Chasing Justice

by H. Terrell Griffin

  “So,” I said, “somebody at FDLE made the decision to pursue Abby. I can’t believe those emails would have been the deciding factor. Especially since they didn’t come from her computer. Do you have any idea who made the decision, or why?”

  “I’m pretty sure the decision was made by Wes Lucas, but I don’t know why. There were other fingerprints in the condo, including those of the victim’s estranged wife. She would have seemed to me to be a better possibility than Abby Lester. FDLE must have something that Sarasota PD isn’t aware of.”

  “They would have had to dig it up pretty quick,” I said. “There were only a few hours between the time the case was given to FDLE and the Jacksonville state attorney charged Abby.”

  “I’m not sure Lucas waited for the state attorney before making his decision. It looks to me like he decided to arrest Abby, and then told the state attorney to charge her. They haven’t been real quick to take the case to a grand jury.”

  “I noticed that,” I said. “I wonder if they’re going to stick with the second-degree murder charge. It’d make more sense to go with manslaughter. Better chance for a conviction.”

  “That’s for you lawyers to figure out,” Gus said. “They also got results from the DNA found on the sheets. Some of it was Bannister’s, but the female DNA isn’t in the system.”

  “I’m not surprised by that,” I said. “Unless somebody’s been arrested before, it won’t be there.”

  “They’re probably going to request a swab from Abby,” J.D. said.

  “I know. I may fight them on that.”

  “Why?” asked J.D.

  “If Abby was having an affair with Bannister, it wouldn’t do us any good to have that go into evidence. If she wasn’t, and that’s not her DNA, maybe our fighting them on the production will send the prosecution off on a wild-goose chase.”

  “Aren’t they likely to get the sample from Abby?” asked Gus.

  “I don’t think so. Not with the evidence they have. Judge Thomas isn’t going to let them go off on a fishing expedition. They’re going to have to show him reasonable cause for taking the sample. If they have something we don’t know about that would rise to reasonable cause, they’re going to have to show their evidence. I’ve got nothing to lose by fighting their request for Abby’s DNA, but potentially, a lot to gain.”

  “My computer guy’s been out of town,” Gus said, “but he’s back. If you can get me Bannister’s computer, I can have him take a look at it. See if he can figure out where those emails came from.”

  “I won’t be able to get possession of the computer, but I should be able to get your guy access to it. I’ll file a motion tomorrow. I’d also like you to check out this assistant, Tori. See what turns up. It sounds like she’s not too hung up on ethics.”

  “Even if the deal had gone down between Shorter and Bannister,” said Gus, “I don’t think they would have been breaking any laws.”

  “I agree,” I said, “but from what Shorter said, Tori sure seemed to be quick to buy into something dirty.”

  “She may just be an opportunist,” J.D. said.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Anything on the ballistics on the murder weapon?”

  “Nothing,” Gus said. “They haven’t found the gun, and the slugs were pretty beaten up, so it was hard to get enough information off of them to find a match to any other weapons used in crimes. Nothing showed up in the databases.”

  “Any luck in getting copies of those emails?” I asked.

  He pulled seven sheets of folded paper from the inside pocket of his suit coat and handed them to me. “This is all of them,” he said, “and you didn’t get them from me.”

  “Good work, Gus,” I said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  J.D. called me late in the afternoon. I was at home drafting a motion to allow our expert to examine Abby’s computer. I had just finished researching the case law concerning the threshold of evidence that was needed for a court to order a defendant to provide a DNA sample.

  “Brad was able to get hold of what appears to be Linda Favereaux’s birth certificate,” she said. “He tracked it through Connie’s maiden name, Rohan. She had a baby girl thirty-nine years ago. She named her Darlene Rohan.”

  “Father?”

  “Unknown. Connie married Bobby Pelletier two years later. It could have been Bobby’s baby, but who knows. I’d think if Bobby was the father, Connie would have listed him on the birth certificate.”

  “What about adoption records?” I asked.

  “Sealed. We can’t get them.”

  “How important are they?”

  “Probably not much. I don’t see what Darlene’s adoption would have to do with her murder.”

  “Maybe the adoption records would have the natural father’s name,” I said.

  “That’s a possibility, if Connie really knew who he was. But what bearing would that have on the murder?”

  “I can’t think of any. I just don’t like loose ends.”

  “Neither do I,” J.D. said. “But sometimes they’re just not important enough to pursue.”

  “If we had Bobby Pelletier’s murder file, we might have a shot at his DNA.”

  “Maybe that’s why it’s missing,” J.D. said.

  “Probably. I wonder how Darlene Pelletier became Linda Fournier and then married James Favereaux. Did she legally change her name?”

  “If she did,” J.D. said, “there’s no record of it in Louisiana. Brad checked that out.”

  “But there’s a record of the marriage?”

  “License issued in Orleans Parish and the wedding was performed by a notary public.”

  “Do we have any information on the notary?” I asked.

  “Dead for fifteen years.”

  “Not much of a lead.”

  “Not much,” she said.

  “Are you coming over after work?”

  “I’ll see you in about an hour.”

