SHELBY COUNTY MEDICAL EXAMINER OFFICE
10/24/2008
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Inquest:14327.45.5677
Name:Raymond Travis Munson
DOB: June 12, 1935
POB: Dallas, Texas
Work: Retired: Pf. English: U of M,
SMU-TX, NTSU-Denton-TX
ME: Henderson Bates, M.D.
DOD: October 17, 2008
TOD: 0100 CST e
PT:0530 MPD CST
COD: (1) Acute Exsanguination
(2) Oxygen Deprivation
MOD: Homicide
Inquest: 14327.45.5677 Homicide
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Inspection/Autopsy Summary: 73/W/M estimated height 185.42 cm, weight 96.162 kgm, of normal stature, found in sitting position with arms suspended by wire-cable binding attachments from both wrists to ceiling fixtures and around chest, abdomen and chair. Healthy, well nourished, Caucasian male typical aging conditions; signs of arthrosclerosis, osteoarthritis, all other unremarkable. Trauma observations: deep lacerations to frontal and lateral aspects of mid-neck, severing carotid arteries and jugular vein, also penetration wounds to the groin-thigh region, severely perforating both femoral arteries with estimated accumulative blood loss rate/volume: 50-60% of available supply <30 seconds, 70-80% of supply within <60 seconds and 90-97% within 180-300 seconds. Multiple body parts harvested and taken from the scene. Not recovered at time of report. Missing body parts include; two eyeballs, two ears, nose, tongue, larynx, two hands, two feet and heart. All harvest sites were thoroughly cleansed (lavage) and trimmed and sutured. Detailed findings: pages 12-75. Remarkable Observations: No visible defense wounds, suggesting deceased was subdued-incapacitated simultaneously. One pair of 06.35 mm. circular burn marks found lateral posterior aspect of neck; subject marks consistent with those produced by electrical shock or certain tazing devices. One circular puncture wound of 003.0 cm. diameter found at the superior aspect of coronal suture with cranial penetration and a singular, perpendicular track of equal dimensions and diameter running from entry wound through cerebellum cortex and ending precisely in the central portion of the parietal lobe. Wound consistent with those created by a heavy duty ice pick. Subject puncture wound occurred hours prior to clinical death and would be expected to inflict large motor muscle paralysis consistent with removal of certain body parts prior to exsanguination and/or clinical death. Detailed observations: pages 77-119.
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After digesting the Munson inquest, Carol looked at the MPD investigation report authored by Tony Wilcox. The “Summary Review & Recommendations” would tell her if the homicide detective was playing games like the others, or if he was pushing the truth down the collective throats of top brass. She picked up the report and spent the next two hours learning more about the lead detective and the serial killer no one would talk about.
* * *
Memphis Police DepartmentHomicide Investigation
Summary Conclusions & Recommendations
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MPD 12033.788.2010
Investigator: Detective A. D. Wilcox
Name: Raymond Travis Munson
HOMICIDE
* * *
This carefully planned, torture-mutilation homicide revealed a depth of rage rarely observed and marks a likely beginning of a random “public killing spree” in the midsouth region by an experienced predator and serial killer. The October kill was highlighted by the selection and removal of certain body parts and presents more information about the killer and the victim. SK likely knew this victim and held him accountable. The torturous removal of body parts prior to death and the choice of body parts for harvest were personal and symbolic. The body part removals symbolically left the victim without senses and abilities. These selections may directly relate to the incident(s) that occurred between victim and SK at a time in the past and therefore may hold the key to identification and apprehension of SK. Body parts harvested included: sight (eyes), hearing (ears), smell (nose), touch (hands) and compassion (heart). The removal of the larynx, tongue and suturing the mouth closed may represent loss of speech. Amputation of feet - taking away mobility or freedom, removal of stomach (?) and hands (?), the M.O. of capture, incapacitate (stun), exsanguinate, cleanse, dress and exhibit matches M.O. partials of other unsolved traumatic death cases—BCB suspect in Munson homicide.
