I kissed her cheek. “How you feeling?”
“Pretty good. I haven’t had to ask for painkillers in a while.”
“What’s the doctor saying?”
“Ruled out an infection. Going to do some tests tomorrow. I’m hoping to avoid a colonoscopy.”
“If you gotta have one, it’s no big deal. As long as they find out what’s going on.”
“I’ll probably get out tomorrow. One of the doctors said he thought it might be something to do with my ovaries.”
“A cyst or something?”
“Maybe. How you doing, now that we’ve got a fifth body?”
“Haines is still pushing for an arrest.”
“Yeah, I know. he told me.”
“He called you?”
“No, he came by this morning.”
I looked around the room for flowers. “Why’d he come here?”
“To see how I was. He was concerned about me.”
“I’ll bet he was. I don’t trust that guy.”
“You don’t seem to trust any men, Frank.”
Was she right? “That’s not true. I just don’t want him around you. He’s trying to weasel his way to taking the case from us. He thinks it’s Hannah, and now, with the new body, is ramping the pressure up.”
“That’s ridiculous. He said it was our case, and it is. He hasn’t done anything to prove he wasn’t sincere about it.”
Sincere? Why’d she use that word? “If he succeeds in convincing everyone to arrest Hannah, it’ll screw up our chances to solve this.”
“You really don’t think she did it? That’s quite a reversal, Frank.”
“She’s off, weird, but you know, she lost a kid, and that’s something you never come all the way back from.”
“That’s the most sensible thing you said since hello.”
Sometimes she really got on my nerves. “Ha-ha. I don’t think she did it, and if Haines stays out of this, we’ll get the real bastard who’s doing this.”
“I hope you’re right, Frank. But Hannah Booth is all we got at this point.”
“We’re still running down all the Honda Accords. Maybe we’ll finally get a damn break.”
My phone vibrated. “It’s Chester. Damn, he’s probably going to move on Hannah.”
I gave a thumbs-up to Mary Ann as Chester talked, and when I hung up I pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!”
“What happened?”
“Guess who was sitting in a Lee County cell last night? Hannah Booth.”
“What happened?”
“She was picked up on a DUI around seven last night and did a dry out overnight.”
“Oh my God.”
“Chester got a call from their attorney, that Knight guy, claiming it absolved his client of the killings.”
“Do we have a time of death on Hagan yet?”
“Nothing firm, but looks like around eight o’clock last night. No way it could be Hannah.”
Chapter 34
One of the last places on earth without a CCTV was my office, and boy was I regretting it when Haines walked in.
“Hey, Frank, just wanted to admit I was wrong, dead wrong, about Hannah Booth.”
All I could muster was, “It happens.”
He put two hands on the back of the chair in front of my desk. “I feel terrible. I really do. I wasted a lot of your time.”
“Looks like she’s being framed.”
“You think it might be her husband, the minister?”
“I’d have to hand in my badge if it turns out to be him. He’d have to be a better actor than Nicholson to pull this off.”
“I wish I could make this up, somehow. I’ll stay out of your way, but if you need anything, the FBI has unlimited resources, and they’re all yours—just ask.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Haines was half out the door when I said, “Hold up a sec. It’s a long shot, but I’m following a lead on a car that may have been seen at one or two of the crime scenes. As luck would have it, it might be a Honda Accord. There’s like twenty thousand of them in the damn county. We’re running them down as fast as we can, but is there anything you think you can do?”
“Hm, maybe we can run a cross-check of the owners, and get their cell phones. Then we could get the phone companies to give us the location data and cross-reference to the crime scenes.”
“You can do that?”
Haines smiled. “Officially, we can’t, but let me see what I can do. I may have to fib to get what you need. I’m hoping we can keep this between us?”
Haines was putting his neck on the line for me? “Of course.”
“I thought so. What list you working with?”
I told him we had cross-checked for anyone with a record and shared what we had on Honda Accords registered in Collier.
Haines said, “To save some time, you mind if I operate from Mary Ann’s desk for a second?”
I did. “Sure, you can use her desk.”
“Okay, email me that list.”
I sent the list and pretended to be working as Haines cajoled someone to cross-reference the motor vehicle database with cell phone ownership.
“I’m gonna run up to Fort Myers. He said to give them a couple of hours.”
***
It was just before five when Haines called.
“Check your inbox, Frank. I just forwarded a cross-ref list.”
I scanned the first two columns of an Excel spreadsheet. One had a list of Accord owners, and in a second column were cell numbers for most of them. Then there were another five columns for each of the crime scenes that were either blank or marked with an X.
“I gotta say, that’s impressive, Tom. I guess nothing is really private anymore.”
“And it’s getting worse. We’ve got tools being developed that’ll put the colonoscopy doctors out of business.”
I laughed. “That’s funny, man.”
“Unfortunately, it’s just about true. We’ve got so much data it’s a struggle to manage it.”
I wanted to ask him if he could tell me which cars’ backup lights were malfunctioning, but I had to hold some information back. “I can imagine.”
