A False Dawn

FIFTEEN

Within three minutes, Detective Slater arrived with a posse. Two unmarked cars and two Volusia County sheriffs’ cruisers pulled up, lights flashing, dust trailing. Max barked at the detectives and deputies spilling out of their cars at once.

Detective Leslie Moore wore her hair pinned up. Her partner, Detective Dan Grant, followed her. Slater took his time, staying in his car, cell phone pressed to his ear, eyes on me. He waited for the others to almost encircle us before he appeared.

“So, what do we have here?” Slater asked. “O’Brien and the crocodile hunter?”

Billie ignored the comment. Slater continued, “We have a man with a bow and arrow and a hunting knife. What are you hunting?”

“Artifacts. Spear and arrowheads.” Billie said.

“You won’t find arrowheads here unless the victim was stabbed with an arrow.”

I said, “Detective, we’ve found a couple of things that may have slipped through your first investigation. Between here and the road, less than a quarter mile, you’ll find a woman’s shoe, a bloodied stick and a piece of duct tape. The tape looks like it has a hair stuck to it. I’ll show you where we found them.” I wasn’t going to tell Slater about the thread or the dirt I’d taken from the shoe.

Slater turned to Billie. “I’d like to take a look at that arrow.” Billie handed him the arrow. Slater removed his sunglasses and studied it. “I see tiny pieces of something between the stone and wood. We’ll run DNA on it.”

“Unless you’re storing rattlesnake DNA in your database you won’t get a hit,” I said. “He saved my dog’s life when a rattlesnake was about to strike her.”

“This man shot a rattlesnake with a bow and arrow, huh? Don’t see that every day.” He adjusted his sunglasses. “Arrow’s going to the lab, that skinning knife, too.”

Billie unbuckled his belt and handed Slater the knife and arrow.

“What’s your name?” Slater asked.

“Joe Billie.”

“Got an ID, Mr. Billie?”

“You mean driver’s license?”

“That’d be a good start.”

“No.”

“It’s against the law to drive without a license.”

“Didn’t drive here.”

“Are you and Mr. O’Brien carpooling?”

Billie's face was flat, no sign of emotion. He stared at Slater for a moment then looked toward the river.

“You live around here, Mr. Billie?”

“Most of my life.”

“Where?”

“Hanging Moss Fish Camp.”

Slater glanced at my Jeep. “Hanging Moss is way upriver. How’d you get here?”

“Canoe.”

“Where’s your canoe?”

“Behind those trees.” Billie motioned toward some willows near the riverbank.

Slater turned to a deputy. “Check it out.” The deputy nodded and left

“What were my DNA results?” I asked.

“Negative,” said Detective Moore. Slater looked hard at her. She ignored him and said, “Where is this physical evidence you just mentioned?”

“About a ten minute walk from here.”

“Mitchell,” she said to Slater. “Want me to check it out?”

“Maybe you both should see this,” I said before Slater could speak. “The more eyes, the less chance something might not be seen.”

A muscle below Slater’s left eye twitched. He started to say something but was interrupted by the deputy who was returning. “There’s a canoe tied up down there.”

A deputy roped off a semi-rectangle between the scrub brush and pine trees. Detective Grant took digital photographs of the evidence and the surroundings. They collected and bagged the shoe, duct tape, bloody stick, leaves and dirt from the area.

I stood out of the way, holding Max and watching Detectives Slater, Moore and Grant work. She and Grant were thorough, organized. Slater smoked three cigarettes and looked at his watch four times in fifteen minutes. They approached us.

Detective Moore removed her gloves and petted Max. “Cute dog.”

“Thanks. Her name’s Max.”

Slater lit another cigarette and sucked a mouthful of smoke into his lungs. “Let’s cut the chitchat and get to the point. Mr. O’Brien, you are a person of interest in this investigation. Now, so is Mr. Billie. We’ll be taking Mr. Billie in for further questioning. Mr. O’Brien, we’re not done quite yet.”

I said, “You’re eloquent. I called you, remember? Now you have some hard evidence in your bag. Let’s see what you can do with it, Detective.”

He turned to Billie. “If you have no history, you’re a mystery. I solve mysteries.”

Detective Moore said, “Mr. Billie, we’d appreciate it, sir, if you could come to the department to answer a few questions. If you don’t have a car we’ll provide transportation back to your home or to your canoe.”

Billie said nothing. He looked in the direction of the river. A red-tailed hawk alighted on the top of a pine tree. The bird watched Billie being led away.

I stood there and saw the hawk fly to a cypress trees. Even with Max, I suddenly felt alone, out of sync with everything around me. The faraway sound of a train whistle beckoned down the St. Johns. It was a lonesome sound, a hymn carried by trestles crossing rivers of time to bridge the soul. In two weeks the girl would be a cold case. Forgotten. But I couldn’t forget the promise I made to her and to my wife.

A gut feeling and a heartfelt promise often don’t mix. No easier than good and evil can sleep in the same bed. My gut told me one thing while my heart spoke another. I hadn’t asked to be tossed into this ring, but some choices are already made for you.

The girl I found had no choice.

“Come on Max. We’re told her name was Angela. Let’s see if we can name her killer.”