I will never forget the first day that I met Dillon Lyles. It was a Monday morning, and I was staring down a tower of unmarked case files that rested on my boss’s desk. I had been summoned to be at the office of Steven Phillips, Deputy Chief Investigator for the New York Attorney General’s Office. I spent the better part of the weekend thinking about the possible causes of this diversion from my duties with the Organized Crime Task Force. The tower stood there, taunting my curiosities. The office was shining with mahogany and had the faint smell of bleach. “Dave Herrington, how’s my best Detective Investigator doing these days?” Phillips entered the room and shook my hand. We smiled, shared niceties, and took our seats.
“Steve, I’ve been around long enough to know that you’re about to stick me. Just give it to me straight,” I said. Phillips leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his desk and rest his chin on top of his interlaced fingers. “Dave, I’m moving you off the Organized Crime Task Force. You’ve been there a long time, longer than anyone else, but it’s time to move on.”
I slouched in my chair like a student in the principal’s office. “This is because of Doman, isn’t it? I don’t know what his problem is, I do his job for him.”
“Dave, nobody wants his troops questioning who’s in charge.”
“I’ve been working organized crime since he was in high school. You know in the old days if you were going to pull strings to get someone kicked off your squad you would at least tell them to their face.”
“Things have changed a lot, Dave. You’ve done some serious damage out there. The NYAG’s office owes you a lot of gratitude for it. But it’s time to move over and give someone else a shot.”
“So, where am I going? Don’t tell me it’s the Automobile Insurance Fraud Division. I’ll jump out this window right now.” Phillips gave an involuntary chuckle. “No, I couldn’t do that to you. I have a project that I’ve been looking to assign to the right person.” Phillips extended his arm palm up toward the stack of case files. “These are outstanding fugitive cases that have gone cold. They vary in charges, but they’re all wanted for serious offenses. We need to do some due diligence on these cases. Who knows, maybe you’ll even close one or two.”
“Who do I report to?”
“You and your partner will report directly to me.”
“Partner?”
Phillips leaned to his right and looked out his office door. He nodded and waved in a young, smooth-faced man with a ragtop haircut wearing glasses and a loose suit. I had mistaken him for an intern on my way in. “Dave, meet your partner, Detective Investigator Dillon Lyles.”
Lyles stepped forward and was eager to shake hands as I stood from my chair. “Sir, it is nice to meet you. I have heard all about your work on the Organized Crime Task Force and it is an honor to be working with you. Have you had a chance to decide which case to begin with? May I suggest the…”
“Is that your dad’s suit?” I asked slowing down the kid’s enthusiasm.
Lyles’s brow bunched and his head cocked to the side. “Ah, no sir. This is my suit.”
I couldn’t believe that I was being removed from the OCTF and forced to work alongside Doogie Houser. I looked to Phillips. “You can’t be serious, Steve. Is this kid straight out of the academy?”
Phillips again let out an involuntary chuckle. “Dave, I am serious. I think you’ll find Detective Investigator Lyles to be very useful. He has been assigned to this project from the forementioned Automobile Insurance Fraud Division where he has had much success. And just like you, he’s a very talented investigator who has had some personality conflicts with his supervisor. Now why don’t you two take these case files and get acquainted somewhere that is not my office.” Lyles walked over to the desk and scooped up the case files, wedging his hands underneath the stack, resting the stockpile against his chest and placing his chin on the top folder before waddling out the office door.
I began to follow him into the hallway as Phillips gave a parting shot.
Dave, I’ve instructed Dillon to give me weekly updates on your progress. Good luck.”
I watched Lyles walk into a small conference room halfway down the hall from the Deputy Chief’s office and entered behind him. He already had a file open on the table in front of him. I thought to myself, The audacity of this rookie. I am one of the most senior Detective Investigators in the NYAG’s most prestigious division and this pimple-faced kid thinks he’s taking charge of this assignment. “So, whose nephew are you?” Lyles looked at me like he had just sipped a sour beer. “I’m disappointed. I figured with as much experience as you have, you would know that things are not always as they appear. And the fact that you make conclusions about my appearance only displays nescience.” Lyles’s expression turned from disgust to boasting as he picked up the folder that lay in front of him. “Now if we could move on the task at hand, please. May I suggest…”
I snatched the open case file from under his nose. “No, you may not. Let’s get something straight here, Mr. Insurance Investigator. I am running the show here. You are assisting me. Keep your mouth shut unless I ask for your opinion. Otherwise, I will use every favor I’ve saved from my three decades on this job to get you moved off this assignment. Got it?”
