Big Sick Heart: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery

by Mike Markel

  “But it’s no coincidence Henley’s looking at Rawlings to build a facility, right?”

  “No, it’s no coincidence. Henley’s priming the pump by financing the university through equipment and placing her here. She’s part of Henley, it’s as simple as that. I wouldn’t be surprised if the company builds here, then relocates some of her old team out here to make it more convenient for Dr. K.”

  “You think the company’s paying her under the table?”

  Ryan said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s violating some university policy in doing more ‘consulting’ than she’s allowed to. But since she negotiated her own patent royalties out in the open, I bet she negotiated her own consulting rules, too.”

  “You got a crush on Dr. K?”

  Ryan laughed. “Not at all. But the way her experiences have shaped her, it all fits together. You and me, we’ve never seen poverty like Delhi in this country. We’ve never had to compete with wild animals for our meals. It makes sense the most important thing for her is to make sure she and her whole family are fed. Then, the commitment to her research, that comes from her experience with the nun. Education saved her—and her whole family. She sees this stem-cell thing as her mission, her way of giving back.”

  “You have a very pleasant view of the world, young man.”

  “You know, Karen, when people think of LDS missions, they think it’s two guys in white shirts and black ties, riding bicycles, knocking on doors, being a pain in the ass. But when I was in Delhi, I worked for a while in a clinic, where I saw stuff even worse than Dr. K talked about. Kids dying of diarrhea that could have been cured for ten cents a day. And I did some teaching. I know my church just reached down, grabbed a whole bunch of kids, and pulled them right out of that sewer. When I was at BYU I met students from Bangladesh, Indonesia, all over Africa. They wouldn’t have made it out of those slums. Some of them wouldn’t be alive.”

  * * *

  I picked up the phone and punched in the four numbers for Robin in the lab.

  “Sorry, Karen, not yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got it.”

  “Okay, thanks, Robin.”

  An aide walked in and, dropping an interoffice envelope on my desk, said, “One more set of financials for Dolores Weston.” I thanked her and opened the envelope.

  “What is it?” Ryan said.

  “Give me a minute here.” I could feel myself smiling. A couple minutes later, I said, “Ryan, can you get me the stock price on Henley Pharmaceuticals on August 20 of this year?”

  “Let me see,” he said, turning to his computer. A few moments later, he said, “Okay, got it.”

  “Listen to this,” I said, arranging the papers on my desk. “On August 21 of last year, Dolores Weston received from Henley Pharmaceuticals an option to buy five thousand shares of their stock.”

  “Why are they giving her stock options?”

  “It’s listed as ‘consulting services.’”

  “What’s she doing for Henley, except helping them get tax breaks for setting up shop in Rawlings?”

  “Here’s the good part: the stock options are dated August 10, eleven days earlier, with a share price of forty-eight bucks. So that’s … how much is that for five thousand shares?”

  Ryan used the calculator on his computer. “That’s two hundred and forty thou,” Ryan said. “Not bad for a consulting fee.”

  “But what did you say the stock price was on August 10?”

  Ryan looked down at his pad. “Thirty-seven fifty.”

  “Times five thousand?”

  Ryan said, “One hundred and eighty-seven and a half.”

  “Okay, here’s what they’ve done. On August 21, the company gave her stock options worth two-forty. But they back-dated them to August 10, when they were worth only one eighty-seven and a half.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “According to Sarbanes-Oxley, you have to value the options at the current price.”

  “So if you give them on August 21, you have to use the August 21 price?” he said.

  “That’s right. What they’re doing, in effect, is giving her almost a quarter million of value but calling it only one eighty-seven on their records.”

  “Why’re they doing it that way?”

  “It’s an old accounting trick they use to make their expenses look small. Companies give their executives a big salary through back-dated stock options. They date the stock options for some time in the past when the price was low, so when the executives get the options they’re already ahead of the game.”

