by Edward Izzi
Follow the money? What the hell was he talking about? What was Rizzo referring to? He wasn’t making any sense. What would money have to do with this homicide? Did Marquardt have a large personal estate? Are there heirs to his money that could make them murder suspects?
Maybe this old man had a lot of cash stashed in the house somewhere, and we were so consumed with the murder that we didn’t think that this could have been a robbery too. Maybe there is an angry nephew or another relative somewhere that we need to investigate. Maybe there is an estranged family member who knows that the old ex-priest was loaded up in cash.
I always hated it when the media knew more about a pending investigation that the coppers did. Rizzo obviously had one up on me already. Not only did I need to quickly solve this homicide, but I had to compete with Rizzo and WDRV-8 News as well. I was getting a migraine headache and feeling totally frustrated.
And this investigation had barely even started.
Chapter Six
Olivia Laurent
The line of people at Starbucks was almost to the door as Olivia Laurent arrived for her usual morning cappuccino, for which she preferred grande, extra wet. It was a beautiful Friday spring morning in downtown Detroit, as the temperature was starting to climb to 78 degrees without the heat index. She was suffering from an intense migraine headache first thing that morning and was skeptical as to whether a fresh cup of her usual cappuccino was going to do her any good.
The young, business executive had just gotten off the bus from her downtown Jefferson Street condo to her office at the Great Lakes Life Insurance Company, where she was the chief financial officer. Olivia grabbed her coffee that morning and walked over to her office on the thirty-sixth floor of the Renaissance Center across the street.
She was a beautiful, smart, well-educated brunette, who received her accounting CPA certificate after graduating from Albion College. She went on to get her law degree from Wayne State University, with the hope of having a career in taxation law and forensic accounting. She instead took a temporary job while in law school as an insurance adjuster with the life insurance company and climbed the corporate ladder over the last twenty years to her present, executive position within the corporation.
Her law and accounting degrees became valuable tools for which she utilized in her career, as she was able to apply her forensic accounting techniques, along with her excellent understanding of the law, to various life insurance claims. She was considered quite an asset to the insurance company and signed off on any and all life insurance claims which the Great Lakes Life Insurance Company was liable for. She had just settled into her office when her associate brought in some documents and some insurance claims to review.
“Good morning, Olivia,” greeted her associate.
Cindy Jankowski was a sharp, heads-up claims accountant whom had been with the insurance company for several years. Olivia considered her “the extra pair of eyes and ears” within the company. She had been assembling some recent life insurance claims and brought this claim from Chicago to her attention.
“Olivia, did you have a chance to review this claim?” she asked, while putting the several files and documents on her desk.
“Which claim, Cindy?”
“The one about the 79-year-old man in Chicago who was violently murdered last week. The Archdiocese of Chicago is the beneficiary of a five-million-dollar insurance policy which was taken out on the deceased back in 1982.”
Cindy had attached a copy of a small newspaper article from the Chicago Sun-Times. They had done a small, three paragraph article regarding the homicide on West Argyle, in which the victim was found violently murdered and mutilated, with the Chicago Police Department having no suspects or witnesses.
“So, what? I hear everyone is killing everybody in Chicago these days. What else is new?” Olivia sarcastically said. She should have probably gotten herself a glass of tomato juice and some aspirin to soothe her throbbing morning headache, or perhaps, her hangover. She had gone out with some girlfriends to Detroit’s Greek Town for dinner and drinks the night before and didn’t get home until one o’clock in the morning.
“Cindy, do you have any aspirin?”
Cindy noticed her bloodshot eyes upon closer inspection, and realized that her usual Starbucks grande cappuccino, extra wet wasn’t going to do the trick. She quickly went to her office and brought back two Excedrin aspirin for her boss a few minutes later, along with a small cup of water.
“How late were you out last night?” Cindy asked, as Olivia swallowed the two Excedrin.
