At dinner he brought up the subject of his family. “I was raised in Nebraska. My mother and father are still there. So are my grandparents. I spend all the holidays with them. But as I mentioned to Aline, I love to travel. Most summers I’m on the road.”
“We go on a river cruise once a year with friends,” Fran said. “I thoroughly enjoy them. Last year it was the Danube. The year before that the Seine.”
“A river cruise is next on my list,” Scott said. “Which line did you use?”
Aline was quiet through dinner. Next thing you know he’ll say he has two tickets to a river cruise, she thought. Plan on inviting somebody else.
Over coffee she wondered why she resented Scott so much. She had not intended to go out with him a second time, but she had to admit she had enjoyed herself. She appreciated how concerned he was about Valerie.
Aline did not want to be manipulated into a dating situation. She would finish dinner tonight, go to Hamilton tomorrow and then that would be it. Period.
Then the thought of Mike came into her mind. If he had come in with those tickets, she would have been delighted to say yes.
She knew she was right when the next night, after seeing Hamilton, Scott drove her home, and walked her to the door. As she fished her key from her purse, he suddenly put his arms around her and kissed her. “I’m falling in love with you, Aline,” he said. “Make that ‘have fallen’ in love with you.”
She broke away from the embrace and put her key in the lock, turned it and opened the door. “Do us both a favor. Don’t,” she said emphatically, as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.
67
Mike was barely in his office when Investigator Sam Hines knocked on the half-opened door. “Mike, I think I might have something on that tow truck driver we’re looking for.”
Mike waved him in, pointing to a chair opposite his desk. “What have you got?”
“It’s a bit of a fluke I found this, because I wasn’t even looking for it. I’ve been researching drivers who work for the tow truck companies that have permits to operate in local municipalities. So far, nothing interesting has turned up. But these companies aren’t the only ones that own tow trucks. Junkyards typically have one to retrieve wrecks.”
“That makes sense.”
“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
