After clearing the main living area, they continued down a hallway that ran the length of the apartment. The first door on the right was the bathroom. Empty. At the far end of the hall were two doors opposite each other. The door on the left was closed, the other stood open. Byron stepped into the room on the right while Stevens remained in the hall, her gun trained on the closed door. Byron could tell that room had most likely been Collins’s bedroom, now relegated to a storage/workout room following her departure. A silver-and-black elliptical machine stood in front of a small flat-screen television. After clearing both the room and the closet, Byron returned to the hallway. Training his gun on the closed door, he gave a silent nod to Stevens. She reached out and turned the knob then shoved the door open. The door banged loudly against the wall. Byron did a quick peek into the darkened bedroom. The shades were drawn, and the air was cool. The dull whir of a window-mounted air conditioner was the only sound. They entered, checking the closet and under the bed before securing their weapons. Byron used his phone’s flashlight to make a slow sweep of the room. The bed was unmade, and standing beside it was an ironing board, from which several items of women’s clothing hung. On the opposite side of the bed was a painted wooden bureau. Several drawers stood open with clothes spilling out. On top of the bureau sat a laptop computer, plugged in and charging.
“Looks like my place,” Stevens said, breaking the silent tension.
Byron killed the flashlight app then punched up the speed dial. “Nuge, we’re clear in here.”
“You got a scene?” Nugent asked.
“No,” Byron said. “I don’t think it happened here.”
Byron was on the phone with Pelligrosso as the two detectives exited the apartment building. “You back at the lumberyard yet?”
“Just heading there from 109 now,” Pelligrosso said. “You need me for something else?”
“We just searched Faherty’s Brackett Street apartment. There are no obvious signs of foul play here. I’m gonna need you to confirm her prints before we go any further.”
“Give me the address, and I’ll be right there.”
It took another half hour for Pelligrosso to photograph everything inside the apartment and to lift prints that matched the ones he’d taken from the corpse.
“We’re positive that the body we recovered this morning is Danica Faherty?” Byron asked Pelligrosso.
“We are. I lifted matching prints from the kitchen counter and from the hairbrush in the bathroom.”
Byron frowned, knowing that Pelligrosso’s confirmation meant he was now left with the unenviable task of notifying Destiny Collins of her friend’s death.
Byron turned to Nugent. “Did Collins say anything that might shine a light on what happened to Faherty? Like who we should be looking at?”
“You mean besides the Horseman?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe,” Nugent said.
“Maybe?” Byron asked.
“Ex-boyfriend,” Nugent said, pausing to flip open his notebook. “Name’s Morgan Bates. Collins said Faherty broke up with him about six months ago.”
“She say why?” Stevens asked.
“No. But she did say that Bates continued hanging around even after the breakup.”
“Like a stalker?” Stevens said.
“Like maybe he didn’t get the message,” Nugent said.
Byron cut in. “Nuge, I want you to stay here and give Gabe a hand. When you’ve finished with the apartment let’s tow her car to the basement of 109. I want it impounded until we know for sure whether it was used as part of the crime.”
“You got it.”
“Anything else you want us to take?” Pelligrosso said.
“Yeah, grab the laptop from the bureau in her bedroom. I want Tran to go through it. And let’s install our own padlocks on the front and rear doors to this apartment. I want the option of coming back.”
“I used up our supply of padlocks at the lumberyard this morning,” Pelligrosso said. “Murph should be in the lab by now. I’ll have him swing out and buy some if you’re okay with that.”
“Do it,” Byron said. He turned to Stevens. “You ready?”
“Not really. But I guess someone’s gotta do it.”
They were halfway to the door when Byron stopped and turned back to Nugent. “Do a knock and talk with some of the neighbors before you go, too. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“I’ll take care of it, boss.”
“One more thing, Nuge. Get on the horn and find out where the hell your new partner is. He can help with the canvass.”
Byron sat at the kitchen table with Destiny Collins, while Stevens kept the advocate occupied in the next room. Collins was staring blankly at a framed color photograph of Faherty and weeping. The smiling blue-eyed woman depicted in the photo was vibrant and full of life, nothing like the abandoned corpse they had recovered only hours earlier.
“When was that picture taken?” Byron asked, speaking as gently as he could, hoping to establish a bit of rapport.
“Last summer,” Collins said. “We spent the day in Cape Elizabeth, at Two Lights State Park. Just the two of us. Dani was—so happy.”
“Destiny, I know this is hard for you,” Byron said. “But it’s important that we gather as much information as possible. The more we know about Dani and her routine the better. Do you understand?”
She nodded and grabbed another tissue from the large box on the table and blew her nose loudly. “Can you tell me how she died?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t share the details with you.”
Byron was only too happy to spare Ms. Collins the horror, at least for now.
“Had Dani been seeing anyone?” Byron asked.
“I think so.”
