CASINOS in & near TUNICA, MISSISSIPPI - 2021 up-to-date list

20 May 2017 0855 (CST) Coahoma County District Attorney's Office; Clarksdale, Mississippi
Craig Newman didn't like having to wait to make their move on the Coahoma DA, but had no choice. In order to coordinate with the Jackson Field Office, and get the required personnel into position, the confrontation needed to happen in the morning.
Reminding himself that the timing also allowed them to catch both the DA and the ME in their offices also helped Newman make peace with the delay.
It also gave the agents some time to do some homework on the DA, Brett Snitker. Their research found no immediately apparent red flags. Snitker grew up in Coahoma County, went to Ole Miss for undergrad and law school, then came back home. He practiced criminal law for a decade, then won the DA position when his predecessor was forced to resign after being caught in a conflict of interest involving a casino owner in the nearby city of Tunica.
Snitker had held the DA position for a decade, without the hint of impropriety. Just the strange issues surrounding the Cal Driscoll case.
That fed Newman's growing belief that something had happened behind the scenes in the case.
When he knocked on Snitker's door, Newman found the DA behind his desk.
“Can I help you?” Snitker asked.
“Craig Newman, FBI,” he flashed his credentials, “mind if I take a seat?”
“Go right ahead. How can I be of assistance to the Federal Bureau of Investigation?”
“I came to talk about one of your cases.”
“Which one?”
“Calvin Driscoll.”
Newman saw an immediate change come over Snitker upon his mention of Driscoll's name. The DA's body language went from open, and comfortable, to drawn in. Snitker crossed his arms, and sat up in his chair, his eyes took on a serious, almost defiant gaze.
This was going to be a fight.
“The Driscoll case is a settled matter,” Snitker's tone matched his body language, “I have nothing to say about it. Now, if you would please leave my office, I have work to do.”
“That's not how this works, Mr. Snitker.”
“I'm afraid it does work like that, Agent Newman.”
Newman remained seated. Pulling out his cellphone, he sent a quick message to Agent Gaughan, then retrieved a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his jacket. He slid it across the table to Snitker, whose face took on an even darker look as he read it.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Snitker barked.
“I think that's the question I should be asking, sir,” Newman voice remained calm, “six murders, two of them cops, and Mr. Driscoll effectively gets one life sentence, and doesn't even have to accept responsibility.”
“Mr. Driscoll is never getting out of prison. He will die in Parchman, I promise you that.”
“You seem pretty sure of that.”
“Because I am.”
“Show me some documentation.”
“I don't have to, and I will have an injunction on this warrant by noon.”
“Sounds like you've got something to hide.”
“No, but how I handle my business is none of the Justice Department's concern.”
“Tell me, Mr. Snitker, if Cal Driscoll looked like me, would he have gotten a sweetheart deal, or would he be looking at the needle?”
Snitker replied with a mirthless laugh. Newman had seen similar behaviors in the past, and it told him that the DA definitely knew something he wasn't disclosing.
“You really think this is about race? About the fact that Driscoll is white?”
“I don't know what the hell to think, Mr. Snitker, other than the fact that there's definitely a cover up going on here.”
“Why the hell are you here?”
“To talk about the Driscoll case.”
“Bullshit! Don't insult my intelligence by saying that.”
“I don't need to play nice with you, Mr. Snitker, I have a warrant.”
“One that I will have quashed in no time, Agent Newman, you have no grounds for it.”
“That's where you're wrong, Mr. Snitker, I do,” Newman maintained a level tone, “and it's the kind of thing you can't stop. It doesn't matter how many friends you have in the judiciary branch. By the end of the day, I will have all your files on this case. My team doesn't lose in these kinds of matters.”
Snitker didn't reply. He looked down at the warrant again, seemingly studying it for a few minutes. While Newman couldn't read his facial expression, the DA's slumped shoulders revealed something bordering resignation.
“You aren't out of the Jackson Field Office, are you?” Snitker asked after a couple of moments of silence.
“No, I'm not.”
A blank look overtook Snitker's face. While Newman wasn't one hundred percent certain, he got the impression the man was thinking, weighing out his options.
Snitker pulled out his cellphone. Listening to just the DA's side of the conversation, Newman gathered that the man was on the phone with the Sheriff, Mike Baker. After finishing that call, Snitker placed a second one. Newman got the impression that this call was to someone in the Mississippi Attorney General's Office. He took note of the DA mentioning Bob Kircher's name a couple of times in the course of the conversation.
While Snitker was on that call, the Sheriff entered the room. The DA finished the call, and looked to Baker.
“Would you keep Agent Newman company while I handle something?” Snitker asked.
“Of course,” Baker answered.
Snitker turned to Newman, “I'll need a few minutes.”
“That's fine,” Newman replied.
Snitker exited to room, leaving Newman with the Sheriff. The atmosphere of the room was tense. Newman got the impression that the Sheriff would probably shoot him if he made a move for the DA's files.
After several moments of waiting, Vance Gaughan entered the room.
“We're having a bad morn-,” Baker drawing his gun cut Gaughan off, “whoa, take it easy, I'm FBI.”
“Let him in, Sheriff,” Newman said.
Baker pointed towards a chair next to Newman. Gaughan kept an eye on the Sheriff, and slowly walked over to it.
“What's going on here?” Gaughan asked Newman after taking his seat.
“We're in negotiations with the locals,” Newman replied.
“Looks like we've been taken hostage.”
“That's one way of looking at it,” Newman replied, “you said we're having a bad morning?”
“Yeah, the ME doesn't have any files on the Driscoll case.”
“What do you mean, Vance?”
“They're all gone, and of course he doesn't know where they went.”
Newman turned to Baker. “You know anything about this, Sheriff?”
