“Hm, that’s going to be a problem. We go back to Uber, and they’re gonna hide behind the privacy bullshit.”
“Why don’t you come down; tell the sheriff what Uber gave you?”
“You think that’s going to make a difference?”
“We got nothing else to go with, besides, you have cred with him.”
“Used to, Frank, used to. After the way I botched the Hannah thing—”
“Bullshit. You’re with the Feds, the FBI. Chester will buy in.”
“I don’t share your optimism, but if you need me, I’ll head down.”
“Meet up in my office. I wanna unified front.”
***
Haines came into the office wearing blue slacks and a white short-sleeve shirt.
“Where’s your jacket?”
“In the car. It’s ninety out.”
“Do me a favor. I know Chester; it’ll play well with him. Go and get it.”
Buttoning my top button, I pulled my tie tight, pinched the knot and put my jacket on. I didn’t tell Chester that Haines was coming with me. His eyes bounced between Tom and me before he smiled and got up.
We shook hands. “Good to see you, Tom, Frank. Sit. take a seat. Frank didn’t tell me you were coming.”
I said, “Tom and I have been working closely. He’s been very helpful.”
Chester raised his eyebrows. “Good.” Then he looked directly at me. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Any more mutual admiration we have to get through before you explain why you called this meeting?”
“We believe we have identified a suspect responsible for the serial killings.” Chester leaned forward as I continued. “A thirty-nine-year-old male Caucasian named Ethan Dwyer, a volunteer at The Spirit of Fellowship Church.”
Chester shook his head. “What do you have on him?”
“Cell phone records that place Dwyer at each of the crime scenes on the nights in question.”
“Calls?”
“No, cell tower pings. They’re not exact, but you can’t argue with five out of five.”
“It’s not my job to argue, Luca. I leave that for the defense attorneys, and they’d poke more than enough holes in it. I’m hoping that’s not all you have.”
Haines said, “I’m not disputing the range involved with towers, but we’ve been able to establish some triangulation involving two of the crime scenes that are going to be difficult to explain away. I’m not an attorney, but this level of location data is fairly precise. It’s worked in more than a few cases we’ve handled on the federal level.”
“Okay, that’s a little stronger.” Chester beckoned with his hand. “Give me more.”
“In an informal interview with Dwyer, I asked about his whereabouts on the night of the Chapman murder. He gave me a story he was with his brother, really a half-brother, that turned out to be bull.”
“I don’t have to tell you, people lie all the time to cover things they don’t want to surface.”
Rather than ask Chester if he thought I got to be his lead homicide detective by being a moron, I took a breath and continued.
“Upon presenting Mr. Dwyer with the cell phone location information, we, actually Tom and the FBI had developed, Dwyer said he was an Uber driver and driving every night. In trying to verify his whereabouts, I reached out to Agent Haines. Tom, would you take it from here?”
Haines crossed his legs. “Detective Luca was rightly concerned about how to defend against a claim that the suspect was driving around for work. We discussed it, and I have some unofficial contacts that definitely dispute any claim he was providing transportation for Uber clients.”
“Unofficial?”
“The bureau has a lot of interaction with Uber and other technology firms. Publicly, these firms have policies that require going through a protracted court battle before they eventually capitulate. In cases like this, where time is of the essence and lives are at stake, the bureau has developed an unofficial back channel to obtain the information needed.”
“Dwyer was lying again. He wasn’t working at the time of the killings.”
“We’ll need to prove this. Are you going to be able to get Uber to back this up, officially?”
Haines said, “I’m afraid not quickly. It will take several weeks, if not months.”
“Sir, if I may. We may not need to. What we’d like is your help in securing a warrant. With a search of Dwyer’s car and home we hope to discover hard, incriminating evidence.”
Chester put up a palm. “This comes down to Dwyer lying about an alibi, and you think a judge will sign off on a warrant?”
Haines said, “It goes a bit deeper than simply lying about an alibi. This involves him being at each of the crime scenes on the nights in question.”
“At or near?”
“Near several, and about as close to at as you could be on both the Cornwall and Parker scenes.”
“I don’t think we have enough.”
Haines said, “I understand, and I’m not disputing the right to operate on different standards, but as far as the bureau goes, we’d have enough.”
“Sir, if I may, I’d like to add to what agent Haines said. This case is the most notorious case we’ve ever experienced in Southwest Florida. I can’t imagine a judge turning down our request for a search.”
Chester said, “Did you forget about Levin? That old goat hinders my department at every turn.”
“We can bring it to Crown or Carr. Either of them will sign it.”
Haines said, “If there is a judge who would be open to, uh, an informal recommendation from the bureau, it could be a deciding factor.”
“You know how judges feel about interference. It could taint our effort. I’ll leave it to the DA to draft his request.”
“Sir, we’ve got to do this now. We believe the shooter fired from inside his car. The presence of any gunshot residue in the car is degrading as we speak.”
Chapter 41
Usually I love smacking a warrant on a suspect’s chest, but though I believed Dwyer could be the killer, I hadn’t developed a hatred of him. All he was at this point was a damn liar. It’d be interesting to see his reaction.
