Facing A Twisted Judgment

by K. J. McGillick

  The rest of the family had financial problems, and the older brother, Ashton, was at the top of the list in need of money. But he was behind bars, serving time for a white-collar crime of financial fraud. However, that didn’t necessarily stop him from arranging for someone from the outside to hurt his sister and/or steal the paintings. The sister, Marley, didn’t seem to have a reliable work history, but she also wasn’t homeless. Nothing screamed, I’ve got a motive to steal these paintings. Of course, except her tirade aimed at the judge when she’d lost the case. The prospect of spending years behind bars for the theft of paintings that would be hard to move wasn’t hitting my radar as reward outweighing the risk.

  Normally, a good motive list produced one or two suspects, and that was where your investigation took you. But here, the only suspect with a solid motive was the husband. Why was it always the husband? And this one had sleazeball written all over him despite his title as an officer of the court.

  After my third cup of lukewarm hotel coffee, I finished dressing in my business casual attire, and I looked as if I’d lived as a Denver hipster my whole life. I slung the strap of my leather messenger bag, filled with my notes and computer, over my shoulder and automatically assumed my lawyer persona. I headed for the hotel buffet bar to grab a pastry or two before I found my way to Cillian’s office. Although Denver had the big-city feel with skyscrapers and intense traffic, it didn’t have the angry vibe of some cities. I liked it, and I could get used to it.

  Cillian’s office was housed in a sleek, modern building within an upscale neighborhood a short distance from the hotel. A parking deck offered safe parking, and a breezeway bridged the deck and building. A quick elevator ride deposited me outside a glass wall where I spied Jackson waiting. The boys must have invested a large amount of money in the place because it exuded rustic chic. The part that caught my eye was what appeared to be handcrafted wood furniture, as if someone had sculpted them specifically for this office. Very Denver—cozy yet chic.

  Jackson saw me enter and pushed away from the high reception desk he had been leaning against. The way he treated me now, no one who hadn’t known us from before would ever know we had been lovers. A secret I never even shared with Emma. He motioned that I should head down the hall to a conference room, and I followed. As I approached, I saw Cillian and two other people seated around another finely crafted table.

  A short, older, well-dressed man with silver hair was deep in conversation with Cillian. The other person at the table was a younger woman with crayon-red hair, who was straightening a pile of papers on the table.

  One thing the DA’s office had taught me was how to work a room and put on the face needed for a situation. I walked up to the two and extended my hand.

  “Dalia, this is Bill James and Abigail Marx from Bristol’s Insurance. They are the agents working the Bennington-Clarke case,” Cillian said.

  Mr. James stood to shake my hand while Ms. Marx tipped her head.

  “Call me Bill,” he said, waiting for me to find a seat.

  I acknowledged the request with a smile.

  I took a place at the conference room table, and Bill stood to present the information. I had expected a PowerPoint presentation, but it appeared Bill was old school. His material was neatly organized on a yellow legal pad, bullet-pointed in block lettering.

  “Bristol’s has been involved with the Bennington family for over fifty years. The elder Mr. Bennington became an avid art collector while stationed in France during World War II. Upon his return, he brought back three paintings, which were relatively inexpensive, but I don’t have to tell you that they have dramatically escalated in price. He insured them all the same, and off and on over the years, he kept them at the house and in a vault. As his business grew, so did his art collection, and every year, we would get it reappraised before issuing a new policy. Depending on whether he kept the art in a vault or displayed the paintings in his home or office reflected the amount of the policy each year. Last year, when the probate litigation began, we assessed the collection at one hundred thirty million dollars, and per the court order, we housed it in a vault, pending determination of the case. Once the case was determined and as the legal paperwork was prepared to retitle the collection, we reappraised it for the same amount and released it to Ms. Bennington.

  “When we met with Samantha Bennington, she had just married her attorney, Mr. Clarke. No judgment here, but I’ve known Sam all her life, and I was surprised by the marriage. She and I met, and she indicated she wanted the title of ownership of the collection put in her maiden name. The policy and the collection would remain under her sole control and custody. At that point, the collection was to be housed in the family vault until she decided about its permanent placement. However, she opted to pay a higher premium in the event that she wanted to showcase a piece for an event.

  “Recently, the insurance was up for renewal, and this time, Mr. Clarke was part of the meeting. Ms. Bennington—now, Mrs. Clarke—wanted to donate the paintings to various museums for display but still maintain exclusive custody and control. First, as she explained, it was an altruistic purpose, so more people could enjoy the works of art. However, the second was a more pragmatic reason. The security of the donated art would then fall to the museum, and any insurance associated with it would be covered under the museum’s umbrella. Besides that, if she sold the paintings, the taxes would eat up a large portion of whatever cash they captured from the sale.

