by DL Benning
Finally, his one-time classmate Julia. In his mind’s eye, he could see himself watching her at the library. She was fascinated with the continent of Africa; he wasn’t sure why. She should have let him walk her home. He just wanted to protect her. Another foolish girl! He would have given her a good life. They could have married, lived with Mother, and raised a family. He still carried her African bracelet in his pocket as a reminder of what might have been.
Still, he relished the memories of taking the women’s lives. He had enjoyed punishing them for rejecting him. He remembered fondly the basement back home, and his late-night ritual of holding the souvenirs from his crimes. He had carefully hidden the cigar box, confident his mother would never find it. In addition to his trinkets, he also kept copies of the newspaper articles that detailed the murders. He felt powerful that the community was on edge because of him. That he was walking around in plain sight. That he had gotten even, had exacted his revenge, and would never be caught by the police. He missed his old life.
After Fred was discharged from the hospital, he stayed on base. He didn’t trust himself to go out. And he had a more practical concern: Serenita and her lover may have contacted the police. Fred kept a low profile, working all day at the radio station and spending all his free time boxing at the gym.
Fred’s four-year tour of duty was nearing its end. He would be discharged soon. He was looking forward to seeing his mother. They had exchanged a few letters over the years. She was still angry with him, but he knew he could patch things up.
He was also hoping Detective Roman’s interest in him had waned by now. Fred knew he did not want to go back to his old factory job. He liked assembling the equipment, but he found shift work too predictable. Too confining. He needed a job that paid well and allowed him to be independent. He wondered whether he might enjoy being a salesman. He could still live at home with Mother, travel during the week, and make a nice living. That settled it. He would have to look into a sales position when he got back home. He was determined to make a fresh start.
—Chapter 8—
Agnes
Fred came back from the Air Force in 1961 after being stationed in Germany for four years. He had been assigned to the radio division and was dedicated to learning the radio system. He was proud to serve his country. In his free time, he had learned to box and found it to be a great release for his constant anger. Fred loved beating people up, the rush he felt with each knockout. He had earned the nickname “Freddy the Fighter” because he’d won most of the fights in his weight class.
The Air Force had provided a good opportunity for Fred to get out of town. Detective Roman had become a nuisance. Roman would often follow Fred home from work, drive by Fred’s mother’s house, and show up unexpectedly at the local dance hall or library. It was making Fred paranoid. He had hoped Germany would be far enough away from Ford Heights and Detective Roman.
When Fred returned to Ford Heights, his emotional wounds and loneliness came with him. He had saved most of his service salary, which would have been enough to set up his own apartment. He decided instead to move back in with his mother. She needed him. Fred knew his mother was a lonely and manipulative woman who tried to control him. Still, he felt an obligation to look after her. He had made a promise to live with her forever.
Fred’s thoughts often returned to his box of treasures, the souvenirs from his killings. The memories had haunted him from across the ocean. Now that he was once again living under the same roof as his treasures, the torment was unbearable. Fred had lived his whole life with secrets. As a child, he had blamed himself for the physical and emotional abuse from his parents. He had spent the last few years feeling justified—but then loathing himself—for what he had done to those women. While in Germany, the guilt was so intense that he occasionally contemplated suicide.
Every night, when his mother went to bed, Fred would sneak downstairs to the basement. He had a routine that he followed every night. First, he would check to make sure his hidden treasure box was not moved in any way. Then he would carefully open the box and take out each item. He would lay them on a table, then hold each one close to his heart, remembering the women they had belonged to. He would savor these memories. Next, he would place the trinkets back into the box, secure and double check the lid, and then return the box to the corner shelf. Finally, he would move a stack of boxes full of old newspapers in front of the shelf, covering it completely.
After a few months at home, Fred felt ready for his fresh start. He took a traveling sales job headquartered in Joliet, Illinois. He taught himself to sell printing supplies to printing press companies in the area. The job paid okay; his salary was based mostly on commission. With this job came new freedoms. Fred could work at his own pace and travel around the area. He thought this would suit him better than factory work had.
