Third Chances

by Dan Petrosini

  An officer put the accused in the back seat of a patrol car, and in less than five minutes from my order, the suspect was on the way to the station.

  ***

  The DA had some concerns with the circumstantial aspects of the case. They believed a jury would understand the threads of evidence and vote to convict, but there was uncertainty. Attempting to mitigate the risk, the suspect was charged with three more counts of murder and would face the death penalty. The hope was to force a plea of guilty in exchange for dropping the capital punishment.

  Vargas and I drove alongside the jail’s twelve-foot-high fence and pulled into the parking lot. Walking up the entryway, Vargas pointed to a car waiting to exit. “That’s Minister Booth leaving.”

  “He’s a good guy. It’s a shame he’s gotten pulled into all this.”

  We slid our IDs under the glass, and the guard buzzed us in. After signing in and dropping our weapons, we were buzzed through another gate and headed to the jail’s interview room.

  “I prefer being on my own turf, Vargas.”

  “Maybe, but you can’t argue with the desperation someone feels being behind bars.”

  Waiting to be let through another door, I said, “You’re right. But that room makes me claustrophobic.”

  “You’ll survive, Frank.”

  “Ha-ha. So, what do you think our chances are of getting a plea?”

  “Fifty-fifty.”

  The door clanged shut behind us. A guard escorted us down a dark corridor lined with steel doors whose four-inch-square windows threw columns of light into the hallway. The muffled sound of someone singing was interspersed with an inmate banging a door with a tray. You couldn’t put a piece of paper between Vargas’s shoulder and mine.

  The guard punched a code into a keypad, opening a door to a cinder-block square whose size reminded me to take deep breaths. Four chairs, whose white plastic had gone charcoal, were set around a metal table bolted to the floor.

  The door slammed shut. I took the chair closest to the door, concentrating on my breathing as Vargas blabbed about the upcoming weekend. The door’s locking mechanism whirled, and the door opened.

  A zebra-patterned jumpsuit hung tent-like off Dwyer’s shoulders. Dwyer offered his cuffed hands to the guard. I said, “It’s okay. Take ’em off.”

  Dwyer pushed up his glasses before rubbing his wrists. He looked me in the eye, gently lowered himself into the chair opposite Vargas, and said, “I knew you’d be here before my lawyer said you’d be, asking me to cop a plea.”

  Vargas said, “It’s in your best interest, Ethan.”

  “Oh, come now, Detective, you expect me to believe that? Why would the prosecutors offer any kind of deal?”

  “A trial is a costly and lengthy process.”

  Dwyer smirked. “Yeah, right. The truth is, they’re afraid to go up against me in court. They don’t have anything concrete, just a series of unconnected strings.”

  Vargas said, “Don’t forget this is a capital punishment case. You lose, and you’re facing the death penalty.”

  I said, “Let’s review,” I finger quoted, and continued, “the strings, shall we?”

  “This chair is hard as a rock. Isn’t there anything more comfortable? I’ve got injuries, and they come with rights, even in prison.”

  “I’m with you on the chairs, but I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”

  Vargas said, “If it’ll help, feel free to get up, move around some.”

  “Thank you. Staying in motion does relieve some of my pain.”

  I said, “Let’s get to it. You’re correct that we’ve been authorized to explore a deal, but wrong if you think we don’t have more than enough to get a conviction. For starters, we have your mobile phone records placing you in the vicinity of each of the Collier County killings near the times of death—”

  “What possible motivation would I have to kill those poor men?”

  “That’s a good point.”

  Dwyer’s smile crumpled when I said, “The DA is really good in a courtroom. Did I mention that he personally prosecutes every capital punishment case? Anyway, he’ll paint you as a loser, hell-bent on revenge.”

  “Loser? Do you know I have an IQ of one forty-four?” Dwyer winced as he got up. “I’ll bet the DA’s no more than one oh five, one ten, at a maximum.”

