by Paul Carr
When he came to the video disks, Dalton inserted the first one into his computer. It was the one from the company that managed Riley Gunn’s security system. It started up and showed all the party attendees arriving and one car leaving. A tingle ran down the nape of his neck. He backed the footage up to where the housekeeper, Ana Kovich, had driven off, and froze the image of her vehicle. It looked a lot like the mystery car that had followed Edwards’s Chevy away from the jail. The camera on Gunn’s garage had captured a better view from the side of the vehicle as it exited the garage and drove away. He froze the image and printed it.
Crook stopped by. “You finish your reports?”
“Yeah, let me show you something.” He laid the printed sheet next to the one he had gotten from the tattoo parlor footage of the mystery car.
“That looks like the car. Who owns it?”
“Ana Kovich, Riley Gunn’s housekeeper. Let’s go check it out.”
She lived in a duplex two blocks off the Overseas Highway on Big Coppitt Key. One side of the building had a For Rent sign on it. The housekeeper’s car sat out front. As the two detectives climbed the steps to the porch, the door swung open. Kovich stood there, a look of shock on her face, holding the handle of a rolling suitcase.
“Looks like you’re going somewhere,” Dalton said.
“Yes, I don’t have much time.”
“We need to talk before you go.”
“I told you; I don’t have time.”
“You mind if we look inside your luggage?”
“No, you cannot. I have my rights.” She seemed like a different person from the meek woman who had cried as she spoke on the morning of Riley Gunn’s murder. Dalton pulled out his phone and called the watch commander. He asked him to send deputies to pick her up for questioning. When he got off the phone, she said, “I have to go home for an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?”
“My mother is sick. She lives in Ukraine.”
“We need to ask you some questions before you go. You need to bring your suitcase. When we finish, we’ll take you to the airport, and maybe you can still make your flight.” Dalton didn’t want anything to happen to the luggage before they got a search warrant.
She remained silent, a frown on her face, as a sheriff’s cruiser rolled up behind Crook’s car. A deputy got out and ushered Kovich and her luggage into the back seat. Dalton and Crook followed them as they drove away. When they reached the office, Dalton told the deputy to lock her in an interrogation room. “Turn on the video in case she calls anybody.” They prepared a search warrant for her home, luggage, automobile, and phone, and drove to the courthouse to find a judge.
An hour and ten minutes later, they returned and watched the video of her in the room. She stood a couple of times and tried the door knob, then knocked, but went back to her seat. Later she pulled out her phone, as if to call someone, but then turned it off and laid it down. Several minutes passed, and then she did the same thing again. This time she appeared to punch in a number, but before putting it to her ear, she turned it off. Other than fidgeting in her seat, there was no other activity.
They headed into the room and she jumped up from her chair. “You were gone so long. I need to leave right now to catch my plane.”
“Sit down,” Dalton said. “This’ll only take a few minutes.” He laid the printed automobile images from the tattoo parlor in front of her on the table.
“This picture of your car was shot early this morning. You were trailing this other car, which was stolen. The driver had just killed William Chan inside the jail. You followed him so you could give him a ride after he ditched the stolen car.”
Tears streamed down her face. “No, I did not.”
“Tell us who drove the other car. Things will go a lot better for you if you give him up.”
“But I don’t know what you mean.”
“We can charge you with felony murder. You don’t have to kill anybody for that; you just have to be along with someone who did. Felony murder carries a death penalty in Florida.”
Her eyes grew wide as she wiped tears. “I want a lawyer. I know my rights.”
“Sure. You have somebody in mind?”
“Yes. Mr. Douglas Vici.” No surprise there.
They waited while she called him. “He wants to speak to you,” she said to Dalton and handed him the phone.
“You can’t question her until I get there,” Vici said.
“You better get here in the next fifteen minutes, or your client will be headed to jail.”
When they hung up, Dalton laid the search warrant in front of her. “This is for your home, car, luggage, and phone.” After stretching on gloves, he picked up the suitcase, laid it on the table, and opened it up.
“My lawyer is coming. You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can.”
The only thing he saw inside was clothing, but he lifted the items and found stacks of cash underneath. A quick count totaled to $300 thousand. A couple of the stacks had smudges of blood on them. There didn’t appear to be any visible fingerprints in the blood, so he suspected the person handling it had worn gloves.
He wondered about her part in the plan. Did she open Riley’s safe for the killer? It would make sense that she could figure out the combination, having been there day in and day out. She could have watched her employer enter the code, or he could’ve written it down and she found it. Dalton held up one of the bound stacks for her to see the blood. She gasped, as if seeing it for the first time.
There was also a man’s Rolex watch in the bottom. It was in mint condition, and he knew it would be worth at least $30 thousand. Also in the bottom of the case were two pairs of gold cuff links and a man’s ring set with a diamond the size of a macadamia nut. All in all, a large fortune for a thieving housekeeper.