BCB LOW PROFILE activity suspected in midsouth region since 1983 and under continuous investigation by MPD and FBI, the Munson homicide would be a significant change in that it is a HIGH PROFILE kill. This suggests BCB has moved to a new, more aggressive level of desire. BCB mental derangement, anger and advanced killing skills suggest a rapid escalation in HIGH PROFILE kills in the midsouth region can be expected. The level of activity has the potential of making BCB the most dangerous and prolific serial killer in the 21st century.
Critical Observation:
THE SYMBOLIC MUTILATION-KILL OF R.T. MUNSON ON OCTOBER 17, 2008 IS INTENDED TO SEND A MESSAGE TO AREA LAW ENFORCEMENT. THE BLUFF CITY BUTCHER IS GOING PUBLIC. THE TIME TO EDUCATE THE COMMUNITY HAS LONG SINCE PASSED. I STRONGLY RECOMMEND MPD CONDUCT AN IMMEDIATE PRESS CONFERENCE.
Thirty-Four
An inch in the midsouth shuts down everything. The snow started to fall. Businesses closed and schools sent kids home at noon. The forecast said four to six inches, but the real problem would be the ice. Borderline freezing temperatures would transform the Memphis winter wonderland into an ice skating rink with bumper cars.
Carol Mason took I-40 East, her plan to get to Memphis by 8:00 p.m. But the declining weather added hours, and the increased windshield time added anger. Her thoughts were on the Bluff City Butcher. The Munson police report detailed the most horrific death scene one could ever imagine. But even worse, the evil truths were being kept from the public—innocent lives were at risk. As the thick snow fell and she crawled in the slow line of traffic, she could only think about marching into Director Wade’s office and demanding the MPD go public.
Every town in America has ghosts. Every town has haunted houses and witches. And all stories have chilling roots. The creatures of the night live in the fringe, somewhere in the dark edges of the imagination between the real and the unknown. The stories are always hard to believe, but harder to deny.
Growing up in Germantown, down the road from Memphis, Carol Mason knew all about the urban legend. She remembered the day the Weatherford girl disappeared and the night three college students were slain on the bluff. She read all the stories in The Tribune about the man with the knife on the Harahan Bridge. Even then Carol put the Bluff City Butcher in the same category as Bigfoot, werewolves, and vampires. Now her organized view of the world was in total disarray.
The BCB is real, and he wanted to kill her. That November night on the bluff, he had found her. Headlights poured over his dark, glistening skin. The fat, throbbing vein on his forehead threatened to explode. He swung his long, sweat-drenched hair from his eyes and looked into her soul. Then he plunged his knife into the hood, showing what he would do to her next. The Butcher moved with the agility and strength of a young, wild animal. He was alert and fearless, and revealed a discerning intelligence.
Through the falling snow, the lights of the Memphis skyline were visible.
It’s been two months since we met on the bluff. Maybe you forgot about me. I’m not important anymore. But with R.L. Thornton dead, there are two alive who saw your face. Is that why you need to kill me?
Before Tiger McGee and Raymond Munson were put on public display, the Memphis PD could continue to do business as usual. They stuck with standard policy and procedure—manage a low profile pursuit to minimize community awareness, minimize panic, and minimize distraction of limited departmental resources. But the BCB no longer cooperated. He showed his kills to the world. The BCB pressured the MPD to change tactics. A boogeyman lived in their city.
The Hernando de Soto Bridge iced over. The tons of sand and salt spread by the city in the last twenty-four hours did nothing. Carol
crawled onto the slippery mess in the single line of traffic. Her watch said 9:00 p.m. It would take another hour to cover the last two miles to the Peabody—then the cars stopped. Carol sat on the bridge over the Mississippi River and saw her needle on empty. Gigantic flakes on her windshield transformed the Memphis skyline into rainbow circles that disappeared with each pass of the blades. She shifted into park, killed the motor, and accepted her fate.
