by Dave Daren
“Paint the rest of the picture for me,” he said, “how does a police scientist from Arizona even cross paths with a gangster from New York?”
“Gerard Chamberlin, the gallery owner and art broker for my sister, is directly connected to Udinova,” I answered as I set documentation down on the table showing the gallery being owned by a shell company owned by Udinova, as well as the picture of the two together, along with sales records where Udinova purchased significant amounts of Harmony’s works over the last several years.
The three agents looked at all the information, and then agent Fitzgerald spoke up. “You believe that Udinova’s interest in the gallery is more than as a simple art collector, we take it?”
“Yes sir,” I affirmed. “I believe that Mr. Udinova is using it as a money laundering vehicle, using the sale of unregistered assets to avoid capital gains tax as well as cleaning his money. He buys the art, and the money flows back to him through the gallery.”
“And you can prove this?” Agent Blume asked.
“No, I cannot,” I answered. “I don’t have the investigatory power to compare Mr. Chamberlin’s tax returns to the business records of the gallery, but based on his lifestyle I am more than confident an examination would show he received significantly more income than he earned as proprietor of the gallery. But you do have that power if you open up a formal investigation.”
“While I think there is smoke here, I don’t know if there is fire,” Agent Blume said. “I have no problem investigating the connection between Udinova and Pell as well as Udinova and Chamberlin. But I don’t understand the connection between Chamberlin, Pell, and your sister.”
“This is where I leave the realm of proven facts behind and go a bit into conjecture,” I said with a nervous laugh. “But I believe the art critic was murdered because his negative review hurt business enough to cause Udinova’s money laundering to suffer. Chamberlin was pressured to turn the business around and came up with the idea of the murder as a means to make Harmony more famous and drive up the price of her work.”
“No offense Mr. Irving, but that’s preposterous,” agent Palko responded.
“Let him talk,” agent Blume told Palko, and Palko’s posture noticeably slumped.
“Here are the sales records for the gallery six months before the murder,” I said as I laid the graph on the table. “Fairly stable and then you can see the massive dip after the review. Then you can see following the murder a huge spike in sales. At first I thought this potential motive was crazy, but the sales records show that it's entirely plausible.”
“And you think Chamberlin murdered the critic?” the special agent asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “It could have been him, I have GPS data from his phone placing him near the scene, as well as text messages to the critic the day of. But it could just as easily been facilitated by him, but carried out by some hired muscle from New York.”
“But…” he trailed off.
“But I know it wasn’t my sister,” I said defiantly. “The critic was over six feet tall and my sister is five foot two. The police report, if we can trust that, says the victim had his throat slashed from behind and then the knife stabbed him in the stomach multiple times. Unless there was a step ladder I just don’t see how my sister could have gotten that angle of attack.”
“You can place Chamberlin at the scene?” agent Blume asked and leaned forward.
“Yes.” I took out the GPS data and showed him. “The murder was at shortly after two in the morning and the data shows Mr. Chamberlin’s phone in this parking lot thirty yards away.”
“This is great work, Mr. Irving,” agent Blume said as he looked up at me with a smile, the first time his expression was full of anything other than doubt since we started. “I think there is enough here for us to start an investigation into the Chamberlin and Udinova connection, if you’re right about everything else the pieces will fall into place.”
My heart soared. “That is great to hear. What about Pell?”
“Mr. Irving--” he began.
“Henry, please,” I interrupted.
“Henry, I know you came here to have us help to exonerate your sister, but the time table for us to investigate this and bring a RICO charge against Udinova or Chamberlin is impossible to say,” he began. “If in the course of our investigation we uncover exculpatory evidence for your sister we’ll be happy to provide it--”
“So long as it doesn’t inhibit your investigation," I sighed.
He paused and tried to sound sincere. “It could take a while to build a federal case against Udinova, plus we have to coordinate with the New York office who is investigating him along with who knows how many other offices.”
