Scent of Murder (33 page)

Lori said, “I think homicide is going to charge Ludner very soon. I don't know for sure, because the detective, Danny Weil, doesn't mix with anyone in the office. No one trusts him.”

“How'd he get the case?”

“He politicked hard to get something other than the drug shootings cases he usually gets. The sergeant gave it to him before it was linked to the others and became so high profile.”

Hallett shook his head and thought how much of a role chance played in police work. Chance had screwed this case up in a big way.

*   *   *

Junior wrote out his plan like an engineer, calculating the odds of grabbing Michelle at the community college, at home, or at work. He realized he needed to take a breath, step back, and plan this thing out carefully, but he couldn't ignore the pounding drive that was forcing him to take action when his common sense said it that was ridiculous. What options were left?

The school had cameras and its own security force, as well as the occasional patrolling Palm Beach County sheriff's deputy. Everyone kept their eyes open where young people congregated.

Michelle's mother was so crazy right now that it was conceivable her house was an armed camp. He could find himself outgunned and outmatched by the high-kicking girl and her suspicious mother. Besides, there were too many neighbors who could see something and report it to the police.

That left the Publix supermarket where she worked. He hadn't seen any cameras in the parking lot. Michelle had to walk outside into the parking lot frequently to deliver the groceries purchased by the elderly people in the neighborhood. That could work.

It might take a couple of nights of surveillance and planning to get it right. Maybe he'd do it one night after he visited his father. He could use the idea of grabbing Michelle as a way to get through the ordeal of visiting his father in that nasty place. It smelled and gave him the creeps.

Junior wondered if he could wait. This urge to complete his mission with Michelle and teach her she wasn't better than him threatened to drive him crazy.

*   *   *

Tim Hallett noticed John Fusco cringe when he and Rocky walked into the detective bureau. He could hear the detective saying quietly to himself, “Don't come over here. Don't come over here.” Then, when Hallett turned and marched directly toward him, Fusco muttered a quiet “Shit.”

Hallett stopped right in front of the desk, and his dog sat immediately, staring at Fusco like a hound out of an old horror movie. Hallett said, “Can we talk rationally?”

“I don't know, can we?”

“I recognize that this is your case and I might've been overstepping the boundaries, but I'm concerned that we've arrested the wrong man.”

“As concerned as you were that we hadn't done anything to arrest him in the first place? Concerned enough to hound me to take action? I can remember you pounding the drum pretty hard for us to focus on Arnold Ludner. Now tell me who else we can focus on.”

“I know, I know. But haven't you ever made a mistake?”

Fusco took a moment, sighed, and said, “Look, Tim, most of this is out of my hands anyway. That jerk-off Danny Weil in homicide is the one driving the ship now. But if you came up with something, I might be able to show it to the sergeant in homicide.”

Hallett didn't want to imply that Fusco didn't know what he was doing. He did. The obnoxious New Yorker was one of the most successful detectives in the whole county. But Hallett was desperate to stay involved in the case and was grasping at straws.

Hallett said, “I've been looking at photos of the girls, and they all have a similar look. Not necessarily hair and eye color but sort of an athletic, innocent look.”

Fusco just nodded silently.

“And the fact that he has hot-wired vehicles so effectively means he might have a criminal background related to auto theft. Or he closely associates with someone who knows their shit.”

Fusco said, “Or he's an auto mechanic.”

“There is that, too.” He reached down to rub Rocky on the neck, a nervous habit he had whenever he was at a loss for words. Then he blurted out, “The other thing I've puzzled over is the locations where he grabbed the girls. It seemed like he knew the best places to avoid detection and confuse investigations.”

“Look, Tim, do you have a point?”

“I just want you to know I'm available if anything comes up you need help with.”

“I understand what you're going through. It's tough to be kicked out of the detective bureau. Twice. But you still got your job, and you seem to like hanging out with your dog.”

That earned a growl from Rocky as if he could follow the conversation clearly.

