“Well sir, I can do that,” LaBlanc assured him, “Because as I said, I was out there personally. The officer and crime scene unit didn’t touch anything until I could look at it. The body was of a white male who appeared to be in his sixties or seventies – that was a tough distinction to make, since he was bloated and mottled and about ready to burst. But his hair was grey. Anyway, he had what appeared to be a bullet hole in his right temple, and there was a .22 caliber derringer lying in his open right palm on the bed. The bullet wound had expanded with the bloating, but for caliber we were going by the weapon, of course.”
Sam injected “Right”, mainly to let the Detective know he was still on the line and listening.
“There was a laptop on the nightstand next to the body, and an empty vodka bottle on the bed near his left hand. Now, I mention the laptop specifically because you already know it was from that computer that we retrieved all the information we emailed to you on the day of the investigation and later.”
“Right”, Sam acknowledged. “Detective LaBlanc, I want to ask you a question or two about how the investigation continued, but I want to preface my questions with an assurance that we’re not conducting a witch-hunt here. We aren’t trying to find fault with you or your department or any part of the investigation. The thing is, we are beginning to have doubts that it was actually Cole Everman in that bed.”
LaBlanc interjected “Which I surmise has something to do with your earlier request to have an officer check on David Sommerville?”
“Yes” Sam confirmed. “Sommerville worked with Everman in Alexandria Virginia until his retirement a few years ago, and we are now working on the presumption that Everman, when he left Virginia, might have followed Sommerville when he himself retired. So we had our tech person track down Sommerville’s movements and when we learned his address that went a long way toward confirming our suspicions.
“Now Detective LaBlanc,” Sam continued, “In light of that information, is it possible that the man in Everman’s bed might have been anyone other than Cole Everman?”
There was a long silence at the other end of the line. Sam and Monica looked at each other. She shrugged indicating she was also wondering if the Louisiana officer had been offended at the question. As it turned out, he was only thinking the scenario through.
“Well now, let’s see”, he said, “Everything in the trailer pointed to it being Everman and only Everman who lived there. And we found his driver’s license, but as you can imagine he didn’t look much like his picture anymore.”
Monica made a “Eeewww” face.
“By the time they had him in a rubber bag and loaded in an ambulance for transport, our techs on scene had booted up the laptop. It opened immediately to that first file we emailed to you, and as you know, it was clearly written by Everman and included his express desire for people to read it and know his story. It ended with his statement that he was dying of cancer and didn’t want to go out slowly. So, yeah, everything was pointing to it being Everman in the bed.”
“Was there an autopsy performed?” Monica was asking
“Yes, of course” said, LaBlanc, still sounding unperturbed and only wanting to help, “but I can’t say there was an effort to identify the body in the course of it. We had no reason to believe he was anyone but who we thought, and although the cause of death was the .22 mini mag to the brain, the Doc confirmed that he was riddled with cancer…wouldn’t have been around much longer if he hadn’t taken his own way out.”
Sam grunted. “Although now it looks as though that might have been David Sommerville in the bed, and he may not have taken his own life at all.”
“Gotta agree with that,” said LaBlanc. “Unfortunately, we can’t determine that by re-examination of the body.”
“It can’t be exhumed?” asked Monica
“Can’t be un-cremated.” came back the Detective’s voice. “Sorry about that…” Sam and Monica exchanged a look of frustration. “You gotta realize” LaBlanc went on, “We had a badly decomposing body with bullet hole and cancerous tumors that matched up with all the information we had. It was an open and shut case of suicide by all appearances.”
“Understood,” said Sam. “We’ll just have to work with what we’ve got.” They heard a grunt of agreement from the phone’s speaker. “If you can turn up anything there that might give us a clue where Cole Everman is now we’d appreciate you sharing; we’ll do you the same courtesy if we dig up anything from this end. Thank you, Detective LaBlanc.”
