The Mile Marker Murders

by C. W. Saari

  As he’d walked away from the body, he snagged the plastic drop cloth on thorns from a bull brier vine. After unsnarling the material, Andre retraced the short distance to his car. The ground was hard and he left no footprints. His total time at the turnaround was two minutes.

  During the drive back to his locker, he’d cruised through several apartment complexes, constantly looking in his rear-view mirror to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He only stopped to throw the bag with Lillian’s possessions into a half-filled dumpster smelling of pungent diapers.

  Andre smiled as he stared at the car trunk concealing Stacy’s body.

  It was a bonus not having to dispose of Stacy DiMateo’s car or other property. He had prepared her body the same as the others. She, however, would be the last one he would leave at the turnaround. When he got there and opened his car door, his nose detected the cheesy smell of fermentation. If a police officer stopped there, he’d probably assume a deer had been struck and was lying somewhere nearby. Andre carried the light body of Stacy DiMateo and laid her on the ground to the right of his male victim’s remains. For a few seconds, he admired the diamond engagement ring Stacy had on her finger.

  Bannister expected Robin at any time. When he had told her he wasn’t cooking a turkey, she said, “Great. Surprise me.” His last traditional Thanksgiving dinner had been with Erin. He and his wife had only three months together. Three holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve.

  The first Thanksgiving after her death, Bannister had worked as a volunteer at Turner Field, helping the Hosea Williams organization feed twenty thousand needy and homeless people. It made him feel good. He wanted to be surrounded by people who cared about others and were willing to give of their time. The last three Thanksgiving mornings he’d spent with two thousand other hardy souls—running the Atlanta half-marathon. Whether dishing out food from a tent or running down Peachtree Street, he found it refreshing to connect with positive people.

  Robin called from the front gate exactly at noon, and Bannister buzzed her in. He met her out front as she parked her Jeep in the turnaround. The air was warm, and the sun threw splotches of bright light on the paving stones. Bannister’s eyes followed Robin as she walked around to the passenger door. She wore a white sweater over tan slacks. The sun back-lit her golden hair. Her turquoise-blue eyes and brilliant smile were captivating.

  “You look great,” he said as Robin posed like a waiter, holding up a glass plate covered with foil. “What’s the dish?”

  “Dessert. It’s a gateau. I got the recipe from a friend—he’s a French chef—when I was in Paris. After I oo’d and ah’d over it, he told me his secret was using Belgian chocolate.”

  “You made it yourself?”

  “Of course. It took me three hours!” Robin pouted, and he couldn’t help but notice the mauve-colored gloss on her sensuous lips.

  He showed her into the great room and offered her a drink. “A lot of traditionalists have cranberries on Thanksgiving,” he explained. “The closest I come is cranberry juice and vodka on the rocks.”

  “I’m game,” Robin said.

  Holding her drink, she moved to the window and looked outside at his brick patio.

  He could see her reflection in the window. She looked pensive, yet poised.

  “I’m grilling some filets. I also have tuna steaks, if you prefer fish.”

  Robin turned around. “A steak sounds great. To save you from asking, I’ll take mine medium.”

  “I set the timer for the corn soufflé and just finished making a spinach salad. And I’m gonna make some grilled asparagus.”

  “Sounds scrumptious.”

  “Are you excited about reporting to the Academy?”

  “I really am. I’ve tried to follow the advice you gave me a couple of months ago, about getting into shape. There have been some positives and negatives. The positive is I’m up to doing forty pushups.”

  “That’s impressive. That should put you at the top of your class, at least as far as the female trainees are concerned. What’s the negative?”

  “I’m now a bra size larger,” Robin said grinning.

  “I’m going to leave that alone. At least I know you won’t have a problem with the running.”

  “I’m not nervous, Ty, but I don’t want to do anything stupid.”

  Bannister motioned for Robin to sit in one of the tufted club chairs near the French doors leading to the patio. He sat in the one opposite her.

  “Don’t try to be someone you’re not,” he said. “Just be yourself. Take an interest in your classmates. Keep in mind, about three-fourths of your class will be male, and most of them will think they’re overqualified. Guys also like to talk about themselves. Ask them questions. Stroke their egos. Listen ten times more than you talk, at least the first couple of weeks.”

  “Sounds like you’re telling me to be manipulative,” Robin said, tilting her head.

  “Maybe a little bit, since you’re going to be surrounded by competitive people. But don’t lose track of the fact that you’re all part of a team. Even though you want to build rapport, there’s nothing wrong with having a little edge.”

  “I appreciate that. What should I expect from the women in my class?” Robin placed her drink on a coaster.

  “The women are mostly worried about the physical program and how they’re going to act in a primarily male environment. I’d take the same approach. Get to know them. They’ll be your allies. Maybe one of them will become your best friend.” As soon as he said that he paused for a second, remembering Cal.

  “I just want to be successful.”

  Robin’s comment brought him back to the present. He swirled the ice cubes around in his glass.

  “You will be. Don’t worry. I remember a few years back, I was visiting Temple University when Bill Cosby was being interviewed. One of the journalists asked him what it takes to be successful. He had a great answer. He said, ‘I don’t know what it takes to be a success, but I know one of the fastest ways to be a failure is to try and please everyone.’”

