“Get a good workout?”
“Yeah. I did. Stress relieving too.” As he answered her he removed the towel from his shoulders and dropped it on the floor next to his chair. He needed a shower but the look in her eye told him they needed to debrief about this last, long confession of Everman’s.
“You go first,” he invited, and she accepted.
She let out a long, slow breath. “We have just witnessed the decline of a boy with a troubled youth into full-blown depravity. And it took him a lifetime to get there.”
“Are you certain of that?” Sam challenged
“Certain of his depravity?”
“No. Certain that it took a lifetime to get there.” Sam folded his hands over his midsection and waited while Monica processed his question.
“Well,” there was another pause while Mon gathered her words. “He began with a desire to defend the downtrodden and ended murdering people he didn’t even know, for the pleasure of it. He began, despising the injustice he saw around him, and ended deciding that he was judge, jury and executioner over those who somehow – and unknowingly, I might add – violated his personal twisted moral code. Yes, he was wrong from the start, but over time his crimes became less and less about what he thought others needed and more and more about what gave him some perverse fulfillment.”
She watched Sam for a response while he stared at his feet. Finally, he looked up at her. “Mon, I think what we have witnessed is a full-fledged, born psychopath fine-honing his skills. Cole Everman wasn’t shaped into what he became by the people and circumstances in his life. He was what he was, and he responded to life according to his own nature. When he was young he responded in the immaturity of youth. As he got older his methods were more cruel and calculating and cold. But rather than a decline into depravity I think we have seen here the development of the already depraved mind and soul.”
Monica was interested now but needed to hear more. “Justify your comments” her tone was more of a request than a challenge.
“He was only twelve years old when the boy on the school ground tossed a stone that broke his glasses. Remember that part?”
She nodded
“Well, in the first account we read, he began by explaining that this Frankie Valerio intended for the stone to bounce harmlessly off the front of Cole’s shirt. Yet, when it comes to the end of that whole account about Trinidad and the Christmas Club, Everman’s wording as he refers back to that incident indicates that in his mind Frankie threw the rock at his glasses intentionally and then pretended to be remorseful. So which is it; an accident, or an attack? Well, common sense says with boys that age on the playground that it was typical juvenile horseplay and the poor kid was probably mortified that he broke his friend’s glasses and almost put his eye out. So how does a 12 year old typically respond? By waiting and biding his time until the most convenient opportunity and setting fire to the other kid’s house, presumably with the intent of burning the kid to death?”
Monica was nodding again and Sam continued.
“Following this line of thought, if you pay close attention to his choice of words throughout his narrative, the true catalyst for all of his actions is self-service. On the surface he would appear to be defending the weak and seeking justice. But in every case he is getting even for a slight – or a perceived slight – against himself.”
“Got it!” said Monica. “Frankie Valerio did that to him. Yolanda Lagorio shunned him. Steve Hines failed to defend him. Old man Mazurkiewicz was only guilty of being an old man that Cole didn’t like. The Christmas Club were a bunch of jerks and bullies and maybe the world didn’t lose a great deal when they went away, but clumsy as Everman’s efforts were, he deliberately stole their lives; including, let’s remember, their severely retarded brother who was incapable of offending anyone. Their father died in his sleep with a bullet in the head. Why? Because Everman disapproved of his parenting skills and blamed Hershel Clay, at least in part, for the harassment he received from the boys. Again, it was about Cole. Then Eileen Dornan lost her entire family because she rejected him for someone else. Yes, he justifies himself in the narrative with the suspicion that her dad and brothers were abusing her. But that was an excuse, pure and simple. There’s no indication that he ever tried again to contact Eileen, even to ensure she was doing alright. The men were dead, his job was done. He moved on with his life.”
“Correct”, Sam said. “Well, it goes on from there and you know as much as I do. But, Monica, every person, when they come to a crossroad in their life, makes a decision what direction to take. Each problem, each challenge, is an opportunity and each person decides to do right or to do wrong. Years ago, I read an article that quoted Eleanor Roosevelt. I was so impressed by it, I committed it to memory. She said,
‘One’s philosophy is not best expressed in words. It is expressed in the choices one makes. In the long run, we shape our lives and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our responsibility.’
“Cole Everman didn’t slide down into a pit of depraved evil; he cultivated it like a prized rose bush. Remember his own wording.”
Sam picked up the Everman folder and flipped pages until he found the spot he wanted to quote.
“…a seed that had been planted in me became a tender shoot that day, and grew into a strong complex organism that blossomed and bore its fruit the rest of my life, in ever-increasing abundance and quality”
“That line didn’t seem so creepy when I first read it, as it does now that I have read his account of these heinous acts of butchery he refers to over and over again as ‘missions’!” Sam closed the folder and threw it on the floor next to his chair.
Monica couldn’t disagree with anything her partner had said. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Sam got up to get a glass of ice water and she rested her head back on the sofa.
As Sam sat in his chair, sipping his water to replace fluids expended in exercise, her head shot back up suddenly, eyebrows curled in a questioning expression. “Sam, what was the point…Everman’s point…in this last account of his time in Alexandria?”
