Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set Two

  The spontaneous confession was almost too good to be true.

  “Please don’t say anything else, Banks, until I have advised you of your rights.” Tomassi kept his gun trained on Banks as Henley moved behind him to cuff him.

  Banks shivered with fear. “The wicked flee when no one pursues, but the righteous are bold as a lion!”

  Tomassi lifted Banks by the arm. “Is there anyone else at home?”

  “I shall fear no evil, as Thou art with me!”

  “Answer me! Nobody else is here?”

  “Just the Lord God and us, my brothers.”

  The three other uniformed deputies appeared.

  “All clear.”

  “Good. Henley, check the area for possible weapons.”

  Tomassi led Banks to his living room couch, sat him down, and pulled out his Miranda card. Even though he knew all the questions by heart, he had to read them, verbatim, from the card or the arrest could be tainted.

  Deputy Henley turned his head to look at the area around them. There were stacks of magazines against every wall, which themselves held at least 100 hanging crosses of different assorted sizes and materials. Books, bibles and bible study literature were strewn all over the room. There was no table that did not have at least one statue of Jesus or the Virgin Mary amongst other clutter, and none had any surface exposed. The house smelled like old newspapers (of which there were many stacked in piles around the room) and days-old food.

  “Yes, sir. But I think the Health Department would be better suited to deal with this place.”

  “Or the Fire Department.” Deputy Davis began to move a stack of bibles next to them.

  “Don’t touch those! They are holy! And your hands are unclean!”

  Banks wiggled on the couch, bucking against his restraints.

  "Holy, holy, is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory!”

  Tomassi grabbed Banks by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Mr. Banks! Be still and listen to me!”

  “Yes, peacemaker, I shall.”

  “You are under arrest for the murder of…”

  Banks’ mouth dropped and his eyes opened wide.

  “Murder? Who is the unfortunate victim of this heinous sin?”

  “Ronald and James Bennett.”

  “Yea, I did cast the stone, but I did not violate the Seventh Commandment. What citizen accuses me of this vile act, peacemaker? With his mouth the godless man would destroy his neighbor, but by knowledge the righteous are delivered!”

  Banks attempted to stand up, but Tomassi gently but forcefully pushed him back down and looked him in the eyes.

  “Mr. Banks, you have the right to remain silent. Do you understand that?”

  “For Zion’s sake, I shall not keep silent! And for Jerusalem’s sake, I will not keep quiet until her righteousness goes forth like brightness, and her salvation shines like a torch that is burning.”

  “What is that gibberish he’s saying?” Davis looked uneasy as he checked behind the stacks of rubble.

  “They’re verses from the Bible.” Henley continued to poke around the piles gingerly.

  “Now, Mr. Banks, I must continue to read you your rights, and you have to indicate whether you understand. You have the right to remain silent. Do you understand?”

  “A fool hath no faith in understanding, but that his heart may discover itself.”

  “You have to answer yes or no. Do you understand that you have the right to remain silent?”

  “Yes, peacemaker. Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise.”

  Undeterred, Tomassi kept reading from his Miranda card.

  “Anything you say may be used against you in court. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, but there is only one lawgiver; and that is the Lord our God. Who is man to judge his neighbor?”

  “Please, just say yes or no. You have the right to the presence of an attorney before and during any questioning. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I would like to call my pastor.”

  “You can talk to the jailer about that. Now let me finish, please. You have the right to the presence of an attorney before and during any questioning. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, peacemaker.”

  “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you, free of charge, before any questioning, if you want. Do you understand?”

  “Yes. The Lord sends poverty and wealth. He humbles and He exalts.”

  “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

  Banks looked at the ceiling as if he expected a divine revelation, then stared at Tomassi with blank brown eyes.

  “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another that you may be healed. I will confess only to God, peacemaker; but I do not deny that I cast that stone.”

  “Are you now denying your involvement in the murder?”

  “Yes, sir, I surely do. My enemies speak evil against me!”

  “Davis, come with me. I’ll drop you off to book His Holiness. Henley, stay here and secure the property until we get the search warrant. Nobody goes in, understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tomassi and Davis marched off with Banks between them: two Roman soldiers escorting the accused to the den of lions.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dr. Perez frowned in frustration as he counted, for the second time, the gashes on the body of James Fredericks Bennett. Twenty six! Multiple stab wounds to the chest and back and five of them had penetrated vital organs – any one of which could have caused his death. Ron Bennett’s body had twenty one gashes. He heard a buzz at the door and looked up to see Roland Tomassi.

  “Hello, Roland. My report’s not done yet.”

  “I know, Doc. I just came to see if there was anything you could tell me at all.”

  “Both victims had multiple stab wounds to the chest and back, penetrating the heart, lungs and liver. Any of those could have been the cause of death. And James Bennett also had wounds to the stomach and intestines.”

  “How many stab wounds?”