  I looked at Vargas before saying, “The fact is, Bobby Hagan, the son of the man who killed your mother, was found shot dead. A man you knew and worked with at Booth’s church, a man you followed down to Florida from Wisconsin.”

  “Pure coincidence. You can’t prove that I followed him here.”

  “Maybe, but like I said, the DA is very convincing in a courtroom. Isn’t that true, Vargas?”

  “No doubt, he’s one of the best I’ve ever worked with. I can’t remember the last case he lost, if he did lose.”

  “It had to be before I got here, but either way, I know he’s never lost a capital punishment case.”

  Dwyer put his palms on the table and leaned in. “This is a pathetic attempt to scare me. I’m intelligent. I don’t allow my emotions to rule me. You have nothing on me.”

  I said, “That’s what you think—that we came down here with nothing?”

  Vargas said, “Maybe you should sit down, if you feel okay.”

  Dwyer eased himself into a chair. “All this manufactured drama—it’s almost comical.”

  “Nothing funny about getting strapped onto a gurney and getting stuck with a dose of pentobarbital.”

  Vargas shuddered nicely.

  “It’ll never happen.”

  “You want to take the chance, that’s your call. But I’ll tell you, the DA said if they don’t get the death penalty he was going to make sure you were also tried in Wisconsin.”

  “Wisconsin? On what?”

  “Kelly, the guy you shot because he smashed into you.”

  “Really? How do propose proving that?”

  “Pretty easily, actually. What we’re going to tell you has not even been shared with the Green Bay police.”

  Vargas said, “The ballistics reports confirm that the gun used to kill Kelly and Hagan were one and the same.”

  “If I wanted to kill the drunk bastard I wouldn’t wait ten years. Besides, I moved to Florida before it happened and never went back.”

  “I say you did. I say you drove up to Green Bay, killed Kelly, and drove back down.”

  Dwyer crossed his arms over his chest. “I believe that’s called hearsay.”

  I reached into my breast pocket, pulled out a document, and placed it on the table. “You were good, almost invisible, right, Vargas? Except you made a little mistake—you got a ticket for running a red light.”

  Dwyer picked up the photocopy of the ticket. “So what? This doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It puts you in the same town. in fact, just a couple of streets away from where you shot Kelly, on the same day. Now, that’s a heck of a coincidence for someone who lives in Florida.”

  “I have friends in Wisconsin. I went visiting, that’s all.”

  “Why would you lie about it, then?”

  “Because you can’t trust the system. I tell the truth, and it will go the way the system wants it to. Nothing you can do.”

  Vargas said, “You know he’s right, Frank. Look at all the times we work ourselves silly arresting some creep, only to have the court release him.”

  Dwyer smacked a palm on the table. “You see, there you go. The system is incapable of working. The piece of debris who raped and tortured my mother before killing her had just been released from prison. She didn’t have to die. I was left alone, with nobody.” He wrestled getting up. “Do you realize what it’s like to be shuffled inside the foster care system? It’s another disastrous system that doesn’t work. You ask me, it’s worse than having no system. The kids in it are better off on the damn streets.”

  Vargas said, “What a ter
rible thing for a child to have to endure. How old were you when this happened?”

  “I had just turned eight.” Dwyer shook his head. “My entire world was taken from me by that reprehensible thug. If the system operated properly, she’d be alive today.” He wagged a finger and sat back down. “There’s a certain subset of the population that is irredeemable. They’ll never change, and there is absolutely no point in giving them second, third, and fourth chances.”

  I wanted to tell him I agreed, but Vargas was on a roll. She said, “It was shocking to see Paul Hagan’s record. He should never have been allowed to walk the streets again.” She reached across the table and put her hand on Dwyer’s hand. “I’m so sorry you had to suffer through all that. I can’t imagine how you dealt with such trauma.”

  Dwyer shrugged. “The void of losing your mother, especially in such a brutal attack, is a pain so deep, it’s indescribable.”

  “You poor thing.”

  Dwyer’s eyes glistened. “It took me years to recover from the emptiness. It never went away, but I started listening to God and could function.”

