* * *
ON AIR – LIVE
“And I am back, Jimmy Doyle and The Talk of Memphis. Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry, but we cannot continue with Marcus Pleasant tonight. The man has been through the wringer. This interview is far worse for him than I imagined. The price he has paid, and is now paying, is too great. It is too much for me to ask. I am sorry, but . . . .”
Marcus pulled his microphone to his lips. “Mr. Doyle, I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do, but I need to tell my story.” His eyes said he was not leaving. His eyes said he carried the terror and pain alone too long. Marcus wanted it out tonight. He had to help Memphis and himself. The tell-all therapy was vital. Marcus would tell the world everything about the predator on the bluff, and then he would leave Memphis forever.
“Okay, if you’re sure, Marcus. The microphone is yours.”
Doyle visualized people across the country stopping everything to hear the man and his story. The twisted roots of the Memphis legend would be pulled from a dark hole and held up to the light of day.
“I went into the tall grass on the bluff. I followed the trail. Then I saw the big man with the ponytail. The little girl sat next to him, just watching. I saw two of my friends, Cory and Roger. Their backs were to me. I could not see Teddy. The Butcher saw me right away. I slipped and fell on my back looking at him. He smiled. He was not worried about me. He was in control . . .
“He held a big knife in his left hand—maybe a ten-inch blade. It was fat and shiny. Caught light from the sun on its way down. His eyes stayed on me the whole time. I froze—didn’t know what to do. Everyone stared at him. Nobody moved.” Marcus stopped. He ran a trembling hand over his military cut spraying a rooster tail of sweat.
“Marcus, are you okay?” Doyle asked.
“The knife, I see a blur. His arm goes up and down fast. But my two friends are in the way. I can’t see. Then he lifts him up.”
“Who does he lift up, Marcus?”
“Teddy. He holds him by his hair.”
“Is Teddy trying to get away? Is he calling for help?”
“No. He’s . . .”
“Unconscious?” Doyle finished the sentence.
Marcus was in a trance. “Teddy’s mouth is moving. He’s trying to say something. His eyes are open, but he’s not looking at anything.”
“Teddy cannot find you, Marcus?”
“Teddy is dead. He didn’t have his body anymore.”
“Oh God.” Jimmy turned and threw up in the trash can.
Marcus sat in a daze. “I couldn’t move. I turned away. He was standing in front of me holding Teddy’s head. I closed my eyes. I saw enough.
“He was the biggest human I ever saw. He had mad eyes, black stones surrounded by thin, dirty white. His nostrils opened and closed like an animal’s. His grey skin was peppered with blood, and his black ponytail had big knots.”
Doyle wiped his chin with his sleeve. Faces left the glass windows around the broadcast booth. The world had just met a monster.
“I saw the knife stuck in the ground next to my leg,” Marcus said. “I could reach it. I could attack, save Cory and Roger. But he smiled and raised his hand. Like a bolt of lightning the knife left the ground and passed by my face in a blur. Seconds later I knew it cut the tip of my nose off. That’s when he leaned over me. He smelled me. I think he was memorizing me. I waited to die.”
Marcus sank in his chair. Breathing hard and soaking wet, he rubbed his face as if he had woken up from a long sleep. Doyle whispered, “Are you okay?”
Marcus never heard the question. He was alone with the Butcher. “I open my eyes and he is gone. Everyone is gone—the little girl, Cory, Roger, and Teddy. I am soaking wet. Thought it was water. It was blood.”
“Marcus, let’s stop now,” Jimmy said.
“I lost three friends on the bluff that night. I don’t know why he did not kill me. He could have. I wish he had.”
“Marcus.”
“I’ve got to go.” He jumped to his feet and rushed out of the broadcast booth.
Doyle grabbed the mic. “Marcus Pleasant has left the building. This is difficult for him. He’s carried a nightmare alone for years. I hope telling his story helps him salvage some part of his life. Many believe the man Marcus met in 1983 is still out there. “But that’s all we have time for tonight. This is Jimmy Doyle. Goodnight, everybody.”