  My phone rang as soon as I hung up. Gus Grantham. “I’ve got some information on Tori.”

  “That was quick.”

  “Just computer stuff. But it should give you something to discuss with her.”

  “Shoot.”

  “She’s twenty-five years old, grew up on the wrong side of Tampa, dropped out of high school in the tenth grade, did a stint in juvie, arrested twice as an adult for drug possession, once for drunk driving and has a tattoo on her lower back. I think they call that a tramp stamp. She worked as a bartender in one of those topless joints on Dale Mabry in Tampa, but it doesn’t look like she was a dancer. Kept most of her clothes on, I think.”

  “Ever do time?”

  “I can’t get hold of the juvenile records. They’re sealed. She got probation on the first drug charge and did thirty days in the Hillsborough County lockup on the second one. She pled the drunk-driving charge down to reckless driving and paid a fine and did some community service.”

  “Any sign that she ever went to college?”

  “None.”

  “Do you have an address for her?”

  “She lives in an apartment in Sarasota. Commutes to the project in Lakeland.” He gave me the address and also the address of the office where she worked. “Are you going to see her?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Want me to come along?”

  “I don’t think so, Gus. It might not rattle her as much if I just come alone. I’d like you to go to Tampa and see what you can find out about her background. Family ties, friends, ownership of the club she worked in, how she got the job with Bannister when she seems absolutely unqualified for it, that sort of thing.”

  “I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow. Is there anything specific you’re looking for?”

  I told him about the young man Maggie Bannister had recently seen Tori with at the downtown restaurant. “It’s probably nothing, but I’d like to know who he is without asking her directly.”

  “You think he might have had something to do with Bannister’s murder?”<
br />
  “I don’t know. It’s a possibility. Then again, I might be chasing ghosts.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I grilled steaks on the patio while J.D. tossed a salad and toasted garlic bread in the oven. We ate outside, sitting at the picnic table overlooking the bay. It was a quiet evening, the sky still lit with the rays of the sun sinking into the Gulf on the other side of the island. We watched the boats going by on the Intracoastal, mostly small craft, each with a couple of retired guys heading home after a day of flats fishing.

  “What did you think of the emails?” J.D. asked.

  “Not much. I can’t see Abby using some of the gutter language that was in them.”

  “I agree. It sounds a lot more like something a man might come up with.”

  “The one in which Abby supposedly threatens to kill Bannister is just a bit much. If we give any credence to the earlier emails, it would appear that Abby was in love and had become a sex maniac to boot. Why would she have gone from that to threatening to kill her lover within the space of twenty-four hours?”

  “Crazy people might do that,” J.D. said, “but there’s no indication that Abby went nuts.”

  “The emails are frauds. I think we can make some points with them. Women on the jury wouldn’t think Abby would write that sort of garbage.”

  “Unless they think she’s nuts.”

  “Well, there’s that.”

  “And what if you get an all male jury?”

  “You’re not helping me here, sweetie.”

  She grinned and changed the subject. “Why do you think Tori was so adamant about Shorter going to Bannister’s condo on Sunday night?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Could Tori have been setting Shorter up to take a murder rap?”

  “It’s a possibility, but why would Tori want to kill her meal ticket?”

  “Good question,” I said. “Maybe we’ll have a better idea when we know more about Tori’s background.”

  We finished our meal and cleaned up as darkness dropped in, the sun finally giving up and sinking into the Gulf. We walked down to Tiny’s for a nightcap and a little conversation with friends. It was a pleasant and ordinary way to end our day, a way to relieve the stress of two murder investigations.

  Cracker Dix and Logan Hamilton were at the bar, and based on their slurred conversation, they had been there awhile. The Tiny’s regulars didn’t worry much about driving drunk, because someone would always take them home. If everyone was too drunk to drive, Susie, the owner, would leave the least drunk person in the bar in charge and drive the soused ones home. It was just part of the small island community’s ways.

  “Cracker,” I said, as J.D. and I took seats at the bar, “you know everybody on this end of the key. Do you know Maggie Bannister?”

  “Sure.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Not much. She was married to a real bastard, and now she’s a widow. I think she’s a lot happier.”

  “Have you seen her lately?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Where?”

  “At her house.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “I stop by now and again.”

  “You’re friends?”

  “I guess you can say that.”

  “Cracker,” J.D. said, “you’re not telling us she’s one of your married women friends with benefits.”

  “Nah. Maggie was never into messing around. She put up with that bastard of a husband because she didn’t know what else to do. But she didn’t screw around. Well, not until recently, anyway.”

  “You mean she started up with somebody?” I asked.

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “Think so.”

  “You want to tell me?” I asked.

  “Not really.” He screwed up his face and looked squarely at me. “A gentleman doesn’t carry gossip.” The slurring was getting more pronounced.

  “Ah, what the hell,” Logan said. “Tell him, Cracker. It’s Bill Lester.”

  “No. You’re mistaken,” I said.

  Cracker nodded. “No, Logan’s right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure,” Cracker said.

  I was truly shocked. “How did you know about this, Cracker?”

