The Bluff City Butcher

by Steve Bradshaw

  “How did you find us?” Elliott asked staring at the river.

  “Hell, I’ve been watchin’ you ever since Detective Wilcox bit the dust. I smelled somethin’. I followed you all over the damn city for weeks. You weren’t acting like you lost your buddy. You kept puttin’ yourself out there for the BCB.”

  “Never knew it,” Elliot said as he stepped in the water.

  “Hell no, you didn’t know. The damn younger generation doesn’t pay attention to much of anything but their damn cells. Nobody opens their eyes anymore. You should look in your rearview mirror once in a while, son.”

  “Yes sir.” Elliott grabbed a floating branch and poked for the body. “Tony, stay on the bank. Get this water in your wound and you’ll get a raging infection—could kill.”

  “Gentlemen, I’ve got hell of a story to tell. You’re not going to believe what Deputy Pilsner found,” G.E. said wiping off his Colt and looking at the dead girl.

  “Pilsner found Carol?” Elliott returned to the bank.

  “Yep. But I have my orders not to talk about it.”

  “I guess you better listen to the mayor,” Tony said.

  “This didn’t come from the mayor.”

  “Thought you worked for the mayor,” Elliott said.

  “Miss Mason said not to spoil her story. She wanted to see the look on your face.” G.E. smiled. “She reminds me of my Sophia, damn good lady, son.” G.E. left them.

  “Director Wade, it’s over,” Wilcox said. “We’re at the north end of Mud Island. Get boats out here, south of the island, now. The Butcher is dead. He’s floating down the river. Shot three times. I don’t need to tell you we gotta get the body this time.” He pocketed his cell.

  “I thought she was Carol,” Elliott said looking at the dead girl as he climbed back up the bank.

  “I hope we can identify her.”

  “She has an engagement ring. It should help.”

  G.E. put his coat over her like he was tucking in a daughter. He would stay with her until the ME arrived. G.E. would not stop until they identified her. He would talk to her family and the young man who had loved her.

  The police swarmed Mud Island. Spotlights and churning motors crisscrossed the river. Each hour that passed, they feared a repeat of 1983. This time they would continue the search until a body was found.

  Fifty-Four

  “Crime takes but a moment, but justice an eternity.”

  Unknown

  * * *

  “This is where he put me.” Carol pointed at the rusted cage. “They found Michael Bell in another room.” She stared at her blood on the floor and relived her nightmare.

  Twenty-four hours after the Butcher fell in the Mississippi River, Elliott put his arms around the girl he loved and eased her to another part of the underground room. Rotting wood-framed walls and ceilings were now lit by portable floods. Cables ran through the labyrinth of tunnels under the north substation and out the cellar doors to generators.

  “The Butcher brought me here from the woods,” Carol said.

  Pilsner and Bonn stood in the background.

  “Excuse me, Miss Mason,” Bonn said. “We did find the large drainage pipe and a Dodge Sprinter inside. It’s a half mile north of here. Thick foliage hid the pipe good. We never would have found it if we weren’t looking.”

  “Was the van there, too?” Carol asked.

  “No ma’am,” Pilsner said.

  “It would be on Mud Island,” G.E. said.

  “We’re looking now, sir,” Bonn said.

  “I can’t believe the Butcher slept under my butt this whole damn time. If it weren’t for you two, we might never have found Miss Mason and Michael Bell.”

  “Damn good police work,” Tony said.

  Carol backed up to them and squeezed between. She put her arms around Pilsner and Bonn and pulled them close. “Thank you for finding me.”

  Pilsner and Bonn smiled. “We were lucky, ma’am.”

  “You followed a trail of hunches beginning with a lost police report,” Elliott said. “You went on a dangerous walk into the bowels of hell. At the time you were pretty sure you had found the Butcher’s home and did not know if he was in there. You could have been killed, but went in anyway. I have been around the world hunting serial killers. What you two did yesterday is rare. I am honored to know you.”

