“I know what you’ve been doing, Kenny,” Byron said.
Crosby hesitated a moment, obviously taken aback by Byron’s comment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been doing anything.”
“Oh, no?” Byron said as he held up Robbins’s cell.
“What’s that?”
“Your stoolie’s cellphone. Got some very interesting text messages on here. Lots of back and forth between a certain disgruntled and soon to be returning to the PD drug sergeant and Bernie Robbins, who will be lucky if he still can find a uniform that fits after I get his ass booted back to Patrol for being a rat.”
“That stupid fuck,” Crosby growled. “I told him to delete those texts after I sent them.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t. And I’ve got the proof that it was you who leaked all our progress to Davis Billingslea. It’s all right here.”
Kenny circled around to try and get between Byron and the door. He tightened the Velcro wrist straps on his boxing gloves. “You really think I’m just gonna let you walk out of here with that?”
“That’s exactly what’s gonna happen,” Byron said as he slipped off his suit coat and tossed it over a bench.
“You’re such a pussy, John. How long before you’re fucking the Queen Mum anyway?”
Both men turned at the sound of the gym door closing. Standing there with her arms crossed tightly was Chief Lynds. Standing next to her was an equally pissed-off looking Lieutenant LeRoyer.
“Oh, hey, Chief,” Crosby said. “Hey, Lieu. How long have you guys been standing there?”
“Long enough,” LeRoyer said.
“My office, Sergeant Crosby,” Lynds barked.
“Sure thing. I just gotta—”
“Now!”
Chief Lynds may have directed her wrath at Crosby, but LeRoyer wasn’t about to let Byron off the hook for his handling of the issue.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with you? You threaten one of your own detectives. Take his phone. Jesus, John.”
“Actually, he’s one of George’s detectives, Marty. And he voluntarily turned over the phone to me when he realized his mistake.”
“Oh, is that what happened?”
“Bernie say different?” Byron asked.
“He’s not saying anything. Says he came to you because he felt guilty about what he’d done.”
“Well then, there you have it.”
LeRoyer tented his fingers above his desk. He was staring Byron down trying to be intimidating. It wasn’t working. It never did.
“Look, you wanted the leak stopped. I stopped it. It isn’t my fault Kenny tried to throw the contest. By the way, they announce the new CID sergeant yet? I’m assuming it isn’t Crosby.”
A grin appeared on LeRoyer’s face. “Diane got the position. Not sure when Lynds is planning to make the announcement, so don’t say anything yet.” LeRoyer’s manufactured scowl returned. “And don’t do that to me, John. I hate it when you do that. I’m still pissed at you, okay?”
Byron held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. So, can I have Luke Gardiner now?”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s yours,” LeRoyer said. “What about the case? What’s the next move?”
As Byron opened his mouth to answer his cell buzzed with a call from Tran.
“Hey, Dustin,” Byron said, answering on the second ring.
“Striped Dude, where are you?” Tran said.
“Upstairs with the lieutenant. What’s up?”
“Well, you know how we couldn’t figure out who might have had a truck as none of our suspects had one registered in the BMV database?”
“Yes, I know. And?”
“And I just tripped over a little factoid of which we were previously unaware. Angelina Stavros has set up an LLC for her various financial interests.”
“How does that help us?” Byron asked.
“She has a three-quarter-ton pickup registered under AS Holdings. A GMC Sierra.”
Dennis Stavros, Byron thought. “Her handyman probably uses it.”
“Alex’s uncle, right?”
“Right.”
“Because, I just located the military records for Dennis Stavros. And a full set of fingerprints.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Byron took the information Tran had provided directly to Gabriel Pelligrosso in the lab.
“Can you work with these?” Byron asked, not sure if the printer quality was detailed enough for comparison purposes.
Pelligrosso slid the prints under a magnifier and studied them for a moment before answering. “Should be able to.”
“Let me know.”
“Will do.”
Byron immediately grabbed Detectives Nugent and Gardiner. He assigned Gardiner to continue the search that Robbins had previously undertaken trying to locate where the lumberyard padlock had been purchased, while Nugent was tasked with conducting surveillance on Prouts Neck, just down the road from the Stavros family compound. Tran finding a truck no one knew about had the potential to be big. And if Byron’s intuition was right, Dennis Stavros might just turn out to be the missing piece to their puzzle.
“You want him pulled over if I make contact?” Nugent asked.
“Not at this point,” Byron said. “I just want to keep him in our sights. He may be in a different vehicle than the one we’re looking for, and I don’t want to tip our hand until we’re sure he’s involved. If you see him in the truck, let me know.”
Byron was pacing the conference room like a caged tiger. He could feel things starting to come together. Some of the answers seemed nearly close enough to grab onto. Waiting was simply part of the process, but it had never made him comfortable. He wanted to be doing something, anything that would drive the investigation forward. But he had done all he could. Each of his people had been assigned a task. Now all he could do was wait. He reached into his pocket and removed his AA coin. Holding it in his palm he thought about the willpower it had taken to earn it. The patience. After a moment he returned it to his pocket and resumed pacing.
