40
At seven thirty Sunday morning two teams of FBI agents and technicians, backed up by locals, crashed into Bannick’s world. The first entered his home with a crowbar and disarmed his security systems, but not before arousing the neighbors. The second entered the Chavez County Courthouse, with the assistance of Diana Zhang and a janitor, and began combing through his desk, file cabinets, bookshelves, anything he might have touched. They quickly realized the file cabinets were empty, as were his desk drawers. Diana was surprised to see so many of his personal items missing. Framed photos and awards and certificates, letter openers, pens, writing pads, paperweights. She went to her desk to look for files he had dealt with, and found the drawers empty. His desktop computer could not be accessed and its hard drive was missing. It was taken to a van to be shipped to a lab.
In his home, the technicians found a refrigerator that was virtually empty, as were all garbage cans. Piles of clothing and towels had been washed and tossed on the bed. In the small office, they found no phones or laptops. This desktop, too, could not be accessed and was hauled out. Its hard drive was gone.
The searches would take hours if not days, but it was soon apparent that his home and his office in the courthouse had been thoroughly wiped. After two hours of powdering the obvious surfaces, not a single latent print had been identified. But the technicians labored on, methodically, and confident that they would find prints. It was impossible to live and work in an area for years and not leave something behind.
* * *
—
Jeri was discharged at noon. She was still suffering from nausea and couldn’t eat, but there was nothing else the doctors could do but ply her with meds. Her head ached and the ibuprofen did little to ease the throbbing. Her wrists and ankles were numb but slowly growing more sensitive. She had talked to Denise twice and assured her that she was safe and healthy and there was no need for her to rush down. She set off with two escorts, both young and rather cute FBI agents, one the driver, the other in the back seat doing most of the talking. However, she was not in a glib mood and after a few miles they left her alone. She stared through the passenger window, reliving the past forty-eight hours, still in disbelief that she was alive.
And Bannick had not been found. She had believed for a long time that the man was capable of anything, especially moving in the shadows without being detected. He had boasted of vanishing to some faraway place. As the miles clicked by and the hours passed, a horrible reality began to consume her. What if he walked away? And was never brought to justice? And his monstrous crimes were never solved? What if her lonely quest to find her father’s killer was for nothing?
Mobile was out of the question. He had been to her home, rang her doorbell, knew exactly where she lived. He had tracked her to the motel and abducted her without being seen or leaving behind a clue. As always. She wondered if she could ever go home.
Two hours later they entered Tallahassee and were soon winding through downtown. When they stopped at the renovated warehouse, Lacy was waiting on her stoop. She and Jeri hugged and cried and eventually went inside.
Allie had returned a few hours earlier and had been debriefed by Lacy. And by Gunther, who relished his role as the hero. Lacy had little doubt that as the story was told and retold, his fearless attack of a serial killer would only be embellished and become legendary.
Lacy asked one of the agents to go fetch a pizza. The other sat by the door, guarding the place. Inside, the four lounged in the den and swapped stories. Eventually they found humor, especially when Gunther, always animated, stopped midsentence to clutch his ribs. His swollen jaw did not throttle his narratives.
For her own benefit, Jeri recounted her conversations with Bannick. He had not explicitly admitted to any of the murders, but had grudgingly acquiesced to parts of her narrative. He denied killing Ashley Barasso, though that seemed hardly credible. More troubling were his assertions that he had killed others that Jeri had missed.
At five, they arrived at the FBI office in the federal building. Clay Vidovich welcomed them and they settled around a table in the main conference room. The big news was that they had recovered two latent prints from Bannick’s garage. The bad news was that they were not from his thumb. He was confident, though, that they would find more prints, but admitted they were taken aback by Bannick’s efforts to wipe everything clean. His cell phone had stopped working in Crestview. He’d probably tossed it. No one named Ross Bannick had booked a flight in the past seventy-two hours. His secretary had not heard a word. He had no family in the area, only a sister who lived far away and had had no contact.