Evidence of Murder (7 page)

On Friday morning, June 27, when the ringing telephone on his desk took his attention, Cam Weir pushed away the stack of papers he was working on.
Who the hell is calling this early in the morning?
he wondered.

“Detective Weir, this is Deputy Todd Howard of the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department.”

“Good morning, Deputy Howard, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I think it’s more what I can do for you. We’ve got something over here in Cocoa Beach that we think will interest you.”

Weir’s curiosity spiked. “What’s that?”

“We have a vehicle that’s been torched beyond recognition—well, almost beyond recognition.”

“Why call me about it?”

“We think it’s a Ford Explorer.” The phone went silent.

Lightning flashed inside Weir’s head.
Ford Explorer? Can it be? It must be, why else would he call?

“Are you there, Detective Weir?” Howard asked after a long silence.

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry. What about that vehicle?”

“We have reason to believe that this burned vehicle is a Ford Explorer, and you have an APB out looking for one.”

“Yes, we do. Why do you think that’s the vehicle we’re seeking?” Weir was cautious but hoped that there would be a tie-in with the Larson vehicle.

“Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure, but it is possible. It’s so badly burned that the usual markings and points of identification have been destroyed by the fire.”

Here come the doubts,
Weir thought.
But don’t close the door. This could be the break we’ve been looking for.

“When did this happen?” Weir asked.

“Late last night, after midnight,” Howard answered. He hesitated, then pointedly suggested, “We think you should come over and examine these remains yourself. You might see some leads here that we’re not familiar with.” But after studying the burned automobile, Todd Howard had a strong conviction that this was the vehicle sought by the OCSD, and he didn’t want them to miss out on this discovery.

Detective Weir absorbed this unexpected development. Thoughts ran through his mind about how the Larson vehicle could have wound up in that county and why it was set on fire. They had followed up so many leads on the Explorer; each had sounded promising but led to nothing. Yet the Brevard deputy seemed so sure. Could this finally be the break they needed?

Quickly he assured the deputy, “My partner and I will get over there without delay.”

“Thank you, Detective Weir. We’ll be waiting for you. And I think that you will find your trip over here productive.”

“I sincerely hope so, Deputy Howard. See you soon.”

Immediately Weir called John Linnert. “Speed it up, John, we’re off to Brevard.”

Sleepily Linnert demanded, “What’s so important that we have to rush over there at this hour? I haven’t had my breakfast, not even a cup of coffee.”

“Well, let me tell you,” Weir retorted. “I got a call out of the blue from a deputy with the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department. They have a torched vehicle over there and he sounded pretty damn convinced that it could be Carla Larson’s Ford Explorer.”

“I’ll be with you in ten minutes,” Linnert replied, his spirits soaring.

Weir drove and John Linnert sat in the passenger seat as the two detectives sped off on the approximately sixty-mile journey to the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department on the east coast of the state. He stared at the passing scenery, deep in thought.

As he drove along the wide modern highway, Weir stared at the wide expanse of land, seeing the still undeveloped beautiful countryside, heavily wooded on either side of the roadway.

“You know, John,” he began, reminiscing, “you always hear about change, especially here in central Florida, how this used to be and how that was.”

“Yeah, so? Were you thinking of retiring and moving over here someday?” Linnert joked.

“No, I was just thinking about Cocoa Beach and what it is today compared to what it used to be. I’ve heard old-timers, longtime residents of the area, talking about how some forty or fifty years ago there were only a few cottages along the oceanfront there, pretty primitive, where occasionally people would come for a weekend, possibly for fishing or just to get away. But it wasn’t any great vacation spot. There wasn’t anything over there, no restaurants, no motels, no nice buildings, just some bait shacks and small country grocery stores. Most of all, the drinking water was abominable. It was eighty percent sulphur and smelled like rotten eggs. It was undrinkable. People had to use bottled water, even to make coffee.”

“Well, they’ve come a long way, baby,” Linnert quipped.

