Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 12

A Killer’s Tale story continued.

It was now February 1965.

It was early in the morning in Boldger. Jimmy had written another letter to his FBI friend and dropped it off in the mail. Oh, did he want to be in Atlanta to see Robert’s expression when he read the letter?

A few days passed.

The FBI office up in Atlanta was humming with phones ringing and typewriters clacking away on crime reports.

Robert sat at his desk, extremely frustrated, as he reviewed his case files on Annette Boyer, Rhonda Wilt, and Angie Dunham.

Homer sat at his desk watching while Robert discreetly brought his coffee cup out of view. He knew Robert was secretly pouring whiskey into his coffee cup. Homer also knew Robert had kept a whiskey flask in his desk drawer because he had searched his desk the day after Robert had called in sick.

A female secretary approached Homer’s desk with some letters in her hand.

“Hey Homer, I love your new Mustang this morning while you parked. It’s nice. Maybe you’ll take me for a ride sometime?” she flirted.

“It would be my pleasure,” Homer replied while he kept an eye on Robert.

“Great, call me anytime,” the secretary said warmly. Then, she headed to Robert’s desk.

She dropped a letter off Robert’s desk and then walked away to deliver the other mail to the other FBI Agents in the area.

Robert took a massive gulp of his whiskey and coffee and glanced at the letter. His eyes widened as they looked extremely familiar, and he quickly tore open the envelope.

“Hey, stupid. I killed a girl in the woods 3 miles east of White Falls, Alabama, last week. All My Love, Fall Slayer,” the letter stated in magazine print with hand-drawn directions to some woods.

Robert quickly redrew the directions on another piece of paper.

When finished, he stashed the letter on the previous taunting letter in his desk drawer.

Robert jumped up from his desk and ran over to Carl’s desk with the directions.

“I got the news that the Fall Slayer killed a girl in White Falls, Alabama. Let’s roll,” Robert ordered and was pissed the killer struck again.

Robert rushed away from his desk.

Carl got up and followed.

Later that afternoon, Robert and Carl summoned Sheriff Bobby Rainy and two deputies from White Falls, Alabama, twenty-five miles southeast of Boldger, Alabama.

Robert rode with Sheriff Rainy in his squad car while Carl rode in the deputy’s cars. They raced down a two-lane country road with red lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Sheriff Rainy followed the directions Robert provided in that letter.

Fifteen minutes later, the cars turned down a dirt road that led to a lake.

Sheriff Rainy stopped his car forty feet down the road. The deputy’s car stopped behind them.

Everybody rushed out of the cars and ran into the woods.

After two hours of scouring the woods for a dead body, they came up empty-handed.

They walked back to the cars, disappointed.

“Looks like we wasted our time,” one of the deputies told his buddy when they arrived at their car. “Tell me about it. I thought these women were only killed in the fall? It’s February,” another deputy replied.

Sheriff Rainy looked at Robert and was bothered. “I don’t believe there’s a dead body out here, Agent Fillert,” Sheriff Rainy said.

Robert was furious. “Can we look some more?” he asked.

“No, it’s going to be dark soon. If we find anything in the future, I’ll immediately call you,” Sheriff Rainy replied.

Robert reluctantly walked back to the Sheriff ’s car.

The two cars backed down the dirt road to the two-lane road.

Six days passed, and Robert sat in a stupor at his desk at his office, staring at the Fall Slayer file folders.

The secretary approached Robert, dropped a letter on his desk, and walked away.

Robert saw the envelope and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He knew it came from the scumbag killer, then tore it open.

“Chasing False Leads Dumbass. All my love, Fall Slayer,” the letter read in magazine print.

Robert’s blood boiled while staring at the taunting print. He opened his desk drawer, placed the letter on top of the previous two letters, and then grabbed his whiskey flask discreetly. When the coast was clear, whiskey was poured into his coffee cup. The flask was discreetly placed back in the drawer.

