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#Post#: 10238--------------------------------------------------
The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: January 26, 2015, 6:06 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Coffeyville, Kansas
Mid-November, 2014
A story concerning the ultimate serial murder of whom there was
found insufficient evidence to convict.
From The Homily
Lord, let us beware as we travel along the river that is the
continuum of our lives, that it not become a river of no return,
where we are unable to recall our deeds, wherein we lose our
freedom, limited by our prior deeds. Let us seek to live the
life of repentance, and that of circumspection, that allows us
to have that freedom from on high that allows us a river, a
continuum that allows us to travel unto salvation. In Christ's
Name we pray. Amen.
From a Homily by Father Dunstan Collier, All Saints Episcopal
Church, Coffeyville, Kansas
#Post#: 10277--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: February 1, 2015, 1:40 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Franklin D Roosevelt Memorial
Washington, DC
Saturday, 1 Nov 2014
Prologue
It was becoming dark and the forecasted snow was beginning to
flurry down from the sky, swirling around the street lights and
disappearing onto the darkened ground. Though it was bound to
be uncomfortable, it was good weather for clandestine meetings.
Operationally, this weather would aid in keeping the meeting
private. People, ordinarily, wouldn’t want to come out on a
night like this. They would rather stay home, warm and dry,
snuggled up to a heat register probably.
Though it was not that cold to him, it was no comfort, thought
U.S. Marshal David Callen as he he was parking his car. He felt
that he was finally feeling his age. As he got out of his car
and closed the door, he caught a glimpse of his tired, round
face. The thinning gray hair as the wrinkles reminded him of
the passing years and of the fact of his retirement that was
coming at the end of the year. He was five feet nine inches
tall, becoming rather stooped. His doctor said it was time for
him to retire. Though he kept active, his doctor advised that
the stress of his work, plus the continued activity of his job
had done much to wear him out.
Callen had turned off of Ohio Drive SW onto West Basin Drive SW
and had parked into one of the parking spaces in front of the
Franklin Roosevelt Memorial in Washington, DC. His backup was
already there, standing in front of their cars. There was his
friend, Marshal Devin, the cowl, and two other men he happened
to know only slightly, Nick and James, who were known as “the
heavies”. They had worked in fugitive apprehension and were
proficient in firearms.
Callen only nodded at the men; there was no time to speak with
them given the protocol established for these meetings. He
walked out onto the wet, partially frozen grass into the stand
of trees that was adjacent to the entrance of the Memorial. He
was facing a clearing between those trees. He then heard his
friend Devin, behind him, say, “The contact has vectored onto
the green.” That meant that the person he was supposed to meet
had been detected and was now on the other side of the clearing.
Callen could not see him but began walking into the clearing
listening to the sound of the wind as it blew through the trees.
It became darker as he walked, but it was still light enough
for the purpose of the meeting. Callen then observed his
contact, Erich Stahl coming out of the darkness out of falling
snow. Callen could see and quickly take in a vision of the man
who was about his height, dressed in casual gray and black
jacket and pants, of sinewy build, dark hair with a hint of
gray, squarish face, dark brown eyes, and eyes that seemed to
speak of laughter and contentment. Stahl was carrying an
attaché case.
“Blustery weather, isn’t it?” The man spoke, breaking into a
cheerful smile.
“Yes,” replied Callen.
“Now to the two issues of our meeting,” Stahl’s face became more
formal, more serious. “Issue One, which is for the President:
We have relocated the prior noted Syrian personnel and their
families, with their permission, to the Northern coast of Syria
and away from the fighting. We are currently guarding them and
wish to advise your government that Syrian President Assad has
only a few anti-psi personnel around him and had consented and
assisted in this relocation. This is an indication of his
deteriorated security situation. A polymer stave with a
shielded glyph attached is for the President’s cowl regarding
this issue.” He paused and then said, “The glyph is in the
agreed Presidential code.”
“The President’s cowl will receive it this night,” said Callen.
“Issue Two, which is for the Attorney General and your Director,
SSB: The Legate says that any day is a good day to catch a
murderer, and especially a serial murderer. We consent to the
same agreement that was established and used earlier this year
to apprehend the serial murderer out of Cincinnati. We consent
to the same principals in this operation with the same
protocol.. We shall employ Adrian ‘Mack’ Stemple as our main
principal with Mark Eagleclaw as his secondary. We understand
that Sasha Parchen from the SSB will be your principal with
Quinton Teller from the FBI as being the secondary, though he is
nominal leader of the operation.”
“Yes,” said Callen. “And we confirm that James Brice, who is a
Reserved Aprator, as the Kansas Bureau of Investigation
principal with Paul Gant as being his operational field agent.
Gant is a norm with an apratorial mind.”
“It is as we expected, then.” Stahl continued, “Concerning the
paracognitional scan, that was done prior to this meeting. The
Pratorial Collegium reports that the results are negative in
their affect.”
“What does this mean?” asked Callen.
“All major timeline threads within the subject scan were found
to be entirely darkened of imagery and the conjoining threads
for past and future had severely jumbled imagery. From the
affect no visual images of any of the past murders and burials
of the victims could be derived.”
“So this means that the serial murder is apratorial, not
accessible to psi?”
“Yes,” answered Stahl. “It could also mean that these murders
may be flawlessly executed from the standpoint of detection and
prosecution.” Stahl paused. “It may mean that our serial
murderer may escape despite our respective intervention into
this case. The glyph for Issue Two will be on the second stave
with the agreed SSB code. There will be attached another glyph
on the same stave which has a record of the scan. It will need
a cowl-group to work through it.”
“That is too bad,” said Callen. “I figured with our
involvement, the serial murderer may be apprehended. Now it may
prove, in the end, to be pointless.”
“It’s possible that that may be the case,” said Stahl.
“Personally, I would pray to God that it would not be so. In
the Nineteenth Century, we were asked by the British to assist
in the Jack the Ripper case and that joint intervention failed
miserably. Jack the Ripper escaped us.”
The men briefly watched the snow flurry through the wind-swept
trees, their branches now barren of leaves, and in the distance
beyond the trees, a downy cascade of white snow underneath the
street lights.
“It’s beautiful,” said Stahl.
“I suppose it is not as beautiful as the rings of Saturn as seen
from through the firmament of your paradimensional dome, the
Solargate,” mused Callen.
“Not as beautiful as this,” replied Stahl. “Nothing outshines
the beauty of a living biosphere.” He paused and smiled. “Time
to go, Callen,” he said. “In retirement, please take it slow.
Goodbye now.” He set the attaché case down and stepped back and
turned and walked away.
Callen murmured goodbye and watched as Stahl went into the
darkness and into the snowfall until he could no longer be seen.
