The Killer and the Prosecutor

CHAPTER 1

He seemed to go berserk as he plunged the eight inch serrated blade knife into her slender body over and over. He placed a pillow over her face to stifle the sounds coming out of her mouth. The blade came into contact with bones on several occasions. Sometimes it appeared as if a portion of the black handle of the knife entered the wound, especially the wounds to the abdomen. The more he stabbed, the happier he appeared to be. He was actually getting sexual gratification from stabbing the victim, and seeing the fright on her face, and hearing her whimper softer and softer as her life began to leave her once beautiful body. She struggled, wrestled, and tried to scream, but she did not stand a chance. He was too strong and determined. Nothing she did or said could have prevented her from the foregone conclusion. The numerous stab wounds had disfigured her. She was stabbed all over her body, on her face, her neck, her chest, one of her breast was amputated, her abdomen, in her groin, and her right thigh. She was gargling, as if choking on the blood that was gushing from her mouth. Her eyes rolled over, and she lay motionless. He went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and smiled, as if he had just accomplished something worthy of praise. Blood was all over him and his clothing, but he washed up as best as he could. When he was satisfied that he had washed sufficiently, he wiped down the basin and tap in the bathroom, then walked out of the bathroom and entered her bedroom again.

She was stabbed approximately thirty nine times. He stared at the body for a few minutes, and used a curse word at her. After he finished, he posed the body with the legs open, and her torn panty across her face. The last stab to the right thigh had apparently caused the blade of the knife to break. The blade had hit the huge femur bone in the thigh. It was this that caused him to stop stabbing her. By now she had stopped moving. There was no sign of life coming from her. He had secretly and successfully stalked her over a period of time, learning where she worked, and the hours she went to work and left work.

Now he stood there watching her as if he was taking a mental picture of her. He loved his finished work. It was just as he had planned it, and come to think of it, it was even better. As far as he was concerned, he had plenty to be proud of. Her death meant that there was one less woman in the world. He walked closer to the body, chuckled silently, turned his back, and left the apartment. On his way home, he changed the bloody clothes and disposed of them.

Jenny Burns did not show up for work on November 15, 2007. Her best friend Susan Boots had seen her the day before when she left the work place where both worked. It was uncommon for Jenny not to show up for work and not to call in. Almost immediately, Susan got suspicious. She called Jenny’s mobile phone number, but she kept getting a recording. She became anxious and afraid. She thought about calling the police, but on second thought, she thought that she would drive over to Jenny’s house. After all, it was only about fifteen minutes drive. She told her supervisor of her concerns, and the supervisor agreed that she would accompany her. As Susan approached the apartment complex, she became more and more fearful. She tried hard not to entertain the thoughts that she was entertaining. Maybe Jenny was sick, or had taken sleeping pills and was still sleeping. As Susan pulled into the parking lot, she saw Jenny’s small, blue, Honda Accord parked in her usual parking spot. She did not know what to make of this. There was nothing unusual about the car, but somehow she felt uneasy. She watched the car as she drove up, as if she was expecting to see Jenny in it, although she had a feeling that she would not be there.

She parked close to Jenny’s car and slowly opened her car door, got out, closed it, and began walking toward Jenny’s apartment. As she arrived at door number 210 on the second floor, she paused for a few seconds, then slowly tapped on the door. There was no response. Susan turned the door knob, and was shocked and surprised to find the door unblocked. This made her apprehensive. She opened the door about two inches, then pulled it back toward her. Her supervisor decided that she would not enter, because she figured that something was wrong. She wondered if she should enter the apartment by herself, or if she should call the police to go inside the apartment. She finally chose to do the former. She slowly entered the door. Although it was approximately 9:30 a.m., all the lights inside the apartment were on. Susan began calling, Jenny, Jenny, are you home? She got no response. She called a few more times, but there was no answer. The kitchen was clean and unperturbed. Susan walked slowly from the kitchen, through the dining room, and into Jenny’s bedroom. She knew where it was because she had slept over at Susan’s apartment on many occasions after they had gone clubbing. She walked deliberately toward the bedroom. The bedroom door was closed. Susan grabbed the handle, and turned it gently. It was not locked. As soon as she opened the door, it was obvious that something was wrong. Jenny’s always neat bedroom was in total disarray. Clothes and bed sheets were on the floor close to the door. Her nude body appeared to be painted with red paint. The white bedroom walls were full of the red substance. Susan started screaming, and ran from the bedroom. As she got outside the apartment door, a neighbor heard the screaming, and asked her what was wrong. The only words that came from Susan’s mouth were, call the police, call the police. Jenny’s neighbor peeked inside the building, but saw nothing. She was too afraid to venture any further into the apartment. However, she called the police. As she ran out screaming, the supervisor ran, with a look of panic on her face, as she had no idea what Susan was running and screaming from, but knew it must be something bad.

