Wed, Aug 6, 2008

There was a familiar smell permeating the room. Mark was distracted trying to pin it down. Finally, it hit him. It was the smell of coffee. Really bad coffee. The room was otherwise comfortable. The chair was padded and swiveled enough to allow him to find a comfort zone. He was tired of waiting, though. Not that he'd been waiting long. Patience was just not a virtue he possessed in abundance. In the middle of a yawn, the door swung open and two cops entered.

One of them was the Clay County deputy who had been the first to show up after they were called about the body. Deputy Engle was his name. The other cop had shown up at the scene later. Mark didn't know his name. When Mark came out of the woods he had seen him hanging around the Tracker. It looked like he had been writing down the VIN number. He had walked away when Mark got closer.

Engle said, "Mr. Quaintence, I want introduce Detective Byrd of the Jacksonville Sheriffs Office. He has some questions for you."

The other man held out his hand. Mark stood to shake it. "Good to meet you," Mark said and remained standing.

"You go ahead and have a seat," the detective waived at the comfortable chair as he sat down himself. "I've just got a few questions." Deputy Engle sat down next to him in silence.

"I'm just a little curious," Mark interrupted, "Isn't the state forest in Clay county?"

"Oh, sure. Sure it is. There just may be some multi-jurisdictional issues here. That's what I'm here to figure out."

"I see." he said, nodding.

"What were you doing out there?"

"Have you ever heard of geocaching?"

"I think so, does it have something to do with looking for markers?"

"Markers?" Mark was startled by that reference. He hadn't used that cover story at all here. He'd come clean right away. Of course he had. He sure didn't have anything to hide. Where would this cop have gotten his favorite cover story from? "Well, kind of. The way it works is this, someone hides something - a container. Sometimes it's small, like a 35mm film canister, and just contains a logbook. Sometimes its larger, like an ammo can or Tupperware, and in addition to the log book it contains some trinkets. The idea is you trade. You take something and then leave something of equal value. Which is usually pretty easy because it's mostly worthless junk." At that he managed a smile and a small chuckle.

"So you were looking for one of these containers out in the Forest?"

Of course, there was a connection, he thought. . .The twenty waypoints on the list were the locations of bodies.

"Yes, I hid a new one up at the intersection of Roads 11, 12 and 14," he explained. "Where I found the body, I was just down there scouting the spot out, for a cache maybe," he lied. He wasn't sure why he lied, but he was instinctively worried. He knew the guy who finds the body is often a suspect, but this seemed like more than that. The scrutiny his car got. And the reference to "markers.” He'd tried using the marker line on the cops on Hecksher Drive where they'd found that body last weekend. Did this guy know that? Did he think there was some connection?

Of course, there was a connection, he thought. The list was the connection. He kept trying to deny it but it had to be. The twenty waypoints on the list were the locations of bodies. Two was such an impossible number. One might have been a coincidence, but two? How many bodies could there be hidden out there, that two just happened to turn up at waypoints on that list? What were the odds? Two bodies meant that there were most likely twenty. Or at least that someone had picked out twenty good spots to put bodies.

"You mean you were going to hide one of these geocaches where you found the body?" The question drew Mark back into the discussion. Or was it an interrogation?

"Yes, I was looking at the spot anyway." He gave as little answer as he could. What should he do? Did they think he was involved? Would telling them about the list make it look better, or worse? It certainly wouldn't exonerate him. It was in block letters that he could have written himself. It's not as if knowing the precise locations of twenty bodies would make him look innocent, was it?

"And when you were on Hecksher Drive last week, were you just 'scouting it out' or were you looking for one of those markers?"

The bastard knew about that, Mark thought. "They're caches. Geocaches" He tried to cover his nerves by chuckling again, but he felt it probably had the opposite affect.

"So you were looking for one there?"

"Uh, no. I was just checking out that spot", he lied again.

"And what about the woods behind Gate?" the Detective said, and then drilled him with his eyes.

"Gate?" Mark returned quizzically. He didn't have to feign ignorance here. It took him a few moments before it sunk in what he was talking about. When it did, he realized what a mess he was in. Someone must have seen him at the waypoint behind the Gate. Was there a third body? Not knowing where else to go he looked right back at the cop and said with resignation, "I want to talk to a lawyer."

The detective flinched. He hadn't been expecting that. At least not yet. "A lawyer? Do you think you need a lawyer?" he said while flashing his best grin.

