by BJ Bourg
“There’s a warrant for Saul’s arrest,” I explained. “It seems he violated his parole.”
“Why the long face? Isn’t that good news?”
“No.” I opened my door and stepped onto the running board before plopping down in the driver’s seat. Once Amy was seated beside me, I said, “He probably ran from us because there was a warrant for his arrest and not because he murdered Frank and Chrissy.”
“Aw, shit, you’re right.” She chewed on her lower lip as I drove south toward Mechant Loup. “I guess it’s still possible he killed them, though—right?”
“I guess so, but it’s also just as likely that one of the other guys on the diving boat did it. Hell, Phillip Burke might’ve done it.”
“But he couldn’t fit the wetsuit.”
“That’s true,” I said, “unless the wetsuit in Gabe’s boat wasn’t worn by the killer.”
“Do you think it’s still possible Gabe did it?”
“Shit, I don’t know.” I was thoughtful for a long moment. “We need to talk to Saul as soon as he’s alert. I’m going to call the crime lab first thing in the morning. I want them to put a rush on the DNA from the scuba gear. If we can find just one of our victims’ DNA on the gear along with DNA from one of our suspects, then we’re golden.”
“I think we’ll have a better chance of getting Saul to confess,” Amy mused. “There wasn’t much contact between the killer and the victims, so I doubt we’ll be able to link our victims to the gear.”
CHAPTER 45
I had called the crime lab first thing Monday morning and they had assured me they were working the evidence as quickly as humanly possible. They also told me they had extracted DNA profiles from various points on the scuba gear, but they were still working up the evidence.
“So far, we’ve been able to determine that all of the samples came from one contributor,” the DNA analyst said. “Frank Jones, Gabe Burke, Camille Rainey, and Chrissy Graves were not contributors to the one profile we recovered.”
I scowled, confused. Gabe’s DNA should’ve been somewhere on the gear. “What parts of the gear did the DNA come from?”
“The gloves, the tank, the mouth piece on the regulator, and the wetsuit,” she had said. “We’re still mapping profiles and I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“What about CODIS?” I asked, wondering if they had submitted the profile to the Combined DNA Index System, which housed the profiles of known felons from across the country.
“We submitted it Friday, but haven’t heard back from them yet.” There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then the analyst said they should know more by the end of the week.
I had been about to end the call when I suddenly remembered Camille had been scratched by some part of the gear.
“Can you swab every corner of the gear?” I asked. “Any place that might cause a scratch? Camille Rainey was scratched by something as the killer passed by her in the water.”
The analyst assured me she would take care of it and we ended the call. I told Amy what I’d learned.
“Now all we need is a confession,” she had said.
I had called the hospital a dozen times throughout the day, but it wasn’t until later in the afternoon that I finally received a call from the charge nurse telling me Saul was alert and resting comfortably.
“He hasn’t had his pain medicine yet,” she had offered. “I know how you guys like your witnesses to be lucid, so if you get here within the hour, he won’t be under the influence of anything except antibiotics.”
I hung up the phone before the nurse could finish talking. “Amy, he’s ready!”
I heard Amy’s boots stomping down the hallway. She stopped in front of my office briefly and then we rushed outside to my truck. Once inside, I drove faster than I should have. Within twenty minutes we were at the bedside of Saul Bankston. His face wasn’t as pale as it had been when we’d arrived at the boat landing with him last night.
“How are you?” I asked, indicating the bandage on his side. “That was one hell of a scratch.”
“What the hell is this?” Saul lifted his chained hand. “Your officer stabbed me nearly to death and this is how you treat me? Why am I handcuffed to my bed? I’m a patient here. I’m the victim. No one in this place will tell me what’s going on.”
“It seems you’re a wanted man, Saul.” I pulled a chair close to the bed and sat in it. Amy had moved to the opposite side of the room and was leaning against the nearby wall. I handed him a copy of the arrest warrant. “It seems you’ve violated your parole.”
He let out an audible sigh of relief. He didn’t even look at the paper. “I knew that’s why you stopped our boat. The last time I talked to my parole officer he threatened to get a warrant if I didn’t show up for my drug screening.”
“Actually, we didn’t stop your boat. Hell, we didn’t even know who you were.” I leaned a forearm on the metal railing and stared into his eyes, which were level with mine. “What is your relationship with Gabe Burke?”
The color drained from his face again and I caught myself wondering if his wound had sprung a leak. I glanced at the bandage, but it was dry.
“Well?” I asked when he didn’t say anything. “What’s your relationship with your boss’ son?”
“I’ve got no relationship with him.” He licked his dry lips. “I mean, I’ve seen him around the shop, but that’s about it. I don’t have relationships with men.”
“What shop have you seen him around?”
“Huh?”
“You said you saw Gabe around the shop—what shop would that be?”
“Oh, in Mr. Phillip’s dive shop.”
“Where’d you meet him for the first time?”
“At the shop.”
I rubbed my chin and furrowed my brow. “Are you sure about that? You see, I might not have known your name, but I know everything there is to know about what you’ve done. Now, why don’t we try this again—where’d you first meet Gabe?”