  Ryan said, “And since the companies can easily track the history of their own share price, they can manipulate the date however much they want to make the options worth a little more or a lot more.”

  “Exactly. But Sarbanes-Oxley requires that the company date the options honestly to make the company balance sheet accurate. If the company is really paying the executive, say, ten million in options, the law doesn’t let the company call it eight million. That kind of fiddling can understate the company’s real expenses and make it look more profitable than it really is.”

  “Which is just another way to take advantage of shareholders, who are paying retail for a company that’s less profitable than it looks,” Ryan said.

  “That’s it,” I said.

  “Time for another trip to the Senator’s great room?”

  “No, I think it’s time to have her come in here and make a statement. I want to get her out of her element.”

  “Want me to call her?”

  “I’ll be happy to do it,” I said. I picked up the phone, then put it back in its cradle. “One thing I did want to ask you about, though. When we were out there at her house, how’d you know about that fancy wood and the zinc whatever?”

  “I’d Googled her, and there was this article about her house in Architectural Digest. She was bragging about the wenge-wood and the zinc countertops and the white bronze inlays.”

  “You’re a crafty son of a bitch,” I said, nodding.

  “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, picking up my phone and punching in Dolores Weston’s number. “Things are gonna get more fun now,” I said as the senator’s phone rang. “Yes, can I speak to Senator Weston, please? Detective Seagate, Rawlings Police Department.” I hit Speaker.

  “This is Dolores Weston.” The tone was chilly.

  “Senator Weston, Detective Seagate. Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Well, I’m always busy, Detective. How can I help you?”

  “We need to talk to you a little more about the Arlen Hagerty case. Some new information has come in.”

  “Go right ahead, Detective, what do you need to say?”

  “We’d rather talk face-to-face, if you don’t mind, Senator.”

  “I’m right in the middle of something now, Detective. Can you stop by early this afternoon?”

  “I’m afraid we’re gonna have to ask you to come in to headquarters, make a formal statement.”

  “I don’t see why that’s necessary, Detective.”

  “With all due respect, Senator Weston, the police are authorized to require a person to come in to headquarters and make a statement. We record it. That way there’s no confusion about what was said.”

  “Are you suggesting I am a suspect in the murder of Arlen Hagerty?”

  “Absolutely not, Senator.” Ryan made a face that said, Heavens, no. “It’s just that we need an official statement from you to help us understand some things about the case.”

  “Can you tell me what those things are?”

  “They have to do with your financial relationship with Henley Pharmaceuticals.”

  “I see,” Dolores Weston said. “I’ll be at police headquarters at 1:00 sharp. Please do not keep me waiting. I have a very full schedule.”

  “We’ll try to be considerate of your time, Senator.” Dolores Weston hung up. “Seems like we got her attention.”

  Ryan and
I worked on forms for the rest of the morning. He ate his bag lunch in the break room. I went scavenging through the machines. We were back at our desks at 12:55.

  At 1:02, I got a call from the front desk that a Senator Weston was there to see me. I told the receptionist I’d be right out.

  “Now, whatever you do, Ryan,” I said as we walked out to Reception, “we mustn’t waste the Senator’s time.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “She has a very full schedule, I hear.”

  “Exactly. Accepting bribes is time-consuming, you know.”

  Senator Weston was standing there. No smile this time. She had on a double-faced camel’s hair beret, a matching coat with epaulets and a belt, and chocolate leather boots. She might be a crook and a murderer, but hell, she looked like a million bucks. Next to her was a tall, distinguished looking gentleman, about sixty. His eyes were dark and close set. It wasn’t until I was up close I could see pale silver eyebrows and a one-inch ribbon of thin silver hair on his translucent scalp. His overcoat was black, with a velvet collar.

  “Senator Weston, thank you for coming in,” I said.

  Senator Weston offered a barely perceptible head nod. The man by her side said, “Lester Ingram, counsel for Senator Weston.” He didn’t offer his hand, so I didn’t, either.

