Art of Deception

by Brenda Donelan

  “Yeah, I know,” Marlee said, even though both she and Hector knew she would be involved no matter what happened. “I’m just so worried about Bridget. She doesn’t have any training in criminal justice, so I’m sure she’s panicking right now. I think the only trouble she’s ever been in was when she got caught for underage drinking at college. She’s not a criminal, and she shouldn’t be in jail. I’m one hundred percent sure she didn’t steal the urn.”

  “I believe you, but I don’t know Bridget, and I don’t know anything other than the scuttlebutt going around the police station. Look, I have an appointment in a few minutes, but I’ll give you a call later and we can talk more. If you answer the phone, that is,” Hector said pointedly.

  “Ha ha, of course I’ll answer the phone. Talk to you later.” Marlee walked away from the coffee shop towards her car in the parking lot.

  As Marlee situated herself in her SUV, she pulled at driver’s side door to close it. Before she could secure the door, a gloved hand reached inside. “Oh my God!” Marlee yelled as she tugged on the door.

  “Marlee McCabe?” asked the voice attached to the gloved hand. “I’m Detective Roy Knutson with the Elmwood Police Department, and I want to talk to you. Please accompany me to the police station.” Detective Knutson stood well over six feet tall and his cologne smelled of a combination of leather and pine needles. His head was shaved, but he sported a dark goatee and hazel eyes. All in all, he was about as attractive as a detective could get.

  “What’s this about?” Marlee asked, knowing full well she was about to be questioned and maybe arrested in connection with the theft of the urn.

  “I need to talk to you about a stolen item from Marymount College. I’d rather wait until we get to the station to discuss the matter. You can either ride with me or meet me at the police station. Do you know where it is?” Detective Knutson was all business, which Marlee found to be very sexy. She could not believe herself. Within the past half hour, she had encountered two former boyfriends and now Detective Knutson. She was on fire!

  “Yes, I know where the station is. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I’ll have my lawyer meet me there.”

  Detective Knutson nodded and walked toward an unmarked car parked near her Honda CR-V. He was dressed in khakis, a green Oxford shirt sans tie, and a brown leather jacket zipped halfway up his chest. Not only was he a sharp dresser, but he carried himself well.

  After calling Denny Harlow and letting him know she was about to be questioned by police, Marlee followed Detective Knutson to the station and parked in the lot meant for the general public. On the way there, she called her department secretary and told her she needed to cancel her office hours for the afternoon. Marlee met Knutson inside the front door and he walked her to an interrogation room. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a metal chair. “I’ll be back when your attorney gets here.”

  Marlee waited for what seemed like an hour before Denny moseyed into the interrogation room. “Hey, girlie,” he called out cheerfully as he plopped down in a metal chair next to her. “Don’t answer anything unless I give you the okay. Understand?”

  “Yes, Denny I understand. I’m not a total moron,” Marlee snarled.

  “Whoa, you might want to get that attitude under control. Anger isn’t going to win you any points with me, and it won’t put you in the best light with the police either. Get your shit together, girlie.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, Denny. This is stressful. I won’t say anything in this interview unless you give me the go-ahead.” Marlee was a mixture of emotions stemming not only from her upcoming interrogation, but her unanticipated encounters with both Hector and Vince. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, contemplating what she would say to the detective who would be asking about her and Bridget.

  Detective Knutson cut a sharp figure as he entered the room. “Before we begin I just want to let you know that you’re not under arrest, and you are free to leave at any time. Also, I’ll be recording this interview.” After activating the recorder on the table, the detective identified himself, Marlee, and Denny, and noted the date, time, and location.

  “Ms. McCabe, I’d like to…”

  “It’s Dr. McCabe,” Denny interrupted. “My client has a Ph.D.”

  “You can call me Marlee,” the professor said, wincing as Denny kicked her under the table.