Forty
Albert Bell phoned Director Wade and Sheriff Taft at 4:00 in the morning. They came to the mansion immediately. They agreed a meeting of the people involved must be held before the end of the day.
He called each name on the list and offered a limo to pick them up at 5:00 a.m. It did not surprise Albert everyone came and accepted his offer for a limo. He simply told the truth. He’d had an unexpected visitor in the early morning hours—the Bluff City Butcher had left a letter and their names were on a list.
The limousines crossed the grounds with motorcycle security alongside. They rolled to the front doors of the Bell mansion, each guest escorted to the east room. Taft, Wade and Wilcox had arrived earlier.
Guests sat at the long conference table on an oriental rug centered in a square room. The twelve-foot ceilings, antique-white walls and tall windows draped in blue and gold lace curtains gave the spacious environment an inviting ambience. The slow moving ceiling fans and colorful oil paintings of midsouth landmarks were framed in brushed gold and spaced tastefully around the room. Fresh cut flowers in giant urns adorned the corners releasing a summer fragrance.
Charles Dunn and Timothy Loman walked in with Nicolas Heller; three high net worth investors heavily involved in the LIFE2 Corporation. They took three seats at the far end of the table. Tony Wilcox entered with Colin Wade, G.E. Taft and Dexter Voss. They sat in the middle. Jimmy Doyle and Dr. Bates sat next to Taft. Jack Bellow, the president/CEO of LIFE2, did not acknowledge the presence of investors—Dunn, Loman and Heller. He sat at the opposite end. The last to enter were Elliott and Carol followed by Michael Bell and Albert Bell. They took the open seats at the ends of the table.
The sun was still down, making for a dark and cold night. No one spoke. All eyes were focused on Albert. He carried a black leather valise now resting on the table in front of him. Small crystal pitchers of ice water and glasses on sterling silver trays lined the center of the table. At twelve of the thirteen seats were black leather binders with paper and pens. Everyone watched Albert pour a glass of water and take a swallow. His eyes moved up one side of the table and down the other. Then he signaled to William standing at the double doors. The overhead lights dimmed and the room sealed.
“Good morning. Thank you for making this assemblage possible on short notice. Your time here is well invested.” He spoke with the substantial confidence of a man who long ago had become comfortable with enormous power and wealth.
“Two days ago we learned a dangerous serial killer was in the midsouth area. Earlier today, a foreboding communication delivered to my front gates got my attention. It was a message from our formidable adversary, a message naming everyone in this room.” Albert took another slow drink of cool water and studied faces. They were engaged. He knew most sitting in the east room would die horrible deaths. Stopping the Bluff City Butcher had proved impossible thus far.
“In the early morning hours, I met with Memphis Police Director Collin Wade, Shelby County Sheriff G.E. Taft, Midsouth Regional Director of the FBI Dexter Voss, and Shelby County Medical Examiner Dr. Henderson Bates. We agreed the information I came to possess must be shared with all involved as soon as possible.”
A big screen television monitor descended from the ceiling as Albert continued. “This morning, an envelope was found by my security team. It was wedged in the main gates of the estate.” The monitor stopped five feet from the floor and flickered. The HD color picture of the front gates to the Bell estate popped on the screen. At the lower right corner of the frozen-frame was a date/time indicator: 03/19/2009, 03:26:00.
“Thi
s is where we begin. This particular motion-activated security camera is located on the north side of Walnut Grove directly across the street from our entry.” The video started and the time indicator advanced in seconds. At the 03:26:32 mark, a shadow moved into the lower left quadrant of the screen with the gates in the background. The autofocus zoomed in finding what appeared to be wet, coarse, long hair, and a head turning as it approached. Then an eye appeared inches from the camera lens. It centered on the big screen in a sea of blacks and grays. The thin band of white encircled a thicker band of grey. It encircled a black pupil. The glistening fleck of white was the reflection of the small white lamp at the base of the camera. They watched the eye jerk left and right, up and down, and stop. The black pupil contracted. “At this moment it appears the camera was discovered in the knothole of the oak tree.”