Two officers scurried to cover the rear doors as a light in the house next door came on.
As a line of light cracked across the horizon, I knocked on the door and turned around.
“Collins! Hook the Honda up and tow it downtown. Mulroney’s waiting for it.”
I felt the door swinging toward me and thrust the warrant at a bare-chested Dwyer, who shook his head in disbelief.
“What are you doing with my car?”
Staring at a large scar that swung toward his back, I said, “We have a warrant to search the premises and impound your vehicle.”
Dwyer stepped out of the house, pulling a ratty pair of gym shorts up to a nonexistent hip. “What the heck are you looking for?”
Heck? When we storm your house at six a.m.? “Step aside, Mr. Dwyer.”
With a concave chest and bony knees, he looked like some of the people in my oncologist’s waiting room.
“You expect me to stand out here with no shirt or shoes? What is this, Russia?”
“Show me to your bedroom. You can get dressed, and then you’ll stay outside with Officer Brown.”
“This is bullshit. You’re wasting your time.”
His tone was all wrong. It was forced. Dwyer was hiding something, but what? As far as I knew, there wasn’t a stereotype look for serial killers, but he looked as far from one as you could get. Was he dealing drugs? Hiding a theft of some kind?
Dwyer’s bedroom was puzzling. Along one wall, there were evenly spaced shoes lined up terminating at a knee-high pile of flip-flops and sneakers. Dwyer swung a pair of bifold doors open, revealing a wardrobe that was organized by the color and height of the garments hanging in it.
Dwyer grabbed a pair of jeans and grunted as he sorted through a pil
e of tee shirts in a plastic bin, pulling one with a saxophone pictured on it. He went to retrieve his phone and wallet from the top of a whitewashed dresser that had stacks of coins in equal height,
Pulling on a glove, I said, “You’ll have to leave those behind. Hand me those clothes.”
“But you said I can get dressed.”
“You can, but I need to go through them first.”
I patted down the clothes and watched him get dressed before handing him off to Officer Brown.
A pile of dirty clothing, piled in the corner, revealed nothing but left me wondering if there was a functioning laundry room in the house. I thumbed through his wallet. A Visa card, driver’s license, library card, and three old pictures of a woman I assumed was his mother. I put it back down and bagged the phone, which had a cracked screen.
A drawer-by-drawer search yielded nothing but a dozen bottles, most of them empty, of Tylenol PM and clothing. There had to be a place Dwyer kept his paperwork, like his birth certificate, diplomas, passport.
The top of a nightstand that screamed IKEA had a King James Bible, an Understanding the Bible’s True Meaning, a three-inch book tagged with scores of sticky notes, three differently colored highlighters, and matching pads of Post-its. I opened the Bible’s companion to a pink sticky about halfway down.
Highlighted in pink were two passages:
Isaiah 43:10, 11: You are my witnesses, declares the Lord, and my servant whom I have chosen, that you may know and believe me and understand that I am he.
And,
Psalms 143:10: Teach me to do your will, for you are my God!
I reread the passages, thumbed through the rest of the book, and put it down gently. As soon as I slid the nightstand’s drawer open I saw a dull brass key that screamed safety deposit box. I shot a photo of it and bagged the key.
Even though the house was empty, it still took us time to check for hiding spots. It was early, but there was no way I was going up in the attic. That was a job for one of the younger cops, like Soto. It was our last chance to find something concrete, otherwise my hopes were resting on the car and phone we seized.
Soto pulled down the garage’s attic stairs and disappeared into the darkness armed with a neon flashlight.
His footsteps grew fainter as he searched the far corners of the attic. I wanted to radio him to see what was going on. We needed the gun.
Finally, a leg appeared looking for a step, and a sweat-darkened Soto made his way down.
“Nothing but a dead palm rat up there. All foam insulation, but nothing, even under the AC unit.”
“Okay, thanks. A little hot up there, huh?”
“Like an oven, man.”
“All right, let’s rap this up. Boaz, give a receipt to Dwyer and tell Brown we’re through here.”
***
Vargas was moving gingerly when she came in around ten. Her pants were loose, and I wondered if she’d lost a bra size as well.
“About time you showed up, Vargas. Just like you to use a little surgery as an excuse to take three days off.”
“I was going to say it’s good to be back, but I’m reconsidering.”
“How you feeling?”
“Okay. Got some pinching going on over here.” She pointed to her lower abdomen.
“That’s where the ovary is, right?”
“Yep, they said to expect it, but that doesn’t make it any more comfortable. I couldn’t sit around. I need something to distract me.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’m really glad you’re back.” I pulled her chair back. “I could use the help talking this Dwyer guy over—”
Vargas shuffled over. “Let’s get to it, then.”
As she lowered herself into the chair, I said, “They were able to detect trace elements of gunshot residue from the passenger door.”
“So, he shot out the passenger window.”
“Let’s see him explain that away. And Dwyer’s phone was used to call three of the five victims. Two of them several times.”
