“You all go then Hiram,” Drake says, “and me and Kris will stay here until someone shows, we’re out of here soon.”
“Speak for yourself man,” Kris says to Drake. Kris picks up the keys and heads for the door, Tyrone and
Hiram both following close behind. Drake stands in place over the body and stares over at them.
“What are you all going to do?” Drake asks. “They are going to find you; I mean is it worth going back to juvie for going on a joy ride? Come on Kris, we are out of here soon enough.”
Kris walks back over and quietly pleads with Drake, “Do you know how long it’s been since I have been free, I mean really free? They keep us caged in here like animals. Dope us up and make us do everything they say. I say fuck that man, I don’t care and I have less time left here than you do.” Everyone is staring at Drake, who has walked away from the body and is visibly frustrated.
“So how about it, are you going to man up?” Kris asks Drake.
Drake runs his fingers through his hair and stares at them. His foot is slowly tapping on the carpeted floor, but the pace is quickening every second. His foot is now almost pounding the floor. It suddenly stops.
“I’m down,” Drake says.
“Yeah, but we need some kind of plan,” Tyrone says, “they ain’t gonna let us just walk up out of here.”
“I know this place, follow me,” Drake says as he pulls Jeff’s keys off of his belt and the group makes their way to the gymnasium door. Drake inserts the key and looks at the group. The previous feeling of fear has suddenly turned into a euphoric aura of excitement. Drake slowly turns the key and cracks open the door. Four heads peek through the door, looking to see if anyone is coming.
They creep down the first hallway and into the adult unit. The nurses on staff cannot see them quickly bear-crawling on the floor, passing their desk. Mr. Dufant, an elderly man sitting in a chair adjacent to the desk points to them and summons the head nurse.
“Miss Charles,” Mr. Dufant says. The boys stop and look up at him, visually pleading for him to keep his mouth shut. “Those damned Indians are trying to make their way up the creek.” He looks at Kris, “You fucking Indian! You thought you had us at Custer’s last stand… but I see you now. I’ll shove that arrowhead up your ass!”
“You need to calm it down Mr. Dufant,” Miss Charles says, “I don’t want to have to give you a shot to calm you down.” Mr. Dufant clears his throat and looks at Kris, “We’ll meet again,” he says as the boys make their way to the second door. Miss Charles turns her back and Drake quickly unlocks the door. They begin crawling towards the exit.
“I cannot believe this,” Kris says, “We are literally ten feet from the exit.”
“You see that camera?” Drake asks while pointing at it.
“Yeah man, let’s roll,” Kris says, “the slower we are, the quicker they see us.”
At the nurse’s station, the nurse on duty is preparing Tyrone’s medical chart. The monitors on her desk show the boys crawling to the exit and using the key to open the door. The nurse is completely unaware of the escape. Tyrone, Kris, Hiram and Drake sprint out of the building and into the parking lot and no one knows any better.
Chapter 4
Sheriff Jim Flanigan is sitting at his desk at the Pine County Sheriff Department. He stares over at a desk that he had just moved in to his large office that his newest deputy will occupy. The solitude of the case is getting to him and he cannot wait until the phone rings. He doesn’t look like the same man from David’s video collection, he is now a lot grayer and the years have worn on him. The previous confidence and enthusiasm shown on the video have dwindled over the past several years because of the mounting pressure from the community and a general lack of advancement on the case. He wants to smoke a cigarette, but he is waiting on a call from the criminalist about some prints from a string of bank robberies in the area. He stares at the clock, it is seven p.m. If the phone call doesn’t come soon, he is going to pack it up and head home.
“You know what, screw it, I’m going home,” he thinks. As he finally gets up to leave, the phone begins ringing. He grunts as he sits back down in his chair and picks up the phone.
“Pine County Sheriff’s Department,” he says, “this is Sheriff Flanigan speaking.”
“Hey Jim, this is Sergeant Williams over in Mercer County,” the man says. “Some hikers found a body out in the woods this morning and I think you had better come out and take a look at it. It sounds like they called the wrong office; I think this one is in your jurisdiction.”
