Of Guilt and Innocence (15 page)

 

“OK, does anyone have anything new from last week that might be useful?” George scanned the group of officers who were busy eating their donuts and drinking their coffee. At this point the group mainly consisted of members of the Miami-Dade police department, although Jorge remained as the lone representative from the Pembroke Pines Police Department, and a few Broward County Sherriff's Office detectives were still assigned to the taskforce as well. “No, no one has anything? All right then. Tips are still coming in every day so be aware of them and let's get going.” A few other pertinent notes and minutes later the brief meeting was adjourned. The weekly briefings were more of a formality now than an informative exchanging of ideas.  

“Come on, let's go get breakfast,” said one of the detectives as he stood up from the table. Tony Petrulia, a twelve year vet of the Miami-Dade Police Department, was a New York City transplant, born and raised in Queens. He had moved to Miami just before being offered the job with Miami-Dade. Tony was an enormous physical specimen of a man. Not so much in height, as he stood at five feet and nine inches tall, but in muscle mass and overall physique. His specially tailored suit barely fit over his biceps and his necktie struggled to maintain its knot. He wasn't considered to be an overly handsome man; his dark brown eyes seemed beady and his nose curled up like that of a pig. He always had dark tanned skin and his short black hair was slicked back with excessive amounts of hair gel. His muscular build seemed to more than compensate for his lack of facial attractiveness, at least in his mind, as he oozed arrogance out of every pore.  

“Are you kidding me? We got a ton of leads to follow up on,” said the detective who had sat to Tony's left during the meeting. Detective Tim Micheals looked like a string bean in comparison to Tony. He could be imposing himself, standing at six foot one, one hundred ninety pounds, but compared to Tony's physical size he seemed malnourished.  

The taskforce had been split up into groups to maximize the number of leads that could be investigated. Jorge had partnered up with two Broward County Sherriff's Office detectives and they ran down leads in Broward County. Tony and Tim had known each other for years and decided they would pair up. As time went by, Tony grew less interested in the tedious work of investigating tips that had come in and more interested in screwing off. He still had the desire to catch the South Florida Strangler and have the notoriety that came with it, but he genuinely believed the killer was in prison, dead, or had moved from the area, and so he brushed off his duties as best he could. Tim also felt like there was some reason for a methodical killer who had been murdering helpless elderly women so frequently to stop, however, he still believed that hard work and a seemingly unimportant clue or tip would crack the case, and he desperately wanted to be the one to crack it.

“Come on, let's go grab a bite. You know I don't eat fuckin' donuts. I need some protein.” Tony said with his thick New York accent.

Tim reluctantly agreed to stop for breakfast and the pair went to a local mom and pop breakfast place near the beach that Tony liked. They sat down at a table that faced the ocean and ordered their breakfast. Tim had picked up a newspaper along the way and began reading it. “Jesus, some sick bastard kidnapped and killed a little girl in Boca. What's the matter with people?” Tim asked as he shook his head.

“Yeah, that's terrible,” Tony said, continuing to scan the beach. “Holy shit, look at this here. Look, look, look.” He nudged Tim's arm with his fist. “Hi girls,” he said and waved even though he was certain a group of three young women, clad in bikinis, walking along the beach could not hear him. He stared until they passed and moved out of sight. “Fuck, can you believe those chicks? Isn't it like nine o'clock in the morning? What the hell are they doing out this early?”

“What is wrong with you, man? I'm talking about a little girl who was murdered and you're staring at eighteen-year-old girls. You're drooling, by the way.”

“All right, all right, I said it was terrible, what do you want from me, tears? Besides, it's sick fucks that do shit like that that keep us employed.” Just then the waitress bent over in between them and placed their plates of food on the table. Her low cut shirt exposed a large portion of each breast as she leaned forward. As she stood upright again, Tony looked at Tim, raised his eyebrows and smiled.  

