Invisible Killer
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INVISIBLE KILLER
The Monster Behind the Mask
INVISIBLE KILLER
The Monster Behind the Mask
DIANA MONTANE AND SEAN ROBBINS
Copyright © 2013 by Diana Montane and Sean Robbins
FIRST EDITION
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Interior design by Jane Perini
Cover design by Chris Hineline of TriggerGraphix
Photo sequencing preparation: Chris Hineline of TriggerGraphix
Printed in the United States of America
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
T.S. ELIOT, “THE HOLLOW MEN”
This book is dedicated to:
Bill, Mary Lou and Sean Jones.…
and to Marilyn Angel.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We have to first acknowledge those friends who brought us, like offerings, parts of the puzzle that was this invisible killer, Charlie Brandt.
Michelle Jones’ loyal bff’s: Lisa Emmons, Debbie Knight, and Peggy Moore, as well as Suzy Hamilton and Christine Dumouchel. Especially to Diana Raquel Sainz for her incessant and valuable promotion out of loyalty to Michelle and “Miss Gizzie.” To Tracy Helfrich’s steadfast girlfriends: Nancy Carney, Melanie Fecher, and Colleen Maloney Michie. Charlie’s fishing buddies, who were as shocked and appalled by his crimes as everyone else: above all, Jim Graves, who generously brought this story to our attention; and Donald Withers, Mike Savedow and Kevin Shore; also, former roommate Lonie Weiner, who should have been a lady detective. Nick Gelyon and Christopher Duett for their insight and efforts. Niki Mousikos for her patience and Robbins Radiator and Service Center as well as The Shark lounge and Tir na Nog Irish Pub in Daytona Beach Florida. Frank Gunshanan and Maggie Karda for their endless time,encouragement and belief in this process. It didn’t go unnoticed.
Then there is “the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen,” headed by FBI profiler Mark Safarik; Rick Roth, former Monroe County Sheriff; Agent Dennis Haley; whose wit only matches his experience; Fish Michie, who is as observant as those in law-enforcement; Linda Mixon, Detective Sargeant of Major Crimes; in fact, the entire Monroe County Sheriff’s department for their sensitivity about victims. Our good friend, ret. Daytona Beach Chief of Police Paul Crow, thanks for the other suspect. Good friend Kathy Kelly, thanks for the old articles from the Daytona Beach News-Journal, which were very helpful. And Lyda Longa, also from the News-Journal, for introducing us to one another. To ret. Miami Homicide Detective, Private Investigator Pat Diaz, thanks for your contribution; and to Dr. Michael Brannon, for your insights into the psyche of the monster; to Gina Buell, thanks for your account of “a serial killer on the loose.”
To Marta Sosa and Scott Wevley, our deep felt gratitude for all the constant work, and your deep understanding; and a special thanks to Chris Hineline and Triggergraphix for his extraordinary graphic design.
To Mary Lou Jones, a big thank you for your prodigious memory, your gracious and constant availability on behalf of your daughter Michelle, and your large contribution to this story.
Linda Langton, of Langton International, thanks for your grace and patience. And our publisher, Tracy Ertl, of Titletown, for your unwavering faith in this project.
We need to single out, for a special commendation, Special Agent and profiler Leslie D’Ambrosia, who was with us every step of the way, and is one of Florida’s state treasures. And to you, the reader, for taking the time to step into our world and explore.
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
PROLOGUE BY SEAN ROBBINS
PROLOGUE BY DIANA MONTANE
“HIS FRIEND, CHARLIE? A SERIAL KILLER?”
THE PERFECT REVENGE
THE WIFE WAS THE LAST TO KNOW
BLOOD RED
THE SUMMER OF HURRICANES
THE WINTER OF CHARLIE
A HUMAN HEAD INSIDE A PAINT CAN
ANDROS ISLAND
SATAN IN PARADISE
FREEDOM’S JUST ANOTHER WORD FOR NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
“A SERIAL KILLER IS ON THE LOOSE”
DARLENE AND CAROL LYNN: NIGHT AND DAY
OTHER CRIMES?
THE MAKING OF A SERIAL KILLER
IF
WARDING OFF EVIL
FOREWORD
Would You Be Able to Recognize a Serial Killer?
by Mark Safarik
Could your neighbor or relative be a serial killer? The problem is, even if he was, you likely would not know. There is often a disconnect between the public’s perception of a serial killer as an easily recognizable monster and the grim reality of an average-looking individual who commits unspeakable acts of brutality against another human being. Serial killers look and act like our co-workers, neighbors, and sometimes our friends—a fact that is not only uncomfortable, but incomprehensible for most of us. We want them to be recognizably different in external appearance, manner, and affect. Unfortunately, the sad fact is that what makes serial killers so successful at their craft is, in fact, their ordinariness, their uncanny ability to appear normal, to blend in, to be as unassuming as you and I, to avoid drawing attention to themselves, and ultimately to make you believe that they are like everyone else you know.