“His point? Other than to brag, you mean?”
“Well, that’s just it. He didn’t give us anything we would actually investigate. No names, no addresses, no actual dates. All we can do with this” she held up the copy she had been reading “is turn it over to the police departments in these various communities and say, “Sorry to dump this in your laps, but maybe you’ll find something here to explain some cold cases”.
“Maybe that’s all he ever wanted” Sam shrugged. “He said more than once that he wanted his exploits to be known.”
“Yes!” She sat up and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And would a guy with that gigantic ego really be satisfied with simply knowing that after he was gone, someone somewhere would know what he did?”
“He was dying of cancer. He was left without a choice.” Sam watched Monica gaze into his eyes for a few seconds and realized she was waiting for him to continue. But continue with what? Then it hit him. “Unless he didn’t really have cancer…” And Monica smiled.
Sam stood and picked up his cell from the table. Glancing at its face he saw it was almost 10pm, meaning it was an hour earlier in California, so he called Kimberly’s home number.
The lilt in Kim’s voice told him he hadn’t awakened her. “Hello Agent Sam! How’s things in the Springs?” she giggled at the rhyme then added “John and I are watching an old Hitchcock movie together. What is it Johnny?” Sam waited patiently, letting her have the moment. John’s voice came from somewhere, saying “Rear Window”. “Rear Window,” she said into the phone and Sam had to jump in.
“Yeah, that’s one of the better ones, Kim. Hey, I’m sorry to call you at home…”
“That’s ok” she chirped
“…there’s some digging we would like for you to do in the morning while we fly back, and actually you can begin as early as you want b
ecause you’ll be searching for information from the central time zone.”
“Let me grab a pen” pause, “Shoot.”
Find everything you can on a David J. Sommerville. That’s ‘S-o’ not ‘S-u’. I’m guessing he’d be in his sixties. You’ll find some record of him in Alexandria, Virginia in the past several years. He allegedly left there a year or two ago, but we don’t know where he went. Find his trail and see where it leads you. If you can get any medical records, that would be great. But find out where he went and a current address if you can get it.”
“If he has a current address, boss, I can get it! Oh, boy. Now I can’t wait to get back to work!” Sometimes she made Sam feel worn out.
“That’s ok, Kim.” He said. “We can’t do anything with the information until tomorrow anyway. Just enjoy your movie, and tell ‘Johnny’ we said hi.”
He placed his cell back on the table and stared down at it for a minute. Looking up at Mon he said, “Could it be?”
She shrugged. “I’ll make flight reservations from my room. I’ll text you the time so we can both be up and ready in the morning.” She went to the door and opened it, then looked back. “Sammy, what if we find out he’s still alive?”
“Then it’s a whole new ballgame…’cept it’s not a game.” He said.
CHAPTER 8
Monica discovered there was no flight available from Colorado Springs to Stockton, without going to Denver and Phoenix and Sacramento and then getting a bus or a taxi to Stockton. So she found a private charter service able to get them in the air by 11am and home by early afternoon Pacific Standard Time. The guy wanted to charge them $1,800.00 each, his usual fee, until he was told they were FBI agents needing to get to their home office quickly. He graciously agreed to get them both home for a third of that price and rounded up a few of his friends to go along and spend a night with him, partying in Stockton. “That’ll make it worth the trip” he said with a chuckle and the deal was made.
Shortly before they landed in Stockton, Sam got a text from Kim – another benefit of taking a charter, not being required to turn off their electronics – telling him that she had information to share. He wanted Monica to be able to listen in, but they were surrounded by the pilot’s friends who, judging by their raucous laughter, were starting the party early and he didn’t want to put a call of that nature on the open speaker.
He asked Kim to just text him the basics and told her they would be in the office by 1:45 and get the details from her then.
After a minute Kim’s reply came back:
“Found Sommerville. Found his Dr. in Virginia but couldn’t get med records w/out consent. Sommerville’s current address: 5308 E. Texas St., Bossier City, LA. Space #428.”
Sam held his cell up so Monica could read it.
Her mouth made a small ‘o’ of surprise. Sam asked, “Remember the address of the trailer Everman’s body was found in?”
“Yeah” she said. “Same street address, #425”.
With the receipt of this information Sam decided it was worth making a direct call to Kim. When she answered, he cupped his hand over his cell to muffle the noise of the small plane and its happy inhabitants. “Can you hear me ok Kim?”
She said, “If I plug my other ear and concentrate. Are you at a party or something?”
“Something like that. Listen, Kim. Contact Bossier City PD. Give them Sommerville’s full name and address and ask them if they will send an officer out to do a welfare check at that trailer. Ask them to confirm that Sommerville is indeed there and healthy and get back with me as soon as you hear from them. We’ll be landing in about 30 minutes. If you don’t hear from them soon then just hold the info until we arrive.”
“On it, Sam” she said and disconnected the call.
When the agents arrived at the field office Kim was ready for them and Agent Muncey was sitting by Kim’s desk in order to get their briefing and go over the newest information with them.
