Reel to Real

by Joyce Nance

  The descriptions were the same as had been previously released: White male with rugged complexion wearing a black jacket. Possibly with a white heavyset female, 5’4”, about 155 lbs.

  Because the killers had not been caught, officials continued to issue daily bulletins.

  “The situation remains fluid,” one official said. “The pressure is still on.”

  12 noon

  Shane came over to Esther’s apartment again, and she let him in without saying a word. He walked over to the kitchen counter and glared at her.

  She sat on the couch staring at her feet.

  “What?” she said, not looking up.

  “Have you told anyone?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about John? What’d you tell him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “If I find out you told anyone, you’ll be sorry. I can’t keep any motherfucking talkers around,” he said, his face looking creased and tired.

  “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  He put his elbow on the counter and took a ragged breath. “Did I tell you Jowanda was praying right before I shot her? Did I tell you that?”

  Esther stared at him. His shirt was wrinkled and covered with food stains. He was twitchy, thinner.

  “What are you gonna do when I put the gun to your fucking head and you know that this is it?”

  “I’m sure I’ll be praying too,” Esther said, mouth set.

  “I’ll bet you will. I’ll bet you will.” He stood up and began to pace, occasionally stopping to face Esther. “Did I tell you that the other one, the manager, the bitch, kept giving me shit? She would not stop giving me shit. Didn’t cooperate. At all. I asked her to open the safe. She didn’t wanna do it. Did not want to do it. I told her to open the safe three times, and finally, I said, 'I’m gonna walk in there and shoot your friends in front of you right now if you don’t do what I say.’

  “Stupid bitch. Oh, she opened the safe all right, but she still kept giving me shit. Still kept giving me shit. Told me they would catch me, make me pay. I told her ’shut the fuck up,’ but she wouldn’t. She would not do it. So I made her shut up. I made that bitch shut up. Just like I’m going to make sure you shut up. One more dead bitch doesn’t bother me one way or the other. Does not bother me at all. Got that, Esther?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I gotta make sure you do. I can’t take any chances. That night when it happened, it was like boom, boom, boom. All three. Boom, boom, boom. First I shot the boy, then I shot the bitch and then I shot Jowanda. There was fucking blood everywhere. I couldn’t look up or down without seeing dripping blood. It was fucking on the floor, fucking running down the walls. Fucking brains and blood everywhere.”

  1 PM

  The police repeatedly warned the public that the suspected murderers were armed and dangerous.

  Victoria Saiz, who resided down the street from Hollywood Video, said, "We’ve lived here for years and we’ve never had anything like this happen. And for it to happen so close to home is very, very scary."

  “This used to be a safe area,” another local said. “I hope they catch whoever did this. It makes me sick.”

  “What happened will not be tolerated,” Police Chief Joseph Polisar said at a Wednesday morning news conference, adding that the suspects would be found and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  ***

  It was getting harder and harder for Esther to act normal. She went to work every day like she was supposed to, but now she was having problems there, too: Edginess problems and shortness of temper problems. She was getting into small tiffs with the customers; mixing up orders, arguing about it, losing her cool, and stuff like that. And a lot of it was because of the newspapers. The goddamned fucking newspapers.

  Every day there was a new story in the paper about the video store murders, and every day the suspects' police composites appeared on or near the front page.

  Occasionally, one of the customers would turn to Esther and make a noisy comment about the so-called Hollywood Video killers. That person would inevitably say something about what he or she would do if one of the suspects crossed his or her path. Esther tried to keep an even facial expression, to hide her growing anxiety, but that feat grew more difficult by the day.

  Esther grew to realize she had a lot of problems. One, John left town; two, the publicity surrounding the murders had become deafening; and three, she was being stalked by Shane. If he wasn’t threatening her over the phone, he was threatening her in person. The quantity and ferocity of his intimidations was not subsiding. If anything, he had stepped it up.

  Esther tried not to fixate on the composites. She did not think the drawings looked anything like her or Shane. She didn’t understand how anyone could spend any amount of time looking at a person and come up with such a poor likeness. The composite didn't even show the fact that she wore glasses.

  Taking charge of her own destiny, she grabbed her car keys and purse and headed to Walgreens. It finally hit her that now was the time for change; a time to discard the past and transform herself into a new woman; a woman that was going places.

  The first thing she wanted to change was her looks. It was extremely unlikely that a connection might be made from the posted composites or descriptions, but Esther wanted to decrease the odds even further. She didn’t want anything spoiling her future plans of going to Mexico and getting married. And she was getting married because John had said so. Not in so many words, of course, but he implied as much.

  When John finally did call for her, she would have to violate her parole and leave town immediately. Once she left, she did not want to be found. To her, that meant changing her hair.

  She browsed Walgreen’s hair product aisle and found a nice shade of red she thought would do the trick. Just to be sure, she also purchased a hair straightener and some makeup. Last but not least, she vowed to lose a bunch of weight.

  If she did all that, she felt sure that even her own mother would not recognize her.

