Evidence of Murder (9 page)

Early Saturday morning, June 28, Tom McCann sat in a window seat on the plane whisking him to Washington, D.C. There he would officially represent the Orange County, Florida, Sheriff’s Department in the presentation of the immensely popular television program
America’s Most Wanted.
McCann stared out at the clouds and sky, not quite feeling the impact of his situation, that he was on his way to be part of a drama that so many millions of people devotedly watched each Saturday night on their TV sets.

His thoughts turned to the seriousness of his mission.
What if . . . ,
he considered,
What if this program is effective in this case and results in some good leads? Wouldn’t that be terrific?
He stopped himself, knowing that crimes were solved by building strong cases through meticulous investigation, not on “what ifs.”

Upon landing, longtime friends of McCann’s ushered him to their waiting automobile and drove him to their home, where he would spend the night following the broadcast.

After an old-time reunion and catching-up session, his friends drove him to the studio where the program was in preparations for the broadcast that evening.

Eagerly, McCann looked over the impressive studio. It was buzzing with people readying the program for airing in just a few hours. As he moved about, he was impressed with the efficiency of this staff’s precision work. He watched for John Walsh, the program’s narrator, but didn’t see him. When he asked about Walsh, he found out that the man would not be on deck for several hours.

McCann was also impressed by the number of persons equipped with telephone-answering equipment to take the many calls that would come as response to the broadcast.

The dramatic TV presentation of the Carla Larson case gave a national audience of millions the facts relating to the vanishing and murder of the lovely young engineer.

The program faithfully detailed the crime, showed pictures of Carla, the areas involved in the case, her Ford Explorer, described the kidnapping, the search and finally the discovery of the body. The show asked anyone who saw or knew anything about the case to call in with the information.

During the show McCann took calls directly from people responding with tips that they thought could be important in solving the case.

Pleased to talk to the callers, he was hopeful there would be some good leads. But on the whole, what he received was of little or no value.

After the airing some of the personnel of the program asked, “Did you learn anything new? Were any of the callers helpful?”

McCann shook his head in disappointment and responded, “I’m afraid not.”

One of the show’s producers consoled McCann. “We’ll get more calls. We always do for several days after the airing, and we’ll pass them on to you,” he promised.

Tom McCann cordially thanked him and left.

The Orange County Sheriff’s Department personnel were overwhelmed with the impact of the show. It was well presented and reenacted and gave a true picture of what happened. They were sure something positive would come from it.

Detective Weir kept his opinions and hopes for the program to himself. In an exchange with John Linnert, he said, “Everyone seems to think that program is going to solve the mystery of this killing.”

Linnert responded, “Well, we can’t blame anyone for hoping.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m every bit as anxious as everyone else, but I think that it’s kind of like hoping for a miracle. You know, somebody calling the program or calling our headquarters with information on ‘whodunit’ or with some tip that could be important enough to lead to the solution of this crime,” Weir commented glumly. “I’m not against something coming from it, or coming from any other source, for that matter, if it can help us with the investigation. And I don’t want to throw a pall on anyone’s enthusiasm, but it’s always been my experience that the only way we solve our crimes is by digging out the leads and chasing down everything with some connection to the task at hand.”

“I know and I agree with you. But we don’t want to close any doors. There could be something unexpected, something that we’re not necessarily looking for that pops up. Well, we may find out something when Tom gets back.”

As the two detectives continued their discussion, Weir received a phone call shortly before midnight.

“Detective Weir, this is Lieutenant Douglas Scragg of the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department. I hope you don’t mind my calling so late.”

“Not at all, Lieutenant,” Weir replied. “What’s on your mind?”

The lieutenant said, “Something came up over here that might be of interest to you. One of the bouncers at the Illusions Lounge, that’s one of those adult-entertainment emporiums, it’s located just a short distance from the burned vehicle you were here to see. Anyway, he found a suspicious-looking bag in the Dumpster outside the place.”

Weir asked, “Do you think that there’s some connection to our investigation?”

