by Samuel Roen
Linnert marveled, “Who would have believed this? This car is just feet from the main highway and yet it’s hidden and protected.”
Weir noted, “It had to be someone who was familiar with the location, not someone who just stumbled onto it by accident. I think we’d better get State Fire Marshal Charlie LaCorte down here to look at this,” he decided. After a moment he added, “We also need to call our department’s forensic analyst, Kristen Hayes.”
After they made the calls, while they awaited the specialists, the Orange County detectives discussed the incident with the Brevard officers.
“How did you find out about the fire?” Weir asked.
Barnett answered, “We got a call about it. When we got out here, there were two young guys who told us that they were driving by when they spotted something burning with lots of thick smoke. They pulled over to see what it was. When they saw that it was a real fire, they called in the report on their cell phone.”
“Could they tell you anything else?” Linnert asked.
“According to what they told me, they saw a strange guy standing quite a distance from the blazing car. His back was toward them. They tried to talk to him but he was totally engrossed watching the fire.” Barnett hesitated, trying to recall details of what the two told him. “They thought that there was something weird about the guy. They didn’t know what, couldn’t put their finger on anything, but they said the way that he acted was strange. It didn’t seem natural to them. Here there’s one hell of a fire, something that you hardly ever see, so you’d expect a person right on the spot to say something about what’s going on. Something like ‘Isn’t this the worst thing you ever saw?’ or ‘Did you ever see such a fire as this?’ but this guy just stood there, quiet as an Egyptian mummy, and said absolutely nothing.”
“Do you suppose,” Linnert asked, “that he was the guy who set the fire and was just making sure that everything burned? If, in fact, he was the guy responsible, he certainly had good reason not to be talking about it.”
“You’ve got something there, John,” Barnett agreed. “Anyhow, they said that he just turned and walked away.”
“Did they give you any idea where he might have gone?” Weir inquired.
“No, not really. The only thing that they could say was that when he left, he just headed south on foot.”
“Could they describe him?” Linnert asked.
“Oh, yes. One said he was six feet tall, about two hundred pounds but not muscular, said he was between twenty-five and forty years old and not wearing a shirt. The other said he estimated his age between twenty-seven and thirty-four years, about five-ten to six feet tall, weighing one hundred sixty to seventy pounds, and had brown or black hair. So the two reports sort of conflict.”
Weir said, “Typical eyewitness reporting. Two people see the same thing and come up with disagreeing reports on what they just saw.”
Linnert nodded. “Makes you wonder just what this guy did look like.”
The two young fellows told Barnett that other people came along to see what was causing such huge billows of black smoke. And then the fire department and sheriff’s department guys came on the scene.
The Brevard County helicopter conducted a search of the area in hopes of finding someone secreted in the area, but with negative results.
Authorities searched for an unidentified man seen walking south on A1A from the fire scene, but he was not located or identified.
After things settled a bit, the officials searched the adjacent wooded area and talked to the few persons who were about, getting the names and addresses of each.
Bruce Barnett continued the account. “We couldn’t come up with anything, couldn’t find anyone who saw anything or who might have been the culprit who set the vehicle on fire.”
When Fire Marshal LaCorte and forensic analyst of the OCSD Kristen Hayes joined the group at the burned vehicle location, Weir explained the situation.
LaCorte and Hayes fine combed the site with intense interest. “Pretty damn thorough,” LaCorte commented as he observed the demolished vehicle.
He pointed to the right front door. “See here? That was left open about eight to ten inches to allow for the continuing flow of air and oxygen to keep the fires going.”
He squatted down to observe more closely the door frame. “And here, look at the specks. They show it was painted black over the original white.” He moved around to the left side of the vehicle and pointed. “And see here. There’s a dent on the back panel behind the rear tire.”
The fire marshal also noted, “The heat buckled the roof inward over the front and rear seats. The windows were all down, permitting unrestricted cross winds building blazing flames.”
LaCorte and Hayes, along with Detective Ron Weyland, who joined the investigation, sifted through debris that was removed from inside the vehicle, but they found no items of evidentiary value. They took additional debris from the interior of the vehicle to be submitted for laboratory analysis. Kristen Hayes volunteered to take the samples back to the OCSD. “We have the facilities there. We’ll examine everything and make a report.”
LaCorte had one of his arson K-9 dogs with him to check for the presence of flammable liquids. As the intricate search proceeded, the K-9 detected their presence. LaCorte also took several samples of soil where the burned vehicle settled into the sand.
“Well, Detectives,” Fire Marshal LaCorte said, with Hayes joining in agreement, “we can conclude without a doubt that we have a fire that was incendiary in nature, caused by someone pouring flammable liquid throughout the vehicle entirely and then igniting it.” He nodded his head, confirming and endorsing his conclusion.
Kristen made a few comments supporting the fire marshal, pointing out specifically what they found.
Cameron Weir, thinking ahead to the investigation, tapped Linnert’s arm and said, “John, I think that we should rescue what’s left of this mess.”
“What do you mean, ‘rescue’? It’s beyond that.”
