“I’ll take that as a yes. You knew all five men?”
“To varying degrees.”
“You knew Chapman and Cornwall good enough to talk over the phone. How well did you know the others, for example, Bobby Hagan?”
Dwyer scrunched his face up and arched his shoulders. “Not well. We hardly knew each other.”
“Hm. That’s interesting. You hardly knew Bobby Hagan.”
“That’s correct.”
“How do you explain that we found his glasses in your car?”
Dwyer grimaced, put his hands on the edge of the chair, and shifted. “My back stiffens when I sit in one position too long.”
Vargas said, “Would you like to take a break and stretch?”
“That would be wonderful.”
Dwyer stood, put his hands on the table and arched his back as Vargas spoke into the mic, “The interview of Ethan Dwyer is being paused.”
Vargas clicked off the recording device, and I followed her out the room.
“This prick thinks he’s smarter than us.”
“What was that with the GSR report? Did he work as a scientist or something?”
“No, but his brother said he had a high IQ, over one thirty.”
“And he’s driving for Uber?”
“You know what I say, ‘Genius and madness are a hair away from each other.’”
“Dwyer is hardly mad, Frank. In fact, he’s not only under control but seems confident.”
“We go back in and go hard at him. Knock him off his game.”
Vargas nodded. “You want a coffee?”
“Yeah. Hey, how’s your tummy?”
“I don’t know if it’s the distraction, but it actually feels better.”
“Super. You wanna ask Mr. Ivy League if he wants something? He’ll probably ask for a damn Perrier.”
Vargas flicked a switch and said, “Resuming the interview of Ethan Dwyer by Detectives Vargas and Luca.” Turning to Dwyer, she said, “Feeling better now?”
“Yes, I appreciate the opportunity to stretch.”
I said, “Back to the glasses. How did Bobby Hagan’s glasses end up under the passenger seat of your car?”
A vein near Dwyer’s temple pulsed. “I don’t know. I could speculate that he probably dropped them.”
“Bobby Hagan was a passenger in your 2015 Honda Accord?”
“I provided him with a lift or two.”
Vargas said, “Where did you take Mr. Hagan?”
“I don’t remember specifically, but it had to do with church business.”
I said, “Hagan dropped them while in your car. Is that right?”
“It’s the likely scenario.”
“And when you drove him to wherever you were going, he got out and left his glasses behind?”
“It’s a reasonable explanation.”
“Bobby Hagan had a vision disorder known as uveal coloboma. Without his glasses he was almost blind. There’s no way Hagan leaves his glasses behind. Oh, there is one way, if he was forced, say with a gun to his head, I suppose he’d leave everything behind.”
“I can’t answer for the actions of anyone but myself.”
“Did you see Bobby Hagan drop or take his glasses off?”
“He was constantly taking them off, cleaning them with a microfiber cloth.”
“Would you agree that it is unusual for someone who is virtually blind without glasses to leave them behind?”
“People do all types of unusual things. Perhaps he had a second pair with him.”
I’m a homicide detective. I hardly need the reminder. We played verbal ping-pong for another half hour but got nowhere. We had the gunshot residue, a couple of calls, and Hagan’s glasses. We needed more. When I told him we were done for the day, Dwyer’s smirk morphed into a smile.
We escorted Dwyer out of the building, watching the stick figure get into an Uber before I said, “We find that safety deposit box, and that smile is gonna vanish.”
Chapter 43
I felt like we’d finally caught a break; the guys in the Financial Crimes Unit had identified the key as the type used by First Integrity Bank. They had only four branches in Naples. After eliminating a branch on Pine Ridge, we arrived at their Anchor Rode Drive branch in Park Shore. Heads turned and a buzz of whispers circled as Vargas, I, and a uniformed officer walked past the tellers to the administrative section.
The branch manager’s eyes darted across the bank’s main floor when he was shown the warrant. He quickly escorted us to a small waiting area out of view of his clients. The manager tapped onto a terminal. “Ethan Dwyer, box 9012. Right this way.”
He punched a keypad, unlocking a door that led to a room whose three sides were lined with steel boxes. Dwyer’s was to the left side of the rear wall, six from the floor. Digging in his pocket, the manager produced a shiny key that he inserted and turned. The box’s small door swung open, and he slid out a ten-inch square box that had its own lock, placing it on the room’s narrow table.
“Shall I wait outside?”
Vargas said, “No, please observe.”
The officer pulled a hand drill out of his bag, checked the lock, and fitted an appropriate bit. It took less than thirty seconds to pop the lock out. The officer stepped aside.
Vargas and I exchanged glances before I slowly lifted the top off. A passport in a baggie topped a wad of documents. There didn’t seem to be a gun or weapon of any kind. Scooping up the contents, I spread them on the table, whispering, “No damn gun.”
Dwyer’s car loan and title documents were in a plastic sleeve. Handing them to Vargas, I pawed through Dwyer’s college and high school diplomas before uncovering a thick blue envelope in a Ziploc bag. Several bundles that appeared to be memorabilia were inside the envelope. A clip held twenty or so photos of Dwyer as a baby and young child. In each shot he was with his mother. The next bundle contained newspaper clippings. I opened them.