  “Mr. Clarke told us that he had other ideas about the collection. He had contacted Sotheby’s and Christie’s auction houses to do a valuation of the paintings with an eye toward placing them on the market for sale. Unfortunately, he had not discussed this in full with Mrs. Clarke, and a heated discussion ensued. Each maintained their plan was the better, and it appeared they still needed to finalize their decision. When I left them that day, my instructions were to maintain the same insurance coverage, and they would have a decision for me shortly. I recently placed a call to Mrs. Clarke to see if they had determined the course of action, and she said she was in final talks with several museums. She assured me, by the end of the month, she would be ready to meet with me to adjust the new premium. And, now, here we are. She is not available to consult with, and the paintings are nowhere to be found,” he said, looking at each person around the table.

  “To the best of your knowledge, when did she move the paintings from the vault to the house?” I asked.

  “I believe the day before I came to talk to them. I can’t swear to this, but I believe she kept them there so that a museum representative could view them at the home. And I believe she wanted them in the photos for the real estate display but planned to return them to the vault after the photos were taken,” he offered.

  “It doesn’t sound as if she absconded with the paintings. She had no reason to do that,” Jackson said.

  Everyone agreed.

  “She might have freely left with the paintings,” I said. “They are her property, and she had no reason to alert anyone of her plans.”

  “If she removed the paintings from the recorded location without advising us, it would void the insurance coverage. Thus, our dilemma on several fronts,” Abigail interjected.

  Certainly, that made sense.

  “I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind,” Cillian said and turned Bill’s way.

  “Who formally owns the paintings? On the certificate of ownership for the provenance, whose name is reflected?” Cillian asked.

  “The court order transferred ownership from the elder Mr. Bennington to Ms. Bennington. The new certificate reflects she is the owner on the record. As I said, she specifically requested it remain as her sole possession and that she have exclusive use of them. Also, her maiden name be placed on the title,” Bill said. “I have the updated copies.”

  “Interesting. That knocks out the list of questions that would have followed if they were jointly owned. Mr. Clarke, therefore, has no standing to make a claim w
ith the insurance under his name for the paintings. However, as an occupant of the home, he can make a report for an alleged burglary and robbery. And this is tricky because the paintings are insured separately under your company; however, they are also listed as paintings under an umbrella policy for the homeowner’s insurance. The homeowner’s insurance is under a joint policy, but the property deed is under Mrs. Clarke’s name alone.

  “I noticed Denver Major Crimes is already involved in the alleged burglary. What is it you need us to do?” Cillian asked, dropping his pen on the pad.

  “We will need to put an amount of money in reserve to compensate the loss of the paintings while the investigation is ongoing. We need an outside investigation to parallel the police to determine what has happened to the paintings. At present, the police have determined the FBI Art Crimes department is not the proper agency to contact because we don’t know if they were stolen or if they crossed state lines. For all we know, Mrs. Clarke could have sourced the paintings out to make copies to hang in her home while they donated the paintings to the museums. Until there is a determination that someone has committed a crime, we must work this as an art recovery case.

  “Cillian, I know, before you worked for the FBI, that you worked art recovery for an insurance company. With that invaluable experience, we are one step closer to our objective. If the paintings were stolen, they might surface for sale on the black market or might stay secured away for years, like the paintings from the Isabella Gardner museum heist. So, I need you to use all your resources to find those paintings,” Bill said, tapping his index finger on the table.

  “Thoughts on the husband’s involvement?” I asked.

  That question produced a smile from Bill as he leaned back into the chair.

  “Mr. Clarke has a checkered past,” he said, which garnered an eyebrow raise from Jackson. “He is a thirty-six-year-old man, married four times and divorced three times. His divorces are all under the seal of the court for privacy regarding his assets. But we’ve looked into it, and there are no surprises in the settlements. However, it seems Mr. Clarke’s debonair and arrogant appearance drew in a certain type of woman, a naive woman. His ex-wives all had money, and he wanted a part of it when he left.

  “His professional life has been riddled with bar complaints about unpaid funds awarded that were supposed to be placed in a trust account for his client’s benefit. This led to several bar investigations, but his license remains intact. As for us, he remains very much on our radar. His alibi for the time frame when the paintings disappeared is his appearance at a string of depositions about fifty miles away—still within a doable radius to come and go. The police are following up.

  “To be frank, I’ve known the family members since they were children, so anything I tell you might taint your perception. I want fresh eyes on the situation, so I’ll leave my opinions off the table. Except, to make this a level playing field of information, it has been rumored Marley, Samantha’s sister, has recently been hospitalized for behavioral issues due to her substance abuse problems. I have no firsthand knowledge about that, as it was not relevant in insuring the paintings,” Bill offered.

  “Quite the conundrum,” Jax said. “Is it a missing person case or a woman who randomly left?”

  “Exactly. So, while the police are determining what to label the case and what to do about it, we need a trace on those paintings,” Bill replied. “Because we know those are missing from the vault and home.”

  “I believe we can help you,” Cillian said. “We’ll need everything you have on the paintings that isn’t already in the dossier. Also, whom the husband talked to at the auction houses and anything you have on the probate litigation we don’t already have on file. We can’t rule out either of the siblings yet. Any idea if Marley’s stay at an inpatient psychiatric facility was actually drug-related? Addicts are unpredictable people.”

