Grave Situation

by Alex MacLean

  Herb stood up and inhaled a shaky breath. When he climbed out of the hole, he noticed the sky was blanketed with a murky cloud cover. A breeze had sprung up out of nowhere. Suddenly, an explosion of light flared above the mountain ridge. The sharp crack of thunder that followed seemed to vibrate the ground.

  The rain was close, perhaps only minutes away.

  I need to finish this now.

  Herb reached into the duffel bag and took out the hacksaw that was fitted with a new tungsten carbide blade. Carefully, he went back down into the grave and knelt by the open end of the casket.

  He positioned the flashlight so he could see what he was doing. Then he placed the hacksaw across the throat of the corpse. His hand tightened on the handle, the muscles in his arms flexed.

  “Cutting through the front of the neck is easy if you have a good blade,” Slick had told him. “The spinal column will give you a little trouble.”

  Herb licked his lips, hesitant.

  Ten seconds, his jaw clenching.

  Twenty seconds, his palm becoming wet.

  Thirty seconds, his hand beginning to shake.

  Herb gazed at the bible clutched in the dead man’s hands, feeling paralyzed by guilt and shame. He bowed his head and shut his eyes.

  I can’t do this.

  All at once, he sat back and looked at the dead man.

  “I’m sorry, Mister Walsh,” he whispered.

  He closed the lid and then crawled out of the grave. He kicked off his boots, slipped out of his coveralls and wadded them into a ball. Inside the duffel bag was a change of clothes. Herb took them out, dressing quickly in black sweats and running shoes. He stuffed his dirty coveralls, boots, gloves, and hacksaw inside the bag.

  The shovel in hand, he worked as fast as he could, dumping spadeful after spadeful of soil back into the hole.

  The electric sky sent off another bolt of lightning and for a split second, the entire cemetery lit up around him. Then everything went black again. Right above him came a clap of thunder, loud and percussive.

  Frantically, he shoveled the last of the dirt into the hole. He knew he didn’t have time to put everything back to normal before the rain got there.

  He leveled off the soil as best he could and then he began putting the sod down. When he finished, he folded up the tarps and stuffed them into the duffel bag.

  Breathing hard, he took one last look around with the light. The grave was a mess; the sod had lumps under it. They would know someone was here.

  Another boom of thunder sounded and the first drop of rain smacked his head. Around him, more drops began to fall in an incessant patter.

  Herb slung the duffel bag over his right shoulder. With the shovel in one hand and flashlight in the other, he moved off into a brisk hike, puffing his way back over the hills.

  Lightning lit up the area again. Sixty feet away, he saw the stone wall. He lengthened his stride, a sprinter making his last dash to the finish line.

  Chest heaving, he reached the wall and tossed the shovel over it. He pulled himself up and jumped to the other side. After locating the shovel with the flashlight, he grabbed it, pushed through the shrubs and clambered up the ditch to the road. He glanced down both sides for any cars. All clear.

  Just short of his truck, the sky opened up and a heavy rain fell down on him. By the time Herb put the shovel in back and climbed inside the cab, he was soaked.

  For a moment, he settled behind the wheel, hands folded across his stomach, eyes closed. The rainwater dripping from his hair felt cold on his face. He listened to a mélange of sounds—the pounding of his heart, his own ragged breath, the big drops beating a steady cadence on the roof.

  He switched on the ignition and then the headlights. In their twin beams, the rain became darts of silver. The time was 1:17 am.

  He shifted gears, made a U-turn, and drove off. The road ahead was a blur, the downpour like a curtain. Eyes narrowed, Herb leaned forward, straining to see through clear patches the wipers managed to slap away.

  I’m done with this, he told himself. No more. No more.

  39

  Acresville, May 21

  9:30 a.m.

  “Imagine someone who has no conscience, no feelings of guilt or empathy. Someone who is emotionally shallow and lies excessively. Now instead of putting the face of a monster on that person, put your own on it. And you get a picture of what a psychopath looks like. He or she could be anyone.”

