“Okay Billy, release the hounds.” The medical examiner’s assistant broke the seal on the casket and popped open the lid. The room filled with more of the pungent stench. Observers gagged. Eyes watered. “Someone put the HEPA fans on high,” Bates said like a captain of a ship turning into the wind.
As the disturbing odors hung, the morgue clerks opened the coffin. The creepy, squeaking hinges added to the sick moment. Although educated people stood in the small room, the eerie process made everyone cringe.
The burned remains were sealed in an airtight container buried for sixty days. A fungal bacterial soup revealed a robust decomposing process in spite of the embalming salts. The $50,000 stainless steel box could not stop the inevitable.
Four lifted Dr. Medino from the coffin and put him onto a gurney. One arm fell to the floor—it would be reunited later. After the full body X-ray and MRI, they transferred the body to the autopsy table under the bright lights, and surrounded by surgical instruments and power equipment. More pictures were taken. As previously agreed, Elliott took lead of the examination of Medino. He dictated external observations in a soft and steady monotone. They peeled off clothing remnants from the charred carcass. The forensic team would later conduct a microscopic examination in another room.
“Dr. Roberts, thank you for coming. Please educate us on the burns sustained,” Bates said with all the authority he could muster.
“Certainly.” The burn specialist leaned over the body with a magnifying glass, moving from the midline of the abdomen up to the chest. He inspected the right arm, neck and head. Roberts rounded the table with his eye in the glass and repeated the process on the left. When he returned to his starting point, he lowered the magnifying glass and spoke to Dr. Sumner. “I would like to hold my comments until after your inspection, doctor. You are the forensic expert.” Bates fumed under his mask.
The burn doctor’s discomfort came from his inexperience with exhumed bodies. Elliott knew Roberts saw the tiny crystals—the silica granules and rainbow from an oily residue, and the trace carbon powder, and oxidized iron flakes. But unlike Roberts, Elliott’s process included accessing his perfect memory and robust data base—twenty years of accumulated data on combustibles and burns. He poured over mountains of information on burn research, classic burn cases, signs of electrocution, thermal and chemical burns, all known flammable materials and their telltale properties.
Each time Elliott touched Dr. Medino’s charred body he spoke so all could hear above the laminar flow, and so the audio/video recording equipment captured everything. Bates had heard about Sumner’s eidetic skills. Wilcox knew his friend’s capabilities well. But all others in the quiet room were in awe as the best in the world navigated the charred remains. They watched the renowned forensic pathologist process the complex homicide like a concert pianist performing a Mozart concerto with his eyes closed.
“The fire did not originate from the vehicle,” Elliott said. “Dr. Medino died from something other than burns.”
The room grew darker for all but Elliott. Medino already spoke to him. Soon, he would speak to the others in the small room. Elliott would walk them there. He would be focused and precise in all statements. Every word would be important. He did not have time for misleading, or sidetracks, or confusion. Elliott would need their help later.
“The flammable liquid was introduced at the driver-side window. It happened after the vehicle came to rest. Burn patterns tell us all we need to know. The science is known and predictable. Dr. Medino’s most severe burns are the greatest distance from all sources of vehicle flammables.”
“I thought gasoline was the flammable ignited.” Bates said.
“Gasoline is not involved.”
“If not gasoline, then what,” Bates asked.
“Kerosene,” Elliott said as he turned to the burn specialist.
“I concur,” Roberts said. “It is masked by decomposition and embalming.”
Taft grumbled, “I knew it.”
Dr. Bates had botched the Medino case back in December—five homicides had gotten by him. But the professional would swallow his pride. In silence Dr. Bates cracked open Medino’s chest and removed organs for sectioning and histological examination. Elliott offered to do the cranial. Bates agreed. Elliott would reveal the last piece of the puzzle he observed the moment he saw the MRIs—information anticipated but with a surprise.
“We have a cause of death,” Elliott said.