  “And then you are hit by a drunk driver. How tragic. How unfair, after what happened to you, to almost get killed in a crash and suffer such debilitating injuries.”

  Dwyer hung his head. “Let down by the system again.”

  “Kelly had several DUIs—”

  I moved my hand to avoid the spit that flew out of Dwyer’s mouth as he said, “That bastard should have been behind bars, no less be allowed to operate a motor vehicle.”

  “I know, it’s crazy. How long were you hospitalized?”

  “In excess of two months.”

  I said, “I can’t imagine that. You must have been really bad. They’re always looking to kick you out after a couple of days.”

  “They put two frigging steel rods in my back. The pain was so intense I was on morphine for two weeks. I had to learn to walk again. Rehab was murder. Kelly received what he deserved.”

  “It’s hard to argue with that.”

  Vargas said, “You really got some tough breaks. It’s so unfair. Look, I’m not condoning what you did, but I promise you the circumstances of what happened to you as a child will be considered in a plea arrangement.”

  Dwyer stiffened. “I didn’t do anything. Purely out of curiosity, what would a hypothetical deal look like?”

  “If you tell us everything, helping to close out all the cases, we’ve got some flexibility.”

  “Define flexibility.”

  “You’d save your own life. The DA will drop his insistence on a death sentence.”

  “What about parole?”

  Vargas said, “While it’s unlikely, we’d argue the trauma you suffered caused mental instability, and a judge could be inclined to remand you to an institution where release is possible after treatment.”

  “An institution is a whole lot better place than any jail, especially one up in Wisconsin, where the winters will make your back problems a lot worse.”

  Dwyer paused before saying, “All this is interesting, requiring consideration. Can you return tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” Vargas said. “Is there anything we can get for you?”

  “A Bible. make sure it’s the New International Version.”

  “Okay. No problem. anything else?”

  “I’m extremely bored. Could you secure a couple of books to read?”

  “Sure. What do you like?”

  “Autobiographies are my favorite, but any biographies of almost anyone, excepting politicians or celebrities, will do.”

  “Consider it done. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 53

  A dozen reporters followed us to the prison entrance. Someone had leaked that a plea offer was made to Dwyer. I pushed a mic away and slipped our IDs to the guard. Once inside, we surrendered our weapons and went through the metal detector, which buzzed when I went through. I’d forgotten my valise contained a video recorder in case Dwyer was ready to come clean.

  The corridor was as scary as it’d been yesterday, but the interview room didn’t cause my heart to race. We had business to do, and I was proud that I’d risen to the task.

  Vargas laid down a Bible and three other books, whose sizes intimidated me.

  “Put that away, Frank. It’ll scare him.”

  “I’m just being optimistic.”

  “Put it back in your briefcase.”

  I tucked the video recorder away as the door whirled open.

  Dwyer saw the books, smiled, and raised his cuffed arms to the guard. I nodded approval. Hands free, Dwyer picked up the Bible, opened it, and read aloud, “Lord, hear my voice in the morning. I set my prayers before you and hope. Wickedness is not accepted by you. The arrogant cannot stand before your eyes. You hate all wrongdoers. Lead me, O Lord, in your righteous ways.” He closed the Bible. “The book of Psalms is my favorite. It reads like poetry.”

  Vargas said, “That was nice.”

  Dwyer picked up a book. “Nice. I read Nikola Tesla by Cheney but never his autobiography. This will be great. Ah, Leonardo da Vinci, that’s a good one, and Toscanini. What an interesting choice. You surprised me, Detective.”

  “I’m glad you like them. I told the woman at Barnes and Noble to suggest books that a very intelligent person would like.”

  The picture of da Vinci on the cover caught my eye. He had this mysterious look that made me want to read it. I’d have to pick up a copy—it would be my read for the year.

  Dwyer eased into a chair. “Thank you. I sincerely appreciate it.”

  Vargas said, “Did you have time to think over our offer?”

  Dwyer nodded. “I still believe, if treated fairly, I would beat the charges. However, if you guarantee me an opportunity for parole or release from an institution, I’ll agree.”