“So, she could be sitting in a state prison for years before that happens,” I said with a morose tone.
“Unfortunately so,” he replied. “I feel for your sister here, I really wish there was more I could do.”
“I think, agent Blume, there is something you can do for us,” I said as I readied my planned sales pitch.
“What’s that?” He asked.
“What if you offer a deal to Pell to get him to testify against Chamberlin and Udinova?” I answered with a question of my own. “If Udinova or Chamberlin used the debt as leverage to coerce him to file the fraudulent report, Pell’s testimony could accelerate your case by years.”
“And immediately exonerate your sister,” he said with a big smile across his face. “What do you need from me?”
“I need an agent to be at his deposition tomorrow with the deal in hand to help me get a confession out of him,” I responded.
Agent Blume sat back in his chair again and inhaled deeply. The three agents exchanged looks, and then Agent Blume leaned forward and in a gravelly voice said, “You get Pell in a deposition chair under oath, and we’ll be there with a deal.”
Inside my head I let out the biggest cheer of all time. Outwardly it took all my skill as an actor and a lawyer to appear nonplussed. “Thank you for your time gentlemen, I’ve got copies of all the information I’ve shown you today for you to keep.”
“Henry,” agent Blume said as we all stood up, “good work, you’re gonna put some very bad guys behind bars where they belong.”
“And hopefully keep one good girl out of jail,” I said, and all four of us had a chuckle, shook hands, and then I left the room.
I got in the car and began to drive back to Sedona, and my mood was decidedly upbeat. A few miles from home I stopped at a gas station and while pumping gas I checked my phone and saw I had 3 missed calls and several texts from AJ and Vicki, I scrolled, read the first text from Vicki, and my jaw dropped.
Gerard Chamberlin is dead and Justin Pell has gone missing.
Chapter 16
I couldn’t believe what I’d just read, and I pulled my phone out of my pocket while my brain tried to wrap around the news that Gerard Chamberlin was dead, and Justin Pell was missing?
“Hey Henry, you won’t believe--” Vicki began as soon as she picked up.
“What happened?” I interrupted and fired off questions with machine gun quickness. “How did Gerard die? Where is Justin? Are the police looking for him? What’s going on?”
“Henry, calm down, I’ll get you up to speed,” she soothed. “The process server found Gerard dead at him home, apparently of a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”
“Who says that?” I asked.
“That’s what the police are saying,” she answered.
“No offense to Sedona’s Finest, but their forensic analysis leaves a lot to be desired,” I commented glumly.
“You think he was murdered, don’t you?” Vicki asked.
“I do, but I don’t suppose Gerard left a suicide…” I trailed off.
“He didn’t,” she answered. “It would have been nice of him to admit responsibility and exonerate Harmony if he was going to kill himself.”
“Yeah, only I doubt he killed himself,” I said. “I co
uld understand feeling the pressure after the process server got to him. He would have felt like we were onto him, and the walls were closing in. But he was killed before that so it seems obvious it was a murder to try to tie up loose ends.”
“So Gerard outlived his usefulness to the Russians, and they were worried he would squeal,” she stated.
“Yup. So what about Justin?” I asked.
“Missing. By the time the police let the process server get on with his day after questioning him, Justin was not home, nor was he at work, or any of his other usual haunts," she responded. “Also, his wallet and keys were gone, and all the lights in his apartment were turned off.”
“So, he didn’t leave in a rush,” I concluded.
“Looks like it.”
“Alright, let’s think about this,” I began, “either the Russians got to Justin, and he is buried out in the desert never to be heard from again, or Justin heard about Gerard and headed for the hills.”
“Or Justin was the one who killed Gerard,” Vicki added.
“Possibly,” I said, “but I suspect not. If anything it would be the other way around. Justin was the tool here, not the mastermind. Justin doesn’t improve his chances by eliminating Gerard, but Gerard would benefit by eliminating Justin.”