  They sat across from each other in Chief Brantford’s office—Allan, David and Doctor Terry Armstrong. The forensic psychiatrist was a tall man with a long face and hollow cheeks. His sharp blue eyes seldom changed expression and his thatch of gray hair seemed to accentuate his deep tan. Armstrong was an avid snowbird who enjoyed wintering in Florida with his wife. His voice and manner were relaxed and professional. He wore a white shirt and black slacks.

  A tape recorder, set up on the desk, captured his session.

  “In nineteen forty-six,” Armstrong continued, “long before the FBI ever coined the term serial killer, there was a notorious case involving what the media dubbed, ‘The Lipstick Killer’. Written on the wall at the crime scene of Francis Brown was a cryptic message, ‘for heaven’s sake catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself.’

  “Seventeen year old William Heirens was charged not only in Francis Brown’s murder, but two others as well—Josephine Ross and the murder and dismemberment of six year old Suzanne Degnan.

  “Whether or not Heirens was the person who actually committed the murders is in serious question. He could’ve simply been the victim of overzealous cops and prosecutors.” Armstrong shrugged. “At any rate, the lipstick message best describes most serial killers. ‘I cannot control myself.’ And they can’t.

  “They say a man’s crime can be considered an expression of his mental condition and the situation in which he lives.

  “The serial killer is different from any other type of murderer. As you know, many homicides are due to acts of sudden impulses. Most of those take place after heated arguments and afterwards the murderer is sorry for what they did.

  “Guilt and remorse, on the other hand, are things the serial killer only feels for himself. His murders aren’t spontaneous; they’re planned. The force that drives him is a burning hatred of his life and the world around him.

  “This hatred usually stems from childhood where he witnessed many of the horrors that he unleashes later in life. These killers grow up emotionally dead.

  “In order to see what makes your man tick, gentlemen, you would need to look at his past. Practically all serial killers come from dysfunctional families.

  “Many of them have daydreamed about murder for years and many times the murders they commit when they get older are re-enactments of those daydreams. In adolescence, where instead of forming social contacts like normal kids, they keep to themselves, retreating into a world of fantasy. Their fantasies stray far from the normal ones that you or I might have. They usually start as sexual in content, but eventually become intertwined with violence.”

  Allan interjected by raising his hand. “There was no sexual involvement, at least in John Baker’s case. Do you find that odd?”

  Armstrong gave him a thoughtful look. “Not really, Lieutenant. These men have different motivations. They’re not all hard-wired the same. Contrary to popular belief, there is no generic profile that fits a serial killer. Some have traits in common; others don’t.

  “Your man could be killing out of anger and the murder itself is his form of release. Perhaps he’s looking for attention or is thrill-seeking.

  “First, I’d like to give you a brief overview of these killers. Then we’ll have a closer look at the man you’re after.”

  Allan nodded his acquiescence. “Please continue.”

  Armstrong pushed himself straighter in his chair. “The serial killer doesn’t look at his victim as a human being,” he told them. “They view people as objects—one that only serves to satisfy a m
urderous fantasy.

  “Since many are sly and cunning, they lure potential victims into their traps by winning that person’s confidence first.

  “Dahmer is a prime example. He managed to convince his male victims to go back to his apartment by asking them to pose for photographs in return for money. Canada’s own Robert Pickton used money and drugs to lure victims to his pig farm.

  “These killers have the ability to lead completely normal lives. They exhibit no odd behavior to family, friends or co-workers. In essence, they’re living two separate lives. They know full well that they’re drastically different from the rest of us.

  “Some of them have families and hold down respectable jobs. But on the side, they’re also satisfying a deep compulsion by killing.

  “Look at John Wayne Gacy. He was a highly respected man in his community. Married. A father. Yet during all this, he killed thirty-three young boys and buried most of them beneath his own house.

