there with suitcases when I saw a car pull up and come to an abrupt stop. The trunk was opened by the driver from the inside of the car, and Alex stepped forward to deposit the cases into the trunk. The woman behind the wheel looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her. I might have seen her face on a news story. A baseball cap pulled low over her brow hid her face and hair. Large sunglasses gave the aura of a lot of showy glamour.
“My attorney and I will meet you at the station in an hour and a half,” he shouted across the driveway.
Declan returned a nod, and I serendipitously snapped a picture of the woman with my phone as he walked and turned toward me.
“That’s convenient. I wonder who she is,” he said.
His raised eyebrow said what he was thinking. And what he was thinking, I was thinking. Alex’s motive had just increased fivefold. What the hell was going on?
Despite my instructions not to get involved with the forensics, this was the interesting part of the case. Science nailed most criminals. But human behavior often led us to collect the pieces of scientific matter to make the case. He extended a hand for me to follow him back to the house. I was surprised when Declan pointed to the booties by the door for me to put on, as if we were a team and it was natural that I should be there for the examination.
As the techs took pictures of the room and walls, I suggested Declan check the before and after photos to see if anything was missing that could have caught some castoff of blood. The smile indicated he had that issue in hand.
“There’s a lamp missing from the table by the sofa and a few framed photos on the table over by the wall,” he said.
The photos taken by the forensic team were with three different lens filters. Next, a chemical was sprayed on the wall, which illuminated the blood pattern, and additional photos were taken. As the techs worked that angle, the tech’s supervisor motioned us to join him around the computer.
“I’ll give the usual disclaimer. I have to study the pattern and perform an extended analysis, so this is only a preliminary thought. But here’s what I think we can surmise. If you look at the area right here, I believe here is where one person was injured or killed. The amount of blood doesn’t indicate someone bled out from the blow, but it’s contained, so I’m thinking blunt force trauma.
“From the height of the blood hitting the wall, it looks as if the victim was about five foot ten inches to six feet, and the blow came from right to left. If you look right here, you can see the blood tails of the droplets. My best guess is, the weapon is something with some thickness, like a bat or pipe or a slender-based lamp, but it’s something that the perpetrator had to swing because, if you look over here, there’s castoff they missed on the cleanup. They did a fairly good job of cleaning up, but once it gets into the fabric, it’s the devil to get out.
“We’ll swab anywhere we see blood and cut out a section of the wall with the blood that’s been painted over now that we’ve photographed the scene. My guys can get the paint identified and then see if we can figure out where it was purchased.
“The warrant gave us broad collection ability, so I took the toothbrushes from the bathroom and a brush, we can get some DNA for comparison to Mrs. Clarke. The field kit shows the blood is AB positive, and we’re using an experimental field kit that indicates the blood belongs to a female, but when we get back, I’ll run that right away in the lab for confirmation. There are no bloody footprints and no blood on any of the doorjambs. I believe there must have been a rug here because there’s no blood staining the floor, and head injuries are a bloody mess. We sprayed the kitchen sink and bathroom sink for blood, and nothing popped. Also, I don’t see any drag marks from blood; thus, I think there was a rug. I checked the photographer’s initial batch of photos, and it seems to have been a rug there, but the angle of the photo wasn’t helpful. I want to run a few tests back at the lab and blow up the photos, but I’ll have a preliminary report to you in twenty-four hours,” he said.
“Okay, we’re heading back. I have to meet up with Prince Charming. Are you going to search Clarke’s car?” Declan asked the supervisor.
“We have the electronic warrant for the car, and we’re waiting on the tow truck,” he said.
Declan’s partner arrived to monitor the scene, and after a few words were exchanged, he followed him to the car to secure it. No doubt, they’d be checking for blood because, according to the tech, Mrs. Clarke probably didn’t walk away from this encounter.
“Keep me posted,” Declan said as he motioned for me to head toward his car with him.
As we settled, I made some personal notes and placed the notepad back in my bag.
“How solid is the husband’s alibi?” I asked.
Things were looking bleak for Alex. From where I stood, he cornered the market on motive and opportunity.
