Evidence of Murder

by Samuel Roen

  Linnert asked, “Have you considered the possibility that maybe Carla Larson isn’t out there? She may be long gone.”

  “Of course I have. But I keep coming back to the question, why was that white vehicle, possibly hers, seen out there in the woods? And with a man driving it. I can’t get past that, and my gut tells me we should keep looking in this area.”

  On Thursday, June 12, Deputy Heather Mason sat facing the stack of reports at her desk at OCSD headquarters. She looked at the clock, realizing that the afternoon was practically over and it would soon be time to go home. Her phone rang, and when she answered, she was told to report without delay to a location near the Coronado Springs Resort/Centex Rooney work site.

  Racing to the designated location, the deputy wondered, Why have I been called out? That’s where the search is going on for Carla Larson. The detectives are out there handling that. Why the call to headquarters?

  When she arrived at the area, Deputy Mason learned the shocking details of a discovery that was made on the Disney properties. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered. Mason immediately called dispatch. “Notify Detectives Weir and Linnert. Tell them to get out to the Centex Rooney building site ASAP. Tell them it’s urgent!” She repeated, “It’s urgent!”

  The detective team immediately responded and, upon their arrival, Deputy Mason greeted them. Her face was ashen and she was obviously agitated.

  Concerned, Weir asked, “What’s up? What’s so urgent?”

  Mason indicated several Centex Rooney employees grouped together. She pointed to one, explaining, “Mr. Munson can tell you more than I can.”

  The puzzled detectives turned to the man for clarification.

  “We found a body,” came the stark statement.

  The cool early-evening air only partially explained the chill that gripped both detectives. “A body? Where?” Linnert asked, stunned. Yet, in his mind it was what he had expected and dreaded.

  Weir sighed, turned his face toward the sky, then focused on the man and requested, “Can you take us there?”

  “Of course,” assured Michael Munson.

  In the group Weir and Linnert recognized John Ricker, one of the men whom they had met the previous day. Ricker walked over to Weir, held out his hand and said sadly, “This is probably the break you were looking for, and not wanting to find.”

  There was something unsettling in Ricker’s remark; the detectives nodded.

  Ricker, along with Munson, led the pack like a cluster of bear hunters in the foothills of the Rockies. They slowly wove their way through the scrub brush that they had trudged through for practically the entire preceding day and night, as well as all day today. It was difficult struggling through the thick underbrush and wild untamed growth.

  Finally the leaders stopped abruptly. Ricker pointed wordlessly to a swatch on the ground. Wedged into dried, burned palmetto debris lay a nude body, curled up and partially covered with a faded discolored blue towel. A piece of torn tattered carpet stretched partially across the remains of a decomposing human being, much of which was already devoured by the bugs, worms and other insects in a feeding frenzy.

  “Holy jeez,” Weir whispered. He brushed his hand across his forehead and exchanged horrified glances with Linnert.

  This was what they dreaded. As experienced investigators, they expected the worst but always hoped that it would not occur.

  The officers and personnel who came with the men stood quietly in shocked silence.

  “It appears to be a white female body, young. But it’s in such bad shape we can’t assume that it’s Carla Larson,” Weir stated in a careful tone. “We can’t even identify her by the clothing. Where are her clothes? Let’s get some help out here and have this location cordoned off. We need this place secured and protected.”

  If this body turned out to be Carla Larson—and in his gut Weir knew that it was—then this was no longer a missing-person case but murder. Now it was vital to see that nothing contaminated the area.

  “Notify the ME. We need him here right now,” Linnert directed.

  Almost magically, Jim Larson appeared with Carla’s rottweiler at the site. With a dismayed, horrified expression, he looked at the battered remains of the unrecognizable female. Overcome by the sight of the body, he stood frozen, his eyes flooded with tears, until one of the sheriff’s officers gently took Larson’s arm and led him away.

  While awaiting the technical and medical people, Weir and Linnert moved off to the side to question Ricker and Munson about their exploration of the area in which they found the body.

  Ricker began, “Mike and I have been on this search with no stop for, I guess, most of two full days.” His eyes showed his weariness. “We started about five P.M. on Tuesday when we first heard Carla was missing. First we went through that overgrown mess behind Publix at 192 and International Drive. Then we went through the section west of Osceola Parkway, the place where the white car was seen.”

  Ricker took a deep breath. “We were part of the search party that was briefed about where the vehicle was seen leaving the woods. Because of that information Mike and I decided to recheck the area off Osceola Parkway where it was sighted. We followed the dirt path off the parkway and searched the south section of the fork to the canal. We went over the trails, through the woods, back to the highways over and over again, just looking for something, anything. We were pretty worn out and were tempted to give up and go home.” He recalled conversations he had with Munson and their deep regard for the young engineer. “But we work with Carla and we think very highly of her and we sure didn’t want to give up on the search if there was any chance at all for success.” He added sadly, “But we didn’t realize what success meant.”

  “So you guys kept on with the search?”

