Steven Havill - A Discount for Death

“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?”

“Approximately four years.”

“Did you compute an average amount for the claims?”

“Yes, sir. The average for the nineteen claims was two hundred twelve dollars and nineteen cents.”

Schroeder once more looked up at the ceiling, as if the figures were on the acoustical tile rather than in bold red ink in his notes. “Nineteen claims averaging a little over two hundred dollars. Some more, some less. Added together, Mr. Enriquez paid out a total of about four thousand dollars in claims. Is that correct?”

“Four thousand thirty-one dollars and sixty-one cents.”

Schroeder pursed his lips. “So four thousand bucks over four years. Out of his own pocket.” He shrugged. “Acting as his own small insurance pool, so to speak. Do you happen to know the average payment made by those thirty-seven customers to Mr. Enriquez?”

Estelle glanced down at her small notebook. “The average monthly payment was seventy-two dollars and thirteen cents.”

“Math isn’t my strong suit, but let’s see if we can make this simple. You’ve got an average payment of seventy-two bucks a month. So that’s something like eight hundred a year.”