“Well, it’s a start,” Cillian said. “He’s definitely number one on our radar, but don’t get too fixated on him. And, for the love of God, don’t get too overzealous, Mary. We don’t need any lawsuits from your shenanigans.”
Alex
My business had taken a hit from the publicity of Sam’s disappearance. It seemed I was the lead story on all the local evening news outlets. Insignificant bloggers had picked up the story and added things that were clearly just not true. If it bleeds, it leads.
Few people thought it was a good idea to start a new attorney-client relationship when that attorney might not complete their representation because he’d be on trial for murder. Thank God Marissa still maintained contacts able to launder money for me. Some of Sam’s jewelry never made it onto the insurance sheet, so as far as anyone knew, it never existed and made it easier to get rid of. It killed me to take pennies on the dollar for her ring that was my first gift to her, but bills were coming due.
Any new client had to be looked at like it was an infusion of lifeblood for my business until things calmed down.
Before this had occurred, people had had to wait weeks before I could fit them into my schedule. Now, my days were wide open. I’d soon have to let Jennifer my secretary go to save money if this kept up. How would that look? Me meeting my own clients in the reception room seemed appalling and unprofessional. Like some two-bit ambulance chaser paying hospital clerks for leads.
“Good morning,” I said as Jennifer escorted the new client in. “You must be Ms. Cormier. Please have a seat. Has Jennifer offered you a beverage?”
“Yes, she did, and I’m fine. Thank you for fitting me in so quickly, Mr. Clarke. I just moved to this fine state and need to update my will and do some … what’s that called? Estate planning,” she said.
I nodded.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are a very handsome young man? And I can see you also have impeccable manners. We’ll work well together. Manners are very important,” she said with a nod. “And call me Mary.”
“Thank you, Mary. I appreciate the compliments. Now, what can I do for you exactly?” I asked. I could only take so much of the dog and pony show.
“Here’s a copy of my old—oh, what do they call it? Estate package,” she said.
She handed me a large brown envelope stuffed with documents that went back to the 1990s. On the top of the pile, her last attorney had provided a detailed asset sheet, both in a Word document form and Excel spreadsheet. At a glance, the woman had a large estate, and if I worked the right way, I could walk away with ten thousand dollars as my fee. A mere drop in the bucket for what this woman owned.
She waited while I picked through the papers and divided them into piles of investments and liquid securities.
“I see, since the last will, you’ve collected a large amount of art. Are you an art collector?” I asked.
“Oh, gosh, my little collection pales in comparison to that Steve Martin’s collection. I was reading about him just the other day. Do you know that he got caught up in the big art scandal where that German man sold millions of dollars’ worth of forgeries? Can you imagine trying to put one over on someone who knew their business and caught you? That would be slammer time for years for sure. But I digress. I’ve done all right and made some wise investments. Do you collect?” she asked.
I found it almost comical how she clutched her bag to her chest. Old people had such funny ways.
“My wife and I share a wonderful collection,” I told her. Having something in common helps to build a bond and generate more money.
“Oh, that’s lovely, Mr. Clarke. I was thinking of selling some of mine while the art market is on fire. With all the new laws and regulations, I hear from my financial people that it might be time. No need to line the government’s pockets with my money.” She smiled and winked.
I felt a sudden flutter in my stomach. Here was where I could make a decent return for an outlay of minimal time.
“If that’s truly your wish, I have connections in the art world that could ease your way. It’s not a pleasant thought, but there are people out there who are willing to take advantage of you. Often, I have found that people such as yourself are one step away from being caught up in a well-executed scam. I would be more than happy to assist you with locating credible buyers and preparing the legal documents necessary for sale,” I told her.
Her documents reflected she had an art collection worth about twenty million dollars. If I could help her sell her collection privately, the normal commission was twenty-five percent on the first two hundred thousand dollars, twenty percent on the price between two hundred thousand and three million, and twelve percent above three million. Yes, that would work well in my favor.
“Thank you. I might take you up on that offer. Now, I’ve filled out all the forms you had on your website, and here they are,” she said, tapping a separate pile of documents. “How does this work?” she asked.
“I will review everything and recommend the best way to protect your estate. I might recommend a trust or pour-over will. You could give money as a gift to family members now to help mitigate the estate taxes later or even restructure your real estate property ownership to include someone on a deed as a right of a survivor. Once I have a handle on everything, I can present the best package to you. If you’d like, we can meet again tomorrow at the same time to go over my recommendations,” I offered.
“That would be lovely,” she remarked and opened her large bag to retrieve her checkbook.
What was inside was alarming.
“You’ve got quite an arsenal in there, Mary. Are you expecting trouble?” I asked.
“Mr. Clarke, unfortunately, trouble seems to find me,” she said as she pushed her glasses up her nose.
“I’m sort of intrigued. What do you have in there?” I asked.
She opened her bag, and as she took each item out, she identified it. “On my keychain, an alarm to wake the dead. Next to the alarm is pepper spray. This can is hornet spray, and this one is hair spray. Both will blind and choke you. Here is my stun gun and Taser, and fortunately, I’ve only had to use the Taser once,” she said, looking over the items.
