by Stuart Woods
“That’s interesting,” Lauren said. “Was anybody else in the station last night?”
“Just the switchboard operator; everybody else would have been on patrol until the shift change, at eight a.m.”
“Would the operator have seen Bruno there?”
“Probably not; she’s in her own space, with the door closed. She has to stay by the switchboard in case of a nine-one-one call, and she has her own john back there.”
“What does Bruno drive?”
“An unmarked Crown Vic cruiser, dark blue. I noticed when I left last night that the keys were in it. I suppose you could make a case that somebody took the car and returned it later, but that’s kind of far-fetched, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You need me out there?”
“No, I’ll ask the DIC, Ed Rankin, to fax you a copy of his report. The ME just left; you can get his report later today, probably. I’ll talk to you later, Jimmy.” Lauren closed her phone and noticed that Hurd Wallace was standing a few yards away, looking down. She walked over to him. “Got something?”
“Maybe we got lucky,” Hurd said, pointing down. “There was some rain last evening, and there’s a bare spot in the grass right here. Look at that tire print.”
Lauren looked down. “Nice and clear,” she said, “and it looks like there’s a cut in the tire.” She moved along a few feet. “Here it is again, from when the tire turned. It’s a right tire.”
“Let’s get a cast of that track,” Hurd said.
33
Teddy was working in the kitchen when the chime went off, signaling a car entering the driveway. That would be Lauren, he guessed, but he still went to the door and looked outside to be sure. She was spending more and more time at his house; some of her clothes were in his closet and chest of drawers. He liked that.
Lauren came in the door and gave him a wet kiss. “Whatever that is smells good,” she said.
“It’s only meat loaf.”
“My favorite!”
“Then you came to the right place.”
“I know I did.”
“How was your day?”
“Another murder,” she said. “Out at the fairgrounds, west of town. A young woman who worked as a ticket seller at the Indian River Mall cineplex.”
“Any new clues?”
“We may have gotten a break,” she said. “We know that Bruno said he was working all night at the police station, and there was nobody there who could give him an alibi. We also found a tire track with a cut in the tread.”
“Is that tire on Bruno’s car?”
“We don’t know,” she said. “Hurd and I drove past his house, and his car was parked in the driveway, so we had a look at the tires. We couldn’t see a cut, but it could have been on the ground, and we couldn’t move the car without a warrant. Of course, we don’t have enough evidence to get a warrant.”
“And while you’re waiting for enough evidence, he could kill a few more women.”
“Please don’t say that,” she said. “That’s my worst nightmare.”
Teddy fixed them a drink and handed her one. She took a stool at the kitchen counter. “I’m getting tired of looking at corpses,” Lauren said. “This one was posed in the driver’s seat, kneeling.”
“I think I get that picture,” Teddy said. “No more details, please.”
“I don’t want details myself,” she replied, “but details are my job.”
“Details were always what made my work fun,” Teddy said, then he realized he was talking about his career at the CIA and stopped talking.
“Go on.”
“I was just going to say that when you’re inventing gadgets, everything is in the details.” He held up a plastic frame with a blade in it. “Like this potato slicer,” he said. “It would have cost too much to make the blade adjustable, so I had to cook a lot of potatoes to get the slicing thickness just right.”
“A crime scene is nothing but details,” Lauren said. “I just can’t imagine how murders got solved fifty years ago before gunshot residue and knife blade matching and DNA came along.”
“Isn’t that when the cops just beat confessions out of the suspect?”
“Wash your mouth out with soap,” she said. “Well, maybe, but we don’t do that.”
“But the Supreme Court says you can lie about evidence to the suspect, in order to get a confession.”
“That’s not twisting science,” she said, “it’s using human nature against him. If the guy is already feeling guilty and he thinks you’ve got him, likely as not he’ll spill the beans with a video camera running.”
