Ignoring the warden’s obvious irritation, he decided to pursue his reason for being here. “May I ask what happens to the prisoner’s following an execution?”
The warden slowly dropped his head, took a deep breath and spoke. “Lines are removed from the prisoner, the body is moved with care and dignity and placed directly into a post mortem bag, the facility is cleaned and a staff debriefing is performed. All standard procedure.”
“Is it standard procedure to subject prisoner’s to strip searches and constant video surveillance? What about sleep deprivation? Would you condone it?”
Sabitch’s smile disappeared rapidly. “What is it you’re getting at, Mr. O’Connell?”
“Nothing. I imagine those rumors are just that…rumors.” Having goaded him to try and get a reaction, Joe hesitated before continuing. “What I’d really like is to see a copy of Stark’s master execution file.”
Sabitch paused. Joe knew the reason he paused. He had seen it many times before. People paused before they answered a potentially implicative question because they were trying to process their well-rehearsed lie in their heads before speaking.
“That’s confidential. I’m sure you can appreciate the necessity to keep such information from falling into public hands. Especially given the sensitive nature of the death penalty.”
Joe nodded. “I do, certainly. In that case, would it be possible to speak with the contract mortuary. His insight as to what happens to the prisoner following the transfer of the body would provide a good sense of closure to the whole subject.”
Again, Sabitch hesitated. “Once again, that information is privileged. I must say, I feel that perhaps this was a waste of time for both of us. I thought you wanted to discuss the intricacies of the death penalty, not allude to its moral ambiguities which we both know there are many. I figured you for a more broadminded reporter. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
“No, you’re right. I am fairly broadminded. It’s just there are some events you find yourself involved in that never seem to sit comfortably. Call it a gut feeling, reporter’s instinct. For instance, if I was to say to you, why were all the IV lines removed from Stark’s body immediately following his execution, what would you say?”
Joe noticed Sabitch’s face flush slightly as though a child caught doing something naughty. He momentarily shrunk back into his chair and then almost as suddenly regained his composure and stood up with a grand gesture.
“That is not only an absurd accusation, but offensive. This facility has a perfect record, Mr. O’Connell…for a reason. I run a tight ship. Nothing goes on here that I don’t know about. Therefore I would warn you that making slanderous accusations is not in your best interests.”
Joe remained seated, but leaned forward. “Are you threatening me, warden.”
Sabitch forced a half-smile. “Threatening, no. Merely advising you that should you decide to pursue this line of questioning outside of this office, you will find yourself facing many difficulties.” The warden had his hand outstretched, gesturing towards the door. “Now if you please, I’m a busy man.” His tone had regained it affability.
Joe remained seated, ignoring the indication to leave. This was getting interesting.
“Warden, who provides a prisoner’s death certificate following their death? Is it you personally or a doctor.”
Sabitch appeared to baulk at the question. “It’s the doctor who completes the paperwork. I simple oversee the legal aspects of the process.”
Joe smiled. “So, when you say legal aspects, you mean to ensure that everything is above board, so to speak?”
“Exactly. What does this have to do with Stark?”
“Nothing. Everything. You write an after-action critique following every execution, is that correct?”
Sabitch breathed an irritated “Yes.”
“So,” he continued. “All the details of his execution will be in there.”
“Yes, but it’s confidential, I told you. Please, Mr. O’Connell, I’m very busy.”
“I know, but is there any chance anyone else could get their hands on it? A guard who isn’t particularly fond of you perhaps.”
“I don’t have disgruntled employees.” Sabitch replied a little too quickly. “All documentation concerning the prisoners and executions is locked away. Only myself and one other have access to it.”
“The other being…?” Joe enquired.
“The other being my senior guard. Now, I think we’re done.” Sabitch’s tone had an air of finality about it.
Joe remained silent and motionless. “You don’t feel it’s enough, do you? Execution, I mean. You feel they get off lightly.”
Sabitch became piqued. “I do, yes. They’re monsters. Some of the crimes they commit are beyond comprehension, so much so that sometimes you wonder if there is any punishment severe enough. But here I am, custodian of them all. I ensure that they are given the best treatment possible, regardless of their crime. You try to be non-judgmental, and sometimes it’s hard. Some of their stories are genuinely tragic…parents took children and manufactured monsters. You weep for them as children. But as adults, you believe that the punishment does in no way fit the crime. And Obadiah Stark, he was the worst of them all.
“No he didn’t rape children, molest women, and he didn’t eat his victims. He simply butchered them, sometimes in the most horrific ways imaginable, but compared to most of the atrocities men are in here for, his were fairly pedestrian. Yet the reason I consider him the most dangerous man we ever had here, is because he never tried to justify his actions, he didn’t claim insanity, messages from the Devil or that he suffered as a child. I know he did, he just never used it as an excuse. Obadiah Stark was a monster because he felt no remorse, or guilt… there was nothing. Every other prisoner here, regardless of their crime, when they get that date, they begin to question their lives and their actions. They may not apologize for their crimes or express pity towards their victims, but they consider how different their lives could have been had they taken a different fork in the road. Stark…he accepted death in the same way he murdered those people, with righteous indignation. That made him more than dangerous. It made him believe he was God-like.”
