“Did he ever bring up drugs?”
“No, but I was pretty sure that was where we were going since Bannister was part of it. Of course, Erickson had no way of knowing that I knew Bannister was dead or that he was probably laundering money for the drug dealers. At least I don’t think he knew. I didn’t think he knew that Linda was a witness to the murder.”
“How long did the meeting last?”
“Twenty minutes or so.”
“Did you leave then?”
“Yes. I got a burger to go and drove back to Longboat.”
“What did you find when you got home?”
“I walked into the living room and saw Linda on the floor. A man was standing over her with what appeared to be a tire iron.”
“Did you recognize the man?”
“No. I’d never seen him before.”
“What did you do?”
“I went after him. He turned and ran out the door toward the beach. I thought I heard Linda moan, so I stopped the chase and went back to her. She was lying facedown, and I turned her over. It was clear to me that she was dead. I left immediately and drove to the Tampa Airport.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I was pretty sure we’d been compromised; that the cartel knew we were federal agents. I couldn’t do anything for Linda but I could get away and sort things out. My agency had a protocol for just such an event. I had a fake driver’s license that I kept in my wallet, and that would get me on a flight out of Tampa. I called the duty officer in Washington and was told to meet another agent in Atlanta and he would take me to a safe house. That’s what I did.”
“Why have you come forward now?”
“I saw a picture of Florida Department of Law Enforcement Agent Wesley Lucas in the online version of the Sarasota Herald-Tribune, in a story about this trial, and I realized immediately who he was.”
“And?”
“He was the man standing over Linda’s body, holding a bloody tire iron.”
It was almost five o’clock. Time to wrap up the day. My timing hadn’t worked as I’d planned, but the last thing the jury would hear before they went home was the testimony that Wes Lucas, not Abby Lester, was the murderer. They would have all night to think about that. Swann would have time to prepare his cross-examination, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to put a dent in Favereaux’s story.
“I have nothing further, Your Honor,” I said.
“We’ll be in recess until nine in the morning,” the judge announced. We stood and watched the jury file out. They would have a lot to sleep on that night.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
J.D. and Detective Harry Robson were in an interview room in the Sarasota police station, sitting across the table from Wes Lucas. It was almost six in the evening. After his arrest in the courtroom, a uniformed patrolman had brought Lucas to the station. The detectives had stayed for the conclusion of the day’s testimony, and then arrived at police headquarters to begin the final act of the tragedy that was Wes Lucas.
“Wes,” Robson said, “we’ve known each other for a long time. I wouldn’t say we’ve been friends, but I’d like to think there was a bit of mutual respect between us. You were a good cop. What happened?”
Lucas was wan, his demeanor that of a defeated man. He sighed and smiled ruefully. “Fulton Hancock happened.”
“The governor’s chief of staff?”
“Yes. He was a state senator back then, and his son, Fulton Hancock, Jr., was my best friend. We’d grown up together, played high school football together, gone off to college at Florida State together. When we graduated, we both came back to Tampa. I hired on with the sheriff’s department and Fulton Junior got a real estate license and went to work for one of the established brokerages in Tampa. He made a lot of money and was spending it on cars and women. He had a beautiful condo in one of the high-rises overlooking the bay. I didn’t see much of him for about five years.
“I had just made detective when I got a call to a murder scene at a grubby little house over near Plant City. It was apparent that it was some sort of a drug deal gone bad. The place was full of drugs and cash, over a hundred thousand dollars. Three bodies were in the house, all shot through the head. One of them was Fulton Hancock, Jr.”
“Was he in the drug business?” J.D. asked.
“In a big way, as it turned out.”
“What did you do when you realized that your friend was among the dead?” Harry asked.
“I knew the deputy who was the first on the scene. A neighbor had heard gunshots and called 911. I had just finished a witness interview on another case and was close to the scene of the murder when I heard it on the radio. I told the dispatcher I would respond. I was at the scene within five minutes of the first deputy’s arrival.
“As soon as I realized that one of the bodies was Fulton Junior, I called in and told the dispatcher not to send anymore deputies because I didn’t want the scene compromised. The crime scene techs were on their way, but I figured I had about a thirty-minute window if I needed to do something to protect the Hancocks. I called Fulton Senior and told him what I’d found. He told me he didn’t want to have Fulton Junior’s name dragged through the mud and asked if I could get the body out of there before the rest of the investigating team arrived.”
“What about the other deputy?” J.D. asked.
“That was a big question mark. I told the senator that it was doable, but it would cost some money. He gave me the go-ahead, and I approached the deputy, explained the situation, and offered him ten thousand dollars. He took the deal.”
“What did you do with the body?” Harry asked. “You didn’t have much time before the forensics people got there.”
Lucas laughed. “That was the slickest part of the whole thing. We just put old Junior in the trunk of my department car. Even if the deputy and I had missed any evidence that there had been another victim, who’s going to look for a body in the trunk of the investigating detective’s car?”
