What Happened To Flynn Read online

  “You leave your car unlocked?” Ryan asked in a voice of incredulity.

  “No. Someone else has a key to my car.”

  “Who else has the key?”

  “My wife gave one to her sister, who lives in Tijuana, just across the Mexican border from San Diego. Her family had been threatened. I guess someone took the key from her.”

  Ryan asked for the name, address, and phone number of Perana’s sister in law before continuing. “How much were you paid for transporting the money?”

  “I wasn’t paid at all.”

  “So, where did the fifteen hundred-dollar bills in your wife’s possession come from?”

  Perana seemed at a loss for words. Eventually, he said, “There was an envelope with money attached to the outside of the package.”

  “How much did it contain?”

  “Usually, two hundred dollars.”

  “So, if you were making deliveries five or six days each week, you were making five thousand dollars per month?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Did you declare that income in your tax returns?”

  “Don’t answer that question,” commanded Norrega.

  Ryan continued. “So, you knew the package contained money?”

  Perana hesitated. “I suspected it might be money, but I didn’t know for sure. The package came in black plastic, so I couldn’t see inside.”

  Ryan spent further time trying to get Perana to admit he knew money was inside the package and to elicit more information on the supplier. Perana said he knew nothing of Arzeta, Swift, Collins, or Bailey. Eventually, Ryan stopped the recording, and we all stepped outside the questioning room.

  “I think your client is not telling the entire truth,” said Ryan to Perana’s lawyer. “He’s already lied about delivering the package and not being paid.”

  Norrega looked at Herman, who then took the lead. “The amount of laundered money is so huge that we will ask for a ten-year prison sentence. We are prepared to reduce that sentence if your client will tell us more about who delivers the money package to his car.”

  “I’m uncertain if he knows any more than what he’s already told you,” replied Norrega. “I suspect that he won’t say anything further, if indeed he knows more, for fear of retribution to his family or to himself in prison.”

  Herman replied, “Perana’s wife has a green card. She has been arrested as an accessory to money laundering. We will be prosecuting her and expect to ask for a sentence of at least two years. Afterwards, she will be deported and will never be allowed to return to the USA even though her daughter was born here.” Herman stared at Norrega for a noticeable interval before he made his offer. “We might make it possible for her to return a few years later if her husband will give up his supplier.” He paused before adding, “Of course, we will have confiscated Mr. Perana’s home, his car, his bank account, and his cash on hand. That’s not negotiable.”

  Norrega went into the questioning room, and we watched him talk to his client. Perana appeared shocked and then began to weep, a total contrast from his earlier demeanor.

  “I don’t think you need us anymore,” I said to Ryan. “Unless you do, we’re going to take off.”

  Ryan and Herman George thanked us effusively. We drove back to the office, discussing the questioning of the drop man on the way. “I feel sorry for Perana,” said Steve. “He will lose his liberty, his possessions, and his wife.”

  “I do too,” I replied. “He shouldn’t have become a mule in the first place.”

  “I can understand him wanting to protect his wife’s family, though,” commented Steve.

  “All Perana needed to do was to contact the DEA,” I said. “They would have gathered information from his sister-in-law and family and put them in protective custody in the USA. Instead, he took the chicken way out, accepted the payoff, and now has to face the penalties.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Steve, finishing the topic.

  “You did a great job there questioning Perana,” I said. “I’ll tell that to Thompson.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Back at the office, I arranged for forensics to take fingerprints at the Vista drop house. We then grabbed the arrest warrants for Collins and Swift, gathered deputies to assist us, and drove in separate cars to Swift’s home in San Marcos. The black maid opened the door, and I told her to bring her employer to the door. After a minute, he and Marge Holmes came together. “What do you want now?” Swift asked in a very disgruntled manner

  “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder,” I responded as Steve moved forward and put handcuffs on him.

  “What are you talking about? Whose murder?”

  “The murder of Arthur Flynn,” I replied.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about. I didn’t even know he was murdered. I had nothing to do with it anyway.” He turned and looked at Marge. “Honey, call Sweeny immediately.” He turned to me. “Where are you taking me to?”

  “The sheriff’s office on Cope Street,” I replied.

  “Tell Sweeny to go there,” he said to Marge.

  We put Swift in one patrol car and drove directly to Andy Collins’s apartment in Oceanside, also in North County. Steve and I knocked on his apartment door, yelling, “Police, open up.”

  Collins came to the door and snarled, “I’ve been arrested already, and I’m out on bail.”

  “You’re under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Arthur Flynn.”

  “You’re crazy,” Collins replied angrily. “I’ve murdered nobody. Haven’t you assholes got anything better to do?” He took an aggressive posture.

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Steve commanded.

  Collins backed away, but I moved quickly behind him and grabbed his wrists. He began to struggle, but Steve and the accompanying deputy restrained him with difficulty. Collins was a strong man, and it took us a minute to put him in handcuffs. His strength would have been invaluable in overcoming Flynn. “We may charge you with resisting arrest,” I told him before giving him a Miranda warning.

