Shadows of the Dead, page 19
part #5 of The Soul's Voice Series
Tamsett took in the cuts and bruise and said, “I could ask the same of you.”
“Airbag.” She pointed at the bruise. “They might save your life but they do pack a punch.”
He nodded.
“I am recording this non-custodial interview on…” Jordan checked her phone and recited the date and time. “So, Danny, you requested this meeting… what are we doing here today?”
Tamsett sat with folded hands in his lap and stared fixedly at the tabletop. “I killed Darius Ziphron.”
Jordan let a beat pass before asking, “Why?”
“Martin Thomas ordered me to.”
Jordan pretended to consult her notes, “Let’s start at the beginning; why would Thomas want Darius killed?”
“Marty hated him. Not just because he was a fag but because as JB’s son he was allowed a position of high status in the church and he controlled the money flow.”
“And?”
“And Marty wanted that control. He got his own accountant and IT guy…”
“Frank Nesser?”
“Yeah, once he felt Frank was totally on board Marty called me in and said Darius was stealing money from the church, had been for a long time and it was time for him to go.” He shook his head. “I thought he meant he was going to declare Darius a Shadow… but he knew he’d never get away with declaring a Ziphron. Marty told me to find a way to contact Darius anonymously and set up a meeting.”
“To kill Darius.”
“Yes.”
“Martin Thomas said those words to you?”
“He told me what to take and what to do. He never said kill him, but it was clear Darius would end up dead.”
“Why make you do it when he has professionals working for him?” Jordan asked.
“Darius wouldn’t have met with them. But he trusted me, and he wouldn’t run once he saw it was me.” An image of Darius struggling to get out of his car suddenly flooded Danny’s memory and he blinked repeatedly to drive it away.
“And how did you get there?”
“Helicopter to a jet charter.”
“Under what name?”
“Harris Folger…. Marty gave me a burner phone and told me to leave mine on at home…” Danny’s voice trailed off as another memory filled his mind with blazing clarity: he watched himself sit in the passenger seat and when he closed the door Darius said,
“I should have known it’d be you.”
He set the eight pack of beer between his feet on the floor and handed him one, “Oh yeah?” he said, “Why?”
“Because you may have put up with more shit from Marty than anyone else over the years.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Maybe nothing, Danny.” Darius had spoken softly, with kindness. “Aren’t you tired of the abuse?”
He had meant to sip at his beer, but he drew down one long swallow after another until the bottle was empty and then he began to cry. Darius thought it was because of the abuse he had suffered at Marty’s hands, but really, Danny was scared shitless. He wiped his running nose and eyes on his jacket sleeve and got the bottle of pills from his pocket and pretended to take two.
“What are those?” Darius had asked.
“God’s Plan.” He said, flashing him the label on the bottle.
Darius had laughed. God’s Plan were caffeine pills, manufactured by the church and sold to members as an aid to help them work harder and longer hours. Promoted as a harmless supplement that increased focus, strength and endurance, church staff popped them like candy when forced to work all nighters. But Marty had given Danny this bottle of pills, telling him to be careful not to take any himself as the contents of each capsule had been emptied and refilled with Oxycodone.
Jordan watched as a series of emotions crossed his face. “What’s happening, Danny?”
“Marty gave me a bottle of caffeine pills we take in the church for energy. He replaced them with Oxycodone and told me to get Darius to take some… He said three pills would be enough to…” He shrugged distractedly and shook his head.
“To do what?” Jordan asked in a quiet voice.
“To… to get done what I was told to do.” He drew a deep breath. “Marty said to pretend to take some and offer them to Darius… church members also take them to combat the effects of alcohol; he took some so he could drink and still drive…”
“How many did he take?”
“Want some?” He had asked.
“Sure.” Darius held out his hand and Danny handed him the bottle. Darius shook out four of the capsules and swallowed them with a swig of beer.
