by DL Benning
I quickly located the storage unit contract. The unit had been rented a few years earlier. I had not received a bill in two years, so it seemed impossible that it would still be Fred’s. The next day, I called the storage company and identified myself as having the power of attorney for my uncle. They confirmed the unit was rented to a Frederick Federoski. The contract had been paid in full for four years. The clerk said I could access the unit if I brought in the power of attorney paperwork.
Sam and I drove to the storage facility after work. As we pulled in, we both had an unsettling feeling. We introduced ourselves to the manager. He reviewed the legal paperwork, then walked us back to the unit. Since we did not have a key to the padlock, the manager brought along a bolt cutter. As the manager stepped forward with the giant snipping tool, Sam and I realized we were both holding our breath. We were anxious to see what secrets the storage unit held.
The manager snipped the lock. “Here you go,” he said. “Come up to the front office when you’re done. You’re going to need to buy another lock. We sell them up front.”
Sam took a deep breath and lifted the overhead door. Inside it was dark, so Sam clicked on his flashlight. We could see a wall of boxes and a small card table.
“Do you feel lucky?” Sam asked.
Lucky? I thought. I’m about to vomit.
We unstacked the boxes and carefully unpacked each one. About halfway through, Sam said, “Oh boy!”
“What?” I said nervously.
“I think this is the cigar box you’ve been looking for.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He opened it slowly, and there before our eyes was M’s locket. I gasped. I held it to my heart and started sobbing.
“M, your locket!” I pried it open to find the inscription that read “To My Darling M.”
At the bottom of the cigar box was Carol’s name tag, along with a small, framed graduation photo. I peered into her eyes and felt like I knew her. She looked so pretty and full of promise.
Under the picture, I found Julia’s beaded African bracelet. I held it in my hands and felt her loving energy. I dropped to my knees and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who brought us to this place.” The sense of relief was overwhelming.
But wait a minute, I thought. We still haven’t found Agnes’s jewelry box. Sam kept digging in the boxes. Wrapped in newspaper was a black, lacquer jewelry box. When he opened the lid, music started to play faintly.
I whispered, “Oh, Jesus.”
I looked inside the box to find a delicate pearl-and-diamond ring. And there were Agnes’s black cat-eye glasses, broken just like she had described. Smashed down in the bottom were two torn movie tickets.
I was dizzy with emotion and not sure what to do next. We finished going through the rest of the boxes but found nothing else. I gathered up the women’s belongings and gently placed them into one of the empty boxes for safe keeping. As we stepped outside, I held the box tightly to my chest, and Sam pulled down the storage unit door. He walked up front to buy another padlock.
I went straight to the car. I felt the energy of the women fill the backseat. I could not stop sobbing. I was consumed with grief. It was true, it was all true! I knew right there that I needed to finish my job. I would bring justice for these beautiful souls who died at the hands of my uncle, the serial killer.
—Chapter 11—
Meeting Captain Simon
I knew this day would come eventually. My uncle’s physical health had been declining, and dementia had taken hold. Things would not get better for him. When the nursing home called to tell me he had passed, I felt relieved. I said a quick prayer for him. Despite everything, I did care for him. He had put his trust in me in his final years.
I immediately called Sam at work and said, “He’s gone. Uncle Fred is gone. We need to meet his body at the hospital and make arrangements.” Fred had wanted his body donated to science. Everything was prearranged.
Sam and I made the long drive to Ford Heights, knowing it would be one of the last times we would do so. We had mixed emotions. There was still one outstanding detail: collecting a DNA sample to give the police. We bickered about who was going to swab my dead uncle’s cheek. Sam begrudgingly accepted the responsibility.
The hospital staff led us to a small room. There was Uncle Fred’s small, still body. I started to cry. We both said a few prayers for him. I handed Sam the DNA kit. He awkwardly slipped the swab into Fred’s open mouth. We bagged the swab and sealed the kit. At last, we could put this man and all the responsibilities of his care behind us.
In the week that followed, I rehearsed how I might open the phone call to the police captain. “Hi, I’m Lynn. My uncle killed four women in the mid-1950s and early 1960s.” Or maybe, “Hi, I’m a medium—don’t hang up—and four dead women told me the details of their murders.”
I read and reread all my notes, making sure I had all the details straight in my mind. I Googled the police captain several times. I studied his picture, trying to imagine his personality. He looked like a nice man. Friendly, even. I remembered that Jeren had told me that police departments frequently employ mediums and psychics to solve crimes. I hoped she was right.
Despite days of rehearsal, every time I reached for the phone, I found myself at a loss for words. “What if” thoughts kept going through my mind: What if this was all a figment of my imagination? What if I am withholding evidence? What if I get in trouble? What if I get sued? What if I make a fool of myself? Or worse, What if I’m wrong? My doubt took on a life of its own, and my fear kept me paralyzed.
Detective Roman showed up in my thoughts, telling me that it was time to move forward. I had procrastinated long enough, and the women’s stories needed to be told. He reminded me that I alone held the key to unlocking his cold cases. I had the ability to bring justice for those innocent young women.