“Until one in the morning. I’m getting too old for this shit,” Olivia replied.
She had just celebrated her birthday last week, and although she looked phenomenal, was starting to feel the effects of her ripe-old age of forty-two years old. She followed a vegan diet, watched her waistline, and invaded the local gym and Zumba classes four nights a week. Other than her periodic cravings for cheese fries and her usual margaritas, Olivia lived a healthy lifestyle.
She was also single. Although she had her fair share of past relationships, she had never married and had no children. She had given up on her biological clock, realizing that her lucrative, corporate career was far more rewarding than all that over-rated hype regarding kids, marriage and motherhood.
Olivia rustled a few of the papers and files concerning the Chicago insurance claim, paying more attention to her throbbing headache than to Cindy.
“What about this claim?” Olivia asked again. Cindy looked at her and smiled.
“This is a five-million-dollar life insurance claim on a 79-year old ex-priest from Chicago” she said.
“The Archdiocese of Chicago has made a claim regarding the policy and has attached the insured’s death certificate. When I saw the cause of death on the certificate, I went on the internet and found the article regarding this man’s murder. I’ve attached the newspaper clipping from the Chicago Sun-Times.”
Olivia looked through the insurance claim, read the death certificate and the news clipping.
“It says this man was mutilated, with several stab wounds, knife insertions, and blunt trauma to his face and body, and was impaled among other things,” she read out loud.
“Wow. When they kill someone in Chicago, they don’t screw around,” Olivia chuckled.
“Who made this insurance claim?”
“It was signed by a Monsignor Joseph Kilbane, who is the administrative chief of staff at the Archdiocese,” Cindy answered.
Olivia just shook her head. “Amazing,” she said to herself.
Olivia continued to scan through the files and paper work. It was the general policy of the Great Lakes Life Insurance Company to investigate and review any insurance claims where a violent death or a homicide of an insured was involved, invoking a review period of up to 120 days.
“Why did our company allow the Archdiocese of Chicago to take out such a pricey insurance policy on an ex-priest thirty-five plus years ago? Have there been similar claims?” Olivia asked.
“We had another claim two years ago regarding another ex-priest in Chicago for two million dollars, but that one wasn’t a homicide. The Chicago Archdiocese was the beneficiary of that policy as well.”
“Interesting,” Olivia observed out loud. “I would imagine we are not the only insurance company underwriting these policies for these Chicago ex-priests. I’m sure there have been other claims.”
Olivia pensively sat at her desk and contemplated her company’s options before paying out on this life insurance claim.
“Let’s invoke the full review period on this claim and do some homework. Find me the name of the detective who is handling this case for the Chicago Police Department,” she requested.
“Phillip Dorian,” Cindy quickly said.
“Who?”
“Detective Phillip Dorian of the Sixteenth District. I’m way ahead of you, boss,” Cindy smiled.
Olivia looked at her and smiled, knowing that her Thursday nigh
t drinking binges with the girls had to come to an end.
“And of course, you have his number, correct?”
Cindy reached across Olivia’s desk and opened the file containing the Chicago Police Department information on the detective.
“It’s right here, boss.” Cindy said, knowing that she was running circles around her corporate CFO today.
“Stop calling me boss!” Olivia jokingly reprimanded her associate. She opened and read through all the files and work papers, noting that it was still an open investigation.
“We can’t go any further on this claim until the Chicago P.D. closes this case, one way or the other. I will give this detective a call this morning and see where this homicide case stands,” Olivia stated.
She thanked her diligent associate for all her detailed hard work on this insurance claim, and Olivia started to do some research on her own.
She went on her computer, to find out whatever other information she could find on a 79-year-old John Marquardt. She looked up his obituary, from the Belmont Funeral Home in Chicago, finding nothing unusual. She then went on the Chicago Archdiocese web site and found nothing on him either. Olivia then looked up and researched the all sex abuse victim web sites, including the internet site where a directory of defrocked priests over the last sixty years were chronologically listed. But Marquardt’s name wasn’t listed anywhere. Olivia couldn’t find anything negative on him or why he was no longer a priest. So, what was the motive of murdering and mutilating this victim? She just couldn’t figure it out.
