Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set Two

by Kenneth Eade

  The officer smiled. “Not long at all. I’ll be right back.”

  He watched in the rear-view as the officer walked back to his motorcycle.

  Why isn’t he joining the chase?

  Two more police cars with lights blaring whipped past him in the opposite direction. Then the officer came running back to the car. He gripped the gun with his right hand as he watched in the mirror.

  “You’re lucky, sir. I’ve been called to an emergency. Get that light fixed, now.” He handed his papers back and ran back to his motorcycle.

  ***

  Joshua Banks woke up. It was dark. He was sweating profusely. He was on a couch in a room he didn’t recognize. He tried to get up, but his head was spinning and he fell back onto the couch. What’s happening to me? What is God trying to tell me? For so long, he had been in the possession of the evil thing, the agent of Satan, Azazel himself. Now he looked around the room, but the evil spirit was nowhere to be found. But the room was spinning just as surely as if he were in the center of a carousel. He crawled to the edge of the whirling room to get off, and when he saw the opportunity, he jumped.

  Joshua was naked. He looked around the place and saw a pile of clothes. He rifled through them for pants and a shirt. There was only one shirt and one pair of pants, right on top of the pile. The dizziness brought on a bout of nausea, but he couldn’t throw up. He sat on the floor until the spinning in his head stopped. Then, he put on the pants and shirt. He was between dimensions, and couldn’t tell where the physical world ended and the spiritual world began. Help me Lord! Help your child find his way home! He dropped to his knees and prayed, and the Lord provided him with shoes, which he found near the pile of clothes. He put them on and looked for a way out.

  He whispered, so the evil spirit would not hear him, “God, show me, your poor pilgrim, the way home!”

  And God showed him the door. He opened it, and he was finally free. And Joshua Banks ran. He didn’t know where he was, or where he was going, but he knew he had to get as far as he could away from that evil place.

  He looked up at the sky. The stars were whirling around – as if God had created a tornado in space. Then he drove away. He wasn’t sure if he was in his car or not. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. Anyway: car or not, he drove toward home.

  After a while, he was tired. He couldn’t be in his car. He was confused. He didn’t know where he was or how to get home. He found a public phone booth, and dialed 0 for the Operator.

  “Operator, how can I help you?”

  Banks couldn’t think of what to say.

  “This is the Operator.”

  “I’m in trouble. I need to get home.”

  “Do you want to call somebody?”

  “Yes, yes. I want to call somebody.”

  “Who do you want to call?”

  He thought for a moment. “I don’t know!”

  “Sir, you must know who you want to call.”

  “Yes! Yes! My counselor at law: Marks, Brent. Brent Marks. I want to call him!”

  “What is his number?”

  “I don’t know.” He began to cry.

  “Is he a local attorney? In Santa Barbara?”

  “Yes! Yes!” Banks sobbed.

  “Brent Marks, on State Street?”

  “Yes! That’s him! Thank God you found him!”

  “How do you want to pay for the call?”

  “What call?”

  “Is this a collect call or can you pay with coins or a credit card?”

  “It’s an emergency! I need to speak with Counselor Marks.”

  “Collect, then?”

  “Yes, yes!”

  “Whom shall I say is calling?”

  “Whom is calling? I am calling. It’s me.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Joshua Banks.”

  The Operator called through to Brent, and he accepted the charges.

  “You are connected.”

  “Mr. Banks?”

  “Yes, it is I. I have escaped from the demon.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know!” He sobbed and sniffed.

  “Mr. Banks. Look outside. Do you see a street sign?”

  “Yes, yes there is a sign. Thank God!”

  “What does it say?”

  “It says State Street.”

  “That’s good. Is there a number on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What number?”

  “I can’t see it.”

  “Look closer, then.”

  “2520.”

  “Stay there, I’ll come and get you. But you have to turn yourself in, do you understand?”

  Banks pondered the question. “Turn myself into what?”

