Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 14

A Killer’s Tale story continued.

A week had passed.

Carl watched at the Atlanta FBI Field Office while Robert sat at his desk in a stupor staring at his five case files for the Fall Slayer. Robert would look at a file and discreetly take a swig from his flask.

The phone on Carl’s desk rang. “Agent Meyers,” he answered.

“Yes, sir, I’m from Parksville, Mississippi. I have reason to believe that a man down my street, Alfred Sampson, might be the Fall Slayer,” an unknown male voice said from the phone.

Carl jotted down the information. “How do you know he might be the Fall Slayer?” Carl responded.

“Well, he had this brown paper bag in his house the other day when I was over with my wife. I got curious, opened the bag, and saw inside a pair of women’s shoes, a dress, and Fran Schaefer’s driver’s license. I remember reading in our newspaper about the Fall Layer killing a Fran Schaefer in Arkansas last week,” the male said.

“What’s his address?” Carl asked while he jotted down the other information.

“He lives at eighteen oh four Harvest Lane,” the male replied.

Carl jotted down that information. “Thank you. What. What is your name so we can contact you if we need more information?” Carl said.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want this sick killer coming after my wife or me. You have what you need,” the male replied, then quickly hung up his call.

Carl jumped up from his desk with his notes and rushed to Robert.

“We got a huge break! I just received a call from someone in Parksville, Mississippi. He saw some evidence in a neighbor’s house that makes him believe his neighbor is the Fall Slayer,” Carl said, a little excited.

“What makes you believe this man in Parksville is the killer?” Robert said, showing little interest, as he’d been burnt before.

“Well, the caller said his neighbor had the driver’s license belonging to Fran Schaefer and a pair of woman’s shoes and dress in a brown paper in his house.”

A spark of light shined inside Robert while he thought he was finally going to catch this scumbag killer. “Let’s go arrest that piece of shit,” Robert told Carl while he sprang up from his desk.

They both rushed out of their area to get permission to pay Alfred Sampson a visit.

The next day, Harvest Lane in Parksville, Mississippi, was peaceful.

A government car, with Robert and Carl inside, and two Parksville squad cars, with Sheriff Raymond and five deputies, raced down the street.

Robert pulled his car behind Alfred’s Valiant. The two

squad cars parked along the curb. Everybody got out and gathered by Robert’s car.

“Everybody ready?” he asked.

Sheriff Raymond, Carl, and his deputies nodded they were ready.

They all rushed to the front door of Alfred’s home.

Robert pounded on the door. “Open up, Sampson,” Robert yelled while he gave the door more pounding.

A few seconds had passed, and the front door opened, and Alfred appeared. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw two men in suits and Sheriff

Raymond with five deputies. Seeing these officers made him nervous, as he was a real wimp.

“Are you Alfred Sampson?” Robert asked while a vein in his neck started to protrude.

Alfred nodded in agreement, but he started to tremble with a gut feeling that this would not be a good situation.

Robert reached into his suit coat and removed a piece of paper. “This authorizes me to search your house,” Robert said, then handed Alfred the paper.

He saw it was a search warrant. “Search my

house? For what?” Alfred said as he was about to piss his pants.

Robert barged into Alfred’s house at the same time, and he grabbed Alfred’s arm.

Inside Alfred’s home, he threw him on the sofa. “Watch this scumbag,” Robert ordered one of the deputies.

The deputy stood guard while Robert, Carl, Sheriff Raymond, and the four other deputies searched Alfred’s house.

Alfred’s eyes welled up as he was scared and did not know what they wanted.

An hour later, Robert, Carl, Sheriff Raymond, and the four deputies came up empty-handed. Alfred’s home looked like a tornado that went through all the rooms.

Robert stormed over to Alfred, who sat on the sofa. He grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him upright.

“Where is the evidence?” Robert yelled at Alfred, his face red with anger.

Alfred trembled in fear. “What evidence?” he asked, completely confused.

“You know what evidence!” Robert yelled

back. His eyes widened with an idea, and then he shoved a hand into Alfred’s pants, removing his car keys.

He threw Alfred back down on the sofa. “Come with me,” he told Sheriff Raymond and one of his deputies.

They followed Robert to the front door and went outside.

