He showered, dressed, and was out the door with coffee in hand before the sun appeared above the horizon. What was already slated to be a long day, containing far more questions than answers, had just become infinitely more complicated thanks to his rusty—no, nonexistent—relationship skills.
He arrived at 109 expecting to find CID deserted. Instead he found Detective Melissa Stevens in the conference room updating the whiteboard.
“Hey,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see anyone here so early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“Tough to shut it off, huh?”
“Impossible. Besides, Christine was snoring her ass off.”
Byron, who had yet to meet Christine, wondered how Mel’s live-in would react to the sharing of her nocturnal habits with strangers.
Stevens returned to writing on the whiteboard. “Seen the paper yet?”
“How bad?” Byron said, having temporarily forgotten about Billingslea’s article.
Stevens pulled up the news story on her cell and handed it to him.
Headless Body Found in Portland May Be Connected to Boston’s Horseman Cases, was the headline. Then in smaller print below, Inside Sources Confirm Portland Detectives Working with Boston Homicide.
“Fuck,” Byron said, knowing that Danica Faherty’s parents were flying in to see him in a few hours. He’d been planning to break the news to them as gently as possible, not hit them in the face with what amounted to an editorial sledgehammer.
“Keep going,” Stevens said. “It gets worse.”
“What could be worse?”
Byron scrolled farther down the page.
“Victim positively identified as 22-year-old Danica Faherty from Portland.”
“Fuck,” Byron said again. While grinding his teeth together he reread the words inside sources. Was this Lynds? he wondered. Meet the new chief, same as the old?
“Let’s just hope Faherty’s parents haven’t seen it,” she said.
But of course, they had.
Byron sat stewing in LeRoyer’s office, watching as the lieutenant performed the two-finger shuffle across the computer keyboard. The lieutenant was typing up talking points for Chief Lynds to use at the press conference.
“Marty, I really don’t have time for this,” Byron said.
“Hey, this press conference is for you, too, muchacho. Who knows, it just might help your case.”
Byron wondered if the lieutenant really believed that, or if he was just trying to impress Lynds.
“Anything you’d rather I not include?” LeRoyer asked.
“Yeah, everything that got leaked out to Davis-Fucking-Billingslea.”
“Look, I can’t control that, John.”
“That’s just the problem, Marty.”
“Check yourself, Sergeant. I’m not the enemy. I didn’t leak the headless stuff, so don’t take it out on me.”
Byron was confident that LeRoyer’s assurances wouldn’t mean a damn thing to the Fahertys.
“By the way, I do have some good news,” LeRoyer continued. “Chief Lynds spoke with Angelina Stavros this morning. Stavros has offered up a reward of ten grand for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the killer. Lynds is planning to announce that at the presser. Isn’t that great?”
Byron wasn’t as excited about this latest development as LeRoyer seemed to be. The telephone calls and front desk drop-ins from attention seekers had already started. He wondered whether Lina Stavros was sincere in her effort to help the investigation or was simply trying to get out in front of the negative press that would undoubtedly find its way back to her beloved restaurants.
He always felt conflicted whenever a reward for information was offered. It usually ended up being a double-edged sword. While on rare occasions a legitimate tip had come in, more often the reward only managed to summon the crazies, wasting valuable time and investigative resources. And he hated that a bounty was needed to entice people to do the right thing.
LeRoyer’s desk phone rang with an in-house call. It was CID’s office assistant, Shirley Grant. LeRoyer punched the speaker button. “I’m a little busy right now, Shirley. What is it?”
“Sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, but there’s an Elmer Faherty here to see Sergeant Byron. I don’t suppose he’s in there with you?”
Elmer Faherty was livid, so much so that he was visibly shaking. Byron led him into his office and closed the door. Faherty was holding the Thursday edition of the Portland Herald tight in his hand. Billingslea’s story was plastered all over the front page. Above the fold. Faherty was angry and had every right to be. Byron gestured for the man to take a seat in one of the visitor’s chairs located in front of Byron’s desk. Byron also settled into a chair directly across from him, effectively removing the barrier of the desk.
Although Faherty was several years Byron’s junior, the exhaustion displayed upon the man’s face made him appear significantly older. Dark circles beneath his eyes and the wrinkled clothing told the story. Elmer Faherty was in mourning.
“Mr. Faherty, let me begin by offering my most sincere condolences for the loss of your daughter.”
“Thanks,” Faherty grunted.
“Also, I want to apologize for the news getting to you the way it did.”
Faherty’s jaw clenched. “Why weren’t we told about this when the police came to our home in Virginia?” he barked. “Or when I spoke to your Detective Nugent?”
Byron didn’t have a good answer. “I wanted to wait until I could speak to you, and your wife, face-to-face.”
Faherty held up the paper and shook it. “Looks like someone in your department didn’t want to wait.”
He was right, of course. Byron couldn’t argue the point. “Again, I am so very sorry.”
Faherty lowered the newspaper onto his lap but said nothing.
“Will Mrs. Faherty be joining us?” Byron asked.
“She’s not in a good way at the moment,” Faherty said. “I thought it might be better if it was just you and me.”
