“It seems like that’s one more shovel of dirt on his grave,” I said.
“Well, my guys are waiting, so let’s go execute the warrant. Now, I’d like to ask a favor,” he said.
“Sure, what?”
“She’s dead, so it’s going to be hard for her to ask to suppress anything we find. However, if we come across something that looks like it can tie Clarke into her death, would you put on your ADA hat? Caution me if it looks like evidence we need to get further court instruction and approval on. I don’t want some slick attorney saying we overreached, and it is the fruit of the poisonous tree,” he said.
“Gladly. Let me see your warrant,” I said, and he handed it to me.
I looked it over, and it was broad, which was good for us. Had there been a defense attorney on the other side, they would have argued for more specific terms, but no one was there to protest it. I supposed the fact that Marissa was a victim in this instead of the defendant gave them much greater latitude. However, I knew the unspoken reason for such a broad search was to try to find something connecting Alex Clarke to the death, and evidence gathered could give them their motive to arrest him.
“Looks good, but I’ll let you know if I see anything questionable,” I said.
“Let me make sure forensics is finished. They’ve been here a while,” he said, turning to walk inside.
I grabbed his arm to stop him and asked, “Declan, what about her car? Where’s that?”
“It’s not turned up yet. And the fact that we can’t locate it makes us think it might be the primary scene of the crime. It’s got a tracking device that’s hard to disable,” he said.
“Okay,” I replied.
I waited as he spoke to the forensic team, and they must have been done, as they left right after. My phone dinged with a text.
Clarke just arrived back in the States.
Declan popped his head out to let me know it was clear to come inside.
The first half hour was taking photos of how the place was found after forensics left. The next two hours were devoted to finding what had gone on in the life of Marissa Adams. What was her full connection with Alex Clarke?
“Why people keep taking these pictures, incriminating themselves, I don’t get,” Declan said. He had Marissa’s computer engaged and a folder marked Alex open.
“I’m sure, if Alex knew Marissa was going to be a murder victim, he wouldn’t have consented to the photos. I’m not judging. Well, yes, I am. It looks like they were into a lot of heavy kink. Maybe she died during some sex play, and he tried to throw us off the trail with posing her by the paintings?” I said.
“That’s certainly one working theory,” he replied. “Maybe it was Marissa who confronted Samantha at the house with these photos and tried to extort money from her. Possibly, an argument escalated, and she killed her. A love triangle gone wrong?”
“Wow. The motives keep piling up. So, what’s the plan?” I asked.
I had to force myself to look at the slideshow of pictures flashing in front of me. If I were Alex, I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to see me being the submissive to Marissa’s dominatrix.
“I’m bringing Clarke back in under the pretext of talking to him about the release of the house. But I’ll lead off by saying that we now have Marissa Adams’s DNA to test to see if she was in the house. And when he asks why—boom—I’ll pull out the photos and financials.” Declan smiled.
“Are you dusting for prints to see if he’s been in here?” I asked.
“Yep, but the only time it would help is if he said he wasn’t in here. If he’s her regular lover, I’d expect there to be DNA and fingerprints,” he said. “This is all so ugly and tragic. It’s obvious he’s been carrying on with Marissa during the marriage, and if that’s the case, I’m more likely to believe that he had an affair with the sister, Marley, like she said. This man has no ethics, much less a conscience.”
“Well, I got a text from Cillian, saying that Alex is back in the States if you want to call him,” I said.
“Great. Let’s step outside and see if I can connect,” he said.
Apparently, Alex picked up on the first ring, and they agreed to meet in one hour at the station to discuss the release of the house.
Dalia
I watched from the monitoring room as Alex and Declan settled at the conference table in the interview room. Alex, as ever, was impeccably dressed, and if you met him on the street, you would think he was a wealthy man. His cashmere blazer probably cost more than most people’s mortgages, and I had seen his Tom Ford sunglasses for a little under two thousand dollars. But there was a strained look on his face, and his skin, which normally looked smooth and relaxed, looked drawn and haggard. It could reflect the nine-hour flight or life catching up to him.
“I received your voice mail. You wanted to discuss releasing the house as a crime scene,” Declan said, folding his hands together over the manila envelope in front of him and leaning forward.
It produced the effect he wanted as Alex’s eyes fixated on the folder, and then they returned to Declan’s stare.
“I gather that’s why we’re here,” Alex returned. Alex leaned back, crossed his right leg over his knee, and casually smoothed his pants.
“Right. Now, we’ve run into a bit of a snag,” Declan started.
Alex’s eyes snapped from the folder to Declan’s eyes.
“How so?” Alex questioned.
“I think we’ve established that you know a person named Marissa Adams. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Alex answered with a twinge of anger in his voice.
“What is your relationship with her?” Declan asked. Declan picked up the pen that had been lying diagonal to the notepad and poised to write the answer.
“Why?” Alex responded as he sat a little straighter.
“Please, just answer the question,” Declan said as he wrote Marissa’s name on the pad.
