Scent of Murder (9 page)

Although this was exactly what Hallett lived for, his mind started to wander. He noticed a chubby man about five foot ten, walking a small dog on a leash, and the only thing he could think of was Arnold Ludner.

*   *   *

Hallett had smiled so hard during the morning, his face hurt. He, Josh, and Rocky had spent the morning at a series of parks in downtown West Palm Beach along the Intracoastal Waterway. Josh loved to run through the fountain at the end of the touristy Clematis Street. Rocky would follow him, collecting more and more water in his thick coat, soon becoming his own water toy as spray shot out in all directions from his tail. After a thorough drenching, the three of them moved to a wide-open green space where Rocky showed his prowess at snatching Frisbees out of the air and Josh showed his ability to throw Frisbees like any other four-year-old—poorly and without even getting them into the air sometimes.

This was one of the few times he had ever been distracted while with his son. He didn't want to be the stereotype of the cop who was always on duty, who ignored his family and then retired to a lonely life. But he couldn't get Arnold Ludner or his sons out of his head. The sons had been so protective of their father they refused to believe any of the charges against him. Two of the sons had each been arrested on drug and gun charges in the past and held a healthy dislike for cops. When Hallett admitted how he got Ludner to tell him where the girl was, the youngest son, who was an attorney, had a deal in place instantly to make it all go away with simple probation and time served. Those were the lowest days of Hallett's career.

Right now Rocky, Hallett, and Josh sat next to a stand of coconut palm trees as traffic drove by on Flagler Drive. Days like these kept Hallett going. The boy didn't expect anything except his time, which was convenient since he didn't have much money. He wished he'd had this kind of relationship with his father, but his dad had worked a conventional job and liked to have a few beers after work, so that Hallett and his brother and sister only saw the old man a few minutes a day. He hadn't spoken to his father in four years, since the former tax accountant had run off with one of his clients, a forty-year-old massage therapist named Mitzi. Hallett had nothing against Mitzi, but just the mention of her name put his mother into a serious funk. His dad knew Josh existed but had made no effort to meet his grandson, or either of Hallett's sister's children.

His brother Bobby, the baby of the family at twenty-five, had no children. Thank God. Bobby still lived at home with their mother and had neglected to grow up. He'd been a professional student and now commuted two days a week to South Miami to take classes at Florida International University toward his Master of Fine Arts. Whatever the hell that was. He'd earned a degree in English literature from Florida Atlantic University and tried moving out on his own but found that he liked living with his mother. Secretly, Hallett envied his irresponsible brother and was glad his mom had some company. Even if it was a perpetually stoned, would-be writer.

Josh asked, “Do you have this much fun at work with Rocky?”

“Sometimes.”

“With Rocky around you never get lonely, do you?”

If the boy only knew. But all Hallett said was, “Rocky is a good friend to have around.” Too bad there was more to life than friendship.

*   *   *

Junior was shocked how quickly he found a new girl that was suitable to “date.” Perhaps it wasn't quite as shocking as he thought, because he'd considered this girl once before.

He had an excellent idea of what the cops were doing on the Katie Zeigler case and felt he had time to act again. The question was if he could find this new girl, Tina Tictin, in the right situation. He was able to locate one photo of her by using his false Facebook identity. She looked tall and a little awkward but had a very dark, pretty face. The photo could be a couple of years old, and girls that age tended to move past the awkward stage awfully fast.

She met all of his requirements. She was eighteen years old, athletic-looking, and he could find her near her house in a crappy neighborhood west of Military Trail. Junior was willing to bet Mom was at work and Tina was an only child. It didn't look like Tina had a job, so she'd be bored and alone at home.

But not for much longer.