  Vargas said, “We spoke to the DA, and he believes a path is possible, but if the judge insists on a prison term, it’s likely to be a life sentence.”

  I said, “Remember, without a plea you’ll be facing a death sentence.”

  Vargas said, “Please, Ethan, don’t make the wrong choice.”

  “My life is in God’s hands. He has additional work for me to do. I can be his advocate wherever he sends me.”

  Vargas said, “You’ll take the deal?”

  “That’s what God wants me to do.”

  Vargas gave me a dirty look as I pulled out the recording device.

  “It’s the right choice, Ethan. You won’t regret it. We need to get this on record. It’s a formality. Would you mind if we recorded this?”

  “That’s fine.”

  I turned the recorder on, and Vargas said, “In exchange for Ethan Dwyer’s admission of guilt, the Office of the Collier County Prosecutor has agreed to drop its demand for capital punishment. In addition, they will consider the information offered by Ethan Dwyer and appeal to the court for leniency.”

  “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Trust me, Ethan, I’ve handled a hundred pleas. That’s standard language.”

  “It’s too general.”

  “We cannot commit to anything further as we don’t know what you are going to tell us today. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you trust me, Ethan?”

  “I do.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s the way it’s done. Okay?”

  “All right.”

  “Good. Now, tell us what happened with Bobby Hagan.”

  “I kept track of the Hagans—at first it was my own fear. As a kid I was so traumatized by what Paul Hagan did to my mother that I lived in terror, believing his son would come after me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vargas shaking her head.

  “As I got older, my fear subsided and morphed into wanting them to live in fear and to feel the pain of losing a loved one. I wanted revenge, but the kind I desired, the kind I w
asn’t ready for. As a consolation, I harassed them, making threatening calls, throwing rocks through their windows.” He laughed. “Even put a bag of shit in their mailbox. It was childish, but it felt good. Anyway, when they moved it was like my purpose, my identity, was taken from me. I know it sounds irrational, but that’s how I felt.”

  “It’s not crazy, that’s the trauma talking.”

  “Anyway, asking around, a neighbor told me where they relocated to. To be honest, my doctor had advised me numerous times, with my back problems, I should move south and that made the move easier. I probably used the weather as an excuse, but everything started to come together when I met Minister Booth.”

  “You met him by following Bobby Hagan?”

  “Yes. It was easier than I thought. I was so hung up on them, I assumed they knew who I was, but Bobby Hagan had no clue. I didn’t even have to use an alias. He was in the church’s support program and made a mockery of it, stoking my anger. He never stopped his evil ways. The more I learned about him, the less I liked. Apparently, his mother felt the same way—she kicked him out of her house.”

  “You mentioned Minister Booth. What role did he play for you?”

  “Minister Booth opened my eyes up to the limitations of God’s patience with us. The very first sermon I heard him give was a total revelation. I still remember how he explained that God speaks to us, that we must listen and act on God’s word. He made it clear we couldn’t be bystanders; we had to earn our salvation. This was contrary to everything I had been taught about an all-loving and forgiving God.”

  It made me think of the message I received growing up—about how being in fear of doing wrong had dissolved into a touchy-feely, free-for-all with no price.

  Dwyer continued, “It made total sense to me. Those who did wrong would pay a price. No deathbed conversion would allow someone like Paul Hagan to get into heaven beside my mother. Over the next several months, what Minister Booth preached gave me a sense of courage to do what I knew had to be done.”

  “He was telling parishioners to exact as God’s vigilantes?”

  “No, no. That’s the thing about him. He would always preach about forgiveness and helping your brothers and sisters, to give them second chances. But I wanted him to raise an army for God to get justice. I asked him about it once, but he said only God had the power to instruct, that he was just a conduit for the written word of God. I was disappointed, but then he quoted a Bible passage that struck me, something that I believe deep in my core. Exodus 22, ‘If a thief is found breaking in and is struck so that he dies, there shall be no blood guilt for him.’”