“Yes sir,” the agent said.
“Where are you?” Carol asked.
“I’m on the bridge playing detective with Tee. Hey, I have a helicopter in my face right now. You next to a TV?”
“Actually, I’m standing by one in the lobby of the New York Hilton. And yes, I see you on the bridge—a close up. You’re so handsome. I love you darling.”
Elliott winked at the camera. “That’s for you, beautiful, my sensitive side.”
“You just gave the nation a wink. Everyone’s talking about it. They think you winked at them. The world loves you. They think you are the one who will catch this monster. People are saying it’s wonderful to see the Western Sherlock back on the job. Your presence means the Bluff City Butcher is real, Elliott. Mr. Doyle and you have forced the world to pay attention.”
He smiled and looked at his watch. “When do you get home? I want to sip a scotch and look at you.”
“I love you too, Elliott. I don’t get back to Memphis until tomorrow night. Remember, I’m meeting Max in Destin to close some loops on Sheila Bell’s suspicious suicide in 2001.”
“You think she was murdered?”
“Yes. But like the Medino death, it could be the work of others with a motive.”
“Okay. Be careful, my lady.”
“When I get back we have a lot to talk about, my man.”
“Heck, I had something other than talk in mind.”
“See you soon, handsome. You be careful.”
The Memphis police could not stop the runaway train. City officials met an hour after the Harahan de Soto Bridge reopened. The city mayor made his expectations clear—the MPD would go public today. The press conference would be in one hour, and dedicated to Jimmy Doyle—full disclosure from this day forward. The Memphis police were joining forces with the people of the midsouth to stop the Butcher. Maybe a few million more eyes and ears could make a difference.
Forty-Four
“If you believe in something, no proof is necessary. If you don't, none is sufficient.”
Unknown
* * *
Following an emergency meeting with the mayor and city council, Memphis Police Director Collin Wade agreed the time for full disclosure had arrived. Two hours after the body of Jimmy Doyle, and heads of Marcus Pleasant and Barry Branch, were removed from the Harahan de Soto Bridge, the MPD announced the press conference. They would tell Memphians the whole truth, and the country would be watching. Director Wade would make opening comments. Detective Wilcox would be the face of the BCB case.
They put the podium outside headquarters in the sprawling courtyard facing Main. Like a small monument erected in a barren, flagstone graveyard, the symbol of protection avoided the churning crowds on the other side of double barriers. The white sawhorses, used to protect pedestrians during parades and celebrations, had a different purpose. It would control a potential mob. Terror does unpredictable things to people.
The national press assembled. Suits with headsets, TV cameras, sound booms, flood lights, fat cables, and satellite dish trailers were in place. The shocking events witnessed at daybreak by more than thirty million would evolve to the next level. When the director of the MPD took the podium, the press conference streamed nationwide. It was the most chilling drama since the white Bronco took a road trip in LA.
Wade tapped one microphone in the cluster as a trolley rambled by like a big box of loose bolts ready to fall apart and scatter. Heads turned to watch the commotion move down Main—in an odd way the familiar sound eased the tension. Director Wade wanted to be anywhere else. The man with the balding head and the darting fisheyes hid behind the podium almost his exact size. Although the image did nothing to instill confidence, his carefully scripted speech might save him like always.
He cleared his throat in the mic, smiled inappropriately, and read with a new voice: that of the person he wanted to be. “This has been a difficult day for all Memphians. We awoke to a reckless, inconsiderate prank, a hoax beyond imagination. But it got worse. Together, we learned the hoax on the Hernando de Soto Bridge was a perverse and horrific triple homicide put on public display.”
Shuddered whispers crossed the courtyard like bats leaving a cave.