“Y’all take care now, and we’ll help in any way we can” the Bossier City officer disconnected at his end and Sam pushed his ‘end call’ button.
“Something just occurred to me” said Monica
“What’s that?” Sam looked up from his desktop to meet her gaze.
“If everything works out right, I might get to shoot that son-of-a-bitch after all.”
CHAPTER 9
The next morning the Agents were at the office at 7:00 to get another early start on what promised to be a whole new adventure in the Cole Everman saga. Sam stepped into Monica’s office with a cup of coffee in each hand and a file folder under his left arm. As he set her cup down on the desk she reached out and pulled the folder away from him.
“What’cha got here, Sammy?” She asked playfully. Then she saw the index tab. “Oh. Everman’s folder, of course. How could I have not known that?” she finished with a smile.
“Open to page 50 of the original report we received. The Trinidad account. Read the portion I’ve highlighted.” said Sam as he sat in one of her chairs.
He sipped his coffee while she flipped the pages in the folder. She stopped and paused as she read silently, then said the words aloud. ‘I went back to this spot not long ago, after I got my news, and found that one piece still there, a lonely sentry posted to attest to what once was.’
“Why didn’t we catch this earlier?” She said as she looked up at Sam. “That phrase, ‘after I got my news’, must be referring to the cancer he claimed to have, but it was so vague and unattached to what he was talking about at that point in the narrative, I think I just skimmed over it.”
Sam agreed with a nod. “Think about it. He was still upholding the façade of his having cancer and dying of it in Louisiana. But the striking paradox is, in the same sentence in which he continues the bluff, he drops a hint that he has been back to the site of the trestle collapse in Trinidad. So did he want us to think that when his cancer was diagnosed in Louisiana, he travelled all the way to California to visit the scene of his first murders and then went back to Louisiana to die? It doesn’t make sense; especially now that we know the cancer was a hoax.”
“So if he was lying about having cancer, would he lie about going back to that scene? Why would he bother to do that?” Monica asked, confused.
As they talked, John Springer stepped into the office doorway. “Good morning, Agents” he greeted.
Sam let his hand rise and fall in a silent hello as Monica said, “Hi Deputy. Get yourself a cup of coffee and pull up a chair.”
Springer moved to the only empty chair in the room saying, “I had a cup with breakfast and that’ll hold me for a while, thanks.”
“Kim won’t be in for another hour, John” Sam teased. Monica smiled.
“Why, Agent Runyan!” Springer looked shocked. “Don’t you realize it’s really you I come to see?” As he was saying this his eyes moved to Monica’s face and past her to the laptop open on her desk. There was a Virginia driver’s license on the screen and from a distance the face of the driver looked vaguely familiar.
“Not trying to be ‘Rear Window’ nosey,” he squinted, “but who is that you have on your screen there?”
She turned the laptop more in Springer’s direction so he could get a better look. “That is Cole Everman at fifty-five years of age. The picture is seven – almost eight years old, so he would look a little grayer now but probably not a lot different than when that was taken.”
“
If he was alive, you mean” started Springer
“There’s the rub, John” said Sam. We have information that is leading us to believe he might not be dead at all; that maybe he staged his death with someone else’s body and left the Bossier City area. In fact…”
As Sam spoke, Springer stood from his chair and approached the desk. Bending to get a closer and clearer look at the driver’s license photo, the Deputy interrupted Sam to ask, “Do you two know who this is?”
“Yeah, John.” Sam said in a tone that he might use with a slow student. “It’s Cole Everman. Have you been listening?”
“I’ve seen this man” Springer said, putting his index finger almost on the screen. “And so have you.”
Sam and Monica looked at one another, setting their coffee cups down at the same time and turning back to Springer.
The Deputy glanced from one to the other and said, “I was out to Trinidad half a dozen times during the search of that hillside for remains of the Christmas Club. I saw this guy almost every time I was out there.” He looked once more from one Agent to the other and then said, “When we went out there together the first time, to find the site, this guy was mowing the lawn in front of the old Clay house.”