“I don’t know. that sounds weak. No texts?”
“Nada. This guy is smart. Why would he use his phone to make contact with them?”
“Maybe they were related to his volunteering at the church. It’d be better if there were all five on it, but I don’t think it means anything much, Frank.”
“But two calls were made just hours before Chapman and Cornwall ended up dead. He was probably calling them to set a meet-up.”
“Last night you mentioned a key that looked like it was to a safety deposit box.”
“I got FCU checking to see if they can identify the bank. I’m hoping that’s where we find the gun.”
“If the banks knew how many guns were hidden in their boxes, they’d think twice about it.”
“Who you kidding? You think they don’t know?”
Vargas shrugged. “We’ll need a warrant for the box if that’s what the key is to. You said there was no paperwork at all in the house. That’s real odd.”
“I know, but this Dwyer is an oddball to begin with. I’m hoping it’s not just filled with paperwork.”
“You think we should bring Dwyer in, or wait to see what’s what with the lockbox?”
“I’d like to wait a day, make him feel comfortable; see if we can find the bank box.”
My email box pinged. I said, “The forensics report is in. I’ll forward it to you.”
“Good.”
“Holy shit! The glasses!”
“What’s going on?”
“A pair of glasses were found under the passenger seat.”
“Yeah?”
I picked up the phone. “They could be Bobby Hagan’s. He couldn’t see shit without glasses, had some condition uval or whatever. Get out the Hagan file.”
“But he was found floating in the Gulf. Kinda tough to keep your glasses on.”
“This is Detective Luca—the Dwyer case. A pair of glasses were found in the subject’s car. I need a reading on the prescription in the lenses. And I need it now. Can you do that? If not, I’ll be down to pick up the evidence and run it over to Lenscrafters.”
Chapter 42
Dwyer had a smirk on his face when we walked into the room. Trailing Vargas as she carefully made her way to the table, my father’s voice flooded my head: I’m going to knock that smirk off your face, Frankie. Dad could be tough, but it’d only last an hour, max. I didn’t realize it then, but I learned a ton about life from him. I felt cheated; he had a heart attack at forty-eight and was gone.
I scraped my plastic chair forward as Vargas recited the formalities for the record. She said, “Mr. Dwyer, you are aware that you’re entitled to be represented at this interview by an attorney?”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“And you are declining to exercise that right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re aware that should you be unable to afford an attorney, the public defender’s office will provide representation to protect your interests?”
“I don’t need one. Besides, having counsel would make me appear guilty.”
I said, “Mr. Dwyer, you’re the owner of a brown, 2015 Honda Accord, registered under Florida plate number XLR309?”
He raised a bony finger. “Yes, but you got the plate number wrong. It’s XRL, not XLR.”
I checked my notes. “Yes, that’s correct, I inverted the letters. Your car, the Accord, was impounded and searched. I’d like to ask you about what we found.”
“Be my guest.”
“The passenger door, sill, and armrest had trace elements of gunshot residue.”
Dwyer leaned to the right. “Gunshot residue? How did that get there?”
“That’s our question. Just how did it get there? Did you fire a gun from inside the car?”
“No.”
“Did someone else fire a gun from inside the vehicle?”
“Not that I’m aware of.�
�
“How do you explain it, then?”
Dwyer changed his lean to the left. “Perhaps your forensics people were mistaken, confusing whatever substance they found with gunshot residue.”
Sliding a piece of paper across the table, I said, “This is the report from an electron microscope. As detailed, the X-ray spectrometry evidences the presence of lead, antimony, and barium in proportions consistent with the characteristics of gunshot residue.”
Dwyer studied the report. There was no way he could read the report. He was buying time.
“The barium and antimony particle counts are barely in the acceptable range. It’s a questionable report.” He flicked the document back to me.
“Barely or not, it’s in the range. The residue originated from a firearm.”
“Again, questionable. It could simply be from my car’s brake linings. That is a more logical conclusion to make, in my opinion.”
What the fuck? Brake linings did have similar profiles, but that proved nothing. “I’m not here to debate the findings.”
“I believe it was you who brought up the report.”
Vargas said, “Your phone, which was seized during the search, logged calls between you and several of the victims.”
“Define several, please.”
Vargas cleared her throat. “Chapman and Cornwall.”
“Several is the wrong determiner. Several is used only when there are more than two.”
“Thanks for the English lesson, my friend. Answer the lady’s question.”
“I’m sorry, Detective, but it wasn’t a question, just a statement.”
Dwyer was a wiseass but polite about it. “Let me rephrase. You had several calls with two of the victims. What was the nature of those conversations?”
“I don’t recall precisely, but I’m an active volunteer at The Spirit of Fellowship Church and met both men there. I’m certain the calls were related to the ministries I’m involved in.”
“Did those ministries also put you in contact with Shaun Parker, Brett Tinder, and Bobby Hagan?”
Dwyer stroked a chin that was sharp enough to cut his fingers. “I believe they work at the church. I’m just a volunteer. I see them around the church, and at times we work together.”
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