How can the errors of one man be allowed to destroy so many? He thought. I’ve searched all my life for one answer. Why was I born into a life of privilege?
Two months had passed since they killed the Butcher and ended the legend. Memphis could turn the page. The Tribune told the whole story about the psychopath Adam Duncan, alias Jack Bellow, Albert Bell’s illegitimate son. Releasing the whole truth hurt, but healing a community had to be the priority.
The gathering at the Bell mansion before the Christmas holidays celebrated the end of a nightmare. All those involved and changed by the serial killer were invited. This night the Memphis police, Shelby County Sheriff’s Office, medical examiner’s staff, city paramedics, elite Millington Naval Base medical team, FBI, The Tribune, and WKRC radio staff were the honored guests of the Bell patriarch.
The Bell Christmas gala got underway early as hundreds poured into the mansion. Carol and Elliott sat by one of the eight fireplaces with Tony and Alex. Michael Bell joined them, still recovering from months of being held captive by the Butcher in the catacombs under the Brent mansion. Why the Butcher allowed him to live would forever be a mystery. For welcoming purposes, Director Wade, Dr. Bates, and the new FBI Regional Director were positioned in the grand entry by the Bell Christmas tree. The rarely seen Bell sisters led tours of the kitchen where a dozen chefs created a feast beyond the imagination. Albert would come downstairs after his call with Max. And, as usual, G.E. Taft was late. After losing his Sophia, he rarely went to functions. For Albert, he made an exception.
When he pulled up to the mansion gates, G.E. waited for the guard in the window of the small stone house to get off the phone. He was never a good waiter. The car idled in the empty lane, and G.E. tried to control his growing irritation. Over the last year he had gotten close to Elliott and Tony, both bright young men with solid characters and the right values. But most important, deep down he came because he wanted to see Carol Mason. She would be his only newspaper person. Carol was the granddaughter he never had, a new and unspoken role she loved and fully embraced.
She had been the first to know Jack Bellow was the BCB. Carol saw his face on the bluff—the monster on her car, and the one who took her off Beale. Now the DNA and the body pulled from the river ended all the speculation, except for the man she loved and G.E.
The ME had a full house for the historic event, the autopsy of the century. The Bluff City Butcher lay dead on a stainless steel autopsy table. As expected, the enormous and muscular corpse presented the expected abdominal wound inflicted by Elliott during the struggle. He had described turning the butcher knife into Adam’s belly. The primary damage included a lacerated liver and torn aortic artery. Also, there were three, large caliber gunshot wounds inflicted by Sheriff Taft. The three exit wounds eliminated ballistic confirmation. Because the Butcher floated in the muddy Mississippi River over twenty hours, the entrance wound analysis was compromised along with most other forensic assessments. At the end, the medical examiner ruled cause of death the bullet to the head.
Sitting in his car, waiting for a guard, G.E. again went over the third shot in his mind. He did not think it possible. The first two hit the mark. G.E. aimed at the left and right deltoid muscles. He avoided shoulder joints. He did not want to hit major arteries. In the beginning, he wanted to slow down the Butcher, give him a chance to do the right thing—it was over. G.E. had aimed five inches above the Butcher’s head; the third shot had been a warning. If the Butcher had left the edge of the water for Elliott, number four would have put him down. And that would have been a chest shot, not a head shot.
But G.E. looked close at the corpse in the morgue. He saw the GSW square center of the Butcher’s forehead. G.E. had to be way off on his aim, or the Butcher had to jump into the bullet at the exact moment. Both seemed impossible to the sheriff.
After five minutes of waiting, G.E. tapped the horn again. He knew Albert always kept two guards on the gate. Tonight, G.E. saw only one. Maybe the other escorted a late guest to the mansion. The third time he honked he noticed the guard on the phone in the window had not moved. Under his steering wheel, G.E. loaded his gun and took it off safety. He eased out the car and approached the stone guardhouse. One guard was face down in a pool of blood, the other was tied in the chair holding the phone. His entrails hung to the floor.