  Saturday, March 9 1996

  During the Larry Aarons show on radio station KKOB, Mayor Martin Chavez asked the citizens of Albuquerque to dig deep and donate as much money as they could for a reward fund to help capture the Hollywood Video killers.

  Over $50,000 was donated the first day. The phone rang off the hook with citizens wanting to help. Hollywood Video itself got the ball rolling with a $10,000 donation. Sunwest Bank, Bank of America, and the Albuquerque Journal all added another $5,000 each.

  It was also at this point that the FBI behaviorists came on board to join the manhunt.

  ***

  Esther was home alone when the phone rang. Some how she knew it was Shane.

  She didn’t want to answer, but she knew he would just come over if she didn't. Which was even worse. She braced herself and picked up the phone.

  “You didn’t tell anyone did you?”

  “No.”

  “Remember what I said. The blood was everywhere. It could happen to you.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t fucking tell anyone. Not your boyfriend. Not no one. Or you’re dead.”

  He hung up.

  “I know,” Esther said to the dial tone.

  ***

  It had been six days since the murder, and all the police had were five bodies and lots of publicity. The pressure for the killers to be found was enormous, and yet the killers had not been found. Albuquerque citizens remained on edge. The Crime Stoppers tip line rang incessantly.

  Despite the unease — or because of it — many people continued to visit the Hollywood Video store memorial that sprang up at the store. The grieving public brought flowers, teddy bears, balloons, cards, signs, pictures, poems, candles — anything they could carry to help memorialize the victims.

  It was one of the few ways the citizens could feel like they were doing something. The other was to contribute to the reward
fund.

  The fund grew to over $100,000.

  Sunday, March 10, 1996 2 AM

  For the fourth night in a row, Esther dared not sleep.

  Ticking clock.

  Biting nails.

  Flopping side to side.

  2 AM

  Whirring refrigerator.

  Twisting stomach.

  Traffic noise.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  Emptiness.

  Pain.

  Guilt.

  Desperate sadness.

  Remorse.

  One eye open.

  Racing heart.

  Suspicious sounds.

  3 AM.

  Start all over.

  ***

  The nightmares and cold sweats happened again. Every time John closed his eyes, he imagined the scenes Esther had described to him. Over and over, he saw the grandparents, whose faces were burned into his brain via TV images, viciously riddled with bullets.

  Esther had no idea that as a child, John had seen his parents brutally shot and murdered. That incident had affected him more than he would admit to. Despite the fact that he, John Lausell, was a grizzled ex-con of the hardest sort, the reality of what had happened in the past and what had happened in the present with Esther, now gnawed at his insides.

  Besides the moral dilemma (which he wasn’t used to) he had a practical dilemma on his hands. He knew that if he contacted the police, told them Esther’s story and told them who he was, they would arrest him on the spot. Beyond that, he was well aware of the repercussions of being a snitch in prison, if that was where he ended up. Inmate code was very strict: snitch on a fellow inmate and risk a grisly death.

  But keeping this information to himself made him feel disrespectful to the memory of his parents. And then there was the issue of the money he had just been made aware of. The gleaming, glinting, alluring reward money that he might take possession of, if everything was to somehow, someway, work out in his favor. The thought had crossed his mind more than once that perhaps he could save his ass and get the cash too.

  Tempting. Very tempting.

  ***

  In an effort to help parishioners heal, many local churches focused their sermons on the uncertainty of life and forgiveness. Thousands more than usual packed the churches. Clergy of all denominations sought to comfort their members. Albuquerque’s heart had been broken.

  “Everyone is full of sadness,” Maria Sandoval said outside the Our Lady of the Most Holy Redeemer Church. “We don’t know what to say to our children. There are so many feelings right now. We’re hurting. We’re scared too, because they haven’t caught the killer, but we’re also mad. Because why would someone do something to innocent people that just don’t deserve it?”

  ***

  Crystal was trying to be patient with John’s current behavior, but finally she wanted to know why he had been so quiet and standoffish since returning from Albuquerque.

  “What’s up with you?” she asked over and over.

  “Nothing,” he answered again and again.

  Crystal did not buy it. He wasn’t himself. He seemed preoccupied all the time, grouchy, and he had no appetite. He even had performance problems in bed. This was not the John Lausell she had known prior to his recent trip to New Mexico.

  She slowly realized he was keeping something from her. When he sat down at the kitchen table, he seemed more distant than ever. Normally, a fairly talkative guy, he poked at his eggs and did not speak.

  “Come on John. Something’s wrong,” Crystal said. “What’s going on? Tell me … please?”

  John looked up at her with droopy, bloodshot eyes. He knew he had to confide in somebody or he would go crazy.

  He scratched his head, thumped his fingers on the table, took a pull from a nearby bottle of beer, and cleared his throat. “There is something,” he said, leaning toward her. “Something I don’t even know how to tell you, but I gotta tell you.”

  “What?” Crystal said, also leaning in.

  “I know who did it,” he confided in a hushed tone. “I can’t hold it in anymore.”

  “Did what?”

  John thumped his fingers again, then took a couple more pulls from the bottle of beer. Then, at the last minute, told Crystal that he could not tell her after all.

