The Blood-Dimmed Tide (John Joran Mysteries Book 22) Page 19

  “Why technically not a serial killer?” Tim asks.

  “The serial killer classification requires a cool-down period longer than what we have here. This guy would be classified as more of a rampage killer. A mass murderer.”

  “Not unlike a school shooter,” Tim says.

  “Right,” I say, and for a moment I see Derek Burrell lying bleeding in the Potter High hallway. “But you’re right, Merrick. He’s functioning like what most of us think of as a serial killer. I’d say the best, most accurate term we could use would be compulsive killer,” I say, “but all these are so loaded we really don’t want y’all to use any of these type labels to characterize this killer. We want to warn the public, ask them to be cautious and observe the curfew—not unnecessarily add to the extremely high levels of anxiety and uncertainty and stress that we’re all living under right now.”

  “Is that what . . .” Tim says. “Is that part of why he’s doing it—feeding on the . . . state the storm has left everyone in . . . and the condition the area is in?”

  I nod. “We think so.”

  “This is a huge, huge story,” Merrick says. “Thank y’all for trusting us with it.”

  “We really need your help,” Reggie says. “Y’all have an opportunity here. Think about it. Y’all can actually help save lives, but only if you get good information out as quickly and accurately as possible. Don’t sensationalize anything. It’s sensational enough on its own. Do this first story right and we’ll give you more.”

  “I have so many questions,” Tim says. “Mind me asking some of them?”

  “It’s very, very early in the investigation,” Reggie says. “We don’t have many answers yet, but you’re welcome to ask.”

  “Can you tell us about the victims—both from the standpoint of who they are as human beings so we can capture them properly as people, but also what is it about them that makes him choose them?”

  “We still have family notifications to do,” Reggie says. “But after that we’ll get you their info. I’ll hold a press release in the morning. We’re giving y’all a chance to break the story and warn the public prior to that.”

  “As far as how and why, when and where he’s choosing them,” I say, “we just don’t know yet. We have yet to discern a particular pattern or preferred type of victim, which is why we want everyone to be careful, stick together, obey the curfew.”

  “Is this where he dumps his victims?” Merrick asks, nodding toward the lit-up laydown yard.

  “No,” I say. “He’s been mostly staging the deaths to look like accidents and leaving the victims in storm debris. The two bodies discovered here were inadvertently hauled here in debris piles.”

  “Thrown out like trash,” Merrick says.

  “Yeah,” Reggie says, “let’s not use lines like that.”

  News Herald Special Report

  Two Bodies Discovered at Hurricane Michael Debris Laydown Yard Near Wewahitchka

  By Merrick McKnight, News Herald Reporter

  According to Gulf County Sheriff Reggie Summers, two bodies discovered at a Hurricane Michael debris laydown yard near Wewahitchka might not be the result of an accident. The bodies of the two decedents are believed to have been in debris piles that were inadvertently picked up by cleanup crews and transported to the laydown yard. Cause of death is unclear so far, and the sheriff warns against jumping to conclusions, but at this point the sheriff’s department is treating the deaths as suspicious. Officials are also searching for a connection with similar deaths in the area since the storm.

  “We can’t say for sure what we have yet,” Summers said, “but I believe all our citizens should exercise caution until we know more. It’s important that everyone abides by the curfew in place. And until we know more it would be wise to use caution in all necessary activities. The storm has not only disrupted life and many routine services here in the Panhandle, but its aftermath has caused our population to balloon. We are now not just dealing with our citizens but with people from all over the country. More people means more crime. Everyone needs to secure their property—keep your vehicles and homes locked—and be more aware of your surroundings than you previously had to be. I don’t want anyone to panic, but I do want everyone to be careful.”

  42

  “I’m Chip Jeffers,” he says. “I’ve been a deputy with the Potter County Sheriff’s Department for over thirty years.”

  Chip Jeffers is a middle-aged white man with a thick, wiry mustache, large, black plastic-framed glasses, and a pale, dome-shaped balding head haloed by brown-going-gray hair.

  He’s out of uniform—something I can only recall him being on maybe two occasions in all that time.

  In a few minutes, Reggie will be holding the press conference about the Chaos Killer, but I won’t know how it goes or what the response was until we break for lunch. It makes it difficult to concentrate on what’s going on here in the courtroom.

  “Mr. Jeffers,” Anna says, “how did you come to get involved in the school shooting task force?”

  “You could say I started it all,” he says. “I was filling in for the SRO and the guidance counselor brought me a note the janitor had found in the trash of the boy’s bathroom. It indicated there was going to be a shooting at Potter High, so I took it to the sheriff, Hugh Glenn, but to be honest, he’s lazy and . . . far more a politician than a cop . . . so he was real dismissive about it. Told me I could look into it. So I did, and I enlisted some help along the way.”

  “Including the defendant, John Jordan?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got tremendous respect for John. He’s a great investigator.”

  “Did Sheriff Glenn know you asked John to help?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And did he raise any objections?”

  “No, ma’am. He was happy to have him. He told me so. And when we met, he asked John’s opinion more than anyone else’s. You could tell he really valued what he thought.”