“Do you find that helps?” Diane said from the doorway.
“How long have you been standing there?” Byron asked.
“Long enough. Well, does it?”
“Probably not. But boy if I had a Fitbit, I’d be kicking ass.”
“That you would.”
“Any word yet?” Byron asked.
“I met with Lynds this morning,” Diane said.
“And? Did she make a decision?”
“Yes, but they haven’t told all the applicants yet. I promised not to say anything. I’m not sure Kenny knows.”
Oh, he knows, Byron thought. “So, did you get it?”
A smile lit her face as she nodded.
“That’s great! I’m so proud of you, Di.”
“Are you? You’re okay with all of this? I mean, it’s really—”
Byron leaned in and kissed her, cutting her off in mid-sentence. “I’m more than okay with it.”
“Don’t say anything, okay? I don’t want to get jammed up with Lynds before I even start the job.”
Byron held up his hand in the sign of the Boy Scouts. “Scout’s honor.”
Diane’s eyes narrowed, and she placed a hand on her hip. “You were a scout?”
“No, but whenever I do this it always seems to put people at ease.”
They sat down at the table and Byron brought her up to speed on the case.
“So, you think it’s the uncle?” Diane asked.
“I’m not sure. I’m betting he’s involved, but maybe only in discarding Dani’s body. I think he’s loyal to the family, specifically Lina. Whether he was involved in the murder or not, he’d want to find some way of diverting suspicion away from her and the rest of the family.”
“How does that square with Alex’s claim that he’s being set up? Why would Dennis want to frame his nephew for murdering Faherty?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Well?” Byron said impatiently. “Do they match?”
“Oh yeah. The only prints on that bag belong to Erwin Glantz and Dennis Stavros.”
Chapter 33
Monday, 5:35 p.m.,
July 24, 2017
It took until five o’clock that afternoon before Nugent caught sight of Dennis Stavros driving inbound on Black Point Road. Stavros was alone behind the wheel of a pine green GMC Sierra pickup; the very same truck Tran had discovered registered to Lina’s LLC.
As he was in an unmarked and outside of Portland’s jurisdiction, Nugent radioed for a Scarborough unit to make the stop. Stavros nearly made it all the way to Route 1 at Oak Hill before they finally pulled him over. Nugent explained the reasons for the stop and for impounding the truck as he took Dennis into custody. Nugent left the Scarborough officer to oversee towing the vehicle, while he transported Stavros to 109.
Byron and Stevens watched as Nugent escorted a handcuffed and subdued Dennis Stavros through CID and deposited him in Interview Room One.
“What did he have to say when you told him why you were arresting him?” Byron asked.
“Nothing,” Nugent said. “Honestly, I think he was waiting for this. Like he knew we’d show up sooner or later.”
LeRoyer breezed into the conference room. “That the uncle?” he asked, pointing at the monitor.
“Yes,” Byron said. “Dennis Stavros.”
“Who’s interviewing him?”
“I thought I might,” Byron said. “Unless you feel strongly about it, Marty.”
“Don’t be a dick, John. Does he know about the fingerprints?”
“Not yet. Nuge told him that he was under arrest in connection with our murder investigation into Danica Faherty, but that’s it.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Nugent said. “But I don’t think he was very surprised to see us.”
“Where’s the truck?”
“Scarborough PD is towing it back here now,” Byron said. “I’ve got Gabe waiting to process it.”
“And get this, Lieu,” Nugent said. “It’s got a loud exhaust and a hitch in its idle.”
Byron turned to Stevens. “You ready?”
“Let’s do this,” she said.
After a brief and somewhat failed attempt at cordiality, Byron read Stavros the Miranda warning. After providing confirmation that he understood his rights, Dennis waived them and agreed to speak with the detectives.
Byron led off the questioning. “I believe Detective Nugent already explained why we stopped you, and why it is that you’re in custody. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Stavros said.
“You should know that my evidence technicians are combing over your truck as we speak looking for any evidence that links it to the murder of Danica Faherty.”
Stavros indicated his understanding.
“You’re probably wondering how we linked you to the crime?” Byron looked over at Stevens and nodded.
“We lifted several of your fingerprints off of a garbage bag that was used to dispose of evidence of the crime,” Stevens said.
“How did you get my fingerprints?” Stavros asked. “I’ve never been arrested.”
Byron found it interesting that Dennis’s first comment hadn’t been a denial, or some excuse that the bag used was probably taken from Lina’s old home and that he might have touched them previously before the killer used them.
“Your military record,” Byron said. “Care to explain how your fingerprints got on the bag?”
Detective Luke Gardiner stood in the checkout line at Maine Hardware on St. John St. in Portland’s West End. He had taken up the search for where the padlock had been purchased following Bernie Robbins’s departure from the case. He knew that trying to locate the store from which a single padlock had been purchased nearly two weeks prior was a fool’s errand. The lock could have been purchased anywhere, including the internet. He would rather have been working some other more important aspect of the case, but he knew from his limited major case involvement that it was often the smallest details that broke a case wide open.