  “I went to visit Maggie one night after leaving here and I saw the chief pull into that long driveway of hers. I was near the house and watched her come out and greet Bill. She was wearing some sort of flimsy negligee and had a glass of wine in her hand. She gave ole Lester one of those big wet kisses. I could almost hear it from where I was standing. Then they disappeared inside.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “A couple of months back.”

  “Do you think it was a one-time thing?” J.D. asked.

  “No,” Cracker said. “Maggie told me she had a boyfriend. She was all excited and said she thought she was in love.”

  “Did she tell you it was Lester?”

  “No. She wouldn’t give me a name. But I saw him pull into her place again a couple of weeks later.”

  “Damn.”

  “Don’t let him know where you got this,” Cracker said. “The last thing I need is the chief of police breathing down my neck.”

  “Mum’s the word,” I said.

  J.D. made a zipping motion across her lips.

  * * *

  Cracker and Logan left an hour later. Logan said he was sober enough to drive, and he did seem pretty steady. Cracker, as usual, was walking. J.D. and I moved to a high-top table in the back corner, by the silent jukebox. I wanted to get her thoughts on what we’d learned about Bill Lester and Maggie Bannister.

  “That’s a shocker,” J.D. said. “If it’s true.”

  “It could be true. Maybe that’s why Maggie was so sure of her alibi. She sounded as if it was rock solid, and she did say the man she was with had impeccable credentials. Maybe it was Bill.”

  “Why would Bill get involved like that? He’s married.”

  “Married men do stray sometimes,” I said. “And Bill and Abby have had some rough spots.”

  “Do you think Abby found out about Bill’s affair and was screwing Bannister for revenge?”

  “I don’t think so. Abby’s got too much class for that.”

  “Yeah, but I thought Bill did too,” J.D. said.

  “If Bill was the one Maggie was with when Bannister was killed, they’re each other’s alibi. That might just be a little too neat.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Are you going to confront Bill about this?”

  “I’m going to have to think about that. He told me he was visiting his mother in a nursing home when Bannister died.”

  “Bill could have killed him,” J.D. said. “He and Maggie could have concocted a story about Bill being with her, when Bill was really downtown putting a bullet in Bannister’s brain.”

  “Motive?”

  “Two, maybe. He found out that Abby was having an affair with Bannister and decided to take him out, or maybe he was taking care of business for Maggie.”

  “Taking care of business?” I asked.

  “Bannister had come out to the key to threaten Maggie not too long before the murder. Remember? She said she stuck a pistol in his gut and threatened to kill him if he ever bothered her again. Maybe he came back, and Bill decided to kill him to protect Maggie.”

  “If that were the case, why would he try to frame Abby?”

  “Frame Abby?”

  “Somebody’s trying to,” I said. “Those fake emails are pretty strong evidence of that.”

  “Suppose the emails aren’t fake,” J.D. said. “Maybe she got carried away with the sex talk. Maybe she sent them from somewhere else. A library, for example.”

  “I guess that’s possible. Gus’ computer guy should be able to tell us about that. But I can’t see Bill doing that to Abby. He might have been having an affair with Maggie, but I think he loves Ab
by. I just can’t see him trying to set her up for murder.”

  “Suppose Maggie set it up.”

  “How do you mean?” I asked.

  “She knew Bill was going to kill Bannister. She was part of the plan. She could have seen her chance to take out Abby and Bannister at the same time. Give herself a better chance of reeling Bill in. No Abby, no conflict.”

  “You have a devious mind, Detective.”

  “That’s why I’m a detective.”

  “Then how did Abby’s fingerprints get in Bannister’s condo?”

  “Maggie could have used some pretext to get Abby into that condo. Maybe she and Maggie went together. Part of the plan. Maybe Maggie didn’t plan on leaving her prints, but wanted to get Abby’s there.”

  “Plausible,” I said. “This is giving me a headache.”

  “It’s probably those two Miller Lites you had. Let’s go home. Maybe things will be clearer in the morning.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Lakeland was only about an hour’s drive from Longboat Key, and I didn’t plan to get there too early. I wanted to catch Tori Madison off guard. I had already decided not to call her for an appointment. I was just going to show up in her office. So, I took my time on that Tuesday morning, eating a leisurely breakfast of cereal and coffee with J.D., and taking a jog on the beach after she left for work.

  The morning was clear and a bit cool. I ran hard on the packed sand, thinking about my case and J.D.’s. I was slowly coming to the conclusion that James Favereaux was dead. Nothing else made sense. How could a retired businessman just disappear? Why would he take off right after his wife’s murder? Unless he killed her, and the time line J.D. had worked out didn’t lend much credence to that theory. Maybe he’d returned home to find his wife dead and the murderer still in the house. The killer had a gun and made Favereaux get in his own car and drive off the key. The cameras at the bridges only recorded license plates. They did not take pictures of the car or its occupants.

  The lab folks had not found any blood or other evidence that anybody had been killed in Favereaux’s car, or that a body had been there, or that there had been a passenger. But there was no evidence at the house either. If the killer was a pro, he could have taken Favereaux without much effort and without leaving any evidence. On the other hand, why would a professional killer beat Linda to death rather than taking a quick shot with a silenced pistol?