A maroon Audi was parked in front of a detached brick one car garage at the far end of the drive. The garage door stood open. As Byron walked up the driveway, he noticed a rake leaning up against the house next to a wheelbarrow. He was wondering whether the homeowner did their own landscaping or hired out, when a voice called out.
“May I help you?”
Standing inside the screen entry door to the house stood a middle-aged woman wearing jeans, an untucked white short-sleeved blouse, and gardening gloves. The caution in her voice was unmistakable. Byron reached into the pocket of his suit coat and removed his ID case.
“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. My name is John Byron. I’m a detective sergeant with the police department. I wonder if you might be able to answer a few questions.” He waited a moment while she eyed his badge.
She unlatched the door and stepped outside to greet him. “You’re not bothering me at all. Giving me a longer break from yard work is all. Portland police?”
“That’s right,” he said, sliding the ID case back into his pocket.
“Thought you might have been selling bibles or something.”
“In my line of work, we never promise redemption.”
She chuckled. “What can I do for you, Sergeant Byron?”
“Do you live here?”
“I’m the owner, yes.”
“Are you familiar with the people who own the house next door?” He pointed at the home in question.
“No one is living there now, but yes I am aware that the owner is the actress Angelina Stavros.”
“Do you know her personally? Are you friendly with her?”
“No. Just a neighbor.”
“Have you seen her there recently?”
“No. No one has been living there for well over a year, I guess.”
“Ever see anyone else at the house? Coming or going?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Byron detected the slightest pause before she answered. It was barely noticeable, and most people probably wouldn’t have picked up on it, but he did. A slight change in her timing. He kept eye contact for an extra beat, looking to see if she’d break away first, but she didn’t.
“Is there anyone else living with you who may have seen someone coming or going from the Stavros home? Your husband maybe?”
“I’m divorced,” she said, her voice providing a little chill to the otherwise warm afternoon. “And I live here alone.”
It was obvious whatever goodwill he had fostered with her had just eroded. “Well, thank you for your time, Miss?”
“Vaughn. Erica Vaughn. Sorry I couldn’t be of any help.”
He handed her a business card. “If you think of anything that might help, I’d appreciate a call.”
Vaughn accepted the card, but Byron wasn’t confident he’d hear from her again.
He returned to the unmarked where Stevens was awaiting him.
“How’d you make out?” Stevens asked.
“Zip. No one home at the first, played dumb at the second,” Byron said. “You?”
“O-fer. Left cards at the three homes across the street.”
“How much money do you think you inherit when you live on a street named after your ancestors?” Byron asked as they climbed into the Ford.
“Don’t know. Why?”
“’Cause I just met a Vaughn.”
Byron and Stevens returned to Casco Collision to notify Joe Crump that they had recovered his loaner. Byron informed him that they would need to process and search the interior of the car and asked that he sign a consent to search. Crump told them he’d sign anything if it meant he could have his car back sooner.
Back at 109 Byron headed down to the basement to check on Pelligrosso’s progress.
“How goes it, Gabe?” Byron asked.
“Slow. I’m not hopeful that we’ll find anything useful.”
Byron wasn’t hopeful either. The way the car had been left made it look as though Dani may have parked it there herself, in which case it might not have played a role in either her murder or the disposal of her body. If Janet DiPhillipo was correct, and Alex had snuck up to Maine to rendezvous with a woman, and that woman had been Faherty, then it stood to reason that Dani herself would have driven to the West End directly after leaving the restaurant on Sunday morning to meet Alex. And if she had, then it was very likely that Dani hadn’t left Lina’s house in the same condition as when she arrived.
“Keep at it, Gabe,” Byron said. “Call me if you find anything.”
Byron was holed up in his office trying to make a dent in his supplemental case reporting when Diane popped in.
“Hey, sailor,” she said.
“Lady Di.”
“This a bad time?”
“Not at all.” Byron saved his work and exited out of the program. “I’m going cross-eyed anyway.”
“Where is the rest of your team?”
“Sent them all home.”
“Any progress?”
“Maybe, if I knew which direction we were supposed to be looking. We did recover Dani’s loaner car today.”
“I heard. Around the corner from Lina Stavros’s old house?”
“Right around the corner.”
“What do you think?”
“I think I’d like to get a look inside her house.”
Diane sat down in one of the visitor chairs, stretched her legs out in front of her, and let out a long sigh.
“Thinking about tomorrow morning’s interview, huh?” he asked.
“What else?”
“Relax. You’ll do fine. Just be yourself.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve already got this cushy office job.”
He laughed. “Remember what I always say.”
“Be careful what I wish for?”
“Exactly. One day all of this will be yours.”
“And where will you be?”
He shrugged. “Wherever dinosaurs go when they’re put out to pasture.”
“You’re hardly a dinosaur, John. Although, I guess you are officially another year older. It is July 18th.”
“Yup. It is.”
“Did you really think you could sneak your birthday by me?”
“Thought I had.”
“Nope. Come on. You need a break. And I need food. I’m taking you out to a birthday dinner at the Pizza Villa.”
Byron looked around at the mountain of work that still needed to be done. A case that was now a week old and in dire need of a break. “Sounds perfect.”
