“The weirdo? Adam in Atoka. What about him?”
“Adam from Atoka called me on my cell after he spoke on your program.”
“Is he a cop messing with me?” Doyle asked.
“No. Far from it.”
“What the hell’s goin’ on?”
Tony raised his hand to cut him off. “I’m going to say some things. I can only ask you to keep it confidential. Understand me, if you talk about any of this I’ll deny it and you’ll look stupid. Got it?”
“You’re scaring the shit out of me.” Jimmy stood up.
“I’m sorry but sometimes things are complicated. Being here puts me in conflict with direct orders. If I were in your shoes, I would want to know.”
Doyle flopped back down in his chair. Beads rolled down his forehead. His armpits were soaked. “Okay, shit, this never happened. I tend to cuss when I’m scared.”
After a soft rap, the door opened. Alex Harris leaned his head in the room unwilling to commit his entire body. Tony expected him and kept his eyes on Doyle.
“What do you have, Alex?” Tony asked.
“It’s him for sure.”
“Thank you, detective. Keep people out of here for a while.”
“Yes sir.” The door closed with a soft muffle. They were in a soundproof room.
“Oh, shit, what the fa, fa, fa . . .”
“Mr. Doyle, you were talking to the Bluff City Butcher.”
The red climbed from his throat up his jaws to his hairline. “Adam in Atoka?”
“The name means nothing. It was handy. That’s all,” Tony said. “The Bluff City Butcher called you tonight, Mr. Doyle.”
“How can you say that? How do you know?”
“We have his voice print, Mr. Doyle. We checked. We got a perfect match. It confirmed what I already knew the moment I got his call on my cell. As you know, we’ve been looking for him many years.”
“The Bluff City Butcher is real? Damn. I knew it.”
“Yes, unofficially.”
“But why call me?”
“He listens to the radio. We monitor talk shows. Part of an ongoing effort to understand his behavior, his next moves.”
“Why me?”
“If you put Marcus Pleasant on your show, he will put you and your friends on his kill list. That is what he told me tonight. I think you are smart enough to know there is little we can do to protect you.” Tony watched Doyle digest the information.
“Thanks for the heads-up, detective. You’re a good guy to tell me. I understand rules—although I don’t follow many.”
“This is a tough situation,” Tony said. “In a way I wish Marcus could go on the radio and get the truth out there. Doing it is not worth risking your life.”
“I may be accused of many things, Detective Wilcox, but I’m not letting some halfwit, sick prick control my life.”
“You don't want to mess with this, Mr. Doyle. The Butcher is dangerous.”
“I’m sure he is, but he can’t control everything.”
“He’s killed more people than you can imagine. They died painful and prolonged deaths. This demented man enjoys it. I advise you to cancel Marcus Pleasant. I advise you to release that information ASAP.”
“Cancel Marcus Pleasant?”
“Marcus understands he’s committing suicide coming here. He’s had twenty-five years of torment. He can’t take it anymore. Mr. Pleasant is willing to do this, hoping the Butcher will make a mistake.”
“You want me to cancel the biggest show of my lifetime?”
“There will be others.”
“This show draws national attention. I can’t pass that up.”
“I record my calls.” Tony pulled out his cell. “I want you to hear this.”
“Yes.”
“Detective Wilcox.”
“Long time, no hear. Where you been?”
“Busy.”
“Did you hurt the Medino family?”
“No.”
“It looks like your work.”
“I watched. I will cut up the weasel on the fourth of July.”
“Time to stop all this. Come in. Let me get you help.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“No Marcus show. You tell Doyle he doesn’t want me.”
“Why so important?”
“I will butcher Doyle and show him to the world.”
“I am going to find you.”
“I will find you first.”
Tony closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket. “You heard the voice of a very sick person. You do not want his attention. You cannot fathom the skills and resources hunting this man. He does what he wants.”
“What makes him unstoppable?” Doyle asked.
“I don’t know. He is a demented genius . . . a psychopath with a high IQ. We know he’s physically superior to most men—animal-like. The Butcher is a homicidal anomaly. He’s a beast with brains.”
“How does a genius become a serial killer?”
“They tell me intelligence has nothing to do with crazy.”
The door opened. Bear walked in. “It’s late. You done?”
“Mr. Doyle, thank you again for giving me a few minutes. I am a fan of the show. It’s good for Memphis. And we will keep an eye out for the nuts.”
“I appreciate it, detective. I guess we all gotta deal with the crazies. Come back anytime.” Jimmy did his part. Bear had no idea what went down—why should both of them be petrified?
* * *
It was after midnight. Doyle had the Bluff City Butcher on the brain, and his car sat alone in a dark parking lot off Beale. He walked a convoluted path to stay in the floods. Once in the car, doors locked, and backseat confirmed empty, his heart slowed and his machismo returned. By the time he reached his apartment, Doyle had convinced himself the sick bastard would not control his life.
By morning he had the script ready. The national promo for the Marcus Pleasant interview would be the hottest topic around every water cooler across the country. Bear taped the spot and fed sixty-four radio outlets and internet. In a few hours sixty-million people would know. Doyle was proud of his well-crafted hook: “Tune in to the interview the Butcher did not want you to hear.”
