The Hunters Series: Volumes 1-3

by Glenn Trust

  “Judge, the issue we are asking you to consider is simply this, from the facts that we are presenting to you, is there probable cause that the persons we are investigating are involved in a conspiracy to commit a number of murders? We believe there is and simply ask you to consider what we are saying carefully. This is a different case.”

  “Different doesn’t mean we can violate constitutional guarantees of rights.”

  “True,” Bob went out on a very thin limb. “You are aware that during the Civil War, President Lincoln suspended habeas corpus by executive order. His reason was preservation of the Union and protection of the capital.”

  “I am aware, Agent Shaklee, and I have often wondered if Mr. Lincoln might not regret that decision if he were alive today and could see the liberties taken by some who use his executive order as justification for their own.”

  “That is the problem, Judge. There is something happening at a very high level of our government. Liberties are being taken in the name of security, safety, profit, power. You name it, we don’t pretend to know all the answers, but people are dying. We are not asking you to disregard the Fourth Amendment. Just hear us out once more and consider what we are saying in the context of the extraordinary events that are taking place. We believe that in that context and considering all of the events, there is probable cause here. You know we will abide by your ruling. We ask you to hear us out once more. Ask questions. Hold us to task, and then decide if there is not sufficient probable cause for a warrant to be issued.”

  The judge took a breath. “Okay then, gentlemen. Go through it with me again. Give me your probable cause.”

  Once again, Perry Boyd went through the known facts. The killing of Rubin Martz by Terrell Perkins, and Perkins’ identification of the other killers, including a man named Rodney who owned a cabin by a small lake. He reviewed Freddy Hurst’s identification of the owner of that cabin as one Rodney Puckett and school records indicating he went to high school with Senator Charles Montgomery and worked for a time with him at a construction company when they were young. Montgomery went off to law school while Puckett moved into other endeavors. Perkins said that Puckett always called the person giving the orders the ‘Counselor’, like an attorney. Hurst also found Uniform Commercial Code filings for Montgomery and Puckett, each purchasing a condominium in an exclusive Buckhead high-rise in Atlanta. They were neighbors.

  When he was done, Shaklee reviewed other elements of their case. He made an attempt to explain, as best he could, the possible motive for the conspiracy and murders. The ‘Term Limits’ connection was circumstantial, but there was no denying that the people named on the ‘Term Limits’ list were dying. He made the point that ‘Term Limits’ was behind the ‘Vote Them Out’ movement, a movement that was going to cause a large number of elected officials in Georgia, on both sides of the aisle, to lose their jobs and a number of highly profitable public works deals.

  Finally, he discussed the visit of Edward Paschal and PT Somerhill to Clayton Marswell’s home not long before his murder, ostensibly to discuss a case. Judge Turnfeld, who had known Marswell professionally and personally, expressed his own incredulity at that explanation for the visit. He knew that Clayton Marswell would never have accepted such an appointment.

  Bob Shaklee wrapped things up. “Then, Judge, there is the apparent murder of Stanton James being investigated by the State Patrol. He died on a road that is only there to allow access to PT Somerhill’s cabin in the mountains above Dahlonega. James took Senator Somerhill’s seat in the Georgia legislature when Somerhill resigned. He took that seat due, in large part, to the support of Senator Charles Montgomery.” He paused and then added the final piece. “And now they are all meeting in PT Somerhill’s office in Fairington.”

  There was silence over the phone. Virgil Turnfeld had listened attentively and asked few questions. The task force knew that without a warrant, they could do nothing more than watch and wait for someone else to die.

  “It’s thin, gentlemen. What you have given me is very thin.”

  “Yes, we know,” Shaklee agreed. “But, Judge, in light of the circumstances, the extraordinary events taking place, we feel that there is enough that a reasonable and prudent person would view everything in context as probable cause to believe that a crime, a criminal conspiracy, has been and is being committed.”

