Des nodded. “Your friend was doing a little freelancing, Lieutenant. Thought he might have a bead on the Dorset Flasher. I was sitting on the Captain Chadwick House last night. I saw him leave his apartment on foot and decided to shadow him. See where he led me.”
“So you were in the vicinity of the murder scene?”
“I’m the one who found him. Tripped right over his body, in fact.”
“And since you and he didn’t get along, I’m guessing the bosses now have you chained you to a desk far, far away.”
“Correct,” Des said stiffly.
“Which sucks.”
“Also correct.”
“You folks are figuring one of two thing,” he said to Yolie. “That this Dorset Flasher spotted Dawgie and took him out. Or that Dawgie was the Flasher and got taken out by someone looking to punish him. Am I right so far?”
“Well, yeah…” she acknowledged grudgingly.
Very shook his head. “No way. That’s not what happened.”
“How you know that?” she demanded. “You got special superpowers?”
“What else did your people turn up this morning?”
“Actually, I was just about to bring Master Sergeant Mitry up to date.”
He flashed a grin at her. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”
“As if you could.”
“You’d be surprised. I’m very resourceful.”
“I’ll just bet you are.” Yolie opened her notepad, glancing through it. “Hasn’t rained for a week. The ground near the body was bone dry. No shoe prints. But score one for your side, girl. The techies found fresh shoe prints down by the riverbank just like you said they would. Someone who appeared to be running away from the crime scene. Wearing sneakers, they think. They took impressions. They’re working on them up at the lab right now. And the ME has the victim on the table as we speak.”
“Has anyone turned up that ski mask?” Des asked her.
“Not yet,” she replied, squinting down at her notes. “I hooked up with Rut Peck at Essex Meadows. He confirmed that his house is currently unoccupied. Ray Smith, his neighbor from across Maple Lane, was playing checkers with him at Essex Meadows when the murder went down.”
“Checkers?” Very repeated. “I didn’t know people still played checkers.”
“At last, we found something you don’t know,” she shot back.
“Yolie, did you get anything more out of Nan Sidell?” Des asked.
“The neighbor with the barking dog? Oly recanvassed her this morning. She had nothing else for him. Why you asking?”
“I thought her boys might have been holding something back. Just a feeling. How about Dex and Maddee Farrell?”
“They heard the commotion afterward. Not the incident itself. Were in their den reading and listening to a Brahms Piano Quartet on National Public Radio. They’re a pair of cuties, aren’t they? Mrs. Farrell yapped at me nonstop. Mr. Farrell, the world’s biggest scam artist, just sat there, staring at the wall. I was about ready to stick a pocket mirror under the man’s nose. Make sure he was still breathing.” Yolie leafed through her notepad some more. “We can cross their daughter’s ex, J. Z. Cliffe, off of our list. He was throwing down tequila shooters at the Monkey Farm Cafe when it happened. His girlfriend Maggie Gallagher, who’s a barmaid there, vouches for him. So do the bartender and couple of regulars. Hal Chapman’s another story. He claims he was getting busy on White Sand Beach with a slammin’ blonde named Terri. Married lady from New York who was in Dorset visiting friends. But he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give me her last name-beyond the letter E as in maybe Edsen. Or the name of her friends. Or the make or model of her ride. All I’ve got is that she works for some big outfit that recovers assets for people.” She raised an eyebrow at Des. “Maybe that’s something you can sink your teeth into while you’re chained to your desk.”
Des nodded. “I’m on it.”
“Which brings me to Kenny Lapidus…”
“Not a chance,” Mitch said heatedly. “Kenny’s no killer.”
“We have to check him out, hon. That’s what we do. Kimberly said he was in his bedroom e-mailing people at the time of the murder. That’d alibi out your average human, what with e-mails being time coded and all. But Kenny’s a full-time practicing geek. There’s no doubt in my mind that someone with his skills knows how to hack into a server and alter those time codes. Girl, I need you to nail down his travel schedule with Amtrak. Find out if any of the Dorset Flasher sightings occurred while he was in transit from Boston.”
“Sometimes he drives down,” Des pointed out. “Like this weekend, for instance.”
“In that case we’ll have to-”
“Wait, wait,” Very interjected. “It sounds to me like you’re Krazy Glued to this idea that the Flasher’s your prime suspect. Unless, that is, Augie was the Flasher. In which case your prime suspect is, well, dead. But let’s say your Flasher and your killer are one and the same person. This guy waves his thing on weekends, right, Sarge?”
“Right,” Yolie affirmed.
“Today’s Sunday. Will he be out there tonight?”
“My guess? He won’t be flashing anyone for a good long while. But I’m stepping up our sweeps of the Historic District tonight just in case. There’s always a chance this murder will embolden him. We’re not talking about someone who has his head screwed on straight.”
Very nodded. And nodded. “You have any other persons of interest?”
“Beth Breslauer,” she replied. “The lady slipped out of her condo on foot shortly before the murder. But we still have nothing on her whereabouts.”
“Um, okay, I may be in a position to help you there.”
Yolie batted her eyes at him. “It’s about time, hon. Step right up.”
“Dawgie was keeping an eye on her.”
“We already know about that,” Des said. “Beth told me he was following her all over the damned place.”
“It wasn’t Beth who he was following,” Very said with a glance Mitch’s way. “It was the married man who she’s been seeing on the quiet. He’s a New Yorker. Dawgie got a bad hit off of him. Asked me to check him out. His name’s Vinnie Brogna. Vinnie’s hooked up with some baaad boys. A member of the Albanese crime family. And maybe he wasn’t too happy about Dawgie’s interest in him.”
“Keep talking,” Yolie said, keenly interested.
“The dude visits Beth every weekend he can get away. They hit the Mohegan Sun together. According to Dawgie’s surveillance photos, it’s not uncommon for Vinnie to pick her up down the block from her condo. Which just might place him right there on Dorset Street at the time of Dawgie’s death, bat in hand. Or at least that’s one possible scenario.”
“What’s another?” Yolie asked.
“That he hired an outside pro take him out.”
“I don’t suppose you have these surveillance photos, do you?”
“They’re inside the house. Care to have a look?”
“Lead on, Romeo.”
“It’s Romaine.”
“Yolie, we have to talk before I split,” Des called to her. “Girl to girl.”
“You got it,” she said as she followed Very inside.
Mitch took Des’s hand and squeezed it. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Wrong with who?”
“Your dad.”
Her pale green eyes widened. “How on earth…?”
“You weren’t answering your cell phone after you met with Rundle. I called Bella and she told me you’d just gone rushing off in your own car-to go see the Deacon, I figured. And now you show up here looking worried sick.”
“He has to have coronary bypass surgery,” she said grimly.
“When?”
“On Wednesday.”
“And you’re just finding out about it today?”
“He said he didn’t want to worry me.”
“And there’s absolutely no reason to worry. My Uncle Miltie was back on the golf course in no time. It’s actually fairly-”
“If you’re about to say it’s minor surgery, please don’t or I’ll have to slug you.”
Mitch put his arms around her. She stood there stiff and unyielding. It was like hugging a six-foot length of cast iron. “Listen, he’s going to be fine. And I’m here for you. We’ll get through it together.”