I needed Walter to contact Anita. I chose a day after her visit to the behavioral center to approach her at her home. After introducing myself and providing the usual business card and rationale for my visit we got down to brass tacks.
“I’m doing a piece for a major news magazine on victims of crimes five and ten years after the courts decision. I’d like to review what happened in your case?”
Anita began to sob uncontrollably. Her grief knew no consolation. Eventually, she choked out her remnants of anger, “He spent a couple years in jail, that’s all, a couple of years.” I gave her time to collect her thoughts and proceed as she was able. “He ruined my son’s life.” She couldn’t see it but I recognized her broken spirit. She was burdened with the feelings of guilt and her life was but a shell of what it could have been.
She was angry at Benjamin and it spewed out freely. In the end, she blamed herself for putting her son in danger. I took notes intermittently as she talked. She seemed eager to answer questions and filled in the gaps historically. She said her son has been in treatment multiple times for depression, requires mood-stabilizing medications, and continued to be withdrawn. She knew Dover was “out” but had not seen or had contact with him.
“I wished he had been raped to death in jail.” These were sentiments I’d read many times before from victims’ families. They want vengeance and ultimately a day of reckoning.
Before departing, Anita asked, “Is it fair, that’s what your article should ask, is it fair?”
I felt a little depressed I wasn’t actually writing a feature piece for some rag, but I hoped what I had to offer would give her peace—Ben’s head on a serving platter.
Some might be concerned for Benjamin. It appeared his family continued to love him. They were supportive and kept in contact with him. His life certainly was a tragedy and likewise took its toll on family members. It might sound callous to say, so what, but so what? He was responsible for his actions and I couldn’t care less about him.
I was in position to cause Anita some much-needed peace of mind. Soon, she would receive the good news of Ben’s death. It would be especially comforting to know he didn’t die a natural death but was murdered. To help ease her pain it would have given me considerable pleasure to let her know his fate was already decided, but that would’ve been foolhardy. I thanked her for her time and for sharing her feelings with me and said goodbye. It was time to locate Benjamin.
Seattle was nearly 300 miles north of my Portland home; this had its pros and cons. When a serious crime is committed, police and their profilers usually look in the neighborhood where the crime was committed. If it is discovered down the road that a serial killer is on the loose, law enforcement will focus their attention where they determine the first kill took place. In theory, most serial killers do start close to home where they are most comfortable. In my case it would be far enough from my residence to insure an extra degree of safety.
This presented some logistical issues to be overcome. Fortunately, a high school friend lived in Kent, Washington. From his Seattle suburban home I would establish a base of operations. He bought my reasons for being in the Seattle area. As far as he knew I was gathering information for a story about the aircraft industry. It was a dull and boring subject that wouldn’t stimulate any conversation.
He seemed to think little about the frequency of my trips and enjoyed our time reminiscing. It saved me the expense of a hotel, but even more important, my name would not appear in hotel registers anywhere in the Seattle area. The less paper trail the better I liked it. I found most of my reconnaissance paying off quickly. Another plus for living locally was I had as much time as I needed to get the project finished.
Ben was employed at a Mom and Pop’s music store in a rundown strip mall in White Center. This old suburb of Seattle was a lower-income area with many older homes and apartment complexes. Maybe better than that, people kept to themselves and minded their own business for the most part. People can, if they were of a mind to, stay in the recesses of a city like Seattle and go undetected their entire life. In this scenario, what was good for Ben was likewise good for me.
I needed to have “eyes on” before assuming a more difficult role. As Yogi Berra once said, “You can observe a lot just by watching,” and watching was one of the things Walter did well. The street view of this strip mall with an L-shape design appeared to be to my advantage. Plenty of parking was available on the lot in front of the stores. This was indicative of an older mall which was common years ago to provide lots of parking spaces. I suspected at one time it had been very busy. Now it was used mostly by commuters parking their vehicles and carpooling or using the mass transit system.
To avoid detection one must avoid obvious and conspicuous locations. The area surrounding the parking lot provided good cover. A major intersection was located at the south end of the lot. Adjacent to the front of the lot was a busy bus stop. People frequently milled around the front of the mall killing time waiting for their bus. This was all to my advantage. Blending in was something I did well. The more people and the busier the area the more difficult it was for someone to note my presence. Isolated terrain features created difficulties for getting close to a target. And I liked to be close. Close enough to feel their presence. Close enough to hear their last agonal gasp for air.
The mall was surprisingly busy with all the storefronts sporting a business of various designs. A large Chinese restaurant had the anchor position of the mall nearest the main avenue. Next to the restaurant was an embroidery shop, a surplus dollar store, a martial arts studio, a couple of independent insurance agent offices, and a small community resource center located on the lengthier part of the mall. The music store had a prominent position being nestled in the corner of this L. It was flanked by a flower shop and a day-care center.
