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On a clear, warm August night, Dwayne Henry made a last-minute decision to pull into a Walgreens parking lot on South Pompano Parkway in Pompano Beach. Before turning, the handsome Jamaican-born 26-year-old bickered with his pregnant girlfriend, Francine, about whether to pick up her prenatal vitamins. It was 1 a.m. and they were tired after working the same late shift at a nearby cell phone company.
In the parking lot, Francine (not her real name) sat behind the wheel as Henry sifted through some hip-hop songs on his cell phone. Then it happened. They heard what sounded like firecrackers and saw a whirl of police lights.
Henry looked out the car window and saw sparks coming from a 9mm handgun. As he ducked, he spotted the profile of a light-skinned man who jumped into a white sedan, hit the gas, and sped off. The man had just shot and killed beloved Broward Sheriff's Office Sgt. Chris Reyka.
"I wanted to get the hell out of there," Henry remembers. "But I stayed."
That was a big mistake. Henry, whom police just a few months ago termed a "vital witness in the homicide death of Christopher Reyka," sits in a crowded, dorm-style room at Krome Detention Center. A deportation order was issued April 10.
His lawyer, Regina Morales, says the Broward Sheriff's Office, with the federal government 's help, is short-circuiting the still-incomplete investigation into Reyka's murder, perhaps the most highly publicized cop shooting in recent South Florida history — and one of its greatest mysteries. She's taking on the case pro bono.
Henry, who has a lengthy rap sheet, told police the shooter was white or light-skinned Hispanic. For months detectives have been pointing fingers at a group of black men arrested soon after Reyka's death for a series of drugstore robberies. So far they have not been charged.
"If the federal government is trying to pin the murder on these other individuals, my client is an important witness for the defense," says Morales. "He was five or six feet away from the murder scene. He saw Sergeant Reyka bleeding."
Dwayne Henry was born in Kingston and came to South Florida with his father, Leopold, on a three-month tourist visa when he was eight years old. His mother stayed behind. At first, the boy was an outcast, but soon Leopold enrolled him in school. Through sports such as football and baseball, he made friends. And he quickly picked up the saxophone and the clarinet.
As a teen, he often stuck up for the underdog, remembers Anthony Stewart, Henry's best friend. Stewart remembers his buddy protecting a small boy who had been tromped by a larger player during a pick-up football game. "He was always the defender," Stewart says. "He was honest — maybe too honest."
When Henry was 15 years old, he was busted trying to steal a T-shirt from a mall and sentenced to community service. Aside from that, he was too busy to cause much trouble. As a high school junior, he was a star pitcher for Anderson High. In 1998, the Sun-Sentinel named him a "top player" in "the most competitive" district in the county. During his senior year, Henry says, he was offered a scholarship to play ball at Florida State University. But then he learned — because he had never been granted residency or citizenship — he couldn't accept the scholarship. "I was depressed," Henry says. "I was trying to cope."
In the years that followed, he found work doing telemarketing and other low-end jobs — but had repeated run-ins with police, court records show. Among them:
• In 2001, he pleaded no contest to buying a $20 bag of pot from an undercover cop on NW 19th Terrace in Fort Lauderdale. A year later, he was arrested for having a small amount of marijuana.
• In September 2002, he was collared for a stealing a cell phone out of a car, pleaded no contest, and paid a fine.
• A year later, a girlfriend, Jennifer Sharkey, claimed he beat her up. He was charged with battery, but the case was dismissed.
• In late November 2003, he was pulled over by an officer but then fled. He was found guilty of driving with a suspended license, trespassing, and resisting arrest without violence, and sentenced to a year. He served about eight months.
• Between 2001 and 2003, he was pulled over eight times for a variety of reasons — from operating an unregistered vehicle to driving without a license. In most cases, he paid fines.
Henry attributes most of his legal problems to two things: (1) his immigration status — after September 11, it became more difficult for immigrants to obtain licenses — and (2) seizures he suffered in high school that were eased by smoking pot. In those years, he had a difficult time keeping a job, but finally in 2006, he took a customer service position at a Pompano cell phone company. There he met Francine. Eric Roundtree, who hired him, says Henry had a solid work ethic. "He never missed a day of work."