Declan leaned forward to answer, but Ashton continued on with his thoughts, “I had nothing to do with any of this mess. I am a model prisoner and counting the days until my release. There is nothing that could induce me to add more time to my sentence. Additionally, I don’t have contacts who could pull something like this off. More importantly, I would never hurt Sam. I’m not a violent person. If I’m going to attack someone, it will be through words. Maybe you can tell me why you think I’m involved, and we can clear the air.”
My mind was spinning in several unrelated directions. Marley had not accused her brother of anything. What game was he playing? Or was it hers? Even though he wasn’t addressing me, old patterns came charging back. I was once again ADA Grey and not investigator Grey.
Before I could stop my mouth from running away before my brain could catch up, I answered him. He had been speaking to Declan, but here I was, getting ready to take over Declan’s territory.
“Please, Mr. Bennington, don’t play us for idiots. You committed financial fraud that involved numerous people. That takes a lot of planning and moving parts. I’m fairly certain that there isn’t an MBA course titled How to Steal Millions and Get Away With It. Granted, you’re no Bernie Madoff, but we are talking about how you were able to part lots of money from lots of educated people. Let’s not forget, when you get out of here, you will still owe a ton of money in retribution to your victims. Maybe you thought stealing the paintings would move that debt needle a little more in your favor,” I said.
Yes, I had to admit, it felt good, being back in my comfort zone. But I hope my good time didn’t cut into Declan’s move. Well, too late for that now.
“Right. But let’s explore two things. First, I’m not a talented money launderer, or I wouldn’t be here right now. And, second, how would I move those paintings to liquidate them? I’m locked up, and they monitor my phone calls,” he said, crossing his arms in a somewhat defiant position. “I’m certain, if you went over the few calls I’d made in my time here, you would find them pretty uninteresting.”
“Mr. Bennington, I used to be a New York ADA. Let’s cut through the crap.”
That garnered a look of surprise.
“Burner phones are a way of life in jail. You maybe think what you did as a nonviolent white-collar crime because you’re not a thug, holding up a gas station. But what I see is a man who stole from people to better his own life. Theft is theft. And thieves hook up with other thieves, so there you have it. The bottom line is, you lost millions when you were convicted. And, apparently, you saw a way to ease your way out of a financial burden when released by litigating against your sister for her paintings,” I said.
“All that might be true. However, Sam came to visit me after the trial to discuss money. She said, once they sold the house, she was putting money from that aside for me. She was engaging a lawyer to set up holding companies and placing the money in offshore accounts, so no one could touch it. All I had to do was wait. Count my days and keep myself out of trouble. You think that scumbag husband of hers will honor what she said she would do if she’s dead? That would be a, hell no,” he said, jutting his head forward like a rooster.
I watched as a vein on the side of his head pulsed.
“Maybe you were afraid he’d help her change her mind. Those paintings were worth a hell of a lot more money than the house,” I replied.
“Seriously? I am not a stupid man. Do you realize the amount of planning and coordination that would take to steal those paintings? Not to mention, everyone’s hand that would be out for a payoff would also be a potential witness. And, once you had the paintings, setting up a sale would, I assume, shave off an enormous profit margin if you had to go dark. Then, once everyone was paid, I’d have to clean that money. With every government agency looking up my ass, you think I could pull that off?” he asked, shaking his head.
I shrugged.
“Shit, believe what you want. I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with this robbery. Take it or leave it; I don’t care. Don’t come here, fucking around, planting doubt in people’s minds. I don’t need some jailhouse snitch coming around, making shit up about me. I want to finish my time and get out. Now, are we done here?” he asked.
Declan nodded. I gave him a tilted head and slow shoulder shrug.
“And I’m taking Marley off my visitor list,” he said. “Thanks for coming. Good talk.”
Declan knocked on the door, and the officer came back inside.
“Should I hook him back up?” the officer asked.
Declan nodded.
We waited for him to leave, and I packed up my notepad. Declan looked at a corner of the room where a green light flashed and twirled his finger to wrap it up. I worried Declan would blast me out of my shoes for taking over his interview.
But, instead, he smiled and said, “He’s still in the suspect pool. In fact, he’s now swimming in the deep end.” Then, he checked his phone. “Odd. I just received a response to my request to talk to Alex Clarke. His attorney says he no longer represents him.”
“Did he say who does?” I asked.
“Nope, just that,” Declan said. “Maybe our next stop should be the unrepresented Mr. Clarke.”
Alex
Well, I hoped my office finally looked put back together and not as if a band of robbers had trashed it. I had to seal the deal with this woman today or else I’d be hitting my credit cards to pay my bills. Going to the safe deposit box was a bit risky, and risks right now had to be kept to a minimum.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Clarke. This is Lee Stone. He’s a nice young man who drives me places on days when I’m not up to driving,” Mary said.
“Nice to meet you, Lee. And, everyone, please call me Alex. Can I offer either of you a coffee, water, or soda?” I asked.
They both declined.