  “Mr. Banks, every cop in town is looking for you now. If you don’t turn yourself in to the police, they will kill you for sure.”

  “Whatever you say. I am waiting for you, counselor. I don’t know where I am, but I am waiting.”

  Joshua Banks slid down against the back of the phone booth and hit the ground, his head still spinning furiously.

  “Dear God, make it stop! Make it stop!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Brent called Jack to help him recover Joshua Banks. He would call Angela when they had secured him. No need for a manhunt to end with police shooting up a phone booth like Bonnie and Clyde. Banks was obviously deranged, on drugs, or both. I didn’t even know they had phone booths anymore.

  “Meet me at State and Constance. Don’t approach him until I’m there. He could be very dangerous.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, Brent…”

  “Yes?”

  “Take your gun.”

  When Brent arrived at State and Constance, he saw Jack’s car at the corner. It looked a lot like an unmarked police car. What a surprise. Brent pulled up alongside him and rolled down the window.

  “I’ll take the left side and you take the right side. When you see him, call me.”

  “Jack, this isn’t a sting operation.”

  “Brent…”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll call you.”

  “And if you see him, wait for me.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  Brent slowly went down State Street, looking at the right side. He reached the phone booth, but there was no sign of Banks. He called Jack.

  “Jack, I found the phone booth, but nobody’s there.”

  “Did you cover your side on the whole block?”

  “Yes. Nothing.”

  “I’ll be right there. Stay in your car.”

  Jack pulled up behind Brent, got out of his car, gun drawn, and approached the phone booth cautiously. He kicked the accordion door to the phone booth open, then called Brent.

  “All clear. Let’s cover the next block, the same way.”’

  Brent carefully trolled the following block. They were assuming that Banks would walk toward downtown, where he lived, but there could be no guarantee of that, because he seemed to be so out of it.

  Brent saw a drunk street bum staggering down the sidewalk on the right hand side. He slowed down to get a good look at him. It’s Banks!

  “Jack, I’ve found him! Do you see me?”

  “Yes, I’m coming. Don’t approach him without me!”

  Brent hung back and waited for Jack as Banks staggered down the street. Jack swung a U-turn and pulled up behind Brent. He ran to Brent’s car and leaned up against the door.

  “Okay, this is how we’re going to play it. He doesn’t know me, so you’ll have to approach him first. I’ll hang back and cover you, but if he makes an aggressive move, drop to the ground and I’ll take him out.”

  “Jack!”

  “I’m serious Brent. This could be the most infamous serial killer in Santa Barbara history and your life isn’t worth giving up for one of your hunches.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “And don’t get within striking range of him. Plus, he may have a gun. If he makes one aggressive move, I have to pu
t him down.”

  Brent agreed and approached Banks, going a bit faster than his pace so he could catch up to him, but not too fast so as to freak him out. When he got close enough for Banks to hear him, he called to him.

  “Mr. Banks, it’s Brent Marks. I came, just like you said.”

  Banks turned his head to look at Brent, then began to run. Brent turned to yell at Jack.

  “Jack, don’t shoot!” He turned back and pursued Banks. "Mr. Banks, it’s Counselor Marks. God sent me!”

  Banks stopped suddenly, and turned around.

  “God sent you?”

  “Yes. This is Counselor Marks. I’ve been sent by God to bring you to safety.”

  “Oh, Saints be praised!” Banks cried and dropped to the concrete on his knees, folding his hands in prayer and looking toward the heavens.

  “Thank you, Lord, thank you!”

  As Brent approached Banks, Jack moved behind him. Brent felt hit by a wall of noxious and repulsive smells. Banks was emaciated and, except for the full gray beard, his face looked like a skull with caved-in cheeks, like Edward Munch’s “The Scream.” He smelled of the pungent stench of body odor with a touch of shit, urine, and vomit thrown on top. Brent resisted his gag reflex.

