Evidence of Murder (4 page)

Weir and Linnert concluded the session and returned to their vehicle.

“Are we making any progress, do you think?” Linnert asked.

“Well, I think we’re headed in the right direction. But we’ll have to dig deeper. We still don’t know what happened to Mrs. Larson after she left the grocery store. And the clock is ticking.”

Later that afternoon, the detectives interviewed Centex Rooney employees Ray Walby and Freddie Kitchens, who confirmed John Ricker’s account of seeing Carla shortly before noon in her vehicle, going to lunch.

 

 

Cindy Garris at the Centex Rooney construction trailers was eager to talk to the detectives. “I’ve known Carla for about a year and a half. And we’re good friends. She is always so considerate,” Garris volunteered. “Only yesterday Carla came up to Deborah Brooks and me at the front desk and told us that she was going out to lunch. She asked if she could bring anything back for us. We thanked her but told her that we were going out, too. I asked where she was going and she said to Goodings supermarket. We told her to go to the Publix. It’s closer. And we gave her directions because she had never been there.” Cindy looked away as she thought about the suggestion that they made to Carla.

Aware that Publix was reportedly the last sighting of Carla, Linnert’s lips tightened. He asked, “Anything else?”

“Well, at about twelve-fifty Deborah and I left for lunch taking the same route that Carla would have if she followed our directions. We didn’t see any sign of her or her vehicle.”

Cindy shifted her eyes from one detective to the other. “About two-thirty, long after we returned from lunch, Deborah came up and said, ‘Everybody’s looking for Carla.’ ‘What do you mean?’ I asked her.

“She said that several different people had been looking for Carla and they couldn’t find her. Nobody seemed to know anything about her. Deborah said that they tried to reach her by radio, thinking that she might be out in the field.”

Weir was alerted. “What do you mean, about the radio?”

“Oh, we maintain contact with workers in the field by radio. Deborah said that Carla never responded to the radio attempt. We became concerned but thought maybe she had been delayed. We decided to wait to see if she turned up for her three o’clock meeting.”

Cindy explained, “Carla isn’t like that; she would not miss a meeting. She just wouldn’t. I couldn’t get Carla Ann off my mind. It didn’t make sense. Deborah and I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. We talked about what we could do and decided to call Carla’s husband and find out if she was at home or if he knew where she might be. But we didn’t want to worry him unduly.”

“Did you talk to Mr. Larson?”

“Oh, yes, Deborah did. She asked him if Carla was at home or if he knew where she was, and he told her that as far as he knew, she was at work. Deborah asked if Carla had, like, a doctor’s appointment that she might have kept. He said that he didn’t know of any appointments.”

Cindy said that she and Deborah were more disturbed after her talk with Larson. “We thought that there had to be something really serious if Jim Larson didn’t know anything more than we did.”

Cindy brushed back her hair and continued. “We were scared; we sat staring at each other. We were at a loss as to what we should do . . . what we could do. Finally I suggested to Deborah that it might be a good idea for us to go out to the parking lots of Publix and maybe Goodings, too, to see if we could find out something. So we drove over to both places, but it was fruitless.”

Weir asked, “One final thing. Can you give us a description of Carla as you normally saw her? You know, how she dressed, anything that might take special attention.”

“Well, she’s very pretty with long blond hair, which she wears in a braid. The last time I saw her, she was wearing a red sleeveless shirt with a rounded collar. She usually comes to work in blue jeans. Gap jeans. She also wears brown work boots; they are just a normal part of her.”

Cindy thought a moment and then added, “Carla always wears nice jewelry, like her diamond stud earrings. And her diamond engagement and wedding rings, of course. Also she always wears her Centex Rooney five-year pendant on a chain; she is very proud of that. She usually carries a brown purse, which I’m sure she had with her when she went to lunch.”

The detectives made notes and absorbed the information. Weir wanted to discuss the jewelry with Linnert when they were alone, but as they were leaving the telephone rang. Cindy answered and called to Detective Weir, “Sir, there’s a call for you. You can take it here.”

“Thank you.” He said into the phone, “Detective Weir.”

“Detective,” Jim Larson began, “I’ve been wondering if you found out anything yet.”

“Mr. Larson,” Weir explained gently, “we’re doing everything that we can. We are investigating and following through on everything we find. But so far we haven’t found your wife.”

