by Paul Carr
Dalton rolled him over and cuffed his wrists behind his back. After collecting the dropped handgun, he started the engine and nudged the boat back to the dock. He tied a line and strode out to see where the other man had gone. One of the deputies had him handcuffed a few feet from shore, so he disembarked and went over.
“Where’s the other guy?” the deputy asked.
“He’s unconscious.”
“Thomas is holding the woman at the house. We’ll take them and bring a cruiser down the driveway for your guy on the boat.”
When he and the bound man stepped away, Dalton called Springer and told him what had happened. “We need the coroner for the dead man.” He hung up, went back to the shore, and thanked the deputies on the boat. “They would’ve gotten away if you two hadn’t blocked them in.”
“Glad to help,” one of them said. “Looks like you have things under control, so we’re gonna head back if it’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
They backed up and cut an arc into the center of the channel headed back toward the marina. A couple of minutes later, the sound of a boat engine rumbled from somewhere in the channel. Dalton wondered if the deputies were returning, but as the boat neared, it sounded more like a powerful inboard. His pulse ratcheted up when he saw the silhouette of the craft approaching the shore. Wishing he hadn’t let the deputies go, he splashed his Maglite on the approaching hull. It looked like a Cigarette boat, and there were two men aboard. The light reflected off something shiny, maybe a weapon. Dalton lunged behind a tree trunk as a man aboard fired a shot. It hit the tree, peppering the side of his face with chunks of bark. He doused the light.
The craft nudged up to the far side of the stolen boat, and a man leaped aboard. The shooter on the Cigarette fired again. It went wild, hitting a tree close by. Bracing his gun hand against the tree trunk, Dalton splashed his Maglite on him and pulled the trigger. The man fell back, and Dalton raced to the dock as a man dragged a still unconscious Sheffield across the deck of the boat. When he saw Dalton nearing, he dropped Sheffield and reached for his gun.
“Don’t do it. I already shot your partner. You bring out that weapon and you’ll be as dead as he is.” The man stopped and seemed to consider his options, but only for a second or two. He turned, jumped onto the Cigarette, and throttled the engine. It sounded like a race car as it rose onto a plane and sped away.
Chapter 18
Dalton retrieved Sheffield’s suitcase from the stolen boat. Inside were clothing, phones, a laptop, and a flash drive. He took the case to his car and then followed the cruisers to the detention center where he booked the men, Sheffield on a murder charge, and the man who drove the stolen boat for grand theft, aiding and abetting. Ana Kovich was guilty of something, though he was still unsure what, so he booked her as a co-conspirator to the Riley Gunn murder.
On his way to the office, Lola Ann called. “You catch my program?” she asked.
“No, I was pretty busy. You put Sheffield’s picture on the tube?”
“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You were right: the producer loved getting first dibs. You still owe me, though.”
“Okay, I have another one for you. We arrested Sheffield for the murder, along with two other people trying to escape with him.” He gave her some of the details.
****
It was two in the morning by the time Dalton logged the suitcase and handguns in as evidence and finished writing his report. He sent it in an email to Springer, Sheriff Diaz, Crook, and Connie Duval in the prosecutor’s office. Another email to Tarver requested a ballistics comparison for the handguns with the rounds that killed Gunn and Hess. A few minutes later he left for home.
The marina was quiet when he got to his cottage, and sleep took him a few minutes after falling into bed. He awoke a few hours later to Cupcake purring next to his bed. It sounded like a faraway boat motor. The cat wanted his breakfast, so Dalton rose and fed him.
He went out the cottage door at ten and saw that Eric had pastries and coffee on the deck. Nodding to his uncle, who was busy talking to some guests, he picked up a cup of brew and a bear claw, and headed for his car.
“Hey, you in a hurry?” Eric asked.
Dalton stopped and turned. “I had a late night and have to get back to it.”
“You get your man yet?”
“I think so. He’s in a cell now.”
“Who is it?” one of the guests asked.
“It’ll be on the news,” Dalton said.
