“One hundred percent. Merrill told me the manufacturer of those GPS units guarantees the location accuracy to within three feet in any direction.”
“Nice catch, Mel.”
“But wait,” Stevens said, amping up her tone to mimic a game show host. “There’s more. Ten years ago, Craig Hopkins had a charge of unlawful sexual contact filed against him in Massachusetts.”
“S.I. had to have done a background check on him, right?” Byron said. “How would they miss something as serious as a sexual assault?”
“Hopkins’s history doesn’t appear in NCIC. Massachusetts is one of the states that doesn’t always report to the feds. Besides, he was only a juvie at the time. Seventeen.”
“How did you get it?” Byron asked.
“Oh, I have connections, Sarge. One of my ex-girlfriends works intel for the Mass State Police.”
“What happened to the case?”
“Evidently, the victim’s family decided not to follow through. Maybe they were trying to avoid embarrassment for their child. What do you want to do about Hopkins?”
“Bring him in.”
Byron had just pocketed the phone when it rang again. Thinking it was Stevens calling back, he accepted the call without checking the ID.
“Byron,” he said.
“John, it’s Kay.”
His gaze slid down to his ringless left hand.
Kay Byron was John’s ex-wife. Even though they’d been divorced for nearly two years, and contact between them had been infrequent, hearing her voice still affected him. Kay had wanted the divorce, deciding after two decades of matrimony not to compete with John’s full-time mistress, police work.
“Are you in the middle of something?” she asked.
“No. Well, actually yeah, but it’s all right. I’m in the car right now. What’s up?”
“I know how busy you get, so I thought I’d remind you Katherine’s nineteenth birthday is coming up, in case you forgot.”
“Of course I didn’t forget,” he lied.
“I’m sure she’d love to hear from her uncle John.”
Katherine, too old to be called Katie anymore, was John’s favorite niece. One of three children belonging to Kay’s stuck-up sister and snobbish husband, Janice and Thurston Whitehill, Katherine was the only one who’d ever given John the time of day.
“I should probably buy her a gift,” Byron said. “Any ideas?”
“Actually, yes. I think she’d love to go to a Portland Sea Dogs game with you. And they are playing at home in a couple of weeks.”
“Sea Dogs? I didn’t know she was into baseball.”
Kay laughed. “Well, she is now.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“Just take her to a game for her birthday and let her tell you.”
Byron returned to 109, delivering to Dustin Tran the information Angelina Stavros had provided on Gene Wagner. Additionally, he asked Tran to see if he could locate anything on a Steve Holcolm, the man Bates claimed was his alibi. Given the time of day, Byron sent Tran and Robbins home. They were all running on fumes at this point anyway, and Byron knew it wouldn’t be long before LeRoyer started bitching about the overtime budget.
It took another hour before Stevens was able to coax Hopkins into police headquarters, using the pretext that she needed him to read and sign his typed statement. Hopkins was escorted directly into Interview Room Three.
Byron and Stevens sat across from the S.I. security guard, while Nugent monitored from the closed-circuit recorder located in the CID conference room.
“I already told you,” Hopkins said. “I hadn’t checked that property in over a week.”
“Really?” Byron said. “See, now that’s interesting, Craig.”
“What is?”
“Well, according to your employer, the patrol vehicle that you were using during your Monday night shift was inside that fenced-in property for nearly an hour.” Byron turned to Stevens. “What time did they say that was, Mel?”
Stevens made a show out of checking her notebook. “Um, 1:17 a.m. Tuesday morning until 2:10.”
“But I wasn’t. I don’t know who is telling you this, but it isn’t true.”
“Really?” Byron said. Keeping his eyes fixed on Hopkins, Byron addressed his next question to Stevens. “When did David Merrill say they installed those tracking devices in each of the patrol vehicles?”
“Um, about three months ago,” Stevens said, playing along.
Byron watched as the color drained from Hopkins’s face. The guard looked like he was about to be sick to his stomach.
“Care to explain why you’ve been lying to us, Craig?” Byron asked.
Hopkins looked back and forth at each detective, then hung his head in defeat.
“What do you think?” Nugent asked as the three detectives stood in the conference room watching Hopkins on the monitor.
Byron rolled his neck until it gave an audible pop. “I think he’s screwed either way and he knows it.”
“You think he was with another under-aged girl?” Nugent said.
“I’d take that bet,” Stevens said. “His criminal record shows a proclivity toward young girls. And it would explain his reason for not coming clean about why he was inside the fence.”
“Proclivity,” Nugent mocked. “Big word for such a lowly detective.”
“I’ll show you how lowly I am,” Stevens said, holding up a fist for effect.
“Of course, the other possibility is that he was there disposing of Dani Faherty’s body,” Byron said, bringing them back on point. The two detectives nodded in silent agreement. “Ellis thinks she was killed early Sunday and placed in the lumberyard sometime later. If Hopkins is our killer, he could have murdered her Sunday morning after she left work.”
“Then waited until Tuesday morning when he was working, and knew he wouldn’t be noticed, to dump the body,” Nugent said.
“And on his days off he drives to Boston to take heads,” Stevens said, poking fun at her former partner.