 

9

Tim Hallett took a few moments to gather himself in front of the detective bureau entrance on the second floor of the main building of the Palm Beach County Sheriff's Office. The bureau had seen some great work and brilliant detectives over the years. No one considered Hallett one of them, he was sure. He felt a little foolish, making sure he appeared neat and prepared before he walked through the door for the first time in more than three years. Rocky gave him an odd stare as he spent one more moment running his fingers through his hair and pulling his uniform shirt tight. He didn't want anyone in the D-bureau to think he was trying to come back. He wasn't. But the last time he walked out these doors he felt like a failure. At the time he was.

It really was Rocky who turned things around. He still remembered the trip to the breeder's ranch. The sheriff's office was getting away from buying dogs from Europe in an effort to save money. Instead, Hallett had been sent to pick up a Belgian Malinois at the pastoral compound in Louisiana with about forty young dogs in various stages of training and maturity. The place was no puppy mill; the dogs were given wide, fenced-in areas to run and play.

Hallett knew which dog was Rocky before anyone pointed him out. There was something about his eyes and the way he looked at Hallett that made it clear they were supposed to be together.

The older man who ran the place had two of his teenage daughters with him, and they made a fuss over Rocky. They were obviously sorry to see him go.

The man, who looked like a stick figure and had an odd Cajun accent that Hallett was not used to, said, “They got 'tached to the dog after his mama got kilt by a gator who come up the canal onto the property. The Malinois mama kept the gator from getting up into the pens. Probably saved a lot of dogs and me a lot a money.” He gave a rheumy laugh as he nudged Hallett with his elbow.

Hallett stepped closer to the young dog and went to one knee, and Rocky immediately loped over and put his head in Hallett's hands. As Hallett rubbed his head, the dog let out a slight whimper. They'd been together ever since.

Hallett might have rescued a lonely dog who had lost his mother, but Rocky had done much more for Hallett, and by extension Josh, too. Now Hallett considered them all just one odd, goofy family. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

It bothered Hallett that being in the detective bureau seemed to affect how he was feeling. He had everything he could want. This was just childish.

Hallett reminded himself of the work he'd done since he left, of his bonding with Rocky and the life he had made for himself. Finally, he'd psyched himself up enough to step into the detective bureau he had left so long ago. He opened the door, and Rocky slipped through in front of him, commanding everyone's attention. Before he could even say hello to the secretary, Hallett heard John Fusco's loud voice saying in his Long Island accent, “I can't believe they let you work with us again.”

Great.

*   *   *

Darren Mori looked around the Palm Beach International Airport and shook his head. He was a little annoyed he couldn't be at the detective bureau with Claire and Tim Hallett, learning about their new assignment. Especially considering all the crank calls that were made to places like the airport saying they had planted a bomb. They were always hoaxes. Always. But no responsible public servant could just ignore them. These were the types of assignments they needed to complete to make the federal grant program look good. He knew their administrator and trainer, Ruben Vasquez, would like to have them out on ten calls a day like this, detailing how one deputy with a trained dog, like Brutus, could save a fortune on manpower and other specialized units.

At the other end of the terminal, Darren saw the exact example Ruben often used: the bomb squad. In Iraq, or maybe even Israel, these highly trained and truly dedicated specialists earned their pay every day and paid for themselves a thousand times over. But in places like Palm Beach County, Florida, the unit was wildly expensive compared to other specialties and hardly ever dealt with an actual explosive device. They waddled in their fancy padded suits and had equipment that looked like it was from the next century, but it was a rare day they dismantled something capable of exploding. The bomb squad had destroyed more forgotten backpacks than all the middle-schoolers in the county combined.

One old-timer said that when he was on the road, back in the late seventies, he used to pay homeless guys to shake suspicious packages and nothing bad ever happened. That conversation did two things. It made Darren wonder why a guy had been working since the seventies and made him appreciate the bomb squad a little more. If it was so easy, why didn't everyone apply?

Now, as Darren made one last pass through the terminal with Brutus on a six-foot lead, he tried to think of something witty to throw toward the bomb squad guys, who were sitting quietly at the end of the terminal.

In fact, Darren really didn't know the nature of the threat or why they were using a dog instead of closing down the terminal. He suspected that the prankster had not sounded authentic and there was a reason someone believed it was a hoax.

