I've Got My Eyes on You(54)

“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.”