Nameless

by Joe Conlan

  Special interviews of the passengers staying on the same deck as Isaac Jefferson were conducted by both the defense and prosecution during the discovery phase of the upcoming trial. The next door neighbors on either side couldn’t say with any certainty they ever heard voices or sounds coming from that cabin. Like everyone else on the ship, crew and passengers alike, not one resident on the entire deck recognized any photos or artist’s renditions of the serial murderer. Under the circumstances, Daniel’s job on the witness stand seemed more daunting than any he had ever undertaken in his life.

  As if that wasn’t enough of a challenge, his credibility would be that much more critical regarding the issue of the text message and picture of Damien Drysdale sent to him by Leland on the first day of the cruise. The Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure required that the prosecutor provide the defense with a list of the items the United States intended to introduce into evidence during the trial. Daniel couldn’t believe his atrocious luck when his attorney first notified him that his cell phone had received the message. He truly felt like either the heavens or some evil force was working against him to make his life an unimaginable nightmare. He worried that not even his lawyer, family and friends would believe his lame excuse that Deborah had confiscated his cell phone. Thoughts of despair threatened to resurface. It required a search of the depths of his soul to find the strength to continue to fight, calling to mind Annie’s words about his children. Shipman and the rest of the world would have to accept the truth. Daniel’s only option was to have confidence in its power. He might as well plead guilty if he couldn’t make himself believe his testimony would create the reasonable doubt necessary to acquit him.

  The disappearance of Terry Smithson was the one issue the defense originally thought might work in their favor. With Annie’s help, it was discovered Smithson was a former colleague of Damien Drysdale. At trial, the defense would take the position that the missing security guard was evidence of the serial killer’s presence on the ship. It would take some creative persuasion, but Shipman felt he could convince the judge to allow him to argue to the jury she was a threat to Drysdale with the potential to expose him. After many weeks of investigation, the optimism quotient for Shipman and his team took a significant hit. Due to a rash of kidnappings of American citizens in Mexico, the Mexican police were overwhelmed with work and pressure from the American government and victims’ families. Terry Smithson was one of dozens of cases they were attempting to resolve with minimal staff and less than adequate facilities and technology. Not a lot was being done to determine what happened to Terry Smithson. Alan Shipman was forced to hire a private detective to travel to the Yucatan Peninsula to conduct a thorough investigation. It proved to be no more fruitful than any other line of defense Shipman hoped to establish. The detective’s efforts turned out to be a bust.

  Several of Smithson’s colleagues and friends on the ship were aware she had gone to Atkun Chen alone on the day of her disappearance. The detective had also checked Smithson’s credit card purchases and learned she had rented diving equipment that day for the underwater caves. After slipping the park’s manager a few pesos, he was permitted to search through their records to find Fernando Ramirez, the tour guide who led Smithson’s group. The detective showed Ramirez a picture of both Terry Smithson and Damien Drysdale and an artist’s rendition of Daniel’s description of Isaac Jefferson. Fernando, who directed several tours a day consisting of dozens of people in wetsuits and masks didn’t recognize them. He never even told the detective the story of the two members of his group who decided to ditch him halfway through the tour. The interview was months later and his memory wasn’t sharp enough to link that event with the date the detective provided. Alan Shipman had spent thousands of dollars out of his own pocket only to come up with nada.

  The media circus had commenced their invasion of the Wilkie D. Ferguson United States Federal Courthouse in downtown Miami. The main attraction was the trial of the “Blood Boat Butcher.” Under the big tent, CNN set up live twenty-four hour television coverage. The set was situated beneath an eight story curved glass form resembling the hull of an enormous ship resting between the twin glazed towers of the Federal Building. The side shows boasted thousands of reporters from around the world transmitting live broadcasts of updates of the event touted the trial of the new millennium. News vans crowded the parking lot in a hodgepodge of satellites, tripods, cables, cameramen and spectators.

  An aberrant entrepreneur set up a stand to sell t-shirts with a print of Daniel Falcone holding a cleaver dripping with blood. Onlookers held up posters calling for Daniel’s decapitation. The pacifist groupies took the opportunity to picket and protest capital punishment. Hundreds of police were assigned to provide security for the building and its surrounding areas. They were dressed in full combat gear and equipped with the latest non-lethal mob control weapons.

  The judge had not yet rendered his verdict whether he would allow the live television and/or radio coverage of opening statements and the remainder of the trial. He forbade the presence of cameras in the courtroom during jury selection. The decision didn’t mar the excitement of this big day for the hordes of journalists assigned to reporting the event. Before he commenced jury selection, Judge Jackson was going to announce his ruling today on the broadcast issue for the rest of the proceedings. Alan Shipman vehemently argued against live media coverage. He alleged that allowing the transmission of the trial to the public had the potential to irreparably prejudice his client and threaten the sanctity of the jury. He also expressed concern for witness safety and maintained it would taint the dignity of the courtroom and judicial process.

