Confession

by Gary Whitmore

  He shoved them into his pants pocket.

  He got out of his car and rushed back to the trunk. He opened it up and dropped her clothes inside then slammed it shut.

  He rushed back inside his car and drove off.

  When he drove thirty miles from the crime scene, he was about to throw out her shoes, but decided to keep them.

  He pulled his car over to the side of the road, got out and opened up the trunk. He dropped her shoes inside and closed it, as he had another use for the shoes. He rushed back and got inside his car.

  He drove off and headed back east, to meet up with Ricky for their annual fishing and camping trip.

  Then the next day, Jimmy drove to Artabatian Lake outside Pierce.

  Ricky met him there with a new 1967 yellow Ford Mustang.

  Ricky looked inside the Thunderbird and saw broken glass and blood stains in the passenger seat. “This doesn’t look good, big brother,” Ricky said and was concerned.

  Jimmy pondered a solution while he paced by his new Mustang. Then his eyes lit up with an idea. “Have the car destroyed when you get home,” he said.

  “Won’t doing that to a brand new car raise questions,” Ricky said a little concerned.

  “Not if someone broke into your lot late one night and damaged it,” Jimmy said while he opened up the trunk.

  He removed the bat and took batting practice on the fenders and other areas of the car.

  Ricky watched while Jimmy beat the Thunderbird.

  “I’ll come in a few days and we’ll fill out a police report,” Jimmy said while he continued to beat the car. “We’ll say someone vandalized the car while we were fishing,” Jimmy said then beat the fenders.

  “I like that, now let’s go catch some fish,” Ricky said.

  Days had passed and the annual fishing and camping trip was over for Jimmy and Ricky.

  Jimmy was back home and showed off his new 1967 Mustang to Betty.

  She loved it.

  She saw the letters under his skull tattoo had grown to “A, R, A, S, and F.” She just rolled her eyes as that didn’t make up a word.

  She went inside the house while Jimmy opened up his garage door.

  Inside his garage, Jimmy did his same routine of placing Fran’s clothes, shoes, teeth, driver’s license, the baby girl picture, car engine cable, and the bloody tip of the bat into his chest. After he developed the pictures from his camera, he dropped the photos of Fran and him as a proud hunter into the chest. He locked it.

  He hid it back up in his attic.

  He went inside the house and showed Betty the pictures of Ricky and himself fishing on the lake.

  Later that night, Jimmy could not help but think about Fran while he glanced over at Betty who slept. He closed his eyes and slept like a baby.

  Three days later, the Sheriff of Garrison, Arkansas, Edgar Raymond, called the FBI office in Atlanta and informed them that some hikers found a dead woman he believed to be the fifth victim of the Fall Slayer.

  They sent Robert and Carl out to Arkansas to look at the dead woman.

  Robert and Carl arrived at the scene. Sheriff Raymond and his deputies had it roped off and guarded the area.

  Robert looked terrible and he had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and heavy drinking.

  He walked around and looked at Fran’s naked and beaten body. Flies buzzed around her dead naked flesh.

  “Take some pictures,” he ordered Carl. But this time he had less enthusiasm since he had given up on believing he will find the killer.

  “I’ll be in touch if I need anything,” Robert told Sheriff Raymond.

  Robert walked back to his government car and sat behind the wheel. He drank from his flask and fumed while Carl snapped pictures and asked Sheriff Raymond some questions.

  Two weeks later, Jimmy had the craving to mess with Robert again.

  So he drove off one weekend to Parksville, Mississippi. He drove around the town until he found a Piggly Wiggly store.

  He parked his Mustang while he searched for his victim. Then he saw a skinny mild mannered man around thirty-five years old get out of a white 1962 Chrysler Valiant.

  “He’s perfect,” Jimmy said while he sipped on his bottle of Jack Daniels.

  He waited until the man walked into the Piggly Wiggly. He waited until nobody was within sight.

  Jimmy moved his car and parked behind the Valiant. He put on his new leather gloves, grabbed a brown paper bag and a lock-opening device.

  He got out of his car and rushed over to the trunk of the Valiant. He looked around the parking lot, and nobody was visible. He used the device and unlocked the trunk. He opened up the trunk and quickly dropped the paper bag into the trunk then quietly closed it.

  He rushed back to his car.

  He waited inside his car with a smirk.

  Then after a few minutes, the man walked out of the Piggly Wiggly with a grocery bag in hand.

  The man got in his Valiant and drove out of the parking lot.

  Jimmy trailed the Valiant to the man’s house.

  He drove away and headed back home after he jotted down the address.

  Back to reality…

  In Daytona Beach, Sam sat in his den in his lazy boy chair in his den and looked stunned while he reviewed the areas of the book he highlighted. “How the hell did he know about that?” Sam said while he highlighted another area and was pissed.

  In Kissimmee, Marty was almost finished with his book. He looked at Becky who worked on her tribute photo album to Allan.

  “Baby, I think dad has a best seller here,” he said while he went back to his book.

  She could care less, as the photo album of Allan was more important.

  In Curtis, Mississippi, Billy stared out of the window in his den. He had Allan’s book in his hand and he looked scared for once in his life.

