"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day . . . "
All of which was why a Teletype from the police department of Clearwater, Florida, dated March 15 and addressed to all police agencies in the state, received only cursory attention at Miami Homicide, then remained in the Tomorrow Pile until five months after its arrival.
The Teletype was from a Detective Nelson Abreu, who, stunned by the brutality of a recent Clearwater double murder, asked for information about any similar murders that might have occurred elsewhere. Included in the Teletype was a note that ''unusual items" were left at the murder scene, the victims' home. These were not described because Clearwater Homicide was limiting knowledge of that evidence for the same reason Miami Homicide had withheld information about the Frosts' murder scene.
Clearwater had a large population of elderly people, and the murder victims were a husband and wife, Hal and Mabel Larsen, both in their seventies. They had been bound and gagged, then, while facing each other, had been tortured, finally dying from loss of blood. The torture included a savage beating and mutilation by severe knife wounds. Inquiries revealed that the Larsens had cashed a thousand-Doilar check a few days earlier, but no money was found at the crime scene. There were no witnesses, no unaccounted-for fingerprints, no murder weapon, no suspects.While Detective Abreu received several replies to his Teletype, none proved helpful, and the case remained unsolved.
* * *
Two and a half months later, another scene:
Fort Lauderdale, May 23.
Again, a married couple, the Hennenfelds, in their midsixties and living in an apartment on Ocean Boulevard near 21 st Street. Again the victims were found bound and gagged, and in seated positions, facing each other. Both had been beaten and stabbed to death, though their bodies were not discovered for an estimated four days.
On the fourth day a neighbor, aware of a foul odor coming from the adjoining apartment, called police, who made a forced entry. Broward Sheriff-Detective Benito Montes was sickened at the sight and stench.
At this crime scene no "unusual items" were left. However, a two-burner electric space heater had been lashed by wire to the feet of Irving Hennenfeld, then plugged into an electric outlet. The space heater's red-hot bars had burned out before the bodies were found, though not until the man's feet and lower legs were reduced to cinders. In this crime, too, any money the victims may have had was apparently taken.
Once more, no fingerprints, no witnesses, no weapon.
But this time Sheriff-Detective Montes remembered reading about the Coconut Grove murders of an elderly couple some three months earlier, which seemed similar. Following a phone call to Miami Homicide, Montes drove to Miami the next day, where he met with Bernard Quinn.
In contrast to the veteran Quinn, Montes was young, in his mid-twenties, with neatly trimmed hair. Like most Homicide detectives he dressed well that day in a navy blue suit with a striped silk tie. During a two-hour discussion the detectives compared notes of the Frosts' and Hennenfelds' murders and viewed photos of both crime scenes. They agreed that the manner of the victims' deaths seemed identical. So did other factors, including placement of the bodies, and the killer's barbaric cruelty.
One small detaiclass="underline" When the bodies were found, a radio was playing loudly, presumably having been left that way by the killer.
''Do you remember what kind of music?" Quinn asked.
"Sure do. Rock, so goddam loud you couldn't hear yourself speak."
"Was the same way at the Frost scene." Quinn made a note.
"It's the same guy," Montes declared. "Has to be."
Quinn quizzed him. ''You're sure it's a man one man?"
"Yep. And the bastard's big, strong as an ox, and smart. "
"Educated smart?"
"My instinct says no."
Quinn nodded. "Mine, too."
Montes added, "He enjoys it, wallows in it, slavers over it. We're looking for a sadist."
"Any thoughts about the dead cats at our scene?"
Montes shook his head. "Only that this prick loves killing. Maybe he did the cats to pass the time, and brought them along for kicks.''
Quinn said, "I still think it's a message in some code we haven't deciphered."
Before Sheriff-Detective Montes left, Bernard Quinn apologized for the absence of his sergeant. Quinn explained that Malcolm Ainslie would have liked to be present at their meeting since he, too, was involved. However, Ainslie was committed to attend a one-day police management seminar in another part of town.
Benito Montes said, "That's okay there's time. I think what we've seen is only the beginning."
3
During the spring and summer of that year, the residents of South Florida wilted in exceptionally high temperatures and steamy humidity, sustained by daily thunderstorms and drenching rain. In Miami itself a series of electrical outages, caused by heavy power demand, brought those who had air conditioning into the sticky world of those who did not. Another problem, exacerbated by heat-induced irritability and carelessness, was crime. Gang fights, crimes of passion, and domestic violence all flourished. Even among normally peaceful people, patience ebbed and tempers flared; in streets or parking lots, trivial disagreements resulted in total strangers coming to blows. With more serious disputes, anger turned to rage and even murder.
At Homicide headquarters, an entire wall was occupied by a white glazed board known to detectives as the "People-Dying-to-Meet-Us Board." Divided by neat lines and columns, it recorded the names of all murder victims during the current year and the year preceding, along with key details of investigations. All possible suspects were named on the board. Arrests were recorded in red.
At mid-July of the preceding year, the board showed seventy murders, of which twenty-five still remained unsolved. By mid-July of the current year, there had been ninety-six murders, with the unsolved figure a highly unsatisfactory seventy-five cases.
Both upward trends pointed to an increase in homicides accompanying otherwise routine robberies, carjackings, and everyday street holdups. Everywhere, it seemed, criminals were shooting and killing their victims for no apparent reason.
Because of wide public concern about the numbers, Homicide's commander, Lieutenant Leo Newbold, had been summoned several times to the office of Major Manolo Yanes, commander of the Crimes Against Persons Unit, which combined Robbery and Homicide.
At their last meeting Major Yanes, a heavily built man with bushy hair and a drill sergeant's voice, wasted no time after his secretary ushered Newbold in.
"Lieutenant, what the hell are you and your people doing? Or should I say not doing?"
Normally the major would have used Newbold's first name and invited him to sit down. This time he did neither, and simply looked up, glaring, from his desk. Newbold, suspecting that Yanes had received his own castigation from higher up, and knowing the down-through-the-ranks drill, took his time before answering.
The major's office was on the same floor as Homicide, and a large window overlooked downtown Miami, bathed now in brilliant sunshine. The desk was gray metal with a white plastic top, on which piles of folders and pencils were laid out in neat military order. Facing him was a conference table with eight chairs. As in most police offices, the effect was austere, relieved slightly by a few photographs of Yanes's grandchildren on a side table.
"You know the situation, Major,'' Newbold responded. "We're swamped. Every detective is working sixteen-hour days or more, following every lead we've got. These guys are near exhaustion."