“No, hey, guys, really. She comes up to me when I’m sitting on the corner. She just likes to talk.”
“Sure, Dan.”
“No, really.”
17
Saturday, April 27
06:43 hours
I went home and got to bed just as Sue was getting up.
I woke at 14:30, back on schedule and ready to go to work at 20:00. The phone rang at 15:15. We were having a meeting at the office at 16:00 and they wanted me there. The man from NYPD had come in with Hal, and Judd Norman, the deputy state fire marshal, would give us the rundown on the fire.
Got to the office early, of course. So did just about everybody else.
All eight of us, two DCI agents, the guest from New York, Judd, and a small man I didn’t know, but who seemed quite at home with the state officers.
We didn’t have enough room to seat everybody except the kitchen, and we had people sitting on the counter and the floor.
Lamar started it off by introducing the small man as Brian Nieuhaus, from the state attorney general’s office. He would be handling the case for them. While he was being introduced, our county attorney, Mark Fueller, and his assistant, Mitch Hamilton, came in. We all had to shift, as guests get the chairs.
The presence of the man from the AG’s office surprised me quite a bit, because that meant that we probably had a suspect. I didn’t know who that might be. I mean, several names came to mind, but none of diem were what I would think of as really good possibilities.
I nudged Art, who was on the counter beside me.
“We arrest somebody?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I wonder. The AG usually doesn’t send somebody up unless we have a suspect in custody.”
“Nobody said anything to me. But that’s not unusual.”
Lamar restarted, by saying that Nieuhaus wanted to make a brief statement.
Nieuhaus stood. “Gentlemen,” he began, “this is an unusual case.” I noticed Hester bristle a bit when he failed to recognize her presence. He paused. If he’s pausing for effect, I thought, it’s wasted. We already know that it’s unusual.
“My boss,” he said, “and the governor are both very concerned about some of the ramifications in these murders. There has already been some national media coverage, and the local media here in Iowa are assigning people to cover the case in depth.” He paused again. This time he had our attention.
“Now, I don’t know how many of you have ever been the target of ‘in-depth’ coverage by the media, but let me assure you it can be a very unpleasant experience.”
We had had some experience, but I couldn’t remember any thorough coverage in the last fifteen years. Couldn’t remember any “adequate” coverage, either, for that matter.
“Your first tendency, gentlemen, is to either be fully cooperative or to withhold everything.”
Lamar grinned. So did I.
“In either case,” he continued, “you will have a problem, and with the extreme sensitivity of this matter, my boss and the governor feel that there could be a panic reaction on the part of the public. There could also be,” he said, “enough sensationalism to ruin the case.” He paused again. “That, we don’t want.”
He gestured toward the NYPD detective. “I am very glad to see Detective Saperstein here today. He has handled this sort of matter before, and I am sure he will prove invaluable to us, both from the investigative end and from the media relations standpoint.”
Saperstein nodded. He looked pretty cool, and very serious.
Nieuhaus went on.
“Attorney General Scholle has asked your county attorney here to handle all media relations regarding this case.
“He feels that the ‘clearinghouse’ approach to the media in this case is essential. With the small number of officers available, it was also thought to be a good idea to let you work the case, and not to take one of you off to handle the press.”
In other words, we don’t want one of you dummies talking to the media. Fine by me.
“Just for your own information,” said Nieuhaus, “the Des Moines Register already has a two-man team in place in this county. They will probably remain here in Maitland for some time, gathering information and talking to everybody they can get their hands on.” He paused again. I remember thinking that this guy might be pretty good in the courtroom. “A major network news team is also on its way.”
“Not 60 Minutes?” I said. “Please, not 60 Minutes.”
We all laughed. Except Saperstein, I noticed.
“No,” said Nieuhaus, “not 60 Minutes. We haven’t fucked the case up yet.”
At least he said “We.”
“I believe,” said Nieuhaus, “that Mark has something to say.”
Our county attorney stood up. Mark Fueller was a pretty good attorney, and was considered part-time as a prosecutor, mostly because the county didn’t want to pay him a living wage. He was a sincere man, one who probably had had nightmares about this sort of case.
“Just refer all media inquiries to me. After they get used to it, we shouldn’t have any problems.”
He looked around the room.
“But don’t go around shooting off your mouth. Not in restaurants, not in bars, not even at home. We want a lid on this, except through me or Mitch. Understand?”
We all nodded.
“I want to control all outgoing information. I will control it. I want that understood.”
I nudged Art again, and whispered, “You think Theo’s gonna move in with him?”
Art nudged back. A little harder than was absolutely necessary.
“Now, I know,” said Fueller, “that there’s already been a lot of speculation out there. It will continue. But absolutely nothing with an official stamp on it goes out unless it’s through me.”
I looked at Theo. He was nodding his head vigorously. You bet, Theo. He was the biggest leak we had. And probably would continue to be.
Fueller sat back down. Lamar stood.
“Okay, now Detective Saperstein wants to say a couple of things here. He’ll brief some of us more fully later, but he just wants to say a couple of words to all of us.” He turned to Saperstein. “Go ahead, Bill.”
