Break No Bones (39 page)

And for one final task.

I was opening the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
when I felt more than heard footsteps rumble the boardwalk. Turning, I saw Gulet striding our way. He wore Ray-Bans, khakis, and a denim shirt without an embroidered name. I assumed the ensemble was the sheriff's idea of civvies.

"Mornin'." Gulet nodded at Pete, then me.

Pete and I said, "Mornin'."

Gulet settled onto the gazebo bench. "Glad to see you're improving, sir."

"I am. Coffee?" Pete tapped the thermos.

"Thank you, no." Planting his feet, Gulet leaned forward and rested one beefy forearm on each beefy thigh. "Had a nice little chat with Dickie Dupree. Seems Dickie has an employee who's long on ambition and short on brainpower. George Lanyard." Gulet tipped his head at me. "Dickie read his copy of the report you'd sent to the state archaeologist and went balistic. Lanyard misread his boss's remarks about wanting your hide. I'm paraphrasing there."

"Lanyard thought Dupree was suggesting that someone should shoot me?" I couldn't keep the disgust from my voice.

"Not shoot you. Harass you. Lanyard's admitted to pegging the beer bottle at the Dumpster and firing at the house. Says he never intended to hurt anyone." Gulet turned the Ray-Bans on Pete. "You stepped into the kitchen at the wrong time."

"Dickie wasn't personaly involved?" I asked.

"Dupree got madder than hoppin' hel when Lanyard came clean about what he'd done. Thought I was going to have another homicide right there on the site." Gulet took in a long breath and let it out. "I believe him. Dupree may step outside the bounds of decorum now and again, but the man's no criminal."

"What's happening with Marshal?" Pete asked, showing no interest in Lanyard.

"DA cut a deal. Marshal provides the name and location of every one of his victims, the state agrees not to stick a needle in his arm."

I snorted derisively. "The state should at least insist on taking one lung and one kidney."

"I'l pass that along." Did Gulet almost smile? "I expect the suggestion wil be wel received, but doubt it wil be acted upon."

"He's talking?" Pete asked.

"Like a teen with a cel phone."

I already knew. Gulet had caled folowing Marshal's disclosure to the DA Saturday morning. I felt the familiar blend of sadness and anger when I thought of the carnage.

Marshal's first victim was a prostitute named Cookie Godine, murdered in the summer of 2001. Wilie Helms was kiled that September. Both bodies were buried on Dewees Island. Missing their kidneys and livers.

Marshal knew Corey Daniels's history, and hired him in part for that reason, shortly before the first murder. From the beginning, Marshal planned to plant some trail signs to divert suspicion toward Daniels, just in case the clinic was ever implicated. But digging graves was strenuous physical labor and not to the doctor's liking. When the Godine and Helms disappearances passed unnoticed, Marshal became bolder and switched his MO from burial in a shalow grave to burial at sea.

Rosemarie Moon and Ethridge Parker were kiled in 2002, Ruby Anne Watley in 2003, Daniel Snype and Lonnie Aikman in 2004. The final victims were Unique Montague and Jimmie Ray Teal. Barring a fluke such as the storm that brought Montague's barrel up the Moultrie brothers' creek, recovery of additional remains was highly unlikely.

Though it gave me no satisfaction, I'd been right about Helene Flynn and Noble Cruikshank. Flynn started working at the GMC clinic in 2003. What triggered her distrust of Marshal was suspicion over finances. Not understanding how minimaly GMC funded the clinic, Helene became irate over what she perceived as a major disconnect between conditions on Nassau and Marshal's lifestyle. In order to confirm her misgivings, she began snooping into the doctor's private life. Though unable to secure proof of financial wrongdoing, she complained to her father and to Herron.

Marshal found out Helene was observing him. Fearing she'd eventualy stumble onto the truth, Marshal strangled her, dumped the body in the ocean, sent the key and rent money to her landlady, and fabricated the California story. Ironicaly, Helene never learned of the murders or of Marshal's organ theft activities.

Cruikshank also had to go, but he was a PI, a former cop, and his client was Buck Flynn. He might be missed, so a more elaborate plan was needed. After researching Cruikshank's past, Marshal settled on suicide, but the mechanics of it had the potential to be difficult.

"I'm curious," I said. "Cruikshank wasn't big, but he was tough. How did Marshal manage to take him out?"