“Well, you never know. We wondered if it could have come out of that burned car.”

“I guess it makes sense for us to check it out,” Weir said. “My partner and I were just talking about something like that when you called, Lieutenant. You know, the unexpected happens and we never know where the next lead will come from. Tell me, how did the bouncer happen to discover the bag?”

“From what I understand, the fellow, the bouncer, was taking out the normal trash to the Dumpster and, when he opened up the cover, the bag caught his attention. It was an unexpected place for a bag like this to be. So he retrieved it, took it inside and gave it to his boss.” The lieutenant laughed. “They told me that there was quite a bit of excitement in the place with the discovery. Everybody wanted to see it and find out what was inside.”

Lieutenant Scragg said that all kinds of theories were tossed around about the bag. Maybe it was from the burned Ford and maybe linked to the murder. “That’s when the manager of the lounge contacted me and asked that I take possession of it, since they were all convinced that it was connected somehow to the murder you are investigating.”

The lieutenant said he accepted the bag as possible evidence and placed it into the case file under the number 97105963, describing it as a tan/gray bag. A check of its contents found it contained a blue bedsheet, two empty boxes of Kirkland color print film, a bottle of Banana Boat suntan oil and a bottle of Bausch & Lomb ReNu eye care solution.

The BCSD’s case number listing matched the case number used to document the discovery of the burned Ford vehicle and the collection of evidence from the fire scene.

When Weir concluded his conversation, he told Linnert about the bag.

“What do you think?” Linnert asked.

“Well, I think it’s just another puzzle in the list of questions we need answered, but we’ll collect it and show it to Jim Larson. Let him look at all of it and tell us if he recognizes any of it as belonging to Carla Larson.”

“That sounds right to me, Cam.”

After the detectives retrieved the bag on Sunday, June 29, they drove to the College Park home of Larson.

Linnert said, “We’ll soon know our way around College Park as well as we know how to drive to headquarters.”

“At least it’s a nice day and there’s not much traffic.”

Larson greeted the detectives at the door and invited them into the dining room.

Weir explained the reason for this visit.

Larson was surprised. “Do you think there is some connection with this bag?” he asked hesitantly.

“We really don’t know much about it,” Weir answered.

John Linnert explained how “the bouncer at the Illusions Lounge found the thing in the Dumpster behind the club.”

Jim Larson was curious. “How does any of this fit with our situation?”

Weir said, “That lounge is just a short distance from the site of the fire, where your Ford Explorer was destroyed. There’s a possibility that someone could have taken this bag from the car and tossed it into the Dumpster.”

Jim Larson sat silent, considering the explanation.

“We need to know whether this bag or its contents belonged to you or to your wife,” Weir continued.

After a moment Weir pushed the bag across the table to Larson. “Will you take a look and tell us what you think?”

“I’ll look at the stuff inside, but I can tell you right now, this bag is not at all familiar to me. So I doubt that whatever is inside would be something that we owned.”

Jim Larson opened the tan/gray bag, examined the contents and shook his head. He remained silent.

John Linnert rose and retrieved the bag. Extending his hand to Larson, he thanked him and apologized for taking his time. “I hope that we haven’t imposed upon you.”

Larson shook Linnert’s hand, smiled grimly and said, “I know that you’re just doing your job and I’m grateful.”

On the drive back to department headquarters, Weir shook his head. “Just another dead end.”

Detective Tom McCann met with Detectives Weir and Linnert with his report of the results of the
America’s Most Wanted
TV presentation.

“It’s a great program,” he reported to the investigators, “and I think they did a terrific job presenting our case. I made notes of conversations I had with those who called.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Not one of them really had anything worth telling you about.” His frustration showed on his face. “I really thought with this massive audience we’d get some callers who might have something of importance to pass on to us. But there was nothing . . . absolutely nothing.”

He paused, then added brightly, “But there still might be some hope. The producers told me that they get calls for several days following the broadcast, so there might still be something that will come in.”

