Dance of Death

by Dale Hudson

  From a distance, Altman studied the attractive, dark-haired girl dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt. She was just casually there, half out the door with her hand clasped. She looked a little pale to him, but she didn’t look upset or hurt in any way.

  “Hey, Sloan, come here for a second.” He waved his partner toward him. When Sloan walked over and stood next to him, Altman turned his back to the truck so the girl couldn’t hear him. “She wasn’t the one that was shot, was she?” he said, thumbing back toward the truck.

  Sloan shook his head from side to side. “Oh, no, she wasn’t shot. It was her husband.”

  “Then where’s the body?”

  “EMS has already responded and taken him to the hospital.”

  Altman turned around and stared at the girl sitting in the truck. She appeared to be very calm for someone whose husband had just been shot. He turned back to Sloan, then asked, “You want to fill me in on what happened?”

  “Yeah, the girl’s name is Renee Poole. She and her husband, Brent, had been taking a stroll on the beach when they were robbed by this guy dressed in black clothes. He robbed them, then shot Brent in the head. Although the medics said they expected the worst, he was alive when they left in the ambulance.”

  The Myrtle Beach Patrol Unit (MBPU) had begun securing the perimeter. They were closely guarding the crime scene and logging every person coming and going into the area. Corporal Gary Kalkwarf, the second-shift supervisor of the beach patrol, placed a call to the Horry County Police Department (HCPD), requesting the use of their tracking dogs. If the shooter was still in the area and hiding somewhere in the dunes or around the beach on Eighty-second Avenue, the police might have a chance with the help of the dogs at finding him. Kalkwarf was afraid the ocean breeze blowing the salt water across the beach would make it very difficult for the tracking hounds to pick up the perpetrator’s scent. In fact, the chances were zero to none the dogs would be able to follow the trail, yet Kalkwarf told them he was still willing to give it a try. The Myrtle Beach crime scene investigation team had also arrived and were waiting on the dogs to finish tracking the trail before they began their work.

  When Altman looked around and saw all the officers on scene, he quickly deduced it wasn’t necessary for all of them to be there. He suggested Jim Joyce take Renee back to the police department and obtain her statement. It would be to her benefit to get her away from the crime scene, and the quiet and still atmosphere at headquarters would help calm her and give her an opportunity to think. Perhaps then, she could provide additional information about the suspect.

  Len Sloan agreed to remain at the crime scene, help manage the operation, and call the on-duty detective supervisor if needed. Altman thought it was best if he went to the hospital to check on the victim. From what he had been told, it was doubtful if he’d be able to get a statement from Brent Poole at the hospital. Nevertheless, he could get some information from the emergency responders and ask the doctors to shed some light on the situation.

  As additional police officers arrived, they were immediately placed one hundred yards both north and south of the position in an attempt to expand the protection of the crime scene. Officers were also positioned around the surrounding area of the residences along the beach leading up to access and beyond, in case the killer was still lurking in the area.

  As anyone who’s connected to police work knows, the first forty-eight to seventy-two hours are the most critical in solving a homicide. It has been proven in two-thirds of the homicide cases that are solved, the police have been able to apprehend the suspect within twenty-four hours. Needless to say, there is a window of opportunity to solve a case within forty-eight hours and the chances of it ever being solved fall dramatically after that time period.

  Because those first forty-eight hours were so critical in solving Brent Poole’s murder, a staggering amount of work had to be completed. Murders in Myrtle Beach are very uncommon; as a result, everyone in the police department had been called out to work his/her magic. While crime scene technicians conducted the initial examination of the crime scene and collected physical evidence, additional officers and detectives were busy securing the crime scene and locating witnesses to interview.

  A good crime technician is worth his/her weight in gold. Just by closely examining a crime scene, an adept technician can readily obtain a tremendous amount of information, often pinpointing exactly what took place and in what order, as well as why the crime took place and who is responsible. That is, if the murder scene has not been heavily contaminated.

  The problem with this particular crime scene was that it had been.

  All criminologists will agree a crime scene begins to deteriorate the moment a person enters it—just the very act of examining a crime scene damages the scene. And the more people who enter it, the more damage is done and the greater the potential for an irrevocable error.

  The MBPD crime scene technicians didn’t have the luxury of working an undisturbed crime scene. The biggest obstacle they had to overcome was there had already been half-a-dozen people or so who had entered the murder scene. It wasn’t that the damage done to the crime scene had been committed out of ignorance or lack of training, but all with good intentions. Brent Poole was still alive when EMS responders arrived and granted it was more important to try and save his life than worry about preserving the crime scene. Crime scene technicians would have to determine what was trace evidence and what had been brought in or taken out by the emergency responders. Any of their trace evidence could have been deposited or taken away by any of the responders at any time. The technicians knew from the very beginning how easy it could be for them to make a mistake and have it come back to haunt them at a later date.