“Why are you asking about Marissa’s relationship with me?” he pressed.
“Why are you avoiding an answer to a simple question?” Declan asked.
“Marissa Adams was a client of mine,” he said.
“Is she presently a client of yours?” Declan asked. Declan wrote the word client on the pad and framed it with a box.
“No. Now, what does this line of questioning have to do with Marissa Adams?” Alex snapped.
Jeez, lying on tape will not go well for him.
“So, your relationship is strictly personal?” Declan pressed.
“We don’t have a personal or business relationship right now. It’s a more casual acquaintance. And I repeat, why did you have me come in here to talk about Marissa Adams?” he asked, getting more aggravated.
“You know she’s dead, right?” Declan asked.
Alex’s face went slack, and his mouth fell slightly as his lips parted. He looked stunned. Totally taken by surprise. I’d put money on it that this was genuine. Although then, parts of our theory would be discounted.
Alex planted both feet on the floor. He moved his body closer to the table and folded his hands in front of him. If I could see the way he squeezed his hands together, so could Declan. Declan had his attention now.
“No, I didn’t. When did this happen, and how?” he asked. His voice had a slight crack to it, and he cleared his throat.
If he was faking this, then he was a superb actor.
“We recently recovered her body. She was murdered,” Declan replied.
Good. He hadn’t given him a time of death, so he could get his alibi straight.
Alex rocketed from his chair and paced. Well, that was unexpected. I watched Declan as he assessed Alex.
“I need to use the restroom. Can you direct me to it, please?” Alex asked.
Declan stood, opened the door, and pointed down the hall. Alex appeared almost to stumble down the hall.
We all waited in silence—Dave and I in the monitoring room and Declan in the interrogation room—until Alex returne
d. Upon his return, he looked presentable but not quite put together.
“Of course, I’m sorry Marissa is dead, and it’s a lot to take in. I’m certain you didn’t bring me in here to advise me about a woman who was a client years ago. I’m fairly tired. Can we complete what I came in for today—the release of my house?” Alex said.
“Of course. But the death of Marissa Adams might tie into that request,” Declan told him.
“You have got to be kidding me. This is turning into pure harassment,” Alex yelled and slammed a hand on the table.
Declan waited for him to get himself under control.
“Now, the reason I asked about your relationship with her is, when we searched her home, we discovered certain things. What we discovered based on a search warrant was, you and she had a business and personal relationship,” Declan said, leaving it an open statement.
There was no reply from Alex, but his eyes flew to the folder.
“Are you sure you don’t want to revise your statement?” Declan asked.
Alex said nothing.
Declan opened the folder.
“I am showing you a set of photos,” Declan said and placed eight photos in front of Alex. He’d purposely chosen the most embarrassing ones and blown them up to eight by eleven.
Alex casually glanced down at them, but the hitch in his breath was clear.
“Can you identify the people in these photos?” Declan asked.
Alex remained silent.
“Can you identify approximately when these were taken?” Declan continued.
Alex reached forward and slowly turned each photo, so only the white backing remained. “What is the purpose of me identifying these photos?” Alex asked.
“To establish a present relationship between you and Ms. Adams,” Declan said.
Suddenly, Alex’s faced changed from tired to angry. His mouth drew tight, and the lines around his mouth deepened.
“Are you insinuating that I had anything to do with her death?” he asked, leaning forward on his arms.
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Clarke. I am trying to determine the people who had a relationship with Ms. Adams,” Declan said. “Now, did you have a relationship with Ms. Adams?”
Alex remained quiet.
Declan then removed another photo from the folder. The photo of Marissa’s dead body propped around the paintings.
“Do you recognize those paintings?” Declan asked.
Alex picked the photo up and studied it.
“Are those the paintings that are identified on an insurance claim as your wife’s collection?” Declan pressed.
Alex remained silent.
“The insurance company received a ransom request. And, with the ransom note, this photo was enclosed,” Declan said.
“I’ve got nothing to do with that,” Alex said, handing the picture back.
This was odd behavior by any measure. I would have expected a shocked outburst or a volley of denials that he had anything to do with this situation. But it was anticlimactic, the way he remained silent and calmly handed him back the photo.
Declan put the photo back in the folder.
Alex stood, walked over to the window, and gazed out. Was he preparing his thoughts to respond or wondering if he would walk out of the building a free man today?
“Please have a seat, Mr. Clarke,” Declan said.
Alex remained standing.
“Suit yourself. Now, as I said, we gathered material from her home. You’ve seen a sample of the photos, which show you were more than casual acquaintances. But we also uncovered documents that show you had not very long ago incorporated holding companies for Ms. Adams. And you remained a part of the businesses as the registered agent,” Declan said.
“You had no right, looking at those papers. Attorney-client privilege attaches to the documents, even after her death,” Alex said, looking at the papers Declan had placed on the table.
