“Mr. Bagley, you’re a possible witness to a murder. If your friend killed Ramsey, you’ll be expected to testify.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“What’s Roger’s last name?”
Byron waited a moment while Bagley mulled it over in his head.
“I need a name, Mr. Bagley,” Byron said.
“It’s Fowler,” Bagley blurted out. “His name’s Roger Fowler.”
“Where can I find him?” Byron asked.
“He works at the gym on St. John Street. Fitness World. He’s a personal trainer.”
“We recovered Attorney Ramsey’s body in the ocean. Any idea how he might have gotten there?”
Bagley shook his head again. “I don’t know.”
“Did either of you go back to check on him?”
Bagley was playing with the sugar packet again. “I did, about a half hour later.”
“And?”
The packet ripped, spilling sugar across the tabletop. “He was gone.”
“Where was Roger?”
“I don’t know. We got into an argument on the way back to my place. Roger got pissed at me and took off.”
“Where did he say he was going?”
“He said he went back to his apartment.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“I don’t know. Now I’m worried he might have gone back and thrown Ramsey in the water, or . . .”
“Or what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would Roger do that?” Byron waited as Bagley mulled over his answer.
“He likes to have the last word. It’s important to him.”
Byron wondered if it was important enough to kill for.
“Have you ever known Roger to carry weapons?”
“Like knives? No, nothing like that.”
“How about a gun?”
Bagley swallowed nervously. “I’ve heard him mention a gun before.”
“How would a gun come up in conversation?” Byron asked.
Bagley absently began to play with another sugar packet. “A couple of months ago, he was telling me how some guy threatened him. When I asked how he got the guy to back off he said he threatened to shoot him.”
“Has Roger ever shown you a gun?”
Bagley’s eyes misted up and his hands began shaking.
“Has he?” Byron repeated.
“Yes.” Bagley broke down, sobbing.
Byron spent the next ten minutes convincing the broken middle-aged man to give a formal statement, before driving him to 109.
After obtaining a video recorded statement from Bagley, Byron gathered everyone in the conference room to bring them up to speed.
“You’re telling me that two different people tuned Ramsey up that night?” LeRoyer asked.
“Told you he was popular,” Byron said.
“So what? You think this Fowler guy might have gone back and shot him?”
Byron didn’t know what to think. It was unusual for the same guy to be involved in two different physical altercations on the same night, but certainly not unheard of, especially in Portland’s Old Port where excessive alcohol consumption was the norm and inhibitions were typically in short supply.
“It’s possible,” Byron said. “But still it wouldn’t explain Ramsey’s SUV ending up on Veranda Street.”
“Or him in the ocean,” Diane added.
“How could one guy have pissed off so many people?” LeRoyer asked.
“He had a gift,” Nugent said.
“What about Darius?” Diane asked.
“Yeah, what’d he have to say?” LeRoyer said.
“Tomlinson said Ramsey used to be a regular,” Byron said.
“Used to be?” Stevens asked.
“Said he stopped buying from him about six months ago. Thinks Ramsey was getting his Coke from a stripper named Candy.”
“Jesus,” Nugent said. “Trixie, Candy, it’s Stripperfest 2016.”
“That would be Joanne Babbage,” Diane said. “She may have been dating Ramsey. Mel and I found her apartment yesterday but couldn’t locate her.”
“In Portland?” Byron asked.
“State Street,” Diane said. “Near Danforth.”
Byron recalled his conversation with Al Greene, parking control Nazi extraordinaire. Greene had said that Ramsey had outstanding parking violations from State Street. Byron wondered if they were overnight tags. He continued. “Tomlinson told us that Candy works out of the Unicorn for his competition, a guy by the name of Alonzo Gutierrez.”
“I know Gutierrez,” Stevens said. “He’s a real shithead.”
“We’ve gotta find Candy,” LeRoyer said, once again stating the obvious.
“Did Darius mention whether Ramsey ever had trouble paying when he was still a customer?” Stevens asked.
Byron shook his head. “Said Ramsey always paid cash. Called him a good customer.”
“How much was he using?” Diane asked.
“Five hundred a week.”
“Damn,” Nugent said. “You know what I could do with an extra five bills a week?”
“What about painkillers?” Diane asked. “Did he ever switch it up?”
“Not according to Darius. Strictly coke.”
“So where did Ramsey get the fentanyl?” LeRoyer asked.
“Maybe he didn’t get it anywhere,” Byron said. “Maybe someone gave it to him without his knowledge.”
“You’re thinking they substituted fentanyl for his cocaine?” Diane said.
“Or laced it,” Byron said. “Ramsey snorts it thinking it’s pure coke. Or ingests it in a drink. Whatever. By the time he realizes what it really was, it’s too late. It was already affecting him.”
“Why would anyone do that?” Stevens said.
“My guess?” Byron said. “Slow him down. Make him easier to control. Easier to kill.”
“Jesus,” LeRoyer said.
“They probably knew he’d been drinking,” Byron continued. “Adding a narcotic to a depressant would have been like slipping him Rohypnol.”
“Mickey Finn strikes again,” Nugent said.
