Due Process

by Lyle O'Connor

  Phillip’s employment began a couple hours after the funeral staff left for the day. As the only janitor he had free run of the place. He began in the upstairs lobby, working his way through the chapel, viewing room, offices, and then downstairs to the basement work areas. If it had not been for the hot summer the basement windows might not have been open; but they were. Peeking through the basement windows I could see Graves picking up trash cans and emptying them into a large garbage bag.

  On Friday nights, Graves’s janitorial routine changed. Through the window I caught a glimpse of a naked male torso laid out on a table. This followed the pattern I’d watched three times now. On Fridays he wheeled out a corpse to satisfy his lusts. At West River Heights Mortuary bodies were generally refrigerated to prevent deterioration after being picked up by funerary staff. For a traditional burial, the body was embalmed at the funeral home soon after it arrived. The daylong process preserved the body by replacing bodily fluids with embalming fluid and was completed the day it arrived. With cremation the body was refrigerated when it arrived. It remained there until the funeral director obtained the permits necessary for cremation.

  Allegations of funeral home misconduct were nothing new and Graves was an added complaint. Most often it involved the mishandling of the corpse; it wasn’t an epidemic problem but it could happen anywhere in the nation, not just Oregon. However, what I’d been witness to these past few weeks constituted a crime far worse than mishandling—this was clear-cut perversion.

  Graves’s gravitation to this work environment was no accident of employment, it was with purpose. He was a people person, he just preferred them stone cold and freshly refrigerated. My gravitation to him was likewise no accident. My intent was to show him the access route to the people he enjoyed being with the most; I had to make him dead first.

  In the early nineties, Graves, then a nineteen-year-old teenager, had wrapped himself in one of the growing fads of the day, the Gothic lifestyle. He claimed his attraction was the music genre known as death metal punk, a music style common to explorers of the darker aspects of human nature. His chosen pursuit of the macabre and preoccupation with death and sensuality combined with the pale-face makeup, black eyeliner, nail polish, and black clothing appealed to his obsession with death. Only he was more of a believer in the lifestyle than most of his friends, and he proved it on his twenty-first birthday.

  Graves celebrated his birthday long into the night. What exactly happened would forever remain a mystery. According to Graves he found a female dead in the cellar of an old abandoned house. He contacted friends that were of like mind and showed them the body. He talked several of his friends into masturbating on the corpse. However, one of his visitors wanted no part and alerted authorities to the location of the body.

  According to witnesses for the prosecution, Graves told them he had lured the woman to the cellar with the promise of drugs. There he killed her by striking her in the head and had sex with the body. Graves was arrested on murder charges. Much of the forensic evidence was tampered with by friends who joined him in masturbating on the body and disturbing the crime scene over a five-day period prior to the police involvement. Two of Graves’s friends that were identified as having participated with him agreed to testify for the prosecution. DNA evidence however, determined more people, unknown and unidentified, were involved. Those persons might have provided a toxic solution that rendered the victim unconscious; Graves denied having provided the substance. The unknown people added to the difficulty the prosecution faced with the murder charge. Graves did not deny the claim to his friends that he killed the woman, but insisted he was only bragging to impress them.

  The trial proceeded but problems arose with the witnesses. Their evidence tampering and participation made them targets for the defense. They proved to be unreliable witnesses. An autopsy performed by the State of Oregon medical examiner’s office confirmed the cause of death and the toxic substance overdose, none of which could be linked directly to Graves.

  A reasonable doubt lingered in the minds of the jury, who found him not guilty on the murder charge. He was, however, convicted on lesser charges of abuse of a corpse and tampering with evidence. Necrophilia, sex without consent of the dead body, would be Phillip Graves’ lifelong haunting. When paroled after a five-year hitch at the Rebar Hotel, Graves returned to society. His crime was vague history in most people’s minds. Walter, however, was not most people.

  Graves was not considered a predator or sex offender under Oregon law and wasn’t required to register. My hunch was he wasn’t required to change either. He was predatory in his own special way, evidence of which I have seen firsthand and wanted exposed to the news media and authorities. A simple arrest would not do justice.

  The mortuary was a comfortable setting for a person of his caliber. He seemed almost at home. I can’t understand his infatuation with dead bodies. No normal person can. I work in the industry too, so to speak, but I have no such affinity for corpses. The only time I handle a corpse is in an attempt to hide it and I still don’t like touching it. Having sex with a dead body, something Graves seemed to enjoy, was even further from my comprehension.

  I parked my Avenger along the curb adjoining the acre-size front yard. A cloudy night made a dark night and an extra layer of comfort for me. My AR15 was fully assembled and ready for action. I charged the bolt. There was no sound so sweet as the bolt driving a cartridge into the chamber. No sooner had I left the car than I noticed I was not alone along the tree line. Destiny was with me. She hadn’t accompanied me here before. I had to assume she was here for the finale.