  “Mr. Banks, this is my friend, Jack Ruder. God sent him to help us.”

  “I am thankful, Lord for everything! You have truly set me free and given me joy unspeakable!”

  Jack helped Banks up, frisking him.

  “He’s clean.”

  “Counselor, I have been the prisoner of a most foul demon.”

  Banks was wearing black pants and a black sweatshirt that matched the description that Salas had given of her attacker’s clothes, but they seemed baggy and oversized on Banks. They were smelly, stiff and had dried dark splotches of something on them.

  “An unclean spirit who speaks in strange tongues and who slays people in the name of God!”

  “That’s blood on his clothes, Brent. And you don’t have to guess that it’s not his.”

  Brent looked back at Jack and nodded. “Sit with him in the back, Brent. I’ll drive.”

  Brent helped Banks into Jack’s car.

  “Come on, Mr. Banks. Remember, I told you that you have to turn yourself in to the police?”

  “The police?”

  “Yes, they’re trying to stop the demon. You’ll be safe there, and then I can help you. I can’t help you unless we go to the police.”

  “Counselor, if God hath sent you, pray lead the way.” Banks staggered on his feet and Brent caught him from falling.

  “First, I want the doctor to check you out.”

  “Yes, Counselor. I’m dizzy.” Banks began babbling to himself again.

  “What doctor?”

  “I’m going to call Orozco to do a blood test.”

  “What for?”

  “I think he’s on some kind of drugs or something.”

  “I think he belongs in the looney bin.”

  “That, too.” Brent pulled out his iPhone and made the call.

  “Doc? It’s Brent Marks.”

  “Brent? What time is it?”

  “It’s early, Doc. Sorry, but I’ve got an urgent matter. I need you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A blood test.”

  “Brent, anyone can draw blood. Go to emergency hospital.”

  “This one’s different.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s Joshua Banks.”

  “Bring him right over. I’ll meet you at the office.”

  When Jack and Brent presented Banks to Orozco, he almost didn’t take the blood sample.

  “This man needs medical attention. He’s dehydrated. I’ll put him on an IV immediately.”

  “Doc, we really can’t alter his condition in any way. Just take his blood. We can give him some water to drink.”

  ***

  After the short stop at Orozco’s office, Jack drove to the Sheriff’s headquarters on Calle Real as Brent called Angela.

  “Angie, it’s me.”

  “Brent, why are you calling so early?”

  “Joshua Banks just turned himself in to me, and Jack and I are taking him to the Sheriff’s station.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Can you call Tomassi?”

  “Yes, yes, of course, Brent. And I’ll be right down there as soon as I can get dressed.”

  “Great. Tell Tomassi to handle him gently. He’s out of it, on some kind of drugs.”

  “I will.”

  They pulled up to the station, exited the car, and walked in with Joshua Banks. Jack looked so much like a cop and was holding Banks by the arm, so it appeared to be normal. The Desk Deputy looked up, disinterested.

  “What can I help you with, sir?”

  “I’m Jack Ruder, private investigator, and this is attorney Brent Marks. We’ve brought in Joshua Banks to surrender to Detective Tomassi.”

  The Deputy’s eyes opened up like two full moons. “That’s Banks?”

  “My client is turning himself in. He’s unarmed and will cooperate.”

  The Deputy hit the intercom. “Call Tomassi and get the Lieutenant out here right away! We’ve got Joshua Banks!”

  Banks looked around, confused. “Is this the house of God?”

  More like the house of pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Sheriff Clayton Thomas proudly stood in front of the podium in the room crowded with reporters who were holding microphones with the logos of their media outlets, among dozens of cameras and video cameras.

  Sheriff Thomas ran his fingers through his handlebar moustache and cleared his throat. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m pleased to announce to you that we’ve recaptured Joshua Banks.”

  A female reporter in the front line thrust her microphone forward. “Is Joshua Banks your primary suspect in the Honeymoon Stalker case?”