Joe held the warden’s stare for a few beats before rising and extending his hand. “Well, thank you for your time. It’s been most illuminating.”
Sabitch paused before shaking his hand curtly. “I hope you got everything you needed.”
“Oh, I did.” Joe moved to the door without looking back. Sabitch’s hand on his shoulder made him stop and turn to face the warden.
“You’re a smart man, Joseph. I told you before, I read your work and I do enjoy it. I hope you’re able to continue it. You rarely get your facts wrong, so I can’t say I’m too concerned about any of this making the press.”
The silence between them lingered in the air. The absence of words didn’t hide from Joe that the warden knew what he had been up to.
You’ve just showed your hand, you dodgy son of a bitch.
He condescendingly slapped Joe on the back, forcing him out of the door.
“Have a safe journey back. The waters around Absolom can be treacherous.”
Joe smiled as he walked back down the corridor, hearing the warden’s door close behind him. He had his interviews with the victims’ relatives, the conversation with Stamford and now his meeting with Sabitch. All of it put together told him that something big was being hidden concerning Obadiah Stark’s execution. He knew he needed more; speak to the coroner, more interviews with relatives. Someone would give something major away. It was just a matter of time.
As he returned to the main door leading from the prison, Joe found himself wondering what could possibly have been so important about Stark’s death. That should have been the end of it all. It seemed that The Tally Man’s death had been only the beginning.
Dr. John Franklin, BS.c. HONS, PH.D. M.A., M.CLIN, PSYCH. A.F.PS.S.I.
Case Number: 01020541/27
&n
bsp; Subject: Stark, Obadiah James (a.k.a. The Tally Man) cont.
Victim history continued:
During the course of 1990, Obadiah continued his murderous pastime, adding three more tallies to his tattoo; Meredith Clements, Helen Christian and Christina Cole.
Twenty eight year old Meredith lived with her husband in Shenandoah, East Baton Rouge, approximately 10 miles from Louisiana State University and worked at Oschner Medical Centre, which was about three miles away from her home. At approximately 20:34 on Monday 12th February 1990, witnesses reported seeing Meredith standing by the driver’s side of Obadiah’s car before walking away. Her remains were found six months later in woodlands not far from her place of work, the body so decomposed that identification was only possible through dental records and personal belongings.
The body of thirty six year old Helen Christian was found off an incline on Interstate 40 by a street cleaner on 23rd May 1990. The coroner stated that Helen had died the previous day. She was killed by a knife wound to the base of her skull which penetrated her brain and a second wound that penetrated her lungs and ruptured her heart.
Obadiah’s final murder during 1990 was on Thursday 18th October, the last time anyone remembered seeing thirty two year old Christina Cole alive. In his statement, a patrolman recalled having encountered Christina and her husband on Highway 226 after their car had run out of gas. They were arguing and she was insisting on making her own way home. Police reports surmised that at some point during her lone journey home, she encountered Obadiah Stark. Her body was found five days later in Meeman-Shelby State Park, Tennessee. Partially clothed, with no signs of sexual assault, Christina’s remains were found face down and covered with scrub bushes. The autopsy identified she had been stabbed fourteen times in her neck and sternum and then her belly slit open.
Now convinced the murders were linked, the police created a task force. Put together in Louisiana, its main focus was to compile a list of suspects. Using a computer reference system, and despite the limited forensic evidence they had managed to collect so far, a list was produced with thirty four names on it. Obadiah Stark was number twenty-eight.
During this time, the subject had left his job at the estate agency and moved to Jonesboro, Arkansas, where he obtained employment as a pharmacy driver at the Surgical Hospital of Jonesboro. His credentials forged, Obadiah’s credibility was never questioned. Appearing to have secured the job based purely on his charm and ability to manipulate, his employment later proved to be a source of major embarrassment for the hospital during investigations following his arrest.
Appraisal of police reports and evaluations point towards Obadiah becoming less capricious and more structured, his merciless enthusiasm to torture and murder succeeded only by his logical and well organised thought patterns. It must be said that during this author’s interview with the subject, his thoughts continued to be well structured. That his mind remained full of potential for scheming and violence supports the theory of Obadiah Stark’s God-like desire for control over others.
Excerpt taken from interview with Obadiah Stark (dated 17th April 2010):
“The street is my world. You all live such sheltered lives, hiding in your warm beds under your twilight skies. I don’t expect you to understand what this means… seeing what I’ve seen – mankind, the beast, the animal. There’s no hunting like the hunting of man. Once you’ve done it for long enough, and gotten to like it, you never really care for anything else.
“What I did is was a wakeup call to the world, telling them that terrible things don’t only happen in faraway places…they happen right here on your doorstep. I was born no different from anyone else, and that’s what makes people afraid. They look down at me and see a fool; they look up at me, and see a God; they look straight at me and see themselves.
“People will read these interviews and say’ it’s because he suffered as a child’ or ‘Sins of the father magnified one hundred fold’. But the truth is they say those things because it makes them feel secure, believing that only exceptional circumstances can create a monster. I simply set out to prove that if one can do what God does enough times, one can become as God is.”