“Is it him?” Jim asks, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m pretty sure that it is,” Sgt. Williams says, “the description of the scene sounds pretty familiar.”
“Where is the scene?” Flanigan asks.
“Are you familiar with the trail that leads out to Pine Lake where we went hiking with our wives a couple of years back?” he asks.
“Umm, yeah… I remember that area,” Flanigan responds.
“Park where you see our cruisers, follow the trail and you’ll find us in that same area” Sgt. Williams says.
“Thanks, I’m going to call my new deputy and I’ll be out there as soon as possible” Jim says as he hangs up the phone. He calls Deputy Hugh and gives him directions to the site. He grabs his holster, quickly sprinting out to his cruiser and peeling out of the parking lot, rushing through traffic, siren blaring. This is the worst part of the job to Jim, having to relive previous scenes in his head, mentally forecasting and preparing himself for what he is about to see. The stench of death in the summer heat, the bones and bloody trash bag that will be there surrounding a teenage girl’s body. After what seems like an eternity, he finally hits the woodsy gravel road he has been searching for and stops behind all of the other police vehicles at the scene. The sun has gone down, but between the flashlights coming from the woods and the lights flashing from the police vehicles, the area is illuminated. The second he gets out of the car he is approached by Deputy Ryan Hugh, his new deputy in his early thirties who looks like a bodybuilder. Hugh greets Sheriff Flanigan with a nervous and somber look.
“It’s him again,” Hugh says, “I’d bet the farm.”
“The Butcher?” Flanigan says.
“Yes sir, at least from what I’ve heard about from people who are here on the task force, same signatures,” Hugh says.
“Well kid, let’s take a look,” Flanigan says. They turn on their flashlights and make their way through the taped-off crime scene, which is surrounded by criminalists and officers from outside agencies looking on from the outskirts.
“Damn, right on the county line. I think this one might be ours. I knew Mercer would be in on this first because it is their jurisdiction, but I see some unfamiliar people around here. I don’t like folks who have no business being here walking around.”
Sergeant Williams approaches them and extends his hand.
“Hank, I’d like you to meet my new deputy Ryan Hugh,” Flanigan says to Sgt. Williams as the men shake hands. “Ryan was quite a prodigy in robbery up in Louisville and I was able to yank him out of there. Hopefully he will take the reins when I retire.”
“Pleasure to meet you young man,” Williams politely says, “you’re gonna have some pretty big boots to fill if this boy ever retires, but if I know anyone who can teach you to run and win every cycle, it’s him.”
“I’ll do my best sir,” Hugh says humbly.
Sergeant Williams leads the men to the exact same place where David had fantasized earlier. They find the bodies of Erin Steele and Jane Mills. Sgt. Williams stands back as Flanigan approaches the body of Mrs. Mills, whose skeletal remains are dismembered, the bones laid out to form a perfect circle around the body of a fully clothed Erin, who is laid out in an angelic fashion, as if she were hung on a cross. A large garbage bag is placed directly above the head of Miss Steele. Deputy Hugh stops in his tracks as he walks closer to the grotesque site. The smell is too much for him, even though de
composition hasn’t really settled in, he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and runs out into the woods and begins vomiting. Sheriff Flanigan shakes his head in disappointment and pulls out a tape recorder.
“Victims twenty-nine and thirty,” he says into the recorder, “It is July 2nd, twenty-hundred hours. Young unidentified victim surrounded by the skeletal remains of another, going on prior victimology I would assume victim one is a late teen and victim two is in her late fifties or early sixties. Same signature layout, victim two dismembered, her bare bones laid out to form a circle surrounding victim one. Forensics will quickly find that the large garbage bag over the head of victim one will contain all of the second victims flesh, organs and body tissue.”