  Bannister said, “You’ll get over six hundred hours of instruction in everything from interviewing, crime scene processing, photography, and testifying. The teachers want you to succeed. They’ll let you know what’s important. Make sure you take good notes.”

  “Sounds like college.”

  “Sort of, but there’s more interaction. Think before asking a question in class. You know they say there’s no such thing as a dumb question. They’re wrong; there are dumb questions. You don’t want to come across as a dumb blonde nor do you want to be labeled a smart ass. If you don’t know something, you can always look it up later.”

  “What about outside of class? Socializing? Will I have a life there?”

  “Sure. Check out the Boardroom, that’s what they call the beer hall. It’s upstairs next to the cafeteria. It wouldn’t hurt to have a beer or two with the guys. It’ll make them think you’re a normal person. Just don’t forget about me,” he added shyly.

  “That’s not going to happen. We’ll still see each other, right?”

  “During the first two weeks they encourage you to stick around. After that you can take off on weekends.”

  “Good. Something I’ve been worrying about—I’ve never fired a pistol before. Do you think that’ll be a problem?”

  “That may be to your advantage.”

  “How so?”

  “You won’t have to unlearn bad habits. The firearms instructors are some of the best in the country. They’ll teach you everything you need to know. By the time you graduate, you’ll be proficient with an automatic, the shotgun, and the MP-5 machine gun.”

  Bannister noticed Robin had finished her drink. “Would you like another Cape Codder or a glass of wine? I’m going to have a glass of Merlot. I’ve also got a Pinot Grigio from a small Italian vineyard. I really think you’d like it. Your choice.”

  “I’ll try the white, thanks.”

  “S
o you’re not a purist who says you have to serve red wine with steak and white wine with seafood?”

  “I say drink what you enjoy.”

  “Me too,” he said.

  After pouring each of them a glass of wine, he suggested they go outside so he could get the grill going. “Ask me some more questions about the Bureau,” he said. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

  “Okay. Have you ever had to shoot anyone?”

  “Not in the FBI. I did when I served in the Marine Corps. During the invasion of Grenada.”

  “I’m not trying to sound nosy, Ty, but Adam told me you were wounded during that action.”

  “I was shot twice, but as you can see it didn’t keep me out of the FBI.” He thought about the two quarter-sized scars he still carried, one on his right shoulder and the other on his right thigh. He wondered if his recent bouts of pain might be related to those old injuries.

  “The job does have its dangerous moments, but it’s not like being a sheriff’s deputy or a police officer who’s routinely dispatched to handle drunk and disorderly people, or to arrest some guy flyin’ high on drugs, or restrain someone who’s mentally ill. They never know what they’re getting into when they respond to calls of ‘shots fired,’ or who they’re pulling over for a traffic violation. They’re the ones with the dangerous jobs, other than maybe night clerks at liquor stores.”

  Fifteen minutes later they were ready to eat. He had set two places at the table in the formal dining room, using his Grandmother Stetson’s china, silver, and Waterford crystal. He lit two candles in the center of the table and pulled back a chair for Robin.

  “Gosh, Ty, you didn’t need to go through all this trouble just for me. I’d be just as comfortable eating at the coffee table in your family room.”

  “I know that. I don’t get to use this finery all that much, and after all, it is a special holiday.”

  The meal was first-rate. They both enjoyed the food and felt totally relaxed.

  The bottle of Merlot was resting on a wine pedestal in front of Ty’s plate. “Would you mind moving that bottle of wine so I don’t have to curve my head to see you?” Robin asked.

  “Sorry. Hey, I just thought of that country western song where the singer says I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.”

  Robin laughed and he did, too. They talked about all kinds of unimportant things. Like where they shopped for groceries, where they’d like to take a vacation, who were their favorite actors and actresses, and other topics young couples might smile about on a first date. He was grateful for everything he had and happy to share the day with someone with whom he felt so comfortable.

  After dinner they went for a walk down Valley Road, with its tree-shaded walkway curving along a quiet stream. They returned to the house for coffee and her chocolate cake, which was so rich and smooth its flavor lingered after each bite. The time went by too quickly.

  Finally Bannister walked her out to her Jeep.

  “Ty, I want you to know I really appreciated you sharing this day with me.” She turned to face him, holding her purse, and their eyes met. She leaned into him, and he pulled her close. Their lips met in a long, slow kiss. Just one.

  They both knew the moment wasn’t an ending, but a beginning.

  The cruise ship, Sunset Princess, had docked an hour earlier and Terry Hines was back on US soil. For the third Sunday in a row, Bannister was at his desk. The FBI was not an eight-to-five job. He had seen Witt’s car in the parking lot when he walked into the office, but he doubted Witt was there because of the Global Waters case. More likely he was schmoozing the two headquarters advance team agents who were getting things ready for the thirty inspectors flying in tomorrow.

  Witt phoned him. “Am I interrupting you?”

  “No, I’m upstairs at my desk,” Bannister said.

  “I didn’t know you were in the office. Is everything all set for the arrest tonight?”

