by Tim Kizer
“I’ve never logged into this account,” Dixon said. “It was someone else.”
“Who?” Hagan asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe my roommate, maybe someone else.”
“Does your roommate have a computer?”
“Yes.”
“Do you allow your roommate to use your laptop?” Valdez asked.
“No.”
“Do you allow anyone else to use your laptop?”
“No.”
“Does your roommate have a key to your room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he know the password to your laptop?”
“I don’t know.”
Valdez leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you start telling the truth, Henry?”
“I’m telling the truth,” Dixon said.
“I think you’re lying,” Valdez said. “You created that account.”
“You realize that no jury will buy this story, don’t you?” Hagan said.
“What are you accusing me of?” Dixon asked.
“Look, Henry,” Valdez said. “It doesn’t matter what you say. It’s your laptop, it’s your IP address… You know what an IP address is, don’t you?”
Dixon nodded.
“You created Tyler Simmons’ account, that’s a proven fact. You used that account to communicate with a thirteen-year-old girl from San Diego named Melissa Keener.”
“I did not communicate with that girl,” Dixon said.
“Remember that cellphone we found in your desk?” Hagan said. “You sent Melissa forty-six text messages from it. And she sent you forty messages.”
“It’s not my phone.”
“It was in your desk drawer and it has your prints on it.”
“It doesn’t mean it’s mine. Someone else put it there, and I accidentally touched it.”
“No one will believe this. No one. It’s your phone, Henry.”
“Is someone trying to frame you?” Valdez laughed.
“Can you tell me what I’m being accused of?” Dixon said.
“On June twenty-sixth you and Melissa agreed to meet in the Scripps Ranch Community Park,” Hagan said. “Why did you want to meet Melissa?”
“I don’t know this girl. I’ve never met her.”
“You met Melissa on June twenty-seventh. And you murdered her on that day. Why did you murder her?”
Dixon frowned. “I… I didn’t kill her.”
“Cut the crap, Henry. You killed this girl. Why did you do it?”
Dixon shook his head. He had a dazed look on his face. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“You killed her because she didn’t let you screw her,” Valdez said. “Am I right, Henry?”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“How old are you, Henry?” Hagan asked.
“Thirty-two.”
“You told Melissa you were seventeen. Why?”
“I never talked to this girl.”
“How old was Melissa Keener?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she tell you she was eighteen? Did you think she was eighteen?”
“I never talked to her. I didn’t know her.”
“Where were you between two and six p.m. on June twenty-seventh?” Valdez asked.
Between 1:31 p.m. and 2:14 p.m. on June 27, Dixon’s burner phone had been connected to the cell tower on Scripps Poway Parkway and Spring Canyon Road, which was the nearest cell tower to the Scripps Ranch Community Park. There was no geolocation information for the phone between 2:14 p.m. and 8:04 p.m., probably because it had been off. At 8:04 p.m. Dixon’s burner phone had connected to the cell tower on Clairemont Mesa Boulevard and Diane Avenue, the nearest cell tower to Dixon’s place.
As for Dixon’s regular cellphone, between 12:36 p.m. and 8:22 p.m. on June 27, it had been connected to the cell tower on Clairemont Mesa Boulevard and Diane Avenue.
“I don’t remember,” Dixon said.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Valdez asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I can’t afford one.”
“Are you into young girls?” Hagan asked.
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why did you try to hook up with Melissa?”
“I did not try to hook up with her.”
“The cellphone company told us that your burner phone was in the Scripps Ranch Community Park at two p.m. on June twenty-seventh, which proves that you met Melissa that day.”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” Dixon said. “I’m sorry.”
“We’re giving you a chance to tell your side of the story, Henry,” Valdez said. “Tell us what happened that day.”
“I’d like to go home. Can I go home?”
“Would you take a lie detector test?” Hagan said.
“No. Can I go home?”
They could prove that Henry Dixon had met Melissa on June 27, but they had no evidence that he was involved in her murder. There was no blood on Dixon’s clothes or shoes, his knives had tested negative for blood, and they hadn’t found Melissa’s fingerprints or blood or hair in his car. They couldn’t arrest Dixon for trying to seduce a minor because he had never talked to any of his underage friends about sex and had never sent lewd pictures to any of them. They couldn’t arrest him for child porn possession since his underage friends hadn’t sent him any nude pictures of themselves and no child porn had been found on his laptop or phones. They had run Dixon’s DNA profile through the Combined DNA Index System and gotten no hits.
They had to let Dixon go.
“You’re free to go, Henry,” Hagan said.
Dixon’s face brightened. “Can I get my car back today?”
“Yes, you can.”
Hagan thought of Alice Cannon. He had promised her that he would talk to the director of Cradle Of Life and verify the authenticity of her signature on the consent to adoption form.