&n
bsp; “How solid is anyone’s alibi? Now that we know there is a victim, we’ll pull the tapes from where he stayed and get information about his hotel key usage. Since he’s bringing legal counsel, I don’t expect to get much from him today. But I always like to hear those words no comment. It always plays well with a jury when the initial investigation tape is played in court.” Declan smiled.
“What about the other family members?” I said, turning toward him.
“We’ll get them lined up for tomorrow. Marley, the sister, has a rap sheet and is a special blend of crazy. She’s had several arrests but no convictions, related to drugs, years ago, but lately, nothing has shown up. Ashton was clean until the financial fraud conviction. We’ll canvass the neighborhood to see if anyone suspicious was hanging around or if any work was being done in the house and get security footage from the house. I’ve got my work cut out for me,” he said.
There were a few things that felt off about Alex being the perpetrator, such as the height, according to the tech. But, until a detailed analysis was completed, that was up in the air.
“Just as a thought, do you think the husband is left-handed or possibly has some right-sided weakness?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?” He turned my way and crinkled his brow in thought.
“I noticed his right arm appeared to either be weakened or he was purposely not using it. When he went to shake my hand, he only lifted it at about a fifteen-degree angle, and I never saw him use his right hand. The tech said the blow was right to left, probably showing a dominant right-handed person,” I said, retrieving my pad to jot that down.
“Excellent observation,” he said, giving it some thought. “I’ll watch for that in my interview, which will probably last all of ten minutes when he asserts the fifth.”
Declan was finished at the scene and we headed back to the police station.
We were ready to pull into the police parking facility when a text came from Cillian, indicating they were waiting on me.
“I’ve got a meeting back at the office. I know this is a big ask, but would you allow me to review the husband’s interview tape when you’ve completed it?”
He shifted the gear into park and turned off the car. “Let me think about it, and I’ll get back to you. Your firm has a solid reputation, but as you know, we’re at a delicate portion of the case. Because you’ve been privy to a part of the investigation, I’ll email you a document to sign that makes you part of the investigatory arm and locks you into not sharing any information. That work?”
“That’s great. Any chance you can throw in qualified immunity, so if anything goes sideways, the state covers me?” I asked.
He gave me a megawatt grin and replied, “That’s pushing it.”
Indeed, it was, but I’d take what I could get.
When I arrived back at the office, everyone was seated at the table, eating lunch from a tray of sandwiches.
After wiping some mayonnaise off his lip, Cillian placed his pad in front of him.
“I’ve brought everyone up to speed on what happened at the house. It’s a shame you didn’t get to have a conversation with the husband—”
“Detective Murphy is interviewing him this afternoon, and I might be able to watch the interview tape later today. Mr. Clarke’s already lawyered up, so that road is cut off. They have the warrant to search his car and house. Maybe they’ll find some blood in the car. If a body was carried out, he used the car to dump her body.
“But get this; I think Samantha’s sister, Marley, picked him up from the house,” I said.
Jackson interrupted, “Marley? No way. I just spent the morning interviewing her. That chick is some head case.” Jackson reached for a can of iced tea.
“Well, I snapped a photo,” I said and showed it to them.
“Get it over to Mary. She has access to facial recognition,” Cillian told me.
Cillian tossed his pen on the pad and scrubbed his face with both hands in a frustrated manner.
“We have to get a plan to Bill by this afternoon. Based on the facts in front of us, we have reason to believe the paintings were stolen. Possibly by the person or persons who might have incapacitated or killed Mrs. Clarke. This won’t be good news for him; he’ll have to put some serious cash in reserve for a payout.
“We need to keep our minds open about suspects. I’ll be on a plane to New York tomorrow to see what the auction houses can give me,” Cillian said.
“Cillian, though I’m loathed to suggest bringing Mary into this any more than we have to, she might be of some use to us, making calls on the quiet to see if anyone has put the paintings out on the Dark Web. Maybe she can get her cyber friend Tyler in the mix to take a look for us,” Jackson offered.
“Who’s Tyler?” I asked.
“At this point, for plausible deniability, forget you even heard his name,” Cillian said with a sour look on his face. “I’ll talk to her.”
“As an aside, Dalia, all our stuff will be gone tomorrow evening from the house, and Mary said to give you the keys. You can get settled the day after,” Jackson said, studying my face.
