by A. E. Howe
“Come in. Though I don’t know what else I can tell you,” she said, ushering us inside. A bright-eyed young girl sitting on the sofa looked up from the book that she was reading. “Andi, take your book and go to your bedroom.”
“But…” the girl said, though she was already getting up off the couch.
“No buts. Go on.”
The girl rolled her eyes at her mom and headed down a hallway.
Once her daughter had closed her bedroom door, Karen turned back to us. “Have a seat.” She indicated the couch.
“Well, now, what can I do for you?” Her eyes were still bright and her smile firmly in place.
“When Lt. Chavez and I were here on Friday, we got the impression that you weren’t telling us everything you knew,” I said bluntly.
Her smile faltered just a bit. “I don’t know what gave you that impression.”
“I think it was the fact that you were lying.” I slammed the ball back into her court.
Karen looked at Cara, which I thought was odd. “No. I… Why would I lie?” she stuttered.
It was always nice to question someone who wasn’t good at lying. “That’s what I’m asking you. Why did you lie to us?”
Again she darted a glance at Cara before answering my question. “But I… didn’t,” she said lamely.
I’m a little slow, but I finally realized that if she was going to tell me the truth it wouldn’t be in front of Cara.
“Let me be clear. You know that I’m from up near Tallahassee. I don’t care about anything that’s happening here except the murder. We can speak privately if you want, and everything that doesn’t directly relate to the murder can be off the record,” I said. I could see that she was thinking about it. “Permanently off the record.”
Karen looked at Cara again, so I asked, “Cara, would you mind waiting outside?”
I could see that Cara’s curiosity meter was going off the scale, but she got up and reluctantly left the house.
Karen looked close to crying. She turned away and stared out the window.
“You can trust me,” I said and immediately thought it was probably the worst thing to say. But what else could I offer her? “What didn’t you tell us last time?” I asked as compassionately as I could.
“You’ll think… I guess it doesn’t really matter. Okay. I knew Doug better than I said before,” she said, turning to face me, then looking quickly at the floor.
“How much better?” I asked, having some idea where this was going.
“A lot. Well, I didn’t really know him. I mean, I had sex with him.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Voluntarily. Makes it sound like I was working for the Salvation Army. Willingly, ardently, and with abandon, yes. He gave me a good once over the first time I went to his place, and one thing led to another. So sue me. I like to have sex. A lot. And he was pretty good in a Looking for Mr. Goodbar sort of way.”
“Mr. Goodbar?”
“The movie? Guess you’re too young. Woman goes looking for a wild time with men who are rough. Doug liked it rough and sometimes I do too. It was fun, a little naughty having sex with a guy you hardly know.”
She was looking at me again, waiting for judgment. She’d be waiting for a long time. From a law enforcement point of view, people having fun, willing sex is a good thing. Keeps them happy and off the streets.
“And you didn’t tell us this the first time…?”
“I know how some of the women feel about me. If they heard about this, it just wouldn’t… It wouldn’t help me any.”
“How many times?”
“Three. The first time we met and then he came over a couple times after that.”
“He initiated the encounters?”
She sighed, clearly embarrassed to be talking about it. “The first time it was mutual. We both saw the other wanted it and… Each time after that he seemed less interested. Finally…” She didn’t go on.
“Finally what?”
“I went over there and tried to interest him one night. He seemed irritated that I came over and pretty much threw me out,” she said, fighting through the humiliation of having to admit that in the end her advances were rejected.
“When was the last time?”
“The last time we actually… Or the time he didn’t want to?”
“The time you went to him.”
“The early part of October. I don’t remember exactly what day.”
I decided that there was no way to make her feel better about having to admit her most intimate desires to a stranger, so getting out the door as soon as possible seemed the best course of action. I asked a couple more questions about the man and his behavior, but she didn’t have anything else of note to tell me. I assured her that I’d keep this all quiet unless it somehow figured into the murder investigation.
Back in the van, I could tell that Cara wanted to ask me about Karen and I was impressed that she didn’t. We agreed to move on to the new interviews. This was a true fishing expedition.
No one was home at the next house we tried, but we got lucky at the third. Cara introduced me to Milly and Cathy, two semi-retired college professors. Milly had taught English literature for thirty-five years and Cathy had been a civil engineer for twenty years before taking a teaching position. Both were dressed in sensible, comfortable Sunday lounging clothes.
“We heard about all that drama,” Milly said, clearly fascinated and repelled at the same time. “Murder most foul.” I pegged her for the type of person who slowed down and looked when passing an accident on the highway.
“It’s not something to be made light of,” Cathy said. “People have died.”
“I knoooooow that. But life is about death, isn’t it?” Milly said as though she was posing the question to class of sophomores.
“I don’t think he’s here for a philosophy lesson.”
“Of course not, though I don’t know what he thinks he can learn from us.”
“I just want to ask some questions. It’s best if you don’t think about what I’m looking for. Just answer the questions the best you can.”
“If we’re trying to figure out what you want, that might skew our answers?” Cathy asked.