  “The sheriff attended the task force meetings?”

  “Yes, ma’am, some of them.”

  “And he asked for John’s input?”

  “More than anyone else’s.”

  “Mr. Jeffers, are you currently employed by the Potter County Sheriff’s Department?” Scott asks.

  He’s at the podium now, and Anna is back seated beside me.

  “No, sir. I’m not.”

  “And is that because you were fired?”

  “No, sir, it is not. I quit because—”

  “You weren’t fired for insubordination?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you know your official employment file says you were terminated for insubordination?”

  “No, I did not. But I’m not surprised. I quit because—”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Ms. Jordan?” Judge Wheata Pearl asks, knowing Anna will use redirect to let Jeffers finish what he was trying to say.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” she says, standing and moving toward the podium. “Mr. Jeffers, why don’t you work for the Potter County Sheriff’s Department any longer?”

  “I quit. I don’t care what their corrupt asses wrote in my file after I was gone. I can show you my resignation letter.”

  “And why did you quit, sir?”

  “Because I couldn’t take Hugh Glenn’s laziness and incompetence and lack of initiative any longer and I told him so. It’s in my letter.”

  “Thank you,” Anna says. “And thank you for what you did for our children and teachers and community.”

  Anna next calls the Potter High principal, Tyrese Monroe, and the guidance counselor, LeAnn Dunne, both of whom testify to what Jeffers did—I was asked to help on the task force and Hugh Glenn not only knew it but welcomed my involvement and solicited my input.

  During the lunch break, I watch Reggie’s press conference and read both Tim’s and Merrick’s articles about the case.

  Both are about as good as we could have hoped for.
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br />   Reggie seems tired and rundown, which she is, and she shows more frustration and irritability with the reporters than usual, but it’s nothing they don’t deserve, and it’s an effective and informative briefing.

  She’s in the hallway when we come out of our little room in the front of the courthouse, but I can’t talk to her because she’s this afternoon’s witness.

  “Reggie Summers,” she says. “Sheriff of Gulf County.”

  “So, John works for you?” Anna says.

  “Yes.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “Officially, he’s an investigator.”

  “And unofficially?” Anna asks.

  “He’s my rock. My confidant. My biggest supporter and best defender. I rely on him more than I should.”

  “And why do you do that?”

  “He’s the best investigator I’ve ever seen,” she says, “but he’s more than that. He’s compassionate and caring and he’s wise and discerning.”

  “Did he have your permission to be on the task force and help out with the Potter High School shooting?”

  “Yes, he did,” she says. “He had my blessing. And I’m glad you asked because early on something got misconstrued and I’d love the chance to set the record straight. I made a statement saying that John wasn’t assigned to the Potter County Sheriff’s Department and some people tried to twist that into meaning I didn’t know what he was doing or hadn’t approved it, but that’s simply not the case. It wasn’t an official reassignment and it didn’t take John away from his responsibilities in Gulf County . . . so . . . it was informal but it was completely approved.”

  “Thank you. Now, I know how busy you are, how much you have going on so I’m not going to keep you much longer, but I did want to ask you about the shooting. Are you familiar with the fatal shooting of Derek Burrell by John during the school shooting?”

  “I am,” she says. “I’ve read all the reports, seen the interviews and read the affidavits.”

  “Great,” Anna says. “Thank you for that. That’s extremely helpful. Now, much has been made by the plaintiffs’ attorney of whether or not John identified himself as a law enforcement officer before or during the shooting. John testified that he doesn’t remember doing it. Doesn’t mean he didn’t, just that he doesn’t remember. Can you tell us your thoughts on the situation?”

  “We train to identify ourselves and to give lawful commands,” she says. “Even out on the firing range. It’s deeply ingrained in us, so I’d be surprised if John didn’t instinctively yell it out, but . . . even if he didn’t . . . If he rounded that corner and was immediately fired upon and returned fire to defend his life without yelling who he was or why he was there, no one could fault him. It’s a bang-bang situation. If someone shoots at you, you don’t have to identify yourself before returning fire in an attempt to save your life. And in that situation, the way he’s dressed, his manner, and especially the badge on his belt is identification enough. It just is in that situation. The blame for the entire scenario is on the school shooter, but . . . the truth is . . . for as heroic and noble as Derek was acting, remember what he was out in that hallway doing—shooting at two police officers.”

  43

  “Frannie Schultz,” she says. “I was a classmate of Derek’s. We were in class together the morning of the shooting.”

  “What was your relationship with Derek?”

  “He was my friend and almost boyfriend.”

  “What do you mean ‘almost’?”

  “During the shooting, when we were huddled together in the back of the classroom and I thought were going to die, I worked up my nerve to ask him out.”

  “And he said yes?”

  “He did. We agreed to go out if we survived.”

  “I’m so, so sorry you didn’t get to go on that date,” Anna says. “Did y’all talk about anything else while you were huddled in the back of that classroom?”

  “Yes ma’am,” she says. “I begged him not to do it.”

  “Not to do what?” Anna asks.