He examines the wrists and ankles of Erin Steele. He continues speaking into the recorder, “Ligature marks around the wrists and ankles, which would suggest some form of constraints consistent with his M.O. in previous crimes. Puncture wounds visible over the median cubital vein, most likely once again the site of the administering of ethylene glycol, given past victimology. Renal failure is also evidenced by skin discoloration and bruising.” He clicks off his recorder as Hugh returns.
“You were right kid, it’s him, welcome to the big leagues… even big city officers don’t often get to sniff a case like this one,” Flanigan says.
Hugh looks down in embarrassment, “Sorry, the smell threw me off a bit. Even after everything I heard about this case I wasn’t ready to see that.”
Flanigan gives him a serious look, which transforms into an understanding one, “Don’t worry about it, you’ve been in robbery for a while. I doubt you’ve been around a scene like this before… it’s okay.”
“You were on the scene of the first case weren’t you?” Hugh asks.
“Unfortunately,” Flanigan responds.
“That’s why I chose to work with you instead of staying in Metro and transferring to homicide or working for the feds,” Hugh says, “I figure when you retire soon you’ll need someone to…”
Flanigan doesn’t like the insinuation and responds angrily, “Soon? Do you have any idea the number of family members I have dealt with through the years? The promises I have made to them. The hours I have spent away from my family? The birthdays missed, the holidays, the sleep lost. Truth is that in the end all you are left with are nightmares, criticism and dead ends. Did you know he sodomizes the older woman postmortem before he dismembers them? Try to explain to a man why his mother got chopped up into little pieces or why his daughter was brutally raped and pumped full of antifreeze and then look him in the eye and I dare you not to promise to do something about it.” Flanigan lights a cigarette and storms off. Hugh, now embarrassed gingerly follows him away from the scene at a respectful distance.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Hugh says, “I just want to help you catch this guy, and I know it won’t be easy. This is like the Super Bowl of cases and I just want to be a part of taking him down,” Flanigan stops and angrily flicks his cigarette down.
“Sorry that I got red on you like that, I’m not giving you a great first impression am I?” Flanigan asks.
“You’re a legend sir,” Hugh responds, “I should’ve chosen my words more carefully.” Flanigan smiles as he looks back towards the crime scene.
“He leaves his semen at every crime scene, but never a hair, fiber or fingerprint,” Flanigan says.
“Why is that?” Hugh asks.
“The first case came out before anyone knew what DNA was,” Flanigan says, “I guess he knew that we already had it and still haven’t caught him, so why inconvenience himself by changing his M.O.?”
“Well, what have you got so far?” Hugh asks.
“We know he is a white male, isn’t a registered sex offender and that he lives within four or five counties of here, given his dump site preference.”
“I’m surprised the FBI hasn’t been all over this,” Hugh says.
He looks at Hugh, amazed at the general lack of knowledge that resides in the mind of his newest hire. “The FBI helped the task force immensely in the late eighties and early nineties, back when there was a real task force. They sent us agents that gave me a behavioral profile about two decades ago. Their lab processed evidence using advanced technology that our lab didn’t have at that time. That’s how we got his DNA profile, but there wasn’t much they really can do past that. The scenes, victimology and evidence are always constants. They’ve helped a ton, but this guy is incredibly intelligent. It’s all in the case files.”
“I’ll read every bit of it when we get back,” Hugh says as they make their way back to the scene.
“Good,” Flanigan says, “and one thing I want to tell you that I forgot to tell you earlier… don’t let me catch you playing on your damned phone all of the time. I don’t know what it is that keeps you kids transfixed on those damned things.”
“I only use mine when I have to sir,” Hugh says. Flanigan notices a man creeping toward the scene. It is obvious to him that a curious local has made his way through the perimeter established by the local police. Flanigan runs up to him and keeps him from getting too close.
“What are you doing?” Flanigan shrieks, “This is an active crime scene; get the hell out of here.” The local, slowly turns around and walks away. Flanigan aggressively storms over to a deputy and confronts him. “What the hell are you idiots doing?” Flanigan grumbles. “Your job isn’t that goddamn hard, if you are going to hang out here on the taxpayers dollar the least you can do is secure the damn perimeter!” he says forcefully.