“So, this list, you’ll notice there’s about twenty-five without cell numbers attached, and the important thing to remember is the locations are affected by, one, if they have their phone on, and two, what cell tower they ping off of. Plus, nothing is stopping the killer from having his phone some nights and not others. If he or she is as smart as we think they are, they probably would turn their phone off to confuse things. Or they could have simply used another car.”
I was sure Haines heard my crest falling. Then I remembered that everybody eventually makes mistakes. “This is helpful, man. I really appreciate it.”
“Anytime. You need something, all you got to do is ask.”
Sorting the list, I came up with fourteen cars with an X in four of the five boxes and another twenty-nine that had three of five. I ran the forty-eight names through the DMV interface, eliminating nine who were over seventy-five years old.
The room darkened as I scrolled through the thirty-nine names left. I knew the focus had to be on the first fourteen when an idea stuck me. A crack of thunder sounded as I picked up the phone.
“Tom, it’s Frank Luca.”
“That was fast. What’s up?”
“Is there a way you guys can see if anyone on this list owns a boat?”
“That’s not a bad idea, but there’s no evidence the killer used a boat.”
“Maybe, but don’t forget about the body that swimmer ran into. I gotta feeling about this.”
“All right then, I’m sure there’s a database we can tap into, and as long as the boat’s registered, we’ll find it.”
“Thanks again, Tom.”
“Anytime.�
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***
I read the bulletin the sheriff issued, asking all patrol cars to be on the lookout for vehicles whose backup lights were on while the car was moving forward. Swiveling my chair, I studied the map on the wall behind me. Five red pins marked the spots where the bodies were found. Each location was fairly remote, excepting the one by Palm River, which I thought had floated west anyway.
My eyes kept drifting toward the section of the map showing the Gordon River. The area, just west of Naples Airport, was the perfect place to dump a body. It was relatively undeveloped, and at night, virtually deserted. Why hadn’t the killer used this spot yet? Was it being saved? Or did they live nearby?
Mapping the addresses left me with four who lived within a mile of the river. One, essentially on the river’s bank. Instead of letting a patrol car commandeer my hunch, I jotted down the address and headed into the rain.
Chapter 35
Pulling off Goodlette into Mangrove Bay, my expectations tumbled. Ethan Dwyer lived in a new community featuring tightly spaced, white clapboard homes in a Key West style. Knowing the architecturally detailed homes were selling for over two million dollars almost made me turn around. But I reminded myself that you never really knew anybody.
A couple of amber lights shone through the windows, but there was no movement. I wondered if the Honda Accord was sitting behind the brown, two-car garage door. After patting my holster, I flipped up my collar and trotted to the front door.
There was a nice overhang protecting the front door, which had a glazed window. Looking for movement in the window, I rang the bell. Nothing. I edged closer to the door and rang it again. It sounded, but no one answered. I trotted back to the car.
I hated using an umbrella. Running in and out of the car you’d get a little wet without one, but using one you got wet opening and closing it. And the stupid thing would drip water everywhere when you were done.
Circling through the small neighborhood, I parked diagonally across from Dwyer’s house. While staring at the house, I debated whether to try the next closest house on the list when a car turned into the neighborhood. I slinked down. It looked like a Honda, but the Civic model. It slowed as it passed Dwyer’s house, and there seemed to be a male at the wheel.
Ducking as the car passed me, I sprang up hoping to see a malfunctioning backup light. Nothing but a disability license plate. I jotted the plate number down. A minute later, the car came back out and turned onto Goodlette. After calling the plate in, they verified the owner had a prosthetic leg. A one-legged, busybody out in the pouring rain?
My eyes were bleary, and the whoosh of the wipers were lulling me to sleep. Needing coffee, I drove to the Starbucks next to Rosedale Pizza. I was going to do the drive-through but decided instead that getting a little wet was worth the price for an order of garlic twists.
I dashed through the rain and yanked Rosedale’s door open, rewarded by the comforting smell of pizza and garlic. After debating whether to get a small pie, I ordered a bag of twists to go and ran next door for a cup of coffee as they made the twists.
Looking at the intersection of Pine Ridge and Goodlette as my coffee was being made, I saw a Honda Accord whose backup light on the right side was on. Eyes fixed on the Accord, I bolted out the door. The barista yelled as I splashed my way to the car.
Throwing the siren on, I ripped my way out of the lot. The Honda had made a right onto Goodlette. I sped after it as the rain intensified. Approaching Vanderbilt Beach Road, the Accord was in the middle of the intersection. The light turned yellow and I floored the gas.
Red lights suddenly brightened in the car in front of me. Swerving left around the slowing car, I noticed a black pickup truck jumping the light. Yanking the wheel to my right, my car began to spin, hydroplaning toward a light pole.
I got a mouthful of airbag, my neck snapping back as my car tilted on two wheels. When it bounced back on the ground, I was staring at the front end of the pickup truck as we skidded to a stop.
The only sound I heard was the wipers beating back and forth. Wincing, I reached for the radio, issuing an all-points bulletin for the Accord. I moved each limb slowly. Other than a soreness on the outside of a knee and a surging headache, I was fine.