  “Go get his shotgun out of the truck and go out into the hallway and start shooting. It would’ve been one thing if he had the gun in the classroom in case the shooters came in and tried to kill us, but he had no business out in that hallway.”

  Anna nods and starts to say something, but it’s obvious Frannie has something else to say.

  “Still,” Frannie adds, “I’ll always feel like the big dumb goof was my first boyfriend. And he’ll always be my hero.”

  “He is for a lot of us,” Anna says. “He acted very bravely—even if ill-advisedly. We all make mistakes, but to make one acting bravely . . .”

  “That’s the way I see it,” she says.

  “How do you view John Jordan?” Anna asks.

  “The same way,” she says. “He’s my hero too. What he did for us. It’s so easy to second-guess what people do. That’s probably why more people don’t step up. They stand outside and let kids die inside. But John ran in. Risked his life to keep us safe.”

  My eyes tear up the way they did the first time she expressed that sentiment to me.

  “You don’t blame him for Derek’s death?”

  “He’s not to blame. And only someone who wasn’t up there in the middle of all that chaos and confusion and explosions and gunfire would dare to. Those of us who were there . . . we know. We know Derek was brave but shouldn’t’ve been out in that hallway. And we know what happened to him isn’t John’s fault. We don’t blame him—not for some dumb, random, tragic accident. The truth is . . . I’ve wondered if I’m to blame. If maybe he was showing off a little for me. Until I told him I liked him and asked him out, he was just thinking about going to get his gun. Maybe he was trying to impress me.”

  “Your Honor,” Scott says, “something has come up that I’m not sure what to do about, so I want to just bring it before the court.”

  “Okay,” Wheata Pearl says in her husky smoker’s voice. “It’s the end of the day, anyway, so I’m gonna go ahead and dismiss the jury and I’ll hear what it is you have. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for another day of your service. We’ll see you in the morning with the promise that we can see the end from here. This trial will come to an end soon—and with it your service.”

  After the jury has filed out, Wheata Pearl looks down on Scott from on high and says, “Okay, Mr. Scott. What is it?”

  “As Your Honor no doubt knows, we don’t have any of the surveillance footage from the incident in question because the shooter’s explosives took them out.”

  “Seems I recall something like that, yes.”

  “Well, we’ve received an email from an anonymous source who claims to be a PHS student who was there the day of the shooting, who’s saying he or she has a video of the incident taken with their phone. And before Ms. Jordan objects to anything . . . I’m not asking for it to be admitted or anything else. I know how it looks, but this isn’t late discovery on my part. I didn’t know anything about it and I haven’t even looked at it. I have no more idea what’s on it than anyone else. That’s why I’m bringing this to you, Your Honor. The court has my sincerest assurances that this is not a ploy or tactic to get evidence in at this point or anything else. I’ve already presented my case. And when I did I had no idea of the existence of this . . . footage. And even now . . . I have no idea what’s on the—”

  “Your Honor,” Anna says.

  “Yes, Ms. Jordan?”

  “Two questions come to mind immediately.”

  “And they are?”

  “Mr. Scott says he didn’t know anything about it—my question is . . . until when? He left that part out. My second question is . . . is he saying that the communication that accompanied the footage gave no indication as to what the alleged footage shows?”

  “What about that, Mr. Scott?”

  “I literally just became aware of this when I checked my email as we were wrapping up,” he says. “The court is welcome to look at my inbox.
As far as the communication . . . It says essentially what I said. I can read it if you’d like?”

  “I’d like,” Wheata Pearl says.

  “‘Mr. Gary Scott, I’m a student at PHS and I was there that day. I filmed footage with my phone that you might find interesting for your case.’”

  “Is this supposed footage attached to the email?” the judge asks.

  “It appears to be, yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay,” Wheata Pearl says, clearing her phlegmy throat, “here’s what we’re going to do . . . Mr. Scott, share all communication and footage with Ms. Jordan immediately. Y’all both look at it, test it, whatever you want to do with it . . . Then I’ll hear from you both in the morning on what you want to do with it. Y’all make motions. I’ll make rulings. And we’ll all work to land this plane as soon and as safely as possible.”

  “Your Honor,” Anna says, “during the investigation of the school shooting, investigators asked students and faculty for any photos or videos they may have taken. None of them showed the incident this case deals with. So . . . everything about this is suspicious.”

  “Highly,” the judge says.

  “I know my client is telling the truth,” Anna says, “and we’d like nothing more than video and audio of the entire accident, but this seems like a stunt.”

  “Mr. Scott,” the judge says, “if this is a stunt that you’re involved in in any way, it will be a career ending one. It’s not too late to come clean right now, but if it goes even one moment past this one I assure you it will be too late.”

  “Your Honor, if it were anyone else implying what you just did I’d be outraged and offended. But as I understand that the court is just wanting to ensure the integrity of this trial . . . let me be absolutely clear again. I am affirming to the court that everything is as I have described. I have no prior knowledge of this or anything related to it. I just received it in the manner I have described. I haven’t watched it nor do I know anything about it. The only thing I’ve done is notify the court.”