  “Fuck you,” he said. “Fuck you both. I’ve never heard of Flynn before. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  We put Collins in the other patrol car and drove through heavy traffic to arrive at our office after six o’clock. We had them fingerprinted and photographed and put in separate questioning rooms. We offered Swift a coffee and invited him to talk. He told us angrily he didn’t know Flynn had been murdered and, if that was the case, he had nothing to do with it. He declined to talk further without his attorney. We did the same thing with Andy Collins, inviting him to open up, but he too denied having anything to do with Flynn’s murder and refused to say anything without a lawyer. We told them they would be questioned in the morning after their night in jail. Both expressed anger volubly.

  I looked forward to questioning the two men and noted our office address had become Cop St. when I arrived the next morning. Pearson Sweeny showed up at nine o’clock, claiming to represent both men. “I just had my clients released on bail two days ago,” he said angrily. “Are you planning to charge my clients for money laundering under state law as well? That would be double jeopardy, and I am putting you on notice that it is unwarranted and that you may be sued for false arrest.”

  “Your clients are material witnesses or participants in a murder,” I told him calmly.

  Sweeny’s face changed. “I’d like to talk to my clients privately after you have told me why you suspect them,” he said.

  Steve and I gave him a summary of why they were suspects, and then we left him and his clients alone for half an hour. Sweeny emerged from the questioning room and said he would be representing only Mr. Swift on the conspiracy charge. He had referred Andy Collins to another attorney, who was on his way in. We gave Swift his Miranda warning and began to question him, questions designed to get him to lie or reveal incriminating items while, at the same time, not disclosing much of the evidence we had.


  “Did you know Flynn had seen your uncle counting out drug money?” I asked.

  “My client will say nothing here that might pertain to the charges for money laundering,” interposed Sweeny. “He will concede Bert Swanson told him Flynn had seen him counting out money.”

  “Did you know Flynn had written a letter to the DEA about the incident,” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Have you seen this man, Joseph Bailey?” I asked, putting Bailey’s photo in front of Swift.

  “I have never seen him in my life.”

  “Then, why did you make phone calls to him from your home?”

  “I don’t know who Bailey is, and I never phoned him.”

  “Did you know Bailey tried to kill Flynn by tampering with his gas stove?”

  Swift looked startled. “I know nothing of the sort.”

  “Did you know Rafael Arzeta sent Collins and Bailey to the Russian River fishing camp to murder Flynn?”

  “I know nothing of this,” replied Swift.

  “You must have been aware Andy Collins had been sent north to assist Bailey in the murder, since he would not have been providing you courier service for illegal funds.”

  Swift spoke despite Sweeny raising a hand to stop him. “Rafael told me there would be a short hiatus in the deliveries.”

  “Did you ask him why?

  “No. I never asked questions like that to Rafael.’

  “Do you know where Arzeta is?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Swift, did you call Arzeta when we raided your office?”

  “No,” said Swift just as Sweeny said, “Don’t answer that.”

  Sweeny raised his hand slightly to stop his client from speaking further. “I understand that Mr. Flynn has only disappeared. You don’t have a case for murder or even conspiracy to commit murder.”

  “We have found Flynn’s car, which forensics has shown contained a dead body with DNA matching Flynn’s.”

  Sweeny looked nonplussed. Swift offered, “I know nothing of this.”

  “We have a warrant issued for the arrest of Rafael Arzeta. When we interrogate him, we expect him to confirm your involvement both in the murder of Mr. Flynn and the money laundering. We will shortly be questioning Andy Collins in a similar manner.” Neither Swift nor his attorney responded to my leading statement. I continued. “If you will tell us the extent of your involvement, the district attorney may propose a lesser sentence in order to avoid the time and cost of a trial. If your involvement is instead confirmed by Collins or Arzeta, then the DA will seek the maximum penalty.”

  “My client has nothing to say on this charge, which is highly speculative and, I believe, will be dismissed in court,” replied Sweeny.”

  Steve and I asked more questions, but we obtained no replies that might have revealed Swift’s participation in the murder or knowledge of other participants in it.

  We then entered another questioning room, where Andy Collins sat with his attorney, who introduced himself as Jose Amendez. We took the attorney out and briefed him on the case. He then he conferred with his client while Steve and I drank coffee outside the room.

  Amendez came out fifteen minutes later to say, “Mr. Collins says he knows nothing about the killing of Mr. Flynn and is fully prepared to answer any of your questions on that issue. He will not be responding to any of your questions that pertain to the federal charges.”

  We went inside, turned on the voice recorder, gave Collins a Miranda warning, and started the questioning. I wanted to find out how the murder of Flynn was accomplished.

  “Who sent you to go with Bailey to the Russian River Camp,” I asked.

  “I was told by Rafael Arzeta to take a ride with a man called Joe and that it would be for two or three days.”

  “How did Arzeta tell you, by phone, e-mail, or personally?”

  “He phoned me.”

  This confirms part of Steve’s theory.

  “Did Arzeta tell you the purpose of the trip?”

  “Only that I was to help a man called Joe.”

  “Didn’t you ask him what kind of help?”

  “Rafael is not the kind of person to ask why.”

  “How so?”

