Snuff

by E. L. McKenzie

  “Greene has a long rap sheet, but it’s all non-violent. The guy’s a thief. But he has never been charged with anything violent, not so much as a drunk and disorderly charge. He’s just not the sort of guy to do this. His attorney was incompetent, at least in my assessment. At this point he has been disbarred. It is likely Greene will get another trial, arguing ineffective assistance of counsel. One more exculpatory point, not for court, but for you and me. Greene was offered a plea deal of voluntary manslaughter with a recommended sentence of six years; he could be out in two. He turned it down saying he had nothing to do with this and would not plead guilty to something he didn’t do. Nick, I know you well enough to know you don’t like to step on toes. But in this case I think you’re going to have to. This case against Greene is extremely weak, and based on my very quick look, I don’t think this guy did it.”

  Nick knew he would get pushback from many of the law enforcement officers and attorneys involved in the case. No one liked to see verdicts overturned or convicted criminals walk free.

  “Thank you, Claudia, I really appreciate it. I’ll take this slow and handle as discreetly as possible. I don’t want to embarrass folks who were just doing their jobs. Given a similar circumstance, I probably would have thought Greene was guilty, too.”

  (two years ago)

  The Doctor continued his demonic editing through the night. He relished the work ahead. It was all the fun stuff, he mused.

  Before he got to the fun stuff, he had the tedious preparations that had taken years. First, he prepared the design. Then he found the right property, backing into the mountain. His mining experience made his diabolical plans possible. After completing the house, he mined deeply into the mountain, preparing many rooms to hold and stifle his victims.

  Only after years was he ready for the next step. He acquired the small, twenty-four-foot, nondescript RV. He spent months preparing an improvised bunkhouse in the back of the RV to haul his victims, as many as twelve at a time. Key to success was the gas system he installed to keep his captives asleep but alive during any trip while not gassing himself as he drove. Unfortunately, the system was imperfect, as he learned through trial and error – error, of course, meaning death to one or more passengers. A cursory look inside the RV would not reveal his cargo. The Doctor did not have to worry about sounds because his victims were asleep and secured in a compartment not readily seen. He was overly cautious in his approach.

  As he was preparing the RV, in the evenings he would write his screenplays, scour the internet for costume and set ideas, and lay out his plans for securing victims.

  At this point he had produced over twenty videos. He understood his time was limited once he started getting all of these into the market. His planning had been methodical. Law enforcement these days was too good. He knew as he sold more and more videos, they would track him down. His plans and redundancies acknowledged this inevitability. It explained his deep preparation – so he could make and sell as many snuff videos as possible once he got going. He would disappear when they came, but not without some disruption first.

  The Doctor was well situated financially, both from his work and his inheritance. But he knew his current net worth would swell dramatically once he started selling all his videos.

  At dinner, Rossi continued to surprise all of the detectives.

  “I talked to your boss,” Rossi said, referring to Bosworth, “and we agreed that these two cases need to be approached as one. Given your resources and the progress you have already made in Denver, we think it’s most appropriate to coordinate the work from there. Effective tomorrow morning, Detective Burns is temporarily assigned to work with the two of you on these cases. She will be working directly for Chief Detective Bosworth. Unless I miss my guess, this is going to hit the press within the next few days and make things more complicated. You know all the unwanted attention that comes with a serial killer on the loose. I hope the three of you can figure this out before that happens, but you have your work cut out for you.”

  Nick was shocked. This was completely out of protocol. But he almost laughed as he looked over at Detective Burns. Evidently Rossi had not given her a preview of the main event. The passive, unimpassioned Ms. Burns was livid. Nick wondered if it was personal, professional, or both. He and Burleson ended up with an additional partner—and that could be good. She ended up living in another city temporarily, working for a boss she didn’t know, dealing with a couple of yahoos she could probably do without.

  Nick smirked and replied, “Chief Rossi, I think that is an excellent idea.”

  Burleson seemed to be enjoying this as well. “Me too, Chief. We’ll enjoy having Detective Burns with us on this.” All eyes turned to Sandy Burns who suddenly seemed extremely interested in her ribeye.

  “When will we see you in Denver?” Nick asked Burns.

  “Since this just came up, I’m going to have to think about what all I have to do. But I should be able to be there tomorrow night, not too far behind you and Vince. Given I plan to be there full-time for the foreseeable future, I do have some logistics I need to deal with. Hopefully they’re done by noon or so tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good, we look forward to having you there as part of this team.”

  “What are you doing?” Burleson asked as he drove them back from dinner. Nick was busy typing furiously on his laptop.

  “I’m summarizing the whole investigation. A friend of mine is a profiler for the FBI. I want to send all of this to her to see what she thinks.”

  “You’re going to get a profile? That’s impressive.”

  “I’m not going to get a formal profile, just an impression. We’d have to go through Bosworth before the department would be willing to pony up for that expense. We may be getting close, though.”

  “This is getting fun.”

