Scent of Murder (25 page)

As Hallett scrubbed away, he felt a cold ball in the pit of his stomach about Arnold Ludner. Had he seen only what he wanted to see? Had he pushed the investigation toward a possible suspect based on his personal feelings? But when it came down to it, this was just a hunch. A gut feeling. And he was basing his entire career on it.

He also wanted to be in on the arrest, or at least have his team on it. The idea that homicide had entered the fray annoyed him. The guys in homicide could be like the FBI sometimes. A lot of information went into them, but not a lot came out. He knew that Lori Tate would keep him updated if she heard anything, but he didn't like to use her that way. He thought he might have feelings for her. She was the first woman he had ever wanted to meet Josh.

This was going to be one long night.

*   *   *

Junior saw Michelle step outside the Publix holding her purse, and he knew it was quitting time. Junior had missed his opportunity again. He kept an eye open for her mother's blue Honda. It wasn't quite eight o'clock, and he was surprised how traffic had died in the lot. He figured the retired people in the area didn't like to stay out too much past dark.

As he was gazing at her face through the windshield, he saw a brilliant smile and a wave, expecting the Honda to pull up. To his surprise, the yellow Mustang he'd seen before rolled to a fast stop directly in front of her, and she jumped in quickly.

Junior regained his concentration and focused on the Mustang, catching just a glimpse of the driver. It was a young man with long dark hair and a wide grin. This was a completely new wrinkle. The son of a bitch was trying to steal Junior's thunder. There was no way he could let this happen. He didn't care what he had to do.

*   *   *

Darren Mori was bored. He had never been on a long surveillance before, and it blew. Maybe his guidance counselor in high school was right and he had ADD. He didn't like to sit still for long, even with Brutus resting in the front passenger seat of the Tahoe. He was waiting while Tim Hallett bathed Rocky. Darren had already brushed Brutus out, and the dog was curled up and comfortably snoozing.

This sort of duty was not what he'd envisioned when the Canine Assist Team was formed. He wasn't sure what he'd thought they'd be doing, but sitting on the street, watching a house where no one moved, was not his idea of active police work.

He liked to train with Brutus. He especially liked the fact that they had a guy like Ruben Vasquez teaching him all aspects of searching for drugs or cadavers. He knew in his heart how special Brutus was. He was smart, tough, and talented, but Darren wished he had a dog that could bite someone. He never got to be at the front of the search, because they needed the patrol dogs for that. Brutus was a fantastic tracker—it was a natural ability for him that had been easy to develop—but he couldn't apprehend. Darren never got the hot calls of a fleeing robbery suspect because no robber was ever scared of a Golden Retriever.

Looking over at Brutus, though, he knew he had found his partner. Even if they offered him a vicious Pit Bull, he wouldn't trade Brutus now. They'd been through too much together and had too strong a connection. At least he didn't have to call him Bingo.

Kim was occupying more of his waking thoughts. They had only been on one date, but this girl was special. Darren decided he could fire off a few texts while everything was quiet. He gazed down at his iPhone and wondered if he was in love. He didn't care; he just wanted to talk to this new girl he'd just met. He typed in
hey, what r u doing?

*   *   *

Junior had been shocked to see the Mustang pull into the strip mall at the end of Michelle's street. This wasn't just a simple ride home. These two had plans. She was obviously trying to be sneaky.

Now he was parked down the street from Michelle and her boyfriend. He could see the two individual silhouettes even in the dark and decided he could wait without acting unless the two of them disappeared from view. He couldn't let that snotty bastard steal what was his. He hated the idea of a punk like that having the kind of experience Junior never did as a teenager. His odd sexual history was a blur to him. He couldn't recall ever asking a girl his own age out.

The teacher who had seduced him, Miss Trooluck, was a clear memory, and he had used it as a fantasy for many years. He couldn't recall a cute cheerleader from high school. This kid with Michelle made his blood boil. He reached down and patted the Beretta in his waistband. He could even envision the
Palm Beach Post
headlines the next day. It would only mention one dead at the scene, a male with a bullet hole in his head. But that made him wonder if Michelle would be too traumatized to do anything else.

