Due Process

by Lyle O'Connor

  There was very little traffic or movement around the compound area. Vehicles that did exit were SUVs with tinted windows. Vehicles traveled in pairs when they entered or exited and it was clear to see they had security on the compound gate. I couldn’t take a shot if I couldn’t see my target. I would have to explore the hot springs pilgrimage as Anna had suggested.

  I needed help with more information. History on the clan’s hot springs trips to Estacada, photos of the main players, and a topographical map of the hot springs, basically everything Anna had. Time had a habit of being slow when there was plenty of it and fast when there was too little. Time was picking up speed on this project and the window of opportunity would open and close quickly. I had to be in place and ready to make it happen.

  Anna seemed eager to respond to my requests for more, more, more—culminating in a gesture of help, “I’ll bring it with me.”

  Whoa, I thought, this is not written in the stars. “Anna, I don’t think you should get involved.”

  “I’m already involved. You involved me the moment you dropped Helen Beck in my lap. I want to be a part of this.”

  I didn’t know what to say or do. I was bound with anxiety.

  Calmly, Anna broke the tension, “I’m not asking to pull the trigger or be there when you do. I just want to be more involved. I need this for me.”

  That I understood from a personal perspective. What can I say besides okay?

  I gave Anna directions to my campsite and began preparations for her arrival. It would be another day before we had face time to iron out our goals and concerns. It was clear we needed to talk. What better setting than the remote high desert of southern Oregon?

  Anna arrived around two in the afternoon the following day. I gave her the two minute camper tour along with the sleeping arrangements, then invited her to relax. It must have been apparent I was spazzed out or Anna would not have brought up my weird actions. I was in a tizzy and even I recognized it. I asked Anna if she was up to it, maybe we could sit and talk for a little bit. She agreed it was needed.

  “So, what’s your story, Anna?”

  Anna must have had a question on her mind as well, “Your name is not Scythian. I find it cumbersome and uncomfortable to continue to use it. What is your name?”

  This was touchy; I have gone so long as Walter, I don’t see myself as anyone else, although I know I was born under another name. What good would it do to tell her my real name; she has never known that person, only Walter the Scythian.

  “My name is Walter.”

  “Walter—sure, I can see that,” Anna said nodding her head in acknowledgment.

  “I want to know about you, Anna. It’s apparent from your articles you’re on some sort of crusade to punish the guilty.”

  “Perceptive and true,” Anna said, “I am a crusader. Perhaps more than you realize.”

  “Why, what is your motivation?”

  Her body language spoke volumes as she adjusted her posture, leaning back from me and crossing her arms. “I am a victim,” Anna paused, “it was when I was a young girl. In those days support for victims was nonexistent. I’m sure if my father had had his way, the man who attacked me would have paid a heavy price, but that’s not the way it was and it hasn’t improved enough.” Anna relaxed back into her chair, “What about you, Walter?”

  “My reasons are my own. I don’t mean to sound rude or insensitive, but it’s complicated. I wasn’t a victim. I was predestined. I don’t have a rational reason. That is what makes it difficult to explain.”

  Silence followed as we sat looking into each other’s eyes searching for answers to the unasked questions of our thoughts.

  “Anna, do you have dreams or nightmares that haunt you?”

  “All victims do, Walter, do you?”

  “Sometimes I feel sensory perceptions of pain and fear, maybe in some sense having a bond with victims of violent crimes. At other times it comes to me in dreams and more recently like a flashback. I don’t know what to make of it other than I feel I have a close relationship with an ethereal world.”

  There was a long pause in the conversation as we detoured into territory rough to negotiate. If Anna was struggling at all with the flow of our chat, my last statement wasn’t going to make it any smoother. I might have made myself out to be unstable and dangerous or at least a weirdo. If she will someday relate my story, she had to know the truth.

  Anna reached out with both hands taking one of my hands in her embrace. Her eyes welled up with a tear followed by a soft tone of voice. “I think we all have some form of haunting.”

  I had a few days to review Anna’s materials before heading to Estacada. My preference was to leave Anna at the trailer but she wasn’t having any of it. She did buy off on the idea of staying with the vehicle while I did what I do best. It would be impromptu, but some plan was better than none.

  The natural hot springs had been the destination for the scheduled bathing rituals since before the southern Oregon compound was built. The purpose and importance were unknown to Anna and me but they were strictly adhered to by all members. The hot springs was a heavily forested region in the Bull of the Woods wilderness area, deeply entrenched in the heart of the Cascade Mountains. God’s Chosen Salvation was not the first to adopt these springs for ritualistic purposes. It was a favorite site of Native Americans for centuries before the white settlers reached Oregon.

  The springs were improved in recent years when a bathhouse and communal tub were added. The springs were popular tourist sites. By Thanksgiving it often turned bitterly cold in the area and few people visited the hot springs in winter. This made it an ideal time for the religious sect to make their annual pilgrimage.