I saw the air come out of him. I sat down opposite of the hotshot and pulled the stack of case files in toward me. I began opening the cover and looking at the offense alleged by each fugitive. After opening a few cases, I found the one I liked and slid the case to Lyles.
“Here we go. Let’s look into this one. This guy is wanted for a murder that took place in Saratoga Springs in 1990. I remember this being in the news back then.” I looked at Lyles and took the opportunity to display his lack of experience. “What were you doing in 1990?”
“Well, twenty years ago I was eight years old and happily enjoying third grade,” Lyles said.
I smiled and began to thumb through the case file. “Says here the fugitive, Benjamin Fern, was a student at Skidmore College at the time of the murder. Looks like he got into a fight at a house party and ended up stabbing a fellow student. There were several interviews conducted back then and there’s a ton of reports in here. I’ll tell you what, take this case file over to the copy machine and make yourself a copy of it. I need to go and tie up a few loose ends with the Organized Crime Task Force. I’ll have to pawn my cases off onto somebody over there, so I’ll have to give a half decent turnover. Let’s take tonight to review the case and meet in the morning to come up with a gameplan on how to proceed.”
Lyles took the Fern file and nodded. He reappeared in the conference room about thirty minutes later and handed me the original case file. “What time do you want to meet here in the morning, sir?”
“Forget the office, Dillon. Let’s meet for breakfast at the old diner in the Warehouse District at eight.”
***
The next morning, as I drove along the highway, I took in the same view of downtown Albany that I had enjoyed for decades. Being early for my meeting with Lyles, I took the scenic route and cruised around the State Capitol, a colossal granite French chateau dropped in the middle of an otherwise industrial city. I enjoyed observing the lobbyists and staffers in business attire rush to their meetings. There was a feeling of significance in the air.
I made my way north of downtown and pulled over in front of my favorite old diner. I was impressed to see an unmarked Chevrolet Impala parked on the street in front of me. It wasn’t often that I was beat to a meeting. I walked up the warped steps of the diner and entered the close quarters. I was forced to walk sideways down the row of tables, maneuvering around a waitress carrying a full pot of coffee.
“Good morning, sir.” Lyles had a nearly empty mug of coffee in front of him.
“Well, aren’t you chipper this morning.” I sat in the bench seat opposite him. After the waitress came and took our breakfast order, I asked Lyles if he had reviewed the case file.
“I did.”
“Looks like we’ll need to start the investigation in Buffalo. I saw that most of Benjamin Fern’s family is from there. Doesn’t seem like the guy even has any connections to the Saratoga area, just went to school there for a couple of years.” The waitress dropped off a ceramic mug filled with steaming black coffee.
Lyles flipped through tabs and pages of his copy of the case file.
I took a sip and glanced toward Lyles whose silence was irritating me. “Well, are you going to contribute anything to this conversation?” Lyles did not look up from his case file. “I concur that we must go to Buffalo to advance the investigation, but I believe we should interview Justin Bouthiller before we do.”
“Who is Justin Bouthiller?”
“He was Fern’s roommate in college. The lived together all the way up to the night the homicide occurred.”
“I didn’t see that in the case file.”
“It wasn’t in the file. I went to Skidmore College and pulled residency records after our meeting yesterday,” Lyles said.
“You did that without a subpoena?”
Lyles looked up at me with an irked expression and pushed a thin collection of documents connected by a paper clip toward me. “That is your copy of the residency records. You’ll notice the subpoena on top.” Lyles’s boasting expression returned.
“Okay then. Where can we find Bouthiller?” I had to admit to myself that I was impressed.