Thirty-Nine
“During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act.”
George Orwell
* * *
A knuckle rapped on the glass of the broadcast booth. Doyle looked up from his coffee mug and saw the five fingers, four, three, two, and one.
* * *
ON THE AIR
“Hello everybody, this is WKRC 1190 on your AM dial. It is Wednesday, March 18, 5:58 PM in Memphis, Tennessee—the city on the bluff.
“Welcome to The Talk of Memphis, the number-one radio talk show in the midsouth. I am your humble host Jimmy Doyle. Are you ready for another illuminating night of talk radio? We have a big one for you. Let’s waste no time.
“Our Memphis Police are going public with old news, my friends. Yesterday morning a five-minute press conference had our full attention. Director Wade told us he believes we may have a serial killer in our midst. Well, that got my attention. I got closer to my TV screen and turned up the sound. But Director Wade’s next words left me cold. He said they can’t tell us what they know because it’s an active investigation.
“Okay. But wait. Let’s see what we already know. We can add it to all the helpful information Director Wade shared.
“We know a serial killer has been in the midsouth since 1983. We know he takes people at random. He works nights. He kills with a kitchen utensil—a butcher knife. And he takes body parts.
“Now let’s add the vital information we received from Director Wade: they can’t find it, they can’t stop it, and they can’t talk about it.
“I have two suggestions I think might help Director Wade. Number one—why not start calling this serial killer by his name, the Bluff City Butcher.
Number two—why not come up with another strategy to stop him. The old ways ain’t worked for twenty-five years.
“Ladies and gentlemen, everything you want to know can be found in the urban legend. That’s right. I said it. I read the BCB story in American Serial Killers, Volume III. It’s all there. There’s a ton of information about the guy: people killed the same, organs taken, the unique incisions, and an interview with Dr. Elliott Sumner, world-renowned guy who hunts these freaks.
“We’re not talking about a bogeyman. This guy is real, and law enforcement wants us in the dark because they don’t think we can deal with real. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being treated like a child. I’m tired of public servants not serving the public. They are making very big decisions without my approval.
“I expect—no, I demand they provide me with information when my life is in danger. Their job is to catch the bad guys, but I am not their bait.
“I challenge the MPD, Shelby County Sheriff, the city and county mayors, or anyone in the midsouth to call me and deny one of my claims. My phones are open. Now is your chance. Call me now. The Bluff City Butcher is winning! The lion is out of his cage and the zookeepers are not talking. How many of us need to be eaten alive? Is Director Wade going to give any of us a lousy chance to survive this horrible nightmare? Are city leaders going to do the right thing? Do a hundred more need to die at the end of this monster’s butcher knife?
* * *
“Are you near a radio?” Tony called Elliott from police headquarters.
“Yes, I’m with Carol. We have Doyle on now. Sounds like he passed on your advice to back away, Tee.”
The show on in the background goes to commercial.
“I guess it was a good idea to leak this to a public venue,” Tony said. “A change in Wade’s strategy would never happen.”
“Maybe this will save a few lives,” Elliott said.
“Doyle figured out what I was doing. He’s a standup guy putting himself out there. He understands the risk.”
“My father told me a long time ago life is about those few special moments that come along. This is Jimmy Doyle’s.”
“We need him, Elliott. But the price could be great.”
“We make those decisions every day. I think Mr. Doyle understands the price. He has decided it’s worth it. Your people got his back?”
“Of course. Catch you later.” Tony turned to his partner. “Alex, I want a minimum of three undercovers on Doyle twenty-four-seven. Keep it low profile.”
“Sir, three of our best are at WKRC now.”
Tony smiled as Alex left. He turned up the radio.
* * *
“We should be in fear for our lives,” Doyle said into the microphone. “We should have our questions answered by law enforcement. The time has come. We are not sacrificial lambs.
“Why are we kept in the dark? I’ll tell you why, we are in the dark because the Bluff City Butcher is the most dangerous serial killer in American history. This monster is a killing machine, a predator walking among us. He is the lion. We are a herd of elk. He is thinning the herd and feasting on our carcasses.
“This radio talk show host says hell no. This radio talk show host is gonna run his fat ass off until he drops. Then I’m gonna kick like hell until I can’t kick no more. And then, ladies and gentlemen, when the lion’s at my throat I’m gonna pray the herd charges and tramples him to death.
“Together we can stop the Butcher. We need to stay together and be vigilant. We need to be armed and ready to kill the beast. This radio talk show host is not going to make it easy for this piece of human excrement.
“Now for the show you will never forget. The show the Butcher did not want to happen. Yes, he threatened to kill me if I had my next guest on the show. Did it stop me? What do you think?
“In a moment you are going to meet the only man alive who has looked into the cold eyes of the monster of urban legend—the Bluff City Butcher. My guest spoke with law enforcement—he did his duty, told them everything. Now he wants to do more. He wants to talk to you about the beast. He’s gonna do his part to protect our community. He’s gonna give you the information the MPD holds so precious. We will be right back.”
