Hothouse Orchid (9 page)

21

T
eddy Fay, now Jack Smithson, had a busy day. First, he went to the Department of Motor Vehicles and exchanged the Georgia driver’s license he had created and planted in the Georgia database for a Florida license. Now he was perfectly legitimate. He had a fixed address and a government-issued picture ID.

He chose a bank near his house and opened a checking account and a savings account with a cashier’s check from a Miami bank that his Cayman bank had arranged. He drove out to the western outskirts of Vero Beach, just past I-95, and found an outlet mall with a Ralph Lauren store. He owned few clothes, so he bought a lightweight suit, a blue blazer and a tweed jacket, plus trousers, underwear, shirts and ties, and a dozen Polo shirts in various colors. He thought of that as Florida camouflage. He found a Publix market near his rented house and stocked up on groceries in some depth, then he went home, put away the groceries and, with a needle and thread, fixed the length on all his new trousers, dress and khakis. He pressed everything and put the things in his drawers and closets, then answered the doorbell.

He let the deliverymen in with his new safe and showed them where to bolt it to the floor in the closet in his study. As soon as they left he changed the delivery combination to one of his own, then removed his cash and equipment from the wall behind the sofa and stowed them, along with a number of weapons, in the large safe.

H
olly attended the closing on the sale of her new airplane with Ginny. After she was handed the keys, the logbooks and a nylon briefcase containing all the manuals and instruction books for the airplane and its equipment, she and Ginny went for a test flight.

“I flew it earlier today,” Ginny said, “and all it needed was to have the tires properly inflated.”

“That’s good news,” Holly said. She ran through the checklist and started the airplane, then called the tower and got permission to taxi to a runway. She did her run-up tests before requesting take-off, and she was cleared. She taxied to the centerline of the runway, did her final checks and pushed the throttle forward. The airplane accelerated down the runway and lifted off with a tug of the yoke, and she was flying her very own airplane.

“This is exhilarating!” she cried.

Ginny laughed. “Turn right to two-forty, climb to eight thousand feet and we’ll head out to a practice area.” On reaching the practice area, Holly switched on the autopilot and let it fly the airplane, while she entered a flight plan and an instrument approach into the computer.

They did some slow flight and practiced turns and stalls, then flew a couple of low approaches before landing at Okeechobee Airport, where they refueled and had lunch in the airport’s restaurant. After lunch, they practiced emergency landings and short-field landings, then flew back to Vero and flew another instrument approach to a full stop.

Holly shut down the engine and got out of the airplane. “That was really fun,” she said. “I feel as though I could fly her home right now.”

“You’ve still got a lot to learn about your airplane,” Ginny said. “Now go home and start memorizing the Owner’s Operation Handbook. You’re going to need all that stuff, and you’ll wow them when you show up for training.”

Holly did exactly that, breaking only for dinner for herself and Daisy. She fell asleep that night with the operator’s handbook open on her stomach.

T
eddy greeted Adele Mason with a stiff Scotch. “My, what’s that wonderful aroma?” she asked.

“A lamb stew. It’s been cooking for hours.”

“I can’t wait,” she said, sipping her drink. “How have your first days gone?”

“I’m a Florida resident now,” Teddy said. “Driver’s license and all. I bought some new clothes, opened a bank account and made myself at home.”

“The place looks wonderful with somebody living in it. The elderly couple who own the house have outlived their only daughter, and they don’t have any grandchildren, so there was nobody to live in the guesthouse.”

“I like living on the beach,” Teddy said. “I like being able to hear the surf when I go to bed and wake up in the morning. Where do you live, Adele?”

“I rent a tiny condo farther up the island, half a mile from the beach. I was divorced six years ago, and I can’t really afford to buy anything until I sell a lot more houses.”

They had another drink. Then Teddy opened a bottle of California cabernet and served dinner. Adele raved about his cooking, and Teddy was suitably appreciative. He was enjoying himself as much as she was.

They took a brandy to bed and made enthusiastic love for the better part of an hour before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

This time, Adele woke first, shortly after midnight. “I’ve got early showings this morning,” she said.

“Why don’t you get that done then come back and spend the weekend here with me?” Teddy asked.

“I’d love to,” she said. “I could be back here around two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“Perfect,” Teddy said. “We can go for a swim.”

