The Blood-Dimmed Tide (John Joran Mysteries Book 22)

by Michael Lister

  “So . . . his is most likely an accident, but you think there could be others that might not be?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m probably just trying to keep my mind off the trial.”

  “I might be able to help with that,” she says.

  “There’s no might about it, but . . . I’d hate to take you away from your work on the case and . . . I’m not sure I can afford the additional billable hours.”

  “Hours?” she asks with a wry smile.

  “Okay,” I say. “Well, at least several minutes.”

  News Herald Special Report

  Opening Arguments heard in Potter High School Shooting Wrongful Death Suit

  By Merrick McKnight, News Herald Reporter

  Opening arguments were heard yesterday in the wrongful death suit brought against Gulf County Sheriff Investigator John Jordan by the parents of Derek Burrell. Bryce and Melissa Burrell claim that John Jordan was negligent in his duties when he shot and killed their seventeen-year-old son Derek in the hallway of Potter High School during the school shooting that took place there on April 23, 2018.

  The judge in the case is the honorable Wheata Pearl Whitehurst. The plaintiffs are represented by attorney Gary Scott. The defendant is being represented by Anna Rodden Jordan, who is not only an attorney but also the defendant’s wife.

  The trial is expected to last a little over a week. Check back here for daily updates.

  10

  “Mr. Glenn,” Gary Scott says, his nasally voice whistling slightly. “What is your current position?”

  “I’m the sheriff,” he says. “Here in Potter County.”

  We are back in court the next morning, at the very beginning of the plaintiffs’ case. There are more people in the courtroom today, and among them is Randa Raffield, who sits on the same row, though on the opposite end, as Merrick, Tim, Bucky, and the other reporters. She is striking—even from this distance—the contrast between her deep auburn hair and extremely pale skin making her stand out among those seated in the gallery. I have no idea what Randa is up to, but her presence here has to cause far more anxiety for Merrick than it does for me. He and Daniel were obsessed with her and her case so intensely and for so long, and then for it to resolve the way it did and then have her back in his life—even just sitting on the same row in a courtroom as him has to be as difficult as it is surreal.

  Today in addition to the print journalists, there are a few regional TV news reporters—not allowed to have their cameras inside the courtroom, they sit taking notes like all the others.

  I’m not surprised that Scott is calling Hugh Glenn or that he’s starting with him, but I am interested in what he’s going to say. He is close with both Scott and the Burrells, and I wonder to what extent that will determine what he has to say. Of all the testimonies to be given, this is the one that Dad most wants to hear and I wish he could be here for it.

  “Sheriff Glenn, thank you for being here today,” he says. “And as sheriff you’re the chief law enforcement officer of the county. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir. I am.”

  “And what does that mean exactly?”

  “Well, that I have complete jurisdiction and that the only one over me is God.”

  Scott laughs at that like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Is it fair to say that no one is allowed to come into this county and practice law enforcement without your permission?”

  Glenn gives a kind of half-shrug half-nod and says, “Yeah, I guess that’d be fair to say.”

  “Could you take a moment and just tell us a little about your law enforcement background? How long have you been sheriff and what did you do prior to that?”

  I feel fairly confident that Glenn is not going to mention that he was one of the laziest and least motivated deputies Dad ever had.

  “I’ve been sheriff of Potter County for about the past three years.”

  “And who did you defeat in the election to become sheriff?”

  “The long-time former sheriff here, Jack Jordan.”

  “And what if any relation is he to the defendant?”

  “It’s . . . he’s his father.”

  Though he doesn’t seem particularly nervous, Hugh Glenn is awkward, many of his phrases coming out stilted, their words in unusual or unnatural orders.

  “I actually worked for him for a number of years before becoming sheriff. Rose up through the ranks in the department. I was a deputy mostly, and I loved it. But it is the honor of my life to serve as sheriff. My proudest accomplishment. I love our community . . . the great people here.”

  “So, is it fair to say that the Jordans are your political enemies?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I try not to have any enemies. And honestly, both Jack and John have never been anything but gracious to me—even in defeat. No, we’re not enemies. I wouldn’t say that.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he says. “Though just because you don’t consider someone to be an enemy doesn’t mean they feel the same way, does it?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Anna says. “Not only does it call for Mr. Glenn to speculate as to what other people may or may not feel, but it’s inflammatory and he knows it.”

  “Sustained,” Wheata Pearl Whitehurst says from the bench. “Play nice, Mr. Scott. Don’t make me have to tell you again.”

  Today several strands of the judge’s straw-textured and strawberry blond-colored hair flutter in the wind from the vent above her, but unlike other times she makes no attempt to press them down.

  “Sorry, Your Honor,” he says.

  He takes a moment to gather himself, taking a sip of water as he does.