  “Detective Karen Seagate. Detective Ryan Miner. Ryan, why don’t you lead the way. I think Interview 2 is available.” Interview 2 is the shabbier of the two interview rooms, the one with the handcuffs attached to the top of the table. The ones in Interview 1 were attached under the table and therefore less obvious.

  “Senator Weston, why don’t you take that seat over there. Mr. Ingram, I imagine you’d like to sit next to your client.” Dolores Weston looked at the handcuffs as if they were silver snakes, then shot me a hostile look. Good—nothing establishes a tone as effectively as a set of shiny cuffs bolted to a steel table.

  I hit Record on the tape recorder sitting in the middle of the table. “We wanted to talk with you today about a couple of matters related to the Hagerty murder. First, I want to inform you we are tape recording this conversation. It is 1:04 pm, Monday, December 1. In the room are Detectives Karen Seagate and Ryan Miner, Senator Dolores Weston, and her attorney, Lester Ingram.

  “Senator Weston, we want to ask first about your consulting activities for Henley Pharmaceuticals. Could you tell us what your duties were?”

  Dolores Weston said, “I’m not sure what you mean by—”

  Her attorney placed his hand on her forearm to silence her. “Let me take this question, please,” he said. “For some years, both here and in New Jersey, Senator Weston has been associated with Henley Pharmaceuticals, providing various consulting services.”

  I waited, like the lawyer was just getting started. Apparently, he had just finished. “I’m sorry, Senator Weston. I asked you what your duties were. What did you actually do for them? Did you, for example, provide scientific expertise? Business consulting? What did you do?”

  The attorney responded. “The nature of Senator Weston’s consulting activities is covered by trade-secrets protection.”

  “Trade secrets? You mean like the formula for Coca-Cola?” I said, leaning in toward Ingram.

  “That is one example of trade-secret protection, yes. But the Senator is not compelled to provide specifics on the services she provided.”

  “Senator,” I said, “I’d like to establish a cooperative tone for this statement, but I gotta tell you, when I play this tape for the prosecutor, he’s gonna say, ‘Sounds to me like they’re paying her off for something she doesn’t want us to know about.’ I mean, that’s the kind of guy he is. So, I wanna give you another chance to answer my question about what kind of consulting you were providing to Henley Pharmaceuticals.”

  Dolores Weston leaned over to speak in Ingram’s ear. He nodded, then said, “We’re going to stick with our previous statement.”

  I put on a disappointed look, but I liked where we were going. “All right. Let me turn to the nature of the consulting fees. This last year, Senator Weston, you received on August 21 options to buy five thousand shares of Henley stock, which that day was selling at forty-eight dollars even, is that correct?”

  Lester Ingram inhaled and leaned back, his large, bald head rising. “I assume those facts are accurate, Detective. I don’t have the paperwork before me.”

  “Yes, Senator Weston, those facts are accurate. Did you know those options were dated August 10?”

  “Again, Detective, if you say so,” Ingram said, looking at his watch to signal his annoyance that I was getting bogged down in trivialities.

  “Okay, just one more question on this point.”

  Lester Ingram waved his hand indulgently, inviting me to proceed so he and Senator Weston could leave. I said, “Now, if we were to subpoena last year’s financial statements from Henley, would we discover that those options were properly expensed at their current value—that is, the value on August 21—or at their lower value—the August 10 value?”

  “Surely, Detective, this is not a matter Senator Weston could possibly have any knowledge of or, for that matter, any control over. I cannot see why you are asking the senator this question.”

  “Well, Counselor, I bring it up only to point out that if we decide to get a subpoena for the Henley financials, that news will certainly become public. If the public was to find out that Senator Weston received almost a quarter million dollars last year from a drug company back East for some consulting services she chooses not to describe … I don’t know, it might not look so good. Add to that that the Senator is trying to get her Republican colleagues to write in extra tax breaks so that Henley sets up shop here …” I decided to just let that thought hang in the air for a moment.

