John: The Senior Killer

by Robert Waggoner

  Brad walked the streets along with he didn’t know how many other agents mixing in with the ever increasing people flocking to the festival. Mostly young people he noticed and not so many old people. Maybe the old folks decided to let this one go by as they were no doubt afraid of the killer still at large. About nine am Brad approached Denny’s and went in for a cup of tea and some breakfast He wasn’t hungry but realized he needed some fuel to face the long day ahead. He noticed the sleek Harley sitting near the front door as he walked in. Nancy was sitting by herself looking at some files drinking coffee. He walked up and asked if he could join her. She smiled up at him and told him she would love some company. Unknown to both of them sitting in the next booth was John the Senior Killer. He was just another middle aged man reading the paper drinking coffee.

  Brad and Nancy talked about this and that and nothing really important. She told him all was in place and now it was the waiting that was the hardest. Brad was still disguised in his looks, but John when he saw him knew right away who it was. It was half way through Brad’s omelet when John got up to leave. He dropped his newspaper next to their booth and Brad reached down and picked it up, handed to him as the man said, “Sorry, but forgive me,” as he looked at his files on the table, “but I couldn’t but overhear your conversation about the serial killer. Are you law enforcement agents?”

  “Yes we are and be careful out there today.”

  “I will and hope you catch the guy soon. My parents are over eighty and they refuse to leave their house. I have to go shopping for them and do all their errands like the doctor and pharmacy. Things like that.” Brad was focusing intently on this guy, but nothing about him raised any special attention. He looked at his hands and they didn’t look like the hands he remembered from the pig farm. The guy moved off and they returned to their breakfast. John hopped onto this bike and went for a ride around town to show them he wasn’t loitering.

  Mike wandered around town for hours waiting for someone to invite him for a killing. He bought some things for the kids and Julie. Anacortes was a town of culture. Art and artists were everywhere. A town bent upon culture and tourist dollars made the place attractive.

  Wendy, agent Jones and Billy did the same as Mike. After a couple of hours of wandering around they hit the motels and bed and breakfast for a double check of guests coming or going. Check out time was usually by eleven or so and that is when they started from one end of town to the other. By four o’clock they had a complete list of guests. They sat in the ferry terminal going over the lists. First they checked off couples and anyone under the age of fifty. That left about a hundred of guests who were either checking in or staying for the next night and or until the weekend was over. Nothing they noticed was out of the ordinary or suspicious. Billy told them the Canadian ferry was due to leave at five thirty. Cars were driving onto the ferry as they looked out the window. A special roped off area let walk on passenger load while cars and an occasional truck drove onto the ferry. Billy had purchased three tickets for them in case they were needed. None of them wanted to use their ID to make the ferry staff nervous.

  At around noon Terry Adams rode his bike back to Denny’s restaurant. He had a bite to eat and watched as people flocked in for lunch. The place was filling up and he looked for a likely mark. He could see his bike out front and when someone looked at it, he eyed them carefully. About the time he finished his sandwich he noticed a gray haired man stop and carefully look his bike over. Ah, he thought my man was here at last. He had a second cup of coffee and then left to hang around wiping his bike off waiting to see if the guy would stop and talk.

  As he figured, the guy came out and told him what a fine scooter he had. The conversation went as John planned and they made an appointment for 4:30 that afternoon to look at John’s photo album at the San Juan Motel.

  Brad met Nancy again at Denny’s for lunch and to see how it was going. She told him all was well and in place. Something was digging at the Brad brain. Walking since the parking lot where he had parked his car he saw the tail end of the meeting between the Harley rider and a tall gray haired man. The bike rider took off to the east and the other man walked back the opposite way. Nancy was asking him a question and finally he came back to the present and said, “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

  “I was asking you how Sujin was doing.”

  “She has a little morning sickness, but other than that, she is not happy not being here when, or if something comes down. Nancy do you have the list of motels and RV parks with you?”

