by Paul Carr
“Will do.”
He headed to the Star Resort and passed the sheriff’s cruiser as he reached the parking lot. Continuing on, he turned toward the employee lot on the side and looked for the limo. It seemed to be missing, but the black Range Rover sat in its space. Apparently the DEA had released it back to Chan, maybe after deciding it was of little use since they had retrieved the chest full of drugs. Dalton drove back to the cruiser and got out.
“I’m going to ask Chan to come in for questioning,” he said to the deputy at the wheel. “It’ll be easy if he buys it. If he doesn’t, I’ll call you.” They traded phone numbers. “In that case, we’ll drag him out the front entrance. He’ll hate that.”
The deputy grinned. “I’d rather drag him out. I heard what happened at the courthouse. He was probably responsible for that.”
“Okay, watch for a black Range Rover to exit the employee lot on the side. Follow him and make sure he goes to the detention center. If he doesn’t, pull him over and put him in cuffs.”
Dalton strode through the lobby and took the elevator to Chan’s floor. When he exited, he headed to the office door and knocked. No one answered, and he knocked again. After a few seconds, an older Asian man opened up.
“Can I help you with something?”
Dalton identified himself. “Mr. Chan’s nephew was murdered earlier today, and I need him to come in for some questions that might help us find his killer.”
The man paused, then opened the door for Dalton to enter.
Chan stood from behind his desk as Dalton approached. “What is this about?” he asked, his tone snappy.
“My condolences for your loss, Mr. Chan. I wanted to let you know that we caught one of the men responsible for your nephew’s death. He’s been uncooperative so far, and I need you to come in and see if you can identify him.” A lie, but necessary.
Frowning, Chan said, “Why would I be able to identify this man?”
“We thought he might have been an associate of your nephew’s.”
Chan stared for a moment and then shook his head. “This has been so upsetting. I don’t think I can do it.”
Dalton sighed. “If you don’t, we’ll have to keep questioning the man until he breaks. That could take a while.”
Something changed in his eyes, shifting from anger to what appeared to be concern. He probably wasn’t certain the guy would hold up under pressure and wouldn’t want him telling what really happened. “Very well. If you think it will help, I will come in.”
“Good. He’s being held at the detention center. I’ll see you over there.” He wrote the address on one of his cards and handed it to him.
When Dalton exited the elevator, he hurried out of the lobby to his car. Chan’s SUV eased out the gate of the lot as he started his engine. The sheriff’s cruiser waited a few seconds after Chan had passed, letting another car pull out behind him, and then followed. Dalton brought up the rear, hoping the deputies wouldn’t get too close. They caravanned up N. Roosevelt in the fast lane and turned left onto A1A.
Chan’s vehicle seemed to slow after that, and the other cars and the cruiser slowed as well. Dalton wondered if their suspect was trying to locate the turn onto College Road, or if he had spotted the deputies following. He passed the cruiser and the other car, and wedged in behind Chan’s vehicle. No one was inside but Chan, and he was making hand gestures as if talking on the phone. As they neared the intersection at College Road, Chan’s engine raced and he flew on through. He cut in front of a car and sped around another, his engine roaring.
So much for getting him to come in peaceably. Dalton floored his accelerator and tried to catch up, but there were vehicles between them blocking both lanes. He phoned the deputy and asked him to radio ahead.
Something had frightened Chan. Maybe his lawyer was on the phone and sensed that they wanted him for something other than to ID the man who had been arrested. Or maybe he spotted the deputies and smelled a rat. There was only one road out of the Keys, but there were other ways to escape, especially if you had unlimited resources. In Chan’s case, he likely had suppliers with boats and aircraft. If he could separate himself from his chasers, which he seemed to be on his way toward accomplishing at the present, he might leave the Keys and never be found again.