He heard the backup team, Devin and the two “heavies” walk up
to him.
Devin said, “Contact has vectored.”
Callen picked up the attaché case and handed it to Devin saying,
“In the attaché are two staves, one for SSB, and one for the
President. See that they are delivered.” Devin nodded and the
men went to their cars.
Callen watched them as they started their cars and quietly motor
away. The “heavies” would make sure that Devin made the
deliveries before calling it a night. A meeting and the
deliveries had never been interfered with, but security had
always been in place since the Spanish-American War. Callen
briefly wondered why that became so in 1898. He continued to
watch the wind driven snow through the tree branches and the
distant lights until it got too cold for him. He went to his
car. As he got into his car, his cell phone rang. It was the
Director, SSB.
“What were the scan results?” asked the Director.
Callen could sense the Director’s concern. A lot was hanging on
this. “Stahl said no imagery or jumbled imagery. It was
negative.” Callen paused. “The serial murderer may get away.”
“That’s too bad. Come on in. I’ve got the smoked salmon and
cream cheese waiting. We’ll talk. I’ve got Parchen here.”
“I’ll see you both shortly.” As Callen drove away, at least it
would be a good ending for the night, a small part in an
important case . . .
#Post#: 10284--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: February 2, 2015, 7:02 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Kelvin's Coffee Shop
Topeka, Kansas
Sunday, 2 Nov 2014
Aft Prologue
Several days later, looking from the warmth and comfort of a
coffee shop, James Brice watched as the rain came down and
pattered onto the streets of Topeka. He watched as the
departing figure of the U.S. Marshal, SSB, his contact, went
down the rain-sodden street. It was a sobering meet. The scan
that the contact spoke about didn't go well.
There was much to think about, Brice thought. We will have to
operate from deep cover since this will be such a high profile
case. It may involve a lot of media. This is going to be quite
a ride. Results may be hard to come by. It may all hinge upon
the norms and their ability to make something of all this if we
can't.
Brice thought of Mack Stemple, a good friend from many years
ago, whom he hadn't seen for a long time. Maybe Mack is right,
Brice thought. Maybe it is going to be the norms that will open
this case up. We will have two of Montana's best private
detectives, Clive Edgar Fox and Miles Kenec. Kansas will have
KBI Detective Paul Gant. Now Gant is top drawer having
impressed quite a few people inside and outside of Kansas, even
the Governor thought so. Something will turn up. Something
could happen.
Brice ordered another coffee. He thought, it could be hopeless,
but there is another angle that can also happen. It could also
be hopeless for the murderer despite his apparent success.
Sometimes things don't work out as it is expected and justice
has the final last laugh.
Brice thought that he had liked to laugh and remembered his
laughter over the years. He smiled. Maybe despite it all, the
murderer shall meet his doom. Brice was all for hope . . .
#Post#: 10307--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: February 8, 2015, 1:55 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Verdigris River,
South of Coffeyville, Kansas
Monday, 3 Nov 2014
Place of Bones
It’s a depressing place, thought Detective Gant, as he parked
his car along at the entry road to the place where the murdered
girl’s bones were found along a small bend in the Verdigris
River to the South of Coffeyville, Kansas. The rain had stopped
but it was dismal, the gray clouds hung low in the sky. The
sunlight was softer than anytime that Gant could remember during
a winter.
The road was muddy, and full of gumbo clay. It would be too
much for the vehicle to try to drive down to where the bones had
been found. Gant put on some overshoes taken from his trunk.
He took out his small backup gun from the trunk as well and
slipped it into his jacket pocket. Sometimes they come back,
Gant thought. Murderers return to the scene at times where they
had buried their victims. They return from a complex of
motives. Sometimes they return out of guilt, sometimes out of
triumph, sometimes, perhaps, even out of boredom. It would be
awkward to ask a person why he was out in this inclimate weather
for a stroll at an isolated place where the bones of a murdered
girl had been found.
Gant walked down towards the bend in the river. He kept to the
grass alongside the road, trying to avoid the morass of any mud
that he happened to see. He had been asked to look at the sight
of burial by his boss, James Brice, of the Kansas Bureau of
Investigations, who told him that it was something that has been
asked of everyone connected to the case by U.S. Marshal Sasha
Parchen. It was a way to connect with the victim, to seek to
understand what had happened.
In a certain sense Gant understood what happened, the murder and
burial happened. But a lot went on that he didn’t understand.
Why kill a young girl? What was the point of all that? By all
accounts, Lindy Greene, 17, had been friendly, attractive and
pious girl who had no known enemies. She was a small, exquisite
young brunette with a roundish face with high cheekbones.. She
had blue eyes. She reminded Gant of Gant’s daughter, Talia, who
had a similar look, but Talia had not the religious interests
that Lindy had.
Lindy had no known enemies. She, along with her parents, were
members of the El Shaddai Baptist Church, a conservative church
that stressed traditional mores. The women of that church were
taught and had their lives carefully circumscribed by the men in
that church. It was stressed to the men of that church that
they were the protectors of women and children, and so, in a
certain sense, it seemed unlikely that Lindy would be a victim
of a serial killer, unlike other women, whom no such social
protections existed.
Gant walked on into the silence, the gloom of a rainy winter
day. There was no sound, none from the river, the trees. There
was no sound of birds. It was the silence of a morgue, rather
appropriate for the reason of his visit.
As Gant walked along the side of the road he came along the
river. He observed the faint circles appear in the water
indicating that a light rain had started though he wasn’t
feeling it on his face and scalp. He used to fish for catfish
further downstream from here when he was younger. Finely
seasoned catfish, cornbread, and buttered corn would make for a
good meal tonight, Gant thought. The Blackstone Hotel, where he
and the crime team would be staying would be sure to have it.
He walked on.
As he came around a curve in the road, he came upon the place of
bones, where the girl had been buried. It was a bend in the
river where the river flowed at the far end of the bend, and
where there was, on this side of the river, a wider alluvial
space that had been cut by the flowing river. The girl had been
buried in a shallow grave below the river’s high water mark in
the open area.
The killer probably ran into trouble burying the girl,
encountering rock along with sand and gumbo. The killer was not
able to dig very deeply and, most likely, dug down to water when
he went down several feet. Fortunately for the killer, the
ground assisted greatly in the decomposition. Discovery was
prevented, the coroner thought by an undisturbed grave that
aided in the decomposition. The killer had been prudent,
slicing open of the body cavity to prevent body swelling in
decomposition and being pushed up to the surface. Also, a large
rock had been placed on the body to keep it in place. The
killer even had the forethought to partially cut a large bramble
just upstream from the burial and push it and the brambles down
upon the grave. This would protect it when the river went back
up to the high water mark in the following season. So the body
quietly decomposed into the bones when they were accidently
found in the following year by a fisherman and his son.
