A resident of Hanover, Pennsylvania, from the time he graduated with honors from college in 1972 to the day he was arrested for the murder of Susan Blake in March of 2007, Billings eventually confessed to killing nearly twenty people between the years of 1990 and 2007.
His victims ranged from the ages of sixteen to fifty-three. Eleven females and eight males. Sixteen Caucasian. One African-American. One Asian. One American Indian. The murders occurred in his home state of Pennsylvania, as well as Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, Virginia, and West Virginia. Fourteen had been strangled to death. Four had been bludgeoned. One had been stabbed over thirty times.
It was soon discovered that the only common trait shared by all of Lester Billings’ victims was the time of year they celebrated their birthdays. All nineteen were born between January 19 and February 18, falling under the eleventh astrological sign of Aquarius.
The press immediately dubbed Lester Billings “The Aquarius Killer” and his black-and-white face—as well as the faces of his victims—dominated television news reports and the front page of dozens of periodicals for the remainder of 2007. Even after the trial in April of 2008, in which Billings was sentenced to nineteen consecutive life terms in the Pittsburgh Maximum Security Penitentiary, articles still appeared with some regularity, all rehashing the same spattering of well-worn facts and details, featuring the same somber photographs and posing the same unanswered questions.
And plenty of questions remained. Despite Lester Billings’ apparent eagerness to confess to the killings—one of the detectives is on record as saying, “It seemed like a weight had been lifted off of him. You could see it in his eyes when he finally stopped talking.”—Billings refused to reveal many additional details to the police. He gave them names and dates and, in some cases, where they could locate the remains of his victims, but he never once spoke to his motives or why he started killing in the first place. Even more frustrating to the investigating detectives, he never once addressed why he’d chosen victims who were born under the sign of Aquarius. They may have had the killer in custody, but the mind behind the monster remained a mystery.
Billings’ wife (Clarice) and daughters (Mary and Nancy) were shocked and understandably horrified by the arrest and resulting revelations. They secluded themselves at a relative’s house in northern Maryland where they refused to talk to anyone except the police. Several nights after the news broke, a People magazine reporter was arrested outside the relative’s house after attempting to take photographs through a den window.
Without additional details to report, the press resorted to interviewing the townspeople of Hanover (although almost all of Billings’
close friends and co-workers refused to comment) and, as a result, rumors ran rampant. Billings was innocent and being framed by the police. Billings was a Satanist and his victims were fireside sacrifices to the Devil. Billings was a cannibal and the police had discovered a freezer full of human remains in his garage. Billings was one half of a two-man death squad and the police were still actively hunting for his accomplice.
Clarice Billings eventually returned to Hanover but only for a brief period. She divorced her husband six months after the trial and moved to South Carolina to be closer to her younger sister. She eventually remarried and died of lung cancer in 2012. Mary and Nancy Billings moved out of state and changed their names. Their current whereabouts are unknown.
As the years passed, Lester Billings continued to refuse all press inquiries and lived a life of quiet solitude behind bars. The guards said he mostly kept to himself. Folks didn’t bother him and he didn’t bother them. He liked to read paperback novels and exercise out in the yard.
The last published photograph of Lester Billings—taken in 2010—showed a slight, middle-aged man with close-cropped hair and thick eyeglasses. In the photo, Billings looked tired and harmless and completely unremarkable. He could be the guy you passed on the street every day on your way to lunch, the guy trying to sell you insurance out of his downtown office—which, incidentally, is exactly who Lester Billings was until his infamous arrest in 2007.
***
“You nervous?” Warwick asked.
Jim shook his head and continued paging through his notebook. “I’m good.”
“Liar.”
Jim laughed and flipped another page. “Okay, maybe just a little.”
It was Thursday morning, exactly seventy-two hours after Lester Billings’ attorney first contacted Warwick at the newspaper office. The three of them were waiting inside a drab holding room at the Pittsburgh Maximum Security Penitentiary. There were four chairs and a small wooden table in the room, with walls painted the color of spoiled milk. Billings’ attorney, a bulldog of a man named Hector Coltrane, huddled in the corner having an animated conversation with someone on his cell phone. Warwick, dressed in his best suit, paced back and forth in front of Jim, who sat at the table.
“Why does he get to keep his phone when we had to give ours up at security?”
“No idea, boss.”
Warwick stopped pacing. “You sure you have all your questions ready?”
He looked up from his notebook. “No. I don’t. I thought I would just wing it.”
Warwick’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m just anxious, okay.”
“You’re not even going to be in the room with us.”
“I know, I know.” He ran fingers through his tangled mass of hair. “I just wish you had more than ninety minutes.”
A deep voice from behind them: “My client wishes the same…”
They turned to find Billings’ attorney standing there, his cell phone pocketed.
“…but that’s all the State will allow for now. I’ve petitioned them for additional meetings. If all goes smoothly today, we could find ourselves back here as soon as next month.”
Warwick vigorously nodded his head. “I’m sure everything will go smoothly. Won’t it, Jim?”
