“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.”