And why didn’t the wild hogs get to it sooner? Gant had
wondered. But the file indicated that a dead cow had been found
across the river whose stench covered the smell of the dead
girl’s cadaver until the odor of both had gone. The hogs had
fed well on the cow, one investigative report said, and had left
the dead girl undisturbed.
Gant went down onto the burial site. Interestingly, one could
not see the road from where the burial was made so the killer
had the needed privacy to finish his malevolence. The killer’s
parked vehicle would have been identified as that of just
another fisherman’s.
It was the bones that told the most interesting story. They
spoke of violence. The girl had been struck on the left
shoulder, on the left clavicle bone, shattering it. She had
been struck from behind during the course of the abduction. The
blow most likely would have rendered her helpless if not
knocking her senseless. The bones spoke more. Some ribs were
shattered on her right side. The coroner thought that she had
been kicked while she was prone on the ground, most likely by a
steel tipped shoe or boot. Some fingers were broken, possibly
an indication of struggle but could have been torture.
The place was silent. She was not tortured or killed here.
There was no blood trace in the soil. There was, also, no trace
of clothing. She had been tortured and killed elsewhere.
Actually, given that only bones remained, it was not clear if
she was raped or otherwise abused. Most likely she had been
given her physical beauty. That had to have happened.
There was a stench of decay in the place. The dead leaves and
the fetid smell of the rotted bark or timber seemed to bring out
sadness of the place, the gloom. Gant abruptly decided to quit
this. Too much gloom. He went up the bank and headed back to
his car.
The rain picked up again going from a faint, light sprinkling to
a steadier, harder rain. It seemed to symbolize a kind of
divine sadness or weeping over the death and burial of the
young girl. Was it an omen or sign from God? Gant wondered.
Or was it a delusion, a venturing towards hope in a situation
that wasn’t much open to hope? But, again there is always hope
apart from any sign of it . . .
#Post#: 10320--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: February 10, 2015, 7:01 am
---------------------------------------------------------
US Hwy 169,
South of Coffeyville, Kansas
Monday, 3 Nov 2014
Path of Death
Detective Gant drove north towards Coffeyville. He watched and
listened as the rain came down pattering upon his car, his
windshield wipers noisily clearing his windscreen. He became
relaxed, lulled by the steady sound of the car motor running.
There was not much traffic. He reflected upon the case,
recalling the the summary FBI file reports that he had read,
that he had been given access to, so far. He had struggled very
hard to put the salient facts into memory but it had to be done
to keep any discussion with others about them clear.
Lindy Greene, 17, student, white, Coffeyville, Kansas.
Disappeared, abducted, in Coffeyville, June 17, 1996, 18 years
ago. Her bones were discovered August 9, 1997 in a dry portion
of a riverbed on the Verdigris River south of Coffeyville.
Then there were the others:
Thelma Jackson, 16, student, black, Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Disappeared, last seen in Tulsa, May 24, 1998. Bones discovered
March 7, 2000, in a shallow grave on desolate alkaline ground to
the west of Tulsa.
Carmen Torres, 22, waitress, white Hispanic, Oklahoma City,
Oklahoma. Disappeared, last seen in Broken Arrow, June 9, 2003.
Bones discovered, July 3, 2005 in a dry portion of a riverbed
on the Arkansas River southeast of Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.
Jamie Birdsong, 24, student, red Amer-Indian, Bartlesville,
Oklahoma. Disappeared, last seen in Bartlesville, July 19,
2005. Bones discovered September 24, 2007, in a dry portion of
a riverbed on the Verdigris River northwest of Nowata, Oklahoma.
Melanie Trampas, 17, student, white Hispanic, Claremore,
Oklahoma. Disappeared, last seen in Claremore, June 22, 2008.
Bones discovered August 19, 2010, in a dry portion of a riverbed
on the Verdigris River northeast of Claremore, Oklahoma.
Vonnie Blake, 25, waitress, white, Joplin, Missouri.
Disappeared, last seen in Joplin, May 29, 2011. Bones
discovered June 22, 2013, in a dry portion of a riverbed on the
Spring River to the west of Joplin, Missouri.
The FBI had employed two teams in their investigations: a big
one for the four murderers in Oklahoma, a smaller one for the
murder in Missouri. They had digitalized all of the
investigations done on the murders, local, state and federal.
It will be great to see the information, thought Gant. We'll be
able to get an overview of it all. But the overview may not
mean much. Nothing was found to open or move forward any of the
cases in the FBI investigations. Nothing.
Five murders, thought Gant. According to the FBI, there could
be 2-3 more possible murders, not yet discovered. Same MO, a
blow to the back left shoulder breaking the clavicle bone,
disabling or rendering the victim unconscious. No witnesses to
the abductions. Same decomposition occurring where bones alone
are found. No remains of clothing or anything else. The
killer, thought Gant, is not leaving any trace of himself. Five
murders with six total known. Flawless murders, killer totally
undetectable so far.
On the Osage Indian Reservation, west of Bartlesville, one of
Jamie Birdsong's relatives had a vivid dream that made the
world-wide news media. The killer appeared in the darkness, a
skeleton, a being of death, riding a dark horse and brandishing
a war club. A spectre of death, a death rider, riding a path of
death. And so the name of the serial murderer came about. He
was called the the Spectral Death Rider, as elusive as a ghost .
. .
#Post#: 10333--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: February 12, 2015, 7:03 am
---------------------------------------------------------
El Shaddai Baptist Church
Coffeyville, Kansas
Monday, 3 Nov 2014
Mores and Malice
Gant drove into Coffeyville as the rain was beginning to let up.
He went into the downtown area and got coffee from a drive in
and then went onto West 9th Street and parked across the street
from El Shaddai Baptist Church, a large, boxlike brick building
that, as was with many Baptist churches, lacking a steeple.
Gant observed that the Church had adjoining additions attached
to it. To the east was, obviously, the rectory. To the west
was the church's primary school and community center.
Lindy Greene had her primary education in that building, dressed
as she was in a long skirt, a pretty, young girl. By all
accounts she was a happy, exuberant child, much involved in all
that went on in her church and school. The people of that
church had spoken well of her of how she was such a joy for
them. The mores concerning skirts was to change in her time,
and it would lead, some would think, wrongly to her death.
