Hometown Killer

by Carol Rothgeb

  Sapp found that thought to be quite amusing and laughed very hard at his own remark.

  Sergeant Graeber asked Sapp if he needed to use the rest room and he replied that he did.

  Moody then remarked, “One more thing to talk about. One more thing to straighten out.”

  As they all stood up to leave the room, Sapp said, “I’m serious, though.”

  Lieutenant Moody patted Sapp on the shoulder, “I know. I know.”

  “That one down there is not me,” Sapp stated.

  Sapp (laughing): Well, I know what this next one’s about.

  Graeber: We have to get that other map.

  Sapp (laughing again): Another map? Man!

  Moody: I guess what’s interesting about you . . . I mean, just before we took this break, what we noticed is every time something happens—in a short period of time—you move. Okay? I mean we saw that with Martha and Phree. You come back into town, the log cabin burns. Martha and Phree—that’s in August, and in September you move over on Miller Street. Belinda disappears—that’s the name of [the] girl in the garage—Belinda. And we also know, just like you did with Ursula, that you guys—when you have your problems with the rock and you need something like that—you hook up with one of these chicks. You go do that. They get what they wanted. You get what you wanted. You guys get high. Boom! Part company. Okay?

  Sapp: Ursula’s the only one I ever done that with—the only one I ever trusted like that.

  Moody: Why? What other women did you run into that beat you out of stuff?

  Sapp (shaking his head): Never been one to beat me.

  Moody: No, I can honestly say, just by looking at you . . . you never allowed any of these women to get over on you. That stopped after the hurt of being young. That’s why we’re talking about taking control. You took control. You took control when Helen insulted you. You took control with Martha and Phree. You took control with Belinda. You took control with Ursula.

  Sapp: The problem is, I should’ve done what I got accused of doing. Then it wouldn’t have been so bad.

  Moody: Done what? What should you have done that you were accused of doing?

  Sapp: She said I raped her!

  Moody: Who? Ursula?

  Sapp (protesting): She said I kidnapped her! I didn’t do none of that shit!

  Moody (feigning astonishment): Hey! Bill! Does it surprise you that a woman would get on the stand and lie about you? After all the shit you’ve been through? After the way these bitches have treated you?

  Sapp: Yeah.

  Moody: It surprises you that she’d get up in a court of law and raise her right hand and lie about you?

  Sapp: About something I didn’t do. Yeah!

  Moody: Why should that surprise you? Look at it! Look at what she did to you! She stole your dope! Then she kicked you in the nuts!

  Sapp (shaking his head): Yeah, but still . . . She said she never knew me—never seen me before.

  Moody: So let’s get this last one done. All right?

  Sapp: Where am I supposed to be at now?

  (Moody unfolded the map.)

  Sapp: Where in the hell is this at, man?

  Moody: On East Pleasant. You go on down—on down this road. That’s where it comes out onto Kenton Street. You know where we’re at now?

  Sapp: Umm, yeah. I think I do.

  Moody: You’ve got railroad tracks here. Mill Run runs down through here.

  Sapp: Yeah, I used to steal the blasting caps out of the cabooses.

  Moody: Back down here at the DT and I railroad yard?

  (Sapp nodded yes.)

  Moody: Then you know this area pretty well.

  Sapp: Umm, back then.

  Moody: Well, it hasn’t changed much. What we need to talk about happened down here in this area.

  (Sapp shrugged.)

  Moody: Back in February of 1994. You were living on Miller Street. Something happened in February of ’94 and just like clockwork—just like always—in March of ’94, you move off Miller Street out to Kinnane. Every time something happens, you make a move.

  Sapp: Mmm, no. That ain’t necessarily true. I moved off Miller ’cause Karen was pregnant and I didn’t want her going up and down the damn stairs in the winter. That’s why we moved off Miller. She already fell once and hit her—messed up her back and her backbone. I wasn’t having it

  Moody: And that may be part of the reason because you do care so much about Karen. But you’ve got to think about what else is going on during this time. Are you working then? Is it anything steady?

  Sapp: Whew! I don’t know.

  Moody: You’ve got that crack problem. You’re drinking. You say she’s pregnant?

  Sapp: Ah, we spent most of the time, I think, in and out of welfare.

  Moody: Vanessa*’s born in August—three days after the fire on Miller Street. So, Karen’s pregnant in February, isn’t she?

  (Sapp nodded.)

  Moody: She’s three months along. What else is going on during that time?

  Sapp (shaking his head and sighing): Nothing much.

  Graeber: Were you happy about the baby coming?

  (Author’s note: Sapp’s answer, to put it mildly, was disturbing.)

  Sapp: Hell, yeah! Especially when I found out it was a girl.

  Moody: How did Karen feel about it?

  Sapp: What? A baby? Ah, she loved it. We were going to make this our last one.

  Moody: But you didn’t stop, though, did you?

  Sapp: Nope—Brad*.

  Moody: June 14, 1995.

  Sapp: That’s when I gave her a present. I went and had myself fixed.

  Moody: After Brad?

  Sapp (nodding): Yeah.

  (Then laughed.) Oh, well!

