I look over at Merrick. “Why not talk to Reggie about it?” I ask. “It’s her call.”
“We’re not the only ones who think it,” Bucky says.
“Officers in your own department believe the public should know more too,” Tim says.
“I saw you talking to Darlene,” I say.
“I won’t reveal a source,” Tim says, “but I can tell you it’s not just one officer.”
I start to say something but have to wait for a couple of semis to pass by. They are in a long line of heavy work truck traffic, and I wonder if our little town will ever get back to its pre-storm pace and quietude.
“Again, why not ask Reggie?” I say, looking from Tim to Merrick.
“Things between us are . . . complicated,” he says. “You know that. But she’ll listen to you.”
“Actually, I listen to her,” I say. “She’s the boss.”
“So you don’t agree that we should be warning the public more?” Tim says.
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying this conversation should be happening with Reggie.”
“Will you talk to her?” Merrick asks. “If you agree that—”
“We’re not saying make everybody panic,” Tim says. “Just . . . give them a fighting chance.”
“It’s her decision,” I say, “and it’s a difficult one. But . . . I’ll talk to her.”
“Thank you,” Merrick says.
“And if y’all ever want to have a conversation like this again,” I say, “have it with the sheriff—or at least include her in it from the jump.”
When I’m back in my car, I call Reggie and tell her what has just transpired.
“I’m disappointed in Darlene and Merrick,” she says. “Darlene is capable of good work, but . . . if something’s being stirred up . . . she’s usually the one with the spoon.”
“Yeah.”
“And Merrick . . .” she says. “There was a time when he would’ve come to me before he’d even thought it all the way through himself.”
I don’t respond to that.
“What do you think?” she asks. “Should we be saying more?”
Tampa Bay Times Daily Dispatch
Hurricane Michael in Real Time
By Tim Jonas, Times Reporter
Law enforcement officials believe a dangerous killer is at work in the aftermath of Hurricane Michael among the vulnerable people of the Florida Panhandle.
These same officials and members of the investigative team are conflicted about how much information to share with the public—wanting to warn those they have sworn to protect, yet not wanting to start a panic among those who can’t handle any additional stress right now.
More than one investigator has asked me to disregard what their superiors are saying and inform you the public of just how dangerous a predator is at work among you at this decidedly dark and desperate moment in the life of the Panhandle.
And this reporter has also been conflicted, but ultimately decided to err on the side of caution and public safety—a responsibility I take even more seriously since this is my last chance to do so, my last article about the investigation before I return to Tampa and a new assignment.
Don’t panic, but do use extreme caution and look out for each other.
During my time here covering Hurricane Michael I have gained a great appreciation for this part of the Florida Panhandle, and I care deeply what happens here—both in the fallout from the storm and with the prolific predator in your midst.
A source close to the investigation, which will soon include the Florida Department of Law Enforcement, revealed that investigators are at a loss because of a lack of evidence in the case. In fact, several victims whose deaths had been ruled accidental have been buried or cremated—and with them vital evidence that might have provided a break in the case.
According to one official actually involved in the investigation, at first only one investigator believed that the disparate deaths might be connected and might not be accidental after all, and initially his theory was met with skepticism and resistance. Now that the investigation is finally underway, area law enforcement are way behind and trying to catch up.
One factor making it particularly difficult to get anywhere in the search for the killer is there seems to be no pattern to his actions, no “type” of victim he’s drawn to. Dubbed by some within the investigation the Chaos Killer because of the seeming random nature of his killings and his practice of marking their bodies with a symbol for chaos, he is suspected of having committed similar crimes in other jurisdictions. Other aspects of his ritual include killing his victims with materials and debris from the storm and breaking a single bone in their body after they’re already dead.
Haven’t the people of the Panhandle been through enough? Shouldn’t the FBI be offering to help? Other federal agencies are letting the people of the Panhandle down. It’d be nice if at least one would step up and help out.
