A Discount for Death (8 page)

Chapter Ten

The district attorney hesitated in mid-sentence, one hand poised in the air as if his orchestra was locked in a pause before the next movement. His other hand shuffled the notes on the lectern. Estelle Reyes-Guzman waited, aware that District Attorney Daniel R. Schroeder knew exactly what he wanted to ask, that the notes he wanted were right there on top of the heap. The grand jurors sat silent and watchful, eager to hear secret testimony that was better than the juiciest gossip.

Schroeder finally looked up, his hand still raised. He looked at the jurors as if surprised to find them still in attendance, grimaced, and dropped his hand.

“Undersheriff Guzman, when did your department commence its investigation into the affairs of Mr. George Enriquez?”

“In early February of this year, sir.”

“Would you explain for the jury what it was that prompted that investigation?”

“We were in the process of investigating the circumstances of a fatal fire that destroyed the home of Eleanor Pope. Mrs. Pope’s son, Denton, died in that fire.”

“And in that case,” Schroeder interrupted, “you had reason to believe that Denton Pope might have tried to set that house on fire so that he could collect on the home-owner’s policy held by his mother. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you describe how the fire occurred.”

Estelle took a deep breath and looked at the jury. A heavy-set, elderly woman in front was either jotting notes or writing a letter to a relative. When the courtroom fell silent, the woman looked up. “It appeared that Denton Pope punched a small hole in the propane line to the wall furnace,” Estelle said. “That caused a massive leak of propane fumes into the house. He also placed a pan of gasoline under the stove, apparently to act as an accelerant. When the thermostat was turned up and triggered the furnace igniter, the whole thing blew up.”

“The plan being that his mother—or someone—would come home and turn up the thermostat in the chilly house, and the furnace would explode.”

“It appears so, sir.”

“And there is some evidence that the
late
Mr. Denton Pope actually turned up the thermostat himself. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why would he do that?”

“It appears to have been a mistake, sir.”

Schroeder looked at the jury, the crow’s-feet around his eyes deepening. “So he blew himself up. But that wasn’t his intention, was it.” The question was phrased as an aside, and Estelle didn’t respond. There was no need for the grand jury to indict a dead man. The district attorney shifted his papers again. “Eleanor Pope subsequently died from stroke complications. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not from fire-related injuries?”

“No, sir. She wasn’t home at the time.”

“Were you at any time able to interview Mrs. Pope after the fire that killed her son?”

“No, sir.”

“Why is that?”

“She suffered a stroke that night, shortly after receiving news of the fire. She slipped into a coma and never recovered.”

“During the routine investigation that followed the fatal fire…” and Schroeder paused again. Estelle wondered if he was reflecting on the word
routine
, since nothing about the Pope case had been “routine.”

“Would you tell the grand jury what you discovered after the fire relative to the Popes’ home-owner’s insurance.”

“We could find no record of a home-owner’s policy, sir.”

“No written record at all?”

“No, sir.”

“So such a policy did not exist. Is that correct?”

“We did not find one, sir.”

The half smile again touched Schroeder’s face. “It’s possible that the paperwork burned in the fire?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you make enquiries with various insurance agents to that effect?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And no policy was ever issued, as far as these various agents were concerned?”

“That’s correct.”

“Was one of the agents whom you queried Mr. George Enriquez?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And he told you that no such policy existed?”

“Yes, sir. The Popes had no home-owner’s policy with his firm.”

“Did Mrs. Pope have any insurance at all with Mr. Enriquez’s agency?”

“Yes, sir. She had auto insurance.”

Schroeder stopped and thrust out his lower lip, regarding the papers in front of him. He patted the lectern and turned to the jury. Estelle glanced at the eight faces and saw the keen interest of a jury that was listening to the first witness in a case destined to be a long one. By the twenty-fifth witness, the open-eyed coma would have set in, and the difficulty of Schroeder’s job would escalate.

“Did there come a time,” Schroeder said carefully, still looking at the jurors, “when you found evidence suggesting that Mrs. Eleanor Pope in fact had been making payments for home-owner’s insurance?”

“We were able to establish that Eleanor Pope had written checks on a monthly basis to George Enriquez.”

“And you were led to believe that those payments were for home-owner’s insurance?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What led you to that conclusion?”

“On several of the checks, Mrs. Pope had made the notation ‘house insurance.’” One of the jurors chuckled.

Schroeder lifted a clear plastic folder from the lectern and walked across to the witness stand. He handed the folder to Estelle.

“Do you recognize these, Undersheriff Guzman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you identify them for the jury.”

“They’re several of the checks written by Eleanor Pope to George Enriquez.”

Schroeder nodded, took the exhibit, and handed it to the jury. “Where were they found?”

“In a desk drawer in the burned trailer.”

“A metal desk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And despite the protection of the metal drawer, we can still see scorching and water stains. But they’re quite readable, aren’t they.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Undersheriff, are those checks written to Mr. Enriquez’s insurance agency?”

“No, sir.”

“To whom are they written?”

“They’re written to Mr. Enriquez personally, sir.”

“Is that a usual procedure, to write checks to an agent rather than an
agency
?”

“I don’t know what the usual procedure is for an insurance agent, sir.”

Schroeder smiled and ducked his head, then grinned at the jury. “What is
your
practice when you write checks for your own home-owner’s insurance, Undersheriff Guzman?”

“I write them to the home office of the insurance company, sir.”

“And so do I.” He patted the railing of the jury box enclosure. “And so do most of you folks, I’m sure.” Still standing in front of the jurors, he turned to look at Estelle. “During the course of your investigation, you found no insurance policy at all. Is that correct?”

“We found no policy. That’s correct.”

