What Happened To Flynn Read online

  “Stop this, Ralph,” I said. “I just don’t see that as Flynn’s fault or mine.”

  “But would you blame Swift, who got compromised when he did a favor for a friend?” he responded.

  “I’m not in the morality business,” I replied. I’m in the law enforcement business.”

  Before the conference call, Brenda and I reviewed the evidence file and our notes on why the decision had been made to charge Swift with conspiracy to commit murder. Thus, we were prepared for the big Wednesday meeting in the New Year. Angie’s conference phone call found me seated with Steve in his office, our evidence file and notes in front of us. Brenda said she was on the line. At her end, Angie introduced a Sonoma County DA named Barnsky and a forensic technician. Angie said she had reviewed our evidence file of seven years earlier and wanted to know if there had been any further information developed since then.

  Brenda spoke up. “I prosecuted Swift for conspiracy to commit murder. He was sentenced to ten years in jail, which he was required to serve after finishing his sentence of eight years in federal prison for money laundering. His appeal of the conviction was denied. He has been released from federal into state custody, where detective Notfarg questioned him a year ago. Of course, he continued to deny any involvement in the murder of Flynn. The other two principals in the murder, Raphael Arzeta and Joseph Bailey, have not been apprehended.”

  I felt like speaking out here to say Swift did not have the money to appeal his conviction, since it had all been seized by the DEA, but decided the remark would be considered unhelpful.

  Barnsky spoke up. “Dorothy McMain from our office interacted with you seven years ago. She has retired, and I have taken over her cases. I called her, and she recollected telling your office it would be possible for you to prosecute Swift for conspiracy to commit murder and very difficult for her to prosecute him for murder in the absence of a body. Well, now we have the body and, of course, the jurisdictional responsibility. McMain’s reasoning then was there was no body and your theory of how the murder was done was very hokey. I have reviewed the transcripts of Swift’s trial and have also conversed with Swift’s attorney, a Shauna Rogers. She claimed her client’s conviction was based on circumstantial evidence and was prejudiced by Swift’s then recent conviction for money laundering. I too am unsatisfied with your theory of how the murder was done. You claimed Bailey, together with Collins, killed Flynn. But Collins said he left the park a day after Flynn’s car had gone. You believe that Flynn was taken from the park, killed, and perhaps buried the night of September 14. You claimed Bailey picked up the dead man’s car, parked it somewhere for a day, and then drove south on September 16, but you have no evidence to support or negate that theory.”

  “That the Avalon car the perps drove was found in nearby Santa Rosa supports our theory,” I responded. “We expected Andy Collins to confess when he was interrogated on another matter, but unfortunately, he was assassinated before that was done,” I added.

  Barnsky replied in a very annoyed tone, “That’s no help at all. Did you find anything to confirm Flynn’s car being parked that Monday at Santa Rosa or elsewhere, including the front of the fishing camp?”

  “There were no cameras adequately viewing the front lot of the camp, and we could find no witnesses to confirm or deny the presence of Flynn’s car there on Monday, September 14,” I replied. “The car was more likely parked in the vicinity of Santa Rosa, since that’s where the perps’ vehicle was abandoned. Bailey called Collins who was in San Francisco that Sunday night, and we believe it was to arrange being picked up on his, Collins’s, return to the fishing camp.”

  “Let me summarize your principal evidence against Swift,” said Barnsky. “A, Swift wanted to stop Flynn giving him evidence on money laundering, i.e., motivation. B, Collins was assassinated so he could not give evidence about money laundering or the killing of Flynn. C, Swift made phone calls to the hit man Bailey on a time basis consistent with the attempts on Flynn’s life. D, Swift denied making those phone calls, but his credibility was challenged when he denied making phone calls to Arzeta during the raid on his premises though his cell phone records clearly showed he had done so.” He paused. “Am I correct, or do you have anything else to add?”

  None of us said anything. Barnsky continued. “I think you were lucky to get Swift convicted of conspiracy to commit murder given you didn’t have good evidence of where or when it was done. I can only suppose the jury was swayed by Swift’s conviction for money laundering.”

