Junior wasn’t about to risk driving past the house, even if he was driving an F-150 pickup truck he had taken from the outskirts of a Home Depot parking lot. His hope was that the truck belonged to a manager who wouldn’t walk outside until after the store closed. He’d easily have the truck back in time, even though he wouldn’t be able to hide the effects of hot-wiring it. Junior was willing to bet the car owner would write it off as a failed burglary attempt and probably not even report it to the police. One of the benefits of his chosen profession was learning things like how to hot-wire a car. It was amazing what people were willing to show others to prove how smart they were.
He hadn’t thought he’d get started in earnest so quickly, but he saw the opportunity. The time might come when those things changed and he’d be forced to either move on or act radically. But for now he liked the idea of getting back into the groove of things immediately.
Tina Tictin wasn’t the same kind of eighteen as Katie Ziegler. He knew she had flunked out of beautician school and had been in trouble with some boys in the neighborhood when she was younger. She hadn’t even pretended to look for a job or find a class to take today. He’d seen her around the house as early as noon.
He watched as she stood from the lounger and stretched her long, lithe body, lifting the sundress high on her hips. She pulled the tie from her curly black hair and shook her head, which gave her a wild look. He wondered if she expected people to be watching from the other houses and she was just showing off.
She walked inside, and he considered calling it a day. He set down the binoculars and checked his watch. If he’d had a clear opportunity he would’ve acted, but Junior wasn’t about to risk discovery.
He froze as he saw her come back out of the house, now wearing a pair of sandals with three inch heels. She walked with purpose up the street toward the convenience store where he was parked in the corner of the parking lot.
His chance might have come.
10
Ten minutes after arriving, Hallett sat in the sergeant’s office across the room from a restless John Fusco, who obviously felt it was a waste of time bringing Hallett up to speed on the case. Rocky was sitting next to him while Fusco made sure the sergeant realized he had made no mistakes on this investigation, and he absently rubbed Rocky’s head. Rocky had the same effect as a tranquilizer on Hallett in situations like this. He had to keep the dog close and continue to rub his head in order to keep his cool. It was a crutch, but one Hallett never wanted to give up.
The sergeant said, “We believe the incident yesterday is connected with two earlier abductions that happened over the course of two years. I think you’ve read the briefing. The fact that it was different police departments working each case didn’t help anything.”
Hallett controlled a shudder when he thought about what the creep did to the girls.
Fusco said, “Katie Ziegler sealed it in my mind. We’re dealing with one suspect. That makes this a serial case. Not only will everyone in the sheriff’s office be looking to me for results, the media will be all over it.”
Hallett said, “Where does CAT come in?”
The sergeant said, “We’ll use you in several different areas. But mainly, like I said last night, we have a list of potential suspects, our usual suspects, convicted child predators living in the county and matching the vague description Katie Ziegler gave. Although I told the captain you and the CAT would be available for other emergencies, I hope we have full use of you for at least a week or two. We want to try to wrap this up as quickly as possible.”
Hallett couldn’t resist looking across at the sharply dressed detective and saying, “We’ll be happy to bail out Detective Fusco. This is exactly what our unit was made for. It doesn’t matter what kind of mistakes he’s made in the case already, we’ll help grab this guy, especially if it’s Arnold Ludner.” He noticed the sergeant didn’t say anything and was trying to hide a smile. She probably realized this arrogant ass needed to be put in his place.
Fusco nearly jumped to his feet, saying, “I wasn’t even working the case for the first two abductions. And Ludner wasn’t even considered a suspect as far as I can tell. The girls that have been kidnapped by this guy were older than the ones Ludner liked. The first girl was seventeen”—he looked at some notes—”the second girl was twenty, and Katie Ziegler is eighteen.”
Rocky reacted to the outburst by standing and flexing his back. It had the desired effect on the detective, who immediately regained his composure.
Hallett said, “What about forensics? There really wasn’t any DNA found?” Now he was just trying to rile the detective.
