What Happened To Flynn

by Pat Muir

  “Why don’t you fire up your computer and Google for an attorney,” I suggested. Flynn followed my suggestion and soon came up with an alphabetical list of criminal attorneys in San Diego. He asked if I had worked with any of them, the implication being favorably. The third one on the list was Jose Amendez, and I said, “Aha,” when I saw his name.

  “Have you worked with him before?” asked Flynn. I said I had, and the tone of my voice must have suggested approval, because Flynn promptly telephoned his office. Amendez was apparently in court; his receptionist promised a return call. Amendez called Flynn while we were driving to the airport and said he would meet him immediately upon arrival. I uncuffed Flynn for the trip. He and Dane Hanson watched the movie Casino on the plane while I finished my Sue Grafton novel. I told them the movie reflected the tribulations of a realtor who purchased a mob-controlled casino in Nevada. I mentioned that Swift’s attorney, Pearson Sweeny, had claimed Larry Swift had been similarly boxed in by mobsters.

  CHAPTER 36

  Amendez met us in the airport baggage area and introduced himself to his new client. He took custody of Flynn’s suitcase and said he would be at the arraignment. A patrol car outside took Flynn back in handcuffs to jail. I went home that Friday feeling very satisfied with myself. I drank a little more wine than usual, and over the weekend, I binge-watched some HBO TV series. I looked forward to the end of my missing man investigation.

  Monday at 1:00 p.m. found me, Brenda Williams, and Jose Amendez in the questioning room, facing Art Flynn. Jose Amendez had spent the morning with him and was ready for his client to be further questioned.

  Jose said, “My client wants to make a statement, so please hear him out before you ask him questions.”

  We all nodded, and Flynn began.

  “As soon I examined the damaged gas connection, I was sure I had been targeted. I was astonished that somebody could be so callous in wanting to kill me that they would needlessly harm others in the explosion. I then told Mary, to whom I had become very close, that I had observed drug money being counted by the park manager, Larry Swift’s uncle. She told me to write to the Drug Enforcement Administration, which I promptly did. She suggested I not return from the fishing camp until the DEA had completed their investigation and Swift and his associates were behind bars. I had scheduled that trip long beforehand, and I thought nobody would go after me there. But then I realized that Marge knew where I was going, as did my boss and coworkers. I could readily be found. I figured I would have to disappear until Swift and his associates were convicted. Now, my neighbor, Bob, had been very ill with emphysema and COPD for some time, and it was a coincidence that on that Thursday morning, Mary found him dead in bed. I had come to love Mary and did not want to leave without her. She needed help because she would have no income when Bob died and would be helpless if she suffered further with her MS. I decided to help her and myself by taking Bob’s identity. I just had to get rid of the body.”

  Flynn took a deep breath and continued. “I told Mary my plan, and she agreed to it, telling me she had just discovered I had made her pregnant. She was worried what might happen to me if Bob’s body was discovered and not identified as mine. I told her the risk was very low given all the steps we were to undertake. I told her I would rather be alive with her and have the opportunity of looking after her and the baby in safety than the alternative. I took a seven-minute video of Robert lying on the ground with his face up and that morning’s newspaper visible by his side. The video is on the thumb drive, which law enforcement now has.

  Flynn continued. “Fortunately, Bob and I were nearly the same height. It was still dark that morning, so I was able to cram Bob’s body, still in his pajamas, into the freezer in my shed without being seen. I cashed two commission checks to have money to support ourselves until Mary’s mobile home was sold. I arranged for Mary to clean all my clothes and my home very thoroughly and to put a few of Bob’s clothes in my chest of drawers. I left Bob’s hairbrush and toothbrush in my bathroom so forensics would mistake Bob’s corpse for mine if it was ever discovered. Very early Sunday morning, I removed Bob’s body, now frozen in a fetal position, and put it in the trunk of my car. I drove to the camp, arriving sufficiently early to get some fishing in.”

