She gasped, muffled a shriek, and dropped the papers. She was crying when she picked them up. The second sheet was a “Press Release,” and it read:
Circuit Court Judge Ross Bannick died this morning at a facility near Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he was undergoing treatment for colon cancer. He was 49. Judge Bannick proudly served the people of the Twenty-Second Judicial District for the past ten years. A native of Pensacola, he resided in the town of Cullman. A graduate of the University of Florida and the University of Miami Law School, he was in private practice in Pensacola for almost fifteen years before being elected to the bench in 2004. A lifelong bachelor, he was predeceased by his parents, Dr. and Mrs. Herbert Bannick, and is survived by a sister, Ms. Katherine LaMott of Savannah, Georgia. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to the American Cancer Society. There will be no memorial service.
The third sheet of paper was titled: “Last Will and Testament of Ross L. Bannick.” It read:
I, Ross L. Bannick, being of sound and disposing mind and memory, do hereby make and declare this to be my last will and testament, expressly revoking all prior wills. This instrument is prepared solely by me and for all intents and purposes is to be considered my final, holographic will.
1. I appoint my faithful friend, Diana Zhang, as my executrix and direct her to probate this will as soon as possible. I waive bond and accounting.
2. I instruct my executrix to immediately have my remains cremated and my ashes scattered over the Pecos Mountains outside of Santa Fe.
3. I give, devise, and bequeath all of my assets to Diana Zhang.
4. Other than the usual monthly bills, there are no liabilities. Attached hereto is a list of assets.
Signed, Ross L. Bannick.
Stapled to the will was the fourth sheet. It listed eight bank accounts with their approximate balances; his home in Cullman, valued at $700,000; a beach bungalow worth $550,000; two shopping centers owned by corporations; and a stock portfolio valued at $240,000.
For a long time she was too stunned to move or to think clearly. Any interest in his assets was negated by the horror of the moment.
She managed to go online and found the website for the Pecos Mountain Lodge. An addiction facility? Nothing made sense. She called the number and was informed that Dr. Kassabian was not available. She would not take no for an answer and pressed on with the urgent matter. When he finally took her call, she explained who she was and so on. He confirmed the death, said it appeared to be an overdose, and could she call back later? No, she could not. He settled down and they had a conversation, one that ended with the arrival of the coroner.
She found the business card for Special Agent Neff, and called the FBI.
* * *
—
The lodge was a pleasant getaway where damaged people began their new lives, not a place where people went to die. Dr. Kassabian had never dealt with the death of a patient, and he wasn’t sure what to do. The last thing he wanted was for such a traumatic event to rattle the other patients. In his second conversation with Ms. Zhang, she mentioned the request for cremation and explained that she had clear directions from the deceased about what to do with his remains. Common sense, though, dictated the preservation of the corpse and the room until higher authorities were on the scene. When two FBI agents from the Santa Fe office arrived, he was not happy about their presence, but he was relieved that someone else would make the next few decisions. When they informed him that Judge Bannick was wanted on kidnapping charges, he quipped, “Well, I think you’re too late.”
They stepped into the room and stared at Bannick.
The first agent said, “We have technicians on the way and we need to fingerprint him.”
“That might be a problem.” Dr. Kassabian slowly reached down, took a corner of a sheet, and pulled it back. Bannick’s hands were swollen grotesquely, his fingers were black from corrosion, and his nails had melted and popped off. A rust-colored liquid stained his gown and the sheets under him.
“Looks like he knew you were coming,” Dr. Kassabian said.
“Okay,” said the second agent. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Don’t worry.”
43
They were finishing lunch at a downtown café when an urgent call came from Clay Vidovich. They hurried to the FBI office in the federal building and waited in the conference room. Vidovich and Agents Neff and Suarez entered in a rush and it was obvious they had news.
Without sitting, Vidovich announced, “Ross Bannick is dead. An apparent overdose at a rehab clinic near Santa Fe.”
Jeri collapsed and buried her face in her hands. Lacy was too stunned to say anything.