He swallowed. “Oh, no, that’s right—I met Gabe at Spearmonger’s. I was looking for work. He was there and told me that his dad was looking for divers. He said it was the best outfit around.”
“How many times have you been on Gabe’s boat?”
“What does this have to do with my parole?” He shifted his eyes from me to Amy, looking for an escape route. “If you don’t mind, I’d just like to go to court as soon as possible. I plan on revoking myself and finishing out my time.”
“Well, we’re not interested in your crimes in Florida,” I said. “I want to know about the crimes you’ve been committing here in Mechant Loup—out on Le Diable Lake while on Gabe’s boat.”
I was gambling now, piecing all of the information together inside my head. If Gabe had been too hammered to dive, someone must’ve used his boat and the gear that had come from Phillip Burke’s boat. Since Phillip couldn’t fit the wetsuit and Gabe was supposedly always high, that left Saul, who was the right size and who was physically fit.
When Saul didn’t respond, I continued. “Look, we know what you’ve been up to. The only reason you got a job with Phillip Burke was so you could gain access to the boats on the lake. You befriended Gabe and took advantage of his drug addiction. While he was passed out, you would drive his boat to the lake and steal things from the tourists out there. You operated for a month or two with no incident, but then you got caught, didn’t you?”
The veins in his neck were bouncing.
“What happened with Frank? Did he see you? Is that why you dragged him overboard and drowned him?” I leaned even closer. “What about Chrissy? Did she catch you stealing from one of the boats? Is that why you attacked her and drowned her?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And Camille”—I grinned widely—“she sure fooled you. You thought you’d killed three people, and that’s what you told the reporter, but you were wrong. Camille survived you. She outsmarted you. Why’
d you do it, Saul? Was it because they caught you, or was it because Phillip Burke paid you to scare people away from the lake?”
“I…I’m not…you know what?” Saul licked his lips again and set his jaw. “I don’t like the way you’re talking to me. I want a lawyer.”
Outwardly, my expression was unmoved, but on the inside, I sighed heavily and unleashed a string of cuss words. I needed his confession, but the only way to get that was to keep him talking. Once he mentioned a lawyer, it was over. I couldn’t ask him if he was sure and I couldn’t try to talk him out of it—it was over.
I stood and nodded. “I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
When we were outside, Amy asked if I thought he was our guy.
“He’s got to be. He fought too hard to get away from Regan.”
Once outside, we jumped in my truck and headed south. If Gabe’s neighbor was correct, someone had set Gabe up to look like the murderer, and all fingers pointed to Saul—in my mind, at least.
“You were wrong,” I said to Amy as we approached the Mechant Loup Bridge.
“About?”
“You said it would be easy to get a confession from Saul.”
“Hmm…” She frowned and stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I don’t remember saying that.”
CHAPTER 46
Saul spent four more days in the hospital and then was transported to the Chateau Parish Detention Center the following Thursday. It didn’t help us any, because the last time we’d spoken to him he had asked for a lawyer. Once that happened, officers couldn’t speak to suspects again unless the suspects reinitiate contact.
In the meantime, Amy and I had been busy. We had searched Saul’s sleeping quarters at the diving bunkhouse and located a cell phone in the top drawer of his nightstand. It was a burner phone and it had been wiped clean, but we were able to ascertain that the number was 555-0666—the same number that had been communicating with Gabe Burke before he had been killed.
Phillip Burke was not happy that I’d killed his son, so we’d asked Mallory Tuttle to interview him. She had questioned the man extensively. Since he was the one with strong ties to the community and Saul worked for him, it made sense that he might be pulling Saul’s strings. However, Mallory got nowhere with him. He never asked for an attorney and he answered every question she asked. He allowed Mallory to examine his cell phone, search his boats, search his shop, and search his house, but she found nothing linking him to the murders. He even allowed Mallory to view his online banking records. Other than a weekly salary that was actually a little lower than those of his other employees, he hadn’t paid Saul anything.
Additionally, Amy and I had spent a couple of days in Saul’s hometown in Florida. We had interviewed his neighbors, previous employers at various dive shops, his parole officer, acquaintances, and even fellow inmates, but we came up empty at every turn. We did learn that he might have had a girlfriend, but no one seemed to know who she was.
I found out about Saul’s transfer on Friday morning and had just gotten off the phone with the Chateau Parish Detention Center when Lindsey strolled into my office carrying a stack of documents.
“What’re you doing this weekend?” she asked, dangling the paperwork from her fingers.
“I’ll be right here if this case doesn’t solve itself today.”
“This might help,” she said, handing me the stack. “These crime lab reports just came through the fax machine.”
I glanced at the red light that was blinking on my desk phone. I’d seen it when I’d first arrived at work, but had been too busy to check the voicemail. Thinking it might be related to the reports Lindsey had just handed me, I snatched up the handset and listened to the message.