Lyles answered still looking down at his case file. “He is a state employee. He works for the Comptroller’s Office on State Street. You’ll find his employment record on the last page of the documents.”
“Okay, let’s eat and head over to State Street.”
After we finished our breakfast, we stepped out onto the curb. I had Lyles hop in my car knowing that the search for a State Street parking spot on a Tuesday morning could be laborious. We drove through the old rowhouses and brownstones before turning up the steep hill of State Street. State Street was surrounded with sizeable buildings on each side that were so close together they were nearly touching. Many of these buildings housed various state offices. We entered the lobby of one of the skyscrapers through large doors and approached the receptionist desk. I reached into my shirt through the neck hole and pulled out my badge that was connected to a silver chain and displayed it to the receptionist. “Good morning, ma’am. We’re investigators with the AG’s office. We are looking to speak with an employee in the building by the name of Justin Bouthiller. He works for the Comptroller’s Office.” I slid the badge back through my collar.
The receptionist became flustered. “Okay, what is this about exactly?”
“Ma’am, we can’t disclose any details of an ongoing investigation. I will tell you that it’s not the case of the century and that Mr. Bouthiller is not in any trouble whatsoever. This investigation has nothing to do with Mr. Bouthiller’s position with the comptroller’s office, nor anything to do with the comptroller’s office in general.”
The receptionist hesitated and then approached her computer and began pecking on the keyboard. “Third floor, Suite 336.”
After thanking the receptionist, we proceeded to the elevator. We located Suite 336 and encountered another receptionist. Before we could repeat the routine, a door opened and a man in a fitted navy-blue suit stepped out into the lobby.
“Gentlemen, I’m Justin Bouthiller. Can I help you?” Even though Bouthiller had been briefed on our occupation by the first-floor receptionist, I took out my badge and gave him a chance to examine it.
“Is there someplace we can speak?”
“I’d like to know what this about, first,” he said puffing out his chest.
“Benjamin Fern.”
Bouthiller leaned back like he was dodging a punch. “Benjamin Fern?” He looked away in thought and sighed. He held the door open and waved us in. “My office is the third door on the right.” We entered the office and Bouthiller closed the door behind us. “Please have a seat, gentlemen. I apologize for being rude, but this is not a common experience for me.”
I sat down and tried to reassure our subject. “Not a problem. These reactions are typical human behavior. If you were in any sort of trouble, we wouldn’t have let the downstairs receptionist warn you we were coming.” I noticed the chair next to me was still unoccupied and observed Lyles walking around the office with his hands together behind his back, examining the wall decorations. Embarrassed, I looked to Lyles. “Will you sit down?!”
Lyles turned and noticed we were staring at him, walked over to the chair next to me and sat down like a child being scolded.
“So how can I be of assistance?” Bouthiller asked.
“When was the last time you’ve heard from Benjamin Fern?” I asked.
“It’s been a long time since anyone has asked me about Ben. The last time I saw him was the morning after he stabbed that fraternity guy. He got out of bed and didn’t have a full recollection of what had happened. It had been a crazy night and I filled in some of the blanks for him. Ben had been drinking heavily that night and he had tried cocaine for the first time. He wasn’t in his right mind that night. I told him what he had done, and he broke down in tears. He gathered some of his things and left. The police only missed him by ten minutes.”
“And you never heard from him again?” I asked.
“Nope. He was gone. I felt bad for him, throwing his life away like that in one night, but he did kill somebody. Normally, Ben would never have been capable of something like that, it was the drugs.”
“Where do you think he went?” I asked.
“Well, his family is in Buffalo, that would be my first guess. But I imagine if he was in Buffalo all this time, he would’ve been caught by now. He could be in Canada. He was born in Ontario, outside of Toronto. He’s a naturalized U.S. citizen, but I think he still had dual citizenship when we were in college. He always talked about going back to Canada after graduation.” “Do you have any contact information for any of his family members?” I asked. “Sorry, I don’t. I only met his mother one time when she was bringing him to school our freshman year. Otherwise, he always drove back and forth to Buffalo on his own.” Seeing that Bouthiller couldn’t offer much to our investigation I pulled a business card out of my wallet and handed it over. “Okay, well thank you for your time. I know you’re busy at work, so we’ll let you get back to it.” As I began to stand up to leave, I heard a deep sigh from my partner. Lyles looked bored in his chair ready to burst. “Do you have anything to add Detective Investigator Lyles?”