A picture of a woman, who had to be Dwyer’s mother, stared at me under a headline that read, "Green Bay Woman Raped, Tortured, and Murdered." Scanning the article, there it was—Darlene Dwyer. The thirty-four-year-old was Dwyer’s mom.
Two other articles in the bunch told the story of the search for Darlene Dwyer’s killer. A lump surfaced in my throat when I read another headline: "Tortured Woman’s Son Now Ward of State."
A clipping, folded like a napkin, opened into the front page of the Green Bay Press. The headline read, "Killer Caught in Madison." I swept my eyes over the page, pointed to the article and said, “Vargas, check this out.”
“What about it?”
“Hagan. I’ll bet this is Bobby Hagan’s father. This could be some type of revenge killing.”
“But there are four other corpses.”
“There’s got to be a connection.”
There was one other article, and it covered a car wreck. There was a tiny picture of a helicopter on the interstate. Though it didn’t mention any names, it had to be the one involving a drunk driver and Dwyer.
“This Dwyer likes collecting bad news. I don’t know about you, Vargas, but I’d never hold on to this stuff.”
“He’s had some tough luck.”
“And so have we. I really thought we were gonna find the murder weapon.”
“Me too. Since the warrant was limited to the gun, let’s grab some pictures of these.”
***
Vargas wasn’t convinced of the connection to Hagan, believing it was purely coincidental. Her strongest arguments had to do with the length of time that had elapsed and that Hagan was victim number five. If he was a target, why not kill him first? They were excellent questions, but I had nothing else.
Afraid Vargas’s devil advocacy would sway Chester, I told her to rest and climbed the stairs to see the sheriff. With each step, my doubts grew. It was beginning to feel like I was chasing a ghost, not a killer.
Chester put down a document and rose
, offering a smile and a hand.
“Good to see you, Detective.”
“Same here, sir.”
“What do you have?”
I didn’t want to ruin the mood he was in. “There’s got to be a connection with Hagan’s father killing Dwyer’s mother. I want to bring Dwyer back in, explore that line.”
“I tend to agree with you, but that was thirty years ago.”
“He was a kid when it happened, fifteen to twenty years before he could do anything. Agent Haines said it wasn’t unusual to wait a long time in a revenge case.”
“He did?”
No, he didn’t. “Yeah, something like, there’s two types of revenge killings—those who go right at it, and those that plan, festering as they do.”
“The only good revenge is one that’s gone too far.”
What? Was Chester stealing my quotes? “I like that, sir.”
“And why would Dwyer kill the others? And not Hagan first?”
“We’re looking into the victims’ backgrounds and any cross sections with Dwyer.”
“Didn’t you already explore those possibilities?”
“Yes. But we’re taking a closer look. See if any connections weren’t obvious. I’m hoping another interview with Dwyer will help.”
“Things have been quiet since the Hagan murder. Maybe Dwyer’s gone cold because you’re looking at him or he’s done. Either way, I could get used to life as it was before this all started.”
“Me too.”
“Bring him in, and see what you get. We’ve got nothing to lose.”
I rose. “Thank you, sir.”
“How’s Detective Vargas feeling?”
“She’s doing well, sir. It’s good to have her back.”
“Good. You know, you two make a good couple.”
What? “Uh, couple?”
Chester smiled. “Guess I meant partners.”
What did Chester mean by that? Did he find out about Mary Ann and me? I didn’t need anything else to think about. Damn, if they knew, we’d be forced to work different shifts. Then who’d help me with this case?
***
We observed Ethan Dwyer through the window on the interrogation room’s door. Vargas said, “This guy has been through a lot in his life. If he did it, he’s got a lot of reasons for going off the rails.”
“There’s no reason to kill someone. I don’t care what you’ve been through.”
Dwyer unbuttoned a shirt button and Vargas said, “I thought you said you didn’t raise the air-conditioning.”
“I—I didn’t.”
Vargas shook her head. “It’s been twenty minutes. You want to start now?”
“Give it another ten. I’m going to take a pee.”
“That means twenty. Go ahead, I’ll grab a coffee.”
When we swung open the door, Vargas wagged her head. It was a good ten degrees warmer in the room.
“Uh, let me turn down the air. Sorry about that, Mr. Dwyer.”
Call me crazy, but I enjoyed making suspects uncomfortable. It tilted the atmosphere in my favor.
Vargas and Dwyer were laughing when I came back in. “You want to let me in on the joke?”
Vargas said, “It’s nothing, Frank, uh, Detective Luca.”
“She asked me if I wanted a drink. It reminded me about how I used to make sure I had a sufficient amount of chocolate syrup for my milk while in foster care.”
Pulling out a chair, I mumbled, “Sounds fascinating.” Vargas shot me a dirty, make that a filthy look, and recited the formalities into the mic.
Dwyer had a blue shirt on with a tiny stain in the belly button area. I said, “We wanted to ask you some questions concerning what we found in the safety deposit box you keep at First Integrity on Anchor Rode.”
“If you would have had the decency to ask, I would have granted you access to my safety deposit box.”
“That’s not the way it works with a warrant, Mr. Dwyer.”
