Evidence of Murder

by Samuel Roen

  The detectives drove out to Centex Rooney on the Disney properties and met with the building superintendent of the company, explaining their idea.

  “We’ll do anything and everything that we can to help you,” the super assured him, and he arranged an area for the two detectives to conduct their meetings.

  For the next several hours, Weir and Linnert interviewed the engineers, builders and their assistants, landscapers—anyone who saw Carla Larson on her fateful trip to the Publix market, or later saw her vehicle driven by a large white fellow with brown hair, wearing a faded green shirt.

  They interviewed David Lewis and David Gust, employees of Centex Rooney, who were with Brad Wilson in the car when they all saw the Ford Explorer charging onto the Osceola Parkway without stopping. Lewis, who was driving, said he only saw the back of the driver’s head. He stated that he exited on the Buena Vista ramp and did not notice if the Explorer continued westbound on the parkway.

  David Gust also only saw the side and back of the driver of the Ford. But Gust noticed what appeared to be a canvas tote bag in the passenger seat next to the driver. He said the driver also seemed to be fidgeting with something on the floorboard area of the front passenger area.

  When the detectives interviewed Gary Wilson, the fourth passenger in the car, he told roughly the same story. He did not get a look at the driver’s face but noticed that he was tan and was wearing a green shirt. He said the man focused his attention on the passenger seat of the vehicle and appeared to be reaching for something on that side of the vehicle. Wilson made out that there was an item on the passenger seat that appeared to be a brown bag.

  The detectives’ interviews with Ray Walby, Freddie Kitchens, Lavon Brown and David Maderano produced nothing new.

  When they concluded, Weir shook his head in disappointment.

  Linnert, always more optimistic than Weir, tried to console him. “Well, that’s what this work is; we just keep trying.”

  The two detectives continued working practically around the clock, checking each of the massive calls that came in after the new composite sketch of the possible assailant ran in the media.

  “We’ve got hundreds of tips,” Weir said wearily, “but so far nothing in any of them.”

  “Yeah, people get interested in a big case and want to help,” Linnert said. “They see it on TV or read the newspaper. Their imaginations go wild and they call with a full story in complete detail.”

  “And we have to follow up on all of them.” Weir sighed tiredly, stretching his arms. “We can’t afford not to. And in answer to our bulletins and the description of the Ford, we’re also getting reports from all over about it being sighted. Dozens and dozens. I didn’t know there were that many white Ford Explorers in central Florida.”

  “Ain’t that the truth!”

  Weir and Linnert worked steadily, ploddingly, following through on every detail, but making no progress. Paperwork and growing files were the only outward signs of their labors.

  “You know, there’s something else we should pursue,” Weir suggested, viewing the mountain of followed-up leads on their desks.

  “What’s that?”

  “Carla Larson’s jewelry. We were told she always wore some expensive jewelry and the only thing found on or near her body was her wedding ring. We might be able to track the rest. Maybe the killer tried or will try to get rid of the stuff.”

  “Good idea.” Linnert leaned forward approvingly. “Let’s get a complete description of the pieces from her husband.”

  Weir nodded, pleased that they had a new avenue to travel.

  Following through, on Friday, June 20, the detectives called on Jim Larson at his home.

  When Larson answered the door, Weir nodded and asked in a friendly tone, “Mr. Larson, how are you doing?”

  Larson gave a faint smile and responded, “About as well as can be expected. Come on in. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  Weir, always sensitive in speaking to people close to homicide victims in cases that he worked over the years, hesitated before broaching this delicate subject. “We wanted to talk to you about your wife’s jewelry—the things that are missing.”

  Jim Larson’s face showed an unwelcome surprise. He evidently did not expect the subject of jewelry to be the reason for this visit, nor did he feel any pleasure in being asked to go back in his memory to the occasions of his gifts to Carla. Still, he replied, “Oh, sure. What can I tell you?”

  “We need a detailed description of the pieces Mrs. Larson was wearing that day.”