Gant finished the coffee and then reached into his ice chest and
took out the remaining half of a sandwich he had not eaten
earlier. He also opened a soda and began to eat and drink. How
mores do change over the years, he thought. According to the
KBI summary report of the investigation conducted in 1996-1998,
there was some anger in her church directed towards the victim,
Lindy Greene, blaming her for her own death for wearing a denim
miniskirt at the time of her abduction. The skirt was seen as
an enticement to carnality and a cause for her own possible ****
and murder. The KBI report said, "Subject's fellow church
members had a change in mores when Elder (Pastor) Dale Bridger,
because of repeated instances and reports, for the last ten
years, of women members suffering from heat-related issues,
persuaded the church board and most of the congregation to allow
women members to wear shorts, summer dresses, and miniskirts
while they were away from the church; and, to be permitted to do
so without the moral censure of any worldliness or of any
ungodliness on the part of the church. The girls were enjoined
not to wear short shorts or micro miniskirts and to behave among
members of the same and opposite sex while in the public arena
with the same decorum as they would do so in church. They were
further counselled not to wear bikinis in public but rather
one-peace swimsuits. The change in mores, long established and
had been in place since the 1950s angered many men who
complained that 'it would make for unrestrained carnality among
the women and subvert the rule of men over women'."
The last was bosh, thought Gant. Gant remembered a more
colorful account of this from his Aunt Polly, who was a member
of the church at the time, and still active in it. Gant would
see her this weekend and attend this church.
Aunt Polly had said, "The men who were against the change in
policy, Elder (Deacon) Weems and five other distinguished men,
had spoken loudly of the submission of women to men, quoting
Paul, quoting Moses and the prophets, the ending of society and
of the world, and all such tiredsomeness."
"What happened?" Asked Gant.
"The women had set their foot down, knowing that they had Elder
Bridger and the board in their pocket"
And so they had, thought Gant. This was in the year before
Lindy Greene's murder.
Aunt Polly had said, "One needn't fret over the men that
disagreed, though. Gradually, the changes would be accepted,
and then the men would someday be a-declarin' that the policy
was in accord with the gospel and with the books of Moses."
Elder Weems would be silenced later that year by an
embarrassment. He would rashly declare in a sermon about the
King James Version of the Bible, that "if it was good enough for
Jesus and the Apostles, it should be good enough for all true
Baptists and true Christians." When it was gently pointed out
to him that Jesus and the Apostles never spoke early modern
English, he realized he had made a sizable blunder.
"And a sizeable fool of himself," said Aunt Polly. His Aunt
Polly had also said, quite memorably in her acid wit, "Elder
Weems has his heart in the right place, but not his mouth."
Gant was looking forward to seeing her.
Mini-skirts. Lindy Greene was wearing one on the day she was
abducted, a short denim mini-skirt that reached mid-thigh. The
pictures of a mini-skirted Lindy Greene in the file showed a
girl who had all the awkwardness of a young girl, unsure of her
feelings. For the boys in her life, it must have been, in turn,
confusion as well, confused because she was emotionally
confused.
Gant knew the feeling. When he was young, Gant, remembered
first meeting Sherrie, the girl he would marry in later years.
She was dressed in a denim mini-skirt. She was only 13 years
old. She had the same awkwardness of feelings. Gant smiled at
the memory. Actually, they both were confused because they were
both so very young, only coming into awareness about their
sexual feelings, groping towards a maturity that they hadn’t
known as yet. Sherrie had wanted the attention of the boys.
That was one reason for wearing the mini-skirt. She was
awakening to her sexual feelings. But they weren’t there yet.
It was the same for him, in a way. He was drawn to a vision of
pure physical loveliness that he had seen in her. He was not
aware of any sexual feelings on his part. But that would
change. It would change for the both of them.
Later, after a few years, she would seek to draw Gant and the
other boys by her sexual attractiveness. But Gant would remain
confused as well as the other boys. The reason was simple. As
Sherrie later explained to him, the mini-skirt was not some sort
of sexual come-on., though it could be. For women, the
mini-skirt could be worn simply because of physical comfort. A
woman may seek male attention but not, necessarily, sexual
attention at the same time. For Gant, and the other boys, that
was something sometimes hard to understand. Boys simply
confused a girl’s, and later a woman’s need for male attention
as a need for sexual satisfaction; but, the two could never be
confused. A boy matured into a man would understand the
difference.
As Sherrie explained, a girl, and later, a woman, may dress in a
mini-skirt, or summer dress, or the little black sheath dress,
but she may be emotionally feeling a swirl of emotions that men
do not understand. She may want male attention, and she not be,
consciously, feeling sexual desire and the need for its
satisfaction; but she may be seeking the loving attention of her
man, making herself a person that the man would be proud to show
off as his possession as she has come to possess that man.
It is all about possession; and, it is all about maturity which
involves possession and self-possession. If you love and love
rightly, you possess the other person in the manner that true
love dictates. And to love others, you have to have
self-possession. The mini-skirt is an expression and an
opportunity of what happens or could happen between men and
women, of how to possess and be possessed, of having possession
and self-possession, of the other, or what should be the
beloved. It’s all about the boundaries about possession and
self-possession. And it is about boundaries. Boundaries.
A serial killer has no respect for boundaries. The killer
operates apart from them. It does not matter one wit whether
the victim is dressed in a certain way or not. A killer
operates from reasons of control over the other which
encompasses the victim, and through that victim, all of society
apart from the killer. It is lust truly, but it is the lust for
power, not lust for the flesh.
Gant was thankful that his boss, James Brice, in the Kansas
Bureau of Investigations, had advised El Shaddai Church leaders
of the difference of the two kinds of lusts involved here.
Lindy Greene was that awkward young girl that was seen in the
photographs. She was not a co-author of her own demise. It was
a killer's lust for power. It was killer's malice.
When he had finished his sandwich and his drink, Gant started
his car and then drove to the last place Lindy Greene was seen
by her friends, the Duncan residence, further west, over on
West 8th Street . . .
#Post#: 10342--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: February 16, 2015, 7:15 am
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Duncan Residence
Coffeyville, Kansas
Monday, 3 Nov 2014
Walk To Doom
Gant parked his car briefly in front of the Duncan residence.
It was a plain, light pastel blue-painted home on the north side
of West 8th Street. It had a porch, and probably, two or three
bedrooms, several trees, now bare of leaves, and a white picket
fence in front, a garage to the back. Lindy's friend, Amy, was
black. From the pictures, she was more emotionally mature than
the other girls. Her father, Ira Duncan, was a carpenter who
had provided his family a comfortable home. The Duncan family
were members of the El Shaddai Church.
Lindy and Amy were close and Lindy was visiting her friend here
on the last known day of her life. The girls had been watching
television when Lindy decided she had to leave because of an
on-coming summer rainstorm. Amy pleaded for her to stay, but
Lindy wanted to depart before it got too dark and before it
became too rainy. Lindy wanted to see her boyfriend who worked
at a coffee shop on West 11th Street, a walk of only some six
blocks away. She wanted to see him before her curfew started
and she had arranged for her mom to pick her up there.
