Scent of Murder (12 page)

In the case that Hallett had against Ludner, when he was in the detective bureau, it had not been so clear. The case also pointed out how a predator like Ludner evolved, always wanting more stimulation. Two young girls had been molested a couple of months apart in an area west of the town of Lake Worth. They had both been from immigrant families, and Hallett had a hard time gaining full cooperation from the parents. That wasn't unusual. There was often a well-deserved distrust of the police among people from some of the Caribbean islands and Central American countries.

The first girl had been picked up and released an hour later. She was dazed and provided very little useful information. The second girl said her attacker was a heavy white man. She clung to her mother and also sparked something in Hallett. He couldn't let this happen again. He became obsessed and lost track of time and shifts.

Finally he caught a break and focused on Arnold Ludner.

Ludner, a money manager, led a somewhat normal life with a wife at home and three grown sons. Two sons were mixed up in the ubiquitous Florida drug trade, and the other was a successful attorney. The detectives made jokes about how the lawyer had been kept busy by just his own family.

Hallett had put together a number of clues that pointed directly at Ludner. The first attack provided little informations, and the investigation went nowhere. After the second attack, Hallett learned Ludner had been given a speeding ticket a block away from the spot where the second girl had been molested. The ticket was two days before the crime but it pointed to a suspect who carefully followed victims prior to abducting them. These were not impulsive acts. Someone had also caught two digits of his license plate and a description of his car speeding away from where he had grabbed the eleven-year-old. Hallett had searched the state motor vehicle records to come up with a list of forty possible suspects who had similar cars and the same two digits of the license plate. Then he cross-referenced that and found the speeding ticket from the area where the second girl had been taken. That's when Hallett developed tunnel vision and focused all of his energy on Arnold Ludner.

When a third girl disappeared, he didn't hesitate to pick up Ludner. From the moment he had the man in cuffs, he had no doubt this was a predator.

At the time, the concern was for the missing girl. She was twelve years old and had been gone six hours when Hallett arrested Ludner. He had no time to waste and immediately started pressuring Ludner, who refused to talk. All Hallett could think about was Josh and how he would feel if someone took his boy from him. He lost it and threatened Ludner. It had no effect until, without conscious thought, Hallett punched him in the face. Not a gentle tap or slap to get his attention, but a full-on punch that knocked the smirking child molester off his feet and across the hood of Hallett's car and onto the asphalt parking lot outside the sheriff's office headquarters.

Hallett hated to admit it, but he was prepared to go much further when Ludner told him exactly where the girl was. Deputies found the girl cowering in woods very close to her house, too terrified to move or seek help. There was no telling what would've happened to her if someone hadn't found her.

Hallett often thought about that day, but if he were to be honest with anyone who asked, he had no regrets whatsoever.

*   *   *

At the moment, Hallett was sharing a basket of muffins with his mother as they sat in front of a bagel place on Clematis Street, watching Josh play in a fountain while Rocky stood like a statue, keeping watch over the giggling four-year-old boy. Even a silent Belgian Malinois was enough to scare the occasional pedestrian to the other side of the street.

Hallett's mother, Jane, said, “It's creepy how he stands there so still and lets Josh jump all over him.”

“My buddy Darren says he's like the good Terminator sent to protect Josh at all costs.”

“I think Darren is an idiot. When are you going to move back into the city where you're around a better class of people?”

“Belle Glade has some advantages.”

“Like what, you're always the smartest person in the room?”

“C'mon, Mom, that's not fair and you know it. The only difference between Belle Glade and West Palm Beach is the average income.”

“And average IQ.”

“I'm starting to set down roots out there. I've got a nice place to live that's free and a new hobby of raising every possible breed of animal.”

His mother flashed her blue eyes the way she had since he was a child; it was a way to get his attention. It worked on his brother, too, but it always scared his sister away. Jane Hallett said, “I just wish I got to see Josh more. I don't get to see any of my grandchildren as much as I'd like.” It was one of the few arguments she could make that was valid. He'd been over it with her many times.