She called Detective Dorian at the Chicago Police Department and left him a message to return her call.
_________________________
I had just arrived back at the Sixteenth District after grabbing lunch and doing some leg work on some other investigations. Our department had been inundated with some robbery and rape cases over the last week, so my attention had been diverted away from the Marquardt murder, as that homicide was still an open investigation. Outside of what little information I could get out of Rizzo and going back to the crime scene a few times, I had made very little progress on that case. As I settled at my desk, I noticed a message from the dispatcher to return a call from an Olivia Laurent of the Great Lakes Insurance Company. The phone number started with a ‘313’ area code, so I knew right away she was calling from Detroit.
“Ms. Laurent, this is Detective Dorian returning your call,” as a soft, female voice answered the phone.
“Oh, thank you so much for calling me back, Detective. We have an open life insurance claim relating to a recent homicide case which we understand you’re investigating,” she said.
It didn’t click in my head right away, as to why a life insurance company would be calling me.
“Which case ma’am?”
“The Marquardt murder case. We have an insurance claim which was made by the Archdiocese of Chicago,” she answered.
Suddenly, I felt like I was standing in front of a slot machine in Las Vegas, with all the bells and whistles loudly going off, spinning triple sevens and making ‘ding-ding-ding’ noises.
This is what that son-of-a-bitch Rizzo was alluding to. ‘Follow the money’ he had said a few times, but I just didn’t get it. I didn’t understand what the hell he was talking about. But now, the very break that I needed in this homicide case had now just fallen right into my lap. There were several moments of silence as the puzzle pieces were starting to magically fit together.
“Hello?” said the female voice from the other end.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Did you say the Archdiocese of Chicago?” I asked, making sure I wasn’t hearing things.
“Yes, I did. I was hoping you could share some information with us regarding this investigation” she replied.
The Archdiocese of Chicago had a life insurance policy on John Marquardt, a former priest and now, murder victim. I was trying to put my head around it. Rizzo’s phrase ‘Follow the money’ kept going around and around in my head.
“I’m sorry Ms. Laurent. I’m not at liberty to openly talk about this case right now. But could I call you back later?” I politely asked.
“Absolutely, Detective. We’re not going to be paying out on this claim anytime soon right now. We will need more information regarding the circumstances of the insured’s death, so take your time.”
“Thank you,” and I abruptly hung up the phone.
I quickly looked up the number and made my next phone call. It was a rare occasion when I was dialing this bastard’s phone number rather than him dialing mine.
“Hello?”
“You son-of-a-bitch! You knew there was a life insurance policy on that ex-priest, didn’t you?” I was so annoyed with this asshole reporter.
“Hey Philly! What’s up?” I was not in the mood for Rizzo’s unusually cheerful voice.
“How did you know there was a life insurance policy?”
Chaz Rizzo started laughing his girly laugh, playing his little ‘cat and mouse’ game with my temper.
“Philly, Philly, Philly! You want way too much information!”
“Fuck you, Rizzo! How about if I haul your ass down here and throw you in the can for obstructing a homicide investigation?” I loudly replied. My temperature was starting to boil.
“Hmmm, now that sounds like a stretch. But you know, Philly, I do love it when you talk dirty me.”
“Dammit Rizzo! Get your ass over here! You’ve got some explaining to do,” as I hung up the phone. I was so infuriated with him.
It wasn’t more than thirty minutes before Chaz Rizzo casually walked into my office, wearing that cocky grin of his.
“Hey Phil, nice weather we’re having,” as he sat down in front of my desk and put that unlit cigarette back in his mouth.