  “Dennis Rader is another example. He was also married. Had two children. Was a Boy Scouts leader.

  “On the surface, these men seem perfectly ordinary. They appear pleasant, ingratiating, even compassionate. But they actually mimic the behavior of a normal human being. Underneath this facade lies an overwhelming hostility. A core of rage, if you will. They are amoral and conscienceless and that’s a common trait seen in psychopathic personalities.

  “Many psychopaths, in fact, aren’t cold-blooded killers. That’s a stereotype. Yes, the more violent ones can end up as serial killers, terrorists, or even wife beaters. The more criminally inclined, however, end up as con-men, thieves, and crooked businessmen.

  “Most psychopathic personalities have no criminal or murderous intent. But undoubtedly, they’ll be using and manipulating those around them in some parasitic way.

  “I want to stress that not all violent people are psychopaths and not all psychopaths are violent.

  “Since many have an exalted craving for excitement, you’ll find some of them working as stock brokers because it satisfies that part of their behavior.

  “With others, they seek dominance and power over people. You’ll find them in careers where they can exercise that power—politicians, lawyers.” Pausing, Armstrong gestured toward the two men. “Or even police officers. No offence, gentlemen.”

  Allan grinned. “None taken. I think we’ve all come into contact with a psychopath at some point in our lives and never even realized it.”

  Armstrong nodded. “There are more of them in our society than you can imagine. Some say one percent of our population is psychopathic. Others think the rate is much higher, possibly one in twenty-five to thirty. That’s a staggering figure when you think about it.”

  Allan watched the tape spinning in the recorder. From the corner of his eye, he saw David cross his arms, watching intently.

  “Do you think it’s the dominance or control that our man is after?”

  “Yes, very much so.”

  “Serial killers seem to choose victims who are easy to kill,” Allan said. “That’s why many of them target women and children. When I looked at the victims here—a woman and a frail homeless man—I surmised that’s why the killer chose them, because they were easy targets.”

  “I think you’re right, Lieutenant.”

  “What about the body parts?” David asked. “Why would the killer take them?”

  Armstrong crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in the chair.

  “This ritualistic dismemberment,” he began, “is somewhat common among serial killers. They try to keep the feelings of power by preserving parts of their victims. The body part, in essence, becomes a trophy and is part of the killer’s ritualistic fantasy.

  “It’s common for serial killers to take photos or jewelry from their victims as a sort of keepsake. Reportedly, body parts that have been preserved by some killers include fingers, breasts, penises, even hair. In your cases, it’s the hands and eyes. Your killer could’ve made totemic preservations of these body parts by pickling them in jars.

  “Henry Lee Lucas and Edmund Kemper were two men who did this. Kemper kept his own mother’s head that he used as a dartboard. Dahmer is another serial killer who kept body parts around. Even Robert Pickton.”

  “What do you think this man is doing with the body parts?” asked Allan.

  “One of two things. First, I’d have to go back to my initial thought—this killer has made totemic preservations of the body parts by pickling them or cataloguing them somehow. He will use them at a later time to relive the murders in his mind.

  “Or secondly, I’d say the man took the body parts as a way to further dehumanize his victims.”

  David cleared his throat. “Is this man insane?”

  Armstrong shook his head. “Not in the legal sense. He knows what he’s doing. The serial killer, in many cases, but not all, is the product of neurological disorders, chemical imbalances brought on by malnutrition, substance abuse, brain injuries, bipolar disorders, and even child abuse. These factors can actually shape a person’s behavior.

  “This man could’ve suffered some serious head trauma that damaged areas of the brain that control behavior and the ability to manage emotions. These head traumas could’ve been caused from falls, bumping the head accidentally, gunshot wounds or from blows brought on by severe child abuse. I will get into that one in a minute.