“This ain’t CSI: Miami. We did a rape kit on all three girls, but there wasn’t anything obviously worthwhile. The first girl, two years ago, admitted to consensual sex with two other men before she was grabbed. Plus he never penetrated any of the girls vaginally. As far as we can tell he prefers oral sex and leaves no semen at the scene. The second girl waited eight days before she even reported it. And Katie got away before the asshole could do anything.” He waited a moment and threw in a halfhearted “Thank God.”
Hallett knew that a guy like Fusco only cared about clearing the case. He really wasn’t happy that the girl hadn’t been raped, because a rape would’ve provided him with some decent DNA to enter into the database run by the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. Detectives like Fusco saw victims as potential evidence and not much else.
Fusco said, “I think the guy was even smart enough to pick up the blindfold that Katie had ripped off. All we have is the one rag that may, or may not, be from our suspect. And your dog sniffed it. Maybe he can match us up with Ludner when it’s time.”
Hallett said, “You think the plaster cast of the shoe is anything worthwhile?”
Fusco just snorted.
Sergeant Greene said, “We’ll look at it. One of the techs pointed out that it’s a hiking boot with a waffle bottom, missing one of the rubber squares in the heel. It might come in handy.”
Fusco mumbled, “Bullshit.”
Sergeant Greene looked at Hallett and said in her usual even tone, “I got your unit assigned to us for assistance. I’m going to go by your guidance as far as the dogs are concerned. I know they can do a lot, but you know the capabilities better than anyone.”
Hallett wanted to play it cool but blurted out, “Will I be able to check out Ludner?”
The sergeant hesitated, then slowly nodded and said, “You can, but no direct contact yet. The TAC guys haven’t even seen him around his house. Fusco’s going to talk to his probation officer tomorrow and see if we can get a better fix on him. I’ll send Claire Perkins with him so your whole unit will be involved from here on out.”
Hallett felt a flicker of excitement at the prospect of facing the biggest creep he had ever met in his years of police work.
* * *
An hour later, in the detective bureau squad bay, Hallett wanted to be certain Claire knew what her assignment would entail. When the sergeant said she would work closely with Fusco, Hallett felt his stomach turn. It took him an hour to realize that Fusco probably wasn’t a bad guy to work with. He just didn’t want to do it.
Hallett was happy the sergeant was perceptive enough not to stick Darren Mori with the bullying detective. Darren appeared to be reserved, but Hallett knew he had a temper. Almost no one in the sheriff’s office knew he had the skills to back up that temper. No matter how funny it would’ve been to see Fusco find out what one of his smart comments might cost him, Hallett didn’t want his partner to get in trouble.
Now, looking professional in a sharp uniform, Claire Perkins stood her ground and offered a firm handshake and listened to what Fusco had to say.
Fusco, wearing an expensive Joseph Abboud suit, looked from Claire to Smarty. Claire strategically had the dog sit right next to her and stare at Fusco. Hallett could see how the dog would intimidate anyone.
Fusco stammered, “I guess you’re coming with me to talk to the p
robation officer in the morning.”
Claire just nodded and said, “I’ll be ready anytime you want.”
“Meet me here about eight thirty and we can drive over in my car.”
Claire shook her head and said, “I won’t leave Smarty alone in the Tahoe. And you wouldn’t care to be a passenger with him in the back. We better take separate cars.”
Hallett wanted to smile but suppressed the urge.
Fusco, to his credit, kept his calm and plowed ahead. He showed Claire and Hallett a forensic artist’s rendering of the suspect from Katie Ziegler’s vague description. Fusco said, “This is the same creep that grabbed the other two girls. I can feel it.”
Then Claire asked the right question. “Do you think the guy is on our suspect list?”
The way Fusco hesitated told Hallett everything he needed to know. All Fusco said was, “It’s possible.”