  “I have no idea. And it’s just rumored. Marley’s always been the wild card in the family. For all I know, she was hiding out as an excuse not to be arrested for something. That woman’s been in and out of trouble since she was a teen,” Bill said.

  Bill reached into his pocket to retrieve a flash drive. He slid it across the table to Cillian.

  “Here’s everything I have on file. Cillian, I am worried that something has happened to Samantha Clarke. I’ve known her for years, and she is not the type of person to just vanish. She’s kind, considerate, and anything but confrontational. If I had to point the finger at who is behind this, it would be the husband. I don’t know if this makes sense, but the man has hollow eyes. There’s no emotion. He always seems to be plotting his next statement. Yet the family was so bitter after the litigation that everyone belongs in the suspect pool. I ask, once you have a plan of action, you send along updated weekly reports with the hope that we can retrieve these paintings,” Bill said. “Right now, we’re on the hook, and we need this quickly resolved.”

  The meeting ended, and Jax and I remained while Cillian escorted Bill and Abigail out.

  While my thoughts were fresh, I jotted a few notes down, but far more questions had been raised than answers given in the meeting. I raised my eyes to see Jackson staring at me as he twirled his pen between his fingers.

  “So, are you in or out?” Jackson asked.

  “It seems as if this art retrieval is more up Cillian’s alley. What can I offer?” I asked, placing my pen next to my notepad.

  “You’ve prosecuted thousands of fraud and forgery cases. You know how these people think, and I’m sure you still have a reach into areas we don’t, such as street art galleries,” he said.

  He reached for the coffeepot and offered another cup. I declined.

  I didn’t see Cillian return, but as he passed behind my chair, I heard him agree with Jackson’s statement.

  Taking a seat, he picked up his pen and made a few more notes. He tapped the tip of the pen to the paper as he leaned back in his chair.

  “The police will want to retrieve the paintings, but let’s face it; their focus will be on the rescue or recovery of Mrs. Clarke. We have a limited window before these paintings are gone without a trace, if we have underground partnerships at work. We need to jump on this right now. Time’s a ticking.

  “Recovery for each painting is five percent, and we’ll split that into three. That’s a nice windfall, if we can quickly recover the paintings. No recovery is a flat fee of twenty thousand dollars, plus expenses,” he said. “So, are you on board?”

  Whoa, five percent, even after taxes, was an enormous amount of money. The case appeared to be the challenge I had been looking for; however, it also could drag on for months and go cold.

  “I’ll commit to two months,” I said. “And I’ll need office space here. If I stay at the hotel, it will cost a fortune. I’ve got to find temporary quarters.”

  Cillian beamed. “You are in luck. At the end of the week, Jackson is moving into the new home he and Eloise built. Right now, they’re living in a house owned by Aunt Mary. I’m positive Mary will have no problem offering the house to you. A bonus: it’s rent free. Does that tie up loose ends?” he asked.

  “Wow. That is amazing. Thank you,” I said. I could give two months to the job. “If there’s no recovery in two months, we renegotiate the terms.”

  “Acceptable. I believe we should divide and conquer. Dalia, since Mr. Clarke appears to have a weakness for the ladies, how about you interview him right away? Jax, since I have contacts in Sotheby’s and Christie’s, let me take the lead of any communication they had with Mr. Clarke about putting the paintings up for auction. I also can tap into some sources that will alert me to any movement on the black market. Jax, that leaves the financial aspect. I’d like you to interview the siblings and anyone else you feel has a financial interest. Get any information about public holdings and a full transcript of the probate matter. Dig deep into family members’ motives in the case. I don’t think I saw the final papers on Ashton Bennington’s financial fraud co
nviction. Dalia, would you pull that off the database?

  “From the notes in the file, it was a real estate person who was first on the scene to find the paintings missing. The house was being prepared to be placed on the market for sale, and Mrs. Clarke had given a real estate broker and photographer access to the house with a temporary code. So, Dalia, how about you follow up with the real estate broker and photographer and then contact Detective Declan Murphy, the detective on the case?

  “If everyone is comfortable with these assignments, let’s keep in touch through notes, and I’ve made a Dropbox for the case. Questions?” Cillian asked. “Oh, and I’ve set up an expense fund. I’ve cut you each a check for two thousand dollars petty cash for expenses, but make sure you keep receipts. If you need anything for larger expenses, put it on the company credit card. Dalia, I’ll have one issued for you immediately.”

  We waited while Cillian made a duplicate of the flash drive for each of us. He handed me the police detective’s card attached to his paper file. Detective Declan Murphy, Denver Major Crimes Division, was overseeing the case.

  Okay, I must admit, I was intrigued. This was the part of the case I liked best because I treated it as a complicated game, a puzzle. In this puzzle, the one thing that should be our starting block was where Mrs. Clarke was. That human detail seemed to get lost. But our client’s priority was money, not life. And our priority had to align with theirs. It didn’t feel right. But I supposed this was the difference between private and public service.