  Larson recalled sadly, “She was wearing her engagement ring and her wedding ring, of course, which she never took off.” He paused. “The diamond in the engagement ring was a distinctive pear shape, and it was three-quarters of an inch, in a gold setting.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but would you give us an idea of the value of the ring?”

  “I don’t mind. I’d say that it was approximately thirty-four or thirty-five hundred dollars.”

  “What other items do you recall?” Linnert asked courteously. He was aware that they were deep into the personal life of this couple, yet he professionally knew it was necessary if it might help the investigation.

  Jim Larson rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Well, there were her earrings. They were diamonds, her favorites. They were round and also in a gold setting. Each one was half a carat, and I’d say that they were about two thousand dollars.” He added, “She wore a gold chain that was sixteen inches in length, with her Centex Rooney pendant on it.”

  He paused, remembering how honored Carla was when she was awarded the pendant. “The pendant had a gold-and-black CR logo design with a small diamond set in.” Larson stopped again and said apologetically, “I’m not too sure of the value, but I would take a guess, which I believe would be pretty close. I’d say the approximate value would be one hundred fifty dollars. There was another pendant—garnet, with six or seven stones and also two small diamonds.” He faced the detectives and stated, “I’d put a hundred-fifty-dollar value on that, too.”

  Larson stood up and told the detectives, “I’m sure that I have appraisals on the engagement ring and the earrings. Let me get them for you.”

  He left the room, and when he was alone, the memory of Carla’s jewelry brought tears to his eyes. Covertly he wiped his cheeks before returning to the detectives with the authenticating documents.

  “Thank you, sir. We’ll be in touch,” Weir said.

  In the car headed to headquarters, Linnert said, “I’ll get this information distributed to jewelry stores and pawnshops. Maybe that will bring some results. We can only hope the guy tries to unload them.” He stared through the window, thinking of the potential boost to their investigation if that happened.

  CHAPTER 7

  On Friday morning, June 27, when the ringing telephone on his desk took his attention, Cam Weir pushed away the stack of papers he was working on. Who the hell is calling this early in the morning? he wondered.

  “Detective Weir, this is Deputy Todd Howard of the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Good morning, Deputy Howard, what can I do for you?” he asked.

  “I think it’s more what I can do for you. We’ve got something over here in Cocoa Beach that we think will interest you.”

  Weir’s curiosity spiked. “What’s that?”

  “We have a vehicle that’s been torched beyond recognition—well, almost beyond recognition.”

  “Why call me about it?”

  “We think it’s a Ford Explorer.” The phone went silent.

  Lightning flashed inside Weir’s head. Ford Explorer? Can it be? It must be, why else would he call?

  “Are you there, Detective Weir?” Howard asked after a long silence.

  “Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry. What about that vehicle?”

  “We have reason to believe that this burned vehicle is a Ford Explorer, and you have an APB out looking for one.”

  “Yes, we do.
Why do you think that’s the vehicle we’re seeking?” Weir was cautious but hoped that there would be a tie-in with the Larson vehicle.

  “Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but it is possible. It’s so badly burned that the usual markings and points of identification have been destroyed by the fire.”

  Here come the doubts, Weir thought. But don’t close the door. This could be the break we’ve been looking for.

  “When did this happen?” Weir asked.

  “Late last night, after midnight,” Howard answered. He hesitated, then pointedly suggested, “We think you should come over and examine these remains yourself. You might see some leads here that we’re not familiar with.” But after studying the burned automobile, Todd Howard had a strong conviction that this was the vehicle sought by the OCSD, and he didn’t want them to miss out on this discovery.

  Detective Weir absorbed this unexpected development. Thoughts ran through his mind about how the Larson vehicle could have wound up in that county and why it was set on fire. They had followed up so many leads on the Explorer; each had sounded promising but led to nothing. Yet the Brevard deputy seemed so sure. Could this finally be the break they needed?

  Quickly he assured the deputy, “My partner and I will get over there without delay.”