As Junior watched, the two young people just kept talking, or at least staying on their own side of the car. The whole situation made Junior wonder if she was even allowed to be in the Mustang. There was a chance she might walk home from there. That meant there was a possibility he could make his move tonight.

 

28

Junior was growing impatient when the passenger door finally opened. He checked his watch. It was just before nine when Michelle Swirsky stepped out of the Mustang and the boy pulled away slowly. She stood in the shadow of the building and waved good-bye as he honked his horn twice and burned rubber onto Military Trail. Now she was alone and had to walk to the end of her street to get home. Finally, his moment had arrived. She would have to walk directly past him.

Junior had pulled in at an angle in the parking lot of the plaza down the street. The most reasonable path she would walk would take her directly past him. He swiveled his head quickly in all directions to ensure there were no witnesses. This was it. There was no escape. He was giddy with excitement, his hand trembling as it touched the butt of his pistol. He savored the feeling and now had his eyes glued on the tall, athletic form of Michelle. As soon as the Mustang was out of sight she crossed the street just as he had expected, then turned to walk toward her house.

He remained motionless in the car, watching her through the rearview mirror as she slowly strolled closer and closer. Michelle looked like she was daydreaming. His heart pounded in his chest like a piston. Sweat poured off his forehead and soaked his underarms.

When she was at the rear of his car, he jerked the handle and popped out. The surprise was total. He had her by the upper arm before she realized someone was near her. He didn't even bother with his pistol.

That was his mistake.

With no windup, Michelle threw an elbow hard into Junior's side. The blow knocked the wind out of him and forced him back toward the car. Before he could regain his balance she threw a knee, then a front kick directly into his abdomen, dropping him into the open door and onto the front seat.

Michelle grabbed the open door with both hands and slammed it onto his outstretched left ankle. The agony made him grunt like a pig as it shot up his leg and connected with the pain radiating from his cracked ribs. This was not going the way he had planned.

Junior struggled to sit up and see Michelle darting away toward her house. Even if he managed to get the car rolling, she'd be at her front door before he caught her. He reached for his pistol, wondering if he could make the shot. She couldn't have seen his face clearly, but she was the first witness who knew anything about him at all.

He sat straight in the seat, fighting through the pain, and squealed the tires backing out of the spot and speeding away from the area. Every breath was agony, and his left ankle throbbed. He would have to deal with Michelle Swirsky, not only to keep her from being a witness but because he owed her big-time.

*   *   *

Darren Mori didn't really want to interact with this crowd. He wanted to listen and learn. John Fusco seemed to sense that and pulled him to the side, saying, “I wore one of my best suits. To use one of your own terms, I wanted to impress upon everyone that I was the alpha dog on this case. Remember that, Kato, you can make a big impression with your clothes. Even a uniform if you wear it right.” As he said it, Fusco brushed something off of Darren's K-9 T-shirt. He didn't mind; Fusco seemed like he was sincerely trying to help him.

Then the detective turned and said, “You guys did a great job last night.”

Darren realized this was another mind game and Fusco was really saying,
Step aside, now. The real cops are here.

Right now they were on the street behind the compound where Arnold Ludner and his sons lived. The three K-9 handlers were tired. At the moment, they all stood quietly or slouched against one of their unmarked Chevy Tahoes.

Fusco said, “We should be able to cut you guys loose pretty quick. As soon as the probation jerk-offs get here, we'll take a quick run through the property and see what we can find.”

Tim Hallett said, “You'll find Arnold Ludner. We saw him last night, and he hasn't left the property since.”

“I
hope
we find Arnold Ludner, and I
hope
he confesses to all the shit that's gone down the last few weeks. But experience in the detective bureau has taught me that you never know what's going to happen.” Fusco turned to look at a Ford Taurus as it pulled to a stop next to their group. “You guys sit tight while we figure out what we're gonna do next.” He looked at Darren and said, “Why don't you back me up?”

