Of Guilt and Innocence (21 page)

To further add pressure to the team, the Sherriff's Office had allowed for an officer to be taken off the road to tail Louis Bradford and ensure his whereabouts were known at all times. However, this was an extremely temporary thing, and would only be allowed for, at most, a few more days.  

The team headed over, along with some crime scene techs, to the Bradford home armed with the search warrant for the garage. They located Louis, who was still in the main house and served him with the warrant, which he just glanced at and didn't say a word in response to, though the detectives didn't give him much of a chance to respond before they made their way to the garage. They entered the musky-smelling, cluttered area and got to work, meticulously searching for anything that might help build their case. After about an hour, it seemed that every inch of cement was thoroughly inspected, but the smoking gun they hoped for was nowhere to be found. The garbage cans were empty and an inspection of the floor and walls yielded no evidence of a violent struggle ever taking place there. The only minor victory for the team was the discovery and collection of several small hairs, but they would have to be analyzed and matched to a Strangler victim to be of any help.

Jorge stopped and took a deep breath as he stared at the door cut into the ceiling and the string dangling from it that stopped just above his head. It was so close he could reach out and grab it and with one good pull the door would open, leading to what was certain to be a treasure trove of evidence above. But he couldn't, and that evidence would have to remain hidden, at least for now. Jorge could feel frustration building, which was very uncharacteristic of him. This was the biggest case of his career and he felt very strongly that Louis was his guy. He had to be, they had never been so close on a suspect before. Even though the physical evidence was not there, and he had yet to link Louis to the other victims, he felt the circumstantial evidence screamed out that Louis was it. The team wrapped up their search with the hairs and little else and left.

In an attempt to relieve his frustration, perhaps get back to the investigator he had been prior to the South Florida Strangler taskforce and the obsession he had begun to feel with his role in it, Jorge decided to look at this homicide as an individual case. He had a suspect, but no evidence to support it yet. He needed to follow up on other possible leads. He started with the partial timeline that had been created of the events of Anne's final day. A calendar had hung on the kitchen wall on which Anne had written appointments and obligations. For that day, Monday, Anne had written only one thing, “Dr. Morris 1 PM.” Jorge was able to get the address to Dr. Morris's office from one of the pill bottles retrieved from the upstairs bathroom medicine cabinet and headed there to speak with him.  

 

Dr. Morris had heard on the news of Anne's death and was still upset about it when Jorge spoke with him. He had a personal connection with a lot of his patients, but he felt strongly about Anne because she had been with him as a patient for so long. More importantly, though he was hard on her at times, he had always felt sorry for her. He knew she had had a hard life with her husband's death and raising a son on her own. Then, of course, dealing with the son she had raised. Dr. Morris explained to Jorge that he had only spoken with Anne for a moment at the beginning of her appointment and then he turned her over to his associate, Dr. Hernandez, who was to perform her hip replacement surgery. Dr. Morris was then asked about Anne's son, which he was quick to respond to.

“Did he do this?” Dr. Morris fired back gruffly.

“We don't know yet, do you think he is capable of doing it? Had she ever said she was afraid of him before?”

“No, she never seemed afraid of him. He always seemed like kind of a pussy to me . . . pardon my language, I just never cared for him.”

“Why is that?”

“He treated her like garbage, and she supported him no matter what. He used to make her take the bus here so he could have the car. And he never worked, so who knows what he needed the car for that was so damn important. The few times he did pick her up he would act pissed off that he had to do it. He never looked me in the eyes. He just seemed like he would melt if he was talked to sternly or put in his place. But Anne would never do that. She babied him all his life.”

Jorge wrapped up his conversation with Dr. Morris and moved on to Dr. Hernandez, who was in his office. “Please, call me Carlos,” he said as the men shook hands.

“All right, Carlos, you met with Anne Bradford yesterday at 1 PM, is that correct?”

“Yes, I heard about what happened. Terrible. She was a wonderful woman. They said the man who killed her was that serial killer, is that true?”