Yet this egotistical attitude was tested towards the end of 1990, when Obadiah experienced what can only be described as the possible singular moment in his adult life that he ever felt anything resembling a human emotion. Thomas Jacques, his only childhood friend and fellow altar boy was hit and killed by a drunk driver one evening whilst walking home. The driver, Richard Bullen, married with three children, served eight months for manslaughter and received a $400 fine. Witnesses recalled seeing Obadiah at Thomas’s funeral.
In September 1991, Bullen’s naked body was found in the woods near his home in Virginia. Forensics later determined that his lower spinal column had been severed with a screwdriver which was found at the scene. Paralysed, Obadiah had stripped him of his clothes and proceeded to remove his genitals with a pair of shears. He had then applied salt to the wound before finally setting him on fire.
No one was ever held accountable for his murder and, with no link known between the subject and Thomas Jacques at the time and no forensic evidence, Obadiah was never considered a suspect. My meeting with the subject represented the first time anyone had admitted to Richard Bullen’s murder, with details of the murder provided only the killer could have known. Following this author’s interview with Obadiah Stark, this case is now classified as solved.
Though Obadiah had not seen or spoken to Thomas Jacques since leaving Ireland, it appears his death had a profound effect, something this author witnessed him allude to during our time together.
Excerpt taken from interview with Obadiah Stark (dated 17th April 2010):
“Bullen… that irresponsible prick deserved to die. He should have never been allowed to have a family. If I had the time over, I would have made certain he suffered more. I’m still not sure he quite understood why he was dying that day. I mean, I told him it was for Tommy of course, but it didn’t seem to sink in…even when I cut off his nuts and replaced them with salt. Mind you, the screaming was awfully distracting.
“Tom Jacques was probably the closest thing to a friend I ever had. I think I creeped him out the day I killed the duck, but I actually enjoyed being around him. He was a genuine, gentle person who just seemed to have a calming effect on me. How can I put it…he didn’t stimulate my primal urges to kill. I think initially, when we moved to the States, I might have actually missed his company. Of course then life got in the way and I found my true destiny. But back then, everything seemed simpler when I was with him. I look back now and find it hard to believe that it was me who felt those things. Perhaps I would have killed Tommy myself eventually if he had still been alive. I don’t think I would have wanted someone reminding me of who I was or who I could have been.”
‘Remorse: beholding Heaven and feeling Hell.’
George Moore
Chapter Twelve
08:27
OBADIAH woke suddenly, recognising Eva’s presence beside him, at once familiar and calming as he took note of her body. Curvy, skin smooth like ivory, it glistened slightly with morning perspiration. He allowed his eyes to take in the curve of her breasts, the shape of her leg that hung over the blankets and momentarily felt a sense of peace unlike anything he had ever known. Rolling over, Obadiah placed his head into the pillow, taking a deep breath and smelling his own perspiration.
Eva stirred and slid her body out against his, stretching silently against him as he moved to the edge of the bed. Obadiah looked down again at her face, her eyes closed, lips slightly parted. He recalled their fevered lovemaking, the musky smell of their bodies together, and the release of emotion which had flooded through him. Everything promoted him to realise his journey here had taken a very different path.
Slightly disorientated, Obadiah climbed from the bed and stood by the window. As Eva moaned her subconscious disappointment at the removal of his bodily warmth, he tried to ig
nore the sound of his heart pulsating in his ears, the nagging discomfort he noticed in his shoulder blades. Everything hadn’t reset as it had before. Therefore, what had changed? What was so special that he was now living another day? A next day.
When he had initially found himself here against all logical explanation, he had felt only disappointment at realising he was somehow experiencing an example of what could only be described as a perfect, almost Stepford life. He still had no idea why he had been deemed worthy of this accolade. He hadn’t wanted it. He didn’t want it. But after the incident with Ellie and his subsequent night with Eva, Obadiah found his dissatisfaction being replaced by a feeling he could only equate to fulfilment. During his time as The Tally Man, the very notion of it would have made him feel physically sick. Now, all he could think was that the previous three days repeating must have served a purpose leading to this. But to what end?
Obadiah began scratching at his shoulder as he moved out the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen. As he looked around, the ticking clock on the wall marking the beats of his memories, he sensed the house was a different beast to the one he had grown up in as a child. Where it had once been a place eliciting only feelings of desperation, now it seemed to radiate hope. It was almost as though it had deliberately redesigned itself to educe such feelings from him. His dreams as a child made manifest.
Preternaturally, Obadiah became aware of the oncoming pain before it hit, causing him to suddenly grabbed his head, the pulsating, pounding sensation intent on blasting through his skull. He frantically massaged his temples, eventually feeling the discomfort slowly ease.
How can you feel pain if you’re dead, Obadiah found himself wondering as his left arm began to tingle, the sudden pins and needles sensation causing Obadiah to tighten and relax his hand as he tried to reperfuse his extremities. Massaging his arm, he thought back to last night. A sentiment he had never considered open to manipulation had been enticed by his weak desire for flesh in the most carnal of ways. And boy, had taken pleasure in its release.
Hellbound: The Tally Man Page 16