“Do you know who?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
Byron lifted a brow. “I’d have thought that was something she’d share with you. The two of you being so close.”
“I think she had her reasons for not telling me.”
“Any idea what those reasons might have been?”
“No, not really. Whoever it was, I think she started seeing him about five or six months ago, right after she broke up with Morgan.”
“Morgan?”
“Morgan Bates, her previous boyfriend. I told the other detective about him.”
Byron wondered if maybe the mystery relationship hadn’t begun after the breakup, but before. “And Dani broke up with him?”
“Yeah, but Morgan never really went away. I don’t think he could accept that it was over.”
“How long were they together?”
“About a year, I guess. Morgan used to tend bar at Alessandro’s, the restaurant she works at—” Her voice hitched in mid-sentence. “Worked at.”
“He used to tend bar there?”
“I think he was fired.”
“Any idea why?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I think he might have gotten into it with one of his bosses.”
“Do you know why Dani and Morgan split up?”
Destiny paused a moment before answering. She appeared to be choosing her words carefully. “Let’s just say Morgan has a temper.”
“Was he ever violent with Dani? Or threatening?”
Collins hesitated before answering. “Only once.”
Chapter 7
Wednesday, 3:45 p.m.,
July 12, 2017
Byron spent the next twenty minutes gathering additional information on Faherty and Bates. He excused himself after receiving an urgent text from Diane Joyner and stepped outside to call her.
Sergeant Diane Joyner had been the Portland Police Department’s public relations spokesperson for nearly a year. Previously, she had been a part of Byron’s Crimes Against Persons Unit in CID and a valuable partner on homicide cases. Tall, beautiful, and tough talking, she had moved to Maine from New York after being hired by the Portland Police Department, quickly rising to the rank of detective. The attractio
n between Byron and Diane had been mutual, but neither had acted on it, at least not until Byron’s ex-wife, Kay, officially served him with divorce papers. And like most workplace romances, theirs had been one of 109’s worst-kept secrets.
Byron pressed the speed dial for Diane’s number on his cell. She answered on the first ring.
“Let me guess,” Byron said before she could speak. “Billingslea has been sniffing around our body.”
“Worse,” Diane said. “He knows about the decapitation.”
“Goddammit.”
Byron had known that it would only be a matter of time before someone leaked the information to the press, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. He only hoped the leak hadn’t come from inside 109.
“So much for keeping a lid on this,” he said. “Tell me he doesn’t know her identity at least.”
“If he does, he didn’t let on. He’s still referring to her as Jane Doe.”
Davis Billingslea, while technically the Portland Herald’s police beat reporter, spent most of his time snooping around and generally mucking up CID’s investigations. Delusions of grandeur trumped whatever common sense the young reporter possessed. Byron knew what Billingslea would do with the headless angle, and it wouldn’t be good. If he reported on the crime’s similarity to the Boston cases, public pressure would mount quickly, an invitation for all the crazies to come crawling from the woodwork. The false leads would increase CID’s workload exponentially. The last thing any of them needed was for the meddling reporter to control the direction of their investigation. Byron had to slow Billingslea down.
“Any chance you can get him to back off?” Byron said. “At least until after we notify her family?” Byron asked.
“So, you have positively identified her?”
“Yeah. Danica Faherty. I’m speaking with her former roommate now.”
Byron’s cell chimed with an incoming text message from Pelligrosso. “Hang on a sec. I got a text from Gabe.”
The message read: Finished at apartment, locks in place, car secured, heading to lumberyard with Murph.
“Anything new?” Diane asked, pulling him back into the conversation.
“No, just an update. Can you get Mr. Fourth Estate to back off, or not?”
“I’ll do my best, but you should know Chief Lynds is planning to hold a press conference tomorrow morning.”
“Of course she is.”
Byron knew that the chief would want to get out in front of this case. Lynds’s career aspirations, whatever they might be, might be irrevocably damaged if she remained silent and this case did turn out to be connected to the Horseman killings.
“Okay,” Byron said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Talk later?”
“Yup.”
Before Byron could return the phone to his coat, it rang with an incoming call from Lieutenant LeRoyer. No doubt seeking an update. Byron pressed Ignore, pocketed the phone, and stepped back inside.
Diane had just finished the call with Byron and was about to check voicemail when someone rapped on the open door to her office. Chief Pamela Lynds stood in the doorway.
“Chief,” Diane said.
“Got a second?” Lynds asked.
“Of course.” Diane returned the handset to its cradle and rose from her chair. “Your office?”
Lynds gestured with her hand for Diane to remain seated. “Thought we might speak here.”
“All right,” Diane said, returning to her seat.
Lynds entered the room and closed the door. “A bit less formal than my office.” She slid the visitor’s chair away from the wall and spun it to face Diane’s desk then sat down. “It sounds as though the media circus has begun.”
Diane cocked her head to one side, not completely understanding the comment.