Vicki made an audible “hmmmmm” into the receiver. “So we’ve narrowed it down to Justin being killed by the Russians or running for his life from the Russians.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” I sighed. “The good news is, I got the FBI to agree to offer him a deal in exchange for his testimony.”
“That’s certainly good news if he is still alive,” she agreed with a laugh.
“Yeah,” I chuckled, “but the other benefit is they would give him witness protection since he would be testifying against the mob.”
“There’s a lot of ‘ifs’ in there,” she said.
“Yep, but for the time being we have to work off the assumption he is still alive,” I declared.
“Why’s that?” She asked.
“The Russians didn’t kill Gerard and hide his body in the desert--” I began.
“So why would they go through that trouble for Justin and not Gerard?” She asked.
“Exactly.” I paused for a few seconds and then continued, “let’s meet up at the gallery with AJ and plot out our next steps.”
“See you soon, Henry,” she said with concern in her voice. “Be safe.”
“You too.”
The sun was setting as I drove to the gallery, and I did my best to avoid speeding. This was a life or death situation in the abstract sense, but I didn’t expect any cop handing out speeding tickets would agree with the necessity that I burn rubber. It was a Wednesday evening in Sedona, and the transition from people walking the street visiting galleries and theaters and yoga studios to people walking the streets to go eat gourmet organic fare and then head to the theater or open mic night had begun. A group of dusty looking kids on mountain bikes were gathered near the front of Harmony’s gallery, and I overheard them talking about riding up the Sugarloaf Mountain Trail and back down. I stopped for a second to remember doing that with my friends and how much fun it was and almost made a mental note to go to a bike shop and buy a mountain bike before I remembered I had planned to go back to LA once this was all wrapped up.
When I walked into the gallery Vicki and AJ were already gathered around the cutting board that had become our de facto strategy conference table.
“We’re all gonna die,” AJ declared, and her voice was quaking with fear.
“AJ--” I began.
“The Russian mob is gonna cut our heads off and sell our organs to the Mexican cartels, and they will resell the kidneys to the Iranians and--”
“AJ! Stop!” I demanded, and she locked up and stared at me.
“Henry is right,” Vicki chimed in to try to calm her down. “Even if the Russians killed Gerard--”
“And Justin!” AJ added.
“And Justin,” Vicki continued, “they aren’t going to kill us. They already tried, and it didn’t work.”
“What!” AJ exclaimed and by this point she was nearly hyperventilating.
“Everybody calm down,” I ordered and then I continued after a long pause. “A few nights ago, we were followed by a car that tried to run us off the road.”
“Holy shit--” AJ started.
“But it was no big deal,” I explained as calmly as I could. “Nothing bad came of it and we made it home safe and sound. I don’t think whoever did it was trying to kill us as much as scare us. I’m not an expert in organized crime, but my understanding is that they go out of their way not to kill innocent people because it draws too much attention.”
“Really?” Vicki asked.
I turned to her. “Yeah, I mean, if one gangster kills another gangster society collectively says ‘who cares’ but if a gangster kills a bunch of innocent people, the authorities come down on them with a vengeance.”
“S-so we’re safe?” AJ asked with a slight stammer.
“The FBI is on the case now,” I explained. “The heat is on, so to speak. My guess is that whatever goons Udinova sent here are high tailing it out of town before the law comes down. Sedona is too small, too many people will have seen strange Russian guys from New York once word gets out.”
“So, then what do we do now?” Vicki asked.
“We have to get Justin to show up to the deposition tomorrow and get the deal from the FBI,” I said. “It's still important to depose Detective Leonard because we can eviscerate his crime scene report in case Justin is… gone… but if we can get Justin in a room with the FBI agent, we win.”
“So we sit back and wait for the police to find Justin then?” AJ asked curiously.
“The police aren’t looking for Justin,” Vicki answered before I could. “They think Gerard’s death is a suicide, and they won’t consider Justin a missing person just because he hasn’t been around all day.”
