“Hell, that could be a sports car,” Byron said.
“No. I’m sure it was a truck. It was big and heavy. It’s hard to describe, but I know it was a truck. Even by the door.”
“The door?” Stevens said.
“Yeah. When whoever it was slammed it, it sounded like a truck door. Like the metallic bang of sheet metal against metal, not all padded like a car.” Winn looked to Byron. “Like the transports we had in the army, Sarge. No-frills.”
Byron immediately thought of Faherty’s ex-boyfriend, Morgan. Bates drove a pickup, a black 1977 GMC Scottsdale. Byron had heard the big rumbling engine and the way it sounded when Bates slammed the door. Could that have been the vehicle Winn heard? Faherty’s neighbor Christine Micucci claimed to have seen a male drop Faherty’s car off in the driveway on Monday afternoon before climbing into a waiting pickup truck. Could Bates’s truck have been the vehicle that Micucci saw? Byron needed to pin down Bates’s location for Saturday night into Sunday morning, even if he had to do it through his attorney.
“What else should we know that you’re not telling us?” Stevens asked.
“This wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a decapitated head,” Winn said, blurting it out.
Both detectives remained silent, knowing that they had finally arrived at the heart of the matter.
“It was during the ground campaign in Iraq, one of my buddies got separated from our unit during the fighting. Teddy Archibald. We called him Archie after the comic strip, because he was always cracking wise.” Winn grew quiet and began tracing the cracks in the tabletop again.
“What happened?” Byron said.
“It took a couple of days, but eventually we found him. They’d left Archie’s body lying in the street under the hot sun. He’d been shot twice. Then beheaded. I’m pretty sure he was still alive when they did it.”
“I’m sorry,” Byron said.
Winn looked up at him. “When I first realized what was in the bag it was like I was back in Iraq again.”
For several moments all three of them sat in silence.
“I know I should have gotten a hold of you as soon as it happened,” Winn said. “I just panicked. I guess I never thought I’d have to see anything like that again.”
Byron’s cell vibrated with a text from Pelligrosso. It read: confirmed-purse belonged 2 V.
Byron held the phone out to allow Stevens to read the text. She nodded.
Byron looked back at Winn. “Think you can show us the dumpster where all this happened?”
“I can try.”
Byron and Stevens chauffeured Winn through the Old Port in search of the dumpster. All four windows of the Taurus were lowered. Even though Winn had showered at the jail, twice, his ratty street clothes were still overpoweringly pungent. They searched Exchange, Market, Wharf, Dana, Silver, and Pearl, literally every street, alley, and driveway imaginable. Several times Winn made Byron stop so he could get out for a closer look, but then he’d find something that wasn’t right, and they’d continue on.
“Winn, how certain are you this happened in the Old Port?” Stevens asked. “We’re running out of places to look.”
“I know,” Winn said. “I’m really trying.”
“What time of day was it?” Stevens asked.
“I told you already. I don’t know. It could have been late at night—no, wait. That’s not right. It was right before sunrise. It was still dark, but I could see the sky starting to brighten in the east. I remember thinking I had to get the bag out of there before people started showing up in the Old Port.”
“And this was which morning?” Byron said.
“Couple of days back. Tuesday, maybe. I don’t know. Every day is kinda the same for me, Sarge. I’m either drinking or I’m not.”
Byron could relate more than he cared to admit.
“I remember there was one of those hydrant thingies sticking out of the back of the building.”
“A standpipe?” Stevens said.
“Yeah, a stand—wait. Stop!”
Byron hit the brakes.
“That’s it!” Winn said.
“You’re sure?” Byron asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Let me out. I gotta check something.”
Byron and Stevens exited the car and followed Winn over to the dumpster.
“There’s the standpipe thingy,” Winn said, pointing to the building’s freshly painted silver appendage. He turned and looked at the ground. “And that’s where I puked. Right there.”
Byron first looked at the building then back toward Stevens. “Alessandro’s.”
