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AND JUSTICE FOR ALL
Holladay made one fatal mistake, he says, in his homespun investigation. He gave out his list of stolen property to antique dealers in the first week of March. That’s something the Utah Antique Dealers Association advocates, according to its vice president, Nate Bischoff. One day to the next, though, Holladay says, the trail went cold. He suspects the list was circulated to dealers across the Salt Lake Valley, who then hid from view whatever they had bought of his possessions.
Holladay’s spirits revived on May 20, when Salt Lake City Police announced a flurry of arrests in connection with his and other antique thefts. They arrested a man Holladay describes as “the antique dealer to the merchant class and stockbrokers,” Anthony Christensen. Five other men were arrested, including Pilcher, Dennis Hobot and Gerald Kory Lloyd. Another suspect, Shane Kennedy, whose lengthy list of prior crimes includes burglary and sexual solicitation, remained at large for several months before he was arrested.
Holladay’s elation was short-lived.
At 8 a.m. on Aug. 5, Holladay went to Salt Lake County District Attorney’s Office to testify in Pilcher and Christensen’s preliminary hearing. But instead of the crowning moment of his amateur sleuthing, when he arrived, he says, he was told the hearings were cancelled. This, however, was inaccurate. He wasn’t needed.
Instead, later that morning in 3rd District Court, Pilcher pleaded guilty to theft by receiving stolen property. His sentencing is set for Nov. 3. Then it was Christensen’s turn. Assistant Salt Lake County District Attorney Jacey Skinner asked for more time to find an expert to value “Approaching Storm.” Instead, the judge dismissed the stolen property charge for lack of sufficient evidence, although allowing Skinner the possibility of refiling the charge at a later date. Charges against three others, including Dennis Hobot, were dismissed. Shane Kennedy’s preliminary hearing is set for Oct. 31.
The Salt Lake County District Attorney’s Office declined to discuss the case surrounding the burglary of Holladay’s home in detail, citing its ongoing status. To date, no new charges have been filed against Christensen.
ON THE RUN
“U mean me no harm today right,” Gerald Kory Lloyd, the man Holladay most wants answers from, texts to City Weekly the day he agrees to meet with a reporter.
Lloyd has reason to be cautious. Not only are the cops on his trail, but his bail bondsman is also keen for a chat. It’s the latter he fears most.
For a man who says he hasn’t slept for four days, Lloyd, who shares more than a passing resemblance to gonzo writer Hunter S. Thompson, is remarkably coherent. He’s also disarmingly direct, even while never taking off his sunglasses as he talks about his twilight world of meth addiction, antiques and picking. Wearing white chino slacks and a cut-off gray T-shirt, he’s the first to acknowledge, “I look like a drug addict,” if only for his gaunt frame and features.
“For the record, no,” Lloyd says, when asked if he burgled Holladay’s home. Not that he denies buying Holladay’s property from Lloyd’s longtime friend, felon Shane Kennedy.
“People bring me stuff all the time,” Lloyd says. “I wouldn’t know where to start, whether some of the things were stolen or not.”
Lloyd has been wheeling and dealing in art, Mormon books and clothing, since he was 16, he says. He knew from an early age he didn’t want to work. He found he could buy a painting for $1,000 and sell it for $20,000. Such classic scores are the constant quest of the picker. “I’ve had many of those, more than most,” he says.
Lloyd saw that chance again on Feb. 25 after Kennedy telephoned at 10 p.m. and summoned him to his neighboring room in a Salt Lake County motel. They were both staying at the same Motel 6. Kennedy had some “stuff” to show him.
Amid the rugs, a bag of photographs and some paintings, one item jumped out at Lloyd: an oil pastoral scene of Mt. Olympus. “I told him, ‘That’s the fucking ugliest painting I’ve ever seen,’” Lloyd says. But he knew from his first glance the painting, Edwin Evans’ “Approaching Storm,” was a masterpiece. “It was simple but great. That’s why I wanted it so bad.” He thought he could get $65,000 for it. He recalls noticing, at the bottom of one bag, aging photographs, some of figures like LDS Church President Brigham Young, others unknown. Whether they belonged to Holladay’s collection is not clear.
Dennis Hobot was also in the room. Lloyd hadn’t met him before. Hobot “didn’t know anything,” Lloyd says, about art. “The bottom line is, they’re both dopers.” So Lloyd offered them $500 for the lot. “And $500 buys a lot of dope.” After much complaining, “they agreed.” Lloyd loaded three small paintings and some other items into his car, amounting, he says, to 20 percent of what he bought from the two men. He returned to his motel room. His girlfriend was furious when she heard what he had done with his money. Later, he went back to Kennedy’s room. Kennedy and Hobot were gone, along with the Evans’ painting and the rest of the haul Lloyd had paid for.
Holladay says police told him that Lloyd pursued Kennedy in his car. Lloyd denies this. Kennedy attempted a U-turn on California Avenue in Salt Lake City’s west side. Another car traveling in the same direction plowed into his late-model Geo, stuffed with Holladay’s possessions. Kennedy and a woman passenger went to LDS Hospital, where two detectives interrogated them about the burglaries.
Holladay was stunned to learn a month after the accident of his possessions’ fate. The car was towed to a downtown impound lot. Several days after the accident, Holladay says, the police released the contents of the car to a relative of Kennedy. When Holladay finally saw police photographs of the car on April 10, he identified some of the contents as his—including two Tiffany lamps valued at around $10,000, Oriental rugs, an Indian basket and the toy truck Kennedy and Hobot sold to Jitterbug’s Jackman.
CRIMES OF OPPORTUNITY
Lloyd says he sold Pilcher one small painting he got from Kennedy. He also told Pilcher about the Edwin Evans painting. Pilcher was on the phone to Lloyd “five times a day” demanding it. Lloyd in turn, he says, harangued and threatened Hobot for his property. Hobot stood his ground.
