CHAPTER 17

The Gibbes Museum of Art was housed in a historic Beaux-Arts building off Meeting Street in downtown Charleston. Opened in 1905, the museum’s art collection reflected Charleston’s rich artistic heritage, spanning Gullah art, classical works, and modern pieces. Renovated in 2016, the building also featured several artist studios on the ground floor, an impressive rear garden, and a striking glass dome surrounded by architectural details such as pedimented windows and elegant Doric columns.

Hennessy moved through the well-dressed crowd, who were mingling with glasses of champagne in hand. Rumors whispered from one socialite to another at the opening of the museum’s latest exhibition. The rich and powerful were happy to mingle—another event on their calendars to network, leverage, or gossip. The room smelled of fine perfume and expensive champagne. Hennessy made his way to the rear of the room, toward the man he needed to speak with.

Deep in conversation with another retired judge, Clarence Berkley looked up, took a second glance, and then sighed. Berkley was dressed in a fitted blue suit with a red bowtie and black thin-rimmed glasses. He said something to the other judge and then turned to the beautiful younger woman beside him. He leaned in close, whispered in her ear, and then looked back at Hennessy. Berkley grunted and then walked through the door to the left. Hennessy followed.

Berkley entered the hallway that led to the stairwell and stopped at the end, well away from the ears of the socialite crowd. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Why’d you confront me here? You could’ve called me and arranged to meet.”

“I called you. You didn’t return my calls.”

“True.”

Berkley shrugged. “What do you want? I’m in the middle of something.”

“With a woman who isn’t your wife.”

“That’s your problem?”

Berkley groaned. “My wife has dementia and can barely remember who I am anymore. What am I supposed to do all day? Hold her hand and reminisce? No thanks. She has a nurse to look after her, and I still need to live my life.”

“Did you pay the woman?”

“Oh, come on, Joe.”

Berkley shook his head. “Why do you think a beautiful woman like that would be on my arm? She’s not an escort but now owns one of my wife’s old diamond necklaces.”

“You haven’t changed.”

“Why would I? I’m too old to change my ways now. A man has to have fun.”

Hennessy shook his head in disgust. “Do you know what happened to Witness Two and Three in Palin’s case?”

Berkley hesitated, went to open his mouth, and then closed it again. He shook his head and leaned his back against the wall. “What happened to them?”

“They’re missing.”

“That’s no surprise,”

Berkley said. “I assume you knew who they were.”

“John Tilly and Debra Fisher. Former employees of Palin.”

“And it’s no surprise they were former employees either. Given what Palin has told me about their witness statements, I would assume all five of them are former employees.”

Berkley squinted and leaned forward. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with their disappearance?”

“Palin said you were working behind the scenes to expose the names of all the witnesses. He said you were leveraging your contacts and talking to people in law enforcement. He thinks you’re working hard to expose the name of Witness One as soon as possible.”

“I told you I wouldn’t help him.”

“He’s convinced you will.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot. I’ve been trying to get him off my back for years, but he keeps hounding me like I owe him something. I owe him nothing. He used me, blackmailed me, and now he thinks we’re friends? He’s delusional.”

“Then why do you answer his calls?”

“What am I supposed to do? Ignore him. That’s not how things work in the South, Joe. You know that.”

Berkley nodded slowly, his expression shifting as thoughts rolled through his mind. “And I suggest you haven’t investigated as much as you should have.”

“I don’t buy it. Your fingers are reaching into this somehow, and Palin is convinced you’re helping him.”

“He’s an idiot. I want nothing to do with him. He keeps coming to me, threatening he’s going to tell my wife about my affairs, but it doesn’t matter. He could tell her about every single one of the women I’ve slept with, and it wouldn’t matter. I’m not helping him anymore.”

Hennessy leaned forward. “As a former judge, I’m sure you remember that there’s no statute of limitations on criminal sexual conduct with a minor.”

Berkley’s mouth hung open for a few moments before he groaned. “He told you about that?”

Hennessy nodded.

“Alright. Alright. Tell him not to panic. You can tell Palin that I’m working hard to get the names of the redacted witnesses. I should have them over the next week or so. There are people here who are still connected to the justice system who can help me, and I will try to leverage them.”

“I don’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth.”

Hennessy studied Berkley. He was shifty under Hennessy’s gaze. “And you know something that you’re not telling me?”

“This isn’t as simple as you want it to be, Joe. The world you’re stepping into has many links, many connections, and many people have been affected by Palin’s actions. We’ve got to unravel the links before we can help him. I can’t be tied to this at all, so I need to use intermediaries to get the information. The problem is that most people think he’s guilty and want nothing to do with it. It was a despicable crime.”

“You need to tell me if you know something that can clear Palin.”

“Palin has a long history of corruption. There’s no doubt about what he’s done.”

Berkley threw his hands in the air and walked back toward the doors out of the hallway. “Now, let me get back to networking and see if I can convince someone to help him.”

Hennessy lingered in the hallway, his gaze fixed on the doors swinging shut behind Berkley. The faint echo of footsteps faded into the crowd’s din, leaving him cloaked in an uneasy silence.

The deeper Hennessy dug, the more complicated the case became.