Robert got up, walked to the coffee pot, and poured another cup.

Two days later, Jimmy was restless and needed some action, but he did not want to perform this year’s event any sooner.

So he found himself in the woods with a young colored girl named Donna. He had previously agreed to stop this activity, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. So he forced his way with Donna while he tricked her into the woods.

Donna had to tolerate his grunting for only two minutes while on top of her naked body.

“You know what will happen if you tell anybody about this, Donna? It’s our little secret, so don’t let your Daddy get hung,” Jimmy informed her with a serious tone.

“Yes, Sheriff Nalla. I won’t tell a soul. I promise,” she said softly while she shook with fear.

“Good girl. Now run along,” Jimmy motioned with his hand.

He watched while she stood up naked and slipped on her panties, put on her bra, slipped on her flowery dress, and then put on her shoes.

She ran away while her eyes welled up, and then she stopped by a tree having dry heaves.

Jimmy watched while Donna barfed all over that tree trunk. He chuckled and was proud.

Then, from behind another tree, Ricky stepped out with a camera in his hand.

“Did you get some good pictures?”

“I sure did,” smiled Ricky.

“Good, now I better head back to the office,” he told Ricky while they walked to his squad car.

Three months later, Jimmy was alone again one Saturday afternoon. Betty went back to Montgomery to visit her sister.

Jimmy revisited his chest and looked at his souvenirs from Annette, Rhonda, and Angie. He had his new True Detective magazine. It had an article about Angie’s killing and talked about the kids playing in the woods who found the naked body. It also mentioned how FBI agent Robert Fillert was still on the case.

Later that night, he sat naked in his living room chair and masturbated while he read the article about Angie. He ejaculated on the page and then closed the magazine.

Jimmy dropped it into the chest, locked it, lit a Lucky Strike cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled, feeling satisfied.

He returned the chest back to its hiding place in his attic.

The fourth of July rolled around.

Jimmy and Homer had their usual drinking Black Label beer.

Jimmy again learned that Robert Fillert was still clueless about the killer being dubbed the Fall Slayer by the media. Jimmy was satisfied that he could press on for his fourth victim.

October finally arrived, and Jimmy was anxious to fill his chest with more souvenirs.

It was early in the morning.

After Betty packed his essential items in his suitcase, he kissed her and drove away, tooting his horn.

But this time, Ricky decided he did not want to tag along for the killings. So they agreed to meet at their fishing spot in Mississippi. Jimmy left two days early, and Betty knew better than to question his reasons.

He drove up to the lower part of Tennessee to find his next victim.

Later that night, Jimmy drove down a two-lane country road three miles outside Downing, Tennessee. Thunderstorms were heading in this direction.

Jimmy pondered where to find his next victim, as Downing did not provide any opportunities.

Then, a car raced past him in the other direction.

He turned on his radio, and Buck Owens’ “Leavin Dirty Tracks” song played. Jimmy whistled along with the tune while smoking a Lucky Strike.

He soon saw the figure of a woman on the road about twenty feet ahead. “A lonely girl on the road in the middle of the night. How stupid can one be? But this will be great for me, as it’s my lucky day!” Jimmy talked to himself.

Jimmy drove closer and saw a young, drop-dead gorgeous girl with shoulder-length blonde hair. She was dressed in black capri pants and a white blouse and was walking on the other side of the road, looking upset about something.

Jimmy drove down the road another twenty feet, then made a U-turn.

He drove back, stopped his car by this girl, leaned over, and rolled down the passenger window.

“Are you okay?” Jimmy asked while he put on a good act that he was concerned about.

“Sorta,” the girl replied while her eyes widened.

“Would you like a ride back into town? I’m an excellent listener,” Jimmy offered with a warm smile.

“I don’t know,” she replied, nervous of Jimmy.

“Don’t be afraid of me. I’m a sheriff over in Alabama. I’m safe,” Jimmy said, then removed his wallet and showed her his badge.

