I was not letting her out of here without her giving me some money. I was afraid, if I didn’t close the deal, she might listen to her inner voice. And what would I do if it told her there was too much negative energy around me? Or, worse yet, if she read a newspaper with my name associated with the disappearance of Sam.
“That’s fine. I have a letter of engagement for you to sign, and with that, I must collect a retainer of ten thousand dollars, which you can pay by check or credit card,” I said. “Which would you prefer?”
She hesitated. Then, she opened her bag but closed it again just as quickly.
Lee gave a questioning look. “Mary, you know how important it is to update that will,” Lee said, leaning in and rubbing her arm. “Alex might not want us coming back and forth like this. He’s a busy man.”
“Yes, and, Alex, I’m sorry. But I have to take the paperwork home and meditate over it. Lee, please take the engagement letter from Alex. Once my mind is clear, I can send you back with a check if he can’t see us tomorrow. Now, on the way home, I must pick up rosemary and lavender to cleanse the area,” she said, waiting for him, I supposed, to make a note of what she needed for her voodoo rituals.
“I would prefer to get this done today, but as you wish. I’ll be back next Monday. Will that work?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. That gives me plenty of time.” She smiled a bit crooked.
Just my luck to get an old, eccentric woman who will make me dance for my money.
“Well, Lee, I think it’s time we head out,” she said.
As she turned her back, he said to me, “Thanks. We’ll be back quick as can be,” and winked.
Yes, I knew that wink. That wink said, I’ll bring the old lady back to make sure I’m in the will.
Dalia
Alex had refused an interview with Declan, so I returned to the office.
As we waited for Mary and Lee to return from their meeting with Alex, Cillian received a phone call from Bill from Bristol’s.
“Bill, hold on one second while I transfer you over to the conference speaker,” Cillian said.
Within a few seconds, Bill’s voice came across. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve reached out to Detective Murphy already, but I wanted to let you know, we’ve received a ransom demand for the paintings. And something terrible came across with the pictures,” he said, taking a moment to collect himself.
“Bill, what’s wrong?” Cillian asked in a concerned voice.
“I will forward the demand note to you, but brace yourselves. The picture will turn your stomach,” he said.
“Send it to my email, and I’ll post it to the projector,” Cillian said.
What showed on the screen appeared to be the missing paintings and a woman propped up against the wall next to them like a rag doll. A cardboard paper was propped against her that read, Ask me why.
Most people would be stunned. But we’d all seen dead people before and in more horrific circumstances. As Cillian zoomed in closer, the woman looked to be in her middle thirties, nicely dressed but not moving. The way her head was tilted, she appeared dead. There were no bloodstains on her clothes or body.
Had someone cleaned her up, or had she been positioned?
Looking closer, there did not appear to be any ligature marks around her neck.
“Jackson, can you zoom in on her eyes?” Cillian asked.
Jackson zoomed in on her eyes, and there it was—the sign of death.
“Her eyes are clouded but not opaque,” he said. “So, dead at least two hours but not a day.”
“Who is she?” asked Bill with a tremor to his voice.
Cillian shrugged and looked around the table for answers.
It was hard to tell much from the tilt of the head, but I had to put it out there.
“I am probably wrong, but she bears a resemblance to that Marissa Adams who was with Alex at the police station,” I said, looking through my camera roll on my phone.
“Call Murphy and give him a heads-up and see what he thinks,” Cillian said.
“Yes, look. I think it’s her. That day, she had sunglasses on, and her hair was pulled back, but I think it’s her,” I repeated. “Mary should have a mug shot somewhere.”
“That’s the photo that came attached to the email. Look in the body of the email,” he said.
Cillian flipped to the next screen, and the note flashed up.
I’LL CUT YOU A BREAK. FIFTY MILLION FOR THE LOT. NO POLICE.
“Wow, that’s less than half,” I said. “But maybe it tells us that it’s someone familiar with the actual value.”
“Or someone has no idea and is grasping at a number,” Jackson said.
“No, I’m inclined to think it is someone familiar with the collection. I’m thinking it’s someone in the inner circle,” Cillian said. “But why the Adams woman?”
“Like the sign said, Ask me why,” I said. “But who are we to ask? It’s a taunt to let us know that they are one step ahead of us.”
“We’re inclined to pay the ransom,” Bill said. “If we lose the paintings, then we have to pay out the one hundred thirty million for the lot. This seems like we’re mitigating our loss.”
“Jeez, that’s taking an enormous chance, Bill. What if you pay, and they still keep them? Or what if they are having copies made and trade you the copies? You won’t be able to authenticate them in time. The fact that there’s such a cryptic note says to me that this is personal,” Cillian said.
“Bill, we’ve been working an angle through an informant of Mary’s. They have shopped two of the paintings to some Russians. But the catch is, the exchange is inside the Russian embassy where no one can touch them. If they bring them inside in a Russian pouch, no one can search the pouch and the same thing for when they’re going out. Maybe they will sell them and double dip on the ransom,” Cillian said. “We need to check with Mary’s informant to determine if the deal he’s monitoring is sealed.”
“What about Declan? Is he coordinating with the FBI?” I asked.