Fusco continued, “Let the detectives work this case. That's what we've been trained for.”

“Will you at least keep an open mind? I know I pushed you toward Ludner, but I think you're making a terrible mistake.”

Fusco was no longer angry at the dog handler; he just felt sorry for him. He said, “Sure, pal, I'll keep an open mind.”

*   *   *

In the three days since he had talked to John Fusco in the detective bureau, Hallett had been on a roller coaster of emotions, from hope that the detective might listen to him to despair when he realized his career at the sheriff's office could be over. But, as usual, a combination of Josh and Rocky had lifted him out of his funk.

It was exactly the kind of Sunday morning Tim Hallett lived for. He had Josh with him for the weekend; they had spent the morning feeding the animals in the pens and watching Rocky chase wild rabbits on the edge of the school property. Usually he'd feel like a million bucks. Josh was dressed in a tiny button-down shirt with a short clip-on tie, ready for church. Rocky paced, knowing the church was one of the few places he couldn't go.

As usual, the TV was on in the background, and Hallett only paid passing attention to certain stories running across the local NBC station's newscast. This weekend show focused on human-interest stories more than breaking news, but it caught him up on life in the rest of Palm Beach County. No one ever did human-interest stories in Belle Glade.

Hallett glanced at the TV and froze. The entire screen was covered by a young woman's smiling face. It was Michelle Swirsky. He eased himself onto the bed, unable to take his eyes off the TV screen, and listened as Michelle recounted her attack in that cute, halting, teenage cadence. Then a voice-over asked the question, “Was this girl attacked as revenge for a Bernie Madoff–type scheme?” The story went on to say that Michelle's father was currently serving a five-year sentence in the Florida Department of Corrections for fraud and other crimes related to his Ponzi scheme.

Hallett recalled Katie Ziegler saying her father was in jail and that's why he wasn't available in case of an emergency. Could it be? He reached across the bed and snatched his phone, dialing the sheriff's office dispatcher. As soon as someone answered, Hallett identified himself and said, “Can you run a name for me, please?” After a moment he said, “All I have is a last name and location.” He spelled out Tictin and the location in Lake Worth.

After a few moments the dispatcher came back on and said she had one name that came up through the Florida Crime and Information Center, better known as FCIC. She said, “I have a Robert Tictin, white, male, forty-eight years old.”

Hallett said, “That's him.”

The dispatcher said, “He's currently in the custody of Department of Corrections. Looks like the charge was possession with intent to distribute cocaine.”

Hallett felt anxiety rise in him as he realized he'd found the connection between the victims.

 

39

Tim Hallett was on his own now. He didn't want John Fusco's pity, or to risk getting Claire or Darren in any more trouble. He had to run down this one lead. He even knew where to go. The girls who'd been kidnapped all had fathers in prison. It had killed him to sit on the information all day Sunday, but he knew there was nothing he could do. Now, he and Rocky were walking into the main probation office in West Palm Beach. Bill Slaton had to feel some sort of involvement in the case. He had supervised Arnold Ludner during his brief probation. The guy was an asshole, there was no doubt of that, but Hallett was sure he would jump at the chance to break a case like this. Who wouldn't?

If Slaton didn't want to help, Hallett could always limp into Fusco's office, explain what he had discovered, and see what happened. It was an odd feeling to be so isolated. The detective bureau wanted nothing to do with him. It used to be his home.

Hallett stepped into the seedy Probation and Parole building, and one look at his uniform and Rocky standing next to him sent two of the probationers scurrying to other exits. Even the secretary looked nervous. She reminded him of Crystal with less disposable income to spend on hair care products, fake nails, and wardrobe.

He stood in front of the secretary and asked for Bill Slaton. She just pointed down the hallway and showed obvious relief when Rocky stopped staring at her and focused on his walk down the narrow, thinly carpeted hall.

Hallett found the pudgy probation officer crammed into a minuscule office at the end of the building. Slaton almost looked embarrassed at being caught in such shabby accommodations.