The girl looked at his badge and felt comfortable with Jimmy. Then she heard the loud clap of thunder from an approaching storm.

“You’ll be completely soaked if you walk into town. Or possibly struck by lightning,” Jimmy stated.

A bolt of lightning fifty feet away changed her mind, and she hopped into his car.

She rolled up the window while he drove off down the road.

“I’m Bob Johnson,” Jimmy lied, noticing a mole on the left side of her upper lip

“I’m Sandy Lurcott,” she replied.

“So, why have you so upset? If you don’t mind me asking,” he asked with concern in his eyes and a fatherly tone.

Sandy looked at Jimmy, felt safe with him, and felt he would greatly listen to her problem. “Well, the evening started nicely with some drinks at Bobby’s Bar with my boyfriend, Burt. Then on the way home, the booze turned him into a jerk again!” she replied, really pissed.

“What did he do to act like a jerk?” he asked.

“He tried to force his right hand down my pants after I told him I wasn’t in the mood. Then he slapped me several times, thinking that would put me in the mood. I’m going to dump his ass first thing tomorrow.”

Jimmy reached under his seat and removed a small bottle of whiskey. He opened it up and handed it to Sandy. “Want to forget him for a while?”

Sandy grabbed the bottle and took a swig. She coughed, as she was not a frequent whiskey drinker. Sandy handed Jimmy the whiskey bottle.

She handed Jimmy the bottle and cringed at the Buck Owens song on the radio. “Mind if I change the channel?” she asked.

“Be my guest.”

She changed the channel and stopped when The Beatles’ “Day Tripper” song just started.

“Got a good reason for taking the easy way out,” Sandy sang along with The Beatles, forgetting about her boyfriend for a second.

Jimmy cringed. “Those guys are fucking queers with their long hair,” Jimmy said while he turned off the radio. He took a swig of whiskey and then handed her the bottle.

She took another swig and did not cough.

Jimmy looked at Sandy and got an evil grin while he decided to make his move.

“So, Burt tried to shove his hands down pants?”

“Yeah. Creep!” she snarled while looking out her passenger window.

“You mean like this?” Jimmy said, then he quickly grabbed the crotch of her pants with his right hand.

“Hey!” Sandy yelled while she grabbed his hand and moved it away. “Let me out!” she cried, scared of Jimmy.

“Okay,” Jimmy said while he slowed his car down.

Before she knew what happened, he grabbed the back of her head and slammed her face into his crotch. He rubbed her face into his crotch and loved every second.

His eyes widened in pain. “Shit!” he screamed in pain while she grabbed hold of his crotch with her teeth.

He quickly grabbed a handful of her hair, painfully pulled her off his crotch, and threw her up against the passenger door.

“Let me out!” she screamed while she repeatedly slapped Jimmy across his face. His car swerved all over the road while they fought with each other.

Headlights shined through his windshield, and a car horn blew.

Jimmy was startled when he saw a car directly in front of him. He panicked and swerved his car back into his lane.

“You almost killed me! You fucking idiot!” Sandy screamed.

Jimmy got furious and punched her in the face while he slowed down his car.

He quickly glanced out his rear window, saw the other car was far away down the road, and felt it safe to proceed.

“Fucking bastard!” she yelled out at Jimmy and punched him in his face.

Jimmy whacked her in her throat.

Sandy gasped for air, then Jimmy grabbed the back of her head and repeatedly pounded her forehead into the dashboard. She passed out and slouched down in the seat.

Jimmy made a U-turn and drove in the opposite direction.

Twenty minutes passed, and Jimmy had Sandy stripped naked and tied to a tree in the woods.

A big boulder, about four feet high, was ten feet away.

His camera was on the tripod by the front of his car, ready to capture this moment.

He heard more thunder in the sky and knew it would probably start raining soon.

Jimmy walked up to Sandy, who was groggy and had a splitting headache from having her forehead pounded on the dashboard.