Over oncoming siren sounds, a guy with a goatee opened the driver’s door and asked if I was okay. He helped unbuckle my belt. I tried to avoid going to the hospital, but seeing the state of my car and knowing protocol I quickly surrendered.
The hospital wasted three hours of my time to tell me something I already knew—nothing was broken. The doctor suggested I wear a neck brace to help with the whiplash.
Chester sent a patrolman named Esposito to pick me up. He parked under the portico shaped like a bunny slope. I got in, ripping the brace off my neck. Tapping my cell phone, I said, “I heard you got the Accord.”
“Yep.”
Haines answered my call. “Tom, it’s Frank. Yeah, I’m okay, just a little banged up. Look, I need a favor, okay?”
I put my hand over the receiver and said to Esposito, “You never heard this conversation, you hear?”
Esposito said, “What conversation?”
“Tom, I think we got the guy, name’s Ethan Dwyer. Can you do something to pin his location to the crime scenes? I’m gonna need something to justify a search. Thanks, man. I owe you.”
The rain beat on the windshield as Esposito drove. I asked him, “Where they got Dwyer?”
“Dwyer? It was some business guy named Delaney.”
“Delaney?”
“I think so. You want me to check it?”
“No. You sure it isn’t Dwyer?”
“It could be. I thought I heard Delaney.”
“Where is he?”
“On ice downtown, holding him on evading arrest.”
Chapter 36
My heart was racing and my neck killing me as I talked with the sheriff. He said the suspect didn’t have a record. When he started peppering me with questions I began playing it down a couple of octaves.
This guy, Delaney, was being held in a pen in the basement, and I told Chester I’d bring him up to speed after I interviewed him.
The elevator lurched down, and a flutter erupted in my belly. It had to be hunger—Luca didn’t get nervous, did he? The doors parted, and I stepped onto a gray, concrete floor. I heard an officer say, “Save it for the judge. Now, move along.”
An officer at a desk behind a gate said, “Hey Luca, heard what happened, man. You all right?”
“A little banged up, that’s all. I guess I was pretty lucky.”
“Thank god, I heard it was a pickup.”
I nodded as I signed in, placing my gun on the counter.
“Shit, they’re making these frigging pickups like tanks.”
“Delaney out yet?”
“They just put him in interrogation room two.”
“Thanks.”
“Man, if I was you, I’d be taking a couple of weeks off.”
I shrugged. “See you later, Tommy.”
Looking through the small, wired glass window, I studied Thomas Delaney, and the flutter in my gut flared up. His jet-black hair was combed straight back, forming a widow’s peak. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up and his hands were clasped. He looked like a Gordon Gekko Wall Streeter, not a serial killer.
Inhaling deeply, I opened the door. Delaney gave a weak smile as I limped to the seat opposite him.
“Detective Luca, the guy you almost killed.”
“I—I didn’t even know you got in an accident. I’m sorry, but I had no idea you were even trying to stop me.”
Why did it always take several denials before the truth began to leak out?
“Where were you going, Mr. Delaney?”
“A friend’s house.”
“And from where?”
“Ah, work. I work at Wells Fargo, by Neapolitan.”
“What do you do there?”
“I’m an analyst, you know, examine the financial statements of the companies we follow. See if any trends, positive or negative, can be identified.”
“Sounds like a cure for insomnia.”
“It can be mundane, but sometimes you find a nugget of information, and the pay is pretty good.”
“You live in Pelican Bay?”
“Yes, I’ve got a coach home in Crestwood. Been there ten years.”
They were nice units, just under two thousand square feet and were going for six hundred and change. “You a religious man, Mr. Delaney?”
“Religious? I wouldn’t call myself religious, but I believe there’s a higher power, you know what I mean?”
“Nothing else makes sense to me. You go to church?”
He shook his head. “I used to, but now, only the holidays. I go to Saint Williams.”
“You ever go to The Spirit of Fellowship Church up on Immokalee?”
“No, why?”
“Do you do any volunteer work?”
“I’m pretty busy, you know, but I care. I donate a fair sum each year to a bunch of places, St. Matthews, the Children’s Fund, Habitat.”
I held up a hand. “Okay.”
Delaney leaned forward. “If I have to do some community service or something to make this go away, no problem. I’ll do it.”
“Help me to understand something here, Mr. Delaney. You’re on your way to a friend’s house, there’s a torrential downpour, and your speeding through a yellow light. You seem pretty conservative, working as an analyst. Why were you in such a hurry?”
“I didn’t know you were following me. Honestly, I didn’t.”
“Come on now, I don’t like it when people lie to me. It’s like they think I’m stupid.”
“No, no, I don’t think anything like that.”
“Then why didn’t you pull over?”
Delaney’s shoulders sunk. “I don’t want to lose my job. They’ll fire me if they find out.”
“As long as you didn’t kill anyone, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Well, I’ve been dating this girl. We get along really well, and she, well, she likes to smoke marijuana. I don’t smoke the stuff; I’m a bourbon guy. Anyway, she asked me to swing by a girlfriend of hers to pick up a small bag of the stuff.”
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