G.E. eased into the room and saw guns still in holsters, telephone and computer lines pulled from the wall, and bloody boot tracks leading to the iron gates.
* * *
“I still don’t get how Medino got control of Adam Duncan, alias Jack Bellow, alias the goddamn Bluff City Butcher,” Tony said.
“Dr. Medino was obsessed with anti-aging in college,” Carol said. “He became an OB/GYN doctor for a steady supply of fetal stem cells for his research. He kept patient umbilical cord blood without their knowledge. Then, one day out of nowhere, Betty Duncan appears at his obstetrics clinic in Pecos, Texas. She is carrying the next billionaire Bell patriarch, the first-born male. Remember, Betty disappeared. She did not want to be a burden to Albert Bell. She ran away to have her baby.”
“Why is the future Bell patriarch important to Medino?”
“He needed to fund costly research. He had big dreams.”
“That seems like a stretch.”
“The archives under the Brent mansion, we found one of Dr. Medino’s personal files. In it was a 1956 publication about Albert Bell and his installation as the next Bell patriarch following the tragic death of his father.”
Tony downed his drink. “That’s all you got?”
“In October 1968, when Medino met Betty Duncan, he paid $25,000 in legal fees to get a copy of the Bell family patriarch succession plan, the rules governing transfer of assets. This legal instrument is unique. It was created at great expense by top law firms in the early 1900s. Alberto Bella wanted a failsafe way to transfer family wealth across generations with minimal dilution—taxation and outsider manipulation.”
“So, Medino gets this legal document and learns what?”
“The patriarch is the CEO of the Bell family corporation. As is the case with any business entity, the death of a CEO does not trigger a new tax event or open new avenues for outsiders to take over. The installation of a new CEO is a simple business process, a non-taxable event. The same is true with the Bell patriarch succession plan. The legal instrument Alberto had created at great expense ensured the new CEO of the Bell family enterprises and accumulated wealth would always be the next generation first-born male. It provided an iron-clad, wealth control mechanism for the family.”
“Dr. Medino’s research drove everything,” Elliott injected. “In the ’60s the brilliant genetic researcher made groundbreaking progress on the human genome project and advances in genetic engineering. Dr. Medino knew his future capital needs were astronomical. When Betty Duncan showed up, his prayers had been answered. One day, the boy he had delivered would be a multibillionaire.”
“According to the records found, in 1981 he ran out of money,” Carol said. “His research stopped. Desperate, he accelerated his plan to tap into the Bell family fortune.”
“He kept close tabs on Betty and Adam over the years,” Elliott said. “He knew where to find them. He went to Carrollton, Texas in 1982.”
Tony spat out an ice cube and set his empty glass on the silver tray. “He was involved in the deaths of Betty Duncan, the Tucker guy, and the Texas Ranger? Did he help Adam kill those people, bury their bodies and ditch the cars?”
“Based on Max’s investigation and Medino’s notes found in boxes under the Brent mansion, we know he was there. We do not know what led to the deaths of the three people. We may never know,” Carol said.
“I don’t see why Medino would expose himself like that,” Tony said.
“You need to understand his research requirements, Tee. He had to have a steady supply, and a wide variety, of fresh human tissue—heart, lung, kidney, liver, brain . . . etcetera. Dr. Medino was studying gene variance by so
matic cell type.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted to understand why some cells reproduce often, others little, and others never. The answer would take him to the on/off switch that controls cell death. If he could turn it on and leave it on, he found the secret to immortality.
“His delicate experiments required fresh human tissue. That is very hard to find. Underground sources were cost prohibitive and low quality,” Elliott said as people gathered to listen.
“The killings and cover-up in Texas was a turning point for Dr. Medino. He decided to hide the cars and bodies and take Adam with him back to Memphis. He went for the money to fund his research. He became a monster that day. And by helping a confused Adam, he established the guardian relationship.”
“What do we know about the Memphis connection?” Tony asked.
“Dr. Medino knew Trenton Brent, one of his benefactors,” Carol said.