“I heartily approve of that technique,” Teddy said. “I don’t know how any murderer can think he’ll get away with it these days, what with all the science involved, all the ways he can get caught.”
“Somebody like Bruno,” Lauren said, “who has police training, has an advantage. He knows what we’ll look for, and he works at not leaving any evidence. He uses condoms, so that he won’t leave his DNA; he wears latex gloves . . .”
“I get the picture,” Teddy said. “But I’ll bet that if he has a cut tire, he doesn’t know it.”
“We didn’t get tire tracks at any of the other scenes,” Lauren said, “just this one.”
“Maybe he cut his tire since the last murder, ran over something sharp.”
“Maybe.” She took out the phone. “Excuse me a minute. I just thought of something.” She selected a number from her phone’s address book.
“Hello?”
“Jimmy, it’s Lauren Cade.”
“Hey, Lauren.”
“There’s something you could do that would be a big help,” she said.
“Sure, anything I can do.”
“Can you check the right tires on Bruno’s cruiser for cuts?”
“What are you looking for?”
“A cut across the tread. I checked his car at his house today but couldn’t see anything; it might have been parked with the cut on the ground.”
“I get you,” he said. “Sure, I’ll check the car every chance I get. You’re sure it’s on the right side?”
“I think so. You can check all four.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Jimmy.” She hung up.
“That was Detective Weathers?” Teddy asked.
“Yes. He’s going to check Bruno’s tires for me.”
“And if you find a cut, you can get a warrant?”
“Maybe. Then, if we can match the cut in the tread to the cast we took, we’ll have some material evidence.”
“I’ll be the first to congratulate you,” Teddy said, slicing and serving the meat loaf before adding mashed potatoes and beans to the plates. Then he put them on the table, and they sat down to eat.
“I fantasize about searching Bruno’s house and finding the panties,” she said.
“What panties?”
“Oh, I guess I didn’t tell you,” Lauren said. “He keeps his victim’s panties—at least, we’ve never found any at the crime scenes.”
34
Lauren Cade was at her desk the following morning when her phone rang. “Detective Cade,” she said.
“Lauren, it’s Jimmy Weathers.”
“Hey, Jimmy.”
“I checked Bruno’s tires this morning, and there’s a cut on the right front one. It’s deep, wedge-shaped and crosses about three-quarters of the tread.”
“Jimmy, I love you,” Lauren nearly shouted. “Tell me you didn’t manipulate the car in any way.”
“I didn’t touch it. The wheels were sharply turned to the left, and the cut was visible to any passerby. You shouldn’t have any trouble with the warrant.”
“Thank you, Jimmy! I’ve got to go see Hurd now.” She hung up and hurried down the hall to Hurd Wallace’s office, smiling.
“What?” Hurd said when he saw her face.
“Jimmy Weathers found a cut on the right front tire of Bruno’s car. He described it, and it sounds iden
tical to the one we’ve got the cast of.”
“That’s great news,” Hurd said, picking up the phone and buzzing his secretary, Shirley Medved. “Shirley, call Judge Landry and get me an immediate appointment. Tell him it’s for a search warrant in an important case.” He hung up. “Here’s how we handle this,” he said to Lauren. “We tow the car to a garage of our choice, and we go over the whole thing with a fine-toothed comb. The DA is going to want more than the tire cut to ask for an indictment.”
“Maybe we’ll find the panties in the car,” Lauren said.
“DNA from the panties would guarantee a conviction,” Hurd said, “though I’m not going to get my hopes up about that. Bruno is too smart to keep something like that in his car; if he has them, he’ll have thought of a better hiding place.”
The phone rang, and Hurd picked it up. “Yes? Thank you, Shirley.” He hung up. “We can’t see the judge until four o’clock this afternoon. He’s in court nonstop until then.”
“Oh, God,” Lauren said. “I’ll be on pins and needles until then.”
