Art of Deception

by Brenda Donelan

  To be falsely accused of a crime is one of the worst experiences anyone can face. Accusation when only somewhat involved is bad too.

  Chapter 8

  After cruising around the block where Bridget’s apartment was located and determining there was no police surveillance, Marlee parked her SUV on a side street and walked to the newly-built apartment complex. She held the building key in her hand and moved through the front door without incident. To the left were locked mailboxes with apartment numbers displayed on each. Marlee used Bridget’s apartment key to unlock the mailbox and she fished out the handful of advertisements, bills, and other assorted nonsense from the container. Marlee walked upstairs to the second floor and entered Bridget’s apartment with ease. She threw the fistful of mail on the small kitchen table and proceeded to look around the home with the aid of the small flash light attached to her key chain. Even though she didn’t see any cops outside, they might still be driving by, and she didn’t want them to notice a light on in Bridget’s apartment.

  First, Marlee looked in Bridget’s bedroom. Clothes were strewn on the floor, the bed, and on a folding chair. It was impossible to tell what was clean and what was in need of laundering. Other than the usual disarray, nothing seemed out of place. Bridget was messy in her housekeeping and in her work life, yet managed to look put-together and act professionally. Abby would no doubt be surprised to see her favorite professor was a slob. Then again, since Abby was working as an assistant for Bridget, she already knew about the film professor’s lackadaisical approach to life and work. How Bridget could be a perfectionist and a slob at the same time baffled Marlee.

  Seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the bedroom, Marlee proceeded to the living room-kitchen combo, the bathroom, and finally the small spare bedroom Bridget used for an office. Each room was messy, yet not dirty. Bridget was a bit of a clean freak and didn’t like dirt and dust to build up. Yet, she was quite messy and most surfaces in her home were covered with something: clothes, papers, or odds and ends.

  If there’s anything that will shed some light on this situation it’s probably in here, Marlee thought as she sat in front of Bridget’s computer. The hard part was figuring out her cousin’s password. It will have something to do with a film, Marlee thought as she tried to remember Bridget’s favorite movie. She talked about movies so much that Marlee tended to tune her out after a while. She remembered Bridget mentioning The Maltese Falcon several times so Marlee typed in Maltese Falcon, which was rejected. Panning the small flash light around the office, it became apparent that Bridget was a huge fan of Humphrey Bogart, so Marlee typed that into the computer. Lo and behold “Humphrey Bogart” was the password!

  Now that she had access to Bridget’s files, Marlee didn’t know what she was looking for. She began to feel a bit guilty for snooping in her cousin’s private and professional matters, but then convinced herself that she was doing it for Bridget’s own good. Someone needed to find out what was really going on with the stolen urn and the police seemed convinced that Bridget was the culprit.

  Scanning through the files on the hard drive, Marlee found mostly lecture notes, research, and matters unrelated to teaching or Marymount College. She was surprised to learn that Bridget was a huge fan of the game “Sceptor” and played under the pseudonym of Task Master. I never would’ve pictured Bridget playing this sci-fi game, Marlee thought as she scrolled through some of Bridget’s files, some of which contained downloaded information on strategies for winning at Sceptor.

  Marlee logged into Sceptor under Bridget’s gaming name of Task Master and using “Humphrey Bogart” as the password. As soon as she entered the Sceptor game, three people greeted her in the chat box at the bottom of the screen. “Glad you’re here.” “You missed the big performance last night. What happened?” “We couldn’t finish the game since you didn’t play. The Bullet Boys won. Are you still the team captain or what?” From these comments Marlee surmised that Bridget was the leader of a team within Sceptor and that since she was locked up yesterday, she was unable to play, thus ensuring her team’s loss. Now Marlee was logged on as Bridget and she was getting several questions thrown at her.

  Taking a deep breath, Marlee typed in “Family problems. Away for a day. Sorry. You can appoint a new captain while I’m gone. Not sure when it will be resolved.” Marlee wasn’t sure when Bridget was getting out of jail, but at least acknowledging that the team could elect a new leader would be one less thing for Bridget to deal with when she returned to normal life on the outside.

  Comments and questions were immediate following Marlee’s disclosure as Bridget. Team members were asking for details, blaming Bridget for their losses, and begging for her return. Not knowing what to do, Marlee logged out of the game. The less she revealed the better, especially since she didn’t know what she was doing or what was going on. She would ask a student from one of her classes about Sceptor and how it worked. For now, Marlee was finished with this game and its rabid fans.

  Not finding anything else of interest on the hard drive or in the search history, Marlee turned off the computer and focused on a cardboard box full of files placed on the floor under the computer desk. Scanning the flashlight over the files, she noticed that many of them had to do with research at her home institution, but there were plenty that referenced Bridget’s classes and The Showcase at Marymount.

  Knowing she shouldn’t spend any more time in the apartment, Marlee picked up the box of files to take home with her. As she glanced over her shoulder at the desk, she swung the flash light around the room one last time. It was then that she noticed a green jump drive partially concealed by a stack of books.