The following day,
America’s Most Wanted
received a call, which would later have significance, from a Melbourne, Florida, woman who identified herself as Angel Huggins.

Cameron Weir studied the calendar on the wall facing him.

Time sure does fly; no truer words were ever spoken,
he thought, realizing that it was now July.
How long is this ordeal going to drag on? How long is it going to take us to catch that killer and give that family some closure?
He was disappointed that of the many calls that were flooding his and Linnert’s desk, motivated by the
America’s Most Wanted
broadcast, there were no substantive leads.
Surely there should be one call that will lead to something.

The phone interrupted Weir’s thoughts and projections.

“Weir,” he answered.

“You have a call and the man says it’s important.”

“Who’s the call from?”

“A Detective Brian Cutcher of the Osceola County Sheriff’s Department. I don’t know what it’s about, but from the sound of his voice, it certainly must be important.”

“Put him through, please.”

Weir greeted the caller from the neighboring county, “Detective Cutcher, what can I do for you?”

“Hello, Detective Weir,” Cutcher answered. “Something occurred here that could be of interest to you, relative to the Carla Larson case.”

Suddenly Weir was totally interested in this caller. “I’m all ears. Tell me what you have.”

“Okay. Bear with me because this is strange, to say the least. A woman called the department. She wanted to know if she could come and see me. I was kind of wary because I don’t like to have just anyone off the street call and get an authorization to come in to the department for some unknown or unspecified reason.”

“I certainly agree with that,” Weir said.

“But yet you don’t want to be too quick to write someone off as a crackpot or a crank.”

“I know what you’re saying,” Weir agreed.

“Anyway, after listening for several moments on the phone, she had me curious and I felt that I should see her. She came into headquarters, a tall, attractive woman, I’d guess in her thirties, maybe late thirties, and she spoke confidently.

“She referred to her friend and assured me her disclosure was one hundred percent reliable. At first I thought she was talking about herself, you know how they hide behind a ‘friend.’ Then she asked me if I was familiar with the business of the white vehicle. Right away she had me hooked. I asked her, ‘Which white vehicle?’ And she said, ‘The car that the man was driving out of the woods at Disney World.’ Boy, did that get my interest! I couldn’t wait for her to tell me more.”

Cutcher chuckled and continued. “She said her friend in Melbourne, Angel Huggins, knows all about that white vehicle and could give you or the authorities information that would knock your socks off, and someone should talk to her. So I figured I’d better call you fellows.”

The Osceola detective said that she gave him the name, address and telephone number of Angel Huggins, her friend in Melbourne. Cutcher also indicated to Weir that the woman assured him that Angel was eager to talk to the detectives and authorities who were investigating the Carla Larson murder case.

“I’ll tell you, Weir, there was something very credible about this woman. She sure sounded like she knew what she was talking about. She made a believer out of me.”

Cam Weir’s thoughts leaped ahead.
Could this be the break that we were hoping for to spark our investigation, or just another dead end like all the rest? Still, Melbourne isn’t far from Cocoa Beach and the burned vehicle,
he rationalized to himself.

He brought his thoughts back to Cutcher, who was still on the line. He told the Osceola detective that he was grateful for his call and the information that he passed on, and they would certainly pursue it.

After he hung up the telephone, Weir discussed Detective Cutcher’s phone call with Linnert.

“There are more unexpected developments in this case than I ever thought possible,” Weir commented. “According to Cutcher, this woman in Melbourne knows something about the Ford Explorer and is apparently more than willing to talk to authorities. Not as eager as I am to talk with her,” he said dryly. “And how far is Melbourne from Cocoa Beach, where the vehicle was burned up—five miles or ten? For some reason, call it a gut feeling, I think that this sounds more promising than anything we’ve had so far. Cutcher sure seemed convinced.”

“Sounds good. I hope your hunch proves out. Let’s not waste any time seeing her.”

“Should we drive to Melbourne now?” Weir looked at his watch. “It’s after two o’clock. It’s about sixty-five miles, so it should be about four-thirty when we get there and find her house.”