“Hey, I’m just spitballing, Mel,” Nugent said. “I don’t have a crystal ball.”
“What do you want to do with him, Sarge?” Stevens asked.
“Well, he hasn’t lawyered up yet,” Byron said as his cell began to vibrate. He removed it from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and checked the ID. The call was from LeRoyer.
“Let me guess,” Nugent said. “The LT wants an update?”
Byron hadn’t been keeping LeRoyer in the loop, nor had he returned his prior call. He knew he had to give the lieutenant something.
“Hey, Marty,” Byron said, answering the call.
“Don’t ‘hey’ me. Don’t you return calls?”
Byron got up and walked from the room. “Been a little busy.”
“Are you trying to piss off the new chief? Or is it just me you like dicking around?”
Byron said nothing. He’d learned to let LeRoyer get it out of his system. After the lieutenant had finished berating him, Byron filled him in on the latest developments.
“Sounds like you checked off a lot of boxes today,” LeRoyer said. “That’s good. Lynds will like that.”
“Great. Exactly what I was hoping for.”
LeRoyer ignored the comment. “What about the car the security guard was using?”
“S.I. agreed to pull it out of service for us. I’ll have Gabe process it tomorrow.”
“What do you think this Hopkins’s angle is? Think he’s our guy?”
Byron was well aware that suspects were sometimes known to sound the alarm. It was the equivalent of an arsonist calling in a fire after setting it. Hiding within plain sight.
“Who knows what Hopkins is up to,” Byron said. “I only know he lied about being in there on Tuesday morning.”
“Well, keep an eye on him. By the way, Chief Lynds wants to hold a presser tomorrow, late morning. You can help me write up some talking points.”
“I can’t wait.”
/> After he’d finished with LeRoyer, Byron returned to the conference room where the detectives were waiting on him. He addressed Stevens. “Mel, go back at Hopkins. Solo. We still need to establish a link between Hopkins and Faherty. Try and sweet-talk him into coming clean.”
“Yeah, you always have a way with the creeps,” Nugent teased.
Stevens, who had already reached the conference room door, stopped and turned back. “Must be why we’ve been partners for so long.”
Byron and Nugent spent the next forty-five minutes seated in the CID conference room watching Stevens throw everything she had at Hopkins, but the security guard didn’t budge. Hopkins no longer denied being inside the property, but he remained steadfast in his denials of having anything to do with killing Faherty, dumping her body, or even knowing her. And still he refused to explain his reason for being there.
Stevens returned to the conference room. “He’s not cracking, Sarge,” Stevens said. “And, honestly, I’m running out of gas.”
“Me, too,” Nugent said, yawning and echoing Byron’s own thoughts.
Byron checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly nine-thirty. They’d been going at this nonstop for close to sixteen hours, and he’d need them fresh in the coming days. Exhausted detectives were prone to making mistakes.
“He’s agreed to give us prints, though, right?” Byron asked.
“Yes,” Stevens said. “And, short of a confession, anything else we need.”
“Okay,” Byron said. “Let’s get Gabe up here for prints, photos, a hair sample, and a DNA swab. Make sure Hopkins signs consent forms for all of it.”
“And then?” Stevens asked.
“We kick him loose, call it a night, and regroup in the morning.”
Diane Joyner appeared in the conference room doorway.
“Hey, Sarge,” Stevens said.
“What are you still doing here?” Byron asked.
“Had some things to do. But I wanted to give you guys a heads-up before I left.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Byron said.
“Billingslea ran the headless story,” Diane said.
“Fuck,” Nugent said, speaking for all of them.
Byron turned to Nugent. “What time did you say Danica’s parents are due in tomorrow morning?”
“First thing. I gave them directions to 109 and told them to ask for you.”
“They know about the condition of her body?” Diane said.
“No,” Byron said. “They don’t.”
It was nearly eleven by the time Byron departed from 109. He hadn’t realized how worn out he was until he slid behind the wheel of his unmarked. He was still fuming about Billingslea’s story in the Portland Herald. Byron wasn’t sure which thing pissed him off the most, having the information out before he could break the news gently to Danica Faherty’s parents, in person, or that there might be a leak inside their investigation.
He was reaching for his seat belt when his cell rang. He answered without bothering to see who it was. “Byron.”
“Hey, cuz,” Murray said. “Thought you’d forgotten about me.”
“Hardly,” Byron said. “Long day.”
“I hear ya. So, tell me about your case and I’ll tell you what we’ve got in common.”
Byron pulled out of the rear garage then ran down the details including the location, the posing, and what they knew about Danica Faherty. Murray listened without interrupting.
“Any indication of prostitution?” Murray asked when Byron had finished.
“Not that we know of,” Byron said. “By all accounts Faherty was clean. College grad, good employee. And according to the M.E., no indication of illegal drug use.”
“Bullshit. Not even weed? Shit, everyone hits the ganja these days, Johnny. Christ, the millennials think it’s a friggin’ vitamin.”
“Not this girl. Why did you ask about prostitution?”
“Both our vics were pros. One really was a pro, at it for at least a couple of years, the other only recently. A few months as best we can tell.”
