Scent of Murder (15 page)

Darren didn't mind his old nickname nearly as much as he disliked Brutus being called “cute.” Brutus was a professional, working police service dog. Just because he didn't look like a killer, everyone thought he was a cuddly play toy.

Darren just wanted to prove he and Brutus could do something big, especially on this case. Maybe it was because he had some kind of inferiority complex. He was, after all, a short Asian man stuck with a Golden Retriever. He'd already bucked the system and renamed the dog. It was a long-held superstition among dog handlers that it was bad luck to change a dog's name. The superstition was always backed up when a dog with a changed name was injured in the line of duty. In reality, it couldn't be used as proof because so many dogs got hurt.

The dogs coming from Europe always had tough names like Horst or Blitz or, if the European trainer knew some English, Zeus, Smarty, or even the occasional Killer. That would've been cool, a dog named Killer. But he got a domestic dog that some redneck had named Bingo. Just like the kid's song. So Darren had pleaded with the sergeant at the time and was finally allowed to rename the dog as long as the name started with the letter
B.

Now Darren faced the much taller deputy and wished Brutus would bark or snap at him just so he could see the smug bastard jump back. Instead, Brutus wagged his tail ferociously and allowed the deputy to scratch his back while he slobbered all over the ground.

Darren refocused the deputy on the business at hand. “We gotta talk to a few guys in this neighborhood, starting with one named Arnold Ludner.” He knew this was the guy Hallett had punched and had gotten kicked out of the D-bureau because of it. There was no real need for Brutus or any other dog in this situation, but it wouldn't hurt to let him have a sniff.

So Darren drove his Tahoe two blocks west of Military Trail and turned another two blocks north with his tall buddy following him in his cruiser. He found the address and was impressed with how well the large ranch-style house was maintained. There was a series of vacant lots behind the whole block of houses.

The tall deputy could not have looked less interested in the assignment as Darren led the way to the front door and knocked firmly. After a few moments, an older woman answered the door with a look of concern.

Darren said, “I'm looking for Arnold Ludner.”

“Is something wrong?” asked the woman.

“I just need to talk to him for a few minutes, ma'am.” He saw her eyes flick to the other deputy, then down to Brutus.

She said, “Just a minute, please.” Then she shut the door before Darren could say anything.

As Darren was about to knock on the door again she opened it, holding a cordless phone in her hand. She said to the person on the other end of the call, “Yes, they are both in uniform.” Then she stuck out her hand and said, “Here.”

Darren took the phone tentatively and simply said, “Yes?”

Immediately, a professional voice said, “I am Joe Ludner. Arnold is my father, and I am his attorney of record. As his attorney, I'm telling you I don't want you to talk to him without me present.”

“He's a registered sex offender. I can talk to him anytime I want.”

“Actually, you can check his residence anytime you want. But the law does not compel him to speak to you. As his son and attorney, I will certify that he lives at the residence you're at right now. And I will say one more time that I do not want you to speak to him without me present.” The line went dead.

Darren gave the phone back to the woman, who looked apologetic. He needed to tell someone about this as soon as possible.

*   *   *

Later in the afternoon, Tim Hallett was told to check registered sexual predators in the neighborhood west of Military Trail and take over for Claire Perkins, who'd been pulled off the shift to complete the stack of paperwork related to Smarty's bite incident. It was a clean bite, and she was justified in using the dog. All she had to do was articulate the circumstances and say she had probable cause to believe the fleeing suspect had committed a felony. As it turned out, the registered sex offender she checked had hired the young man to help him around the duplex. The young man had decided to rob him and figured a sexual predator wouldn't report the crime. He was probably correct. Too bad for him, Claire had been sharp enough to look into the duplex as she approached. It was also too bad for him he couldn't run just a tiny bit faster. Now he was in the hospital ward of the county jail recovering from thirty-two stitches in his leg and lucky he didn't bleed out from the injury.

