Lethal Intent

by Sue Russell

  ‘Lee, honey, I’m sixty-five years old,’ Vera finally said. ‘I work seven days a week, sixteen hours a day. You’re only thirty-three years old and work one day a week. No more credit!’

  ‘I’ll get you a cheque from my pressure-cleaning business if you give me a ride to I-95 and 44,’ Lee promised.

  ‘Where you going to go?’

  ‘Pressure cleaning. But don’t tell anybody about my business. ’ Vel drove her to the highway. The next day, she begged for another ride and, obligingly, he again dropped her off where she asked, near the same spot. How would she get where she was going from there, he asked? She’d walk, she reassured him.

  ‘I don’t think this girl’s got business … maybe monkey business, ’ Vel reported to Vera. They speculated that she was either a prostitute or selling dope.

  On 22 October Sergeant David Strickland of Citrus County SD’s evidence identification department visited Marion County SO with Investigator Martin for a close-up look at Peter Siems’s car. Searching for prints he could lift, Strickland noticed—as had other officers before him—what looked suspiciously like blood on the vinyl door handle, driver’s side. The part you slip your hand inside to open and close the door. He carefully removed the handle and carried it back to his office. A latent print was developed from it. And a palm print was also lifted from the right-hand side of the boot lid. They knew that was important. All they had to do was hope it didn’t belong to Siems. Then all they would face was the minor task of locating its owner.

  Having seen the condition of Mr Humphreys’ car, Bruce Munster also decided to take a look at Peter Siems’ car. The front ashtray was missing, presumably removed by technicians, but he noticed that the ashtray in the back was pulled out and brimming with cigarette butts that had apparently been overlooked. Prompted to take an even closer look, he removed the ashtray, then searched under the seats, finding under the passenger seat a bottle of Windex with an Eckerd’s store price tag attached. A can of Busch also lay under the seat—a beer Dick did not drink. Munster had the items put into evidence and processed.

  When the Windex led to a store in Atlanta, Georgia, where it was believed to have been sold back in February, that was even more intriguing. Jerry Thompson and Tom Muck were watching a couple of Georgia homicides that might be linked to the ones in Florida. In one, a white, male body was found outside Adel, Georgia, shot twice with a small-calibre weapon. But it bore tattoos, they learned. That ruled out Peter Siems.

  On 23 October, Bruce Munster and David Taylor interviewed Anita Armstrong at the sheriff’s office after being told she was the cashier on duty at Wildwood’s Speedway store when the mystery Emro receipt found in Dick Humphreys’ car was issued. Armstrong claimed to remember two women who resembled the composite drawings coming through the store.

  Armstrong said she’d paid close attention because the two women fell into the precise category that put her antennae on full alert, since she was responsible for moving on any hookers who seemed to be dallying in the store, or even in the outside parking lot. The area was plagued with drug deals and prostitution, and anyone not buying fuel outside or produce inside was viewed with suspicion.

  These two were just the kind of women she looked for. The blonde, at least, she felt sure was a hooker. She was around 5 feet 7, nicely built, well-proportioned and wearing a skirt with fringes hanging down. (Lee, of course, was something of an anomaly in the world of prostitution, ignoring the usual wardrobe and artifice, and working in T-shirts and shorts or jeans. She had never been known to wear a skirt.) The short one was a bit on the hefty side for hooking, but you never knew. She was around 5 feet 4 to 5 feet 6 inches.

  Armstrong remembered them vividly because they were laughing and acting so silly and flamboyantly that everyone was looking. They walked straight through the store and out the back door: they didn’t sit down or buy anything. Then they walked through a second time. By checking her work schedules, Armstrong was able to say they came through before 5 p.m. on 11 September. Just around the time Dick Humphreys, or someone who’d been in his car, had bought beer or wine there.

  Her shift actually ran from 2 to 10.30 p.m. but she remembered it being late afternoon and probably before 5 p.m., because that’s when the line backs up, particularly on Tuesdays, lottery night.

  Anita did not remember Mr Humphreys from the photograph she was shown. But a respectable-looking man would hardly stand out in her mind.