A few miles past the Key West Naval Air Station, Dalton lost sight of Chan’s vehicle. He had seen two cruisers turn onto the highway ahead, running flashers, and could only hope they would catch up to their quarry. Weaving in and out of traffic, he saw a mob of flashing blue lights in the distance. It appeared they had turned off the road and were headed toward the coast. Dalton followed the last cruiser as it turned off to the right. They raced through a neighborhood, and up ahead he could see that they had stopped. He slammed on brakes and got out. Chan was running toward a boat idling in the water. If he made it, they would lose him. Then, as Chan reached the edge of the water, he motioned for the boat to come closer. One of the deputies caught up with him and tackled him to the ground. The boat sped off, full throttle.
Dalton hurried to the downed man and said to the deputy, “Cuff him and take him to the detention center. I’m going to follow you in and book him on a murder charge.”
Chan’s eyes darted to him, surprise on his face. “I haven’t murdered anybody. You’ll lose your job over this.”
“Yeah? We’ll see about that.” On his way to the jail, he phoned Connie Duval and told her what had happened.
“I’m on my way. It’ll take me about an hour to get there.”
“That’s fine. He’ll lawyer up by then. I’ll let you spring the video on him, if you want.”
She chuckled. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
“I’m hoping it’ll scare him enough that he’ll give up the guy who pulled the trigger.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll turn the screws.”
Upon booking the prisoner, Dalton drove over to the office and went in to brief the Lieutenant.
Springer was still at his desk and waved him in. “I heard you had a chase on your hands.”
Dalton shrugged. “Yeah, a miscalculation on my part. I should’ve cuffed him at the resort and taken him out the front door.”
“Well, you got him. That’s the main thing, and his running just demonstrates his culpability. Work on him and get the shooter’s name.”
“Roger that.” He headed to his desk thinking things could have gone worse with his supervisor.
Duval called a few minutes later saying she would arrive in ten minutes, so he headed back to the detention center. On the way, he called Marilyn and told her he had Chan under arrest. “We have hard evidence that he ordered a hit on Riley Gunn.”
“Hard evidence sounds like you have a witness.”
“Something like that.”
She paused, then said, “Are you going to search his place?”
“Yes. I’ll share anything we find concerning drug activity.”
They hung up as he turned into the parking lot. Duval was exiting her vehicle and they walked together. At the door, Dalton stopped her and said, “What kind of deal can we make him if he gives up the shooter?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. We could give him twenty years instead of life without parole.”
“Okay, let’s see how that plays.”
They went inside and found a room they could use for the interview. Dalton asked one of the deputies to bring Chan in to join them. When he arrived, Douglas Vici trailed in behind him.
After introductions and starting a recording of the proceeding, Vici said, “I want to know what evidence you have on my client suggesting he had anything to do with a murder.”
Duval said, “That’s why we’re here, Mr. Vici.” She accessed the video on her phone and laid it on the table between the lawyer and his client. Both watched, their eyes wide.
When it ended, Vici glanced at Chan, then turned to Dalton and said, “Where did you get this?” His tone was thick with indignation.
Dalton shrugg
ed. “We found it on a phone hidden in another murder victim’s home, that of Wilbur Hess.”
Chan scowled, leaned back in his chair and stared at Vici.
“You’re going up for life with no parole,” Dalton said. “If you give up the identity of the person you ordered to kill Gunn, Ms. Duval might cut you some slack.”
Vici frowned. “How much slack?”
The prosecutor leaned back and waited a few beats, then said, “I can offer twenty years. He might get out sooner with good behavior.”
Chan shook his head. “Twenty years? No way.”
Sighing, Vici said, “I need to confer with my client.”
“Sure, but don’t take too long. The deal won’t be available if we locate the shooter.”
They stood to leave, and Vici said, “Please turn off your recorder.”
Dalton did as asked and he and Duval went out.
After only five minutes, Vici stuck his head out the door and said they were ready. With the incriminating video, Dalton expected Chan to cave. Back inside the room, with the recorder running, Vici said, “My client has decided to take his chances in court.”