  “Thank you, Detective Weir. We’ll be waiting for you. And I think that you will find your trip over here productive.”

  “I sincerely hope so, Deputy Howard. See you soon.”

  Immediately Weir called John Linnert. “Speed it up, John, we’re off to Brevard.”

  Sleepily Linnert demanded, “What’s so important that we have to rush over there at this hour? I haven’t had my breakfast, not even a cup of coffee.”

  “Well, let me tell you,” Weir retorted. “I got a call out of the blue from a deputy with the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department. They have a torched vehicle over there and he sounded pretty damn convinced that it could be Carla Larson’s Ford Explorer.”

  “I’ll be with you in ten minutes,” Linnert replied, his spirits soaring.

  Weir drove and John Linnert sat in the passenger seat as the two detectives sped off on the approximately sixty-mile journey to the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department on the east coast of the state. He stared at the passing scenery, deep in thought.

  As he drove along the wide modern highway, Weir stared at the wide expanse of land, seeing the still undeveloped beautiful countryside, heavily wooded on either side of the roadway.

  “You know, John,” he began, reminiscing, “you always hear about change, especially here in central Florida, how this used to be and how that was.”

  “Yeah, so? Were you thinking of retiring and moving over here someday?” Linnert joked.

  “No, I was just thinking about Cocoa Beach and what it is today compared to what it used to be. I’ve heard old-timers, longtime residents of the area, talking about how some forty or fifty years ago there were only a few cottages along the oceanfront there, pretty primitive, where occasionally people would come for a weekend, possibly for fishing or just to get away. But it wasn’t any great vacation spot. There wasn’t anything over there, no restaurants, no motels, no nice buildings, just some bait shacks and small country grocery stores. Most of all, the drinking water was abominable. It was eighty percent sulphur and smelled like rotten eggs. It was undrinkable. People had to use bottled water, even to make coffee.”

  “Well, they’ve come a long way, baby,” Linnert quipped.

  Weir mused, “The land back then was, to coin a phrase, dirt cheap. I mean big plots sold for as little as a dollar an acre. Imagine that. We all could have been rich as Rockefellers if we had just put a little money into land and let it sit.”

  “Hindsight is great. Who knew that space program would come along and change this entire part of the state?”

  “Ain’t that the truth? But I wonder, what did they do about that stinky water?”

  As they approached the town of Cocoa, traffic became heavier, and when they crossed the bridge over the Banana River and neared Cocoa Beach, the area became congested. What had been a tiny coastal hamlet was now crowded with motels, restaurants, apartments and homes. With the advent of the space program and NASA coming to Cape Kennedy, barren land, which sellers couldn’t give away, suddenly sold at premium prices. From Titusville and Cape Canaveral, south to Patrick Air Force Base, growth was rampant.

  Linnert finally broached what was foremost in their minds. “You know, Cam, if that burned vehicle is really Carla Larson’s Explorer, the guy must have driven it over to Brevard after he killed her. It’s quite possible that he lives over there somewhere. Maybe Cocoa, Cocoa Beach, or even Melbourne, somewhere in the vicinity. He certainly had a reason for driving over there.”

  “You’re right, John. If the car is actually the Larson Explorer, we have a good lead. Maybe we can track the guy down and find out why he came over to this county. And then we need to find out why the hell he torched the vehicle.”

  “Yeah, why do you suppose he did that?” Linnert asked.

  “Beats me. But he must have had a reason. It still comes back to whether this is the Larson vehicle.”

  “Well, you said Deputy Howard and the others were pretty confident that the burned vehicle matched our APB.”

  “He sure was, and I hope they’re right,” Weir replied.

  The detectives sat silent, each absorbed with his own thoughts and projections.

  Arriving at the BCSD, the detectives met Deputy Todd Howard. “Glad you fellows could make it,” he greeted.