“We believe Medino made arrangements for Adam to live in the basement of the Brent mansion. Again, we will never know the details. We think he lived there after Brent died and stayed even after the property was taken over by the county.”
“Adam came across a stash of money,” Carol said. “Brent kept large amounts of cash on his property. We confirmed Adam found $4 million. Brent probably found out in August 2002, the month he was found dead in his garage, a cold case today.”
* * *
Albert’s private line rang in the upstairs study. “Max here, can you hear me, Albert?”
“Yes, Max. I hear you perfectly. I have you on speaker in the study.”
“Is Dr. Sumner at your gala tonight?”
“Yes.”
“He needs to hear this, Albert. Can you get him?”
“Yes. Hold on, Max.” He pressed William’s direct line. “Please ask Dr. Sumner to join me in the study. Thank you. Max, he’ll be here shortly. Where are you?”
“Still in Dallas. I’m catching the next flight to Memphis. Got a few minutes.”
“You’ll probably miss our Christmas party, my friend.”
“You know I’ve never been one for crowds. Give me a pack of Chesterfields, a bottle of vodka, and a bucket of ice, and I am happy.” They both laughed as Elliott glided into the dark room unnoticed. Stepping in to the only light in the sprawling room, he startled Albert at the desk.
“Elliott. Thank you for breaking away. Please sit. This will only take a moment. I have Max on the speaker phone. He’s in Dallas hopping a plane to Memphis. Max asked for you. He has something to share with both of us.”
“Hello Elliott,” Max crackled on the box. Albert fiddled with a dial.
“Hello, Max. This must be important if it can’t wait for you to land.”
“We don’t have much time. Let me begin by saying I made a terrible mistake. Information I gave is incorrect. I’m afraid it is quite significant. What I am about to share has been confirmed. I stake my reputation on the accuracy.”
“Max, what is it?” Albert asked.
“I told you Betty Duncan gave birth to a boy on October 17, 1968.”
“She gave birth to Adam,” Albert said.
“Albert, she had triplets. Three boys, two identical twins and one paternal.”
“I don’t follow,” Albert said. “What are you saying, Max?”
“Elliott. You’re a doctor. Please explain to Albert how this happens.”
“Albert, a typical pregnancy is when one egg and one sperm create one embryo that develops into one child.”
“Yes.”
“On rare occasions two eggs are fertilized by two sperm. Two separate and distinct embryos develop into two separate and distinct babies. The two born at the same time are paternal twins.”
“Okay,” Albert said as he leaned onto his desk.
“There is another possibility. On very rare occasions one egg and one sperm form one embryo and it splits into two embryos and they develop into identical twins.”
“Max, you are saying you have solid proof Betty had triplets.”
“Yes. Two boys were given away a few weeks after birth. We’ve learned they were placed on porches of wealthy, unsuspecting couples in different cities in Texas. We have identified Adam’s identical twin, Albert.”
“Who is he, Max?” Albert asked.
“He was given to Mary and Vincent Penland in November 1968. The Penland family was killed in a car accident a week after finding the baby on their porch. The Penlands had no family. They left everything to charity and their housekeeper, Greta Stoner. Greta kept the baby as hers. No one knew the Penlands even had a child. Greta Stoner had a birth certificate made and acted like the baby was hers all along.
“Greta married in 1971. Her husband adopted the boy—a very gifted child, Albert. They gave him everything. His parents died in a house fire in Dallas in 2005.”
“Max, please. Who is he?” Albert demanded.
“The couple who adopted Adam’s twin brother, their name was Greta and Mark Bellow. Albert, Adam Duncan and Jack Bellow are identical twins!”
Elliott did not move. He never believed Adam and Jack were one. “This explains why Carol was so certain she saw Jack on the bluff. It also explains the DNA match.”
“Jack Bellow’s life is well documented,” Max said. “He was an intelligent man. We verified his long list of academic and business accomplishments. There is no doubt.”
“We have Jack in the morgue, an innocent man. Adam killed his brother.” Elliott’s face hardened as he looked at Albert across the desk. “This means he is still out there. Adam is alive.”
