Evidence of Murder

by Samuel Roen

  “No fooling!” Linnert leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed behind his head. “Wow!”

  “I don’t know.” Weir was dubious. “We can’t let it interfere with our investigation. I don’t want to make a gross error judgment with a case this important.”

  Linnert pointed out, “But on the other hand, it could be very helpful. That show generates lots of attention on the cases they present, and they have a great record of success in helping solve some of them.”

  “Guess you’re right. Anyway, they also want someone from the department to be in their studio the night of the broadcast. Neither you nor I can possibly take time from the investigation. We’ll have to send somebody else.”

  “When did you say the show goes on the air?” Linnert asked.

  “Saturday night, June twenty-eighth.”

  “That soon?”

  “That’s what they said. So what do you think, John?”

  “We’ll have to send someone really good.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Let me think about it for a minute.” Linnert sat quietly, deep in thought, drumming his fingers on his desk. “I know.”

  “Who?”

  “Tom McCann.”

  McCann, a 6’2” detective, exuded confidence, experience and capability. He was with the OCSD for twenty-eight years, specializing in homicide for nineteen.

  Linnert added, “McCann has a warm, friendly personality. He’ll be a great representative for our department.”

  “Great choice. Let’s get him in here and explain what we need.”

  When McCann arrived at the office, Cameron Weir asked him bluntly, “How’d you like to go to Washington?”

  McCann looked at the detective. “The state or the capital?”

  “The capital, of course.”

  McCann studied the detectives, thinking, What are these guys getting me into?

  Finally he answered, “Okay, I guess. I haven’t been there for a few years. But what’s this about?”

  Linnert said, “Cam and I were discussing who we should send to Washington to represent the department at the broadcast of a major television program.”

  “Tom,” Weir added, “America’s Most Wanted is going to do the Carla Larson murder case.”

  “Terrific!” McCann blurted out.

  Weir and Linnert smiled at McCann’s enthusiasm.

  Weir continued, “We had a call—”

  “From John Walsh,” McCann interrupted. He was familiar with the program.

  “No,” Weir quickly corrected. “He didn’t make the call. It was one of his producers.”

  “That’s terrific,” McCann repeated. “That certainly could be helpful to us.” As a regular viewer of America’s Most Wanted, McCann was familiar with the great success the program racked up, with credit for capturing hundreds of profiled fugitives.

  Detective Weir continued his speech. “They were following the developments of our investigation and are convinced that this is a major murder case. It has important elements that interest them. First of all, the setting of the crime is Walt Disney World, which has worldwide interest; then the victim is a beautiful young woman engineer. Few women are engineers and this gives it a certain distinction. Also they know about the tie-in to the University of Florida murders by Danny Rolling, so it all adds up to an interesting presentation for them.”

  McCann asked, “What do you want me to do in Washington?”

  Weir leaned back in his chair, pushing away from the desk. “The producers want a representative from our department to be there for the airing of the program, someone to be on hand to answer questions and to assist in whatever they need. John and I can’t take the time away from the investigation. So how about it?”

  McCann was pleased and his satisfaction was apparent. “Sure. Be glad to. When do I go?”

  “The show is scheduled to be aired on Saturday, June twenty-eighth. The producers would like to have you there early that day.”

  Linnert added, “If there is anything pressing that you have, let us know and we’ll work it out.”

  Tom turned his palms up. “No, no problems. I’m free to make the trip.”

  “Good,” Weir said. “Transportation will have your flight tickets ready for you on Thursday, and you’re all set.”

  McCann asked, “Are there any special instructions? Anything that you want me to do?”

  “Nothing that we know of. You’ve been with the department long enough to know what’s expected. Of course, if anything comes up that you feel you need some help from us, don’t hesitate to call.”

  McCann nodded. “Okay, will do.” He shook hands with the two detectives, who wished him a great trip, and he left, already thinking of possible suggestions he might make to the producers, should he be asked.

  Detective Weir made arrangements for the sheriff’s department to cooperate with the producers of America’s Most Wanted and help in any way needed. They supplied information and guided the crews to the various places in the area that were involved in the case. The department was eager to help the TV people produce an accurate presentation, and they released information, including descriptions of Carla’s missing jewelry.

  Even before the America’s Most Wanted TV broadcast, hundreds of responses, tips and reactions came pouring in as a result of the local and national stories, overwhelming the investigators.

  Weir said, “Well, John, you got your wish. Now come the follow-ups.”

  “Yeah. Who said, ‘Be careful what you wish for’?” Linnert answered.

  The two detectives worked around the clock, dealing with the seemingly endless calls. The callers provided leads, tips and information, including various sightings of the Ford Explorer, all of which they followed through, but with no success.

  The composite drawing of the possible suspect made by the department artist from the eyewitnesses’ accounts was released and shown in daily and weekly newspapers, as well as broadcast on a number of TV stations.

  As a result, a man called a local TV show, Crime Line, which asked the public for help in solving crimes by phoning in tips and receiving a reward. Brad Wilson, the caller, surprised the producers of the show, saying, “That drawing is inaccurate.”