"Aren't the questions supposed to stop now?" Mark said. After all, that's how it worked on "Law and Order" when someone "lawyered up".

Deputy Engle stood up and said, "Yes they are. Hold off Detective. There aren't gonna be any Brenton Butlers here."

The Detective glared at Engle. He stood up, slamming his chair back against the wall in the process. He turned his glare toward Mark, who could feel the hate stabbing through him. Then Byrd turned and stormed out the door.

"Am I under arrest?" Mark asked the Deputy.

"No, poking around the woods and finding a body isn't illegal here in Clay county. I don't know about Duval county though," he motioned toward the door with a nod of his head.

"So, am I free to go?"

"Well, I'm not holding you, but we do have some more questions. Why don't we get you a lawyer, and we'll see if we can talk? How's that sound?"

Was this good cop, bad cop, or was the guy just doing his job? He wanted to take deputy Engle at face value, so he responded in the affirmative, "Just so I don't have to answer any questions before talking to the lawyer."

If they intended to torture him into a confession by making him wait for the lawyer, it was almost working. He'd been here for hours and figured it was dark out by now. Eventually, the lawyer showed up. She was an attractive young woman wearing shoulder-length brown hair and a pair of black-rimmed glasses. She was dressed in a skirt with a matching jacket. Much like one would expect of a lawyer, but not a very common get-up in northeast Florida.

She stepped up to the table and set her brief case on it. She reached out her hand and said, "I'm Gina Broudy. I'll be your attorney."

Mark stood to shake her hand, "Good to meet you. Thanks for coming."

The lawyer sat and Mark followed her lead. Then she asked, "So why don't you tell me about your situation?"

Mark chuckled. It was good to let off some of the pressure. "Well, to start off, I am pretty damn sure I'm screwed."

The lawyer looked back at him, unamused.

"I'm sorry, it's just that, other than these dead women, this thing is all so funny in a way. At least if would be if it happened to someone else."

"So, tell me," she said, gesturing with outstretched hands.

"It started a couple of weeks ago on the other side of Jennings forest. I found this list. By the way, have you ever heard of geocaching?"

"Geo what?"

Mark went on to explain geocaching, and how he had found the list of waypoints. He explained finding the body and getting chased away from Hecksher Drive and also going to the Gate station. He told her about the brief interrogation and also about detective Byrd's behavior toward his car.

"What exactly have you told them?"

"Not much," he said. "The whole mess makes things look pretty bad for me. I thought telling them about the list might make it even worse. I don't think I could prove I didn't write it."

"Have you lied to them?"

"Well, sort of. They asked what I was doing there, and I said I was scouting it for a cache. That's kind of true. Even though I was really there just to check out the waypoint on the list, I was considering placing a cache by that tree. Till the body turned up. In fact..." he remembered the first waypoint he went to. The one where he HAD placed the cache. "Oops, I forgot something." He explained his placing the cache at the first waypoint last week.

"So you actually have this geocache listed on the Internet?"

"Uh, huh."

"And there might be body there?"

"Well, it's not like I knew it at the time."

The lawyer was silent for a moment, "This next question is very important, and I'm sure you're expecting it. It's important that you tell me the truth. My job is to protect you. That's true whether you’re just a poor schmuck in the wrong place at the wrong time or whether you’re a monster. It's my job to protect you. I can't do that if you lie to me. Especially about this."

There was an uncomfortable pause, and then finally Mark nodded.

"Did you kill those girls?"

"No!"

"Do you know anything about their deaths?"

"Absolutely not."

"Is there anything you've lied to me about or that you haven't told me?"

"I haven't lied, and I think I've told you everything."

"Okay..."

"Wait," Mark interrupted. "The earring. I don't know if it means anything or not. At that first spot where I placed the cache. I found a diamond earring."

"Where is it now?"

"In my hat. My trophy hat. Out in the car."

"Where's your car?"

Mark had to give that some thought. "I don't know. I left it in the woods and they drove me here."

The lawyer shook her head and asked, "In your car? Is it in plain sight in your car?"

Mark shrugged, "I don't know. I guess. I didn't hide it if that's what you mean. I had no reason to."

More head shaking, "Well, I hope you are telling the truth because if you're not, and you killed those girls, you're a real sick head."

At that Mark chuckled.