  For Deputy Pilsner, recognition from the world-renowned forensic investigator of the decade meant everything.

  They approached stainless steel tables on wheels next to a wall covered with hanging tools and surgical instruments. “The workshop,” Elliott muttered.

  “Can you tell us anything looking at this?” G.E. asked.

  “Sophisticated,” he said. “Many of the surgical instruments are specialized, used for delicate procedures.” He picked up and examined one scalpel and continued to educate the group. “Specimen collection and slide-making equipment tell me this was put together by a medically trained doctor.”

  “What was this place used for?” Tony asked as he opened a rusted cupboard door and poked at a tissue culture flask with a piece of meat floating inside.

  Elliott took it from him. “The tissue preservative solutions and transport supplies make this place a tissue acquisition site. I suspect a lot of human tissue left this room. The ice machine in the corner and packing materials piled over there tell me tissue and organs moved out of here often.”

  “Did someone do surgery down here?” G.E. asked.

  “Harvesting. This is one place where the Butcher brought victims. They were found later missing some organs.”

  “He operated on people?” Carol said as she slid an arm through Elliott’s and stared at the stainless steel table caked with dried blood.

  “He did not do the surgery,” Elliott said.

  “Then who did?” Tony asked.

  “A medical doctor seeking specific tissue specimens. Each tissue sample had to be evaluated, removed a certain way, and put in the proper preservative for transport. Besides providing victims, the Butcher had an ancillary role, closing surgical wounds and disposal.”

  “Those tables have restraints,” G.E. said.

  “Minimal restraints tell me victims were held in a vegetative state. No evidence of an effort to keep them alive—no intravenous apparatus, intubation supplies, or life preserving pharmaceuticals.”

  “The Butcher had to be an Igor,” Tony said.

  “I don’t think so. Too intelligent and self-driven to take a subservient role. I suspect his guardian gave him validation—attention, purpose, and friendship.”

  “Did he control the Butcher?” Tony asked.

  “Maybe psychological control. But the guardian knew the Butcher had to kill. And he knew he could not stop him.”

  “Never understood that psychology mumbo jumbo,” G.E. mumbled. “None of it makes any sense to me.”

  “There had to be a need for fresh tissue. We know the Butcher needed to kill. This made for a twisted, symbiotic relationship,” Elliott said.

  “We may be able to identity this guardian,” Carol said. “Follow me . . .”

  She led them through one of many openings in the wall. The narrow tunnel carved into the dirt long ago was framed with old boards covered in cobwebs.

  The tunnel opened into a room with rock walls and an eight-foot ceiling. Their lights touched the numerous stacks of dust-covered boxes. As they choked on the stale air, Carol led them through the stacks to the only portable light on a stand in the room. Under it were opened boxes and a dozen files spread on a fold-out work table.

  “Each document gets a number and is scanned to an electronic repository,” Carol said. “Until we know more, they will be handled by few and held in a secured location.”

  “We hit the mother lode,” G.E. said.

  “These boxes contain details on victims of the Butcher and their medical procedures,” Carol said as she handed a file to Elliott.

  “This is set up like a patient file—name, residen
ce, physical examination, date of abduction, surgical procedure, organs harvested, and body disposal with location.”

  Tony’s phone rang. “They found the body. They’re taking him to the medical examiner's office. Bates wants to get started as soon as you get there, Elliott.”

  “Let’s go.” Elliott put an arm around Carol and led the way out of the rock room.

  “Thank God we can avoid another legend,” Carol said.

  Once outside, they scattered and took off in separate cars. Elliott and Carol broke from the group and got into Elliott’s car, their first time alone since her abduction and his near-death battle with the Butcher. They immediately embraced and kissed passionately with their hands going everywhere.

  “You know we have a little time,” Elliott said between passionate kisses.

  “I need a lot more time than we could possibly have now.”

  “I agree.”

  “God, Elliott. I worried about you. I heard him talking to you. I hated he used me to get to you. I never should have walked to Beale alone.” Carol held his neck.