"Marshal tracked Cruikshank to Magnolia Manor and began trailing him when Cruikshank went out in the evenings. He discovered that Cruikshank liked to drink, and that Little Luna's was one of his haunts.

"One night Marshal was in Little Luna's and noted that Cruikshank was particularly sloshed. Marshal went to a pay phone near the door and dialed the bar. When the bartender answered, Marshal described Cruikshank's appearance and asked if he was there.

"The bartender got Cruikshank to the phone. Marshal identified himself as Daniels, and said he had important information on Helene Flynn and the clinic. He agreed to meet Cruikshank at Magnolia Manor."

"And Cruikshank was in such a hurry to get to the meeting place that he grabbed the wrong jacket on his way out."

"Exactly. He had his car keys in his pants pocket so he didn't notice the switch. Cruikshank was driving so erraticaly Marshal feared he'd be puled over before he got home. No such luck for Cruikshank.

"Cruikshank had difficulty parking, which gave Marshal time to scope out the scene as he walked toward his victim. Marshal had taken to carrying his garrote on his surveilance outings, just in case an opportunity presented itself.

"Cruikshank was fumbling trying to lock his car. Marshal saw no one around, and the street was dark. He stepped up behind Cruikshank and had the loop over his head before Cruikshank sensed danger."

"How did he get the body to the national forest?"

"As soon as he'd strangled Cruikshank, Marshal draped one of Cruikshank's arms around his neck and slid his own arm around Cruikshank's waist. If anyone saw them, it would look like someone was hauling a drunken companion home. Marshal managed to maneuver the body into the front passenger seat of his own car and drove off. When he passed an unlit church parking lot, he puled in and transferred the body to the trunk.

"Then he went home, colected two lengths of rope, and drove into the Francis Marion. Parking at the same spot where we al gathered on the day of the body recovery, Marshal took Cruikshank from the trunk and dragged him travois style into the woods. At the tree, he looped one rope under Cruikshank's armpits, threw the other end over the limb, and hoisted until Cruikshank's feet just cleared the ground. He'd dragged the body on a colapsible stepladder, which he then used to affix a second rope around Cruikshank's neck and tie it to the limb. Then he cut away the torso rope, colected his ladder, and left."

"And Cruikshank's car?"

"Marshal got the keys after he strangled Cruikshank. It must have given him a start when he found a walet with another name, but he eventualy decided he had the right man but the wrong jacket. That probably struck him as a piece of good fortune. The day after he strung Cruikshank up, he drove the car to the airport long-term parking lot.

Used a briefcase to hide the license plate and decals that he removed. Then he took a cab from the airport back into the city. About a month later, the police removed the car to an abandoned car lot. By that time, Marshal must have been feeling downright invincible."

"How did Friday night play out?" Pete asked.

"Marshal cut to the ocean using the public access lane yonder, intending to approach your house from the beach." Gulet indicated a pathway several lots down. "Imagine his delight at seeing Doc Brennan parked right there on the sand."

Unconsciously, my hand went to my throat. "Why was Daniels folowing Marshal?" I asked, fingers tracing the welt Pete had dubbed my "organic necklace."

"Daniels's experiences with law enforcement have been less than optimal. Distrustful of cops, and worried that Marshal was working to set him up, Daniels decided to colect proof of his own. He intended to dog Marshal until he found hard evidence the guy was dirty."

"Why didn't Daniels use his own car?"

"Figured Marshal might spot it. Miss Honey keeps a vehicle on the mainland, so Daniels took auntie's and left his own at the marina."

"And prior to Marshal's arrest and his own interrogation, Daniels never suspected a thing?" I stil found that incredible.

"I told you. RN or not, the guy's got the IQ of okra."

"Why was he so hostile at his interview?"

Gulet shrugged. "Hates cops."

"What about Herron and his cronies at God's Mercy Church?"

Gulet shook his head. "Long as he stayed on budget, Marshal had total autonomy running the clinic. Appears the GMC folks hadn't a clue what their physician was up to."

"Any word on Shorter?" I'd already learned that the Cessna was gone when Tybee arrived at the airfield Friday night.

"Lubbock PD bagged him at ten forty P.M. yesterday. That's what I'm here to tel you."

"Shorter flew to Texas?" I asked.