Gant imagined her coming out of the Duncan house. She was
dressed in her denim miniskirt, white blouse, white sneakers and
anklet socks, and a dark blue hooded windbreaker. Gant recalled
reading that Amy remembered Lindy pulling the hood over her
head. It had begun to rain. The two girls hugged. Amy said
that she cheerfully turned and walked away, jaywalking across
the street, rounding the corner and heading south on Howell
Avenue.
Imagining Lindy walking down the avenue, Gant pulled out onto
the road and turned at Howell Avenue going south. He drove to
West 10th Street and then turned to the left parking and getting
out of his car. Thankfully, the winter rain had stopped.
Though the sky was overcast and gloomy, the air smelled fresh
and clear. Gant put money in the parking meter and went back to
Howell Avenue. He imagined Lindy Greene walking down the avenue
18 winters ago in a much warmer rain. No doubt the rain and
wind providing an exhilaration for her on her bare legs, given
the novelty, for her, of being dressed as she was.
By all accounts it quiet in that part of town, traffic was low.
The rainstorm had arrived into Coffeyville and many people
didn't want to be out in it. There was no reports by anyone
seeing Lindy walking down this avenue. He imagined Lindy
finally arriving and crossing the street in front of him. He
imagined her turning and going down the half-block and turning
again at Lambkin Street, a street only a single block long, the
shortest in Coffeyville. At that corner was the last known
place anybody had seen her. At that point, a car coming by on
the opposite side of the street, driven by a Mrs. Taylor, who
had her son inside, who had known Lindy as an acquaintance, had
watched her turning onto the street. He waved to her and Lindy
waved back. Then she was gone. She had gone to her doom . . .
#Post#: 10343--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: February 17, 2015, 6:55 am
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Lambkin Avenue
Coffeyville, Kansas
Monday, 3 Nov 2014
Place of the Abduction
Gant walked to the corner of West 10th Street and Lambkin
Avenue. He looked down the short block. He recalled that the
avenue was once an alley but in the start of the last century,
it had a number of wholesalers who worked on the street, and so
it became an avenue slated for business much like the other
avenues. There were a street lamp on the West 10th Street right
on the corner where he was standing. In the distance, he could
see another street lamp on West 11th Street on the corner
opposite at the end of the avenue. In between, it was confirmed
by investigators, that at night the area was quite dark, darker
still because of the rain.
Lindy Greene turned at this corner and went south along the
avenue. She walked along the west side of the avenue. She
entered the darkness and was then no longer seen. There was no
record of anyone seeing her on West 11th Street at the other end
of the avenue. On that street, only a short distance away, a
half-block, was the coffee shop where her boyfriend was. It was
in that darkness that the investigators believed that she was
abducted. The darkness provided the opportunity.
Gant walked down the avenue to the midway point where the
abduction took place. He briefly thought of his daughter,
Talia, and then a sudden surge of anger welled up when he
thought of the dangers she would face in life. She would not
necessarily be face to face with trouble, he thought. Sometimes
the dangers are faceless. The surge of anger then went away and
he recognized a father's fear for his daughter. He briefly
touched the gun in his jacket pocket, felt its warmth, deriving
a kind of comfort. Thankfully, Sherrie and I have done what we
can do to make sure she is ready for whatever trouble she's
going to face in life, thought Gant. We have a lot to be
thankful for. Thankfully the rain had stopped, the avenue clear
of cars, few pedestrians in the late afternoon. Perhaps the
traffic would pick up. It was different in Lindy's time,
thought Gant.
In Lindy Greene's time, 1996, there was a nightclub on West 10th
Street. In the evening summer rain when she walked down this
avenue, there were cars on both sides of the street as well on
the street approaches to this avenue. Lindy would be walking in
the opposite direction from the patrons of that nightclub
hurrying to the club seeking to get out of the rain. They would
see her, and yet, not see her. Rain has a way of turning a
person, and a person's mind, inward. There is the simple
concern to get out of it. And so when people were interviewed
who went to the nightclub, some twenty interviewed did not
recall ever seeing her. The nightclub had live music with a
cover charge. The music had started at 9 pm. Lindy had walked
down the area at 9:45 pm, and so, most of the avenue was already
filled with cars and absent of people who had already gone into
the nightclub. The street was empty except for Lindy, and,
except for the killer.
Gant looked at the place of the abduction. It was a long brick
wall, the back of a building in the center of the block.
Curiously, there was a narrow space recessed back several
places. Perhaps, at one time, something had been attached to
the building, and later removed. It allowed for a man or
several men, to stand in the place and not be very visible from
the ends of the street. Perhaps the killer stood there.
Gant looked at the gray, overcast sky. It looked like it was
going to rain again; perhaps it was time to go. He stood in the
silence and listened to the wind gently blowing along the avenue
causing a disturbance in the mud puddles along the street. Long
ago, Lindy had probably fallen into one, when she was hit from
behind. She would have suffered sharp pains when her shoulder
was struck, painful enough to have caused her to become very
groggy or even to faint. He stood in the silence. Perhaps, he
thought, I too much of the time emotionally connect with the
victim. Perhaps it sometimes affects my ability to see the
facts needed to solve it; but, the victim of a murderer deserves
a time of silence.
Gant then heard a faint noise on the avenue. Looking up, he
seen a man in his late 30s, about his height, dark gray jacket,
blue jeans, dark shoes, and, oddly, a narrow brimmed Stetson,
walking up the avenue towards him. The man walked as if he had
a limp and was using a dark gray metal cane. The limp was not
very evident, probably the lameness was intermittent. Though
he had a lameness, the stranger walked briskly right up to him.
"Detective Paul Gant?" he asked.
Gant was surprised that the man knew his name. "Yes. Who are
you?"
"My name is Miles Kenec. I'm here as one of the contract agents
working the case." The two men shook hands. Kenec continued,
"Your boss, Mr. Brice had sent us all an email with your
picture." Kenec paused and briefly looked over the area where
the abduction had taken place. "So this is the area Mack
Stemple wanted me to check out."
"Yes," replied Gant. A contract agent, he thought. Gant had
heard of Stemple from Jim Brice. His boss spoke well of him.
He hadn't heard of Kenec, though.
Kenec continued. "Mack wants me to clarify how the abduction
could have possibly taken place." Kenec paused. "She was a
beautiful girl, much too beautiful, even scary beautiful."
Kenec looked down towards the pavement, where her body would
have fallen after she was struck. "She would have been too
scary for me to date when I was young." Still holding onto his
cane, he crouched down and looked towards the street behind
Gant. He straightened up and looked at Gant. "I prefer women
who are pretty and not beautiful."
Gant smiled at that, "Beautiful women make you nervous?"
