The Case Against Brian Spencer

Four and a half years later, about 8:30 on a Sunday night—Jan. 18 of this year—Spencer is sitting in the El Cid bar, drinking a gin and tonic with one of his friends. The El Cid, since closed, was one of the few bars left in South Florida attached to a beauty parlor. Anyway, halfway through Spencer's first drink, his friend stands up, goes to the pay phone and calls a cab for Spencer. A few minutes later, the driver, a thick-chested man named William Springer, walks in and calls, "Taxi."

Springer is an undercover sheriff's detective. His picture, in fact, hangs in the lobby of police headquarters as 1986's Officer of the Year. Spencer takes the cab around the corner to the Mt. Vernon Motor Lodge and tells the driver to wait. He speaks to someone inside, then heads back to the cab.

Waiting for him are a helicopter with search lights, the undercover detective, a K-9 cop, a K-9 dog, and as much backup as the Palm Beach County Sheriff and the West Palm Beach police have available. In the rights and the noise Spencer struggles with police, but there are too many of them in too many places, and in a few moments he is in handcuffs.

And, for the next three months, Spencer sits in the Palm Beach County jail.

And that is it, the case against Brian Spencer.

The case was kept in a folder a couple of inches thick, which was balanced across the lap of assistant state attorney Lynne Baldwin. She was going through the papers inside, one by one, reading bits and pieces out loud.

Interviews with other girls from escort services, interviews with Spencer's friends.

A report of a possum that Spencer was supposed to have killed with a .25-caliber automatic—the same caliber that killed Dalfo—which initiated a number of searches of his backyard. No possum, no bullets, no gun.

A woman's shoe prints leading away from the scene of the killing.

Lie detector tests of numerous subjects, none of them Diane De Lena or Brian Spencer.