The police arrived five minutes after the call. A male and female officer met Susan outside and asked her what happened. Susan told them that the apartment was her friend, Jenny’s, and that Jenny was in her bed, and appeared to be dead. She was hysterical. The two officers told her to remain where she was as they cautiously entered the apartment with guns drawn, going from room to room. About two seconds after they had entered the apartment, the female officer ran out vomiting and coughing. It was obvious that she was very sick. She leaned over the balcony outside the apartment, vomiting and crying uncontrollably simultaneously. It was very obvious that the scene inside the apartment was too grotesque for her. She slumped down on the porch with her hands covering her face, and sobbed.

Meanwhile, inside the apartment, the male officer was experiencing something for the first time in his thirty one years in the police force. He had never seen a crime scene so eerie. The victim seemed to be dead. As a matter of fact, it would be impossible for her to be alive. The injuries were numerous and serious. There was blood all over the place. It was obvious that the killer went berserk. It appeared as if he had demonstrated hatred for his victim. The officer wondered if the killer had known the victim. Although the apartment was in disarray, it did not appear as if anything was stolen. This appeared to be just a brutal, violent, sexual crime. What was strange was that the apartment did not seem to be broken into. The police wondered if maybe, Jenny knew her attacker, and had let him into her apartment. A drawer which contained Jenny’s underwear was half open, as if she had left it open before she was killed, or perhaps the killer had left it open. The police decided that they would swab it for finger prints and palm prints.

By now, there were about four police cruisers and an ambulance outside the apartment. The ambulance workers came inside and checked for signs of life, but there was none. The obvious was confirmed. Jenny was dead. Any of a number of stab wounds could have killed her. She had two huge wounds in her neck. The wound to the left side of her neck had gone from her ear to her chin. It appeared as if she was also stabbed in her heart. The coroner came and pronounced her dead. After he was finished, the detectives came in and started their investigations. It appeared as if the killer, in his frenzy, had gotten careless. He had left a partial shoe print in blood and a left index finger print on the faucet in the bathroom which he wiped down. The finger print must have gone there after he washed his hand and did not wipe down properly. The shoe print was from an Air Jordan tennis shoe, size 11. It was obvious an overkill. The police wondered what would motivate someone to commit such a heinous and vicious attack on an innocent person. Maybe the killer did not even know the victim. It was obvious that she had put up a valiant fight because there were some defensive wounds on her hands and arms, but she did not stand a chance against the monster killer.

Inhabitants of the little town were very frightened. Women who lived alone began to purchase guns, and went to the firing range to learn how to shoot. Married women were afraid to remain at home alone. The police stepped up patrolling at nights. Everyone hoped that that was a one time, random killing, but they were afraid that it might not be. Two nights later their fears were realized, and everyone started to panic even more.

About three blocks away from Jenny’s apartment, Myra Blake lived. She was a petite, blonde, dental assistant. She lived alone. She and her workmates had discussed the murder of Jenny, and she said that she locked her house and went to bed early every night. Myra was one of the fearful women who purchased a gun. She did not have the time to go to the firing range to practice shooting, because she was too busy and too tired.

Myra was killed on a Friday night. No one would miss her for some time, as she had no other family members close by, and she was from another state. On Monday morning Myra did not show up for work. She was badly needed, as the office was very busy. She knew this, because people had made appointments from the week before. The receptionist called her home phone number, but no one answered it. She then called Myra’s mobile number, but again, there was no answer. She conveyed this to Dr. Membrick, who advised her to call the police. The receptionist thought that it was a little too early to call the police, but, nevertheless, she did.