  “You’re in a cage in a cave and you’re worried about me? I love you, Carol.”

  “I know. I love you, Doctor Sumner.”

  They shot through the substation gates and got on I-240. The county morgue was five minutes away.

  “Did you see the watermark on that summary page?”

  “Gilgamesh. I saw initials on the victim’s history—ECM.”

  “Dr. Enrique Carlos Medino! He was the Butcher’s guardian?”

  Elliott turned off on Madison and into the morgue parking lot. “I thought I was hunting a serial killer, Carol. There is more going on here. Dr. Medino needed fresh human tissue to conduct his biogenic research.”

  “How did he and Adam Duncan get together?” Carol said.

  “And what is Gilgamesh . . . ?”

  Fifty-Five

  “A wise man proportions his belief to the evidence.”

  David Hume

  * * *

  The meeting option went through Max. Approached by a friend in the CIA, the emissary suggested he encourage his friends attend. Unnamed, high-level insiders were disturbed that a top secret government program could be in jeopardy due to inquiries arising from the Bluff City Butcher investigation and linkage to Dr. Medino. Actions would be taken. The courtesy meeting went on the table one time.

  The impromptu meeting would be off the record. Max had twenty-four hours to confirm participation of Albert Bell, Elliott Sumner, Carol Mason, Tony Wilcox and G.E. Taft. The timing of the proposed meeting would be the only good thing going for it. Max did not pass on that his people were not moved by empty threats.

  The Butcher was dead. The inquest was completed. And the archeological efforts in the catacombs under the north substation were under way. They already identified a hundred and twenty-seven victims in six states. The Shelby County Sheriff’s Office led the investigation working with FBI and all relevant regional and local law enforcement agencies providing locations of victim remains.

  Elliott confirmed Jack Bellow’s DNA was a match to the Butcher. It made sense. Five of the ten investors in his company were dead. LIFE2 Corporate assets were frozen. S.E.C. launched their own investigation with six citings: illegal change of control, improper distribution of capital, conflicts of interest, illegal IPO, investor-tampering and insider trading.

  Albert Bell got the group together for a decision on the proposed meeting. “If the government people want a meeting, they need to fit our schedules,” Albert said.

  “Maybe we can learn something from them,” Elliott said. “I think we do this.”

  “If someone has a problem with our investigation, they need to come to Memphis and present their case,” G.E. barked.

  “We are going to understand Dr. Medino’s research and linkage to a twenty-five year killing spree regardless of government threats,” Elliott said.

  “Is everybody else okay with this?” Albert asked.

  “I find this all peculiar,” Carol said. “Why interest now? Where were they the last twenty-five years?”

  “With Dr. Medino and Jack Bellow out of the picture, and the company shutdown by the S.E.C., they want to get closer to the private research,” Elliott said. “I still think we can learn more from them.”

  “Max, tell your friend we will meet here tomorrow at 6:00 p.m. I recommend they send their top people. There will be only one meeting.”

  “What possibly could motivate this group from the federal government to comply?” Max asked.

  “This meeting is a courtesy, not a command performance. Their attendance is in their best interest, Max. They will have an opportunity to have input, a story in The Memphis Tribune is slated the following day: “U.S. Government Complicit in Top Secret Life-Extension Research Linked to The Bluff City Butcher and 127 Deaths.”

  Carol smiled. “You are a newspaper man.”

  As Albert no doubt expected, the government saw the wisdom in cooperation. They accepted all minor adjustments to their suggested meeting plan—including timing and location.

  Three arrived at the Bell mansion in a limousine. They were seated in the north dining hall at the center and one side of the thirty-foot table. At precisely 6:00 p.m. a door opened and Albert’s group entered. They sat across from the guests. Albert positioned himself in the middle. Elliott and Carol flanked him. Tony and G.E. sat at the ends. Max did not attend. The cordial meeting explored for ten minutes and then moved to the meat.