At the office, he passed Crook sitting at his desk looking hung over. “I read your report. Guess you didn’t need me after all.” He sounded miffed.
Shrugging, Dalton said, “It all went down so fast, you wouldn’t have had time to get there.” He should have stayed around a little longer, instead of going off to play his guitar, if he was actually interested. “How’d your gig go?”
“Okay, I guess. Not many of our fans showed up. Not sure we’ll go back there after this week.”
Dalton just nodded, went on to his desk, and checked his email. None from Tarver. He called and asked about DNA from the Edwards scene.
“I don’t have anything yet, and it should be here by now. I’ll give them a call.”
Dalton didn’t like the sound of that. It could be a snag of some kind. “What about the prints you mentioned in the mobile home and the car?”
“Sorry, all the prints belonged to Edwards.”
When they hung up, Dalton went back to his email. The sheriff had sent one asking if the prosecutor’s office was on board with the arrest, so Dalton called Connie Duval.
“I read your report,” Duval said. “You have hard evidence on this guy?”
“I’m waiting on DNA from the jail guard’s home. As I mentioned in my report, there was blood on the wall that might belong to Sheffield.”
“I figured Chan’s killer was part of his distribution network.”
“Well, Sheffield was a distributor, but he killed William Chan because he could finger him on the Gunn murder.” He told her what had happened with the jail guard, how the Redgunn band member had slugged and drugged him. “Sheffield used Edwards’s ID and uniform to gain access to the detention center so he could kill Chan.”
“You said in your report that Edwards identified Sheffield from a photo. You think that’s reliable after what he went through?”
“I think it’s solid. He picked him out from several others.”
Duval sighed. “Okay, so far it sounds iffy. You need that DNA. Gotta go. I have a court date.” She hung up.
It sounded like Duval could back away without the blood work. He prepared a warrant for Sheffield’s condo, the suitcase contents, his vehicle, and a DNA swab. Within a couple of hours, he had a judge’s signature on it. He got Sheffield’s keys from the evidence room, and he and Crook headed out for the search. After finding nothing of value at the condo, they went back to examine the suitcase contents.
They collected the case from the evidence room, took it to Crook’s desk, and checked the phones first. There were two, and neither had password protection. One belonged to Riley Gunn, the other to Wilbur Hess. Gunn’s phone only reinforced what they had learned from his carrier: he had called Hess several times the night of his murder, and had called other unidentified numbers in the previous weeks. Hess’s phone had lots of different numbers in its call history. Customers? Dalton suspected the numbers would be dead ends. Neither device appeared to contain any texts, documents or photos about the murders. Dalton assumed Sheffield had taken them only as a precaution, or maybe so nobody would have access to the trail of illegal drug activity.
The laptop had belonged to Gunn. It contained a spreadsheet document with entries that appeared to be drug related: dealer names, dates, drug quantities, and dollar amounts. It included Hess’s name, and Crook recognized a couple of names as movers and shakers in the Key West entertainment field. There were no indications that the computer had ever been connected to the interne
t. It seemed of little value in identifying his murderer, but the DEA would find it interesting.
Crook plugged the flash drive from the suitcase into his computer. “I only see one file here. It’s a video.”
Dalton moved over to the monitor so he could watch. The video opened with a scene of an Asian woman lying on a bed, her eyes open, staring. What appeared to be blood covered the side of her face and a large spot on the bed. She lay very still, as if dead. Then the camera lens panned to Riley Gunn, who lay on the floor. His eyes were closed, and he had what appeared to be blood on his shirt and hands. Dalton said, “This must be the scene Jimmy Earl told me about that Gunn had described to him. That looks like blood, but it could have been staged. I think they wanted to get their hooks into him. He probably knew a lot of rich people who used drugs. A perfect setup for a distributor.”
As if listening in, Marilyn Coe rang his cell phone. “I heard you made an arrest last night.”
“That’s right. Alan Sheffield. He played guitar in the Redgunn band. I’m pretty sure he killed Riley Gunn and William Chan.”