“I didn’t ask. I was too unnerved,” Bill said.
“Bill, how do you want us to proceed?” Cillian asked.
Bill must have been walking around because I heard the distinct squeak of leather and a hinge on a chair that needed oil.
After what felt like forever, Cillian asked, “Bill?”
“I want you to stay the course. I can’t do much right now anyway. If we pay, I will have to run this through all kinds of channels. And, with the Feds involved, you know that will slow everything down with all the red tape they need to go through,” Bill said. “I’m getting ready to contact legal and the powers that be.”
“I didn’t see any instructions on how you are to respond,” Jackson said.
“You’re right; there aren’t any,” Bill said.
“It feels like a tease or a diversion to me,” Jackson said.
“Okay, keep us posted,” Cillian said. “And, Bill, let’s try to keep this under wraps.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said and disconnected.
I heard the door open, and Mary and Lee walked in and appeared to be at the end of some type of argument. When they saw what was on the screen, they both stopped arguing.
“What’s that on the screen?” Mary asked, placing her Starbucks venti on the table.
“That’s a ransom note Bill got this morning,” Cillian replied.
“Who’s the woman?” Lee asked, pulling a chair out.
“I think it’s the woman who picked Alex up from his house the day he vacated,” I answered.
“Marissa Adams,” Mary replied and quickly turned her head to Lee.
Lee stopped dead in his tracks and remained still.
“Say that again—the name,” Lee said.
“Marissa Adams. My God, she doesn’t even look anything like the picture I used to identify her,” Mary said. “She’s dead; that’s clear. Do they have a time frame?”
“We were looking at the picture before you arrived. Fro
m the clouding of the eyes, over two hours but less than a day,” Cillian said. “Why? What’s wrong, Lee?”
“We just left Clarke, and while we were there, he stepped outside and led us to believe he was consulting with her on the phone,” Lee said.
“That man takes the term con artist to a new level,” Mary said.
“Oh my God. Please, you are the last one to talk. You almost had me believing you actually were going home to meditate over those papers and burn all that crap to guide your thoughts. If he didn’t have dollar signs floating in front of him, he would have called the nearest judge to have you committed,” Lee said, adjusting himself in his chair.
“Lee, trust me; you don’t know the half of it. Mary is my burden in life,” Jackson said, shaking his head.
“Okay, focus, people. Dalia, you’ve got a good relationship with Declan; call him,” Cillian said.
“Now?” I asked. “And say what?”
“Ask him what he’s going to do. We need to know if he’s getting the Feds involved. The clock is ticking,” he said.
I pulled my phone out, synced it to the conference speaker on the table, and dialed.
He answered on the first ring,
“Declan, it’s Dalia. Our client brought us up to speed on the ransom note. We wanted to get your thoughts. We think the woman is Marissa Adams, the person who brought Alex to the police station,” I said.
There was a discernable silence.
“Ah. Well, I must tell you, I would never have put that name to that face. She looks pretty bad in that picture. I can’t figure out why she looks beaten up, but there aren’t any bruises,” Declan said.
“Lee Stone here, Murphy. We think, from the eye clouding, she was dead for no more than two hours, so maybe it was not enough time to form any bruising?” Lee added.
“That could be. And no visible cuts. But that’s not to say she wasn’t hit from behind. What a mess,” Declan said, blowing out a breath.
“Indeed,” Cillian returned. “Declan, I’m putting you on hold. Can you give us a moment?”
“Sure, no problem,” he said.
When the phone was muted, Cillian looked to Mary.
“Do we tell him about the meeting you had with Alex? That might give him a timeline,” Cillian asked Mary.
“Right, so he can interrogate me as to why I’m stepping all over his investigation. I can’t imagine he will be happy about that,” Mary snapped.
“Mary, this can’t be about you. This could help define a timeline for death. If he dumps Clarke’s calls and captures that call to her, he can trace where it came from,” Jackson said. “If he really called her.”
Mary threw a dismissive gesture toward Jackson. I did not understand if that was a yes or no.
“Is that a yes?” Jackson asked.
Mary gave a sharp nod, and Cillian engaged the phone.
“Murphy, we have information that might or might not help,” Cillian said. I could tell, from that tone, he was downplaying the events to come.
“Shoot,” Declan replied.
“We decided to follow a line of inquiry that centered on trying to determine if Alex Clarke had contacts to shop the paintings. Mary and Lee, shall we say, went undercover to meet Clarke. She posed as a woman who needed estate planning and him as someone to be added to her new will. Part of the estate planning entailed selling paintings. Clarke took the bait and offered his services for the sale, so we let it play out to a second meeting. That meeting was today, a little under an hour ago. While there, Clarke stepped from the office and indicated that he’d called Marissa Adams. However, from the clouding of the eyes, it appears she either was killed about the same time as the call or before. Either it was a bogus call to flimflam them or you might have your time of death. Can you dump his phone to see if, at the time they were there, he called and engaged her on the line?” Cillian suggested.
“I can. But let’s talk about this little adventure. How many people in that room have legal and law enforcement training? Raise your hands,” Declan said with a definite scolding tone.