“Sorry, we didn’t see him,” the deputy says. As Flanigan turns around and walks off, the officer gives him the finger and whispers, “Fuck you old man, this isn’t even your jurisdiction.” He walks back over to Hugh, who is trying to take in the scene and still visibly sickened by the smell. The criminalists have arrived, taking pictures, collecting fiber samples and dusting the bones for prints. The stench of death is in the air. Flies flurry around the body, Hugh becomes increasingly pale.
“Are you hungry?” Flanigan jokes.
“Jesus Christ, I’m not sure that I am ever going to eat again after this,” Hugh says.
“You get used to it…” Flanigan says, “I mean you don’t really, but the more you are around it, the less you notice the nastiness of it.” He pulls out a bottle of Vick’s Vap-o-Rub out of his pocket and hands it to Hugh. “Rub some of this under your nose… it will help until you get used to the smell.” Hugh smears the jelly on his upper lip.
“Thanks,” Hugh says.
“No problem,” Flanigan says as he puts the bottle back into his pocket.
“So, what is going on here with the bones?” Hugh asks.
“I asked the same question years ago,” Flanigan says.
“And…” Hugh says.
“The FBI agent I spoke with told me that the placement of the bones around the body held great psychological significance. Mind you that none of this applies to the real world or any kind of normal thought process,” Flanigan says.
“Well that is obvious,” Hugh chuckles. Flanigan returns a look of non-amusement.
“Well, let’s look at what we have here in its totality,” Flanigan says. “We have a female teenage victim who has likely been repeatedly raped while bound. Look at how clean the victim is. Although she has been raped, I would bet a million dollars that they will find that she has been bathed and dressed before she was laid out. What does that say?” Flanigan asks.
“That he was smart and trying to get rid of the evidence?” Hugh guesses.
“Remember, he still has left DNA on both victims and believe me, this guy is smart enough to get rid of DNA now so hiding evidence is of no consequence outside of fingerprints or fibers,” Flanigan says.
“So why did he bathe and re-dress her then?” Hugh asks.
“I don’t know, but I think that he is either ashamed, knows her, respects her or he feels bad for what he has done to her,” Flanigan says.
“
Then why do it in the first place?” Hugh asks.
“Because she is a necessary part of whatever fantasy this bastard has dancing around in his sickened mind,” Flanigan says. “Look at the way she is laid out before us, almost like she is crucified like some kind of martyr,” Flanigan says.
“A martyr, so she was killed because of her principles?” Hugh asks.
“Or punished for her sins and then cleansed, or even brought into this world to save him from his” says Flanigan, “few of the younger victims had any religious connotation about them from what family members have told us. I still don’t fully understand what’s going on there, but the FBI told us that once we caught and interviewed him that it would make more sense.”
“So what about the older victims?” Hugh asks.
“All of them have been religious and I imagine that they have been abused much more severely,” Flanigan says, “Early on, the first semen samples we found were in that trash bag. And that has been consistently found within every bag that hasn’t been damaged by animals prior to us finding it. We think that he sodomizes the older victim, drains the blood from the body and then dismembers it. He then separates tissue from bone and puts the remaining tissue in a large trash bag. He ritualistically lays out the bones around the body in a circular fashion, like you see here.”
“And what does this mean?” Hugh asks.
“The profile stated that that the older victim gives him his primary sexual release. Raping and poisoning is not enough for her. All of the older victims have been literally filleted. Since the major organs were intact, the local medical examiner was the first to find petechial hemorrhaging and high levels of carbon dioxide in the victims where there was enough blood left to test, meaning that he suffocates them. He also found evidence to suggest that anal rape occurred. We don’t know if the rape happened antemortem, perimortem or postmortem. Either way, that takes anger, and a lot of it. The FBI said that previous serial murderers that target older women do so because of maternal dominance early on in their lives. So it would be a safe bet that this piece of garbage is visualizing his mother when he is committing this act.”
The Light In the Dark Page 4