  Marlee grabbed the jump drive and threw it in the cardboard box. I’ll see what’s on this when I get home, she thought as she turned to leave the room. That was when she heard brisk, yet soft, knocking on the front door to the apartment. She froze, knowing she had been caught. She just hoped it wasn’t Detective Knutson who already presumed she and Bridget were co-conspirators in an art theft ring. Being apprehended in Bridget’s apartment attempting to take a box of files from the home wouldn’t look good.

  More knocking, this time a bit softer. “Marlee, are you in there?” called out a voice in a loud whisper. She recognized the voice, but couldn’t place it either due to nerves or because the person was whispering. Instinct told her the person on the other side of the door was friend rather than foe.

  Approaching the door with the box of files still balanced in one arm, Marlee peered through the key hole. Her instinct had been partially correct. The person on the other side of the door would not do her any harm, but she wasn’t sure if he should be considered a friend.

  Hector Ramos knocked again, and Marlee opened the door. She grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him into the dark apartment, closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here, Hector? Are you following me?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I have other things to do besides follow you. I just suspected you might come over here and nose around for clues. Guess I was right.”

  “Did you come to help me?” Marlee asked, not completely sure what his answer would be.

  “I wanted to make sure you didn’t get yourself in any more trouble than you already are. You better get out of here before one of the neighbors sees you poking around,” Hector said, opening the door and ushering her out. “I’m parked next to you. Let’s go somewhere that we can talk in private.”

  “You can come over to my place if you want.” Marlee was hoping Hector would change his mind and help her exonerate Bridget and get the Elmwood Police Department off her back too.

  “Fine. But don’t get any ideas.” Hector winked as he walked behind her to their vehicles.

  “Dream on,” Marlee retorted, although she really couldn’t make any promises as to what might happen between them later. When Hector wasn’t looking, Marlee had grabbed the mail she’d placed on Bridget’s table minutes ago, along with previously-opened letters and bills.
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br />   Hector followed Marlee to her house and parked outside her garage. He carried in the box she took from Bridget’s house while she gathered up the bulging file folder on loan from Abby.

  After they made their way into the house, Marlee said, “I’m making a pot of coffee. I have a lot of documents to go over tonight.” She moved some of the items from the dining room table so they could use it for their research into Bridget’s work on The Showcase and whatever mysteries that might entail.

  “Coffee sounds great. Do you have any food?” Hector felt right at home again even though he had not been back to Marlee’s house in months, pending her decision on whether to choose him or Vince Chipperton.

  What little food Marlee had on hand didn’t sound very appetizing to either of them so Hector ordered a large pizza from Domino’s. By the time he finished placing the order, Marlee had the table cleared, except for Pippa who was curled up in her cat bed atop the table. She grabbed plates and napkins and threw them on the table then stacked folders from Bridget’s cardboard box on the table. On the other side, she placed papers from the folder she borrowed from Abby.

  “I thought maybe you could start going through the stuff from Bridget’s apartment while I look at the stuff her student assistant loaned me.”

  “You have stuff from Bridget’s campus office too?” Hector did not seem opposed to helping Marlee, but he needed a full understanding of the material she currently possessed.

  “It’s from Abby, her assistant on The Showcase at Marymount. Abby said I could look at it as long as I have it back to her early in the morning before her meeting with the dean.” Marlee was nonchalant in her recounting of how she met Abby and enticed the young student to turn over documents pertaining to the showcase.

  Hector shook his head. “I’ll never understand how people just open up to you.” He reached for two coffee mugs and poured them each a cup of steaming hot coffee. Marlee added three generous scoops of sugar-free non-dairy creamer to hers, while Hector drank his coffee black. Marlee briefed Hector on the background of Bridget’s case that she hadn’t already disclosed to him and told him of the information she obtained from Abby.

  The pair sat across from each other at the table, sipping on their coffees and sorting through papers until the doorbell rang. Hector settled up with the pizza delivery person and plopped the large box in the middle of table, careful to avoid any of the papers belonging to Bridget or Abby. They immediately tore into the Canadian bacon and mushroom thin-crust pizza, which seemed like the best food in the world to Marlee at the time. She was a stress eater and she had been under immense pressure the past day, not knowing if she and Bridget would be doomed to wearing orange jump suits for an indefinite period of time.

  Piles of papers were stacked into two sections on Marlee’s side of the table; those pertinent to the case and those relating to “other matters.” The “other matters” papers went back into the file so she could concentrate on the documents that might have some bearing on the urn theft. Marlee perused the contract between Marymount College and Yellow Tail Security. She wasn’t an expert when it came to contract law, but the document seemed to be in order. There were no unusual stipulations or riders on the contract. The fee for three weeks of security for just the urn was $40,000. The other art, film, and music items were not included in the contract. The fee was being paid by a private donor.

  “Do you know anything about private security and how much they charge for their services?” Marlee asked Hector. His background was in law enforcement, but she thought he might have some idea as to the going rate for security. It was not unusual for officers employed with the city or county to moonlight in private security.

  “I don’t know what a company would charge for guarding all this artsy fartsy stuff. I never worked private security, but some of my buddies did. They mostly were night watchmen at factories and companies. None of them ever told me what they were paid, but I don’t think it was very much. They basically used it as a way to make a little extra money.”