  “Marlee, I’m not going to waste our time by asking you questions about things I already know. The urn taken from Marymount College was found in your home and your cousin admitted that she stole it and hid it there. What I want to know is why you went along with it.”

  “I didn’t know anything about it until I arrived at my house and found the police searching it,” Marlee said before she remembered she needed to get a reaction from Denny to make sure she wasn’t digging herself or Bridget into a deeper hole.

  “You and Bridget are close. I know that because she told me she stays at your house some times when you’re out of town. She takes care of your cat.” Detective Knutson stared at Marlee with piercing hazel eyes rimmed with long, dark lashes.

  Not getting a reaction from Denny, Marlee responded to the inquiry. “Yes, we’re close. She’s not just my cousin but a friend. When I go out of town, which isn’t that often, Bridget stays at my house. Not only does she take care of my cat but she just likes the feel of a home. Her apartment is nice but it’s small and the walls are thin so she has to put up with the noise from the neighbors. She likes to stay at my place for a change of pace when I’m out of town.”

  “And she has her own key?”

  “Yes, I gave her a key when she moved to Elmwood. I have a key to her apartment too.”

  “Who else has a key to your house?” Detective Knutson asked.

  Denny sprang into lawyer mode. “Don’t answer that.”

  “Why?” Marlee asked. It didn’t make any sense to her that she couldn’t tell the detective who had access to her house.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Denny said under his breath. “Move on to the next question, detective.”

  “Were you involved in The Showcase that Bridget was working on at Marymount College?”

  “No. Bridget told me a little about it, and I knew she spent a lot of time working on it. She’s a perfectionist and wanted everything to be just right since it involved the whole community. Plus, she’s going up for tenure back at her home institution in Minnesota next year, and The Showcase would really be a feather in her cap when it came to listing her accomplishments. I don’t know much about art, and my interest in movies and music isn’t something that would be included in this type of showcase.”

  “Bridget confessed to stealing the urn and securing it inside a wall in the closet of the bedroom where she slept when she stayed at your house. It was found when we executed the search warrant at your home. There’s no doubt that she took it. Why do you think she did it?” Detective Knutson turned up the heat. He was no longer playing the good cop.

  “I don’t think she took it. I think you’re either lying to me or she was tricked into confessing. Bridget wouldn’t take an old antique. What the hell would she do with it?” Marlee ran her hands through her hair wondering how this whole mess got started.

  “I talked to her personally, and I can assure you that she did confess and that she was not tricked or deceived in any way. You need to face the facts, Marlee. Your cousin stole a very valuable antique. She planned to sell it and had a buyer lined up. We know she did it because she told us. What I need to find out now is why you’re protecting her,” Detective Knutson said in a low tone.

  “I’m not protecting her. I mean I’m not covering for her or hiding anything she’s done illegally. Seriously, how many professors do you know that go out and commit art thefts? This just doesn’t make any sense,” Marlee said. “Why can’t you see that? I don’t think she confessed, but if she did it was for some outlandish reason.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know
. I don’t have any explanation. I was at a conference in Chicago and just arrived home early Monday afternoon. When I got there the police were searching my house. That’s really all I know.” Marlee was becoming flustered because as much as she knew she was telling the truth, she could tell that the detective didn’t believe her.

  “Why did she hide the urn at your house? She has her own apartment and lives alone. She could’ve taken it there. She hid the antique at your house because you knew what she was doing and you gave it your approval. Don’t deny it. We know you’re involved. Maybe you’re the mastermind behind all of this and Bridget was just your puppet.” Detective Knutson was on a roll and had more questions ready to fire at Marlee.

  “We’re done here,” interrupted Denny as he screeched back his chair and rose to his feet. “Either charge my client or we’re going.”

  Detective Knutson stared at Marlee, then at Denny. After ten seconds, Denny said, “C’mon, Marlee. We’re leaving. And Detective, if you have any other questions for my client be sure that you contact me first. I don’t want anyone from the police department talking to her without me present. Understood?”

