by Kenneth Eade
"You rely on empty pleas, Counselor: you speak lies! You conceive mischief and give birth to iniquity!”
“Good-bye, Mr. Banks.” The phone was still vibrating as he set it down.
***
Brent opened to door to his Harbor Hills home and noticed a blurry orange and white streak fly out the door. It was his cat, Calico; a look-alike of the Cheshire cat on Alice in Wonderland – just as cheery, but not as fat. She quickly made a U-turn and reversed direction, running back into the house and making a bee-line for the kitchen. It was dinner time.
Brent set down his laptop, hung up his jacket, and went into the kitchen to lull Calico’s wailing into purring and crunching. Then he looked around the room. Must be a bachelor’s house. Brent wasn’t usually a messy housekeeper, but he had just finished a trial and a lot of things were out of place. The living room was not so bad, but the bedroom looked like the dressing room at Saks Fifth Avenue at closing time, with casual clothes draped over the back of the couch and a pile of crumpled suits waiting for the dry cleaners on the cushions.
Angela’s gonna kill me if she sees this. Brent stuffed the dry cleaning into a bag and put it in the trunk of his car. He folded the casual shirts and put them in the drawer and was just about to straighten the unmade bed when he heard a key turning in the front door.
“Hey, baby, you straightening up your room?”
“How did you know?” Brent laughed and went into the living room and gave Angela a hug.
“It’s always a pleasure to see this view. Even with the clothes hanging all over the place, all you can see in your house is the harbor.” Angela took off her jacket and hung it on the coat rack.
“I dare you to find one stitch of clothing out of place.” Brent turned to admire the view. She’s right. It is spectacular, and it’ll get even better towards sunset.
The afternoon light streamed through the floor to ceiling glass panels as if it were a spotlight on Angela, giving her light brown hair a golden tint and turning her green eyes turquoise. Brent admired the sight. She’s so beautiful.
Angela was an FBI agent; Brent a lawyer. Neither occupation was a stranger to stress. Together, they seemed to fit and complement each other, even though they often fought on different “sides.” They seemed to be spending almost all of their off time together now. The cat rushed up to Angela and rubbed her leg from whiskers to tail, then reversed direction as it slinked back against her leg.
“Calico, did you miss me?”
“We both did.”
Angela sat on the couch and the cat leaped into her lap, rolled around until she found a cozy spot, and turned on her motor.
“So, should we share stories?” Angela caressed Calico and scratched under her chin, causing a louder purr.
“I’ve got another restraining order against Joshua Banks.”
“The religious nut?”
“Yup.”
“Who’s he offended this time?”
“He threw a rock through Jim Fredericks’s and Ron Bennett’s window.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Not this time, but we do need to send him a strong message.”
“Of course.”
“How’s the Federal Bureau of Investigation holding up today?”
“Not a lot of things going on, thankfully.”
“No crimes to solve in the megalopolis of Santa Barbara?”
“Doesn’t look that way.”
“Then our streets are safe for dining tonight?”
“I thought we could stay at home. You have anything? It’s my turn to cook.”
“We’ve got some beef.”
“Good. I’ll make stroganoff.”
Angela settled in to prepare the dinner in the kitchen while Brent went off to shower and change out of his street clothes. When he returned, he saw her holding a paper towel to her finger. She had dropped the knife on the counter.
“I cut myself.” She frowned in frustration.
Brent held her, and pulled the paper towel away from her finger to examine the wound.
“It’s not so bad. But let’s wash it and put some antibiotic cream on it. Meat’s got a lot of bacteria.”
He looked at the knife. A drop of bright red blood was smeared on the blade.
CHAPTER FOUR
Surprisingly to Brent, Joshua Banks did show up in court; but not with counsel. After a brief conference with the judge (during which His Honor received a mini-course on how only God can judge your fellow man), miraculously, he agreed to a mutual restraining order. He would be ordered to stay 50 yards away from Ron and Jim and their property and places of employment, and they would be ordered to stay away from him. Just as it seemed to be rolling along more smoothly than it should have, the issue of attorney’s fees came up. Banks refused to pay for James and Ron’s fees.
“I don’t want to have to eat these fees, Brent. We have to make him pay.”
“Ron, the thing is: to do that, we have to ask the court to make an order on who is the prevailing party, to force the losing party to pay the fees. There can’t be a prevailing party without a specific finding. That means a hearing, which is what we were trying to avoid in the first place.”
Judge Michael Perry was obviously disappointed with the news. The expression on his weathered face looked like he had just taken a whiff of rotten eggs. He didn’t have time for games. He had a full house and had to move matters along in his courtroom. He decided to forge ahead and finish off this dispute so he could take care of the other numerous cases that were cluttering his calendar.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s putting on your trial, Ron. Get ready to testify.”
“Madame Clerk, please swear in the parties.”
That proved to be a problem in and of itself: not with Ron and James, who each raised their right hand and swore to tell the truth, but with Banks. When asked to stand and take the oath, he exploded.