“On the morning of March 17, we held a press conference to report we had a serial killer in our city. At the time, we urged caution and vigilance. Standard police procedure limited disclosures. We wanted to say more, but our hands were tied. Because we were working an active investigation, procedure kept you in the dark. The best practices in law enforcement are derived from experience. They are proven methods to expedite the removal of the criminal element from the community with minimal risk to the community. Today we realize our situation is unique, unlike any other in the world. Today we change tactics, break new ground. Today we suspend ‘best practices’ to pursue a ‘one of a kind’ criminal. We have hunted this man for decades, but he continues to kill at will and escape. We have one way to go from this day forward. To best protect you, and to capture this killer, the Memphis police department is now operating on a full disclosure basis.”
The crowd was silent. Wade fumbled with notes, unsure, but not turning back. “The serial killer we are pursuing is the Bluff City Butcher.”
The crowd erupted. Caterwauling rolled down Main chasing the clanging trolley. Shock spread from the city across the midsouth and throughout the country on radio, TV, and the internet. For the first time the MPD had acknowledged the existence of the Bluff City Butcher.
The news sent chills down spines, locked doors, loaded guns, brought an end to night strolls, and turned everyone into a sleuth or whimpering child. The BCB no longer lived in the fringe. He walked in the real world. The boogyman existed.
“This serial killer is responsible for the tragic deaths displayed on the Hernando de Soto Bridge. And he is responsible for much more,” Wade read. “These terrible developments may have changed our strategy, but our mission remains the same—to serve and protect you. As of this moment, pursuit of the Butcher will be a public process. We are in this together.
“The BCB is going public. So is your MPD.”
Wade hoped his last sentence would launch the rousing applause he needed in front of the mayor and city council, but it did not. He should have known the crowd would be in shock. Once again, Wade failed to grasp the power of the Butcher and the collision of emotions. For the first time the people were told the truth. The serial killer of urban legend walked among them and their police department had lied for decades.
Director Wade folded his notes and faded into the background as Tony took the podium. The homicide detective’s calming effect immediately moved through the crowd. His competent stare had earned respect long ago. His grasp of the fight between good and evil and his fearless determination spread across the courtyard.
“I am Detective Anthony Wilcox.” He had their attention.
“At 6:10 a.m. we received a 911 call from Captain Otis Dodson, a long-run barge pilot pushing north along the east bank of Memphis. Captain Dodson reported a predawn observation on the Hernando de Soto Bridge. From his boat, he watched an unidentified object descend from the bridge into his direct path. The captain took a closer look and saw what he described as a three-headed body spinning at the end of a rope. He believed it to be a stuffed dummy, and thought it to be a prank or harassment. At 6:16 Memphis police, fire, and paramedics arrived on the bridge. At 6:24 the unknown object was pulled onto the Hernando and we realized we were dealing with a triple homicide.”
Tony gave the crowd time to absorb the information. His next words would deliver an even more shocking reality. He wanted them ready.
Every midsoutherner would feel threatened. For the first time in twenty-five years, Tony’s words would unite the nonbelievers, skeptics, and believers of the urban legend. All eyes would open at once. Everyone would see the hell the Memphis police had kept from them for good reason.
“The dead man on the Hernando de Soto Bridge is Jimmy Doyle,
the WKRC radio talk-show host of The Talk of Memphis.” Shock rolled through the crowd. The bewilderment and anguish turned to terror.
“This information is difficult. As Director Wade said, from this day forward, everyone will know what we are up against.
“Jimmy Doyle was taken from his home last night. He suffered multiple stab wounds. His throat was cut. He bled to death. The medical examiner will conduct an autopsy later today. More will be released. I am sorry to inform you of this loss. Mr. Doyle loved this city. He was a good man.
“The heads of two homicide victims found March 21 were attached to Jimmy Doyle’s shoulders, producing the three-headed image. One of the decapitation victims is Barry Branch, a WKRC Radio employee and program director for Jimmy Doyle. His head was attached to Mr. Doyle’s right shoulder. His identity was shared on the day of the homicide.
“The identity of the second decapitation victim found that same night was withheld pending notification of family. I am prepared to release this information now. The second victim is Marcus Pleasant.”
The crowd erupted. They had listened to the radio interview. Many had feared for the man’s life, one of the few to see BCB.