  “Of course, our government is engaged in hundreds of top secret research projects at any given time,” Phillip McCormick said. The middle-aged, slender gentleman with a mustache sat between his assistants. From the start he did the talking, the apparent senior member of the group although titles were not given.

  “Our national interests are best served when we acquire a relevant advantage in an ever-changing and most dangerous world.” Tom Slater sat by G.E. He looked away when he spoke, as if someone could see secrets in his eyes. His right ear twitched when he was evasive. Knowing that could come in handy later.

  “When government efforts are in the best interest of the people they serve, there is seldom controversy,” Albert said. “The problems throughout history have come when the few tried to decide for the many. Oversight helps ensure the peoples’ interests are represented. I have heard your group is engaged in activities not known to our elected leaders. Is that true?”

  “Well, I don’t believe the . . .” McCormick said.

  Elliott leaned in, cutting McCormick off, his silent presence projecting the strength of a more worldly man. “Gentlemen, we need to be direct. What do you know about Enrique Medino’s research and linkage to the Butcher that you can tell us?”

  “Dr. Enrique Medino was once a respected molecular biologist and geneticist with good research. Later in his life he resorted to trickery for personal gain.”

  Tony laughed out loud. “How can you prove that? The man is dead and you want his discovery. How convenient to villainize him.” Elliott gave Tony the shut up look.

  “Did you know Dr. Medino was dying from pancreatic cancer back in June of 2004? Six months later he miraculously recovered.”

  “Yes, he was a proud cancer survivor,” Elliott said.

  “Remarkable, don’t you think, Dr. Sumner? Have you ever seen such a recovery from pancreatic cancer?” Slater asked.

  “No. I must admit it surprised me, frankly. I had no reason to suspect he faked his recovery. Miracles do happen.”

  Slater slid a DVD to Albert. “I suggest taking a look at this when you can.” William intercepted the DVD and disappeared. A screen descended from the ceiling and the video started to run as Slater spoke.

  “Here you can see a very sick Dr. Medino greeting Jack Bellow at the TAO Room in Las Vegas on June 24, 2004. The man is death walking.” They watched for a minute, and it went to a second video. “Now, six months later, we see a healthy Medino energetically walking into the Crescent Building in Memp
his, Tennessee. And here he is helping Jack Bellow into the dining room. Notice he’s holding Jack up with one arm.”

  “Mr. Slater, we’ve seen these videos before,” Albert said.

  “I'm sure you have. They tell the story Dr. Medino wanted to tell, the story Jack Bellow experienced firsthand. A cancer cure and life-extension discovered at last. Jack Bellow prepared his entire life to introduce the greatest breakthrough of all time to the world. He lived the Medino miracle. He was given his dream opportunity by the Father of Immortality himself!” The video ended with rolling lines.

  “Is this all you’ve got, Mr. Slater?” Elliott asked.

  McCormick whispered, “Jack Bellow was Medino’s engine for the creation of personal wealth in the twilight years of a failed career.”

  A third video started to run. “This is security camera footage from the Hilton Hotel in Nashville. The date and time registry in the lower right corner—June 14, 2004, 7:10 p.m. CDT. You see a terribly ill Dr. Medino sitting alone on the sofa, his condition similar to that in Vegas thirteen days later.”

  “I think we can agree it is Dr. Medino in the midst of chemotherapy at Vanderbilt Medical Center,” Elliott said.

  A second man entered the picture, a vibrant Dr. Medino. He passed an envelope to the sick Dr. Medino. They shook hands, talked and laughed for another minute. The video ended.

  “We have an imposter,” McCormick said. “The sick version of Dr. Medino played by Alfred Canter, a small time community actor and cancer patient at the Medical Center. Unfortunately, Mr. Canter died January 2005. The poor fellow had no chance. He suffered from pancreatic cancer.

  “Medino had a proposition for the dying man. It was an all-expense paid trip to Las Vegas and one day acting gig paying $50,000. Canter was weak, and he had nothing to leave his wife. He memorized Medino’s bio and the technology script in a day,” Slater said.