  The detective nodded as Marlee stood and proceeded toward the door. “Don’t get too comfortable at home,” he said with a menacing grin. “I’ll be seeing you soon. Real soon.”

  What I wouldn’t give for a margarita and a chicken enchilada! Or even a decent cup of coffee.

  Chapter 7

  “Geez, what’s his problem?” Marlee asked Denny as they walked toward the police station parking lot. “Detective Knutson’s really got a stick up his ass. He’s got a vendetta against both me and Bridget.”

  “I know you worked in the criminal justice field before you began teaching, but my guess is you were never the subject of an investigation. Is that right?” When Marlee nodded, Denny continued. “Police detectives take classes on how to get suspects so mixed up and turned around that they don’t know what they’re saying. Being interrogated is an emotional experience. On top of that, the detective plays mind games. It’s no wonder people confess to crimes they never actually committed. Plus, Knutson was just promoted to detective and is looking to make a name for himself as a top-notch investigator.”

  “I talk about this type of thing in my policing class, but I’ve never experienced it personally. It’s a whole different situation. Guess I’ll have some new examples to use in class next semester. That ought to spice things up when they hear their prof was interrogated.” Marlee smiled, but she was anything but amused. Still shaken from the experience, she decided to go home and rest for a bit before she had to meet Abby, Bridget’s student assistant at Marymount College, in a couple hours.

  When Marlee arrived home, she parked her SUV in the detached garage as usual. Entering through the locked back door, she walked through the kitchen and into the dining room. She threw her book bag, coffee mug, and some loose papers on the table. Less than twelve hours ago, the table was clean and clear because her friends were coming over for pizza. Now it was again covered with books, papers, the crime chart, Pippa’s bed, and a mishmash of other items. The table was the professor’s desk during the two semesters each year. During the summer it turned into her craft table; home to her sewing machine, fleece blankets, homemade candles, and any other projects she obsessively tackled during June, July, and August.

  After opening her mail and discarding an invitation to a screening for varicose veins at the local clinic, Marlee stretched out on the couch. Since she hadn’t slept well the night before, a nap was in order. She grabbed a wind-up alarm clock from the linen closet and set it for 6:30, a half hour before she needed to meet with Abby at Marymount. Marlee covered up with her favorite fleece kitty-cat blanket and fell asleep instantly. In what seemed like five minutes, the alarm sounded and Marlee reached to turn it off. Pippa had curled up by Marlee’s feet and gave her a disgusted look when the alarm sounded. Pippa didn’t like her naps interrupted any more than Marlee.

  A protein bar, an apple, and a few bites of a store-bought pasta salad rounded out the professor’s meal. She brushed her teeth and washed her face before going the Marymount campus. She changed out of her work clothes for dark gray sweat pants with a matching hoodie and her black coat. After she arrived on campus, Marlee parked in the lot nearest the Amos Building, where Bridget’s office was located. She pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket and called Abby. After a quick conversation, Marlee exited her vehicle and stood by the locked back door to the Amos Building.

  “Hey, Abby,” Marlee said in a quiet tone as the student hobbled toward her on crutches. She gave Marlee a big grin as if they were long-time friends rather than two people who just met hours earlier.

  “Sorry I’m running a little bit late. We got out of class about forty-five minutes early, and I decided to work on my project for the class and sort of lost track of time.” Abby pulled several keys hooked to a lanyard out of her coat pocket and unlocked the back door. Marlee held the door open while Abby maneuvered in on her crutches.

  “What class did you have tonight?”

  “Art History. It’s a subject I love and it fits well with my Art major, but the professor is a bit dry. He drones on and on like he’s on auto pilot. I don’t think he even listens to himself. Smart guy, but not a very good speaker,” Abby said as she led the way down the hall past both the dean and the secretary’s offices. “Right here is Bridget’s office.” Abby pointed to a windowless door that looked just like all the other office doors in the hallway. The only distinguishing factor besides Bridget’s name plate on the door was a huge poster for The Showcase.