“No gun?” I asked, intrigued by this eccentric.
“Of course. But you asked what was in my bag. The gun is at my back. No need to alarm the public,” she said, eyeing her collection with pride.
Who was this lady? A senior citizen 007?
“Well, let me pack this up and get you a check,” she said.
“No, that’s fine. I have to review all the documents and determine how much work will be involved. When you come tomorrow, if you approve of my plan, we can enter an agreement, and you can pay me then. Would you like me to make inquiries about your art collection?” I asked.
“That would be very helpful, Mr. Clarke,” she replied as she fastened the clasp on her bag.
“I see you have photos and a provenance sheet. May I use that in my inquiries?” I asked.
“Of course, dear. Anything that will help you get a fair price,” she said.
It didn’t appear she was bonded to her collection as Samantha had been. Mary treated this as it should be treated—a business deal.
“Then, let me walk you to the door,” I said.
“The art—would that be through a large auction house or private collector?” she asked.
“I think it would benefit you to go through a private collector, but I’ll get a feel from both,” I said.
The private collector would give me a bigger cut and less red tape. But, to be fair, I’d check out both.
At 2 p.m., there was a knock at my office door, which suddenly turned into a woodpecker-like activity. Before I could even stand, Detective Murphy had twisted the knob and entered with four police officers.
His large body moved toward me and laid a paper on my desk. It was a warrant to search the premises for the art that had been stolen from the house and any documents indicating it was be
ing transported or sold.
What the fuck?
“I will ask you to step aside, so my men can do their job. We’ll be in and out of here in no time if you cooperate,” he said, pointing at areas he wanted his men to search.
“Absolutely not. I have client information in the open, and I need you to allow me to cover it up to protect their confidentiality,” I demanded.
“We will need to go through all your paperwork. For that reason, I have an independent attorney here, who will review documents we find that might have a bearing on our search. If the document pertains to a client, we won’t seize it,” he said.
He stood with his arms crossed in front of him, and that signaled he was going nowhere; as much as I wanted to argue, it would fall on deaf ears.
“What the hell is this? You have no right to even lay eyes on my clients’ papers for any purpose,” I informed him.
A stern-looking woman with her hair drawn back stepped forward. She cradled her tablet against her chest and offered a hand to shake. “I’m Martha Haynes, and the judge appointed me to review the files and decide if it applies to the case. What do you want to start with?” she asked, removing her glasses.
“Neither option is acceptable until I do research on my rights,” I said.
“You are within your rights to apply for a protective order, but until that’s in my hand, we are searching,” Detective Murphy replied. “Now, you can stay and be a part of this to answer questions Ms. Haynes has or leave. Your choice.”
I moved aside and watched my life undergo an inspection I wasn’t ready for at all.
At the end of four hours, they had not produced the paintings or any written information that indicated I had possession of them. My letters of reprimand from the state bar surfaced, which produced a judgmental look from Ms. Haynes, but she didn’t put those in the Keep pile. They did, however, come away with several emails to auction houses that gave the impression I could change Sam’s mind about donating the paintings. There were a few that implied I owned the paintings but nothing to incriminate me that I had killed Sam for them.
“We’re taking a copy of these emails.” Detective Murphy showed me. “We’ve made a copy of your hard drive. I need you to sign that original information remains on your computer. By signing this, you agree you will not destroy any papers or delete anything digital and that what we have is a facsimile.”
“How do I know it’s a facsimile?” I asked.
“You watched us download the hard drive. Now, we can take the entire computer back, but this is a courtesy, leaving it with you. You want to play games? Then, we’ll take all your original papers and not just scanned copies. And we’ll take your hardware,” he said.
It was clear he had lost his patience with me.
I signed for the hard drive contents and emails they had taken. With each signature, I felt like I was signing my name to a motive. It absolutely gave the appearance that I was duplicitous and had a motive to kill Sam. It was the first time I really feared an arrest was a possibility.
Dalia
Yesterday was a day of mixed results. Mary had met with Alex to set her plan in motion, and Declan had executed a search warrant on Alex’s office. However, in the scheme of things, there was no smoking gun. No paintings had been located. Several incriminating emails had been taken into custody. Slowly, a case was being mounted against Alex.
We gathered around the conference table to plan our next few days. Time was closing in on the meeting planned for the paintings for sale in New York. We still had to decide whether to share this information with the FBI. None of us liked the position we were in and felt we were mighty close to bumping up against a claim of withholding information.
“Mary, what was your overall impression of Clarke?” Cillian asked, tapping his pen on the yellow pad. I had come to realize this was a tell that he was anxious.