“Did Darius mention if he knew anyone who’d want Ramsey dead?” Diane asked.
“Said he didn’t.”
“So what’s our next move, Sarge?” Nugent asked.
Byron addressed Diane and Mel. “Why don’t the two of you locate Babbage. Let’s lock her into something before she has a chance to come up with a story.”
“On our way,” Diane said.
Byron turned to Nugent. “Let’s go find Bagley’s boyfriend.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sunday, 10:15 a.m., May 1, 2016
Byron and Nugent departed from 109 and radioed to meet Haggerty down the street from Fitness World. Haggerty’s black-and-white was already parked nose-out in the lot of the St. John Street McDonald’s when they arrived. Byron slid the Malibu up tight to the right side of the cruiser as he had a thousand times when he was still a beat cop. Some habits didn’t change just because the uniform did.
“Hey, Sarge,” Haggerty said after lowering the passenger window.
“Hags,” Byron and Nugent said simultaneously.
“What are you guys up to?”
“We just joined the gym,” Nugent said. “And we need a spotter.”
“That’ll be the day for you, Nuge. Maybe the sarge here, but not you, Stay Puft,” Haggerty said, cocking his thumb in the direction of the burger joint. “You’d be better off hitting the drive-through here for a double quarter with cheese.”
“Ouch. You hear what that big heartless oaf said to me, Sarge?”
Byron ignored the banter. “We’re headed over to Fitness World to interview a guy named Roger Fowler. You know him?”
“Sure I do. He’s one of their personal trainers. Used to lift competitively. He’s a big dude.”
“That’s why I called you,” Byron said.
“This have something to do with the Ram
sey murder?” Haggerty asked.
“Yeah, Fowler’s scared boyfriend coughed up some information. Said that big dude might’ve punched out Ramsey the night he was killed.”
“Sounds like Fowler. He’s got a temper. And he prefers men.”
“You guys ever share a shower, Hags?” Nugent asked. “I mean, just between us.”
“Actually, you’d be more his type,” Haggerty said. “He likes ’em old and soft.”
Nugent flipped him off.
“Ever known this guy to carry?” Byron asked.
Haggerty shook his head. “No, but there’s always a first time.”
Byron pulled out of the McDonald’s lot and Haggerty followed in the black-and-white. They drove two blocks to the gym, parked in the lot, and walked inside.
A fit-looking brunette with pigtails, wearing a bright yellow Fitness World shirt and tight black spandex pants, was manning the front desk. “Welcome to Fitness World,” she said, her hazel eyes immediately fixed on Haggerty. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” Byron said, trying to pry her admiring gaze away from the well-built younger officer. “We’re looking for Roger Fowler.”
“Is he in some kind of trouble?” she asked, concern creasing her forehead.
“Nah,” Nugent said. “We’re thinking about signing up for a session.”
Spandex looked confused.
“We just want to talk with him,” Byron said, shooting Nugent a look of disapproval.
“Hang on a sec,” she said. “I’ll page him.”
Byron stepped back from the desk, quickly scanning the room as Fowler’s name came over the public announcement system. Byron spotted him on the opposite side of the room when Fowler’s head snapped up upon hearing his name. Wearing a formfitting black tee, gray sweatpants, and red sneakers, Fowler had just finished spotting another man on the bench. He started walking toward Byron then stopped; like a squirrel attempting to cross the road, he did a quick about-face and headed in the other direction. Byron turned and looked at Haggerty’s uniform. Shit.
“He made us,” Byron said. “Come on.”
“Here we go again,” Nugent said.
Byron and Haggerty circled around to the right side of the gym while Nugent took the left in an attempt to head off Fowler’s escape route.
Fowler quickened his pace.
Byron could see Fowler’s intended destination was a staff office in the far left corner of the gym’s main workout area. Byron glanced left and saw Nugent break into a jog as he raced to cut Fowler off.
Nugent arrived at the closed office door a split second before Fowler, and stood blocking his path. Byron and Haggerty hurried toward them. Both could see the bald detective flash his shield just before Fowler reached out and shoved him.
Big mistake, Byron thought.
Nugent’s reaction was as quick as it was subtle. Anybody not watching intently would have missed it. A short jab to Fowler’s solar plexus and the muscle-bound trainer was doubled over and gasping for breath.
“Roger Fowler,” Byron said, coming up behind him. “We need to talk.”
Diane and Stevens came up empty at Joanne Babbage’s State Street apartment once again.
“For a girl who works nights you’d think she might be home a little more during the day,” Stevens said.
“Yeah, so you’d think,” Diane agreed.
“Now what? The club?”
“Yeah. Let’s swing out and see if her car’s there.”
“What about what Trixie said? The bosses at the Unicorn aren’t going to like us tracking Babbage down there.”
“She isn’t leaving us any options,” Diane said. “We can’t wait any longer to talk to her. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
“What if we say we’re doing follow-up on a burglary to her apartment or something? Her bosses can’t be pissed at her for that, right?”
“The old 10–91 routine, huh? Okay. I’m game.”
Byron, Nugent, and Haggerty moved Fowler inside the private confines of the office, where they wouldn’t be disturbed.
“I assume you know why we’re here?” Byron said.