52
“We’ve got him,” Darlene says.
She, Reggie, Arnie, and I are in the conference room of the sheriff’s station with the door closed.
“I went back and looked at all the hurricanes that hit or affected Florida since 2000. If I had found anything in 2000, then I would’ve gone back further. I’m gonna tell you, it’s staggering how many hurricanes and tropical storms we’ve had just in that time and how much damage they’ve done. I really had no idea. I guess living here you just sort of get used to hearing about them every year during hurricane season and you only really pay attention to the ones that hit you where you live.”
“That’s part of the reason we’re not getting the help or funding we need,” Reggie says.
“Well, at least we got Ray,” I say.
Through the open blinds we can see Ray hanging around in the outer office, sneaking furtive glances over toward us, jonesing to join us. His partner Phillip is nowhere to be seen.
“It’s unbelievable,” Darlene says.
“That we got Ray?” I ask.
“What? No. The sheer volume of hurricanes that hit the shit out of us each year.”
“Both are equally unbelievable,” Reggie says.
“Speaking of unbelievable,” Darlene says, “have either of you ever heard Phillip speak? I mean utter a single word?”
We both shake our heads.
“Where is he, by the way?” Darlene asks.
“He disappears sometimes,” Reggie says. “He’s just so quiet it takes a while to notice.”
“He’s like the perfect man,” Darlene says.
“If he wasn’t so creepy,” Reggie says.
“Well, anyway . . . I didn’t find anything—or think I did—until 2004,” Darlene says. “But it was a false alarm. Or probably a murder someone tried to make look like an accident. I’m sure our guy isn’t the first to do it.”
“True,” Reggie says. “We should contact the agency that handled that investigation and see what they’ve got. The first few he did could’ve been different enough not to fit the current pattern.”
“Okay. Will do. I figured with as much hurricane activity as we had in 2005 it would make a great year for him to get his start. I mean between Tropical Storm Arlene, Hurricane Cindy, Hurricane Dennis, Hurricane Ophelia, Hurricane Rita, Hurricane Wilma, and Katrina, 2005 was a motherfucker and a half, but I didn’t turn up anything. It wasn’t until 2008 that I found what I believe could be positive matches—starting with Hurricane Gustav in August of that year. It was the hurricane that came after Tropical Storm Fay set a record by making something like four different landfalls in Florida. Anyway, Hurricane Gustav hit the Florida Keys and then continued on up into Central Louisiana and produced six tornadoes and some extremely heavy rainfall. But it’s the strong rip currents throughout the state of Florida that are of the most relevance to us. The outer bands of the storm produced at least three water spouts each in the Panhandle, coming ashore near Valparaiso. Five people drowned in the rip currents and one of them had a broken toe and what the ME bel
ieved was a tattoo on his left foot. I believe the tattoo was actually a mark the killer made that looked like the Chinese symbol for chaos. I can’t be certain, but I really think this could be his first victim. In September of that same year four other people were killed in rip currents related to Hurricane Hanna—two near Hollywood, Florida and two in Fort Lauderdale. One in each of those places is listed as having a tattoo that resembles some of the other chaos symbols we’ve seen.”
“This is really good work, Darlene,” I say.
“Yes it is,” Reggie says.
“Maybe it’ll make up for me being such an asshole the other night,” she says. “Anyway . . . I also think he was responsible for one death in New Smyrna Beach during Hurricane Bill. And then in 2010—that was the year that tropical storm Alex passed through the area of the Gulf affected by the Deepwater Horizon oil spill and sent tarballs as large as oranges to wash up on shore in parts of the Panhandle in June—at the end of August and beginning of September of that year I think he killed three people in the wake of Hurricane Earl along the eastern coastline. And he’s just getting started. If I’m right, in August of the next year he killed two people around Jacksonville Beach during Hurricane Irene and in October, following Hurricane Rina, he killed a surfer in Boca West. In 2012 he killed two more surfers around Jacksonville Beach during Tropical Storm Beryl, and then an elderly man in Key West during Hurricane Isaac in August of that year.”
