Scent of Murder (32 page)

She pulled the Tahoe into a spot across the street. Smarty automatically sat straight and was ready to move. Every time she stopped the car, the dog hoped it was a chance for him to chase after someone. She could tell Arnold Ludner Jr. had no idea he was being watched as he approached the side entrance to a cheesy strip mall. He met someone coming out the door of an unmarked office and immediately grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and whipped him against the wall. This wasn't something she expected.

Claire got on the radio quickly and said, “He's assaulting a white male, about forty years old. It looks like he might be trying to collect some money.”

Hallett said, “If he goes too far, we have to make a move. This is much faster than I wanted to confront him, but it's your call, Claire.”

Claire watched, hoping the confrontation would resolve itself. Then she saw Ludner reach in his pocket and pull something metallic out. There was no more time to wait. She jumped on the radio and called out, “I think he's got a knife. We have to move right now.”

*   *   *

As soon as Claire had advised them what was happening on the radio, Tim Hallett roared up to the shopping center to back her up. She had already crossed the street into the parking lot. Arnold Ludner Jr. jerked his head up, released the man he was holding against the wall, and started to sprint across the lot toward the street.

Hallett brought the Tahoe to a screeching halt, stepped out of the door, and shouted, “Really? You're gonna run again?” It had no effect on the beefy man.

Hallett shouted, “I'm going to release my dog.”

Now the man froze at the edge of the parking lot.

Hallett stepped around the Tahoe, drawing his pistol. In a stressful situation, all a cop remembers is training. He had gone through arrest scenarios a thousand times on the training field so that now it was automatic. He looked over the front sight of his pistol and scanned the area immediately around the suspect. He noticed one hand closed and shouted, “Drop it.”

The metallic clink of the knife on the asphalt made Hallett hesitate. He took a quick glance to his right and saw Claire had the suspect covered with her pistol. Now he could go by the book.

Hallett said, “Raise your hands to the side.”

Arnold Ludner Jr. complied.

“Now walk slowly backward toward me.” When the suspect was ten feet away, Hallett told him to stop and drop to his knees, then out to a prone position. Hallett holstered his pistol, checking again to make sure Claire was in a position to shoot if she had to. He stepped forward, pulling the stainless steel handcuffs from their pouch and holding them in his left hand with the blades free to move.

He said, “Put your hands behind your back.”

The drug dealer had been through the drill before. Still lying on the ground, he struggled to touch the backs of his hands behind his back.

Hallett slid in with one knee on top of the suspect as he smoothly slapped the cuffs on him.

Arnold Ludner Jr. said, “Why are you following me?”

“Why did you threaten that man?”

“I was just showing him my knife.”

Hallett looked over his shoulder to see the man scurry into the office.

 

37

Darren Mori was upset he'd missed the confrontation with Arnold Ludner Jr. Those types of incidents, the kind where you pulled your gun and shouted at someone, were what he lived for. To him, that was the kind of shit that defined police work; the adrenaline rush after drawing a weapon, the thrill of doing something no one else in a civil society can do, made him regret his choice of surveillance posts. If he hadn't been sitting down the street waiting to watch the suspect drive south, he might've been in position to help with the arrest.

Now, Tim Hallett had asked Darren to go into the office and interview the victim while he talked to the suspect out in the parking lot. The porcine, sweaty little man had a scuff on his chin and kept insisting nothing happened.

Darren said, “He pulled a knife on you.”

“Did he? If he did it was just to show it to me.” The man had an odd foreign accent that Darren couldn't immediately identify. He was good with the different Caribbean and South American accents, but this definitely had a Middle Eastern flair to it.

Darren said, “How'd you get that mark on your chin?”

The man instinctively raised his finger to the welt, then pulled it away, saying, “Who knows how these things happen. I think this is just a huge mistake.”

“What kind of office is this?”

“My office.”

“What you do here?” Darren looked around the barren office that had a few empty desks and unused phones.

“I sell time-shares, but it's slow right now.”