  At his headquarters desk, Detective Weir learned that one of the Crime Line operators wanted to speak to him. She said, “A Mr. Brad Wilson of Centex Rooney has some information and is anxious to talk with you.”

  The two detectives discussed Brad Wilson’s call to Crime Line.

  “He claims that the drawing that’s running now is inaccurate?” asked Linnert.

  Weir nodded. “That’s what he told them at Crime Line. If this guy knows something, we have to talk to him.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  The detectives arranged to meet with Wilson at work at Centex Rooney and made the trip out to the site on Disney World property.

  After introductions Weir stated, “Mr. Wilson, I understand you called Crime Line with some information about the artist’s drawing being circulated.”

  “That’s right. It’s not accurate,” he stated in a voice of absolute certainty, and then added, “I can provide the artist with a more detailed drawing to help you catch the guy. I saw the man in the white Explorer and can describe him.”

  The detectives were impressed with Wilson’s confident manner. They learned that he worked with Carla Larson with whom he had a great, friendly relationship. It was evident that he was upset about Carla’s fate, and that was the reason he was anxious to pitch in to help.

  Weir and Linnert arranged for Wilson to meet with Detective Steve Fusco, the department artist, who would create a new drawing.

  After Brad spent time with the artist, Weir and Linnert met with him at the OCSD office in the Cassidy Building.

  “Mr. Wilson, how did the drawing session go?” Cam Weir asked.

  “I think that it went great. The artist will give you his report. I think he did a super job. The drawing is de
finitely more accurate and should better help to identify that guy.”

  “Great. Now I’d appreciate it if you would give us a detailed review of what you witnessed or know,” Weir said.

  Wilson answered in his clear, confident voice. “It was that day, the tenth of June, and a group of us Centex fellows were returning to the job, you know, the Coronado Springs Resort. It was about one o’clock. I was with Gary Wilson.” He smiled and then explained. “My Dad. He works for Centex Rooney, too. Also David Lewis and Dave Gust. We were on Osceola Parkway, going west, crossing the I-4 bridge. That’s when we saw this white Ford Explorer coming out of the woods.” He emphasized, “I don’t think we would have been so observant about the vehicle, but it came racing out of the woods and it struck all of us that the driver belting that car that way was asking for trouble, that he should get a ticket.” Brad paused and then said, “It was more than just plain speeding; the conditions of the road were terrible, and to drive that fast under such conditions just made no sense. We all commented about it.”

  Linnert asked, “About how far away were you from the vehicle?”

  Wilson glanced away, his brow furrowed in thought as he figured. “I’d say about one hundred to one hundred fifty feet when we first saw it.”

  “Did you see or observe anything else of significance at the time?” Weir asked.

  “There were two men in green T-shirts, carrying plastic bags, walking on either side of the path where that vehicle was traveling.” He added, “I’m pretty sure that the Ford drove between the two of them.”

  Brad thought before continuing. “I remember very distinctly that we were in the left-hand lane of the parkway and the white car pulled directly up onto the roadway without even stopping. I couldn’t believe it. And I thought that man should have his license revoked; that is, of course, if he actually has a license. Anyway, we followed the Explorer from behind, but I didn’t take notice of the license tag.” Brad then apologized. “You know, it’s easy to think of what you should have done after it’s over, but at that time we didn’t have any reason to make note of the tag. I did see that there was a painted beige trim around the body of the vehicle, on the lower section.

  “As both cars were heading westbound, we pulled alongside the Explorer, and that guy behind the wheel looked over at me and I got a good look at him.”

  “Was he wearing sunglasses?” Linnert asked.

  “No, and there was something about his eyes—they were kind of bulgy. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he looked troubled.”

  “Describe him as best you remember. This is important, so take your time,” Weir said.

  “I think that I mentioned that he was a white fellow. I could see that he was outdoors quite a lot. He had a heavy tan. I felt that his tan wasn’t the kind that a tennis player gets or one that you get on the beach. This guy looked like he got tanned working outdoors.

  “His brown hair was sun bleached, too. He had a light mustache and a beard. Getting back to his hair, it struck me as being windblown back onto the top of his head.” Brad paused and recalled, “He was wearing a green shirt similar in color to the shirts the two men walking along the path were wearing, but this one looked like it had been out in the sun too long—it was bleached; it didn’t have a collar.”

  “How big was this fellow?” Linnert asked.

  “I’d have to take a guess, but I think I’d be safe with one hundred eighty to two hundred pounds.” He scratched his head as if to confirm his estimates and added, “He could have been two hundred ten pounds maybe. I’m not too good at guessing weight.” He laughed apologetically. “They’d never hire me to guess weights at a carnival.”

  “You were with your group, your father and who else?”

  “David Lewis was driving and my father, Gary Wilson, was riding up front in the passenger seat. Dave Gust was sitting in the left rear passenger seat and I had the right rear passenger seat, the prime seat to see the guy. In my position I had a real opportunity to get a good look at him.”

  Brad looked at the detectives and said, “After the news about Carla’s body being found out there, it seemed logical to me that him coming out of that wooded section where Carla was found—and driving at such a crazy speed—might be something linked to her.