His cranial dissection skills were flawless. He made the ten-inch incision from above the right ear, around the back of the head along the base of the skull, to a point above the left ear. Elliott inserted the surgical spatula to separate subdermal connective tissue from the boney plates of the skull. Heads turned away when he pulled the scalp over Medino’s charred face like a Halloween mask.
Elliott completed the circumferential skull cut with a power saw and lifted off the skull cap, exposing the brain beneath the thin translucent covering—the dura mata sheath. He held the skull cap to the light. The puncture wound on the coronal suture measured 3.175 mm in diameter and matched up to the puncture wound on the dura mata.
“Dr. Bates, I will need a nine inch probe,” Elliott asked with his head in the wound and two gloved fingers pointing to the heavens.
“Billy, give Dr. Sumner a probe, three millimeter diameter.”
Elliott inserted as the room leaned over the table. “Depth is 137.7 mm. It reaches the midpoint of the brainstem.”
Mason and Wilcox looked at each other—he did not know she knew.
“The canal passes through and disrupts vital sensory control centers—large motor and portions of the cardiovascular and respiratory centers.” Elliott aimed a laser pointer at the MRI framed in the monitor at the feet of the corpse. Note the 17.0 mm. shadow at the base of the wound track is fluted.”
Up until now, Taft had only observed. “What the hell does it mean?” he boomed.
Bates didn’t wait for Sumner to reply. “It means the device used to penetrate the skull was toggled after insertion. The pistoning action scrambled the distal brain tissue.”
“The killer wanted to be sure all vital organs shut down,” Sumner said.
“He saw his killer?” Taft asked.
“Very possible,” Bates said.
“The inserted ice pick first paralyzed him, and began to disrupt his life-sustaining systems. The killer doused him with kerosene and set him on fire,” Elliott said. “We will find identical head wounds on each family member.”
Elliott left the probe in Medino’s head wound and backed from the table. Bates was the official ME.
“Sheriff, there is nothing new here. The Memphis PD and FBI have known about this since December 2008. Isn’t that right, Agent Voss?” Carol accused.
“That is Director Voss, Miss Mason.”
“Pardon my French, Miss Mason, I don’t have a beef with you or Dr. Sumner. But this shit has gotta stop.” G.E. could not contain his anger another minute. “I’ve stayed in the background long enough, waiting for Director Wade and his people to do something. Voss, you should be ashamed. The damn FBI has been as useless as tits on a warthog for years in Memphis. Time has come for some old-fashioned police work. Keeping the Bluff City Butcher secret from the people of Shelby County is bullshit. Our job is to protect them, not to use them as bait.”
Wilcox said under his breath, “About time.”
Taft turned to Elliott. “Doc, can you and Mason give me and Pilsner time today to get up to snuff? We have got to get going on this thing with or without the damn MPD—no offense, Anthony. We have some ideas. If MPD is slowing you down, Shelby County will take over your contract and double your pay. And Miss Mason, I’ve been admiring your work. Hell of a presentation on the collaboration.”
“Tonight’s good,” Elliott said.
“When and where?” Taft asked.
“I will call you today,” Carol said.
“Mr. Voss, you tell the Feds Shelby ain’t waitin’ around
anymore. From now on, you people are along for the ride.”
“I will pass it on,” Voss mumbled.
“Anthony, you need to tell your boss G.E. is getting into this now. I recommend you boys go public on the Butcher before I do. You tell Wade to call me. The Medino family is not going to die without a lot of shit hitting the fan in my county.”
Elliott and Carol left the decomproom. The doors swung behind them as another casket rolled under the lights. He had had enough.
“Are you all right, Elliott?” Carol asked as he put his arm around her waist and she grabbed his hand on the way to the car.
“Carol, the Butcher didn’t kill Dr. Medino and his family. This is a poor attempt at a setup. Someone wanted it to look like the Butcher’s work.”
“God, Elliott. This is getting out of control. Something else is going on.”
