22
On Friday morning, April 11, Norris Ozment had just arrived at his desk off the main reception area at the Pelican Point resort when a call came through his landline from the hotel operator. “A Judge Bannick from over in Cullman.”
Curious that he should hear the judge’s name again so soon, Ozment took the call. They claimed to remember each other from Ozment’s old days with the Pensacola police; then, with that door wide open, Bannick said, “I’m chasing a rabbit for an old friend down in Tampa and I’m looking for some info regarding a Lanny Verno, looks like a real lowlife, got himself murdered a few months back over in Biloxi. He had a case in city court years ago and you were the arresting officer. Any of this ring a bell?”
“Well, Judge, normally it would not ring any bell, but now it does. I remember the case.”
“No kidding? It was thirteen years ago.”
“Yes, sir, it was. You swore out a warrant and I arrested Verno.”
“That’s right,” Bannick said with a loud fake laugh. “That guy pulled a gun on me in my own house and the judge let him go.”
“A long time ago, Judge. I don’t miss those days in city court and I’ve tried to forget them. I’m sure I wouldn’t have remembered the case, but a private detective showed up last month asking questions about Verno.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did he want?”
“Just said he was curious.”
“Well, if you don’t mind my asking, what was he curious about?”
Actually, Ozment was bothered by his asking, but Bannick was a circuit judge with jurisdiction over criminal matters. He could probably subpoena the resort’s records if he wanted to. He was also involved in the prosecution of Verno as the alleged victim. These thoughts rattled around as Ozment debated how much to say.
“He said Verno had been murdered and that he had been hired by his family in Georgia to chase down some gossip about a couple of stray children he might have left behind.”
“Where was this guy from?”
“Said he was from Georgia, the Atlanta area, Conyers.”
“Did you keep an ID?”
“No, sir. He never offered a business card. I never asked for one, didn’t offer him one either. But our cameras got his car in the parking lot and we tracked the tags. It was a Hertz rental out of Mobile.”
“Interesting.”
“I guess. At the time I just figured he flew from Atlanta to Mobile and rented the car. To be honest, Judge, I didn’t give it much thought. It was a petty criminal case in city court a hundred years ago and the defendant, Verno, was found not guilty. Now somebody killed him over in Mississippi. Not really much of my business.”
“I see. Did you get a look at his car?”
“Yes, sir. It’s on video.”
“Mind emailing it to me?”
“Well, I’ll have to check with our manager. We may have some security issues.”
“I’m happy to speak with your manager.” The statement had a slightly threatening tone to it. He was a judge and as such was accustomed to getting what he wanted.
A pause as Ozment glanced around his empty office. “Sure, Judge. Give me your email.”
His Honor gave him a temporary address, one of many he used and discarded, and half an hour later he was looking at two photos: one a rear shot of a white Buick sedan with Louisiana license plates; the second from the same camera with Jeff Dunlap in the frame. Bannick sent an email back to Ozment saying thanks, and attached to it a useless brochure describing the mission and duties of the judges and officers of Florida’s Twenty-Second Judicial District. When Ozment opened and downloaded it, Maggotz entered through the back door and Pelican Point’s network was immediately infected. Not that Bannick would ever need to snoop, but he suddenly had access to the resort’s guest lists, financial records, personnel files, tons of credit card and banking data. And not just Pelican Point. It was part of a small chain of twenty boutique resorts, and Rafe now had even more to explore if he ever wanted to.
But there were more pressing matters. Bannick called his office and spoke with his clerk. Other than an eleven o’clock attorney conference, there was nothing important on his schedule.
There were seven Jeff or Jeffrey Dunlaps in the Atlanta area, but only two in the town of Conyers. One was a schoolteacher whose wife sounded like a fifteen-year-old. The other was a retired city bus driver who said he had never been to Mobile. Both confirmed what Bannick suspected from the outset—Jeff Dunlap was a bogus front for the private detective. He would track down the other five later, just to be sure.