The Bluff City Butcher

by Steve Bradshaw

  “You can imagine Jack Bellow’s shock in Memphis the night he saw the real Dr. Medino, the man on steroids and growth hormone working out four hours a day.”

  “His lifelong research got nowhere. His time ran out. Dr. Medino is desperate. He fooled the top biomedical entrepreneur in the country. He claimed he cracked the genetic code for immortality. They would form a private company and raise $200 million. Medino would transfer $50 million to a Swiss bank account and disappear.”

  “Interesting hypothesis, but let’s go back to the question I asked. What do you know about Dr. Medino’s research and connection to the BCB? If you watched him for thirty years, you knew about the Butcher, right?”

  “His research failed. Yes, we learned about the Butcher.”

  “How hard was it to watch him kill innocent people while you protected your covert surveillance operation?” Tony asked.

  “Okay, it’s fair to suggest covert government operations can be cold and callous. However, in this case, we did not see the connection until September 3. The day of the McGee homicide. We put McGee in Tom Lee Park so you could find him, along with clues we thought could help. Yes, we did protect our anonymity in that case,” McCormick said. “But we were too late to help Mr. McGee.”

  “You expect us to believe you watched Medino for thirty years and missed a twenty-five year relationship?” Tony asked.

  “Believe what you want, Detective Wilcox. I will remind you, your Dr. Sumner, the most accomplished forensic homicide investigative mind in the world, was fooled by this man as well. The Butcher and Medino were never seen together. Medino came to Memphis twice a month and stayed at the Brent mansion. We had people watching the place—no Butcher,” McCormick said.

  “Have you ever seen the Butcher?” G.E. asked.

  “The Panther McGee homicide is the only time. One of our agents was tracking Dr. Medino. It was a late dinner with LIFE2 investors on Beale Street. Our man parked on a side street and watched the restaurant. He observed a brutal abduction; a man with a guitar beaten and pulled into a van. Our man followed the van—broke protocol.”

  “He followed them where?”

  McCormick looked down at his hands like he didn’t hear the question. “Our guy described him as a big six-five, two-fifty pounds, long hair, strong, dark complexion and wearing a long black coat. We found McGee and our man’s right arm still holding his gun. We never found our agent.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Elliott said. Slater and McCormick were visibly shaken. The third guy showed nothing.

  “We put McGee in Tom Lee Park, closer to the police station, so they could get on it right away. And, yes we stayed in the background.”

  “You should give us your agent’s name before you leave. We may know how to find his remains,” Elliott said.

  “Did you witness Raymond Munson?” Carol asked.

  “No,” Slater said. “Our focus was always on Dr. Medino. At that time we knew little about a serial killer and linkage.”

  “What do you know now?” Tony asked.

  “We found nothing until we started to take a closer look at the Raymond Munson killing, the man’s history.”

  “Why check him out?”

  “We saw a similarity with McGee—the excessive surgical work, a victim put on display, organs harvested.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  “The same as you. Mr. Munson was an English teacher at Carrolton Junior High. A student attacked him with a knife, cut off his finger. It was back in 1982.”

  “How did it end?” Elliott baited.

  “The student, a boy, went to jail for one day. They tested him and assessed his behavior pattern. They confirmed dyslexia and psychopathic tendencies.

  “Munson never pressed charges. Adam Duncan was kicked out of school. The Duncan family disappeared October 17, 1982. We read the Collierville PD concluded he killed his parents and a Texas Ranger. We thought he did a makeover, became Jack Bellow in public life. We all know who he became in his very private life.”

  “Let’s change focus,” Elliott said. “You knew about Dr. Medino’s anti-aging research. Where did you think he got the fresh human tissue he needed over the years?”