Baker didn't respond. Newman was heartened to see that he'd holstered his gun again. While he didn't think it would come to it, Newman was confident that he could draw his own weapon, and incapacitate the Sheriff, long before Baker could do the same to him.
After ten more minutes of uncomfortable silence, Snitker returned to the room.
“My friend in the Mississippi Attorney General's Office vouched for your man, Kircher,” Snitker said.
“So, you'll be handing over your files?” Newman asked.
“There are no files to hand over, Agent Newman,” Snitker replied, “but I am willing to debrief you, on the condition that you leave your cellphones here.”
“We're not going unarmed,” Gaughan said.
“I didn't say anything about your guns, just your phones.”
1040 (CST) Coahoma County Sheriff's Department Safe House; Coahoma County, Mississippi
The agents rode in silence with Baker and Snitker to a rural home, where the Sheriff led them to the basement. Snitker turned on a white noise machine, at a high volume that surprised Newman.
“Going through a lot of trouble here,” Newman said, “this is quite the secured location for a rural county.”
“We're near the Mississippi River, and I-55, out here. We get our share of trouble,” Baker replied.
“You two need to understand that this conversation is completely off the record,” Snitker announced, “I have nothing to answer for in this case, and I assure you that no matter how many terrorism allegations you dress up your warrant with, the state of Mississippi will fight it, and we will win.”
“We'll agree to disagree on that, Mr. Snitker,” Newman responded, “what do you have?”
“I assume you are both familiar with the basics of the case?”
Newman and Gaughan nodded in reply. Snitker glanced at Baker, it looked to Newman as if the DA was looking for reassurance from the Sheriff, then began speaking again.
“Three days after the massacre, we were still trying to figure out what the hell was going on, when three Suburbans pulled up outside my office. The men who got out of them identified themselves as DOD, but none of them were uniformed.”
“Go on,” Newman prompted.
“I was told, in no uncertain terms, not to let this go to trial, or to allow for any of the details to come out in open court. The case just had to go away.”
“Why didn't you get six consecutive life sentences?” Gaughan asked. “You had to have enough evidence.”
“I did, but I had a bigger problem.”
“What was that?” Newman asked.
“The DOD brought their own damn defense attorney with them. They didn't trust Driscoll talking to one of our locals, apparently. Before I could even meet with the damn lawyer, I already had a fucking plea agreement drawn up for me.”
“Why did you take the deal?”
“Well, Agent Newman, at first I told them to kiss my ass. That night, my wife and I woke up to find four Delta Force looking sons of bitches holding assault rifles to our heads. I was told that I was to accept the deal, and shut up completely, or, well you can imagine what they'd do.”
“What happened to the coroner's information?” Gaughan asked.
“That's not important,” the DA replied.
“Do you know why the DOD took an interest in this case?”
“I believe it had something to do with how he committed the murders. Mr. Driscoll did not use a single weapon. He tore the throats out of the deputies, and I mean that literally.”
“And his family?”
“Agent Gaughan, there were bite marks on the bodies, our ME believes that he tore into their abdomens with his mouth. Evidence was also found that Mr. Driscoll ate some of their intestines.”
Gaughan perked up. “Were there any ritualistic elements to the crime? Any symbols on the wall or did Mr. Driscoll make any remarks about the occult?”
“No,” the DA shook his head, “if you ask me, the kid was just insane, and, probably hopped up on some designer drug. Maybe some military black project that got out or something, I don't know, and I just want this shit to go away.”
“Were there any other threats from the DOD?” Newman asked.
“Several, none of which are worth going into.”
“You wouldn't happen to have the name of any of the DOD officials?”
“Yes, Agent Newman, the man in charge was a guy by the name of Sam Stockton. He was a Colonel.”
“You got a picture of him?”
“We lifted one off the security cameras, I can give you a hard copy when we get back to my office.”
“Thank you,” Newman said, “anything else?”
“Nothing else I want to talk about.”
“I actually do have one more question,” Gaughan said, “when we were in your office, you were pretty adamant that Driscoll is never getting out of jail. Why?”
“Because, he's already killed two other inmates at Parchman.”
1215 (CST) FBI Charger; Coahoma County, Mississippi
Newman drove north, and watched as Gaughan stared intently at the picture provided to them by the DA.
“He's our guy from Philadelphia,” Gaughan said, “and once I get this scanned in, Art can do a facial comparison between it and the picture I took to prove it.”
“You realize how bad this is, right?”
“You mean the fact that someone at the DOD is working this case, and we're playing catch up?”
Newman nodded. “The boss lady is going to have a fit over this. Also, I wouldn't be so quick to assume that we're on the same side as the DOD here.”
“I'm not,” Gaughan replied, “do you believe that the Driscoll kid killed those people without weapons?”
“Vance, with the shit I've seen in this case, I'd just about believe anything.”
“So, what now?”
“I'd like to go talk to the warden at Parchman.”
“See if we can get some background on the murders Driscoll committed there?”
“Yeah, I doubt he'll let us see that kid, I guarantee you they've thrown him in solitary for good.”
“That'll do wonders for his sanity,” Gaughan remarked.
“You really think anything can be done for him on that account?”
“Doubtful, although I would like to talk to him.”
“Trying to save his soul, Vance?”
“At least look the kid in the eye, see if I can reach him.”
“As an agent of the law, or God?”
“A little bit of both, Craig.”
Gaughan's phone buzzed. He looked down at it, and Newman saw his eyes raise.
“What is it?” Newman asked.
“Next location just got revealed.”
“And?”
“It's a certain Presbyterian church in Boulder.”
“No shit,” Newman said.
“Looks like Parchman can wait.”
[Thanks for reading. Part 1 of Episode 13 will be posted Monday at 9PM East. I hope y'all have a good weekend.]