“Some of you saw the sign hanging around Jimmy Doyle’s neck—‘I need a piece of you.’ This statement has our attention, and should have yours. The Butcher is known for removing organs from his victims. This message is intended to verify his involvement in these homicides and to scare the public.”
“Do you know why he takes organs?” The question floated from the crowd.
“No. We do not know,” Tony said.
“How long has he been out there?”
“We believe since 1983,” Tony huffed, his angst welling up from a self-imposed ire and a taunting frustration—his failure to matter.
“We had no idea what we were dealing with in the beginning. We knew he was bad. On October 15, the Weatherford child disappeared. Then three were slain on the bluff. We chased a big man to the Harahan Bridge. He jumped. We never found the body. It was over, we thought. Then there were more killings. They connected. It got our attention. We still didn’t know for sure, but soon kills with a butcher knife spread. State and local law enforcement agencies in six states hunted the same man.”
“What convinced you the Bluff City Butcher is really out there?”
“The evidence and three people: a world renowned serial killer hunter, an English professor, and an investigative reporter.”
“Are you referring to Dr. Sumner and Carol Mason?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Who is the English professor?”
“A victim. Let’s leave it at that for now.” Tony pointed to a girl waving and holding a baby. “Yes ma’am?”
“How do we survive this nightmare?”
The cameras zoomed in. The top homicide detective in the midsouth had gotten asked one of the most important questions.
Tony rubbed his jaw, squinted steel-gray eyes into the sun, and leaned over the cluster of mics. “You and your child are why I’m standing here, ma’am. Not much change for me today—I will continue to hunt this man. But for you, and everyone in the midsouth, everything changes now.
“We are on a safari in the Serengeti,” Tony said. “It is a place in Africa with the largest population of lions. These animals want to kill you. If you do not make changes in the way you live, you will be eaten alive. You see, a lion is loose in your neighborhood. You cannot go for a walk at night. You must lock your doors and arm yourself with a weapon to drop a lion. You cannot do anything alone now. This predator is waiting and watching. You must be vigilant. The one time you are not, you are dead. If you see something suspicious, you call the Memphis police. Take no chances. If you do not listen to me, you could be the next victim. You cannot return to the life you’ve known until we capture or kill the Bluff City Butcher.”
A question came from the crowd. “Does this guy kill people at random? I mean, I don’t get it. Why would he kill someone like me?”
“Yeah,” another yelled. “We didn’t do anything to him.”
“What may appear random can be anything but random,” Tony said. “There’s no pattern telling us who is next. We can only guess where he may strike next. When we find victims, we see connections. If you want to stay alive, always believe the Butcher is coming for you. Anything less leaves you open.
“Adding to the unpredictability, the Butcher’s needs are changing. Up until now, he hid his victims. Now he puts them on public display. Mr. Doyle and Mr. Pleasant were targets, Mr. Branch random. All three were put on public display.
“My recommendation, make it difficult for him.”
“Why Jimmy Doyle? He’s just a radio guy.”
“The Butcher did not want Pleasant on Doyle’s radio program. Doyle would not let the Butcher control him. He knew the risk and paid the price.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but this is full disclosure. How does he kill people?”
“He waits for opportunity. His kill process is always the same. He stuns his victim. Then he cripples them so he can do whatever he wants when he wants—torture, exsanguination, harvesting body parts, and finishing touches: suturing, cleansing, and positioning the body.
“Let me give the news reporters some time.”
“Detective, I’m Jim French, NBC news. Based on the Memphis urban legend, and as you’ve already shared today, the BCB has been around a long time. Who knows this killer best? Can someone give us a description of this guy? What makes him so hard to stop? After all, he’s just a man.”
Tony saw Elliott standing at the edge of the crowd on his cell. “Dr. Sumner, can you take a few questions, please sir?”
