Facing A Twisted Judgment

by K. J. McGillick

  He understood my tap dance around tax evasion.

  “I see. So, this bond hearing might just be a legal exercise,” he said.

  “Yes. However, we will discover what they have, although we pretty much have the highlights,” I said.

  He looked at his watch and indicated we had to leave to walk three doors down for the hearing. My handcuffs were reattached, and the guard, Pierce, and I walked the short distance where it was a crap shoot if I would leave the jail or not.

  I was surprised more people weren’t here, but it had been a short notice bond hearing, so the reporters probably hadn’t been notified in time.

  “Come to order and remain seated. This court is now in session. This is a bail hearing for Alexander Clarke and the charges are first-degree murder and felony theft,” the bailiff announced.

  “People, let’s come to order,” the judge instructed. “I always make it clear that this is a bail hearing to determine if bail should be granted. This is not an arraignment where a guilty or not guilty plea is entered. Mr. Tarvin, present your motion.”

  “Pierce Tarvin here on behalf of the movant defendant, Alexander Clarke. Mr. Clarke is an esteemed member of the bar and is a solid and productive member of the community. He is neither a flight risk nor does he pose a danger to others. Mr. Clarke is anxious to clear his name and will most certainly be present for all court appearances. Additionally, Judge, the state’s case is weak and circumstantial at best,” Pierce argued.

  The state’s attorney rose and addressed the judge, “Judge, if you call being found returning to the scene of the crime and standing over your wife’s dead body circumstantial, well then, I don’t know what that term means. If you call finding the stolen paintings worth over one hundred million dollars in a room known only to him and his wife and few others who didn’t have access, well then, again, the term circumstantial must have a different meaning. The fact that Mr. Clarke is a member of the bar only weakens his case, as he is aware of all the ways the law can work for him and against a just verdict if he manipulates it just right.”

  “Everyone, sit down,” the judge said and directed the two men arguing to be seated.

  He picked up a folder and looked through some photos and papers.

  The state’s attorney stood again. “And, Judge, there is another murder we are looking at that Mr. Clarke might be involved with, and we’re putting the final pieces together …”

  “Mr. Webster, until you have an arrest warrant on that case, that’s not before me, so sit down,” the judge said. “Now, based on the seriousness of the crime and looking at the significant ties to the community and his previous service to the community, I’m setting bail at one million dollars cash or property bond.”

  “One million dollars? Your Honor, my client doesn’t have access to that kind of money. We would consider that excessive bail and an eighth amendment violation,” Pierce stated.

  “Mr. Tarvin, I’ve reviewed the interview statement that your client gave to the police with counsel and without. He admits to having a relationship with a woman murdered who has ties to this case. He was told not to return to the house, but he did. And, when he did, he was found in a cellar with the body of his dead wife and appeared to be leaving the cellar and hadn’t called the police. I’m not conducting a probable cause hearing, but I don’t like some things in this file. Mr. Clarke is looking at life without parole, and that might cause some men to do stupid things,” the judge said.

  “Judge, would you consider a two hundred fifty thousand bond, house arrest, and ankle monitor?” Pierce asked.

  “Does he have a home? Because he sure isn’t going back to the murder scene. All I see is, he’s been staying in a hotel, he leases his car, and he has little stable assets,” the judge replied.

  Pierce looked at me.

  “Mr. Clarke, do you have a residence?” the judge asked.

  “No, sir,” I replied.

  “There you go, counsel. The state of Colorado will be happy to provide him with three hots and a cot. Bond stands at one million cash. Court stands adjourned,” the judge announced and left.

  Pierce sat next to me, and his look was one of defeat.

  “Alex, unless you can come up with a million cash, you’re stuck here. I can file a motion for a speedy trial, but right now, that might work against you. The state has all their ducks in a row. The fact that you didn’t call from the cellar makes you look guilty. The paintings were found on the premises. Well, who else would have access to the room or reason to hide them? I don’t want to add insult to injury, but this is the end of the representation in the agreement. If you want to retain me for a jury trial, I’ll need another fifty thousand for me and twenty thousand for experts and investigators,” he said.