  Moody: What else is going on during that time, man? How are you feeling about things?

  Sapp: Shoot, pretty good. Especially when we found a place for Karen—I mean, it needed a little work, but it was worth it. I don’t know . . . It was a whole house. It had a front yard. The kids could go out. The dog. Loved it on Kinnane! It was ideal. Beautiful. Peaceful.

  Graeber (tapping a spot on the map): You tell us about here. This wooded area right here.

  Sapp: I can’t tell you nothing about no wooded area. I told you everything I know. I can’t tell you something I don’t know nothing about.

  Moody: In February of 1994—in the middle of February—we found a woman here. She was reported missing on February 2, 1994. She was found February 19, 1994. We know where this young woman was—the last place anybody saw her. We know what she was about. She had a crack problem too.

  Sapp: Well, not everybody that uses crack . . . we all don’t hang together.

  Moody: I’m not saying that. She was a prostitute. That doesn’t make her a bad person either.

  Sapp: No. She’s just gotta take care of herself and her habit.

  Moody: That’s right. But what’s interesting about this is—she fits right in with some of the things that you’ve done. This woman wasn’t alive, but she still told us things. You’ve got to fill in the blanks for us.

  Sapp: I ain’t filling in the blanks, ’cause she didn’t tell them about me.

  Graeber: Why wouldn’t she tell them about you? Sapp (laughing): It wasn’t me. I mean, I’m not trying to be a smart-ass. I mean, bear with me. I mean seriously. That’s not me. That’s—not—me! I told you what I done.

  Moody: Okay. But you understand where I’m coming from here?

  Sapp: Oh, yeah! I understand! I mean, you’ve got to do your job. You’ve got to ask questions. But I’m telling you, that’s not me there!

  Graeber: Helen . . . you hit her with a piece of rebar. Right?

  (Sapp nodded.)

  Graeber: See, this lady here—she got hit with rebar also. Left marks on certain parts of her body.

  Sapp: That wasn’t me. I’m telling you, that wasn’t me.

  Moody: It’s not like you’ve got anything to lose here.

  Sapp: Right! I don’t. Bu
t I’m not gonna cop out to something I didn’t do!

  Moody: I don’t want you to, Bill. I don’t want you to.

  Sapp (firmly): I’ll tell you—that one—Penn Street (Caitlin Levalley)—and that fire—that’s not me. Wasn’t there. Didn’t do it.

  Graeber: You want to know something? I believe you. I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, but I believe you.

  Sapp: Well, you know, coming from a convict . . . Maybe I’m the world’s greatest liar, but I don’t think I can lie that damn good.

  Moody: No. You can’t.

  (Sapp laughed.)

  Graeber: You actually can’t lie worth a shit.

  25

  My wife has told friends about how Graeber and I sat there and ate with him . . . laughed with him. . . . I mean, he is what he is. . . . We are what we are. . . . Our job is to make sure he doesn’t do it again.

  —Captain Steve Moody

  The detectives had a few more steps before they could call the dance complete.

  “Let me ask you something, Bill,” Lieutenant Moody stated. “We talked about here and we’ve talked about Florida. Is there any [other] place in Ohio?”

  “No,” Sapp replied.

  “Is there anything else in any other state or city or town that we need to know about? That we can make straight for you?”

  Sapp (shaking his head): No. Nothing. I’ve only been to Florida and Ohio.

  Moody: What about the states in between?

  Sapp: Well, you know, that’s in a car, traveling with the wife and kids—which she did the driving—nonstop. It’s just not a nice thing to think about.

  Moody: Let me ask you about something, since we’re talking about Karen. How much of this stuff did Karen know about? Which ones did Karen know about?

  Sapp: Nothing. She suspected, I think, but she didn’t know nothing.

  Moody: She suspected on Helen. She knew about Helen.

  (Sapp stared at Moody.)

  Moody: Because she tried to help you out. She tried to throw us off the track.

  Sapp: No. ’Cause I was totally somewhere else—I told her I was totally somewhere else when . . .

  Moody: Well, but why—the next day after Helen . . . what about the police report you made about being assaulted at Fountain and Miller? What was that about? That was to cover the injuries you got from Helen, wasn’t it?

  Sapp (angrily, but irrationally): No. That’s ’cause that little fat-ass, tub-of-lard, hookin’ ass, little bitch staying in that corner house went to running her fucking mouth—yelling “nigger.” And they come over there and three of them little bastards said they was gonna hit my wife and hit my kids. And that ain’t gonna jump off with me!

  Moody (unconvinced): So, you’re telling me that Karen didn’t give that police artist that sketch just to throw us off?

  Sapp (calm again): No. What she seen . . . You know that could’ve been somebody just totally innocent looking for Helen. I don’t know.

  Moody: Well, evidently, it was—someone totally innocent—because we know who assaulted Helen.

  Sapp: But she never knew. I think she kind of felt—only after what happened with Ursula.

  Moody: What about the scratches and the marks you got left on you from Belinda in the garage?

  Sapp: You know, that’s not real hard to take care of.

  Graeber: What about the scratches from Helen? How’d you explain them to Karen?

