Scent of Murder (6 page)

“That's not what I'm talking about. Maybe it's just a strong scent.” Claire carefully walked around to Hallett. She surveyed the scene like a movie director, changing position and squatting low to look along the plane of the ground. Finally, she said, “I see three things of interest. It looks like a tire tread right here”—she placed the beam of her flashlight on a patch of ground—”a shoe print here, and the ground has been disturbed over here.”

Now that she pointed them out to him, Hallett noticed all three disturbances in the soft ground. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few photographs. “You think we should call crime scene? Fusco was in charge earlier, but I didn't see them take any notice of these imprints.”

Claire let out an exasperated sigh. “We're supposed to be trained and adaptable. We don't need crime scene just to take a few photographs and make a plaster cast of a shoe that may or may not involve the case.”

Now Darren said, “You can make plaster casts?”

Claire just shook her head and walked over to her Tahoe. A few minutes later she came back carrying a plastic box with the material needed to make a cast of the imprint.

As she mixed and poured the plaster, Claire said, “There's not enough of the other two imprints to make a cast. But I would guess the tire is small enough that it went to an import. The other imprint might be someone's butt where they slipped and fell.”

Darren had to say, “That's a pretty big butt.”

Claire snapped a few photos as the plaster dried.

All three of them froze at an unusual sound on the quiet night air.

Darren said, “You hear that?”

It was a vehicle.

*   *   *

Junior took his foot off the gas and allowed the Olds to coast as he edged it toward a small stand of pine trees. There was someone on the edge of the road up ahead. He couldn't make out any details, but he could see the shadow, and it threw off his plan.

He'd thought he'd be able to creep in unseen and do what he had to do. He
had
to creep in unseen for the plan to work. As his eyes adjusted to the light he could make out that the figure was a man.

Junior patted the Beretta in his belt. Was he ready to get drastic? The urge told him it might be time to take a few risks.

*   *   *

Hallett did a quick assessment of his team. None of them wore a uniform, but each of them had a pistol concealed under a loose shirt. He was considering all the factors for the worst-case scenario. Every good cop thought in those terms.

Claire stepped toward him and said, “Who the hell would be in this place at this time?”

It was now completely dark, and the absence of any city's ambient light made it feel like they were in a cave. The closest building was miles away. All three shut off their flashlights immediately.

Hallett felt responsible for his partner's safety. He always did. Even as a kid, he looked after his brother, no matter how infuriating he was. The only fights he had been in were defending his brother's odd behavior. Now his instinct was to send his friends to safety, but he had to understand that they were trained professional police officers and equal to any of the challenges that they ran up against. There was no telling who was in this vehicle, and he definitely needed the help.

Darren said, “A fisherman?”

Claire said what everyone was thinking. “The kidnapper? What are the chances?”

Hallett calculated the odds. It would be weird, but possible. Crazy things happened on this damn job every day. He tensed as all three of them backed to the edge of the woods and watched the vehicle as it slowed, then turned toward the canal at the far end of the field.

Now Hallett could clearly tell the vehicle was a pickup truck. It looked like a four-door Ram Charger. The truck drove along the edge of the far stand of pines to the bank of the canal. Although it was an isolated spot just to fish, that seemed like the easiest explanation.

The front passenger door and the rear doors opened simultaneously as three men stumbled out. All three were loud and drunk. One man wobbled like a broken toy, and Hallett figured they were just drunk rednecks. The driver, a kid, about seventeen, stepped out of the driver's door.

Hallett's hope that this was the kidnapper evaporated.

Darren whispered, “Why the hell would you drive all the way out here to fish?”

Claire added, “I thought they might be dopers, but I haven't heard any planes, and there are no airstrips in the area.”

Then they heard two small dogs yapping. That caught the attention of Rocky, Smarty, and Brutus.

Hallett immediately realized what these assholes were up to. By the light of the open door, he could see two poodles on homemade rope leashes sitting in the rear seat. Hallett thought,
Son of a bitch
.
I'll make them sorry
. He was all about justice no matter how it was handed out or who dealt it. He turned to his partners and whispered, “Gator poachers.”

Claire muttered, “Assholes.”

*   *   *

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark and there was light coming from the double-wide trailer's living room window, Junior clearly saw the thickset man leaning on the mailbox with a Confederate flag painted on it. He was smoking a cigarette. And he hadn't noticed Junior.

The trailer was on a permanent cement pad forty feet off the road and marked the beginning of the park that held twenty double-wides. Junior could see from the light that the front yard was sprinkled with old, cracked kids' toys, and a satellite TV dish dangled from the side of the trailer.

He wondered where Katie Ziegler lived inside the trailer. She had a younger brother, but he was pretty sure the place would have three bedrooms.

Junior took a moment to fantasize about what she would be wearing at this moment. He'd like it to be young, preppy, and not too slutty.

This sparse, shitty trailer park was only on the left side of the road. The right side of the road was scrub brush and canals. It'd been Katie's address for the last four years. Two years before Pops went up the river. So this guy smoking by the mailbox was a squatter. He must've moved in on the mom while Dad did his six-year stint for possession with intent.

Junior considered this for a moment. Was there a way to slip past this guy, grab Katie right from her room, and do what he needed to do to calm the thunder in his head? He liked to think bold even if he rarely acted boldly.

Could tonight be the night?

How would he be able to remain anonymous?

What if there were no witnesses?

A smile crept over his face.

*   *   *

Hallett stepped forward with Rocky close by his side as he called out, “Hey, fellas, what's going on?”

The man closest to him was startled and immediately stepped toward the bed of the big truck. Any poacher would have a shotgun or rifle in there.

Hallett used his best official police voice to shout, “Don't reach into that bed.” He knew that even though he wasn't in uniform, these creeps had to figure they were cops. Then Hallett added, “You two on the other side of the truck, come around to this side and keep your hands where I can see them.”