The Memphis Tribune
Memphis Police GOING PUBLIC—Serial Killer in Midsouth
March 17, 2009
Carol Mason
* * *
Memphis, TN – Today the Memphis Police Department held a press conference to inform the community that a serial killer was in the area. Director Collin Wade said the killer may be linked to unsolved homicides in the Metro Area. MPD would not specify how many cases.
Wade said the FBI has been involved. “A substantial amount of resources are directed to apprehending the killer, and we urge midsoutherners to be calm, cautious and vigilant.” Wade and other police officials would not answer questions, citing police policy with ongoing investigations. When reminded “cold cases” are not active investigations, Wade had no further comments.
A midsouth killer tagged the “Bluff City Butcher” by the media in 1983 attacked four boys wielding a large knife. Three were killed by the stranger, who escaped, jumping off the Harahan Bridge. A body was never recovered. City officials reject the sensational treatment of a common criminal and discourage others from fanning public fears causing unfounded panic and despair. They had no further comments on the urban legend that has captivated midsoutherners for twenty-five years, and would not say how long they have been looking for the serial killer.
In related stories, The Memphis Tribune and Memphis PD collaborative review metro area cold cases from 1995 to 2005 is nearing completion. Sources close to law enforcement say privately the findings are connected to the serial killer in the area.
Thirty-Eight
ON AIR – LIVE
“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. I am Jimmy Doyle and you are listening to The Talk of Memphis, WKRC 1190 on your AM dial. It’s 8:35 p.m., March 17.
“Dennis in midtown. You’re on The Talk of Memphis.”
“Hello, Mr. Doyle. With all this talk about a serial killer in Memphis, I have a Memphis cop friend who told me the FBI has been looking for the guy for a long time. They think this serial killer is linked to a hundred killings, none of which are public information. The FBI has regular meetings with the MPD. They think the guy’s lived here a long time.”
“Did your friend say when these meetings took place?”
“Yeah, they do two a year.”
“Did he say how long they’ve been meeting?”
“Well, my buddy’s been a cop six years. They were doing them before then.”
“Best kept secrets . . . thanks Dennis in Midtown. Okay, hello Linda in Germantown. You’re on The Talk of Memphis.”
“The Dennis guy just on said police and FBI have been looking for this serial killer for over six years. If they don't find him soon, there will be people leaving here. I am scared to death. I can’t believe our police kept something this bad from us.”
“I’m sure there are many people out there who share your concerns, Linda. But you know it’s pretty much standard procedure for police to pursue serial killers behind the scenes.”
“That’s news to me. And I don’t like it at all. They are supposed to protect us. How can they when danger is out there and we know nothing?”
“I understand, but it is a fact. Going public with information on a serial killer can make things worse. The police don’t want to broadcast information that could help a serial killer hide or motivate them to kill. Going public can produce copy cats and generate useless leads, taking limited resources away from real police work. The list of negatives is substantial,” Doyle said.
“Their way doesn’t work that good anyway. Look how long these killers get away with murder. The police and FBI need to rethink this. They need to protect us.”
“James in Olive Branch, you’re on The Talk of Memphis with Doyle. What say you?”
“I got one question for you, Doyle. If a lion got out of the zoo and your neighborhood sat a mile away, would you go jogging at night?”
“No. I believe I would refrain from jogging nights and days until the lion was caught,” Doyle said.
“My point exactly. The people running the zoo are not telling you the lion is out there. You can’t take basic safety precautions. You are exposed. The simple act of jogging could end your life. People running the zoo do not have the right to keep the information from you. They are liable.”
“Victoria in Bartlett, you’re next on The Talk of Memphis. What do you have for us?”
“I have a question, Mr. Doyle. Do you think there are serial killers that have killed a hundred people? Or, is it urban legend?”
“I have read about a few over the years. I think a serial killer is too stupid to kill that many times and not be caught.”
“Jeff in Memphis, you’re on the air.”