“Exactly. First, did you all know Timberlane?”
“I met him several times,” Milly said. “Very odd duck. The first time he gave me the once over, but I guess he didn’t like what he saw. After that it was all business.”
“Business?”
“When he had a question or needed something. They lived right through there.” She pointed out a window. “This time of year with the leaves off the oaks, you can see the lights of the trailers at night. Cathy had more to do with him than I did.”
I turned and looked at Cathy expectantly.
“With my experience in civil engineering, I get asked by the board to evaluate some of the little projects around here. Drainage issues, road problems, that sort of thing. Since Doug worked odd jobs for the co-op, we worked together a couple times.”
“Anything odd happen when you were working with him?”
“Odd?” she asked herself. “Not really.”
“Did he seem fixated on any women in the co-op?”
“He was a man. He didn’t act much different than most of the guys I’ve seen on construction sites. He may have eyeballed someone, but honestly I don’t remember. I’ve pretty much learned to ignore men’s boorish behavior.”
“What about Gibson? Did you all know him very well?”
“I met him several times. Not as creepy as Timberlane. I saw him at community dinners and he seemed just like some of the other damaged people we sometimes get staying here,” Milly said.
“Damaged people?”
“Folks who have been abused in one way or another. People who ran away from abuse when they were young and are still trying to recover. It usually takes them time to trust. And their social skills aren’t as practiced as people who have had a loving and nurturing upbringing.�
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“He grew some weed and used that to meet folks here. I think that most people here got along with Tommy, more so than Doug,” Cathy allowed.
I held out my phone with a picture of Billy Good. “What about this man? Did either of you ever see him around here?”
They both gave it a good hard look. Milly shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Cathy nodded. “I did. It was strange now that I think about it. I got home one day after working with Doug on a drainage problem.” She looked beyond me, clearly replaying the events in her mind. “When I was cleaning out the back of my truck I noticed that he’d left his tool belt there. I was kind of surprised that he hadn’t called me since I’d left him at work about lunch time. I decided I’d walk it over to the trailers. There’s a rough path that leads from the side of our place to the backyard of theirs. I walked through and saw Tommy, Doug and that fella,” Cathy pointed to my phone, “standing around an old steel barrel. A fire was burning in the barrel, which was odd in and of itself since it was a warm day in October. You aren’t allowed to burn household trash, but the odor coming from the fire in the barrel wasn’t yard trash or wood. It was thick black smoke with a synthetic odor.”
“What did they do when they saw you?”
“They looked at each other like guilty kids. Well, Tommy and that guy did. Doug stared at me like he was wondering what he should do or, maybe, could do, while the other guys looked at him.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I held up his tool belt and told him I’d found it in the back of my truck. Doug said thanks and came over rather quickly and took it from me. Which surprised me a bit, since normally he was the type of arrogant guy who’d make me carry it over to him. But he seemed like he didn’t want me to get a closer look at the fire barrel.”
“Anything else?”
Cathy thought some more. “There was something hanging out of the barrel. A piece of cloth. The tail of a shirt, maybe? That’s all I remember. After he took his belt, I turned around and came home.”
“Did you ever see the third guy again?”
“No. That was the first and last time.”
“Could you pinpoint when you saw them with the fire?”
“Sure, I keep a record of all the repairs we do. I should be able to go back and check my records.”
“Believe me, she is meticulous,” Milly laughed. Cathy nudged her good-naturedly and got up.
She returned a few minutes later. “October sixteenth.”
We talked a bit more then Cara and I excused ourselves. Outside I said, “I want to go back to Mr. Riggs and ask a few more questions.”
Our return to the oldest hippy in Florida gave us only a little more information. He was pretty sure that he could put the date when he saw the three men together sometime in the middle of October. Next I called Reed Holly, and he was able to give me a date in early October for their troubles with Timberlane.
I looked at my watch and saw it was nearly noon. “Let’s head back to your folks. We shouldn’t leave them with a hungry Mauser,” I told Cara, which got a chuckle out of her.
“It was probably a great idea leaving Mauser with them. They needed something to take their minds off of all the crap that’s been going on.”
We enjoyed lunch with Anna and Henry. She’d made several vegetarian Tex-Mex dishes that were much better than they sounded. I made a point of not talking about work while we were eating and everyone seemed to be on board with that, but by the time we were eating homemade ice cream with muscadine sauce, Henry couldn’t restrain himself.
“Have you found out anything?”
I looked around the table to see if I should go into detail and Cara gave me a nod, while her mother smiled and seemed interested.
“Maybe. I think around the fifteenth of October, Timberlane was working himself up to doing… something.”
“Something?” Henry asked.
I was trying to be delicate, but that was silly considering everything that had happened. “I think he was a rapist at the least. If you hadn’t caught him when you did, he would have done God knows what to Ellie Zacapa. Serial rapists and murderers often have cycles. Like the moon, but they can be over any length of time. It might be months or years, and often the cycle’s time frame can change depending on what stressors the person is under.”