Sam and Monica filled their supervisor in on the details of their visit with the Colorado Springs U.S. Marshall’s Deputy and the suspicions that had arisen in their own minds during their conversation at the hotel. Muncey had read all of the Everman files, so he quickly picked up on their thinking and agreed that they were on the right track. He motioned toward Kim and said, “Go ahead with what you’ve got there”.
Kim cleared her throat and began. “Well, per your instructions,” she nodded at Sam “I asked BCPD to make contact at Mr. Sommerville’s trailer. An officer must have gone out right away, because that was only about fifty minutes ago and they called me back just before you came in the door. They were unable to raise anyone at Sommerville’s trailer. Bossier City dispatch found his phone number, but all they got was his voicemail. So the officer found the manager of the trailer park – Mister…” she flipped over a page of notes, “…Earl. Mr. Earl said he hasn’t had any contact with Mr. Sommerville for several weeks, which is not uncommon since Sommerville’s space rent is automatically withdrawn from his bank account. But, the manager said that Sommerville’s car doesn’t seem to have moved for quite a while and he at least sees him driving in or out of the park now and then, but hasn’t seen him at all.”
Sam and Mon exchanged a glance.
“So” Kim continued, “the officer asked the manager if he had keys to people’s trailers and the manager said that he did just for emergencies but that he didn’t think he should go in without Mr. Sommerville’s permission, so the officer said that he could consider this an emergency,” a sigh from Muncey and Sam’s shifting in his chair told Kim she needed to cut to the Reader’s Digest version, so she sped up, “so the manager let him in and not only is Sommerville not there, there is food on the stove that looked like someone was in the process of cooking a meal and got interrupted and the place stinks because it was raw chicken and Mr. Sommerville’s mail has been piling up for a couple of weeks so he might be missing or in trouble or …” with this she faded out and motioned with her hand indicating the Agents could take it from there.
Sam said, “Kim, give me the phone number of Bossier City PD…no, wait; call them yourself and ask to speak with whomever was in charge of the investigation at space #425 last week. If you can get that person on the line, patch the call to my office.”
With that, he and Monica headed for his desk and Muncey walked back to his own office, instructing Sam to keep him posted as he passed his door.
Sam sat at his desk and Monica took the chair facing it. “Let’s just assume for the moment that what we’re both thinking is correct.” She said. “The decomposing corpse in Everman’s bed was actually David J. Sommerville, and the whole scene was staged by Everman, and he’s in the wind. Why would he do this? Why draw attention to himself now? He didn’t even need to tell us anything about David Sommerville. It’s like he was hoping we would make a connection.”
Sam shrugged and thought for a minute before answering.
“I don’t know, Mon. Maybe he’s just gotten so cocky, he doesn’t think we can catch up with him before he dies of old age or otherwise disappears completely, and he just wanted to know that his so-called ‘achievements’ were being recognized.”
“Yeah, but unless he can watch the process he can’t really get that satisfaction, can he?”
“Maybe he thought this would all somehow hit the primetime news” Sam offered. “Maybe he expected that by now the world would be talking about the discovery of forty five years of serial killings coming to light and making a big deal of it, like they do everything else.”
“Well,” Monica had a sardonic grin on her face, “if the media gets wind of it that’s exactly what will happen. You know that…”
“Ok then, let’s just put ourselves in Everman’s head for a minute if we can…” Sam was interrupted by the buzzing of his intercom. Kim’s voice announced the call waiting on line 2; a Detective Sergeant Jacob LaBlanc, Bossier City PD.
Sam picked up the receiver and opened the exterior speaker. “Detect
ive LaBlanc?” The “Yessir” that came over the speaker confirmed they had a native Louisianan on the line. “Hello, I’m Special Agent Sam Runyan with the FBI, assigned to the Stockton California field office, and I am with my partner, Special Agent Monica Sterling. You’re on speaker phone.”
“Hullo Special Agents Runyan and Sterling”, he said in a friendly voice, “How can I assist the FBI today?” It sound like “Eff Bee Ah”
Monica let Sam do all the talking. “Detective LaBlanc, were you personally on scene out at the mobile home park on East Texas Street last week and were you personally involved in the entire investigation there?”
“Yessir, I was” he said, sounding like “ah wuz”
“Good” Sam said. He just wanted to be certain the information he was getting was going to be first-hand and not off a written report. “Please tell me about the scene and to what extent the body was examined.”
“Ok,” LaBlanc said. “The park manager called at the request of the next door neighbor in space #426, who said she had been smelling a bad odor whenever she stepped out between her trailer and #428 next door, and it was getting worse. When the manager went there to check it out it smelled to him like a decomposing body, so he called us”
Sam interrupted “Did the manager actually say that he thought it was a decomposing body? Is that the way he worded it?”
“Yeah. Desert Storm veteran. Guess he’s smelled it before.”
“Ok”, said Sam “Sorry for the interruption, please continue.”
“Well, a patrol car was sent out there and the manager let him into the trailer when Mr. Everman didn’t answer the door, and when they opened the door the smell got a whole lot smellier. There were flies all over the place and when they went back to the bedroom they found Everman in the bed.”
“Please describe in detail the condition of the corpse and what the room looked like” Sam requested.
The Everman Journal Page 20