  “Twenty one on Ronald and twenty-six on James.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Like I thought, you’re looking for a military-style knife (probably a K-Bar), about seven inches long. I figure the perpetrator or perpetrators first attacked both victims with precision strikes to the vitals. Any one of the first five strikes would have disabled them and caused death. He’s probably done this before: may be military or ex-military.”

  “Why so many other stab wounds if any of the first five did the trick?”

  “He, or they, were just having fun.”

  ***

  Rhonda Salas looked up from the Bennett file, which was spread all over her desk. She had to take a break from the carnage. Eight hundred digital photographs had been taken, and she had selected 100 of them to print. What kind of monster can do something like this? She felt relief, for the first time, that she herself didn’t have a partner.

  They had not released key details of the murders to the press, such as the type of murder weapon, and they had not made an issue out of the fact that the victims were gay; but the media, of course, used that as its teaser. After all, the victims had already made the news as Santa Barbara’s latest same-sex newlywed couple.

  As she flipped through all the evidence and the photographs of the search of Joshua Banks’ home, Rhonda thought about how simply a murder case is portrayed by the media: just the assembly of pieces of a puzzle until it was all figured out. But in real police work it was never that simple.

  She thought of the only suspect that they had in custody. He seemed to be so obvious, and he was a nut. But he just didn’t seem to fit the profile, and she had thought Tomassi was jumping the gun to arrest him right away. Banks was a hoarder with no military background, and nothing was found in the search of his home: nothing except books, newspapers, magazines, and bible memorabilia. But no knives. It was such a mess that the search team didn’t even know where to begi
n. Tomassi slipped in at the desk opposite her.

  “Solve the case yet, Salas?”

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t think it’s our guy.”

  “I know what you mean. He’s a nut case, for sure, but he looked genuinely surprised when I told him they had been murdered.”

  Tomassi related the information to her that he had learned from Dr. Perez and she filled him in on the search results (which were, essentially, no results).

  “Looks like we’re pretty much back where we started.” Rhonda ran her fingers through her dark brown hair and leaned her elbow on the desk.

  “Has our bible-thumper chosen a lawyer yet?”

  “No. I think he’s going to end up with the public defender.”

  “Well, let’s go talk to him, then.”

  ***

  The Deputy brought Banks to the interrogation room and cuffed his ankle to the table. Tomassi and Salas watched him for a couple of minutes through the two-way mirror. Banks was looking up at the ceiling and babbling, clasping his handcuffed hands together and shaking them in the air.

  “What’s he doing?” Salas strained to look through the mirror.

  “Praying. You would, too, if you were in that chair.”

  Salas and Tomassi opened the door and sat down across from Banks.

  “Mr. Banks, you remember me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, peacemaker. The memory of the righteous is a blessing, but the name of the wicked will rot.”

  “This is my associate, Detective Salas. We’d like to talk to you.”

  “Yea, I will speak; but not without my counselor.”

  “You have a lawyer?”

  “He will plead my soul’s cause. He will redeem my life.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His Christian name is Brent Marquez. But I believe he goes by the name of Marks now.”

  “Brent Marks?” Salas looked surprised. “He was the victims’ lawyer.”

  “And he shall be mine as well. It is the will of God.”

  “Salas, call Marks. Tell him God’s got a job for him.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When Brent received the call from the Sheriff’s Office, he was shocked. Of course, it was not the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him in his practice. This one should be easy. The victims were my clients. Banks is the accused perp. Even though he probably didn’t do it, I should declare a conflict.

  Brent wrestled with the idea on the way to the jail. As a lawyer, he often found himself at the crossroads where morality, ethics, and duty collided. He was the ultimate arbiter of these inner conflicts. The authorities would sort it out later if he had made a mistake. I’m supposed to be done with criminal cases, anyway. But Banks? A murderer? That doesn’t fit.

  The potential case nagged at Brent. As he sat in his car in the parking lot, he decided to call the State Bar ethics hotline. This was a time when he would have called Charles Stinson, his mentor; but there was no hotline to heaven, unless Banks had already hooked into it. Must be a party line.

  “State Bar hotline, may I help you?”

  Brent explained the quandary he was in.

  “Technically, the attorney-client privilege survives after death, but only so long as the estate of the decedent’s estate is represented.”

  “So I would need the consent of the estate’s representative?”

  “If your representation involved any possible client communications, yes. Also, the appearance of impropriety is something you should look at. If it looks improper, it probably is.”

  Brent disconnected. He felt no better off after the call than he did before it. He exited the car and headed into the jail. It was a creepy place to be, even for someone who had the freedom to leave whenever he chose. Confining noises reverberated throughout the concrete and metal – it was not the nicest place in the County of Santa Barbara.

  Banks was sitting on the inmate side of the attorney conference room in a blue jail jumpsuit. To Brent, he looked smaller than he usually did. Maybe that was because he had to keep quiet in here.

  “Hello, Mr. Banks.” Brent took a seat opposite him.”

  “Counselor! Praise God you have come!”

  “Now, Mr. Banks, please don’t tell me anything about your case. I’ve decided I can’t even consider taking it unless the estate of my clients consents.”