An hour later Byron was standing upwind from his Tyvek-clad evidence techs, surveying the trash that had been laid out on the previously clean white tarp.
“I got nothing, Sarge,” Pelligrosso said to Byron. “Manager says the dumpster was emptied yesterday. Whatever may have been in here is long gone.”
“It’s possible that Winn is telling the truth,” Stevens said. “Maybe he kept everything in the bag.”
“Or at the very least everything there was to take,” Byron said. “We still don’t have the saw that was used to remove her head.”
“Or the murder weapon,” Stevens added.
Pelligrosso and Murphy began picking up the trash that they had laid out on the tarp and tossing it back in the dumpster.
“What do you want to do with him?” Stevens asked, nodding in Winn’s direction.
Byron turned to look at Winn through the rear window of the unmarked as he considered it. “Let’s get him back to 109, Mel.” He turned his attention to Murphy. “Murph, I need you to photograph and fingerprint Winn. And seize his clothing.”
“Didn’t they print him at the jail last night, Sarge?” Murphy asked.
“You’re looking for full set, right?” Pelligrosso asked.
“Yes,” Byron said. “Palm prints, too.”
“And then?” Stevens asked.
Byron considered it for a moment before answering. “We’ll find him some suitable clothing and kick him loose.”
Chapter 15
Friday, 3:15 p.m.,
July 14, 2017
Byron stood with arms folded leaning against the counter directly across from the CID conference room watching LeRoyer with amusement as the lieutenant made a nervous swipe back through his hair, using his fingers as a comb. Byron had never met anyone easier to read than Martin LeRoyer. The lieutenant was studying the snack box assortment contained in the two boxes sitting atop the file cabinets to the left of the conference room doorway while Byron briefed him on the latest.
“Tough decision?” Byron asked, attempting to break the tension between them.
“Yeah. Well, kind of. I saw the snack guy come in yesterday afternoon, but I was busy.”
“So, there should be a good selection, right? Both boxes.”
LeRoyer turned around to face him. “You’d think so. Except some heartless prick took both Skybars.”
At that moment, Melissa Stevens walked past them on her way into the conference room. She was grinning. “How do you know the culprit was a prick?”
Byron and LeRoyer followed her into the room and sat down. The detectives finished bringing LeRoyer up to speed on the latest developments.
“And the killer just happens to pick Alessandro’s dumpster to dispose of her head?” LeRoyer said. “Jesus, what are the odds?”
“Well, most of the dumpsters we checked are kept locked by the business owners,” Stevens said. “But, yeah, it is a huge coincidence.”
“Someone sending a message, do you think?” LeRoyer asked.
“Maybe,” Byron said.
“And you’re both one hundred percent sure that this Ed Winn guy isn’t responsible?” LeRoyer asked, making another finger pass for good measure.
Stevens glanced at Byron for guidance.
“His name is Erwin,” Byron said. “Erwin Glantz. Winn for short. And yes, I am one hundred percent sure.”
“He was going to take the mon
ey from the purse, though, right, Mel?” LeRoyer said. “We should charge him with theft by receiving.”
“He returned the money to her purse after he saw what else was in the bag,” Stevens said. “We found just over eighty dollars and some loose change.”
“Yeah, but he admitted that he was going to steal it, right?”
Byron knew what LeRoyer was struggling with. The lieutenant was dreading having to inform Chief Lynds that they were letting Winn go.
“Look, Marty, I know Winn. He’s provided me with solid information for years. And he’s one of the reasons we were able to solve the Ramsey homicide. He’s also the only reason we even have what we have on this case. I’m not booking him on some bullshit misdemeanor.” Byron was also worried about the fact that Winn was currently out on bail for two other misdemeanors. Locking him up again might well mean the end of his cooperation.
“You think it’s possible he saw the Horseman?” LeRoyer asked.
“He saw someone discard the garbage bag, but I’m not ready to concede it was the Horseman, Marty.”
