Suspicion of Vengeance (8 page)

Gail looked up from her notes. "What do you think so far?"

"Kemp verified this story, I suppose. "

"He pulled the phone records and talked to the nursery and Amber's employer."

"A thorough man. Kemp suspected the husband. When a woman is murdered, they always look at the man she was close to."

"Remind me to stay on your good side."

"No, no, sweetheart, you couldn't be anywhere else. What did the medical examiner say about time of death?"

The medical examiner in that district, Dr. George Snyder, did not always appear at death scenes, even homicides, but Kemp insisted. Snyder drove down from Fort Pierce and arrived shortly after 9:00 p.m. He pushed a long thermometer between the victim's ribs. He consulted his charts. The victim appeared to be about 64 inches, 110 to 125 pounds. Based on core body temperature, rigor mortis, lividity, and such other factors as body weight and the weather that day, he gave an initial estimate of time of death as two hours either side of noon, or between 10:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m.

From long experience, Kemp knew that time of death is elusive. Snyder's estimate had supported Dodson's story, but Kemp didn't want to rule him out.

Just then Sergeant Miller in crime scene told Kemp to come take a look at the guest bathroom. They had sprayed the sink and shower with Luminol Miller cut the lights, and another man turned on the battery-powered black light. The areas around the drains exploded into fluorescent purple.

Kemp asked Dodson for his consent to search the entire house and both cars. Dodson signed the form. Police found no bloody towels or clothing. Gary said he had not showered since that morning in the master bath.

Kemp's doubts about the husband lingered, but he knew that answers would not come as easily as he had hoped. By then it was nearly midnight. Dodson had already called his wife's family to tell them what had happened. His own parents were waiting to take him home with them, and Kemp told him he could go, but to stay close.

Meanwhile Kemp's partner, Tom Federsen, had been looking for the point of entry. The aluminum-framed awning windows operated with a crank, and they were open in the master bedroom. This was not unusual, as the temperature that day had not gone past the low seventies. Dodson said that he and his wife usually slept with the windows open, and they had been open when he left that morning and when he had returned. The screens were intact. Neither the front nor kitchen doors had been forced. The sliding-glass patio door, however, did not appear to be sitting precisely in the track. Federsen asked if anyone had touched it. No one had. He took a strong light and went around to the back patio. He knelt down and saw shiny scratch marks on the bottom of the heavy aluminum frame. After photographs were taken, the door was dusted for fingerprints, and putty was used to make an impression of the marks. Federsen used a screwdriver to manipulate the door. He found that levering it up would lift it free of the lock.

Others on the team found fragments of white rock on the carpet near the door. More fragments were found on the patio. All pieces were photographed, plotted on the crime scene diagram, and sealed into plastic bags. The thick grass revealed no footprints. Toward the left, or west side of the house, was the master bedroom, where an old room air conditioner hung out the wall. Beyond that, a hedge, then the street. To the right was a utility shed, the carport area, and another house some twenty yards away. Directly behind the Dodsons' house was a four-foot chain-link fence, then pine woods.

About fifty yards away Fletcher Road ran parallel and ended a quarter mile east at a small county park. The killer could have left his vehicle on the road or at the park and come through the woods. Kemp ordered the road sealed off. He wanted photographs of tire tracks, if any, before more vehicles passed through. A more thorough inspection would have to wait for sunrise.

Earlier, teams had been organized to canvas the neighborhood. Had any of the neighbors heard or seen anything unusual during the day? Any strangers going through? They suspended their efforts at 11:30 p.m.

Amber Lynn Dodson's body was taken away at 3:15 a.m. Kemp and his team remained on the property for another five hours.

"Gail, does CCR have copies of the crime scène photos?"

"They have the autopsy photos. I didn't ask what else they have."

"When you speak to Denise Robinson on Monday, find out. You want every photograph taken by the police."

"All of them?"

"Every photograph. Videotapes as well, if they made them."

"That's going to cost a lot."

"I told you. Capital appeals are expensive."