"They certainly do," replied Kenec. "I was never a secure man
when I was younger. I have always been deeply affected by
beauty, especially a woman's beauty." Kenec turned away from
Gant and crouched down again and looked towards the street where
he came from. He said while crouched, "Would you say that,
given the lumens and the light coverage of the street lamps at
either end of this avenue, that Lindy Greene while she was lying
on the pavement was not visible to the people walking or in the
cars on either avenue?"
Gant thought for a moment. "Probably so." He replied.
Kenec straightened up from his crouch. "It does look that way.
I remember my old patrol officer days down in Sacramento. I
remember working out a ratio regarding the lumens, height and
area coverage." He paused, thinking of something, then
continued. "The summary report thought that it was probable;
and, that at best, she appeared as a small dark mound of
something on the pavement in that darkness." He looked at Gant.
"You know, Paul, as we both know very well, a woman's 'look',
her appearance, is rarely casual, for a woman wants to make
herself attractive to men and to compete with the other women.
A woman, or should I say many women do labor quite effectively
to make themselves look beautiful. Lindy didn't have to do much
to do that given her natural beauty. She was quite scary."
"I suppose she could have been for her peers, both male and
female," said Gant, changing the subject. "But in order to have
or gain possession of a woman, one has to have self-possession."
Gant wondered at a man that was casual about speaking about
what other men would consider weakness.
"I'm not only a private detective, but I am, also, a
professional artist. I work with oils, pastels, watercolors,
bronzes," Kenec paused. "I can appreciate the performance art
that is involved in how a woman prepares her individual 'look'
that strives to make her singular from other women."
"Fear indicates lack of self-possession and lack of control,"
said Gant quietly.
"It would. It does." Kenec paused. "Are you saying that the
serial killer, an obvious controlling personality, could
possibly kill because beautiful women make him insecure?"
"Yes."
"I must admit being afraid of the 'Woman-Power' smile, the smile
women make when they know that they have that 'look' to control
a particular man or men." He paused, "It always was so, for me,
when I was a young man." Kenec laughed, but then, abruptly,
frowned. "The killer, in this case, if seeing that smile would,
most likely, despise it."
"I would certainly think so," replied Gant. He thought of the
'Woman-Power' smile. He sensed Sherrie smiling it at him and at
other men, but he never felt threatened by it.
"I suppose we can say that women, in general, were a threat to
the killer; and, that he despised them, sought control over
them."
"That's what I would think," said Gant. "In none of the cases
does he directly strike the woman while directly facing her. In
all of the cases, she was hit from behind by an unidentified
object or weapon, on her left shoulder, causing a fracture to
the clavicle. We know that she was struck from behind from the
way the bone had been fractured. She most likely was groggy
after the attack or even fainted."
Kenec nodded in agreement and said, "He is most likely brave,
even very daring, in risking discovery to undertake an
abduction. He is brave in the face of the people who could
possibly stop him." Kenec paused, "But he is a coward in
respect to the women he is killing. He is a coward seeking
control. His malice is in a streak of cowardice."
#Post#: 10391--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: February 23, 2015, 6:44 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Lambkin Avenue
Coffeyville, Kansas
Monday, 3 Nov 2014
The Abduction
Kenec went and stood against the building with his back turned
against it, within the narrow space recessed in the wall. Kenec
said, "It is not possible to conceal oneself here. One's body
is still still visible to others walking on the sidewalk. This
would mean that Lindy would have seen her attacker long before
she walked past him."
"She would have sensed a plausible reason for the man standing
there. The recessed portion of the wall, along with the shadow
of the building, provided some shelter from the rain," Added
Gant.
"But why did she walk past him?" Kenec demanded "Women, and
girls, when they are very young, are advised by their parents
and friends to cross the street upon seeing a strange man or
group of men or boys further down a street. This walk-past is
something that they, simply, do not do."
"How do we know that the killer is a man?" Asked Gant. "The
gender of the identity of the killer has not been established,
yet."
"It has to be a man," replied Kenec. "To lift a girl into a
trunk of a car requires upper torso strength, something that is
characteristic of men, not women." Kenec paused. "It would be
plausible, though, that Lindy would have felt less threatened by
a woman and not identified her as such if she encountered a
woman on the street; but I doubt it."
The two men fell silent and watched the wind cause swirling
disturbances to the surface of the mud puddles that were on the
sidewalk and out in the street. They observed the clouds swirl
in the sky, in continual movement. It meant that rain was
coming again.
"I would agree," said Gant breaking the silence "If it was a
man, it had to be someone known to her; or, someone that was an
authority figure for her, someone that she trusted or had been
taught to trust."
"Yes," said Kenec. "And it would have to be a man, not a boy."
He hesitated. "It could, also, be a betrayal of a trust as
well," He said. "Many victims had known their murderers." He
leaned back against the wall and grasping his cane in his left
hand, slid it behind him on his left side. "Could you stand
back a bit, Paul?"
Gant took several steps backward and then watched Kenec swiftly
step forward, in an imaginary stick attack, arcing the cane
above his head slamming it down with both hands, the end of it
stopping about shoulder height. The sudden movement was
unnerving because Gant had never seen anyone make such a rapid
movement with a stick. This was far more rapid than the
nightstick training he had learned when he was at the police
academy. Kenec is a master of stick-fighting, he thought.
"This is a left-sided downward arcing attack, Paul. This is
premised that the killer is left-handed and had used a cane
striking the victim on the left shoulder." Kenec paused. "This
emphasizes surprise and the victim has no way to respond to the
attack. Do you see anything wrong about it?"
"If the killer is left-handed, I don't see a problem with the
attack; it being very plausible. But there is another problem,
though." Gant looked down at the pavement and up at Kenec,
"Falling onto that wet pavement would, no doubt, be a hard fall;
and, Lindy did not sustain any skeletal injuries due to such a
fall. In fact, none of the victims had sustained injuries due
to falling in any of the murders."
"Correct," said Kenec. "And so we can safely say that Lindy
Greene and none of the other victims were struck from behind by
a long stick, such as a cane. A shorter stick or club may be
possible but not the longer stick because the assailant was not
able to catch the victim to prevent the fall from happening."
Kenec looked into Gant's eyes, "Hold still. I will make like I
am attacking you. Try to think of what Lindy might think in the
situation."
Gant nodded; and, then Kenec then went back up against the
building wall. He switched the cane into his right hand and
then swiftly stepped forward swinging the cane in an upward arc
and forward. The tip of the cane nearly touching Gant's chest.
Gant was really surprised at the swiftness. He was stunned that
he hadn't time to react. He watched as Kenec lowered the cane
and shifted it to his left hand.
"The victim would not have had time to think about it," Gant
finally said.
