A False Dawn

TWENTY

I had awakened at dawn back at my river house. I let Max sleep in while I sipped a cup of coffee on the back porch and watched shadows fade away across the river. I slipped on my running shoes, went out the back door, and ran along the riverbank.

Later, when I climbed the steps to the back porch, Max was barking and running ran toward the front door, stopping to see if I was coming as her backup.

“It’s okay, Max. Could be someone asking for directions.” I picked up my Glock and wedged it in my shorts near my lower back.

The knock at the door was soft, almost apologetic. I opened the door, startling Detective Leslie Moore. “Mr. O’Brien,” she said, embarrassed. “Good morning.”

“Heard your fan belt the first time you drove by. Makes surveillance difficult.”

“I wasn’t on surveillance.” She looked at my damp T-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. “Is this a bad time?”

“If you’re here to arrest me, it’s a bad time. Something else, not so bad, maybe.”

She smiled. “No, I’m not here to arrest you. You’d be the first to know I wouldn’t do that without backup. May I come in?”

“Door’s open.” As she stepped in the foyer, Max came running and barking.

She knelt down and greeted Max. “Good morning! How are you?” She petted Max’s head, instantly winning a friend. “She’s so cute.”

“Sometimes she’s like having a kid. I have to find a babysitter when I’m gone.”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a dog or a baby.”

“Max was my wife’s baby. Now it’s just Max and me. We’re a river rats.”

“I know that your wife died. I’m sorry.”

“I bet you know that. Good cops usually know the bio of suspects. So you’re not afraid to be here alone with me?”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re not a suspect. Never really was.”

I said nothing.

She was hesitant a moment. “Is there a place where we can sit and talk?”

“Sure, follow me.” I led her to my back porch.

“The view is beautiful,” she said, standing next to the screen, looking at the river. “This must be paradise, living way out here. The river is gorgeous.”

“I bought it out of an estate sale. Near foreclosure, I suspect. Always something to fix. Paradise needs a lot of Band-Aids.”

Detective Moore laughed. Her eyes danced for a moment watching a blue heron and a white egret take ballet steps in the water. “This is like a wildlife documentary. The birds seem oblivious to us.”

“They can’t see us. Factor in sunlight, trees and porch screen. It’s a window to nature. Would you like something? Coffee or water?”

“No thanks.”

“You didn’t drive here to look at wildlife. How can I help you, Detective?”

“This is my first murder case with Mitchell Slater.” She paused and looked toward the river. “We don’t have an ID on the vic yet because I’m not so sure we’re working that hard to find one.”

“Meaning?”

“We’ve run all the channels — DNA database — state and national, prints, photo sent to the FBI, FDLE and elsewhere. Nothing.”

“Someone knows who she is.”

“I wish they’d come forward. We will store all dental, anthropological and DNA records. But the body will be interred tomorrow. Buried as a Jane Doe. A number on the marker. No name.”

“Is there a connection to the Brevard homicide? MO? Anything physical?”

“We’re working with Brevard, sharing the information and resources. So far, nothing to correlate the two deaths except each victim was young, female, pretty, and Hispanic. I’m having a hard time following leads, not that I have a lot.”

“What’s the difficulty?”

“Slater.”

“Not surprising.”

“He doesn’t go out of his way to follow up on anything. And what I bring to the table he dismisses like it was a bad idea. He is pursuing you, and to some extent, Joe Billie. But there’s nothing there. He knows it, but he’s like a bulldog.”

“What’s his agenda?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been watching him, and I think he knows it. I believe he’s on the take from somebody…somebody with power and influence. He seems to be living way above his pay grade. Wears a Rolex when he’s off duty. Connected in the community and with the old Florida money.”

“Any of this old Florida money coming from agricultural interests?”

“Probably. There are rumors he’s about to run for sheriff. If he could have pinned the murder on you, and convince the DA he had a winnable case, he’d get the news media coverage and probably announce his intent to run.”

