“So that’s what made this arrest report from the Lodi Police Department so interesting.” Hall began summarizing. “Twenty-four-year-old Edward Dietz was arrested three hours ago and charged with possession of cocaine and drug paraphernalia. He was stopped on Route 17 for speeding and passing on the right. The tow truck he was driving was registered to Ferranda Brothers, an auto salvage company in Moonachie.
“Here’s where it gets interesting. I’m reading about this guy they arrested and my phone rings. It’s Patrolman Sandy Fitchet from the Lodi police force. Fitchet was aware of the BOLO we put out on the tow truck driver.” Mike knew that BOLO was shorthand for “Be On the Look Out” for. “Fitchet said they’ve been holding this guy while doing an outstanding warrants check, and he has several. Failure to appear in court for a traffic infraction, he’s behind in child support, and he had an assault charge against him dropped three months ago, for trying to kiss a woman he had helped in the Woodbury Commons mall parking lot when her car wouldn’t start.”
“Why was it dropped?”
“The victim was from out of state. She didn’t show up to testify.”
“How old was the victim?”
“Seventeen.”
“So he likes hitting on young women. He offers to help them, and then he tries to take advantage. Nice work, Sam. I want to have a talk with our Good Samaritan right now.”
“I had a feeling you would,” Hines said. “Fitchet is at the station waiting for you. Dietz is still in their holding cell.”
? ? ?
As Mike inched along on Route 17 South, he was fervently hoping that this tow truck driver would be the one who had the encounter with Kerry. On the other hand he could only imagine the field day the press would have if it was revealed that the Prosecutor’s Office had a third independent suspect in the Dowling murder. Don’t get ahead of yourself, he thought. Odds are this isn’t the guy we’re looking for.
When he finally arrived at the Lodi police station, the desk sergeant pointed him to a room where Patrolman Sandy Fitchet was seated at a table. Several clear plastic bags were on top of it. One contained a wallet, a pocketknife and keychain. Another was stuffed with papers.
As it turned out, Patrolman Fitchet was Patrolwoman Fitchet. She stood up, extended her hand and introduced herself. Mike guessed Fitchet was in her mid-to late twenties.
She briefed Mike on the circumstances under which she had pulled over and arrested Dietz. “I’m just starting to go through his personal effects,” she said as she spilled the contents of one of the bags out on the table.
“That is one really fat wallet,” Mike observed. “Do you mind if I go through it?”
“Be my guest,” Sandy said as she started to open another bag filled with papers.
“What are all those?” Mike asked, referring to the bag in front of Sandy.
“This stuff was in his truck. The crack pipe was resting on top of it. Just want to see if there’s anything interesting.”
“Obviously you searched his truck. How did you get a warrant so quickly?”
“Didn’t need one. It’s not Dietz’s truck. It’s registered to Ferranda Brothers. I spoke to the owner. After assuring me that anything I find in the truck doesn’t belong to him, he gave me permission to search.”
“What is your impression of Dietz?”
“I’m right in the middle of reading him his rights while I’m arresting him, and this jerk starts telling me how beautiful I am. What a creep.”
Mike smiled as he listened. Dietz’s wallet was so thick Mike wondered if it would fit in his back pocket. He began taking out pieces of paper and sorting them into piles. Wendy’s, Dunkin’ Donuts and McDonald’s receipts. Gas and ShopRite receipts. A traffic summons from two weeks ago. A receipt from a motorcycle repair shop. Several business cards, including one from a doctor and two from attorneys. Mike knew one of the lawyers, whose office was in East Rutherford.
His attention was suddenly riveted by a torn envelope with a phone number scribbled on it.
Sandy must have noticed his expression change. “Mike, what is it?”
Without answering, he pulled his notebook from his pocket and flipped the pages. He glanced back at the number on the torn envelope. A grim smile came over his face.
“Pay dirt,” he said. “The number on this piece of paper that came from Dietz’s wallet is the cell phone number of Kerry Dowling. He’s the guy we’ve been looking for.”
“Mike, when you question Dietz, mind if I watch from the other room?”
“Not at all.”
? ? ?
While waiting in another meeting room for Dietz to be brought in, Mike phoned Artie Schulman. The assistant prosecutor insisted Mike call him immediately after he questioned Dietz.
The door opened, and Sandy Fitchet had her hand on Dietz’s elbow as she escorted him into the room. He was wearing faded, greasy blue jeans and scuffed work boots. His oil-stained gray T-shirt had a small tear by the right shoulder and the logo of an engine company on the front. His hands were cuffed in front of him. His bare arms showed the telltale welts of recent needle marks. He settled into the folding chair opposite Mike.
Dietz was about five-foot-ten with a crew cut. Despite the fact that he was unshaven and the darkness under his eyes, his features were handsome.
“Mr. Dietz, my name is Mike Wilson. I’m a detective with the Bergen County Prosecutor’s Office.”
“My name is Eddie Dietz, but you probably already know that. It’s an honor to meet you, Detective,” he said sarcastically.
“Okay, Eddie, I don’t want to take up too much of your valuable time, so let’s cut to the chase. Let me begin by saying I have zero interest in your recent speeding ticket, your drug arrest, your outstanding warrants and your overdue child support. I hope I didn’t leave anything out. I’m here to talk about one of my cases involving a young woman. Do you know a Kerry Dowling?”
Dietz paused for a moment. “No, that name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Maybe this will help,” Mike said as he pulled a picture of Kerry out of an envelope and slid it across the table in front of Dietz.
He stared at it, then looked up at Mike and said, “Sorry, don’t know her.”
“You said you don’t know her. Are you saying you never met her?”
Dietz shook his head.
“All right, Eddie, let’s see if I can improve your memory. The girl in the picture is eighteen-year-old Kerry Dowling. Two and a half weeks ago, after having her high school friends over for a beer party, she was found dead in the swimming pool in her backyard.”
“Oh, yeah, I think I might have seen something about that case on TV.”
Mike pulled a bag from under his chair and laid it on the table. Pointing to the wallet in the bag, Mike asked, “Is that yours?”
“It looks like mine.”
“It is yours, Eddie. And the papers stuffed inside the wallet, they’re yours too, aren’t they?”
“Maybe.”
“Eddie, I want to know about this piece of paper,” he said as he put the torn envelope on the table in front of him.
“It’s somebody’s phone number. So what?”
“Eddie, let’s cut the crap. About a week before she died, you were on Route 17 in Mahwah. You pulled over and changed a flat tire for Kerry Dowling. You made arrangements with her to provide the alcohol for her upcoming party, a party you wanted to be invited to. You even asked her if you could come by after the party. When she said no, you tried to force yourself on her.”
“I didn’t force anything. She wanted it.”
“Oh, I’m sure she did, Eddie. Just like the girl at Woodbury Commons. A good-looking guy like you helps her get her car started. She just wanted to show her appreciation.”
“That’s right.”
“Eddie, much as I would love to nail you for groping Kerry after you delivered the alcohol, and providing alcohol to a minor, I can’t do that. The only witness, Kerry Dowling, is dead, murdered. But that’s not the end of the story with you and Kerry, is it? Later that night, you—”
“Wait a minute. You don’t think I—”
“Yes, Eddie, I think you went back to her house after the party. Maybe you were a little drunk or high. When she refused your advances, you got really angry and killed her.”
Eddie was breathing hard. His eyes, which were dull and listless earlier, were now sharp and focused. “The day she died, that was Saturday night?”