  “My office is right next to Bridget’s,” Abby said as she selected a key from her lanyard and opened the office door. Abby’s door did not have a name plate. Rather, it held a handwritten sign that read STUDENT ASSISTANT. Noticing that Marlee saw the sign, Abby quickly added, “Well, it’s my office while I’m Bridget’s assistant.”

  They entered the small office, and Abby flicked on the overhead light. The simple room held a small desk with a computer atop it, two chairs, a bookcase, a small gray file cabinet, and rickety side table. Abby had decorated the walls with posters of famous works of art. “Have a seat if you like.” Abby seated herself in the chair behind the desk and propped her crutches against the wall. She gestured for Marlee to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. Abby used yet another key to unlock the file cabinet and pulled out a large green accordion folder.

  “This holds everything on The Showcase. It’s full of letters, contracts, approval from the dean and the president, and a bunch of other stuff. Here,” said Abby handing the folder to Marlee, “you can look through it.”

  Grabbing the overstuffed folder with both hands, Marlee placed it on the desk, opened it, and took out all of the papers. They seemed to be in no particular order, which was not a surprise since that was very much how Bridget operated. Sifting through the papers, Marlee found the contract between Marymount College and Sean Yellow Tail’s security firm, Yellow Tail Security. She also found bids from two other security firms in the area. Marlee went through the file for half an hour when her eyes became bleary. Everything was starting to look alike and none of it made any sense.

  “This is an off-the-wall request, Abby, but could I take the folder home with me tonight? I’m so tired I can’t even focus on this anymore tonight.” Marlee took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes as if to demonstrate just how overworked her eyes really were.

  “No, because I have a meeting at 9:30 tomorrow morning with the dean to talk about The Showcase. Otherwise I’d say it was okay since you’re Bridget’s cousin and all.”

  “I can have this folder back to you well before your meeting in the morning,” Marlee said hoping Abby would go for it.

  “Well, okay.” Abby did not seem overly enthusiastic about Marlee taking the folder off-campus, but it was clear that Abby thought the world of Bridget and some of that admiration floated to Marlee as well since they were cousins.
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  “I have class at 10:00 tomorrow morning and need to be on the MSU campus by 9:00. How about if I swing by here at 8:30 and drop off the folder? Just let me know where to meet you.”

  Abby brightened now that a plan seemed to be in place. “Sure, just come here to my office. I’ll be here by 8:00. I don’t want anyone to see you carrying the folder, so can you put it inside a bag or something?”

  “You betcha! I’ll make sure no one sees me with this file. Thanks a ton, Abby. I really appreciate it, and I know Bridget will too.” Marlee still had no indication that Abby knew of Bridget’s incarceration at the county jail.

  “Anything that takes some stress away from Bridget is a good thing in my opinion. I just want her to have a great experience with The Showcase and teaching and everything else here at Marymount,” Abby gushed. “I think Professor Yardley is retiring this year, and I’m hoping Bridget will apply for his position.”

  “Oh, that would be great,” said Marlee, envisioning the fun and mischief she and Bridget would get in to if Bridget relocated permanently to Elmwood. “I know she really likes teaching here, so she might be tempted to apply if there is an opening soon.”

  “A bunch of us in her classes are hoping so!” Abby was giddy with the possibility of her favorite professor and mentor teaching full time at Marymount. Marlee smiled as she remembered how excited she was with some of her professors who inspired her during her college years. She could understand Abby’s enthusiasm and was excited that Bridget had garnered such a following in the short time she had been teaching at Marymount.

  Abby and Marlee said their goodbyes and Marlee put the bulging folder on the passenger seat in her SUV. It would be a few hours before she could comb through the file. First, she needed to use her spare key to get into Bridget’s apartment.