  “We monitored his movements, his mail, his Nashville home, the Vanderbilt lab, and the Davidson County farm they named BelMed. We concluded his human tissue supply came from the Brent mansion. However, eighty-five thousand hours of surveillance showed one repeating story. Two times a month, Dr. Medino arrived on a Friday and left on Sunday from the Brent mansion. He only carried an overnight bag and briefcase, both inadequate for transport of organs packed in ice,” Slater said.

  “Even after Mr. Brent died, Medino kept going to the mansion twice a month. He was very predictable. He took the same overnight bag and briefcase. He even parked in the same place on the side of the house, never varied. We saw nothing.

  “After his death, we visited the Brent mansion and went inside for a closer look. We discovered loose stones in the foundation of the mansion. We believe the boxes of organs were passed through that opening into the open car window at night. It was unloaded in a similar manner at the Davidson farm, a trap door by the barn.

  “We now understand the Bluff City Butcher brought victims to the Brent mansion through the woods in the early morning hours. The shrouded ravine in the rear provided ample cover. I’m sure they knew we were watching, and how to avoid detection.”

  “I suggest you be precise in your response,” Albert said. “What is your group doing today that justifies unwarranted and invasive tactics with local law enforcement?”

  “Excuse me, please. I can take it from here gentlemen.” The third government man at the table spoke for the first time. “Thank you, Mr. McCormick, Mr. Slater. You may leave at this time.”

  Without a word, the two exited the room and the limo departed. A whisper to Albert during the meeting cleared the way for the second limo now parked in the driveway, surrounded by armed security guards and shooters in the woods with red beads on the tinted windows.

  “I must apologize for the cloak and dagger nature of these sorts of things. I am Dr. Owen Chambliss. I work at the pleasure of the President of the United States.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Bell suggested we send our top people. I like to think that would be me.” Chambliss laughed alone. His face went flat. “My objective is one-dimensional. The government respects the sovereignty of state, county, and city municipalities. We have no intention of injecting ourselves in your affairs. I will tell you what I do for our nation, and then I am confident we can reach a mutually satisfactory arrangement.”

  Albert and Carol shifted in their seats and Elliott tapped his finger on the table as his pupils narrowed. “You have your audience, Dr. Chambliss.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Sumner. First, allow me to apologize for our aggressive tone at the onset. Our agency deals with entities outside our country, often people determined to destroy America. Our international work environment has influenced our tone. We can do better.” Chambliss looked away. Elliott knew he lied.

  “Apology accepted, please continue.”

  “I manage the apex of our nation’s top secret programs. The programs I see have life cycles spanning generations. At this time, most decisions made occurred well before my birth. The ideas, innovations, and discoveries we nurture are beyond the knowledge capability and the imagination of most people.”

  “Including our elected officials, isn’t that right?” Carol said sarcastically.

  “Yes. But this policy was put in place by elected officials, Miss Mason.”

  Carol leaned forward and clasped her hands, her eyes staying with Chambliss’s. “Since the beginning of time, man has pursued the unknown to enhance the human experience. Why is your covert agency needed?”

  “‘Covert’ is such a negative term. I prefer ‘proprietary’. To answer, we were created to give the United States a better chance to protect the early-stage innovations and discoveries. Our gr
eatest advantages come when we are exclusive owners of breakthrough knowledge. Never before has it been more important to strengthen our position in the world.”

  Chambliss shifted in his seat for the first time and looked Carol in the eyes. Elliott knew he was being truthful. Or, at least, he believed what he said.

  “We are at the front end of breakthroughs only. We pass them on.”

  “I’m sure you have examples of past involvements?”

  “Quantum theory, electromagnetism, splitting the atom, expansion of the universe theory, nuclear fission, space travel, stealth technology and the human genome . . .”

  “How about getting more current,” she challenged.

  “The creation of self-replicating synthetic life, antigravity, self-perpetuating energy sources, artificial intelligence, robotics, time travel, psychokinesis, and biogenic immortality—the reason we are together today. I don’t believe I need to go over the enormous benefits afforded the country that masters immortality first.”

  “You believe it’s that big,” Tony said.