“Well, it’s not exactly an ideal time of day to do much, so I think that the best thing to do is have this heap moved to the Brevard department now, even though it’s almost daylight. There it will be protected until we can have it moved to our own station. What do you think?”
Linnert agreed. “But I think that we should clear this with Bruce.”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” Barnett stated. “Only too glad to help. We’re just a few miles from here and moving what’s left of this car will give you a chance to work out what you want to do with it.”
“Thanks, Bruce. We appreciate everything that you and your department are doing for us,” Weir said.
Barnett nodded. “I’ll call and arrange for a car carrier, with a lift, to get this on its way to the station garage. And I’ll let them know that it has to be handled with special care.”
A tow truck arrived at the location, with minimum delay, carefully lifting and setting what was left of the burned vehicle onto the truck. The truck transported it to a Brevard County Sheriff’s facility and installed it in a sealed garage.
The officials dispersed, returning to their own jurisdictions. Weir and Linnert drove off to their home station in Orlando.
The detectives were quiet on their return trip, but their minds were filled with all sorts of speculation. Why was the car burned in Brevard County? Did the driver, who was probably the carjacker and even more probably Carla Larson’s killer, live in this area? Would the charred remains of the vehicle yield any clue as to who he was?
On the drive back to Orlando, Weir and Linnert discussed what to do next. “We’ll have to make arrangements to get that vehicle back to our base, where we can turn our techs loose. Maybe they can dig out something we can use.”
Both men separately were convinced that finding the answer to the torching of the Ford could lead to the perpetrator of Carla Larson’s murder.
As the vehicle sped along the highway, Linnert stared out the window and remarked, “You
know, Cam, there really isn’t anything more beautiful than early morning. Just look at that brilliant sunrise.”
Weir stole a quick look and responded, “Yeah, but I think that right now I’d rather be home in bed, catching a little sleep.”
Hours later, back at the OCSD in a conference with Lieutenant Mike Easton and Detective Ron Weyland, Weir and Linnert explained the situation. Weyland suggested using an enclosed railroad car to transport the vehicle to their garage.
Easton thought about that and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. It would be a lot more practical if we had a trucking company pick it up and deliver it right to our garage.”
All agreed that would be the best. Easton smiled and said, “Okay, truck it is.”
“That’s fine, Mike,” Weir said, “but we want to be sure that it’s a closed truck. If you saw what’s left of that car, I’m sure you would be concerned with protecting it from everything in its trip back to Orlando. If there’s any evidence left in it, we don’t want to take a chance of destroying it.”
CHAPTER 8
Detectives Weir and Linnert sat at their desks at the OCSD headquarters and contemplated their next moves.
Weir said, “I sure would like to know more about what led to the torching of that vehicle, and why it was in Brevard County.” He looked at the stack of reports that he and Linnert had compiled on the case. He sighed, picking up a handful, and said, “Just look at all the digging we’ve done already, and no end in sight. All these leads, but nothing conclusive. A guy driving a white—maybe—Ford Explorer. He’s maybe in his twenties, thirties or even forties. He’s dark complexioned, suntanned, or fair with dark brown or sun-bleached hair. He’s anywhere from five-ten to six-one, weighs one-sixty to two hundred ten pounds. The only thing the witnesses all agree on is that he’s a white man. That really doesn’t narrow it down. Just shows you how accurate eyewitnesses are.”
Linnert turned his attention to Weir. “I know exactly how you feel, and if I were the kind of guy who gets discouraged, our progress so far would do it. But this is just one of those cases that takes everything you’ve got before the golden gates open.” He leaned forward, his bright brown eyes almost sparkling. “But I truly believe we’ve made some headway. Just think of that SUV. Catching up with it is a hell of a leap forward. If we can determine how it got to Brevard, it could be another step forward. And maybe the techs will get some kind of clue when they go over it in the garage.”
Weir smoothed back his hair. “That’s true. Or maybe one of the bystanders at the fire saw something. We’ll go talk to some of those guys who were there.”
“Which one first?”
“Daniel Hamilton, the maintenance fellow at the Four Seasons Condominiums in Cocoa Beach.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, his name is on the list of witnesses who were at the fire.”
“I sure hope he can tell us something.”
“Me too. Let’s go find out.”
The detectives interviewed Daniel Hamilton in his apartment at the Dolphin Motel, located on South Atlantic Avenue in Cocoa Beach. The tall, dark, nice-looking fellow told them he was eager to talk about the experience.
“I never thought that I’d ever see anything like that fire,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “Iola, my girlfriend, will tell you that, too. She isn’t here right now.” He leaned back in his easy chair and began. “I was asleep; it was at night and I had been working hard. I was in a really deep sleep when Iola came into the bedroom and said, ‘Dan, you gotta get up and see what’s going on. There’s smoke all over the place—all up and down the beach. Come on, get up.’ I didn’t know what she was screaming about; I was half asleep. And then suddenly I was wide awake. I could smell the smoke and my first thought was that our place was on fire. I remember rubbing my face to make sure that I wasn’t still asleep and dreaming. Iola yelled, ‘Don’t just stand there. Come out on the balcony and see what I’m telling you.’ I followed her out on the balcony and looked up the beach, where I saw the flames from a huge fire, biggest I ever saw in my life.”