Jim Graves, a friend and confidant of Charlie Brandt, and former brother-in-law by marriage to Brandt’s sister Angela, trusted his instincts about his ability to read people. He thought he knew Brandt. In reflection, what does it say about a person when he has so terribly misjudged the character of someone he called a friend? Jim thought he should have seen, sensed, and realized something that would have opened his eyes. He chose to explain away the sometimes odd behavior of his friend, instead of letting it stand on its own. In the end, he wished he had recognized the clues for what they were.
I saw this scenario many times during my 23 years as an FBI Special Agent, particularly while working as a senior profiler in the FBI’s elite Behavioral Analysis Unit, known to most as the Profiling Unit. After spending another dozen years studying, researching, writing about, and interviewing rapists and murderers of all types, I am intimately familiar with the ability of serial killers to deceive almost anyone.
Brandt was a master manipulator, always in control. The psychopathology of his twisted desires lay beneath his superficial personality, well disguised from everyone. Each of us has a public life, the face we show to the world. We also have a private life, which is revealed only to those very close to us. But then there is our secret life, known only to us. To truly plumb the depths of that secret life in a serial killer, you must have the key that unlocks access to that crucial piece of the puzzle. It is extraordinarily difficult to peel back that façade, layer by layer, slowly revealing the depravity that shocks a normal person’s conscience.
Jim Graves confided in his friend, Sean Robbins, the story of his friend and brother-in-law, the serial killer. Robbins sought out Diana Montane and together they colla
borated on this book.
Diana Montane is an expert not only at finding the key, but at putting the puzzle together. Uncovering the ugly, naked truth about Brandt was a complex task that involved interviewing those who knew Brandt and the victims and investigators who worked the murder cases. Diana in turn reached out to one of my colleagues, Florida Department of Law Enforcement profiler Leslie D’Ambrosia, to help provide meaning, context, and behavioral linkage to some of those missing pieces. Extracting Brandt’s puzzle pieces from the investigative reports, crime scene photographs, mountains of collected evidence, and each victim’s personal story involved an extraordinary effort. Diana and Sean were tireless in their pursuit to understand a man that almost no one did.
When I lecture and provide expert testimony, I am always careful to explain that the crime can only make sense when considered in its totality, thus providing context to the behavior. Diana and Sean’s task was made all the more daunting because Brandt was dead before anyone even knew he was a killer. They have masterfully succeeded in putting Brandt, his life, and his crimes into context, so we get a clear picture of that secret life.
Lastly, every victim deserves her own justice; she deserves to be understood as a person with goals and dreams, with family and friends who loved them. Diana and Sean, in their journey to make sense of the incomprehensible, never forget about the victims. They give them a voice and help us to understand them as people, not simply as a nameless number in the trail of death left by Brandt.
PROLOGUE
By Sean Robbins
“Did I ever tell you I was related to a serial killer?” This was the question that initiated the idea for this book.
It was October of 2011 and fall was slightly in the air, but not yet falling. Little did I or anyone else know that fall had not only not fully arrived, but had decided to take its seasonal beauty somewhere far away from this peninsula of the strange.
It was around eleven o’clock in the evening when I left the filthy, un-air-conditioned, rat-infested garage where I was living. As I walked to my destination the heat and humidity spoke to me through sweat signals: unless I continued to push forward creatively, this discomfort would forever be the trap I would have to call home. I made my way through the streets that provided the base for many homes with boarded-up window décor. As I came to the end I began to see the glow of the green neon that provided me a cold nightly relief from the unrelenting heat while also allotting me a place to escape into my creative world—and a fine adult beverage.
The sign read “Tir Na Nog,” and as I entered I was greeted with the usual bar camaraderie. I grabbed a beer and my regular spot in the corner booth. I took a pull off the pint of whiskey in my pocket, sat back, and let the kaleidoscope in my mind set into a collection of linear thoughts.
That night was like many previous nights; I would sit in the corner booth, let my mind marinate in the alcohol, and then, when I felt ready, I would dive in and begin to continue work on my first novel. I was about an hour in and things were moving along smoothly when my friend, Jim Graves—back then only an acquaintance, approached me.
Jim was a down-on-his-luck yet very talented guitar player who would regularly host a jazz night at the bar. Middle age and the hazards of the trade had sent his body into a painful spin over the years, but even as his physical nature decayed, his mind stayed sharp and optimistic. He had been fighting the good fight for the disability benefits that he had voluntarily paid into, and knew that if he could just grind out the next six or so months, he would get his money and the medical help he needed. Friendly as usual, he came up and said, “Whatcha workin’ on, man?” I replied, “Ehh… just this book I’ve been trying to write.” He said, “Oh, cool man. I didn’t know you were a writer. Well, if you are ever interested I have a story for you.” I said, “Yeah man, I’m always interested,” and looked up at him. The last thing I expected to hear him say came out of his mouth next. “Did I ever tell you I was related to a serial killer?”