  Crystal shook her head. “I don't know why I even try,” she said.

  At that moment, John was not concerned about Crystal's feelings. He felt like his head was going to explode. He knew deep down that Crystal was the wrong person to tell, but he had to tell someone — and soon. He considered calling the police, but ultimately, he changed his mind and did not call anyone.

  6 PM

  The manhunt continued. Citizens were asked to report anything suspicious, anything unusual, anything that would cause anyone to think twice. Over 1600 different tips poured in to the Crime Stoppers tip line. The police task force pursued every lead, every hunch, every foggy idea, and every sighting of any type of vehicle even remotely resembling the mysterious black van. Authorities wanted to leave no stone unturned.

  The public seemed to have an unquenchable thirst for information regarding the case. They not only wanted to know who was responsible, but they wanted to know why. Why had this happened to those least able to defend themselves? Why did it happen in Albuquerque? Why was it so ultra-violent? Citizens couldn’t understand what could have possibly motivated someone to murder five innocent people who were going about their ordinary lives.

  “The only way I can describe it is senseless,” a frustrated at-large city council member declared. “Senseless.”

  Chapter 25

  “Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein.”

  PROVERBS

  Pueblo, Colorado

  Monday, March 11, 1996 8 AM

  The room was filled with smoke. A thick gray haze lingered near the ceiling, like a ghost. Except for the physical act of smoking, he hadn’t moved for hours. The only light came from a blue swag lamp hanging directly above his head.

  What to do? What to do? Should he be a hero and give the people of Albuquerque what they wanted? A break in the case? An arrest? He knew he would not be a hero. This was not about that.

  After yet another sleepless night, he decided to contact authorities about his knowledge of the murders. He couldn’t take the internal conflict anymore, plus he needed the money — if he could somehow pull it all off and not go to jail.

  After days of indecision, John Lausell made a few phone calls.

  His first call was anonymous, and it was to the Pueblo Police Department. Unfortunately, they had never heard of the Hollywood Video murders, but John pressed forward. He called the Pueblo District Attorney’s Office, also anonymously, who pointed him in the direction of a couple of detectives from the Albuquerque Police Department. John, using a fake name, called Detective Damon Fay and Detective James Torres of APD’s Homicide Unit and provided them with just enough information to get their attention.

  He gave them the names of Shane Harrison and Esther Beckley. They were the ones responsible for the Hollywood Video murders, he said. He gave facts and specific information that had never been released to the general public. He told them repeatedly that he was telling the truth.

  6 PM

  It was cold outside, especially in the East Mountains. Dark already, too. Shane didn’t feel like going out, but he had to. He needed his guns. Just in case.

  He brought Larry, another prison buddy, to help.

  The guns were supposed to be buried at the end of the dirt path under the square-shaped rock, next to the big tree. After digging a few test holes, Shane found what he was looking for and dug deeper. He ended up doing all the digging himself because Larry said he had a bad back.

  Shane pulled out the cache of guns wrapped in towels and then refilled the hole with dirt and paper scraps.

  “Ha,” he said.

  On the way back to town, Shane tried discussing potential robberies with Larry, but Larry said he didn't feel like
talking. Shane made a mental note not to bring Larry again.

  11 PM

  Because she wasn’t sleeping, deep circles surrounded Esther’s sad eyes. John was supposed to call, but so far he hadn’t. He had called her the night before last but he seemed kind of down, kind of distant. He wasn't himself at all. She hoped that if he did call tonight, he would be more positive. She knew it was selfish, but she had so many problems of her own she didn’t want to deal with a bummed-out John too.

  Finally, the phone rang.

  “Hello, babe,” John said cheerfully. “How’s my favorite girl?”

  Esther removed the phone from her ear and looked suspiciously at the handset. “John? Is that you?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, it’s me. How’re you doing?”

  “Well, I’m kinda tired, but I’m okay.”

  “That’s great. Hey, I gotta question for you.”

  “What question?” The question about a question made Esther suspicions. Maybe he was about to give her bad news.

  “What’s your schedule for the next few of days?”

  Esther thought about it for a couple of seconds and said, “Nothing special. Just the regular. Going to work, meeting with my P.O., stuff like that. Tomorrow I gotta go see my shrink, talk about my feelings. Same old boring shit.”

  John laughed again. “Well, don’t be too bored, 'cause I’m coming down in a couple of days.”

  Esther gasped in happiness.

  “Spend some time with you.”

  Esther again looked at the phone. “Aren’t you worried about the cops? Did they drop the charges or something?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know. I just figured they forgot about me by now. I wanted to come by and see you.”

  “You do?” Esther said, warming to the idea. “That would be great. I miss you,”

  “Yeah, I’m taking the bus down the day after tomorrow. I was able to get my hands on some money since I last talked to you.”

  “Wow,” she said, trying to take it all in. “I’ve saved some money too. Not much, but maybe if we put it together, maybe we can get the hell out of Dodge. Maybe as soon as you get here we can leave for Mexico or wherever.” She paused and sobbed, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to stay here anymore, John. I can’t. I can’t take it. All I want to do is go somewhere else ... with you.”