“I’d love that,” she said, kissing him. “See you in the afternoon.”

She left, and Teddy drifted off to sleep again.

A
dele got dressed and drove back to the highway. She turned right and headed north on A-1A, the road that ran up the barrier islands.

Adele was very happy with the way her new relationship with Jack Smithson was going. She hadn’t slept with a man for more than a year, and the last relationship had ended badly. She was looking forward to getting to know this very interesting man better, and she hoped they would last.

A few miles up A-1A she made a left, then a right onto Jungle Trail, a shortcut that would save her a mile or two. Anyway, she liked the dirt roadway and the trees and an occasional glimpse of a raccoon or a deer along the trail.

She had driven a mile or so when the car ran over something and began to pull to the left. She stopped the car and retrieved a small flashlight from the glove compartment, then got out of the car and walked around to the front.

Her right front tire was completely flat. Adele knew how to change a flat, but she hated doing it. Then she looked up and saw a car coming down the trail, behind hers. A flashing blue light on the dashboard came on, dimly illuminating a uniformed figure behind the wheel. Thank God, she thought, a man, and a cop into the bargain.

He got out of his car and turned a very bright flashlight on her. “Got a problem there, ma’am?” he asked, walking toward her.

“Yes, a flat tire.”

“I’ll give you a hand,” he said, coming closer.

“Oh, thank you so much. I’m so lucky you came along.”

He came closer, but the light blinded her. Then she felt a sting on the side of her neck.

“Just take it easy,” he said. “You’re going to get drowsy now.”

“Oh, God, no,” she whispered to herself as she sank to her knees.

22

L
auren Cade got out of her car and walked the forty yards to where the medical examiner’s wagon and an unmarked police car were parked. Detective Jimmy Weathers stood, wearing latex gloves, looking at the front of a Tahoe SUV parked in the middle of the Jungle Trail.

“Morning, Jimmy,” she said. “Thanks for the call.”

“Morning, Lauren.”

“What have you got?”

“Another woman, dead, probably raped. This time, she’s been posed naked behind the wheel.”

Lauren looked through the passenger window and saw the corpse, a middle-aged woman. Her handbag was lying on the floor next to her.

“Looks like she had a flat,” Jimmy said. “Right front wheel, but there’s no nail in the tire and, walking back down the trail, there’s nothing there that would cause the flat. Slow leak, maybe.”

“Spike strip?” Lauren asked. A spike strip was something that the police could throw in front of a car being pursued to blow out its tires.

“Good thought,” Jimmy said. “Another cop thing to add to the rest.”

“Have you been through her bag?”

“I just got here myself,” Jimmy said.

“Mind if we do it together?”

“That’s good.”

Lauren donned her latex gloves, lifted the large leather bag from the car and emptied it on the hood.

“Lots of stuff,” Jimmy said.

“She’s a woman,” Lauren replied, picking up a big diary with a card stapled to the front. “Adele Mason, Beachfront Realty, Vero Beach,” she read.

“Yeah, they’re across from the Holiday Inn,” Jimmy said, picking up the woman’s wallet. “Here’s her driver’s license. She lives not far from here, if the address is current.”

Lauren opened the diary to where it had been marked with a rubber band and read the last entry of the day. “Dinner, Jack Smithson.” She flipped open her cell phone, called information and asked for the number, then closed it. “No such listing,” she said. She began going backward in the diary. “Here’s another dinner with Jack, three nights ago. He’s also down for two that afternoon at SunJet. What’s that? And the words ‘Bingo, the Wald property!’ are entered for that afternoon.”

Jimmy went back to the rear of the car and came back with a plastic-covered book. “Looks like her listings,” he said, then began flipping through the book. “Here we go: J. M. Wald, 2202 Ocean Close, Vero.”

“She sold the Wald house, then. To Jack, maybe?”

“Let’s go find out,” Jimmy said.

T
eddy Fay was surfing the Internet, looking for a local source of outdoor furniture, when there was a rap on the front door. Teddy started, alarmed that someone could approach the house without his noticing. Relax, he told himself. He took a deep breath or two, then got up and went to the front door.

An attractive blond young woman stood on the other side of the screen door, a bag slung over one shoulder, a badge in the other hand. “Good morning,” she said. “I’m Lauren Cade, with the Florida State Police. Mr. Smithson, is it?”