  “The one who controls the secret to immorality controls the universe for an eternity, Detective Wilcox. We would like it to be the United States.”

  “What are you worried about?”

  “Worry is not the best word, Dr. Sumner. A missed opportunity for the United States is my concern. We must always be stronger than our advisories.”

  You said “my” concern. “If Dr. Medino is the failure you believe him to be, why the interest in his work?”

  “Under the Brent mansion, at the LIFE2 Corporate headquarters and Jack Bellow’s Penthouse, and on the Davidson County farm, there may be a key piece of the biogenic, immortality puzzle.” Chambliss sipped his water like a bird.

  “And what do you want from us?” Albert asked.

  “Three things. First, turn down the volume on the Medino-BCB linkage discourse. Second, we want exclusive access to all scientific information. And third, keep the government out of all communications.”

  “Let’s start with number three, why?”

  “If we are tied to Dr. Medino, Memphis will be crawling with agents from all over the world. Very dangerous people. They will stop at nothing. You could throw the region back into another killing frenzy. This time, you would be dealing with numerous killers with resources.”

  “Mr. Chambliss, #1 and #3 are reasonable and doable. #2 is more complicated. There are attendant legal matters to address with regard to the handling of private property and assets owned by an American company and its investors. However, you can rest easy knowing all pieces to the so-called ‘puzzle’ owned by LIFE2, BelMed, Dr. Medino, and Jack Bellow are protected and unavailable to the public.

  “Our first objective is to solve active, multiple homicides. We have a hundred and twenty-seven deaths in six states and are just getting started.”

  “Doctor, our legal counsel has assured me mechanisms are in place to meet all such legal requirements while allowing for government access and review of the scientific information we seek.” Chambliss fiddled with his coat pocket.

  Elliott remained cordial but firm. “We will be pleased to review what you have. If it is as you say, we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement. These decisions come with personal liability exposure for all. We must be comfortable with the terms of the arrangement and the protections.

  “As I am sure you are well aware, while engaged in an active investigation we have a fiduciary responsibility driving all actions of this body.”

  “Yes. However, the lost time jeopardizes our country’s life-extension interests regardless of your effort to protect such sensitive information.” His voice cracked.

  “I understand your concern,” Elliott said as he sat back in his chair. He was done with the meeting. The others leaned back.

  “Respectfully, doctor, I am good at what I do. I assure you our enemies know we are meeting. You have already been infiltrated. If keys to the immortality puzzle fall into the wrong hands, the damage to our country will be immense.”

  Elliott stood up first. The rest followed and then Dr. Chambliss.

  “We will implement #1 and #3 immediately. We will have our attorneys on call to meet with yours. A document could be in place within a few days, I’m sure. Until then, we must protect the rights of the owners of private property. And we must continue our investigations. I hope you can appreciate our position.”

  “Because the Butcher crossed state lines, the FBI is involved. I believe they’re a part of the federal government,” Wilcox poked.

  Chambliss ignored the detective and focused on Sumner. “I must accept your proposal, sir. However, you underestimate the urgency of the moment. The immediate involvement of my substantial resources brings the experienced guidance and protection the city must have to combat the wave of covert activity coming.”

  Desperation leaked from his last words as Elliott rounded the table with Albert to escort him out of the room. Tony, Carol and G.E. would stay.

  On the front porch Elliott put a hand on Dr. Chambliss’s shoulder, made eye contact, and extended his hand. Owen Chambliss gripped his hand. Elliott asked, “What do you know about Gilgamesh?”

  Chambliss did nothing. Albert turned with a curious look.

  “‘Gilgamesh’ is a word I’ve heard before,” Chambliss said. “It was in college, one of the first stories ever written, The Epic of Gilgamesh.”

  “What is it about?” Elliott asked. Albert looked away.

  “I don’t recall much. It is about a king and gods. Why the interest?”