Lynds grinned. “Couldn’t help but overhear part of your phone conversation.”
“Ah. One of the local reporters knows about the missing head.”
“Billingslea?”
“The one and only.”
“At a minimum, if he goes public with the headless angle, I’ll be forced to mention the unusual nature of this case at tomorrow’s press briefing.”
“Of course.”
“Well, I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll come straight to the point. Sergeant Peterson’s impending retirement has caught us all by surprise. A large hole to fill in CID.”
Diane nodded. “He’s held that position quite a while.”
“I couldn’t help notice that you haven’t submitted your name for consideration. You are aware that the deadline is next Monday, right?”
“I am.”
“May I ask why you haven’t thrown your hat into the ring?” Lynds asked.
“Well—”
“Does this have anything to do with your personal relationship with Sergeant Byron?”
Diane hesitated a moment before answering. Was she hearing the chief correctly? Was this an offer to return to CID as a sergeant? If so, it was precisely what she wanted. What she had dreamed of in fact. The detective sergeant position was the only reason she had accepted the stripes in the first place. But was she ready? She hated the constant feeling of instability that came with promotions, yet somehow she had arrived at another career crossroad. Leaving NYPD to come to Maine had been difficult but necessary. And her personal involvement with John had bordered on irresponsible, at least while she had worked directly under him. But now they were equals, at least insofar as the command staff was concerned.
“That may be one of the reasons,” Diane said at last. “Personal relationships within the same unit have always been frowned upon.”
“And yet they still occur, don’t they?” Lynds said. “They certainly happened in Hartford.”
Diane said nothing, waiting to see where the chief was headed and wondering if Lynds spoke from personal experience.
“Diane, I’m not one to stand on principle simply for tradition’s sake. Hell, if law enforcement stayed true to its traditions neither of us would even be working here, would we? The good ole’ boys club would still be open for business.”
“I guess that’s true,” Diane said.
“You know it is.”
Diane nodded her agreement.
Lynds leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if someone else was present. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m far too progressive to let a little thing like a personal relationship stand in the way of promoting my most qualified candidate for detective sergeant.”
Diane paused. She had to tread carefully here. Was this a test? She didn’t know the chief well enough to hazard a guess as to what angle she was working. But one thing was obvious, Lynds didn’t give much thought to the chain of command, at least not in the downward direction.
“Who says I’m the most qualified?” Diane asked.
Lynds sat back in her chair. “Lieutenant Marty LeRoyer for one. Your investigative experience for another. Both here and in New York.”
Lynds had been checking up on her. “But this isn’t just a detective’s position,” Diane countered. “It’s a detective supervisor. I haven’t supervised anyone yet.”
“So, what you’re actually saying is that you’re worried others will say you haven’t paid your dues.”
Diane hated to admit it, but that’s exactly what she was afraid of. As the department’s public relations sergeant, she hadn’t supervised a thing. No one answered to her. Her job was to simply try and control the flow of information to the media. Most days she barely felt like a police officer, much less a sergeant.
Lynds continued, “As I understand it, the Bubble Up robbery, and the aftermath with Officer Haggerty, was one of the worst things to happen to this department in years. When everything went to hell, who did the department turn to for help in solving the case?”
Diane remained silent. It was obvious that the chief had done her homework. Just as obvious was what she wanted.
“Lieutenant LeRoyer tells me t
hat you grabbed hold of that case with both hands and made it happen.”
“I had help.”
Lynds continued, ignoring the comment. “You stepped up, supervising your former colleagues in CID, in the middle of a major crisis and got the job done.”
Diane studied Lynds’s face but remained silent.
“Sounds to me like you’ve already paid your dues, Sergeant,” Lynds said.
Neither woman spoke for a moment, but Lynds held her gaze, making Diane mildly uncomfortable.
“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Lynds said as she rose and replaced the chair to its former location. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
Diane stood as well. “Thank you, Chief.”
Lynds opened the door to the hallway then stopped and turned. “Just think about it, okay?”
“I will.”
After obtaining next-of-kin information from Dustin Tran, Byron directed Nugent to contact the Richmond, Virginia Police Department in whose jurisdiction Faherty’s parents resided. Long-distance death notifications were the worst, but having the local authorities make the notification in person was far better than a phone call from some out-of-state cop, from an equally unfamiliar police department. Byron departed from Collins’s condo solo while Stevens remained behind to continue the interview in the hopes that they might garner some additional information. It was time to track down Dani Faherty’s ex-boyfriend, Morgan Bates.
According to Destiny Collins, Bates now worked full-time for Custom Coastal, a Portland-based construction company known for building high-end homes. Byron was familiar with the builder, although he wasn’t sure what constituted high-end. Based solely on the glossy magazine ads that he had seen, high-priced seemed more accurate. Collins had said she believed Bates was currently working on a new subdivision near Falmouth, somewhere off Route 9.
Within Plain Sight Page 5