The image on the big screen jarred three times and struggled to refocus. Through the shattered lens, the imposing shadow took shape bolting across Walnut Grove to the front gates and disappearing west.
“This video is the only recorded image of the Bluff City Butcher, the author of the letter I possess. Before I continue, Mr. Voss, please,” Albert passed the remote control.
“Thank you, Mr. Bell. I concur. This is the only known video record of the Bluff City Butcher—the serial killer we’ve hunted for a very long time. Up until now he has eluded cameras and eliminated people who got a look at him.”
“Except Mason and Pleasant,” Dr. Sumner corrected.
Voss nodded. “You are correct, of course. They are the two lucky ones. And we are pleased to have Miss Mason with us this morning.”
“Please continue, Director Voss,” Albert said.
“You just saw twenty-six seconds of the Bluff City Butcher. You may think you saw nothing, or very little. In fact, you saw a great deal but your eye could not provide meaningful detail. We now know what we are up against.
“Seven seconds of the back of his head, nine seconds of an eye, four seconds of the camera getting beat, and six seconds of a dark blur sprinting across Walnut Grove, passing the gates to the mansion and disappearing west into the darkness.”
Voss looked around the room knowing the information he was about to share would be a small portion of all they learned in Washington DC.
“Mr. Bell allowed me to get this video to FBI headquarters in Washington for analysis. As agreed, I am going to share some important information and ask you maintain confidentiality.”
He advanced the video to a series of frozen frames. “Our enhancement methods are proprietary. However, I can share some end products. From this video, we can calculate the Bluff City Butcher is six-five and weighs two-hundred-fifty pounds with less than one-percent body fat. He is a robust forty-year-old Caucasian male of European descent with black hair. He is atypically strong, faster than any human measured.”
“Excuse me, Jimmy Doyle here.” He raised his hand. “You expect us to believe you can tell how strong and fast some guy is by looking at a night video for a few brief seconds?”
“Not just a video, Mr. Doyle,” Voss said. “We were able to measure strength by conducting compression analysis of the pulverized tree trunk holding the camera. The Butcher hit it three times. Recreation of comparable damage required an equivalency force of ten men. We don’t know how the Butcher physically accomplished the damage, but we are certain our measurements and calculations are accurate.
“Regarding the speed of the Butcher, the determination was a straightforward analysis of the video, a simple calculation of time and distance. The Butcher moved from the oak tree, across Walnut Grove to the gate, and left camera view in 6.32 seconds. We know the distance covered and determined he sustained an average speed of 29.7 mph. To go from a dead start he had to achieve a top sprint speed of 37.8 mph. The fastest recorded sprint speed of a human is 27.79 mph. The Butcher is moving 10.0 mph faster, and it may not be his top speed. At first we did not believe the numbers. It has been confirmed by our top gate analysts in D.C. There are no doubts.”
Voss advanced freeze frames to the Butcher in flight. He was almost upright and the view was from behind. “We have no frontal view. If our man walked down the street in Memphis today, we would know him only by size and muscularity. We suspect he is a master at blending with his surroundings.”
Voss advanced frames and zoomed in on the Butcher. “As you can see here, the knee-length coat opens when he leaves the gates westbound. On his belt are three sheaths containing items of interest. Enhancement analysis allowed us to identify each item. One is a ten-inch butcher knife. Another is a seven-inch ice pick. The third item is a four-inch razor. Each has a black pearl handle.” Voss sat down as the frames advanced to the eye shot of the Butcher, the precise frame Albert wanted left up. Everyone in the room had to grasp the deadly reality of a monster now entering their lives.
“Thank you, Director Voss,” Albert said. “What could be in the envelope the Butcher delivered this morning? What is so important to him?” Albert looked around the table again. All eyes were on the Butcher’s eye on the screen.
“It is handwritten,” Albert said as he removed dog-eared, crumpled, stained, and partially burned parchments, each protected in a breathing plastic bag to preserve forensics. He read from the parchment:
* * *
“Albert Bell, you get the letter. You will be last. Nothing can change what I confess or avow. I take at will and I leave in darkness. I am alone again. My wants change again. You tell those who will die. I will watch life leave each, and like the others before them, they will thank me at the end for what I do not do.