  It wasn’t a big surprise Norman Dallas was in favor of television coverage and contended that the public had the right to access to the courts. He argued that the constitutional right was one to observe, not exclude and the public was now used to the television broadcast of courtroom proceedings. It was no longer a sensational event. The rules banning cameras from the federal courtroom were outdated and unconstitutional, violating the first amendment right to freedom of the press.

  In the courtroom, one hundred prospective jurors were being marched into the gallery area and jury box. Daniel was seated at the defense table in a dark blue, tailored suit with a white shirt and red tie. In the chair next to him, Alan Shipman was flipping through a list of names of the potential jurors. He was sporting a Kiton gray suit with a pinstriped white shirt and light purple checkered tie. The entire ensemble had a price tag upwards of seven-thousand dollars. Alan concentrated on the list memorizing the names of the first jurors to be questioned. They would be interviewed in groups of twenty. When conducting his examination, he preferred to use the individual’s name without having to refer to his notes. The jurors were usually very impressed with this typical attorney trick. Not every lawyer was capable of remembering so many names at one time. He didn’t doubt that at this moment, Norman Dallas would be busy himself committing the names to memory.

  Dallas, whose wallet was not quite as deep as Shipman’s was wearing a charcoal gray suit, light blue shirt and blue and gray striped tie that he purchased on Italsuit.com. The fact that he wasn’t wearing as expensive a suit as his adversary took nothing from his ability to exercise mastery over his environment. Just before the judge entered the courtroom, he glided to his position at the prosecutorial table with a distinct, but not off-putting sense of confidence.

  “All rise. The United States District Court, Southern District of Florida is now in session, Judge Clarence Jackson presiding.” Judge Jackson slid into the courtroom from a side door behind the witness stand. He requested that everyone be seated then settled into his large chair behind the bench. Addressing the courtroom as a whole through the microphone placed on his desk, he said, “Good morning counsel, members of the prospective jury and spectators. We’re here today for jury selection in the case of the United States vs. Daniel Falcone. However, before we begin the selection process, I would like to announce my ruli
ng concerning the television coverage of the trial.

  I’m well aware there’s a Federal Rule of Civil Procedure in the Southern District of Florida banning television cameras from Federal Courtrooms. However, the recent trend across the country has been to slowly allow more and more access to the visual media. The 1996 Judicial Conference Report allowed each Federal Court of Appeals to decide on a case by case basis. Although the report discouraged courts from allowing cameras into federal courtrooms, in that very same year, the Ninth District Court of Appeals announced it would allow electronic media coverage of most of its proceedings.

  In 2006, the United States House of Representatives voted 375-45 to allow Federal Appellate Court and District Court Justices discretion to authorize television and radio coverage in their courtrooms. This was the third time such a bill passed one branch of Congress. Attitudes toward this issue are without a doubt changing. It’s my opinion television coverage would not only provide a very important public service but can also aid the judiciary. For these reasons, I am going to allow both television and radio coverage of this trial beginning at opening statements. My Judicial Assistant will prepare a detailed list of rules that must be adhered to at the risk of being held in contempt of court.”

  Alan Shipman stood up and asked the judge to note his objection for the record. Being just a formality necessary for the purposes of a future appeal, the judge allowed the motion to be heard then overruled it. He turned to the prosecutor and said, “Now Counsel, let’s get started with Voir Dire. Mr. Dallas, you’re up.”

  Shem wasn’t one to get giddy over good news, but what he read on the headlines banner running across the bottom of his television screen made him want to rejoice. He was going to have the opportunity to be present for the trial and didn’t have to leave the comfort of his own living room. CNN would be providing all day coverage of every stage of the process starting with the opening statements. Already, the defense had been struck down on a significant issue. The agent’s attorney fought tooth and nail to forbid cameras in the courtroom. From what Shem read, the defense attorney usually had judges eating out of his hands. Round one went to the prosecution.

  Keeping a close eye on the legal proceedings was his number one priority at the moment. That didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty of other significant work to be done in order to secure his future. All he had accomplished to date was designed for the one purpose of obtaining his long anticipated prize. His next undertaking was going to be key to his ultimate success. He couldn’t afford to screw this one up or the consequences could be disastrous. Much deliberation and reflection would be necessary. He already conducted a search on real estate websites for his next home. He wanted it to be secluded, out of sight of the public eye. It would be his private fortress. A cabin in the mountains of Georgia or North Carolina on an exceptionally large plot could fit the bill.

  According to the agent’s lawyer, Shem still had two months before the evidentiary portion of the trial commenced. He needed to take advantage of the delay to get some vital work done. It was time to take to the road. He could actually kill two birds with one stone. It was the perfect opportunity to real estate shop and it had been more than a month since the murders on the ship. The compulsion to kill was growing too strong to ignore. He was doing his best to control his impulses in order to keep a low profile. Damien Drysdale was still the prime suspect for the Hannah Richards and European murders and the FBI made him number one on their most wanted list. This time, he would have to completely change his modus operandi. It may not be as pleasurable without slashing a throat or performing a decapitation. He could only hope his chosen method would satisfy the killing itch.