Hobot knew the painting was valuable, Lloyd says, and wanted to use the proceeds from selling it to Pilcher to go, at the beginning of March, to Hawaii with his friend Howard Price Johnson. Holladay and Lloyd both say Pilcher also went to Hawaii the same time as Hobot and Howard Price Johnson. When the police and Holladay were at Pilcher’s home, Holladay recalls, Hobot called the picker from Hawaii.
While Lloyd describes Pilcher as “my main guy,” he’s not the only well-placed Utah antique and arts figure Lloyd has done business with. Evidence of this can be found on a first floor Springville Art Museum wall. Museum director Vern Swanson acknowledged to City Weekly a landscape by early Utah realist George Ottinger that hangs in the museum was the result of a trade he made with Lloyd. Lloyd says he bought that painting, “Fisherman at Mouth of Cottonwood Stream,” from the owner of a closed-down antique store.
Christensen, however, says he doesn’t know Lloyd. Court documents suggest otherwise. They describe a detective taking a “stolen painting recovered from Mr. Pilcher and Mr. Lloyd to Anthony’s Antiques” for help in identifying it. Christensen, says the probable-cause statement, “fondly greeted the detective as ‘Kory.’” When told Christensen says he’s never met him, Lloyd spits out, “Liar.” He speculates Christensen said his name because he believed Lloyd had forged the painting under the cop’s arm. Lloyd has a reputation among some pickers for the quality of his forgeries.
Weeks after the charges against him were dropped, Christensen seems more depressed than angry. Unshaven, wearing a large, untucked gray shirt, he stares gloomily at three brass tacks on his green-leather topped desk, after welcoming a City Weekly reporter to “This world-class establishment.”
He’s still upset the police sent four armed detectives to arrest him. That a TV news report showed his storefront also still rankles. As to whether an antique theft ring exists, he scoffs. “How do they [the burglars] know about art? Do they think [the thieves] come in here and I told them about it?” All it comes down to, he says, are crimes of opportunity and political agendas. That agenda is, according to dealers, to impose through upcoming state legislation the same stringent and costly regulations on antique stores as those pawn shops operate under nationwide.
Certainly the publicity surrounding Christensen’s arrest has done little to bolster Utah’s antique trade’s reputation. But Christensen himself remains defiant. “If we are not welcome here, that’s fine, too,” he says. “We’ll pack up and move out to a place that appreciates integrity.”
Holladay wants to move to New Mexico to be with family and friends. “I’m not accomplishing anything,” he says, depressed. The robbery was not only “a big blow” that stopped him in his tracks. “It made me look at things,” he says. The home he had spent so many years renovating “was finally just a house.”
That impetus to leave might well have been sharpened by recent alarming events. A month ago, Holladay learned that 10 pages of e-mails he had sent to law enforcement at the beginning of the investigation were being circulated among neighbors and what he calls “various shady people” throughout the city. In those e-mails, Holladay poured out his anger, his fear, his suspicions—accurate or not—of neighbors and others. The district attorney’s office shared the e-mails with defense attorneys in the discovery process.
Lloyd says his house was broken into several weeks ago. The only thing taken was the discovery file containing Holladay’s e-mails relating to this case.
“I felt slightly uncomfortable,” Holladay says, sarcastically. “If I’m found dead, they can pursue somebody, maybe.”
Death threats abound in this case. Another antique-theft victim received several threats by phone and text message. Lloyd says he and Hobot have also received threats. In Lloyd’s case, though, those threats were not idle. He says he has been shot twice since he first encountered “Approaching Storm.” Someone hiding in bushes peppered one of his legs with buckshot. Another day he was shot in the side with a .22. He scrubbed the wound in the bath with peroxide and two pieces of the round fell out. In the world of drugs he knows so well, a gunman will walk up to you. “They want you to know who’s going to shoot you,” he says. If the shootings, as he suspects, were linked to the Utah art and antiques world, then it seems his assailants prefer the shadows.
Holladay supports regulation of the antiques trade. “[Antique dealers] are not careful who they buy from.” Lloyd mocks Utah dealers’ claims that they don’t deal in stolen goods. “That they have the audacity to say they’ve never bought anything stolen amazes me,” he says. “It’s an unregulated business moving securities with no accountability. It’s amazing there’s not more of it going on.”
Lloyd is sanguine he’ll do time for possession of a smashed meth pipe in a jacket pocket that police found when they pulled him over on July 25. He’s dug his own grave, he says. “It’s not like I’m hiding. The cops will get me soon enough.”
As to Holladay’s two main questions, Lloyd has answers—of a sort. He says after he was released from jail, he drove by Holladay’s home. Lloyd has a theory about why the house was hit, which he sent in a text message to City Weekly.
“Dude wrote the book on how 2 attract a criminal element 2 your house” he texts. “Dark as fuck … 5 foot weeds … peeling paint mail overflowing the box … scaffolding to a upper broken window etc looked like a fucking haunted house I halfway expected 2 hear organ music waifing [sic] through the nite air.”
Lloyd offered to look for Holladay’s photographs, which he thinks might have been at the bottom of a large bag in Shane Kennedy’s motel room on Feb. 25, the night of the car wreck. He says he can lean on a few people who owe him favors.
When told of Lloyd’s promise to look for the pictures, Holladay appears resigned that it will lead to nothing. Holladay suspects Lloyd may have sold the pictures to a dealer in South Salt Lake. Meanwhile, Holladay sits in his violated home, empty frames hanging on his walls—which, he says, he doesn’t even see anymore. When he thinks of putting something in them, he goes to his drawer of prints, only to remember—too late—nothing is there.