Although he couldn’t see our hands, all but Jackson raised a hand. He smirked and shook his head.
“Now, I hope they all are raised. Anyone see how this might bump up against the edge of entrapment? Right now, Dalia is working with my office in an adjunct capacity, and this could blow back on me,” he said.
I could see where that could be a problem. And the fact that the risk here did not outweigh the reward made us look amateurish.
“This guy is slick as oil. Need I say more? I appreciate your skills in deception, but how about you tell me about your plans next time? Since it’s my butt that will get chewed out and my case that will get screwed, a heads-up when things are about to go sideways would help,” he said.
There were a few, “Sure,” quietly said.
Without missing a beat, Mary leaned into the speakerphone, and as if we hadn’t just been chastised, she said, “Can you run that number?”
Cillian dropped his head into his hands, and Jackson threw his hands in the air.
There was a moment of silence from Declan.
“Would ten minutes be acceptable, Mary?” Declan finally said with a touch of annoyance.
“It would,” Mary returned with a nod.
Cillian thanked him, and I disconnected.
As we waited for Declan to call back, Lee recounted the meeting they’d had with Alex. Jackson found the cleansing with herbs amusing and asked for a demonstration of how she planned to proceed. To which she raised her eyebrow and said that a curse against him could be added.
I was about to ask a question when my phone rang. Declan’s name appeared on the screen.
“People, there was no activity on that phone for the time you say you were there at all. However, after you left, he made a call to Marissa Adams’s phone, but it was a few seconds. Maybe a ring-through or leaving a voice mail. And no activity, except my call to him since then,” Declan said.
“Well, that leaves us with more questions than answers,” Mary said.
“When you’re involved, isn’t that always the case?” Jackson said.
Mary pushed away from the table.
“Detective Murphy, I’ll get back to you. I’ve got calls to make,” Mary said. She motioned for Lee to follow her, and they left.
“Well, folks, if that’s it, I’ve got my work cut out for me. I’ve got a body to find. With this death, it’s certainly in my mind that Samantha Clarke is dead,” Declan said.
“I can’t disagree,” Jackson said. “And I for one am sorry we’ve lost track of the human lives callously being disposed of.”
“That’s my burden. If you find the paintings, we’ll find our murderer. I’ll be in touch,” Declan said and ended the call.
“Suggestions?” I asked.
“Mary’s got something cooking,” Jackson said.
“Calls to make is Mary’s code for, she’s calling Tyler. Now, we wait,” Cillian said.
Dalia
I was sure none of us had slept well last night, and everyone’s brain was buzzing with new information.
Marissa Adams was at the forefront of every scenario running through my mind. She ticked all the boxes to make her, at the least, an accomplice in this mess. She had a history of dealing with criminals and a record herself. Throw the fact that she had ties to Alex Clarke in the mix, and it could force pieces of a puzzle into place. If Alex was as evil as some people said, then she knew the risks of dancing with the devil. She knew Samantha was missing. And she knew Alex was the prime suspect. What was her role in this, if any? If it were me, I’d run from any association with Alex. After my time in the DA’s office, I knew all too well that guilt by association was genuine.
Mary and Cillian were due to arrive at the house any moment to share a plan they had devised to intercept the paintings. Mary was the wild card here. From the back stories I’d heard of her involvement with law enforcement, anything could happen. I could only rely o
n Cillian keeping her reined in and removing the crazy out of her plans.
The doorbell rang and then was followed by three rapid knocks. Mary had arrived. Through the glass, I saw Mary next to Cillian. He held an enormous bouquet that practically covered his upper torso.
I barely opened the door before Mary entered and made her way past us to the kitchen. Cillian and I struggled with the massive flower arrangement.
“Here’s a housewarming gift from Emma. She’s planning on coming over in the next week to help you settle in once things calm down with the case,” he said.
“I don’t think I have a vase big enough for these flowers,” I said, studying the enormous span.
Mary heard us from the kitchen and yelled, “Go to the shed. There’s about ten to choose from. And touch nothing else in there.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I might have booby-trapped a few things when those kids down the block were trying out their breaking-and-entering skills,” she said.
From having peered into Mary’s bag of homemade weapons, the thought of booby traps raised legitimate concerns.
“Is it safe to walk into the shed without a map?” he asked with some hesitancy.
“Stay along the right side, and you’ll see the vases on the wall. Don’t step outside the yellow line,” she warned.
He looked concerned but turned and left.
“Ah, good. You’ve found the Danish and coffee,” I said as she placed a plate of pastries on the table.
“Dalia, this nose can smell coffee in the desert,” she said, tapping her nose.
While we waited for Cillian to return, I watched with wonder as she shoveled four teaspoons of sugar into her cup of coffee. How much of that would actually dissolve? No wonder Emma was on her about her coffee and sugar consumption. I was surprised she didn’t levitate and fly around the room with the amount of caffeine and sugar she took in at one sitting.
I heard the back door open, and Cillian stood with a vase you would normally see at a funeral. He held it up for Mary’s approval. She nodded, and he arranged the flowers and then placed them on the dining room table.
Facing A Twisted Judgment Page 13