They left the interview room. Hagan poured himself a cup of coffee, then called the office of Cradle Of Life and made an appointment with John LaCross for tomorrow morning at nine. He supposed the agency had a copy of the consent to adoption form signed by Alice in its archives.
3
At eleven o’clock that morning, Hagan called Dixon’s roommate and arranged to meet him at his place at four in the afternoon. Mark Portin was alone in his apartment when Hagan arrived. The detective suggested that they talk outside, and Portin agreed.
“What were you looking for the other day?” Portin asked as they crossed the small courtyard.
“I’ll tell you in a few minutes.”
They went out through the gate and started down the sidewalk.
“How long have you lived at your current address?” Hagan asked.
“About a year.”
“Are you and Henry friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Best friends?”
“No. Just regular friends.”
“Do you talk to him every day?”
Portin nodded. “Yeah.”
“Has Henry ever mentioned a girl named Melissa?”
Portin thought for a moment and then said, “No, he hasn’t.”
Hagan pulled Melissa’s photograph from his pocket and handed it to Portin. “Has Henry ever shown you this girl’s pictures?”
Portin looked at the photograph and shook his head. “No.”
“Have you ever seen this girl?”
“No, I haven’t.” Portin gave the photograph back to Hagan.
“Has Henry ever brought an underage girl to your apartment?”
“I’ve never seen him bring underage girls to our apartment.”
“Have you ever used Henry’s laptop?”
“No.”
“Do you have a key to Henry’s room?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Were you in San Diego on June twenty-seventh?”
“Yes.”
“Did Henry seem nervous or act strange on June twenty-seventh or twenty-eight
h?”
“No, he didn’t.”
Hagan stopped. Pointing at Melissa’s photograph, he said, “This girl’s name was Melissa Keener. She was murdered on June twenty-seventh, and we suspect that Henry is the killer.”
Portin frowned.
“Do you have any information suggesting that Henry was involved in Melissa Keener’s murder?”
“Why do you think he’s the killer?”
“I can’t tell you that. Do you have any information suggesting that Henry murdered Melissa?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did you see any blood on Henry’s clothes on June twenty-seventh?”
“No.”
“Did Henry ask you to lie to the police?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“You’re not covering for Henry, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“You know that withholding information from the police is a crime, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Hagan gave Portin his card. “If you hear anything that can help our investigation, please call me.”
“Okay.”
“Does Henry drink?”
“Yes.”
“Next time he gets drunk, listen to him very carefully: he might say something incriminating.”
“Okay.”
Hagan patted Portin on the shoulder. “Thank you, Mark.”
“No problem.”
“Please keep this conversation between us.”
“Sure.”
Hagan wondered if Portin would move to another apartment for fear that Dixon would kill him.
Chapter 12
1
“What can I do for you, Mister Hagan?” John LaCross smiled.
Hagan pulled out his badge, showed it to LaCross, and said, “I’m a detective with the San Diego Police Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions about one of the adoptions handled by your agency.”
“Sure.”
“How long have you been running this agency?”
“Nineteen years.”
“Thirteen years ago your agency handled the adoption of a girl named Melissa Cannon. Her biological mother, Alice Cannon, says that she did not give her daughter up for adoption. She says Melissa was abducted, and she believes you knew that.”
“She’s lying. Her daughter wasn’t abducted. This woman asked us to find a new family for Melissa, she signed a consent form.”
“Ms. Cannon talked to you, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did. We can prove that she’s lying. We have the consent form that was signed by her, and we have a video of her saying that she wants the Keeners, Melissa’s adoptive parents, to have her child. Would you like to see the video?”
“Yes.”
LaCross took a flash drive from the top right drawer of his desk, put it in the DVD player, and then switched on the TV.
“You can clearly see it’s Alice Cannon.” LaCross pressed the Play button on the remote.
It was the same video that the Keeners had showed him and Alice eight days ago.
“Either she’s crazy or she’s running some kind of scam,” LaCross said when the video ended.
“Ms. Cannon said the woman in the video wasn’t her.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Can you get Melissa’s file?”
“Sure.” LaCross picked up the phone, pushed three buttons, and then said, “Nicky, I need Melissa Cannon’s file. Thank you.”
He replaced the receiver.
“How do you verify that a child’s birth mother is really the child’s birth mother?” Hagan asked.
“We check the mother’s ID, it must be a state-issued ID, and we check the child’s birth certificate.”
“Do you verify the authenticity of the mother’s ID?”
“No. We’re not required to do that.”
The door opened, and the receptionist entered the room with a file folder in her hand. She placed the folder on the desk and left.
Hagan opened the file, flipped through a few pages, and said, “Did you make a copy of Ms. Cannon’s ID?”
“Yes, we did.”