“Thank you. Mr. Bouthiller, why did Ben choose to study business at Skidmore? It wasn’t close to home, and with his grades he certainly had options of where to study. Seems like a peculiar choice.”
Bouthiller hesitated. “Well, Ben and I were both interested in the equine business. We both grew up riding horses. We had an internship at the Saratoga racetrack the summer after our sophomore year.”
“Is there anything else that you can think of that may be able to help us find Ben?” Lyles asked nodding.
“He was very close with his family. They have always claimed that they don’t know where he went. There is no way that’s possible. Ben couldn’t have made it on the run on his own. He was only twenty-one years old when this happened. He was still dependent on his family. They know where he is, I guarantee you that.”
“Thank you for time, Mr. Bouthiller,” Lyles said.
We shook Bouthiller’s hand before letting ourselves out of the Comptroller’s Office. On the elevator ride down to the lobby, I couldn’t help but look at Lyles. I didn’t know what to make of him. He was eccentric, sometimes downright annoying, but I had to admit he thought of the right questions and did his homework. We left the building and got into back into my car.
“Are you available to go to Buffalo tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“If he’s in Canada, we’re going to have to get help from the Royal Mounted Police. That might slow things down to a glacial pace.” I drove us back through downtown that was still busy with state employees scrambling around. “I’m going to go sit down with Phillips and get travel authorization. I’ll book our reservations. Since you have a knack for research, can you do a workup on the family with special attention to any connections in Canada?”
“Yes.”
“Meet me at the office tomorrow morning at eight and we’ll head west,” I said as we pulled up to the diner. Lyles confirmed that he had heard me with a nod and stepped out of the car. He opened the door to his car, entered the driver’s side and was no sooner out of sight. I shook my head still not knowing what to make of Dillon Lyles.
***
The following morning, when I arrived at the office parking lot, Lyles was sitting on the bumper of his car with a file in hand and an overnight bag on the ground next to him. I pulled up next to him and rolled the passenger window down. “You’re growing on me, Dillon.” I popped the trunk open and watched Lyles gently put his bag in before getting in the passenger seat.
The drive from Albany to Buffalo is an uninspiring straight shot across New York State along Interstate 90 from one industrial city to another. I attempted to gain traction in a conversation with Lyles but was drowning. After several one-word responses, I learned that he was unmarried, lived by himself, was an only child and grew up in Marlborough, Massachusetts. I transitioned to discussing the case.
“Did you have any luck researching the Fern family?”
“Yes.”
“Would you please share what you learned, Dillon?”
“Fern’s mother still lives in the house Benjamin grew up in. It is in a small town between Buffalo and Niagara Falls called Tonawanda. Benjamin’s older brother, Jared, also lives in the house. You may find Jared’s occupation of interest. He is an officer with the Buffalo Police Department. Benjamin’s sister, Lindsey, also lives in the house. The residence is a large farm style house where, corroborating Mr. Bouthiller’s statement, they keep horses.”
“Any connection to Canada?”
“Yes.”
I looked at him with a dead stare. “Would you please share what you learned, Dillon?” “Benjamin’s parents are now divorced. His father is currently living outside of Toronto. His father also has a brother and a sister in the Toronto area. Benjamin does not have any living grandparents.”
“I bet he’s going to be in Canada. It’s safer for him there. There’s going to be a lot of red tape getting him arrested north of the border,” I said.
As we entered Buffalo, the city felt more vibrant than Albany but similar in its concrete look. I always knew I was in Buffalo when the smell of cereal hit my nostrils. Downtown Buffalo has been home to a cereal conglomerate for over a century and the air reminded you of that fact. There was a lot of worse things a city center could smell like. We drove past the city skyline and continued directly to the residence of Fern’s mother.