  “No, I left them in the trailer van. Is there something I should know about or help you with,” she asked with a very concerned look on her face. She knew if there was something on his mind it was important.

  “Yes, I want to know if there is a guest or an RV that drives or rides a large Harley motorcycle. The license on the bike should be different than a car’s license.”

  “I’ll check on that for you after lunch when I get back to the trailer,” she said.

  Brad nodded and ate his vegetable soup and a stack of whole wheat toast. They left to go their separate ways and when Nancy got back to the trailer with full intentions of doing what Brad asked for when a problem arose with a road block outside of town. She looked at her watch and it was just after two pm. By the time she took care of a farmer who complained about the road being blocked and some other fires to put out it was close to four when she finally got back to locating the list of guests and in particular one with a registration license number for a motorcycle.

  Brad meanwhile had an earpiece stuck in his ear waiting for Nancy’s call about the biker. Nothing else was going on and all was quiet on the airwaves too. Mike sat in the harbor watching the boats coming in and out and the crowds of people having a good time at a festival when his phone rang. He looked at his watch and it was just after four thirty.

  At the east end of town, at just exactly four thirty Terry heard a knock on his motel door. He’d changed clothes to a tear off disguise in case he had to make a run for it. In a small ice chest he had a few cans of coke, beer and a bottle of vodka with some orange juice for his guest. In his pocket he had some knock out pill he planned to use of the unsuspecting bike lover.

  However, when Terry opened the door there were two of them standing there and the gray hair older man said hello and introduced his son as a bike lover too. Terry took it in stride and asked them both in and sit down and have some refreshments. Terry quickly found another glass and made ready his knock out pills as both asked for a beer as it was a warm day even for the usual cool Anacortes location next to Puget Sound. Terry poured them a glass full and watched the foam rise from the pills. Next he took the glasses over and sat them on the small round table that had two photo albums of someone that resembled him but many years younger. Both the guys took a long swallow of beer and Terry smiled. In only a few minutes, he thought, they will be out cold for a while and the old one will never see the light of day or another bike in this lifetime, he thought.

  Brad listened to Nancy tell him that she found two motels where someone had used a bike license plate for registration. One place had four bikes registered and the other motel, San Juan Motel on 6th St. Had only one guest registered with a bike. His name was Terry Adams from Everett and his ID and bike registration was checked twice by agents and apparently he checked out ok.

  By now Brad was on full alert and told him to have some agents check out the four guys at the one motel and he was going to the San Juan Motel and to have some back-up meet him there. He looked at his watch and it was ten to five. On the way there after running for his car, he called Wendy and agent Jones inform them of his whereabouts and to be on the alert for anything suspicious in the ferry terminal.

  Back at the motel Terry watched as the young man fell to the rug and when the old guy started to feel woozy, he held onto him and placed his spike next to the where the spine entered the head and shoved it in feeling it is going past the spinal column up into the brain
making a sight sound of metal to the bone and then less force as it made its way into the soft brain. John the serial killer had struck once more as he took a few seconds to relish his satisfaction on a job well done. Then, he quickly left the motel once again leaving all the evidence behind. He’d taken a bouquet of tulips and put them in the dead man’s hands. He smiled at the thought of flowers on his dead victim as he headed to the ferry terminal on his bike. He drove the speed limit and looked at his watch. It was five fifteen and plenty of time to catch the ferry to Canada. He had his ticket and reservation number of a few weeks ago when he booked passage with a small cabin for privacy.