“So they become more and more aggressive and dangerous as they reach their peak?” Cara asked.
“Exactly. And often after they’ve killed or raped, they’ll go into a period of low activity. They might feel ashamed of their behavior, or at least feel like the pressure of the psychosis has been relieved for a time.” I looked at Anna to make sure we weren’t upsetting her. She met my eyes and seemed to read my thoughts.
“I can handle it. Maybe I haven’t reacted very well,” she reached out and took Henry’s hand, “but this has been a shock. I know there is evil in the world. I’ve spent most of my life focusing on the good. I think evil is more like a disease than it is something people choose.”
“I don’t think that’s how our killer sees it. Evil or not, Timberlane had rights. The person we’re hunting has crossed a very distinct line. And if he’s hunting you,” I nodded toward Henry, “then he’s gone from being a vigilante to a cold-blooded murderer.”
“I wonder,” Henry said very solemnly. “Maybe I am guilty. If Ellie had been harmed, I would have had to bear some of the responsibility for it.”
“I don’t see that,” Cara said forcefully.
“I made the choice to let Timberlane live here. That’s on me. Clearly I didn’t do a good enough job checking him out. I got lazy.”
“Henry, you’re a good man. You can’t distrust everyone who comes to our door,” Anna comforted him.
I took a deep breath. There was information I still couldn’t give them. I’d walked very close to the edge as it was. But I felt like a creep sitting there knowing how much better Henry would feel if he knew about Tyler’s fake ID.
At one-thirty I decided to call Chavez, figuring he should be done with church by then, if he went. I was interested in what the preliminary reports on the Good killing said, plus I wanted to go over some of the other reports and records. Since I wasn’t an Alachua County deputy, I couldn’t exactly walk into the sheriff’s office and start asking for stuff.
Chavez picked up on the second ring. “Larry, how are you feeling?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
“I’m hanging in there. I’ve been re-interviewing some of the witnesses. I didn’t want to bother you on Sunday morning, but I need to get as much done as possible while I’m in town.” I thought giving him the hope of getting rid of me some day might make my interference more tolerable.
“I understand. But you ought to rest. You really should have gone to the hospital last night.”
“I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve had a sprain. And it’s not like they could have done much for it. Really, I’m feeling better already.”
It was a crappy lie, but Chavez let it go. “Did you find out anything from the witnesses?”
“I’ve got an idea that I’d like to pursue.”
“Care to share it with me?”
“I’d like to see some of the reports and some of your department’s records. I know it’s Sunday…”
“My wife has given up on me. I’ll meet you at the station in forty-five minutes,” he said and hung up.
I looked over at Cara. “Hey, Chauffeur. Want to drive me to the sheriff’s office?” She rolled her eyes and gave me a little smile that made some of the pain go away.
Chapter Twenty
Cara parked at the sheriff’s office and waited in the van while I made my slow way up to the door. The duty officer paged Chavez, then I gave him a brief rundown of what I’d learned that morning.
“You’re thinking something happened around October fifteenth that led to all of the murders?” He only sounded a little skeptical.
“I think he was reaching a f
ever pitch, and the events that people have described seem to indicate that was the case. Whatever he did, or they did, because I think the other two were involved in it, led to a revenge killing spree.”
“Perhaps.” He seemed to think about it. “That’s not far off of our original theory, that Henry was appalled by Tyler’s behavior toward Ellie and things escalated out of control from there.” He held up his hand. “I realize that theory is outdated. Especially with the most recent killing, which Henry could not have been involved in.”
“I want to look at the police reports and, maybe more importantly, your 911 call log to see if there is anything that jumps out.”
“There are no reports from any of the houses in the co-op for the last six months. We ran all of the addresses before we did interviews so we could give the officers doing the interviews a heads-up. Nothing. And 911 calls on landlines are immediately linked to an address. So what you’d be looking at are just 911 calls from cell phones where the caller didn’t leave a name or address.”
I hadn’t thought it all the way through, but Chavez had narrowed down the search very nicely. I often felt humbled when in the presence of a really good investigator.
I sat down with the list of cell phone calls. There were more than you would think. In the fourteen days surrounding October fifteenth there were forty cell phone hang-ups to the sheriff’s office. They represented three different carriers, each of which would have to be presented with a request for information through formal channels. Of course, they could refuse and a warrant would be necessary. I didn’t really want to wait weeks. I looked at the list. I could simply call all the numbers. It might work. The 911 operator would have done that at the time if the person had just hung up, but most of them were listed as misdialed calls. Only five were actual hang-ups.
“I’m going to call the hang-ups,” I stated flatly. Chavez shrugged as if to say, Knock yourself out.
I took the sheet and dialed each number. Three didn’t answer and their voicemails weren’t set up. They were probably pay-as-you-go phones that someone had thrown away. The other two were answered by people who swore they didn’t know who had called the sheriff’s office. Both of them were willing to tell me who they were and where they lived. After they had done that, I went on to tell them not to give out their personal information to someone who calls up out of the blue and claims to be from the sheriff’s office. My PSA for the day.