Letters From the Grave
dangerous man. He has been accused in the past of murdering people without remorse in cold blood. He may be charged again in the future, but I can’t say anything about that now.”
Julie asked, “Are you talking about the women on the news?”
“I can’t really say, ma’am.” His lingering expression confirmed her suspicions. He looked back at Jake. “Jake, you have something he really wants, your coins. Somehow, someway, I think he’ll try to get them from you. It’s crazy, I know, but people like him get fixed on things in their mind, and all logic goes out the door.”
Jake looked at him intently. “What should we do, Tibbs?”
“I think you’re already doing it, Jake. The obvious things are to keep you doors looked and to keep your cell phones with you. Use nine-one-one if anything alerts you. Also, program my cellphone into yours. Then, I guess the only other thing is to be careful about your surroundings. Ryan’s a little hobbled without wheels, but there’s a possibility that he has a large stash of money somewhere and could be motoring, at some point. He can’t do it where he’s at now, but could break away at any time. That’s when he would be real dangerous – once we’re after him with a warrant.”
Jake looked at Julie, then back at Tibbs. “Tibbs, this is frightening, but I understand that you’re trying to have us take precautions. Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s it for now, Jake, but call me any time if you see him anywhere near here. I can have a cruiser here fast to scare him away, if nothing else.”
Tibbs left, and Jake held Julie. He was going back to work in the morning.
That afternoon, Ryan was dressed for work in jeans and a tee shirt, when he bounded down the stoop of the house, walking to work. Half a block away, he passed a parked car with the window open. As he passed, he saw him. “Detective Tibbs, what are you doing?” Ryan stopped opposite the passenger window, then realized that Tibbs was taking a video of him, using his Blackberry. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking a home movie, scumbag.”
“This is harassment. I ain’t done nothin’. Leave me alone.”
Tibbs put the phone back in its holster. “You’ve done plenty, and I’m just gonna have to do detective work until we can get you back in a cage with the rest of the animals.”
Ryan stood upright again to leave. “I did my time. You ain’t gonna catch me for anything serious again.”
Tibbs watched him walk away. “We’ll see.”
Ryan flipped the bird without looking back.
Tibbs was ninety-nine percent sure that Ryan had killed the two women in town and had also killed the pawn dealer in Baton Rouge. There was no legal distinction regarding the class of people killed, but there were often moral distinctions. Tibbs wanted to be sure that the girls got justice. He had a daughter who lived with his ex-wife. He loved the girl, and still loved his ex-wife, but the girl had socialization problems. Her rebellion led to behaviors that Tibbs imagined the sixteen year old dead girl might have followed, leading to her death in the park. The prostitute was different only through age. Hopelessness and depression caused poor women to work the streets. What options did they really have? It shouldn’t be a death sentence. Both women deserved their sympathy and protection by the law. Instead, they died senselessly because this monster had been unleashed.
At roll call for the evening shift at the Police Station, Tibbs asked to brief the officers. He showed the video taken earlier and distributed a full face shot.
“Gentlemen, this is public enemy number one in our city. He’s a predator who kills defenseless women, alone on our streets at night. He’s also suspected of killing a state trooper in Alabama, and maybe some more folks in Texas. Take a good look. If you see him on the streets, smile and wave. Let him know you’re watching. Also, when you see women alone at night, working girls or not, tell them to get off the streets or at least be extremely careful. If this guy, his name is Ryan, so much as spits on the street, bring him in. He’s a parolee, living at the Stratum House. If he screws up, he goes back up state. I don’t want that. I want to nail this guy here, but we need to be protecting our citizens.”
He gave the same speech the next day to the morning and afternoon shifts. Every uniformed officer in Lafayette would be watching out for Ryan. They were given instructions not to harass him, but also to let him know they were watching. Ryan would screw up soon. Tibbs knew he would be impatient to get away, which probably meant Jake and Julie Ramsey were in some danger.
