Evidence of Murder (6 page)

Linnert asked, “About how far away were you from the vehicle?”

Wilson glanced away, his brow furrowed in thought as he figured. “I’d say about one hundred to one hundred fifty feet when we first saw it.”

“Did you see or observe anything else of significance at the time?” Weir asked.

“There were two men in green T-shirts, carrying plastic bags, walking on either side of the path where that vehicle was traveling.” He added, “I’m pretty sure that the Ford drove between the two of them.”

Brad thought before continuing. “I remember very distinctly that we were in the left-hand lane of the parkway and the white car pulled directly up onto the roadway without even stopping. I couldn’t believe it. And I thought that man should have his license revoked; that is, of course, if he actually has a license. Anyway, we followed the Explorer from behind, but I didn’t take notice of the license tag.” Brad then apologized. “You know, it’s easy to think of what you should have done after it’s over, but at that time we didn’t have any reason to make note of the tag. I did see that there was a painted beige trim around the body of the vehicle, on the lower section.

“As both cars were heading westbound, we pulled alongside the Explorer, and that guy behind the wheel looked over at me and I got a good look at him.”

“Was he wearing sunglasses?” Linnert asked.

“No, and there was something about his eyes—they were kind of bulgy. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he looked troubled.”

“Describe him as best you remember. This is important, so take your time,” Weir said.

“I think that I mentioned that he was a white fellow. I could see that he was outdoors quite a lot. He had a heavy tan. I felt that his tan wasn’t the kind that a tennis player gets or one that you get on the beach. This guy looked like he got tanned working outdoors.

“His brown hair was sun bleached, too. He had a light mustache and a beard. Getting back to his hair, it struck me as being windblown back onto the top of his head.” Brad paused and recalled, “He was wearing a green shirt similar in color to the shirts the two men walking along the path were wearing, but this one looked like it had been out in the sun too long—it was bleached; it didn’t have a collar.”

“How big was this fellow?” Linnert asked.

“I’d have to take a guess, but I think I’d be safe with one hundred eighty to two hundred pounds.” He scratched his head as if to confirm his estimates and added, “He could have been two hundred ten pounds maybe. I’m not too good at guessing weight.” He laughed apologetically. “They’d never hire me to guess weights at a carnival.”

“You were with your group, your father and who else?”

“David Lewis was driving and my father, Gary Wilson, was riding up front in the passenger seat. Dave Gust was sitting in the left rear passenger seat and I had the right rear passenger seat, the prime seat to see the guy. In my position I had a real opportunity to get a good look at him.”

Brad looked at the detectives and said, “After the news about Carla’s body being found out there, it seemed logical to me that him coming out of that wooded section where Carla was found—and driving at such a crazy speed—might be something linked to her.

“I couldn’t get that guy out of my thoughts. I just had to do something, especially after seeing that inaccurate composite on television. So I called
Crime Line.”

Brad told the detectives that he insisted to the
Crime Line
person that the drawing presented on TV gave the subject a Hispanic appearance. “And the man I saw at close hand sure as hell was not Hispanic. In fact, outside of his hair, he looked like an average-looking American guy who you would pass on the street.

“His head was drawn too wide, the hair too dark, and when I saw him, he was not wearing any glasses.” He also noted that the man had both a mustache and a beard and he felt that his face was more elongated, with a higher forehead.

“He made a hell of an impression on you,” John Linnert commented.

“I’ll tell you this, that man’s face is engraved in my mind. I’ll never forget it.”

When the new drawing was completed by Detective Steve Fusco, it was distributed to the newspapers and television stations.

On Friday, June 13, Detective Weir received a call from the offices of Dr. Stanley Asensio, a highly regarded forensic odontologist.

Weir waved at his partner and asked, “How superstitious are you, John? Today is Friday the thirteenth.”

“Not very. What’s up?”

“They want us at Dr. Asensio’s office. He’s doing the comparison work on our body’s teeth with Carla Larson’s dental records. Maybe he can make an official ID.”

“Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

During the drive to the dentist’s office, Weir projected, “I don’t think that we’re in for any surprises. From everything that we know, this ID is simply a formality.”

In his private office Dr. Asensio welcomed the two detectives. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I know you’ve been anxious to hear my findings,” he greeted. “I have the identity of the body discovered at Disney World.”

“That’s good news. What did you come up with?” Weir asked.

“Let me show you.” The doctor pointed to a stand on which were displayed several X rays of the dental makeup of the dead subject. The doctor directed their attention to the positive similarities of the structures compared with Carla Larson’s dental records, then stated, “These dental records of Carla Larson positively match those of the deceased woman. She is definitely Carla Larson.”

It was what the detectives expected. Neither said anything. Both were thinking of Jim Larson and they felt strong sympathy for him.

Dr. Asensio provided the detectives with an official document of identification.

The detectives thanked him for his help and silently drove back to their headquarters. They were relieved to have the positive identification that it was Carla Ann Larson, but saddened by the reality of that knowledge.

 

 

In the quiet atmosphere of Orlando’s College Park United Methodist Church, more than two hundred relatives, friends and fellow workers of Carla Ann Larson’s sat somberly on Monday, June 16, gathered in a memorial service for her.

Mourners wept freely as the church’s pastor remembered Carla as a “precious jewel.” Jim Larson sat stoically with his one-year-old daughter on his knee. His stepmother, Ada, and Carla’s parents, Phyllis and Mert Thomas, sat beside him during the solemn services presented to the grieving gathering.

The pastor intoned, “There is nothing you can say about what happened to her. There is nothing we can do but pray and hope.”

Following the formal service, in memory of Carla, friends planted a palm tree next to a huge wooden cross mounted in the yard behind the church. They laid white roses at the base of the graceful tree.

At the conclusion a throng of well-wishers hugged Jim and the members of the family and expressed their sympathy.

Friends established a trust fund for Jessica at a local bank, and Jim Larson asked that donations be made in lieu of flowers: “Carla left me a beautiful gift. I’ll try to take the best care of raising her as I can. I hope she grows up smart like her mother.”

There was a second memorial service the following day at the Trinity United Methodist Church in Lighthouse Point, near Fort Lauderdale, in the part of Florida where Jim and Carla met and previously lived.

Because Jessica was so young that she would recall very little about her mother, mourners filled notebooks to record memories of Carla for Jessica when she is older.

Two of Carla’s close friends eulogized her during the hourlong ceremony. One of them, a friend since she and Carla were seven years old, read from a card that Carla sent her just two weeks ago. The card’s theme was the joy of lifelong friendship.

 

 

In their continuing investigation Detectives Cameron Weir and John Linnert held regular strategy meetings with several of their fellow officers but also met alone regularly. In these meetings, with no others present, the two lead investigators discussed their progress and their plans, and they exchanged ideas, thoughts and evaluations.

“I don’t know,” Weir said dejectedly. “We sure seem to be going around in circles. Nothing breaking through, nothing leading us anywhere.”

Linnert, equally distressed, agreed. “You know, Cam, we’ve talked to all those fellows who saw that white Ford Explorer coming out of the woods and racing away. But we questioned them in groups, and I think there was too much unanimity. I mean, they were just too eager to agree with each other.”

“What are you driving at, John?”

“Just this. I think it might be productive if we talked to these guys individually. You know, now that they’ve had more time to think about it, they might very well remember little things that didn’t seem important at the time. Sometimes those little bits can yield something substantive.”

“It’s worth a try. We haven’t latched on to anything else yet,” Weir agreed. “You talk to one, I’ll talk to one and we can go through that entire group—ten or twelve.” He smiled. “Maybe one of them can come through.”

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.