  Things were getting tense at the Belgrade. While Ty was easygoing enough, Lee was another story. She and Vel argued daily. She fought like a gypsy, that was how Vera saw her, with her volcanic personality and blazing eyes. At the heart of the trouble was money. Lee and Ty began chipping away at their debt, but far too slowly for the Ivkovitchs’ liking.

  Once, stopping by their room, Vera noted that they only seemed to have a couple of pairs of jeans and sneakers apiece. Everything else in there seemed to be tools. ‘Why tools, Lee?’ she asked.

  ‘You know, my business people have no money, so they pay with tools,’ she explained.

  She tried offering Vera a gold chain in lieu of cash but Vera turned it down. She had gold jewellery of her own. It was money they wanted. Lee also presented Vera with a nice electric shaver for Vel. Vera took that just to try to keep the peace.

  One night, Vera and Vel saw Lee standing inside the open doorway of her room. She was cleaning a gun. Did Vel have a gun, too? Yes, he replied. Of course. All over the place. One in every corner of every room. He didn’t, but, instinctively, it had seemed the right thing to say.

  Despite their financial bind, Lee and Ty offered to buy from the Ivkovitchs the three-dimensional picture of The Last Supper that hung above their bed. Vera wouldn’t sell it. When Lee handed Vera a paltry $10 for Vel, she thought, ‘Oh, no, Vel’s going to get mad.’ They’d never clear the debt, paying Vera $10 at a time. And indeed, he waved it at Vera angrily, saying, ‘She thinks we’re crazy.’ Instead of catching up, they were falling further behind. Furious, he went and knocked on their door. Ty answered.

  ‘I’m tired, who is it?’ she called.

  ‘You know who I am,’ Vel called back. ‘I want tomorrow my room empty!’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Ty cried.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Vel shouted back.

  Obviously, they took Vel seriously because, amazingly, they packed up and left the next day without waiting for any more warnings. They still owed the Ivkovitchs $34.

  30

  Ousted from the Belgrade, Lee and Ty showed their faces back at the Fairview on 17 November. It was undoubtedly their easiest option. It was near and it was familiar, they were almost out of cash, and Ty was leaving that day for Ohio to spend Thanksgiving with her folks. Please could they have a room, Lee begged Rose? She offered her a TV for collateral. They’d had to leave the Belgrade, Lee complained, because they’d had problems, none of which were their fault. Vel was always trying to put the make on her, or harassing her for owing money even when they had paid up in full, and now he’d told them to leave. Would Rose drive them over there so they could move their stuff back to the Fairview?

  Obligingly, Rose pulled her car around by the Yugoslav restaurant and Ty and Lee loaded in their things. (With her muscular build, Lee had no problem lifting heavy-looking tool boxes in and out.) Meanwhile, Rose popped inside for a chat with Vera. Without being specific, Vera warned her, a fellow businesswoman after all, that the two women were trouble.

  They hadn’t given her any trouble in the past, Rose pointed out, thinking back. Nothing sprang to mind. She didn’t always like Lee’s attitude, but there’d never been any actual trouble. She’d never brought guys back or anything like that. If anyone gave her trouble, Rose called the police. There’d been nothing like that. True, they were sometimes a little late with her money, but that was about it.

  Vera warned her again to be careful. Perhaps Vera sensed something Rose didn’t, Rose fleetingly speculated. But she didn’t pursue that line of thought. Her only complaint against the
two women was, in fact, minor. More of a petty annoyance than anything else. She’d told them more than once to please put their cans in separate bags and leave them outside their room for recycling. They always agreed, but never actually did it.

  Just two days before their move, on Thursday, Lee Wuornos, shrouded by her Cammie Greene alias, had brushed perilously close to a branch of law enforcement. She was stopped by highway patrol officers for hitchhiking on I-95 up near St Augustine. It was always hitchhiking, never prostitution. She’d got it down to a fine art.

  Those officers had no idea who had just slipped through their fingers. No idea that, tucked in her bag, she carried a smoking gun.