  For the first time, Elliott saw discomfort. His eyelid twitched. “Just curiosity. I came across the word recently. Now I remember the college days and the story.”

  Elliott and Albert shook Chambliss’s hand and stayed on the front steps as the little man disappeared into the back of the limousine and pulled away. At a hundred yards the limo reached the crest and dropped out of sight crossing the open field toward the iron gates on Walnut Grove.

  “When are you going to tell me about Gilgamesh and the genetic gifts of the Bell family patriarch?”

  Albert smiled. The words were not challenging. They were a relief. He trusted Elliott and had grown tired long ago of guarding the family secret. Albert now believed there was some connection to the gathering storm.

  “I guess that time has arrived.”

  Albert thought of his father, and the same awkward silence after the same question one August day in Austin. Back then Albert was a young man with the whole world before him. Now, standing on the front steps of his own mansion fifty-three years later, he was his father—the all-knowing sage—and Elliott was his worthy student.

  The blinding flash lit the north sky, and a violent explosion followed. They braced against the window-breaking concussion and choked on the gases escaping the molten inferno over the ridge. The giant plume of white smoke climbed before them. Pieces of the limousine rained down. Dr. Chambliss had gone out in spectacular fashion . . .

  Albert and Elliott watched a drone with a fiery tail complete a figure eight turn and level on a path to the front doors of the mansion. They had seconds to avoid a direct hit. But it would be impossible to escape the crumbling mansion debris.

  “Dr. Chambliss was accurate in his assessment. The dangers are coming our way,” Albert said stepping in front of Elliott.

  “He overestimated their ability to protect. And thanks, you’re good but I don’t believe you can stop a missile with your chest, Albert.”

  Elliott ran an arm around Albert’s waist and they leaped off the porch into the thick shrubbery. Lying face to face Elliott said, “I do believe I’ve taken us from the proverbial frying pan.” They had nothing left to do but smile.

  The front door opened.

  “What’s going on out here,” Carol said as she stepped onto the porch in time to see the smoldering drone coming her way. “Oh shit!”

  It shifted course. At the hundred-foot mark it took an upward arc and cleared the
mansion. The sizzling thrust swept the porch, and it was gone. As the cloud of smoke drifted into the courtyard, Carol saw her two favorite men in the bushes.

  “You can come out now. I sent the bad rocket away.”

  “I told you Miss Mason was special,” Albert popped his head above the bushes.

  The near-death experience brought them even closer. The missile attack had sent a clear message. The adrenalin and new priorities moved the Gilgamesh discussion to yet another day.

  “What does all this mean, Elliott?” Albert asked as the mansion emptied behind them and the sirens grew louder.

  “Another meeting,” he said with a wink.

  Elliott put his arm around Carol and squeezed so only she knew. “The question I can’t answer now is with whom.”

  Two weeks later Max secured classified information and called Albert on a protected line.

  “We’ve confirmed two drones were taken from a U.S. Air Force base in Texas. It appears to be an inside job, sir.”

  “Very peculiar, Max,” Albert whispered into the phone.

  “No one in D.C. is talking about the execution of Owen Chambliss. Thomas Slater and Phillip McCormick disappeared on the same day.”

  “Again, very peculiar.”

  “On the other matter you asked about, at this juncture I can say there is no government involvement in Gilgamesh. I don’t know what any of this means, Albert.”

  “Thank you, Max.”

  “Be careful, Albert.”

  Fifty-Six

  “The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.”

  Oscar Wilde

  Albert sat alone in the upstairs study, waiting for Max to call back. All he heard on the phone was, “It’s important. Will call when plane lands. Ten minutes.” The rest broke up.

  He looked out the window as guests arrived. Albert struggled to come to terms with the tragedies in his life—he had lost a son, a daughter with child, and a wife. Maybe it would have been different if he had stayed with Betty in ’68. Maybe Adam would have gotten what he needed. The people who died at the end of his knife might have lived.