Hallett had made a routine check and cleared another suspect from the list. Now he sat in his unmarked Chevy Tahoe with both the windows down and the air on so Rocky wouldn't get too hot but they both could get some fresh air.

He had the Tahoe parked at the end of the block behind a convenience store that faced Military Trail, making a few notes and trying to decide how to make Rocky comfortable while he had dinner with the squad at a restaurant that wouldn't allow the dogs inside. It was a tradition after an incident like Claire's that they get together with Ruben Vasquez and discuss the progress of the squad and how they were all reacting to the dog bite. It was Ruben's idea, but Hallett realized it fostered closer camaraderie as well as provided him with a chance to teach them things they might not be open to hearing during the course of training.

Ruben was an odd guy who was obviously driven by goals. It wasn't a military thing. It was the way Ruben was raised, or maybe something in his DNA. He was going to make the unit a success, and nothing was going to stop him. He had said as much in training.

As Hallett wrote his notes, a woman about forty years old approached the Tahoe tentatively.

The woman said, “Excuse me, do you think you could help me?”

He turned to the woman and said, “If I can't, I can find someone who will.” That elicited a nervous smile from the woman, who looked more closely to see Hallett's uniform and make sure she was talking to a sheriff's deputy. The unmarked vehicle confused a lot of people.

“It's my daughter. I haven't heard from her since yesterday.”

“How old is she?”

“Eighteen.” There was a hitch in her voice.

Hallett relaxed slightly because at least he wasn't looking at a missing toddler. He'd learned over his career that most teenagers who disappeared had actually run away and would come back after a relatively short time. But the sheriff's office had implemented a very efficient and specific protocol for any missing person who was considered “at risk.” He knew he was going to have to call one of the people from missing persons to come out and talk to this lady but decided to get a little information first.

Hallett stepped out of the truck but kept his small notebook and pen in his hand. He looked at the attractive woman and said, “What's your daughter's name?”

The woman said, “Tina. Tina Tictin.”

 

15

Tim Hallett nursed his beer as he sat at an outdoor patio table of a restaurant not far from the sheriff's office's headquarters. It was known as a deputies' hangout, and he'd never spent any time here until Darren Mori suggested it as a convenient place to meet after work. Hallett had found he liked the relaxed atmosphere, and by sitting on the patio, he could look directly into his Tahoe to make sure Rocky was comfortable. Darren didn't say anything, but based on his glances to his own vehicle he felt the same way. Claire had to do something at the detective bureau. Hallett understood that shouldn't bother him, but he knew Fusco and worried about Claire. He didn't know why he worried about a woman capable of crushing most men and also had a dog more ferocious than a lion at her disposal. But he still worried. It was in his nature.

The sergeant and another detective had joined them. The first thing Sergeant Greene said was, “Nothing about the case for fifteen minutes.” It was a standard request when things got tense in the office.

Sharing a beer after one of the dogs had bitten someone was a ritual observed by many canine units. A K-9 bite was a big deal. It was something dogs trained for every week but rarely had to put into action. They weren't celebrating the fact that the dog committed violence; they were celebrating the fact that under pressure, and when it counted, the dog performed the way he was trained. They had the same ritual when a dog successfully tracked someone. That made Claire's absence that much more glaring.

Every dog handler was proud of his dog that chased someone down. No one wanted to admit it, but they enjoyed the thrill.

Everyone had cleaned up at the headquarters and wore casual clothes. Ruben Vasquez had come from his house and was wearing shorts. It was the most relaxed Hallett had ever seen the dog trainer. He noticed a spiderweb of white scars running down the dog trainer's muscular leg. Just another mystery he'd never have the courage to ask Ruben about.

The bar had changed its image over the years from a dark, smoky pickup place to its current incarnation of a restaurant/lounge that wasn't family oriented. Management had encouraged it to become a hangout specifically for employees of the sheriff's office. With almost three thousand of them just down the street, it was a decent base of customers to start with. Add to that the women who wanted to hook up with a cop, and all the friends and family of the employees, and the business ran almost totally on law enforcement.

