Of Guilt and Innocence (22 page)

After reaching the supervisor listed in the newspaper article, Jim was given the name and phone number of the lead investigating officer for the Anne Bradford murder. “Holy shit I know this guy.” Jim said aloud after he hung up. “Jorge Salazar, I worked with him in some gambling ring taskforce years ago. Nice guy, kind of quiet. Hopefully I can get somewhere with him.” Jim knew he needed to be delicate. If there was evidence of Louis's involvement in the South Florida Strangler killings, enough to warrant him being called a suspect, he may have to back off of Louis for a while. All he wanted was to talk to him, to get a feel for him. He desperately hoped that would still be possible.

Jim dialed Jorge's number. The two men exchanged pleasantries and caught up briefly. Jorge told Jim he had just spoken to the doctor who had performed his mother's surgery and laughed about the coincidence that Jim was now calling him. Jim looked up at the three men surrounding him and nodded as if to indicate there would be no problems, which excited them. Jim finally decided to get around to the actual reason for his call. “Listen, Jorge, we had a little girl who was kidnapped on Saturday and murdered and one of our suspects is in your neck of the woods.”

“Let me know what I can do to help. I'm a little busy with this but I can get some of our guys to help you.”  Jorge said back, not realizing what Jim's ultimate request was going to be.

“Well, turns out our suspect is your suspect, too.”  There was no response. Jim decided to continue. “Louis Bradford was seen at the Boca Towne Center Mall during the time our girl and her mother were there. He even interacted with her. He left shortly before them and out of the same entrance. We need to speak with him. We think he waited for them in the parking lot and followed them home.”

“When did you say this was again?” Jorge asked, sounding confused.

“Saturday.”

“Jim, I gotta be honest with you, I don't think he's your guy. I mean, he fits perfectly as this serial killer. He kills older women, that's his M.O. Not young children. Do you have any physical evidence that would link him to this?” Jorge was teetering on the edge of enlisting Jim's assistance. He knew in his heart that Louis was not Jim's guy. However, if Jim had some kind of evidence, enough to obtain a search warrant for Louis's apartment and car he would allow Jim to conduct his investigation and gather evidence, which he could also use for his case.  

“He's a sex offender for molesting a young girl. No, we don't have any physical evidence right now or we would already have a search warrant,” Jim shot back as the conversation began taking a less cordial turn.

“Yes, but that was a long time ago. His first time acting out. Other serial killers started out the same way.  Shawcross, for example. I'm telling you he fits perfectly as our guy. He wouldn't be both. That just doesn't happen. You know that just doesn't happen.” Jorge was disappointed that Jim could not assist him in getting into Louis's apartment, however, he also felt in some way vindicated that he had the right guy.

“All right, I get that, but we still have to speak to him, you understand. I'm only calling you as a courtesy. We are going to talk with him either way.” Jim's voice became gradually more agitated.

“I'm sorry, Jim, you know that's not a good idea. It could jeopardize our whole case. He's a huge flight risk as it is. Do you really want to be the one to screw this up over a theory with no evidence to support it? This is the biggest case in South Florida since both of us have been cops. I know you, you're a good detective, you don't want to do something foolish like that.” Jorge's tone was calm yet sharp. He wasn't going to be bullied into letting Jim spook his prime suspect into hiding.

“This guy raped and murdered a child, you don't care about that? You're going to let him go free?” Jim was angry now and throwing anything he could at Jorge, trying to guilt him into agreeing to the interview.

“Trust me, he is not going free. Just be patient. Once we make an arrest and he is in custody I will call you and you can ask him whatever you like. Or, if, by chance, something changes and he is not our guy I'll call you right away. But I don't expect it to. I'm sorry, man. I don't know what else to tell you.”  

