“Called to you?” Byron said. “How exactly?”
“Danica connected with me. Spiritually.”
“And where did you take her from?” Byron said, wishing now that he hadn’t brought the rest of the team in on what appeared to be a wild goose chase.
“I followed her from the restaurant back to her West End apartment.”
“When was this?”
“Saturday night, after she left work. Well, actually it was Sunday morning at that point.”
“And how exactly did you abduct her, Kenny?” Stevens asked.
“My apologies, Sergeant. I can’t remember every detail. I told you, I lose time.”
“How often does that happen?” Byron said.
“Often enough.”
“Rather convenient, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not for me.”
Byron stared at Harper without speaking. Normally suspects grew more nervous the longer the silence went on. Some people talked just to fill the emptiness. Harper didn’t seem bothered in the least.
“What can you tell us?” Stevens asked.
“What would you like to know?”
“So?” LeRoyer asked as soon as Byron stepped out of the interview room. “What do you think?”
“I think I want to know more about this guy,” Byron said.
“Yeah, but do you think he’s really the Horseman?”
Byron walked past the lieutenant and into the conference room where Tran and Nugent were still watching Stevens and Harper on the monitor.
“God, I can’t tell you how much I hate that nickname,” Byron said.
“Hey, the news media gave him that moniker, not me,” LeRoyer said.
“Not a big fan of them either.”
“This guy’s a piece of work, Sarge,” Nugent said.
“Find anything, Dustin?” Byron asked.
“He has provided a number of details,” Tran said.
“Cherry-picked is more like it,” Nugent said.
“But has he given us anything he couldn’t have plucked from the headlines?” Byron asked.
Tran checked his notes. “Um, he did know about Dani’s apartment in the West End.”
“I’m pretty sure I remember seeing TV news coverage shot in front of her building,” Nugent said. “Besides, wouldn’t have been too hard to figure out.”
Byron nodded in agreement.
“What do you want to do with him, boss?” Nugent asked.
Byron looked up at the monitor. “Let’s keep Mel going at him for a bit. Dustin, I want you to find out everything you can about this guy. Give me the works. Triple I, NCIC, in-house, BMV history, friends, relatives, everything.”
“You got it, Inspector.”
Byron retreated to his office to make a call to Murray.
“Solve my case yet, Johnny?” he asked, skipping his normal greeting.
“Why I’m calling. We just had a walk-in claiming to be the Horseman.”
“No shit? Nut bag?”
“I’m leaning that way, but it’s a tough tell. He’s giving us some details then claiming selective amnesia for the rest.”
“Typical. What information has he referenced about our cases?”
“He hasn’t yet. Our primary focus has been Dani Faherty. Anything you can suggest that he’d have to admit knowing about your victims?” Byron waited while Murray thought about it.
After a moment Murray said, “Ask him why he always targets women?”
Byron returned to the interview room, taking the seat next to Stevens. He waited until Mel had finished her line of questioning before he jumped in.
“Why only women?” Byron asked.
Harper turned toward Byron; the corners of his mouth unfurled into a disturbing grin.
“Who says they were all women?”
Byron and Stevens joined the others in the interview room, taking a brief and badly needed respite from the interview.
“That guy is creeping me the fuck out,” Stevens said.
“You think he could be our guy?” LeRoyer asked Byron.
“Can’t tell,” Byron said as he stared up at the monitor, wondering how many times the lieutenant was going to ask that same question. It was obvious that they weren’t dealing with the typical attention-seeker in Harper. “He’s either the killer or one hell of a con man.”
Tran walked back into the conference room holding a stack of papers. “Want to hear what I’ve got, boss?”
“Go with it.”
“Looks like Mr. Harper moved here from Henderson, Nevada in 2014. No criminal history. One speeding conviction, last year. Works for a telemarketing company called Capital Group.”
“Yeah, he said he works from home,” Stevens said.
“About right,” Nugent said. “Can you imagine that freak sitting next to you in a cubicle?”
“I sit next to you,” Stevens said.
“Are we gonna hold him?” LeRoyer asked, ignoring the banter.
“We’ve got nothing to hold him on,” Byron said. “Other than his word that he did it.” Byron realized one other thing as well. If Harper wasn’t Faherty’s killer, he was setting up a great alternative suspect for the defense team when they finally charged someone for the crime. Byron turned to Stevens. “What about tolls? If he really is the Horseman, he would have to have traveled back and forth to Massachusetts. He must have an EZ Pass transponder, right?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” LeRoyer asked.
Stevens shook her head. “I asked. He pays cash.”
“Of course he does,” Nugent said. “Don’t all serial killers? Look, now he’s smiling up at the camera. Jesus, this guy’s a piece of work.”
“What are we gonna do, John?” LeRoyer asked.
“I’ve got an idea.”
Stevens held the elevator door open, while Byron handed the man’s license back to him. Harper hesitated a moment before accepting the ID.
“Thank you for coming in, Kenny,” Byron said. “We really appreciate your cooperation. Don’t we, Detective Stevens?”
“We sure do.”
The confusion on Harper’s face was exactly what Byron had hoped to see.
