The Butterfly Forest (Mystery/Thriller) (27 page)

She nodded and continued her work.  Detective Lewis said, “Why haven’t I seen this composite before now?”

“Sheriff Clayton hasn’t released it to the news media.”

“Why?”

“He calls it jailhouse art and says Palmer is trying to shine the spotlight off him.  The real reason, I think, is because of the intense media coverage of the deaths in the forest.  The sheriff thinks he has enough forensics to make the charges stick.  Look, Detective, Elizabeth was on death’s door.  This is much bigger than Frank Soto.  Can your office release the composite?”

Lewis inhaled like he hadn’t breathed all day.  He looked at the image and slowly released the pent-up air in his lungs.  “This is Marion County’s deal.  The guy they’ve got locked up was captured there.  The killings
happened
there.  I’d be out of line.  But you can run it by Sheriff Olsen, see if he disagrees.”

I said nothing. 

“We’ll let you know if we find anything.”

One of the investigators entered.  He held out a sealed plastic bag with the bottle of pills inside.  He said, “We’ll get these to the lab today.  Arsenic is easy to find.”  He joined the others in the kitchen.  Detective Lewis waited for me to leave.

I started to turn and walk away.  Then I thought of Elizabeth and how arsenic poisoning shuts down organ after organ.  I said, “Whoever investigated this house last night, when Elizabeth barely managed to call 911, assumed she tried to OD on sleeping pills.  She didn’t, Detective.  And she almost died because of it.  Had the hospital known or suspected poison, they could have given her a different treatment.  If we assume this composite is a figment from Luke Palmer’s imagination, we make the same mistake.”

He looked at the picture, and I saw his eyes dilate a notch.  He made a dry swallow and touched the tip of his nose, his thoughts distracted.

It was at that moment, I knew Detective Lewis was the investigator on the scene when Elizabeth was taken by ambulance in what was later determined a suicide attempt.  I said, “Now’s the time to place a guard outside Elizabeth’s hospital room.”

SIXTY-SEVEN

I looked at Elizabeth’s car, checked all doors and windows for any sign of a break-in or small scratch marks that can be made by the sloppy use of a Slim Jim bar.  I found nothing.  Maybe the point of entry was through the sliding glass doors.

I left and called a local florist, ordered a dozen red roses and had them sent to Elizabeth’s room.  I heard someone beeping in on my phone.  I answered as Doctor Patel was leaving a message.  “I’m here, Doctor.  What do you have?”

“The patient, Miss Monroe, tested positive for arsenic.  We found three parts per million.  It takes less than a gram to kill an average person.  She’s very fortunate in that she only consumed one of those pills, assuming the rest were tampered with arsenic.”

“When can she go home?”

“I want to keep her one more night for observation.”

“Has anyone attempted to visit her?”

“I don’t know.  The nurses’ station would know.  They’re diligent in enforcing the no visitors’ policy.  Except for the police and you, no one else has access to her room.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”  I disconnected and called Detective Sandberg in Marion County.  “Did you get a match on the two bullets?”

“You must have radar, O’Brien.  That information was just delivered to me.” 

“Was there enough DNA from the bullet in the tree to match with Molly’s DNA?”

He said nothing for a few seconds.  “You know, O’Brien, I don’t have to reveal anything to you.”

“I know that, and I appreciate your willingness to share information, just like I’m trying to do with you.  And I understand the dynamics with the sheriff.  I’ve been there, but catching the perp or perps is what you and I both want.”

“The bullet in the tree carried a very small amount of body tissue.  It matched Molly’s DNA.”

“How about the DNA on the cigar?’’

“Didn’t get a match from CODIS.  Whoever smoked that cigar isn’t in the system.”

“Palmer is certainly in the system.  So it didn’t match his DNA?”

Sandberg was silent.  Between his breathing, I could hear someone being paged.  He finally said, “No.  Oh, we did find some pot growing in the national forest.  But it looks like the photo might be a little deceiving.”