  “Detective,” Ingram said, “would you and your colleague mind giving us a minute?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. Into the tape recorder, “Mr. Ingram has asked for a moment to confer with his client. It is 1:16. Detectives Seagate and Miner are leaving the room.” I turned off the recorder. Ryan and I left the room and walked into the passageway behind it. We looked through the one-way mirror and turned on the speaker. Ingram looked over his shoulder at the mirror. He and Dolores Weston continued to whisper to each other, too low for the microphone to pick up. A minute later, he stood, walked over to the mirror, and tapped on it.

  We re-entered Interview 2 and I turned on the recorder and spoke the time and names into it.

  Dolores Weston said, “All right, Detective. Let’s move beyond the innuendo and the threats. What do you want from me? What do you want to know?”

  “I take that as an indication you’re willing to be a little more forthcoming. That’s good. But there’s one other fact I want to put on the table before I tell you what we want from you.”

  Lester Ingram said, “What would that ‘fact’ be?” emphasizing the word as if he wasn’t willing to concede anything I said was a fact.

  “Remember, at your house, when Detective Miner asked you whether you gave any money to Soul Savers, and you said you did, and he asked if it was five thousand a month, and you didn’t respond? Do you remember that?”

  “I have a recollection of that, yes.”

  “Well, I think we solved that little mystery. For more than a year now, on the tenth of each month, you have withdrawn five thousand dollars from your Wells Fargo account. And around the fifteenth of each month, Mr. Hagerty deposited five thousand dollars into his First Colorado account.” I was looking directly at Dolores Weston. “Do you want me to give you the number of your Wells Fargo account?”

  “No, Detective, that won’t be necessary. As I said, those were charitable donations to Soul Savers.”

  “Do you make charitable contributions to other organizations, Senator Weston?”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “Do you make those contributions in cash?”

  Lester Ingram said, “I will respond, Senator.” To me, “The Senator is under no obl
igation to make the contribution in the form of a check or to declare it on her taxes, which I am sure is your next question. If she gave those contributions as cash, I am certain that was at the request of Arlen Hagerty, who presumably desired it in that form so he could distribute the monies easily to different accounts in Soul Savers according to his discretion.”

  I laughed. “I’m not sure a grand jury would find that a persuasive explanation, Counselor, but, I gotta say, I enjoyed it.”

  “Detective, what is the purpose of this fishing expedition? Are you willing to tell us now what you want?”

  “Well, here’s the big picture, Counselor. Someone killed Arlen Hagerty. You know that, correct?” His face was impassive. “To help us figure out who did it, we need to establish a motive. If Hagerty was blackmailing Senator Weston, that could be a motive.”

  “That accusation is outrageous,” Senator Weston said, rising halfway from her chair.

  “Please sit down, Senator. I didn’t make any accusation. I merely said if Hagerty was putting the touch on you for five thousand, that could be interpreted as a motive for you to kill him.”

  “I will not tolerate this,” Dolores Weston said.

  Lester Ingram touched her arm, signaling for her to calm down. He said, “I’ll ask one more time. What do you want?”

  “I want your client to explain to us, honestly, what was going on with her and Henley and Arlen Hagerty.”

  “And what consideration will you give the Senator if she answers you candidly?”

  “If she had nothing to do with Hagerty’s death—or any other crime—I will thank her sincerely and personally escort her out of the building. If she tells us, accurately, who killed Hagerty, but has committed a crime herself, I will tell the prosecutor she was cooperative. But if she committed a crime and makes us spend a lot of the taxpayer’s money finding that out, I will recommend the prosecutor offer her no consideration. How’s that? Is that clear enough, Counselor?”

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear. She spoke. “The payments from Henley were for my efforts to help them secure tax breaks for building a facility here. Doing so would be to my constituents’ advantage because of the employment it would bring to Rawlings and surrounding towns. Not one penny of the payments went to my personal use.”