  The day they moved back into the Fairview, Rose saw Ty and Lee leave on foot, dressed in their usual uniform of shorts, T-shirts and baseball caps, carrying a large, light brown suitcase. They were heading out to hitch a ride or catch a bus to Daytona airport for Ty to catch her flight to Ohio, then Lee would be going to Orlando for a day or two. She had a job down there sandblasting buildings, and when she came back, she’d have the money to pay Rose.

  Since they were going to be away, Rose wondered if she could go in and clean their room and their screens? She’d been trying to get around to doing them. Lee said no, she’d rather she didn’t. Rose wasn’t in the least bit surprised—they’d never once taken advantage of the motel’s maid service. They didn’t want anyone poking around in their room.

  Trying to be helpful, Rose suggested that while Lee was down in Orlando, she look up a motel owner friend of hers who might be interested in the sandblasting. It seemed curious, but Lee showed absolutely no interest in getting her name or number.

  Ty was booked on flight 312 to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and she couldn’t wait. She was excited at the prospect of seeing her folks. Happy families. Fun and love and festivity. It would be a wonderful reunion.

  It would be a wonderful reunion for her, at any rate. Lee would be spending the holiday at the motel, alone. She wasn’t exactly swamped with Thanksgiving Dinner invitations.

  The thought of Ty up in Ohio, the thought that Ty might never come back, bummed her out. Totally. Lonely. Drunk all the time. Not just drunk, but really drunk. Must have had a case of beer that day. Drunk as shit. Needed some money, so went hitchhiking. Picked somebody up, but couldn’t remember where. Couldn’t remember anything. Blackout time.

  But this is the way it went. Older fella. Little short guy. On his way to Alabama. One thing about these men on their way to somewhere, they were usually heavy with cash.

  So she asked the little guy if he’d help her make some money? Sure, he would.

  They went far out in the woods down a dirt trail off Bar Pit Road. That crosses 19 about nine miles north of Cross City. Way, way out. Stripped off, both of them. Sat in the back seat of his Grand Prix. He took off his gold chain and put it on the seat. Dipped into his pants pocket, pulled out his wallet. Said he was a cop.

  Oh, no. Not that line again. I’m a cop and I could arrest you, but if you have sex with me for free, I’ll let you go. Told her what she had to suck or do to him, then he’d let her go. Another faker, after a free piece of ass. That was all she could think. Sick and tired of that old story. Cop? You’re no cop. You can get badges like that through some detective magazine.

  They were out of the car, arguing, when he ran around to her side. She whipped out her gun, and they struggled. He fell first, but he got back up on his feet and made a run for it. His life. He wanted to save his life.

  Ice in her veins. No feeling for him. No feeling or caring for any of them. Their families would have to understand. These guys were trying to hurt her. She shot him right in the back as he went. He stopped and turned and looked at her. Disbelief on his face. Must have been. Who could believe this was happening?

  He called her a name, she said. Cussed her out. Something. Whatever it was, she let him have it again. You bastard. One more in his back at close range.

  That was it, wasn’t it? Oh. Or did she shoot him in the back one more time? Near the head. Something like that. Did it just kind of randomly. Turned her head away and fired.

  That bullet to the back of the head as he tried to get away hit him square on, just above his hairline. And yet a fourth bullet tore into the back of this man who was soon to be married and wanted so much to live. His life left him while he lay there on the ground, curled up in the fetal position.

  Later, she’d ask if he survived. Even sounded kind of sorry to hear he hadn’t. Could she really have thought she’d left him with a chance to cling to life? No. It wasn’t her practice to let them live.

  She was scared. Heart beating fast. She did it, but she was always afraid of being caught. Every time, she made sure that wouldn’t happen. Made sure they wouldn’t tell.

  She threw some stuff out in the woods. Scavenging furiously through his car and glove box, she found his false teeth. Tossed them out, too. Not much good to her. You fucking bastard. Let me get something out of this. She pocketed his diamond and gold nugget ring. The one that had been lovingly chosen for him by his fiancée, Aleen. Took it off his finger when he was still alive, she’d thought. Would he have let her? And why? Well. She thought he was alive when she took it. So much beer.