Hamilton looked at the detectives, shaking his head, and continued. “It was amazing. We had no idea what kind of a fire it was. I thought that it could have been one of those big gasoline tanks, where they store the stuff. But I really couldn’t tell.”
Detective Linnert asked, “You followed the flames and drove up to the location, right?”
“Yes, we were in a kind of shock and talked about it. We were concerned to know if it was going to spread our way,” he explained. “You get some scary thoughts when you’re confronted with something like this. I could see us hustling around trying to pack and rescue all of the things that we care about. But I figured I better keep calm and not do anything rash.”
He shifted in his chair and continued. “Iola and I decided that I should go and see it firsthand.” He explained that he took Iola’s mother’s car and drove to the fire. “It was right at Thirty-third Street, blazing away. I wondered, with this fire practically out of control burning this car like it was a pack of wood shavings, why there were no firemen trying to put it out.” He looked at the two detectives cautiously, knowing his statement was not a complimentary one.
“You mean, there was no one there to stop it?”
“I don’t mean to give you the wrong idea or impression, but it was just a shock to see those flames raging. And the firemen were not there yet.” He shook his head.
“Well, there was a crowd that gathered. I don’t mean a big crowd, but there were some curious guys there, especially one that was standing off by himself—all alone.” Hamilton stopped to explain. “See, I parked the car at a nearby store and walked over to the location of the fire. There were quite a few watching, but this one guy stood in front of the burning car like he was in a trance, like he was hypnotized. I was curious and wondered what his great fascination was, so I walked up to him and asked, ‘What’s going on here?’ ” Dan smiled. “I don’t know if he thought I was some stupid bastard or what. It certainly was obvious that we had a hell of a fire in front of us and I sure didn’t need anyone to tell me what was going on. I just was trying to talk to the guy and maybe get some explanation of what happened, how the fire started or something. But he just ignored me He didn’t bother to answer me or to even acknowledge that I existed.”
Detective Weir asked, “Can you describe this fellow?”
“Sure. He was six feet tall or maybe a little above that, a well-built guy who weighed at least one-sixty or one sixty-five. What struck me was his hair. It was funny. It was curly in a tangled sort of way, an off-color brown that looked like it was out in the sun too long. It fell down over his ears, behind the back and over his collar. He sure as hell was not an ad for any magazine.”
“Do you remember what he was wearing, how he was dressed?” Linnert questioned.
Hamilton nodded with an assured expression. “I remember that he was wearing a white T-shirt and blue shorts, and I wondered if the bugs were biting him like they were me. But he was puffing away on a cigarette, totally wrapped up in that fire.”
“What did you do after the guy ignored you?” Weir asked.
“I wasn’t exactly thrilled with that, so I just walked away. I left him standing there by himself. I walked over by the river so I could see the fire from the other side.”
“What happened after you walked away?”
“I watched the fire from this other spot and was there, I’d say, about fifteen minutes, maybe a little more. You know how easy it is to get mesmerized by a fire. So I may have been there twenty minutes; then I walked back to my original spot. He was gone and I never saw that guy again.
“By this time, I was getting all bit up by mosquitoes and other bugs, since I was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt. I wanted to get back to my place and change clothes. But before I left, a guy drove up in a four-wheel-drive vehicle. He told me that he saw some suspicious individual, a white man, running away from the fire. He also told me that
the burning automobile looked like the Ford Explorer that the police were looking for. We exchanged some thoughts and wondered if the guy he saw running away might have been the same man I saw staring at the fire, the guy I spoke to but never got an answer from.
“Anyway, I left and went home to change clothes. I put on a pair of long pants, a pair of shoes and a long-sleeved shirt. And then I went back to the fire. Before long, the firemen were there on the job and they began dousing and running in all directions, and it wasn’t too long before they had things under control. By this time there were sheriff’s men, officers, detectives, all kinds of investigators and specialists joining in.”
“That was a pretty exciting experience for you,” Cam Weir commented.
“It sure was. But I don’t think that I want to see something like that again.”
Expressing appreciation, the detectives thanked Hamilton for his cooperation. Handing the subject his card, Cameron said, “If you think of anything else, please give us a call.”
“I sure will.”
Later that afternoon, the two detectives met with Hamilton’s girlfriend, Iola, after she returned to their apartment at the Dolphin Motel.
She verified Hamilton’s account of the events just as he related it to them earlier. The detectives thanked Iola for her time and cooperation and departed.
Weir and Linnert conscientiously interviewed the other witnesses on the list who were at the scene of the fire, including the two young fellows who originally reported the fire, but they learned nothing more. Each gave a similar account of the horrific blaze and the smoke and the general excitement. No one else was able to recall the strange fellow who was so mesmerized by the fire, making such an impression on Daniel Hamilton and the two young fellows who first reported the flaming vehicle.