  Brenda replied tartly. “We conducted a very professional prosecution. I am sure that if you conduct a similar one, you will get a guilty verdict.”

  Barnsky might have been at a loss for words, but at that moment, Angie pitched in, saying, “You know that drug mafia cut off heads to demonstrate the penalty for somebody in their organization snitching. Are you sure Flynn was not, in fact, part of the money laundering operation but simply got pissed that Swift took his gal?”

  Steve looked at me, clearly expecting me to respond, which I did. “Arthur Flynn demonstrated a sterling character. He was liked and respected by his neighbors and his coworkers. He had no criminal record, and his letters to his mother showed he had moved on from Swift stealing his woman.”

  Barnsky had recovered from Brenda’s sharp response. “I would much rather be prosecuting Bailey and Arzeta. I am quite astonished we have not been able to catch these two men in this seven-year period. As for Swift, I would like a copy of your prosecutorial notes, Brenda. I am very uncomfortable with your theory of the murder scenario. Understanding how and when it was done may not have been essential to your prosecuting Swift for conspiracy to commit murder. That is not the case when the charge is murder.”

  Brenda said, “Mr. Barnsky. There is no doubt a murder was committed, and Swift is the only one in custody whom you may charge. I suggest you file the murder charge and see how much pushback you get from his defense attorney. That will tell you whether you can work out a plea bargain.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Williams. I do appreciate being told how to do my job.” That acid note terminated the conversation.

  As I strode on the treadmill that evening, I went over the conference discussion. Angie Haigh had suggested Flynn might have had his head cut off for snitching, and the notion bothered me. My investigation showed Flynn to be an upright person with no involvement in money laundering or any other type of crime. I knew cutting heads off in the drug money business was done to keep crew members in line and rivals out. Flynn would have been a bystander; there would be no message sent in cutting off his head. But on the other hand, they hadn’t cut off Andy Collins’s head. They’d shot him. But that was because they’d wanted to kill him off silently and quickly before he could give evidence. I cogitated further. How had they killed Flynn? If he had been stabbed, there would have been blood on the cot, but none was found. Since there was no blunt trauma or bullet wound, then he must have been chloroformed or strangled. But he would have yelled or struggled. In that case, there would have been evidence like a broken cot or scattered belongings in his tent. Could he have been lured out of the park? Had Collins or Bailey invited him to go out of the park for a drink at Guerneville? If that had happened, it would explain why Flynn and his Camry had not been there on Monday morning. Was it possible that Flynn had suspected the people in the Avalon were after him, had fled, and that they had followed him? None of these hypotheses made sense. I went to bed very puzzled.

  Angie called me to ask if I would look at the medical examiner’s voluminous autopsy of Flynn, which she would express mail to me. It arrived the next day. The corpse was a collection of bones that had been disturbed by animals. I could see why the medical examiner had declined to call it a homicide. There were saw marks on the neck vertebrae. He stated it was highly difficult to kill a live man by sawing off his head. Two persons, at least, would be needed to hold him down, and in struggling, the saw would leave marks on several vertebrae. The examiner had found saw marks o
nly on one vertebrae, so he’d deduced the man had been dead beforehand. He’d seen no sign of injury to any other bones they had recovered. They had not recovered any sharp weapons or bullets from the burial site. Therefore, he’d listed the cause of death as unknown. That would make a wrinkle in charging Swift with murder.