Saperstein got up and leaned against the refrigerator. He had very sad eyes, I thought. But also very intense.
“This is a lovely area here. I hate to see something like this happen in such a place.” He looked around the room. “Anybody here ever been involved in a cult-related murder before?” No response. “Then it’s safe to assume that you’ve never been involved in a Satanic-cult-related murder.” He gave a smile that was more like a tic than a grin.
“The first thing you have to know is this: Satanism doesn’t mean that there is a red-faced man with horns and a tail involved. There is no magic. There are no spells that work, no incantations that produce any mystical effects. Likewise, you aren’t dealing with ignorant or markedly stupid people. You’ll find that out when you interrogate them. These people are really dangerous, in a way, but not in the way most people think.
“The only way to get a conviction, to get an arrest, to even get a suspect, is to play it absolutely straight. Good police work, all the way. Don’t get involved in the religious aspects, except as to how it directly relates to the case. Satanism is a legal religion in the USA. You can be a Satanist, that’s all right. Don’t forget that. But with Satanism, you are dealing with a whole different mind-set. That’s the essential point. The mind-set.”
He lit a cigarette. “Look at it this way. Most of you are Christians, of one sort or another. Even if you never go to church. I’m sort of Jewish.” He snapped out a grin. “But we have all been brought up with certain standards of behavior drummed into us from day one. If we violate those standards, we feel guilt. If we feel guilt, we are vulnerable to all the standard investigative techniques and interrogation approaches. The guilt does all the work. The cops just have to ask the right questions.”
He thought for a second. “W
hat I’ve heard about this case on the drive up here, I think the odds are that it’s not a dyed-in-the-wool Satanist who is your perpetrator. But I know that the crime is Satanic in origin.” He put out his cigarette. “I’ll explain that later. What is important is that you are dealing with people who are highly motivated, and who, on both sides of the homicides, aren’t going to feel guilt as you and I understand the term.”
He leaned back against the refrigerator again. “Satanism and its associated groups only produce a psychological effect upon the believers. The mind-set. They can do nothing you and I would consider wrong. Because to them, it isn’t wrong. And, in this case, I suspect that the perp acted from what he or she considers noble and righteous motives. We’ve got a perp with a ‘mission,’ whatever the origin of the motives for the killings. The motive appears to be vengeance, judging from the methods used. There will be a twisted logic involved. You’ll probably never figure it out until after the case is solved. Maybe not even then. But the motive is human, not supernatural. Don’t forget that aspect, ever. These are people, even if they’re a little less sane than most. Even if they don’t subscribe to what we would consider normal standards of behavior. Even if they can kill and maim and torture without any shred of remorse. Sociopaths have the same human motivations as anyone else. They just don’t feel sorry afterward, that’s all. Satanists have the same ‘advantage,’ if you will.”
He sat back down abruptly. It was very, very quiet in the kitchen. I was going to like this man.
Lamar broke the silence. “Okay, now I think Agent Gorse has something for us.”
Hester didn’t bother to stand. “Rachel Larsen is not in Iowa City, we’re pretty sure. She’s gone to ground, but we don’t know where.
“All the lab tests from the crime scene are in.” She took some sheets of paper out of a folder and started them around the room. “Take a look at these, and I’ll explain them to you.”
The sheets, and there were twelve of them, looked something like this:
EXHIBIT ABO PGM EAP
Q bed sheet B 1+2+ B
AD red cord B 1+2+ B
AL pillowcase B iss iss
AV bloodstain B 1+2+ na
Every exhibit taken had been processed, and there were lots of exhibits.
“Now,” said Hester with a smile, “this is what it means. All these are what they call independently inherited factors. Physiological fluids can be identified and traced this way to a specific individual. These genetic markers are what they refer to as polymorphic, meaning that they vary from individual to individual.
“ABO is the standard blood typing, with four types of blood found in humans: A, B, O, and AB. The PGM stands for phosphoglucocomutase, and that’s an enzyme found in blood, semen, etc. That stuff is classified as 1+, 1–, 2+, and 2–. Everybody has two of the four factors.
“EAP is erythrocyte acid phosphatase, and that’s a three-factor genetic marker with the three factors being A, B, or C, and everybody has one or two of those.
“The note ‘iss’ stands for insufficient sample size, ‘na’ signifies lack of activity, and ‘inc’ would stand for inconclusive results.”
She stopped, and took a long swig of Coke. “Okay, that’s how we tell whose blood is where. You don’t have to remember all that, just so you know how it’s done. The important stuff is that the blood that’s identified, or the nail scrapings from Peggy Keller and Phyllis Herkaman that were analyzed, have shown some results. The contents of the blender have shown results. Those contents were, by the way, confirmed as being Sirken’s testicles and his tongue.”
The room grimaced and groaned.
“There was no blood or other tissue from Francis McGuire found at the Herkaman residence.
“There were tissue samples taken from the fingernails of both Peggy Keller and Phyllis Herkaman. They sort of match, but weren’t sufficient for more positive results. Sirken had no nails to speak of, he apparently chewed them or something. Also insufficient, but even less sufficient than the others. McGuire had no tissue to speak of on his remaining hand.