Fern’s mother lived in a picturesque farmhouse situated on a large property of rolling green hills. There were not any animals except a couple of retrievers and a few horses that were kept in stalls in a detached barn. We approached the front porch of the residence and were greeted by a man in his forties wearing a white undershirt with blue pants with a black stripe down the leg. His belt displayed a gold badge and a black pistol.
“Can I help you?” the man asked opening the door but not stepping outside.
“You must be Jared Fern. I’m Detective Investigator Dave Herrington with the New York Attorney General’s Office. This is my partner, Detective Investigator Dillon Lyles.”
“What’s this about?” Jared asked with his arms crossed.
“We’ve inherited the fugitive investigation for your brother. Just doing some due diligence on it. Do you mind if we speak with you for a few minutes
“I don’t have much to say about my brother. I haven’t talked to him since he stabbed that guy, and I don’t plan on speaking to him again in this lifetime. I’ve already told investigators everything I know and none of that has changed. I really don’t want you guys around here bothering my mom, either.”
“Jared, we’re all cops here. You can respect that we have a job to do,” I said.
Just then an elderly woman came up from behind Jared and tapped him on the shoulder. “It’s alright Jared, go inside, let me talk to the officers.”
Jared went back inside after shooting a glare at Dillon and I.
“Hello, welcome to my home. What can I help you gentlemen with today?” she said.
“Hello, ma’am. As I was explaining to your son, my name is Dave Herrington, and I am a Detective Investigator with the New York Attorney General’s Office. This is my partner, Dillon Lyles. We have inherited the fugitive investigation of your son, Benjamin. We’re here just doing some due diligence on the case. Do you mind if we come in and speak with you for just a couple of minutes?”
“Why, yes. Come on in.” Lyles and I followed Mrs. Fern into the residence where she showed us to seats at her kitchen table. “Can I get you guys anything to drink?” she asked
“No, ma’am. We won’t be staying long, just a couple of questions,” I said turning to realize Lyles was not next to me. I saw him wandering into the parlor with his hands together behind his back examining family photos that decorated the wall.
Mrs. Fern approached him with a smile. She noticed Lyles looking at a family photo and pointed to her son and then named the extended family in the photo with a brief description of either what they do for a living or what became of their life. After the full family story, Lyles and Mrs. Fern finally joined me at the kitchen table where I tried to hide my annoyance of my colleague distracting from my interview.
“When was the last time you have seen or heard from Benjamin?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s been a long time I’m afraid.”
“Why don’t we start with a timeline of events that occurred immediately after the incident at college. Do you remember when you first heard about it?” I asked
Jared reappeared in the hallway. “Why don’t you guys review the reports that were written and get the hell out of here?”
Now, Jared. Be polite.” Mrs. Fern waved her hand at him like she was swatting a bug.
“Mom, these people are not your friends.”
Mrs. Fern turned to us. “He’s upset that last time investigators came out they harassed his tenants.”
“Mom, not another word. Gentlemen, it’s time to go.” Jared walked over and grabbed Lyles by the elbow to assist him out the door. Lyles grabbed Jared’s wrist with one hand and his triceps with the other, turning him before pushing him away like he was Bruce Lee.
I was shocked to see Lyles move so smoothly. Seeing Jared put his hand on his pistol, I jumped out of my seat and began clearing my shirt out of the way of my holster. “Woah! Don’t do anything brash, Jared. Relax.”
Mrs. Fern screamed to stop.
Jared removed his hand from his holstered handgun. “Get the hell out of my mom’s house.”
I looked to Lyles and motioned to leave with my head. We left through the front door without taking an eye off Jared who followed us to the door. As he went to shut the door, I gave him something to think about. “Jared, if I find out you’re helping your brother in any way, I’m going to have that badge and gun.”
When we got back into the car, Lyles let out a loud laugh. That was the first time I had ever heard Lyles laugh and it stunned me.
“You think this is funny? We almost got into a gun fight with a fellow cop,” I said.
“Surely you see some humor in the situation,” he stated.
What a waste of a trip. There must be more that we can do while out here to advance the case. “So, what do you think we should do next?” I mumbled.