“Gets around, don’t he?” Arnie says.
“In 2013 during Tropical Storm Andrea he killed people in West Palm Beach, Tampa, and Miami—three different people, two women and one man. One of them was staged to look like an automobile accident, the other was staged to look like an accidental drowning, and the third the result of accidental electrocution. All had a broken bone and some variation of the chaos symbol on them. In 2014 during Hurricane Arthur he killed two people near Daytona Beach. Both were made to look like drownings due to riptides. In 2016 . . . let’s see . . . ah, yeah, in . . . September, during and after Hurricane Hermine made landfall near the Big Bend, he killed four people and made them look like drownings. In 2017 during and after Hurricane Irma on Cudjoe Key and then around Marco Island, he killed five people and made each of them look like accidents related to the storm, but all had a broken bone and his mark on them. And that brings us to Hurricane Michael.”
“Were you here all night?” Reggie asks.
Darlene nods. “Couldn’t’ve slept anyway. Now, I don’t believe for one minute that these are all of his murders or that he only kills during hurricanes. I just started with them, but I’m willing to bet my left tit that he’s done this same thing during other disasters and crises as well. I just haven’t gotten to them yet. But they’re next on my list.”
“After a good night’s sleep,” Reggie says. “You’ve done enough for now. Excellent work. Really great job.”
Arnie and I second that motion.
“Okay,” Reggie says. “This is huge. We’ve got to notify FDLE—so many jurisdictions involved—and probably even the FBI. Fantastic work everyone.”
“Wouldn’t even be aware of it to work on if it weren’t for John,” Darlene says.
“That’s true,” Reggie says, “but what you did here is extraordinary.”
“It really is,” I say.
“This is so exciting,” Reggie says, “but the thing about a case like this is . . . it’s going to be taken from us. We’ll still be involved, but chances are in a very small way. But—and this is the thing to remember, the most important thing—no matter who puts the cuffs on him, it’ll be because of the work you’ve done. All of you.”
“That may be somewhat true of what Darlene’s just done,” Arnie says, “but all I’ve done and what Darlene did originally is make the same mistake all these other agencies did—believed the murders were accidents.”
Darlene nods but Reggie and I don’t respond.
“Is there something I can do?” Arnie asks. “I don’t mind pulling an all-nighter. Feel like I should. I know you say FDLE or the FBI are gonna catch him, but he’s here, now, killing our citizens in our backyard.”
Reggie looks over at me.
“You’re right,” I say, “he is. And we should do all we can to catch him. The sooner that happens the more lives we save. You could take Darlene’s list of storms where the killer struck and try to come up with a list of who responded to them. I mean the first or very early responders, because he was here right at or right after the storm. So we’re talking emergency services personnel, first responders, governmental groups, law enforcement agencies, search and rescue operations, even some of these big national volunteer organizations. If we can find who responded to all the storms—and it won’t be many—we can begin to narrow down our list of possible suspects.”
53
“If Reggie is right and you don’t get to put the cuffs on him,” Anna says, “will you be disappointed?”
Anna and I are lying on the couch in our living room, holding each other as we talk about what’s on our minds. Taylor is in bed, long since asleep, and though there are things we both need to be doing, neither of us wants this rare-since-the-storm moment of intimate interlude to end.
I shake my head. “I truly just want him off the street,” I say. “Unable to hurt or kill anyone else ever again.”
“But—”
“And it’s not just how I feel since shooting Derek,” I say. “Though I’m sure that’s part of it. It’s that my gift and what I enjoy doing is investigating, not breaking down doors and taking down suspects. I could be okay with never doing that again. And when we put him in a cage where he belongs I’ll know I had a part in that—no matter who actually escorts him into it.”
“The most important part,” Anna says.
I shrug.
She shakes her head and says, “Wonder how many predators like him are out there right now that nobody even knows about or suspects.”
