SKA: Serial Killers Anonymous

by William Schlichter

  “Would I do it again…yes, but had I gone down when first struck by the bullet the bone damage would not be as severe and I wouldn’t have a limp or the pain when the weather turns cold. Might even still be on the police force. I might have made a different choice. What we take on when we become protectors of society is not like it is on TV, nor not the way the news leads you to believe. We train because we make split second life and death choices and when it’s over we pray those choices save lives. The killers we hunt—they plan and are fully aware of what they are doing. I’m going to train you so you are able to stop them.”

  II

  THE QUESTIONS RUN the rest of the ninety-five-minute course and then a few students desiring answers, too afraid of ridicule in front of the group, wait until after the others have vacated the auditorium to ask individual questions important to them.

  Jesse stuffs his laptop into his bag as he hangs back while other students ask foolishness about crime fighting. He waits until they are alone. “Professor, you said that before the Internet connected police files it was even harder to track some of these killers?”

  Arnett notices this kid wasn’t fearful of peer mockery, he carries a personal weight. Those people who seek entrance to the program to fulfil some Ahab fantasy should be expelled. They end up being trained and fired only to later shoot up an elementary school. “Yes. Detectives had to piece together MOs and other similarities between killings the old-fashioned way. Research. Questioning witnesses, newspapers. But even then, only surrounding counties would have access to newspapers. It was time consuming. It was why many missed the serial connection. Now all departments in different countries speak to each other through computers and several national databases. The FBI has the ability to search the world.”

  “Is there a way to go back, say twenty years, and get information on a murder?”

  Twenty—about the age of this kid plus two or three years. Even when departments did connect someone still had to upload information from old cases.

  “Depends on the case, the department and how high profile the killings might have been. If it was solved it may not have been a priority for someone to upload.” Arnett assumes the kid seeks a case to write a book, or…the investigation is personal—Mom? Grandma?

  “My sister was taken when I was two,” Jesse deadpans.

  Sometimes Arnett hates always being on the money when it comes to reading certain kinds of people.

  “My family gives me no information. At a gathering one Christmas I overheard the discussion of her death being linked to a serial killer, but no one would share anything with me.”

  “You don’t need my course to research.”

  “I read every paper in the local library,” Jesse says.

  Arnett has seen two officers with such a goal in their career and they failed at being competent police. Many take an unsolved case with them when they retire and continue to investigate it during their golden years, but it’s not the same as those entering the police force to take down someone who personally harmed them. “I’d recommend you not become an officer if you’re seeking a vendetta.”

  “I don’t know how to convince you I’m not. I want justice for my sister. And no one in my family has the motivation to reopen the investigation. I have to know who killed her,” Jesse pleads.

  “I suggest you follow your family’s lead and let it go.” If they did, they have a reason. Families never let a death go—to do so means the answer’s unbearable. “It’s taken them twenty years to move on. Those wounds never heal and bringing this up will open a lot of hurt and pain. Pain you don’t need to bring on them. Cases like this have to be relived every time they are discussed.”

  “But what about Victoria? Doesn’t she deserve justice?”

  Arnett explains, “All officers hold onto a cold case, some crime where the killer got away. because they all feel those people are deserving. You attend your classes, study and become an officer. Then you gaze upon this case with the eyes of a professional.” Arnett won’t expel the kid from the program yet.

  “Each year the case is dormant is another year some killer goes free,” Jesse protests.

  “No denying your logic. I’d start in the local library. You said you read all the newspapers in it. What about the library in the next town?”

  “I did. No newspaper articles exist on the event.”

  If true, this would be an interesting case. Someone must have powerful motivation to hide this girl’s death. Arnett considers, but judgment of experience steadies his curiosity. “You complete the course and I’ll take a gander at it.” Sometimes answers end the quest, but often they only drive a person deeper into the search.

  “It’s not unheard of for a serial killer to be inactive. BTK was dormant for thirty years. Many other killers go years without seeking out victims,” Jesse says.

  “Most cops assume the killers are incarcerated for another crime which prevents their attacks. Once they are released they resume. The theory goes all the way back to Jack the Ripper.” Arnett says. It is a terrible assumption and some serial murderers don’t need a fix as often as others. “BTK also studied the police techniques. He even read books on himself. He got off on how wrong the experts were about him, contemplating how to entice the cops based on their analysis of him. He studied them in an attempt to beat them. It kept him dormant. In fact, their renewed interest in the case woke him up. Let it go, kid. What if your research brings this guy out of hibernation and he takes the life of someone else’s sister?”

  Jesse’s quick retort smacks of being prepared, “What if that’s a shit theory? Profilers examine predictable behavior, patterns. BTK deliberately broke with his patterns to confuse the cops. Many caught killers. When tested many are of slightly below average IQ. But what about the ones not caught? You said there could be as many as a hundred active killers some stretching back into the 1960’s, which means dozens die never having been caught or even identified as mass murderers.”