Teddy’s mind was working a mile a minute: something to do with the new license, maybe? “Good morning. Yes, I’m Jack Smithson.”

“May I come in and speak to you for a moment, Mr. Smithson?”

“Of course,” Teddy said, opening the door for her. As he turned, he found a young man standing behind him in the living room. He had come in the back door, and Teddy had heard nothing. He was slipping. Brazen it out, he thought. Be cooperative. “I’m sorry, you startled me,” Teddy said.

“I’m Detective Weathers, Orchid Beach Police Department,” the young man said.

“Won’t you sit down?” Teddy asked, indicating the living room sofa.

They sat down, and Teddy took a chair on the other side of the coffee table.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

“Mr. Smithson,” Lauren said, “are you acquainted with Ms. Adele Mason?”

“Yes, I am; she’s the real estate agent who found this house for me.”

“You bought this house?”

“Rented. The Walds, who own the property, don’t have many guests, so they rent the guesthouse. They’re not in Florida at the moment.”

“I see,” Lauren said. “And when did you rent it?”

“Three days ago. It was the first property she showed me, and I thought it was ideal.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Smithson?”

“Here, now. I more recently lived in north Georgia, but I retired and moved down here.”

“When was the last time you saw Ms. Mason?”

“Why, last night. She came for dinner here; I cooked for us.”

“And what time did she leave?”

“Shortly after midnight, I believe.”

“Mr. Smithson, would you submit to a DNA test?” She removed a plastic tube from her purse. “It’s just a swab of the inside of your cheek.”

“Wait just a minute,” Teddy said. “DNA test? For what purpose?”

“For a comparison.”

Teddy’s face fell, and he wasn’t acting. “Has something happened to Adele?”

“I’m afraid so,” Lauren said. “She was murdered some time last night and possibly raped. That’s why we need a DNA sample, to eliminate you as a suspect.”

“My God, she was here only last night. Is this to do with those murders I read about in the local paper?”

“It seems likely.”

“Well,” Teddy said, “we made love last night, so you might very well find my DNA on her . . . person.”

“Thank you for that information, but what we need to learn is if someone else’s DNA is present, and we’ll need your sample for differentiation.”

“Of course,” Teddy said. “I mean, I watch those forensics shows all the time. I understand. Go ahead and take your swab.”

Lauren uncapped the tube, removed the swab, ran it around the inside of his cheek and replaced it in the tube.

“When did you move in here?” Jimmy asked.

“Three days ago. I had found Adele’s name on the Internet, and we had had a phone conversation about what I was looking for. She met me at the airport on Wednesday afternoon and drove me here.”

“Which airport, sir?”

“Vero Beach. I fly a small airplane.”

“Where is it parked at the airport?”

“At SunJet Center; I arranged in advance for tie-down space there.”

“Is that your Toyota parked outside?”

“Yes, I bought it the same day from the local dealer.”

The detective was writing in his notebook. “Name of the salesman?”

“Ah, Meadows. Leonard Meadows.”

“What sort of work do you do, Mr. Smithson?” Lauren asked.

“I’m retired. I’m sort of an engineer. I invent small gadgets, the kind of thing you see on infomercials late at night.”

They asked a few more questions, then thanked him and left.

B
efore they drove away, Jimmy called the airport and the Toyota dealer. “His story holds up,” he said.

“He certainly looked shocked when we told him she was dead, and our perp’s MO doesn’t include having dinner with his victims before he kills them. I don’t think Smithson is our guy.”

“Neither do I,” Jimmy said.

T
eddy lay down on his bed and rested. He was disturbed that Adele seemed to be the latest victim of a local criminal. And he was deeply angry.

23

H
olly had just finished lunch when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Lauren Cade.”

“Hi, Lauren. What’s up?”

“We’ve got another victim, a real estate agent named Adele Mason, last night, Jungle Trail.”

“Oh, shit. Well, I’ve been expecting another one.”

“So have I.”

“Was there anything at the scene that would tell us something different about the perp?”

“Not really. She was apparently dragged into the woods and raped there; the ME found sand on her body. Then she was posed, naked, behind the wheel of her car. One thing was different: her right front tire was flat. We think, maybe, a spike strip was used.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Holly said.

“Why not?”

“You’re saying he would lay a spike strip on Jungle Trail in advance of the crime? How would he know a woman alone would hit it?”