  “Would it surprise you if I said Yellow Tail Security was making $40,000 for three weeks, just for keeping tabs on the urn during the day?”

  “That’s ridiculous! If I knew private security paid that much, I would’ve checked into it a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, it’s only the two weeks prior to the show and the week following while the urn is still on display before going back to its owners. At night, it’s locked in an unbreakable fiberglass case, according to the contract. Not only that, but Yellow Tail Security is only in charge of monitoring the urn, not any of the other items in The Showcase. None of the other items are valued as much as the urn, but some are valued at a few hundred thousand dollars,” Marlee said as she sorted through the papers. “It says here that the urn is worth 1.2 million dollars!”

  “That’s nothing to sneeze at,” Hector said as he stood to stretch. “Who’s watching the other pieces of art in The Showcase?”

  “That’s the funny thing. I can’t find any contract covering the other pieces of art, the musical instruments, any of the film reels, or projection equipment. Nothing. It looks like regular campus security at Marymount was in charge of the security of those items.” Marlee was puzzled. Regular campus security, at least as she knew it, consisted of patrolling the buildings a few times during the course of the day. That hardly constituted security at the level required for the valuation of the works of art on display in the showcase.

  “Does that make any sense that Marymount would have a security company hired for only one piece of art?” Marlee asked.

  “You mentioned that the pieces of art came from several different owners. Some were private owners and some were museums. I’m guessing there’s a separate contract with each owner,” Hector said as he finished his stretching and reached for another slice of pizza.

  “Hmmm, you might be on to something. The other thing I just thought of is that sometimes a lender provides its own security. You know, when you watch the Oscars and a star comes out wearing millions of dollars in jewelry? She’s followed around by some guys from the company that lent her the jewelry.” Marlee wasn’t sure if this happened in the art world, but it made sense.

  “I bet you’re right. Some of the other pieces were probably guarded by people sent by the companies.”

  “If the urn is valued at over a million dollars, why was Marymount College tasked with finding a private security firm and Bridget asked to finalize the contracts, but the lesser-valued works came with their own security?” Marlee asked.

  “That doesn’t make much sense, unless you consider where each piece of work came from. A museum or a wealthy family that collects art will have its own in-house security team. An individual or a family new to the art world may not have security. They might just keep it locked in a vault somewhere for safe keeping and never take it out to admire.” Hector went into the kitchen and returned with the coffee pot. He refilled both of their mugs and sat back down.

  “I don’t see the name of the urn’s owner in these papers, but I remember Abby saying that it belonged to someone local.” She sifted through the papers until she found the urn’s owner. “Here it is! Conrad Thayer. Maybe I’ll pay him a visit to find out more,” Marlee said standing up after sitting for too long.

  “You can’t go now. It’s almost ten o’clock. That’s a bit late to go to someone’s house, especially if you don’t even know them.”

  “Okay, Mr. Manners. I’ll wait until tomorrow, so as not to breach social etiquette,” Marlee said in a British accent. “I bet you go to homes much later than this all the time.”

  “Yes, but I’m a detective, and I only do it for work purposes. I wouldn’t show up at a friend’s house this late.” Hector felt the need to justify his position.

  “You’ve shown up over here much later than this.” Marlee regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It sounded like she was flirting with him, trying to reestablish their relationship. That was not her intent, she just wa
nted to make a point and one-up Hector in their usual battle of wits.

  He waggled his eyebrows at her and smiled but didn’t say a word. Marlee was thinking of something to say to redirect the conversation when the land line phone rang. She picked it up on the second ring.

  “Since I didn’t hear from you today, I’d thought I’d call and let you know what’s going on with your cousin. In case you’ve forgotten, Bridget’s still in jail,” said a snippy voice.

  Sometimes I’d like to punch Marlee McCabe. Right in the mouth!

  Chapter 9

  “Oh my God, Kathleen! I can’t believe I forgot to call you! I’m so sorry. I’ve been working on Bridget’s case, and it slipped my mind that you were going to talk to her today. How is she?” Words spilled out of Marlee’s mouth so fast she could barely understand herself.

  “It was quite the process,” Kathleen said, her voice much more pleasant now that Marlee had acknowledged her hard work and apologized for not checking in. “I had to wait for a long time, but then they let me talk to Bridget for about twenty minutes. She looks terrible. Her hair is all matted down, and she’d been crying. And they have her in this awful orange jumpsuit and plastic sandals.”

  “What did she say, Kathleen?” Marlee was anxious to find out what Bridget disclosed about her case.

  “She wouldn’t talk much about her arrest other than to say she admitted to the crime. Bridget wanted me to tell you that she doesn’t want you doing any investigation. She’s guilty, and she’s going to take her punishment,” Kathleen reported.

  “That’s ridiculous! Did you believe her when she said she stole the urn?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not great at figuring out when someone is lying. She seemed really sincere about not wanting you to get involved. Bridget also said that she was sorry she hid the urn at your house, and that she would make sure the cops knew you had no involvement at all.”