“Four. We talked for a while. Darius said it was time for Marty to go. He said if we worked together with Margaret, Marty’s wife, we could get other executives who hated Marty to join us and… But then Darius began to feel the effects of the pills…”
He slumped in the expensive car seat. “Oh, Danny.” His smile was sad. “It washn’t caffeine in thugh pillsh, wuzh it?” He said, his speech slurring.
“Darius tried to get out of the car.”
“Why?” Jordan asked.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “To get away from me, maybe? But I needed him to stay… It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He was supposed to go to sleep and stay that way 'til I got the hose set up and the engine going.” While he spoke, tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks and he quickly swept them away. “So I hit him with a bottle of beer…”
“An open bottle?” Jordan asked.
“No. Unopened. I had just pulled it from the carton.”
Jordan looked around for a box of tissues and found one on a side table. “Where did you hit him?”
“On the back of the head.” Danny pointed to his own, “Here. Hard enough to slam it into the driver side window.”
Something only the killer would know. “What happened to the pills?” She asked.
“I threw them out when I got to the airport. I threw everything else out at a gas station before I turned in the rental.” He pulled two tissues from the box and blew his nose then swiped at his eyes.
“Okay,” Jordan continued, “so Darius’s head hit the window…”
“I…” Danny sniffed. “He… he finally… he was out.”
“Unconscious?”
“Yes. His phone was on the dash, I took that and a tablet he had in his briefbag. I put those things and the beer back in the rental… I already had disposable gloves in my pocket and I bought a pack of bleach wipes when I bought the beer…”
“What about the hose?” Jordan asked.
“I bought that and the duct tape at a hardware store on the way.”
“Why the bleach wipes?”
“So I could wipe off my prints and DNA from the door handles, his driver window was already open a crack, the handles were the only things I touched in the car without gloves.” He cleared his throat and leaned back in the chair. He pulled the end of the hose further into the car so the metal end was close to Darius’s open mouth. His eyes squeezed shut and his face twisted in a grimace. “Once I taped the hose to the exhaust and fed the other end into the window, I started the engine and left.”
Jordan sat very still. “Why would you agree to kill someone?” She asked.
He swiped at the fresh tears that spilled down his face and sniffed. “You don’t say no to Marty.”
“Even when he tells you to commit murder?”
He emitted a strangled noise he intended to be a snort of laughter. “You don’t understand. Marty can ruin your life. My parents are in the church, I grew up in it, all my friends are in it. He could declare me a Degraded Being, a Shadow of the Dead and everyone I know would be required to disassociate and sever all ties and contact with me forever… and I mean all contact. Beyond that he could fuck with me and make sure I never got a job outside the church… ever.”
Jordan nodded, remembering the mass of YouTube videos posted by ex church members who described what life was like once they were declared a shadow. “Okay.” She said. “We’ll talk some more, obviously, but for now we’ll be booking you for first degree murder and for conspiracy to murder.”
He shook his head. “You have to protect me.”
“Danny.” Jordan gave him a look. “I’m arresting you for murder, that means you’re going to jail now, do you understand?”
“Yes!” His eyes bulged, “I get it! But even in jail you have to protect me don’t you? Don’t you get it? Marty will find out! Someone will find out and tell him… then he’ll have me killed too! Even in jail! Don’t you know that by now?”
Jordan held up a hand. “Okay, Danny, okay. I will make sure you are in protective custody, alright? Now,” she stood and pulled handcuffs from where she tucked them in the back of her waistband, “let’s get you up.”
Cape Coral, FL
Teddy Johnson sat with his feet propped on his desk. His office was next to the stairs and two floors beneath Thomas. His phone got a text and his smile was feral when he saw it was from the receptionist he made a point of dating once he left the FBI for employment with CUT.
“There are 2 USM here to interview Danny Tamsett. Is this something you need to know?”
The color drained from his face and his feet slid off the desk and thudded on the carpeted floor. He snatched the receiver on his desk phone and furiously stabbed at the numbers.
