The Bluff City Butcher

by Steve Bradshaw

  “Please, go ahead,” Carol said.

  “I see how you linked the nine cold cases, but based on my experience in law enforcement there is a greater likelihood these are not related. Allow me to share my take on the matter.”

  Interesting power move, Carol thought. Probably how you climbed the ladder. Now you’re going to take me to the hallowed halls of the Collin Wade Police Academy, where all great minds learn the secrets of the law enforcement universe . . .

  “When someone dies with a traumatic wound, they often lose a lot of blood. That is usually the direct cause of death. I am sure Dr. Bates can expand on this later.

  “As you know Miss Mason, people die all over the world each and every day. Those who die on the same days are rarely connected except by date. Statistics would confirm 99.99 percent are not linked in any other way.

  “I would agree the head trauma you describe is bizarre,” Wade said. “It merits additional scrutiny. However, before we rush to judgment, I would like our ME to take another look and tell us why he saw nothing noteworthy the first time around.”

  Eyes moved to Dr. Bates. He opened his file and ignored the challenge.

  Director Wade continued. “Trauma in tragic accidents and aggressive suicides is often gross and disfiguring. It does not mean Dr. Frankenstein sent Igor to the death scene.” The room laughed. Carol stared. Wade continued. “I appreciate your truly vivid imagination. I’m sure it sells a lot of newspapers. But we are not selling papers today, Miss Mason. As boring as it may be, we are investigating old deaths, and we must keep our wheels on the road. Over the years I’ve seen grotesque damage to human bodies, sometimes so horrendous the untrained eye could not identify a single organ, much less confirm one missing. Only a doctor is reliably capable of conducting such a grisly assessment—not a policeman, and certainly not a reporter. Do you agree?”

  “I understand each point you’ve made, Director Wade. I too considered them, along with many others.” She let the words sink in.

  “We can all agree there is nothing to be gained from creating fiction. Such an effort would be a waste of time for the Memphis Police Department, The Tribune, and the community. Our shared objective is to solve a large number of disturbing cold cases that were born on your watch. The Tribune responded to your request, director—we are here. For us to accomplish our joint objective, we must take a closer look at the evidence. We must challenge old thinking. The facts I presented today can be new or old. They came from several months of hard work, the investigations of highly qualified and properly motivated law enforcement personnel from across the midsouth. Their findings cannot be ignored, minimized, or set aside. My findings simply connect their findings.”

  “Miss Mason.” Voss stood pinching the knot on his tie. “I am the Midsouth Regional Director for the FBI. We met briefly in the hall to Director Wade’s office; I believe your first day in Memphis.”

  “Yes, Mr. Voss. I remember.” Carol was unimpressed then and now. Unlike FBI she had worked with before, Voss sought attention. What is the FBI doing at a local police meeting?

  “I have a comment and question. The accidental deaths and suicides presented today are suspicious. I congratulate you on your work. They could be homicides, and should be investigated further. My question . . . What are you saying here today, Miss Mason? Do you have a theory? Do you believe one person is killing these people? Do you believe a serial killer has been randomly plunging an ice pick in heads for the last ten years and taking their organs for some macabre reason?” Carol waited for the room to turn back to her. She would enjoy watching their smiles melt away. She saw the monster out there. When they saw the evil, they would become part of the solution.

  “Agent Voss,”—the demotion should get under your skin—“a monster unlike anything you’ve ever seen or could imagine killed these people.” Gasps rolled through the room. “When I’m done, I will find thirty more in the system—missed.”

  “It is ‘Director’, Miss Mason,” Voss corrected. “You’ve made some dramatic claims with little proof. How can you be so sure?”

  “The knife.”

  “Knives are readily available. Anyone can obtain one and use it to kill.” The quiet room leaned forward. Eyes moved to Mason.

  She walked around the podium as if she were alone with her serial killer. “This one knows knives. He has a favorite. Keeps it razor sharp. Carries it all the time. Each pass of his blade is lightning fast and precision targeted. When his knife touches human flesh—let’s say the neck—the outcome is predictable. The tip of the cold steel sinks the perfect depth and finds the carotid arteries and jugular vein. They are sliced in two and the blood flow unstoppable.