“Well . . .”

“I think it’s more likely that he got lucky on the flat tire.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I think you ought to close Jungle Trail to car traffic until this guy is apprehended. This is the second attack, if you include me.”

“We’ve already done that. We thought we might have gotten lucky when we found a man’s name in Mason’s diary, a Jack Smithson. We talked to him, but he says that he arrived in Vero on Wednesday afternoon, and she met him at the airport and showed him a house, which he promptly rented. All that was in her diary.”

“Doesn’t sound right; all the other victims have apparently been strangers to our perp.”

“That’s what we figured. Smithson was cooperative, gave us a DNA swab.”

“There was no semen from the other victims, though.”

“Right.”

“What time did the attack occur?”

“Some time after midnight.”

“Tell Jimmy Weathers he ought to have Orchid patrols stop any male who is driving what looks like an unmarked patrol car driving after dark.”

“That could be a lot of cars.”

“Well, at least take the tag numbers and run them.”

“I’m sure they could do that.”

“One thing you don’t want to do, Lauren.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t drive around alone at night looking for this guy; you might find him under unfavorable circumstances.”

“You have a point.”

“If you want to be a decoy, make sure you have plenty of backup.”

“All right. I just thought I’d let you know about the new attack.”

“I appreciate that, Lauren. If I have any ideas, I’ll call you. Bye-bye.” She hung up, and the phone rang again almost immediately.

“Hello?”

“It’s Josh.”

“Hi, there.”

“Dinner tonight?”

“We seem to be making a habit of that.”

“I’ll take you to the Yellow Dog Café, up near Melbourne.”

“I like that place.”

“Seven o’clock?”

“You’re on.”

J
osh was on time, and they got into his car for the thirty-minute drive.

“I think I know where your rapist/murderer got the injection gun,” he said.

“Where?”

“At our hospital. There was a routine inventory of medical equipment this afternoon, and an injection gun was missing.”

“Wouldn’t someone have noticed that before?”

“No. It’s not the sort of equipment that’s used every day; it’s pretty much limited to flu-shot clinics and school vaccinations, that sort of thing. You wouldn’t pull it out and load it for a single injection.”

“That’s interesting information. I’ll pass it on. There was another murder last night, on the Jungle Trail.”

“Jesus, where is this going to end?”

“Either they’ll catch him, or he’ll stop.”

“Stop? Why would he do that?”

“It happens with serial criminals. Sometimes they get arrested and convicted on other charges. Years can go by. Sometimes they get nervous about getting caught and just back off for a while. Sometimes they hit a new locale, and hope new killings won’t get paired up with old ones. There are more uncaught serial killers in this country than you’d imagine. Sometimes they move to another state, in midcareer; sometimes they go on for years, like Ted Bundy.”

“That’s a depressing thought.”

“Yes, it is. Cops get depressed a lot.”

“Do the police have any advantages against this guy?”

“Sure. There are more cops than murderers; they have good forensic tools. What usually happens is that the killer finally makes a mistake, and the cops pounce.”

“Would a reward help?”

“Probably not in this case. Nobody who knows this guy knows he’s doing this. He works alone; he’s probably unmarried and living alone or with his elderly parents, usually a mother. He probably doesn’t have a regular girlfriend, so he’s not getting sex in a normal way. And he’s smart and careful. He’s been using condoms, so there’s no sperm sample for DNA testing.”

“I wish there were something I could do to help,” Josh said.

“You’ve already helped by telling me about the missing vaccination gun. You might keep an eye out for a man who comes in with scratches on his face or arms. Sooner or later, some woman will fight back.”

“He seems to render them unconscious almost immediately,” Josh pointed out.

“Yes, but he’s got to make a mistake sometime; every criminal does.”

“Is somebody checking up on police officers?”

“Yes, the local detective in charge of the case has already canvassed his department and all the neighboring departments, and he’s come up dry.”

“Do you have a gun?” Josh asked.

“I’m carrying one right now,” Holly replied.

“Dare I ask where?”

“Ankle holster.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Excuse me a second.” Holly called Lauren Cade and told her about the missing injection gun.

“That’s very interesting,” Lauren said.

“And it expands your field of possible suspects,” Holly said. “It could be an orderly or a male nurse.” She glanced at Josh. “Or even a doctor.”

“Gee, thanks,” Josh said.