  Despite being asked not to interrupt, I did. “Did you notice the two men in the Avalon car that had taken your spot in T1?”

  “Yes. They had taken my spot. I didn’t feel like challenging them, especially since I had a dead body in the trunk of my car. Not getting the prime space wasn’t that important, since I was going to leave soon anyway. Just before midnight, when I judged everybody to be asleep, I left all my camping gear and slowly drove out of the park to another part of the river. I dug a hole in the bank of the river and buried Bob’s corpse. I sawed off his head while it was in the trunk, so it got bloody in there. If the body was every discovered, I wanted it to look like I had been killed for being a snitch. I also didn’t want anybody to compare my dental records with Bob’s.”

  “What did you do with the head and the spade you used to dig the grave?” I asked, interrupting again.

  “I put the head in a black plastic bag. I dropped it and the spade in one of the gas station dumpsters as I drove south. I left the car in Compton, where I arrived around eight a.m. on Monday morning. I took public transportation to Long Beach, where I stayed at the library until Mary picked me up. After dinner, she drove home, and we arrived in the dark. I simply put on Bob’s hoodie, wrapped myself in his blanket, and Mary wheeled me up the ramp into her home. Over the next eight weeks, I would cough if the mailman or neighbor came by. Mary would say I was too sick to see anybody. On two occasions, Mary rolled me out in the wheelchair in the dark of early morning and drove away, telling neighbors I was going to the VA hospital for treatment. Finally, she took me to a motel in Irvine, where I stayed until the mobile home sold. Mary wanted to say goodbye to her sister before we left, a sister very ill with cancer who also lived in Irvine. She did not tell her sister any of this.”

  He took a breath before continuing. “Mary was very sad at leaving her ill sister. She knew she would never see her again. If she did go back to see her, I might be discovered by the drug money thugs. We drove to Albuquerque, where we sold the van for cash. We purchased another car there for cash and drove to Orlando, where we looked around, deciding what to do. After Mary gave birth to our beautiful little boy, Bobby, I decided to go back to work. We needed an income. I applied for a real estate license and a driver’s license in Bobby’s name and got a job in Titusville doing what I used to do…selling mobile homes. Mary and I bought a mobile home there and became part of the local community.

  “Did you know that Marge Holmes’s daughter died?” I asked.

  Flynn’s face saddened. “I didn’t know. She was a sweet little girl whose life I was privileged to share for three or four years… I’m very sorry for Marge.”

  His statement over, he looked at me, expecting me to ask questions, which I did.

  “Why didn’t you empty out your bank account before you went to the camp?”

  “Because I wanted to leave the impression that my disappearance was not planned.”

  “Did you forge Robert Smith’s name to the mobile home listing agreement and escrow documents?”

  Amendez forestalled Flynn. “I have advised my client not to say anything on this matter. I will discuss this with the district attorney later.”

  Brenda spoke up. “Your client has admitted to the charges of mutilation of a corpse and improper disposal of a body. You should also be aware we will be charging him with identity theft as well.”

  “That’s not fair,” said Flynn. “I was taking the identity of a dead man. He couldn’t use it anymore.”

  Amendez cautioned him not to speak as Brenda rebutted his claim. “Mr. Flynn, using somebody else’s identity is a felony irrespective of whether the person whose identity is stolen is injured in any way. You felt you had done no injury, but the failure to repor
t Mr. Smith’s death led to pensions being paid into his account for many years after his death. Furthermore, the failure to report his death meant that his son could not inherit his father’s assets.”

  Flynn’s face fell, and his attorney whispered something to him I could not hear. Brenda said she would be filing the extra charge and there would be an arraignment hearing two days later. Amendez asked if he could meet with her to discuss plea considerations and bail requests. They agreed on a time. That broke up the meeting. I heard from Brenda on the Monday that she and Amendez had been unable to reach an agreement on the penalties to be imposed if Flynn pled guilty to the various charges. “He wants a jury trial,” she said, sadly knowing the time and cost it would take. It would also require me to give evidence.