“Unbelievable.” Monica was shaking her head and looking out the passenger window as Sam drove to Trinidad with Deputy Springer following in his patrol car. “All this traipsing all over the countryside to track down evidence and close these cases, and that psychopath was right here, enjoying the comfort of the home his first six victims lived in.”
“Makes sense in a way” said Sam, “now that everything is coming together. How many times in his journals did Everman say he liked to be in control; liked to have things happen according to his plan and not someone else’s?”
She nodded, watching out the windshield. “He faked his death and came back here knowing that once his story was out, authorities would be out there looking for evidence where that trestle used to be. When Springer told us Everman was living there I thought it was just way too much of a coincidence that the Clay house would be available for him to live in. While you were briefing Agent Muncey and Springer was getting permission to accompany us out here, I had Kim run a quick check. That house was purchased four years ago by a man named Evers from Virginia, who paid cash. Who do you suppose that was?”
Sam was shaking his head at the irony.
“So when he was ready to put his plan to action in Louisiana and disappear from there” she continued, “all he had to do was come home.”
“And sit in the shade with his iced tea and watch the show and gloat.”
“Oh, no!” she corrected. “Not gloat! Admire his work! Remember, he’s the hero. He’s the avenger. He’s the justice-bringer. He didn’t just need for his exploits to be known. He needed to be around to appreciate the outcome of his efforts. He probably followed the search crews up there and watched them work day after day, as they dug around and found bones and belt buckles and keys to a 1956 Chevy 210.”
As they approached Trinidad they turned left on McHenry Mill Road and took one of the back residential streets into the center of town. As planned before they left Stockton, they came down Grace Street from the north and parked several houses away from Everman’s so if he chanced to look out his window he wouldn’t see them until they were close to the door.
Deputy Springer parked behind the agency car. Sam got out to meet him and said, “Ok, Deputy. This is officially your call now. We’re just along to see this thing to a close. Even though you recognized the picture we need to officially confirm this guy’s identity before we drag him off to jail. Right?” Springer nodded.
Monica took the car and drove around the far side of the block in order to approach the house from the rear. The men gave her a couple of minutes to get into position.
Sam and John walked at an angle across the front lawn toward the front door, intending to catch their quarry off-guard and confirm his identity before making any move to arrest him. An American flag which Sam estimated to be 5x8 feet, hung down from the front of the small porch so that it almost completely blocked the view of the door. Sam said quietly for John’s ears, “Mr. Patriot.” Springer shot back in a whisper, “Yeah. Regular Red, White and Blue butcher.”
They were still a dozen feet from the front porch when the sound of the door opening came from behind the flag. A slight movement of air brushed the flag aside and a man could be glimpsed standing in shadow just as the fabric dropped back into place.
Before Sam could stop him, Deputy Springer said, “Cole Everman?”
“No…” Sam was reaching for his service weapon knowing Springer had spoken too soon. A hand popped up from behind the flag and snapped a shot from a .38 caliber revolver straight into the Deputy’s chest. The young man staggered back two steps then went down hard on the front walk.
Sam didn’t have time to check his welfare. He was diving to his left for cover from the open doorway in case the suspect fired a second round, this time at him. But the door slammed shut and Sam heard a dead bolt click into place.
In two long strides Sam mounted the porch to the left of the door. As he did he reached and grabbed a handful of the flag, yanking downward and ripping it from its place so the obstruction was gone. He cringed a little inside at having to drop the flag on the ground but respect was not a priority at the moment.
“Cole Everman!” He shouted as he flanked the door and squatted low. “This is Special Agent Samuel Runyan with the FBI. This doesn’t have to end badly. We need to talk and I know that you know what it is we need to discuss.” There was silence from the inside. “Cole” he repeated.
A man’s voice, sounding as though it was just on the other side of the door, said “You weren’t supposed to figure it out this quickly.”