Now Darren's interest was piqued. “Can I take a look around?”

“Why?”

“Can I?”

The man looked down at the floor and shook his head. “No.”

Darren leaned in close to him and said, “That shithead out in the parking lot is your supplier, isn't he?” He loved playing the bad cop even if there wasn't a good cop around. It was rare he got to be involved in this sort of discussion. But it did feel odd interviewing someone without Brutus at his side—even if the dog wouldn't be any help in a fight and wasn't particularly intimidating.

The man shook his head at Darren's assertion, saying, “No, we're just friends.”

Darren gave him his best tough-guy glare and said, “Stay right here. We'll see what's going on.”

*   *   *

Tim Hallett stood alone in the parking lot with Arnold Ludner Jr. Ludner's hands were cuffed behind his back, and he was leaning against the SUV. Rocky was inside his compartment right behind the shithead. Hallett liked the idea of letting the suspect worry about startling the agitated dog. He also liked the idea that if the situation went wrong, Rocky was just a quick push of a button away from helping him.

Hallett needed something to scare this guy. He was going to check his ankle and ribs for injuries similar to the ones Michelle Swirsky described, but he was hoping the guy would talk first.

Darren Mori came out the office and marched over to them saying, “The victim says he threatened him with a knife.”

Hallett caught his partner's wink and knew it was just a ploy to make the suspect confess. The problem was the suspect's experience. He also knew his distributors well.

Arnold Ludner Jr. looked Hallett square in the face and said, “Bullshit. He didn't say that.”

“He didn't say it or you didn't do it?”

The suspect just smiled. He really had the victim figured out. Finally, Hallett said, “Let's forget this whole ugly incident and talk about your dad.”

“I already did. You didn't want to listen.”

“Now I have a new perspective.”

*   *   *

After ten minutes of talking and negotiating, Tim Hallett felt like he had developed a real rapport with Arnold Ludner Jr. That's why, at the suspect's request, Hallett had led him over to the side of the building and moved his handcuffs to a more comfortable position with his hands in front. Claire and Darren were tending to their dogs by their vehicles, which were now parked in the shopping center. No one had called this in yet, and Hallett thought he might be able to parlay it into a much bigger payoff than a simple assault with a knife. So far, he had violated several major policies for handling prisoners. The two men stood in a miniature breezeway underneath an overhang to the shopping plaza. Hallett had allowed the silence between them to last two minutes, hoping it might eat at Ludner's guilt. He wasn't sure how he wanted to phrase the questions, but he knew he wanted Arnold Ludner Jr. to say he had attacked Michelle Swirsky and that's why he was so certain his father was innocent. But that was a lot to ask.

Ludner leaned in and said, “Okay, I'm ready to talk.” He lifted his handcuffed wrists and motioned Hallett closer.

Hallett felt the excitement run through his body, believing he was about to solve the biggest case in the sheriff's office right now. He stepped in closer and said, “I'm listening.”

The suspect mumbled something and Hallett leaned closer.

Arnold Ludner Jr. bent down, then sprang up, driving the crown of his head into Hallett's face. At the last moment, Hallett turned and took the head butt on his forehead, but it still knocked him against the wall and onto the ground. As his vision cleared, he looked up to see Ludner running hard across the rear parking lot toward a residential neighborhood. Hallett didn't hesitate to spring to his feet and give chase.

He closed so much of the distance so quickly that he didn't bother to call for help or send Rocky after the pudgy doper. He wanted to deliver the payback himself. Hallett kicked it into high gear and hit the hefty drug dealer just as he reached the street. He delivered a high body block like a linebacker. Both men hit the ground, but Hallett had the luxury of using Arnold Ludner Jr. as a cushion. His handcuffed hands couldn't splay out and break his fall, so he skidded along the asphalt like a raccoon hit by a Lincoln Continental.

Hallett landed directly on top of him, facing the sweaty drug dealer. He glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed they weren't standing at the plaza. They were alone.