  “I could represent myself,” I said.

  “Yes, of course, you could. But look how well things have gone for you so far with you in charge,” he said and shook his head.

  “The offer pre-indictment is on the table. They’ll charge you under manslaughter and run the sentences concurrently. You can plea under Alford and be out in six years with a life still to live,” he said. “Now, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a probable cause hearing in an hour. Get back to me.”

  The only two left were me and the bailiff, ready to apply the shackles that were to be my new jewelry.

  Dalia

  Everyone faced different challenges at night and worked through them in different ways. Some had a drink or two before bed. Other people used yoga and meditation to relax. My routine was a hot bath with Dr. Teal’s lavender, and that normally did the trick. Not last night. I’d had a horrid night, and it probably would be a dreadful day. Every time I’d thought I had found sleep, it had been chased away by the events leading up to yesterday’s bail hearing. One would think recovering the paintings and being able to shut the door on a murder would be a cause to find some well-needed sleep. But things still didn’t fit. People wanted to claim justice was served. I found it difficult to accept.

  I was certain, when we met this morning, Cillian would be ecstatic that the company would recover a large portion of the fee we had been promised. My portion would go a long way to allow me to pursue the practical experience I needed to obtain the programming degree to start a new career path. For now, I was staying put. I felt comfortable here and could grow with Cillian’s firm. What I didn’t feel good about was how the case had ended.

  Nobody had to tell me twice. The murder wasn’t our job. Law enforcement was there to collect the evidence and the judicial system to weigh it. But something felt rigged here, and I could not figure out who, how, or why.

  “Good morning, everyone, and thank you for coming in so early. Bill should be here in a few minutes. I wanted to start a little early and tie up any loose ends. So, let’s go around the room and open a discussion of any last thoughts or issues. Lee, we’ll start with you,” Cillian said.

  Cillian sat at the end of the table and prepared to take notes.

  “I’ve been on the periphery of the case, dealing with the forensics of the murder to determine if it would lead us to the paintings. Now that we know about the cellar, that’s consistent with why the rug fibers stopped in the kitchen at the island. Evidently, he dragged the body down to the cellar from that point. Here’s my two cents worth I’m with Mary. Why not just take it out the back and down three stairs? Why drag dead weight down twelve stairs, knowing you’ll have to eventually carry it back up those same twelve? This is a man determined to get the house sold, and what was the plan? Leave the body for the buyers? That still troubles me.

  “The lab has determined that the blood on the wall belongs to Samantha. It also was consistent with a blow to her head from the castoff of the blood. The autopsy was done and not published yet. But I received word that, upon a preliminary examination, they found her skull had been hit, but the murder weapon still needs to be determined,” Lee said.

  “I think you’ll find, it’s going to be a tall metal lamp that sat
on the table by the sofa,” Mary offered.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why?” Lee asked with a smile.

  Mary engaged her tablet and synced it to the large screen.

  “I worked up some schematics, but first, let’s look at the photos. If you look at the room pre-incident, you’ll see a lamp was on the table right here. It is almost two and a half feet tall, it’s made of heavy metal, and it has a solid base,” she said and circled the lamp. “Now, look at the crime scene photos, and the lamp is gone. My theory is, someone was in a face-to-face, heated argument with Samantha. Samantha’s back was to the wall, and the killer turned, reached over, picked the lamp up, and swung it in a rage,” Mary said.

  “I don’t know, Mary. If that were the case, why didn’t the paintings get splattered?” Jackson asked.

  Excellent question.

  “Because someone had already removed the paintings and placed them on another wall to take away,” she said.

  “So, are you saying, you think Samantha walked in on someone trying to steal the paintings?” I asked.

