by Kenneth Eade
***
At 6:00 p.m., the black and white Sheriff’s Department bus was loaded with prisoners for the boring ride back to the Santa Barbara County Jail. The bus was driven by one deputy, and two more sat in the interior to guard the prisoners. As it chugged down Calle Real, the deputies exchanged stories and jokes. Suddenly, a huge truck crashed into the side of the bus, pushed it off the road and toppled it over in an enormous cloud of dust.
***
Roland Tomassi answered the call. Why do they need me at a traffic accident?
“Dispatch – Tomassi. What’s this about?”
“See the Deputy on call. Multiple homicides have been reported at the scene.”
When Tomassi arrived, he saw the overturned bus surrounded by six Sheriff’s patrol cars, blinking lights like Santa Claus Lane on Christmas Eve. He approached the Deputy who appeared to be in charge and showed him his badge.
“You’re first on the scene?"
“Yes, sir. Deputy Bruce Johns.”
“Any survivors?”
The Deputy shook his head. “All dead.”
“Do you have a list of prisoners?”
“No.”
“Well get one, man!”
Inside the bus, it looked more like an abattoir than a bus accident. The three deputies’ throats had been cut, as well as all the prisoners.
Rhonda Salas pulled up and ran out to the bus to Tomassi.
“Salas, I asked Deputy Johns there for a list of everyone who was on this bus. We’re going to need photos, too; especially if someone’s missing.”
“I’m on it.” She ran back to her unmarked car.
Tomassi radioed in for his crime scene crew and barked out orders to the deputies.
“Get this scene sealed off. And get someone to close the road on both sides!”
When the list and photographs finally came in, Tomassi took the gruesome task of matching each body to the photo. The list had ten names on it. The bus held only twelve bodies, including the three deputies.
Tomassi exited the bus covered in dust, his face pale white.
“Salas, put out an APB on Joshua Banks.”
CHAPTER TEN
“Brent, Joshua Banks is on two.”
“Tell him to hold.”
Melinda appeared in the doorway to Brent’s office. What, a blonde emergency?
“I think you’d better take this. He’s speaking in tongues or something.”
“I’ve gotta go, I’ll call you right back.” Brent pushed line two. There was a static on the line, and he could hear someone sobbing.
“Mr. Banks?”
“Kara kak kan ko lo sin. Nara kara poa se. Eh le te la kon ko na tan fee ! Satan!” Ro hossh ke la ne ke de de na le. ”
“Mr. Banks?”
“Yea, it is I. I have seen that ancient serpent, the Devil, Satan! Yea, Azazel, Abaddon! And he came to me in the form of an angel!”
“What are you talking about? Where are you?”
“Am di biddi bittle no ko rama si ka na pu te.”
“Mr. Banks, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Are you in the jail?”
“Nea sa bo dinda budu tash ne kal marka. I am trapped, captured by the evil one who hath brushed me with the powers of darkness! I must pray now, for God to show me the light.”
Brent heard dial tone as the phone went dead.
“Detective Tomassi on one!”
Brent picked up the phone.
“Marks, where’s your client?”
“I don’t know. He just called me.”
“Where is he?”
“What’s going on?”
“He just killed a busload of prisoners and three of my deputies!”
***
A pack of sheriffs and Santa Barbara police department black and whites screamed up to the De la Guerra residence of Joshua Banks with lights blazing. The gray Santa Barbara SWAT van stopped in the middle of the street, blocking it, and out of the truck jumped eighteen men in paramilitary uniforms, heavily armed. Tomassi and Salas exited their cars and approached the Sergeant in charge.
“Sergeant: Detectives Tomassi and Salas.”
“This your case, Tomassi?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Stand by. If your guy is in there, we’ll deliver him.”
“Alive, I hope.”
“Of course alive, unless he shoots at us first.”
Ten members of the team formed a perimeter around the house, while one manned the battering ram at the porch, surrounded by five others. As the officer rammed the door, the one behind him called out “Police!” The door down, they stormed the house like soldiers on a mission.
After a few minutes, Tomassi heard the “all-clear” signal. Nobody was inside.
“Sergeant, I need to take over here.”
“Go ahead, Tomassi. It’s all yours."
Tomassi and Salas entered with several sheriff’s deputies.
Tomassi was squatting on his feet, looking around and under the clutter, when he looked up to see a woman.
“Davis! I thought I told you to seal off the area.”
“Detective, I’m Special Agent Wollard of the FBI. I’m here to assist you in your investigation.”
Tomassi rose and shook her hand.
“Already you’re calling this a serial killing?”
“We’ve seen the bus.”
Tomassi shook his head. Now I’ve got the feds up my ass.
“Alright. I’m waiting for my forensics team.”
“They’ve got to be busy. We can get you a team from Los Angeles.”
Tomassi was tempted. The FBI had the most sophisticated crime laboratory in the country.
“That’s okay, Wollard. My guys can handle it.”
“We’re just trying to help.”
***
Brent’s head was spinning. He was trying to take in all the information and process it, but it was coming in too fast, too hot.