“Either way, aren’t you at all worried that whoever it was will come after him?”
“Fuck, Marty. I wasn’t.” Truthfully, although he’d never admit it to the lieutenant, Byron had been kicking that very thought around in the back of his mind, but now LeRoyer had dragged it out into the open. Byron would never forgive himself if something happened to Winn.
“What time is the post?” LeRoyer asked.
“Five,” Byron said. “Gabe is grabbing a shower before we head up.”
LeRoyer looked at Stevens. “You going with them?”
“No,” Stevens said. “I’m gonna pay another visit to Destiny Collins, see if I can’t get more out of her about Dani’s ex-boyfriend.”
All three detectives looked up at the sound of knuckles rapping on the open door.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Nugent said as he stuck his hairless dome through the doorway.
“Thought I sent you home, Nuge?” Byron said.
“Yeah,” Stevens said. “Go home and be with your wife.”
“I’m heading out now.”
“What’s up?” Byron asked.
“The IO just called, Sarge. You have a visitor.”
Murder is the ultimate aggravated theft. The one thing every homicide victim shares is that each has had a portion of their lives stolen from them. Dani Faherty’s parents had also become victims of the unknown killer and Byron wasn’t at all surprised when one of them showed up unannounced at 109 looking to speak with him. The only surprise was which parent it was.
After offering his condolences, Byron led Denise Faherty into his office and closed the door.
“I’ve come here to tell you something I think you should know,” Faherty said. “I knew about the domestic assault. Dani phoned me wanting to talk about it the day it happened.”
“What did she tell you?” Byron asked.
“She said that she and Morgan had an argument. He was drunk and he punched her. Gave her a black eye.”
“Why didn’t she pursue charges against him?” Byron asked. “She went to the trouble to contact the police. Why didn’t she follow through?” Byron watched as she wrestled with her emotions for several moments.
“Because I wasn’t strong enough,” Faherty said at last.
Byron said nothing, waiting for her to explain.
“My daughter asked me what she should do. She said that Morgan told her he was sorry.”
Byron had lost count of the number of abusers who tossed around words like sorry and never again as if they’d just spilled milk on the carpet.
Faherty continued, “I said she didn’t have to do anything that she wasn’t comfortable with. I told her to listen to her heart.” Faherty began to weep.
Byron handed her several tissues from a box atop his desk then sat down to wait.
After composing herself again, Faherty asked, “Did Morgan kill my daughter, Sergeant Byron?”
“I don’t know,” Byron said, and he didn’t. Morgan Bates was only one name on a growing list of people they were looking at. “Did you ever mention the domestic incident to your husband?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. At least—not until today. That’s why I’m here. I’m worried he’ll do something rash.”
“Like?”
“Like go after Morgan.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I know my husband, Sergeant Byron. He is very protective. If he believes Morgan is responsible, there’s no telling what he might do.”
“Where is Elmer right now, Mrs. Faherty?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.”
It wasn’t the answer Byron had hoped for. The last thing any of them needed was an aggrieved father going off like some half-crazed vigilante. “Does he have access to weapons?”
She nodded. “We have a camp on Ambajejus Lake, near Millinocket. He keeps his hunting guns there.”
Byron had never heard of Ambajejus Lake, but he knew where Millinocket was located, approximately two hundred miles north of Portland. Right smack dab in the middle of Maine. Byron had no way of knowing if Elmer Faherty would really drive that far and back just to lay his hands on a shotgun or a hunting rifle, the only firearms known to his wife, but he wasn’t about to ignore the possibility.
After instructing Dispatch to put out a regional attempt to locate, ATL, citing Faherty as despondent over the loss of his daughter, Byron wrote up a quick summary for patrol, attaching a photo from Elmer’s driver’s license and a description of his rental vehicle. He also requested that the uniformed officers give special attention to Morgan Bates’s address, the location of which Faherty was familiar with, but beyond those two things there was little Byron could do. Faherty had neither committed a crime nor threatened to, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. Byron had learned to trust his gut instincts. Better safe than sorry.