“I understand.”
“What can you tell me about my daughter’s death? Is Dani’s murder connected to the Boston cases like they’re saying?”
“It’s too early in the investigation for me to give you a definitive answer, Mr. Faherty.”
“Elmer. It’s Elmer. Dammit all to hell, if we’re gonna sit here and discuss my baby’s murder, I guess we should at least be on a first-name basis.”
“Okay, Elmer. As I was saying, there are some similarities to the Boston cases. I’ll be meeting with Boston homicide detectives soon. I should know more after—”
“Was she really—? Did he—? You know. Did he cut off—?”
Byron nodded. “Yes.”
“Did my Dani—?” Faherty’s voice cracked before he could finish.
Byron could see the aggrieved man wrestling to maintain control over his emotions.
“Did she suffer?”
“There’s no indication of that,” Byron said. In truth, he had no actual way of knowing that until Ellis provided them with a cause of death. Gabriel Pelligrosso hadn’t found anything to indicate a struggle, and Byron wasn’t about to cause the man additional pain by speculating.
“Had you spoken with Dani recently?” Byron asked, attempting to change the subject to something a bit less painful.
“Denise did. Her mother. Last week I believe. Dani called home pretty regular. About once or twice a week. Sometimes more frequently if something was happening in her life.”
“Was there something happening? Anything unusual Dani might have mentioned to her mother? Or to you?”
“I don’t think so. I spoke with her a couple of weeks ago. She seemed happy.”
Byron made a note to follow up with Denise Faherty when he got the chance. If there had been something noteworthy happening in Dani’s personal life, Byron guessed she would have been far more likely to share it with her mother.
“Do you mind if I ask why she moved
to Maine?” Byron asked.
“Wanted her independence. She had a friend here. Destiny. A nurse.”
“Destiny Collins?”
Faherty nodded. “Dani’s old roommate at the university in Orono. After graduation Dani followed Destiny to Portland. They’d been sharing an apartment until recently, when Destiny bought her own place.”
“Was Dani seeing anyone?”
“I don’t think so. She’d been dating a guy named Morgan Bates, but she broke it off with him a while ago. Few months back, I think.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“No. I guess he is or was a bartender at the restaurant where she worked, Alessandro’s. I don’t know if he’s still there or not.”
“Do you know if Dani and Morgan ever had any problems?”
Faherty’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? What kind of problems?”
Byron knew he had to tread carefully on the off chance that Faherty was unaware of the domestic violence incident.
“Domestic trouble? Arguing? Fighting? Anything like that?”
“Not that I know of. I hope not. Why would you ask that?”
“We always focus on people closest to the victim first, then work our way out.”
“I guess Denise would probably know,” Faherty said. “If there was any trouble between them.”
“How was Dani’s relationship with you and Mrs. Faherty?”
“Okay, I guess. Same as most parents.” Faherty paused, then broke eye contact, fixating on the floor. “That’s not entirely true.”
Byron remained silent, waiting to see where Faherty would take the conversation.
“Truth is, neither of us were very happy when Dani made the decision to move away. Guess I felt like she was too young, you know? Not ready. I worried if she moved to the city something bad might hap—Oh, Jesus.”
Faherty broke down completely. He hid his face with one hand, his body racked by grief. Byron walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
It took several moments before Faherty regained some semblance of composure. He looked up at Byron with wet pleading eyes. “Promise me you’ll get the son of a bitch who did this to my little girl, Sergeant.”
Time and again Byron had been asked to provide the very same assurance to surviving family members of other homicide victims. The truth was that making such a promise was at best foolhardy, and at worst pure arrogance. In the end, all any dedicated cop can offer is to do their absolute best.
“I have some very talented and dedicated people working with me, Elmer. I promise you that we will do everything within our power to try and locate those responsible for killing your daughter and bring them to justice.”
“Try?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Fifteen minutes later, Byron accompanied Faherty in the elevator down to the lobby, then walked with him out to the plaza. The two men parted with a handshake. Byron stood at the top of the concrete steps that led down to Middle Street, watching as the broken man climbed into a rust-colored Ford Fusion and drove away. He couldn’t begin to imagine the pain Elmer and Denise Faherty were suffering. And while he didn’t have children of his own, Byron could only guess at what he might be capable of if anyone ever harmed Katherine, his niece.
Sea Dogs tickets, he thought. Shit, I’ve gotta reach out to her.
Byron pulled out his cell and dialed Katherine’s number. As he listened to her greeting, he couldn’t help but notice how mature she sounded. No longer the little girl in pigtails who would drop everything to go fishing with her uncle John.
“Hey, kiddo, it’s John. How have you been? Can’t believe how quickly summer’s going by. Pretty soon you’ll be back at school again.” He paused a moment, thinking how lame that sounded. “Listen, I know your birthday is coming right up and I want to take you out someplace special. I know you’re probably busy, too. Throw me some dates and we’ll figure out someplace cool to go. Anywhere you want, okay? I gotta run. Miss you.”
Byron ended the call and returned to CID. Melissa Stevens was waiting for him in the conference room.