“Cillian, I struggle with this answer because I’m seeing him at his worst while under tremendous pressure. The man has a history of making bad judgment calls; that is undisputed. He has several bar complaints on record and several short-term marriages, and he appears to lack empathy. The man I met appeared charming and social. I know that the charming persona can be part of a con, but what I am saying is, had I not known his background, I would have bought the Brooklyn Bridge from him if he’d tried to sell it. There was a time or two he seemed genuine, and the other Alex was a part he played. But whatever damage occurred to make him the man he is today has taken hold and clearly is a real part of him,” she said.
From the slow cadence of her voice, I could tell she was having problems with accepting the answer.
“Are you ready for this next meeting?” Jackson asked.
“Yes. We have to know the source who is trying to broker the art sales, so I have little choice,” she said.
As I was about to ask a question, there was a quick rap at the door, and Lee came in to join us.
“Anything new from forensics?” Cillian asked.
“Yes, and it’s a bit confusing,” Lee said, grabbing a cup of coffee and taking a seat.
“Go on,” Mary encouraged.
“There was a carpet in that room, which has now been documented. The lab boys could follow the fibers from the carpet to the kitchen. Then, the trail of fibers stops in the middle of the kitchen by the island,” he said, scratching at the scruff on his face.
“Declan has said nothing to me,” I said. I felt disappointed he hadn’t shared that important information with me first.
“He hasn’t seen it yet. The lab guy called me to ask about a new product we had used in Chicago before I left to see if I could remember the name,” Lee said.
The group went silent as we processed the information.
“The fact that fibers were found in the bag from vacuuming the kitchen doesn’t really say much. I mean, people drag that type of trace while walking from room to room every day,” I said.
“Yes, but these fibers had traces of blood on them,” Lee said as his eyebrows lifted for emphasis.
That changed things. A lot.
“So, you’re saying, maybe the body was wrapped in the rug or laid on top of it and dragged to the kitchen. With a head injury, there might be a lot of bleeding. If that’s so, then the blood might seep through the carpet and leave a trail,” Mary opined. “But would it seep through the carpet and stain the wood?”
“It would depend on the thickness of the carpet and the backing. But that’s why the lab tech wanted the name of the new product. I got that for him, and they’re over there right now. Hold on,” he said as he read a text. “That’s Paul from the lab. It appears there were blood drops around the center island that might have been cleaned with bleach. Possibly, the body was lying there, and the perpetrator was waiting for someone to come help carry it out the door.”
“That gives us a lot more information than we had but also widens our suspect list,” I said.
“How so?” asked Mary.
“A woman could have done this alone by sliding the body, using the rug,” I said, reaching for the carafe of coffee.
“I don’t think we ever narrowed the list down to just men,” Jackson said.
“In my mind, I thought a man might have thrown the body over his shoulder. You know, like a fireman carry. Or carried it out bride style and left,” I said.
“Oh no, I never saw it as that type of maneuver. If that were the case, you would have seen more blood droppings from the living room to the place of exit. I would think blood droplets from the head would have left a trail along the way,” Lee said. “Or maybe a shoe print with blood.”
That made perfect sense.
“And, since we still can’t discount any physical injury weakening Clarke’s arm or shoulder, that would be a perfect way for him to do it. You know, to slide the body with the carpet,” Jackson said.
“There was something else,” Lee said, reaching for a Danish. “In both the vacuumed bags the CSIs collected, they found strands of
red hair and also several other hairs.”
“That just means someone with red hair was there at some point. If you are referring to her sister, Marley, well, who knows if those hairs had been embedded for a while?” I said.
“And that Marissa woman has red hair,” Mary said.
“Fair point,” he replied. “However, the maid vacuums twice a week, so one would think the maid would have gotten that up when she was there three days earlier. Maybe she did a poor job of vacuuming, or Marley was in the house after she vacuumed,” Lee said.
“I’d like to wait on jumping to that conclusion for a while. Don’t forget that Abigail, the insurance person, also has red hair, and she has been in there several times. This gives us a lot to think about, but it doesn’t bring us closer to the paintings,” Cillian said.
“Mary, any word from Tyler?” I asked.
“Everything is still set for the meetup. Nothing has changed. There’s been no further chatter,” she said. “He’s working out a plan to intercept the paintings before they reach the embassy door.”
“God, what about the other paintings? That’s driving me crazy. What will happen if they catch this person with the two paintings, and then the other six are lost?” Jackson said, leaning his head back and twisting his neck in a circle.
“We can’t discount it. But maybe it’s a two-person operation. Maybe the other person will still have the paintings,” I said, looking at Jackson.
“Right, but once their buddy is snatched up, what’s the chance they will want to continue down the path of trying to sell the rest? They might ditch them or put them into a storage container somewhere. Once you get amateurs involved, this type of thing devolves into chaos,” Jackson said.
“I don’t know, Jackie boy. This person doesn’t seem like an amateur. How easy is it really for an amateur to set something this sophisticated up on the Dark Web? And, once it’s up, how do they figure out it was being monitored? Whoever pulled the plug on the auction did so that we couldn’t capture the IP address. And throw into the mix, the person has contacts with Russians in an embassy no less. Does that say amateur to you?” Mary asked.
Facing A Twisted Judgment Page 10