Weir mused, “The land back then was, to coin a phrase, dirt cheap. I mean big plots sold for as little as a dollar an acre. Imagine that. We all could have been rich as Rockefellers if we had just put a little money into land and let it sit.”

“Hindsight is great. Who knew that space program would come along and change this entire part of the state?”

“Ain’t that the truth? But I wonder, what did they do about that stinky water?”

As they approached the town of Cocoa, traffic became heavier, and when they crossed the bridge over the Banana River and neared Cocoa Beach, the area became congested. What had been a tiny coastal hamlet was now crowded with motels, restaurants, apartments and homes. With the advent of the space program and NASA coming to Cape Kennedy, barren land, which sellers couldn’t give away, suddenly sold at premium prices. From Titusville and Cape Canaveral, south to Patrick Air Force Base, growth was rampant.

Linnert finally broached what was foremost in their minds. “You know, Cam, if that burned vehicle is really Carla Larson’s Explorer, the guy must have driven it over to Brevard after he killed her. It’s quite possible that he lives over there somewhere. Maybe Cocoa, Cocoa Beach, or even Melbourne, somewhere in the vicinity. He certainly had a reason for driving over there.”

“You’re right, John. If the car is actually the Larson Explorer, we have a good lead. Maybe we can track the guy down and find out why he came over to this county. And then we need to find out why the hell he torched the vehicle.”

“Yeah, why do you suppose he did that?” Linnert asked.

“Beats me. But he must have had a reason. It still comes back to whether this is the Larson vehicle.”

“Well, you said Deputy Howard and the others were pretty confident that the burned vehicle matched our APB.”

“He sure was, and I hope they’re right,” Weir replied.

The detectives sat silent, each absorbed with his own thoughts and projections.

Arriving at the BCSD, the detectives met Deputy Todd Howard. “Glad you fellows could make it,” he greeted.

He ushered the detectives into a conference room and offered coffee or cold drinks. The Orlando lawmen refused, impatient to get on with their mission. Howard introduced them to several of the Brevard officers, including Bruce Barnett. “He’s with the homicide department. He’ll update you on what we have.”

Barnett shook hands with the Orange County detectives and offered, “Y’all can drive out with Todd and me to the location of the burned vehicle.”

“That’s fine,” Weir agreed.

Traveling along Route A1A, with Weir sitting in front with Bruce Barnett, the Brevard detective stated, “You guys really got yourselves a big-time case out at Disney World.”

“I guess that’s right. It sure looks that way,” Weir responded, “but we haven’t yet figured out where it’s going.” He turned slightly to face Barnett and continued. “Hearing from Todd was certainly unexpected. And I’d like to add, most welcome. That is, if this is the Larson vehicle.”

“I think you may be pleasantly surprised,” he answered with a smile.

Arriving at their destination, Barnett pulled off the main highway and drove into a secluded setting, hidden away from the general view of the nearby highway and its heavy flowing traffic.

The remains of the vehicle were set deep into a surround of wild brush and junglelike trees and native growth.

“He sure kept this project out of view,” Detective Linnert commented at the sight of the destroyed SUV. It was amazing that the secluded spot where the vehicle remained, just an incredibly short distance from the major highway A1A on the east, was almost completely secreted.

Facing the charred automobile, the detective team stared in amazed silence. The once-attractive gleaming white SUV was now burned beyond belief. Its fine white finish was a wild smear of charcoal, ash yellow, burned brown with touches of unexplained red and blue and a smatter of green, all mixed together.

The windows of the automobile were blasted out and the weight of the entire remains settled into the burned globs that were once tires. The raised hood at the front end displayed the burned engine remains. Nothing in this effort to destroy was left to chance. The interior of the vehicle was soaked thoroughly with a burning agent, probably gasoline, and ignited to ensure the automobile’s total destruction.

After minutes of careful study, Weir turned to Deputy Howard and said, “I never saw anything burned this bad.”

“I can tell you, Detective,” Howard said, “this vehicle consumed gallons of gasoline and never moved an inch. It was soaked thoroughly to make sure that it burned beyond recognition. The flames were so enormous that both the fire department and the sheriff’s department were called out. There’s never been anything like it in this area. Those flames towering into that black night sky were beyond belief.”