“So he’s the one in the video from William Chan’s limo that you couldn’t see?”
“Yes.”
“We need to interview him.”
Dalton had been bracing for that request. He knew the DEA might take Sheffield away if he couldn’t produce hard evidence of his guilt for the murders.
“He’s at the jail. I want to be present if you talk to him.”
She paused before saying, “I’ll let my supervisor know,” and then hung up.
Tarver called a few minutes later. “The lab can’t find the blood sample we submitted. They have it logged in, but it’s missing.”
Dalton wondered if sabotage might be involved. “Do they think it was just misplaced?”
“Well, they don’t know. They’re looking for it.”
This wasn’t working out as planned. “Do you have enough blood for another sample?”
Tarver sighed. “Maybe. I’ll take a look.” They hung up.
“Bad news?” Crook asked. He told him.
Crook said, “They could go back to the mobile home and get more, if Edwards hasn’t cleaned it up.”
“Yeah, good idea.” He phoned Edwards and asked about the blood spatter.
“I couldn’t stand all the blood.” the jail guard said. “I washed it off the wall.”
When he hung up, Crook must have read his face. “No dice, huh?”
“No.”
Springer walked up and said to Dalton, “I read your report. Did you get the DNA you were waiting for?”
Dalton told him the situation.
“Huh. That means you don’t have much on him. What, stealing a boat and resisting arrest?”
The lieutenant made it sound trivial.
“He tried to kill me.”
Springer gave him a grin. Actually, more of a smirk. “Okay, his lawyer called, and he wants a meeting, right away.”
“Let me guess, Douglas Vici?”
“You got it. Call him and set it up.” He strode away.
“I think he wants us to be wrong,” Crook said, “the way he pushed you to arrest Jimmy Earl.”
Dalton just nodded and they went back to the suitcase. “What about these?” Crook said, holding a pair athletic shoes. “Didn’t Tarver find tread prints from shoes like these at the rear of Blake Owen’s house.”
Dalton had forgotten about that. “Yeah, good catch, Buddy. We need to get them to Tarver so he can see if there’s a match.”
Crook took the shoes and stepped away. While he was gone, Dalton called Vici and set up the meeting for a half-hour later. He went back to his desk and read over his case notes. In the beginning, Richele gave Sheffield an alibi for the Gunn murder. She later said she couldn’t say for sure whether or not he was there all night because she passed out. That didn’t mean he killed Gunn. It just meant she didn’t know. She later told Dalton that Sheffield had questioned her about Otto Edwards the night of the William Chan murder. Vici could probably explain that away. According to phone records, Sheffield had been in contact with Ana Kovich the night of the murder. Vici might say they were having an affair.
Dalton closed his notes feeling even worse about his case. They had to have the DNA, and that was beginning to look like a long shot.
He and Crook arrived at the detention center a few minutes early and proceeded to an interview room indicated by the jailer. Vici and Sheffield were already there, seated on the far side of the table.
The two detectives took a seat facing them, and Dalton said. “Okay, we’re recording this meeting.” He flipped the switch for the video to begin and described who was in attendance. “So, counselor, what do you want to talk about?”
Vici cleared his throat and said, “I wanted to let you know that I’m preparing a wrongful arrest suit against you and the sheriff’s office.”
“Wrongful arrest? On what grounds?”
“Mr. Sheffield and his friends were enjoying a leisurely evening at a cabin where his grandfather had once lived. You arrived at the cabin, harassed them, and made wild accusations. When they tried to leave, attempting to avoid further harassment, you fired your weapon at them. They fired back only to defend themselves. Your charges are false, and I believe a judge will agree with me.”
Dalton leaned back in his chair. He had expected as much. “We have evidence that your client attacked a detention center guard at his home, rendering him unconscious. He then dressed in the guard’s uniform and used his identification card to gain access to the detention center where he murdered William Chan.”
