Aware that Beigler was standing in the doorway, scarcely restraining his impatience, Terrell said, “How is he?”
“Well, he acts as if he’s been knocked on the head. He doesn’t know where he’s been nor what he’s been doing.”
“Stay right where you are,” Terrell said. “I’ll call you back.” He broke the connection and then dialed the number of the Spanish Bay hotel. As he waited, he said to Beigler, “They’ve found Burnett. I have to fix him first. You go on to the Park Motel. I’ll come on after you.”
Beigler nodded and hurried down the flagged path to the waiting car.
When Terrell got to the hotel, he asked to speak to Travers.
“Mr. Travers? Police Chief here. We’ve found Mr. Burnett. He seems in a dazed state. He is right at this moment in a police car out on the North Miami Beach highway: that’s about thirty-five miles from you. I don’t think it would be wise to bring him back to the hotel. He’d have to face the newspapermen who are waiting there. I suggest my men drive him straight to Dr. Gustave’s sanatorium. Mrs. Burnett and you could meet him there. What do you think?”
“Yes,” Travers said. “Thank you. We’ll go over there right away.”
“He’ll be there within an hour,” Terrell said. He broke the connection and got back to Williams. He gave him instructions, then briefly telling his wife what was happening, he hurried out to his car and drove fast towards the Park Motel at Ojus.
Ojus on U.S. highway 4 was originally an Indian trading post. Its name, in the Indian language, means “plentiful”, and the town of some six hundred people was named so because of the luxuriant vegetation surrounding the place.
Just outside the town, on the main highway, was the Park Moteclass="underline" second rate, but conveniently situated on the direct route to Miami. It consisted of forty small, shabby wooden cabins, a bathing pool, a Self-Service store, a children’s sandpit and playing ground and a square of flattened ground where visitors could dance to the blaring swing coming from loud speakers strung up in the trees.
Terrell arrived at the motel five minutes after the police team had pulled into the vast parking lot.
Fred Hess, in charge of the Homicide team, said Beigler was in the Reception office, talking to the owner.
Terrell told him to wait until he was ready and then walked across the rough grass that led to the cabin over which was a large neon sign that read:
Some ten to twelve men and women in holiday garb were standing near the office, gaping. They stared at Terrell as he entered the office, and there was an immediate buzz of conversation.
The hot, small office was divided by a counter on which lay the register, a telephone, several ballpoint pens and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts.
Beyond the counter was a desk, three chairs and on the wall a large-scale map of the district.
Beigler sat in one of the chairs, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Behind the desk sat the owner of the moteclass="underline" a tall, thin man, around fifty-five, with a mop of iron-grey hair and a sallow complexion. His face was thin with an over-long nose. His shabby grey Alpaca suit looked as if it was meant for a man of much heavier build. His white shirt was grubby and his string tie greasy.
“This is Henekey,” Beigler said, getting to his feet. “Okay. Henekey, go ahead. Let’s have it all over again.”
Terrell nodded to Henekey who gave him a quick, uneasy stare. Terrell took a chair near Beigler.
“Well, like I told the Sergeant,” Henekey said, “this girl had a call in for 7.30 a.m. I called her. There was no answer, so I went over and found her.” He grimaced. “So I called headquarters.”
“Who is she?” Terrell asked.
“She booked in as Sue Parnell. She’s from Miami. She arrived at eight o’clock last night: a one night stand.”
“Ever seen her before?”
For a split second, Henekey seemed to hesitate, then he shook his head.
“Not as far as I can remember. We get a lot of people here during the season. No, I guess.”
“Did she have any visitors?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m in this office from seven-thirty in the morning to one o’clock at night. Then I shut clown and go to bed. I’ve no means of knowing what goes on in any of the cabins.”
Terrell got to his feet.
“Let’s take a look at her.”
“It’s cabin 24,” Henekey said and put a key on the desk. “If it’s all right with you, Chief, having seen her once, I don’t care much to see her again.”
“That’s okay,” Terrell said as Beigler picked up the key. The two men left the office and walked across to the double row of cabins some fifty yards ahead of them.
The group of tourists straggled after them, but came to an abrupt stop as two uniformed policemen stepped into their path. The rest of the Homicide team, with their cameraman, moved from their parked cars to join Terrell and Beigler.
They arrived at Cabin 24 and Beigler unlocked the door.
“Wait here,” Terrell said to his team and he and Beigler entered the cabin which was a twenty-foot square room with a shabby carpet, two lounging chairs, a TV set, a hanging closet, a dressing-table and a double bed.
The stench of death made both men grimace and Beigler, after one look at the bed, went to the window and hurriedly opened it.
Terrell, his hat tilted to the back of his head, looked at the naked body lying across the bed.
Sue Parnell had been twenty-eight or nine, blonde and strikingly attractive. She must have taken good care of herself, Terrell thought, for her finger and toenails had been recently manicured and her hair was attractively arranged. She had obviously been a sun worshipper for her body was heavily tanned.
Whoever had slaughtered her had done so with the frenzy of a madman. Four stab wounds made purple mouths in the upper part of her body. Lower down, she had been ripped. The sight of her made bile come into Terrell’s mouth in spite of years of hardened experience.
Beigler said hoarsely, “For God’s sake!” and feeling his stomach begin to revolt, turned hurriedly and left the cabin.
Terrell looked around. On one of the chairs stood a blue and white suitcase. He passed the bed and opened the door leading into a tiny shower room. On the glass shelf stood a bottle of perfume, a tube of toothpaste and a tablet of soap. On another shelf by the shower was a yellow sponge and a shower cap.
He moved back into the room. Keeping his eyes away from the bed, he walked out on to the narrow veranda where his men were waiting.
“Get a sheet,” he said to Hess. “Doc arrived yet?”
“He’s on his way,” Hess said. “Should be here any second now.”
As he spoke a car pulled up and Dr. Lowis, the police M.O., came hurrying over, his bag of equipment in his hand.
“Go right on in,” Terrell said. “She’s all yours, and you’re welcome.”
Dr. Lowis, a short, fat man, gave him a questioning stare and then entered the cabin.
Terrell called his men together.
“When Doc’s through, go over the place as if you’re looking for a speck of dust. I want everything that can tell us anything. This is one of those jobs that has to be cleared up fast. A foot-loose sex killer usually strikes again.”
He went back into the cabin and picked up the blue and white suitcase.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked Lowis without looking at the bed.
“I’ve seen worse,” Lowis said mildly. “Nice looking girl.”
“You mean she was a nice looking girl,” Terrell said and went out into the sunshine.
Chapter Three