  Friday ⌁ day 12

  The three detectives, the partners, spent the morning going through the evidence and interviews. Sandy met them at the Mesa View Motel before they headed out of town. As with Suzy Johnson, the motel was unremarkable. They all agreed the two murders belonged to one murderer. The joint investigations made the most sense.

  Cell service while traveling through the Rockies could be sketchy. Nick waited to call until he and Burleson had a good signal that would not drop.

  “Friendly,” Nick said as she answered the phone, “it’s Nick Lynch in Denver.”

  “Hey, Nick, how ya’ doin’?” she asked.

  Friendly Nice was born to hippie parents who gave her the ultimate hippie name. But instead of becoming another flower power child, Friendly leaned to the right politically and had become a committed FBI agent, the opposite of her parents. She was one of the good guys, but her politics ran polar opposite to those of her parents—as they were bound to for anyone so named.

  “I’m good, Friendly, how are giggles at Quantico?” he replied.

  “You know how it is, all we get to deal with are the creepiest of the creeps.”

  “I can only imagine how that is day in and day out.”

  “It does have its rewards. We deal with some incredibly interesting stuff. We put away a lot of really bad people. I know why you’re calling. I got your e-mail, and I’ve already read it twice. Talk to me, and I’ll get busy.” Friendly was all business.

  Nick proceeded to brief her on the two killings, the resultant findings, how the two linked up, their preliminary conclusions, and the course the investigation was taking.

  “I was hoping you could provide one of your quick analyses. I’m wanting first impressions. Nothing formal.”

  “You’re not ready to pay,” she corrected.

  “Right, I want the free version.”

  She laughed. “I know this routine. It’s not a problem. I’ll do a thirty-minute work-up over lunch and get back with you. You’re pretty good at this, so I suspect I won’t have much to offer beyond what you’re already thinking, but I’ll try to confirm it and maybe add a nugget or two.”

 
“That sounds good. An extra set of eyes like yours helps a lot.”

  Five years earlier, Nick had spent ten weeks at Quantico learning the basics of profiling. During that time, he and Friendly Nice became fast friends, debating everything from conservative vs. liberal ideals to police work at the federal vs. state level. While their views differed wildly, each admired the other’s intellectual approach and genuine beliefs. For whatever reason, like most great friends, they clicked.

  “But Nick,” she continued, “you’re going to owe me.”

  “Friendly, I already owe you big time. You can add this to my bill.”

  Nick arrived home in time to see Nicky play soccer, but the damage had already been done. Evidently the idea of even potentially missing a game counted as much or more as actually missing one. Nick could not figure it out, but his son was clearly disconcerted with him. Go figure.

  Saturday ⌁ day 13

  “Chief, do you have a minute?” Nick asked from Bosworth’s doorway.

  “Sure, c’mon in,” he replied evenly. “I could use a break from all this paperwork. You’re back in on the weekend. Keep pulling this, and I’m going to think you actually want to keep your job.” Bosworth smiled, something Nick had not seen in some time.

  Rarely self-deprecating, Nick said, “I’m just taking advantage of that to keep the momentum going on everything.”

  Bosworth nodded his understanding.

  Nick’s message brought sobriety back to the conversation. “I think we found another victim in the Mayflower case. Victor Robinson was found dead in a motel in Montrose eighteen months ago. He was dressed in a costume, clothes like someone from Plymouth Rock would wear. Like Steven Blair, it looked like he had walked into the room, laid down, and died. Upon examination, he had been stabbed repeatedly and lost a significant amount of blood, none of which was found at the scene. I could bore you with more details, but you get the idea. It’s almost a perfect match with our other case and what we found in Grand Junction.

  “Here’s the problem. They have already tried and convicted a local resident, Lawrence Greene, of the crime. I reached out to a friend at CBI who helped out on the case. She had a look and agrees that Mr. Greene likely did not commit this crime. There is some thin evidence that allowed the prosecution to win over an inept defense, but Mr. Greene is probably wrongly convicted.”

  Being ever cautious, Bosworth wanted to understand the details. Nick walked him through the case against Greene using an outline that mirrored Claudia Holloway’s conversation with him.

  “This is going to be touchy with CBI and extremely touchy with the folks in Montrose,” Bosworth said.

  “Yep. That’s why you get the big bucks,” Nick replied.

  “And there it is,” Bosworth smiled. “Sometimes shit actually rolls uphill. I do believe this delicate situation requires the attention of the big boss.” Nick smiled, too, knowing Randy Herde would handle this adeptly.

  Nick and his boss walked to Chief Herde’s office. “What’s up, fellas?” he asked as they settled into comfortable chairs in his office. The Chief occupied the sofa alone.

  Nick and Bosworth took turns filling him in on the situation in Montrose. “All right, let me make some calls. Why don’t you two come back in an hour and I’ll let you know what I’m finding.”

  Christine Crawford reviewed her notes as she waited for Sally Winfield. At the end of their three days together, Crawford had been at a crossroads. On the one hand, she did not have enough “evidence” to keep Sally. While Dr. Crawford knew Sally was extremely disturbed, she did not pose any threat to others. On the other hand, Dr. Crawford knew Sally posed a threat to herself. However, if she could not provide convincing evidence of this to a court, and the burden would be extremely high, she would be forced to let Sally out, less than one week after Sally had taken an overdose of opioids that would have killed her if she had not been found in time.