As he passed the row of rental car counters, one young female clerk in particular made it a point to smile, then lean over the counter to get a look at Brutus. She was in her early twenties, a few years younger than Darren, and she was Asian. That was something he didn't see much in this part of the country. He wanted to play this cool, so he just nodded hello as he continued on his path to meet with the bomb squad commander.

Although usually he liked to hear how impressed other units were with Brutus and would listen to praise all day long, he was already thinking of how he could hurry this along. The muscle-bound sergeant gave him a quick wave. Darren had worked with the sergeant on the road in the past and considered him a pretty good guy. As he approached the four bomb squad members, preparing himself to deflect the imminent praise, the sergeant's phone rang.

Before Darren could even reach the group, the sergeant was hustling to get his men moving. As they passed, he said, “Thanks, Darren, we gotta run.” They were out the door in a matter of seconds.

He glanced around the terminal. Several passengers turned to watch the bomb squad but quickly lost interest in a uniformed deputy with a Golden Retriever on a leash. He tried to act casual as he turned and slowly walked past the rental car counters again.

The girl behind the Hertz counter knew he was going to stop there. There was no way he could hide it, but he didn't want to risk not talking to her. As Darren approached the counter the young woman said, “Everything safe now?”

She had delicate features and shoulder-length jet-black hair. He tried to be suave instead of his usual self and said, “I would never let anything happen to someone as pretty as you.”

She didn't seem offended by the clumsy comment. “I like your dog.”

Darren braced for the inevitable
he's cute.
Instead, she said, “I don't see many Japanese in uniform.”

Darren said, “Wow, I'm so used to hearing ‘Asian' that hearing ‘Japanese' sounds odd.”

The girl giggled and said, “I know exactly what you mean. People work so hard not to be racist that they end up being a little racist by lumping all people of Eastern decent together.”

He wasn't confident enough to say she was Japanese. But she saved him by saying, “My name is Kim.”

“Is that short for Kimiko?”

“No. For Kimberly. Kimberly Cooper.”

Somehow he managed to stammer, “I'm Darren Mori. It's very nice to meet you.”

She stepped out from behind the counter, and Brutus immediately wagged his tail as he slid up next to her. She went down on one knee and rubbed his head but looked up at Darren and said, “My dad was a marine and met my mom on Okinawa. I hope you're not this obviously clueless all the time?” She gave him a dazzling smile to let him know she was just playing.

It wouldn't have mattered if she'd stood up and slapped him across the face. Darren believed he had just fallen in love.

*   *   *

Hallett waited with Rocky at the front of the detective bureau while the sergeant finished up some business in her office. He had purposely avoided John Fusco after his initial encounter and hoped the loudmouthed New Yorker would stay at his desk. A couple of detectives said hello as they walked past, but none of his close friends were on duty right now.

Hallett recognized he had nothing to be down about. Being a detective seemed important once, but now he had a different perspective. His personal life had straightened out once Crystal and he split up. He focused on Josh much more and didn't feel the stress of a day-to-day relationship. And he had learned there was a lot more to police work than just arrests. He had to get some distance from the competitive detective bureau to recall how he felt about cops when he was growing up. As a kid, he worshiped cops. Things were different today. It was a true public-relations battle for the hearts and minds of the general public. TV shows like
Cops
had helped people understand what the challenges facing a road patrolman were like. Investigations were still a mystery.

Any cop who cared about the profession cared about how the public perceived police officers. It was important to overcome the stereotypes of the bullying, doughnut-eating flatfoot. Times had changed and so had police officers, but the public's view was stuck somewhere in the mid-1970s.

Firemen had it easy. When they showed up, everyone was happy to see them. With a police officer, usually only half the crowd was happy to see you. Only people losing a fight, or the victims of a drunk driver, were thrilled to see someone in uniform. If someone was winning a fight or was a poor driver, the last thing they wanted to see was a cop.