****
When Dalton got back to the office, he prepared an application and affidavit for a warrant to search William Chan’s residence and his personal phone. With the information provided, he had no trouble securing a signature from a local judge, even given the late hour. He dropped by the jail and signed out Chan’s phone and door key, and then headed to the man’s home.
Inside, he went through it, room by room. When he located the office, he went to work on a home computer. He found no e-mails or social media accounts, but the browsing history indicated that he had visited an offshore bank a number of times. It probably meant he had an account there. While that might be important to the DEA’s case, it didn’t seem high on Dalton’s list for the murder investigation.
When he finished with the computer, he searched the desk and a file cabinet where he found lots of paperwork. Sifting through it turned up nothing connected to the murders, or even drug activity. Most of it related to the acquisition of the Star Resort.
In the master bedroom he went through items in the closet, a night table, and the connected bathroom, and didn’t even find any prescription drugs. After an hour of searching the other rooms, he gave up and left.
Back at the office, Dalton caught technician Randy Teal about to leave after putting in overtime. He handed him the phone. “This belongs to a man named William Chan. He’s been arrested for murder. Record the numbers of any calls and texts, and identify their owners if you can.”
Teal agreed to look at it the next morning, and Dalton went on to his desk to document his search. He thought he might ask Crook to go back to the house with him the next day, if they didn’t have much going on, and take another look. Chan had been meticulous in avoiding any records concerning his criminal activities. Dalton hoped the phone would provide more. Remembering that he hadn’t examined anything other than the video on Hess’s phone, he took it out and powered it up. He checked the call history, but didn’t find any. No texts either. Apparently, it wasn’t Hess’s primary phone, which had never been found, and he had used it only to record the incriminating video. Dalton sighed and returned the phone to his desk.
****
The next morning Dalton locked up his cottage at 7:00 a.m. and went out on the deck where his Uncle Eric had prepared coffee and pastries for his guests. Eric did that several times a week, and everybody seemed to enjoy getting together for a freebie. Cupcake lay at his uncle’s feet and stood when he saw Dalton coming. He went over and scratched the big cat’s ears before grabbing coffee and a Danish. Three or four people sat around nursing their coffee.
“You making any headway on your investigation?” Eric asked.
“I have a couple of things that might pan out.”
His uncle grinned. “I guess that means, ‘No.’”
“Yeah, pretty close.”
Eric turned to his guests. “He’s investigating the Riley Gunn murder.”
One of the guests, an older man nodded. “Yeah, I wondered how that was going, myself.” Before he could say more, Dalton told his uncle, “Gotta get going. I have an early meeting.” It was a lie, but he didn’t want to get into a discussion. “Thanks for breakfast.” He headed to his car and drove away, eating most of the pastry before getting to the end of the long, winding, driveway.
About ten miles down the road, his phone rang —Springer— and he answered it.
“I got a call a few minutes ago from the 911 center. When the guard at the jail made rounds this morning, he found William Chan dead in his cell.”
Chapter 14
William Chan lay face up on the jailhouse bunk, his eyes closed and his arms by his sides. The guard, whose nametag read Wallace, opened the cell door, and Dalton and Crook entered. “That’s the way I found him,” Wallace said. “He looked like he was asleep, but he didn’t wake up when I yelled at him to get up for breakfast.”
“You have any idea how he might’ve died?”
Wallace shrugged. “I figure heart attack. He’s what, maybe sixty?”
Dalton nodded. He didn’t really know Chan’s age but guessed the guard was about right. “You talk to any of the guys in the other cells about it to see if they heard him call to anybody for help?”
“No. I figured you would do that.”
They went out, and Dalton asked him to relock the door. A man in the next cell over stood at the bars looking out.
“You hear anything next door during the night?” Dalton asked the man.
He narrowed his eyes, as if concentrating. “Something woke me up around midnight. Sounded like a cell door opening. I didn’t hear it close again, so I must’ve gone back to sleep…or I could’ve just been dreaming the whole time. Why, what happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Wallace said.