  I had to go to court on another case on the day Flynn was arraigned. My testimony finished early, so I went to the courtroom where Flynn was being arraigned and found the hearing in process. It was the last hearing of the morning, so I waited there to see if Brenda and I could have lunch together. Brenda stated that the charges against Flynn were forgery, identity theft, mutilation of a corpse, and improper disposal of a corpse. The judge asked Flynn if he understood the charges, to which he replied yes. “Do you have any objections to the defendant being released on his own recognizance,” the judge asked Brenda. She replied she wanted Flynn prevented from returning to Florida, since that could involve the state in an extradition hearing. She said she would consider such a release if Flynn were fitted with an ankle monitor with the requirement that he not leave San Diego County. Jose Amendez said those conditions were acceptable to his client. Thus, I saw Flynn escorted out of the courtroom by the bailiff to be taken back to jail for fitting the ankle monitor.

  As Brenda and I walked down the corridor, we passed a bunch of people sitting on the benches outside, attorneys, jurors, family members, witnesses, and even a reporter. Some were reading, some talking, some playing games on their cell phones or computers, and some making phone calls. One of them making a phone call was an attractive dark-haired woman wearing sunglasses who had been in the courtroom. She seemed vaguely familiar to me. It bothered me that I couldn’t place her—a former deputy, a former witness, a retired colleague, an old neighbor? I returned to my office after lunch with Brenda and worked on my caseload, still trying to place that woman in my memory. Our office address had changed that day to Cop St. Was it telling me anything? Around four in the afternoon, I realized the woman I’d seen was Marge Holmes. Why had she been at the courthouse for the arraignment? If she expected to waltz into Flynn’s arms, she was mistaken. He was well and truly in a relationship with Mary Smith, a relationship cemented by their children. I could not fathom why she would be there. And who and why was she phoning?

  A horrible thought came into my mind. Had we barked up the wrong tree in prosecuting Swift for the attempted murder of Flynn? We had assumed that the purpose of the murder had been to stop him from giving evidence against Swift and Arzeta about their money laundering enterprise. One of the important pieces of evidence in Swift’s trial had been the phone calls to and from his cell phone to Bailey. He had denied making those phone calls, and we had not believed him. Indeed, we had been able to persuade a jury that he’d been lying. That Swift had been convicted in a well-publicized conviction for money laundering had stigmatized him as a criminal and biased the jury. We’d never understood why Andy Collins had been assassinated. We had assumed initially it had been to stop him from giving evidence about the money laundering. That had never made sense, since the physical evidence against Swift and Arzeta was overwhelming. Andy Collins’s testimony, presumably in return for a reduced sentence, would have been superfluous. So, we’d then reckoned Collins had been slain so he couldn’t give evidence against Swift for his attempts to have Flynn killed.

  I began to hypothesize instead that Marge Holmes had wanted Flynn killed because she had known of his accidental life insurance policy in which her daughter was the beneficiary and she the contingent beneficiary. If Flynn were to die in an accident, she would control two million dollars, and she would inherit that if her daughter Sally died. Had Flynn been killed by the gas leak in his mobile home, that would have appeared accidental. Had Flynn been found drowned in the Russian River, that would have been deemed accidental. If Collins and Bailey had been in a hurry to kill off Flynn to stop him from giving evidence about the money laundering, why not bump him off by shooting him like they had with Andy Collins? Is it possible Andy Collins was shot to death because Bailey had somehow let it slip that Marge, not Swift, was the one who had ordered the killing? Maybe it was Marge who had made and received the phone calls from Bailey. Could Marge be calling Bailey to kill off Flynn still? If I were correct, then she might have been calling him to tell him to watch the exit from the county jail and follow Flynn to where he would be staying.

  I called Jose Amendez and asked him where Flynn was. “I picked him up at the county jail and brought him to my office, where I gave him his suitcase.”

  “Is he still there?”