  Turnfeld responded immediately and tersely. “I don’t need you to explain the reasonable and prudent person standard or probable cause to me, Agent Shaklee.” Then continuing more mildly, he said, “You know if I sign this warrant for you, a number of your careers will be on the line, whether they are guilty or not. The power struggle above and around you is liable to suck you all in like a Georgia tornado and spit you out in splinters.” The judge did not mention his own career.

  “We know, Judge,” Boyd said, knowing that Shaklee would not grandstand. “As task force commander, Agent Shaklee has given specific, written orders regarding what we are to do. We are following his orders. It is an element of protection for the team. They are following their superior officer’s orders.” Of course, those instructions would provide no defense for the judge, and they all knew it.

  “Well, that excuse…following orders…has been used before by some very unsavory people.” Turnfeld was quiet, and there was a pause of a minute or more. The others said nothing. Finally, having made his decision, the Judge spoke. “Meet me in Fairington. Bring your warrant affidavit. I’ll bring the pen.”

  84. He knew the Rules

  Sharon and Ronnie Kupman rolled Bill Quince’s body onto the tarp that they had taken from the small lean-to shed on the side of the cabin. Folding the tarp over him, they dragged him to Wright’s pickup parked at the rear of the cabin.

  “Bring him around back,” Kupman said, nodding at Lee as they dragged the big man’s body past.

  Porter Wright nodded his understanding. “Up,” he said, moving the shotgun’s muzzle in an upward motion indicating exactly what he wanted Lee to do. Lee complied and they followed Kupman and Price to the pickup.

  “We need to get him off the ground,” Ronnie said, breathing deeply to catch his breath. “Need to lift him into the bed of your truck, Porter. Keep the animals away until we can get him back to Everett.” He pointed a finger at Lee. “He can help.”

  “Sheeit,” Lee spat back. “I ain’t lifting him. I ain’t touching nothing dead, not even Bill.”

  Porter Wright placed the shotgun barrel under his left ear and gave him a sharp push. “Yes, I think, you are.”

  A minute later, Sharon had uncuffed and then recuffed Lee’s hands in front so that he could help lift. With some effort, and despite Sim Lee’s reluctance, Sharon, Ronnie, and the killer were able to wrestle Bill Quince’s body into the bed of Wright’s pickup. Porter kept the shotgun squarely on Lee’s back throughout the effort. Watching him, Sharon had the distinct feeling that he wished the killer would give him a reason to pull the trigger. Understandable, but to his credit, Porter Wright maintained his self-control.

  When that task was completed, they walked towards the front of the cabin. At the lean-to shed on the side, Kupman stopped and took Lee by the handcuffs around his wrists and dragged him into the shed. The cabin’s water source was a well, and the pipe from the well ran into the shed to the hot water heater and through the wall into the cabin. Dragging Lee to the galvanized steel pipe running from the well through the cabin wall, Kupman unlocked one of the cuffs, slid the chain around the pipe, and then ratcheted the cuff closed on Lee’s wrist again.

  “What the fuck you doing?”

  “Making you comfortable for the night,” Kupman replied mildly.

  “You can’t leave me here.”

  “Yeah, I can.”

  “What if something happens? What if there’s some kind of problem?”

  “Problem? What kind of problem?” Kupman smiled. “You mean like someone comes along and tries to burn us out tonight? That kind of problem?”

  Sim Lee gl
ared at the chief deputy, saying nothing. Ronnie Kupman smiled and closed the door, pushing the padlock that had been hanging loosely through the hasp and locking it shut.

  Shit! Lee looked around the interior of the shed in the fading afternoon light. Well at least he wasn’t looking down the barrel of that shotgun any more. That was good. The bad thing was that he knew that Puckett and Thompson were on their way, and he was pretty sure that they did, in fact, intend to burn everyone out of the cabin making sure there were no survivors. That’s what he had planned to do. But he wasn’t sure where he stood with Puckett right about now, or how careful Puckett would be about making sure Sim Lee didn’t go up in flames with the cabin. Shit!

  Watching the activity from the cover of the woods, Puckett had considered having Big Bud take out Wright with the .30–06, but he knew Bud couldn’t have gotten everyone. The deputy and the GBI woman were armed, and in a firefight, the outcome could be doubtful. He wanted better odds.