Tuesday, February 7

That morning both
The Stuart News
and
The Palm Beach Post
ran the story on page one. MOTHER MURDERED, BABY FOUND DEAD IN PALM CITY. The story was repeated on all three local TV stations. Calls from alarmed citizens flooded the sheriff's department switchboard. In a press conference, Captain Garlan Bryce said they were working on several leads. He reassured the public that the person responsible would be arrested and brought to justice.

Kemp spoke with the victim's parents. The Mayfields had moved to Stuart in the late 1950s. Fred worked at the Evinrude plant, and Rose owned a small shop downtown, Mayfield Antiques. They said their daughter and son-in-law's marriage was happy. They knew of no one who would have wanted to harm Amber. Everyone loved her.

Gary Dodson's secretary confirmed that Dodson had arrived at the office just before nine on Monday morning, and that he had not left during the day. He had taken his lunch downstairs. Kemp sent a detective to speak to the waitress in the coffee shop. She remembered selling Dodson a cup of coffee around nine o'clock. He came back for lunch. Police searched nearby trash bins and found nothing relevant. If the time of death was accurate, Dodson's alibi would hold.

Interviews with neighbors continued. The retired couple living next door, the Grigsbys, had left at 7:30 a.m. on Monday for the Sandpiper Restaurant, which offered a senior citizen breakfast on weekdays. They had not noticed anything unusual at the Dodsons'. Mrs. Grigsby said that the widow across the street, Mrs. Chastain, had gone out of town on Monday afternoon. Her daughter in Atlanta had just had a baby. Kemp left his card in Mrs. Chastain's mailbox.

Wednesday, February 8

There were several reports of strange vehicles in the area the morning of the murder. At the county park, a dark-colored pickup truck with fender damage. Driving through the neighborhood, a car with tinted windows, two black men inside. A silver Honda Prelude in the Dodsons' driveway that morning.

The Honda belonged to Amber's younger sister, Lacey Mayfield. Detective Kemp remembered seeing it at the Mayfields' house when he and his partner had gone over on Tuesday to speak to Amber's parents.

On the second visit, the house was full of friends and relatives. Kemp and his partner asked to speak privately with Lacey Mayfield. She was twenty-one years old and lived in an apartment near the fitness studio where she worked. Lacey had called Amber's work that morning to talk about a party for their parents' anniversary. Told that Amber was at home with the baby, Lacey decided to drop by and say hello. When she arrived at 9:30, Amber's car was there but she didn't answer the door. Assuming that Amber was sleeping, Lacey drove straight to the studio in time for her ten o'clock class. Except for lunch, she had been there until 4:00 p.m. When Kemp asked why she had not mentioned this before, Lacey said she had forgotten.

Kemp learned what he could about the victim. After graduating with honors from high school, Amber May-field had enrolled at Indian River Community College, lived at home and helped with expenses. She had dated, but there had been no serious relationships. Mr. Mayfield's layoff at Evinrude had depleted family savings, so Amber put her plans for university on hold and found a job. Her employer, JWM Corporation, was building houses west of the turnpike in an area called River Pines. Amber worked as a receptionist.

While waiting at the sales office, Kemp picked up a glossy brochure. Amber Dodson's photo appeared inside in a swimsuit. She had excellent legs. So did the man in the picture, handing Amber a towel. Blond hair, age around thirty. The caption read: RIVER PINES FOUNDER J. WHITNEY McGRATH ENJOYS SWIMMING AT THE CLUB.

Amber's supervisor was Vivian Baker, director of sales, an attractive brunette in diamond earrings and a business suit. Ms. Baker told Kemp that Amber had been well-liked at JWM, her work had been satisfactory, and there had been no rumors of affairs or financial difficulties. She knew of Gary Dodson but had never met him. Until the previous summer he had worked for Mr. McGrath's attorneys in Palm Beach. She said that Mr. McGrath rarely came to the site and did not know the victim personally.

Kemp wanted to speak to McGrath. Ms. Baker refused to give out his address and phone number. Kemp explained the penalties for obstructing a criminal investigation.

McGrath lived on Jupiter Island.

"Have you heard of Jupiter Island?"

"No, where is it?"

"On the ocean between Stuart and Palm Beach. Mega-rich, but very anonymous. The highest per capita income in the U.S."

"Kemp suspected McGrath was involved with the victim?"