  “No, he took a taxi to the Super Ten Motel in Mission Valley.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “An hour ago. Why do you ask?”

  I did not answer the question, I thanked Jose, dashed out of my office to an unmarked car, and sped off to the Super Ten Motel. I called for backup as I drove. If my suspicions were correct, Bailey, or even Marge, might have followed Flynn to the hotel to find out which room he went to. The motel was an older type with exterior doors to the rooms, which made it easy for an observer to see which one a guest went to. I told the backup deputy to wait hidden in the parking lot of another motel two blocks away. If I was correct, then Bailey would return in the dark but was probably waiting nearby, watching the room to make sure Flynn did not leave. I did not want him to see me interacting with Flynn. I went to the manager’s office and asked the desk clerk which room Flynn had gone to—number 36. I gave a description of Bailey and Marge Holmes to the desk clerk and asked if either of them had checked in after Flynn. The desk clerk said neither had. I then got onto the house phone and called Flynn.

  Thank God he’s there. “Art, this is Detective Shane Notfarg. Listen to me very carefully. There is a possible dangerous situation that I am concerned about. I want you first to lock your door and put the chain or security lock on it.” I kept my voice low so the desk clerk could not hear me. No point getting motel management upset as well.

  “What’s this about, and where are you?”

  “I am at your motel, watching your room. I believe there may still be a further attempt to kill you.”

  There was a pause, an audible gulp. “Why’s that? Are they still mad at me because I snitched on them seven years ago?”

  “Art, I don’t know. But I think there’s a situation we will be able to correct tomorrow. If somebody knocks on your door without identifying themselves, do not open the door. Retreat to the bathroom and lock it.”

  “Can’t I come out and join you?” His voice had a begging tone.

  “No. It’s dangerous for you to leave. We have a possible opportunity here to catch the man who has twice attempted to assassinate you. That opportunity exists only for tonight.”

  Tomorrow, we would get Art to cancel his insurance policy and eliminate this possible motivation for him to be killed. But tonight, there was a chance we could catch Joseph Bailey. If we did, perhaps he might lead us to Arzeta. The motel had a coffee shop from which it was possible to see the parking lot. I sat at a table in the shop and ordered a coffee. I called the back-up deputy, telling him to grab a quick takeout meal. I bought a newspaper from a stand and pretended to read it while watching the parking lot. I could hardly wait the whole night there. Indeed, the coffee shop shut at 11:30 p.m. I would need to go to the toilet at some point. I needed more eyes.

  I telephoned Dane Hanson and caught him on his way home. “Dane, I need your help. Don’t ask questions. I want you to come to the Super Ten Motel in Miss
ion Valley and register for a room as close as possible to room 36 and one where you can easily see the parking lot. I’m in the coffee shop. Call me when you’re in your room. Then I’ll tell you what this is all about.”

  It is a great thing to have a reliable partner, and Dane, who replaced Steve, had, over the past year, proven himself. I watched the parking lot and saw Dane arrive in his gray Ford. He glanced at me in the coffee shop as he went to the manager’s office. I watched him leave and enter room 46, which was directly above Flynn’s room. Damn! Why couldn’t he get a downstairs unit? I will need help to make the arrest if there is one.

  He phoned. “Shane, they don’t have any more downstairs rooms. I got this one since it’s the closest. What’s this all about?”

  “Turn off the light and close the blinds so there’s just a small gap for you to look through without being seen from the outside. Then tell me how much of the parking lot you can see.”

  “I can see all of it. Please tell me what’s up.”

  I explained my theory, adding, “I can’t upset the applecart by having a deputy in plainclothes join Flynn in his room, since that would tip off Bailey if indeed he is out there and watching.”

  “You’re leaving Flynn in considerable danger. There will be hell to pay if something happens to him.”

  “Don’t I know it! My job and reputation will be on the line.”

  “So, if your theory is correct, then Bailey may show up. If your theory is wrong, then you will have to explain why I’ve charged a room to the unit account and why we will be charging for overtime as well.”