"Well, Mr. Quaintence. It doesn't appear they have much on you. Certainly not enough to hold you. You found a body. Given your hobby, I don't find that surprising at all. The fact that you've admitted to having been near a second body is certainly suspicious, but again, given your hobby..."

"You made a wise decision asking to speak to an attorney before answering any questions regarding the woods behind the Gate station. While connecting you to that certainly won't make a murder case..."

Murder Case? The words startled Mark. That is of course what he was into. A murder case. The big time.

"...but it might give them enough evidence to get search warrants. It appears they have a witness putting someone fitting your description in those woods by the Gate, but that's a long way from a positive identification. But without any evidence connecting you to the victims, they would never be able to hold you on that, even with a positive ID."

"The two confabulations you told about scouting those spots for a cache might be a problem, but I doubt it. As you said, there's no way they can prove that is NOT true. The list is a problem. I'm not sure how to handle that. On the one hand, it explains your innocent presence at all three, make that four, locations. On the other, your possession of it is a connection to the victims, unless there is some means of proving that you didn't produce the list and came about it in an innocent way."

"The earring is a real problem. If it did, in fact, belong to one of the victims, it is physical evidence that ties you to her. Fortunately, you're under no obligation to divulge its existence. They've got to make their case by themselves. However, I wouldn't be surprised if they're already looking over that 'trophy hat' sitting on your dash somewhere. They can't remove it but if it's in plain sight they can look at it all they want. If they can see that diamond, and it fits the description of a victim's jewelry, that would probably be enough for a search warrant and ultimately an indictment, if not a conviction."

"One thing in our favor is that these deaths haven't gotten much press. So it's not like they're under any political pressure to solve them. It lessens the risk of their moving into the 'prove Quaintence did it' mode. That would be bad. That brings us back to the list. If they find out about it themselves, or it comes out later, they'll be convinced it's yours. If we come forward with it now, it might at least buy an open mind from these guys."

Mark jumped in, "Is this some kind of serial killer or something?"

"I don't really know," the lawyer said, shaking her head. "At the very least they think it might be. I'm a criminal lawyer so I hear things, but I haven't heard anything about a serial killer operating in the Jacksonville area."

"So what do we do about the list?"

"Let's not make any assumptions. Let me have the list, with some handwriting samples, and we'll get it to an expert and see what he says. Maybe we can rule you out as the person who wrote it."

"How long will that take?"

"Couple days," the lawyer shrugged. "Where is it?"

"I think it's in my cache bag - out in the hall."

"Christ! It's a good thing they didn't come up with probable cause to search you."

"I might even have some cache descriptions in there with some of my handwriting on them."

"Great. I'm going to get you out of here and get your vehicle back. Somewhere in there I will get them from you. For now, you're done talking. Answer absolutely no questions from anyone. No matter how innocent they seem. Not before you talk to me."

"Okay, count on it."

"Hold on," the lawyer signaled for Mark to remain seated as she stood up, walked over to the door and gave it a couple raps with her knuckles. Within a few moments, the door opened and the Detective and the Deputy came back in. "Gentlemen, Mr. Quaintence is ready to leave. Unless you have something to hold him on?"

"No we don't," said deputy Engle.

"Yet," piped in Byrd.

"Then we'll be on our way. My client's auto and personal effects?"

"His bag is hanging on the coat rack right outside the door. The Forest Service had his car towed to our parking lot."

"The Forest Service? How nice of them," she said, not bothering to cover the sarcasm.

They were escorted to the door. As the pair walked down the front steps of the Clay County Sheriffs Office, the lawyer glanced back over her shoulder and said, "You can be sure they've got pictures of every square inch of that car. Especially your hat. They probably walked the drug dogs by it, and your bag too, just hoping for a positive."

"Back in the day, they'd have had one," Mark joked.

"I want you to drive to my office. I'll get the list and the samples there. I'm just around the corner on 218. You'll see the sign on the right - Gina Broudy - Attorney at Law."

"See you there," Mark said as he climbed into the Tracker.

It was a short drive. He pulled into the parking lot right behind Broudy. Carrying his cache bag, with the hat stuffed into it, he followed her to the door and waited for her to unlock it. Both of them were silent as they entered the office. Once inside the lawyer said, "You can have a seat right there and get it together. I'll get something to put it in."