Chapter 25
Wednesday, 9:30 a.m.,
July 19, 2017
Portland’s West End has a long and storied past. Bordered by Congress, Commercial, and the Western Promenade, the western tip of the downtown peninsula is brimming with nineteenth century mansions erected in the wake of the Great Fire of 1866. Tree-lined streets named after affluent families the likes of Vaughn, Danforth, and Saint John provide a glimpse into the history of the city’s former residents.
Byron and Stevens stood on the Vaughn Street sidewalk at the precise location where Faherty’s loaner had been parked the previous day. They were still wrestling with how to make a connection between the car and the house owned by Angelina Stavros. Recovering the car in the same neighborhood, while a promising lead, would not get them a search warrant. The fact that Faherty’s friends and family weren’t aware of any acquaintances in the neighborhood that she may have been visiting didn’t mean there weren’t any, it only meant they weren’t known.
“Dani’s car has likely been here since she went missing,” Stevens said. “I mean look at the parking tickets. Wouldn’t that give us reason to check the Stavros house?”
“Likely won’t do it, Mel,” Byron said. “And it’s the former house. According to Lina, nobody has lived there since she moved into the home on Prouts Neck over a year ago. We need more.”
“This sucks.”
Byron couldn’t disagree.
“As soon as we get Alex’s alibi nullified b
y your cousin, we go at Stavros again, right?” Stevens said.
“Then what? If Alex did hook up with Dani Sunday morning, and we can get him to admit that he came up here, he’ll just say they had sex and that Dani was fine when he left. If he did kill her, and it happened in Angelina’s old house, he’s certainly not going to let us search it. Besides, according to Dustin the house is still in his mother’s name. Alex couldn’t give us consent even if he wanted to.”
“I’m sure he has access.”
“Probably,” Byron said. “But he’d have no standing until they officially transfer ownership.”
“You’re right,” Stevens said, her exasperation clearly audible.
“Anyway, Alex could simply tell us that they hooked up in a car or somewhere else entirely. We need irrefutable evidence that puts the two of them inside that house on Sunday morning, the day she was killed.”
Byron was following the progress of a middle-aged male dog walker on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. The man wore thick framed glasses, an obnoxiously loud lime green T-shirt, untucked to hide his middle-aged girth, and what the kids called “skinny jeans.” Byron couldn’t help but be reminded of Elton John. Elton was checking them out while doing a poor job of pretending he wasn’t.
“You see what I see, Mel?” Byron asked.
“Yup. Crocodile Rock is hard to miss.”
Byron grinned at the reference.
“Think he’s just nosy?” Stevens asked.
“Of course he is. And I’m guessing it isn’t an anomaly. This is his second pass by here. Wanna bet he knows something?”
The detectives crossed the road then quickened pace in order to catch up to the man.
“Excuse me, sir,” Byron said. “Do you have a minute?”
The rock star look-alike turned to face them. “Who, me?”
The dog, looking more like a wharf rat with blond hair, spun around and began yapping furiously.
“Millie, no!” Elton shouted.
Millie’s barking transformed instead into a throaty growl. She retreated a couple of paces as if she were planning to flee and the barking had been nothing more than pretense.
“What’s the matter, girl?” Stevens asked.
The growling stopped abruptly, and Millie focused her attention solely on Stevens. Millie’s tail began to wag as if someone had wound her up. Cautiously the dog approached the detective.
Stevens knelt and extended her hand. “Who’s a good girl?”
It was obvious that Millie thought she was, as she placed both front paws on Stevens’s knee and began licking her outstretched hand.
“I think she likes you,” Elton said.
“Well, I am the police department’s version of the dog whisperer,” Stevens said.
“Police department? You guys cops?”
“Detectives,” Byron said. “Detective Sergeant Byron and this is Detective Stevens. And you are?”
“Walter. Cleary.”
Byron stepped forward to shake the hand that Cleary was offering, and Millie resumed barking at Byron.
“Millie, no,” Cleary repeated.
Byron took a step back and Millie returned to the task of hand washing.
“Detectives, huh?” Cleary said. “I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t from the neighborhood.”
Byron grinned. “You keep an eye out do you, Mr. Cleary?”
“Always. Can’t be too careful these days.”
“That you can’t,” Byron agreed. “I don’t suppose you’ve noticed anyone strange in the area lately, have you?”
“Aside from you all, no, not recently. Are you looking for someone in particular?”
“How about strange vehicles?”
“Well, yes, now that you mention it. There was a car towed from right here yesterday,” Cleary said, pointing to where Faherty’s car had been parked. “A tan or beige-colored Toyota sedan.”
“Do you know who the car belongs to?” Stevens said as scratched Millie’s back.
“I don’t know the woman’s name, no. But I see her sometimes when I’m walking Millie.”
Byron exchanged a glance with Stevens.
“Can you describe the woman?” Stevens asked.
“Sure. She’s young, maybe early twenties, ginger hair, attractive. Kinda bouncy, ya know?”
“Bouncy?” Byron said, not understanding the descriptor.