Hallett had to admit he was impressed at the detective’s openness. Some men were thrown off by Claire’s appearance. Even with a big dog and wearing fatigues, she was pretty. But now Fusco had to realize she was smart, too.
Fusco said, “I’m not convinced it’s one of these guys. The asshole could be anyone, but we gotta tell the sheriff we’re doing something. The media has gotta be satisfied, too. I can think of worse leads we’ve run out on.”
* * *
Junior could tell by the way Tina shoved the door of the convenience store open when she came out that she was pissed off about something. Then she spoke to a man in his midthirties before he walked into the store. When the man shook his head and walked past her, Junior realized she was trying to get someone to buy her a beer. She asked a woman a minute later. The woman not only refused, she scolded Tina.
He felt like this might be his chance. But he didn’t want her to see his face. His one saving grace was that no one had a good, detailed description of him and none of his victims could identify him. He wondered if he could work out some sort of trade with Tina. Then he realized it wouldn’t be the same. He needed the power. He wanted to smell her fear. To know how superior he was. He had to introduce her to a whole new world. It wouldn’t be anything at all like what she was used to. He also realized she couldn’t see his face. Unless …
The idea bubbled in his head briefly, then took on a life of its own. He’d never really considered it except as a last resort. She could see his face if she was unable to talk to the police later.
Tina turned and looked in his direction, then began to walk tentatively toward the truck at the edge of the parking lot.
His heart started to beat faster and he felt a tingling in his chest. He pretended not to notice her and acted like he was concentrating on his cell phone. Somehow he managed to look startled when she rapped on the passenger window.
She had a pleasant smile as the window whirred down. He noticed several crooked teeth and blamed her father for not working a steady job to pay for braces. Tina said, “Can you help me out?”
“Whatcha need?”
“I left my ID at home, and that jerk inside won’t sell me beer.”
Junior forced himself to wait a moment before answering so he wouldn’t sound too anxious. He grunted, “Sure,” as he pulled the handle on the driver’s door. As he stepped out onto the littered asphalt parking lot he said, “Wait in the truck. It’s a lot cooler in there.”
She hesitated, looked through the window to make sure he was out of the truck, then pulled the door open and slipped into the passenger seat.
That’s when he pulled his Beretta from under his shirt and hit the automatic lock button on the open driver’s door.
Tina gasped but didn’t move.
In a very calm voice Junior said, “I’m not going to hurt you.” His mind raced as he stepped back into the truck, pulling the door shut behind him. This was going to be a wondrous afternoon. Then he would see if he could take things to the next level.
He pulled out onto Military Trail, then turned west at the next light. There were always wide-open empty areas to the west.
11
The girl was terrified, and that excited Junior. If what he was doing was a drug, then he’d just mainlined heroin. He didn’t know how long he could last, and he hadn’t even parked the truck. Since his first sexual encounter with his ninth-grade music teacher, Miss Trooluck, Junior had loved the feel of performing oral sex. It seemed so dirty at the time. Worse than intercourse. Her moans had frightened him at first; then he developed a fascination with it. A fascination that had grown since that day. Some people might call it an obsession, but Junior didn’t care. It was one of the few things he looked forward to in his dreary life.
He turned off onto two unkempt farm tracks with heavy brush on each side of a canal. Except for the occasional fisherman, no one would ever have a reason to come out here. He was glad he’d borrowed the big F-150 pickup as it clattered down the road. He could hear tools rattling in the toolbox in the bed behind the cab.
Tina had hardly said a word during the trip. He’d asked her a few questions and couldn’t ignore the electricity he felt when she looked him in the eye. This was something he’d missed with the previous girls. They’d always worn blindfolds and sort of flailed around aimlessly. Now he could see the emotion in her face and knew that he’d tapped into a fear she had never considered. He’d surprise her. Eventually she’d like his attention. He realized she had no idea what he intended to do, and if Junior thought about it, neither did he. That was part of the thrill.