Darren had been bragging about his wild single life, most of which Hallett knew to be a sham. Then Darren looked across the table and raised his beer to Hallett and said, “What are you doing tonight, Tim? You and Rocky watching
Marley and Me
again?” Everyone laughed.

Hallett said, “I think we're changing it up tonight. We might try something else.”

Darren said, “Let me guess,
Old Yeller.
Or is that too sad for Rocky?”

Once again, Hallett laughed, then looked across the table to Ruben Vasquez, who didn't see the humor in Darren's comment.

Tim said, “What's wrong, Ruben?”

Ruben ran his hand across his right eye. Finally, he said, “Nothing's wrong. But that's a movie that has affected me since I was a kid. Think how you'd react if you had to shoot your own dog. It's like Disney made a movie to terrify kids.” He picked up the napkin and blew his nose.

Sergeant Greene reached across and patted Ruben on the back. That's when Hallett realized it wasn't a joke or an act. The guy was broken up by the movie
Old Yeller.

Darren turned to the sergeant and said, “Anything new on the girl reported missing to Tim?”

“That's why I was in the office so late. We've got someone working on it, but it turns out the girl has run away a couple of times, plus, legally, she's an adult. Her mom thinks she skipped beauty school yesterday. The only troubling thing is that a convenience store worker thought he saw her get in a brown pickup truck, he thinks it was a Ford, after she tried to buy beer. He said it looked like she got in the truck voluntarily, but he wasn't paying that close attention. We should know more tomorrow.”

Hallett thought back to the pretty woman who had approached him earlier in the afternoon. He could feel her pain but also an undercurrent of doubt. Clearly the woman wasn't sure whether her daughter had run away or something more sinister had happened.

The next hour was relaxing as they ate an assortment of appetizers and had a few more beers. Hallett checked on Rocky one time and let the dog stretch his legs, then use the grass on the swale along the edge of the parking lot as a restroom. He could tell his dog was tired, and he knew he'd be headed back to the trailer in Belle Glade before too long.

Not long after he got back to the table, Sergeant Greene stood up and said, “I'm gonna get a good night's rest before what promises to be a shitty day.” She stood quickly and gave everyone a wave before she walked from the outdoor patio a few steps to her black Crown Victoria. That started the flood, and everyone but Hallett made their exit.

As he reached down to take one more bite of a chicken wing, he heard someone call his name. He turned and saw Lori Tate with a group of her friends standing near the outside bar.

She didn't hesitate to walk over to him, saying, “I can't believe they all left you alone so quickly.”

He smiled and shrugged.

Lori touched his arm and said, “You don't have to rush off, too, do you?”

Hallett couldn't keep the broad smile from spreading across his face.

*   *   *

Claire Perkins didn't mind missing the get-together that was somewhat in her honor. Well, technically it would be in Smarty's honor. She enjoyed hanging out with the other members of the Canine Assist Team and could've used a bite to eat and a few minutes to relax. But she got to see those guys all the time, and this was one of the few times she had been asked to get involved in an actual investigation. John Fusco, the lead detective on the case, needed help going through some old police reports to see if there were any links to the current investigation. It wasn't something the unit was supposed to do specifically, but since the sergeant wasn't paying overtime out of her budget she had no problem with it. Claire knew better than to say anything to Ruben Vasquez. He was specific about how the money from the federal grant should be spent. He wanted the dogs working for the money, not the dog handlers.

Worrying about politics and being covert was not something she was familiar with. Claire's mom had not been thrilled about her decision to go into police work. Her mom thought Claire's interest in biology would eventually lead her into the sciences or possibly medical school. But Claire had gotten bored while attending Florida Atlantic University and was intrigued at a job fair where a female detective from the Palm Beach Sheriff's Office told her about the career she had. It was so different from the way she was raised. Aside from disappointing her mom, Claire had no regrets about joining the sheriff's office. She'd learned a lot about people, and if she hadn't become a deputy she never would've met Smarty.