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.”
SIXTEEN
It was Monday morning, and I rose before dawn. I sat on the outside steps by the screened porch and laced up my shoes. The sunrise broke, resembling a ship’s light in a mist over the tree line along the river.
After a mile or so at a fast pace, I stopped to catch my breath. I stood there, sweating and watching the silent St. Johns for a minute. There was the scent of damp moss, orange blossoms, and honeysuckle. A hummingbird hovered at the opening of a trumpet flower, the bird's throat glistening like a damp ruby in the morning light.
My cell rang. It’s chirp out of harmony with the birdsong in the forest. “You sound out of breath.” Ron Hamilton said.
“Trying to get back in shape. Running again.”
“There’s another killing. Similar MO. Female. Young. No ID. Raped and strangled. Could be the same perp.”
“Where’d they find the body?”
“Brevard County. Not too far from you. Two teenagers on four-wheelers found the vic. Word I hear is the feds are making a
“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.”
SIXTEEN
It was Monday morning, and I rose before dawn. I sat on the outside steps by the screened porch and laced up my shoes. The sunrise broke, resembling a ship’s light in a mist over the tree line along the river.
After a mile or so at a fast pace, I stopped to catch my breath. I stood there, sweating and watching the silent St. Johns for a minute. There was the scent of damp moss, orange blossoms, and honeysuckle. A hummingbird hovered at the opening of a trumpet flower, the bird's throat glistening like a damp ruby in the morning light.
My cell rang. It’s chirp out of harmony with the birdsong in the forest. “You sound out of breath.” Ron Hamilton said.
“Trying to get back in shape. Running again.”
“There’s another killing. Similar MO. Female. Young. No ID. Raped and strangled. Could be the same perp.”
“Where’d they find the body?”
“Brevard County. Not too far from you. Two teenagers on four-wheelers found the vic. Word I hear is the feds are making a
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