“But you knew we would eventually? Is that how you wanted it Cole?” The only thing between them was the thickness of the door, so both men spoke in a normal tone now.
“The fact is” Cole’s voice got even quieter. Sam almost had to strain to hear. He glanced back at Springer who was slowly sitting up on the sidewalk with a hand pressing against the center of his chest. “The fact is that I really just wanted some time of peace and quiet. You know, everybody wants to have some retirement time from their occupation; no matter how much they enjoyed their work. I was hoping you wouldn’t figure it out until I was truly ready to end it.”
“You like to be in control.” Sam said matter-of-factly.
There was silence on both sides of the door as Sam listened for any telltale noise to indicate Everman might be moving, but he could hear nothing. He wondered what Monica was doing. Knowing his partner he was sure she would be attempting to gain entrance so some part of the residence so he started talking again to give her cover.
“Cole.” He listened. “Cole, this can end peacefully.” He listened.
“No, not for me.” Said the small voice on the other side of the door. “I’ve revealed too much.”
Sam glanced back toward Springer, who had managed to move away from the walk to a position behind the only tree in the yard, ready to give Sam cover fire if needed.
“Cole,” Sam began…
Then he heard Monica’s voice come from somewhere further inside the residence. “Drop your weapon”
As though to punctuate her command, a firearm exploded from just inside. Sam hit the door with all his weight, breaking the frame and knocking the door, not only open, but loose from its top hinge. The door fell in and open at an angle, Sam coming with it, and he almost tripped over the body of Cole Everman. The left side of the man’s face was misshapen and his eyes were open wide. A pool of blood was spreading into the carpet under his head like a red pillow.
Monica was at the far end of the living room, Glock pistol dangling at her side in her right hand. Sam looked down at the body he now straddled and realized Monica had not been the one to take the shot.
She said, “As soon as he heard my voice he put the gun to his head
and pulled the trigger. There wasn’t even a pause.”
“He needed to be in control.”
A footfall on the porch made Sam turn to see Deputy Springer standing there, ashen-faced, still pressing a hand to his chest. He took the hand away and uncovered a hole that was in his uniform shirt just above the second button, dead center over the sternum.
Sam said, “Looks like your vest did what it was designed to do.”
“Yeah” said Springer sheepishly, “but it still hurts like Hell.”
“In the future, Deputy Springer, when you are about to reveal to a disguised suspect that you know his true identity,” Sam started
Springer finished, “Have my weapon drawn already?”
Sam nodded. “And a clear target. In the words of Sean Connery in The Untouchables, ‘Thus endeth the lesson’.”
Still short of breath and looking pained, the Deputy said, “That was a great flick” and lowered himself to sit on the front step of the porch.
It was mid-afternoon before scene investigation and cleanup wound down at the old Clay house. The M.E. had taken the body away at 11:00 and Sheriff’s detectives were collecting everything in the residence that might tell them a little bit more about the deceased.
Since neither Sam nor Monica had actually fired a shot, the jurisdiction at the scene was solely that of Stanislaus County. Therefore after they had given their statements and caught detectives up on what had brought them out to Trinidad, they headed back to the Stockton office.
Deputy John Springer was checked by EMS responders at the scene and deemed well enough to drive, but his sergeant directed him to go to the hospital and get a more thorough examination to be sure his sternum wasn’t cracked or a rib broken. Monica stepped around a corner and quietly called Kim, to let her know her boyfriend was ok and suggest she slip out of the office and meet him at the hospital.
After briefing Harold Muncey, who officially declared them to be finished with the Everman file, Sam and Monica called it a day and left early for a much deserved break. They went to dinner together at Angelina’s Spaghetti House, where they ate in relative silence, neither wanting to discuss the case or the events of the day. Then they went their separate ways for the night, agreeing to not go in to work until 0800 hours the next day.
The Everman Journal Page 21