"A frontal attack with the cane would have hit the clavicle,
which is one of the 36 critical points in the body to hit in the
martial arts, if it was done with sufficient skill." Kenec
shook his head. "This was not done. The killer could have
struck the stomach of the victim with the tip of the cane; and,
as the victim is bent down on the pavement in agony, strike the
left shoulder as it was bent over, as if the strike was made
from behind. But then there are other problems."
"What are those?" Asked Gant.
"None of the victims' abduction sites left trace of vomiting;
because a blow to the stomach can easily induce such. Then
there is the blow from the front onto the left shoulder. Why
always strike the left shoulder? Why not the right one? And if
the cane is slammed down on a person bent down on the pavement,
why not a direct shattering of the scapula bone."
"The scapula bones of some of the victims sustained damage
towards the the top, where they connect to the clavicle." Gant
added. "But it remains that there were compression fractures to
the clavicle in such a way as to indicate a blow from behind,
not from in front with the victim bent over or down on the
pavement."
"I would agree," said Kenec. "One could, also, hold the cane
half-way down and strike someone mimicking a shorter stick. But
this is idiotic. If you strike with it grasping the cane in
that way, you will only cause the other end of the cane to snap
up and strike your elbow. Therefore, we must rule out a cane
or a long stick as the murder weapon." Kenec paused. "We have
to rule it out anyway. Though I am skilled stick fighter, the
killer may not have been skilled. Any of the victims could have
cried out endangering the killer and his task of abduction. It
is safer for the killer to attack from behind. There is greater
surprise and less opportunity for the victim to cry out or evade
the blow."
The men stopped talking. It was beginning to sprinkle rain and
the wind began to blow harder. Soon it would begin to rain
harder and they would no longer have any inclination to stay
where they were.
Gant said, "In the summary report, it was speculated that it was
a cane that was the murder weapon. They did interview a number
of people who were known to use a walking stick in Coffeyville
and were known to be belligerent."
"That's why Mack wanted me to check this out. But it was not a
walking stick, a cane." Kenec paused. "The weapon had to be
small and concealed. I wonder how small." He partially
unzipped his jacket and took out a small pocket flashlight. "I
wonder if he used a palm fighting stick, a yawara or kubotan
stick." He went into reflection, weighing the possibility.
The men stood silently as the rain came down. Gant didn't know
what to think of this. He was training in fighting, but not in
these forms of martial arts, which he regarded as arcane. He
was aware that these flashlights could be used as weapons.
"No," said Kenec, finally. "It cannot be a yawara or kubotan
stick." He frowned at the small flashlight and then put it
away.
"Why not?" Gant was curious to know why.
"A palm stick is used to hit critical points for its
effectiveness, but this would not be logical." Kenec looked
into Gant's eyes. "On the night of the abduction, it was dark
and raining. The victim was wearing a nylon hooded, rain soaked
windbreaker. If the victim was struck in the shoulder with a
yawara or kubotan, there would have been too much of a chance
that the stick would have glanced off the fabric because of the
wetness, even if the killer was able to see well enough the area
of the shoulder where the clavicle protruded on the shoulder,
which is doubtful." Kenik paused. "To prevent this from
happening in the rain, a larger surface area for the blunt
instrument needed to exist."
"Which means it had to be a short stick, not a palm stick."
"Yes, Paul." Kenec smiled. "This would justify the view of
some police officers speculating that the blow struck by the
killer was made by either a former policeman, or a wanna-be
policeman familiar with baton weapons."
"The killer seems to know how to evade detection."
"It could be simple brilliance." Kenec smiled. "The summary
reports investigated all the wanna-be characters and former
police dropouts in the area and came up with nothing. The
killer does seem to know how to hide disclosure of himself."
"I don't think he's former police." Gant shrugged. "He's too
much a stone-cold killer. He would have washed out in the entry
examinations."
"I suppose so." Kenec looked away. "I suspect that the weapon
is a police stick, carefully chosen by the killer and meticulous
attention to detail. I suspect that it would be short. Given
how the skeletons have been damaged in the cases, I suspect that
it would be a short, black metal truncheon fifteen to eighteen
inches long, with a leather lanyard, like the British and
Commonwealth countries use, probably made of aluminum, weighted
with a tube of lead inside. With the lanyard wrapped around the
hand and the stick close to the body, it would be hard to see in
the dark and the rain. With the truncheon, the killer could
strike a victim with relative effectiveness. The truncheon
could be held while catching the victim or lifting the victim
after the blow." Kenec paused. "That would be the high-tech
weapon option."
"And I would know the low-tech weapon option," Gant added. "The
killer, to evade detection, would not use wooden dowels
purchased from lumberyards. This would be checked, and it was.
Nor would the killer use a lead pipe given it would be slippery
and hard to hold in the rain, and if dropped, would have caused
a loud noise and drawn attention." Gant shook his head, sadly.
"It is sad to say he would have walked along the river and cut
diamond willow wood for his club. It would be a tough wood,
maybe possibly cracking upon use, but serviceable. He would
have cut it to the length he wanted, drilled a hole at the
handle end for his cord lanyard, and burned it later on a fire
to dispose of the murder weapon." Gant returned Kenik's look.
"The abduction weapons may not exist anymore."
"It would have been like an war-club, like the Indian dreamer
spoke of." Kenec sighed. Our killer is an ambush killer. Once
the suspect has been identified, the team will have to be
careful. "He may use knives, as well," he said.
"I would like to see you take him on with your cane," said Gant
grinning. "I think, Miles, you'd make short work of him."
"It wouldn't happen, Paul. We're both at bottom ambush
attackers with a stick, him by calculation, myself by injury
that limits my ability." Kenec paused and then said, "I figure
that as soon as the killer became aware of my ability, he would
draw a gun. We would both go very quickly for our guns." Kenec
sighed again, "He is a real danger to the team. I'll have to
include that and your observations as well in my report."
The rain began to fall again, harder. The men lapsed in the
silence and looked over the scene, taking in the views of the
street and the place of the abduction. The men watched as
several cars passed them in the street, the sound of their tires
splashing water as they went.
Sometimes it is better not to talk but to take in the silence of
a place, thought Gant.
"Poor girl," said Kenec. "She did not have to die that way."
"Yes," replied Gant.
"Maybe we'll have a chance to send a killer to hell." Kenec's
eyes twinkled. "See you later Paul." After watching Gant nod,
Kenec turned and went back to West 11th Street where he was
undoubtedly parked.
"Maybe we shall," said Gant softly. For some reason he had a
sense of hope. Maybe we can do this thing, he thought . . .