“Detective Weir,” Jim said in an apologetic tone, “I don’t mean to put any pressure on you. I’m sure you understand our concern. I wouldn’t have called, but my mother is here and so are Carla’s parents. They drove up from Pompano Beach and they are naturally anxious, as I am, to know if there has been any progress in your investigation.” Larson paused. “Have you learned anything about Carla’s disappearance?”

“Mr. Larson, I understand what you’re going through and I am sympathetic,” Weir answered. “Let me assure you that we are entirely devoted to finding your wife.” He explained, “Solving crimes requires patience. We just keep digging until we find the answers. I’ve been in criminal investigation for fourteen years, and I can tell you that there is no quick way to solve a complicated case like this one—”

“Detective Weir,” Larson interrupted, “I didn’t call you to make any problems for you or to question your handling of the investigation. It’s just that our whole family is so concerned, I just thought I would check with you to see if you have learned anything yet.”

“I certainly understand,” Weir told the distraught husband. “And when we find some answers, you certainly will be told. We won’t hold back on you in any way.”

“Thank you. There’s one more thing. I’ve been wondering about your men searching the area and I would like to be out there helping them, if it’s all right with you.”

Cam thought about this request.
It might be a good thing for him to be out here. Then he can see what an intense job we’re doing, that no one is just sitting around eating doughnuts and talking about the weather. He’ll see for himself what’s going on. And maybe it will help him if he feels he is participating in the search.

“Mr. Larson, if you’d like to do that, I have no objections.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Detectives Cameron Weir and John Linnert sat with several other sheriff ’s department detectives and special investigators. Their discussion centered on the lack of progress in finding Carla Ann Larson.

“To bring you all up to speed,” Weir said, “so far all our search efforts have resulted in nothing.” He shook his head in disappointment. “No trace of her or her vehicle. The helicopter, the dogs, the foot search, all negative. It’s as though Carla Larson disappeared into thin air. And we know that’s not possible. Somewhere out there are the answers we need. We’re just going to have to dig deeper for some leads.”

Linnert took over. “We also have divers exploring several lakes, ponds, retaining pools and canals on the Disney lands. And we’re fine combing the whole area. We’re bound to find something. But we’d better do it soon. It’s been too long already.”

The gathered personnel understood the urgency and all departed with renewed determination to find some answers. Weir and Linnert returned to the Disney site to oversee the search.

The hours passed slowly and the weary searchers, on foot and in vehicles, who worked in shifts throughout the night— shining their flashlights through the woods, examining the brush, each bush and tree—were exhausted. They rested only a few hours, fortified themselves with strong coffee and sandwiches, and returned to their arduous task. Daylight made the search easier, but there was so much territory to cover.

As the day progressed, the reports on all of their efforts began coming back to the detectives. They were negative. No sign of the missing woman. No sign of her automobile.

Weir looked at Linnert, shook his head and muttered one word, “Nothing.”

While Weir and Linnert pumped up the spirits of the investigative personnel, as time passed with no results, their apprehension grew. Their hopes of finding Carla safe were dwindling.

Linnert asked, “Have you considered the possibility that maybe Carla Larson isn’t out there? She may be long gone.”

“Of course I have. But I keep coming back to the question, why was that white vehicle, possibly hers, seen out there in the woods? And with a man driving it. I can’t get past that, and my gut tells me we should keep looking in this area.”

 

 

On Thursday, June 12, Deputy Heather Mason sat facing the stack of reports at her desk at OCSD headquarters. She looked at the clock, realizing that the afternoon was practically over and it would soon be time to go home. Her phone rang, and when she answered, she was told to report without delay to a location near the Coronado Springs Resort/Centex Rooney work site.

Racing to the designated location, the deputy wondered,
Why have I been called out? That’s where the search is going on for Carla Larson. The detectives are out there handling that. Why the call to headquarters?

When she arrived at the area, Deputy Mason learned the shocking details of a discovery that was made on the Disney properties. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered. Mason immediately called dispatch. “Notify Detectives Weir and Linnert. Tell them to get out to the Centex Rooney building site ASAP. Tell them it’s urgent!” She repeated, “It’s urgent!”

The detective team immediately responded and, upon their arrival, Deputy Mason greeted them. Her face was ashen and she was obviously agitated.

Concerned, Weir asked, “What’s up? What’s so urgent?”

Mason indicated several Centex Rooney employees grouped together. She pointed to one, explaining, “Mr. Munson can tell you more than I can.”

The puzzled detectives turned to the man for clarification.