  Racing into the parking lot of the San Juan Motel he hit the office at a run asking what room a Terry Adams was in. The flustered desk clerk looked at her book and told him it was room 121 at the end of the first floor. He asked for a passkey showing the clerk his federal ID and took the key lives on the run. There was no bike in sight as he fitted the key into the motel door and with guns drawn went in low and rolling to the left of the door seeing no movement anywhere. Lying on the floor were two men with one on his back by the small table with flowers in his hand and the other sprawled on the floor in a fetal position. Brad jumped up and checked the bathroom and found it empty as the backup team arrived. He pulled out his phone and called his team at the ferry terminal to alert them. The other two agents called into Nancy to put out an alert for all to be on the lookout for a bike rider on a Harley Davison. Agent Jones saw the bike rider cross onto the ferry. Due to it being a bike it was parked next to the railing at the other end of the ferry so off-loading could take place without accident. John moved slowly but efficiently and hurried upstairs to the porter who looked at his reservation and showed him his cabin. On the way up the stairs, making sure no one saw him; he ripped his cover disguise to match his new ID. His new look was of a middle aged balding man with a hearing aid glasses and clothes to match an old man. Stage players and movie actors, in addition to magicians used the relatively new disguise to quickly change clothes. John had stuffed his old disguise in a bag and when safely tucked into his cabin, he opened the porthole window and tossed the Marlin Spike into the Puget Sound along with his old disguise. The weight of the spike would sink the clothes in a matter of seconds. Only a fluke of someone seeing or hearing a splash would draw attention, but as the sump pumps spilled out bilge water, a small risk indeed. Standing in front of a small mirror he checked his appearance and made sure all was in place. He had no intention of venturing out of his cabin until someone knocked on his door to check his credentials. From out of his bag he took another wallet and a fanny pack. In the fanny pack he had a bona fide American passport complete with picture and a driver’s license that was current showing a Mr. Alex Windslow from Seattle who had left his car in the parking lot and walked on board. He was to go to Victoria Islands to see the flowers.

  Back at the ferry slip agents Jones and Wendy along with Billy ran to the ferry. Billy lagged behind due to a shortness of breath from too many years of lungs full of brown nicotine. The two other FBI agents, each receiving a call and the news of a Harley bike rider ran to the front of the ferry and one stood guard while the other one ran upstairs to see a member of the staff who had seen someone matching the latest description of the fugitive.

  Back at the ferry slip Brad showed the men manning the slip his I.D. and to cast off and let no one in or off. They had been briefed beforehand and one cool man spoke into his handheld radio to the captain to depart immediately on orders from the FBI. The ferry slowly pulled away from the ferry slip and made its way to Canada.

  Brad’s heart was pounding and felt they had John trapped on board the ferry. He realized that a new disguise was being used, but somehow they must get some fingerprints from each passenger who even came close to fitting the elusive John the Senior Killer. But first he must go topside and calm the passengers before panic set in with the other agents probably frantically looking for John. Climbing the stairs two at a time he reached the main floor and walked calmly through the swinging doors. He found his team and two suited FBI agents in a pow wow with a half dozen staff and what looked like maybe a second officer in command.

  Brad took command and quietly, but firmly told his people to calm down and let’s proceed with caution and above all be calm so as not to alarm the passengers any more than they already were. He told the second in command to produce a passenger list and then he would divide the passengers by last name for interviews by the agents.

  An hour later each agent had a group interview and the interviews went quickly as anyone under the age of forty was eliminated, but only after careful scrutiny. By nine pm the list of passengers who fit the ‘John’ was down to about twenty older folks. Half of those were disposed and now it was down to about ten passengers who were men and single traveling to Canada. All but three were found in their cabins. Brad went with Wendy and when it came to interviewing an Alex Windslow, found them knocking on his cabin door. John had been around actors all his life it would seem. So he knew the common man off the street would be nervous when being interviewed by the FBI. He played the role like an Oscar nominee. In the front of his twisted mind fingerprints would give him away, so he had on a pair of very used gloves to pretend his hands were cold on a ferry out on the open water.

  His hands were the first thing Brad noticed and after introducing the two of them and showing them their official status he asked Alex a few questions. ‘Tell me Mr. Windslow what led you take this trip and where are you going?” Alex is sitting on the small bunk with Brad and Wendy standing against the wall he told them where he was from and said, “I’m going to see the flowers in Butchart Gardens on Victoria Island. You see I’m a flower lover and go each year to see the spring bloom of the Gardens.”