Because my recons were sporadic and Dover’s work schedule fluctuated, I became concerned when he hadn’t shown for work in a couple days. I paid the little store a visit asking for Ben. He had been terminated. People thought very little of straight-up questions. Concocting elaborate schemes usually didn’t pay off any better and it was hard to remember the script. The young punk rocker working the music store provided me with more details than I asked for. Dover was often stressed out, tired and sleepy with a constant tardiness on the job. He was a skilled laborer with a good education and felt society was terribly unfair to him and he didn’t seem shy about making the accusation. The consequences he continued to encounter for being a sex offender were in his eyes unfair. I turned my observation to his apartment.
It was time to close the loop. It was midmorning, sunny and warm. Down a dimly lit corridor of the aged apartment building the small stature of Benjamin Dover could be seen on the move. The service door, which he apparently preferred, emptied out into a shaded parking lot hidden from street view. His vehicle was parked near the rear of the lot away from other resident’s vehicles that usually crowded near the door. Like clockwork he was going about his normal routine. I suspect he thought he was sly, but I saw him differently. His destination was a well-known park that catered to families with young children. His activities were also known to me. And far more sinister than perhaps the common person expected. I’ve made a life out of studying sexual offenders and I’m in tune with their thinking matrix. I knew what he was thinking; I was there, watching closely.
Today was no different other than that he was now unemployed. He drove a short distance to a local Safeway, purchased a bag of candy, and then proceeded to the park. The park was relatively small, a community type with plenty of swing sets and monkey bars for the little kids to play on. Spotty patches of shade trees covered the park benches that lined the paved path circling the children’s play areas. It was picturesque and disarming in many ways. People felt isolated from danger here, yet it sat not far from any of them.
Dover’s trip to the park might seem like a harmless venture, but sexual offenders were never harmless. They might be opportuni
stic, acting out on impulse or actively seek to manipulate their way into a safe environment to prey upon the innocent. Dover was no exception, he reeked of predictable treachery. Regardless, his present state of mind was not my interest. I wasn’t here to build a legal case against him. I had come to settle a score from his past. Dover was guilty of the worst kind of betrayal, violating a child’s trust. The consequences were devastating. In my court, there were no negotiating terms or mitigating circumstances to consider. The penalty of death loomed closely for Ben.
Dover could have parked in the lot for patrons but he chose a spot a block away in front of a large apartment complex. He was being deceptive. He casually strolled to the bike path entrance and into the grounds. It was interesting to watch him. He was paranoid, looking over his shoulder frequently, coming to a halt if others on the path were gaining on him. But when he sat on a bench and watched the children all his attention was on them. He didn’t look around; he was almost spellbound with a sheepish little smile. I watched as he spoke with children playing and offered candy from his Safeway bag. What was wrong with this? He was a child sex offender.
He spent the remainder of the day in the park. In the late afternoon he drove to a Jack-in-the-Box where he spent more than an hour in the play area eating his dinner. From my vantage I could keep Dover in view. Dusk was approaching and knowing his routine I made a beeline to his apartment complex. As usual there was no one present in the back lot. I parked my vehicle in an adjacent lot out of view. I slipped on my latex gloves and jacked a round into my .40-caliber. The moderator fastened tightly just like it had the many times I’d rehearsed it. I sat back and waited. My hat cocked at a forward angle like I was napping as darkness approached.
The parking lot lighting illuminated near the apartment but back by a row of shade trees where Dover liked to park, it was of little value. His car came into view as he pulled off Ambaum Way, and as anticipated, he backed into his favorite spot far away from the apartment building. The cab of the car flashed bright for a moment as he lit a cigarette then leaned his head back on the seat.
As I prepared to meet Mr. Dover for the first and last time, Destiny passed before his car. Dover sat up momentarily and appeared to look in her direction. Maybe he did; maybe he didn’t. I’ll never know if she was visible to him.
My anxiety was beginning to build. I recalled my way of controlling my emotions on the ranch when I had to kill one of the animals. A technique I called “switching channels.” It was a mind game to close out my emotions and it worked. I could do this kill without feeling anything, just as with the animals I killed, except I liked the farm animals.
Dover was a worthless piece of humanity. He might have changed his ways, repented of his sins, found god, or been enlightened by Confucius—it was irrelevant. It didn’t change what he had done and wouldn’t change the outcome of his day.
I looked about as I exited my Avenger. No one was in sight. My eyes continued to search the cars and apartment windows for any sign of people that might see the transaction take place. My Glock with the moderator attachment seemed longer than I thought it would be. I covered it loosely with a thin jacket with the butt facing forward and placed it under my left arm. It only had to be veiled for a few minutes. Dover sat relaxed, smoking a cigarette, with his left arm hanging limply out the driver’s side window.
“Yo!” I announced my presence. I didn’t want to startle him approaching from the back left corner of his car. Destiny, who decided to accompany me against my wishes, moved along the passenger side. I didn’t have time to watch her right now; my focus was directed to my target.
“Hey buddy, my battery is dead, do you think I could get a jump?”
Dover leaned forward and looked me over for a moment, “What’s it worth to you?”
I probably looked like an easy mark to him. Nerdy and casual business dress was out of place in this environment. “Hey, everybody’s got to pay a price.” In reality, I was addressing his payment.
Dover smiled, took a long drag off his smoke and said, “Ten bucks will get you rolling.”