Hallett said, “Why'd you run, asshole?”

“Did you forget who I was? It's my job to run. It's
your
job to catch me.”

Hallett thought about that for a moment. This guy was some kind of philosopher. Hallett pushed off him and helped the tubby man to his feet. He brushed off a couple of the pebbles stuck to his cheek and shoulders.

“I thought you wanted to help your dad.”

The drug dealer said, “Why replace one innocent man with another? I know what you're trying to get at. I've never harmed a woman in my whole life and don't know why you think I had anything to do with the crime.”

Hallett said, “I saw you leave the house the night Michelle Swirsky was attacked.”

“I leave the house every night. I'm a fucking drug dealer. My brother's the one on probation. He's the one that has to be at home most times. That leaves me to go out and make collections and check on our distributors. What made you think I was connected with the attack?”

“You rent a lot of cars. That fits with the kidnapper.”

The surly drug dealer said, “You never worked narcotics, did you? If you did, then you know anyone in my business transports the bigger loads of dope in rental cars. That way if we're caught and the cops seize the car, we don't lose nothing.” He shook his head in disgust.

Hallett understood the reasoning but didn't want to give away any information that Fusco or homicide was holding back. Instead, he jerked up Arnold Ludner Jr.'s pants legs and said, “Let me see your ankles.”

The drug dealer lifted each leg, one at a time, so Hallett could examine his bare ankles. There were no marks at all.

Then he yanked on Arnold Ludner Jr.'s shirt to examine his ribs. Nothing.

Hallett pulled the drug dealer to his feet and slowly started walking back toward the plaza. “You know what we suspect your dad of doing.”

“I already told you I did. My brother and I aren't happy about it. We'd like to keep it from ever happening again.” His tone was steady and serious.

“If I give you some dates, you think you could provide me with some alibis just so I could eliminate you as a suspect? It might mean we can focus on someone else and clear this up faster.”

“If you're talking about the two girls that were kidnapped a couple of years ago, I can tell you right now I'll have the perfect alibi.”

“What's that?”

“I was in jail.” Then, after a few seconds he added, “Sherlock Holmes.”

Hallett had moved so fast he hadn't checked simple things like that. It was still just a theory, but if the alibi was true, and right now he believed the drug dealer, he was back to square one.

 

38

Tim Hallett had already explained the bruise on his forehead as “just a minor mishap” to Lori Tate. They enjoyed the rest of their casual dinner at a Mexican restaurant on Forest Hill Boulevard with light banter about everything except the Palm Beach County Sheriff's Office and work.

Hallett had left Rocky at his mother's house, where he enjoyed running around her fenced backyard and chasing imaginary rabbits. The more time he spent with Lori, the more he was beginning to believe she was really something special. She didn't say much about her family except that she'd been born in Alabama and raised in North Florida, which explained her light southern accent.

When they had first come into the place, waiting for a table at the bar, they'd watched a local news show that featured a story on Michelle Swirsky, newly famous for her escape from an attacker.

Hallett noticed the reporter tried to sound like a teenager during the interview. She spoke like someone who watched too much MTV. It had to be awkward dealing with people like that.

Michelle said she hadn't realized how lucky she was at first when she escaped from the man. She hadn't even told her mother until she saw a news story about the murder of a teenager and the description of the man who killed her sounded a lot like Michelle's attacker. She had to do what was right.

Hallett smiled, knowing what the girl had escaped. She was lucky.

After dinner, when he ran out of conversation about movies he liked and answered her questions about his own childhood, Hallett hinted that he was still interested in what was going to happen with Arnold Ludner. He didn't mention any of his earlier conversation with Arnold Ludner Jr. As far as anyone was concerned—since there wasn't a complaint and the victim wasn't willing to talk, and Hallett was embarrassed that the guy had managed to get away from him, even if it was only for a few seconds—the incident had never occurred. He had released a slightly pissed-off Arnold Ludner Jr. from custody and gone about his regular patrol work.