Incentive for Death, page 13
Pamela said, “Because it was apparently his last call, I went through the list and highlighted in yellow the other times when Mr. Van Damm called that number. There were five other calls in the previous thirty days. Total of six calls altogether.”
I read off the dates she had highlighted: “April 5, back to March 21.” I turned to Oliver. “Maybe we should chart those on a monthly calendar page or pages and see what coincides with those calls.” Oliver made another entry in his notebook.
“Let’s look at the other calls on those dates,” I suggested to Pamela.
“I’m ahead of you,” she said. “I highlighted those in blue.”
All three of us looked at the entries on the list highlighted in blue in reverse order. I said, “There doesn’t appear to be a recurrence of any other calls on those dates.”
“And they all occurred during the workday,” Pamela said. “They may well be calls with clients or other attorneys.”
“Anything else notable on the list of incoming calls to his desk phone?”
“Not that I noticed. And we were able to identify everyone on that list of incoming calls.”
“Okay,” I said, “let’s look at the incoming calls to his desk phone.” She passed us each another list of calls. There were fewer incoming than outgoing calls.
“Again,” Pamela explained, “I have highlighted three incoming calls from that same number. Based on the duration of the outgoing calls, some of these may have been return calls after Mr. Van Damm left a voicemail for Mr. Winston on the other end. Otherwise, nothing stands out on the incoming list.”
“What’s next?” Oliver asked.
She said, “Let’s do the easiest one. His house landline.”
“Why is that the easiest?” Oliver asked.
She gave us a new list that combined both incoming and outgoing columns for the house phone. There was nothing in either column. She saw our puzzled looks and smiled. “He never uses that phone at all. It is apparently there solely to serve his alarm system.”
“And finally,” Pamela said, “his cellphone. He uses it less than his office phone. Actually, probably uses it a lot less than most people do. I have charted his cell calls in a different manner because there are fewer of them.” She gave us each a schedule of the cell calls. “I have two vertical columns. The left column is for outgoing calls that Mr. Van Damm made. The right column is for incoming calls. Then I have blocked rows putting the calls in boxes by each day in reverse chrono order from Monday, April 5.”
We looked at her new chart. Again, she had indicated who was the recipient of his calls or, in the case of incoming calls, who made the calls to him.
She said, “Verizon is his cellular provider. I have a good contact there also, and they provided additional help beyond what I could get on my own from the phone’s call history and list of contacts. Verizon helped me identify who the calls went to or came from.”
She noted, “There were not a lot of recurring calls. There were three calls to or from Parker Winston. Those were on April 1, March 29, and March 28.”
Oliver said, “I’ll add those to the calendar of the calls.”
We thanked Pamela for her help and took the stairs back up to the fourth floor. As we walked, Oliver observed, “It looks like we need to talk to Parker Winston at Portland.” I agreed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
OLIVER AND I DISCUSSED whether to set up an appointment to see Parker Winston. Normally, we prefer to arrive unannounced—giving people no time to contemplate their responses in advance. But this person was the CEO of a substantial company. He wouldn’t be sitting around waiting for people like us to drop in.
It occurred to me that we needed more preparation before just showing up and asking what Van Damm had been calling him about. I looked up Simone Reese’s extension. Oliver asked, “Who you calling?”
“Simone Reese.”
Oliver said, “Uh-huh. What for?” Kind of a knowing semi-smile on this face.
“I want to see if she has come up with something that will make it look like we know more than we actually do.” I rang her extension. She answered. “Hey, Simone, this is Mac Burke. We have checked all calls in and out of Van Damm’s phones over the past thirty days. He called or received calls from the CEO at Portland Life Solutions six times over the past month. Guy’s name is Parker Winston.
“In fact, he was on the phone with Winston just minutes before he was murdered on Monday evening. I can’t just ask him what they have been talking about, particularly over the last ten days of his life.”
She responded, “So what can I do to help you?”
“Have you come up with anything on Portland that smells wrong? Something that would cause Van Damm to be calling him repeatedly?”
There was a short pause. “Well, I’ve come across something that may be of interest. I’m not sure yet.”
“Like what?”
“I’ve been looking at his quarterly and annual statements from Portland. You remember I told you that Van Damm was invested in all twelve of Portland’s Funds?”
“Yes. Guess that’s logical. We’ve found out that he’s listed as a founder of Portland. I suspect he set up the company. Hang on a sec.”
Oliver had been following my side of the conversation and I asked, “Did we get his client list from the law firm?”
As usual, Oliver was already a step ahead of me. He was searching through his emails. “Yeah. Here it is. Came in from the new managing partner. I’ve got it on my screen. Yes, here it is. Portland Life Solutions has been a client of his since 2003. Eighteen years. And, get this, his main client contact is one Parker Winston.”
Back to the phone with Simone Reese. “Don’t know if you heard Oliver, but it looks like Van Damm set up Portland in 2003.” I paused. “That reminds me of something. His ex-wife told us that he was proud of how he set up the funding on this company. Not a typical sale of stock to raise capital. Instead, he set up funds similar to limited real estate partnerships.”
