Scent of Murder

by James O. Born

  His mother slowly gave ground and looked over her shoulder to see if anyone had heard the commotion. Lights were coming on outside the house, and help would be there soon, but the gator moved so swiftly his mother never had a chance. Rocky could still hear his mother’s yelp of pain as the gator’s jaws closed on her neck and pulled her into the dark water that led up to the edge of the pens. There were fences there designed to keep the dogs from going in the water, but it looked like the gator could come right through them if it wanted.

  The fight between his mother and the gator had caused every dog on the property to yelp and bark as the man from the house raced down to the puppy pens. But he was too late.

  Now Rocky let Tim’s hand on his head comfort him, and he focused on the sights and sounds around him. There were a lot of people here. His friend Brutus seemed to be at the center of the attention. Brutus was fun to play with, and he could find anything and win any game his man set up for him.

  Rocky started to pant to throw off the heat of the day. He moved back slightly into the shade of the vehicle and was happy when Tim sat down on the ground next to him and looped his arm around Rocky’s shoulder, pulling him close.

  This may have been Brutus’s game, but Rocky couldn’t have been happier.

  * * *

  Right off the bat Darren Mori realized this was nothing like their training environment. As word spread about the search for the missing girl, more sheriff’s personnel got involved. That’s the way things always seemed to unfold. Especially in the afternoon on a weekday, when shifts were slow and deputies were always interested in seeing something unusual. Cops were just like anyone else; they wanted to be around when things happened. But with cops there was no one to come up and say, “Show’s over folks, move along.” Now Darren had the added stress of not being able to find anything in front of twenty witnesses.

  At least Brutus didn’t seem affected by the commotion. There were a couple of sergeants, the missing persons detectives, Fusco, and a homicide guy, as well as several crime scene technicians who had laid out some markers to help keep track of where Brutus had searched.

  Finally, Fusco looked over at him and nodded, twirling his fingers in the air to indicate it was time to get this show on the road.

  Darren had a sixteen-foot lead on Brutus and leaned down and said, “Seek, boy, seek.” He wished he had the cool Dutch or German commands the patrol dogs used, but since he didn’t have to worry about some thug on the street running away and being chased down by Brutus, he kept the commands simple. At one point he thought about using Japanese, even though he didn’t speak any himself. It was more of a nod to his heritage and his family. But he didn’t want to extend any of the stereotypes some of the detectives held about Asians.

  Brutus surprised Darren by darting off into a clump of old corn and what looked like sugarcane. The long lead got caught in the stalks, but Darren was able to quickly catch up with the enthusiastic dog. By the time he cut through the old crops, Brutus was sitting down next to a mound of dirt. It was a classic alert behavior that he’d been taught. The cadaver dogs were trained to sit quietly because no one wanted to risk the dog digging down to the body and disturbing evidence.

  None of the crowd could see Darren from this position, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to disturb potential evidence, but he didn’t want to seem subservient to that pompous Fusco. He walked over slowly, patted Brutus on the head, and said, “Good boy.” Then he looked at the mound of dirt, squatted down, and used the edge of the flashlight from his belt to scrape some of the dirt to one side.

  He saw a tiny bone and brushed away more dirt and realized it was a dead possum. That was another thing that never happened in training. There were rarely other dead animal parts in the confined area where Ruben Vasquez hid different artifacts. These were the kinds of things he needed to bring up with Ruben, who was very progressive in his training techniques.

  Darren walked around the clump of corn and encouraged Brutus to start searching along the road leading to the field. He kept his voice light and playful, saying over and over, “Seek, boy, seek.” Brutus would start in different directions, full of energy.

  After more than an hour and a half, with several water and food breaks in between, Darren noticed Brutus starting to slow down. But he had not nearly reached his limit. Darren was beginning to understand some of the things that Ruben did in training to teach him more about reading his partner.

  The sun was about to set, and he was surprised how cool the breeze from the east felt against his face. As he moved along the edge of the road near the canal, he sensed a slight hesitation from Brutus. Then the dog continued in the same direction he’d been walking. Brutus paused again. He walked back to the spot where he hesitated and acted somewhat agitated. He kept leaning over the edge of the road that dropped down into the canal.

  Darren looked over his shoulder and noticed John Fusco easing his way from the group of detectives. When he got about fifteen yards away he stopped and said, “What do you think, Kato? It’s getting kind of dark out. Is Brutus showing any interest in anything?”

  Darren didn’t mean to ignore Fusco, but he liked the idea of it anyway as he focused on Brutus and his odd behavior.

  Fusco edged closer, careful not to upset the dog.

  Finally, Darren said, “You see that uneven ledge just under the water?”

  Fusco leaned over to look at the ledge three feet below the road. “How could the dog know there was something under the water?”

  “Brutus is onto something right here. It’s up to you, but I think it’s worth checking out.”

  Fusco said, “Be my guest.”

  Darren thought about it for a minute, then handed the lead to Fusco. Brutus was still sitting right at the edge of the road but looking down at the ledge. Darren slipped off the side of the road into a few inches of water. The main part of the canal was three feet to the side, where it dropped off precipitously into the standard black water of Florida waterways.