  Chapter 14

  A Killer’s Tale story continued…

  A week had passed.

  Up at the Atlanta FBI Field Office, Carl watched while Robert sat at his desk in a stupor and stare at his five case files for the Fall Slayer. Robert would look at a file then discreetly take a swig from his flask.

  The phone on Carl’s desk rang. “Agent Meyers,” he answered.

  “Yes sir, I’m from Parksville, Mississippi. I have reason to believe that a man down my street, Alfred Sampson, might be the Fall Slayer,” an unknown male voice said from the phone.

  Carl jotted down the information. “How do you know he might be the Fall Slayer?” Carl responded.

  “Well, he had this brown paper bag in his house the other day when I was over with my wife. I got curious and opened the bag and saw a pair of woman’s shoes, dress and the driver’s license for a Fran Schaefer inside. I remember reading in our newspaper about the Fall Layer killing a Fran Schaefer in Arkansas last week,” the male said.

  “What’s his address?” Carl asked while he jotted down the other information.

  “He lives at eighteen oh four Harvest Lane,” the male replied.

  Carl jotted down the name. “Thank you and what is your name so we can contact you if we need more information?” Carl said.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want this sick killer coming after my wife or me. You have what you need,” the male replied then quickly hung up his end of the call.

  Carl jumped up from his desk with his notes and rushed over to Robert.

  “We got a huge break! I just received a call from someone in Parksville, Mississippi. He saw some evidence in a neighbor’s house that makes him believe his neighbor is the Fall Slayer,” Carl said a little excited.

  “What makes you believe this man in Parksville is the killer?” Robert said and showed very little interest, as he’s been burnt before.

  “Well the caller said his neighbor had the driver’s license belonging to Fran Schaefer and a pair of woman’s shoes and dress in a brown paper in his house.”

  A spark of light shined inside Robert while he thought he was finally going to c
atch this scumbag killer. “Let’s go arrest that piece of shit,” Robert told Carl while he sprang up from his desk.

  They both rushed out of their area to get permission to pay Alfred Sampson a visit.

  The next day, it was peaceful on Harvest Lane in Parksville, Mississippi.

  A government car, with Robert and Carl inside, and two Parksville squad cars, with Sheriff Raymond and five deputies, raced down the street. Robert pulled his car behind Alfred’s Valiant. The two squad cars parked along the curb. Everybody got out and gathered by Robert’s car.

  “Everybody ready?” he asked.

  Sheriff Raymond, Carl, and his deputies nodded they were ready.

  They all rushed to the front door of Alfred’s home.

  Robert pounded on the door. “Open up Sampson,” Robert yelled while he gave the door more pounding.

  A few seconds had passed and the front door opened and Alfred appeared. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw two men in suits and Sheriff Raymond with five deputies. He got nervous at the sight of these officers, as he was a true wimp.

  “Are you Alfred Sampson?” Robert asked while a vein in his neck started to protrude.

  Alfred nodded in agreement while he started to tremble with a gut feeling this was not going to be a good situation.

  Robert reached in his suit coat and removed a piece of paper. “This hereby authorizes me to search your house,” Robert said then handed Alfred the paper.

  He saw it was a search warrant. “Search my house? For what?” Alfred said, as he was about to piss his pants.

  Robert barged into Alfred’s house at the same time he grabbed Alfred’s arm.

  Inside Alfred’s home, he threw him on the couch.

  “Watch this scumbag,” Robert ordered one of the deputies.

  The deputy stood guard while Robert, Carl, Sheriff Raymond and the four other deputies searched Alfred’s house.

  Alfred’s eyes welled up as he was scared to death, and did not have a clue what they wanted.

  An hour later, Robert, Carl, Sheriff Raymond and the four deputies came up empty handed. Alfred’s home looked like a tornado went through all the rooms.

  Robert stormed over to Alfred who sat on the couch. He grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him upright.

  “Where is the evidence?” Robert yelled at Alfred with his face red with anger.

  Alfred trembled in fear. “What evidence?” he asked completely confused.

  “You know what evidence!” Robert yelled back. His eyes widened with an idea. He shoved a hand into Alfred’s pants and removed his car keys.

  He threw Alfred back down on the couch. “Come with me,” he told Sheriff Raymond and one of his deputies.

  They followed Robert to the front door and went outside.

  They walked over to Alfred’s Valiant and Robert and opened the trunk. He looked inside and saw a brown paper bag. He smiled while he reached in his suit pocket and removed some white gloves. He put them on then reached in the trunk and removed the bag. He opened it up and saw a pair of woman’s shoes, a dress and a driver’s license for Fran Schafer.

  “I found gold!” he said with a huge grin and showed Sheriff Raymond the contents of the bag. “Let’s arrest the bastard.”

  They all walked back to Alfred’s house and during this time, Robert started to think about Angie’s dead beaten body. His blood boiled by the time he reached the front door.

  Alfred sat scared to death on the couch while he waited.

  Robert stormed inside the house with that paper bag in hand. Sheriff Raymond and the other deputy followed.

  Robert had fire in his eyes when he stormed up to Alfred.