“I have nothing to hide, Detective. I’m afraid you’re wasting your time on me.”
“Thanks for your concern. Now, as you know, there were several newspaper articles relating to the murder of your mother.”
Dwyer blinked at the word mother but volunteered nothing.
Vargas said, “It must have been traumatic, losing your mother at such a young age.”
Dwyer nodded, pulling his lips in. “Unimaginable, an absolute nightmare. I was only eight. My mother was everything. my entire world—gone.” he snapped his fingers. “just like that.”
“I’m sure it was difficult.”
“Difficult? Do you know what it’s like to go from a loving, secure home into a seedy barrack where you must fend for yourself, or you’d be eating scraps in your damn underwear?”
“I wasn’t trying to make light of the situation you were in, Mr. Dwyer. I’m certain it was indescribable to anyone who wasn’t there.”
Dwyer scowled and picked at a fingernail.
“If we could concentrate on your mother’s killer, Paul Hagan. His son, Bobby, was found floating in the Gulf of Mexico.”
“I heard.”
“That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“That the son of the man who murdered your mother is someone you knew and is now dead.”
“Are you inferring that I’m a vigilante?”
“Vigilante. That’s a good way to put it.”
Dwyer exhaled. “Look, my mother died a long time ago. The man who tortured and killed her was arrested and incarcerated. I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“You were only eight at the time.”
“Oh, so you believe I’ve been harboring this desire to atone for my mother’s murder for thirty years and finally acted upon it?”
“Certainly would explain a lot of things, wouldn’t it, Detective Vargas?”
Vargas said, “You moved down here fifteen or so years ago?”
“Yes, that’s close enough.”
She said, “Was that to follow Paul Hagan?”
“No, of course not.”
Vargas followed with, “Just another coincidence then that Bobby Hagan moved to Florida only a year before you did?”
“Look, I moved after recovering from my accident.” Dwyer leaned forward. “Do you know what I went through? Do you? Hospitalized for six months, couldn’t walk. I was a damn mess, my back aching constantly. I needed a warm climate.” He settled back. “My doctor said it would help with joint pain.”
Vargas said, “I understand; it makes sense. But how did you come to meet Bobby Hagan?”
“He worked at the church. That’s where I met him.”
“How did you settle on The Spirit of Fellowship Church? It’s not exactly around the corner.”
He laughed. “It’s a bit out of the way, but a small price to pay for God.”
I said, “You want to tell us how you found the church?”
“It was recommended to me by a friend who said Minister Booth gave good sermons and was an inspiring man.”
I said, “That’s another heck of a coincidence.”
“That’s the difference between us believers. Nonbelievers like to classify things as coincidental, but I believe it is the hands of God. He put me there to be inspired by Minister Booth.”
“He’s quite an impressive figure, isn’t he?”
“Minister Booth is what I call an awakener. He stirs you up, gets to the root of what God wants us to do. I just wish he was more proactive.”
“How so?”
“Let’s just say he talks a better game than he plays.”
“I don’t understand.”
“God tells us not to speak evil of our brothers. Timothy 5:19, ‘Do not admit a charge against an elder.’”
What is it, Dwyer? You like the minister or not? I said, “How soon after moving down here did you join The Spirit of Fellowship Church?”
&nbs
p; “I don’t know, a couple of months or so.”
“How well did you know Chapman, Tinder, Cornwall, Parker, and Hagan?”
“I told you the last time you asked.”
“Tell us again.”
“I’m trying to cooperate, really I am, but this is bordering on being ridiculous.” Dwyer carefully rose.
“Where you going?”
“My back is acting up, and I’m done with this. If you choose to continue this harassment, I’ll retain counsel.”
Chapter 44
“This guy’s got balls. Walking out of an interview.”
“He has a legal right to be represented. Frankly, I’m surprised with all the attention we’ve been giving him that he never got a mouthpiece.”
“This guy’s an enigma. I know you feel bad for the way his life turned out, but that’s no excuse. There’s something going on with him.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you think it’s him because we have no one else?”
“No. Of course not, besides, we never cleared Hannah Booth.”
Vargas said, “Let’s chart this out.” She got out of her chair and grabbed her side.
“You all right?”
“Yeah, just got up too quickly.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s been feeling good.”
Grabbing a marker, Vargas wrote Dwyer in capital letters. She said, “What do we have that’s hard evidence? Gunshot residue inside his car.” She wrote GSR under Dwyer.
“And his car type was seen by two witnesses.”
“That’s not hard, Frank. There are thousands of Accords in the county.”
Vargas drew a vertical line next to GSR and put Accord on the right side of the line.
“Hagan’s glasses found in Dwyer’s car is as hard as it gets.”
“No doubt, unless we discover he carried a spare pair around with him.”
“Why would he leave a pair behind? Dwyer probably put a gun to his head and Hagan panicked. Rushing out of the car, they fell off his face.”
“It’s possible. We’ve got to find out who his eye doctor was,o and if and when he got new glasses.”
“His condition—I wonder if it gets worse over time. If so, an old pair of glasses wouldn’t be good anymore.”
Third Chances Page 17