  She drove off in his car, naked. Pulled over, dressed. Threw out some more of his stuff. She was up off 27 by then, walking about, scattering things far and wide in all directions. Spectacles. A wallet with his Social Security card. His driver’s licence. Credit card receipts. Underwear. Rubber boots. Box of denture cleaner. All kinds of junk. She tore off the licence plate and put it in the boot. Drove a bit further, then the damn car stopped. What the hell was wrong with it? Tried the ignition again, and it started back up.

  You know, she’d had a hundred thousand guys. Meeting guys left and right, every moment of the day. Looking for clean and decent people. She’d say these guys were the only ones that gave her a problem. (She’d also say she’d been raped nine times, over the years.) It seemed like just in the past year men had started giving her hassles. Messing with her. She’d had to start taking retaliation. What else could she do?

  She drove the dead man’s car on back to the motel room that was her home of the moment, thoughts of Ty swimming around her head. Please let her come back soon. Parking the car outside the Fairview, she lifted a suitcase of his from the boot. Didn’t remember much else.

  Lee often popped her head into the Fairview’s office about this or that. Would it be OK with Rose if she parked her boyfriend’s car behind the motel? He was married, and they didn’t want to leave it where his wife could see it. If it was spotted, she’d have to give it back and she hoped to be able to keep it until Ty flew back in so that she could pick her up from the airport. Ty would be arriving on a Sunday, when she wouldn’t be able to get a bus and would have to pay for a cab. The car would really help.

  Rose gave her the go ahead. Later, though, to keep her guest registration records straight, she stopped out back intending to take down the car’s tag number. She saw it, pulled in almost behind the shed, a large, maroon two-door model with no licence plate.

  The car was outside only briefly, a couple of days at the most, before disappearing as suddenly as it came. When she decided that the car was too hot to handle and that the pleasure of having wheels did not outweigh the risk, Lee drove south down I-95 past Edgewater. Getting off before Mims, in northern Brevard County, she’d turned towards the ocean and backed it into the abundant woods by US 1. Explaining its departure to Rose, she said that her boyfriend’s wife had seen it and she’d had to give it back.

  Seeing lamplight shining dimly through the window of Lee’s room and hearing noises, a night when Rose had been led to believe she wouldn’t be there, she knocked on the door to check it out. As Lee opened up and stood back for Rose to step inside, it was immediately apparent that Lee was as drunk as a skunk.

  She held up a long, black wallet full of business cards, as if tantalising Rose with some highly classified inform
ation, and said that her business was private and personal, that she’d never give a recommendation from one place to another, that she completely protected her clients’ privacy.

  She was dressed just in a bra and panties, which struck Rose as odd, too, since they had complained before that the room was cold.

  ‘I guess it got warm or something …’ she commented. In response to which Lee whipped off her bra, threw it across the room and said, ‘Oh, what the hell!’

  ‘Well, no big deal, I have sisters,’ Rose said, a little startled.

  ‘Well, I do too,’ said Lee.

  Rose walked away, shaking her head, mystified after this curious interchange. The next day when she saw Lee, Lee acted as if nothing had happened. Who knew if she even remembered?

  Lee was alone on Thanksgiving Day which fell on Thursday 22 November. The motel owner felt rather badly about that. She considered inviting her to join her and some friends who didn’t have families in the area, but thought better of it. She really preferred to keep her distance. She didn’t want to get involved.

  Nor did the elderly gentleman who helped Rose out around the motel, although the two women in baseball caps would make an indelible impression on him. Lee stiffed him for quarters for the phone which she always promised to return and never did. Once, when he was retrieving his laundry from the line, Lee called out to him, ‘Feel my panties! See if they’re dry!’ Things like that didn’t happen every day.

  Lee was a familiar face at the gas station near the Fairview, stopping in regularly to buy her twelve-packs of Busch, her Marlboro Lights and her coffee. She often chatted to Brenda McGarry, the clerk, and spoke lovingly of Britta, telling Brenda it was Lauri’s fault that she died.

  ‘She kept saying, “The pain, the pain … and the only thing that gets rid of the pain, slams it, is the hate.” ’