True to form, all the probation officer said was, “What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“About what?”

“The new Arnold Ludner case.”

Slaton stood from behind his desk and leaned forward slightly, saying, “I deal with Detective Fusco. Does he know you're here? I'm way too busy to be distracted by some hot-shot patrolman.”

Annoyed, Hallett stepped into the cramped office, allowing Rocky to slip in with him. Rocky tugged at his lead to lean in and sniff Slaton's leg. Before Hallett could let the probation officer know who was in charge, Rocky distracted him. He leaned down his head and put his paw close to his nose and made the same odd sound, like a lawn mower, that he'd made after finding the rag near Katie Ziegler.

Hallett was still processing what it all meant when the heavyset probation officer said, “Get lost.”

*   *   *

Rocky didn't strain on the short lead Tim had him on. They were going inside a building, and he knew he wouldn't be allowed to stray very far. Almost as soon as they entered the front door, two men ran out the back. The quick whiff that Rocky got told him the men smelled like a game he played with Tim. The smell came from a green plant that people kept in little bags.

All the people in the room smelled like they were scared. The female person Tim was talking to behind the desk was clearly scared. Rocky could see it and really smell it. She was no threat. Not to Tim or to him or anyone else. Rocky just stared at her. A predator's stare. He stared at her because sometimes it was just fun to make people nervous. They made new smells and acted in odd ways. Rocky had to resist wagging his tail, it made him so happy.

Tim led Rocky down a narrow hallway and stopped in front of a very small room. Rocky couldn't even see inside all the way, but he could tell it was cramped and musty. There were mice that lived in the room. Rocky could smell them and heard one scratching next to him in the wall. Rocky didn't like the room or the voice of the person speaking to Tim.

As Tim communicated with the other person, Rocky stepped up to the door and peeked inside. A large man he had seen before stepped from behind a desk and moved toward him. Rocky leaned in and took a quick sniff of the man's leg.

The scent hit Rocky hard, making his whole body stiffen. That was it! The same scent that had confused him in the field with the tall grass. The predator's scent.

Without meaning to, Rocky had the same reaction and placed his head on the ground and his paw up to his nose. He also hoped Tim would see it was the same scent.

Rocky wished he could communicate more information to Tim. This was important. He just knew it.

*   *   *

Hallett felt an emotion close to panic as sweat broke out across his forehead. His legs were shaky as he led Rocky back to the Tahoe in the quiet parking lot, and both he and the dog were on edge. Did that alert mean as much as Hallett thought? Did Slaton pick up on it? There were a thousand explanations for the odd alert by Rocky. But the only one that bounced into Hallett's head was that Slaton gave off the scent on the rag found near Katie Ziegler weeks earlier. It sounded crazy. It was beyond the limits of what some dogs could do. But Hallett knew Rocky was special.

There were other factors that fit this crazy-assed theory. Slaton had access to the computers that would link the incarcerated men and their families. He would know the family situation for some of the girls.

There was a code among law enforcement to protect one another, but that didn't extend to serious crimes the way some silly TV storylines depicted. No cop wanted a criminal to get away with anything, especially if it was another cop. The code was more of a brotherhood that included playing by the rules and not hurting people. Sure, a cop could avoid getting a speeding ticket, but just about anything else got you booted out of the brotherhood pretty fast. There had been a time when cops might overlook drinking and driving, but now, with the focus from MADD and other groups, no one cut slack on a DUI. At no time would murder be ignored for a cop. Anyway, at no time was a probation officer considered a cop. Slaton was not even a well-liked probation officer.

Hallett needed to find someone to talk to and quick.

*   *   *

He caught Fusco in the parking lot of the sheriff's office. He didn't even waste time with a greeting. “I need to talk to you.”

Fusco held up his hands and said, “I've been told to avoid you. You are a patrol unit not involved in investigations.”

“Who told you to avoid me?”

“My bosses.”

“Sergeant Greene?”