On his way to Joliet, he would pass the dance hall from his younger days. It had been years since Fred had been there. As he drove to work, he remembered the good times he had there, watching the girls dance and seeing old friends from time to time. He decided he would have to go back to the dance hall and see what it was like now.
On his first night back, he noticed a girl he had never seen before standing near the refreshment table. She was short and had beautiful, black, curly hair. She had smiling brown eyes behind eyeglasses with black, cat-eye frames. She was Italian—Sicilian, to be precise. She had dark, full lips and seemed to be by herself. Fred thought she looked exotic. Fred’s time in the service had boosted his confidence. He was in great shape from his training as a boxer. With a newfound swagger, he walked over and introduced himself. Her name was Agnes.
Agnes seemed timid. She was always standing very close to her circle of girlfriends. Her shyness appealed to him. Fred started going to the dance hall more frequently in hopes of running into Agnes, but she wasn’t there very often. It would be weeks before he would see her again. When he finally saw her, Fred walked over and asked her out on a date. Agnes quietly and politely declined. Embarrassed and angry, he stormed away from her, grabbed his coat, and left the hall in a hurry.
Later that summer, Fred visited the carnival that came to town each year. When Fred neared the ticket booth, he was surprised and happy to see Agnes working as a ticket girl. He had not seen her at the dance hall since the night he’d asked her out. Fred waited for Agnes’s shift to end. He approached her timidly and asked if he could buy her a lemonade. She hesitated but said yes. Agnes had never had a boyfriend before. She had been hiding behind her glasses most of her life.
Sensing her apprehension, he opened the conversation gently by asking, “How is your lemonade, Agnes?”
She raised her shoulders and replied, “Delicious.” Agnes smiled at him.
Fred smiled back at her. He was taken with her innocence. “How long have you worked here?”
“Every summer for the last three years,” she replied with a sense of pride. And then she softly said, “I just love the carnival.”
He said, “Yes, me too.”
The conversation moved slowly, cautiously, as they tried to get acquainted. Fred could sense her hesitation and was careful not to scare her away. He was very attracted to her.
As they finished their lemonades, Fred took Agnes’s hand. He invited her to join him for a ride on the Ferris wheel before the carnival closed. They climbed into the capsule and talked a bit during the ride. Agnes admitted that she was deathly afraid of heights, but she was going to let herself feel brave as they started their descent. She seemed to be enjoying herself and the attention Fred was showing her. After their ride, he walked her home. She lived nearby with her grandmother and served as her grandmother’s primary caretaker.
The carnival lasted almost a week, and Fred visited Agnes there every day. It was the same routine—he would wait for her to get off work, buy two lemonades, go for a ride on the Ferris wheel, then walk her home.
Agnes was nineteen, almost twenty. Like most girls her age, she did not ha
ve long-term plans. She came from a poor family. Her father worked very hard as a day laborer and bricklayer. Her mother stayed home and raised seven kids. Agnes was in the middle. When her grandmother got sick, her parents asked her to move in with and care for her. It was an easy decision; Agnes loved her grandmother. Besides, living with one other person was way easier than living with eight.
Agnes’s grandmother was hard of hearing and spoke very little English. Agnes knew very little Italian, but they did the best they could to communicate with each other. Her grandmother loved to cook and knit. She spent a lot of time trying to teach Agnes to do both. Agnes was only interested in knitting, though, so that’s how they would spend most of their time together. Agnes also devoted hours to cleaning up after her grandmother’s cooking messes. When they watched TV together, they preferred reruns of Father Knows Best.
During the week, Agnes worked as a bookkeeper at a local jewelry store in nearby Grantwood, Illinois. Agnes took the bus to and from work every day. She would stride into the downtown storefront, past the display cases of beautiful jewelry, to her little office in the back where she counted the money and reconciled the receipts. She loved accounting and numbers. The store was family owned, and the owners treated Agnes like part of their family.