  “I’m uncertain of the events that led up to the removal; however, they were removed before the blow. If the paintings had never reappeared, then I would say she came in during a robbery in progress. But someone took the paintings down, and they were protected. Now, moving to my next slide and the trajectory of the blood, I’d say it was someone taller than Samantha. Once the autopsy is published and I can input the exact placement of the wound, I’ll know better,” she said.

  “Which paintings were there on that wall?” Cillian asked.

  “The Campendonk and Freud,” Mary answered.

  “Okay. Lee, anything else?” Cillian asked, making a note.

  “Nope,” Lee responded.

  “Mary, aside from the theory of the forensics, do you have anything?” Cillian asked.

  “I went through the panic room issues with Tyler. He said the only way that someone could have disarmed the door was at the panel itself. They would have had to know the password to override it and reset it. So, it had to be someone familiar with it,” she said.

  “So, that thingamabob you brought yesterday wouldn’t have helped unlock it?” Jackson asked.

  “I didn’t say that, did I? But the answer is, I don’t know because it’s a prototype,” she said.

  “Is it a prototype that Tyler’s company produced?” Cillian asked.

  And she nodded.

  “So, to cut to the chase, whoever did this moved the paintings from the places they hung to the panic room. The question in my mind is, how did someone get a picture of Marissa and the paintings?” Jackson asked. “Is Tyler involved in unraveling this as well?”

  “No,” Mary responded. “We’ve got to leave the police some work to do, don’t we?”

  As Mary stood for another cup of coffee, I saw Bill coming down the hall.

  “Bill’s here,” I said.

  Cillian stood to welcome him, and Mary poured a cup of coffee for him.

  “I want to thank all of you for your stellar job in recovering the paintings, which are safe and sound. Our risk management people have been out to the evidence lockup to verify all is well with the paintings. I have a check here for your services, and it’s my hope these paintings don’t become a piranha in the art world because of the tragedy attached to them,” he said.

  “Would you like us to give you a verbal presentation of the salient points?” Cillian asked.

  “Unnecessary,” Bill said. “Just complete the DDR32 form, and that should cover it.”

  “Bill, great doing business with you,” Cillian said, and Bill departed.

  “Okay, we’ve got our fee. I’ll deposit this in the account and have a check to everyone in the next three days. One thing we need to do is draw a line under this case. We were not hired to solve a murder. Although, at this point, we might all feel personally involved, to stay in any longer in any aspect would not be professional,” Cillian said.

  “That’s BS, and you know it, Cillian,” Mary said. “Dalia, you pay him no mind. You’ve got a pipeline into this case with Detective Murphy. I for one expect to be kept in the loop.”

  Cillian gave her a raised eyebrow and continued, “I’ve got good news that Dalia said I could share. Dalia will stay on with us, and during that time, she will finish her information management degree. Tyler has offered her the opportunity to complete her practicum, and she will work that out with him. Lee, thank you for your help on the case. I’ll ask you to sign the final report, and your part is done. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to end this meeting. I’ve got a potential new client scheduled in fifteen minutes,” Cillian said.

  “I’ve got something else,” Mary announced.

  “Jesus, no! This is done. We have our fee; we did our job. Let it go, Mary,” Jackson said.

  Mary’s middle finger was once again directed his way, and I was so used to it by now that it just seemed like a special signal between them.

  “The two paintings taken down were the Campendonk and Freud. Doesn’t that ring any bells? Come on, we all read the same material,” she said.

  “The only thing I remember is the Lucian Freud was the ugliest-ass painting I’ve ever seen. Anyone who thought that was art is nuts,” Jackson said.

  “I reviewed everything last night, and I’ll refresh your recollection. During the probate trial, Marley had an outburst about those two paintings. They were special to her,” Mary said.

  “That might be so, but right now, this case is in the hands of the state’s attorney, and I’m certain they have a lot of brain power working the case. I’m not sure they want us sticking our noses in. So, although a valid observation, I say, close the door on this, and let’s move on,” Cillian said.