CHAPTER 2

A police squad car pulled up at Myra’s one bedroom apartment at 10:05 a.m. Like Jenny’s, Myra’s car was parked in the parking lot where it was usually parked. There did not seem to be anything unusual about it. The officer walked to Myra’s apartment and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He turned the door knob, and it opened. He drew his gun and walked cautiously inside. He checked the bathroom, which appeared to be unperturbed, then walked to the bedroom. The bedroom door was shut. He put his ear to the door to listen for some sign of life, but there was none. He pushed the door slowly, and it opened wider. As he walked into the room, he could not believe his eyes. Sprawled naked across the Queen-sized bed was a young lady. Her legs were wide apart, and across her face was a black bikini panty. Her body was like a human sieve. It had knife punctured wounds all over. Her head was almost amputated. Blood was everywhere. The person who did this must be an animal. The officer felt nauseated. He called for back-up as he checked the clothes closet to see if anyone was hiding. No one was inside the apartment except the apparently dead girl who lay across the rumpled and bloody bed. Her apartment was not broken into.

The police were now more than a little concerned, and baffled. They knew that they had to try to solve these murders soon because people were panicking. There were calls to radio and television stations about the senseless killings, and the inability of the police to do anything about it. The police formed a task force that could concentrate solely on catching this killer. People were calling in and suggesting that if and when the killer was caught, they hoped that he would get the death penalty. They thought that life imprisonment was an insult, as their tax dollars would have to maintain him while he was in prison lodging appeal after appeal. Some wanted to lynch him in the manner in which it was done during the cowboys’ days. They thought that he deserved that.

Those who knew prosecutor Robert (Bob) KillAll did not have to worry about the death penalty. He rarely lost a murder case, and would usually get the death penalty for those convicted. In his fifteen years of prosecuting, he lost one murder case, and that was only because one of the main witnesses had refused to testify. He was not too happy because he thought that that witness was a reliable witness. Maybe he was intimidated or threatened. He thought that it was no excuse, as the witness could have been put in the witness protection program. He had no respect for witnesses like him, who tried in one way or the other to pervert the course of justice. When their minds were made up to do that, nothing would prevent them from doing that.

KillAll was a no-nonsense prosecutor. When he prosecuted a case, he put everything into it. He would work day and night on that case. This was one of the reasons why he thought it was best for him not to be married. He thought that he would not have enough time to spend with a family. Women were after him, because he was tall and handsome, but he never fell for their charm. He did not like women, but tried hard to pretend that he did.

In order to quell some of the public’s fears, prosecutor KillAll thought that it would be a great idea to go to the media and assure the public that the police would catch this monster killer, and when they did, he would be seeking the death penalty. He said that the public must be aware of their surroundings, and ensure that their doors and windows were locked. He asked the public to rely on their police, who were capable of catching the killer. The police chief accompanied Mr. KillAll. The chief further assured the public that the killer would be caught, and once he is caught, he was certain that Mr. KillAll would seek the death penalty, as he, Mr. KillAll, was a no-nonsense prosecutor.

Two weeks passed, and there were no more murders. People were beginning to put their fears behind them, when two days later there would be reasons to be fearful again. Villarena Braun, a restaurant worker, was heard screaming inside her apartment. Her next door neighbor was home alone, so she did not get out of bed. She called the police at 2:30 a.m. and told them about the sharp, scary noise that came from Villarena’s apartment for a short time. The police arrived at 2:40 a.m. When they arrived, they found Villarena’s apartment door wide open. Smudged, bloody shoe prints lead from the inside of the apartment to the outside. The prints appeared to be very fresh. The first officer, who arrived, was soon joined by four other officers from two other patrol cars. All five approached the open door with guns drawn. At first they searched the whole house except the bedroom. The bedroom door was slightly ajar. They slowly and carefully pushed it open. As they turned to the right of the clothes closet, there on the bed, posed with open legs, was a naked female’s body. The body was covered in what looked like blood.