“Brent, there are two sheriff’s deputies here to see you.”
“Show them in.”
The two uniformed deputies, both average height, one brunette and one redhead with freckles, stepped inside Brent’s office and stood there, as if at attention.
“Have a seat, gentlemen.”
“Thank you.” The freckled one pulled out a notebook. "I’m Deputy Salinger and this is Deputy Bingham. We’ve been sent by Detective Tomassi to take a report.”
Brent looked Salinger in the eye. “On what?”
“Your contact with Joshua Banks.”
“Mr. Banks is my client. My conversation with him is absolutely privileged.”
“Just the same, Detective Tomassi would like to put a trace on your phone, in case he calls in again.”
“Sorry, gentlemen, I cannot oblige. Communications with my client, including his location, are privileged.”
“Detective Tomassi’s not going to like this.”
“Deputy Bingham, is it? I have a lot of respect for Detective Tomassi, but I simply cannot agree to this request.”
***
Toward the end of his day, Brent was feeling low. His client, whom he had thought was not guilty, had apparently committed a mass murder to escape from custody and the police thought that Brent was covering for him. But what about the truck? He had to have an accomplice. Brent needed to put the worries of the office out of his mind. He needed home. Naturally, whenever he thought of home, he thought of Angela, so he called her immediately.
“Hey baby.”
“Hey.” Her voice was cold and mechanical.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Then silence at the other end.
“You still there?”
“Yes. What do you want, Brent?”
Brent, not honey, not sweetheart. And ‘what do you want?’ I’m in deep shit, apparently.
“I had a hard day today. Just thought it would be nice to see you.”
“So, whenever you have a bad day, you want me to come over
to cheer you up?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I can’t come over tonight. I’m busy.”
“With what?”
“I’m assisting with the Bennett case, which is more than I can say for you.”
There it is! Attorney/client double whammy.
“You know he’s my client and I can’t violate privilege.”
“I know all about privilege, Brent, but there has to be a limit to it. We need to find this maniac before he kills again.”
“We?”
“We’re forming a task force.”
“Look, I promise if I hear from him, I’ll encourage him to turn himself in.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“What do you want me to do, Angela? Violate my oath? I certainly wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.”
Then she hung up. Brent redialed, but she refused to answer. He left a message.
“Angela, I’m sorry, but this isn’t personal. I’ll call the Bar hotline when they open tomorrow and see what they say, okay? Please, talk to me.”
Brent decided to give her some time to cool off. He headed home to a dark house. Just him and the cat.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Angela still hadn’t called by the end of the evening, and Brent spent the rest of it sulking, depressed. Calico moved from one favorite spot to another, indifferent to his suffering. Finally, after he had gotten ready for bed, the phone rang.
“Hey, baby.”
“The Spirit of Truth has come and will guide you to all truths.”
“Mr. Banks?”
Brent quickly hit the ‘record’ button on his telephone.
There was a pause, and then: “Oh ka wee no tal banshee deswin. An angel hath been revealed to me and he shall show thee the way.”
A chill ran down Brent’s spine.
“Mr. Banks, where are you? You have to turn yourself in. It’s the only way. The longer you run, the worse it will be for you.”
“It is the glory of God to conceal things, but the glory of kings to search things out. The truth will be revealed; everything in its own time. In do shin maka nay kot guy das vindat. It shall be written in blood.”
The line went dead. There was something different about his voice. Something…cold.
Brent couldn’t sleep that night. He was haunted by nightmares. The grisly images from the Bennett case flashed through his mind. In his dreams, he was pursued by a man with a knife. Every time he tried to hide, the man would slash into his hiding place with the knife, like The Shining. Finally, after what seemed to be the entire night, he went to sleep.
Brent screamed, and sat up in bed. He was sweating. It was still dark, so he lay in bed and tried to go back to sleep. It was impossible. As dawn broke above the hills, Brent gave up trying to sleep and got up. It was a new day, and that should have held promise of good things, but Brent was still down. And, on top of that, he was fatigued.
At the office, Brent called the State Bar Ethics Hotline. Brent learned that he had the duty to reveal anything that Banks told him if he was in the process of committing a crime or covering one up. That certainly applied to last night’s communication.
Angela called him before he had a chance to call and tell her. “Brent, I need you to come here right away.”
“Okay, I’ll be right over.”
“Not at the office. Another crime scene. Banks did it again.”
Brent didn’t understand why he would be summoned to a crime scene until he got there. It was the home of another gay couple who had recently been married. Brent was stopped at the yellow tape by a sheriff’s deputy.
“Let him in.” Angela lifted the tape for Brent to slip under.
“I have to warn you, this is not a pretty sight.”
The first thing Brent saw when he entered the house was the red writing on the wall:
Marks – truth is revealed.
Brent immediately felt faint. The room was spinning. The truth will be revealed. It shall be written in blood.
Tomassi glared at Brent with clenched teeth, like he wanted to punch his lights out.