“What did you do with the body?” J.D. asked.
“After we wrapped up things at the scene, I drove it to the senator’s house. He got a doctor friend of his to certify the death was from natural causes and had Junior cremated that evening. Had a big memorial service two days later, and the senator was inundated with sympathy calls from the high and mighty.”
“What about the deputy?” J.D. asked. “How did they keep him quiet?”
“The deputy was killed in his home that same night by an intruder who ransacked the place and stole everything not nailed down. It was chalked up to a random robbery.”
“But it wasn’t,” Harry said.
“No, it wasn’t. The senator and I had a heart to heart over the coincidence that the deputy was murdered on the same day that he found the bodies. Fulton told me that Junior had been working for him, that they were involved in the drug business in a big way and that my future would be either very bright or there’d be no future at all. He needed a man inside law enforcement, and I would fit right in. I didn’t see that I had much choice, so I agreed to work with the Hancock group. Within a couple of days, I was offered the job with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, and here I am.”
“Did you kill Bannister?” Harry asked.
Lucas sat quietly for a moment or two, staring into the distance. J.D. could almost hear the wheels turning in his brain. A single tear slid out of his right eye. He swiped at it with the heel of his hand. “I’m not going to get out of this, am I, Harry?”
“Afraid not. But a confession will take the death penalty off the table.”
“Yes. I killed him.” Lucas had made his decision.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I was just told to do it.”
“Told by whom?”
“Mark Erickson.”
“The professor.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t ask for a reason?”
“No. This wasn’t the first time I’d taken some
body out. All of the others were low-level drug dealers. Bannister was pretty high up in the organization, so it was a little different.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. I was told to use a particular gun that was provided to me. I was supposed to drop it into the bay from the Ringling Bridge as soon as I’d used it. I was to wear gloves and make sure not to leave any evidence that I’d been in Bannister’s condo. It sounded as if the people in the Hancock group were trying to hide their involvement in the killing. Not so much from the law, I mean, but from somebody else. Maybe other members of the group. I never found out, but it did seem like they were being more careful than usual. I’m just guessing now. Maybe I’m wrong.”
“Did you follow instructions?”
“I did exactly as I was told. But there was a hitch.”
“Linda Favereaux,” J.D. said.
“Yes. I thought Bannister was alone, but about the time I popped him, Linda came out of the bedroom.”
“You knew her?” J.D. asked.
“I’d met her once, so I knew who she was. Bannister had told me she might be the key to getting some more money into whatever he was working on with Hancock. I knew where she lived and that her husband was an older guy with lots of money.”
“Why didn’t you kill Linda at Bannister’s place?”
“I was following very explicit orders about the hit on Bannister. They didn’t include going after a witness. I got out of the place and called Erickson. He told me to go to her home and take care of her, but be sure not to use the gun. He said he’d get Linda’s husband out of the house. They knew each other and were already working on a money deal. So, that’s what I did.”
“How did you kill her?” J.D. asked.
“With a tire iron from the trunk of my car. I went into the house by the front door and saw her in an area next to the hot tub on the patio. She was naked and had her back to me. I hid behind a drape beside the sliding glass doors that opened to the patio. She walked into the room, and I hit her on the back of her head with the tire iron. She never saw it coming. I was bending over to check for a pulse when the front door opened and a man walked in. I ran out the patio door and up the beach.”
“Why run?” asked J.D. “Why not kill the witness?”
“As I said, it was a tight plan. Nobody said anything about killing the husband, and I assumed that’s who he was. And if he and Erickson were working on some kind of deal, I didn’t want to be the one to screw it up by killing the man.”
“You were having a bad night,” J.D. said. “Two murders, and both of them witnessed.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t too worried about the one at the house. The husband had no idea who I was, and I didn’t see any way for him to connect the two deaths. On the other hand, Linda knew who I was. She had to go.”
“Do you have any other questions, J.D.?” Harry asked.
“Just one. Did you try to kill Robert Shorter, Agent Lucas?”
“Yes. I didn’t do a very good job of it, I’m afraid.”
“Why kill Shorter?”
“I don’t know, Detective. Tori Madison called and told me Erickson wanted it done.”
“Why didn’t you try the kill again?”
“Shorter disappeared. I couldn’t find him.”
“I’m out of questions,” J.D. said.
“Okay, Wes,” Harry said. “Sit tight. I might have some more questions after we talk to Erickson. I’ll have some dinner brought in for you. We shouldn’t be too long.”
“You’ve got Erickson?” Lucas asked.
“Yeah. He was arrested right after the court recessed for the day.”
“Be careful, Harry,” Lucas said. “That’s one cold son of a bitch. I don’t think he has a soul.”
“Everybody has a weak spot, Wes. All I have to do is find his.”
“I think it’s his wife,” Lucas said. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know anything about his drug business and he’s very protective of her.”