She came back with a large zip lock bag. Mark carefully removed the list from the bag, unfolded it and handed it to her. The lawyer just held the bag open and let him drop it in. "We'll also have it checked for fingerprints," she said.

Mark rifled through his bag and pulled out a couple of folded cache descriptions. He handed them to Broudy and explained, "These are from multi-caches, where you have to find a series of other caches to get the coordinates of the final cache. So I had to hand write the coordinates."

"Great," Broudy said. She walked over to a desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a large brown envelope and put the papers into it. She then put both items on the desk and asked, "What are you planning tonight?"

Mark shrugged and shook his head, "Home, I guess."

"You live on the beach?"

"Yes, Jax Beach.

"Duval county," she frowned.

"Ah, yes, it's Duval," he responded and followed the lawyers gaze over his shoulder and out the office window. Across the street was a car that Mark had not noticed when they arrived.

"I'm pretty sure that's Detective Byrd. Probably has in mind to follow you and find a reason to pick you up on his home turf. I don't think he wants to get on Clay county's bad side by messing with you here. Not after they just released you."

"Christ."

"Is there somewhere else you can go?"

Mark thought for a few moments and said, "I've got some land on the Suwannee I can camp out at. I'd have to buy some food and stuff but I have my tent in the Tracker."

"It's up to you. But I'd just as soon not have to drive into Jacksonville to spring you again tonight. We just need to see what we get on that list."

"Okay, I'll head out there," Mark said as he formulated a plan in his head.

"Stay in touch."

"Cell reception sucks there, but I can get reception by driving a couple miles out toward the highway. I'll call you in the afternoon?"

"Sounds good. Think you can avoid turning up any more bodies?"

Mark gave a stress relieving chuckle, "Not to worry. I've had my fill of that kind of find."

Detective Byrd sat in his car watching the lawyer's office across the road. He knew he was likely to be spotted, but that was okay. Spooking this guy might help shake something loose. He could just feel that this was the guy. Three bodies. The one he found, the one he admitted being within a few hundred feet of, and then there was the one at the Gate station. The clerk saw a guy just like Quaintence get out of a vehicle just like his and head off in the brush headed right to where a body had been found only a week before. The clerk even mentioned the guy had bloody scratches on his shins. Quaintence had scratches all over his shins. It was him.

Sure, It wasn't a perfect ID. In fact, the clerk said he wouldn't be able to pick the guy out. He'd sent a team out while it was still daylight hoping to turn up some DNA on the brambles. They'd come up with some possible samples but they had nothing from Quaintence to compare it to. He just needed to get a warrant and he'd have this guy connected to the third body.

That alone wouldn't be enough for an indictment, of course, but it was a start. And there was other circumstantial evidence as well. This geocaching thing for one. It was perfect cover for a serial killer. True it offered a ready excuse for being in odd places at odd times. For finding bodies even. But it cut both ways. It was the perfect cloak for a killer to wrap himself in.

He had someone looking a little deeper into this so-called sport too. John Littlepage, his deputy, had been checking out their national web site. Through a little detective work in the forums and chat rooms, and some extrapolation, Littlepage concluded that Quaintence's screen name for Geocaching was "Serial Finder". That was just too cute.

What he really needed to close the deal was some physical evidence linking Quaintence to these women before they were buried. Preferably while they were still alive. Due to the lifestyle of the victims, it was pretty tough to determine with certainty exactly where or when they were kidnapped, raped and murdered. Linking anyone that way would be tough.

They did have the hat. Or at least pictures of it while it lay on the front seat of their suspect’s car. Quaintence called it his "trophy hat". As in the trophies serial killers often collected from their victims, perhaps? They would find out. He had a couple deputies showing pictures of that hat to associates of the victims to see if they recognized any of the pins and buttons as belonging to any of the victims. With that he could get the DA to get search warrants. Maybe even an arrest warrant.

He was snapped back to attention by the opening of the office door. The lawyer stood inside the doorway while the suspect walked toward his car. Both looked across the road at Byrd's car. Yes, he had been spotted. Once Quaintence had climbed into the car and started it up, the lawyer closed the office door. The car backed out of its parking space, pulled up to the edge of the parking lot and did something surprising. The turn signal flashed, not indicating a left toward Highway 21, but a right. Not east toward Jacksonville but west to... who knew where. After a few moments pause, the small green vehicle completed the turn out of the parking lot and was headed west.