Lauren sat in her car outside the courthouse and waited impatiently for Hurd’s return. She felt an excitement she had never felt before; her stomach churned, and her knees were weak. She looked up to see Hurd coming down the courthouse steps.
Hurd got into the car and held up a warrant. “Got it,” he said and gave her a rare smile. He got out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Fred? It’s Hurd Wallace; I need an immediate tow, a flatbedder. Right, meet me at the Orchid Beach police station parking lot as soon as you can get there. We’ll be going back to your garage.” He hung up. “Let’s go.”
Lauren drove quickly to the police station, resisting the temptation to use her lights and siren. She pulled into the parking lot. Bruno’s cruiser was in his labeled parking space. “There it is,” she said. “And here comes the tow truck.”
“You want to serve the warrant?” Hurd asked.
“No, I’m too nervous; you do it, please.”
Hurd got out of the car and walked into the police station through the back door. He was gone for no more than a minute, then he returned. Jim Bruno came out the back door and stood at the top of the steps, watching.
“Fred, there’s the car,” Hurd said. “The keys are in it.”
“You want to drive it, then?” Fred asked.
“No, I don’t want to take any chances.”
Hurd and Lauren watched Fred go through the motions with practiced ease. In five minutes, he had the car on his flatbed.
Lauren and Hurd got back into the car and followed the tow truck. Hurd got on the phone and reached the unit criminalist and gave him directions to the garage.
“How did Bruno react?” Lauren asked.
“With astonishment,” Hurd replied. “I mean, he really looked amazed. He demanded to know the reason for the warrant, and I refused to tell him. I told him the car was material to an investigation that’s under way.”
“Now I wish I had served it,” Lauren said.
“It’s better that I did it,” Hurd replied. “We don’t want him to try and make a case for harassment because of your past dealings with him.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Lauren said.
The tow truck pulled into the garage. Fred unloaded it and drove it into an empty bay, then raised the hoist.
“Lift it so that the tires are at eye level,” Hurd said to him.
The hoist stopped, and Hurd and Lauren walked to the right front tire. Hurd spun the wheel slowly. “I don’t see a cut,” he said.
“I thought Jimmy said it was the right front,” Lauren replied. “You check the right rear, and I’ll check the other side.” She inspected both tires and found no cuts. Then she walked back to where Hurd was standing. “No cuts on the other side. I don’t understand.”
“Lower the car, Fred,” Hurd said to the garage owner, who was standing by watching. He lowered the car. “Pop the trunk, Lauren. Let’s look at the spare.”
Lauren put on latex gloves, opened the driver’s door and pressed the trunk lid release, then went to the rear of the car. Hurd was unscrewing the wing nut that held the spare in place. In a moment, he had the tire out, and they inspected the tread.
“I don’t get it,” Hurd said. “There’s no tire cut anywhere.”
Lauren walked back to the right front tire and knelt to look at it again. “Look at this,” she said.
Hurd walked over and squatted. “What?”
Lauren flicked a little piece of rubber that extended from the tire like a pin. “It’s a new tire,” she said. “These little appendages fall off after a while.”
“Shit,” Hurd said. “That means he bought a new tire after Jimmy saw the cut this morning.”
“But why would he have done that?”
“I don’t know,” Hurd said.
Lauren got out her phone and called Jimmy Weathers’s cell phone.
“Hello.”
“Jimmy, it’s Lauren. We got the warrant, and we’re inspecting the tires now. There’s no cut on any one of them, and there’s a brand-new tire on the right front.”
“Damn,” Jimmy said. “He must have seen the cut. It was deep enough to bother you; I wouldn’t have wanted to drive on it. One good bump, and you’d have a blowout.”
“I guess you’re right,” Lauren said.
“I’m sorry, Lauren. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Not your fault, Jimmy,” she said. “Bye-bye.” She turned to Hurd. “Where does the Orchid department buy its tires?” she asked.
“Up US-1 a couple of miles. Let’s go.” Hurd headed for the car, and Lauren followed.