There were about one hundred stab wounds all over the body. Blood was everywhere. The bed sheets were partly off the bed and lying on the floor. The drawer that contained Villarena’s underwear was pulled open. Wrapped around Villarena’s face was a dark-blue pair of panty. The body was lifeless. It appeared as if the unfortunate young woman was slaughtered. The police began their investigation immediately. It was a very, very messy crime scene. To say that it was an over-kill was an understatement. The killer must have been an agile person, because the police took only ten minutes to arrive at the scene, and the killer was nowhere to be seen.

The coroner had finished a complete autopsy, when he decided to take another look at the body. He noticed something that he overlooked, or did not notice during the first, cursory examination. In each of the lips of the vagina was a small sewing needle. It must have been placed there by the killer, as it was inconceivable that it could have got there any other way. There could be no reason why the deceased would put the needles there. After seeing this, the coroner re-examined the body of the second victim, and, surely, there were two small sewing needles in the victim’s vagina lips, the same size of those in the third victim. This was surely the killer’s doing. Maybe he received sexual gratification from that.

The police decided that no one but they would know about those small needles in the deceased’s vaginal lips. As a matter of fact, only the coroner and the Lead Detective would know this. They would keep that a secret in the event that a suspect was captured, and he talked about the needles, or needles of the same size and type were found in his possession. They wondered what was the significance of the needles.

After discovering the needles in the last two victims’ vaginal lips, the coroner re-examined the first victim, who was still in the morgue. Just as was expected, one small sewing needle was in each vaginal lip. One had to look very carefully in order to see them. It was apparently the killer’s calling card. Once again, the police decided not to reveal this information to anyone, not even the prosecutor, for fear that it might leak out.

Some young women resigned from their employment and moved to another town or state. Three women were dead, and the police did not even have a suspect. The ridicule level of the police by the public, increased sharply. The police were now on the defensive, a position they did not like to be in. There were several meetings among the police to brain storm and strategize about the case. However, they seemed to be getting nowhere. They had a shoe print, in the event that a suspect was caught. Surprisingly, the shoe print was excellent. The fingerprint in the face basin was too smudged to use.

If one knew the background of Prosecutor KillAll, it would be difficult to understand how he became such a staunch, tough, no-nonsense prosecutor. He grew up not knowing his father. As a matter of fact, he did not know any other family member but his mom. His mom was an alcoholic, who hardly worked. From a very young age, he knew that his mother was doing something that she should not be doing. Almost every night she would come home with a different man. Sometimes after she and the men would get drunk, they would fight. Many times he would hear his mother crying after he heard blows being thrown on her. They had a small, one bedroom apartment, so that when the men came, which was almost every night, he would have to sleep on the old, torn, roach infested sofa. He remembered clearly when and where they got the sofa. About two years ago, one of his neighbors at the apartment moved to another apartment some blocks away. The neighbor left the sofa by the dumpster to be picked up by the garbage workers. That night, about 12:30 a.m., Robert’s mom came home with one of her tricks. It was a man whom he had never seen at the apartment before. As a matter of fact, it was the third strange man for the week. Robert was asleep on the old, dingy black, once brown, rug in the front room. The rug looked as if it had been used by a mechanic under a car, and oil had leaked on it repeatedly. He was awakened by his mother and a strange man dragging the old sofa inside the apartment. Robert had just seen that sofa by the dumpster that very afternoon when he was returning from school. As soon as the sofa was pushed in one of the dingy corners of the house, he got off the floor and jumped onto it. It was much warmer and softer than the hard floor.

Very seldom Robert’s mother would cook. When she did, it would be pre-cooked noodles. When he did not eat noodles, he would eat corn flakes, or one of the other flakes brand which his mother would purchase from her monthly supply of food stamps. Robert hated his mother. He thought that she disrespected him by bringing all those men to the apartment to engage in sexual intercourse and using her as a punching bag. On one occasion, one of her tricks started to slap him because he asked the man why he did not leave his mother’s apartment. She told the man that if he slapped her son she would kill him. The man decided against it. He believed that his mother loved him, but that love was negated by what she did for a living. What was worse was that he could hear her cries of passion and pain, that resulted from her many beatings and lovemaking from her abusive lovers. Sometimes he would flinch every time a punch or slap was received by his mother. He wondered why she would tolerate that. Her acceptance of that kind of behavior made him hate her even more. Sometimes he thought that he hated her much more than he hated her lovers.