  The hot springs were open twenty-four hours a day but camping was prohibited. A trail system connected three separate springs along with some minor outlets. I ran over to scout out the area before solidifying our plans. All the major outlets had soaking tubs made from cedar; I chose a remote minor outlet in the river and burned my buns on the first rock I touched. Man, it was hot. Someone had made a rock wall in the river causing a pool to form; it was almost too hot for comfort at first but after about ten minutes in the pool I never wanted to get out. There were postings indicating game wardens or park rangers patrolled the area regularly but I didn’t see any.

  On Monday, November 19, 2001 Anna and I did our first road trip together. Anna believed God’s Chosen Elders would make the trip on the first day of their ritual bathing. I wasn’t convinced, but gave her benefit of the doubt. My experience had shown stakeouts to be time-consuming ventures usually requiring a lot of coffee and doughnuts to get through them. With Anna along at least there would be someone to pass the boredom with other than Destiny. While Anna and I settled into a routine of chiding each other about who was right or wrong about everything, two SUVs and a bus without markings pulled into the Forest Service parking area. Although visitors were not allowed to camp overnight, parking was designed to accommodate RVs giving us the opportunity to be tucked away at the far end of the lot.

  I recognized immediately the bus as one of God’s Chosen fleet parked at the compound. The SUVs unloaded first, twelve men in all, dressed casually, huddled together at the rear of the vehicles. From the bus poured out a couple of dozen women and children. The kids group, made up entirely of girls, lined up to hike the mile and a half to the hot springs. Neither Katt nor the elders had arrived.

  It was still early but we were drawing the conclusion that the cult might run in shifts. Maybe driven by religious protocol or some wacky revelation by Katt but the likelihood was that tomorrow another group would show. It was too far for them to run all the way back and make it back again while it was daylight. As I was bragging to Anna about how right I’d been in proclaiming Katt would not show up on the first day, another set of SUVs followed by a another bus pulled in and began unloading. Again, I recognized the bus from the compound. The group moved off together on the trail while both bus drivers carried on
a conversation under a 10-by-10 pop-up tent they had erected. I made a sandwich and settled back for a long day. I wished Destiny would show. That would be a good indicator it was show time.

  Three SUVs pulled into the parking area and rolled up to the tent. Two men were in the lead vehicle and two in the last. The middle SUV had a driver and four additional passengers. The drivers of all three SUVs stayed in the tented area while two worked point and rear guard for the four passengers as they approached the trailhead. I could see Katt was one of the four being escorted; Anna confirmed the other three were elders. I wanted to ask her how she knew these were elders but there was no time. I had to spring into action.

  With guitar case housing my Rock River AR 15 I skirted the parking area and made my way to a hillside above the bathhouse. The hillside was in the shadow of higher surrounding peaks and was frosty cold like an icebox. I concealed myself behind a brush pile and assembled my rifle. By resting my weapon on a bipod I was able to get a close-up view through the scope. Katt and the elders were sprawled in a soaking tub by the time I secured the silencer in place. With the weapon locked and loaded, all that was left to do was pull the trigger and my finger was itching.

  Katt’s escorts walked down the hill to the river and joined with other cult members at the water’s edge. Another group composed of women and children were seventy-five yards or more upriver from the escorts. Katt and his elder crew were alone. It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.

  The noise from the kids grew louder as they sang hymns and bathed in the hot springs. The muffled shuups from my AR 15 firing through a silencer in rapid sequence was scarcely audible as I emptied the twenty-round clip. I loaded my weapon with a fresh clip and watched the tub as it ran red with blood. I could not distinguish if those by the riverside were singing a religious hymn in unison or were joined by the sound of a heavenly choir singing praises. A beautiful and bright crimson pool formed, with the sun adding to its hue. Before the first shot was fired, I’m not sure my intentions were to kill them all. But after the first trigger pull, it never crossed my mind to stop shooting. They all shared in the blame. They all shared in the penalty.

  With my Glock as backup, I broke down my rifle into its carrying case. With no sign of life at the bathhouse I turned my attention to the others, watching closely to see if anyone was aware of the shooting. If any of the elders I shot had cried out for help, I didn’t hear them, neither had anyone else. Undoubtedly they plunged into shock at the sight of the first one shot, and died soon after themselves.

  Katt and elders had planned to enjoy their version of God’s creation, specifically, little girls. Unfortunately for them, Walter plotted a different future for them or lack thereof. I mused over the possibility of there being a special hell for religious people who violate the good intentions of religion. If hell doesn’t exist for them, it should.

  Back in my Avenger, Anna was behind the wheel and ready to drive. I didn’t see the need to discuss it, just go. Anna was composed. No sign of any emotional distress. Then again, she hadn’t seen the pool of blood. The visual of killing might have been too much for her to embrace. We pulled away from the parking area as if nothing happened. The drivers were still gathered at their tent and seemingly paid no attention to us as we left.

  We cruised back to the trailer where Anna’s Lexus was parked; Anna scarcely uttering a word. Her calmness bothered me. She seemed bottled up inside. It was either that or she was a little too well-adjusted for what had just transpired. Anna and I made plans to touch bases in a couple days. I would initiate the contact. Anna left early the next morning; I broke camp and traveled to my home.