  “Here’s the evidence I need to send you to the electric chair for killing those five girls,” Robert said while he showed Alfred the inside of the bag.

  Alfred looked confused when he saw the bag. “That's not mine! I’ve never seen that bag before,” Alfred said while he trembled in fear.

  “Bullshit!” Robert yelled while he picked Alfred up by his shirt. “You’re the Fall Slayer!” Robert screamed in Alfred’s face.

  “The Fall Slayer?” Alfred replied scared to death. “No, I never killed anybody in my life,” Alfred said while he trembled and peed his pants.

  His vivid memory of Angie flashed again in his mind. “Bullshit!” Robert screamed then he threw Alfred across the room.

  Alfred slammed hard into his television set knocking it on the floor.

  Robert ran over and picked Alfred up and punched him in his stomach. When Alfred bent over in pain, then Robert he punched him in his face. That punch sent Alfred into the air and landed six feet away.

  Robert lunged after Alfred but Carl tackled Robert to the floor. Robert fought to free himself so he can whip Alfred’s ass.

  Two deputies joined Carl and they eventually handcuffed Robert.

  Sheriff Raymond walked over and got Alfred up on his feet. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

  Alfred eyes welled up. “But I didn’t kill that girl or any other girl! I swear!” Alfred cried out then busted into tears.

  “That’s for the courts to decide,” Sheriff Raymond said then he escorted Alfred out of the house with another deputy.

  Robert calmed down then he busted into tears happy he finally found the Fall Slayer.

  It was two days later in the Atlanta FBI office, Robert was happier and even whistled while he walked around.

  Howard Grayson, Robert’s boss, stepped out of his office. He walked into the office area and looked serious.

  “Fillert!” I want you in my office now!” Howard called with a pissed tone. He turned around and headed back into his office.

  Carl and the other agents looked at Howard and knew Robert was in trouble. They watched while Robert got up from his desk and walked to Howard’s office.

  Carl and the other agents got up and gingerly walked over to Howard’s office.

  Inside Howard’s office, he was furious while he sat behind his desk.

  Robert sat in a chair at the front of the desk.

  Howard tapped his pencil on his desk while he stared at Robert. “I got a call from Sheriff Raymond from Parksville, Mississippi,” he said while he tapped his pencil again.

  “How’s that scumbag Sampson doing in jail?” Robert said with a satisfied smile.

  Howard slammed his pencil down. “They determined that he’s not the killer!” Howard yelled out while the veins in his neck popped out.

  Robert looked shocked. “Of course he’s the killer. We found some of the Schaefer girl’s items in the trunk of his car.”

  “Well, it appears Alfred Sampson had a valid alibi. He was living in Dundee, Washington during the time of all the murders. He just moved to Parksville four weeks ago,” Howard replied.

  “In Washington? No, that can’t be true,” said Robert totally confused and started to feel like he lost his mind.

  “And it appears his father is the Chief of Police of Dundee. He vouched for his son,” Howard added.

  Robert looked like his world just caved in. “But, he had evidence in his trunk.”

  Howard opened up his top desk drawer and removed a piece of paper. “The Sheriff of Parksville mailed this to me,” he said then handed Robert the letter.

  “Hey Agent Robert Dumbass, I Set-up Some Poor Slob For You. Love, Fall Slayer,” the taunting letter stated in magazine print.

  Robert sat there stunned while he read the letter for a second time.

  “And now, we’re looking at a possible law suit because you beat up Mister Sampson,” Howard said and got pissed. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Howard yelled.

  Robert was speechless while he stared at the fire in Howard’s eyes.

  “You’re being transferred to the Phoenix office. I want
you as far away from the south as I can get you. And hopefully Mister Sampson will cool off and won’t sue the agency. Get the hell out of my office!” Howard said.

  Outside his office, Carl, Homer, and the other agents eavesdropped. They quickly ran the second they heard the door to Howard’s office open and closed.

  Robert moped out of his office with a stunned look. He moped back to his desk. He started to pack up his belongings.

  “What happened?” Carl asked from across the room.

  “I’m being transferred to Phoenix,” Robert said pissed.

  Carl felt somewhat sorry for Robert knowing that a friend of his was a victim to the Fall Slayer.

  That night, Homer called Jimmy from home.

  “Hello.”

  “Jimmy, it’s me Homer. Listen, I have some news for you,” he said from the phone.

  “What’s that?” asked Jimmy and started to get worried that maybe Robert had a good lead.

  “Robert Fillert’s off the case. He’s being transferred to our office in Phoenix.”

  “Really?” said Jimmy and he was surprised. “What happened?”

  Homer told Jimmy the whole Alfred Sampson story.

  Jimmy smiled and knew his trick worked in his favor. He was still in the clear.

  For the next week, Jimmy schemed another plan and this one would be different and make a positive change in his life.

  Two weeks had passed and Jimmy came up with a bullshit story that he had to go away for a long weekend. It was Army Reserve duty and he couldn’t tell Betty of his destination. She didn’t want to ask questions so she accepted his story.

  The long weekend was over.

  Inside Jimmy’s house, Betty made dinner in the kitchen, as she expected home to be home any second.