  “Sheriff Glenn,” he continues, “when exactly did you hire the defendant?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “When did you hire Mr. Jordan to work for the Potter County Sheriff’s Department?”

  “I don’t understand. I didn’t.”

  “Does Mr. Jordan work for your department?”

  “No, sir, he doesn’t.”

  “Do you mean now?” Scott asks. “Surely at the time of the shooting he—”

  “No, sir, John has never worked or me. As far as I know he’s never worked for the department—not even when his dad was running the place.”

  “So you’re saying that at the time John Jordan shot and killed Derek Burrell, he wasn’t working for the Potter County Sheriff’s Department?”

  “No, sir, he wasn’t.”

  “Well then can you tell us what he was doing there? Why he was even involved in the shooting?”

  “I’m sure he was just wanting to help.”

  “‘Wanting to help,’” he says. “Did you know he was going to be there that morning helping?”

  “No, sir, I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you’re the chief law enforcement officer of the county—right under God. And you had reason to believe there was going to be a school shooting, right?”

  “We did. A deputy of mine found some evidence and based on everything we knew, we believed that the shooting would take place on Friday, April 20.”

  “Did you ask Mr. Jordan to help with the investigation or the task force that attempted to stop the shooting that y’all thought was going to happen on the 20th?”

  “No, sir, not exactly.”

  “What do you mean ‘not exactly’?”

  “Well, what I mean is he was involved and I knew it and I even discussed the case with him, so . . . just like I did with a lot of the others helping us out, but I didn’t ask him to be involved . . . is what I mean. We had several different agencies involved in an attempt to stop the shooting before it happened on the day we thought it was going to occur so that no one—especially a student—would be injured or killed, and John was involved as a part of that.”

  “But a student was killed, wasn’t he?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, sir. He was.”

 
; “And it was Mr. Jordan who killed him, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes sir, but—”

  “Please just answer the questions you’re asked, Sheriff.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you didn’t ask John Jordan to be involved in the case, who did?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. I don’t . . . My understanding is that the deputy who discovered the notes that made us think there might be a shooting in the first place may have mentioned it to John or his father, the former sheriff.”

  “So you’re telling us that John or his dad got involved without your invitation or permission?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Just yes or no, please.”

  “Well, yes, I guess, but . . . I mean, if you’re gonna put it like that and those are my only options.”

  “I really don’t think there is any other way to put it,” Scott says. “Sheriff, isn’t it true that in most civil suits like this one where a law enforcement officer is involved, the agency that officer works for is a co-defendant?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Do you know why that is?”

  “I believe it’s because the agency or municipality behind it has deeper pockets—more for the plaintiffs to potentially get.”

  “Yes, that is correct. Just so. So can you tell me why the plaintiffs in the case aren’t suing the Potter County Sheriff’s Department or the Gulf County Sheriff’s Department?”

  “Objection,” Anna says. “Calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Well, that’s okay,” Scott says. “We’ll get to hear from Derek’s parents themselves why they chose to only sue Mr. Jordan.”

  “Your Honor,” Anna says, “Counsel is testifying, not asking questions.”

  “Sustained,” the judge says again. “Mr. Scott, do you have any other questions for this witness?”

  “Just one, Your Honor,” Scott says. “Sheriff Glenn, given everything you know about the defendant and especially after the actions he took at Potter High School that resulted in the death of Derek Burrell, if Mr. Jordan applied for a job in your department, would you hire him?”

  “No, I don’t think I would.”

  11

  “Mr. Glenn, you testified that you are right under God when it comes to law enforcement in Potter County,” Anna is saying.

  “It was just a way of explaining that each sheriff is the chief law enforcement officer in his county.”

  “Or hers.”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, well, are there any female sheriffs in the state of Florida?”

  “There are,” Anna says. “There’s Reggie Summers in neighboring Gulf County.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but she was appointed. I meant—”

  “And there’s Sheriff Susan Benton of Sebring who has been elected for three terms so far.”

  “Sorry,” Glenn says in way that makes it obvious he’s not. “Don’t call the politically correct police on me.”

  “There is no such thing,” she says, “but if there were and it were in Potter County it would be under your jurisdiction, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, you have jurisdiction over Potter County, but who’s really in charge?”

  “I am.”

  “I know you were voted into the office, but I’m asking who actually runs it.”

  “I do.”

  “But you know what I’m asking. Who’s really in charge?”

  “I do know what you’re asking and the answer is me,” he says. “I don’t . . . I’m in charge.”

  “Well, who did you appoint to run the school shooting task force?”

  “I did it. I had plenty of help. But I ran it.”

  “How many meetings—official or not—did you have about trying to stop the potential school shooting at Potter High?”

  “I’m not sure exactly,” he says. “Quite a few if you count them all.”