“Far, far too many,” I say.
“Soon there will be one less because of you, because of the way you used your gifts.”
“Far too many rapists and sadists, brutal men who do bad things to everyone misfortunate enough to orbit near the black hole of their soul.”
“That’s kind of poetic,” she says.
“Speaking of poetic and gifts,” I say. “The way you’ve used your many talents for me in this trial has been like watching poetry in motion. And no matter the outcome . . . you’ve given me a gift more valuable than you can fathom.”
“It has been an honor,” she says, “and though you’ve been my favorite client ever, I hope to never have you for a client again.”
“No arguments here,” I say.
“As much as I’m enjoying this,” she says, “as much as I wish I could lie here with you like this all night, I better go get back to work on my closing.”
“Stay,” I say. “You’re ready. You’ve prepped enough.”
“I don’t want to, but I have to. This is it—our last chance to convince the jury. I’ve got to be ready.”
“You already are, but okay.”
54
“An accident is defined as an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally,” Anna says, “typically resulting in damage or injury, an event that happens by chance or that is without apparent or deliberate cause.”
Gary Scott has completed his closing argument and it’s Anna’s turn, and she stands at the podium with poise and peace, calm and confidence.
As she stands there in her navy dress, her hair pulled back revealing her sweet, beautiful face, I find her more attractive than at any other time in our lives. Her facial features and her figure show some of the typical signs of aging, but not many, and to me it’s not that the bloom of youth fades as so many claim, but that in maturity the blossoming of true lasting beauty occurs.
“The shooting of Derek Burrell, a brave but misguided young man, who should have never been in that hallway with a weapon, let alone on
e he used to shoot at not one but two law enforcement officers, was a heartbreakingly tragic accident, but an accident nonetheless. An unfortunate incident that happened unintentionally and without deliberate cause. All the evidence in this case, all the testimony, all the physical evidence, all the expert witnesses, and most especially the actual video footage of the incident shows that John didn’t deliberately kill Derek, he returned fire at the school shooter that was shooting at him. And make no mistake about it, ladies and gentlemen, in that moment that’s exactly what Derek Burrell was—a school shooter. No matter what his motive and reasoning were, no matter how noble or heroic or understandable they were, in that moment he was a teenager with a gun shooting at law enforcement in the hallway of his school.”
She pauses, giving an extra moment for the weight of her words to sink in. And they do.
“We’re so quick to cast blame on the officers who huddled together outside of Columbine while kids were being shot to death inside. We criticize cops at Parkland and other places for not rushing in, for not doing their duty to put themselves in harm’s way to protect our children in the most vulnerable situation they are ever likely to find themselves in—and then when one does, when a brave, noble, good man does what we have been saying for years those other officers should have done, we put him on trial. When he is cleared by objective state investigators who don’t know him but base their findings only on the evidence, we bring him into court and put his every move under an enormous magnifying glass in slow motion and we sit in judgement. And what do we find when we do that? We find a man who acted bravely and honorably and nobly and professionally and correctly—not in slow motion but in split-second real time when lives were on the line. A wounded police officer was being fired upon and John ran around to confront the shooter, identified himself as law enforcement, told him to drop his weapon, and was fired upon. He was fired upon not once, but twice, and either round could have easily killed him, leaving me a widow and his daughters fatherless. And what does the fact that John was fired upon twice mean? Have you asked yourself that? Not once. But twice. He was fired at twice before returning fire, and that shows that not only was he not acting too quickly, that he didn’t rush in guns blazing, but also that he was taking his time and attempting to aim and shoot in such a way as to wound and not kill, disarm and not destroy the young man who he believed was the school shooter—the young man who confirmed that belief for him by firing at him not once but twice. And still John took his time and attempted to save the young man’s life. Sadly, it didn’t work out that way, but surely you can see that he tried.”
The Blood-Dimmed Tide (John Joran Mysteries Book 22) Page 23