“How so?”

“We found a dozen plants, all growing out of plastic gallon milk jugs cut in half.”

I asked, “How tall were the plants?”

“A good six feet each.”

“Were they next to any coontie plants?”

“Our team looked for them, but didn’t see any.  Remember, O’Brien, in the photo from Molly’s camera we could only see a few plants.”

“It’s a decoy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Big time pot farmers don’t grow marijuana to that height in plastic milk jugs.  They may start the plants off like that, but once they begin to shoot up, they’ll transplant them to the ground, fertilize and water them.  Someone’s trying to steer you away from the real growing area, the place where Molly and Mark first stumbled upon it.”

He sighed.  “We’ve called off the search.  Sheriff Clayton believes the plants we found, pulled and destroyed are most likely the ones in the photo because the surroundings are similar if not the same.”

“It’s staged.  These guys are good.”   

“Got to go, O’Brien.”

“Please remind the sheriff that you have a rifle bullet removed from a tree, which is the bullet that went through Molly’s body, and you have one from Palmer’s backpack.  That one went into a deer and never came out until Palmer cut it out.  So whoever killed the deer killed Molly and Mark.”

“What if Palmer cut the damn bullet out of the deer before he buried it with the bodies, knowing there wouldn’t be ballistics comparison if we found the murder weapon?”

“Then why keep it in a backpack?  Palmer’s not dumb.  You haven’t found the rifle.  But you do have the bullet from the tree.”

“I need to meet with the sheriff before his next news briefing.”

“Before you go, here’s something else you can tell him—someone tried to kill Elizabeth Monroe, Molly’s mother.”

“How?”

“Arsenic poisoning.  The perp broke into her home.  It looks like he filled her sleeping pill capsules with arsenic.  Elizabeth is hospitalized, and the man Sheriff Clayton thinks is tied to her daughter’s murder is sitting in
his
county jail.  The media will have a field day with that.”

“Talk with you later, O’Brien.”

“You know as well as I do that this attempt on her life is not coincidental.  The perp is trying to eliminate Elizabeth just like he did Molly and Mark.”

“That’s a possibility, but at this point we don’t know that.”

“We do know that you’ve got a man locked up and that there is no way in hell he could have done it.  This should tell you that the wrong man is being held as a suspect when the real killer tried to kill Molly Monroe’s mother.  One last thing.”

“What?”

“The first body, Nicole Davenport.  You said you found two hairs on her.  Did you get a hit from them?”

“I told you they didn’t have roots.  The lab said it looked like the hairs may have been from a fresh haircut.  One was found on the vic’s neck, the other on her stomach. ”

“Could your lab tell whether or not the hairs had been dyed?”

Detective Sandberg cleared his throat and lowered his voice.  “O’Brien, you got some kind of clairvoyant thing going on?  How’d you know they were dyed?”

“I didn’t for sure.  Now I do.  Palmer has all white hair.”

Sandberg said nothing.

I said, “Let me know when the sheriff plans to release the Palmer sketch to the news media.”

SIXTY-EIGHT

I started to drive back to Ponce Marina and then remembered Luke Palmer was to be arraigned on triple murder charges tomorrow.  I turned my Jeep toward Ocala and hoped I could make it in time for Sheriff Clayton’s four o’clock media update.  I called Elizabeth.  “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks.  My flowers are so beautiful!  You’re a very thoughtful man, Sean O’Brien.  Thank you.  The nurses say it’s been a long time since they’ve seen an arrangement that lovely.  Your card was sweet, too.  I’ve never been sailing, but I think the salt air would do a world of good for the soul.” 

“Don’t forget your body.”

She laughed.  It sounded good.  Then she said, “Dr. Patel says I can go home in the morning.  The tests are coming back fine.  Will you be able to come get me?”

“I’ll be there.”

“They found arsenic, you know.”

“Someone had picked the lock on your backdoor and entered your home.  I suspect the perp found the pills and then laced a few with the poison.”