“My guardian is gone. I know why and I know who. I am what you know, but others hide their demons. I want pieces of them.
“I will take the voice of Doyle and leave the body for a world to see I am real, I matter, and I am here. He will be my first but others will be a part of him.
“I will take your brother next and feast upon his liver when I want. He has the ire of a number two, the jealousy and greed. He must go.
“A worm of putrefaction and corruption living on the flesh of others, Heller will be skinned like the snake he is and hung in Shelby. He is my number three.
“Loman is an overeducated hyena, a treacherous and stupid animal. He is one who has lost all rights to oxygen long ago. He loses his lungs. He is my number four.
“Dunn is more swine than human. The fat man feasts on the weak, and will lose his over-indulging digestive system from mouth to anus. He is my number five.
“The FBI loses one of their men for just and proprietary reasons only known to him. Voss is my number six.
“Memphis police will lose their best man because I need his eyes more than they know. Wilcox is finally mine. He is my number seven.
“Bellow must go for purposes he will know at the end, my eight.
“Sumner must go for reasons he may already know, my nine.
“Albert Bell, you must go for reasons you will not believe but will understand. I will share when death is near. You are my number ten, and then my mission will be known to all.”
* * *
Albert set down the document and leaned back in his chair. G.E. Taft spoke first. “Thank you, Albert. As this sinks in, I will remind everyone this information cannot leave the room. I am sure I speak for Collin Wade. An active investigation is underway, and this is evidence midsoutherners would not benefit from. I will add there are people in this room not on the list: Mason, Bates, Wade, and me. We are intimately involved. Our risk is as great. We are in the way of this sick bastard.”
“I concur with Sheriff Taft,” Wade said. We all face a dangerous killer. We have no idea why he chose you other than what is said in this letter. We are confused by some of his selections—a radio personality, businessmen, and investors. The rest make sense. There is symbolism. I ask Dr. Sumner to comment. He knows the BCB better than anyone in this room.”
After the letter, Elliott thought of all the victims and all the evil he battled in his
life. His heart raced. If he lost control, his demons would take over. But Carol moved her leg under the table and touched him gently. They looked at each other. His heart slowed. His demons were stopped, for the moment at least.
“He is unlike anything I’ve seen. He has killed for twenty-five years. His reasons have evolved. The Butcher has taken over a hundred lives in six states. He appears to be unstoppable.”
Loman jumped to his feet glaring at law enforcement representatives around the table. “This is goddamn crazy. If you people did your goddamn jobs, we would not be in this mess. Why can’t you catch this killer? Are you that stupid?”
“Mr. Loman, I suggest we stay focused. We are not playing the blame game. No one is here to explain the enormous complexities of hunting a genius serial killer in a modern world,” Albert said. “I’m certain it is a subject of which you have nothing to contribute.”
“He has chosen you for a reason, Mr. Loman. It is a reason you would know. If you can tell us, maybe we can help. Otherwise, your death is imminent. You will be just one more unpredictable kill and we may never find your body.” Elliott’s compassion would only waste time. Fear might save lives.
“I have no idea why that piece of vermin wants to cut out my lungs,” Loman said as he looked around the room. Dunn and Heller avoided his glare. Elliott saw something, but suspected the three would take it to their graves.
“Each of you should think about the words the Butcher used about you. Is there a clue? Is there something to help protect you, or to assist in our efforts to capture the Butcher?”
Loman dropped back into his chair, staring at his lap.
“The Butcher has avoided capture because he is unpredictable. For years, he hid his kills—suicides, accidents, and missing persons. But now, he is going public. He is seeking recognition. As you learned tonight, he is a very different kind of serial killer. He possesses superior mental and physical skills. He is a genius psychopath. He stays five moves ahead of us. He knows we are meeting at this moment. He knows when we are going to leave and the routes we will take. He knows who is most vulnerable. But now he has made his game more complicated. He has an order. He’s removed some of the guessing. Mr. Doyle, you are number one. The others are safe as long as you are alive.”
The Bluff City Butcher Page 22