“I shall not swear an oath at all! Neither by heaven, for it is God’s throne!” Banks raised his arm in the air as if he were holding Liberty’s torch.
Judge Perry then went into a long-winded explanation of what an affirmation was and advised Banks that he could affirm that he would tell the truth instead of taking an oath.
“Mr. Banks, will you take an affirmation that you are telling the truth?”
Banks looked insulted. With wide eyes, he exclaimed, “God tells us to speak the truth to one another. I always do so.”
“I will take that answer as “yes”. Is that correct, Mr. Banks?”
“Yes, sir, you most certainly can.”
“Good. Mr. Banks, I understand that you wish to represent yourself in this matter, is that correct?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that? Because we are going to hold a hearing on the matter of attorney’s fees and you have the right to have counsel for that.”
“I am not alone, sir. God stands with me.”
“Now, Mr. Banks: in the supporting papers you have been accused of throwing a rock through the Petitioners’ window. Technically that is a crime, and you have a Fifth Amendment privilege not to testify against yourself. Do you understand that you don’t have to say anything about this and don’t have to answer any questions?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then let’s proceed. Mr. Marks, please call your first witness.”
“I call Ronald Bennett.”
Ron testified that when he and Jim arrived home that day, they found their window broken. The apparent weapon was a rock that was sitting among the shards of broken glass on the floor of their living room. Then he testified that they had received the voicemail, and played it for the judge. As the tape played, Banks rocketed out of his seat at counsel table and raised his hand high in the air, like a nerdy guy in sixth grade who’s got the answers to all the teacher’s questions.
“Whosoever shall conceal his transgressions will not prosper. I must confess that it was I who cast
that stone! And I will beg for God’s mercy!”
Banks hung his head down in shame.
“Mr. Banks, please sit down. The court will order Mr. Banks to pay the Petitioners’ attorney’s fees and costs of $1,800.”
“Great job, Brent.” Ron winked at Brent, who had yet to say a word in the hearing. Brent smiled, packed up his briefcase, and ushered his clients out of the courtroom.
As they walked down the corridor, they could hear Banks’ voice echoing after them.
“Marriage is a sacred vow between a man and a woman!”
“Seriously, Brent, that guy needs to get a life.” Ron looked back at Banks.
“Don’t give him an audience.”
“It was the Lord God who made a woman from the rib of the man and brought her to the man! A man shall lay with a woman, not another man!”
Ron motioned with his head toward Banks. “Maybe he should lay with a woman. It might calm him down.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Detective Roland Tomassi from the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Department pulled up to 12600 Foothill Road at the same time as his team of forensic specialists and a compliment of patrolmen that had been sent to deal with the crime scene. Tomassi stepped out of his plain old white Crown Vic in slacks that were just as plain, a shirt that used to be white, and a black tie: standard uniform for homicide detectives. He had seen plenty of murder scenes before, but could not have been prepared for this one. He wiped his sandy brown hair out of his eyes. Time for a haircut.
Tomassi instructed two uniformed officers to cordon off the scene and secure it from invasion. Then he briefed the other two uniformed officers to surround the perimeter, look for signs of entry, and await his orders. After a few minutes, they indicated by radio that they were in place and had found no signs of forced entry. Tomassi instructed them to hold their positions while he entered the house.
Tomassi donned booties to prevent contamination, took his shotgun, and instructed Deputy Henley to follow him inside. Upon entering, he saw the bodies, but did not stop to investigate until the entire scene had been secured. The scent of copper, blood and what smelled like a dirty toilet lingered in the air and seemed to soak into his mouth and hair. He continued into the kitchen, where he noticed that blood had been spattered in the sink along with several pieces of blood-soaked paper that had been wadded together. Probably used it to paint the words on the wall. He checked the kitchen pantry and under the sinks, being careful not to disturb any latent fingerprints that may have been left on them.
Upon securing the kitchen, Tomassi, leading with his shotgun and followed by Henley, moved down the corridor. There was a long path of blood-stained carpet which led to the end, but Tomassi resisted the urge to follow it right away. Instead, he peered into the bathroom off the hallway and looked behind the shower curtain while Henley stood at watch outside.
Then Tomassi went into the guest bedroom almost directly opposite the bathroom, carefully entering and looking from side to side. He peeked under the bed, which was neatly made, and looked in the closets. Nobody here.
They continued their search by following the trail of blood to the master bedroom. It was a slaughterhouse, saturated with that coppery smell. It was almost impossible to tell that the bed sheets had been white, they were so soaked with it. Blood spatters all over the walls, ceiling and closet doors looked like they had been made by a maniac artist throwing red paint from a huge brush. There were several pools of blood on the floor, which led to the red trail they had followed into the bedroom. They checked every possible hiding place in the master bedroom, which appeared clear, and then checked the attic, which had a trap door entrance from the corridor. Finally, when the site appeared to be secured, Tomassi allowed the forensics team to come in.
By that time, the medical examiner had arrived. Tomassi’s forensic photographer flashed off numerous pictures of the bodies from every possible angle while the medical examiner from the Coroner’s office, Dr. Ignacio Perez, surveyed the scene. It looked unreal – like some macabre photo shoot or a horror movie set.