  News reports were breaking nationwide. Reports centered on the unusual place where the murders occurred and the religious order of the cult. It would be media free-for-all. The personalities of those killed would garner the greatest attention.

  I was growing eager to talk with Anna. After a short conversation on the phone we agreed to meet. Malls were great meeting places. Inside the Clackamas County Mall there were seating arrangements alongside plants in the center of the main floor aisle where we could talk and not be bothered by eavesdroppers. I was waiting for Anna when she arrived. I was worried she would appear disheveled after the lengthy ordeal; not to mention the news broadcasts referring to “the hot springs slaughter” not sitting very well with her. It was a pleasant surprise to see Anna as she walked down the mall looking relaxed, composed, and radiant. This killing thing didn’t seem to have any ill effect on her at all.

  I stood to greet Anna as she approached the seating area. To my surprise she embraced me with a hug. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine, how ‘bout you?”

  “Never better—I have some information for you.”

  We sat down close to each other. Anna began immediately, “Warrants were issued to allow FBI investigators inside the compound in southern Oregon. Agent Loren Odar is on site at the commune and is looking at what a spokesperson called, ‘the bigger picture.’ My sources have not made mention of a serial killer at this point.”

  “That’s great news. The FBI should be looking in the compound. I have a hunch Agent Odar will develop more questions than answers for the religious sect. Are you able to drop a hint through your sources?”

  “I have reliable resources that can input when and where needed. What is it?”

  “I believe something more sinister is happening at the commune. I don’t know why the birth rate for the cult is about 90 percent female. Where are the male children that are born into their cult?”

  “You think they are killing them?”

  “Killing them, selling them in Mexico, whatever … something is wrong with the picture. I need your source to put a bug in the FBI’s ear.”

  Anna agreed to make contact. If this cracked the door open for the FBI a little, all the better for me. It would keep the agents busy for a long time and finally give Agent Odar some sense of purpose.

  The stage was set through these killings to discover the truth behind the scenes at the compound. It wouldn’t excuse the murders; however, it didn’t paint a clear picture of a suspect either. If my suspicions were right there might be dozens of little motives buried out there somewhere. The more motives the more suspects, and the more hidden I remained. Ballistics, however, might be my Achilles heel.

  Anna and I began meeting regularly every other day. Anna was trying to sell me on some of her cockamamie ideas to pursue as projects but they seemed too far-fetched. I knew child sex slave operations existed, I just didn’t see myself being a world traveler. Anna looked at the broader spectrum. I saw the local field and there was plenty to do here in Oregon.

  Nearly a month after the hot springs murders, Anna related the FBI investigators unearthed bodies at the southern Oregon compound. Anna used the media leaks to alert the general population to the grisly discovery of both male and female children at the religious sect compound. Downplayed was the part about Katt and the elders being shot and killed. I saw it as a positive. Anna found it a bit more restrictive. She knew more and had a corner on the story, but wasn’t in position to publish it. She was involved.

  Uncovering a buried body is always big news. Reporters loved it. It was even bigger news when it was a baby or a young child. In this case, it was many more than I suspected. Katt’s cult was keeping all levels of law enforcement busy. Forensics was busy establishing the victims’ identities and determining cause of death. According to Anna’s sources, it would be some time before they would have the remains sorted out. Would they ever connect me to this? I felt forgotten. It didn’t seem like they were looking for the shooter now.

  A new year dawned and already I had three projects to act on. Back to basic killing and enjoying it more. The nation’s security condition was working in my favor; lawmakers were tightening the reign on bad guys, mostly out of fear for their own lives. With legislation being passed for longer sentences and mandatory jail time to be served I would have more time to act
on past offenders and clean out the rat nest embedded in America’s society. The foul stench of violent sex offenders would not dissipate because of lawmakers, but those that made news today would be incarcerated longer, giving me time to catch up a bit with correction’s revolving door.

  Crime fighting was catching on. TV media found a new gold mine with real-life cop shows and cold-case shows asking for the public’s help. TV news agencies were expanding their investigative powers to turn the table on the bad guys and air the results on national television. I remember one such TV documentary that uncovered Americans traveling overseas in third-world nations exploiting children and sex slavery. I was stunned. Brazenly, Westerners traveled abroad to practice their perversions at the cost of a few dollars. It wasn’t lawful in any of these countries any more than it was in the United States but it was tolerated because of the economic value it brought to their countries.

  According to this TV reporter, foreign money was at the root of this evil. He identified doctors, lawyers, and business executives who traveled to and from poverty-stricken areas capitalizing on the lack of enforcement of their laws. Entrepreneurs exported their goods on cheap videotapes for private consumption on a global level. It made me sick. I didn’t have to see more, it was exactly what Anna had focused on.

  Disturbed by the images from this documentary I sat back in contemplation. What could Walter do to make a difference? It would be an overwhelming task to take on. I couldn’t keep up with one state’s criminal population. My finances might seem plentiful at this point but such a venture would undoubtedly run me dry quickly.

  During one of our regular meetings, Anna and I rehashed the TV documentary.

  “I know the documentary too well,” Anna said. “One of the cameramen is an acquaintance of mine.”