“What’s that all about?” J.D. asked as she and Harry walked to another interview room. “Why is Lucas suddenly so helpful?”
“Remorse?” Harry said. “A hope that we might give him something in return for his help? Who knows?”
“He’s been in the system long enough to know that we can’t do much to help him. I think Jack Dobbyn will forget the death penalty in return for a confession, but Lucas is looking at life without parole.”
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“I think,” J.D. said, “that Lucas sounds like a dead man singing at his own funeral.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
I was tired, the fatigue consuming my body, straining my every movement, bringing a sluggishness to my overworked brain, reminding me of why I had happily given up the life of a trial lawyer. It isn’t the physical effort that the lawyer puts into a trial that drains him. It’s the mental strain, the necessity of listening intently to every word said during the proceedings, the constant battle of wits with opposing counsel, and the whispers of the little bastard sitting on his shoulder telling him he’s not doing enough, not prepared enough, not good enough to keep from losing an innocent client to prison, that sucks every last joule of energy from his system and leaves him feeling like a limp rag.
After court adjourned, I spoke for a minute with J.D. and Harry Robson. They were going to the Sarasota police station to interview Lucas and Erickson. “I may need to put Erickson on the stand tomorrow,” I said.
“Don’t you think you’ve got enough to prove that Abby didn’t kill Bannister?” asked J.D. “What else can you need after the testimony you got from Lucas and Favereaux?”
“Nothing, probably, but I want to keep my options open in case Swann comes up with something unexpected.”
J.D. smiled. “You’ve got this one in the bag. Take the night off and relax. I’ll come by when we’re finished. If Erickson has anything to say that’ll help your case, I’ll let you know.” She kissed me on the cheek and left with Harry Robson.
I spent some time in a witness room with Abby and Bill Lester. They were both excited about the turn the case had taken, convinced that the jury would return a verdict of acquittal. I cautioned them not to get their hopes too high, that Abby would take the stand first thing the next morning, and we had to contend with Swann’s cross-examination of her. Once we rested our case, Swann could put on a case in rebuttal. We wouldn’t know what he might have as evidence until we saw it.
I had left Jim Favereaux sitting on a bench in the hallway. I was going to drive him to Logan Hamilton’s condo where he would spend the night. We left the courthouse together and were driving north on Longboat Key when my phone rang. Jock. “Are you on your way back to the island?”
“I just crossed the New Pass Bridge.”
“Is Favereaux with you?”
“Yes.”
“Bring him to your house.”
“Okay.” I knew not to question Jock. He never did anything without a reason. “Be there in a few minutes.” I hung up.
“What’s up?” Favereaux asked.
“Jock wants us to come to my house.”
“I thought you were going to drop me off at Logan’s.”
“I’ll take you back later. I think Jock wants us to enjoy one of his big steaks.” I was lying, making it up as I went along. “He’s got a special seasoning, some sort of old family recipe, that turns really good meat into the best I’ve ever tasted.”
Favereaux seemed to relax a little. “Sounds good,” he said. “I’m hungry.”
I was thinking that Jock must have come up with something in his research that concerned Favereaux. I couldn’t think of any other reason for him to want Favereaux at my house, other than to keep him in sight, not give him a chance to run.
“Matt,” Favereaux said, “you need to change your combination lock code.”
“What?”
“That little touch pad on your Explorer’s front door. The number keys that spell out ‘M-A-T-T�
� is a little obvious, don’t you think?”
I laughed. “How did you know that?”
“I used it this afternoon to put this under your front seat after Logan dropped me off at the courthouse. I couldn’t very well carry it through security, could I?”
I glanced over at Favereaux. He was holding a small semi-automatic pistol, pointed at me.
“I guess we’re not going to my house,” I said. “What’s up, Jim?”
“Sorry, Matt. I think it’s time for me to disappear.”
“Is this about the Cayman bank accounts?”
He seemed surprised. “You’ve been busy.”
“Jock has. Is there more?”
“Probably. Jock’s a pretty resourceful fellow. Call him and tell him you’ve got to go back to the courthouse. You’ll be home in an hour or so.”
I called using my hands-free system. Favereaux would be able to hear both ends of the conversation. “Jock,” I said when he answered, “I just got a quirky call from Judge Thomas. He wants me back in the courthouse right now. I’m just about to the south fire station. I’ll turn around and go back. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”
“Okay, podna. See you when you get here.” He broke the connection.
“What’s going on, Jim?” I asked.
“We’re going to Vandenberg airport. You know it?”
“On Highway 301, east of Tampa.”
“That’s it. I’ll have a plane waiting for me, heading for parts unknown. Well, unknown to anybody but me.”
“Jim, you’ll have every agency in the government looking for you. What do you think your chances are?”
“Pretty good. I’ve been working on this escape hatch for a long time. It’s foolproof.”
“You won’t make it.”
Chasing Justice Page 30