“Sirken, McGuire, and Herkaman had LSD in their blood.”
Art perked up.
“All four had blood alcohol contents varying from 0.198 milligram percent in McGuire to 0.03 in Herkaman. Stomach contents indicated that it was a red wine with McGuire and Sirken, probably the same with Herkaman. With Keller, it was schnapps, indicating that she possibly consumed her drinks elsewhere. Keller also had consumed a pizza within an hour of her death, while there were no indications of pizza in the other three. It is consistent with observed facts, as it was unlikely that Herkaman was given any wine during her ordeal.
“The red ligature materials were as nearly identical as they can be determined, given technological limits. McGuire’s hand was taken off by a heavy wedge, either an ax or a very large blade. The tissue was compressed, as was the bone. Heavy blow, only one. Some missing tissue on the exit side of the wound, as well as the nature of the wound itself, indicates that the wound was inflicted while the arm was resting on a surface, probably wooden. The hand was definitely severed after death.
“There was hair at the scene that was not that of any of the four victims. It was human, and we have classified it pretty well. Dark brown, reddish brown, gray, and blond.” She grimaced. “Obviously, either we have four perps, or it’s just an indication that there have been other people in the house. Not much there.
“Fingerprints of all four victims were matched to items at the Herkaman house. Those of Peggy Keller were also found among items removed from the McGuire farm. We have found a large number of prints in the Herkaman house, size indicating female origin, which we feel are those of Rachel Larsen. We can’t tell because, to our knowledge, Rachel has never been fingerprinted, and we won’t get a match until we find her. There was also a large variety of partial prints, and some good ones, which are also not identifiable at this time.
“We also found some infant items of apparel in the Herkaman house, and a couple of Polaroid photos of an infant being held by Herkaman and Rachel Larsen. Examinations of both Herkaman and Keller indicated that Herkaman had had a child several years ago and that Keller had never had children.
“There’s one hell of a lot more, but those are the highlights.” She exhaled deeply, and was finished.
“Thanks, Hester,” said Lamar. “Now let’s hear from Judd about the fire.”
Judd was very brief. He had to be, because there wasn’t much to say.
“Well, it’s a definite arson. Accelerant, probably gasoline, was used throughout the house. Trailed from one room to another. Probably started just inside the side door, it looks like a soaked rag was thrown in. We might have an injury to the arsonist, because the gasoline vapors were permeating the entire house, and there was a minor explosion upon ignition. Just depends on how close he was, and whether or not he had the sense to take cover around the door frame. There was a lot of hot gas came out that door, in a hurry.” He looked at his notes.
“We’ve checked all the local medical facilities—nobody in with burns. If he was dumb enough to be curious, and stuck his head around the corner of the door, he’s probably bald now.
“No footprints linked to the perp, but there were a hell of a lot of firemen around out there. Found a two-gallon gas can inside the house, about where the kitchen used to be. There may be another one, but I haven’t been able to get to the basement yet. We aren’t gonna dust the can here, we’ll send it to the DCI lab and have them do it.”
He looked up, sort of shrugged, and sat down.
“Thanks, Judd,” said Lamar. “Any questions?”
Just about every hand in the room went up.
“Okay,” said Lamar, “let’s order some supper and eat here. You night guys might want to get some rest, but you can stay if you want to. Carl, Detective Saperstein wants to talk to you and Hal. Theo, Agent Gorse wants to talk with you. And the attorneys want to talk with all of us.
“We’re gonna h
ave to get real organized, people.”
18
Saturday, April 21
17:53 hours
We all kicked in a couple of bucks and sent Eddie Heinz and Quint Shapley out for pizza. The “get organized” meeting would follow supper. In the meantime, we broke up into groups.
Art, Hal, and I went into the back office with Detective Bill Saperstein.
We three Iowa people were all about six to eight inches taller than Saperstein, who was about five five. As we shut the office door, he looked at us and asked what they fed us in Iowa.
We introduced ourselves to him, and he got the ball rolling right away.
“You gentlemen are in for a rough time.”
We agreed.
He lit a cigarette. I liked him more and more, as he was one of the few people left who seemed to smoke as much as I did.
“Your state attorney is right about the media. They’ll drive you nuts, because this is sensational stuff. Digging into a case like this, with a little luck, can make somebody’s journalistic career. So they’re gonna pry and dig, and talk to all sorts of people. And they’re gonna piss you off.”
“Some do already,” said Hal.
Saperstein shook his head. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, baby.”
“Hey,” I said, “you don’t think that the job was done by Satanists?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s related, and strong in the motive, but I don’t like to label any case as ‘Satanic.’ They don’t come that way. There isn’t any real, true Satanic religion—not that’s established. They’re all involved in putting bunches of their wishes into a bucket with a bunch of the parts of Satanic belief that they happen to be fond of, and shaking the bucket. What comes out is tailored to the individual, or the small group. This is an unusual case. Like I told Hal on the way here, I was expecting to find that we had a ritual killing—or massacre, I guess would be more like it.”
“The dope surprised me, a little. I work dope in this county,” said Art.
“It’s possible that your perpetrator interrupted something. With the LSD, it would be a lot easier to surprise the victims.”
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