The Judge’s List

32

On Tuesday, the Pensacola Ledger ran a brief story on page 5 of its news section. Mal Schnetzer, a local lawyer from years past, had been murdered the previous Saturday in a trailer in Sugar Land, Texas, west of Houston, where he had been living. The police gave the barest of details, saying only that he had been strangled in a trailer rented by a person who had yet to be found. The story recalled his days as a well-known plaintiff’s lawyer in the Panhandle, before he was disbarred and sent to prison for robbing his clients. There was a small photo of Mal in his better days.

Jeri saw the story online and read it with her morning coffee. She immediately pulled together the other stories: Danny Cleveland, the former Ledger reporter, who had been strangled in his apartment in Little Rock in 2009; Thad Leawood, strangled in 1991 near Signal Mountain, Tennessee; and Lanny Verno, murdered in Biloxi the previous year. Schnetzer, Cleveland, and Leawood had been known in Pensacola and the Ledger reported their deaths. Verno had been passing through and was not known; thus, there was no local coverage. She found the stories of the murders from the local newspapers in Little Rock, Chattanooga, Houston, and Biloxi, and arranged them all neatly in a file that she sent through a new email account to a reporter named Kemper, the woman who had written about the Schnetzer murder. She attached a cryptic note: Four unsolved strangulations of people with close ties to Pensacola. Verno lived here in 2001. Do your homework!!

She had not heard of the Schnetzer murder and wasn’t about to start digging. She was exhausted, and virtually broke, and simply couldn’t muster the energy for another investigation. As always, she suspected Bannick, but someone else would have to worry about the case.

The following morning, on the front page beneath the fold, was a sensational story about the four Pensacola men who had been murdered in other states. The local police wouldn’t comment and deflected all questions because they knew nothing. The killings were not in their jurisdiction. Likewise, the state police wouldn’t comment.

Jeri read it gleefully and immediately sent it, encrypted as always, to Lacy Stoltz. Minutes later she texted her the encryption key.

Lacy was at her desk reading assessments of other complaints when she saw the email and opened the file. There was no message. Who else would send her a private email, and then the key? Who else would have the old stories from the Ledger and the other newspapers? Once again she marveled at Jeri’s research and tenaciousness, and managed a chuckle at Herman Gray’s comment about her being needed by the FBI.

She closed her door and for a long time reread the reports of the old murders, and the new ones. She tried to gauge the impact of the morning’s story and finally concluded there was no way to predict what might happen. There was little doubt, though, that it would change the landscape. Bannick would see it, probably already had. Who in the world could guess his next move?

Judge Bannick was in a hotel room in Santa Fe when he saw it. As always, he scanned the Ledger online for all the news from home, and when he saw it he began cursing.

The only other person who could possibly link Lanny Verno to Pensacola was Jeri Burke. Maybe the ex-cop, Norris Ozment, but he was not in the loop.

A few of the older lawyers could link him to Schnetzer and their fee dispute, back in 1993. Perhaps a reporter at the Ledger might remember Danny Cleveland and his muckraking article about Bannick when he first ran for office, though this was doubtful. Cleveland had gone after several shady developers. No one to his knowledge was still around to link him to Thad Leawood. There had been no criminal charges and the frightened victims hid behind their parents, who had no idea what to do.

He was thirteen years old and had achieved the rank Life, with eighteen merit badges, including all the required ones. His goal was to make Eagle by his fourteenth birthday, something his father encouraged because after that the high school years arrived and scouting would become less important. He led the Shark Patrol, the finest in the troop. He loved every part of it — the weekends in the woods, the training for the mile swim, the jamborees, the challenge of making Eagle, the search for more merit badges, the awards ceremonies, the community service.

After the assault, he missed a meeting, something that never happened. When he missed the second one, his parents were curious. He could not carry the burden alone, and so he told them. They were horrified and devastated, and had no clue about where to go for help. His father finally met with the police and was distressed to learn that there had been another complaint, from a boy unwilling to be identified.

He suspected it was Jason Wright, a friend who had abruptly quit the troop two months earlier.

The police wanted to meet with Ross, but the idea terrified him. He was sleeping at the foot of his parents’ bed and hated to leave the house. They decided that protecting their child was more important than demanding punishment. The nightmare went from bad to worse when the Ledger ran a story about a police investigation into “allegations of sexual misconduct” by Thad Leawood, age twenty-eight. It was obviously leaked by the police, in Dr. Bannick’s opinion, and sent the town into orbit.

Leawood slinked away and was not seen again. Fourteen years passed before he paid for his crimes.

Late Wednesday afternoon, Lacy was out of excuses and weary of procrastinating. She closed and locked her office door and called the first of several phone numbers for Betty Roe. None were answered, which was not unusual. Minutes later, her smartphone pinged with a text from an unknown number. Betty wrote: “Go to the green line.” Code for Use your burner. Lacy picked up her disposable phone and waited another minute for the call.

Betty began cheerfully with “How about that story in the Ledger?”

“Interesting to say the least. I wonder how they put all the murders together so fast.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure it was an anonymous email from someone who’s familiar with the murders, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would indeed.”

“I wonder how our boy reacted.”

“I’m sure it ruined his day.”

“I hope he had a massive stroke and gagged to death on his vomit. They say he’s in bad health anyway. Rumor of colon cancer, but I doubt it. More like a good reason to get out of town.”

“You sound feisty.”

“I’m in pretty good spirits, Lacy. I went to Michigan and spent last weekend with my daughter, had a great visit.”

“Good, because I have some news that you may not want. We’ve finished our assessment of your complaint and we believe it has merit. We are referring it to the state police and the FBI. Our decision is final.”

Silence on the other end. Lacy plowed on. “You shouldn’t be surprised, Betty. This is what you’ve always wanted. You used us to start the investigation and give it credibility while you hid in the dark. Nothing wrong with that, and I assure you your name has not been used. We will continue to protect your identity, to the extent possible.”

“What does that mean? ‘To the extent possible’?”

“It means I’m not sure how the investigation will go. I don’t know if the FBI will want your input, but if they do I’m sure they know how to protect a key witness.”

“I won’t sleep until he’s arrested and locked up. You should be worried too, Lacy. I’ve warned you about this.”

“You have and I’m being careful.”

“He’s smarter than we are, Lacy, and he’s always watching.”

“You think he knows about our involvement?”

“Assume he does, okay? Just assume the worst. He’s back there, Lacy.”

Lacy closed her eyes and was ready to end the call. Betty’s paranoia was at times irksome.