Jorge remained straight faced and gave a noncommittal response of, “We aren't sure yet.” He quickly followed with, “Did she seem afraid or did any of her actions seem odd at all during your appointment?”

“No, she seemed anxious to have her hip replaced. It had begun to really bother her.”

“Did she mention any plans she may have had for the remainder of the day?”

“No, she took the bus home, but that was normal.”

“Did she ever mention her son to you?”

Carlos paused for a moment. He knew what this question meant. It seemed perfect, he thought. Her son would be the perfect suspect. “She mentioned him a few times, yes.”

“Did she ever express to you any fear of him?”

“No, she just seemed worn down by him. My understanding was he was angry with her all the time.”

“Did she say why he was always angry with her?”

“Not specifically, it just seemed anything she asked him to do he would get upset about. It seemed she was invading on his lifestyle too much.”

“All right, and about what time did she leave here? Do you recall?”

Carlos looked up toward the ceiling. “Well, usually appointments last around a half hour, and we did schedule her hip replacement surgery as well, so she was probably here in the room for about thirty-five minutes, but I'm not sure what time it was exactly when she was brought in. Occasionally appointments do not start on time,” he smiled sheepishly with this admission.

“OK, Doctor, thank you for your time.” Jorge shook Carlos's hand again and the two men locked eyes. Jorge paused and gazed quizzically into Carlos's eyes.  

Carlos smiled back at him, but he could tell something wasn't right. Something was going on in the detective's head.  

“You know something,” Jorge said finally, breaking the silence. “I know who you are.”

Carlos was confused by this. Was this some sort of trick? Had this detective known along it was him and had been toying with him up to this point? Did this detective recall his involvement in the Rebecca Sullivan case? Had he made a large mistake striking so close to home once again? For the first time since his initial murder, he was afraid. Afraid he had made a mistake. Afraid he had been caught.

“Years ago,” the awkward pause was finally broken, “I worked a taskforce, it was a gambling ring. Anyway, I worked with a guy from Boca Raton, Jim Brekenridge. He told me his mother had just had shoulder surgery and I'm fairly certain you were the doctor he said performed it.  Carlos Hernandez at Ft. Lauderdale Hospital. I think I wrote it down because my mother was having similar problems with her shoulder at the time.”

Carlos breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, yes I did. Her first name escapes me at this moment, but I do remember him, the police officer. He was a very large man.”

“Yes, Jim is enormous. Anyway, he said you were excellent and highly recommended you. Said you treated his mother very well. Weird, huh? I never forget a name though, which is always a good thing in police work.” Jorge smiled.

“Yes, it certainly is a small world. How is she doing anyway?”

“I haven't talked to Jim since that particular case closed, so I don't know. Again, thanks for your time, Doctor, I have to be going.” With that, Jorge left the office having obtained an image of Louis as an uncaring, angry son. He continued to fit the profile. 

 

 

CHAPTER 15

 

 

Jim and Dan pulled up in front of the Wooten residence and slowly walked to the front door. Jim had spoken to Tom prior to their arrival and told him they needed to show Lisa a picture and speak with her. Tom had agreed, but seemed apprehensive, stating she was still taking anti-anxiety medications as well as sleeping pills and at times was unable to focus. The truth was she was actually taking oxycodone without a legitimate prescription for it, but Tom decided he should leave that part out when speaking with police. He met the detectives at the front door and led them into the living room where Lisa sat on the couch.

Lisa's appearance had become almost unrecognizable from when the detectives first met her on Saturday. Her hair was tangled and looked like it had gone unbrushed since the moment she realized her daughter was missing.  Her once flawless skin now was red in spots and small areas of acne showed through without makeup to disguise them. Purple bags were prominent under her eyes. She clutched a mug of coffee and mustered a “hello” as Jim and Dan stood in front of her. Jim apologized for bothering her and told her they had been reviewing the security tapes from the mall on the day Ashley was abducted. He showed her the picture of Louis Bradford and asked if she recalled seeing him at the mall. It was the photo from his sex offender registry, however, all the information around his photo, including that he was a sex offender, had been cut out. Jim did not want the information to influence Lisa's memory in any way. She clutched the picture in her hands trying hard to focus on his face.