  “I see you are wearing gloves. Do you have circulation problems?”

  “Yes do, but how does that concern you, he said with a little too much force in his voice.

  “Well as you know we are looking for a killer who preys on old people and if you don’t mind I would like to see your hands.”

  John slipped a glove off and as his hand was shaking, he held it out for them to look at. What Brad and Wendy saw were not the hands of what they had seen and the old timer in Bishop had described to them. The guys hand had long fingernails and even though he was bald, his fingers had long black hairs growing on the tops of his hands and fingers.

  Brad said, while passing his passport back, “We will have additional questions later Mr. Windslow and be careful as this crazy killer preys on people just your age. Someone like him with a twisted mind thinks he is doing the world a favor and he also thinks of killing off seniors he is making room for others to take their place.” Brad was totally focused on how Alex would react to such a strong statement about the killer's mind profile. However, later when they discussed Alex Windslow the guy never batted an eye.

  Wendy added at a table discussion that this Alex guy never asked us to repeat a question even though the ferry vibrated with some noise so why did the guy have hearing aids in his glasses?

  Chapter 14

  Back on land at the ferry terminal Nancy and Steve were having a sit down after both had talked to Brad. He had told Steve and Nancy he was sure John was on the ferry and the interviews were taking place now. After all the interviews he would call and report on about their findings.

  Steve had called Washington DC and informed his boss what the situation was and filled him in on another senior murdered and that they had him trapped on a ferry headed for Canada. His boss cautioned Steve about the fact Canada was a foreign country and laws had to be followed when they arrived in Canada. Of course it was not forgotten, he informed Steve, that we could turn the ferry around and bring it back to Anacortes and quarantine the ferry on some pretense of disease or a bomb from a terrorist. However, if the killer somehow wasn’t on board and couldn’t be apprehended, they all hell would break loose from the over three hundred passengers taking a trip to Canada.
It was decided at the highest levels, as the ferry steamed towards Victoria, to proceed and when it docked in Canada, officials from both countries would be on hand to discuss what to do.

  Steve called Brad and informed him of what the decision was and that is to continue to investigate and interview eliminating all of the obvious and focus on the suspects that he felt were in need of investigating further, especially finger prints.

  Brad relayed the orders and decided to try and obtain fingerprints off each of their prime suspects including Alex Windslow. Brad had narrowed it down to two guys: Alex Windslow and another guy by the name of Ted Swift. Both from Seattle and both single with Brad and Wendy both agreeing some further questions needed asking.

  First they started with Ted, who readily agreed to be fingerprinted and seem to have an alibi for Aberdeen. They would check his alibi and after taking his prints by another agent, they moved back to interview Alex. They found Alex taking a rest and looked sleepy when a knock on the door took a few minutes to wake the guy up. Maybe his ears are hard of hearing, Brad thought.

  Alex invited them in and Brad noticed no gloves were on. It seemed now that Alex was in a foul mood and answered with short quick sentences. He gladly said he would offer his finger prints up knowing that they were nowhere to be found in any database. A long time ago he had lifted the fingerprints off a glass in the studio of a nobody and pasted those fingerprints onto his fingers while waiting for the FBI to come back and ask for his prints; now he rolled his fingers onto the card from an agent. They would play hell, he thought trying to match those fingerprints to John. How stupid they were. This is the twenty first century and film companies were nothing but high tech. So easy, he thought to put on over on them. His confidence rose as they left his cabin.

  “Shit,” said Brad and Wendy had never heard him swear before. They walked back to the snack area where the rest of his team and other agents sat and waited for him. He said to them, “Well, unless we catch a break on the prints, they had faxed the prints via satellite to the van trailer in Anacortes, “we are out of luck. I’ve had the ferry going at half speed to delay our arrival and we are close to docking time now. We will be met by some officials and regardless I want both of those last two guys we interviewed followed.”