“Didn’t see anything about that on the news,” Byron said.
“Nope, and you won’t. Managed to keep that little detail off the radar. Still pissed that the other stuff leaked out.”
“It always does,” Byron said as he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, allowing himself the fantasy that it was Davis Billingslea’s neck.
“Not to tell you how to do your job, cuz,” Murray said, clearly indicating he was about to do just that.
“But?” Byron said.
“But you might want to double-check on that prostitution thing. Our most recent vic was connected through Back Page. You familiar?”
“Not personally, but yeah I know of it. Kinda like the sex internet, right? The way some of them advertise now.”
“Exactly. World’s oldest profession meets the latest social media ad tech. Victim number two, going by the name of Krystal, with a K, had been plying her trade for about three or four months.”
“Motive?”
“Who knows. Pissed-off ex-client they had in common, maybe. Some asshole with mommy issues. Religious zealot working out some Whore of Babylon thing. Maybe just a twisted fuck. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Byron considered how little they still knew about Danica Faherty. He wanted to get another look inside her apartment. “Okay, we’ll look hard at the prostitution angle.”
“Bet you find something. My two cents.”
“This thing is still developing up here,” Byron said. “I’d like to drive down and take a look at what you guys have on your end, but it might not be for a few days.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll roll out the official BPD welcome mat.”
Byron was turning onto his road in North Deering as he ended the call with Murray. He pulled the unmarked Ford into the driveway directly in front of his condo’s garage door and was sliding the transmission lever into park when his cell rang again. Diane. He answered it.
“You sound beat,” she said.
He leaned back against the headrest and sighed. “I am.”
“Still at 109?”
“Just pulled into my driveway.”
“Want some company?”
He checked the time displayed on the dash. 11:15. “Aren’t you home in bed?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Besides your bed’s so much more comfortable,” she cooed.
“But we never sleep when you’re here.”
“Exactly.”
“How soon can you get here?”
Diane laughed.
“What?” The interior of Byron’s car was suddenly bathed in the glow of headlights as a car pulled in behind him.
“That was fast,” he said.
Forty-five minutes later Byron and Diane lay atop Byron’s bed breathless and satiated. Their nude bodies were slick with perspiration, the bedcovers kicked to the carpet. A trail of abandoned clothing marked their progress up the stairs to the dimly lit second-floor bedroom.
The sexual attraction between them had been obvious from the start. Byron knew it was their communication skills, or maybe lack thereof, and a mutual love of independence that was preventing them from having a real relationship. Thoughts that he had been mulling over a lot recently.
Byron had just begun to drift off when she spoke.
“You asleep?” she asked.
“Yup,” he said, keeping his eyelids closed.
“Liar.” She tweaked one of his nipples.
“Ouch.”
“Oh good, you’re awake.” She lifted her head from his chest and softly kissed the side of his neck.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
“What makes you say that?”
A smile unfurled. “Because I know you.”
“Can’t a girl just pay a surprise visit to her boyfriend?”
Boyfriend. He had to admit he liked the sound of that. “I thought the guy was supposed t
o be the one to initiate a booty call?”
“Where’s that written?” she asked, tweaking his other nipple.
“Aah. Okay, okay. But seriously, I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“All right.”
A short time later, just as sleep had begun to overtake him, she spoke up again.
“Lynds cornered me today.”
Byron forced one eye open. “What’d she want?”
“She’s considering realigning CID, now that George is retiring. No more property side people side. One bureau, one lieutenant, two sergeants.”
Byron sighed and closed his eye. “That’s gonna ruffle some feathers.”
“What about yours?”
“My what?”
“Feathers?”
He thought for a moment before answering. “Not sure it’s gonna affect me all that much.”
Neither of them spoke for several moments before Byron broke the silence. “I don’t get it. Why was Lynds sharing any of this with you?”
“She wants me to consider putting in for the vacant CID sergeant position.”
Both of Byron’s eyes flew open.
Chapter 10
Thursday, 4:30 a.m.,
July 13, 2017
Byron awoke to find Diane’s half of the bed abandoned. He hadn’t slept well. The Faherty murder might have had something to do with it, but more likely was the prospect of Diane’s returning to CID. The news had caught him off guard. Diane had read his reaction as negative, and if he was being honest with himself, it had been. He had seen the disappointment etched on her face. She’d expected him to be enthusiastic and supportive, but he had been neither.
It wasn’t that he didn’t look forward to working cases with her again, because he did. He knew Diane’s keen investigative talents were wasted as the face of public relations for the Portland Police Department. And Byron didn’t see her return to the bureau as his equal as any kind of threat. He wasn’t that shallow. The real problem was that they were finally falling into more of a normal relationship, as normal as two cops can have anyway, and he was beginning to imagine them taking it to the next level. Perhaps even moving in together. But now he worried that Chief Lynds’s scheme might well kill that plan before it even began. His failed twenty-year marriage to Kay was proof enough just how hard being wed to someone who was married to their career could be. Byron didn’t imagine a relationship between two people married to their careers stood a chance in hell.
Within Plain Sight Page 8