“So it appears that Mrs. Pope was writing monthly premium checks…each one for…” and he leaned over the jury box rail, twisting his head so that he could see the checks being scrutinized at that moment by Mark Harrell, a retired cabinet maker. “…eighty-seven dollars and fifty-seven cents, without any policy in hand. Something over a thousand dollars a year.”

Schroeder returned to the lectern and thrust his hands in his suit coat pockets. “Undersheriff, did you have reason to believe that Mrs. Pope
thought
that she had home-owner’s insurance?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What led you to that conclusion?”

“One of the sheriff’s department employees had a conversation with Mrs. Pope some time before the fire—a casual conversation in passing. The subject of house insurance came up.”

“What prompted the suspicion that Mrs. Pope might not have actually
had
a policy?”

“During the initial stages of the fire investigation, a member of our own department volunteered information to us that he had been making monthly payments to Mr. George Enriquez as well, in his case for coverage on a motorcycle.”

“And this officer told you at that time that he didn’t have an actual insurance policy in hand?”

“That’s correct.”

“Did he have a proof-of-insurance card so that he could register the motorcycle?”

“He told us that George Enriquez’s secretary typed out a proof-of-insurance card right there in the office, while he waited.”

“And that’s the usual procedure, is it not?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Schroeder sighed with feigned weariness and nodded at the jury. “We’ll be hearing from the deputy later today for the exact details on all of this, but suffice to say right now, it’s your understanding, Undersheriff Guzman, that a member of your department was making monthly payments for motorcycle insurance to Mr. George Enriquez, payments
directly
to Mr. Enriquez, not the parent insurance company. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when you contacted the insurance company’s national office, it turned out that the deputy had
no
motorcycle policy with that company.”

“That’s correct.”

Schroeder nodded with an exaggerated backward tilt of his head as if all the details had suddenly fallen into place that very moment, rather than during the tedious months of investigation that he had personally directed through the Posadas County Sheriff’s Office and the state insurance commission.

“Or any other company.”

“That’s correct.”

“During the period when the deputy was making those payments, did he ever file a claim on his motorcycle insurance?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And was it paid?”

“Yes, it was.”

Schroeder’s eyebrows shot up again as if he were genuinely surprised at the answer. The jury certainly was, since eight heads swiveled to face Estelle.

“It
was
paid?” Schroeder asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“By the insurance company’s home office?”

“No, sir.”

“Who made the payment?”

“Mr. Enriquez made the payment with a personal check.”

“So the deputy made a damage claim, and the agent paid the claim out of his own pocket.” Schroeder eyed the jury, his eyebrows arched quizzically. He held out his hand and bent one index finger down with the other. “One of the sheriff’s deputies
thought
that he had a policy…and didn’t. He made a claim, and it was quickly paid, no questions asked, by the agent’s own personal check.”

He turned to Estelle. “Did the deputy make a copy of that personal check for his records, Undersheriff Guzman?”

“No, sir.”

“But the bank has records, as we’ll see in a bit,” Schroeder said. He turned to face the jury again. “Eleanor Pope thought she had insurance, and made monthly payments. She would have been able to make a hefty insurance claim, had she survived the night.” He paused. “Now, sadly enough, it’s only her
estate
that has a claim.” He took a deep breath. “Any questions for the undersheriff at this point?”

A hand drifted up in the back row. Dr. Silvia Todd didn’t look husky enough to be a chiropractor. Estelle hadn’t seen her use the notepad provided by the court, but she had listened attentively. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward. “Are you saying that what’s his name…Denton Pope? Is that the son?”

Schroeder nodded. “Eleanor Pope’s son, yes.”

“Are you saying that Denton Pope planned to murder his mother and burn down the family home so that he could claim the insurance?”

The district attorney gently pushed his podium microphone a fraction of an inch further way. “That’s a good question, but actually, that’s not the task facing this particular grand jury,” he said. “Obviously, had Denton Pope
not
been killed in the explosion, it would be a different story.”

“But I mean, that’s what he did?” Dr. Todd pursued.

“It appears so, yes.”

“So let me get this straight,” Dr. Todd said, with the same sort of eager enthusiasm she might show while regarding a crooked spine. “Denton Pope
thought
that he had home-owner’s insurance…or he thought that his mother did.”

“That’s correct. That’s what we think,” Schroeder said.

“But he…they…didn’t.”

“That’s correct.”

“Oh.” Silvia Todd settled back in the padded swivel chair, shaking her head. “I don’t suppose we can indict somebody on the other side of the grave, huh.”

Schroeder laughed gently, resting his hand over the microphone. “Any other questions right now for Undersheriff Guzman?”

Various heads shook in the jury, and Schroeder nodded at Estelle. “Undersheriff, how long did you investigate the insurance dealings of George Enriquez?”

“Over the course of approximately four months, sir.”

“And during that investigation, did you discover that other people had been writing checks or giving cash to Mr. Enriquez, thinking that they were making insurance premium payments?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In some of those cases, is it true that no insurance policy had actually been issued?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In how many instances?”

“We have established thirty-seven separate cases so far where premiums were allegedly paid but no policy was issued.”

The courtroom fell silent as Schroeder gave the jury time to digest the number, and then he said, “Thirty-seven people were paying George Enriquez for insurance policies that did not exist. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

The district attorney rested both elbows on the podium, his hands clasped together under his chin. “Did any one of these thirty-seven people ever file a complaint that they had been denied payment of an insurance claim by Mr. Enriquez or his agency?”

“No, sir.”

“Not one?”

“No, sir. Not one of the thirty-seven people that we interviewed.”

“Were any claims actually settled or paid out during that period to any of those thirty-seven people?” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Other than the one to the sheriff’s deputy that you’ve already mentioned.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What claims were paid?”

“We found a total of nineteen claims that were paid by personal checks written by Mr. Enriquez.”

“Over how long a period?”