  As it turned out, it didn’t matter. Sally knew she had serious issues to deal with, liked Christine Crawford, and agreed to stay on a voluntary basis. That had been a very good step, and Dr. Crawford had expected Sally to make great progress. Unfortunately, it had not turned out that way. Sally would perform in spurts, as she had the first day. She would disgorge information one session, then clam up the next time. Dr. Crawford had seen glimpses of this before in her practice, but never of this magnitude. She believed one day Sally would break down and let it all out. She hoped today would be that day.

  “Good morning.” Dr. Crawford smiled at her as Sally came through the door.

  “Good morning, doctor,” Sally replied demurely.

  “I have our spread.”

  They met every day, at different times during the day, and for different lengths of time. But every day they met first thing, and they had developed a tradition. Crawford would stop at Starbucks on the way into the office and buy lattes and cinnamon swirl coffee cake with a variety of cut-up fresh fruit. It was a true treat for Sally.

  “Yum, thanks,” Sally said as she sat and began to prepare a plate.

  Dr. Crawford started slowly. “Did you have a good evening?” She did not believe Sally would fall for icebreakers but felt it was worth a try.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing, really. I read some and watched a bunch of television. I went for a walk around the lake.” No insights. No surprise.

  Crawford took a slow approach. “Tell me about what you watched.”

  Sally started haltingly, but then fully engaged as Christine asked more questions. She and the good doctor discovered they both loved true crime, some reality shows, and small-story independent films. They spoke at some length about irrelevant television shows and movies, deepening their common interests and relationship. Christine knew this was key to helping repair this broken soul.

  “Did you spend any time thinking about what we talked about the last few days?” Crawford pivoted.

  Sally’s body language told Crawford she had. “No, not really,” she replied.

  “That’s okay. We’ll deal with all of this in time. You’re doing great.”

  “Thanks,” Sally said through a mouthful of coffee cake.

  “I have spent a lot of time thinking about what we’ve been discussing.” Sally did not appear to be paying a lot of attention.

  “I want you to know that you’re safe here,” Crawford continued, taking a chance. “I’m going to be direct with you today, more direct than I have at any time since you got here. I think you had a really difficult childhood, and it has caused you quite a bit of difficulty as you’ve grown up.”

  Sally nodded, looking up. She thought this was heading the same direction these conversations typically headed.

  “But,” Crawford said, changing directions, “I don’t believe you tried to commit suicide because of what happened to you when you were a kid. I think something very bad happened to you as an adult, probably very recently.” Now she had Sally’s full attention. Crawford knew by her reactions she was getting very close.

  “I think you’re still scared today. It’s why you tried to commit suicide, and it’s why you decided to stay here.” Crawford finished, sat back, and sipped patiently on her latte. She knew she would have to ask Sally a question, but she wanted her to fully absorb what she had said first.

  After a time, she decided to offer closed ended questions until she saw an opportunity to get Sally talking. Then she would ask an open-ended question. “Was I pretty close to right?”

  Sally nodded yes.

  “Are you scared?”

  Again, yes.

  “Do you feel safe here?”

  Sally’s response surprised Crawford as she shrugged her shoulders noncommittally.

  Crawford saw her opportunity and seized it. “What’s scaring you?”

  Sally looked up at Crawford, tears in her eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I do, he’ll kill me,” she said, now c
rying. “He’ll kill everyone close to me, probably including you. He promised.”

  “Who did, sweetheart?” Crawford was shocked. What could this be about, and why had she not even gotten close to this until today?

  “I just can’t,” Sally replied.

  Crawford knew Sally would crack eventually, but she felt like today was her best chance. Sally had not even approached this subject. As she quickly reflected, Sally would have had to have lied quite a bit to have kept away from this. She was clearly terrified. When they took a break, Crawford would have her assistant clear her schedule for the day. She would spend it with Sally.

  Crawford came back to the heart of the matter. “Sally, do you feel safe here?”

  Again, Sally shrugged her shoulders, noncommittal.

  “Let me tell you something, and this is something not many people know.” She looked up, her full attention on Crawford.

  “We have a section in the hospital here for people who are considered highly dangerous. It is treated like a maximum-security prison.” Sally listened intently.

  “What you and others don’t know is that there is a small section there for people who need protection. Again, this is guarded like a maximum-security prison, so no one would be able to get to you there. I tell you about this because, if you’re afraid to tell me something because it’s not safe, we can make sure you’re safe.”

  Sally sat up, interested in a way Crawford had not seen previously. She asked detailed questions about the facility. How did security work? How was it staffed? Had there been any breaches? How were new employees vetted? Was there a process for vetting existing employees periodically? Once she was in the facility, could she exit voluntarily?

  Christine answered each question thoroughly. Sally followed up with even more detailed questions. Clearly, she knew how to understand more complex issues when it suited her.