It was dinnertime and only a single register was open. Gardiner guessed that the other employees were on break. The customer directly in front of him had finally made it to the counter but then the clerk and the customer got into a disagreement over a sale price for one of the items. Gardiner shook his head. To those on the outside, detective work probably seemed glamorous. It wasn’t. Gardiner was beginning to drift off into his own thoughts when a voice called out to him.
“I can take you over here, sir,” a slightly built man said from the other register.
Gardiner hurried over to the clerk and produced his ID. “Thanks a lot.”
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
“We’re checking every store in the area looking to see if you would have a record of someone purchasing a very specific padlock about two weeks ago.”
“What kind of lock?”
Gardiner removed his cellphone and scrolled through the images until he located the picture of the padlock taken off the gate at the lumberyard that Pelligrosso had sent him. “This one.”
The clerk slid on a pair of black-framed reading glasses and bent to look at the screen. “That’s a Shade lock,” he said. “Do you happen to have the lock with you?”
“No, it’s in evidence. Do you sell them?”
“We certainly do. Is that a picture of a similar lock or the actual lock that was purchased?”
“This is a photo of the actual lock. Why?”
The clerk began tapping the keyboard in front of a desktop computer sitting atop the counter beside the register. “Because there are several different style Shade padlocks. That one is pretty specific.”
Gardiner’s excitement was building. He hoped that the clerk’s knowledge meant he was getting close.
“Yup,” the clerk said. “We did sell one of those a couple of weeks back. Looks like it was on Monday July 10th.”
“Cash or credit?”
“Actually, it was purchased on account. There’s already a card on file.”
“Who is the account holder?”
“Don’t you need a subpoena or warrant or something?” the clerk asked.
“Sir, I’m working a homicide. The longer it takes for me to do my job, the more likely the persons responsible will get away with it.”
The clerk looked over his glasses at Gardiner, sizing him up.
“Please,” Gardiner said. “I just need the name of the account holder.”
“I don’t know the actual account owner because it’s an LLC, but the name on the account is AS Holdings.”
Gardiner could feel disappointment creeping in.
“What about the person who used the account?” Gardiner asked. “Do you know him?”
“No, not by name. But he’s in here quite frequently.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Middle-aged. Rugged. Mustache.”
“Do you have in-store surveillance video?”
“Yeah, but we don’t keep it that far back. It writes over itself every few days. Storage space and all.”
“Did this man make any other purchases, or just the lock?”
The clerk looked back at the screen and tapped a few more keys. “Bought a few things actually.”
“Like?”
“Construction grade garbage bags, several large plastic tarps, a box of nitrile gloves, and a pack of saw blades.”
“Saw blades?” Gardiner’s voice cracked as he fought to hide his growing excitement. “What kind of saw blades?”
“Reciprocating saw blades.”
Byron returned to the interview room holding a printout of the purchase invoice that Gardiner had obtained from Maine Hardware. He sat across from Stavros, placing the sheet of paper facedown on the table. Stavros stared at it, unblinking.<
br />
Byron pounced before Stavros had a chance to think. “You know the weird thing about police investigations, Dennis? You never know what will be important in making a case. Often, it’s the most insignificant things. It’s not like the movies where every killer is a brilliant sociopath. Most murderers are everyday people who just snap. Once they realize what they’ve done they scramble to try and cover their tracks. Problem is, they make a lot of mistakes.” Byron tapped his index finger slowly and repeatedly on the paper invoice. “I bet you’re wondering what mistakes you made.”
Stavros looked up from the table and picked a spot on the wall behind Byron to stare at.
Byron continued. “One of the curiosities of this case was the lock we found securing a gate at the lumberyard. See, the security company had a key that fit every lock on every gate, except the one securing the Maple Street entrance. All I could figure was that the person or persons who had abandoned Danica Faherty’s body must have cut the old one off and replaced it.”
Byron could see the emotional wall Stavros had erected beginning to slip.
“My detectives have scoured the Greater Portland area trying to find where that lock might have been purchased, and who might have purchased it. See, we figured if we could establish that we could identify Danica’s killer.”
Stavros’s shoulders sagged in defeat and his eyes began to water.
Byron pressed on. “Imagine our surprise when we found out where the lock had been purchased and when. You see, it was the day after Danica was killed and two days before we found her decapitated remains.”
Stavros reached for the cup of water and drank. His hand was shaking.
Byron continued. “And the lock wasn’t the only thing that the salesman rang up for the customer that day.” He paused long enough to flip the Maine Hardware invoice faceup and slide it toward Stavros. Stavros looked away.
“You’re not looking at it, Dennis. Don’t you want to see what else the customer purchased? Or do you already know?”
Stavros wiped at his eyes with the base of his palm. Byron could see the faint welts on his wrist and the residue of calamine powder. Byron realized that what he had thought was a scar on the side of Stavros’s neck, the first time he’d met him at Lina’s house in Prouts Neck, was a poison ivy welt.
Within Plain Sight Page 29