Reluctantly Elliott pocketed his cell. His head moved above the sea of tentative faces, his confident gait silencing the crowd. Elliott’s journey to the podium gave the major networks time to cut into scheduled programs—breaking news in Memphis, Tennessee. When Elliott stepped to the podium, it was prime time. Beneath his image on the TV screen streamed; “The world-acclaimed forensic pathologist and premier serial-killer hunter, Dr. Elliott Sumner, comes out of retirement to hunt the Bluff City Butcher in Memphis, Tennessee.”
Only he heard Tony’s whisper as he brushed by. “Three o’clock, rooftop.”
Elliott turned to the bank of microphones, TV cameras, and anxious eyes. He bowed his head in respect to those dead that made the event happen. Between flashes, Elliott scanned the area like no other man could. Then he spotted him. A janitor and mop had the best seat for the press conference—the rooftop at three o’clock.
“Not a problem,” he whispered and cleared his throat.
“Hello, I’m Elliott Sumner.”
“We need you, Dr. Sumner.” The cry echoed across the courtyard and died in the crackling applause. Elliott would not play games. He would bring a chilling clarity to the moment.
“Sometimes it is nice to be wanted,” he said. Then his eyes sharpened. “This is not one of them.”
Tension hung thick in the air as quiet cameras closed in on the forensic sleuth and the national audience turned up the volume. Most knew Sumner’s bio. Now they wanted to know more about the serial killer he could not stop.
Elliott looked into the camera lens as if he could see into the eyes of the midsouth. “Yesterday, only three people alive had seen the Bluff City Butcher. Today, there are two alive. I am one. Since 1983, this man did everything he could to stay in the shadows. Now he has left the confines of the fog of urban legend. He is public. And I am public. Today, I begin to shine an even greater light on this serial killer.
“He is a dangerous man, six-foot-five and two-hundred-fifty pounds. He has gray skin, an unshaven face with a sharp jawline, thick brow, and deep-set, cold, black eyes. He has long, black, oily hair tied in a crude knot. It hangs to the center of his back. He wears a black, leather coat to his knees. And he wears a black t-shirt, jeans, and black boots, size fourteen.
“The Butcher is strong—the equivalent of ten men. And
yes, we know that for a fact. He runs fast—over thirty mph—and jumps thirty feet, and can scale vertical surfaces.
“The Butcher likes night. He will hunt in daylight, but prefers not to. I suppose it’s because he sees in the dark as well as an animal. I believe he hears as well as one, too. And nighttime is best for his chameleon-like qualities. Yes, he blends into his surroundings—shadows, alleys, stairwells, drainage ditches, trees, bushes, and crowds. His stealth qualities include standing firm like an oak tree in a wind storm. And he moves without sound. He is the perfect predator. The only thing giving him away is his smell—a putrid, bitter aroma. But when you smell him, it’s too late.
“He is a genius psychopath. Although he is physically superior to most men, it is his mental assets I believe make him a dangerous killing machine. Of all I’ve hunted, he is impossible to stop. Why? The Bluff City Butcher is smarter than his prey. He stays several steps ahead of his hunters. He plays with us.”
“What about the knife?” Someone asked.
“A ten-inch butcher knife is his weapon of choice. He dismembers victims with a single pass of the blade, moving with incredible force, speed, and precision.”
“Bill Pate. ABC News. How can a man be a genius and a sick, serial killer?”
“Intelligence has little to do with it, Mr. Pate. A person can be genetically predisposed with psychopathic tendencies. If he is placed in a dysfunctional environment, those inclinations can be activated, compounded, and reinforced. I suspect the BCB is the product of a perfect storm—genetic predisposition and abusive environment.”
“Why should I fear the BCB any more than other criminal?” Pate asked. “The FBI estimates there are more than 400 active serial killers in the United States. They also say the number is growing. Seems way more important than this one, sick killer?”
“Allow me to answer your question this way,” Elliott said. “Detective Wilcox had a hypothetical, a lion loose in the neighborhood. He also drew a parallel to a safari on the Serengeti.”
The Bluff City Butcher Page 25