“I hope you don’t mind. Lee will be here while you explain the art sale. Sometimes, my mind wanders, and I don’t want to miss any part of this business. I’ve been through the boring exercise of making and changing several wills, so I need not be as sharp on grasping the details,” she said.
“Oh, Mary, I’m uncertain that’s such a good idea. Sometimes, there are confidences you might wish to invoke under attorney-client privilege. If Lee is present, then that might damage that privilege,” I told her.
I did not need another person second-guessing me or throwing a monkey wrench into this sale.
She turned and shook her head. That was a signal I had read all too often in older people. She had decided, and there was no changing her mind.
“Lee is like a son. He knows what a scatterbrain I can be and keeps me on track. Sometimes, I’ve called him to take me somewhere, and when he gets to my home, I can’t remember where I planned to go. And that takes him away from his business as we try to figure out why I called him. He’s a wood-carver, and he makes lots of beautiful things,” Mary said, patting Lee’s hand. “Isn’t that right, Lee?”
“Mary, it’s never a bother. And, Alex, she’s right. Sometimes, she gets a bit foggy. If you don’t want to have a dozen phone calls to go over the information, I’m happy to take notes,” Lee said.
A wood-carver should really not be a problem. But still …
Well, let’s see how it goes. He doesn’t look like he’ll be able to keep up.
“Then, let’s have a seat,” I told them. I directed them to an area where I had her papers organized.
“I’m very excited about selling the art. My insurance company sent me a new assessment, and it’s a doozy. I never liked the art my husband chose, and I’ve been meaning to get rid of it for years. I’d like to start with what you found out about the art,” she said, placing her bag on the floor.
“We can do that. I’ve got everything right here,” I replied.
I took out the photos she had left of the paintings and placed them on the table, one by one. I removed the notes I had made from my research and tapped the papers on the table to straighten them.
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br /> “You have an eclectic collection, and it’s quite valuable. Shall I briefly explain how the value of the painting is determined and how a sale is performed?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, please do. Now, Lee, get out your little pad and take notes, so if I lose my train of thought, you can go over this with me later. I’m not much of a numbers person.” She smiled and patted Lee on the hand.
I waited for him to stand and take out a well-worn small pad from his back pocket. When he sat and clicked his pen, I began.
“What you have here are some fine pieces. Now, I’m not an expert, but my wife has a collection of art, and through researching her collection, I’ve learned a great deal. Between my common knowledge and relying on an expert who helped me with ours, I’ve come up with some numbers,” I said.
“Oh, you and your wife share an interest in art? That’s wonderful. It was my late husband who was the art collector. Does your wife collect a particular artist or period?” she asked.
“Actually, it was her grandfather’s collection. Some pieces are special because he brought them back when he returned from the war. And, as you can imagine, the value has skyrocketed. His taste ran more to Postimpressionism, but there’s an odd modern piece thrown in the lot. I could go on for days, talking art, but now, back to yours,” I said. Just enough fluff to bond us, but we needed to steer the boat forward and move.
“Each of the paintings you presented has an impeccable provenance. That, Mary, is critical to any sale. A dodgy provenance takes away from the value of the painting.” I looked down at the paper where I had placed each painting’s lineage.
“Provenance? Is that the area of the world they come from?” she asked, looking bewildered toward Lee.
“No, that would be a province, a place. Provenance is a painting’s lineage or the origin and who owned it along the way. If you look at the back of your paintings, on the canvas, you’ll see stickers. Those are galleries where the paintings were sold. That’s important for the authentication process. Occasionally, when paintings go back fairly far, there are authenticity issues. Or, if it was stolen at some point, that could be traced. During World War II, the Nazis stole hundreds of thousands of pieces of art, and a lot have been returned to the rightful owner. However, paintings pop up now, and that shows up in the stolen database. Other paintings have shown to be forged by a man named Beltracchi, and millions have been lost on those transactions. Thankfully, none of yours had a questionable provenance,” I said.
“This provenance, is it like when you are purchasing a house and they do a title search?” she asked.
“Exactly. That’s a good analogy. Your titles all came up with no problems. They were all easy to trace. Now, to the next step. I had a person I’ve used to value my artwork look at what you have in your collection to give me a ballpark value. Now, mind you, this is based on the photos and the descriptions. To put a final number to the painting, she would need to see the actual canvas to make sure there were no issues that the photo hadn’t picked up. Shall I go on, or are there questions?” I asked.
“Who is this person you used who determined the value of the paintings? Is it someone who has a website I can look at? Or do you have a paper I can see with her credentials? It’s important to know whom you’re dealing with. Right, Lee?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
Lee looked a little perplexed but nodded. “Mary, Alex seems like a smart man. I think you can trust that he would only work with reputable people,” he said, clicking his pen a few times.
“Still …” Mary said.
Oh no. I felt like this might slip away.
“Mary, you can trust me. She’s a smart woman. As I said, she evaluated my collection,” I confided.
“A name would go a long way, Alex,” she pressed.
Since no one had actually participated in this, I had to grab at a name. Suddenly, a name flew off my tongue.
“Marissa Adams. Her name is Marissa Adams,” I said.