  I went to lunch still thinking about the sawed-off head, asking myself why anybody would want to take the trouble to cut off Flynn’s head. It would have made more sense if somebody were trying to hide the body’s identity. But why would his executioners want to hide that identity. We clearly knew it was Flynn from his DNA. Could there have been a DNA mix-up at the laboratory the Sonoma County forensics used? Extremely unlikely. The height of the skeleton was sixty-eight inches, an inch less than Flynn’s but within measurement uncertainty given that the skeleton was not complete. I looked at the autopsy report again. It stated the bones were of a male in his fifties to sixties that exhibited arthritis. The age was more than Flynn’s but, again, not outside forensic uncertainty. All arthritis is relative. I have some but still manage to walk vigorously on the treadmill. And Flynn was jogging in the park when he came across the money laundering. I might have questioned the body as Flynn’s if it were not for the explicit DNA match. I dragged out the voluminous evidence file on Flynn and looked at Danny Chu’s forensic report. He had obtained samples of skin from Flynn’s clothes and had performed DNA tests on those samples and those taken from the hairbrush and toothbrush in the bathroom. He also mentioned finding a strand of red hair in the shower that he reckoned belonged to the red-headed neighbor who had so conscientiously and thoroughly cleaned Flynn’s mobile home. I guessed Mary Smith had left it in the shower when she’d cleaned it. Then I remembered being puzzled at the first meeting we had with DEA staff why Mary Smith hadn’t responded to Drew Ryan’s business card left at her door. Nor had she told me about it. Perhaps the wind blew it away. I hadn’t followed it up since Flynn’s dead body in his Camry then dominated our thinking. I speculated, as women do. Maybe she’d taken a shower there. But that could imply she’d been having a relationship with Flynn. I had a sudden cold thought: why did the short-haired Flynn have a hairbrush? My short-haired former husband, blast his soul, did not.

  Could Flynn have spiked the sampling process? If he had, he would have had to find a dead body as well. Easier said than done. You can’t raid a morgue or a funeral home without it being noticed and reported. He would have needed a man to die whose disappearance would not be noticed. The logistics of that would stagger anybody. I could see Flynn might have wanted to disappear. He had written a letter to the DEA about money laundering, which he feared might be leaked or dismissed. He might have suspected the gas connector was deliberately damaged. But where could he get a body? His neighbor had been sick for sure, but he’d been alive when we went to his mobile home both times. We’d heard him coughing. Or did we?

  CHAPTER 30

  I suddenly remembered wondering at the time if it was safe to move a hairy cat into the home of a man with emphysema and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD). But I hadn’t seen who was coughing. I remembered Mary saying her husband was sleeping and that she preferred to talk to me inside Flynn’s home rather than hers. Furthermore, she’d claimed her sick husband had never been inside the missing man’s home, so I hadn’t bothered to interview him. If the recovered corpse were Smith’s, then who had been coughing? The only reasonable solution to the puzzle was that Flynn had returned and had been pretending to be the sick man. What a bizarre scheme if I were correct!

  My new theory meant Flynn and Mary Smith had planned it together. Perhaps they were in an intimate relationship; that comported with her strand of hair in Flynn’s shower. I liked my theory more as I thought about it. It would explain why Flynn’s car had left before Collins and Bailey’s had. It would explain why those two had waited a full day before deciding Flynn was not coming back despite his leaving the tent and gear behind. I could see why Bailey would phone Swift on the Tuesday to say he had failed to kill Flynn. Swift would have had to deny receiving that call as well as the other ones ordering Flynn’s assassination. Bailey had had no reason to return to San Marcos, since he’d had no idea where Flynn had gone. So, getting rid of the stolen car and dismissing Collins in nearby Santa Rosa would have been a reasonable move on his part.

  I called the crime lab and was pleased to find Danny Chu still working there. “Danny, you have short hair; do you use a hairbrush?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, your forensic report on Arthur Flynn of seven years ago reported determining DNA from samples taken from his hairbrush and toothbrush.”

  “So?”

  “Flynn had very short hair.”

  “You didn’t show me his photograph. He might have had the brush from a time when his hair was longer.”

  “Danny, I had no reason to question your sampling at the time. I do now.”

  “Why don’t you let me pull my report so I can review it again. I’ll call you when I’ve done so.”

  I twiddled my thumbs until Danny called back. “You will recall Flynn’s neighbor had been paid to spring clean his home,” he said. “She did a terrific job. His bedclothes were spotless, as were most of his clothes. Clothes in the top drawer of his dresser had matching hair and skin. The only hair I found on the carpet belonged to the cat.”