  One advantage to the crime scene, however, was that the murder had been committed in a public place. Since the beach was a public place and there was a fair amount of traffic in and around that location, the odds were in the police’s favor they’d find witnesses who had observed what had occurred. Witnesses are always easier to find and talk to during the embryonic stages of investigation, and their memories are generally more accurate and susceptible to recall soon after the crime has occurred. Collecting verbal evidence from witnesses was as vital to solving this crime as collecting the physical evidence.

  The MBPD would be diligently searching for any clues that would lead to a suspect and help solve this case. Using high-intensity lights, they would be required to spend the majority of their time on their hands and knees sifting through the sand and closely examining the ground around them. In general, they’d hoped the evidence collected that early morning would tell them not only what the killer left behind, but what he left that shouldn’t have been and what wasn’t there that ought to be.

  Supervising officer Aiossa began collecting a few of the fifty-five-gallon drums that were being used as garbage cans and taped off a fifteen-by-fifteen perimeter around the crime scene. While the others were taking care of the crime scene, he walked back to where the six people whose cars had been blocked, and now were sitting at the Eighty-second beach access, waited to be interviewed. The frustrated bystanders told him in colorful language they didn’t recall seeing anyone coming out or going on the beach or any vehicles leaving suddenly, but thought they had heard something that sounded like fireworks on the beach.

  While the crime scene technicians waited to work the murder scene, the Horry County tracker and his dogs continued to work the area around the beach access and in the dunes in hopes the dogs would be able to pick up the scent of the killer. There was also a very narrow window of opportunity for the tracker’s hounds to locate and capture the perpetrator, but they would utilize any and all attempts.

  Perhaps, the tracker shrugged to the officers standing nearby, this just might be our lucky night. If this mysterious killer—this man dressed in black—was somewhere in the area, he wanted to make sure the dogs found him and put him away before he killed again.

  “You guys continue to kee
p a close watch out for the killer,” Corporal Kalkwarf admonished his men. “We’ve already got one innocent victim dead, we don’t want to make it two.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Renee Poole never remembered getting in the police car. She was still dazed and unbelieving at what had taken place on the beach.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?” The voice was sympathetic. “We’re here at the police station.” A tall, thin and dark-haired man opened her door.

  Renee nodded and stepped out of the car. His voice sounded like it was coming from a fog. She couldn’t escape the image of her husband being shot. She remembered the shooter as his finger tightened over the trigger, the jerk of his hand when the bullet exploded, the roar of the gun as it left the muzzle and blasted into Brent’s head, and the thud of Brent’s body falling onto the sand. She gagged as she thought about the raw scent of blood that spilled from his head wounds and pooled onto the sand. She remembered these things, but knew she couldn’t do anything to change them.

  Renee desperately needed someone to hold her close. To tell her she was safe. To say that everything was going to be okay.

  Detective Jim Joyce escorted his key witness out of the car and into the Myrtle Beach headquarters on Oak Street. Over the years, there were several incidents along the Grand Strand where a couple had been robbed and/or assaulted. The MBPD particularly frowned on incidents that involved tourists visiting. It wasn’t beneficial to the city and to the businesses in the area. Any news reports of such incidents were certain to frighten other tourists. Detective Joyce was aware that although this crime was committed in a remote area of the beach, the implications would be the same. No one wanted rumors circulating that the beach was no longer a safe place to visit.

  More important though, Detective Joyce focused on the fact that Renee and her husband had been victims of a serious crime. Although he had not received the official word from the hospital, he sensed from the talk at the crime scene that Brent Poole was probably not going to survive his injuries.

  Joyce contacted Mary Stogner, the MBPD’s victim’s advocate on call. The police department had just implemented the advocacy program and Stogner was one of three staff members. Their primary function was to console the victim, assist them with any paperwork and provide them with general information on counseling and other services available to them as a victim. Renee Poole was just the type of person who needed their help.

  “I’m sure she’s frightened,” Joyce told Stogner as he walked her to the room where Renee was sitting. “This is not a good situation for her family. She and her husband are both in their early twenties and they’ve got a little girl.”

  Stogner sympathized with Renee Poole, virtually a stranger in town, now the victim of a violent crime. Thinking she needed someone to talk to, she pulled up a chair and sat across from Renee. She introduced herself and calmly asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Renee nodded. “Yes, I need a cigarette. I think I left mine on the beach.”

  “I’ll see if I can bum a few from the officers. What kind do you smoke?”

  “Marlboro Lights. But I’m so desperate, I’ll smoke about anything you can find.”

  Stogner talked with Renee for about thirty minutes. When she was certain she was strong enough to provide a statement, she notified Detective Joyce.

  “He’s just going to ask for some general information about you and your husband and the crime,” she assured her.

  “Thank you. You’ve been very pleasant,” Renee said flatly.

  “That’s what we’re here for.” Stogner reached under her desk, pulled out a small stuffed animal and handed it to Renee. “Please let me know if we can be of further assistance.”

  Renee managed to smile. She wasn’t sure if the stuffed animal was for Katie or for her to keep for comfort. But she did need something real to hold on to since everything else at that moment seemed make-believe.