She smiled and appeared content with that information.
“Lee, write that down,” Mary directed. “Is that one or two Ss?”
“Two,” I replied. I hoped she would not dig around, looking into Marissa. That would be a disaster.
Lee rolled his eyes but did as instructed.
“Okay, if you’re ready to move on, here is what I can share with you. You have six lovely paintings. Remember, this is based on comparable paintings sold at auction, and Marissa would need to see the actual paintings,” I told her and pointed to the first photo.
“Alfred Sisley is popular in many circles and in demand. I believe it can be sold for about seven hundred eighty-four thousand dollars,” I said and was pleased to see surprise register on her face.
“Emile Claus is a lesser known artist; however, based on an accumulation of data, you could obtain as much as seven hundred sixty-eight thousand dollars for this painting,” I said.
She nodded in understanding.
The next two were the most important, and I wanted her to understand the significance of the paintings she had in the collection.
“Chaim Soutine is anything but a household name in the art world. But popular among people who are dedicated Soutine followers. I’m pleased to say this Soutine would likely bring you a value of about one million one hundred fifty-six thousand dollars. That’s an amazing number.
“And that number is followed by your Marc Chagall—of course, a better-known artist. The fact that Chagall’s family monitors the art so closely also increases the value. This little beauty values at about nine hundred sixty thousand dollars.
“And, now, to my favorite—the little girl by Renoir. Although small and not complex, this lovely piece values for sale at six hundred sixty-one thousand dollars. And, the last one, a Euge Boudin, would fetch seven hundred seven thousand dollars,” I said. I handed her a spreadsheet with the proposed values.
“Oh my!” she replied, touching the paper with reverence.
“Now, after those numbers are all added up, people take commissions, right?” Lee asked.
“Yes, that’s correct,” I said.
“Tell me how this is done,” she inquired. “How do we go about selling these to get the most money we can?”
“I would have my friend Marissa make inquiries about who is looking for each type of art. Then, she would set what we call a reserve number—a number you would not think about letting the paintings go unless it was reached. When we have a buyer who has been vetted financially, she and I would arrange a viewing,” I said. As easy as selling a used car.
“I’m not following. Don’t these things usually get auctioned off like that Leonardo that went for a pile of money?” Lee asked.
“That is a route some people take. But I believe a private sale might suit Mary better,” I said.
Maybe not Mary, but it would be better for me.
“I don’t know. Mary, maybe you could get more if people fought over it. You know, like a bidding war,” Lee interjected.
“Hush, Lee. Alex has obviously done this before, and if he thinks this is better, then it must be,” Mary said with such a sweet smile.
“Good. So, shall I draw up the papers for the sale for you to review?” I asked.
“Oh, no. Before we do that, I will need the names of the people involved,” Mary said, sitting back, clutching her bag.
“Well, Mary, many people’s hands will touch these paintings. How could I possibly know everyone involved?” I asked.
“Alex, before I sign any papers, I need the people who are most involved written on a piece of paper. When I get home, I will separate those names and place each into a small jar and close the lids. Then, I light a candle in front of each to shine a light on each person. I’ll wave a bundle of sage around the jars to cleanse the area. I always say a prayer for guidance. Then, I wait. If any candle immediately dies out in front of any jar, then I’ll know that person shouldn’t touch my paintings. It’s a proven fact, Alex,” she said with a nod.
I sat, unable to decide if she was pulling my leg or being serious. I opted for clarification. “Seriously?”
“As a heart attack. And, at my age, you don’t use that term lightly,” she replied, easing the grip she had on her handbag.
“Then, give me a moment to step outside and call my contacts to see if that would be agreeable to them,” I said. “I don’t want to release anyone’s name who might have an objection. In today’s litigious atmosphere, everyone wants releases before they sign anything.”
“Certainly, dear,” she replied.
I stepped outside and waited the requisite time to make some bogus calls. Marissa would flip her shit if I asked her to get involved.
“Mary, unfortunately, my people do not want their names involved in a contract. I’m sure you understand how nervous people get about committing to things. Normally, the contract is between myself and the client. It’s my job to interact with the others. With that in mind and the fact that I respect your ritual, we may need to opt with an auction house. I can still do the paperwork, but they will take care of the sale. Would that work for you?”
“Lee, what do you think?” she asked.
“Without the benefit of checking with the candles and your guides, you’d never feel comfortable and worry yourself. I mean, you could put the sales contract down and meditate over that. But then that’s taking a chance. Maybe go with the auction house; that’s sort of a sure thing,” Lee said with a wink.
It would have been more lucrative at a private sale, but I could still salvage some money.
“I’ll take care of contacting the auction houses. I have several contacts. Now, are we ready to conduct the rest of our business and get your estate planning together?” I asked, flashing her my best smile.
“Alex, I think we should reschedule that appointment for tomorrow. Or, if not tomorrow, then when you return. After this new information, I will have to rebalance my chi that resides in my lung area. That will take a while. This news about the art unbalanced me a bit. Be a dear and see when you can fit me in again,” she said.
Facing A Twisted Judgment Page 12