“Yeah, thanks a lot.” Jim said as he hung up the phone in a huff. He looked down at the phone for a second trying to catch his breath and calm a bit, then he looked up at the group who eagerly awaited a response. “Forget it, this guy's an asshole. He's not gonna help us. Chris, can't you make some calls? I mean, I just wanna talk to this guy, that's all.” Jim was desperate.  

“We got no evidence, Jim. I know he seems promising, but we can't put him in the little girl's neighborhood. Go re-canvass, show the neighbors his pictures. But for now we have to back off.” Sergeant Phillips gave a sympathetic look to his detectives, then walked back into his office.

 

 

CHAPTER 16

 

 

As the days passed Jim and Dan tried their hardest to link Louis Bradford to Ashley's murder but were unable to come up with any physical evidence to do it. Tips continued to pour in and they would follow up on them as well, but most were fruitless. They continued to look into Angela, but eventually they came to the realization that she wasn't involved in Ashley's kidnapping or murder and cleared her as a suspect. They seemed to be in a holding pattern, just waiting for the go ahead to speak with Louis Bradford, who at this point, was their only suspect. Of course, he was also the prime suspect in the South Florida Strangler case, to which they now paid close attention.  

Each day with no news regarding the South Florida Strangler, Jim became more convinced that Jorge had nothing. The more time passed the more the case frustrated him. Jim and Dan both had attended Ashley's services, at the funeral home, the church, and the cemetery. Jim revisited the torturous thoughts of his own daughters and again struggled with the different emotions that came with it. But that was over now; Ashley was at rest, though he hesitated to think of it as such. Little girls shouldn't be laid “to rest,” he thought. He pictured old, tired people passing away when he heard that phrase, which he had heard a lot over the past several days. Little girls should be full of energy. They should be dancing, running, living life. Like his daughters were.  

The case was still a hotbed of discussion in the media and so he knew he would be allowed to continue to work it as his one and only assignment for a little while longer, however, the time would soon come when he would have to push it aside and begin a new project. He became angry at the thought. He knew that it could be months or longer before the taskforce made their case against Bradford and arrested him or decided he wasn't their man. And at that point, who knew if they would be able to gather enough evidence from whatever trampled crime scenes were left over. He couldn't bear the thought of letting this case go unsolved. But, unfortunately, for the time being, he would have to simply wait while his prime suspect walked free, knowing he may never catch him.

 

It had been one week since Ashley's abduction. One week since the Wootens' lives had been “normal.” Now they were anything but. Tom now spent a lot of time sitting out on the deck by himself, mainly in the evening when it wasn't too hot.

He had let his business go over the course of the week, closing it down most of the time. But, he realized, despite the fact that he was in no condition to reopen and run it, it would need to continue on, and so Tom put Rick in charge of all decisions. Kurt continued to work there as well and the two seemed to be doing well without Tom.

The store had become somewhat of a makeshift memorial. Customers, friends, and strangers would stop by and drop off cards or stuffed animals in front. Tom had no ambition to go back, and with Rick and Kurt willing to pick up the slack, he had no idea of when he might.

As he sat, a glass of sweet tea on the table beside him, and looked out into the darkness of the moonless evening, he recalled moments he had shared with his daughter.  Like the time she had gotten her head and right arm stuck in between two of the deck pickets. She was about three years old and she was playing with the dog while Tom and Lisa sat at the very same table that Tom's sweet tea now rested on. Apparently she had thought she could fit between the pickets and had wedged herself in good by the time Tom and Lisa were alerted to the situation by a high pitched scream. It took some time, but they were able to wiggle Ashley back out without hurting her or causing any damage to the deck.

Tom smirked as he remembered the scene, which at the time was not so humorous. He envisioned her running in the backyard as he sat there
--
something she did often
--
his last real memory of her. He reflected on that moment, only a week ago, and how, even then, his subconscious had cried out to him to drink it up. She was doing nothing really significant at the time, just running and chasing the dog. It wasn't a major milestone such as her first steps or first word or first day of preschool. But for some reason he thought to himself at the time that it was important and to enjoy and remember it. And now he was glad he had.