“Do you think it was Frank Soto?”

“Maybe.  It’s not Luke Palmer.  Could be the mystery man in the sketch.”

“Why can’t they find this man?”

“They’re not in any hurry to look for him.  But all that’s about to change.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is there someone you can stay with for a few days?”

“I have a couple of friends who have spare bedrooms.”

“Good.  Call them and make arrangements.”

“Sean, when is this nightmare going to end?”

“Soon.  Trust me, Elizabeth.”  

I PULLED INTO OCALA A FEW minutes before four o’clock and drove toward the county courthouse complex.  I spotted the TV satellite trucks, cables and wires strung toward a small podium with the Marion County Sheriff’s office in the background.  Reporters stood in the shade of two large oaks as they waited for Sheriff Clayton to give them a briefing.  An American flag on a pole, near the entrance to the office, fluttered in the breeze.

Sheriff Clayton arrived with Detective Sandberg and two other men that I didn’t recognize.  I stood behind the media throng, in the shade of the trees but close enough to hear.  Clayton leaned down towards the microphones.  “Here’s what we know so far.  A bullet taken from a tree at the crime scene matches the one found in Luke Palmer’s backpack.  It was a bullet he said he’d removed from a deer that had been shot.  The deer in question was buried with the bodies of Molly Monroe and Mark Stewart.  We don’t have a DNA match with the saliva found on the cigar.  However, a team of deputies found a dozen marijuana plants growing in the vicinity of the killings.  We suspect these may have a bearing on the case.  Mr. Palmer is to face a bond hearing tomorrow.  Any questions?”

I felt my pulse kick.  Clayton opted to ignore the information about Elizabeth and focus squarely on Palmer.  I started walking to the dais as a reporter asked a question, “Investigators in Seminole County are now saying that Molly Monroe’s mother, Elizabeth, was the victim of arsenic poisoning.  How does this impact your investigation?”

I kept advancing.

The sheriff said, “We’re thankful Miss Monroe is out of harm’s way and recuperating.  This tells me Luke Palmer was not alone.  We’re working with Seminole County in a joint task-force operation.  This might be connected to the man who first attempted to abduct the Monroe’s, Frank Soto, who is still at large—”  The sheriff stopped in mid-sentence when he saw me.  I could see Detective Sandberg’s eyes pop.

I pulled the sketch out and walked up to Sheriff Clayton and quickly said into the microphones, “Or it could be connected to this man.”  I held the sketch up and could see camera operators raising their lens and focusing on it.  “Sheriff, I just spoke with Luke Palmer.  He said the man in the composite was the one who shot Mark and Molly.  Palmer actually drew this composite from his eyewitness sighting.”  I could see the veins pounding in the sheriff’s thick neck, ears glowing, his skin hanging over his tight collar. 

I said, “I wanted to share this new and timely information with the media, sir.  I hope you don’t mind.  Palmer said he first saw this man a few days before Molly and Mark were gunned down.  He saw him in the back seat of a dark SUV entering the Ocala National Forest.  He said the man lowered his window and tossed out a cigar.  Palmer says the man in the picture almost caused a forest fire.  The last time he saw him was when this man put a bullet in Molly Monroe and Mark Stewart.  Palmer said he fled from the secluded area where he witnessed the murders.  Later, deeper into the forest, a critically injured deer came by and Palmer was going to use his knife to put it out of its misery and field dress the meat.  He said he couldn’t when he cut the bullet out of the deer and figured it came from the same gun… and the same man.”  I held the picture toward the horde of media, cameras clicked and zoomed.  I heard a siren in the distance and a mockingbird in the oaks behind the media.

“How’d you speak with Luke Palmer?” asked a newspaper reporter.

“Sheriff Clayton granted me a few minutes with him because of my long background as a homicide detective with Miami-Dade.  I’m retired and anxious to volunteer where my service might be needed.”  I smiled and looked over at the sheriff.  The media waited for him to speak.