“I don't recall seeing him, no.” Lisa said, squinting and still trying to focus on his face.

“At one point Ashley bumped into him and she fell to the ground, do you remember that?” Dan said in a soft, calm voice.

“Yes, I do remember that.”  She took a closer look at the picture.  “Yeah, this is the guy she bumped into, but that was her fault, she wasn't paying attention. Right?” She trailed off and seemed confused, looking up at Jim as if she was expecting him to complete her memory.

“That did appear to be the case, yes. He was also seen later on to be leaving around the same time as you. Do you remember seeing him again any other time on your trip, maybe in the parking lot or in your neighborhood?  Had you ever seen him before?” Jim asked as personably as he could, yet he still came off as very rushed. He was anxious to speak with what he felt was his first real suspect.

Lisa's eyelids opened and closed very slowly. She said nothing, just shook her head no. Guilt had already overcome her. Guilt and sorrow. She felt very strongly by now that this was her fault. Her inattentiveness. Her lack of supervision. Her selfishness. It had all led to her daughter being kidnapped and ultimately murdered.

Tom also felt that way. In all, he had written the names of five women on Jim's pad. And those were only the ones who lived locally.  When Lisa stopped accompanying him on his out of town trips he became more active in the nightlife while away. And, of course, interactions during in-home repair calls like the one he had had with Angela were common as well.

“Do you think this man is responsible for kidnapping my daughter?” Tom asked, finally breaking the silence, reaching for the picture. Of course what he really meant was, was he responsible for killing my daughter, however, he couldn't bring himself to speak of her death that freely. Not yet.  

“Well, it's early yet. We would like to speak to him,” Jim said. “We will be in touch if anything noteworthy comes of it.”

Jim and Dan walked back to the front door with Tom accompanying them. The three men stopped at the door and shook hands.

“Listen, there is a memorial service for Ashley tonight. We had to make it family only because of all the media interest, but if either of you are interested you're welcome to come. Don't feel obligated though. I know if it was me I wouldn't want to be there.” Tom paused and looked away for a second. “I don't want to be there now,” he continued quietly.

“Thank you, I'll certainly try to be there,” said Jim. “Do you guys still have someone to help you out? This is the first time I've seen you alone and we can arrange for someone to come by if you like.”

“No, uh, Mark will be back. He just went home for a bit to see his family. Thank you though.” With that Jim and Dan headed back to their office.

 

Almost as if he had been watching patiently and waiting for their arrival back at the station, Paul jumped up from his desk and walked quickly to Jim and Dan's desk cluster before they even had a chance to sit down.

“Jesus Christ, Bedard, give me a minute to sit down, will you? You're like a little kid, I told you that you could come, just be patient.”

“That's not it. There may be a slight problem with our trip to Davie.” Paul said anxiously. “Did either of you read the newspaper this morning or watch the news last night?” Both Jim and Dan shook their heads no. Paul handed Jim the morning's edition of
The
Palm Beach Post
. There, under the bold printed headline, “POSSIBLE STRANGLER SUSPECT,” was a picture of Louis Bradford. The very same picture Jim had just shown Lisa Wooten. “His mother was the one who was killed the other day. That's why his name sounded familiar to you.”

Jim and Dan paused for a moment to take it all in. The initial surprise that their case was yet again linked to another investigation rendered each of them speechless. Then the logistics of what this meant for their investigation set in.  

“Who does it say the investigating agency is?” Jim asked pensively.

“It lists the taskforce as investigating it, but there is a quote from a supervisor at the Broward County Sheriff's Office also.” Jim immediately flipped through the yellowed cards of his rolodex. He began dialing just as Sergeant Phillips joined them, anxiously awaiting the outcome of Jim's call.