“We found a body,” came the stark statement.

The cool early-evening air only partially explained the chill that gripped both detectives. “A body? Where?” Linnert asked, stunned. Yet, in his mind it was what he had expected and dreaded.

Weir sighed, turned his face toward the sky, then focused on the man and requested, “Can you take us there?”

“Of course,” assured Michael Munson.

In the group Weir and Linnert recognized John Ricker, one of the men whom they had met the previous day. Ricker walked over to Weir, held out his hand and said sadly, “This is probably the break you were looking for, and not wanting to find.”

There was something unsettling in Ricker’s remark; the detectives nodded.

Ricker, along with Munson, led the pack like a cluster of bear hunters in the foothills of the Rockies. They slowly wove their way through the scrub brush that they had trudged through for practically the entire preceding day and night, as well as all day today. It was difficult struggling through the thick underbrush and wild untamed growth.

Finally the leaders stopped abruptly. Ricker pointed wordlessly to a swatch on the ground. Wedged into dried, burned palmetto debris lay a nude body, curled up and partially covered with a faded discolored blue towel. A piece of torn tattered carpet stretched partially across the remains of a decomposing human being, much of which was already devoured by the bugs, worms and other insects in a feeding frenzy.

“Holy jeez,” Weir whispered. He brushed his hand across his forehead and exchanged horrified glances with Linnert.

This was what they dreaded. As experienced investigators, they expected the worst but always hoped that it would not occur.

The officers and personnel who came with the men stood quietly in shocked silence.

“It appears to be a white female body, young. But it’s in such bad shape we can’t assume that it’s Carla Larson,” Weir stated in a careful tone. “We can’t even identify her by the clothing. Where are her clothes? Let’s get some help out here and have this location cordoned off. We need this place secured and protected.”

If this body turned out to be Carla Larson—and in his gut Weir knew that it was—then this was no longer a missing-person case but murder. Now it was vital to see that nothing contaminated the area.

“Notify the ME. We need him here right now,” Linnert directed.

Almost magically, Jim Larson appeared with Carla’s rottweiler at the site. With a dismayed, horrified expression, he looked at the battered remains of the unrecognizable female. Overcome by the sight of the body, he stood frozen, his eyes flooded with tears, until one of the sheriff’s officers gently took Larson’s arm and led him away.

While awaiting the technical and medical people, Weir and Linnert moved off to the side to question Ricker and Munson about their exploration of the area in which they found the body.

Ricker began, “Mike and I have been on this search with no stop for, I guess, most of two full days.” His eyes showed his weariness. “We started about five
P.M
. on Tuesday when we first heard Carla was missing. First we went through that overgrown mess behind Publix at 192 and International Drive. Then we went through the section west of Osceola Parkway, the place where the white car was seen.”

Ricker took a deep breath. “We were part of the search party that was briefed about where the vehicle was seen leaving the woods. Because of that information Mike and I decided to recheck the area off Osceola Parkway where it was sighted. We followed the dirt path off the parkway and searched the south section of the fork to the canal. We went over the trails, through the woods, back to the highways over and over again, just looking for something, anything. We were pretty worn out and were tempted to give up and go home.” He recalled conversations he had with Munson and their deep regard for the young engineer. “But we work with Carla and we think very highly of her and we sure didn’t want to give up on the search if there was any chance at all for success.” He added sadly, “But we didn’t realize what success meant.”

“So you guys kept on with the search?”

“Yes. We just didn’t want to give up. There was something in both of us that kept urging, ‘Stay with this’ and we just couldn’t give up—no matter what. We went deeper into the woods just combing, combing through the brush. Off and on there were others who were also scouring through the woods, fellow workers at Centex Rooney, various persons from the sheriff’s department, and even Jim Larson. We watched Jim, poor forlorn guy. He just groped along silently with Carla’s rottweiler; he looked so troubled. No one really knew what to say to him.” He paused and shook his head. “What can you say to the guy at a time like this? Then we met a fellow, Tommy Sparks, who works for Disney security and we talked with him, explaining what we were doing. He said that the other day, I guess he meant June tenth, he was surprised to see a white vehicle parked amidst the trees and bushes back behind a pond. He pointed out very specifically where he had seen the white vehicle.