  Darren used a stick to poke into the mud a little and immediately felt it bump against something hard. At the same time, Brutus let out a quick bark. Darren didn’t hesitate to pull out his flashlight and pop it on. He squatted and used his hand to dig in the mud. Normally, if they had a stronger lead, they would call a crime scene technician to process the area, but this was still classified as a long shot.

  It was a long shot until he pulled out a human hand and forearm in an advanced state of decay. He immediately dropped the hand and looked over his shoulder at Fusco, who in turn shouted over his shoulder for help.

  Even in the heat of the moment, Darren remembered to look up and say, “Good dog, Brutus. Good dog.”

  Brutus answered with a vicious wagging of his tail.

  * * *

  Tim Hallett felt pride in Brutus’s accomplishment. It was clearly the sort of thing Ruben Vasquez was trying to instill in the squad. An all for one and one for all type of attitude. Police agencies had a built-in competitiveness, and Hallett supposed he was as competitive as the next guy. It was always fun to say you had the most arrests or caught a dangerous criminal. But this was an entirely different feeling. He imagined it was the way he’d feel if his brother ever achieved anything.

  Now, in the dark, the attention had shifted from the cute Golden Retriever to the grim business of recovering a body someone had managed to bury under the water. Hallett was only able to catch a quick glimpse of the crime scene but saw that the killer had taken advantage of a ledge and probably buried the girl when the water in the canal was a little lower.

  Hallett sat on a towel he’d laid out on the ground with Rocky next him. He had his arm around the dog, absently rubbing his shoulder and chest while he watched the crime scene people set up a bank of floodlights powered by a generator in the rear of one of their vans. Lori Tate was one of the busy crime scene technicians conferring with the detectives about how best to retrieve the body and all the evidence in the grave. Hallett couldn
’t deny she was pretty and he was drawn to her. The fact that he’d watched her every move tonight made that obvious.

  Rocky laid his head on Hallett’s shoulder, exposing a spot on his neck he liked rubbed. It was cooler since the sun had gone down, and the Belgian Malinois breathed quietly and seemed content.

  The real reason Hallett was sitting there was to hear the conversation between an agitated John Fusco and the perennially calm Helen Greene. As was her custom, the sergeant let the detective rant and rave for a full minute before she said anything. Hallett wanted to point out that the dead girl, assuming it was Tina Tictin, lived less than a mile from Arnold Ludner’s residence, but Fusco beat him to it.

  Even though they were a good distance from the crime scene, Fusco’s loud voice carried over the field on the night air, and he didn’t care one bit.

  Fusco said, “Why can’t we grill that asshole Ludner? He’s a decent suspect and lives near the victim.”

  Sergeant Greene held up one hand, saying, “First off, we haven’t identified the person in the grave. Secondly, we’ve been talking to his attorney, who won’t allow it. He’s gone so far as to get a court order.”

  “Why would he have to do that?”

  Hallett caught Helen Greene glance in his direction. It could be argued that if Ludner was involved, this was Hallett’s fault. On the other hand, if he hadn’t acted the way he had two years ago, another girl could be dead in the field.

  Fusco said, “There’s got to be another way.”

  “There is. Build a case against him.”

  Then Fusco looked over at the homicide detectives scurrying around the crime scene and said, “On top of everything else we’re gonna lose the case to them. They’ll freeze us out of everything they do.”

  “John, you need to calm down and dial it back a few notches. We all work together. Sergeant McAfee and I will decide what’s going to happen.”

  Hallett knew Fusco didn’t like the idea that homicide was considered the top of the food chain. It was a specialty like anything else. If Fusco really wanted to work homicide, he could put in for it. Right now, it was just a personal, minor turf war with the surly detective.

  Hallett saw the tall homicide sergeant stand from a crouch near the edge of the canal and casually stroll over to Sergeant Greene, casting a sideways glance at Fusco. The sergeant had an excellent reputation around the sheriff’s office and didn’t put up with the petty politics that Fusco was ranting about now. He didn’t even look at the detective but focused on Sergeant Greene instead.

  McAfee said, “Here’s the scoop, Helen. We’ll hold what we’ve got and leave a deputy here overnight to maintain the crime scene. In the morning we’re going to use the good daylight to do this thing right. We called the Water Management District, who’s gonna send someone out to seal off this canal and drop the water level about three feet by morning. That should make everything easier. Then we’ll use a backhoe and come at this thing from the land side.”

  Sergeant Greene gave him a smile and nod and said, “Thanks, Rick. I appreciate you keeping us in the loop.” She looked over at Fusco as if to emphasize the point that he was going out of his way to be informative and helpful.

  Of course Fusco didn’t acknowledge it.

  As McAfee turned, he looked over at Darren and Brutus standing at the back of their Tahoe and called out, “You did a hell of a job.”

  Hallett knew the comment was as much to annoy Fusco as it was to compliment Darren. He caught the sergeant looking over his shoulder to make sure the jab struck him.

  * * *

  Darren and Brutus had to take a moment by themselves away from the crush of people interested in excavating the body they had found. To Brutus it was just a game, and he had been rewarded with his favorite chew toy, a doll made out of rope. Darren thought the doll was a little creepy, but for some reason Brutus loved it. He never damaged the doll, just held it in his mouth without pressure.