  Night was only an hour away. They would wait until full dark and torch the cabin, killing everyone who tried to get out. If they could save Sim Lee, okay, if not…well, this was a dangerous game they played, and he knew the rules as well as anyone…better than most.

  85. “Shut up, Chuck.”

  Virgil Turnfeld followed Perry Boyd’s directions and steered his car to a side street off the courthouse square in Fairington. It was an unusual way of handling the warrant, but given the personal risk Shaklee, Boyd, and their team were facing, Turnfeld felt the circumstances required his presence. Heads would be falling and careers ending in the aftermath of what was about to happen. They had convinced him of the reasonableness of their probable cause and the exigent nature of the case. The arrest needed to be made now, before more people died. Whether they could convince a district attorney to prosecute or a jury to convict was something entirely different, and when the dust settled, the retributions would begin.

  Stepping from his vehicle, he was met by Perry Boyd, who carried a manila folder in his hand. Boyd led the judge to Bob Shaklee’s vehicle. Shaklee leaned against the car, speaking in low tones with Hinchfield County Sheriff, Harvey Grizzard. Turnfeld noted three Hinchfield County sheriff’s vehicles parked along the curb behind Shaklee. Yes, the fallout from this was going to cover a lot of territory, he thought.

  Turnfeld seated himself in the passenger seat of Shaklee’s car and opened the folder that Boyd handed him. Taking his time, he went through each page of the warrant affidavit, reading carefully and ensuring that every possible substantiating element of the case was included. Hopefully, all of those elements would stand up as sufficient probable cause before another judge, and a jury.

  Fifteen minutes later, he looked up at Perry Boyd standing outside the car and nodded. Taking a pen from his jacket pocket, Judge Virgil Turnfeld signed six copies of the arrest warrant, one for each of the persons named, one for the investigative file, and one for the court file. He opened the door and pulled himself from the car.

  Handing the warrants to Boyd, he asked, “What if there is someone besides those named present when you make entry?”

  “Investigative detention,” Boyd answered simply, and then added with a smile, “And we will be running back to see you again.”

  Judge Turnfeld nodded. “Well, I wish you good luck. I fear you will need it more than the probable cause.” Looking at Shaklee and Grizzard who had gathered behind Boyd, he asked, “Do you all understand what you are about to do here? Things will not be the same for you, your families, or the state once you enter that office with this warrant. The world will shift and when it does, someone is going to fall off. People will be hurt.”

  All three nodded. Bob Shaklee said simply, “People are already being hurt.”

  “Right,” Turnfeld said, looking uncomfortably at the men. “I suppose I should go. Doesn’t feel right leaving you to this, but…”

  Perry Boyd interrupted. “You have to leave, Judge. You heard our case, reviewed our evidence, found sufficient probable cause. The rest is our job. It is not necessary, or appropriate, for you to stay. We’ll take care of it.”

  Turnfeld nodded and turned towards his car. Boyd was right. There was nothing else to say. Two minutes later, he pulled down the street, made a right turn, and made one circuit past the square taking the road back towards the interstate and Atlanta.

  The three senior law enforcement officers present stood watching the judge depart. Once his car was out of sight, Shaklee looked at the others and took a deep breath.

  “All right. Let’s do it.”

  Grizzard turned and walked to the deputies standing beside their vehicles. He spoke for a moment, they nodded and then drove away. The plan was for them to circle the square on side streets until they could get to the alley behind Somerhill’s office, ensuring that no one escaped in that direction.

  Boyd spoke into his portable radio, and Gary Poncinelli pulled his car away from the curb, turning onto the square. Circling, he found a parking spot near the entrance to the Somerhill offices. Exiting his vehicle, he leaned nonchalantly against it as if waiting for someone. He was.

  Once the deputies and Ponce were in place, Shaklee led the others to the square where they pulled rapidly up to the front of the Somerhill offices. Boyd, with Freddy Hurst riding shotgun, pulled up behind Shaklee, and Sheriff Grizzard brought up the rear of the procession. All moved quickly from their vehicles to the building, Shaklee carrying the warrants.