  Amendez interrupted, saying, “Don’t answer that question, Andy.”

  “Did Joe Bailey tell you what this was all about?”

  “No. He said this was a fishing trip and I was there to help him drive.”

  “Help him drive?”

  “Yes, he said he suffered from narcolepsy and couldn’t drive all the way by himself.”

  I did not believe this and told Andy so. He did not respond. “Did you help kill Arthur Flynn?”

  “I don’t know who Flynn is, and I never helped in any killing.”

  “So, you knew a killing was undertaken?”

  “I know nothing of the sort.”

  “Did Bailey murder Flynn?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You were there, so you should know.”

  “How could I? I hated being at that damned camp. I spent as much time as I could away from it.”

  “Why did you drive Flynn’s car to Compton?”

  “I don’t know who Flynn is, I didn’t take his car, and I didn’t drive to Compton.”

  “When did you leave the camp?”

  “That Monday…no, Tuesday…”

  “You don’t seem very sure about that.”

  “I drove into San Francisco both days.”

  “You mean that Saturday and Sunday.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “So where were you on Monday?”

  “I was in San Francisco, like I said.”

  I looked at Steve, who nodded his recognition of this inconsistency.

  “Can anybody confirm that you were there?”

  “I went to a Chinese gambling joint. They won’t confirm anything.”

  “Where did you, or Bailey, dump Flynn’s body?”

  Andy raised his voice in anger. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I had nothing to do with anyone’s body.”

  “Did you stop for gas or a meal anywhere on your return from Chinatown?

  “I don’t remember. I’d had a bit too much to drink.”

  “Are you saying you came home with Bailey on Tuesday?”

  “No. He seemed angry with me. The bastard drove me to Santa Rosa and dropped me off there, telling me to get lost. I had to take buses to get home. I didn’t get home until Wednesday morning.”

  This supported the theory that Flynn had been killed on Sunday night, when Collins was in San Francisco. Bailey had abandoned the stolen Avalon in Santa Rosa. Bailey had driven Flynn’s car, the corpse in the trunk, to some place outside the campground on Sunday night. Then he’d driven to Compton on Tuesday. But why would he have taken the risk of leaving a dead body in the car and returning to it later. He could have left it where he’d dumped it. Why drive it to Compton? Perhaps it was to confuse law enforcement about the connection of these perps to the murder. These thoughts ran through my mind before I asked the next question.

  “Did you know the car you went in was stolen?”

  “Don’t answer that question,” said Amendez.

  The look Andy gave to his attorney told me he knew it was stolen. Therefore, he knew he and Bailey were conducting a criminal enterprise.

  “Why did you hide your identity when you registered at the fishing camp?”

  “Joe told me to.”

  I changed the subject. “What is your relationship with Rafael Arzeta?” I asked.

  “Don’t answer that question,” said Amendez.

  Andy ignored his attorney. “He tells me what to do.’

  “Why?”

  “It’s personal.”

  I tried another topic. “Where did you get the money we found in your safe?”

  Collins looked at his attorney, who said his client was not prepared to answer that question. I persisted. “It’s the same amount Flynn had on him whe
n he went to the fishing camp.”

  “Those funds were not obtained from Mr. Flynn,” said Amendez.

  “We are examining them for Flynn’s fingerprints as we speak.”

  Collins and Amendez did not respond to this statement. Our further questions to get Collins to admit involvement in Flynn’s murder or his knowledge of Bailey’s role produced only guarded and evasive answers. I admonished Collins to tell me anything more he knew about Arzeta and Bailey, saying any evidence he gave would help him in sentencing. He added nothing. I asked him if he had any information about Swift’s involvement with the murder.

  “I never interact with Mr. Swift,” he replied.

  “But he is your landlord. You pay him rent. Surely, you interact with him?”

  “I don’t pay rent.”

  So that’s his compensation for being a money courier.

  Amendez then asked, “Are you going to release my client, or are you going to charge him?”

  “We are going to discuss this immediately with the district attorney,” I replied

  Steve and I called Brenda Williams at the district attorney’s office and said we would be over immediately to discuss our findings. It was the first time I had met Brenda, and I was delighted to find her an Afro-American like myself, a skin color kinship.

  We played the recordings of our questioning to Brenda. When I finished, Steve said, “I think Collins knows more than he’s telling us. I’m certain he’s hiding something.”

  “I’m sure Bailey did the killing, not Andy,” I said. “He wants to deny all knowledge of it to avoid homicide or conspiracy charges.”

  “I guess you guys hoped he would confess so you could give me this case on a platter?” said Brenda.

  “Of course,” we said simultaneously.

  “Collins may have had a role in the murder or knowledge of it,” said Brenda. “If you find Flynn’s fingerprints on the seized cash, then I will be able to prosecute him. In the absence of a dead body, I don’t think I could convince a jury that Collins helped kill Flynn. And I certainly don’t believe he conspired in that killing. That lies at Swift’s and Arzeta’s door. So, I think you should let him go. You’ve got more work to do. Find out who was driving the car to Compton and when it arrived. Check on Collins’s bus alibi.”