He found a number of trails that led away from the canal through brush and sporadic crops. Cornstalks grew up through Brazilian peppers mixed in with Australian pine trees, all of the nonnative plant species that people bitched about.
Junior had the Beretta tucked in his belt, but he had a number of other options still available to him, even if Tina Tictin did not.
* * *
Darren Mori listened while Tim Hallett briefed him and Ruben Vasquez on their duties with the detective bureau. After the adventure at the airport, Darren had gone on a cadaver call with Brutus and missed the meeting. Turned out there was no cadaver. Just a pissed-off drunk who had wandered away from the Salvation Army and someone reported him as dead in a field. It was just one of many incidents that made him smile now but horrified him at the time. All dog handlers experienced stuff like that.
Police service dogs had a long history that could be traced back to over three hundred years ago in Europe. In the United States, Boston and New York had working dogs by the end of the nineteenth century when Florida was a mysterious swamp no one wanted to visit. Both the First and the Second World Wars taught military trainers the value of using dogs for different tasks, but it wasn’t until as late as the 1960s that a Miami police trainer named Jay Rapp instituted the training protocols that were the basis for modern K-9 units.
None of the CAT members would’ve guessed the amount of training that went into preparing a dog for work on the street before they joined the unit. The initial courses for patrol and drug-sniffing dogs were nine to twelve weeks each. The courses covered everything, including legal issues. The academies were long because once a K-9 unit hit the street they were pretty much on their own. But unlike most squads in police agencies, the K-9 units trained together on a regular basis, often as much as once a week.
Although Ruben wasn’t a sworn law enforcement officer, he administrated the grant that funded their unit and was a consultant for training the other K-9 units. After Hallett had finished, Ruben gave them one of his rare smiles. “That’s good you’re doing something different. The only way this program will work is if you move from assignment to assignment and make a reputation for yourselves.”
Somehow Ruben’s voice always seemed to captivate the dogs. He insisted that no matter what the discussion or issue, dog handlers should always have their dogs with them. At this moment both Brutus and Rocky stared at Ruben as if they were apostles listening to Jesus.
Darren and Hallett had often discussed how old they though
t Ruben might be. Neither of them had enough balls to ask him. A scar that ran along the right side of his face made it difficult to judge his age. He also had a slight limp, which he told them was from an IED in Iraq. The blast had ended Vasquez’s military career. Even with all that information, the best estimate they could make was that his age was somewhere between thirty-two and forty-five. Darren also openly envied Ruben’s thick, dark hair. Even cut short, it showed no thinning or gray. That was a sore spot for Darren. He cut his hair short so he could use different products to hide his ever-growing bald spot. His new favorite baldness cure was a spray that filled in the round patch at the crown of his head. Unfortunately, Darren’s height made it easy for anyone over six feet to look down on his scalp.
Ruben said, “The dogs will be invaluable on a case like this.” He looked at Darren and said, “Just remember, Brutus is not trained to run after someone and apprehend them. He’s a seeker. He’ll find cadavers, explosives, and even the track of a fugitive, but don’t use him in ways he wasn’t meant to be used.” Ruben was always in teaching mode, even during an administrative meeting like this.
Ruben turned to Hallett and said, “Do you got your head on straight? There’ll be a lot happening, and this will be new for Rocky.”
“I’m not worried about Rocky. He’ll have less to concentrate on than me.”
“Really? That’s what you think? You don’t believe that if your olfactory sense was a million times better than it is now and you were able to change your outer ear to focus on a particular sound, you wouldn’t have enough to concentrate on?” Ruben paused and wiped his face with a handkerchief. “I know you guys are good cops. And you’re good dog handlers, too. But sometimes you, Tim, overlook the obvious things Rocky is trying to tell you. I can’t teach you every specific mannerism or sound. I can only show you how to open your mind to understand what he’s saying.”
Darren learned a lot when other people were getting scolded. He noticed Hallett shift his eyes up like a kid talking to a teacher in elementary school.
Scent of Murder Page 8