  They both sat on the ground next to Darren’s Chevy Tahoe. The first thing he had done was make sure Brutus had enough to drink and got a snack. Now he was just spending a few mindless minutes, taking the burrs and twigs out of Brutus’s coat.

  He heard someone say, “You two doing okay?” When he looked up he was surprised to see Sergeant Greene approaching by herself. She plopped down next to them and groaned like an elderly woman who had been on her feet too long.

  Darren didn’t say anything as he continued to concentrate on Brutus. The dog, on the other hand, turned so he could stick his snout right in the sergeant’s face as he wagged his tail incessantly. The rope doll dropped to the towel.

  The sergeant said, “I don’t think you realize what a big deal this is.” She waited, but Darren didn’t say anything. “You made the whole sheriff’s office look good, and the detective bureau in particular.”

  Darren gave her a weak smile. He was too exhausted to do much else.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I owe you and Brutus. If you ever need anything, anything at all, just give me a call and I’ll take care of it, no questions asked. I never forget when someone helps me out like this.”

  Darren was touched. It really meant something for a good cop to make a commitment like that. And it did open his eyes to the fact that he and Brutus had done something important today. It might’ve been because she was a really good sergeant or it might have just been chance, but Sergeant Greene had lifted his spirits with that short chat.

  21

  Tim Hallett spent some time trying to sort out his emotions. He was willing to bet it was the same reaction everyone else on the squad had. Brutus might have shined and possibly performed the greatest feat of any cadaver dog, but no one felt like celebrating. And no one was happy about leaving the body in the water overnight. He understood the homicide detectives’ decision, and it made sense. Have a deputy maintain the crime scene overnight while the Florida Water Management District cuts off water to the canal and lowers the water level, and preserve more evidence when you excavate the body. It was pretty basic police work, but it was the kind of thing that ate at Hallett.

  People often turned to police work as a profession because they had an innate sense of justice. Leaving a dead girl in a watery grave was the ultimate injustice, and it pissed Hallett off as he drove, with Rocky sitting halfway in his compartment but leaning his head and paws out onto the console of the Chevy Tahoe. Even Rocky seemed subdued. Hallett was tired, but without any interest in going home to bed. It was still relatively early. The one urge Hallett had was to visit his son, Josh. It was probably because he had been thinking about the woman that approached him last week about her missing daughter and the fact that they had probably just found her body. It made him thank God for the healthy, happy little boy that loved him more than anything in the world. At least that’s what Josh told him when his mother wasn’t around.

  He thought about calling Crystal first but realized she might think it was too late and say no. He didn’t want to explain the day to her. They bantered maliciously, but she wouldn’t deny him access to Josh and would help if she knew the turmoil he was going through. He just didn’t have it in him to talk about the events. Instead, he kept driving north on U.S. 441 knowing he was going to turn on Southern Boulevard and into the village of Royal Palm Beach. He was stopped at the light at Forest Hill when a panhandler standing on the median walked across the two empty turn lanes and rapped on the window of Hallett’s unmarked county car.

  The grizzled man, about fifty, lost his smile the instant he saw Hallett’s uniform. Then his cloudy eyes caught sight of Rocky giving him a silent, warning stare. The man stepped away from the Tahoe and almost into the path of a Kia in the turn lane.

  Hallett reached out quickly and grabbed the man by the arm, pulling him closer to his SUV. He said, “Whoa there. If you’re gonna cross traffic lanes you probably need to sober up.”

  The man was scared now and said, “I’m sorry, officer. I was just looking for a few bucks to eat.”
/>   Hallett looked at the man’s scarred face and thought of Ruben Vasquez’s combat scars. “Were you in the service?”

  The man nodded and mumbled, “Army.”

  Hallett glanced at the clock in his dash, but the time didn’t really matter. He popped the locks on the car and said, “Jump in and I’ll take you wherever you want to eat.”

  The man looked at him suspiciously and said, “This ain’t some kind of trick, is it?”

  “Not unless getting some food in you is a trick.”

  “What about the pooch?”

  “He’s got enough food in him right now that he shouldn’t be a problem. But don’t do anything stupid. He snacks on guys like you.”

  The homeless man caught the humor and hustled around to jump in the passenger side of the car.

  Rocky whimpered slightly and backed into his compartment completely. Hallett caught a whiff of the man a moment later and wondered how the dog’s sensitive olfactory system hadn’t shut down completely. He tried not to wince when he said, “What do you feel like?”

  “I feel like a loser, but I’d like to eat a thick, rare hamburger.”

  Hallett smiled and made an illegal left to pull into the parking lot of a Ruby Tuesday’s. He got no argument from Rocky when he told him to stay in the car and had to endure a couple of annoyed stares from the hostess and the waitress as she led them to their table.

  The man said his name was Harold and his drinking and meth problems had kept him from working a steady job.

  Watching him gobble down a hamburger, Hallett quietly waved the waitress over and ordered a second one for the man to take with him.

  Harold said, “I was afraid you were going to arrest me.”

  “Why would I arrest you?”