“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.
Sheriff Clayton cleared his throat and said, “Mr. O’Brien was on the scene when the suspect was first apprehended. He was the sharpshooter who took out the alligators after our deputy was hit by a moccasin. In view of Mr. O’Brien’s background, I thought he might offer some extra experience in this area. Ocala wouldn’t, in fifty years, equal the number of murders Miami-Dade gets in one year. As you can see, he brings results.”
“Can we get copies of the composite?” asked a CNN reporter.
“Absolutely,” said the Sheriff. “Detective Sandberg would you pass them out?”
Sandberg raised an eyebrow. He was at a loss for words. The sheriff asked, “How many copies do we have, Mr. O’Brien?”
“More than enough, Sheriff.” I smiled and looked up to the top floor of the county complex to the windows behind the steel bars and wondered if Luke Palmer was looking down.
SIXTY-NINE
As the sheriff did a one-on-one interview with CNN, Detective Sandberg took me aside and whispered, “If Clayton doesn’t have you arrested for impersonating an officer and a slew of other improprieties, I’ll be surprised. What the fuck was that all about, O’Brien. What grandstanding! You running for the sheriff’s job?”
I could smell mint and stale coffee on Sandberg’s breath. I smiled. “Me? Oh, no. Looks like he’s getting plenty of exposure. I’m betting his job’s safe.”
“But you aren’t making my job any safer.”