  “He is left handed. He stands six-feet-five. The power behind his blade is equivalent to ten men—his blade passes through bone like a hot knife in butter. The cranial puncture wounds are also unique, delivered with a single thrust always in the same place. This killer knows the human brain. He needs his victims to relax as he does his work—the surgical removal of specific organs and meticulous wound closures. Exsanguination is not an accident. For him, it is a procedure.” Carol returned to her podium and took a sip of water, her eyes moving around the room. She set the glass down and picked up her notebook.

  “This serial killer is not new to the midsouth. He’s been here a long time. He is not afraid of the MPD or FBI. I think it’s time we stopped him.”

  Voss chuckled, tugging his shirt cuffs. “With all respect, your theory is a stretch. This is the real world, Miss Mason, not Hollywood. Your hypothetical has now moved to the realm of the ridiculous.”

  “How long has the FBI been looking for this guy?” Carol shot back.

  The room broke into laughter. It was becoming obvious, both Voss and Wade were skirting facts rather than seeking information, but neither intended to show their cards.

  “We have yet to establish the existence of the monster you think we should be looking for, Miss Mason,” Voss said.

  “Do the names Buford Forester, R.L. Thornton, and Teddy Morgan mean anything to you, Director Wade?” Carol asked.

  “Nothing specific,” Wade said.

  “First time I heard those names was here today,” Voss said.

  “Do you recall the 1983 kidnapping, Sabina Weatherford?” Carol asked as she left the podium a second time and stood in front of Director Wade. “Do you recall the killings on the bluff the next night? Four young men were attacked by a large man with a knife. Three died. One survived. The Memphis police chased the suspect to the Harahan Bridge. He jumped. They never recovered the body, Director Wade.”

  Carol found Elliott on the back row. She saw approval. At that very moment she understood the power of the politics hiding a monster. For now, she was done. In the quiet room she smiled at the directors, and removed her notebook from the podium, and took a seat next to Albert.

  Director Wade took the podium to retake control of a very disturbing meeting. “Thank you for your presentation, Miss Mason.”

  Carol nodded. Albert smiled. Wade’s concerns were not about the eminent danger. By accepting Carol’s findings, he would be admitting to five years of failed leadership.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he perused the room and stopped on Carol. “Everyone here remembers 1983 on the bluff, Miss Mason. It was a terrible time in our city’s history. That year a regrettable legend was born, and for many years many people believed a monster walked our streets looking for someone to kill. Our community was too afraid to go out at night.

  “We know no man could survive the hundred-foot fall into the Mississippi River. And we know the strong currents would sweep a body away in minutes. That’s why this man was never found. It took decades before midsoutherners accepted the truth. Today most people know monsters don’t exit. Our community has returned to normal. It would be a major disservice to allow theory to rekindle those fears.”

  Voss stood and turned to the group. “What you say is true, Director Wade. I believe Miss Mason’s intentio
ns are good. However, she has fallen into the same trap. Her research drew her into the legend. Momentum grew. Every piece of evidence she found seemed to fit. Miss Mason invented a serial killer, although I am sure it was not her intention.”

  Carol saw what they were doing. Directors Wade and Voss were masters at destroying one’s credibility—they’d been doing it for years. She would storm out of the room and leave them with their problem.

  “Yes, Dr. Sumner,” Wade said, recognizing the raised hand in back.

  Elliott stood and heads turned. Up until then he had been silent. “I have a question for Miss Mason.”

  “Please, Miss Mason.” Wade invited her back to the podium and moved aside, out of the line of fire. He was successful. The meeting was now about her credibility.

  “What is your question, Dr. Sumner?” she asked, anticipating more criticism.

  “What is the significance of the three, Miss Mason? Those you asked Directors Wade and Voss about, the names new to them? What is the relevance of Forester, Thornton, and Morgan?”