One Sunday evening about 6:30 p.m., when Robert was about 13 years old, he and his friend Tommy were by the dumpster playing. They saw one of the neighbor’s black and grey cats. Robert suggested to his friend that they catch the cat and kill it. His friend was somewhat reluctant, but then he decided that it should be fun. Robert took a large ham bone from the garbage can and lured the cat to him. When the cat began to feed on the bone, Robert grabbed it and tied a piece of cord around its neck. He then told his friend to hold the cat while he went to his apartment for something. He returned with a book of matches and some gasoline that his mother had in a plastic container for about three months, that she had planned to use to try to clean the dingy sofa. As soon as Tommy saw him coming with the gasoline, Tommy became afraid. He asked Robert what he was about to do. Robert simply replied, You’ll see. Robert then opened the container and doused the cat with the gasoline, then lit a match and put it to the cat’s fur. Almost immediately there was a huge fireball. The cat began meowing loudly as it ran away shifting from direction to direction. One could only see a running fireball as it ran into some nearby bushes. Tommy stood staring in disbelief, while Robert was laughing loudly. He was obviously contented with what he had just done. They never, ever, saw the cat again. Robert got his friend to promise that he would never reveal the incident about the cat.

On another occasion, when Robert was in the ninth grade, he placed a mirror down on the floor so that he could spy up under the girls’ dresses. One of the girls whose dress he looked under did not have on any panty, and she got very angry when he did it, so she reported him to the class teacher. His teacher suspended him for two days, telling him that he must tell his mother to accompany him when he returned to school. His mother did accompany him to school the following day. The principal told him that the next time that he did something like that, he might be expelled. It was two days later that Robert sharpened a stick of pencil and held it, vertically, lead point up in a girl’s chair as she began to sit down. The girt sat on it. As soon as she sat on it, she jumped up, screaming. The whole class of students, and the teacher looked back to where the scream came from. The girl was now crying, and Robert was standing erect, as serious as he could be. The teacher called him and the girl up to the front of the class and asked them what was the matter. Robert remained silent, while the weeping girl managed to get out the words, he made me sit on the pencil’s point. The teacher asked Robert to accompany her to the principal’s office, which he did. In the principal’s office, the teacher told the principal what had happened. The principal asked Robert if that was what happened. Robert hung his head down and whispered, almost inaudibly, "yes sir’.

CHAPTER 3

The principal told Robert that he was suspended indefinitely. He then typed a letter and gave it to Robert for him to give to his mother. Robert held out his hand to receive the letter, at the same time he felt like placing his hands around the principal’s neck and choking him to death. He thought that this man was ending his school days, and all because of a little prank. The principal had over-reacted, he thought.

Robert placed the letter in his pocket and walked home. He wondered what his mother would do about school for him. His mother arrived home after 7:00 p.m. She asked him if he had anything to eat, and he told her that he had, as he had eaten some raisin bran with sour milk. He looked at his mother. She was sober, and apparently had not used drugs as yet for the day. Mommy, Robert said, looking away from her. The principal suspended me from school today. Robert’s mother looked at him, somewhat bewildered, then said, what happened? He fished inside the right front pocket of his short khaki pants, and took out the letter that the principal had given him for her. He shyly passed the envelope to her. She tore it open and read it. She was not a good reader, but she could understand what was in the letter. She walked up to Robert and said, You wouldn’t listen; now we have to move to another town so that you can go to school. He could see the pain in his mother’s face. He never thought that she had taken his schooling so seriously. Somehow, he thought that she really loved him, although he didn’t love her. How he could love her, he thought, after she had disrespected him, and not cared for him properly. He was happy that she would be moving away from all her abusive lovers. Maybe she would remain clean and have new and better friends.

Three days later, Robert and his mom had moved to another town. They did not have much to carry. Whatever they had, they packed it in a medium sized old clothes trunk, and caught a bus. She had no idea where she was going. She knew no one in that town. The first week, they lived in a building that was run by the Red Cross, enjoying free beds and meals every day, something that he never had before. Although the area where they slept was a general area with no privacy, it was much better than what they had left behind. The second week the Salvation Army found a small inexpensive house for Robert and his mother.