Hothouse Orchid (13 page)

32

J
immy Weathers worked until after midnight, then, as he was locking his desk, he saw a light go on down the hallway. Bruno was in his office.

He walked down the hall toward the rear door to the parking lot and stopped at Bruno’s door. “Evening, Chief.”

“Good evening, Jimmy,” Bruno said.

“Did you just get here?”

“Yes,” Bruno replied. “You, too?”

“No, I’m just leaving. You going to be late?”

“Probably an all-nighter,” Bruno replied. “I’m working on personnel files, and, by the way, I’m giving you a good performance rating.”

“Thank you, Chief. Good night, now.”

“Good night,” Bruno said

Jimmy walked out to the parking lot, and, as he was about to get into his car, he noticed that Bruno’s unmarked cruiser, parked next to him under a streetlamp, had the keys in it. If Bruno kept doing that, Jimmy mused, he was going to end up with a stolen police car.

The next morning Lauren Cade was fifteen minutes late for work, having spent longer in bed with Jack Smithson than she’d meant to. Hurd Wallace called to her as she passed his door.

“Lauren?”

“Yes, Hurd. Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re just in time. The Vero department called two minutes ago. They’ve had a call about a dead woman in a car, and they’re en route now.”

“Is it another one, do you think?”

“I think,” Hurd said. “Do you know the fairgrounds west of town?”

“Yes.”

“That’s where they found her. You ready to go?”

“Sure.”

“We’ll take your car,” he said, grabbing his jacket.

T
he fairgrounds were located on a grid of roads just west of Vero Beach, a place that Lauren passed when she was driving from her house to the Indian River Mall. There was a police car blocking the entrance, but Lauren identified herself and was allowed in.

She drove into the grounds, and it was immediately obvious where the crime scene was. Two Vero cars and a van were in the middle of the large, grassy field that served as a parking lot when there was an event at the grounds. She cut across the field toward them.

She stopped, and she and Hurd got out of their car and identified themselves to the detective in charge.

“I’m Ed Rankin,” the detective said. “I’ve heard about you folks. You going to take this one away from us?”

“We don’t want to do that,” Hurd replied. “We just want to help.”

“Well, I hope you don’t help like the FBI helps,” Rankin replied. The Bureau had a reputation among cops for letting them do the work, then taking the credit.

“Nothing like that,” Hurd said. “This is probably one more in a series we’ve had. You know about that.”

“Sure, I do, and I think you’re right,” Rankin said.

The medical examiner’s truck pulled up next to them, and the ME got out. “What we got here?” he asked.

“Let’s look together,” Hurd said, leading the way around the victim’s car.

The driver’s door was open, and a naked woman was on her knees in the driver’s seat, her head toward the passenger door. There was blood on her buttocks and thighs and on the back of her head.

Lauren winced when she saw the position, and she was immediately struck by the difference between what she and Jack had been doing an hour ago and what this woman had experienced.

The ME conducted his on-site examination, then stood back.

“Tell me what you think,” Hurd said.

“I think she was forced to strip and kneel on the driver’s seat, then was raped vaginally and anally from behind, then shot once in the back of the head, probably with a twenty-two pistol, eight to ten hours ago.”

“I concur,” Hurd said, looking at Lauren.

“So do I,” she said.

“Can I take the body?” the ME asked.

Hurd turned to Rankin. “Ed?”

“Sure. We can look at the interior of the car better with her gone.”

The ME and his assistant removed the body from the car, loaded it on a gurney and put it into his truck. Shortly, they were gone.

“We got a handbag,” Rankin said, holding it up by a strap. It was on the seat under the body. He walked to the front of the car and emptied the bag onto the hood. “We got a wallet,” he said, opening it, “and a driver’s license.” Rankin took the license from the wallet and peered at it. “Oh, shit,” he said.

“What?” Lauren asked.

“I know her. Jeanine Clark. She sells tickets at the mall movie theater. My oldest boy went to high school with her. The family lived a couple of blocks from us.”

“How late would she work at the movie theater?” Hurd asked.

“I think they have shows as late as midnight,” Rankin replied. “I’ll check out there and see what time she left last night; that’ll probably give us a time of death, and I’ll bet it agrees with the ME’s estimate.”

Lauren stepped away from the car and made a phone call.

“Detective Weathers,” Jimmy said.

“It’s Lauren. We’ve got another one.”

“Where?”

“In the Vero jurisdiction, out at the fairgrounds.”

“He’s moving around, then.”

“Yes. I want to know where Bruno was last night. Can you find out without alerting him that he’s a suspect?”

“I already know,” Jimmy said. “I left here a little after midnight, and he had just arrived, said he was going to be working all night on personnel files. He’s gone, now; probably at home asleep.”

“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

T
eddy 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

L
auren 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 identical 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.”

L
auren 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.