  When he spoke, a sense of awe hung in the room. The audience knew Dr. Elliott Sumner’s credentials. And they knew the forensic sleuth was in Memphis for only one reason, something Voss and Wade seemed to forget.

  Carol took a deep breath. Elliott’s question and timing was perfect. He reopened the door slammed in her face moments before.

  “Buford Forester died October 17, 1995,” she said. “He was the owner of Captain Bilbo’s Restaurant in 1983—the place on the bluff where the Weatherford girl was taken and three college students were butchered.

  “R.L Thornton is the Memphis Police Officer killed October 17, 1996. The first responder cornered the Bluff City Butcher on the Harahan Bridge in 1983 and watched the man jump into the Mississippi River.

  “And Teddy Morgan, he died October 17, 1997. Mr. Morgan worked at Captain Bilbo’s on that horrific night when three were butchered. He kept the lone survivor alive and later was the only one to allow an interview.”

  Several in the audience jumped to their feet and ran out of the room—calls were going to be made. The history of Forester, Thornton, and Morgan eliminated speculation and doubt. Carol Mason had uncovered the monster of urban legend. Standing to the side, Director Wade turned white and Director Voss red.

  “The Bluff City Butcher is not fiction,” she said. “I thought I was followed after arriving in Memphis. My suspicions were confirmed on November 5. A Memphis police officer was killed on the bluff that night.” The room grumbled. “I met the Bluff City Butcher on the bluff.”

  “The Memphis police are predictable to him. We must educate the public and hunt this serial killer with every asset.”

  Wade cleared his throat. The wave was too great to push back any longer. He had to regain control. “Thank you, Dr. Sumner. Thank you for asking the right question at the right time. I believe it helped open all our eyes in this room. Miss Mason, we are now on the same page. Thank you for your contributions. We are listening.

  “Yes, I am now concerned a serial killer could be loose in the Midsouth. But, I am not prepared to say we are dealing with the Bluff City Butcher of 1983. At this juncture, I ask we continue the investigation, and I demand we not take our initial thoughts to the community.”

  Elliott walked up the center aisle. The whispers quieted. “Collin, you know what we’re up against. Postponing and minimizing puts lives at risk. If you’re not ready to move forward, I fail to see how I can be of help here. The time has come for you to change tactics. If Miss Mason is outside your loop, and if you are unwilling to change your approach in twenty-four hours, my work is done in Memphis.”

  “Dr. Sumner, I understand your position,” Wade said. “I need time to consider the new information. I hope you will continue as we complete our internal review.”

  Albert Bell put his hand on Elliott’s shoulder. They were both men of presence and stature. Elliott sensed Albert wanted to give Wade time to process his new reality.

  “Collin, I told you we would be privileged to have Carol Mason with us,” Albert said. “She climbed the mountain of cold cases without bias. She confirmed the BCB is alive and killing people. Past MPD tactics have failed. You have an opportunity to change that.

  “As a citizen of the community, I can assure you I would want to know a dangerous predator is out there.”

  * * *

  Voss waited alone in Wade’s third floor office. He stood at the edge of the curtain and watched Mason and Bell get in the stretch limo. As it pulled away he crushed the pen in his hand. Mason’s progress was unanticipated. Wade had to change strategy. Although the revelations were not new to him, they could no longer be ignored.

  The FBI had never given him the respect he deserved—he was the only one smart enough to put it all together. Voss knew why the Bluff City Butcher harvested organs, and where those body parts were going. Voss needed more time.

  He had singlehandedly screwed up government negotiations with Dr. Medino. The biogenic breakthrough was lost. Following the debacle, his career had gone downhill. The FBI, in so many words, told him he would grow old in Memphis. The destruction of his life did not sit well. Voss had gone rogue in 2005. With Wade’s new focus, Voss would have a narrow window of opportunity.

  Thirty-One

  He first became irrelevant, and then obsolete. The radio talk show host on fire in the eighties went from red-hot to hot-head. They tossed him out of the biggest stations in the country. From New York City to Los Angeles, Jimmy Doyle had become more trouble than he was worth, and there were plenty of others to pick from.