“You can’t find a date?” Fowler shot back, still rubbing his stomach and trying to catch his breath.
Nugent, who was standing behind the seated Fowler, slapped him in the back of the head. “Don’t be an asshole.”
Fowler turned his head to the side, glaring back at Nugent. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again, meatball.”
“Anytime, Alice,” Nugent said.
Byron saw Haggerty fighting back a grin.
“Wanna try again?” Byron said, pulling a chair over and sitting down directly in front of Fowler.
“I don’t have any idea why you guys are fucking with me. I haven’t done shit.”
“Hmm. That’s not exactly what William Bagley tells us.”
Fowler’s eyes widened. “Bagley’s got a big mouth.”
“Nice and soft too, I’ll bet,” Nugent said.
“Fuck you, meatball,” Fowler snapped.
Nugent cuffed the back of the trainer’s head again.
“Fuck,” Fowler said.
“Watch your language, asshole,” Nugent said.
“Tell me what happened in the Old Port the other night,” Byron said.
“What did Will tell you happened?”
Byron shook his head. “Not how this works. You don’t get to ask questions. I do. What happened?”
“Want another one?” Nugent asked as he drew back his hand.
“Okay, okay. Will and I were out having a couple of drinks.”
“Where?” Byron asked.
“A few different places. We hit the oyster bar, then RiRa’s, then we decided to head back to Will’s apartment for a nightcap.”
“And?”
“And some asshole in a suit staggered into me, near the alley on Silver Street.”
Byron waited for him to finish.
“I yelled at him. It looked like he was gonna take a poke at me so I punched him first.”
“He was going to assault you?” Byron asked.
“Looked like it to me. It was self-defense.”
“How many times did you hit him, in self-defense?”
“Once. That’s it.”
Byron raised an eyebrow.
“I’m tellin’ ya, one punch. Don’t believe me? Ask Will.”
“Then what happened?”
“We got into an argument about it, Will and me. He doesn’t like me getting physical with people.”
“And then?”
“Then I went home to my place and I assume Will went to his.”
“You went directly home?”
“What I said.”
“And you didn’t go back out?”
“Nope.”
“Anyone vouch for your whereabouts?”
“No. I went to bed alone.”
“I’ll bet that sucked,” Nugent said. “Or on second thought, I guess it didn’t.”
Byron fixed Nugent with a dirty look. “You didn’t go back to check on the guy you punched?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Did you know the man you punched?”
“No.”
“No? Then why did you tell Bagley you did?”
“Is that what this is all about? Ramsey?” Fowler visibly relaxed in the chair.
“You tell us,” Byron said.
“Look, I got into an argument with some asshole down in the Old Port the other night, okay? Just like I said. He was dressed like a big deal, wearing a nice suit.”
“An argument?” Byron said. “I thought you just bumped into the guy. What was the argument about?”
“It was nothing. We had words inside the oyster bar while Will was in the bathroom. It was stupid.”
“So stupid that you felt the need to level Ramsey?”
“Look, I told you, it wasn’t Ramsey.”
“Why did you tell your boyfriend it was?”
“I was jus
t showing off. When I saw on the news that Ramsey was dead, I made a comment to Will about him. Something like, ‘That will teach him to fuck with me.’ But I was just fucking around.”
“So you did tell Will that it was Ramsey you knocked out?”
“Who said I knocked anyone out?”
“Bagley did. Said he watched you do it after you bumped into the guy.”
“Hey, that asshole bumped into me. Okay? Then he got all in my face. I could tell he was about to take a swing at me. You guys know how it is. You can just tell. It was self-defense. Anyway, he had it coming.”
“So you did knock him out?” Byron said.
Fowler’s eyes dropped to the floor as Byron awaited a response.
“You own a gun, Mr. Fowler?”
Fowler looked to Haggerty then back to Byron. “You’re serious?”
“Well? Do you?”
“Look, I just said that stuff to scare Will. It wasn’t even Ramsey I punched.”
“Do you own a gun?” Byron shouted.
“No, man. I don’t fuck around with guns. That ain’t my thing.”
“So, you’ve never shown a handgun to Will?”
Fowler swallowed nervously. “No.”
“Then you won’t mind if we check your apartment?”
Fowler sat back in the chair, defiantly, crossing his large arms over his equally expansive chest. “Of course not. Long as you don’t mind getting a fucking warrant. And I want to file a complaint.”
“What complaint?” Byron asked.
“This bald asshole assaulted me,” he said, cocking his thumb in Nugent’s direction.
Nugent’s eyes widened. “Bald?”
“Actually,” Byron said, “Officer Haggerty and I saw you shove Detective Nugent before he struck you. Isn’t that right, Officer Haggerty?”
“Yup, that’s what happened, Sarge.”
“What about him smacking me in the head?” Fowler asked.
“Sarge, I did have to smack Mr. Fowler a couple of times,” Nugent said.
“You did?” Byron said in mock surprise.
“Yeah, I thought he was gonna take a swing at me. You know how you can just tell sometimes?”
Byron nodded. “Sounds more like self-defense to me.”
“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” Fowler said.
Beneath the Depths Page 20