“How’d it go with the Fahertys?” she asked. “Had he seen the news?”
“He was carrying the paper when he walked in.”
“Damn.”
“And it was only Dani’s father, Elmer. Denise stayed behind at their hotel. She was too distraught.”
“I can’t even imagine. Fuck Billingslea. What a heartless prick. Did Elmer know anything that might help us?”
“He didn’t know about the domestic assault,” Byron said matter-of-factly.
“Did you tell him?”
“I didn’t think it wise given his current state.”
“Why wouldn’t Dani tell her parents about that?”
“Maybe she did, just not Elmer.” Byron flipped open the notebook and wrote himself a reminder to follow up with Denise Faherty.
“I got your text, but you were already in with Faherty,” Stevens said. “Did you need me for something?”
“I did, but Murph was going up to Augusta anyway. I had him deliver the DNA swab that Gabe took from Hopkins last night to the lab. How’s Gabe coming on vehicle processing?”
“He’s finished with Faherty’s car. Found keys in the glove box and several sets of prints on the driver’s door handles, inside and out, and the rearview mirror.”
“Great. Do we know who they belong to?”
“Several of the prints are Dani’s.”
“And the rest?”
“No matches on file.”
Byron knew that only meant the perpetrator likely didn’t have a criminal record. “What about the security vehicle Hopkins was using?”
“Gabe’s still working on it. Speaking of which, S.I. placed Hopkins on administrative leave for lying to us,” Stevens said. “He called here to complain about it already.”
“Called you?” Byron asked.
“No, he called the main number for CID and got Shirley. Sounds like he was really pissed.”
“Bet he wishes he’d called someone else.”
They both knew that Shirley Grant, the CID office assistant, could handle herself just fine. Over the years they had witnessed her joust with unsatisfied citizens countless times. Grant gave as good as she got. Byron wondered if this move by Security Incorporated might force Hopkins to come clean. Hopkins may not have had anything to do with Dani’s murder, but until he could explain his lie he would remain on their list of suspects.
“How goes the crime scene canvass?” Byron asked.
“Slow,” Stevens said. “Nuge and Bernie compiled a list of employees and guests from the Marriott. We collected the names and contact information for everyone who rented a room at the hotel between Saturday night and Wednesday morning and we’re cross-referencing them against the registered owners of the nearby cars. We’re still playing phone tag with most of them. Dustin is still running the names. And of course, there’s still the fifty-odd registered owners of the cars parked nearby.”
“Great,” Byron said absently as he continued checking each box on his mental to-do list. “What about the hotel security? Anything on camera?”
“Nothing from their security system. We are going to check their inside cameras, though, for early Sunday morning, on the off chance that Dani met up with someone at the hotel after she left Alessandro’s.”
“Good thinking.”
Just then Mike Nugent strolled in with a coffee. He was as disheveled and unshaven as Elmer Faherty had been, and looked like he, too, might have slept in his clothing.
“Morning,” Nugent grumbled.
“Tough night?” Byron asked.
“Another false alarm with Dee Dee’s contractions.”
“Hospital?” Byron said.
Nugent nodded. “Yup. Then home again, home again, jiggity jig.”
“Shouldn’t you be at home with her, Nuge?” Stevens asked.
“Oh sure, and leave you guys to get all of the glory when we solve this thing?
No thanks. I’m here until the baby comes. Besides, Dee Dee’s sister is staying with us for a couple weeks, helping out.” Nugent looked around the room “Where’s Robbins?”
“You mean your new partner?” Stevens teased.
Nugent looked at Byron and rolled his eyes.
“He’s down with Dustin checking the names from the Marriott,” Stevens said.
“Good place for him,” Nugent growled.
“Any luck with the canvass around Faherty’s apartment?” Byron asked.
“Yeah, actually,” Nugent said, reaching for his notebook and flipping it open. “I returned a call on the way in from a woman named Christine Micucci. She’s the elderly neighborhood busybody. Doesn’t sleep; entertains herself by monitoring everything that happens in the area.”
Byron knew the type and how valuable they could be.
Nugent continued. “She knew Dani. In fact, she lives right across the street from her apartment. Anyway, Micucci says she saw a man driving Dani’s car midafternoon on Monday. Says he parked the car in the driveway, then walked back to a pickup truck that was waiting for him, and they drove off.”
“Did she get a look at the guy?” Stevens asked as she added Micucci’s name to the whiteboard.
Nugent shook his head and checked his notes. “Nah, said he was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, so she didn’t get a good look at him. Definitely a white male, though. Doesn’t remember his clothing beyond the hat.”
“And the truck? Or driver?” Byron asked.
“Nope. Said she couldn’t see the driver from where she was watching, and the truck was just a pickup. She couldn’t tell me the make or color.”
Byron paused to process what Nugent was telling them. If Dr. Ellis was right about the time of death and Dani had been killed early on Sunday morning, then Micucci may have witnessed the killer, or killers, returning Dani’s car to her apartment less than forty-eight hours after she’d been killed.
“We need to interview her in person,” Byron said.
Within Plain Sight Page 9