Jim closed his notebook and got to his feet. “No photographs. No touching. No passing Mr. Billings objects of any kind.” He pulled a mini-recorder from the pocket of his sports coat. “I’m allowed this and this,” he said, holding up his notebook with his other hand, “and I have exactly ninety minutes in the room with him. Not a minute longer.”
Hector Coltrane grinned. His teeth were very straight and very white. “Sounds like you’ve got the ground rules down pat.”
“I’ve done my homework, Mr. Coltrane. I’m ready to do this.” Warwick beamed at him like a proud father.
“Shouldn’t be much longer now,” the attorney said, checking his wristwatch.
As if on cue, the door to the holding room opened and a uniformed guard stepped inside. “He’s ready for you, gentlemen.”
Mr. Coltrane touched Jim on the elbow and guided him toward the door. “I’ll walk with you as far as the next security checkpoint, but that’s as far as I go today.”
“Got it.”
“Once you’re in the room, I’ll return here to wait with Mr. Warwick. A guard will escort you back when you’re finished.”
“Sounds good.”
Warwick stepped forward, hand extended. “Good luck, Jim.”
Jim shook his hand and held it for a few extra seconds. “Thanks, boss, I can use all the luck I can get.” He gave his editor a wink and let go of his hand. “I’ll see you in an hour and a half.”
***
He couldn’t take his eyes off of Lester Billings. He knew he was staring, knew he should look away, but couldn’t help himself.
The guard had escorted Jim into the room and pointed out the trio of cameras attached to the walls. He’d explained that they would be watching and could be inside the room within five seconds if anything went wrong, and then he’d left them alone, closing the door behind him.
Jim had opened his notebook, the sound of rustling paper startlingly loud in the silence, taken a deep breath, and looked up at the killer. His first thought had been: he looks nothing like his pictures. Bil
lings’ head was shaved bald and his cheeks were pitted and sunken. He had a homemade tattoo—about the size of a half-dollar—of something Jim couldn’t quite make out on the right side of his neck. Billings also wasn’t wearing glasses and he had the greenest eyes Jim had ever seen.
It was those eyes that he couldn’t stop staring at now. He’d never seen anything like them. They were mesmerizing.
“Ready when you are, Mr. Hall.”
Billings’ voice was soft, pleasing, and the sound of it snapped Jim out of his daze. He fumbled the mini-recorder out of his coat pocket, pressed the RECORD button, and placed it on the table in front of him. He noticed his hand was shaking.
“I… I figured we would begin with the death of Susan Blake in 2007 and your subsequent arrest, then jump back to the very beginning… when all of this started for you.”
Billings slowly nodded his head. “Very well.”
Jim opened his notebook, glanced at the first page, and said, “Susan Blake. Age thirty-four. Legal secretary from Gettysburg. She disappeared after work on Thursday, February 4, 2007. Her body was discovered in a shallow stream three days later on Sunday, February 7. A month later, you were arrested for her murder. Can you tell me what happened?”
Billings leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “I was in Gettysburg that Thursday afternoon on business, as the detectives were later able to ascertain, and purely by chance Susan and I crossed paths during her lunch break. One of my longtime employees had a birthday coming up later in the month, so I stopped at one of those Hallmark stores, the ones that sell greeting cards and all sorts of other holiday paraphernalia. While I was waiting in line, the cashier greeted another customer, Susan, by name and asked her how her birthday dinner the previous night had gone. After the cashier rung up my purchase, I stole a glance at Susan and knew she was the one.”
“‘The one,’” I repeated. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that she was perfect and I had to have her.”
Jim stared at Billings’ right hand as the older man rubbed at an invisible spot on the table. His fingers were long and knobby. They looked arthritic but strong. Jim knew that Susan Blake had been strangled to death by those fingers. “What happened next?”
“I waited for her in the parking lot and followed her to her office building. Then I called my wife to tell her another meeting had been added to my schedule and not to hold dinner. I sat in my truck and waited for the work day to end. When Susan came out, I took her right there in the parking lot.”
“You killed her in the parking lot?”
Quick shake of the head. “No. I knocked her unconscious and took her with me. I killed her later that night parked by the woods.”
“The police report indicated that Susan Blake was not sexually assaulted. She was also one of your few victims not physically tortured and mutilated. What did you do between the time you knocked her unconscious and the time you killed her?”
“We talked.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Life. Death. The in-between.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“In truth, I did most of the talking. She cried a lot and begged for her life.” Billings sighed. “It didn’t work.”
Jim felt his face flush and glanced at his notebook to break eye contact. “You mentioned your wife. There was a lot of speculation initially in the media regarding whether she had any suspicions or perhaps was even aware of your… activities. Can you comment on that?”
“Clarice was a lovely woman and a wonderful wife and mother, but she was not particularly bright. She knew nothing.”
“Okay, let’s talk about the arrest for a moment. Did you know the police were investigating you ahead of time or was it a surprise?”
He started rubbing the imaginary spot on the table again. “It was a surprising turn of events, to say the least. I had somehow missed the security cameras. I’d always been very careful and that evening had been no different. I had checked for cameras, I remember doing so, but I’d just missed them. It was a law office, for Christsake, I should’ve known better.”