Darren and Fusco turned to greet the probation officers. They looked like a comedy team walking toward them. The younger one was tall and geeky with wavy hair, and next to him was a man who was mostly round and squat with a Pacers hat covering his thinning hair. His bloodshot eyes and shambling walk screamed “alcoholic.” Both men were dressed in similar cheap white dress shirts with short sleeves and clip-on ties and hiking boots.

Fusco leaned in and said, “I can't remember the tall guy's name. The shorter one is Bill Slaton. He's an asshole. Just take any shit he gives us now. We need them.” As the probation officers approached, Fusco pointed at their feet and said, “You guys look ready for the Appalachian Trail.”

Slaton answered, saying, “We learned to wear heavy shoes during a search when one of our guys stepped on a syringe that popped right through his loafer.”

They joined the group. Slaton looked directly at Tim Hallett and said, “Are you the guy that screweded up Ludner's case and allowed him that sweet deal?”

Darren thought it was out of line, but Hallett's scowl shut down the probation officer.

Claire Perkins stared down the testy PO. “He also saved a girl's life.”

“But did he cost others?”

Fusco stepped in and said, “Let's get this show on the road.”

Slaton's eyes cut over to the dog handlers and then back to Fusco. “We don't need a parade going in there. All we need is one uniformed cop to show his authority and let them know we have some backup.”

Fusco said, “I'm coming in, too.”

“I don't see what you can add. You got no uniform. You're dressed just like us.”

“First of all, I am
not
dressed just like you. This is a damn thirteen-hundred-dollar suit. Secondly, it's my case and I'm going in. It's not open for discussion.”

Darren noted Slaton's pissed-off look and dismissive attitude.

Fusco turned to face the entire group. “I need one of you guys to come with us.” He looked each one of them in the face. “I want to impress the Ludner brothers right off the bat with a show of authority.” He strolled past each K-9 unit like a general inspecting troops. He stopped and winked at Claire. “You look too good to scare anyone.” Then he stared down Hallett. “Too much history with the family.” Fusco looked at Darren and said, “Kato, you and your dog…”

Darren said, “Brutus.”

“Whatever. You and Brutus are in the box. We need you to come with us.” Fusco looked at Hallett and Claire and said, “You guys cover each side of the compound.”

Darren liked the idea of being in the front of the pack where the action happened. It was a new experience.

 

29

Tim Hallett didn't like standing by. He'd never been one of the guys to hang in the rear of the pack. He disagreed with Sergeant Greene about using CAT because the federal grant paid their salaries. They were a specialized unit, and the dogs' abilities were not being used. But he was an Indian, not a chief. Now he and Claire were strategically parked on each side of the compound in case there was a problem or someone ran. And he was annoyed that John Fusco got to go into the house and do all the close-up work. But his days as a detective were over, and he was slowly coming to grips with it.

Rocky was edgy. He'd been restless in his compartment until Hallett let him out and hooked him to a short lead with a quick release. Did the dog know something? As part of his preparation for taking the assignment in the K-9 unit, Hallett had done a lot of reading on dogs in general and police service dogs in particular. There were hundreds of accounts of dogs sensing things before they happened, and there were a few instances where dog handlers swore the dog was psychic. One handler in Boston said his police service dog flipped out at the precise moment a fire broke out in the officer's home twenty miles away. The dog kept acting oddly until the officer called home, and the phone woke his sleeping wife and children, saving them.

Hallett wanted to believe in these supernatural abilities, but for the moment, it was all he could do to understand the actual, normal abilities Rocky possessed. He rubbed the dog's back, trying to calm him down. What was Rocky trying to convey? Was he psychic? This was one of those questions Hallett wasn't prepared to answer. He wished Reuben was with him to interpret what Rocky was trying to say.

He thought back to the day he found Katie Ziegler curled up in the cane field. How young and terrified she had looked. Now she was safe because they did what they had to. He wanted to help more. Take it a step further and make a whole bunch of young women safe. He had to shake these jitters. Was he just convincing himself Ludner was the right suspect? He'd have to leave that up to John Fusco to decide. Either way, Ludner needed to be interviewed to find out what he had to say.