I looked directly into her eyes. “How do I know you aren’t here to try to implicate me?”

“I hoped you’d trust me.”

“Trust you, I don’t even know you. You stick a cotton swab in my mouth, collect some hard evidence that I found, take a non-suspect into questioning, come to my house, pet my dog, and ask me to trust you. Why?”

“Because I don’t have anyone else.” Her nostrils flared.

I said nothing.

“I’m not sure who I can trust in the department. My partner, Dan Grant, is honest and dedicated. But he’s only been a detective six months. I don’t know who’s in Slater’s camp. Thought maybe you might help. If you weren’t a former cop, I wouldn’t be here. Maybe I’m wrong, but based on the way you acted at the crime scene, I believe there is something in you that seeks justice.”

I was silent.

“Will you help?” Her eyes searched mine.

“Detective Moore—”

“Please, it’s Leslie.”

“All right, Leslie…I’m Sean. Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way and we’re on a first-name basis, I’ll help. But it’s got to be a two-way street. You give me what you have and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay, what’s first?”

“The physical evidence near the scene. What were the results?”

“The blood on the stick came from the victim. No match from the DNA database with the hair on the duct tape, but we do know it didn’t come from the vic. We found skin under her fingernails, but it didn’t match DNA found in the hair from the tape.”

“Meaning she was raped by two different men, or she was in a fight with someone before the last perp raped and killed her.”

I retrieved the Ziploc bags. One contained the soil I’d collected from the girl’s shoe. The other had the thread Joe Billie spotted on the thorn. I handed them to Leslie.

“What’s this?”

“Run an analysis on this soil. See what’s in it, where it might have come from.”

“Is this why you mentioned agricultural interests?”

“Maybe. It could wind up being pay dirt. The thread was hanging on a palm thorn. I’m betting it came from the killer’s clothes, probably a shirt. Find any commonality you can on the two victims. If we can find that, we’re on the trail of this guy. I believe he’ll keep killing until he’s caught. Give me your cell number.”

I reached in a drawer and found the sealed envelope with the single follicle of hair. I opened the envelope, took a pair of scissors off the table, cut the hair in two pieces, placed one in an envelope, and gave it to Leslie. She watched as I put the second half in a separate envelope, sealing it.

“What’s that?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Is that the vic’s hair?”

“Your forensics ought to tell us. I found it on my boat. Someone planted it."

“Planted it? I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with this.”

“Somebody did.”

“You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“No, but I’m willing to take a risk.”

“I’m taking a risk just coming here.”

“Have you ever been on my boat?” I watched her eyes.

“What?”

“My boat at Ponce Inlet Marina. I noticed a few things out of place.”

“I wouldn’t board a boat without a warrant. I was there, though, with Slater.”

“Did Slater board her?”

“No. We questioned a few people about your coming and going. Everyone there, from the bartender to the dock master, seems to like and respect you.”

“If you told them you were investigating a murder, there is now a marina full of people wondering if I might slit their throats in the dead of night.”

She pushed a strand of hair behind her right ear and smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the innocent get bruised. I should go now.”

I followed her to the door. She started to say something, hesitating for a moment. “Can I ask you why you quit as a homicide detective? According to the people I’ve talked to, you have some ability, maybe a rare gift, to really read suspects. To tell if someone is lying the first few seconds you talk with them.”

“Sometimes I got lucky, that’s all.”

Leslie smiled. “I don’t think luck has anything to do with it. It’s the kind of thing the FBI tries to teach in its behavioral profile classes. Not everyone can learn it, ever. Was it a skill you developed?”

I wanted to change the subject. “Don’t let your research into my background skew your judgment. I made mistakes…so many I quit.”

“You don’t seem like a quitter. Maybe one day you’ll tell me about it.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Somehow I don’t quite believe that.” She smiled and opened the door. “I’ll have the results of these samples soon.”

Watching her get in the unmarked patrol, car I thought of an unmarked grave. It was then that I planned to attend a funeral.