Byron tasked Bernie Robbins with transporting Denise Faherty back to her hotel. Before handing her off, he told her the best thing she could do was to stay put and wait for her husband to return. Byron provided her with his cell number and a promise to contact her as soon as they located Elmer.
Byron was hurrying down the back stairwell of 109 while leaving a voicemail for Lucinda Phillips when he nearly collided with LeRoyer on the second-floor landing.
“I thought you were headed up to the post?” LeRoyer said.
Byron held up an index finger signaling the lieutenant to wait until he finished the message to the former Maine State Police detective sergeant.
“Hey, Luce, John Byron. Need a quick favor. I’m looking for someone who may be headed up to the Millinocket area. Guy’s name is Elmer Faherty, and I have reason to believe he may be going to his camp on Ambajejus Lake. Hoping you might be able to connect me with one of the troopers assigned to that area. I’m on my way to Augusta for an autopsy, call me on my cell, okay? Thanks.”
“How’s she doing?” LeRoyer asked as Byron pocketed the phone.
“Lucinda?”
“Mrs. Faherty.”
“Not sure what’s holding her together right now,” Byron said.
“What’s up with Elmer? Why are you looking for him?”
Detective Melissa Stevens pressed the doorbell to Destiny Collins’s condo, then rapped on the storm door for good measure. Years of working patrol had taught her never to make assumptions. Several moments passed. She was about to knock again when the inside door opened. Collins stood there looking embarrassed, dressed in a white tank top and pink pajama bottoms. Her hair was in disarray and her eyes puffy as if she might have been napping.
“I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this,” Stevens said. “I just thought I’d take a chance on finding you at home.”
“Detective Stevens, right?” Collins asked.
“Let’s make it Mel.”
“Forgive my appearance, Mel. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Not a problem. May I come in?”
>
Collins unlatched then pushed open the outer door. “Please do,” she said.
After closing the door, Collins asked if she’d like some coffee.
“Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Stevens said.
“I’m making it for myself anyway.”
“Then coffee would be great.”
Stevens followed her into the kitchen and the two women made small talk until the coffee was ready. Stevens wanted to take it slow, not knowing how fragile Collins might be. Destiny handed her a mug and sat down at the end of the table perpendicular to Stevens.
“How are you doing, Destiny?” Stevens asked after taking a sip and setting the mug on the table.
Collins gave her a long appraising look. “Is that really why you stopped by? To ask how I’m doing?”
“That’s one of the reasons.”
“And the others?”
“Tell me more about Morgan Bates.”
After more than two decades as a cop, Byron knew that investigating a murder is all about patience. Case detectives simply keep pushing the rock forward, hoping for a break. Ray Humphrey, Byron’s old mentor, had been fond of saying that working homicides was a lot like fishing. “Sometimes all you can do is set your lines in the water and wait,” he’d say. Byron, who had spent considerable time during his youth fishing on the docks off Commercial Street, understood Humphrey’s analogy. Still, it never made the waiting any easier.
Byron stood beside Pelligrosso watching as Dr. Ellis painstakingly went over every inch of what was believed to be Danica Faherty’s decapitated head. Silky strands of auburn hair still clung to the scalp. Pelligrosso had photographed the skull from every conceivable angle, and Ellis had taken x-rays of the teeth for the purposes of comparison. Denise Faherty had provided the contact information for Danica’s childhood dentist in Virginia. Byron had left a message for the doctor with the emergency call service, but he didn’t really expect a call back before Monday.
Ellis fired up the bone saw and proceeded to access the inside of Faherty’s cranium. Removing the cap revealed an excessive amount of damage to the brain tissue. If Ellis was right about the murder weapon being the claw end of a hammer, someone had wielded it with deadly intent.
Within Plain Sight Page 14