  Professor Arnett runs the tip of his tongue against the right inside of his lip while his brain contemplates. “Thinking outside the box and new perspectives have caught many criminals, for they never follow the rules.”

  “What if instead of killing they attempt to seek help?”

  This question was never a thought Arnett considered. “Doctors, psychiatrists, and even ministers would be required to report the admission of multiple murders. Many states now allow for this one breach of confidentiality, and make it a crime not to report.”

  “A professed serial killer wouldn’t seek licensed professional help, but not all of them wish to keep killing. I’ve read some pedophiles are the same way. They don’t want to crave relations with underage kids, but they don’t pursue help because of the way society views them. We don’t welcome those who will to seek healing for their mental problems. We punish mental illness more than provide support.” Jesse jerks his laptop from his bag. “This is a risk. Maybe I should wait until I’ve been in your course longer, but…” he flips open his laptop and spins it around for the professor. “Exploring the deep web, trying to find a way inside the dark web, I discovered this chat room.”

  “I won’t warn you how dangerous exploring these places are.” Arnett glances at the screen and the flashing title. “Assistance with the Unusual?”

  “A large number express…sexual deviancy...some with animals, sick shit, but a few mention a fascination with preventing planned deaths.”

  “The FBI has people who monitor this kind of website. You should leave this to the proper authorities, and delete your search history. They have the software to navigate and are protected from the type of people who utilize these websites.”

  “I doubt they have found this one. After I got in and mentioned a few interests, I was invited to another chat site. From there after a few chat conversations, almost as if the person was conducting a research project, I was directed to a link where I was asked to fill out a questionnaire with only a limited time to complet
e it. If I passed, then I will be invited into group chat which will help people with these urges and prevent accidents. I need your assistance, Professor. I need into this group. I believe my sister’s killer joined such a group and that’s why he’s never been caught.”

  “You’re reaching. This isn’t even a grasp at straws. There was no Internet twenty years ago to quell his urges. You’ve no evidence supporting the killer is a part of this group—if it is a group—and the danger factor for someone untrained in procedures in dealing with these people doesn’t rate on any chart. This should be explored by the proper expert authorities trained in dealing with Internet criminals.”

  “I agree, this is why I’m coming to you. Guide me. I’m in. I just need to pass this questionnaire with the accurate responses. Somehow, I’m betting only a person who has taken a life will know the correct answers. Or someone who knows how a killer thinks.”

  “No.”

  “Professor, if I don’t utilize this link soon, I won’t find it again,” Jesse whines like a toddler about to drop to the floor in a tantrum.

  “I have a list of reasons and all of them are ‘no.’ I am ethically required to report you,” Arnett says.

  “I’ll do it anyway,” Jesse says.

  “Blackmail of such caliber only works in the movies. Go ahead and answer the questions I doubt if you get much further. If these people are embracing killers, you won’t make the cut. You won’t think as they do. I doubt I fully think as they do. Stay away from this, kid.” Don’t make me report you.

  “But you can. You’ve studied—interacted with murderers. A profiler’s job is to get into the minds of murderers.”

  “If you pass the test, then what?” Arnett asks.

  “I attend the meeting and figure out who killed my sister.”

  “You’re not Batman. You’re not on some childish quest. You have evidence, you take it to the police. Allow them to process it. People in a chatroom are likely liars. You play vigilante or detective on your own and even if you find this guy, it’s likely any conviction will be thrown out of court, because you didn’t follow procedure.”

  “So you won’t help me?”

  “Not like this. You sit in my class and learn. You must be smart to be accepted into the program. It means you’re intelligent enough to have passed the entrance tests. You learn, you become an officer, and as a trained agent, then you do this. You are not ready to follow some damn fool crusade that will ruin the rest of your life.”

  III

  “WHAT!? YOU SAT in a meeting with seven confessed serial murders?” Arnett balls his right hand into a fist. Instead of punching Jesse he pounds on the table.

  “Six,” Jesse corrects the professor. “I am one of them. And they all shared a story of a murder they committed. These confessed killers forming a therapy group desire to get better. They crave a method to prevent their urges to kill. Many claim they don’t want to murder anymore, but don’t know how to seek help. A psychiatrist would have them jailed, and even in prison they would not be cured of their affliction.”

  The aging professor reaches behind him for the back of his chair to fall into the seat perplexed such a conference occurred. “In all my years as a police detective...” He shakes his head. The next few minutes of his life will travel a path he never knew existed.

  “Even without your help I was able to complete the test and join the group. They all need to be in prison,” Jesse says. “I was never so scared. If I fucked up, they would pounce on me. I don’t know how they didn’t know I wasn’t one of them.”

  “You don’t know that they weren’t playing you. They are correct. Prison doesn’t rehabilitate, not that any of them would ever see the light of day, but they would never be cured of their...dare I say affliction. I don’t know how you aren’t dead. They must have been too self-serving to notice.”