“I know,” I whispered, “but I’m afraid.”
He responded, “I am walking with you. Call my old pal, Captain Simon. He is waiting for you. We all are.”
I went downstairs and pulled out the box of evidence I had collected. I held each item in my hand and said a little prayer. I felt the strength that came through the locket, the framed photo, the bracelet, and the jewelry box. It was all true; it had to be. I couldn’t let these women down. Their lives and stories mattered. My fears and thoughts of being laughed out of the police station were of no consequence.
From the box, I took out the plastic bag with the DNA swabs we had collected. I shook my head and cried out loud, “Why, Fred? Why? How could you be such a monster?”
I picked up the phone and drew a deep breath. My heart was beating rapidly, and I could feel the tension in my body. I dialed the phone number slowly, secretly hoping no one would answer. The automated operator said, “Ford Heights Police Department. If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 911. For all other matters, please dial 311.” I took another deep breath and pressed 3-1-1 on my keypad. A female officer answered. I took a gulp of air and cleared my throat.
I heard my voice crack as I asked if Captain Simon was in the office. She asked my name and transferred the call. He answered on the first ring. “Captain Simon.”
My voice stuck in my throat. I wanted to drop the phone. I felt frozen with fear.
“Hello? This is Captain Simon,” he said on the other end of the line. “Hello?”
I tried to remember the words I’d practiced. “Hi, I’m Lynn.” The dam broken, my words tumbled out rapidly, “I am a medium. I have some information about some cold cases from the mid-1950s that Detective Tom Roman was working on and never solved. I would like to come in and talk to you.” I was talking so fast. I was sure he thought I was manic. There was a long silence.
“Okay, Lynn,” he finally said. “When can you come in?”
“Uh, uh…” I stuttered and then began stammering. I had not thought that far ahead. When could I come in? Hesitantly, I replied, “How about …tomorrow after work?”
“Sure,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Just very nervous.”
His voice was calm and reassuring. He told me I had nothing to worry about. I hung up and looked around, hoping Detective Roman was really with me. I had to admit, It did feel like he was expecting my call.
My heart was still racing. I closed my eyes and let out a loud sigh. Sam came in to check on me. I looked up at him and said, “I’m—I mean, we are going to the police station tomorrow after work.”
It was nearly impossible to stay focused at work the next day. I had packed up my box of evidence and all my notes the night before. Sam and I met at home after work. As we got into the car, we high-fived each other and said, “Let’s do this.” We departed for our trip down to Ford Heights, hoping it would be our last. As with most of our drives there, it was a quiet one. I was practicing my introduction in my head. I fought the urge to tell Sam to turn around and take me home. My anxiety was trying to get the best of me. The voice in my head was screaming at me. This is crazy! Just go home and forget the whole thing.
To stay calm, I kept reassuring myself that the police captain seemed like such a nice man on the phone. Even his picture was friendly. We pulled into the parking lot. Sam shut off the car and squeezed my hand.
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “I love you very much. And no matter what happens in there, you are okay.” I smiled at him and nodded.
We got out of the car, and I straightened my coat a few too many times. I thought to myself, Lynn, you have to look confident. Be professional. And remember, this is for a higher purpose. This was my normal internal pep talk for whenever I got nervous.
We walked inside and headed to the front desk. I told the intake officer who I was and that I needed to speak with Captain Simon. She asked if he was expecting us. Inside I gulped, but I said confidently, “Yes, we have an appointment this evening.”
She asked us to follow her.
Sam said, “I will wait for you out here.”
I nodded and gave him a nervous smile, took a deep breath, and wished I could run out the door.
I followed the officer down a long, dark, wood-paneled hallway. The walls were lined with framed pictures of retired police officers, in chronological order by their years of service. I slowed my pace to look for the photo of Detective Roman. There he was, in a framed, 8½ x 11-inch, glossy print. An engraved brass plaque below the photo documented his years of service. He was real!
I stopped momentarily to take in his photograph. It was like looking at a picture of an old friend. I smiled at him and ran my hand over his plaque. I thanked him for his help and told him I hoped he was with me.
“I’m right here, kid. Right here,” he said. I could feel him with me. My body tingled with energy, and I had goose bumps all over. That was my confirmation.
Captain Simon’s secretary greeted me at the office door. She helped me get the box to the table in the conference room and offered me something to drink. I wondered if scotch was an option, and if so, please make it a double. But I said instead, “Water would be great.”
I had a few minutes to myself while I waited for Captain Simon. I sat quietly in the room, looking around, noticing how tired it looked. The décor was dated and added to the drabness of the room. It reminded me of my visit to the former mayor’s office a few years prior. As I was contemplating my long and complicated relationship with Ford Heights, Captain Simon entered the room. He was of average height and sturdy build. He looked very kind.
“Hello, Lynn, I’m Captain Simon,” he said.
He extended his hand toward me, and I stood up to offer mine. Suddenly, during that handshake, all my nerves and fears were gone. My strength was holding me up.