  Twenty years later he found “humble”. Doyle spent ten years in a bottle, five in jail, and five selling billboard space in Phoenix. The time for change had come. His plan was to change his attitude and beg for work in second-tier markets. Memphis was number seven on his list. He would keep pitching until he got a gig or died.

  The humble, fifty-five-year-old liberal with dyed hair, a bald spot, and potbelly got a nibble. But—to his surprise—he got the shot due to his age and combative history, all the change for nothing. The WKRC station manager wanted an old-school radio personality to host a new, contentious talk show in Memphis. He wanted an experienced, pugnacious personality to stir-up things in the bluff city. At last, the Doyle mantra had come back into fashion—he had always known it would.

  Doyle had two gifts. He was a master of discourse and quick on uptake. He could learn anything one time. But like a bumblebee going from flower to flower, Doyle forgot his last topic the moment he moved to another—the perfect talk radio host.

  Barry Branch—“Bear”—made up the other half of the winning equation. Doyle’s only friend and program director, Bear became the human Google. Whatever topic Jimmy wanted to talk about, Bear produced a pile of the most relevant information on his desk the next day.

  Doyle had no problem being an asshole. He got the job at WKRC in the fall of 2006. After a year the show syndicated. His in-your-face ‘80s style had mellowed just enough to fit The Talk of Memphis call-in show. The open forum ran six days a week from six to midnight reaching sixty stations across the country.

  The West Tennessee Chapter of the American Academy of Biotech Research held its 2008 meeting and awards banquet in Covington, Tennessee. They invited Doyle to do a live broadcast from the grand banquet reception hall. Dr. Enrique Medino, Chief Technology Officer of the LIFE2 Corporation, would receive a special honor for his pioneer work, advanced genetic manipulation for the treatment of osteoarthritis.

  For the first time since the formation of LIFE2, Dr. Medino agreed to an interview. He would be the only guest of The Talk of Memphis, and it would precede the awards banquet. The reception hall accommodated fifteen hundred, standing room only. Doyle had the ideal setting to masterfully milk Medino on his ground-breaking research. Rumors were the brilliant geneticist discovered genetic secrets of immortality. Doyle went on a mission to break the story and go down in history.

  * * *

&nb
sp; ON AIR - LIVE

  “Hello midsouth people! . . . it is a cold December 22 on the way to the end of a great 2008. The time is 7:04 p.m. Central. I am Jimmy Doyle, your host, and you are listening to—The Talk of Memphis. (Music)

  “Today, ladies and gentlemen, WKRC 1190 is on the road again. I am honored to bring you this edition of the show live from the Southern Banquet Hall in Covington, Tennessee.

  “We are guests of the West Tennessee Chapter of the American Academy of Biotechnology Research—their annual meeting.

  “I will be brief in my opening comments because we want to get right to our very special guest. We have him for fifteen minutes.

  “My friends, Talk of Memphis has dedicated this month to the emerging world of bioscience in the midsouth,” Doyle said in his perfect radio voice.

  “We’ve spent time with the shakers, bakers, inventors, doctors, and very special patients all looking for new medical solutions.

  “I am pleased to report we have much to be proud of. Our community is an active participant in the global biotechnology arena.

  “Your friends and neighbors are looking for new solutions in oncology, urology, orthopedics, cardiovascular, and organ transplantation.

  “I am incredibly honored to have our guest, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Jimmy reached over and shook hands with Dr. Medino as they clipped a mic to his lapel. Medino sat a few feet away with a humble smile. The two were surrounded by a thousand people in tuxedos and formal gowns. Jimmy Doyle had the attention of their most honored guest.

  It could have been the center ring at Madison Square Garden on fight night. The show aired in sixty-four cities, live. Doyle and Medino were the glowing embers in the center of a dense forest of the educated and the wealthy.

  “I am so pleased. The Talk of Memphis is privileged to have with us the eminent Dr. Enrique Carlos Medino. Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Medino is the Chief Technology Officer and co-founder of the LIFE2 Corporation, which has its global headquarters in Memphis, Tennessee, the great city on the bluff.”