  Brushing past the receptionist and over her objections that Mr. Somerhill was in a meeting, the team tramped quickly up the stairs to the second floor where they had determined PT’s office to be located. Gary Poncinelli stayed in the lobby as the rear guard. He was to prevent any interference from office staff or warning to Somerhill. When the receptionist picked up the phone to let Somerhill know of the intruders, Poncinelli took it firmly from her hand and hung it up, a smile on his face as he shook his head to say no, don’t do that.

  The heads of the four men seated on the sofa and chairs in front of PT’s desk swiveled in surprise as the office door was flung sharply open, causing it to bang loudly against the wall. Shaklee, Boyd, Hurst, and Sheriff Grizzard fanned out immediately, making a semi-circle around the seated men.

  “Charles Montgomery, Clarence Greene, Edward Paschal, Prentiss Somerhill, Junior, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit the murder of Clayton Marswell, Prentiss Somerhill, Senior, Rubin Martz, and Timothy Farrin…”

  “Who? Who was that last name?” Mild curiosity was displayed on Charles Montgomery’s face at the mention of the unknown name. His voice was calm, deep, and seemingly unperturbed by the abrupt intrusion.

  Shaklee looked him in the eye. “Timothy Farrin. He was a young man down in Pickham County. Worked at the newspaper and local radio station. He managed a blog called ‘Term Limits’. You may have heard of it.”

  “Humph. No, I don’t believe I have,” Montgomery said mildly, crossing his legs and taking a sip of the scotch in the glass he held.

  PT Somerhill’s face blanched at the mention of ‘Term Limits’. It was what he had feared when Sharon Price had taken his father’s files. It was the link, he knew, that could sink them all. Paschal and Greene merely looked at the law enforcement officers, saying nothing.

  “You are under arrest for the stated murders,” Shaklee continued. “We have warrants to that effect.” He held up the papers in his hand.

  “Really? And what judge in their right mind would sign such warrants?” Montgomery seemed to find the concept almost humorous.

  “Superior Court Judge Virgil Turnfeld,” Boyd said, stepping forward, looking closely at Greene and Paschal.

  “Turnfeld,” Clarence Greene said, his eyes narrowing. He repeated the name. “Turn - feld.” There was an unmistakable threat in the simple repetition of the two syllables, each spoken distinctly and clearly.

  As they had pre-arranged, Perry Boyd began reading the group their Miranda rights. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything
you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future…”

  “This is absurd, bullshit.” PT Somerhill worked hard to gather himself emotionally. “You are saying that I had something to do with my own father’s death.”

  Harvey Grizzard looked the younger man in the eyes. He had testified in courtrooms over the years against clients defended by PT Somerhill. He knew him to be a good defense attorney with excellent courtroom skills. Until today, he had never considered that he was capable of anything as despicable as the murder of his own father. Looking into the wide eyes and pale face of the lawyer, Harvey Grizzard knew it was true. He nodded, as if confirming the realization to himself.

  “You best be quiet and listen to your rights,” Grizzard said firmly with a hint of regret in his voice.

  Boyd continued, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish. If you decide to answer any questions now, without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”

  The team pulled out their handcuffs and moved towards the four seated conspirators. They knew that no one would be answering any questions. In this case, asking was just a legal formality. As Judge Turnfeld said, the probable cause they had was very thin. They were going to make sure they dotted every “i" and crossed every “t” on this one. That meant there would be no hedging on the requirements set out in the Supreme Court’s 1966 Miranda versus The State of Arizona decision. PT and his buddies would be read their rights.

  Senator Montgomery looked at Grizzard who pulled him firmly from his chair.

  “You buying in to all this too, Harvey? You’re making a pretty big decision here today. A decision with serious consequences.” As Grizzard started to turn him around to handcuff him, Montgomery stopped and looked Grizzard in the eye with his most sympathetic, ‘you just don’t know what you are doing’ look.