“How can we know who is in the morgue?” Albert asked.
“The night I fought the Butcher, the knife was held in his left hand. I turned it into his abdomen. The cutting edge of the wound would be left. It was right. I thought the knife twisted in my hand. It all happened so fast. I dismissed the anomaly.”
“It explains G.E. Taft’s third shot,” Max said. “The man has been adamant. He did not shoot the Butcher in the head.”
“Adam did not die that night. He fell into the river and escaped, gentlemen. He put his clothes on Jack Bellow, duplicated his wounds, and put the body where it could be found.” Elliott leaned back in his chair. “Another clever escape.”
“Max, you said Betty had three boys, two identical and one paternal. Do you know anything about my third son?” Albert asked, as he slipped on his glasses and opened the tattered file before him.
“Yes, but first let me ask Elliott something. It may have some bearing. Elliott, what do you think Adam Duncan is trying to accomplish?”
“There are three possibilities. He could be working for someone with a mission we have yet to discern, or Dr. Medino’s mission, another one we do not fully understand.”
“And number three?”
“Adam could be lost,” Elliott said. “He is a serial killer alone in a world doing the only thing he knows.”
“Do you know why Adam taunts you?” Max asked.
“I was a challenge for Adam. I think he needed someone like me, a nemesis.”
“Max,” Albert said. “Why must Adam kill Elliott?” He looked up from the light on his desk, Elliott sitting a few feet away in a high-back armchair in a dark room. In the gap of silence before Max answered, Albert heard the whine of a single floorboard, the one he stepped on a hundred times before, the exact place to look.
Albert squinted. A shadow in a shadow took shape. The massive presence stood silent behind Elliott. Only his eyes and blade caught the scant light in the room.
The speaker phone crackled alive. Elliott saw the reflection of the Bluff City Butcher in Albert’s glasses. Max cleared his throat unaware his next words would be a death sentence for Elliott and Albert.
Fifty-Seven
“The wisest men follow their own direction.”
Euripides
* * *
Albert saw Adam, the unprovoked anger in his eyes, emptiness, and curiosity. The Butcher was a man and an animal capable o
f intelligent and deadly strikes in any directions. Adam owned the room. His eyes confirmed he knew it.
Albert jerked from his stare when Max broke the silence. “Elliott is your first-born son, Albert.”
At the end of the last word, with his eyes locked on Albert, the Butcher rested the ten-inch blade on Elliott’s shoulder and touched a bloody finger to his mouth.
Elliott remembered the smell when he met the monster on Mud Island, the smell missing at Jack Bellow’s autopsy, and the smell he detected when he entered Albert’s dark study. But now, in a very different way, Elliott would remember the smell as belonging to the brother he hunted but never knew.
For Elliott, the seven words completed the life puzzle he had to let play out.
I too have been abandoned and alone. I too have been lost. But I have not been weighed down by a psychopathic disorder and dysfunctional life experience. In an odd way, I understand who I am for the first time. I know why I will die at the end of the Bluff City Butcher’s knife. I see Adam’s confusion. I think I understand his twisted mission. Adam never had a chance at life.
Albert had to get Max off the phone. He needed time, and could not allow Max to deliver any more information that could enrage Adam.
“You have given us a lot to think about, Max. Thank you for the information. Let’s say goodbye for now. We will talk more when you get to Memphis.”
“Of course, Albert. I should arrive in a few hours. Goodbye, gentlemen.”
Max hung up and called G.E. Taft’s cell phone. He would tell him the Butcher was alive and in the mansion—Albert and Elliott captive.
The blood trail from the butchered guards went through the front gates to the mansion. The extreme security measures of the Bell estate proved no match for the skills of the gifted predator. Carol’s investigations in New York, Dallas, El Paso, Destin, and Memphis pointed to the Butcher as the killer of Albert’s entire family. She had no idea above her in a dark study the BCB would terminate the Bell family lineage.
The Bluff City Butcher Page 34