  “What do we do now?” Jesse asks.

  “Contact the FBI,” Arnett says without hesitation.

  “If we do, they will scatter. The next meeting will be in a new location. I don’t even know their real names. They all took on pseudonyms and some came in from different parts of the country. With a few more sessions I might be able to determine what killings they are known for.”

  “No way. No way I will condone you returning. If I allow you to go back I am negligent, and I won’t be responsible for your death,” Arnett says.

  Jesse ignores the protest. “We might be able to determine who they are after they tell just one more story. It would give us their pattern and possible MO.”

  “No.” Arnett pulls his cell from his pocket and flips it open. “You’re going to share all you know with the police. Leave this to the trained professionals.”

  Jesse doesn’t want to hem or haw, but he must uncover who killed his sister. “Most told first victim stories. You taught in class most serial killers’ first victims are botched and don’t match the pattern of future murders. I need the second meeting to figure out their normal pattern then we go to the police. What I have will give them nothing to go on and you know it.” Jesse realizes one or two of the tales he heard would determine the killers involved, but The Bowhunter was not his sister’s murderer.

  “When is the next meeting?”

  “Two weeks. With a new location.”

  Arnett jerks a yellow legal pad from his satchel. “Write down everything. Everything you remember. Every detail. Every smell. Every eye roll at a remark. We will check if the murders match the MO of known serial murderers.” He claps the clamshell phone closed. “I’m still calling.”

  “You said in class early murders of serial killers don’t match their later perfected techniques,” Jesse repeats. He prays the professor’s knowledge of unsolved murders might lead him to identify a killer besides the confessed Bowhunter. He will leave most of his info off this report. If Arnett suspects he knows one of the killer’s identities and reports it, Robert would be arrested and the group may never meet again.

  “Write it down anyway.” He flips open his cell phone again. “The FBI will want to know—”

  “Wait, Professor,” Jesse puts his pen down, “I must attend another meeting. I need more evidence. If we report them now they will all get away. I doubt anyone will even be arrested. They brought no evidence other than their stories. The leader, this woman, strongly suggested each person return home and destroy any trophies they kept, remove any ties to the memories they relive through them.” Jesse exaggerates slightly what she said. If the FBI interferes now he’ll never determine which of the group members killed his sister. He might even face jail time for tampering, or worse, obstruction.

  “Not good advice,” Arnett ponders, “Besides the evidence standpoint, which we may need to prove they are killers, it’s too soon in the recovery process to eliminate trophies.”

  “But alcoholics are expected to go cold turkey when they enter treatment.”

  “And about a third of alcoholics will remain clean for the first year.”

  “They have pledged to be abstinent since their addiction has deeper consequences,” Jesse affirms.

  “None of them plan to kill. In fact, they must avoid all temptations to kill. Admiring keepsakes of victims might encourage those emotions or prevent the necessity of more. But even the most determined addicts relapse. Without their trophies, some might have to go out and collect new ones to replace those they destroyed. This is not a good idea unless they are all supervised by expert doctors.” Arnett loses himself in his thoughts. “No, we need to report what you’ve learned or we would be remiss in our civic duties.”

  “If you do the group will break up and six killers will be free. You know the odds are they won’t all face charges. Let me attend just one more meeting. Tell me what I need specifically to learn so when we go to the FBI we nail all six of them.” Not Jesse’s real plan, but it will hold the professor off long enough for him to learn more to keep this dance going.

  “Condoning your attendance is reckless and immoral. Putting
you in danger is unacceptable.”

  “I put myself in danger. My choice. With your help I will stay out of danger. I must share another killing at the next meeting. I thought, with your knowledge, we could construct what I did so they believe and trust me. My first story was shaky, but they bought it.”

  “You want me to let you stroll into danger? No way. I must report this.” Unsure why he hasn’t dialed already, Arnett open the flip phone again.

  Jesse grabs at the phone, pushing down the top on Arnett’s fingers to prevent dialing, but in no way attempting to remove the device from the professor’s hand. “You report it—I’ll tell them I made it up.”

  Arnett jerks his hand away. “Are you blackmailing me? Unlike what those mass killers believe, we are not above the law.”

  “I’m asking—begging—for your help in one more attendance of their meetings. My sister’s murderer must face justice. Help me.”

  “Your sister’s murderer is not among this group. No. I must report this.”

  Jesse grabs at the phone again as it chirps in response to several numbers being dialed. He tosses the phone across the room, hoping the cracking plastic sound means he damaged it. Before the professor screams for assistance, Jesse shoves Arnett against the podium.

  The older man may have been handicapped by the forced retirement, but his left punch has all the force of a steamroller.

  Jesse reels back, but catches his footing. Even being young and limber, he quickly accepts he hasn’t the power or experience to spar with the older man. He drops into tackling stance bolting forward. Using a desk as a backstop, he takes the professor over the desk landing on top of him.

  He pounds on Jesse’s back with his left hand. The right just lays there.