LaCross took the folder, turned pages until he found a copy of Alice Cannon’s ID, and then said, “Here it is.” He slid the file to Hagan.
It was a copy of Alice Cannon’s driver’s license.
It might be fake.
“I need a copy of this,” Hagan said.
“Sure.”
“And a copy of the consent to adoption form.”
“Sure. I’ve already made copies.” LaCross pulled open the bottom right desk drawer, withdrew two sheets of paper, and handed them to Hagan.
“Thank you.”
Hagan scanned the consent to adoption form. The name of the agency representative who had witnessed the signing of the form was Joanna Styles.
He took out the signature page of Alice’s apartment lease and compared Alice’s signature to the one on the consent to adoption form. The signatures looked similar. He would have to ask the crime lab’s questioned documents unit to verify Alice’s signature on the consent to adoption form.
“I can’t believe she went to the police,” LaCross said. “What else did she tell you about our agency?”
“Nothing else. Can you give me Joanna Styles’ phone number and address?”
“Joanna quit three years ago. I can give you the phone number and address we have on file for her, but I don’t know if they’re still good.”
“Okay.”
LaCross dialed a number and asked a woman named Deborah to email him Joanna Styles’ address and phone number.
“Have I convinced you that Ms. Cannon is lying?” LaCross said.
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.” Hagan took Melissa’s file, found Alice’s personal data sheet, and wrote down her contact number and email address.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” LaCross asked.
“No.”
LaCross looked at his notebook and said, “I got Joanna’s address and number.”
“Go ahead.”
LaCross read out Joanna Styles’ address and phone number.
2
The phone number Cradle Of Life had on file for Joanna Styles still belonged to her. Joanna told Hagan that she had moved to another apartment last year. She gave the detective her new address and said she would meet him whenever he wanted. Hagan did a reverse lookup on the phone number and found that it was indeed registered to Joanna Styles.
When Hagan called the contact number that was listed on Alice’s personal data sheet, a guy named Javier answered. He’d had the number for two years.
Hagan set up an email account under a fake name and sent a message to the contact email address on Alice’s personal data sheet. His message wasn’t delivered because the recipient’s email address was invalid.
After sending the consent to adoption form to the Questioned Documents Unit for examination, Hagan scanned the copies of Alice’s driver’s license and the consent to adoption form and emailed them to Alice. Then he called Alice to tell her about his meeting with John LaCross.
Chapter 13
1
Alice was watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit when Hagan called.
“I met with John LaCross today,” Hagan said. “He gave me a copy of the driver’s license of the woman in the video. I emailed it to you.”
“Let me look at it.” Alice opened the laptop, went to her email inbox, and clicked on Hagan’s message. Two pdf files were attached to it, one of which was named DL.pdf and the other CTA.pdf. She opened the first file. It was a copy of her driver’s license.
It was a copy of a forged driver’s license.
“It’s fake,” Alice said.
“I checked with the DMV. It has the correct number, address, and photo.”
Alice took her wallet from her purse and compared her driver’s license number with the number on the copy. They matched.
The address on the copy was the address where
she had lived at the time of Melissa’s adoption.
“They must have found a copy of my driver’s license,” Alice said.
They might have hacked into the DMV database.
“Maybe.”
“I did not give up Melissa for adoption. It’s not me in the video, okay? It’s not me. Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m telling you the truth, Stephen. Why would I lie? I gain nothing by lying.”
“I believe you, Alice.”
She opened the second attachment. It was a copy of a consent to adoption form, on which her name was listed as the birth mother and Melissa’s name as the child. The parent’s signature was similar to hers.
“You got a copy of the consent to adoption form?” Alice said.
“Yes. I sent it to our handwriting experts today.”
“Thank you.”
“Also, I obtained Joanna Styles’ number and address.”
“Are you going to meet her?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Stephen.”
A long pause. Then: “Alice, have you ever been treated for mental health problems?”
Alice tensed. Hagan must have heard about her one-week stay at the psych ward of the Pasadena Community Hospital last October.
“I had a nervous breakdown last October,” Alice said. “And I checked myself into a psych ward.”
“What caused the breakdown?”
“My mom went missing. I love my mom very much.” Alice felt tears prick her eyes. “I’m not crazy.”
“Remember I said that you should try hypnosis? You said you’d think about it.”
“I’m still thinking.”
Would Hagan talk to Joanna Styles if the handwriting experts told him that her signature on the consent to adoption form was authentic?
“I think it’s a good idea.”
Maybe she should follow Hagan’s advice and try hypnosis? He had done everything she had asked him to do, and it would be nice of her to reciprocate.
“Why did the killer send the Keeners messages from Melissa’s phone?” Alice said.
“He must have wanted them to think she was alive.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. What do you think?”
“I have no idea, either. Did you check the location of Melissa’s phone from June twenty-seventh to July fifth?”