  Mary nodded her head, but I knew she would not let it go.

  Ready to leave, I snatched my phone from the table and saw I’d missed a text message.

  Alex Clarke pleading guilty to manslaughter and theft arraignment in two hours.

  Alex

  A month later

  I’d pled to the manslaughter murder of Samantha and theft of the paintings. As promised, the state had allowed me to plead under Alford, which indicated I maintained my innocence yet felt the evidence was so strong against me that I would be convicted at trial. There was no way I would ever make bail. I had been tried and fried in the court of public opinion. The press had found every peccadillo and every professional blemish on my record and blew each up to be worse than the event. Women had come out of the woodwork to talk about my sex addiction. Everyone had a story to tell.

  The state had honored their offer that I would be sentenced on a manslaughter charge, which carried a substantially reduced sentence. Since the paintings had been recovered, that sentence was also reduced considerably and ran concurrent, so my time in prison was cut in half. I’d be eligible for parole in four years, whereby I could serve the rest of the sentence on parole.

  While in prison, I was determined to learn a new skill and change my name when released. I’d have a fresh start.

  “Clarke, there’s a visitor to see you,” the guard announced.

  It was probably Pierce here to go over the last-minute formalities before I was transferred from jail to prison. The state wasn’t able to make a case for the murder of Marissa against me, and that case remained open. Not a comforting thought.

  We walked to the visitor section where the guard chained my wrists to the table, but my ankles remained free.

  “Have a seat, and I’ll bring her in,” he said.

  “Her?” I asked. I was certain my eyebrows reached my skull.

  “Yeah, some real fine piece,” he said with a wink.

  As I waited, I planned how I could leverage my skills as an attorney to avoid being beaten and sexually abused in prison. Everyone needed a jailhouse lawyer. I just had to get the word out.

  I looked up and saw a very attractive blonde walking through the door. She looked familiar, and then it hit me. Marley. Godda
mn Marley was here to see me. Her hair was different, and she looked as if she had undergone plastic surgery.

  Nope, not going to happen. I stood to summon the guard over to take me back.

  But, before I could get his attention, she was face-to-face with me and then she spoke, “I’m heading out of town, and I won’t be back, Alex. The least you can do is say good-bye.” She gave a wicked smile and sat.

  “Good-bye and good riddance, you fucking psycho. May you never darken my door again,” I said, looking her straight in those crazy eyes.

  I didn’t want to hear anything she had to say despite my curiosity. I knew, once I heard anything she said, it could never be unheard.

  “Please, Alex, relax. I have an interesting story to tell you. Maybe it will inspire you to write a book about it while you’re in here,” she said with a wink. “Oh, but then I’d sue you for any funds you made off my poor sister’s death. Quite the dilemma for you. A story to be told but no way to get it out.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that and felt like I was being ensnared in a spiderweb. Against all the alarm bells ringing in my head that said to run, I sat.

  “It’s just so wonderful to see you here, Alex,” she said. “Especially after you used me and dumped me. All those months of passionate sex and all those promises of getting me my beloved paintings.”

  My head must look as if it would spin around twice. Because that was how it felt. I felt my heart rate speed up. Surely, my blood pressure was at the point that I could have a stroke.

  Spittle formed in my mouth, and as I spoke loudly, it went flying, “Used you? Dumped you? What the hell are you talking about?” I was confused as hell.

  “You remember, during the probate trial and all our nights of passion, you said you’d love me forever? And, if I dropped the case, I’d get the paintings I wanted,” she said, reaching for my hand.

  The guard who had been across the room, playing some game on his phone, made his way toward us. She quickly removed her hand.

  “You are out of your ever loving fucking delusional mind. I said no such thing, you psycho. And I never had sex with you. Never would I be that desperate. I had that case in the bag. There was no way I could have lost it,” I snapped.