“Just really enthusiastic and happy all the time. Well, whenever I see her anyway. She just seems very nice. Millie likes her, too. Don’t ya girl?” Cleary bent down and scratched Millie behind the ears.
“Have you seen this young woman lately?” Byron asked.
“No. Not for a week or so.”
“Have you ever seen her with anyone?” Stevens asked.
“No. Whenever I’ve seen her, she’s always by herself.”
“Does she live in the neighborhood?” Byron asked.
“No, but frequently visits.”
“How frequently?” Stevens asked.
Cleary considered this. “Once a week. Sometimes twice.”
“Does she visit someone in one of these buildings?” Byron asked, gesturing to several nearby homes, hoping she hadn’t.
Cleary turned and pointed. “No. Farther up the street. But she usually parks down here.”
“That’s a little strange isn’t it?” Byron asked.
“I guess.”
“Have you seen which residence she goes into?” Stevens asked.
“Sure. It’s the old Stavros place.”
Byron and Stevens exchanged another glance just as his cell rang with a call from Murray.
“Excuse me, Mr. Cleary,” Byron said. “I have to take this.”
Byron walked away leaving Stevens to continue mining information from Cleary. He answered the call and held the phone to his ear. “Hey, Pete. How’d you make out?”
“You’re gonna owe me, Johnny.”
“Did Martin recant?”
“He about shit his pants when we threatened to charge him with obstructing a murder inquiry.”
“Murder inquiry?”
“Yeah, you know like on all those British mysteries on Amazon. I figured he’s probably binging on them like everyone else these days. Besides, inquiry just sounds more official.”
Annoyed, Byron couldn’t help but think of Tran’s recent fascination with the detective shows. “Did he give it up or not?”
“Of course he did. Georgie told us that Alex asked to borrow his car so he could hook up with a girlfriend. Said he thought it was someone in the Boston area; he didn’t know Alex was planning to drive all the way up to Maine and back.”
Byron felt another piece slip into place. “Good work, Pete. Can you send me a copy of his statement?”
“Sure thing. I’ll scan it and email it as soon as I get back to the office. Oh, and there’s one other thing you might use to stick it up Mr. TV Star’s lying ass.”
“I’m all ears.”
“George said Alex topped off his tank on the way back, so there should be a transaction record on one of his credit cards. You know, when he was supposed to be at the hotel. Who knows, you might even find video of the dumbass pumping gas.”
“Thanks, cuz.”
Byron wasted no time in assigning Melissa Stevens to write up the search warrant for Lina Stavros’s former residence. Pelligrosso and Murphy were just awaiting the call. Cleary’s signed statement made it clear that Faherty had been meeting Alex Stavros at the family home for several months. Also clear was the fact that Stavros had lied to them about being out of town.
Byron sat next to Stevens at her desk, going over his notes and giving her the occasional prompt as she added in the relevant information to the affidavit.
LeRoyer paced nearby. “Are you both one hundred percent sure about this?”
“Yes, Marty,” Byron said. “We are.”
Byron knew that the lieutenant was trying to come to grips with the fact that the PD was about to go to war w
ith a prominent family, a family of celebrities, and it would be a public battle. Lina Stavros and heartthrob son Alex were beloved by the locals, and what Byron and his detectives were about to do was sure to have negative repercussions on the department. Right or wrong, they would all take the hit.
Stevens paused her typing. “Blood and other bodily fluids, hairs, fibers, and—”
“Clothing belonging to the victim,” Byron added. “Personal effects to include handwritten and electronic communications, electronic devices.”
“Like Faherty’s missing cellphone.”
LeRoyer stopped in front of Stevens’s desk. “I mean, this is the home of the woman who put up the reward for God’s sake.”
“Yup,” Byron said. “Former home, actually.”
“Who does that, John?” LeRoyer said.
“Maybe a mother looking to protect her son.”
LeRoyer returned to wearing out the carpet. “Jesus.”
Stevens returned to typing.
Byron waited impatiently as Assistant Attorney General Jim Ferguson perused a hard copy of the affidavit. Stevens sat at her desk tweaking the electronic copy contained in the computer each time Ferguson made a new suggestion.
When he had finished reading the document, Ferguson peered over his reading glasses, addressing both detectives. “You know this is going to create a shit storm of biblical proportions, right?”
“Yeah, but the affidavit is solid?” Byron said, answering for both of them.
“Oh, it’ll stand up to any judge’s scrutiny. That’s not the problem, John. You’re about to execute a search warrant on one of Hollywood’s elite.”
“Yup.”
“And, I assume, bring in her restaurateur son for a formal interview?”
“That’s the plan.”
Ferguson sighed deeply, removed his glasses, folded them, and placed them in his shirt pocket. “Just know they are going to fight you every step of the way. Whether Alex did this thing or not won’t matter to their fans. Stavros has the money to go out and acquire the very best legal team and she will. They will try this case in the media, painting the Portland PD as a bunch of bumbling Keystone Cops. And they will most likely go after you personally. Both of you. You can probably plan on them hiring private investigators to look up both of your skirts.” He turned to Stevens. “My apologies on the ill-advised metaphor.”
Within Plain Sight Page 23