  “Wicked and deceitful mouths have been opened against me, speaking guile with evil tongues!”

  “Say no more, Mr. Banks. I can’t discuss it with you. But if you sign this consent, I’ll ask Mr. Bennett’s sister to sign it and, if she does, I can come back here and then we can talk about your case.”

  “God has sent you to me. Why should I sign a paper?”

  Brent stood up. “This conversation is over, Mr. Banks. I can recommend a good lawyer to you.”

  “Wait! Wait!”

  Brent turned to see Banks holding up his cuffed hands, as if he was reaching for something.

  “By God, I will sign.”

  Brent sat back down, withdrew a pen, showed it and the paper to the Deputy on call, who nodded and then gave the pen and paper to Banks. Banks signed and handed the paper and pen back to Brent.

  “If Susan Fredericks consents, I’ll be back to see you again.”

  “I shall see you again, Counselor, if it is God’s will.”

  ***

  “That’s what you called me in here for?” Susan Fredericks stood up from her chair, enraged.

  “Susan, calm down. I wouldn’t have asked you if I thought he did it.”

  “What makes you think he didn’t do it?”

  “If you just sit down, I’ll tell you.”

  Susan eased back down in her seat. “I’m listening.”

  Brent spoke mostly with his hands. Hunches are not easy to put into words.

  “Think about it. He’s the most obvious suspect. He threw the rock, and admitted that in court. But, when the cops questioned him, he seemed surprised to hear about the murders.”

  “So, he’s a good actor.”

  “That’s just it. He’s not a good actor. Remember how he blurted out in court that he threw the rock, and asked for God to forgive him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I just have a feeling about this one, Susan. And I don’t think I even need your consent. I just would feel better if I had it.”

  Susan looked Brent straight in the eyes, like a stare-out.

  “I have one condition.”

  “What is that?”

  “You have to find out who did it.”

  Brent’s eyes stayed locked on Susan’s while she tightened her lips during the challenge.

  “That may be Banks’ only defense.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Judge Burt Hendron was always friendly. Most of the lawyers who appeared before him called him “Uncle Burt.” Not to his face, of course; but he knew about the nickname and it didn’t seem to bother him. He had a monotone mumble and started almost every sentence with “Well now” and finished them with “Okay, fine.” Lawyers in the courthouse used to joke that, in handing down a death sentence, he would probably say, “Well now, you’re remanded to the custody of the California State Department of Corrections where you will be put to death, okay? Fine.” Hendron took the bench and looked around the courtroom at the dregs of society that composed his arraignment court. Families of loved ones gone astray, seeking their freedom (and bail money back), assorted lawyers (including members of the public defender’s office), the deputy district attorneys with their shopping carts full of files, bail bondsmen, and, of course, the stars of the show: the ones who stood accused of various felonies and misdemeanors. Uncle Burt’s round face, mixing-bowl cut bangs of graying blond locks, and toothless smile made him look more like an emoticon than a judge.

  “Well now, we’re going to call the case of People of the state of California versus Joshua Banks. Okay? Fine. Counsel, please state your appearances.”

  “Brent Marks for the defendant, Your Honor.”


  “Leslie Ford for the People, Your Honor.”

  “Well now, Mr. Marks. Your client is charged with first degree double murder.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. My client waives reading of rights and the complaint.” Brent motioned to Banks, who sat among the custodies in the jury box, and he stood up.

  “Okay, fine. To the charge of murder in the first degree of Ronald Bennett and James Bennett, Mr. Banks, how do you plead?”

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.” Banks recited the phrase he was instructed, and nothing more.

  “Okay, fine. Would you like to be heard on the matter of bail?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. My client is the Assistant Pastor of Our Lady of Holiness Church in Santa Barbara. He has been a member of the community all his life and has no criminal record. The defendant has property in Santa Barbara and can afford bail to guarantee his appearance.”

  “Okay, fine. Ms. Ford?”

  Ford popped out of her seat like she had just hit the eject button on an F-16, and argued with the same emotion as if it were her brother who had been murdered and not Susan’s. Why are they so emotional?

  “Your Honor, this is a capital case; not to mention a heinous double murder. It would be outrageous to grant bail in this case. The victims in this case were stabbed multiple times in an obvious hate crime! The People will be asking for the death penalty.”

  “Your Honor, there hasn’t been a person put to death in California for years. The constitutionality of the death penalty has been in question for quite some time, and the People are jumping the gun. I doubt this case will survive a preliminary hearing, if that.”

  “Well, now, Mr. Marks; Ms. Ford is correct that this is a capital crime, and I’m afraid I cannot grant bail, okay? Fine. The defendant is remanded to the custody of the Sheriff. Waive time for preliminary hearing?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Okay, fine. The preliminary hearing is set for May 26th at 8:30 a.m. in Department 6.”

  Banks was led out by the Bailiff to a holding cell. He would be transferred back to the jail with all the other inmates in custody at the end of the court day.