“Mike and I figured that there might be something to that, so we walked around that section. Pretty soon we got an uneasy feeling. There was something in the air and then it became really pungent. It was a foul odor and was overpowering. I said, ‘What’s that awful stink?’ I couldn’t remember ever smelling anything that bad. And Mike said, ‘Something’s dead.’ And I said facetiously, ‘Or someone.’ He looked at me and I was afraid to think what was in his mind. I didn’t want to project or speculate in my own mind.” He shook his head.

“We couldn’t locate where it was coming from, so Mike lit his lighter. I thought that was a pretty smart thing to do. He watched the flame, judging the direction from which the wind was blowing, carrying that foul smell. Mike motioned to me, indicating the wind course. We turned and followed the flicker for about twenty feet, until we came to a huge spread-out palmetto bush. We stopped and I said to Mike, ‘You go around that side and I’ll circle around the opposite way.’ And that did it.”

Ricker’s expression changed as he recalled their shock at what they saw on the other side of the brambly brush. “I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. But there it was, the body. Mike came up and stood beside me. He couldn’t speak. And I didn’t know what to say. It was like a nightmare where you couldn’t move or talk or do anything. It was one of those moments when you wished that you could magically be somewhere else.”

Munson said, “I never saw anything like it in my life. I could see that the body was naked and there was an old raggedy blue towel thrown over her. Her hair was over her shoulder and she lay there facedown.” He stopped and swallowed. “We just couldn’t stay there; we had to get away.”

“That’s when you called us?” Weir asked.

“No,” John Ricker corrected, “we were so upset that we rushed back to our car and sped off to our office.” His face reflected the horror he felt with their discovery. “Your headquarters was then called and notified about our discovery.”

By this time a horde of OCSD personnel spread out over the critical section, securing it with the yellow stretch tapes restricting it to authorized officials only.

Shortly after 11:00
P.M
., medical examiners Dr. Shashi Gore (an ME with long experience of seeing bodies of every size, color and origin in every conceivable condition) and Dr. Max Blue arrived, along with their investigator, Dean Smith.

With the aid of improvised lighting provided by the Orange County Fire Department, ME Gore examined the body. The doctor professionally noted that the white female body had blond hair and there were signs of marbling on the stomach and abdomen.

With a grim expression, Dr. Gore studied the destructive injuries that the victim suffered. Her face, her eyes and her head were so shatteringly beaten that this woman was truly unrecognizable. Her neck showed severe bruise markings that indicated extreme violence; it was discolored, battered brown and blotched. There were numerous bruises and marks of brutality indicating severe attack and molestation in sundry places of her body. Although there were strong suspicions, it was not conclusive that she was raped.

Dr. Gore, extremely cautious and determined to avoid any errors, carefully refrained from any definite pronouncements as to the injuries or the cause of death. He commented sorrowfully, “Not a pretty sight. She took some terrible beating in her losing fight for life.”

Weir asked, “Can you venture the cause of death?”

Shashi Gore stared through his black horn-rimmed glasses. “Cam, what I tell you now is only a projection, not an official judgment. It looks like her killer worked on her neck to cut off her breathing. Strangulation is how I see it now, but I don’t want to make that official until we can make a thorough examination. And I’m afraid,” he said, “that the ID will have to be made through dental records.”

Watch Commander Eric Viehman notified Deputy Tom Woodard and directed him to the Larson residence with the dreaded news about the female body.

“There is a strong possibility that this might be the missing Carla Larson,” he advised Woodard. “I hate to put this on you, but since you already have rapport with the family, we thought you should be the one to tell them.”

But when Woodard arrived at the Larson home, a swarm of news media personalities were all around and the family had already heard the disheartening report.

In minutes Jim Larson, with tears streaming down his cheeks, entered his home. “He was very upset,” Woodard observed. “And as he stood rigid before his family, he unhesitatingly told them, ‘It’s Carla.’ He was devastated by his own words.”

Larson said that he had seen the body in its frightening condition, bruised, battered beyond belief, wrapped in the dog’s blanket he recognized, taken from the back of Carla’s Explorer. As he spoke, tears rolled from his eyes.

Recalling the scene later, Deputy Woodard said, “Jim knew it was Carla. The family, sharing the distress and tragedy with him, was upset. They were stoically maintaining composure as well as they could. I guess that they already pretty much gave up hope since Carla was missing too long. I stayed for another hour or more trying to do what I could to console Jim, his family and friends.”

Woodard recalled that Jim made an attempt to be strong, but it was an effort. He told Tom softly, “She was my whole world; I don’t know what I’ll do.”