  “Yes. We just didn’t want to give up. There was something in both of us that kept urging, ‘Stay with this’ and we just couldn’t give up—no matter what. We went deeper into the woods just combing, combing through the brush. Off and on there were others who were also scouring through the woods, fellow workers at Centex Rooney, various persons from the sheriff’s department, and even Jim Larson. We watched Jim, poor forlorn guy. He just groped along silently with Carla’s rottweiler; he looked so troubled. No one really knew what to say to him.” He paused and shook his head. “What can you say to the guy at a time like this? Then we met a fellow, Tommy Sparks, who works for Disney security and we talked with him, explaining what we were doing. He said that the other day, I guess he meant June tenth, he was surprised to see a white vehicle parked amidst the trees and bushes back behind a pond. He pointed out very specifically where he had seen the white vehicle.

  “Mike and I figured that there might be something to that, so we walked around that section. Pretty soon we got an uneasy feeling. There was something in the air and then it became really pungent. It was a foul odor and was overpowering. I said, ‘What’s that awful stink?’ I couldn’t remember ever smelling anything that bad. And Mike said, ‘Something’s dead.’ And I said facetiously, ‘Or someone.’ He looked at me and I was afraid to think what was in his mind. I didn’t want to project or speculate in my own mind.” He shook his head.

  “We couldn’t locate where it was coming from, so Mike lit his lighter. I thought that was a pretty smart thing to do. He watched the flame, judging the direction from which the wind was blowing, carrying that foul smell. Mike motioned to me, indicating the wind course. We turned and followed the flicker for about twenty feet, until we came to a huge spread-out palmetto bush. We stopped and I said to Mike, ‘You go around that side and I’ll circle around the opposite way.’ And that did it.”

  Ricker’s expression changed as he recalled their shock at what they saw on the other side of the brambly brush. “I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. But there it was, the body. Mike came up and stood beside me. He couldn’t speak. And I didn’t know what to say. It was like a nightmare where you couldn’t move or talk or do anything. It w
as one of those moments when you wished that you could magically be somewhere else.”

  Munson said, “I never saw anything like it in my life. I could see that the body was naked and there was an old raggedy blue towel thrown over her. Her hair was over her shoulder and she lay there facedown.” He stopped and swallowed. “We just couldn’t stay there; we had to get away.”

  “That’s when you called us?” Weir asked.

  “No,” John Ricker corrected, “we were so upset that we rushed back to our car and sped off to our office.” His face reflected the horror he felt with their discovery. “Your headquarters was then called and notified about our discovery.”

  By this time a horde of OCSD personnel spread out over the critical section, securing it with the yellow stretch tapes restricting it to authorized officials only.

  Shortly after 11:00 P.M., medical examiners Dr. Shashi Gore (an ME with long experience of seeing bodies of every size, color and origin in every conceivable condition) and Dr. Max Blue arrived, along with their investigator, Dean Smith.

  With the aid of improvised lighting provided by the Orange County Fire Department, ME Gore examined the body. The doctor professionally noted that the white female body had blond hair and there were signs of marbling on the stomach and abdomen.

  With a grim expression, Dr. Gore studied the destructive injuries that the victim suffered. Her face, her eyes and her head were so shatteringly beaten that this woman was truly unrecognizable. Her neck showed severe bruise markings that indicated extreme violence; it was discolored, battered brown and blotched. There were numerous bruises and marks of brutality indicating severe attack and molestation in sundry places of her body. Although there were strong suspicions, it was not conclusive that she was raped.

  Dr. Gore, extremely cautious and determined to avoid any errors, carefully refrained from any definite pronouncements as to the injuries or the cause of death. He commented sorrowfully, “Not a pretty sight. She took some terrible beating in her losing fight for life.”

  Weir asked, “Can you venture the cause of death?”

  Shashi Gore stared through his black horn-rimmed glasses. “Cam, what I tell you now is only a projection, not an official judgment. It looks like her killer worked on her neck to cut off her breathing. Strangulation is how I see it now, but I don’t want to make that official until we can make a thorough examination. And I’m afraid,” he said, “that the ID will have to be made through dental records.”

  Watch Commander Eric Viehman notified Deputy Tom Woodard and directed him to the Larson residence with the dreaded news about the female body.

  “There is a strong possibility that this might be the missing Carla Larson,” he advised Woodard. “I hate to put this on you, but since you already have rapport with the family, we thought you should be the one to tell them.”

  But when Woodard arrived at the Larson home, a swarm of news media personalities were all around and the family had already heard the disheartening report.

  In minutes Jim Larson, with tears streaming down his cheeks, entered his home. “He was very upset,” Woodard observed. “And as he stood rigid before his family, he unhesitatingly told them, ‘It’s Carla.’ He was devastated by his own words.”

  Larson said that he had seen the body in its frightening condition, bruised, battered beyond belief, wrapped in the dog’s blanket he recognized, taken from the back of Carla’s Explorer. As he spoke, tears rolled from his eyes.

  Recalling the scene later, Deputy Woodard said, “Jim knew it was Carla. The family, sharing the distress and tragedy with him, was upset. They were stoically maintaining composure as well as they could. I guess that they already pretty much gave up hope since Carla was missing too long. I stayed for another hour or more trying to do what I could to console Jim, his family and friends.”