I thanked him for seeing me and opened with, “I know it sounds a little crazy, but I have some information that I feel called to share with you.”
“It’s not crazy,” he said. “Detective Roman was my mentor, and he was troubled about some cases he was unable to solve. So, your story is very interesting to me. I did a little research after your call to prepare for our meeting today. Let’s start from the beginning.”
I tried to keep to the facts. I explained with how I had gotten involved with my uncle’s care, how our relationship had evolved, and how I had overseen his life in his final years. When I told Captain Simon that a psychic had introduced me to the cold cases, he didn’t flinch, so I continued.
I recalled confronting my uncle with the idea of his “friends visiting me.” I told him that my uncle admitted to “disappointing” the women, nothing more. I shared how the women had each come to me with their stories. How I had talked to Detective Roman, who told me about him. I detailed our discovery of the evidence. That when my uncle died, my husband swabbed him, so I had his DNA. I told him everything.
At long last, I took a deep breath and said, “I hope you can help me.”
He smiled, put his hand on mine and thanked me for my courage. He said he was grateful that I cared about justice being served. I felt a rush of relief run through my body and thought, He believes me!
Captain Simon looked at the box and asked if I had brought the evidence. I nodded and gave him copies of the notes I had taken while channeling the women’s stories. I even shared the voice recording from my confrontation with Fred, but it was of little value. He listened intently and took some notes. As I told him each woman’s story, I brought out the keepsakes I’d found in the storage unit. He looked the items over. He seemed very curious about each one. He asked if he could keep them, and I said that he could.
He called in another officer and requested each item be tagged. He took my notes and added them to the box. After the officer stepped out, Captain Simon turned back to me and said, “So what do you want to happen?”
“I want justice for these women and for Detective Roman,” I said. “I want their families to know what happened to them, that their lives mattered. I want my uncle’s family to be unaffected. I’m hoping for a quiet investigation. And honestly, I want my life to go back to normal.”
We both smiled as I said the word normal. It seemed funny, considering everything I’d just told him.
He nodded. “I want those things, too.”
He asked for my phone number, and we agreed to stay in touch. Weeks passed. I wanted to call and check on the status of the case. But something always stopped me.
One afternoon, the captain called and asked me to come back to the station. I agreed and asked if he’d found something. He said he wanted to share the information with me in person. I wanted to get in the car that minute and drive down there, but we agreed to meet the next day.
“Sleep well tonight, because tomorrow your life is changing. You did good, Lynn,” Captain Simon said.
Sleep well, he said. I couldn’t sleep at all that night. The stories kept going through my mind. I got another case of the “what ifs.” My self-doubt had come back with a vengeance.
The next day, I drove to the police station and sat down in the captain’s office. This time, there were three other officers in the room, a woman and two men. The female officer was in uniform, but the two male officers wore plain clothes with leather gun holsters. The officers introduced themselves to me. Each one had questions, so we went over the stories again. I had kept pictures of the evidence and my notes. They had a crate full of files, the papers inside yellow and brittle. The officers pulled out one manila folder at a time.
They started with M. Her name was Emily and was called M by those who knew her best. They showed me her picture with the locket around her neck. It was a black-and-white photograph that had not aged well. It was wrinkled, but I recognized the woman in the photo. I asked to hold it, and as I did, I looked in her eyes and heard her say thank you to me in my head. I told her she was welcome. The captain read me Detective Roman’s police report. My story had checked out with the same facts. I felt a mix of shock, relief, and pride.
Captain Simon nodded at the
next officer. He opened the file on Carol. There was also a graduation photo of her, wearing her nurse’s uniform. I gasped quietly and said, “Oh my God.” The details were almost like I had written them. The officer talked about Carol’s little sister, Andi. I remembered her from Carol’s stories. They told me she moved to Arizona but still checks in every few years to see if there are any updates on her sister’s case.
Next was Julia. Inside the folder were her pictures, including some from the crime scene, which I don’t think I was supposed to see. There was also a picture of her wearing the African bracelet. I nodded my head as they described the facts from the report. My eyes filled with tears, and I had a lump in my throat.
We kept going to the final folder, Agnes’s. They showed me the police report that had the movie details and statements from her employer at the jewelry store in Grantwood. They showed me the files. I could see Detective Roman’s handwriting. I felt him in the room.
I wondered what was going to come next. Captain Simon said they were unable to use the DNA sample I had provided. But they had been able to obtain a usable sample from one of the tissue donation centers. Captain Simon said they were still waiting on the DNA results to confirm that my uncle was the murderer. They had logged some evidence with the original files. The samples were old, but they could be tested and compared to the DNA we’d submitted.
“Okay, and then what?” I asked.
“And then, little lady, we can call these families and finally tell them what happened to their loved ones.” He asked if I would be open to talking with them if they had questions.
I whispered, “Yes,” fighting back tears.
I asked when the DNA results would be available. The captain said they should have something in a few weeks. He thought it might take a little longer because they needed to get some other agencies involved.