The crime lab van pulled up behind the garage.
“The car’s on the hoist,” Hurd said. “This is about the rape/ murders; check everything, and be careful to properly preserve any evidence. We’ll be back.”
Lauren got into the car, and they drove away.
35
Holly was driving back from the airport after her day’s training when an unmarked police car suddenly passed her, moving fast. Lauren Cade was looking at her in the rearview mirror, waving, with Hurd Wallace sitting next to her. Holly’s curiosity was piqued: another murder? She accelerated and fell in behind the car.
They pulled off the road at Vero Discount Tires, and Holly followed. What were they doing? Getting a flat fixed? If so, what was the hurry? She got out of the car. “Hey, Lauren, Hurd.”
“Hey, Holly.”
“What’s up?”
“We’ve got a lead in the rape/murders,” Lauren said.
“At a tire place?”
“We found a tire print with a deep cut in it at the crime scene yesterday,” Hurd said, “and we got a report from Jimmy Weathers that Jim Bruno’s cruiser had such a tire cut, but Bruno replaced the tire earlier today. Join us?”
Holly went with them into the tire store.
“Afternoon,” a clerk behind the counter said. “What can I do you for, folks?”
Hurd flashed his badge. “Did Police Chief Bruno buy a replacement tire here today?”
“Sure did. Right before lunch.”
“Can we see his old tire?”
“Sure, if we can find it. Follow me.”
They followed the man through the back door into a shop, then out behind the building.
“The chief’s old tire will be in this pile over here . . .” The man stopped; there was no pile of tires. “I’m sorry,” he said, “looks like we had a pickup this afternoon. The pile was here this morning.” He called to one of the men in the shop. “Hey, Mike, did we get a pickup today?”
“’Bout an hour ago,” Mike yelled back.
The man turned back to Hurd and his group. “We get a pickup from an outfit in Melbourne about once a week. They specialize in disposing of old tires, batteries, that sort of stuff.”
“Can you give me the name and address of the company?” Hurd asked.
“Sure. I’ve got it inside.” He went back into the
front room, rummaged through a desk drawer and came up with a business card. “Here you go,” he said, handing Hurd the card. Environmental Disposal Corporation. They’re out beyond the Melbourne airport.”
“Thank you,” Hurd said. “Holly, you want to come with us?”
“I can’t Hurd; I’ve got to cook dinner for a friend, and I haven’t even been to the store yet. Good luck.” Holly watched them drive away.
They found the EDC sign between the airport and the interstate, and Lauren turned into a road leading toward a group of steel buildings. She parked the car in front of a building with a sign that said oFFICES, and she and Hurd went inside.
Hurd showed his badge. “May I speak with the manager, please?”
“I’ll tell him you’re here,” the woman said. “Please have a seat.”
They did, and ten minutes passed before a man in a shirt and tie appeared.
“I’m Charles Meeton,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“We need to find a tire that you picked up in Vero Beach today,” Hurd said.
“Sir, we’ve got lots of tires here,” Meeton said.
“This one would be on a truck that picked up tires at Vero Discount Tires an hour and a half, two hours ago,” Hurd said.
A noise came from outside that practically drowned him out. “What’s that?” Hurd asked.
“Just some of our equipment,” Meeton said. “Alice, can I see the dispatcher’s log?”
Alice handed him a clipboard.
“Let’s see,” Meeton said, “that would be Al Parker’s truck. What number is Al Parker’s truck, Alice?”
Alice consulted another clipboard. “Fifteen,” she said.
Meeton handed her back his clipboard. “Come on, folks, let’s take a look outside.” He led the way out the way they had come in.
Outside, the noise was deafening. “There’s Al’s truck,” Meeton shouted over the din, pointing. A hundred yards away, a dump truck was depositing its load in what appeared to be a steel-sided container about fifteen feet across. The three of them began to walk toward it.