  “The investigation in that case is ongoing, so I can’t disclose any details. I want to give my sincere thanks to the task force team of local and federal law enforcement who made this moment possible. That is all for now. We will be providing updates.”

  The reporters all perked up with questions like a nest of baby birds peeping for worms.

  “But wasn’t the focus of the investigation on Banks?”

  “He’s a suspect in the case. But his arrest is for the murder of Ronald and James Bennett. That’s all for now.” Thomas stepped down from the podium.

  A male reporter from the News Press raised his voice louder than the others.

  “Sheriff Thomas, now that you have Banks, will the Honeymoon Stalker case be focusing on him as the primary suspect?”

  Thomas was already out the door.

  ***

  The following day, Brent met with Banks at the attorney’s visiting room at the jail. He appeared to be in better health (at least he was hydrated), and wasn’t speaking in tongues. The trouble was that Joshua Banks’Banks’ regular speech was almost as confusing.

  “Counselor, I have met the demon and he is a most evil spirit, I can assure you.”

  Brent leaned in to Banks, who, thankfully, didn’t stink anymore.

  “Can you describe this demon?”

  “At first I thought he was an angel, come to save me. He looked at me from the heavens. Then he unleashed an evil violence and killed everyone on the bus.”

  Banks started to cry. “One by one, he slew each of the earthbound sufferers. Then he came to me, and I thought he would kill me too. I said a final prayer and prepared to meet my maker.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “He appeared then in his human form, but after time, he revealed his true appearance. He stood over me, at least 18 feet tall and covered with eyes. He lifted me out with his hands with incredible power.”

  “Okay, so he’s 18 feet tall.”

  “Yes!”

  “What else?”

  “He is part animal, part man. He has horns protruding from the sides of his he
ad. He kept me as his prisoner. But then, one day, he vanished and I was saved.”

  “I’m going to send a friend of mine to talk to you, Mr. Banks. His name is Father Brown.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say I think he may be able to help you with your demons.”

  Banks stared back with a blank look. If Brent wasn’t sure before he interviewed Banks whether he would put him on the witness stand to tell his story, he was positive now. He could not testify.

  ***

  At the re-arraignment of Joshua Banks on the murder charges of James and Ronald Bennett, Brent had to swim though an ocean of press to get to the courthouse. When he opened the door to the crowded courtroom, he was met right away by the accusing eyes of Susan Fredericks. Her look left no need to say anything verbally. I know, I’m a scumbag.

  Joshua Banks sat in the jury box alone, under heavy security. His case would be called before any of the other defendants in custody, who were all still in the holding cells. He looked like a lost dog, peering around the courtroom as if it were the first time he had ever seen it. Even Judge Hendron (“Uncle Burt”) tried to turn his emoticon expression into the most serious one he could muster. The position of Superior Court Judge is an elected one in Santa Barbara County, and representatives of every local news station and paper (not to mention the nationals) were there.

  Usually a second string arraignment attorney would sit through this case, along with a stack of other arraignment matters of varying degrees on the court’s calendar; but this case was so special that the District Attorney himself (and Brent’s old classmate, Bradley Chernow) would be trying the case for the People, and he would start at the arraignment.

  Chernow would be a formidable opponent. Not only was he smart, but he also carried the sword of the People of the State of California on his belt like a Roman soldier. That probably came from his ex-cop background. Unlike Brent, he had spent his law school days working as a policeman during the day and going to classes at night. Chernow came off, at first, as “a nice guy,” but those friendly amber eyes hid the dedicated public servant that was behind them, whose only purpose in life at this particular time was to nail one crazy serial killer: Joshua Banks.

  Uncle Burt greeted Brent and Bradley Chernow and read the rights of the defendant himself (instead of playing the taped version, so he would look good for the voters), and then came to the ten million dollar question to which he already knew the answer.