“You know I can’t discuss it with you,” I say. “And I’m pretty sure Reggie didn’t use the term serial killer.”
“John, come on now. Doesn’t matter what we call him. He’s a prolific little prick. Lots of bodies in a short amount of time. You can use all the help you can get. And unlike the aforementioned ah, investigators, I can actually be of some help.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t make the rules, I just mostly follow them.”
“You think if you followed them a little more or a lot less you’d be in court right now?” she asks.
“I haven’t given it any thought,” I say.
“Well, go ahead. I don’t mind waiting.”
“I’ve got somewhere I need to—”
“I’m a good investigator, John. I can help catch him.”
“I’d be happy to hear any ideas or theories you have or about anything you find, but . . . all I can do is listen. I can’t—”
“If I solve it or help you in a significant way will you tell Reggie to give me a job?”
“I don’t tell Reggie to do anything,” I say. “Who gets hired has nothing to do with me, but you know I’ll gladly tell her if you contribute in any way.”
“Understood,” she says. “Well, I already have some theories. Would you like to hear them?”
“Sure,” I say. “I just can’t right now. Can I call you later tonight or tomorrow?”
“Okay. I just hope he doesn’t kill anyone else between now and then.”
“Everything okay?”
I turn to see Raymond Blunt and Phillip Dean coming out of the back door of the sheriff’s department.
I had no idea they were even in the building.
“All good,” I say.
“Roger that,” Raymond says, walking to his car. Something in his voice has changed and he now sounds like he caught us doing something inappropriate. “Well, then, y’all be careful and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. We’re on our way to meet the boss and a few of the boys at the Mexican restaurant.”
47
By the time I get to Peppers’, Reggie has very little of her massive margarita left. She has just lifted the alcohol ban and seems to be taking advantage of it.
Peppers’, the Mexican restaurant on Reid, is the only restaurant open so far, its festive colors, loud musica Mexicana, and bright neon lights a stark contrast to the crumbling and permanently closed establishments all around it.
It has been packed since it reopened, its many booths and tables filled with the tired, hungry, and dirty work crews attempting to restore order to our area—cleaning up debris, replacing power poles, running new electric lines, erecting new cell towers, repairing roads, removing hazardous materials and dead bodies, and in general trying to create a sense of civilization out of the chaos.
Because of the approaching curfew, the crowd is thinning out, but there are still more tables full than empty.
In the center of it all is a long table of Samaritan’s Purse volunteers in bright orange shirts, Rick Urich among them.
Reggie, Merrick, Ray, Phillip, Darlene, Arnie, Tim, Bucky, and a couple of other out-of-town cops whose names I don’t know are at another long table by the boarded-up front window.
“I’m not too drunk,” Reggie is saying. “Been here a while. Drinking slowly. Drinking a lot of water with it too. But don’t worry. I’m not driving tonight. And I’m staying down here.”
“I’m a DD,” Bucky says, “and I haven’t had a drop. I’ll get them all home safe and sound.”
“Me too,” Ray says. “That’s one of the services we provide in times like these—let the locals blow off steam. Be here to get them home.”
Phillip Dean nods but doesn’t say anything.
We all turn to watch as Randa walks in and takes a seat at the bar.
“She heard me say we were comin’ here,” Ray says.
Merrick, who if not drunk has a good buzz going, says, “That rat bastard Michael missed an opportunity. Killed the wrong people.” He turns to me and Reggie. “How can someone who did to Daniel what she did just walk around all free and shit? Walk right in here and have a drink with the good guys.”
I don’t say anything and attempt to change the subject, but Merrick does it for me.
“Reggie tell you we went on a date earlier tonight?”
“All of you?”
“No, no, no,” he says. “We met these guys later . . . afterwards . . . later after . . . for drinks. Let the foreign press join us . . . ’cause they’ve done us right on the storm and killer coverage and . . . they’re goin’ home soon.”
“Our editor is about to pull us,” Tim says. “We’re the only major newspaper still covering the storm . . . and we only have another day or two.” He turns to Merrick and adds, “No offense.”
“None taken. I know I’m in the minor leagues.”
“Left us here longer than we thought he would,” Bucky says.
“I worry about this area,” Tim says. “I really do. Nobody realizes how bad it is and nobody’s listening. Attention equals recovery money and y’all aren’t getting much of either right now.”
“Gives a whole new meaning to the Forgotten Coast,” Merrick says.
“We won’t forget you guys,” Bucky says.
“Fuck no, we won’t,” Tim adds, his intense blue eyes growing even more intense.
“We’re so grateful for what y’all’ve already done for us,” I say. “Your coverage has been . . . not just informative but inspiring.”
“We’re gonna keep working on it,” Tim says, “keep reminding people. Keep it in front of the people who can make a difference. Still can’t believe the anemic response.”
“I can’t believe Uncle Santa isn’t coming through with the funds,” Bucky says. “It’s surreal that there’s no bill yet.”