Doyle flipped the toggle. The ON AIR light box went out. WKRC staff crowded the windows applauding. The whistles and cheers felt good, but Jimmy knew he had just signed his death certificate. Wilcox needed an outsider to derail the political machinery unable to stop a monster. Doyle figured he was on the Butcher’s list. He made every other shit list.
* * *
ON AIR – LIVE
Four . . . three . . . two . . . and one “And we are back, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, The Talk of Memphis has a special community service to perform. I can now tell you my guest is the man who survived the city’s first encounter with the Bluff City Butcher.
“Tonight you will hear about a man’s walk down a very dark road in his life. It will be difficult to hear: his terror, his pain, and his losses. You may ask, why relive this nightmare with millions of people on a radio show? And, why?
“Marcus Pleasant believed the Butcher died the night he jumped off the Harahan Bridge, dropped a hundred feet, and crashed into the turbulent waters of the Mississippi River on the fateful night in 1983. It was the only way Marcus could live a life going forward. He had to let the river carry away the evil he witnessed.
“But the ongoing, suspicious deaths across the midsouth wore him down. He had heard enough. He could not stay away any longer. He had to face his fears and do something. Marcus knows the Butcher is out there, and the serial killer will never stop on his own. The twisted predator left the fog of urban legend, putting Tiger McGee and Howard Munson on display. The midsouth is his ‘killground’. He wants the world to know.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Marcus Pleasant is a Navy Seal living in Baltimore. He came home to help the Memphis police find a monster. But it was not enough. He must tell you his story. Maybe lives can be saved.
“Okay, here’s how this is going to work. I am holding calls for a while. Marcus will tell his story first. Along the way, I will ask questions I think you may have. When we finish, Marcus will decide if he can take questions. Marcus has agreed to two shows, one tonight and the second on our next program. On the second show, you will be invited to call in to share your encounters. Marcus will separate fact from fiction.”
Marcus sat in the chair across from Doyle, his microphone positioned for comfort. “Welcome Marcus Pleasant. I am pleased to have you here tonight,” Doyle said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Marcus, please call me Jimmy. Let’s not waste any more time. This is your moment. Please start at the beginning.”
“I saw him the first day Memphis knew something bad had come to town. I saw him before they gave him a name.”
“You are referring to the Memphis urban legend?”
“Yes. I guess it is a legend for a lot of people. For me the Bluff City Butcher is a real monster.”
“We are certainly detached from your reality. Please go ahead, Marcus.”
He closed his eyes, the microphone almost touching his lips. “It was a Monday night—October 17, 1983. It was my twenty-third birthday. I joined the Navy earlier in the month. I hooked up with friends at Captain Bilbo’s to celebrate. Bilbo’s was a decent restaurant on the bluff. Had a good bar. Anyway, it was my going-away party. I was leaving for San Diego in two days, and then shipping out to the Persian Gulf for a two-year tour. We got the table on the back deck. It was where the missing Weatherford girl sat one day before. She was kidnapped.”
“That would be Sabina Weatherford, the five-year-old child taken from the back deck at Captain Bilbo’s. They never found Sabina,” Doyle said.
“We were drinking beer, talkin’, and cuttin’ up some. I remember the great view of the river from our table—the barges, and the sun goin’ down and all. It was an end of a nice day. But then it started, noises comin’ from the tall grass on the blu
ff. It was weird. Cory wanted to check it out right away.” Marcus swallowed hard.
“Go ahead, you’re doing great.” Doyle slid over a water.
“We were talkin’ about the kidnapping and the man they saw on the bluff. It was in the paper—kind of spooky, but interesting. We were getting’ drunk. And I’m not proud to say I had a little pot that day, too. Nothing really bothered me much.
“I came back from the bathroom and my friends were gone. I thought they ditched me. Then I saw Teddy carrying three beers into the weeds. I was in no condition to go, so I just waited for them to come back.
“Well, twenty or thirty minutes later they were still gone. I started to worry. They could freeze out there if they fell asleep and were out there all night. They were drunk.”
“What did you do next, Marcus?”
“I went in the weeds. Followed the matted grass path. And then . . . .” Marcus dropped his head to his chest.
Thirty seconds of silence on a radio is suicide, but Jimmy’s instincts said wait. When it came to radio, he knew what felt right. He knew The Talk of Memphis flowed into homes all across the country—people were on the edge of their seats. They despised evil, and Marcus was the good guy in the story. Jimmy’s audience would wait for Marcus, the victim, the survivor. They were with him now.
“Take the time you need, Marcus. I know this is hard.”
He cleared his throat and blinked back to reality. “I’m sorry. I don’t like what happens next. I’ve kept it in a place I stayed away from for a long time because I . . .”
“Marcus, you are with friends now. Take a little more time.” Doyle leaned into his mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be right back.” He cut to commercial.
Doyle did something in radio unheard of—he stopped the show cold, and off air he told Marcus to call it a night. He saw what it did to him—the tremors, the cold sweat, the gasping for air. Doyle would not put Marcus through hell, not even for ratings. He told his guest to pull himself together and go home. It was over.
The Bluff City Butcher Page 21