“No time like the present,” John answered, “and we really can’t put off anything that even suggests information that we could use.”

Weir sighed. “I know you’re right.” He brightened up. “The trip is actually a nice ride and we can use the break.”

In the official car, as the two detectives drove toward Melbourne, located on the east coast about twenty-five miles south of Cocoa Beach, Weir recounted some other things that Detective Cutcher told him in their phone conversation.

“Cutcher was emphatic that this woman who gave him the story focused on the abuse that Angel put up with from her husband.”

“What does that mean? Domestic violence?”

Weir answered, “This is very complicated, what with third parties involved. Let me see if I got it straight. This woman we’re going to see, Angel Huggins, told her friend, who told Cutcher, that her husband had a violent history—domestic violence with his first wife.”

Linnert commented, “You’re right. It is complicated. Is she still married to him?”

“Yes, still married. They are separated but haven’t divorced. According to what our Osceola detective was able to pick up, Angel Huggins apparently filed for divorce in 1995 based on issues of domestic violence. I understood from Cutcher that she didn’t go through with it as yet because of financial problems. Evidently, she has been having money troubles.

“But getting back to her husband, Cutcher was told that after their marriage on February 14, 1994, Valentine’s Day, no less, her husband was arrested and has been in and out of jail ever since. I’ll bet he has a lulu of a rap sheet. But what caught Cutcher’s and my attention is that the informant mentioned something about the white Ford seen in the Disney World area.”

“That’s what we’re interested in,” Linnert remarked. “That would make this a most worthwhile trip. But I sure don’t want to get our hopes up, in case it fizzles out.”

“True. And I agree. However, I can’t help feeling optimistic.”

Arriving in Melbourne, the two detectives soon were at the residence of Angel Huggins. Automatically, as police officers do, they made a quick visual survey and appraisal of the house and the neighborhood. It was a modest home on a tree-lined street of similar residences. The shrubs surrounding the building were neat and well kept. They noticed a shed to the rear of the property.

At the door of the home, after the lawmen introduced themselves, Angel Huggins invited them inside.

“I’m glad to see you, Detectives,” Mrs. Huggins greeted. “Please come in,” she urged. As she led the men into a tidy living room, with comfortable chairs and a sofa, both officers were struck with how attractive she was. Her honey-colored hair complemented her bright blue eyes and lovely oval-shaped face. She was tall, in her thirties, with a slender figure and a warm, friendly smile.

She seems to be handling this situation with composure,
Weir thought in his initial study of her.

Mrs. Huggins invited them to “please be seated.”

When they were comfortably settled, Weir said, “Ma’am, I guess you understand that we’re here through a roundabout message that you might have some information relative to a case that we’re working on.”

Mrs. Huggins nodded. “I suppose,” she began slowly in an uncomfortable tone, “you were not expecting to hear from me, either directly or indirectly.” She seemed reluctant to continue, as though she were trying to decide how much she should tell the detectives.

“Mrs. Huggins,” Detective Linnert said, “in our work we get all kinds of leads, tips, information that take us in all sorts of directions to all kinds of places. Our policy is just to collect the facts. We don’t assume anything or make any judgments.” He paused, then picked up. “Detective Cutcher of the Osceola County Sheriff’s Department told Detective Weir that a close friend of yours said that you would be willing to talk to investigators in the Carla Larson case.”

Angel Huggins nodded her head several times. “That’s right,” she answered hesitantly after Linnert’s explanation. “I just felt that it was time for me to let the police or the sheriff’s department hear what I could tell them.”

“Well, Mrs. Huggins, here we are.” It was the detective’s turn to nod his head.

“First of all, I want to thank you for coming to see me. I know that you drove over from Orlando and I appreciate that. I just have to tell you that I never in my entire life thought I would ever be caught up in an ordeal the likes of which I am still going through.”

Weir looked at the woman sympathetically and steered the conversation. “I understand you know something about the white Ford Explorer we’re interested in. You might like to start there.”