Sheffield said, “Hey, man, I didn’t do that. I play guitar in a successful band. I don’t attack people, and I haven’t killed anybody.”
Vici patted his hand. Sheffield glanced at him, took a deep breath, and didn’t speak further. Smiling, the lawyer said, “What is this evidence you claim to have?”
“Blood DNA. In the course of the attack, the victim, Otto Edwards, struck Sheffield, spattering his blood on the wall. A comparison will prove your client was the attacker.”
The smile still in place, Vici said, “Well, I don’t believe you have that evidence. If you release Mr. Sheffield within the next hour, we will consider not filing the wrongful arrest suit.”
“We also have other evidence. Inside your client’s suitcase, we found a phone, a laptop computer, and a flash drive, all of which belonged to Riley Gunn.”
“Ana put those things in my suitcase,” Sheffield said. “They weren’t mine.”
Vici nodded. “Ms. Kovich told me she took the items when she found Mr. Gunn dead. She said he gave her the combination for his safe and instructed her to clear it out if anything ever happened to him.”
“I don’t buy that, and no judge or jury will, either,” Dalton said.
“Well, we’ll see.”
So, they had gotten to the former housekeeper. Maybe paid her to take the blame, promising to get her off without prison time. He had to hand it to Vici; he was pretty clever. Probably had a lot of experience helping crooks squirm out of bad situations.
“The murder charge stands,” Dalton said.
“Very well. I will request a bond hearing and proceed with the lawsuit.” Vici and Sheffield stood to leave.
“Hold on,” Crook said. “We need a DNA swab.”
The lawyer shook his head. “Sorry, you’ll have to get a warrant for that.”
Crook pulled the warrant from his notebook and laid it on the table.
Vici looked it over and chuckled. “Okay, take your swab. It won’t do you any good.”
They got the sample and a guard outside took Sheffield away.
The lawyer’s apparent confidence didn’t set well with Dalton. He wondered if he knew something about what had happened to the blood sample. No, that would just be paranoia edging its way into his thinking. The sample would show up. It had to.
It didn’t show up. Tarver called again late in the day. The lab had apol
ogized, but they still couldn’t find the sample. Dalton headed home, the thought of sabotage again on his mind.
****
The next morning Tarver stood at Dalton’s desk. “I sent a courier to the lab with the remainder of the blood. There wasn’t much, but probably enough. I don’t know what happened. It isn’t like the lab to lose evidence. They know how important it is. What’s the status of your case?”
“Sheffield has a bond hearing at ten.”
Tarver shook his head. “Sorry about the delay. I’ll let you know as soon as I get results from the second sample.”
Dalton and Crook went to the courthouse for the hearing and sat in the back of the room. The defendant wore a suit and tie. He appeared innocent and repentant. When the judge got to Sheffield’s case, Vici told him that Dalton had harassed his client, who had fired his handgun only in self-defense. “Detective Dalton has it in for Mr. Sheffield. He wants to railroad him for this crime because he can’t come up with the actual murderer. The detective has yet to provide any clear evidence against Mr. Sheffield.”
Connie Duval objected. “Your honor, we’re not here for the trial.”
The judge said, “That’s correct. Mr. Vici. Do you want to request bond, or not?”
Vici gave him a solemn nod. “Yes, sorry, your honor. I got carried away.”
The lawyer had made his point for the judge and Duval to hear, and was probably giggling to himself. He proceeded to argue for a small bond, claiming his client as upstanding, stable, and not a flight risk.
After a minute or so, the judge cut him off, “All right, Mr. Vici. Bond is set at $100,000.” He rapped the gavel and stood to leave.
Sheffield gave Dalton a wink as they passed and went out the door. Connie Duval approached with a frown. “We have to talk.” She watched as everyone filed out and then turned to Dalton. “What about what he said about you trying to railroad Sheffield because you can’t find the killer?”
Dalton and Crook both denied any bias, other than what the evidence had shown. She didn’t seem convinced, but nodded and began walking away. Over her shoulder, she said, “You better get the DNA.”