“So, you like hitting men?” he yelled, then swung his bat to begin using her body for batting practice.

“Ahhhh!” Sandy screamed, echoing in the woods while that bat beat her entire body.

He continued his batting practice on her body and also

knocked out some of her teeth.

His next victim was soon dead.

He walked around and picked up all her teeth he could find in the dirt, shoved them in his pocket, and then picked up his bat.

He rushed back to his trunk, dropped the bat inside, and removed the tube of axle grease.

After rushing back to Sandy, he ran a greasy mark on her stomach to represent “4” as his calling card.

After taking pictures to document this occasion, including his proud hunter pose, Jimmy had everything stashed in the trunk of his car.

Jimmy got in his car, started it up, drove down the paved road, and stopped. He got out and performed his usual clean-up with a small tree branch to erase his tracks.

After he was satisfied that his presence was erased, Jimmy pulled his car onto the two-lane country road. The sky opened up, and it poured.

“Perfect,” smiled Jimmy, knowing the rain would help erase any signs of him being there with Sandy.

He drove off down the street, whistling a tune.

When he was thirty miles down the road, he threw her purse and shoes out the window.

The next morning, he met up with Ricky at Artabatian Lake outside Pierce, Mississippi.

Ricky had a new white 1966 Ford Thunderbird with a blue interior for Jimmy.

While they fished on the lake, Jimmy told Ricky of his time with Sandy.

Ricky confessed he raped a white teenage girl on the way to the lake. Her name was Betsy, and she was from Melford, Mississippi.

Jimmy looked proud of his little brother, and they again promised to take their secrets to their graves.

The next day arrived. Billy drove off in the 65 Galaxie while Jimmy drove off with the 66 Thunderbird.

But back in Boldger, Alabama, Jimmy stopped off in another tattoo parlor in another town.

Jimmy drove his new 1966 Ford Thunderbird home and showed it to Betty.

She loved it.

Then she saw that the letters under his skull tattoo had grown to “A, R, A, and S.” She accepted his foolishness.

Inside his garage, Jimmy did his same routine of placing Sandy’s clothes, teeth, and the bloody tip of the bat into his chest.

After he developed the pictures from his camera, he dropped the photos of Sandy and himself as the proud hunter into the chest and locked it. He then stashed the wooden chest in his attic.

He went inside the house and showed Betty the pictures of Ricky and himself fishing on the lake. She was still clueless about what Jimmy actually did before he went fishing.

Two days passed, and it was early in the morning.

A farmer’s hound dog ran off into the woods, and he went after him. The farmer found his dog barking at Sandy’s dead body tied to the tree. The farmer ran back to his farmhouse and called the Sheriff.

An hour later, Sheriff Phil Dickson from Downing, Tennessee, arrived at the scene with three deputies.

The farmer showed them Sandy’s body, and they immediately roped off the area. After Sheriff Dickson noticed the number on her belly, he got pissed, knowing the Fall Slayer was in his neck of the woods. “Steve,” he called out to his deputy.

“Yeah, Sheriff,” Steve replied while he walked over.

“Call the office and request they call the FBI office in Atlanta. I want Agent Robert Fillert down here. I think we have another Fall Slayer victim,” he told Steve.

“Yes sir,” Steve replied, then returned to his squad car. He sat inside his car and called their dispatcher.

Sheriff Dickson and his other two deputies stared at Sandy. They were furious some scumbag would do such a horrible crime to a woman close to their quiet town.

Hours passed, and a government car drove down the dirt road and parked behind the squad cars.

Sheriff Dickson watched while Robert and Carl got out and walked over to the area.

“I’m Agent Robert Fillert,” he said while he flashed his identification badge. “And this is Agent Carl Meyers,” he added while Carl flashed his identification.

They all shook hands.

Robert went under the rope to check out the fourth victim.

“Does anybody know her name?” Robert asked while he walked up to Sandy.

“No sir,” Sheriff Dickson replied.