Tony was thirty six years old but never really wanted to be a day older than twenty one. He was married with two children, a ten year old boy and a seven year old girl.  Family life mattered little to Tony. What mattered to him was going out to nightclubs and meeting women. He liked drinking heavily and having no consequences for his actions.

He enjoyed his inclusion in the taskforce for many different reasons. It gave his arrogance and feelings of self-importance justification and he knew others would envy and respect him for it. He overlooked the fact that, had he not been originally assigned the Mary Sanderson homicide investigation, he never would have been chosen to be included. Being in the taskforce also gave him a chance to be away from his supervisor in the detective unit he had been assigned to, who he was certain had it in for him because he wouldn't look the other way when Tony came in late or slept at his desk. It was also a great excuse for why he needed to be out all night. He would tell his wife two or three times a week that he needed to be out doing a stakeout for the taskforce, when in reality he was at bars or nightclubs or another woman's home. And of course he enjoyed the freedom he had being out all day checking tips and leads or screwing off, which was what he had begun doing more often.

Tim held a stack of papers that encompassed a small amount of the various tips that had been received via the telephone tip line. In the early days of the taskforce, when there was a lot of information to check and the killer was striking regularly, each group would be assigned different tasks, and the results of those tasks would be discussed the following day in briefing. If any information was looked at as useful, it would be marked on one of the large dry erase boards; the other information would be filed.

Now the taskforce was left with mainly following up on tips that had been phoned in or going over old information. Each group would take a stack of the tips, which were transcribed on paper, along with any biographical data if a name was passed along by the tipster. If the group felt like the tip could possibly be legitimate and helpful, they would pass that information along to Lieutenant Greer. If he felt it was noteworthy he would call a special meeting to discuss it. If not, the tip was filed. Nothing was thrown away.

“All right, we got this guy who claims he saw Elsa McMillian's killer leave her house and is just now calling it in two years after the fact. We have this woman who said her neighbor told her some things about when the South Florida Strangler will strike next, and we have another guy who said his cousin, well, just looks like a serial killer.  And those are just the top three tip sheets. Who do you want to see first?” Tim asked as he and Tony walked out of the restaurant and back to their car.

“The chick who knows when he'll strike next. Maybe she's hot.”

 

 

CHAPTER 11

 

 

Anne walked into the examination room and sat on the table. A medical assistant took her blood pressure and asked her a few questions, then left after the advisement that both Dr. Morris and Dr. Hernandez would be in to see her shortly. She sat with her short legs dangling off the edge of the examination table, holding her purse in her lap. Her hip was extremely sore after the walk from her home to the bus stop, then from the bus stop to the doctor's office. Different thoughts crossed her mind as she waited. What she would prepare for dinner that evening, what Louis was doing on that particular day, and if he would join her for dinner.

She thought about her neighbors, whom she disliked. She had seen them on their porch that morning as she walked to the bus stop. They never really bothered her or said anything to her as she passed, but she knew they were selling drugs or who knows what else, and she would get concerned for Louis's safety. When she saw them she remembered how the neighborhood was when she and her late husband had first moved in. It was friendly, upper middle class, and white. Now criminals overran it. She worried they would attack Louis one day or steal the car. He would be devastated by that. He was such a good boy, she thought, and she didn't like street thugs like that bothering him.

Dr. Morris entered the room. “All right, Anne, how are we feeling today?”

“Not too good. It's getting harder and harder for me to walk.”

“Well, I think we are all set to do this procedure. Dr. Hernandez will be in here in a second. He will set everything up for the surgery and post-surgery exams. Everything will be fine.” Dr. Morris was in a very good mood this particular morning, which was unusual because he usually preferred to scold Anne for one reason or another. Today, however, he was very comforting and reassuring.   

Anne was alone again. The thought of another surgery didn't appeal to her. She knew it would be expensive and worried about how she would pay for it. She worried about not being able to be mobile for a while after the surgery. When she had her hip replaced the first time Louis had just been arrested and was preparing for trial. That surgery had been planned since before his arrest, and though she wanted to, she knew she couldn't put it off.