“It’ll happen,” Raymond says. “Just takes time. I’ve seen a lot of these and you just can’t rush them. I know it’s hard to see now, but this area will be back.”
Phillip nods but doesn’t say anything.
“Who’s a big ol’ ray mond of sunshine?” Bucky says, as if speaking to a baby or a puppy.
“That’s me,” he says. “But what about covering the investigation into the murders? I thought they’d leave y’all here for that at least.”
“Sending in our crime reporter to take it over. It’s too big for us.”
The door opens and we turn to see Gabriel Gonzalez, the Miami Herald reporter, walk in.
“I’m back, bitches,” she says.
Merrick, Tim, and Bucky jump up and hug her.
“How’d you get to come back?” Bucky asks.
“Told my editor either he lets me or I’m going to quit and go to work for the Associated Press. Told him the Tampa Bay Times is putting us to shame and we can do better.”
“Welcome back,” Tim says.
“Great work,” she says.
“Where is Grover?’ Bucky says.
“It’s just me,” she says. “I’ve got to take pictures too, but at least I’m here.”
I get Reggie, Darlene, and Arnie’s attention. “Can I speak to y’all for a minute?”
As the others stay and continue to drink and talk, the four of us make our way to the small private room down the short hallway past the restrooms in the back. On the way, I pause and assure Rick Urich that I will get with him just as soon as things slow down some. He responds like a petulant child, barely acknowledging I’ve spoken.
By the time I reach the small room in the back, the other three are waiting for me with an air of impatience.
“I just wanted to mention a few things to you since I’ll be back in court in the morning,” I say.
“Sure,” Reggie says. “And thanks for including Darlene and Arnie too.”
Darlene nods.
“Yes,” Arnie says. “Thank you, John. And sorry again about the other night. I hope we can let by Gods be by Gods.”
I’m pretty sure he means bygones and try no
t to smile.
“I think he’s doing most of his hunting in the mornings,” I say. “Middle of the night to early morning.”
I explain to them why and ask them to check to see if any other victims were found in their pajamas or if we can better pinpoint when they went missing.
“We have more patrols working the nights than the mornings,” Reggie says. “Maybe we should switch that around.”
“Or see if we can just add to the morning shift without taking away from the nights.”
She nods.
I share a few of my other thoughts and theories with them, and then say, “But here is the main theory I wanted to share with you and ask for your help with. I think given the level of sophistication he shows, he’s done this before—maybe several times. So here’s my thought—what if he uses disaster areas to do what he does? What if in previous ones he’s done the same thing he’s doing here and no one noticed? He could be going from hurricane to wildfire to flood to tornado in order to do what he’s doing without being noticed. He could easily be on one of these cleanup or construction crews or a cell tower builder or a truck driver who hauls in supplies or equipment, or any of a number of other workers or volunteers who descend onto a disaster area like ministering angels in times of greatest darkness. Would one of you be willing to start searching previous disasters in the morning, looking for deaths that were ruled accidental that might not be and for any victims anywhere with a chaos symbol tattoo?”
“I will,” Darlene says, “but there’s no way I’m waiting ’til morning.”
48
Before heading home from Saint Joe, I go back to the office and work with Darlene for a while on the searches.
I find her at her desk already working on them.
“What did the reporters want?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“I saw you talking to them outside of the restaurant after everyone had left,” I say. “They trying to get more information than Reggie is giving them?”
“Always,” she says. “You know how it is. But they made some good points that I happened to agree with about public safety and their right to know. I was already planning on talking to Reggie about it anyway. But it can wait ’til morning. Let’s focus on this.”
I don’t think I’m getting the full story from her but let it go for now and join her in working on the searches.
Because there is no magic database that allows us to enter in exactly what we’re looking for and then mystically spits out the correct answer, we have to first figure out the best way to search for the information we’re looking for that will give us the best chance of finding it.
We have a few different options and agree that ultimately utilizing them all is the best way to go, but beginning with those that have the greatest odds and most immediate chances of working is the wisest way to move forward.
We start with a SCMT search on FCIC/NCIC.
The FCIC/NCIC, or respectively the Florida and National Crime Information Centers, are electronic storehouses of crime data. The Florida center helps Florida law enforcement officials coordinate their activities and share information. The national center can be accessed by virtually every criminal justice agency in America every single second of every day of every year. It helps cops and other criminal justice professionals apprehend fugitives, locate missing persons, recover stolen property, identify victims and patterns of crime, and potentially prevents crime from happening.
It was launched in January 1967 with five files and 356,784 records. By the end of 2015, it contained 12 million active records in 21 files, and in that same year it averaged 12.6 million transactions per day.
The SCMT search is for scars, marks, and tattoos in individuals who have been arrested.
We’re hoping to turn up something on the symbols the killer is marking his victims with.