#Post#: 10472--------------------------------------------------
Re: The River Of No Return
By: HOLLAND Date: March 2, 2015, 7:07 am
---------------------------------------------------------
Blackstone Hotel
Coffeyville, Kansas
Monday, 3 Nov 2014
Psychological War
It was raining hard and was now dark as Detective Gant looked
out of the window onto West 11th Street, from his seat at the
ground-level bar adjoining the Hotel's lobby. It had been a
tiring day. He was sipping bourbon and happy that he had parked
in the public parking garage across the street because he was
wondering if it was going to snow. He had enjoyed his meal with
Kenec in the Hotel's restaurant about an hour ago. He had
learned a lot about how the team was going to operate, how it
was going to be interesting.
As the rain pounded the road and sidewalk outside, the people
hurried on the street. It was so cold one could see the white
vapor of their exhalations. Could it be that snow was coming?
The weather forecasts were against it.
For Gant, almost against his will, thoughts about the meal rose
into his consciousness. It had been good, Gant had thought. He
had enjoyed catfish, carefully seasoned with a subtle Cajun
sauce. He had also had rice and beans, cornbread and sweet corn
on the cob. Kenec had, given that he was a former Californian,
the usual stereotypical West Coast teriyaki chicken salad
preceded by a creamy lobster bisque soup. Gant observed that
Kenec particularly liked the hot, crusty French bread, freshly
baked in the Hotel ovens, and served with a premium butter.
The rooms were, also, very good. Gant was very happy that
Marshal Sasha Parchen had selected this hotel for the team to
stay. Supposedly it was because of the availability of
conference rooms. One was needed and now wired for
interrogations, another for the video monitoring of that
interrogation conference room, a third, more secure room, for
their general conferences. Kenec had been well situated. He
had a handicapped room on the First Floor. The rest of the
team, including Gant, had assorted, scattered rooms on the
Second Floor. Gant was happy that his room was facing south
towards the parking garage.
Before he and Kenec had eaten at the restaurant, they observed
FBI technicians install camera modules hard against the center
of the walls in the room designated as the interrogation room.
The modules were each long thin black plastic columns mounted on
a stand which were then plugged into nearby electrical sockets.
The minature, high definition cameras, with highly sensitive
microphones, were not visible in the modules. The technicians,
in the monitoring conference room, then had then installed four
television video monitors, and digital recorders, and then
tested and confirmed their sound and video functions. They
worked rapidly, without problems. A cheerful technician, at the
end, explained to Gant that the wireless system was encrypted,
so that there was no danger of any unauthorized person listening
in on their signals. Kansas has nothing like this, thought had
Gant.
He learned a lot about Miles Kenec. Miles was originally a
uniformed city police officer who worked in Sacramento,
California. He was shot while in the line of duty while on
patrol one night. Gant did not learn much about the shooting
except that Miles's partner was killed and the killer who had
done it had gotten away. Miles was later found out to be
injured in such a way that he was obliged to take medical
retirement. Rather than accept the usual retirement checks,
Kenec had managed to arrange, and then receive, his retirement
in the form of a one-time severance pay package of $150,000,
which was far less than what he could have cost the State of
California if he had taken a normal medical retirement. With
the money he had went to Montana and became a private detective
and a professional artist. Of the latter, he said he painted
primarily portrait work, landscapes and the usual Western cowboy
art. He bought and lived in a former old railroad brick
building along the Missouri River in Great Falls, Montana,
selling his artwork and working detective cases. As would be
expected in Montana, there would not be many of those cases. He
was married and had one child. Like himself, Miles had a single
daughter.
Gant looked into the window and seen himself in the reflection.
He still had his brown hair, graying. He was five feet nine
inches tall, admittedly getting older, now in his forties. He
had told Miles about himself. He had been a uniformed police
patrol officer up in Kansas City. He, then, had advanced into
the detective division. He had done well on the cases assigned
to him until he had been asked about ten years ago to join the
Kansas Bureau of Investigations. He worked with the State of
Kansas assisting local police in their investigations. It had
involved travel, and could be a hardship with his family with
him being away much of the time.
He thought of Sherrie and Talia. When he had called Sherrie
earlier in the evening, she was very cheerful, her voice crisp
and full of energy. She had been out with her friends and had
done some shopping. She told him that Talia was, also, out
tonight. Talia had a new boyfriend, the Wallace kid named
Nathan. Gant remembered meeting him, a tall quiet boy, not
given to the usual reckless antics many kids have. Gant looked
at his watch. Her curfew on weeknights was 10:30 pm. Talia was
due to come home pretty soon. He felt tempted to call her but
decided against it. If there are any problems he'd let Sherrie
handle it.
His thoughts then went back to what Kenec had said. It was
going to be psychological warfare. Mack Stemple had told him
that the killer, even if identified, may be beyond the reach of
prosecution and so he may need to be trapped into serious
admissions of guilt. Kenec said, quoting Mack, 'like a badger
in his dig, he needs to be pulled out of his hole.' The image
seemed apt. A badger could cause serious damage to an attacker.
One would not want to lift a badger out of its hole bare-handed
without sustaining serious injury. One would have to be
careful.
After they had both eaten and had let the food digest, Kenec had
spoken, "Let me show you something."
Kenec had taken Gant back to his room, where he showed Gant a
large portfolio of color prints of paintings that he had done in
the last month. These were illustrative art, paintings highly
realistic. Kenec explained that he had painted many of them at
his studio in Great Falls, Montana, from photos supplied by Mack
Stemple. Leaving the originals in his studio, he had created
full scale color prints which showed an attractive, mini-skirted
Lindy Greene in front of El Shaddai Baptist Church, the Duncan
Residence with her friend, Amy Duncan, walking down Howell
Avenue, and, lastly, waving at the boy in the car at the corner
of West 10th Street and Lambkin Avenue.
"Mack wants to use these to unsettle our killer," Kenec said.
"But this is not all." Uncovering several easels, he showed
Gant partially completed paintings of Lambkin Avenue and West
11th Street. The dark rainy skies above the pictures and the
tops of the buildings were completed, but nothing else. "Mack
is going to tell me, shortly, which cars to paint onto the
street depictions. He has provided photos of cars of the
period; and, even promised to supply probable illustrations of
the killer." Kenec was going to depict, as realistically as
possible, scenes of the abduction.
We don't even know who the suspect is and yet we are preparing a
psychological war against him. Gant was amazed. This is not
conventional police work. Despair possibly? It may be, in the
end, we lack sufficient evidence to lead to a conviction. But
all this is calculation, sheer calculation. It looks like Mack
Stemple has a very carefully considered plan of unsettling a
hardened criminal, a sizable order. That won't be easy but it
must have impressed his boss. Behind it and behind him must be
Sasha Parchen.
Gant sighed. He had to go to bed. He thought, they have
something in mind here. This is all unconventional. Perhaps it
needs to be so.
It is now the time of darkness . . .
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