Fred and Agnes dated for several months. She noticed right away that Fred and his mother had a different kind of relationship. Their love for each other seemed greater and more tortured than that of any other mother/son pair Agnes had ever seen. Fred’s mother made very little effort to be nice to Agnes; she acted like no one else mattered but Fred. Fred was very protective of his mother and always made her his top priority. Even though Agnes thought their relationship was unusual, she convinced herself it was evidence of a loving and kind side to her new beau.
Fred liked to read, so they went to the library frequently for their dates. Fred would check out books and read to Agnes on her grandmother’s porch until dark. Agnes’s grandmother was always watching them from a distance. She didn’t trust Fred. She refused to meet him—or even to acknowledge him—because he wasn’t Sicilian.
Agnes loved playing tennis. She wanted Fred to play with her, but he always refused. Agnes’s cousin would visit from time to time, and they would play tennis for hours. Afterwards, they would go out for lunch and have long conversations. Agnes’s cousin met Fred a few times, but she didn’t like him either. Agnes would joke that she should forget about her family warming up to Fred. He couldn’t suddenly become Sicilian to please them.
Agnes’s cousin didn’t mind that Fred wasn’t Sicilian. She thought he was sneaky, and she had a bad feeling whenever she was around him. She felt Fred was easily startled. He never made good eye contact with her. Agnes’s cousin would go inside the house if Fred came over while she was there. For his part, Fred didn’t care much for Agnes’s cousin nor for her grandmother.
One crisp, sunny, winter afternoon, Fred and Agnes went on a romantic carriage ride. A beautiful, black, stately horse pulled the carriage. The young couple staved off the cold air by snuggling underneath a wool blanket. Agnes was happy. She was falling in love with Fred. They had been spending most of their free time together, but Agnes wasn’t sure if Fred loved her. They had never talked about it. She hoped the feelings were mutual.
Fred and Agnes went to the movies often. They liked going to matinees on the weekends. Afterward, they would stop for coffee and discuss what they’d seen. They joked that they should be movie critics. On one occasion, though, Fred was quiet after the movie. He suggested a drive instead of stopping for coffee. Agnes thought it was odd. They were two creatures of habit, so any change to the routine was a surprise. But she smiled and agreed.
They drove in uncomfortable silence for about twenty minutes. She began to wonder if she had made him angry somehow. She replayed their afternoon in her head but couldn’t think of anything that had gone wrong. Fred had picked the movie and the showtime. He had also picked their refreshments at the theater. There had been no disagreement.
Fred triggered his car blinker, then turned down a back road, toward the forest preserve. It was a beautiful day, cold but sunny. Fred drove to the end of the paved road, then kept going onto the dirt-and-gravel side street. He stopped near a large embankment of snow. Fred parked the car and drew Agnes close to him. They sat for hours, talking and snuggling in the cold. Agnes felt so much love for Fred and always felt safe in his arms.
“This is nice,” Fred whispered into Agnes’s ear.
She purred back, “Yes, it is.”
Fred continued, “Agnes, we have been spending a lot of time together. I have grown quite fond of you. In fact, I love you. I want you to be my wife one day.”
Agnes smiled and thought to herself, He wants to marry me? I am such a lucky girl. She wanted to speak up but could not find the words.
“Did you hear me, Agnes?” Fred’s voice sounded stern. “I said I love you and want you to be my wife. I want to marry you. We need to live with my mother. My father built that house, you know?”
Agnes struggled to find her voice. “But your mother doesn’t like me. How would that work out for us?”
Fred snapped into an angry fit. He started shouting at her and making accusations. “Why do you hate my mother? She is always so nice to you! Why aren’t you nice to her? Why?” he demanded. “Why, Agnes? Why?”
Agnes was startled and backed away from him in the front seat. She wasn’t sure what to say or how to answer him. Fred was so angry. She had never seen this side of him. She was trembling.