  Renee’s interview with Detective Joyce began at 12:45 A.M. When the detective asked where she was staying, she stated again that she needed to call the hotel and speak to her baby-sitter. Joyce then stopped the interview and requested that someone call the hotel and check on the situation.

  Renee had stopped crying and was relatively calm when the interview resumed. Speaking very softly, she explained slowly what had happened earlier on the beach.

  Joyce eased forward in his chair and took notes on a yellow legal pad, not wanting to interrupt her as she talked. She told him all about the man dressed in black and how they had been robbed. The silence stretched out afterward. The slight tremor in Renee’s voice returned.

  “And he went back over to my husband, and my husband said, ‘Please, don’t shoot me.’ And he said, ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ My husband said, ‘Because I have a daughter that I love very much.’ Then I heard the gun go off.”

  Joyce groaned. He uncrossed his legs underneath the table and sat up straight in his seat. “Do you know how many times it went off?” he interjected.

  “I heard it click a couple of times. I think there were two shots.”

  “Did it click more than two times?”

  “Yes, I think I heard it click a few times before I heard the actual shots.”

  Renee described what exactly had been stolen and provided a description of the man dressed in black. He then asked her, “And when he was talking to you, could you tell if he had any type of accent? Or maybe a deep voice?”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t think it was very deep, though.”

  “Was he taller or shorter than you?”

  “Taller. I think I’m five three. He was a lot taller than me, but not taller than you.”

  Joyce stood up and turned to the side, then sat back down. He was taller than the man she had remembered seeing. “And that’s all he said to you, ‘Get down on the ground and give me everything’?”

  “Yes, everything. Money, jewelry, wallet, everything.”

  Joyce laid his pen down on the yellow pad.

  “Okay. Uh . . . do you have someone else here that you’re staying with?”

  “No, but I need to speak with the baby-sitter at the hotel.”

  Joyce stood up slowly. “What time were you expected back?”

  “We were supposed to be there at twelve A.M., so she needs to be relieved,” Renee pleaded.

  Joyce planted his hands on the table. He looked at his watch. It was a few minutes before 1:00 A.M.

  CHAPTER 7

  Thirty-one-year-old Terry Altman had been working with the Myrtle Beach Police Department for seven years. Altman was a local boy, having graduated from Socastee High School in 1985. Like most teenagers who live in and around Myrtle Beach, he had worked part-time after school in the food-and-beverage industry. It had helped pay for his education at Coastal Carolina University, where he was awarded a Bachelor of Arts degree in political science, in 1991. A few months later, he applied and was accepted as an auxiliary officer with the Myrtle Beach police force. In November 1992, he was hired as a full-time police officer, assigned to the traffic division, working five-day ten-hour shifts.

  Altman had found his niche and went on to graduate from the eight-week officer’s training at the South Carolina Criminal Justice Academy. In February 1993, he was reassigned to a patrol shift. For three years, he alternated from a uniformed patrol officer, back to the traffic division, until finally being promoted to the investigative division with the Myrtle Beach Police Department.

  Detective Altman had been assigned to the homicide-investigative division for only two years the night he drove to the hospital to investigate the robbery and shooting of Brent Poole. If he had to guess, he’d say he had already investigated anywhere from twenty-five to thirty dead-body calls. That was the one part of the job he disliked the most, and probably the reason why he had not chosen a career in medicine. He made no bones about it. He wasn’t fond of dead bodies.

  Altman walked through the electric doors at the Grand Strand Regional Medical Center (GSRMC) emerge
ncy room and turned into the emergency room’s lobby. A few people were sitting in chairs and couches, idly reading magazines or watching the wall-mounted television. He smiled at an elderly couple standing at the nurse’s desk and waiting to be processed, then eased around them to the trauma unit, where he believed Brent Poole would have been taken. To the right of the nurse’s station in the trauma unit, he recognized several personnel from the fire department, who were retrieving their equipment and completing the last of their paperwork. From the grim look on their faces, it was apparent the situation for their patient looked hopeless.

  Don Askey, the emergency responder from Unit #121, had already completed his paperwork and was leaning against the nurse’s station. His body was washed in sweat and the gritty sand from the beach still clung to his clothes and skin liked yellow mud. He looked as if he’d just lost his best friend.

  “How’s it going?” Altman anxiously asked.

  “Not so good.” Askey shook his head, then rolled his eyes toward the trauma unit. “They’re still working on him.”

  The rooms in the trauma unit were petitioned on the side and front by cloth curtains. In an opening between the curtains, Altman could see Brent’s lifeless body lying on the table in the middle of the room with the team of five nurses and doctors surrounding him. They were working on him, frantically trying to bring him back to life. Plastic tubes protruded from the young man’s mouth. Blood covered his face and dripped down onto the table and fell to the floor.

  Altman stepped toward the nurse’s station and stood by Askey. He could always count on Don for an honest opinion. He whispered, “So, what’s your assessment of this situation?”