“Without question, we must go to the brother’s rental property. It’s only a few miles from here. Did you see how upset Jared became when his mother mentioned it?” Lyles asked straightening in his seat.
Why didn’t I think of that? “Sounds good,” I said.
Jared’s rental property was a two-family home with one apartment stacked on top of another connected by a rear stairwell. I knocked on the first-floor door which was answered by a woman in her early thirties.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” I pulled my badge out through the neck hole of my shirt. “I’m Detective Investigator Herrington with the New York Attorney General’s Office. This is my partner, Detective Investigator Lyles. Do you mind if I show you a photo of someone we’re looking for?”
“Sure. Let me get my glasses though.” She left the door open as she retrieved her glasses from her bedroom. Lyles stuck his head through the doorway and began turning his head each direction like an owl. The woman came back to the doorway and squinted at Lyles. She focused on the mugshot I had brought in with me. As she considered the photo, I could hear her upstairs housemate pacing around from one end of the apartment to the other.
“These floors are paper thin. Sorry, I’ve never seen that man before.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” We then proceeded up the stairwell. The landing to the upper floor apartment was small and Lyles had to stand behind me on the stairs. I knocked on the door was greeted by an older man in his seventies.
“Can I help you?” the man asked.
I could feel Lyles peeking around me trying to observe anything he could like a dog trying to sniff a stranger. Shaking my head, I again removed my badge from my shirt to identify myself. “We are looking for someone, would you mind taking a look at a photo for me?”
“Sure,” the old man responded in a tired voice. He examined the dated mugshot of Benjamin Fern. “I’m sorry, haven’t seen him around here.”
“Thank you for your time, sir.”
The man closed the door and I turned to leave but Lyles stood on the stairs glaring at me and released an exaggerated sigh.
“I’m sorry, Dillon. Did you have any questions for him?”
“Just one.”
I switched places with Lyles on the stairwell landing and he knocked again on the elderly man’s door. I was trying to figure out what outlandish singular question he had for the old man when the door reopened.
The man gave us a puzzled expression.
“What do you take us for?” Lyles leaned forward and took a swipe at the man’s hair.
My mouth opened as a hairpin flung from the man’s scalp and skipped down the stairwell. His hairpiece looked like a bird nest sitting half off his head. The man stepped back into the apartment and tried to slam the door shut but Lyles had stepped the toe of his shoe over the threshold of the doorway blocking it from closing.
How am I going to explain this to Phillips? This kid just ripped the hairpiece off an old man! Lyles took the man to the ground and removed handcuffs from his back pocket. Out of instinct, I unholstered my handgun, entered the apartment and went back-to-back with Lyles. I covered down on the empty bedrooms of the apartment to ensure we weren’t ambushed. I turned and looked over my shoulder and saw Lyles remove the handcuffed man’s hairpiece and rip at the studio quality makeup that disguised his face.
“I present to you, Mr. Benjamin Fern,” Lyles said.
“I would like to call my mother, please.” His voice now sounding youthful and pathetic.
“How in the world did you know that was Fern?” I asked. I thought you would never ask. First, we both saw how angry his brother became at the mere mention of his rental property. The sounds we heard from downstairs were much more fast paced than the moving about of an elderly man. And of course, that.” Lyles pointed to the back wall of the dining room where a painting of a photo finish of the Kentucky Derby hung.
“I can’t believe that woman downstairs lied to us so effortlessly,” I said
“If you had seen the family photograph in Mrs. Fern’s parlor you would know that she is Benjamin’s sister.” “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” I asked.
“I believe it was you that instructed me to keep my mouth shut unless you ask for my opinion.”
“Feel free to speak anytime you want from here on out.”
Bio: M.B. McDonough is the author of the short story “The Virtuoso.” His latest work is the debut of the Dillon Lyles series. M.B. McDonough is from Albany, New York and specializes in crime fiction, mysteries, police procedurals and thrillers. His short fiction works such as “The Jacumba Translator” and “Cajun Omelette” have previously been published in The Mystery Tribune. In addition to short fiction, McDonough is also preparing for the release of his debut novel, “Blind Ward.”