"He's got an ex living in Lubbock."

"Is he cooperating?" Pete asked.

Gulet did a "so-so" hand waggle. "Shorter claims he operates a legal shuttle and charter service. Admits to making deliveries for Marshal, but denies knowledge of the cargo. Way it worked, Marshal caled one or two days in advance, then brought a cooler to the airfield at a prearranged time. Shorter flew to Mexico, landed in the desert outside Puerto Valarta, and handed the cooler over to a Mexican named Jorge. Marshal paid ten thousand dolars cash per trip. Shorter says he didn't ask questions."

"Why the quick bolt on Thursday?"

"Shorter says Marshal's arrest spooked him, given his past legal problems."

We were quiet for a moment, considering that. I spoke first.

"Given Shorter's history, the most likely scenario has him running organs from Charleston to Mexico, and drugs from Mexico into the States."

"Lubbock's on the same page, so they contacted the feds. DEA's tossing the plane. Shorter so much as waved a joint over a wingtip, they'l nail him. Besides, his story won't hold up. There's evidence that the tail of the plane has been painted over several times, probably to put on phony registration numbers for the ilegal flights. And the Mexican authorities don't have him logging in to enter Mexican airspace."

"Has Marshal described how the scheme worked on the other end?" Pete asked.

"Marshal would phone Rodriguez when he found a clinic patient who was a match for one of Rodriguez's recipients. The victim was always homeless, or someone whose disappearance wouldn't be noticed.

"On the Mexico end, Rodriguez would place his cal, and the recipient would hop a flight to Puerto Valarta. On the Charleston end, Marshal would make his hit, and Shorter would overnight express the organ south."

"How did Marshal hook up with Shorter?" Pete asked.

"Shorter lives in the same complex as Daniels. The two popped an occasional beer, swapped stories. Daniels shared some of Shorter's history with Marshal, or maybe Marshal overheard Daniels talking about a pilot with a record. In either case, Shorter sounded like a good candidate for the new enterprise. Marshal researched the guy, dropped bait, Shorter bit."

"Daniels never learned that his neighbor was muling for his boss?"

"Hadn't a clue."

"How much do you think Shorter realy knew?" I asked.

"Marshal's version pretty much confirms Shorter's claim that he was simply a courier. Says Shorter never asked about the contents of the coolers."

"Right," I said. "The honorable pilot never suspected he was running contraband."

Gulet shrugged. "Ten thousand smackers buys a lot of disinterest."

"What about Rodriguez? Was he in the loop on how Marshal was obtaining the organs?"

"Big-time. According to Marshal, the two were hatching plans as early as ninety-five."

"Rodriguez and Marshal graduated med school in eighty-one. How did they reconnect?"

"The two kept in touch. Knowing his old classmate had also become persona non grata in the medical profession, after his release from jail in ninety-one, Marshal caled the only other crooked doctor he knew, then headed to Mexico. Rodriguez had been working at the Puerto Valarta spa for a couple of years by then, and running a smal private practice on the side. One thing led to another, and the two cooked up what they thought would be a low-risk money machine. They'd limit themselves to a handful of supplementary donors per year, score one or two hundred thousand per organ, lay low the rest of the time.

"The only question was where would Marshal work his end of the venture? Within months, GMC posted an opening for its Charleston clinic, and, given the salary, the organization wasn't too fussy about applicant credentials. Marshal managed to produce some forged documents and got a medical license in South Carolina. Rodriguez began buying used surgical equipment south of the border. Within a few years, they were ready to rol."

"Has Rodriguez been located?" I asked.

"Not yet. But the
federates
wil get him."

"And charge him with what?"

"The Mexican authorities are putting considerable thought into that."

"Rodriguez wil deny knowledge of the murders, claim he was assured the organs were legaly obtained."

"Marshal is saying Rodriguez masterminded the whole scheme. Also claims he wasn't Rodriguez's only supplier."

"Marshal pled guilty to eleven counts of murder," I said. "How do we know there weren't more victims?"

Gulet leveled the Ray-Bans at me. "My gut tels me there were. Marshal's probably giving us the MPs we know about, and tossing in Godine for credibility."

A couple of details stil bothered me.

"Lester Marshal is a painstakingly meticulous man. How could he have been so careless with those shels?"