“You wanna explain to me why this lunatic writes your name in blood on the wall?”
“That’s what he said last night. ‘The truth will be revealed.’ And he said it shall be written in blood. But it didn’t sound like Banks.”
“You talked to him last night?” Angela was angry again.
“I got a phone call at home. I was going to tell you, but…”
“That’s it, Marks. No more withholding evidence. I’ll have you for obstructing justice!”
“No, you won’t. I’ll cooperate fully. He’s crossed the line and he’s outside the privilege now. But I still don’t think this guy is Banks.”
“Of course it’s Banks.”
“I’m not so sure, Angie.”
“Keep your opinion to yourself. But you have to tell me everything he said. I want every goddamn word.”
Brent looked past Tomassi and into the room. There were photographers taking pictures and he recognized Dr. Perez, the Coroner. When they moved, Brent saw two bloody bodies, this time one piled on top of the other, as if in a sexual position. He gagged and turned his head.
“I need to get out of here. Can we talk outside?”
Tomassi nodded and went back to work. Angela led Brent outside. He had turned pale white and was retching.
“Put your hands on your knees. Get some blood to the brain.”
Finally, the maternal instinct kicks in.
“Angie, I’m…I’m sorry.”
“Shh, shh. It’s okay." She patted his back gently, then led him to her car and opened the door. “You sit down here in my car and I’ll send Tomassi out to talk to you in a few minutes.”
Brent sat down and looked up at her. The look in her eyes was warm and comforting. Brent smiled weakly.
Inside the house, Tomassi was consulting with Dr. Perez.
“Death appears to be from multiple stab wounds. Same type of knife as the Bennett murders – six to seven inch blade. Time of death: about seven hours ago.”
“Thanks, Doc. Salas, get us a printout of all marriage licenses issued to same sex couples in the County of Santa Barbara.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll ask for a task force to be set up and get some experts working on profiles for you.”
“Thanks, Wollard. I’m asking for help now.”
“I know. We’ll get this guy.”
“I’m gonna go talk to Marks.”
“Okay. Don’t be too hard on him.”
Tomassi flashed a tired half smile and patted Angela on the shoulder as he left the room.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A task force was formed, with the Santa Barbara Sheriff designated as the lead agency, Roland Tomassi as the lead investigator and Angela Wollard as co-investigator. The FBI contributed its full assistance, including behavioral analysis and research, equipment, funding and manpower.
It was all arranged. Brent would cooperate, but the calls that came to his office would be handled by him and him alone, due to potential confidentiality issues with regard to other clients. The police would have free reign over calls to his home telephone number. For some reason, Banks (or whomever the caller was) had decided to place the calls to him there. On his office calls, he would record any that he received and turn over tapes of any calls from Banks. The telephone company had placed a tap on his phone so that the source of the calls could be identified.
At home, it was no longer just Brent, Calico and the more than occasional visit from Angela. It was Brent, Calico, sometimes Angela, and a full-time Deputy: Salinger, the redhead. He was a lanky, average-looking guy who hadn’t seen his first high school reunion yet. But he was quiet, kept to himself, and the cat liked him. Tonight she was the only female present at the Harbor Hills hillside. Angela was pulling the night shift on what the news was already calling “The Honeymoon Stal
ker” case.
Brent received another late night phone call at about 3 a.m., but this time he was prepared. Every call was traced and automatically recorded.
“Hello?”
“The truth hath been revealed, but thou art not free. You have not learned the lesson.”
“Mr. Banks, where are you?”
“I am outside your dimensions. Ot ki sili naka pheno shtati. Uoth thewonk ton ohw i ma tub i liw leever flesym ot eeth.”
Once again the phone went dead to dial tone.
“I’ve got it!” Hanson proudly called his treasure into Tomassi.
***
Brent was not satisfied with turning over the entire investigation to the police, even if Angela’s task force was providing extra investigative muscle. He called his friend and investigator Jack Ruder for a consultation of his own. They met, as they usually did, at a local bar. This time it was The Press Room, a small pub where the beer was cold and the place was quiet. Except for the two guys playing darts in the corner of the bar, the place was almost deserted. Brent slid up to Jack at his table.
Jack had transferred from the LAPD to the FBI, where he had served on several serial killer task forces. A career agent, now retired, he was uniquely qualified to lead this investigation, let alone assist. Brent was shocked because Jack was out of uniform. He was in a blue sweatshirt and jeans, but looked stiff and out of place. Having a mug of beer in his hand didn’t do his disguise any justice. Jack looked like a cop who was undercover at a bar to expose a drug deal. In fact, Jack always looked like a cop. He couldn’t go undercover, even if everyone was dressed in Halloween costumes.
“Jack, what’s up? Are your suits all at the dry cleaner?”
Jack stood up and flashed a goofy smile. It looked goofy probably not because of the smile itself, but the silly wardrobe.
“Well, you told me to be more casual. Et, voila!” Jack turned around to show his outfit.
“What do you think?”
“I think you need a girlfriend. She’d be able to dress you better.”