The other two solemnly stomped around the truck while the heaviest of the three, the one already facing Hallett, said, “We ain't breaking no laws. People fish back here all the time.” The man's belly made the plaid shirt drape off his stomach like an awning. His crew cut was uneven around his ears, and the soiled baseball cap was a size too small and sat on the top of his head like a clown hat.

“Let me have a look at your fishing poles.”

That brought the man up short. Then he said, “You got any ID? You could be rent-a-cops or some kinda community aide, like that fella in Central Florida that shot that kid. I like to know who I'm talking with.” He had a heavy southern accent, and Hallett didn't recognize him. This was no Belle Glade crew.

Hallett considered the request and what he'd like to do to these jackasses, then decided he'd rather not be identified for the moment. It was obvious Claire and Darren agreed, as they joined him with their dogs at their sides but no badges came out.

The three men approached them, with the young driver, obviously terrified, standing by the open door to the pickup. The fat guy, who'd been doing the talking and appeared to be a hired guide, looked at Darren and laughed. “Look, it's an actual Seminole. And he's got a cute little puppy with him.”

Hallett knew the crack about Brutus would bother Darren more than the racial slur. Brutus didn't help the fact by wagging his tail furiously and straining to reach the man so he could jump and lick.

To his right, Hallett heard Smarty unleash a sinister growl. He was glad the dog was on his side.

Claire said, “Those your hunting dogs?” The two dogs were clearly visible now on the edge of the seat. They were ungroomed poodles and continued to jump around and yap.

Sometimes gator poachers staked out dogs like these on the side of a canal to attract the large alligators they'd come to shoot. They usually didn't care what happened to the dogs. As far as Hallett was concerned, there wasn't a prison sentence long enough for behavior like that.

Claire said, “Where did you get the dogs?”

The fat guy said, “Where'd you get the Seminole?”

Claire had a hard edge to her voice as she said, “You think this is a game?”

“I think this is some kind of shakedown and we don't have to put up with it.” Now the big man had some confidence. “Look at the cute puppy with the Indian. I think I'm gonna give that puppy some love.” He stepped forward and started to bend over.

Now all Darren said was, “Don't do it, redneck.”

The fat man straightened like a man ready for a bar room brawl.

Hallett stepped forward. “Hang on, Tubby, before you say something that'll get you punched.”

“Do you know who you're talkin' to, boy?”

“Ralphie May's father? No, wait a second, Orson Welles's son?”

“What? What the hell are you talkin' about? Are you crazy?”

“I gave you references that should cover two generations. You didn't get either of them? You see, they're both famous fat guys. Maybe I should've stuck with Louie Anderson.”

“You don't talk like no cop I ever met. You must be crazy.”

Now Hallett got in the man's face. “I'm not crazy, I'm pissed. I'm pissed that assholes like you abuse little dogs for a few thrills.”

“And some good money. We ain't bothering no one. Leave us alone.”

Hallett glanced down at Rocky as the dog looked to his right at Smarty. Rocky winked. Hallett was certain he saw it this time. Rocky was letting his partner in on what they were going to do. At almost the exact same time both dogs leaped up, straining at their leads, snapping at the fat man, pushing him backward. Hallett decided to see what would happen. He let go of the lead. Claire did the same.

He could see the herding instincts at work in both the dogs. They never came too close to the man, simply barked and herded him back to his friends and then pinned them all against the side of the truck.

All three of them had lost their bravado, and the fat man started whimpering, “Okay, okay, you win. Call them off.”

*   *   *

Junior had driven his car past the trailer and parked on the other side, down the dusty road. Whoever had been by the mailbox walked back into the trailer, and now Junior was trying to psych himself up. It made him think of his father yelling at him to
act like a man.
He hated to think how much his father had done to mold him into the man that he was today.

He had the Beretta slipped out of his belt line and sitting on his lap. The sleek black weapon made him feel like God. He'd almost used it once, back in Indiana. After one of his first attempts at a date. He was very young and it was clumsy. The girl's older brother came out, not realizing how serious he had been about taking the girl. The brother, a big farm boy, had used a buck knife to threaten him. The idea of putting a bullet between Farm Boy's eyes appealed to Junior. But then he thought about the consequences and somehow rational thought kicked in.

Now he calculated the consequences of doing the same thing. Only this time he wouldn't be caught.

He felt an incredible thrill rush through him at the idea. He considered the practical aspects, like the noise from the pistol and the attention it would draw from the other trailers, but the two trailers closest to Katie Ziegler's house were dark with no vehicles in the driveway. People that lived here were used to gunfire, and a few shots wouldn't draw any attention.

Junior would have to take Katie to a secluded area because he couldn't waste time here after he had caused a commotion. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he might be capable of pulling it off.

 

6

Hallett suppressed a smile as he noticed the bloom of a urine stain on the fat man's pants; the guy could no longer hold his bladder in the face of a snarling Belgian Malinois. They had herded the men to one end of the pickup and, sure enough, found a rifle in the bed of the truck, along with ropes and heavy knives and a meat cleaver, all used in dressing a dead alligator.

Hallett turned his attention to the two men who'd paid the fat guide to bring them gator hunting. The older man, about fifty and lean, with a smoker's voice, said with a thick Brooklyn accent, “Give us a good reason to keep hassling us or leave us alone. We paid to have some fun and we're going to have some fun.”

Hallett knew these types. Moved down from New York and thought they understood how to work the system and intimidate people. They were a minority and a stereotype, but they were all the same. Hallett thought about dogs being used as bait and something snapped. He kicked the rear door so hard it crinkled around his foot. There was no turning back now. He'd ruined any chance he had of making a criminal case. But it had certainly gotten these morons' attention.