"Damn," Byrd said aloud. He had intended to leisurely follow the suspect back into Duval county and try to come up with a reason to stop him and take him into custody. At the very least he was going to follow him home and have a car watch his place for the night to make sure he didn't run. Was he running now? Whatever he was doing, he wasn't in much of a hurry. Byrd started up his car and followed him with no problem. He was doing about five miles under the speed limit. Did he think Byrd would give him a speeding ticket?

Byrd followed him down highway 218 for about 5 miles. They were way out in the boonies now. The signs said Clay Hill but Byrd didn't recall having ever been out here. Where was this guy going? From the direction they were heading, this road would have to eventually hit either 301 or I-10. He tried to reach Littlepage on the cell. Reception sucked and he couldn't get through.

"Damn," he said again, more stridently this time.

Another mile down the road, Quaintence made a smooth but sudden right turn. Byrd tried to read the signs in the rear-view but it was all too quick. What road was this? What was this guy trying to do? He knew Byrd was following him. Was it a trap? After about three-quarters of a mile, there was a large green sign that read, "Pavement Ends".

"Damn."

It wasn't too bad going. The sandy road was well packed. If he were trying to lose him, he'd have to go a lot faster, but if anything, he was purposely allowing Byrd to keep up. The unpaved road followed a fence line to the left. It turned in a sharp left at the corner of the fence line. He followed Quaintence around the corner and onward to where the road turned to the right away from the fence. Here Quaintence picked up speed. He was doing almost forty. That was a good clip out in the woods in the dark. Byrd was confident of keeping up until he realized the nicely packed dirt road had turned to powered sugar sand. It was like one of the old Road Runner cartoons. Byrd didn't actually become stuck until he realized where he was. When he did, he must have slowed down just enough that his wheels spun into the powder until he was bottomed out and came to a complete stop. The taillights of his suspect’s vehicle disappeared into the darkness ahead.

"Damn," he said, pounding the steering wheel with his fist. Just then his cell phone rang.

In his Tracker, Mark was also pounding his steering wheel. Only in his case, it was in cadence to his laughter. He could not believe how well that worked. Having almost been stuck in that same spot a number of times, he knew exactly what had happened. The unmarked police car had spun wheels until it had dug itself right down to the frame. It could be winched or jacked out but it would take some time, and probably some digging. Mark wasn't sure what kind of communication the cop had. He did know that most cell phones didn't work well in this area. Not that it really mattered. It wasn't like he planned to run or do anything he didn't want them to see. He just got the guy stuck on principle. Just to get him off his ass. Perhaps because it made him laugh as well.

"Ass," he said aloud.

He had managed to get himself trapped in a corner of sorts. The road he had led the cop down was Forest Road number 5 and it was a dead end. But it cut a foot trail called the Dunn's Farm trail. That trail had been a forest road but had been posted as closed to motor vehicles. As of his last visit to the area, it hadn't been roped off yet. Normally he didn't drive on the closed roads, even if they weren't cabled off, but this was an unusual circumstance. He got to the trail and turned left onto it. It was narrow and bumpy but the Tracker made it through without incident.

At the trail-head on the other end he was able to pick up the next paved road to the west and take that back to 218. If that cop had managed to reach anyone, this is where they'd be waiting for him. Much to his delight, there wasn't a car in sight. He turned west on 218 and headed for the Suwannee River. He was about ten miles from 301. Once he crossed that he thought he could stay on roads that were obscure enough to avoid being noticed by any authorities that might be looking for him.

"Hello," Byrd shouted into the cell phone in a vain attempt to improve reception by increasing the decibels.

"We - - - friend - - - - diamond belly button - - - - ," crackled the response.

"Is that you Littlepage?" he shouted again.

There was a barely audible, "Yes," in response.

"I'm stuck in the woods," he enunciated each word as clearly as he could. "I'm walking out to 218. You got that?"

Static.

"You got that?" he repeated.

Static.

"Damn!"

The detective stuck the cell phone back in his pocket and began to walk back to the highway. By his calculation it was at least a mile and a half. He should be able to do that in about 30 minutes. If Quaintence was running, he could be anywhere a by then. Did he circle back around toward Jacksonville or did he head for the interstate? He couldn't even send out a bulletin because he had nothing to hold him on. Getting an idiot cop stuck in the sand wasn't exactly a felony.

As he walked he periodically pulled out the cell to check for a signal.