“I don’t understand, Sergeant Byron,” Harper said. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll kill again?”
“Call me crazy,” Byron said. “But I’m willing to take that chance. Besides, I’m going to put my people on you.”
“Surveillance?”
“Yes. Of course, we can’t always cover you, obviously. But I promise we will be there watching to make sure you stay on the straight and narrow. You’ll just never know when or where. Detective Nugent will walk you out.”
Harper turned to look individually at Stevens and Nugent then back to Byron. “You’re sure this is a good idea, Sergeant Byron?”
“Trust me.”
“You sure you know what you’re doing, John?” LeRoyer asked after the elevator had descended with Harper and Nugent aboard.
“Yup,” Byron said. “I checked with the police department in Henderson, Nevada. They were all very familiar with Kenneth Harper. Dustin was right, he has no criminal history, but he’s been pulling this crap for years and no charges have ever been filed. According to the detective I spoke with, when Harper lived in their jurisdiction, he’d stop by the PD every six months or so to confess to a crime he didn’t commit. He studies the news until he finds a case that interests him and then tries to convince the cops that he was responsible.”
“Jesus,” LeRoyer said. “How screwed up is that? And they’ve no reason to believe he’s ever hurt anyone?”
“None. There’s a clinical name for what he has but I can’t pronounce it.”
“Bat shit,” Stevens said.
“Close enough,” Byron said.
Chapter 24
Tuesday, 9:05 a.m.,
July 18, 2017
Diane was seated in her office returning phone calls, while simultaneously wondering what questions she was likely to face during the upcoming CID
sergeant’s interview, when Melissa Stevens stuck her head through the doorway.
“You busy?”
“Hey, Mel. Never too busy for you.”
Stevens entered the room and closed the door to the office, piquing Diane’s curiosity.
“This can’t be good,” Diane said.
“I was kinda hoping for some advice,” Stevens said.
“About?”
Stevens sighed. “This isn’t about me, okay? It’s a friend of mine who has this problem.”
“Oh, a friend. Okay. Anyone I know?”
“Very unlikely.”
“Good. I was afraid there might be a conflict. So, what is your friend’s problem?”
“Well, they work in a profession where internal secrecy is important.”
“Keeping things close to the vest,” Diane said.
“Exactly. Except lately there have been some pretty damning leaks coming from within the department where my friend works.”
“Okay. I think I’m following. And did your friend by chance find out where these leaks were coming from?”
“They’re pretty sure they know.”
“Has your friend reported these findings to anyone?”
“Not yet,” Stevens said.
“Why not?”
“Because they don’t want to be that employee. You know. The rat.”
Diane pursed her lips as she contemplated her answer. “Well, it’s tough to know precisely what your friend should do, Mel, since I don’t have the particulars. I guess it comes down to doing what’s right. Has your friend given any thought to what people will think of them if it happens again, and they find out that your friend could have prevented it?”
Stevens said nothing.
Feeling a bit stir crazy while awaiting news on Faherty’s loaner car, Byron decided to take a ride around the peninsula to clear his head. He had just settled into the driver’s seat of his unmarked when his cell buzzed. He answered the call. “Byron.”
“Sergeant, it’s Shirley. I tried to catch you before you left the building.”
“What’s up?”
“There’s a woman here in CID asking for you. She’s with an attorney.”
“Who is she?”
“Janet DiPhillipo. The attorney is a smooth operator, or at least he thinks he is, named Cohen. Jeffrey Cohen.”
Byron scanned his memory bank but came up empty. Neither name meant anything.
“I’ve stuck them in the waiting room,” Shirley said.
“Either of them say what it’s about?”
“Alex Stavros.”
Byron returned to CID. Following brief introductions, he led Ms. DiPhillipo and Attorney Cohen to an interview room.
After they were seated with the door closed, Cohen spoke up. “I’d like to start by establishing the ground rules, Detective Sergeant Byron.”
Byron bristled slightly. “The rules are, you and your client came to see me voluntarily. She says whatever it is that’s on her mind and I’ll listen. How about we start with that?”
Cohen countered, “I think we’d like some assurances that my client isn’t in any legal jeopardy if she speaks with you.”
“Since I have no way of knowing what your client intends to say, I can’t make such a promise. But I’m confident that you’re more than capable of applying the brakes should we tread into any sticky areas.”
“Fair enough.” Cohen turned to his client and nodded. “Go ahead, Janet.”
DiPhillipo drew a deep breath then spoke calmly. “Alex Stavros wasn’t in Boston the entire weekend of the Northeast Restaurant Association Conference.”
“How do you know that?” Byron asked.
“Because I attended the same conference.”
Byron studied DiPhillipo’s demeanor. She seemed confident in what she was saying. There was no bitterness in her tone, as would be expected if she was trying to even some score with Stavros.
“Alex Stavros has an alibi for the night in question,” Byron said. “Specifically, Saturday night July 8th into Sunday morning the 9th. Another gentleman named George Martin has said that he was with Alex most of the night and again first thing in the morning. If what you are saying is true, both of them would have had to be lying.”