She knew Louis had been going through a lot mentally and emotionally having been accused of a crime he didn't commit, and so she hadn't wanted to further burden him with looking after and helping her. She was working at the hospital at the time and was able to have co-workers and friends come by and help her out for a few weeks. But now she had no idea who she would turn to. She was hesitant to ask Louis to help her; she knew he had his own life and she didn't want to be an encumbrance. She just could think of no one else to turn to and she knew she would have to enlist his assistance at times, although she dreaded asking him for it.

She also worried about the surgery itself. She was getting older and had a heart condition: What if she didn't wake up? What if this was it for her? She worried about Louis. Who would take care of him if she passed away? Before she could ponder these questions further, Carlos walked in.

“Why, hello there. It is good to see you again. How is everything?” Carlos smiled as he looked at her and spoke.

“Oh, everything is fine, I suppose.”

“Dr. Morris tells me we are going to go ahead with the surgery. That's good, it's a good thing. Do you have any questions about it?”

“I'm just curious why this is happening and if it will happen again. When I had the first surgery they said it would last forever. That was only twelve years ago. I don't know how much time I have left, but I really don't want to have to do this again.”

Carlos smiled and paused for a second before answering. “Well, the doctor who told you it would last forever was wrong. He should not have said that. What happens is the hip replacement implant is made of both metal and plastic, and over time they both wear down. Think of it like a car tire. The more you drive on it, the quicker it wears down. A woman your age at that time was not expected to be as active as you have been, and so the doctor probably assumed you would have gotten twenty years or more out of it. The implant you are getting now is made from a higher quality metal and plastic. I can guarantee you will not need another.” He smiled again.  “Now, let me ask you, I know you walk to and from the bus stop almost daily, what about around the house, do you do all the household chores or does your son help you out?”

“I do them. Louis lives in his apartment, he takes care of it and I take care of the house.”

“Doesn't he ever come over and do things for you at the house? Like clean up after dinner or lock up at night?”

“No, he rarely comes over for dinner anymore and he is never over after dark. He's a very private person.”

“Well, I think we are all set, let's set a date, shall we?”  

After a date was agreed upon and more small talk was made, Anne was ready to make the trek back to the bus stop and head home.

“I am so sorry, I cannot give you a ride home today I have other patients to see.”

“Oh, that's OK, I was planning on taking the bus anyway.”

With that, Anne walked out of the office and Carlos could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He was very excited and anxious. This was it; he had waited six long months for this. Since this alter-ego had taken shape he had never gone this long without gratifying his dark callings. He was addicted to the sense of control he got from it. He liked outsmarting and fooling both his victim and the police, flexing his superior intelligence and watching everyone scramble in his wake. He didn't really enjoy the community being paralyzed with fear that he might attack them so much as he enjoyed the community being paralyzed with fear that he could not be caught or stopped. Yes this was it, today was the day—that old feeling was back.

Carlos hadn't really planned on taking such a long hiatus, it just sort of happened that way. After his last victim he felt so badly about neglecting Julia that he decided to surprise her with a cruise. When they returned he took his requisite break from murder and lived honestly, but after a few months his demons began calling again and he started looking for new victims. He perused the patient files, did neighborhood and background checks, but no one seemed to meet his criteria. Another few months went by and still no one struck him as being “the one.”

Then Carlos got word from his mother that his father was very ill and he spent weeks tending to him. He had seen his father, Miguel, just a few months prior but hadn't noticed any symptoms. Carlos was devastated. As hard as Miguel had been on him as a child, Carlos loved his father deeply. He cared for his father daily, until his death only one month after Carlos had been made aware of his illnesses. Carlos took Miguel's death very hard and felt strong feelings of guilt for not diagnosing his own father when he had seen him prior to being on his deathbed. He could have at least eased his pain sooner, made him more comfortable. It was a huge blow to his ego and confidence.  Maybe he wasn't the doctor he thought he was. It took months before Carlos regained just a bit of his old swagger.