  “Everything’s under control. The Fort Lauderdale agents are following Hines right now. They’ll tail him to the airport, watch him board his flight, and call us as soon as the plane lifts off.”

  “Aren’t they putting an agent on board?”

  “No, I didn’t think it was necessary. It’s a direct flight, and the weather for both Florida and Atlanta is clear with no chance of storms. There shouldn’t be any diversion. I’m taking Mercedes Ramirez with me for Hines’s arrest and interview.”

  “I’d feel better if you took one of the more experienced men with you, instead of a female rookie,” Witt said.

  “I’ve got confidence in Ramirez. She’s done a helluva job already and deserves to be in on the arrest. Besides, how does an agent gain experience except by actually doing the work?”

  “I don’t want any screw-ups.”

  Bannister extended his arm, holding his cell phone straight out, thinking for a second how nice it would be to throttle Dim Witt. He put the phone back to his ear. “You’re not planning to be at the airport, are you?”

  “No. I’d like to, but I promised the headquarters guys I’d go out to dinner with them. You know, first impressions are important. Besides, I already spent two hours at Hartsfield earlier today when I picked them up.” Even if Witt’s priorities were ass-backwards, at least he was consistent.

  “You’re welcome to be there, Gary,” Bannister lied. “If things work out right, we’ll be able to interview Hines before slapping the cuffs on him. I’ll make sure you and the boss are posted on all developments.”

  “Do you think I ought to get started on a press release?”

  “I’d hold off on that. We don’t have Hines in hand yet. Besides, there are still some unanswered questions. We’re not sure he’s in this alone or if there’s more ricin out there.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Who else will be at the airport?”

  “I’ve got two task force agents who’ll seize his checked baggage and bring it back to the office. I’ll have another team at the gates as additional backup. If Hines parked a car at the airport, they’ll take care of it. Ramirez and I will handle the rest. We’ll take him to Fulton County Jail for booking.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait until tomorrow morning to work on a press statement. We’ll talk later.”

  Terry Hines arrived on the Delta flight from Ft. Lauderdale on time. Bannister and Mercedes had photos of Hines, including a recent copy of a Global Waters corporate identification badge. One of the Florida agents had called ahead, describing the clothes Hines was wearing. Bannister walked up to him as soon as he came through the plane’s jet way.

  “Terry, I’m Special Agent Ty Bannister with the FBI. This is Special Agent Mercedes Ramirez. Adam Kush told us you’d be coming back to Atlanta on this flight. We need your help with a case.”

  “What case?” he asked, looking at Mercedes, then back at Bannister.

  “It’s important. We’ve informed the airlines you’d be delayed. Your luggage will be held for you.”

  “What’s this all about? Does this have anything to do with the extortion?”

  “I’d feel more comfortable talking in an office. I reserved us a room in the international terminal. Why don’t we catch the tram?” Bannister smiled, trying to relax him.

  “Sure,” Hines said.

  “So, Adam said you went to the Bahamas. Looks like you got some good rays,” Bannister said cheerfully, careful not to ask Hines any questions.

  “Yeah, the weather was great. I can’t believe how hot the sun is down there, even at this time of the year. I guess the only people sporting tans in November are skiers and people coming back from cruises, like me.” He grinned at Mercedes.

  To add an air of informality, Mercedes said, “I’ve never been on a cruise. I think if I had a chance to visit the Bahamas, I’d buy some jewelry.”

  As they stepped onto the escalator, Mercedes commented to Hines, “I like your cologne.”

  “Thanks, it’s Obsession.”

  Touché, Candace, Banni
ster thought.

  At the bottom of the escalator, a crowd of tired-looking passengers waited for the tram to the main terminal and baggage claim.

  They walked a few steps to the other platform where the door opened to an empty train going in the opposite direction to the international concourse. A few minutes later they were outside an unmarked immigration office. One of the task force agents was standing near the office, pretending to be looking at a magazine. Bannister signaled him with a quick nod.

  The room was the basic four-wall cube painted a light blue, furnished with a gray, metal table, three standard desk chairs, and a small trash can. On a shelf along one wall, there was a fingerprint kit. On the ceiling was a small circular dome next to the light. It looked like a maroon-colored eye. It was actually a surveillance camera.

  “Now can you tell me why I’m here?” Hines asked. He set a black leather carryall bag on the corner of the desk.

  “You’ve seen lots of cop shows where they read subjects their rights, haven’t you?” Bannister asked.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Well, as I said, this is a sensitive matter. I’m going to read you your advice of rights before we even start talking. This is a formality, and I’d like to get it out of the way. I do it with everyone in this type of situation. You don’t have any problem with that, do you?”

  “No,” Hines said, clenching his jaw and crossing his arms.

  Bannister handed him a ballpoint pen and an Advice of Rights form. Hines studied the form as he leaned forward from the chair in front of the desk. Bannister and Mercedes just watched him, his forehead furrowed and his eyebrows arched as he stared at the paper. He picked up the form and held it in front of him, leaning backward in the chair, fidgeting, and crossing his wiry legs. He ran his left hand through his hair several times.