“Whoever did this had to be a real firebug,” Linnert said.

Cam Weir hoped that this might be Carla’s vehicle, but he forced himself to remain wary. He asked, “Why do you think that this is Carla Larson’s Explorer?”

Howard shrugged his shoulders and replied flatly, “It just fits.”

The two Orange County detectives listened attentively as Deputy Todd Howard continued. “What we were able to check indicated similarities to the Larson vehicle in your APB. This was a white Ford Explorer.” He pointed to the raised hood. “You listed a V-6 engine in your bulletin, which is what this is. Now we’ll have to wait for verification of what kind of tires they were. There’s only that little bit left on the underside of the wheels, and that’s only because that part sank into the sand, so they weren’t totally destroyed. We put this all together with the time element of the crime situation, and we had a strong indication that this is your white Ford Explorer.”

Deputy Howard paused, then continued. “It seems pretty clear that whoever flamed this car wanted it completely destroyed. And they damn near made it totally ashes. That’s why the vehicle ID numbers are burned to invisibility.”

Linnert stated, “Whoever did this saw to it that everything burned, interior, exterior, with nothing left inside or out that might be used as evidence.”

“That, of course, was the intent of the person who set it,” Barnett agreed. “Let me show you how the perpetrator was very careful in the selection of this location.”

He waved his arm like a traffic cop, pointing out how the Ford was cunningly hidden away from the view of passing cars and stuck into a large section of high-growing wild brush and trees. To the north of the vehicle, there was a large section of growth, eight to ten feet in height, that easily concealed the vehicle from view. To the south and east, there was a smaller stand of brush that partially concealed the vehicle from that side.

Linnert marveled, “Who would have believed this? This car is just feet from the main highway and yet it’s hidden and protected.”

Weir noted, “It had to be someone who was familiar with the location, not someone who just stumbled onto it by accident. I think we’d better get State Fire Marshal Charlie LaCorte down here to look at this,” he decided. After a moment he added, “We also need to call our department’s forensic analyst, Kristen Hayes.”

After they made the calls, while they awaited the specialists, the Orange County detectives discussed the incident with the Brevard officers.

“How did you find out about the fire?” Weir asked.

Barnett answered, “We got a call about it. When we got out here, there were two young guys who told us that they were driving by when they spotted something burning with lots of thick smoke. They pulled over to see what it was. When they saw that it was a real fire, they called in the report on their cell phone.”

“Could they tell you anything else?” Linnert asked.

“According to what they told me, they saw a strange guy standing quite a distance from the blazing car. His back was toward them. They tried to talk to him but he was totally engrossed watching the fire.” Barnett hesitated, trying to recall details of what the two told him. “They thought that there was something weird about the guy. They didn’t know what, couldn’t put their finger on anything, but they said the way that he acted was strange. It didn’t seem natural to them. Here there’s one hell of a fire, something that you hardly ever see, so you’d expect a person right on the spot to say something about what’s going on. Something like ‘Isn’t this the worst thing you ever saw?’ or ‘Did you ever see such a fire as this?’ but this guy just stood there, quiet as an Egyptian mummy, and said absolutely nothing.”

“Do you suppose,” Linnert asked, “that he was the guy who set the fire and was just making sure that everything burned? If, in fact, he was the guy responsible, he certainly had good reason not to be talking about it.”

“You’ve got something there, John,” Barnett agreed. “Anyhow, they said that he just turned and walked away.”

“Did they give you any idea where he might have gone?” Weir inquired.

“No, not really. The only thing that they could say was that when he left, he just headed south on foot.”

“Could they describe him?” Linnert asked.

“Oh, yes. One said he was six feet tall, about two hundred pounds but not muscular, said he was between twenty-five and forty years old and not wearing a shirt. The other said he estimated his age between twenty-seven and thirty-four years, about five-ten to six feet tall, weighing one hundred sixty to seventy pounds, and had brown or black hair. So the two reports sort of conflict.”