  Graves was partially naked on top of a male corpse when my AR15 slipped through the open basement window. I saw no reason to dawdle. All I came to do was give him what was rightfully his. Shurrrp! Shurrrp! Graves rolled onto the floor and bled heavily from his back wounds. There was no hiding what had happened here. Slugs penetrated his back and entered the torso of the corpse. There would be no escaping the conclusion I wanted investigators to see. Graves was engaged in a sex act with the corpse, and two, Graves was murdered while in the act. My interest was piqued as I speculated how police and media would handle this case. The next morning I sent Sasins an email,

  Archangel,

  I recently completed a project I’ve been working on over the past month. Police investigators are not likely to release much information due to the nature of evidence at the scene. I’m giving you a heads-up on this one. The victim was a pervert engaged in a sex act with a corpse when he met his end. I would like to see the media incriminate him to the fullest for his history of perversion.

  It wasn’t his first go-around. The adage, “he got away with murder” may be old but applicable. Jurors may not have convicted him at the time based on admissible evidence but he is still the killer. His repulsive, twisted acts of perversion have now caught up with him. He has been judged, found guilty, and the sentence carried out.

  Scythian

  Officially, at what is commonly referred to as the “press release” nothing concrete was given except the name of the victim, employment at the mortuary, and method of killing. Unofficially, sources close to the case reported police believed this was an isolated event and possibly a revenge murder. Ballistics, however, could identify my AR 15 as the same weapon that killed Pohle. The question was not if, but when would Detective Ware be able to connect the dots? When would they engage in this investigation? Graves was not a sex offender but he was a bizarre felon with a unique history. I feel Ware, being old school as he is, will make the connection and expand his efforts rapidly.

  Archangel’s quick reply confused me. A one-liner, “I’ll check into it,” was not very reassuring. News agencies across the Northwest were running stories on this murder, emphasizing it took place in a mortuary. There was no mention of Graves and his involvement with one of the cadavers. You would think some connection to his name and history would have been made after the initial story was released but sadly, all seemed ei
ther forgiven or forgotten, maybe both.

  Anna Sasins, true to form, came out of left field with a stinging historical account of Graves’ macabre lifestyle and a solid rehash of his felony conviction. Her emphasis on his sex acts with his first known victim caused considerable stir among other news agencies. Reporters began posing difficult questions in their articles. “Why was someone with his history allowed to be employed at a mortuary?” “Are background checks of funeral employees a requirement for employment?” The mortuary staff and police were ducking questions and trying to avoid additional publicity, but there was always someone ready to divulge what they knew for fame or fortune. Usually it was the money that talked loudest.

  The police catered to none of the questions. “No comment” became a standard answer. Sasins sent an email letting me know she had far more information than what had been released. “As for the news story, I’m feeding bits and pieces to other reporters, friends of mine, letting them run with it.” She assured me the best way to get the information out was piecemeal.

  Unfortunately for police, they had leaks in their departments as well. Regardless of how tight-lipped they were officially, details continued to slip from their grip to the media. Something I’d learned about reporters, they had to be treated with a degree of respect. They were ruthless interrogators, devoid of the legal restraints hampering police. They were a strange mixture of clergy and black ops. They could talk to victims, witnesses, or the accused from a theoretical neutral position. They could draw on resources, pay them off in cash, and never have to reveal their sources.

  More information leaked, finally making the big splash with what really happened that night with Graves. My old friend Harold Horn put two and two together; although tempered, it was the ugly truth. No emphasis on who killed Graves now. It was all about the juicy story. For once in my killing career I was relegated to the mundane. It was especially true since the killer wasn’t on the prowl for just anyone; a fact not overlooked by the media’s presentation. Could it be, as much as I disdained reporters, I had found value in them?

  Sasins sent another email:

  Scythian,

  I attended the MCSD briefing early this morning. A spokesperson for the Felony Task Force chastised reporters for causing what they referred to as, “a Chicken Little effect.” They are downplaying the significance of this recent murder in connection with other murder investigations they are conducting. My sources outside the Task Force circle are telling me Detective Ware has brought on board more assistance and financing. I will keep you posted on any developments.

  Archangel

  The police were facing a new problem from all the recent news coverage, an uptake of criticism. What they referred to at the press release as “a Chicken Little effect” was a point of contention with the news agencies. It seemed parolees and registered sex offenders were turning up missing, a lot of them! As much as I’d like to take credit for a permanent absence on their part; I had nothing directly to do with it. I don’t know where they went but the reporters were speculating they were on the lam because of the recent murder victims. This was a frightening prospect for Oregonians who were under the impression these criminals were being watched by authorities.

  Secondary to the general public’s concerns about the whereabouts of felony predators was the cops’ concerns with the parole and registration violations. These were criminal events that required time-consuming investigation. Police were now tasked with finding these felons to put to rest the public outcry for safety and to ensure they didn’t have a slew of felons that had met with foul play.

  If the Felony Task Force was looking for a reason to exist, they had now found it. I was giving them a little business from a couple of known kills but that paled in comparison with the amount of business I was sending to them through the fallout. Detective Ware would have preferred to put his efforts into narrowing down the suspect field, but now he dealt with the exponential curve of new cases. Personally, I liked Ware busy, busy, busy, and if one of these offenders turned up dead by some means other than my achievement, it only helped to confuse the picture for my pursuer.