“Cut the bullshit, Rizzo. I need to know what you know. You knew there was a policy on this Marquardt guy and you said nothing,” I sternly said. He just looked at me and smiled.
“Phil, you surprise me. When I said, ‘follow the money’, what the hell did you think I was talking about? I’m shocked that it took you this long to figure it out,” he gleefully replied.
“So how did you know, Chaz?”
The reporter started fumbling again with his unlit cigarette, as though he was waiting for me to give him the permission to light it up.
“Come on, Detective. You know a reporter can’t reveal his sources of information.”
“You’re pushing my buttons, Rizzo. Cut the bullshit!” I said loudly, making sure that he knew I was serious about throwing him in jail.
Chaz made himself comfortable and crossed his legs, showing off his fancy alligator stripped socks and his high end, wing-tipped black shoes. When it came to make a fashion statement, Chaz Rizzo ‘dressed to the nine’s’. He wore his expensive apparel as though he were posing for a photo shoot with GQ magazine. He was wearing a dark, Canali pin-striped suit, crisp white shirt and a complimentary blue stripped tie. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he kept his charge accounts at all the high-end, men’s clothing stores on Michigan Avenue.
“So just tell me, Rizzo. How did you know about the life insurance policy on this guy?”
“Truthfully, Phil. I didn’t know. I was just guessing that at the time of the murder,” he replied.
“Don’t mess with me, Chaz,” I loudly warned him.
“Relax, Phil. We interviewed a former priest while we were doing that ‘Cardinal Brody’ piece last year. He had explained to us that allowing the Archdiocese to take out a policy on him was part of his ‘penance’, in case there were any tentative lawsuits filed against them. I really didn’t think anything more about it until this murder case,” Rizzo said.
“Do you know if Cardinal Brody took out policies on all of his former priests?” I eagerly asked.
“I’m not sure. The ex-priest we interviewed wouldn’t go on record, but he did mention that he thought many of the priests who left the priesthood, especially those who were defrocked during the ‘70’
s and ‘80’s, had large life insurance policies taken out on them. They were threatened and ‘bullied’ into taking out these policies, or they would be facing the threat of criminal prosecution. It was a way for the Archdiocese to ‘cover their asses’ financially in case there were any liable suits down the road.”
Rizzo was a treasure chest of information regarding the Chicago Archdiocese, and I was realizing that I was going to need his expertise if I were going to solve this case. I scribbled down a few notes while he was talking, and then started to contemplate my last phone call to the life insurance company.
“Chaz, you do realize how this homicide looks so far, don’t you?” I calmly asked.
“Of course. The Archdiocese hired a Mob hit-man to kill an ex-priest for the insurance money. Are you surprised?” Rizzo was amusing himself and annoying me again with that girlish giggle of his. He was chewing on his unlit Marlboro Light cigarette as though it were a toothpick.
“But do you think that is even possible?” I asked him.
“Personally, Phil? No, I don’t. I don’t think Kilbane, Cardinal Markowitz, or anyone else at the Archdiocese is that goddamn stupid. Even though they have a history of breaking most of the Ten Commandments, I don’t believe the ‘Thou Shall Not Commit Murder for the Insurance’ is one of them,” Chaz said.
“But the Archdiocese is all too happy to collect on this old priest’s life insurance policy,” I quickly interjected. Rizzo sat there and thought about it for a several long seconds.
“Is there a law against taking out an insurance policy on a former employee, such as a former priest, and then collecting years later?” Chaz asked.
I rattled that question in my head a few times, knowing that there was no easy answer.
“Maybe it’s time to pay another visit to Monsignor Kilbane,” I suggested to myself out loud, as Chaz sat in front of my desk, nodding his head with a smile.
“Good luck with that,” he said, as there were some moments of silence.
“May I go now, Detective?” he innocently asked.
“Sure, Riz,” I replied. “Go out and enjoy this beautiful day,” I suggested as we both stood up from my desk, before throwing in one last reprimand.