The items probably wouldn’t make it through customs at the airport. Her expired visa would likely be a problem too, but Dalton didn’t think she intended to fly to Ukraine. She probably just wanted to get out of town. He did wonder why she had waited, though, and if she and the killer had intended to meet somewhere.
A deputy opened the door and ushered Douglas Vici into the room. “What are you doing? You can’t go through her things.”
Crook handed him the warrant. He frowned as he read it while standing, and then dropped it on the table. “I need to speak with my client. In private.”
“Okay,” Dalton said. “Follow me.” Crook remained with the suitcase while he took them to another room. He asked a deputy to bring them back when they were ready.
The lawyer and his client returned a few minutes later and took a seat. “Ms. Kovich said you accused her of abetting a murderer,” Vici said. “Please describe what you think she has done.”
Dalton walked him through what had happened at the jail, and showed him the printed images of the vehicles. Vici gave him a smarmy smile. “Before I respond to your accusations, I’ll tell you right now that I plan to sue the county over William Chan’s death.”
“I don’t think so,” Dalton said. “Once we catch the man who committed the murder, I suspect you’ll be defending him. You can’t do both.”
Vici’s face reddened. He stared for a moment, then said, “As for your accusations, that picture doesn’t prove anything. There are many cars like it on the road. She said she didn’t do it, and you don’t have any proof that she did. You need to release her immediately.”
“I want to show you something.” Dalton picked up one of the stacks of cash that had the bloody smudge. “I believe this is Riley Gunn’s blood. She wouldn’t have this money if she wasn’t involved in his murder. She also has a number of personal items that I believe belonged to him. Mr. Gunn’s fingerprints will likely be found on them. I think she knew the combination to his safe and gave it to the killer. The items in that case probably represent her split.”
The lawyer just sat there, a steeled expression on his face.
“I need to see your phone,
” Dalton said to Kovich.
She turned to her lawyer, a questioning look on her face. He nodded, so she took it from her purse and slid it across the table. Dalton turned it on and checked the call history. There were incoming and outgoing calls to several different numbers over the past week. One number repeated several times, and a call was made to it at 8:30 p.m. the evening Riley Gunn was murdered. The conversation lasted less than a minute, and Dalton wondered if she was talking with the killer, maybe to tell him the safe was open, or to give him the combination.
Dalton held the phone up to Kovich. “Who did you talk with at this number?”
She frowned and leaned forward, as if to get a better look. “It was a friend. I had some car trouble, and he said he would fix it.”
Handing the phone to Crook, Dalton asked him to document the calls and numbers for the past week. He looked back at Kovich. “The DA might cut you a deal if you tell us the name of the killer.”
Vici shook his head. “Ms. Kovich doesn’t know anything about any murders. She told me that Mr. Gunn gave her the things you found in the suitcase.”
“You’re serious? That’s your defense? He gave her a fortune in cash and personal items?”
“Yes, he gave them to her. She said he used drugs and was very generous when he got high. All you have is circumstantial evidence. It won’t hold up in court. I suggest you release Ms. Kovich and save yourself a lot of disappointment.”
Crook finished with the phone and Dalton gave it back to Kovich. He knew a slick lawyer like Vici could be convincing in court, and she might go free. Though pretty certain she had abetted the killer, he thought arresting her might not be the way to go at the present. “All right, she’s free to go for now. We’re closing in on the murderer, though, and if she doesn’t give him up before we bring him in, there won’t be any deals.”
Vici gave him a smug smile. “She can’t give you information she doesn’t have.” Turning to his client he said, “Let’s go. I’ll take you home.” He stood and reached for the suitcase.
Dalton shook his head. “The suitcase stays here until we examine the blood.”
The lawyer opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. He and Ana Kovich headed for the door.
Dalton said, “Be careful, Ms. Kovich. Two people who could’ve named the killer have died within the span of two days. But I suppose if you really don’t know who he is, you should be okay.”
The former housekeeper’s eyes widened, as if she hadn’t thought that far ahead. He guessed that her case contained everything she owned of any value, and without cash to leave town, she would be a sitting duck. She turned and hurried out the door ahead of Vici.
“I’ll usher them out,” Crook said to Dalton.
Before he got out the door, Dalton went over and said, “How about taking the warrant and go ahead and give her home and car the once-over.” Crook agreed, and Dalton asked a deputy to step in while he called Tarver to send someone over and inventory the suitcase.
Dalton had hoped Kovich would squeal, but he wasn’t surprised. Since her visa had expired, he made a mental note to check with ICE and see if they would be interested in her case. A threat of deportment might give her a change of heart, and it might even save her life.
A member of Tarver’s team came in and went over the contents of the case. She counted the cash, documented the presence of the other items, and took photos. Dalton watched, and he and the deputy signed off as witnesses before she took the case with her. On his way to his desk, his phone rang. Caller ID indicated it was the hospital, and when he answered a nurse told him Otto Edwards had regained consciousness.