  During his travels to the Southern Appalachian Mountains, he would take a day or two from his schedule to try his hand at something new. It was probably going to take a bit more creativity to derive as much pleasure from the experience as he normally would. He enjoyed gurgling noises and the bulging terror-filled eyes while strangling his victim. Then again, it could never compare with the blood saturated spectacle of the transection of a carotid artery or the removal of a head. There had to be a more innovative and satisfying method of killing than strangulation without decapitation. He would think on it.

  Two months should give him sufficient time to satisfy his craving and find a stronghold on which to place a down payment. This was going to be the first time he ever owned a home. He had always avoided owning real estate property in the past. It involved too much documentation and even worse, traceability. He was proud of the fact he had never paid a penny in taxes. Even though he was never given an official name or social security number, it took a significant amount of ingenuity to avoid Uncle Sam. In order to invest his money and open up new accounts, he created fictitious characters. Never once did he file an income tax return under any of his false names. If there was a loophole in the tax laws of a given country, he was aware of it. There wasn’t a tax attorney who knew the United States Tax Code better than he. He was confident he would be able to find a similar escape clause in the registration laws of real estate to help obstruct the government’s ability to locate him.

  Tonight, he would pack his bags to get an early start for his trip the following morning. After the sun set, he went for his nightly five mile jog. He was so repulsed by the extra weight he gained for the Joy of the Seas, immediately after moving to Memphis, he got himself into the best shape of his life. As he ran through the streets of the city, he thought about the upcoming trial. He would be sure to record the proceedings for posterity’s sake. He couldn’t wait to see the look on the agent’s face when the jury announced their guilty verdict.

  After shopping for real estate for several days on his cherished Internet, Shem’s final choice was a secluded, two story waterfront cabin abutting the Nantahala National Forest in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Western North Carolina. It took him a total of eight and a half hours to drive from Memphis straight through to his new mountain hideaway. Pulling into the driveway, the first sight that attracted his attention was a whitewater stream flowing on the property parallel to the access road. He had seen it in pictures on his computer and was impressed by its beauty. Taking it in with his own eyes, he was amazed by its sheer force. The river raged just fifteen feet from the front porch that stretched the length of the cabin’s façade. It would serve as an adequate moat to prevent the invasion of any unwanted visitors for the main residence. The deck was bordered by a cypress, colonial picketed railing, and was furnished with a classic cedar hanging swing and two acacia wood rocking chairs. On the west side of the residence, there was a spectacular waterfall that cascaded thirty feet downward over a staircase of boulders into the racing torrent. The nearest neighbor was miles away. The entire city had a population of less than one hundred people.

  He contacted the real estate agent immediately and scheduled an appointment to view the inside. With a little bit of coaxing and a great deal of insistence, he was able to convince her to meet him at the home an hour later. Stepping through the threshold, Shem knew the interior was going to need some work to make it more functional. The floors were polished golden oak. The vaulted ceilings were of the rustic style with thick, exposed birch wood beams. The living room extended into a kitchen adding at least another five hundred square feet to the already large and open space. It wasn’t ideal for security purposes. The problem was exacerbated by a fifteen- by- fifteen foot picture window overlooking the rapids and forest beyond. It allowed for an unobstructed view of most of the living space inside the home. There were two bedrooms, the master bedroom having a dramatic view of both the front of the property and the waterfall. Both rooms had windows on all sides purposefully offering a panoramic view of the surrounding area. Shem needed to be able to keep a close eye on the property from inside the cabin, but most of these windows had to go.

  He made a cash offer on the spot to the real estate agent. Despite the issues with the interior, it was the perfect location and other characteristics of the prop
erty made it a worthwhile investment. The agent told him she would relay the bid to the owners, but Shem couldn’t help noticing she was taken aback by his choice of payment. In an attempt to offer what she mistakenly thought would be helpful counsel, she suggested he apply for a mortgage explaining that the great majority of home buyers took that route. She pointed out that depending on the interest rate he could negotiate, that large sum of cash could earn more money than he would pay in interest over the thirty year life of the loan. He didn’t appreciate the woman meddling in his affairs and was furious she had the unmitigated gall to give him financial advice. There was no doubt he could buy out her real estate business and every piece of property she had for sale. If he wanted to pay cash, he had a good reason for it. This woman was treading on thin ice. If he didn’t need her for this transaction, she would have been the perfect candidate for what he had planned for the second half of this trip. Flashing his best effort at a smile which was really nothing more than a twitch of his upper lip, he made it clear he wasn’t interested in a mortgage.

  In this part of the country, most things didn’t happen very quickly. The residents had a much more laid-back, relaxed attitude than the city life to which he was accustomed. Even though he was paying cash, the whole process from purchase to closing was estimated to take almost the entire two months needed to pick the jury in the agent’s murder trial. The wait worked into his schedule perfectly. It would give him more than enough time to engage in his favorite hobby. After signing the contract of purchase and placing a down payment on the cabin, he hit the road once again.