  “What samples were used for the DNA analysis?”

  “They were from the hairbrush, toothbrush, and the skin droppings.”

  “Did you find hair or skin droppings on the clothes in the other drawers?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  Danny hesitated. “I didn’t at the time, but now that you’re pointing it out to me, I do.”

  “Could those clothes and those brushes been substitutes from another man? Could they have been carefully planted to confuse you?”

  There was a long silence. “I’m looking at my report again… I would not want to admit that I was deliberately misled.”

  “But you could have been,” I insisted.

  Danny paused for a good ten seconds before speaking. “Yes…yes, I guess I could,” he replied with a sigh.

  I let him go and postulated further. Had Mary killed her husband and gotten Flynn to carry off the body? Given his character, Flynn would have never condoned Mary killing her husband. Then, maybe he hadn’t realized it was a murder. Why would Flynn have wanted to do it instead of just disappearing if he were frightened of being assassinated? Why would he have agreed to such a criminal activity? If Robert Smith had simply died, why hadn’t Mary just called the medical examiner? If my theory were correct, then Flynn and Mary Smith would have long ago left the park.

  I was very excited as I drove north to the mobile home park and went directly to the former Smith mobile home. My bizarre theory nicely fitted all the facts. If I were correct, we would finally be solving the seven-year-old case of the missing man. I rang the doorbell with more vigor than it needed, and an elderly lady came to the door and looked at me suspiciously. I showed her my badge and asked about Mrs. Smith, the former owner of her home.

  “I bought the home from the Watkinses,” she replied. “I’ve never heard of Mrs. Smith.”

  I then went to the park office, where the manager politely answered my questions. “I took over this job from Mrs. Swanson six years ago,” he said, “after her husband went to jail. You probably know about that.”

  I assured him I did. I asked him if he knew where Mr. and Mrs. Smith of space number 76 were. “I have no idea,” he replied. “I don’t keep records of departing tenants for more than three years, and there have been no Mr. and Mrs. Smith residents in that space while I’ve been park manager.”

  I told him I needed to ask around the park to see if anyone knew where they had gone. He asked why. “Police business,” I told him politely. I went to the mobile home at space number 78 in the hope the talkative neighbors
of the Smiths, the Bessins, were still there and could help me. They were not, but the occupants of the mobile home told me they had bought their unit three years earlier from the Bessins, who had left to go into a retirement home.

  “Which one?” I asked.

  Was I pleased they had an answer! “I believe it was the Wesley Palms home in Pacific Beach.”

  Pacific Beach is a seaside community on the north side of San Diego, some five miles from our office, now on Cope St. I did not want to drive to the retirement home without assuring myself the elderly Bessins were still there. I called the home and was delighted to learn they were still residents. The reception office transferred my phone call to their room. Mr. Bessin answered, but he did not understand what I was saying. He brought his wife to the phone, and I spent some time reminding her how we’d met seven years earlier. I asked her if she knew where the Smiths went to.

  “I don’t know where they went,” she replied. “They sold their home a couple of months after Art went missing,” she said. “Why don’t you come around and visit us and tell us what ever happened?”

  I thought they might have pertinent information, so I set up a meeting time for ten o’clock the next day, and I mentally prepared myself for sifting through a long conversation for relevance. I did not tell Steve or my other co-workers what I was doing. After all, this was still just a hunch. Wesley Palms is a retirement community set in the hills above Mission Bay on the north side of San Diego. There was plenty of room for me to park on its spacious circular entrance driveway. I checked in at the reception desk, where I was directed across a courtyard and through a corridor to the Bessins’ room.

  Mrs. Bessin said, “Call me Mabel and my husband Roger,” sat me down, and had a cup of coffee and a plate of cookies in front of me in less than a minute. She apologized for her husband not acknowledging me on the phone, saying, “The poor dear keeps forgetting to put in his hearing aids.”