Next we create an intelligence bulletin seeking information related to deaths during and following natural disasters that appear accidental but are in some way suspicious, where the victims involved have markings that resemble the chaos symbols we’ve found on our victims here. We send this out to the ROCIC or the Regional Organized Crime Information Center for the southeast region. Later, if we need to go wider we can, but our region is a good place to start.
We then compose a number of emails with the same information.
We send this to FDLE and request their help—both in searching for and disseminating the information.
If we discover that this same killer has operated during other disasters in other counties, we’ll have to get FDLE involved anyway to deal with the multi-jurisdictional issues involved—and, of course, Reggie has already requested their assistance with the case in general.
We send a version of this same email to the Florida Sheriffs Association, requesting that they forward it to every sheriff’s department in the state and asking that they then share it with their investigative units.
Most everything we’ve done so far focuses on Florida, but given the number of hurricanes and other natural disasters we have each year, it’s not a bad place to start.
If all of these efforts don’t yield any results, we can abandon the theory as flawed or escalate it by contacting the FBI.
During my drive home, Merrick calls me.
“I know it’s late,” he says. “But I also know you don’t sleep. You got a minute?”
“Sure. I’m just driving back from St. Joe.”
“Perfect. I just . . . I wanted to ask you about something.”
“Of course.”
“I feel like you’re very, very good at what you do,” he says. “And I just wondered . . . what keeps you here. Have you ever considered moving back to Atlanta or . . . anywhere . . . I think you’d be one of the best detectives in Atlanta or Tampa or Miami or even New York or L.A.”
I know he’s not really asking about me.
“What’s brought this on?” I ask.
“Just . . . I’ve been around all these reporters from all over, you know, and I think . . . I’m every bit as good as them.”
“You certainly are,” I say.
“Tim told me he thought he could get me on at the Tribune and Gabriella said the same thing about the Herald. And I’m tempted, you know?”
“It’s only a temptation if it’s something that would take you off your path.”
“Why do you stay?” he asks.
“I’m home,” I say. “This is where my family is, my friends. This is where I feel like I’m supposed to be. If it weren’t . . . then I’d be searching other places . . . and I’d be open to relocating, but . . . not necessarily to bigger places. What we do is probably different in that way. I can certainly understand you wanting a bigger audience, more readers. I get that.”
“That’s part of it,” he says, “though my podcast with Daniel had a huge audience.”
Following Randa’s arrest and the resolution of her case, Merrick and Daniel had stopped podcasting, telling their audience they would be back as soon as they found their next great case to cover, but so far they had yet to return, and I wonder if they ever will.
“Was that more fulfilling?” I ask.
“The case was,” he says. “And I think that’s the thing . . . I really want to write about crime . . . and in a small paper in a small town . . . I have to write about everything and there’s less crime and fewer . . . for lack of a better word . . . interesting cases to cover. But moving might be very hard on my kids and . . . I’m pretty sure it’d mean giving up on any chance of me and Reggie being together.”
“It’s not easy for any of us,” I say. “Finding meaningful, fulfilling work and having a meaningful, fulfilling personal life is . . . extremely challenging. Just a couple of things to consider . . . Always ask yourself what matters most—what’s most important to your purpose and the quality of your life. And the truth is for most of us it’s both. You’ll be the happiest and most fulfilled and do the most good if you can manage to find meaningful work and a f
ulfilling personal life. For me—and I can only speak for me—the key is to never give up on having either. But if there’s a choice, always choose your family and friends—or almost always. And remember that bigger doesn’t necessarily mean better. In fact, I’d say it rarely does.”
“Thanks, John.”
When I get home I find Anna fast asleep at the kitchen table, her head actually resting on her law books and trial notes.
As I help her to bed, she tells me that Gary Scott never forwarded her the email and never returned her many calls, texts, or emails, and as far as she knows he must not have responded to the judge’s attempts to contact him either.
“Should make for an interesting morning in court,” I say. “Let’s get some sleep so we’ll be ready for it.”
Tampa Bay Times Daily Dispatch
Hurricane Michael in Real Time
By Tim Jonas, Times Reporter
In addition to everything else Hurricane Michael brought to the Florida Panhandle, it appears the superstorm also blew in a dangerous predator.
An official close to the investigation, which includes both Bay and Gulf counties so far, revealed that the departments are reexamining a series of deaths originally ruled as accidental.
As if the desperate people of this devastated region needed anything else to contend with. They’re already dealing with so many issues relating to basic survival, a shortage in housing, a lack of grocery stores, gas stations, restaurants, and hospitals, record unemployment, dwellings that are falling apart and rotting around them, a presidential administration and lawmakers in Congress who have yet to do what needs to be done, fatigue, frustration, sleep deprivation—and now this.
49
“Your Honor,” Gary Scott is saying, “we’ve decided not to introduce the video into evidence.”
The Blood-Dimmed Tide (John Joran Mysteries Book 22) Page 21