"Apparently, but McGrath said he hardly knew her. By the way, there is—or was at that time—a Mrs. McGrath. "

"That always complicates matters I have a question about Amber's husband. Why does a lawyer working for a firm in Palm Beach own such a middle-class house?"

Gary Dodson's firm, Hadley and Morgan, had maintained a branch office in Stuart to handle the affairs of its clients in Martin County. They needed someone to fill out the real estate department, starting at forty thousand per year. The pay was low, but legal positions were scarce for new lawyers. Gary Dodson had been working for the firm three years when he met Amber, who had come to deliver some papers from River Pines.

In one of several interviews, Dodson told Kemp that he had left Hadley and Morgan on July 15 because they wouldn't offer a partnership. He opened his own office in Stuart the first week of August. At the time, Amber was staying home with the baby, who had been born in March. By September, with Dodson's new practice still struggling, Amber wanted to go back to work. Kemp wrote in his report that Dodson seemed embarrassed about his lack of success. He wondered if the happy couple had argued.

Kemp made another visit to Amber's workplace. Bypassing Vivian Baker, he spoke to two young women in the accounting department who had known Amber. One of them recalled that Amber had made a comment about her husband's impotence. Kemp wrote in his notebook, "Noodle-dick." The women didn't know if she had a lover.

Friday, February 10

The media covered the funerals of Amber Lynn Dodson and her baby son, held at the First Baptist Church. Her husband sat with his head bowed and his eyes closed. Her father silently wept. Her mother fainted and was helped back to her seat by Amber's sister, Lacey. The crowd was estimated at more than three hundred.

Afterward, surrounded by cameras, Captain Garlan Bryce said that the investigation was proceeding, that the police would be thorough, and he could not share any information. Again he promised an arrest. An editorial in that morning's
Stuart News
had questioned whether any progress was being made.

The team doubled their efforts. They were all going on four to six hours of sleep a night, Ron Kemp on even less. Every pawnshop within a hundred-mile radius was contacted. Officers leaned on informants. Every lead was pursued. They combed through records of similar crimes in the area. Burglaries, loitering and prowling, knife assaults. Sheriff Carr could be heard yelling in his office.

All fingerprints found in the house were being run through data banks. None had been found on the clock, sliding-glass door frame, or the shower door. The ME had found no skin under Amber Dodson's fingernails. The small white particles found on the carpet and back porch had been identified as crushed coquina rock, commonly found at construction sites.

Gary Dodson allowed the police to examine his financial records. There was no life insurance on his wife and only ten thousand dollars' worth of equity in the house. Dodson had moved out and planned to sell it.

Whitney McGrath referred all requests for interviews to his attorneys, who insisted he had no further information.

Tuesday, February 14

Eight days after the murder, Detective Kemp was told that a woman waiting in the lobby had information on the Dodson case.

Dorothy Chastain had just returned from the birth of a grandchild in Atlanta and had found Kemp's card among the mail her neighbors had collected. She lived at 2205 White Heron Way, across the street from the Dodsons.

The morning of the murder, Mrs. Chastain was sitting at the living room window waiting for the friend who would drive her to the airport in West Palm Beach. Around ten o'clock, Mrs. Chastain saw a young man walk furtively—Kemp wrote the word in his notebook—around the hedge on the west side of the Dodsons' house, then go into the backyard. Kemp's notes describe the man as "white, 20-30 y.o.a., med. ht/wt, very long br. hair, clean shaven. Boots, blue denim jacket."

Over the past week the investigation team had listed 173 men who had been arrested for burglary, loitering and prowling, or knife assaults in the county within the past three years, who were not currently incarcerated. Kemp had put twenty men at the top of the list and sent detectives to talk to them. Mrs. Chastain's information narrowed the possibilities.

One of the men on the list was Kenneth Ray Clark, a twenty-two-year-old day laborer whose last known address was a trailer park off Cove Road, south of town. Two things grabbed Kemp's attention. First, Clark had been arrested three months previously for an attempted burglary of a residence a quarter mile from White Heron Way. Seeing police, he'd tossed a Baggie containing five grams of marijuana. Clark had bonded out on all charges, and the case was set for trial.