It was after 10:00 p.m. when she pulled into the crowded driveway at the Peabody Hotel. A slow moving line to the valet, a splitting headache, and an open lane to the hotel parking garage made up her mind—she would park her own car and get into her warm bed much sooner.
Deep into the parking garage, she realized why she traveled alone. The weather had knocked out the lights. Too late to turn back, she climbed to the second level and claimed the first open spot. When she turned off the car and turned out her lights, she could have just as easily been parked on the dark side of the moon. But before she could gather her thoughts, the passenger door popped open. A man got in and stuck a gun in her side.
She froze. The gun jammed into her ribs pointed up at her heart. Carol stared straight ahead to avoid seeing her attacker—maybe then he would let her live. He was big and breathing hard. His large, cold hand swallowed hers and removed the car keys.
My gun is in my purse in the backseat. My mace is buried somewhere in the side door panel. I may be able to find it in the dark. My martial arts training never covered defense moves from behind a steering wheel.
She would be raped, beaten, and robbed. If she did not see her attacker, she might not be killed. Why are you pushing harder? I’m not moving. Wait. That’s not a gun. No. It’s a knife.
“Are you going to kill me this time?” Carol asked.
“Yes,” the Bluff City Butcher said.
Carol kept looking straight ahead into the dark, desolate, cement bunker. Why did I not turn around when I saw the lights were out?
“If I want, this is over now,” he said.
The tip of his knife inched her skirt up her leg to the top of her nylons. It stopped on her skin like a bee sting. A single drop of blood rolled between her legs. Hot breath moved her hair.
You can see in the dark like a wild animal. You saw keys in my hand and took them. Your victims were not sexually violated. They were mutilated and killed. Will I feel your butcher knife?
“Who are you? What are you?” she asked.
“I am different and I am the same.” He grabbed her left leg above the knee as he spoke. His thumb moved to the inside of her thigh. She felt the control and the strength in his long fingers. He could crush her knee like an eggshell.
What are you saying? What do you mean?
“I am evil and I am good,” he said. “I am found and I am lost.” He removed his hand. She pulled her skirt back over her knees.
This is how you do it, some kind of sick ritual. You work yourself into a fiery rage and then plunge your ice pick into the head. You take your crippled victim to a place where you can savor the rest of your sick process.
“My life must be told,” he said.
Do you want me to tell your story? Is this my chance to survive?
Carol forgets. She begins to turn to the Butcher.
Do you have feelings? Do you possess some fragments of humanity? Why do you want your story told?
Her chin met an unmoving finger. She made the fatal mistake. She looked at him. The knife flew back to her ribcage. The tip penetrated her coat and blouse and stopped after it broke the skin. You are going to kill me now.
Thirty-Five
Carol never felt the knife or heard the question—she was in shock. By the time the lights screamed around the corner, the Butcher stood in front of her car ready to disappear. In her stupor, she lifted her head and watched him slide the knife under his belt. He closed his long, black coat. Tears filled her eyes and blurred the evil image. When she blinked, he was gone, and then she blacked out.
Is this what death feels like?
The screaming engine, smoking tires, and steaming headlights slid to a stop flooding the BMW and surrounding spaces with white light. She must be dead, because there was no more terror or pain. Carol heard the voice of the only man she ever loved, ever wanted to love, but never got the chance to love.
A loud noise. Her door popped open a second time. Slouched back in her seat, her head hung limp on her chest.
“I found you, thank God.”
He checked surroundings as he knelt sliding his gun into the ankle holster. In the blinding light behind him, his car growled like a lion ready to pounce.
He saw blood. An abdominal wound. It was a scratch. Her heart raced. She was in hypertension induced shock, semi-conscious. He had to calm her down.
“Darling, you’re not alone anymore. I’m here. You are safe.” He held both hands in his one and rubbed her neck. He saw her passenger door was ripped off the hinges and knew it could only be one man. He was somewhere in the garage watching them now.
What have you done to her?
She opened her eyes and found Elliott. Carol tried to speak, but nothing came out. She looked into his eyes like never before and whispered, “You came for me.”