Simone came back on the line. “That makes sense. He was invested in twelve Portland funds and got quarterly payments equal to 8 percent of his investment annually, which is a pretty good return. Then he got additional payments when each fund collected on the policies it had purchased.”
“Was there something that would cause Van Damm to be calling the Portland CEO?”
“There were some ups and downs based on when policy payouts came in,” she said.
“Can you chart those to see if anything particular stands out?”
“Sure. I can have that for you in a couple hours. Maybe sooner.”
“Great,” I said. “We’re going to try to get a meeting with the CEO of Portland.”
“You probably should get on his calendar. Based on my experience in the audit world, those people really don’t like spur-of-the-moment meetings. They are very controlled people who insist on preparation.”
“Good point. Get back to me as soon as you can. We’ll try to set it up for tomorrow. Thanks.” And I hung up.
I turned toward Oliver. “Simone says we need to make an appointment to get in to see Winston. Goes against my grain, but I guess we should, especially since tomorrow is Friday.” He started looking for a phone number for Portland. Once he found it, he slipped it to me on a Post-it note.
I dialed and asked Parker Winston’s executive assistant. I got a refined-sounding lady on the line who said her name was Ermine Bell.
“Yes, ma’am. This is Detective McDermott Burke with the Metropolitan Police Department. My partner and I need to see Mr. Winston.” As expected, she asked what this was about, which is why we don’t normally call in advance.
“It concerns the death of Weldon Van Damm.”
She said, “Oh, yes. We were very saddened to hear of his passing. He has been our attorney for a long time. I’m sorry, but Mr. Winston is currently in meetings. I’m sure he will want to talk to you. Can you meet with him at two tomorrow afternoon?”
“That would be fine. We’ll see you then. Thank you.”
“We’re on for two tomorrow afternoon,” I told Oliver.
After she was off the phone, Ermine Bell rapped lightly on Parker Winston’s door and stuck her head in. “Got a minute?”
“Sure. Come on in, Ermine.”
She closed the door behind her but didn’t sit. Instead, she stood directly in front of Winston’s desk. “I just had a call from a Detective Burke with the Metropolitan Police Department. He said they wanted to see you in connection with Weldon Van Damm’s death.”
“Oh? Did he give you any more specifics?”
“No, sir. I told him you were tied up in meetings today, but I could schedule him in at two tomorrow. I’ve put it on your Outlook calendar.”
Winston appreciated her running interference for him, as any good executive assistant should do. “Okay, that’s fine. I guess we’ll see them tomorrow afternoon. Thanks, Ermine.” She went back to her work area outside his office, closing the door behind her.
Parker Winston picked up his phone and dialed the extension for his corporate counsel. Pinckney Rutledge answered after a single ring, having seen Winston’s name on his phone screen.
“Yes, Mr. Winston. How can I help you?” Even though he had served as Portland’s in-house corporate counsel for fifteen years, he had always referred to the CEO as “Mr. Winston” out of proper courtesy. Winston had never told Rutledge to call him anything else.
“Come see me in about fifteen minutes,” Winston said. Then he hung up—commonplace etiquette from the boss.
At the appointed time, Rutledge put on his suit coat and buttoned the middle button. He grabbed a legal pad and marched five doors down to Winston’s office. He told Ms. Bell that Mr. Winston had asked him to stop by, knocked once, and entered after he heard, “Come in,” from inside.
“Have a seat, Pinckney.” Winston had always called him Pinckney, ever since he was hired out of law school at Georgetown. Rutledge sat as commanded.
“Want to bounce something off you,” Winston said.
“Yes, sir?”
“This is not something we want notes on or any other kind of record.” Rutledge put his yellow legal pad down on the front edge of Winston’s desk and put his pen back in his shirt pocket to show compliance.
“As you know, Weldon Van Damm died on Monday evening. Apparently, under suspicious circumstances. He helped me found Portland, and he came up with the funding scheme we use, which avoids paying interest on the capital we use to operate. And we also don’t have to account to shareholders. All of which has given us a step up over our competitors in what has become an aggressive industry. It wasn’t that way in the early days, but it certainly has been over the last ten years.”
Rutledge listened obediently, even though he was intimately familiar with the funding model, having reviewed the documents each time a new fund was set up.
“Weldon has always been a true believer in our business model. He is around a 15 percent investor in all twelve of our funds, which makes—or made—him one of our biggest investors. He always closely monitored our progress, as he had such a big stake in the company.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here’s the touchy part we need to discuss. About two or three months ago, Weldon started noticing that Funds Five and Six were returning far more than the other funds. At first, he and I both thought it might be an aberration, but those two funds continued to exceed the performance of the other ten funds.”
Rutledge leaned forward and raised a finger. “He was complaining about receiving bigger payouts in those two funds? About getting more money? I would think complaints would come in when a fund underperforms, rather than overperforms.”