“Errol!” He barked. “Thomas is on the move; get the car to the door NOW!” He slammed the receiver into the phone’s cradle and his phone got another text: “And call me sometime so we can do dinner.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He muttered, running for the door. He ran up the stairs and made the receptionist jump when he blew through the door.
“Wait!” She held up her hand, “He’s on the phone.”
He ignored her and rushed into Thomas’s office.
Martin Thomas looked supremely annoyed; glaring at Johnson he said, “Hang on a minute will you?” He stabbed the hold button on his phone. “WHAT?”
“I just got intel that Tamsett has been seen at the FBI field office in Fort Myers talking to US Marshals.
“WHAT?” Martin’s face flushed red and he shouted, “Tell me when the car’s out front!”
He nodded and ran out the door, grateful to leave and wait downstairs.
Wild-eyed, Martin punched the phone line and realizing the person was still on hold, stabbed at another line, disconnecting the caller and hit the speed dial for his private pilot who spent his days sitting in the pilot’s lounge, waiting for a call. “Get the Cessna ready NOW!” He barked.
“Gotta’ file a flight plan.” The man said calmly. “Where’re we going?”
“Just file it for the Caribbean and we’ll go from there. I’m on my way.” He hung up and yanking open a desk drawer, snatched 2 passports; one for the United States and another for Macedonia where he held investment citizenship. He struggled into his suit jacket and stuffed his passports, wallet and phone inside the pockets. Not waiting for Johnson’s call about the car, he ran for the door.
Belinda stood in front of the receptionist’s desk. “What’s up?” She asked.
“NOTHING!” Martin barked as he ran past. “I’ll be right back!”
Like Johnson, he ran past them and took the stairs. The twenty-six million dollar private jet was a Cessna Citation Longitude. Thomas had planned to upgrade to a Gulfstream for a cool sixty-five million, and as he ran down the stairs he railed inwardly he had to fly in the narrow twelve-seater.
The door closed silently behind him and Belinda exchanged a look with the receptionist, both grateful they were not the receiver of his wrath.
Fort Myers, FL
Once Tamsett explained he took a private jet under the name Harris Folger from Florida to Nevada, Catherine’s fingers flew over the keyboard until she found two flight plans filed under that name; a helicopter took Harris Folger from Page Field, a private airfield, to another airport where another flight plan showed a private jet then took Tamsett to Las Vegas.
She opened another tab and plotted the distance between Cape Coral and Page Field. How conveniently nearby… but then it would be given that’s where Thomas hangars the church’s private jet too. She hacked the airfield’s database for registered flight plans and after locating the plan Danny Tamsett used to get to Nevada and back the day he killed Darius, copied them to her laptop then went back to watching Jordan and Tamsett through the two-way mirror.
“Don’t you get it? Marty will find out! Someone will find out and tell him… then he’ll have me killed too! Even in jail! Don’t you know that by now?”
Jordan held up a hand. “Okay, Danny, okay…”
Catherine frowned and idly clicked the refresh button on her tab for Page Field while she listened to Jordan arrest Danny Tamsett for murder. The current registered flight plans for the day filled the screen and Catherine gasped at a new entry; filed four minutes prior, it was departing for the Caribbean within the hour. She jumped from her chair and ran from the room.
She burst through the door to office D4, “Agent Asanos?” She said, breathless.
Agent Asanos jumped at the door being flung open and leapt from her seat, “Yes! Yes, Marshal…uh…”
“Could you assemble a team for an immediate takedown at Page Field?” Catherine tapped her wrist even though she didn’t wear a watch. “Like we need to leave right now?”
“Great! You bet!” She said brightly. “It’s only a few miles from here!”
Catherine held up a hand, “Also, my partner just arrested Mister Tamsett for murder. We’ll need to hold him here under tight security until we can take custody, okay?”