He drove to the hospital and found Edwards in a recovery room inside the ER. The deputies stood directly outside with cups of coffee. He asked one of them to get the doctor for him. Inside, Edwards was awake.
The detective introduced himself. “We found you in the trunk of your vehicle. Can you tell me what happened?”
“A guy slugged me while I was in the shower.” He stared out the open doorway at nurses and doctors who passed by, his eyelids droopy.
“Do you remember anything else?”
“I think I was out for a while, but then I woke up wondering where I was and pulled myself out of the tub. I stumbled into the bedroom. The guy had his back to me, putting on the uniform I had laid out on the bed. When he turned around, I hit him. It connected, because I saw a string of blood fly from his nose.” He lifted his right hand, formed a fist, and inspected his knuckles. They didn’t appear to be cut, but one of them looked swollen and had dried blood on it.
Dalton called Tarver and asked him to send someone over to swab blood from Edward’s hands. As he hung up, the ER doctor came to the doorway and motioned for Dalton to come outside.
They exited the room, and the doctor said, “His blood contained a high concentration of a narcotic. He could easily have died from it. As I told you in the ER, the head wound was not serious, and I think he’ll be fine in a day or two. We’ll let you know if there’s any change. I have to get back.” He turned and hurried away.
Back in the room Dalton said, “The doc told me you’re going to be okay. Let’s get back to what happened when you slugged the guy.”
“He must’ve hit me again, because the next thing I know, I’m on the floor and he’s sticking a needle in my arm. Everything is a blank after that, until a few minutes ago when I woke up.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“I know he was big, about my size, and had dark hair. It must’ve been long, because it was gathered on top like a man bun.” He stared out the door again, and his eyelids drooped, as if he might dose off.
“Anything else you can tell me about him?” Dalton asked. “I think this is the same guy who murdered at least four people, and you’re lucky he didn’t get you, too.”
That seemed to wake him up. His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been trying to remember. There was something familiar about his face, like I might’ve seen him somewhere.”
“He used your ID card to get inside the jail and murder a detainee. Knowledge of the layout at the facility would have helped him do that. You think he could’ve been a past detainee at the jail?”
“Maybe. There’ve been so many, it’s hard to say.” His last words were slurred. A few seconds later his eyes eased shut and he began snoring.
Dalton waited for the CSI to arrive and swab the blood sample from Edwards’s hand. As he left the room, he told the two deputies to be alert for anyone going into the room. “Once the guy who put him here knows he’s alive, he might come back to finish the job.”
“Don’t worry,” one of the deputies said, “we’ve got it covered.”
On his way back to the office, he called Crook, who was parked down the street from Kovich’s residence. He said, “I didn’t find anything significant in the house or the car. The lawyer stayed until I was finished, and he left when I did. I thought I’d watch the place for a while, in case somebody came by for a visit.”
“Why don’t you get some deputies to do that and have them alert us if anybody shows up.”
“Roger that. I’ll see you back at the office. Oh, yeah, while I was waiting, I called Randy Teal, the technician, and asked him to research that number from the housekeeper’s phone.”
“Good. Maybe it’ll lead somewhere.”
When Dalton got back to his desk, he searched for a database of detainees at the jail. It took a few minutes, but he found it, and sorted the names by date. He went back three months and scanned the names each day going forward. There were more than he expected. Most were charged with public drunkenness, disturbing the peace, brawling, or domestic violence, and a small percentage were in for more serious crimes. When Crook returned, he told him what he was doing and asked him to check the previous three months.
The going was slow. He had gone through about half the names an hour later, and hadn’t recognized any of them. His desk phone rang, and he answered.
“Is this Michael Dalton, the detective?”
“Yes, can I help you?”
“This is Bobby Carson. You were over at my house a couple of days ago, talking about the two men that murdered that man around the block.”
The retired autoworker with the flamingos in the yard. “Yes, Mr. Carson, I remember. What can I do for you?”
“I told you the big fella had a tattoo, and I think I know what it was.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I bought a magazine with pictures of tattoos, and I’m pretty sure the one on that guy was a Celtic cross. I’m looking at it right now, and I think it’s the same one.”
Dalton told him he would drop by and take a look at the picture. They hung up, and he wondered if the old guy really knew what he had seen that night. He searched for Celtic cross tattoos on the computer and lots of them popped up, but there was a similarity in all the images: each had a circle surrounding the intersection of the cross pieces. It appeared to be a common tattoo.
Crook hurried over to his desk. “Hey, a bunch of guys got locked up about five months ago for participating in a bar fight. Two of the names jumped out at me: Jimmy Earl and Colin Casey.”
Chapter 16
Dalton printed photos of Earl, Casey, and the three other men who had been jailed for the brawl. He and Crook headed to the hospital. Edwards had been transferred to a private room.
“Everything okay?” Dalton asked one of the deputies outside the room.
The deputy nodded. “Quiet as a mouse.”
The two detectives went in and found Edwards sitting up in bed, flipping channels on the TV with the remote.
“You must be feeling better,” Dalton said.