“One would think. But you have to understand Weldon Van Damm completely. I’ve known the man for over twenty years. He’s done our legal work for eighteen years. I’ve served on boards with him. I’ve played golf with him.
“While his people skills definitely left something to be desired, there was no question about his integrity and honesty. That’s why, when he raised these questions, I became concerned. If there is a scandal related to one or two of our funds, it could potentially wipe us out as a business. It could even hurt the industry as a whole.
“I’ve asked Chuck Deason to look into those two funds and compare them to the others. I figured the CFO was the best person to ask. I’m supposed to hear back from him on Monday.”
Rutledge leaned forward, staring directly into Winston’s eyes. “Do you think there’s anything wrong with those two funds?”
Winston shook his head. “No, I don’t. I have no idea why those two funds are outperforming the others. My feeling is that it is just an aberration. That there may be more deaths in any given fund from time to time.
“That brings us to the point of this conversation. We’ve got to figure out what to tell the police—or, better put—what not to tell them at this point.”
“We’re talking about walking a fine line,” Rutledge said. “You can’t lie to them. That would be obstruction of justice. On the other hand, a carefully steered conversation might avoid areas where we are concerned.”
“Thank heavens, my conversations with Van Damm were all verbal. Nothing in writing. No texts. No emails.”
“That’s good,” said Rutledge. “Did you put anything in writing to Chuck Deason?”
“Definitely not. That conversation was private and verbal—just like this one.”
“Do you want me to sit in on your meeting with the detectives?” Rutledge asked
Winston shook his head. “No, that might convey a different impression than we want to give.”
What Parker Winston had not told his corporate counsel was that he had told one other person about Van Damm’s inquiries about Funds Five and Six. That person held 12 percent of those two funds but was not invested in any of the other funds. Vincent Morehead. Now he had to wonder.
Winston thought back to his early contacts with Morehead. They had met at Eastwood Country Club where they were both members. The two of them had played golf together several times as part of a foursome.
After one round of golf in 2016, Winston and Morehead were having drinks in the 19th Hole at the club. Morehead asked about Winston’s business. At the time, the company was slow in raising funds for Portland Fund Five, so Winston was eager to discuss the investment opportunity with a new prospect. Morehead seemed very interested. Later that day, Winston emailed the prospectus on Fund Five to Morehead.
Morehead called Winston the next day and said he would invest $500,000 in Portland Fund Five, and asked if Winston could bring the necessary paperwork to the Eastwood Club the next day after work. Morehead said he would bring a personal check on one of his accounts, but was too tied up to get a certified check or get the funds wired. Because he seriously needed this investment, Winston said that wasn’t a problem and clearance of his check could be verified promptly.
Because of the hurried nature of the investment, Winston had Morehead fill out the investor qualification sheet by hand. Morehead largely skipped the various questions or wrote “classified” on them, explaining to Winston that he held a classified position with the government and couldn’t disclose what he did for a living. Because he needed the investment, Winston said that was fine and put the investment documents through without the standard approval process.
When Portland Fund Six opened in 2017, Winston asked Morehead if he wanted to invest again. Morehead said he would invest another $500,000 in Fund Six. Again, Winston never asked the source of the funds. He also never pursued what Morehead did for a living. His need for investors overrode the usual investment protocols.
Winston now wondered whether the urgency of getting those investments left blind spots in his knowledge about Vincent Morehead. And there was really no one with whom he could discuss the issue.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SOMETHING WAS NAGGING at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I picked up the phone and dialed Brady Pollard.
“Brady, Mac Burke here. Can we come down and look at your photos from the Van Damm crime scene? I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but thought the pictures might help my befuddled mind … Great, we’ll be right down.”
Again, sans jackets, we took the stairs to the third floor. Brady had already laid out the Van Damm crime scene photos on a conference table and asked, “What’s rambling through your crazy Irish mind?” Oliver glanced at me, equally uncertain as to what we were doing.
“I’m really not sure myself,” I said as all three of us started looking over the photos. I picked up two pictures and set them side by side. The first one had Van Damm facedown on his desk. The second was the exact same angle, but after Van Damm’s body had been removed.
“Brady,” I said, “he apparently was looking at something in the newspaper. Do you still have that paper here in your shop?”
“I’m pretty sure we do. We bagged and tagged it, but I don’t think it’s gone down to the evidence storeroom yet. Let me check.” He got up and left the room.
About three minutes later, he returned carrying a standard MPD evidence bag. “Voilà, ask and ye shall receive,” he said, laying the oversized bag on the table in front of me. I signed the attached chain of custody receipt and opened the bag.
I pulled out part of Monday’s edition of the Washington Post. “Brady, this doesn’t appear to be the complete copy of the Post.”
“That’s right,” Brady responded. “This is the part that was on his desktop. We found the rest in his wastebasket. Which we also bagged and tagged.”
“Was it folded just like this or did it get refolded to put in the evidence bag?”
Brady picked up one of the photos showing the newspaper after the body had been removed from the desk. He said, “Actually, it looks to be folded just the same as we found it.”