 

While Tom sat alone on the deck, illuminated by only one small light that shined over the table and chairs, Lisa had already been in bed for hours. That was the way she had spent most of her days since Ashley's death. She had never been good at dealing with grief, and thankfully, to this point in her life, she really hadn't had to. She had been taking a steady diet of sleeping pills and oxycodone since Monday and had begun to feel as if she couldn't survive without them. She didn't want to feel the pain that overcame her like an avalanche if she was raw and unprotected.

She was in an almost zombie-like state at the funeral and even then she didn't think she could go on. Every word that hit her ears brought pain and sorrow. But the cemetery was worse. She wanted to die herself when she was there, and felt like at any moment she would. She couldn't begin to imagine how she would overcome this state she was in. Getting back to her old self seemed impossible. She couldn't escape the thought that her daughter, her flesh and blood, was in a box under six feet of dirt. The thought almost suffocated her. What if she was cold down there? What if she was scared? What if it rained? They were torturous, the thoughts that would plague her mind. And so she took pills to make the thoughts go away, or at least temporarily quiet them down.  

 

Mark sat on the living room couch, his makeshift bed and bedroom, and turned on the television. He was trying to be the glue that kept everything together, but he was faltering. It had been a hard week for him as well. Not only did he have the services and memorials to attend, but he also had to look after two people who were destroyed inside. He had hired an attorney after Tom reluctantly agreed to it. The family had been inundated with phone calls from news stations and papers looking for interviews. Tom had told him from the beginning he did not want to speak publicly. He just wanted to let the police do their jobs.  

As he flipped through the channels he stopped on one of the national news stations. He looked in amazement at what the headline at the bottom of the screen read. There, in bold print, was, “BOCA RATON GIRL KIDNAPPED AND MURDERED WHERE ARE THE PARENTS?” Mark leaned forward and turned up the volume. The show was a crime talk show, hosted by a former federal prosecutor named Amber Gentrey. On this particular episode of the show there were two other people in a three-way split-screen debating the circumstances surrounding Ashley's death. The photo issued to police of Ashley, as well as a few others of the entire family would occasionally cover the screen as the three people debated. Mark was stunned. He had seen some local news stories on Ashley's death and read about it in the newspapers, but it had never crossed his mind that it would be covered nationally on such a well-known television show.  

“So, where is the family here, Murphy? It's been a week since their daughter's death and we haven't heard word one from any of them. Are they hiding something? Families always try to solicit support and tips by issuing statements and having fundraisers, especially when the child is kidnapped first.” The host shouted, looking into the camera the entire time. Her blonde hair rested neatly at her shoulders. Her blue eyes, set in a fixed gaze, and appeared calm even though her nostrils flared.

A man of middle age, shown only from the chest up, dressed in a black suit and red tie, took up one part of the three-way split-screen. His hair only existed in small patches on the side of his head and his mustache matched its auburn color. The name “Francis Murphy” flashed briefly under his face and written under that were the words “High Profile Defense Attorney in Miami, FL.”

“Amber, this attack on the family is way out of line,” he shouted back. “I mean, people deal with grief differently. There is no written rule that states that families have to come forward and make a public plea. The girl's father has an ironclad alibi and her mother is the one who contacted police. Also, police have given the indication the little girl was sexually assaulted, now come on, just because they aren't mugging it up in front of the cameras doesn't mean they were involved or know more than they are telling police.”   

The other occupant of the split screen was an attractive brunette who looked to be considerably younger than the host. Her brown eyes looked intently into the camera, and occasionally she nodded, both yes and no, while the other two debaters were speaking. She, too, could only be seen from the chest up and her white blouse was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver heart necklace that sparkled as it rested in the divot of her collarbone. Under her face briefly flashed “Nicole Kirkman” and under that read “Reporter,
Sun Sentinel
.” Now it was her turn to chime in.