Robert stopped four feet from Sandy, where flies buzzed around her dead flesh. He saw the “4” grease mark on her belly and knew this was the work of the Fall Slayer.

He looked at her face and saw the mole on the left side of her upper lip. Something struck him as being familiar with this girl.

He reached into his suit pocket and removed a pair of white gloves. After he put them on, he lifted her face by her chin to get a better look. It hit him hard, and he got sick and turned white as a ghost.

He rushed over to that big rock and barbed behind it.

Carl, the Sheriff, and the deputies watched while Robert barfed up the rest of his breakfast.

“He’s never done this with the other victims,” Carl said, looking slightly concerned.

“I thought about barfing the second I saw her,” Sheriff Dickson said.

The three deputies nodded in agreement, as they’d never had such a horrible crime in their peaceful county.

“That scum of a human sure beat the crap out of this poor girl. We couldn’t find any identification,” Sheriff Dickson said while they watched Robert sit white as a ghost on the rock.

“Her name is Sandy Lurcott,” Robert told everybody while his eyes teared.

“Do you know her?” Carl asked.

Robert choked up and fought off tears. “She’s the sister of my best friend from college,” Robert said, then walked away, gritting his teeth.

“Oh my God,” Sheriff Dickson said quietly to himself and felt sorry for Sam.

“Take tons of fucking pictures,” Robert yelled at Carl while heading back to his government car.

Carl snapped tons of pictures.

Robert’s eyes welled up inside the government car, and he removed a small flask of whiskey from his suit pocket. He took a huge swig. All he could think about was finding that killer and snapping his neck like a twig. His body started shaking while all he could think about was Sandy being killed. His blood began to boil, thinking about that killer. But he began having doubts he would catch the bastard.

It was quiet while Robert and Carl drove back to their Atlanta office.

Thanksgiving arrived, and it was the traditional turkey dinner at the Nalla house with Melvin, Ricky, and Emily.

Christmas arrived.

Jimmy and Homer had their usual Christmas Black Label beers at Jimmy’s house.

“How’s that Fall Slayer case coming along?” Jimmy asked the second Homer, who sat down on his sofa.

Jimmy handed Homer a can of beer.

“It’s not going anywhere,” said Homer while opening his beer can.

“Oh,” said Jimmy while he opened his can of beer. He was smiling inside with Homer’s response.

Homer’s eyes widened the second he remembered something. “Oh yeah, I heard something exciting about the last victim. Well, actually, it’s sorta sad for Robert.”

“What’s that?” asked Jimmy, and he was a little worried that maybe Robert had a good lead.

“Well, it appears that this last victim was the sister of a friend of Robert’s. How about that?”

“A sister to Robert’s friend?”

“Yeah. He knew the victim. How coincidental is that?”

“Yeah, that is coincidental,” Jimmy replied with a smirk. Then he took a drink of his beer and realized he was good, but not that good.

Jimmy and Homer spent the next hour putting away two more cans of Black Label and chatting about other police stuff.

New Year’s Eve arrived.

Jimmy and Ricky did their other usual event and had drinks at Hank’s Bar and rang in 1966 by getting drunk

Back to reality.

In Daytona Beach, Sam sat on his back porch while he highlighted some areas of the book that were extremely interesting. His eyes welled up as this book returned those memories that haunted him for many years. Then his blood boiled, thinking how that killer taunted him.

In Kissimmee, Marty is so interested in Allan’s book that he cannot put it down.

Becky was more interested in collecting all the photos she had of Allan. She wanted to make a unique photo album of his life.

Billy was in his office at his Chevy dealership in Curtis, Mississippi. He steamed while reading more of Allan’s book, then threw it to the floor.

Billy stormed over to the opposite wall and looked at the framed pictures of previous fishing trips, including the ones during the years of the October Slayer. Billy wished Allan was still alive so he could strangle him.

He stormed out of his office and went to the sales department to cool off before doing something stupid.