“But the Russians may have killed him! Or are trying to at least!” AJ said with exasperation in her voice.
“The cops don’t buy the Russian angle,” I said as I shook my head. “They won’t believe anything bad happened to Justin unless he doesn’t turn up after 72 hours.”
AJ put her hands over her head and slumped down in the chair. “So we’re screwed. The process server can’t find him, and the police aren’t even looking for him, it’s hopeless.” She was despondent and nearly in tears. Vicki got up out of her seat, walked over and gave her a hug. AJ, still seated, returned Vicki’s hug and rested the side of her head against Vicki’s stomach.
“What can we do?” Vicki asked as she turned to me.
“We’ll probably just make do with what we have, and hope the police find Justin before the Russians,” I said.
“I HAV a plan,” AJ chimed in. “I think there is someone who can help us, if he’ll agree to it.”
“Who’s that?” Vicki asked with an incredulous tone in her voice.
“Bloodhound Bill,” AJ declared triumphantly.
“No,” I snorted.
“Awwww,” AJ moaned.
“Who is this Bloodhound guy?” Vicki asked.
“The self-proclaimed greatest tracker and manhunter in the south-west, Bloodhound Bill.” I said sarcastically. “He is a high school acquaintance of mine who calls himself a bounty hunter, but really he just wants a reality show and fifteen minutes of fame it seems like.”
“If anyone in Sedona can dig up Justin, it’s probably him.” AJ said with confidence.
Vicki gave me a doubtful, one eyebrow raised look.
“I don’t know, I think he is a bit of a joke actually,” I added. “I would be shocked if he could actually track people down.”
“He’s legit,” AJ said looking up to Vicki and me. “I’ve written about him on my blog before, he is notorious for finding people who don’t want to be found.”
“Notorious?” Vicki asked with a laugh. “You make him sound like
some kind of cowboy desperado.” AJ and I exchanged a look, and then we burst into laughter while Vicki looked at us confusedly.
“He kinda is,” AJ replied.
“He’s very… Sedona,” I added. “He is exactly what you’d expect if I asked you to describe a bounty hunter from Sedona.”
“Sounds like my kind of man,” Vicki replied. “We are definitely hiring him.”
“Nope,” I said.
“Come on, Henry,” Vicki said. “What other ideas do we have? Besides, I bet he’s got tons of fun stories about growing up with you.”
“Ugh,” I sighed. Vicki was right, I didn’t have another other ideas.
“Bloodhound Bill, he’s our man, if he can’t find him then nobody can,” AJ sang.
“Please tell me you just made that up,” I sighed.
“Nope,” AJ replied. “He actually sings it on his website, complete with banjo ditty accompaniment.”
“Oh. My. God.” Vicki reached into her pocket to grab her phone. “I need to see this right now.”
“If I hire the guy, can we forget about listening to him sing?” I moaned.
“You won’t be sorry,” AJ laughed.
“I can’t believe I’m considering this,” I said.
“It isn’t like we’re bursting at the seams with other good options anyway,” Vicki replied. “Besides, I must meet this notorious desperado.”
“Alright, you win,” I sighed. “Call him up.”
“Woohoo!” AJ cheered and gave Vicki a high-five.
AJ called Bill, and without going into detail he agreed to meet with us at the Airport overlook in thirty minutes. I had no idea why he wanted to meet there of all places other than it was a nice view, but with the sun having already set I doubt that was the reason for the out of the way meeting ground. We departed the gallery in my rental car, drove to the scenic airport overlook, and waited for Bill to arrive. Right on cue, Bill pulled up in a rather beaten looking Dodge Dart from the eighties blasting some country music, probably also from the eighties out of the pitiful sound system.
As he got out of his car Vicki gasped at the sight of him. He was still every bit the cowboy that he was the time I met him with AJ at Slingers and was still brandishing his twin six shooters on his hips.