Jim turned to the next page in his notebook and glanced at his handwritten notes. “According to off-the-record statements made by multiple detectives assigned to the case, your confessions to the other murders came as a complete shock to them. They had solely brought you in for the murder of Susan Blake. You were not under suspicion or investigation for any additional crimes at that time. What made you decide to confess to the murders of eighteen people when the police had no clue?”
“It was time.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I was tired, Mr. Hall. It was time.”
Jim nodded as if this vague response made sense. “Okay, let’s go back in time. According to police records, your first victim was Allen Sheets of Burnside, Pennsylvania. You admitted to killing him in the summer of 1990, and you were forty years old at the time. Why Allen Sheets and why then?”
“My office insured Mr. Sheets’ company, and I had the distinct displeasure of meeting him on several occasions. He was a vile creature, as disingenuous as any man I’d ever done business with. I took great pleasure in killing him.”
“You killed Allen Sheets because he was a bad person?”
Billings’ lips twitched—was that the hint of a smile? “Not at all. I killed Allen Sheets because I had no other choice.”
“And why did you have no other choice?”
“Keep asking me your questions from that notebook and you’ll find out soon enough.”
“Okay… I’ve done considerable research about mass killers and most begin at an early age by torturing small animals and fantasizing about killing or mutilating humans. Was this the case for you and you simply waited until later in life to explore this dark fascination? Or did something happen in 1990 that somehow gave birth to these feelings?”
“Something happened.” Billings started rubbing the invisible spot, this time using the thumb on his left hand.
“What was it? What happened in your life to turn a law-abiding family man into a mass killer at the age of forty?”
He stopped rubbing the table and crossed his arms. “Did you know I was an orphan… just like you?”
Jim’s mouth dropped open. “How did you—”
Billings smiled and it wasn’t a pretty sight. His teeth were chipped and gray. “You’re not the only one who has done their homework, Mr. Hall.”
Jim started to say something but nothing came out.
“It’s a familiar story, as I’m sure you can attest to yourself. I lived in seven different households by the time I turned eighteen. More often than not, these homes were lacking in basic redeeming qualities, if not outright abusive. When I became of legal age, I set off and made my own way. Earned a scholarship to college. Made good grades and got a business degree. Even managed to stay out of Vietnam when most boys my age were shipped off and killed there. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t always pretty, but I got it done, and I did it all with a sense of purpose and dignity. I look back on those years now with more than a little amazement. I was a decent young man making his way in the world with literally no one by my side. Until I met Clarice.”
“When did you first meet your wife?”
“Year after I graduated. I was working as a clerk at a bank in Philadelphia and she came in one morning to open a savings account. It was love at first sight, for the both of us.”
“How long until you married?”
“We married the next year. We didn’t want to wait that long, but she had promised her parents.” Billings shifted in his chair. “The point I’m trying to make with all this is that I came from nothing and nowhere, with no one at my side, until I met my wife. As a boy, I drifted through life, house to house, school to school, anchorless. But I was still a decent person, Mr. Hall. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
Jim nodded. “So what happened in 1990?”
Billings sighed and for the first time, Jim sensed reluctance in the man. He stared down at his notebook and waited for Billings to continue. After a long moment, he did.
“I’ve never been much of a hunter, Mr. Hall. Despite living in southern Pennsylvania where hunting season rules most men’s—and plenty of women’s—spring and fall calendars. I gravitated to fishing instead. It’s quiet and peaceful and is best enjoyed in solitude. Those are all good things in my mind. I was fishing the day it happened. I had hiked almost a mile into Codorus State Park. There was an isolated cove I used to fish up near the north end. Bass, crappie, perch, pickerel… you name it, and I’d caught it in that cove. It was my secret spot. My church, Clarice liked to joke. On that day, I was tired and sunburnt and decided to try a different route on the way back to my truck, hoping for a shortcut. Only it didn’t turn out that way and I ended up getting lost. While I was stumbling around in the woods, I came upon a clearing and the remnants of what appeared to be a small house. Nothing structural left, just a scattering of rotten timber and rusted nails and what remained of a crumbled stone chimney. And there was an old well.”
Billings uncrossed his arms and starting rubbing at the spot. Jim watched his thumb move back and forth, back and forth. He didn’t think the old man was aware he was doing it.
“The witch grass was up over my knees in one part of the clearing and I almost walked right into the well before I spotted it. If I had, you and me wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, and Allen Sheets and Susan Drake might still be alive. The well was old and very, very deep. I tested the ground around it with the tip of my boot, then I got down on my hands and knees and looked into it. Black as midnight and a rotten smell, like something had taken its last breath deep in its depths, something big, a deer probably.
“Next thing I did was gather up an armful of rocks from the ruins of the house, nothing too hefty, ones about the size of my fist. I got back down on my hands and knees, crawled to the edge of the well again and dropped them in. I dropped four rocks, one after the other, waiting a little time between each, and never heard a thing. Not a splash, a thud, nothing. After the last of the rocks was gone, I got to my feet and was ready to head off when I heard the voice inside the well speak to me.”
The Demons of King Solomon Page 23