Fred kept shouting and repeating over and over, “I thought you were different. I thought you were different. I thought you were different from all the rest of them, but you are the same!”
His demeanor had changed in an instant. Agnes tried to calm him down, but he could not be comforted or reasoned with.
Agnes’s fear intensified. She moved closer to her door, her hand firmly on the door handle. Before she could open the door to jump out, Fred lunged across the front seat at her and grabbed her neck between his hands. He was trying to strangle her. She was caught off guard and tried desperately to reason with him, all the while scrambling to open the door.
“Fred, you’re scaring me. You are hurting me. Please stop. Please. Stop,” she cried out. She was hoping someone could hear her, hoping someone would save her from this attack.
Agnes was growing more desperate. “Fred, I love your mother. I love you. Please believe me. I will marry you. We can live with your mother. I promise.”
Her words failed to have a calming effect on Fred. Agnes changed tactics. She began fighting back, scratching Fred’s face several times, and drawing blood. This made him even angrier—his eyes flashed with rage as he squeezed her neck harder.
Exhausted, Agnes could not fend him off any longer. She had fought as hard as she could. But Fred was much stronger and determined to kill her. She died right there in the front seat of his new Buick. Fred kept choking her long after she was dead, demanding to know why she didn’t like his mother.
Once Fred finally realized Agnes was dead, his rage subsided. He started to kiss her, licking her face and hands. He removed her broken glasses and some of her clothes. He tried to defile her, as he had the others, but a passing car frustrated his efforts. The driver was going slowly, as if looking for something. Fred got nervous and quickly propped up Agnes’s body, wrapping her limp arms around his neck to create the appearance of two lovers kissing.
When the other car finally drove away, Fred was relieved. He wasted no time in hauling Agnes’s body out of his car and deep into the woods. He grabbed her broken eyeglasses and put them on himself. He covered her body with whatever he could find—rocks, leaves, branches, and snow. He considered digging a hole and burying her. But that would take more time, and someone might see him. This would have to do. He ran back to his car, slipping in the snow and almost falling. He drove off with the tires kicking up gravel in his wake. He headed for home, his heart racing.
On the drive home, Fred carefully observed the speed limit. He kept looking in his rearview and side mirrors. He wanted to make sure no one was following him. His heart pounded. He repeated to himself, “She hated my mother. She hated my mother.” And then, “She had to die. She had to die.”
When Fred got home, he went straight to his room. There, he unwrapped the gifts he had planned to give Agnes for Christmas: a black, lacquer, Asian-style jewelry box and a pearl and diamond ring. He headed to the basement to add Agnes’s items to his box of treasures. He placed the jewelry box and ring near his cigar box. He realized he was still wearing Agnes’s broken eyeglasses. He added those, as well as the movie ticket stubs from his coat pocket, to his collection of treasures. He quietly retreated to his room for the night. He noticed his mother was in the living room, asleep in her chair.
Fred decided to move to Joliet before Detective Roman came looking for him again. He didn’t want to be questioned about Agnes’s disappearance and murder. After Carol’s funeral service and the confrontation with father, Fred was shaken. He decided never again to visit his victims’ graves, never again to speak to their families. He associated these terrible secrets with the murderer he hid, not with himself. Fred made sure he was long gone before Agnes’s body would be found months later. The local newspaper would once again lead with pictures from the crime scene on the front page.
When Fred got to Joliet, he decided to dedicate his life to volunteering, and performing acts of service for the needy. He delivered food baskets for the church twice a week. He shoveled snow and did yardwork for the elderly parishioners. Somehow, Fred felt that caring for people would make up for all his crimes. This was how he coped, both with what he had done and with the knowledge that he’d been capable of doing it. He kept people away to make sure they wouldn’t awaken the monster he tried to suppress. He carefully controlled everything he did, telling himself he could contain his sinister tendencies. In truth, he loved the rush of killing and the power he felt when a young woman died at his hand. But he knew he needed to stop, lest he be caught or killed.