Both Fuller and Johnson fought the impulse to exchange looks as Thomas fidgeted and ranted under his breath for the nearly thirty minutes it took to drive from the office to the airfield. The limo pulled directly into the enormous hangar and Marty barely waited for the car to stop before he pushed the door open and ran to the plane, leaving his bodyguards behind.
He leapt up the six steps, taking two at a time and swung himself into the cabin, breathless from anxiety.
Jordan stood in the aisle. “These things are so exclusive,” she said, “but they’re not roomy are they?”
His mouth briefly hung open in shock. “Get the fuck off my plane!” He sputtered and rushed at her, his hands out, intending to grab her by the throat.
Turning slightly, she grabbed an arm and spun him around so he faced away from her and held him in a half-nelson head lock, one arm raised high in the air.
She heard a clattering of booted feet coming up the stairs and turned to greet two FBI agents who rushed onboard.
“Oh good,” She said, “just in time to take custody of Mister Thomas for me.”
He struggled in her grasp until one of the agents put a handcuff on his raised hand and then he tried to fight with the agents. “LET GO OF ME!” He screamed. “FUCKERS! DON’T YOU FUCKING KNOW WHO I AM?” They cuffed his other hand behind him and he continued to writhe and scream invectives.
Jordan flipped open her USM badge wallet and held it out to him, “Martin Thomas, you are under arrest for solicitation and conspiracy to murder. I’m sure the IRS and other law enforcement agencies,” she motioned to the agents, “like the FBI here, will eventually have lots of charges to file against you too.”
He only looked confused for a moment then shrieked, “YOU DON’T HAVE THE FUCKING AUTHORITY!”
“Let’s go.” The lead agent and his partner held Thomas by the arms and walked him to the exit.
Jordan took one last look around the interior. “Nice, I guess. But the ceiling is too low for me.” Although I suppose that wouldn’t bother you would it, Marty?
Thomas continued to scream and tried to kick the agents.
“Behave yourself.” She warned.
But Thomas continued to struggle and the lead agent signaled to the other, “Let’s put him down.” They placed him face down on the floor. “You should have listened to her.” He said, pulling plastic ties from the pocket of his armored vest.
Jordan helped hold Thomas’s legs down while the agent zip-tied Martin Thomas’s ankles together. “Are you guys okay to carry him?” She asked.
The taller of the two snorted as they lifted him easily between them. “I think we can handle it.” He said. “But thanks.”
Jordan followed them off the plane as Thomas continued to scream and writhe. Once Thomas was off the plane he could see Johnson and Fuller, handcuffed and being put into the back of two dark sedans. “YOU FUCKERS!” He screamed, “DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS? DID YOU?”
She approached them and held up her badge wallet again, “Hello, I’m Marshal Bjorn, who do you have there?”
“Agent Pace.” He introduced himself then gestured to one side of the hangar. “We got the driver and pilot over there, and these two,” he gestured behind him, “came with your suspect in the car, presumably security, in custody here.” Jordan followed him as he approached the two cars. “Their ID says they are Teddy Johnson and Errol Fuller… They popped up as being wanted for attempted murder of…” His brows arched as he regarded Jordan and the still visible bruise on her cheek, “You?”
“Yes!” Jordan said brightly. “They left their handprints on the hood of my rental. Excellent.” She walked over to the first car and peered inside. Teddy Johnson refused to make eye contact and stared straight ahead. She noted the gauze pad on the side of his neck and grinned. “I knew I at least winged you.” She turned to watch Thomas where he stood, panting and wild-eyed, held upright between the agents holding him.
Blood pounded in Marty’s ears until he could no longer hear the sounds around him. Everywhere he looked, all he could see were men and women with FBI emblazoned in huge letters across their backs. No! He screamed silently. NO! Still panting, he suddenly began frothing at the mouth and coughed, frothy saliva flying from his lips.
“Okay now.” The lead agent holding him made a face. “Just calm down...”