His mother said, “I think one of the reasons you don't want to move back is that you don't want me meeting your girlfriends. Trust me, after Crystal, I won't ever object to another girlfriend.”

Hallett let out a laugh. “It really has more to do with me not wanting to meet your boyfriends.” He'd met several already. Hallett recognized that his mother, at fifty-three but telling people she was forty-five, was still very attractive, with blue eyes and short brown hair. She worked out most days and watched what she ate. But he couldn't bring himself to think of his mother as anything other than the only woman who loved him no matter what.

Jane blushed slightly and said, “A woman has needs.”

“Which her son doesn't want to hear about. Ever.”

“Good thing your brother doesn't feel that way.”

“Why, otherwise he might have to move out on his own? Good God, what a tragedy that a twenty-five-year-old college graduate might consider paying his own bills.”

His mother said, “Don't pick on Bobby. He's going to do great things.”

“Like use up the world supply of marijuana?”

“Let's change the subject.”

“Sounds great, what would you like to talk about?”

She said, “Any chance you could be a detective again?”

He rolled his eyes. “I'd rather talk about Bobby.”

She just kept that stare on him. “Any chance?”

“Not any time soon. Besides, I still have a lot to learn about being a good dog handler. The sheriff's office doesn't want the baggage of some of my past actions weighing down investigations.”

His mother just nodded as if he'd been the victim of a conspiracy. He'd admitted to her that the allegations against him were true, but she never wanted to believe her son could do anything wrong.

A man walking a Chihuahua on a pink rhinestone-studded leash let the dog sneak up and sniff Rocky. Even though Rocky didn't move or acknowledge the tiny, annoying Chihuahua, Hallett called out,
“Eenvoudig.”

His mother said, “What's that mean?”

“‘Easy.' Just keeps him calm in case he was thinking about having a snack.”

“Why do you speak German to him?”

“It's Dutch. And it doesn't matter what language I teach him the commands in as long as most mopes on the street don't understand. Plus, when they hear the guttural commands it tends to scare people.”

“Does he know any English?”

Hallett let a smile slip across his lips.

“What's so funny?”

“I did teach him the word ‘sit' means to bark and act aggressively. It tends to freak out the people that walk up and think they can control him. It's also good for a laugh.”

“Does he understand anything in English that's not a sick joke?”

“He must, because he loves to watch
Marley and Me
and listens when I read Josh
Clifford the Big Red Dog.
It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen.”

His mother said, “Are you working on anything interesting now?”

“Yesterday my entire squad was assigned to help on a kidnapping investigation.”

“Are the dogs a big help in something like that?”

Hallett thought about it for a minute and said, “I've got a feeling they're the only chance we have at all.”

*   *   *

Claire was running a little late, but she made sure she had time to put on makeup, even though she rarely used it while in uniform. So rarely that she stared in the mirror and said out loud, “Really?” Then she checked her hair. “Come on, give me a break.” She was a little embarrassed because usually she spent more time fussing over Smarty, making sure his coat was brushed out and clean, than she did with her own appearance.

Right now, her partner and closest friend in the world sat in his favorite odd place, between the toilet and tub. He barely had room to move but she thought it might have something to do with the comfort of the cool tub touching his backside and the toilet coming across his chest. Smarty stared up at her like a beauty school student trying to pick up pointers.

Claire stopped what she was doing and looked the dog right in the eyes. His brown eyes locked on hers. It was a weird connection, like he could read her mind. Claire said, “I know, rumor is that he's a jerk. He loves himself too much. Most of all, Tim Hallett doesn't like him. But I have to represent the unit well. Ruben is always telling us we have to promote the unit and do a lot to keep the federal funding.”

Now Claire kneeled down and rubbed his head. “So you're okay with a little sprucing up, aren't you?” As she stood and turned toward the mirror, she added, “At least I didn't bother to shave my legs. I just want to look as nice as John Fusco usually does.” A smile spread over her face.