“Of course, that’s true, Mr. Clarke. But these are papers in the public stream of information. Additionally, we had an attorney on hand to review any documents for that purpose,” Declan said. His expression was calm and smug.
That statement was a bit duplicitous, as I was that attorney.
Alex’s hand did not reach for the documents, but his eyes studied the papers.
“We also have a large amount of financial information we need to plow through. We need to know if you represent her corporations as an attorney,” Declan asked.
Alex stepped back, and his eyes darted from side to side. If he said no, then the state had free rein to tear the books apart and determine what crimes, if any, had been committed. That could lead to a motive in her death. Maybe the paintings were a red herring. If he said yes and the state applied for permission to search the books above his objection, then he might be implicated in her crimes if there were any ones discovered.
“No. I only remained a registered agent,” Alex said.
Declan made a note of that answer.
“I’m certain you can understand, I’m baffled and trying to make a connection of some sort between why Ms. Adams is dead and your wife’s paintings were surrounding her,” Declan said.
I studied Alex as he studied Declan. His breathing had leveled out, and I zoomed to his face, so that filled my screen. His pupils were dilated, and his nostrils flared slightly, but he had that breathing under control. He must have practiced that technique as part of his skills as an attorney.
“So, let’s bring this back to why you had me come here and then tried to ambush me. When will the house be released as a crime scene?” Alex asked.
“With this new information, we will have to process the evidence further to determine if Ms. Adams had been in your home and could have had access to the paintings,” Declan said. He crossed his arms and leaned back, waiting for an argument.
Alex went silent for what seemed like forever, but it was probably a minute or two.
“Did your wife know about your affair?” Declan asked.
Without committing to an answer to the question, Alex responded, “You will find her fingerprints in the house.”
Declan went still. The room filled with tension. Would there be a confession?
“Where?” Declan asked.
“All over the place. She was a frequent guest while Sam was out, doing Sam things,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“When was she there last?” Declan asked, poised to ask his follow-up question.
“The day I left for depositions. The morning I left, she brought papers for me to sign,” he said.
Okay, now, he’d stepped into a lie. If he wasn’t her attorney, what would he need to sign? I hoped Declan wouldn’t call him on this; it might cause him to shut down.
“Where did this encounter occur?” Declan pressed.
“The kitchen,” Alex responded.
Declan made a note. “So, for the sake of establishing if Ms. Adams had anything to do with this theft, we will have to process the house with that information. In answer to your question, it remains a crime scene,” Declan said and closed his folder.
Alex sat and thought for a moment. “Am I a suspect in her death?” Alex asked.
“You are a person of interest,” Declan returned.
“I’m engaging new counsel, and anything further needs to go through him. I know my way out. Just buzz me through,” Alex said and left the room.
Declan indicated Dave should cut the feed and then said we should meet in the break room.
He arrived there before me and had already hit the vending machine. A Kit Kat bar and a bag of chips sat on the table. I scooped up the chips.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I blew out a breath and leaned back in my chair.
“This is a conundrum. On paper, he definitely looks guilty, and if a trial were by paper alone, he’d be going away for life without parole. But, when you told him she was dead, he looked genuinely surprised,” I said.
“The la
b got back to me, and there was no trace evidence found on Marissa’s body that we could tie to Clarke. It’s good he said he wasn’t her attorney, or he might have been able to suppress the preliminary financial dump of information documenting she was up to her old tricks, skimming money. In fact, the tech boys found a trail of money indicating she had branched out into a new line of laundering money. She was converting cash to prepaid cards. That widens our suspect pool. But it’s inconceivable that her death does not tie to the paintings. Why send us a picture when it was clear she had been recently murdered?” he asked.
“Well, what’s your plan?” I asked.
“Keep the pressure on him. Eventually, he’ll do something stupid out of desperation,” Declan said, finishing the Kit Kat.
Alex
This detective definitely had it in for me. It was clear I was in his crosshair for the murders of Marissa and Sam. He didn’t have enough evidence yet, but he was building a case, brick by brick. I sat in Pierce Tarvin’s office, ready to write a check for a ten-thousand-dollar retainer. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be adding another fifty to it in the next few weeks.
“Alex, how about you walk me through what’s going on?” Pierce said. He lounged back in his blood-red chair made of expensive leather. With his fees, he could easily afford it.
I respected Pierce. He was about my age and garnered a well-deserved, solid reputation as an attorney who exploited every bit of rights the constitution allowed for his clients. He showed no fear and didn’t back down. His win record was one to be envied, and unlike some criminal defense lawyers, he hadn’t started out as an ADA and jumped ship from the DA’s office to criminal defense. He believed in holding the state accountable, not budging an inch, and had no allegiance to a former employer. Pierce always went the extra mile for his client.
“As you are aware, Sam has gone missing and along with her a collection of paintings she’d inherited. There are no leads on either. The cops have made it clear to me that they think I’m the only one to benefit from this circumstance,” I said.
Facing A Twisted Judgment Page 17