He took her gently into his arms and kissed her neck. “I came only for you. Let’s get out of here.”
Elliott turned on a lamp in Carol’s suite. He covered her with a blanket and started a fire. They drank three shots of bourbon. Reliving the close encounter in the Peabody garage they stared at the dancing flames.
Elliott and Carol struggled with their new emotions tangled in old fears. Did they make each other more vulnerable? Could they ever have a normal life together? After another hour of snowflakes drifting by the twelfth floor window and settling in the quiet city below, they drifted off. Carol’s head nestled on Elliott’s chest.
Two hours later, he teased she rediscovered her stolen confidence and blind courage. Although he was still trying to understand his feelings, for her it was easy. When she faced certain death, she saw the most important thing in her life—Elliott. Her feelings were spontaneous and growing. Although she did not understand, she could not deny them. She was in a place where running away would never work.
How could he miss fresh blood? She forgot the Butcher’s knife had moved up her leg. In her weakened state she failed to mention it to Elliott. In his hyper-protective physician mode, he jumped into action. He had to locate the source of the blood on her dress. He slid off the sofa onto his knees and lifted her dress over his head in a desperate search. He suspected the worst—a lethal, internal wound. The Bluff City Butcher would take great pride in being less than obvious. He would derive great pleasure from a slow kill.
Upon closer inspection Elliott found only the small scratch on her otherwise gorgeous leg. Embarrassed and bewildered, he tried not to linger, his head deep beneath her dress. As he gathered his thoughts and attempted to tidy up on his way out, he lifted his chin above her hemline and met her wet lips. She pulled him close and held him tight. Every feeling of passion secretly held ignited the moment.
I fell in love with you when our eyes met the November night on the bluff, she thought. Elliott undressed her with an aggressive passion that aroused her wildest desires. She wanted him and she wanted to give him all of her.
Carol opened his shirt and spread her hands across his muscular chest, feeling the beat of his powerful heart as they kissed wildly and tenderly. He explored her total beauty with his mouth as she playfully undressed him and climbed his chiseled body with her luscious sensuality. They made blazing, passionate love. Elliott caressed her soft, firm curves and she lusted upon his hard body as they lost themselves in a pleasure they could have never imagined. Their eyes searched the endless depth of their new love as they shared their souls for the first time.
I will never see life the same way. Elliott experienced the exponential power that flows when two became one. Is this what has been missing in my life? Does pure love bring cla
rity of purpose, another miracle of life? Elliott carried Carol into the master bedroom where they held each other close and shared tender love through the night.
I will sleep on your chest and memorize your heart. Once she had found love, nothing was more important. Everything was possible.
When I hold you close, I feel a new strength that denies my demons. Elliott felt the beginning of something that might give him back his life. Although he was a genius, he had never known the healing power of love.
* * *
They only wore terrycloth bathrobes. “Do you want to talk about last night?” Elliott asked.
Carol climbed onto the sofa next to him with her coffee. She sat Indian-style and looked mischievously over the brim of her cup. “What is your question?”
The morning sun broke through a sliver in the drawn curtains. Most of the four inches of snow would be gone by noon. He was crazy about her. She was strong, intelligent, industrious, feisty, caring, gentle, playful, and even more gorgeous in the morning right out of bed.
“I think we should talk about last night.”
But she was in a playful mood. “Last night on the sofa, or all night in bed?”
Elliott pulled her to him and kissed her long and hard. When they broke she was dreamy-eyed and speechless. He smiled. Her head fit perfectly on his shoulder, the place where she could watch him. She cherished the view, his strong jaw and bold, blue eyes locked on the fire.
“Elliott, what’s wrong?”
“I think we need to talk about him.”
For ten hours, her thoughts had been occupied by overwhelming feelings for Elliott and an unconscious avoidance of the terror in the garage. Would she ever be ready for the talk he wanted? Now her fears and frustrations were entangled in love for him and her second near-death experience.
The Bluff City Butcher Page 18