*   *   *

Forty-five minutes later she was pulling her Tahoe, with Smarty secured in the rear compartment, behind John Fusco's Ford Crown Victoria into the parking lot of an old Target store that had been converted to a giant church. It was just before nine in the morning, and the vast parking lot was empty. It struck her as odd that the probation officer they needed to talk to chose this parking lot for their meeting, but Claire was just as happy she didn't have to walk through the shitty probation office and leave Smarty in the car. God knows he couldn't interact with the felons that weren't even tough enough to get sent to prison.

Cops and probation officers always had a tenuous relationship. Cops viewed probation officers as nothing more than social workers who obstructed their investigations. Probation officers thought cops were mindless enforcement machines. But Claire realized John Fusco recognized the value of a decent probation officer. They had jurisdiction cops didn't. If a suspect was on probation, his probation officer could enter his house and, in most circumstances, search.

Claire contained a smile as she watched Fusco step out of his black unmarked Crown Victoria and stretch his legs. His Brooks Brothers suit shifted slightly on his body, showing off a broad chest in a white shirt.

Claire said, “Looks like your wife spent a few extra minutes dressing you today.”

“She rarely looked at me when I left the house back when we were married, and in the three years we've been divorced she hasn't commented on my clothes once.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were divorced.” In fact, she had heard a rumor that she'd just confirmed. “Do you have any kids?”

A broad smile passed over his face and he said, “Two little girls. Caitlin and Lauren.”

She liked the way he automatically reached for photographs of the five- and seven-year-old girls.

A Ford Taurus with a crappy tailpipe rumbled off Southern Boulevard into the parking lot and stopped a few spaces away from the Crown Vic. As soon as the guy stepped out of the Ford, Claire knew it had to be the probation officer. He was dumpy, about forty-five, with a cheap polyester tie clipped onto a short-sleeved white shirt and white running shoes. Classy. The only thing unusual about the porcine man was an Indiana Pacers baseball cap. Claire saw a lot of Jets, Giants, Yankees, and Mets paraphernalia down here in the Sixth Borough
,
but she rarely saw anything from the Midwest unless the odd Chicago Bears fan rolled through town.

The probation officer gave the deputies a sour look and said, “You Fusco?”

Fusco nodded and stepped forward, extending his hand.

The probation officer said, “I'm Bill Slaton, pleased to meet you.” He leaned against Fusco's Crown Vic, leaving a greasy handprint on one side. “What's with the uniformed deputy?”

“Deputy Perkins and her team are assisting in the investigation. Why?” Claire liked how Fusco had immediately explained her professional role.

“I don't mean to be rude, but you guys don't usually call us unless you need us to do something. Generally you treat us like a Muslim in a bulky jacket at the airport.”

Fusco looked the man in the eye, then fumbled with his words. “We, er, I'm working on a serial kidnapper. We've developed a list of suspects from the FDLE roster of sexual predators. I was told you supervise more than half the predators on probation.”

Slaton nodded his head. “Same old story. Instead of trying something innovative, just go to the list of regulars.”

“They do cause most of the problems.”

That comment made Claire recall that 2 percent of all convicted felons accounted for 90 percent of serious crimes, but she wasn't going to throw that stat out now.

Slaton said, “Is it so hard to investigate?”

“That's what I'm doing.” His voice edged up to match the pudgy probation officer's tone.

Slaton said, “By making me do your job?”

At this point Claire wanted to introduce the probation officer to Smarty.

Fusco didn't take the bait. Instead, he said, “I was hoping to work
with
you to get current addresses and any insights you might have on some of the men on our list.”

Slaton sighed and said, “You don't think the state gives me enough to do? I have a caseload of over 150 probationers and parolees. All I can do is identify the worst five percent and try and focus on them. It'll take me hours to go through a list with you.”