Ryan worked for the next two nights, always on time, always polite and hard working. The owner didn’t say anything, but Ryan detected more guardedness toward him by the staff who were mostly related to the owner. Keats always seemed to be around when Ryan left the house and returned.
On Sunday, he left the house at ten o’clock in the morning and walked down town to get more familiar with the layout. That night, he’d go trolling again for fresh meat. On several occasions, police drove by. He wasn’t sure at first, but they all seemed to slow down and look directly at him for a long time. What’s going on? After it happened the first time, the number of patrol cars driving past him increased. He started getting nervous and reversed course, heading for the gym. Once he was safely inside, he sat in the locker room, thinking about grabbing his money and leaving town, but it started making less sense after his nerves subsided. He had to stick to his plan. His money stash was big, but not enough to live on in hiding for very long. Even if the police were watching him, they couldn’t do anything, unless he screwed up. He wouldn’t.
He started piecing things together. The police had probably talked to his employer and his “jailer,” Keats. Everyone was watching him. Oh, God! What if they saw him go into the gym? They might find his stash. There wasn’t much more time to act. They were closing in.
Detective Work
Tibbs met with the Parish District Attorney about arresting Ryan. Forensic information was inconclusive. Both victims had had sex near the time of death, but there was no DNA evidence. One had been more forceful than the other, but there wasn’t enough evidence to prove rape in either case. There were also fingerprints on the victim’s throats, but weather and humidity made them useless.
Ryan fit the profile of the person they would assume in such cases: age, working hours, unverified alibi -- but this was all circumstantial. A known felon with a life of criminal behavior was not likely to be intimidated by veiled threats. They needed more proof. Tibbs just hoped it didn’t mean more killings.
One of the patrol cars reported that Ryan was seen leaving Mark’s Gym on Main Street. It wasn’t unusual for cons to workout. It’s something they do for recreation behind prison walls, and many enjoy the solitude after release. Tibbs decided to check it out anyway. Detective work boiled down to checking minute details.
The gym had been in town for a few years and some of the police officers used it. Tibbs had been a member more than once, and knew the owner would recognize him. Mark was a licensed personal trainer and was working with a client when Tibbs entered. The receptionist started to ask him a question when Mark walked up. “Detective Tibbs, how are you?” They shook hands. “Are you joining us again?”
“Mark, I really should, but not today. Can we talk somewhere?”
“Sure, Detective, let’s go to my office.”
Inside, with the door closed, Tibbs pulled out the picture of Ryan. “Do you recognize this man.”
Mark gave it a quick glance. “Yes. He’s a new member. Funny, I’m not surprised you’re here.”
“Why do you say that?”
“This guy’s creepy, probably an ex-con.”
“What’s creepy about him?”
“Well, for starters, he came in late one night a few weeks ago, like around nine o’clock and wanted to sign up. He had long hair all over, and you couldn’t hardly see his face. He had tattoos all over too, bad ones, not professional. Anyway, he si
gned up on the spot. Gave me a hundred and twenty for a year, cash, then filled out a form. Didn’t even want to look us over. Everyone looks us over before giving us money. He didn’t.”
“Anything else?”
“This guy’s a criminal, right?”
“I can’t comment on that.”
“I understand.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, yeah. He came in the next day all cleaned up, with a gym bag and wanted to know if he could have a locker. I told him any locker he wanted while he was working out, but he said he really wanted to leave his gear here, so I told him it was all right since we have so many lockers and not enough people using the place -- you wanna join again?”
“Maybe, Mark. So tell me about the locker?”
“Well, Detective. This guy, he comes in almost every day. He goes to the locker room, but never works out.”
Tibbs was taking notes and nodded his head, “Show me the locker, will you, Mark?”
Mark led him to the men’s room which had several banks of lockers and fixed wooden benches. There were only a few with locks. “It’s this one, I’m pretty sure. He could move around. We don’t assign permanent numbers. It’s first come, first served, as you know.”
“So, he could be in any locker here?
“Yeah, except he keeps it locked with a combination lock.”
Tibbs looked around, and there were only half a