  Woodard recalled that Jim made an attempt to be strong, but it was an effort. He told Tom softly, “She was my whole world; I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  The two mothers shared their tragic bond. “If you don’t have family supporting you, I don’t know how you could go on,” Ada Larson said. She had lost her daughter, Sonja, in the University of Florida killings. “We have to support Jim and each other now. It’s like the light of my life is gone. What else can they do to me? They’ve taken the gut out of me already. I don’t think people who haven’t gone through this can understand.”

  “She was just such a beautiful child,” Phyllis Thomas mourned. “How could this happen to her?”

  Deputy Woodard recalled, “It hit me pretty hard, even though I became resigned to the fact that she probably wouldn’t be found alive. I just felt it was awful that someone took an innocent life of a person who showed so much future promise as a wife, mother and all-around good person. I never met Carla Larson, but I felt that I knew her. I saw all the family photos and heard stories told by her family of what a good daughter, wife, mother and friend she was.”

  His voice softening, this man, whose career dealt with some pretty low individuals, confessed later, “I was planning to attend the memorial service, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go.”

  CHAPTER 5

  In the area of the body discovery, Crime Scene Detective Ron Weyland set up a command post with several units, in order to collect all relevant evidence.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Weyland asked as a thought occurred. “Are we in Orange County or Osceola County?”

  All activity stopped abruptly. Various members of the department expressed their opinions and comments about this unexpected consideration. Within which county’s boundaries was the body discovered? With that determination rested jurisdiction.

  “We can’t do anything until that is established,” Weir stated.

  In a meeting of officials from both counties, maps were consulted and the opinions of authorities sought.

  In addition, an OCSD helicopter, piloted by Sergeant Ralph Glover, flew over the specified land, fixing the coordinates to establish the precise plot where the body was found.

  “Come on, fellows, make up your minds,” Weir grumbled at the delay.

  In a final judgment it was concluded that the dead body lay inside the boundaries of Orange County.

  Weir received the news with relief. “Finally. Okay, let’s get moving,” he ordered.

  With jurisdiction established, Dr. Gore ordered the body removed to the morgue for his full examination and autopsy. Also he would pursue and establish identification.

  “As soon as possible, Doc?” Weir cajoled.

  “Yes, Cam, we’ll get right on it,” Gore said.

  With some measure of order established, Weir exchanged views with Linnert. “I don’t want to jump to a conclusion, and we’re never supposed to assume a goddamn thing, but—it’s a pretty sure bet that it’s Carla Larson.”

  Weir thought about Jim Larson, wondering how he was taking the latest development. Weir also was not ready to let go of the lingering doubts he still had about this husband. The detective recalled that too frequently cases had unexpected twists. He hoped there wouldn’t be any in this one.

  Linnert sighed. “If the ID has to come from dental comparison, we’ll have to wait to know for sure. But the indications are pretty strong that you’re right.”

  “Either way, the investigation continues,” Weir assured him.

  In the morning Detective Ron Weyland and others from his crime scene unit began a zealous reexamination of the discovery scene and its surrounds. They scoured the area, gathering anything that might be evidence, and took black-and-white and color photographs from every conceivable angle, including aerial shots of the entire vicinity. They used divers to search ponds, lakes, barrow pits and canals for Carla’s clothing, jewelry, purse, any other items of evidence, possibly even her Ford Explorer.

  “We’ve searched every possible spot, Cam,” reported Weyland, “and there’s absolutely no trace of Ms. Larson’s clothes, her jewelry, her purse or her vehicle.”

  “Well, we have to
conclude that the Explorer, with her things in it, departed the Disney World area,” Weir replied. “I guess when all those people saw the vehicle racing onto the parkway, it just kept going. We have APBs out on it, but so far nothing.”

  “Well, it’s still pretty early. Maybe you’ll hear something soon.”

  “What it looks like right now is that some vicious killer evidently snatched this young woman in broad daylight during the noon hour from a busy grocery store parking lot. All she did was go into that store to buy some stuff and she paid for that with her life. At least that’s the way it looks right now. If it was a random kidnapping, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Weyland shrugged. “Happens all the time.”

  When the mutilated female body was discovered on the Disney properties, the Orlando Sentinel wrote a major story, displaying pictures of Carla Ann and her husband. The story carefully stated that this body was “probably” the missing Larson woman. The article quoted Lieutenant Mike Easton of OCSD saying that the body was partly covered with leaves and branches. He did not, however, reveal or describe the brutalized condition of the victim. Easton said she had been dead for forty-eight to seventy-two hours, which time frame fit with the actual disappearance of Carla Larson.

  The local and national TV and radio stations carried the story, and the national print media ran articles.

  Seated at their desks at department headquarters, Weir and Linnert discussed the media coverage.

  “It’s staggering, the exposure this case is getting,” Linnert remarked.

  Weir nodded. “Maybe we’ll get a lead on the Explorer.”

  Weir’s phone rang and interrupted them. While his partner conversed, Linnert busied himself with paperwork on his desk, but he saw a surprised expression cross Weir’s face.

  Weir hung up and looked across at John. “That was a producer for America’s Most Wanted. They want to do the Larson case for their June twenty-eighth show. Can you believe it?”