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. Jim had absolutely no idea that I have been a very big follower of the true-crime genre all of my life. Also, with such a bold confession I had no idea if anything he was telling me had any validity whatsoever. He went on to explain to me that there was a television special done on his friend, a 48 Hours entitled “Deadly Obsession,” and informed me how I could find it online. I did this immediately, saw that everything he was saying was true, and told him that I would like to try to take on the task of writing a book on the subject. We talked further and I immediately put my other novel to the side and began the research process that would catapult this project into the realm of possibility.
At the same time I had been reading I Would Find a Girl Walking, which chronicled the crimes of serial killer Gerald Stano. My introduction to this book was as random—yet as important—as all the other pieces of the puzzle that would become Invisible Killer: The Monster Behind the Mask. One of my longtime best friends whom I’ve known since the age of six, Bryan Beaulieu, had randomly sent me a text message one night a month or so before my encounter with Jim. He explained to me that a girl at his place of work was reading a book about Gerald Stano and that knowing my interest in true crime, he figured he would tell me the title so I could check it out. Gerald Stano had carried out most of his murderous assaults on innocent women here in Florida, the Daytona Beach area being his primary target for the hunting of his prey. While on death row awaiting execution, Stano had reached out to Kathy Kelly, then the police beat reporter for the Daytona Beach News-Journal, and in her, Stano found a pen pal of sorts. The letters were the core of inspiration for Kathy and her co-author Diana Montane’s book. As I was reading I noticed, within the “images” section of the book, a current photo of Kathy. I decided, if she was willing to talk, she could provide great insight on how to go about writing a true-crime book.
I called local friend and News-Journal crime writer Lyda Longa, and asked her if Kathy still wrote for the paper and, if so, if she could get me in touch with her. Kathy informed Lyda that my best option would be to call her co-author to ask for advice. As I looked into Diana Montane’s credentials, her resume spoke for itself. She was a well-established crime author, so I fully understood why Kathy had decided that Diana would be my best option. As soon as I got off the phone with Lyda, I dialed Diana’s number, and left a message about how I was trying to write my first true-crime book, coupled with the details of how I got her number to begin with. As the following week went on, I continued documenting Jim’s story while doing my own research as well. Seven days went by and I decided to call Lyda, who knew Diana better than I, to ask her whether I should try Diana one more time or just let it go. Lyda said that if I didn’t hear from her after another day, I should just go ahead and let it go, since Diana was very busy.
I went home and that night, while I was watching Monday night football, my phone began to ring its very obnoxious ring. The caller ID read “Diana Montane.” As we spoke I tried to explain to her what I was doing, and why I had called her. Further into the conversation she revealed to me that she had told Lyda that she had got my message, but because of her hectic schedule didn’t want to call me back. She then told me that the only reason she did call was because she’d just seen the missed call on her phone, and redialed it to find out who it was.
If my initial research was the catapult that propelled this project into the realm of possibility, then her following words were the cannon that would fire that possibility into the spectrum of synchronized chaos. She went on to explain how she believed that things happened for a reason and that the fact I was the person she’d randomly called back was no accident.
As we continued to talk, we came upon a proposal of collaboration, which I accepted. From then on began a partnership of two very obsessive, ambitious, rapid-fire minds, with a unique combination of styles, that refuse to bend for a story they believe in. Rejections came by the bundle but failure was never an option, and finally we came upon a vis
ionary publisher and the book that now lies in your hands.. Thanks for taking the time to read.
PROLOGUE
By Diana Montane
My writing partner, Sean Robbins, began his prologue for our book, Invisible Killer: The Monster Behind the Mask, by stating the strange opener his friend Jim Graves had said to him at his favorite bar: “Did I ever tell you I was related to a serial killer?” Jim had been talking about serial killer Charlie Brandt, who had been his brother-in-law and good friend. Jim hadn’t suspected a thing.
I didn’t suspect this when Sean came to me with the story. Never would I have imagined I would meet such diverse, wonderful people during the course of writing this book.
I will begin with Sean Robbins, who remains a good friend.
When he first showed up at my house with the beginnings of his story, I saw a young, eager, tattooed-from-head-to-toe individual, a typical Daytona boy or biker. He was not that at all, and this became clear from the start.
What he is, is immensely curious, driven, and dedicated to his craft of writing, albeit intensely suspicious of all forms of authority. I could relate. I used to be like that. And I am grateful he still is. I used to be a “hippie”—yes, in quotation marks. Not a commune-type hippie, but a hippie in the Theatre Department at the University of Miami. We used to throw balloons full of paint at walls and call it “happenings,” recite poetry, and participate in marches. We also did damn good theatre, and the experience opened my eyes and mind to all sorts of people. I expect eccentricity in artists; in fact, I welcome it. So Sean and I became like cosmic siblings, in a way.
What I wasn’t expecting was the rest of the people who came into my life, and have stayed.
I emailed the Michelle Lynn Jones website and received an answer from Peggy Moore, a loyal friend of Michelle’s, who said she wanted to help. Of course, at first, folks say they want to help until they realize one’s true intentions. And then they really help. I suppose all of these people realized what this was about, and why I was drawn to this story. I wanted to make the victims as fully rounded people, who had lives they should have continued. That nobody had any right to take.