  “Two areas of the brain that I’m referring to are the limbic system and the hypothalamus. The limbic system consists of the amygdala and the hippocampus. These interconnect with one another in a circuit wrapped around the thalamus and basal ganglia. It’s been known for years that these structures play important roles in the regulation of basic drives and emotions.

  “The hypothalamus lies directly beneath the thalamus. This part of the brain regulates the internal environment of the body. It contains centers for regulating blood pressure, pulse rate, body temperature, perspiration and other functions controlled by the autonomic nervous system. The hypothalamus also controls the production and release of certain hormones.

  “Since the hypothalamus is intimately connected to every part of the limbic system, it helps regulate emotional states such as anger and fear. Damage to or problems in these areas of the brain can have serious effects on memory and hamper one’s ability to control violent behavior.

  “This man could be a chronic alcoholic like Dahmer was. Possibly even a drug user. Many serial killers are addicted to alcohol or drugs. And many have committed their crimes while under the influence.

  “Those substances changes mood, thought and behavior in a person by altering the biology of the brain. One long-term effect of alcohol abuse is called alcohol amnesic disorder. This results in severe memory impairment and difficulties with motor coordination associated with damage to areas of the limbic system.

  “If this man already has some inability to control his behavior due to damaged areas of his brain caused from either head traumas or some form of birth defects, alcohol and drugs can make him even more disoriented and violent.

  “Now, moving to child abuse. It’s been reported that most serial killers were victims of abuse. Sexually, physically or psychologically. In some cases, a combination of all three.

  “Ted Bundy might’ve been one of the few exceptions. Reportedly, he had a normal childhood.

  “Many of these men grow into scarred and abusive adults. Deprived of nurturing parental affection as children, they grow up not knowing how to love or how to form any close association with other people.

  “Sometimes, a child will repress these incidents. As a way to cope, the mind pushes incidents too painful to bear into some remote section of the consciousness. Later in life, a certain smell, dream, conversation or even further violence can cause these memories to resurface. Quite often to the complete surprise of the person it happens to.”

  Allan shook his head. “How much does child abuse really play a role in the development of a serial killer? I mean there are thousan
ds of child abuse cases reported every year. And I don’t have to go far out on a limb to say a lot more than that goes unreported. Now, out of all these formerly abused people walking around society today, what percentage will go on to become violent criminals?

  “Unfortunately, many people use the ‘I was abused’ trick to play on people’s sympathies.”

  A hint of a smile surfaced on Armstrong’s face. “That’s true. Since excessive lying is a very common trait in psychopathic behavior, you’re taking a chance on believing anything that comes out of their mouths when they’re caught. It’s never about their victim’s or the lives they’ve destroyed; it’s all about them.

  “A lot of abused children do move on from their pasts to lead full and productive lives. They have well established coping skills. They are resilient. The serial killer, however, isn’t.

  “What I’ve tried to do here, gentlemen, is touch upon some of the factors that could be responsible for this man’s behavior. Like I said, in order to see definitively what makes him tick, you’d need to look at his past. Unfortunately, you can’t do that until you catch him.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that he exhibited behavioral problems throughout his life. These would’ve revealed themselves to the people around him when he was very young. Psychopathic behavior just doesn’t show up in adulthood. It might be hard to fathom, but childhood psychopathy is a fact.

  “As a child, this man could’ve shown signs of social, emotional, and psychological disorders. He was probably antisocial, never bothering much with other children. Possibly indulged in excessive daydreaming. He could’ve had a fascination with barbarous acts to animals, like mutilating them. Dogs, cats, even birds. Dahmer is a prime example of this.

  “As a child, this man might’ve responded to the slightest confrontation with other children with extreme violence. This in itself is an early warning sign that the child has a behavioral disorder. Incidentally, hair-trigger tempers are common among serial killers.

  “Other signs of early behavioral problems are lying, theft, vandalism, sexual activity, alcohol or drug use, bullying, setting fires. All of this accomplished before he had even reached the ages of twelve or thirteen.