  “I couldn’t get that guy out of my thoughts. I just had to do something, especially after seeing that inaccurate composite on television. So I called Crime Line.”

  Brad told the detectives that he insisted to the Crime Line person that the drawing presented on TV gave the subject a Hispanic appearance. “And the man I saw at close hand sure as hell was not Hispanic. In fact, outside of his hair, he looked like an average-looking American guy who you would pass on the street.

  “His head was drawn too wide, the hair too dark, and when I saw him, he was not wearing any glasses.” He also noted that the man had both a mustache and a beard and he felt that his face was more elongated, with a higher forehead.

  “He made a hell of an impression on you,” John Linnert commented.

  “I’ll tell you this, that man’s face is engraved in my mind. I’ll never forget it.”

  When the new drawing was completed by Detective Steve Fusco, it was distributed to the newspapers and television stations.

  CHAPTER 6

  On Friday, June 13, Detective Weir received a call from the offices of Dr. Stanley Asensio, a highly regarded forensic odontologist.

  Weir waved at his partner and asked, “How superstitious are you, John? Today is Friday the thirteenth.”

  “Not very. What’s up?”

  “They want us at Dr. Asensio’s office. He’s doing the comparison work on our body’s teeth with Carla Larson’s dental records. Maybe he can make an official ID.”

  “Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

  During the drive to the dentist’s office, Weir projected, “I don’t think that we’re in for any surprises. From everything that we know, this ID is simply a formality.”

  In his private office Dr. Asensio welcomed the two detectives. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I know you’ve been anxious to hear my findings,” he greeted. “I have the identity of the body discovered at Disney World.”

  “That’s good news. What did you come up with?” Weir asked.

  “Let me show you.” The doctor pointed to a stand on which were displayed several X rays of the dental makeup of the dead subject. The doctor directed their attention to the positive similarities of the structures compared with Carla Larson’s dental records, then stated, “These dental records of Carla Larson positively match those of the deceased woman. She is definitely Carla Larson.”

  It was what the detectives expected. Neither said anything. Both were thinking of Jim Larson and they felt strong sympathy for him.

  Dr. Asensio provided the detectives with an official document of identification.

  The detectives thanked him for his help and silently drove back to their headquarters. They were relieved to have the positive identification that it was Carla Ann Larson, but saddened by the reality of that knowledge.

  In the quiet atmosphere of Orlando’s College Park United Methodist Church, more than two hundred relatives, friends and fellow workers of Carla Ann Larson’s sat somberly on Monday, June 16, gathered in a memorial service for her.

  Mourners wept freely as the church’s pastor remembered Carla as a “precious jewel.” Jim Larson sat stoically with his one-year-old daughter on his knee. His stepmother, Ada, and Carla’s parents, Phyllis and Mert Thomas, sat beside him during the solemn services presented to the grieving gathering.

  The pastor intoned, “There is nothing you can say about what happened to her. There is nothing we can do but pray and hope.”

  Following the formal service, in memory of Carla, friends planted a palm tree next to a huge wooden cross mounted in the yard behind the church. They laid white roses at the base of the graceful tree.

  At the conclusion a throng of well-wishers hugged Jim and the members of
the family and expressed their sympathy.

  Friends established a trust fund for Jessica at a local bank, and Jim Larson asked that donations be made in lieu of flowers: “Carla left me a beautiful gift. I’ll try to take the best care of raising her as I can. I hope she grows up smart like her mother.”

  There was a second memorial service the following day at the Trinity United Methodist Church in Lighthouse Point, near Fort Lauderdale, in the part of Florida where Jim and Carla met and previously lived.

  Because Jessica was so young that she would recall very little about her mother, mourners filled notebooks to record memories of Carla for Jessica when she is older.

  Two of Carla’s close friends eulogized her during the hourlong ceremony. One of them, a friend since she and Carla were seven years old, read from a card that Carla sent her just two weeks ago. The card’s theme was the joy of lifelong friendship.

  In their continuing investigation Detectives Cameron Weir and John Linnert held regular strategy meetings with several of their fellow officers but also met alone regularly. In these meetings, with no others present, the two lead investigators discussed their progress and their plans, and they exchanged ideas, thoughts and evaluations.

  “I don’t know,” Weir said dejectedly. “We sure seem to be going around in circles. Nothing breaking through, nothing leading us anywhere.”

  Linnert, equally distressed, agreed. “You know, Cam, we’ve talked to all those fellows who saw that white Ford Explorer coming out of the woods and racing away. But we questioned them in groups, and I think there was too much unanimity. I mean, they were just too eager to agree with each other.”

  “What are you driving at, John?”

  “Just this. I think it might be productive if we talked to these guys individually. You know, now that they’ve had more time to think about it, they might very well remember little things that didn’t seem important at the time. Sometimes those little bits can yield something substantive.”

  “It’s worth a try. We haven’t latched on to anything else yet,” Weir agreed. “You talk to one, I’ll talk to one and we can go through that entire group—ten or twelve.” He smiled. “Maybe one of them can come through.”