  He ushered the detectives into a conference room and offered coffee or cold drinks. The Orlando lawmen refused, impatient to get on with their mission. Howard introduced them to several of the Brevard officers, including Bruce Barnett. “He’s with the homicide department. He’ll update you on what we have.”

  Barnett shook hands with the Orange County detectives and offered, “Y’all can drive out with Todd and me to the location of the burned vehicle.”

  “That’s fine,” Weir agreed.

  Traveling along Route A1A, with Weir sitting in front with Bruce Barnett, the Brevard detective stated, “You guys really got yourselves a big-time case out at Disney World.”

  “I guess that’s right. It sure looks that way,” Weir responded, “but we haven’t yet figured out where it’s going.” He turned slightly to face Barnett and continued. “Hearing from Todd was certainly unexpected. And I’d like to add, most welcome. That is, if this is the Larson vehicle.”

  “I think you may be pleasantly surprised,” he answered with a smile.

  Arriving at their destination, Barnett pulled off the main highway and drove into a secluded setting, hidden away from the general view of the nearby highway and its heavy flowing traffic.

  The remains of the vehicle were set deep into a surround of wild brush and junglelike trees and native growth.

  “He sure kept this project out of view,” Detective Linnert commented at the sight of the destroyed SUV. It was amazing that the secluded spot where the vehicle remained, just an incredibly short distance from the major highway A1A on the east, was almost completely secreted.

  Facing the charred automobile, the detective team stared in amazed silence. The once-attractive gleaming white SUV was now burned beyond belief. Its fine white finish was a wild smear of charcoal, ash yellow, burned brown with touches of unexplained red and blue and a smatter of green, all mixed together.

  The windows of the automobile were blasted out and the weight of the entire remains settled into the burned globs that were once tires. The raised hood at the front end displayed the burned engine remains. Nothing in this effort to destroy was left to chance. The interior of the vehicle was soaked thoroughly with a burning agent, probably gasoline, and ignited to ensure the automobile’s total destruction.

  After minutes of careful study, Weir turned to Deputy Howard and said, “I never saw anything burned this bad.”

  “I can tell you, Detective,
” Howard said, “this vehicle consumed gallons of gasoline and never moved an inch. It was soaked thoroughly to make sure that it burned beyond recognition. The flames were so enormous that both the fire department and the sheriff’s department were called out. There’s never been anything like it in this area. Those flames towering into that black night sky were beyond belief.”

  “Whoever did this had to be a real firebug,” Linnert said.

  Cam Weir hoped that this might be Carla’s vehicle, but he forced himself to remain wary. He asked, “Why do you think that this is Carla Larson’s Explorer?”

  Howard shrugged his shoulders and replied flatly, “It just fits.”

  The two Orange County detectives listened attentively as Deputy Todd Howard continued. “What we were able to check indicated similarities to the Larson vehicle in your APB. This was a white Ford Explorer.” He pointed to the raised hood. “You listed a V-6 engine in your bulletin, which is what this is. Now we’ll have to wait for verification of what kind of tires they were. There’s only that little bit left on the underside of the wheels, and that’s only because that part sank into the sand, so they weren’t totally destroyed. We put this all together with the time element of the crime situation, and we had a strong indication that this is your white Ford Explorer.”

  Deputy Howard paused, then continued. “It seems pretty clear that whoever flamed this car wanted it completely destroyed. And they damn near made it totally ashes. That’s why the vehicle ID numbers are burned to invisibility.”

  Linnert stated, “Whoever did this saw to it that everything burned, interior, exterior, with nothing left inside or out that might be used as evidence.”

  “That, of course, was the intent of the person who set it,” Barnett agreed. “Let me show you how the perpetrator was very careful in the selection of this location.”

  He waved his arm like a traffic cop, pointing out how the Ford was cunningly hidden away from the view of passing cars and stuck into a large section of high-growing wild brush and trees. To the north of the vehicle, there was a large section of growth, eight to ten feet in height, that easily concealed the vehicle from view. To the south and east, there was a smaller stand of brush that partially concealed the vehicle from that side.