  Local residents filled the ranks of their community watch programs. Citizens were expressing themselves semi-vigilante-style or at least putting themselves in situations that might bring about a vigilante response. A group of young people formed a Yellow T-shirt brigade whose mission was to patrol parks with the express purpose to interrupt illegal activity. The police dispatchers were getting an increased call log of “Good Samaritans” reporting suspicious activities and gang-related crimes. The people were increasing their vigilance; they were reporting more activity, and the police were working overtime to address the public’s concerns. My view was probably different from most. I saw it as a good thing; in fact, I felt people were now doing what they should have been doing all along. Being vigilant and taking a stand against criminals in their neighborhoods.

  The great fear that a society would take the rule of law into their own hands and deprive someone of their civil rights was a real threat. When the rule of law failed to provide security through justice, society was left defenseless and to their own means. They would find a way to insure a secure environment.

  It was inevitable, if the public actively denounced criminal behavior, the lid would blow off a situation. The Yellow T-shirt squad received the first black eye from the liberal left-leaning media. They were already previously labeled and presented by the press as Gestapo Hitler youths; they were at the disadvantage in the public’s view. Now, the media had labeled them vigilantes.

  Yellow T’s were on patrol in one of the many Portland parks to add a degree of security for others. As the newspaper accounts all pointed out, they engaged in a verbal exchange with a group of anarchists that were displaying an American flag upside down and chanting anti-American slogans. On the surface it was not a terrible situation and the police should have been contacted to break up the anarchists’ illegal protest. Instead, a clash followed. No clear picture emerged as to who was at fault for the melee but the Yellow T’s caught the brunt of the media. Why? Yellow T’s represented citizens taking the law into their own hands. Whatever the facts of the case were, it was lost in the term Vigilante. The anarchists evidently were clear of any wrongdoing, at least according to the press. In any case, it hardly seemed like real vigilantism to Walter. Media exploited the first situation they found; it was a mountain out of a molehill.

  Sometimes I’d like to respond to some of these so-called reporters. They had people make a statement so they could quote them to present their point of view. One doctor of something-or-other was quoted concerning a mother’s pain after the kidnapping and murder of her six-year-old daughter. She was livid with the justice system that allowed a perp out on early release because he was a perfect candidate for their program. The doctor concluded, “Giving the mother any platform to speak is ridiculous. She is too personally involved. What society should do is treat this mother with compassion and provide professional treatment and emotional support. To address crime and punishment because something of this nature has occurred should be resisted; it is simply hysterical nonsense.”

  Now here was a guy that didn’t understand jack! That an over-burdened prison system was looking for “candidates” for early release didn’t make it a right decision. Furthermore, anyone, like this doctor, who promoted their own businesslike “treatment” for the victim’s families, was just filling his own coffers. He would say the same thing for the criminal. “He needs treatment.” I guess I was out of sync with society. The treatment for the victim and family was to know the perp was dead, not that the sex offender was getting treatment so they could be assimilated back into society as a well-adjusted killer and live a long and prosperous life. The whole argument was overrated by the doctors. I, Walter, could guarantee a level of satisfaction that treatment could only hope to achieve.

  Sifting through project files I once again felt the presence of apparitions, a signal I wel
comed. Some names received more urging from my ghostly audience than others. I was uncertain which to choose next. All of them would be nice but unrealistic. What I did understand was the need of speeding up the process.

  While I diligently looked for the next project, reporters were busy trying to identify any and all acts of vigilantism or at least anything they could label that way. My take on these articles was summed up in one word—bravo. What I saw was common, ordinary people protecting themselves or intervening in criminal events they observed. Something I believed should happen regardless of my influence. These vigilante acts weren’t newsworthy until they came into vogue. Now it was the talk of the town. The police spokespeople were making public announcements in an effort to dissuade the good citizens not to overreact and aggressively confront dangerous situations. Call 911—sounds good, but .40-caliber will protect or save you. The citizens were reacting right. I remember in high school when the girls were being taught not to resist sexual assault because it might expose them to a greater danger than the rapist had planned. I thought that was the dumbest advice I had ever heard but it was the thinking of the day. Next came along the advice to yell “Fire!” The idea was spread around; never shout “Help!” Someone is more likely to respond to fire than help. I preferred what we had taught in jujitsu—always resist. We worked the self-defense class in real-life scenarios, emphasizing readiness to engage at all times. They learned to position keys in their hands to use as weapons, to never turn their backs on their assailants, where to stomp or kick, and many other viable tools to combat an attacker. Surprise was the element and maybe, just maybe, the perp would be screaming “Fire!” before it was over.

  These are things that may help an adult, but a small child is just easy prey. That’s why I’m needed. I’m a necessary evil in some books and yet, a godsend to others. Predators should beware; go, run, and hide under a rock. I am coming with judgment and I will discover your whereabouts. I will kill you. I have no qualms in so doing.