“Clint, good news,” said a soft voice. It was Tracy Dinger, a friend from the crime lab. She was a firearms examiner, but she was also my contact at the lab and was always keeping me abreast of the status of my cases. “Our analysts recovered a DNA sample from the cylinder valve on the scuba tank. Camille Rainey could not be excluded as the primary contributor. And that’s not the best news. All of the other samples came back to only one profile and we got a CODIS hit on that profile—it’s Saul Bankston, the man you have in custody.”
I jumped up and shouted triumphantly. Lindsey, who was still standing there, jerked in her skin and slapped me across the arm. She quickly pulled her hand to her mouth and stared, eyes wide. It was a long moment before she spoke.
“I…I’m so sorry!” she said. “I didn’t mean to—”
Laughing, I waved her off. Susan and Amy appeared in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” Susan asked.
“We’ve got him,” I said. “Saul Bankston’s our killer.”
“I knew it!” Amy said.
I nodded and dropped back to my chair and got to work. The next two hours were spent typing an arrest warrant, meeting with the judge to have it signed, and then driving to North Chateau for lunch before heading for the jail. Amy and I were eating at a Chinese restaurant and had just paid the check when I got a call from Mallory.
“Clint, where are you?”
“In North Chateau.”
“Did you book Saul Bankston on the murder charges yet?”
“No.”
“Good! Meet me at the main office before you go to the jail,” she said hurriedly. “I’ve got something you need to hear.”
“What was that about?” Amy asked when we were back out in the sunshine.
“Mallory’s got something she wants us to hear before we book Saul.”
“Hmm—what could it be?”
I shrugged. “I’ve got no idea.”
I drove to the sheriff’s office’s main building and told the receptionist that we were there to visit Mallory Tuttle.
“Go right into the conference room,” said the receptionist. “She’s expecting y’all.”
We were buzzed in and had to walk through a maze of desks and work stations before turning right and then left down a long hallway. There were doors on either side of the hallway, most of which were closed, and I headed for the one at the end. I hadn’t been there very many times, but I knew where the conference room was located.
Mallory was seated at the table and looked up when we walked in. She pointed to the digital recorder in front of her. “You’ve got to hear this.”
Amy and I gathered around her and leaned forward as a message blared from the speakers warning that the call was being recorded.
“Is this a jail call?” I asked, my curiosity mounting.
She nodded. “I checked the jail recordings first thing this morning to see if Saul Bankston had made any calls since being booked into the jail. Sure enough, he did.”
After warning that their call was being recorded, the automated voice mentioned it was a collect call from Saul Bankston, who was being held at the Chateau Parish Detention Center, and asked if the recipient would accept the charges.
“What in God’s name are you doing calling my cell phone?” asked the voice on the other end.
Had I been a dog, my ears would’ve perked up, because I recognized that voice.
“You didn’t answer your secure phone,” Saul said in a low whisper.
“That’s because you went and got arrested, so I had to junk the damn thing.”
“I need to get out of here.”
There was a long pause. Finally, the other person asked, “How much is the bail?”
“Half a million.”
The person gasped. “I’m not forking out half a mill for bail money!”
“Oh, yes you will.” It sounded as though Saul cupped his hand over his mouth. “If you don’t get me out of here, I’ll have to start talking—and you won’t like what I have to say.”
“You’re a felon,” came the cool reply. “No one will believe a word that comes out of your criminal mouth.”
“The hell they—”
Click.
We all blinked and stared at each other.
“Is
that all of it?” I asked.
“He tried calling back a dozen times, but the call was rejected every time.” Mallory studied my face. “Does this make any sense to you?”
“It makes perfect sense.” I straightened and pointed to the digital recorder. “I know the voice, I know what happened, and I know exactly how I’m going to play it.”
“Is it who I think it is?” asked Amy.
I nodded and glanced around the room. “Mal, can I borrow a computer and a printer?”
“Yep.” She waved for us to follow her. “Right this way.”
CHAPTER 47
The heavy metal door creaked open and Saul shuffled inside, followed by a tall corrections officer. Saul was asking the C.O. if they were cooking something special today, but then clammed up when he saw us. “This ain’t my lawyer.”
“Nobody told you it was your lawyer,” said the C.O. as she pointed to a chair at the table. “Sit in that chair and stay there. One of the detectives will let me know when they’re done with you. Don’t get up from the table until I walk in and tell you to. Understand?”
Saul nodded and studied me suspiciously. “I already told you,” he said when the C.O. was gone, “I’m not saying anything. I want my lawyer.”
“I know.” I pulled out the three warrants. “I don’t need you to say anything. I just need you to listen. Saul Bankston, you are hereby under arrest for the murders of Frank Jones and Chrissy—”
“Now, hold on just a minute!” Saul said, jumping to his feet. “I don’t know anything about those murders!”
The door to the room burst open and the C.O. rushed inside. “Inmate, sit your ass down!”
Saul’s face blanched and he dropped to the chair. He quickly mumbled an apology. The C.O. glared at him for a long moment before finally leaving the room.
“Like I was saying, you’re under arrest for the first degree murders of Frank Jones and Chrissy Graves, and the attempted first degree murder of Camille Rainey. Your bond has been set at $750,000 for each count, for a total of $2,250,000.”