“That vehicle”—Angel tossed her head, shrugging impatiently—“didn’t come into the story at the beginning. There’s a lot more to what happened before the white Ford came into the picture.”

The detective team watched quietly, waiting expectantly, wondering what Mrs. Huggins would say.

“I think I should go back to that date that is so important to everything that happened since. June tenth. See, John—my husband, John Huggins—we’re actually separated and I’m staying here at my mother’s house with my two kids. To get back, he came over and wanted to take the kids and me to Gatorland in Orlando. He was on some kind of a bend to make up to me and the kids for his lousy treatment of us for a long time, too long.”

Weir and Linnert were impatient for her to get on to something of relevance to their case, but they could see Angel was going to tell it her way in her own time. They settled back to listen.

“John really fits the category of a ‘bad boy’—not just for one or two things but for a long, consistent history of everyday things,” she continued. “But this time there was something that he was trying to do. I didn’t understand it then and I don’t understand it now. He explained that he wanted to get all of us together, the kids, me and him, so we could spend some time together. I was taken in by the idea and agreed to go along with his plans.

“John got his kids and, with mine, brought us all to Orlando to go to Gatorland and have a great time. He had it all set and we arrived on June ninth and checked into the Days Inn in Kissimmee. Apparently, everything was hunky-dory. We all went to Gatorland and had a good time; the day was just great. Afterward, everyone went back to the suite of rooms at the Days Inn.”

Angel paused, seeming uncertain or maybe somewhat embarrassed, but continued. “I probably should have known better, but John and I got into an argument over past problems. And a lot of it had to do with his former wife. That’s when I got into bed with my clothes on, and all hell broke loose.”

Angel stared past the detectives, recalling that evening. “As the hours wore on, John decided that he would like to make love to me. I let him know that I didn’t feel up to it. But that did not go down very well with him. At first he turned on his best charm and tried to persuade me. The more he tried, the more disinterested I became. I turned my back on him. He got really persistent, and I got just as obstinate as he was. I was determined not to be persuaded. He became infuriated, and no longer was he the kindly lover. He began tearing off my clothes. I pushed him away. The more I tried to fend him off, the more physical he became. He grabbed me and threw me on the bed. Now he wasn’t interested in sex anymore, only in showing me that he was still the boss. He’s still my husband, and I am his slave.”

She said at this point that John was enraged, but she managed to move over to the couch. “But he picked me up and pushed me back over the arm of the couch. Then he choked me, trying to strangle me. He was determined to kill me. I was literally scared to death. He had his hands on my neck and he was choking me with all his might. His big body—he’s over six feet—was crushing me and I started to black out. But I refused to let him destroy my life. I twisted and turned and finally struck him in the head with my fist. Then, through some kind of miracle, I broke loose and ran into the bathroom and locked the door.”

At this point of reliving her harrowing experience, Angel stopped, breathless.

Weir soothed her. “Calm down. Just relax.”

Angel sat breathing hard, trying to gather herself to continue.

“Can I get you something? Would you like a glass of water?” John Linnert asked anxiously.

“No, no, I’m all right. It’s just when I remember what happened, it all comes rushing back.”

“It’s okay,” Weir said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” she began. “Well, I just sat in the bathroom for an interminable time. I was afraid that he would smash down the door and drag me out. But for some unexplained reason, nothing happened. I just sat inside that bathroom, terrified. Hours crept by, until I finally got up enough courage to unlock the bathroom door and peek out to see if he was still there.”

He was gone and Angel said that she didn’t know what to think. Since she was exhausted from the terrible ordeal, she went into the children’s bedroom and got into bed with them. John Huggins apparently left the motel. It was morning, June 10.

Angel continued to reveal her life with Huggins. She told the detectives that in his series of missteps with the law, he was in and out of jail constantly. “We have not been living together, but I did see him off and on, from time to time. My two girls and I are currently living here with my mother in Melbourne.”