“Absolutely,” I said with a big smile as I turned in the direction of my car. “It’s right over here,” all the while scanning the area for passersby.
I heard the ignition of Dover’s car as I moved toward the back of his car. He looked out his window in my direction, probably just in time to catch the small flash from my .40-caliber in the corner of his left eye. Thuup. The temple shot spun him around. Adrenaline coursed through my entire body. He shook and kicked like he was having a seizure. I found it difficult to contain my own exhilaration. Thuup, the second round hit in the back of his head. His twitching stopped. Both shell casings were in plain sight and soon in my pocket. I walked directly to my car, only looking about after I was back inside my Avenger. No one seemed to notice. The moderator along with subsonic rounds had done their work. Quiet and effective, it’s the way I had planned it. I inched my Avenger forward without switching on the lights until I turned onto the street.
I don’t know what I expected to find in the newspaper about the incident. It was two days before the article appeared buried beneath three other killings that had taken place and was evidently insignificant in comparison. A child kidnapping by a mother’s new boyfriend who was a known sex offender took top billing in the metro section. It was followed by a lengthy article about a shootout at a tavern frequented by longshoremen that had left two dead, and a Samoan street gang committing a home invasion that left one man beaten to death.
The Dover article stated he was found by a “passerby” who contacted the police. According to unnamed sources there was speculation Dover was involved in a drug buy gone bad. Where do they get these ideas? Then again, I didn’t know Ben all that well. Maybe he did have drugs in the car, I don’t know? According to police the area was well known for drug dealing. I would rather they had speculated he might have been shot because he was a child rapist. The only way that would make news was if I confessed, and that wasn’t on my agenda.
I said my goodbyes to an old friend I would probably never see again and made my way home to Oregon. I thought about the project during the drive back to Portland and found myself smiling a lot. After a couple of days’ rest I busied myself with destroying any file material that might link me to the deceased. I started a fire in the wood-burning stove and placed the evidence in the fire. Briefly, the apparition of a very young child appeared before me looking into the blaze at the burning file. I knew this child from many of my dreams. I pondered the idea, having never met Anita’s little boy, if this could be him coexisting in some sort of alternative time dimension. Perhaps because of what had happened, the soul and the human shell had separated. If so, could my actions be a path for reunification of his being?
As the fire roared, the sound of a fleeting choir of voices could be heard. In their voices was the sound of joy. As the file vanished into a charcoal dust the voices grew silent and the apparition disappeared.
I still think about Dover from time to time, it’s something you don’t forget. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Is it just an obsession getting the best of me or is there a greater purpose? It was quiet at my home for a couple of days, and then, the sound of a distant voice could be heard. It was familiar yet somehow different. I couldn’t make out the voice or what was being said, but I knew it would become clear soon. I looked forward to it.
Chapter 7
He paid the price society required. But it wasn’t society that was victimized
—it was a school girl
—Walter
Any hope of a prolonged Indian summer was fading. A scattering of red-and-gold-tinged leaves mingled with the green; the approaching new season with shorter days and cooler nights would soon coat them in autumn colors—characteristic of early October in Oregon. I have full appreciation for the breathtakingly picturesque countryside and fertile Willamette Valley where lush grapes and berries grow. Small local wineries dot the valleys and hillsides, c
onverting nature’s best into deep fruity-tasting full-bodied nectar of the gods. I’m not a connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination but I do enjoy the sweet-red libation found here in Oregon. Trips over to the Pacific coast from Seaside south to Depoe Bay are relaxing weekend ventures I take to maintain whatever level of sanity I possess.
Regardless of how easily one can become distracted by the scenic beauty, evil is never far away. Not that I’m counting bodies but I am conflicted by the fact that more people are convicted of violent sex crimes in one year than I will be able to tag and bag in my lifetime. I’ve been at this for a year and outside of ensuring a zero recidivism rate of a choice few, I’ve made no headway at all. So much time is devoted to research and reconnaissance I can’t make any progress; if anything, I’m falling behind. I’ve managed only a few kills since the summer of ’96 and I’m feeling frustrated. I have to date left a small number of bodies across Oregon and Washington, making sure to keep my projects as far away as I can from where I live in Multnomah County. Make no mistake about it, there are plenty of targets available in the Portland area but by keeping them widespread I felt it might keep me from being caught. I’m also a realist; someday I’ll either make a mistake or fate will put me in the wrong place at the wrong time. Regardless, until that day comes, I will continue to apply justice my way—Walter’s way.
To my benefit, police investigating a murder in their area may not link it to another killing in another state or county, especially when the person killed had a viable list of potential suspects. Victims and their families will certainly top the list of possible killers. Friends of the victim or victims’ extended families head up the next level of suspects. It would take police time to eliminate that potential. Only latent fingerprints or other forensic evidence could link me to the murders. Part of my job is to ensure that doesn’t come easy. Otherwise, the fact that I had no known association with any of the deceased would keep me from being a suspect. If and when I am identified I will continue the cat and mouse game until I’m behind bars. I could stop now and maybe avoid ever being detected, but why?
Due Process Page 7