  “Of the main meetings with most of those assisting with the attempt to prevent the shooting from happening, how many was John at?”

  “Most, maybe all of those main ones.”

  “Did you ask his opinions, involve him in the discussions and the decisions?”

  He nods. “I did, some, yeah.”

  “You’re the chief law enforcement officer in the county, you’re in charge of your department, you’re in charge of the school shooting task force, John is at the meetings, and you involve him and ask for his input, but you’re going to imply that he was just there, that you didn’t invite him to participate, that he didn’t have your explicit or implicit permission, even blessing, to be involved?”

  Glenn clears his throat.

  “And Sheriff, before you respond, let me just say that during the defense portion of the case, I’ll be calling as witnesses several people present in those meetings.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply he was just there or didn’t have my permission,” he says. “I merely answered the question did I invite him to participate in the task force, and I did not.”

  “But you knew that someone who worked for you had asked him to participate?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I did.”

  “And you never asked John to leave, did you?”

  “No.”

  “On the contrary, you asked for his opinions and actively enlisted his help, didn’t you?”

  “I . . . I asked everyone at those meetings for their input.”

  “But did you ask John specifically?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, let’s go back to this notion of jurisdiction for a moment,” she says. “You said that you have jurisdiction over Potter County, is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  “Does that mean no one else has jurisdiction?”

  “Right.”

  “So when I leave here today, if I decide to speed down one of the streets of Pottersville, you’re telling us that a Florida Highway patrol officer can’t pull me over and write me a ticket?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. They can.”

  “They’re not in your department, not under your jurisdiction,” she says.

  “But that’s on the road,” he says. “They have jurisdiction on the roads.”

  “Okay, well could a game warden pull me over for speeding?”

  He hesitates but then nods slowly. “Yes, ma’am. They could.”

  “What about the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, could they come into Potter County and investigate—you for instance?”

  He nods but doesn’t say anything.

  “We need a verbal response for the record, please,” Anna says.

  “Sorry, yes, they could.”

  “Sheriff Glenn, are you familiar with Florida’s mutual aid agreement?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What is it?”

  “Ah, basically it’s an agreement between all the sheriff’s departments in all the counties in Florida.”

  “An agreement for what?”

  “Basically it says that if a law enforcement officer sees a crime being committed, he has the right to intervene—even if it’s not in his county.”

  “Not in his normal jurisdiction?”

  “Right.”

  “And the agreement says that he’s afforded the same rights and protections an officer from that county receives?”

  “And the responsibilities too,” he says.

  “Is the answer to my question yes or no?”

  “Yes. It’s yes.”

  “Thank you. Now . . . Just one more question for you. If you were at a sheriff’s conference in Orlando and you stopped to refuel that big black SUV you drive and you saw a robbery in progress inside the convenience store, would you intervene, try to save lives, attempt to stop the perpetrators, or would you say, not my county, not my problem?”

  “I’d intervene,” he says.

  “Thank you.”

  “But I’d try to do it without injuring or killing any of the innocent bystanders.”

  Hu
gh is clearly trying to land one last punch for the plaintiffs.

  Instead of asking the judge to correct him or direct him to only answer the questions she asks, she shows not even the slightest irritation at his insolence.

  “You said you’d try not to injure or kill anyone—”

  “Right.”

  “Does that mean you couldn’t guarantee it in that situation?”

  “Well, you can . . . you could try real hard.”

  “Do you have any evidence to suggest that John didn’t try real hard to save lives, to protect everyone but the shooter in the school that day?”

  He shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”

  “Have you ever been in an active shooter situation?” she asks.

  “No, ma’am,” he says, and actually knocks on the wood of the jury box.

  “But if you were . . .”

  “I’d protect the lives of the innocent and put the shooter down.”

  Anna nods and pauses for just a moment.

  “And what is the official law enforcement definition of an active shooter?”

  “Just what you’d think it was,” he says, some of his confidence and swagger back. “Someone with a gun shooting at civilians and/or law enforcement.”

  “I see, and based on that definition, was Derek Burrell an active shooter?”

  12

  During the recess for lunch, while Anna works on the case, I check in on Taylor and Johanna then briefly touch base with Reggie before calling the ME’s office.

  I had asked for prelim autopsy results as soon as they had them, and I had missed a call from one of the investigators while we were in court this morning.

  His name is Leno Mullally, and he’s a youngish, slightly offbeat and socially awkward investigator with the office.

  “I’m at lunch,” he says. “You mind me talking with my mouth full?”

  “Not at all,” I say. “I’d say I’d let you eat your lunch in peace, but I don’t have long and then I’ll be back in court all afternoon.”

  “No problem. I wouldn’t know how to eat lunch in peace anyway. I really wouldn’t. Especially these days. It’s like a war zone.”