“This is a messy one,” Dr. Perez commented as he slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. The gashes in the knife-pummeled bodies even made Perez’s skin crawl.
“Yeah, you never get used to seeing this. Looks like a hate crime. The victim’s sister reports they were a gay couple.”
“Whatever turns a human being into the animal who did this has got to be more than hate,” said Perez as he squatted down to examine the bodies while one of his investigators took body temperatures.
“Animals don’t do this,” said Tomassi, to the nodding agreement of the doctor.
“Cause of death of both victims appears to be multiple stab wounds. You’re most likely looking for a military knife, like a K-Bar. A kitchen knife could never have done all this damage.”
“So far, we haven’t found any possible murder weapon,” said Tomassi, whose team would photograph, sketch, log and bag any item they found that could possibly be used to stab.
Perez took the clipboard from his investigator and examined it.
“I’d say they have been dead for approximately nine hours, but we’ll have a better reading back at the morgue.”
“That makes it about four in the morning. Henley, take a few men and canvass the entire neighborhood. I want to know where the neighbors were and what, if anything, they saw or heard.”
“Yes, sir.” Officer Henley turned and left.
“It looks like they were killed in the bedroom, then dragged here and posed.”
“Let’s have a look.” The doctor carefully maneuvered the corridor to the bedroom, followed by Tomassi.
Since the photographer and videographer had finished with the interior and had gone outside to shoot the exterior and the crowd of onlookers, the house was now a mass of activity, with each person carefully doing his or her own job while, at the same time, being aware of the protocol not to contaminate any evidence. Blood samples were taken from each pool of blood and carefully marked. A fingerprint expert examined every surface of the house for latent prints. The victims’ finger and foot prints would be taken by the Coroner’s Office.
Tomassi and Perez entered the master bedroom, and Tomassi pulled out his pad and began sketching.
“You’ll want to get your blood spatter expert in here, but I’d say, from the amount of blood on the sheets and the mattress, that the stabbing began and probably finished on the bed. They definitely were killed here,” said Perez.
Perez and his investigator bagged up the bodies and took them out to the coroner’s van. That left behind a bloody spot on the living room rug, which had soaked into the wood laminate floor, as well as a series of lingering questions.
CHAPTER SIX
Detective Rhonda Salas arrived on the death scene about the time Tomassi had developed one huge headache. Homicide detail was never easy, but the gruesome ones always lingered, tormenting his soul. Thankfully, there had not been many of them in Santa Barbara. It had its history of bizarre crimes, but that history could not compare to Los Angeles or even Ventura, its neighbor to the south. Besides the “Mexican” part of the city and the elite areas like Montecito, Santa Barbara was basically a high-middle class village with a lot of retirees and people who enjoyed the life that a quiet little town had to offer.
“What’ve you got for me, Salas?” Tomassi got right down to business. Detective Salas, even in her conservative dress, was pretty attractive, and Tomassi always had to keep it “strictly business” with her so that his wandering eye would not distract him from his work. But Salas had made it clear with all the guys that not only was she a woman surrounded by men, but she had no interest in them; so they could all forget it. After the jokes had been re-told too many times and discouraged by an audience who, for the most part, had no desire to hear them, Salas had earned respect from her colleagues the usual way one did at the Sheriff’s Office: with good police work.
“The couple is Ronald and James Bennett.”
&
nbsp; “Same last name?”
“They were married last month. James took Ronald’s name. His maiden name is Fredericks.”
Tomassi’s eyebrows raised. He was a little on the macho side and still couldn’t get used to the idea of a guy having a maiden name, but it was not an issue at this juncture; just another fact to process.
“But, get this: they had a restraining order against a religious nut who threw a rock in their window and threatened them.”
Tomassi suddenly surged with power as his adrenalin switch turned on.
“Have an address?”
“Yes, he lives right here in Santa Barbara.”
“Photograph?”
“Yes, here: take the file.” Salas handed him the manila folder.
“Good work, Salas. You take over here. I’ll take Henley and Davis and their partners and check this guy out.”
Tomassi had a short meeting with Henley and Davis and their two partners, then ran to his car, got in, fired it up, and called in to dispatch. Henley and Davis’s teams jumped into their patrol cars with the urgency of a brigade of firemen called to a warehouse fire.
***
Tomassi parked his Crown Victoria in front of the home of Joshua Banks on De La Guerra Street. The two patrol cars staged themselves in front of the driveway. Tomassi exited with his shotgun, and the four officers, each bearing their own, formed a perimeter around the small house. Tomassi and Henley took positions to the left and right of the front door while Tomassi knocked.
“Sheriff’s Department!”
The door creaked open and in the opening stood Joshua Banks, who stood looking into the barrels of two raised and aimed shotguns.
“Joshua Banks?”
Banks dropped to his knees, and put his hands above his head.
“Do you have any weapons, Mr. Banks?”
“I am guilty of the sin, peacemaker, I did it! But I shall be forgiven! Let every person be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except from God!”