“They are,” DiPhillipo said.
“And what makes you so sure that both men are lying, Ms. DiPhillipo?”
“Because I spent the entire night of the 8th with George Martin, and I think I’d remember if Alex Stavros had been in bed with us.”
Byron continued, glancing over at Cohen as he did so. “We’ve also pulled the EZ Pass records for Mr. Stavros’s vehicle. The toll records show that he drove to Boston on Saturday morning and didn’t return to Maine until late Sunday afternoon. How do you account for that?”
DiPhillipo spoke up again. “George told me he lent him his car to sneak up to Portland so Alex’s wife wouldn’t find out, on the off-chance she ever checked the toll records.”
“Why would he do that, Ms. DiPhillipo?” Byron asked.
“Alex was planning a rendezvous with another woman.”
Byron left DiPhillipo and Cohen in the interview room to write out her statement, while he met up with Nugent and Stevens in the interview room.
“Want us to go out and pick up Alex?” Nugent asked. “It will be my pleasure to drag that lying sack of shit in here.”
“Let’s hold off on that for now,” Byron said. He wholeheartedly agreed with his detective, but they were still missing large pieces of the investigation. He wanted to have all his ducks in a row before they were permanently shut down by the high-priced Stavros family attorney, Courtney Levine.
“Sarge is right, Nuge,” Stevens said. “We still need the loaner and a legal way inside Lina’s former home.”
“Can you keep an eye on them?” Byron asked Stevens. “I gotta go make a call.”
“Sure thing,” Stevens said.
Byron retreated to the solitude of his office to telephone Murray.
“Johnny,” Murray said, answering his cell on the first ring. “You solve my cases yet?”
“No, but I may be closer to solving mine. Remember that alibi for Alex Stavros I had you track down?”
“Yeah, the restaurant conference guy. What’s his name? George Martin, right?”
“That’s him. Think you could do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Pick his ass up and threaten him with a charge of obstructing a murder investigation.”
“I can do that. Let me guess, the alibi was bullshit.”
“Looks that way. I’ve got a woman here named Janet DiPhillipo who says she spent all of Saturday night with George Martin. She’s also saying that George lent Alex his car to sneak up to Portland on the night Danica Faherty was killed.”
“You want hotel surveillance video pulled, too? They might have some coverage of the parking garage.”
“Yeah. And Martin’s Speed Pass records, if he has one. Can you get those?”
“Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m on the HTF task force, baby.”
“Thanks, Pete.”
Byron was walking back to the interview room when he nearly collided with a very excited Melissa Stevens.
“Parking Control just called over from city hall,” Stevens said. “They found Dani’s loaner.”
Twenty minutes later, after finishing with DiPhillipo and Cohen, Byron and Stevens stood beside Faherty’s abandoned loaner parked on Vaughn Street in Portland’s West End. They were awaiting the arrival of Gabriel Pelligrosso to process the exterior of the car for evidence and oversee its towing to the basement of 109 where the interior would also be examined. Several overnight parking citations had been shoved beneath the Toyota’s wiper blades. The tag at the bottom of the stack had been written nearly a week ago on Tuesday, July 11th. The most recent citation bore yesterday’s date, July 17th.
The beige Camry was locked up tight. A visual inspection revealed nothing suspicious on the exterior. Li
kewise, the passenger compartment appeared unremarkable. No blood on the seats or windows. No signs of a struggle. In short, the car appeared to have been left at the curb exactly as Danica Faherty might have parked it.
“Why here?” Stevens said.
Why indeed? Byron thought as he scanned the area. There was something about this neighborhood that had recently come up in conversation, but what was it?
“Lina said that Alex and his family have been staying with her at the ‘new’ place on Prouts Neck,” Byron said. “She told me that her previous home would eventually be remodeled and gifted to Alex. Her West End home.”
“It’s gotta be near here,” Stevens said just as Pelligrosso pulled up in the black-and-white evidence van.
“One way to find out,” Byron said as he retrieved his phone and hit the speed dial.
“Computer Crimes, Detective Tran speaking.”
“Dustin, I need you to check the city tax assessor’s site for me.”
The Stavros mansion was indeed situated in the neighborhood. In fact, according to Tran it was right around the corner, less than four hundred feet from where Faherty’s car was parked. Helpful to their cause, but it wouldn’t get them the search warrant they needed.
After Pelligrosso had finished the on-site work and departed along with the flatbed wrecker to 109, Byron and Stevens split up, taking opposite sides of the street in hopes that knocking on some doors would lead them to someone who had seen Faherty with Alex, or even entering the Stavros house.
Byron began with the homes on either side of Angelina Stavros’s former residence. The home on the right yielded nothing as it appeared that no one was at home. He slid his card under the brass knocker on the front door after jotting his cell number on the back of the card. Not to be deterred, he walked to the home on the left. Standing on the corner of Bowdoin and Vaughn was a two-story Queen Anne styled Victorian, replete with stone lions guarding the driveway entrance. Diane had been pestering him about getting a pet. He wondered how she’d feel about a stone lion.
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