  Sapp (shrugging): Fight . . . Of course there was the missing shirt and everything, but, you know, if you’re gonna be a liar, you gotta do it right. You gotta at least be muddy and dirty. You gotta at least have swollen-up body parts. If there ain’t nobody there to do it for you—and you don’t want nobody to do it for you—you do it yourself.

  (Self-inflicted injuries so that he could tell Karen that he had been in a fight or had been assaulted.)

  Moody: There’s nothing else you think we need to know about?

  Sapp: No.

  Moody: You haven’t hurt anybody else that we need to know about?

  Sapp (shaking his head): No.

  Moody: How do you feel?

  Sapp: I feel good . . . light. (He touched the back of his head.) I also feel like—fire back here. And I’m scared the hell to death. ’Cause I know what’s coming. I know exactly what’s gonna happen. I got a feeling it’s gonna be max on everything.

  All the maps and evidence were locked up in the cabinet and they took a break. When Sapp came back into the room, he stared at the bare table and then turned and looked at the cabinet and sighed. He spoke while alone in the room: “Sorry. I hope they catch the . . . He needs to be caught—just like me. I thought I was the only sick, deranged son of a bitch out there. I guess not.”

  He turned toward the cabinet again and whispered: “Well, Jimmy Boy, don’t worry. We’re gonna be together for a long time. If I can get over to Madison.”

  Then Lieutenant Moody came back into the room. “Do you need anything?” he asked.

  Sapp replied no.

  Moody: You know there’s one thing that . . . You were talking earlier about the knives and stuff—and you talked about a Klan knife. How’d you come about getting that? It was a collector’s thing, wasn’t it? What was it? Ku Klux Klan—what?

  Sapp: It’s a “for members only” knife.

  Moody: How’d you come upon that?

  (Sapp laughed softly.)

  Moody: How’d you get that?

  Sapp: I’m a member.

  Moody: What attracted you to that group?

  Sapp: Wasn’t really attracted much to the group itself. It was just—it’s not so much that they’re against niggers—they’re against anything that’s not them.

  Moody: How did you feel about that? Were you like that?

  Sapp: Values ain’t all that bad.

  Moody: How do you feel about the mixing of the races.

  Sapp (after a long silence): I don’t believe it should be done.

  Moody: How do you feel about blacks?

  Sapp: You got blacks—and you got whites—and you got niggers.

  Moody: But how do you feel about black people?

  Sapp (finally answering): About the same as I feel about white people.

  Moody: Have you gone with any light-skinned black girls?

  Sapp: Light-skinned? (He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table.) No, there wasn’t no light-skinned.

  Moody: Did you ever know a light-skinned black woman that was on the street down there by the name of Gloria? She had a crack problem too.

  Sapp: No. I’d remember light skin.

  Moody: Let me ask you something. Has any black woman you’ve dated screwed you over—ripped you off?

  Sapp (shaking his head): No, that’s one thing I can say. I’ve yet to have found a black one that would do that.

  Moody: The woman that we talked about—the last portion that we talked about—in the woods? The last map we got out?

  Sapp: Yeah. What about it?

  Moody: She was a black girl named Gloria who was a prostitute with a crack problem. Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me about?

  Sapp: No. I’m positive.

  Moody: I mean, I was just thinking . . . You were talking about the Klan knife and all that stuff, you know. Are you going to have a problem with—everybody else involved in what you’ve done has been white—are you going to have a problem admitting that this was a black woman?

  Sapp: No. As a matter of fact, it never even dawned on me—everybody being white.

  Moody: All right. Okay, man, I just, I guess . . .

  Sapp: Well, you know, you’re wishing. You’ve got to . . .

  Moody: No, I’m not wishing. Just making sure to check all—you know, cover all the bases.

  Sapp: But I won’t cave in even an inch on something that I didn’t do.

  Moody: And I don’t want you to! I don’t want you to!

  Sapp: I mean, I know I may have used rebar, and God forbid if another one is. If there’s somebody o
ut there, then he’s got a real problem.

  Moody (agreeing): Yeah, he sure does. (Moody got up from the table and left the room.) Let me see what’s going on.

  (A minute later the detectives came back into the room.)

  Graeber: Hey, Bill! (Graeber laid a picture on the table in front of Sapp.) Do you know this woman?

  (Sapp leaned over the picture and looked at it and shook his head.)

  Sapp: Never saw her. I ain’t never seen her before.

  Moody (heading out of the room again): That’s who I was just talking to you about.

  (Sapp studied the picture.)

  Graeber: Pretty, isn’t she?

  (Sapp shrugged.)

  Alone in the room again, Sapp put his head down on the table, then laughed and sat back in the chair. Then he leaned forward and started singing softly. Resting his head on his arms, he tapped his fingers.

  A few moments later, he sat back again: “I bet I could catch that other fucker. Guarantee it.

  “Well, it’s over. All over. Finally. Now I can quit worrying.”

  He stood up, spread his arms, and sighed. Then he walked over to the cabinet and leaned on it.

  “Even though I’m gonna be in the pen for the rest of my life, I’m the freest fucking man in the world!