They asked to see the jailer and the guard took them to Alvin Banks’ desk. “You need me for anything else?” Wallace asked.
“Not right now,” Dalton said, “but I might have some questions later.”
“Okay, I need to get busy on my rounds.” The guard appeared relieved as he hurried away.
The two detectives introduced themselves to Banks. He shook his head. “Heck of a thing, huh?”
“Yeah, pretty curious,” Dalton said. “The guy next door said he thought he heard Chan’s cell door open around midnight. You have any video that would show that?”
“We should. Hold on a minute.” He went to his security monitors and punched some keys on his computer. “You said around midnight?”
“Yes. Let’s start around eleven and go forward.”
Banks brought up the video and fast forwarded until a guard appeared around eleven-thirty. He slowed the footage to actual time and they watched the guard saunter down the corridor. “He’s on rounds,” Banks said. “He’s passing William Chan’s cell now.” The guard kept going and disappeared around the corner farther down. Banks started fast forward again, and nobody appeared until 12:05 a.m., another guard going by Chan’s cell, except this time he stopped and backed up. He opened the cell door, went inside, and stayed only a minute or so before coming out.
“Is it customary for a guard to enter a cell alone?” Crook asked.
Banks shook his head. “No, but maybe he thought the guy needed help.”
Dalton nodded. “Who was the guard?”
“Let’s see,” Banks said, referring to a sheet on his desk. “That would be Otto Edwards. He comes on at midnight and works until eight. I didn’t see him when I got here this morning, so he must’ve left early.”
“He didn’t tell anybody anything about Chan?”
“Hmm, I need to look over last night’s report. I never got around to my email after making the 911 call.” He brought up his messages and found one from the night jailer. “Nothing unusual happened,” he said reading through it. “Except it Looks like Edwards didn’t stay
long after starting his shift. At 12:15 a.m. he sent a text to the jailer that he was sick and had to leave.”
Alarm bells chimed in Dalton’s head. “That was right after he went into Chan’s cell. Are guards allowed to leave without seeing a supervisor?”
“No, I’ll have to counsel him on that. Bob said he had to scramble to get somebody to take his shift.”
“Run the video back to when he appeared in the corridor and play it again, slo-mo.”
The jailer did as he asked. The guard in the footage had his back to the camera, and he wore a long-sleeved shirt and a cap with his uniform.
Dalton had a bad feeling. “Let’s see the video of him arriving for work.”
Banks stared for a moment, and then turned to a different monitor and brought up footage of the building entrance starting at 11:30. Three guards entered shortly before twelve. Once they had cleared the view, the man with the long sleeves and cap showed up at 12:03. He peered down as he used his card key on the lock, and his face was not visible under the brim of the cap. Upon entering, he stepped out of the camera’s view. When he returned a few minutes later and exited, he again turned his face away from the camera. The other guards had worn short sleeves and no cap. Dalton asked Banks about that.
Banks shrugged. “It can get pretty chilly in here at night with the air blasting, and some guards wear long sleeves. The cap is optional, unless the brass is around, and then everyone wears it.”
Dalton called Springer and asked him to send out the CSI team and the medical examiner.
Banks’ eyes widened. “You think Chan was murdered?”
“Yes, that’s what I think. I need Edwards’s address.” When the jailer gave it to him, he said, “Don’t let anybody go inside that cell except the CSIs and the ME.”
Dalton and Crook hurried out the door and drove to the residence of Otto Edwards. He lived in a mobile home only a mile or so from the jail. When they arrived, there were no vehicles present.
“Doesn’t look like he’s home,” Crook said.
They got out and went up the steps to the front stoop. The door stood ajar. Dalton glanced at his partner and they drew their weapons. Easing the door open with the toe of his shoe, Dalton called out, “Monroe County Sheriff. Is anybody in here?” No answer. He tried again and got the same result.