I guessed everyone was using this as a measure if I was all in. I was.
“Thanks. I’ll handle it,” I said with a smile.
My next task was completing the documents Declan had sent over, and maybe, if I hand-delivered it, I’d get to watch the interview tape. Things were falling into place.
Dalia
The first rule of investigating was to enter the investigation with an open mind and follow the evidence. The second rule of investigating was to follow the money. In this case, all roads seemed to lead to Alex Clarke. The man had a reputation of being ethically flexible and unable or unwilling to form long-term relationships. It would be easy to make him the villain in this story, but that would ask Lady Justice to peek from behind her blindfold.
I completed the form Declan had sent, and instead of signing electronically and returning it via email, I printed it and decided to hand-deliver the form. If the interview was completed by the time I got to the station to hand the document to Declan, maybe I could persuade him to let me view the interview tape. I swiped the car keys from the table and placed a digital note on my phone to remind me to call the moving company and have my furniture delivered to the new house from the storage facility.
The god of luck must have been working in my favor. I entered the police station lobby, and Alex and the woman from the car were deep in conversation and appeared to be on the verge of an argument. This probably meant Declan hadn’t interviewed him yet. Perhaps I could convince Declan to let me watch. Neither of the two acknowledged my presence as I approached the desk to give my document to the officer. The officer reviewed it and motioned for me to have a seat.
As I took a seat, Alex’s eyes left the woman’s and met mine. My stomach clenched. His eyes were assessing me and left no doubt that I could not cozy up to him for information. My cover, so to speak, had been blown. He’d now see me as a member of the team, looking to jam him up. The woman was another story. Her eyes raked over my body. She had the predatory look of an animal ready to strike.
The door from the outside opened with a powerful thrust, and a man in his fifties strode with purpose across the room. Obviously, a lawyer. Alex stood, but the woman remained seated.
“Stanton Harrington to see Detective Murphy on behalf of Alex Clarke,” he announced to the officer behind the desk. He looked around and nodded at Alex. “I see my client is here, and I’ll need a few minutes in a private room.”
The officer hit a buzzer, and the door popped open for him to enter. As the man held the door open, he motioned for Alex to step through, leaving the woman and me alone.
“You’re from the insurance company,” she said in an accusatory manner.
I nodded and replied, “Dalia Grey. And you are?”
I was ready to engage her in conversation when Declan opened the door. He glanced at her and tilted his head for me to follow. I offered her
a smile as I stood, but she didn’t return one.
We strolled down the hallway, which was lined with offices, to a room with two desks. One held a placard with his name. He offered me a seat and closed the door.
“I’m about to start the interview,” he said. “If you want to watch from a monitoring room, you can.”
“You don’t have to ask twice,” I replied.
“I don’t have anything to hold him on, and I’m not making this a custodial interrogation. I won’t be reading him his rights. All I really want to see is what his play will be. The fact that he has legal representation signals to me that he’s either guilty or he realizes he looks guilty for her disappearance. I don’t expect to have much come out of this, but I want him to know he’s on my radar. Although he’d be an idiot not to realize that part. This could go one of two ways. It can shake him up to put the paintings into play and give us a shot at intercepting them. Or he can put them in a deep freeze. The longer they are squirreled away and become a hot potato, the more value they lose. If you’re ready, we can get this show on the road.”
We were out the door, and he directed me to a room three doors down. The room had three monitors and contained various electronic equipment, which was focused on Alex and his attorney, who were already in the interview room. The audio was off, but it was clear the pair were in a heated argument. His attorney was seated, and Alex was pacing, gesturing wildly and running his fingers through his hair. Alex clearly dominated the conversation. The only thing worse than a medical person as a patient was a lawyer for a client.
“You can use these headphones to listen. Dave will be in shortly. The restroom is that door to your left. The coffeepot is right there, and bottled water is in the small fridge below. Make yourself comfortable. Questions?” Declan asked.
“Is it okay if I take notes?” I asked.
“Knock yourself out.” He smiled and turned. “Here’s Dave.”
Introductions were made, and Dave engaged the monitoring system.
Facing A Twisted Judgment Page 5