“Where can I learn more about this Bluff City Butcher urban legend? It was interesting MPD never used the name in the short press conference this morning.”
“Actually Jeff, it’s probably the opposite. The MPD avoids use of names and tags to not scare people. The last thing they want is everyone running around crazy.”
“You know the urban legend, Mr. Doyle?”
“Some of it. In 1983 there were incidents on the bluff. People were attacked by a big man with a knife. Three people died. The man with the knife jumped in the river. A body was never found. Everything after that is a ghost story.”
“I think we show our arrogance when we deny the existence of things we don’t know or understand. The best position to take is to consider the possibility, be cautious, and learn.”
“Well said, Jeff. Along those lines, I invite all my listeners to tune in tomorrow night. My guest is the only man alive who stood face to face with the Bluff City Butcher. They met in 1983 on the bluff. He watched his friends die.
“Why was he allowed to live? What was the Butcher like? The 1983 college student is now a man. He has been out of the country for twenty-five years. He came back to tell his story, against the advice of the MPD and FBI.
“Tell your friends. Be sure to tune in tomorrow night.”
“Okay now. We have Vicki in Tunica. You are on The Talk of Memphis.”
“I missed the beginning of the show. Did you talk about the press conference?”
“We touched on it.”
“I think it was a joke. They think we are idiots. They are so lame, saying they are looking for someone possibly linked to a few unsolved deaths in the midsouth.”
“What is your point, Vicki?”
“What is my point? Are you kidding me? It’s 2009. I have more information on my iPhone than the MPD. They’re still playing games. Right now on Facebook there’s more information on the Butcher and unsolved murders in five states.”
“I didn’t think of that. It is the communication age.”
“No offense, but you are showing your age.”
“I am an old guy, Vicki in Tunica.”
“We are dealing with a sick serial killer who has been around here a long time. The top people in the field of forensic pathology and criminology have weighed in on this monster. Dr. Elliott Sumner profiled the BCB ten years ago. He said he is a real monster, the most dangerous predator he ever encountered.”
“I always say my audience is the smartest in the world. Thank you, Vicki.”
“The Butcher may have other names in other places. When it showed itself in Memphis, Dr. Sumner came out of retirement. He is in Memphis now. I suggest you get Carol Mason from The Tribune or Sumner on your show.”
“Good idea. Okay, I have time for one more call. We have Adam in Atoka. What say you, Adam?”
“Marcus cannot talk on your show.”
“Excuse me?”
“No Marcus,” the caller said.
“No Marcus? Why, Adam in Atoka?” Doyle asked.
“No Marcus or you will be in this. You will meet me.”
“What in the world are you talking about? Hello. Hello. He’s gone. That was a strange call, ladies and gentlemen. No idea what just happened.
“Okay, remember to tune in tomorrow night to hear from our special guest, the only man alive who saw the Bluff City Butcher. This is your host Jimmy Doyle signing off. Thank you for listening. Goodnight everybody.”
Doyle hit seven toggles down and one up. The Talk of Memphis left and classical music drifted onto the airwaves.
What in the hell was that last guy about? Doyle thought as he pulled together his pile of notes. Nobody knew the guy’s name except me and Bear. Marcus called me after the MPD press conference. Wanted to go on air, live. His only demand, don’t use his name in any promo.
I guess the information’s out there, newspaper archives. That’s what the Adam prick did—dove into the archives. Hope Marcus didn’t hear that.
“Hey Jimmy, very good show. You’re the master.” Barry Branch always pumped up Doyle’s ego. Another of his many responsibilities as program director.
“Hey Bear, you hear the last caller?”
“You’ve got a visitor, Jimmy. I’ll shut things down.”
His broadcast studio door opened. “Mr. Doyle, I’m Detective Wilcox with Memphis Homicide.” He closed the door behind him.
“Why are you here?”
“Your last caller, Mr. Doyle,” Tony pocketed his badge.
The Bluff City Butcher Page 20