They walked over to Alfred’s Valiant and Robert and opened the trunk. He looked inside and saw a brown paper bag; he reached into his suit pocket removing a pair of white gloves

He wore the gloves and reached into the trunk, removing

the bag. Robert saw a pair of women’s shoes, a dress, and a driver’s license for Fran Schafer inside the bag.

“I found gold!” he said with a huge grin, showing Sheriff Raymond the bag’s contents. “Let’s arrest the bastard.”

They all walked back to Alfred’s house, and during this time, Robert started to think about Angie’s dead beaten body. His blood boiled by the time he reached the front door.

Alfred sat scared to death on the sofa while he waited.

Robert stormed inside the house with that paper bag in hand. Sheriff Raymond and the other deputy followed.

Robert had a fire in his eyes when he stormed up to Alfred.

“Here’s the evidence I need to send you to the electric chair for killing those five girls,” Robert said while he showed Alfred the inside of the bag.

Alfred looked confused when he saw the bag. “That’s not mine! I’ve never seen that bag before,” Alfred said while he trembled in fear.

“Bullshit!” Robert yelled while he picked Alfred up by his shirt. “You’re the Fall Slayer!” Robert screamed in Alfred’s face.

“The Fall Slayer?” Alfred replied, scared to death. “No, I never killed anybody in my life,” Alfred said while trembling, then peed his pants.

His vivid memory of Angie flashed again in his mind. “Bullshit!” Robert screamed, and then he threw Alfred across the room.

Alfred slammed hard into his TV, knocking it on the floor.

Robert ran over, picked Alfred up, and punched him in the stomach. When Alfred bent over in pain, Robert punched him in the face. That punch sent Alfred into the air, landing on his butt six feet away.

Robert lunged after Alfred, but Carl tackled Robert to the floor. Robert fights to free himself so he can whip Alfred’s ass.

Two deputies joined Carl, and they eventually handcuffed Robert.

Sheriff Raymond walked over and got Alfred up on his feet. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”

Alfred’s eyes welled up. “But I didn’t kill that girl or any other girl! I swear!” Alfred cried out, then busted into tears.

“That’s for the courts to decide,” Sheriff Raymond said, and then he escorted Alfred out of the house with another deputy.

Robert calmed down, then busted into tears, happy he finally found the Fall Slayer.

Two days later, in the Atlanta FBI office, Robert was happier and even whistled while walking around the office.

Howard Grayson, Robert’s boss, stepped out of his office. He walked into the office area dead serious.

“Fillert!” I want you in my office now!” Howard called with a pissed tone. He turned around and headed back to his office.

Carl and the other agents looked at Howard and knew Robert was in trouble. They watched while Robert moved away from his desk and walked to Howard’s office.

Carl and the other agents got up and gingerly walked to Howard’s office.

Inside Howard’s office, he was furious while he sat behind his desk.

Robert sat in a chair at the front of the desk.

Howard tapped his pencil on his desk while he stared at Robert. “I got a call from Sheriff Raymond from Parksville, Mississippi,” he said while he tapped his pencil again.

“How’s that scumbag Sampson doing in jail?” Robert said with a satisfied smile.

Howard slammed his pencil down. “They determined that he’s not the killer!” Howard yelled out while the veins in his neck popped out.

Robert looked shocked. “Of course, he’s the killer. We found some of the Schaefer girl’s items in the trunk of his car.”

“Well, it appears Alfred Sampson had a valid alibi. He was living in Dundee, Washington, during the time of all the murders. He moved to Parksville four weeks ago,” Howard replied.

“In Washington? No, that can’t be true,” said Robert, totally confused and starting to feel like he had lost his mind.

“And it appears his father is the Chief of Police of Dundee, who vouched for his son,” Howard added.

Robert looked like his world had just caved in. “But, he had evidence in his trunk.”

Howard opened up his top desk drawer and removed a piece of paper. “The Sheriff of Parksville mailed this to me,” he said, then handed Robert the letter.

“Hey, Agent Robert Dumbass, I Set-up Some Poor Slob For You. Love, Fall Slayer,” the taunting letter stated in magazine print.

Robert sat there stunned while he read the letter for a second time.

“And now, we’re looking at a possible lawsuit because you beat up Mister Sampson,” Howard said and got pissed. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Howard yelled.

Robert was speechless while he stared at the fire in Howard’s eyes.

“You’re being transferred to the Phoenix office immediately. I want you to be as far away from the south as possible. And hopefully, Mister Sampson will cool off and won’t sue the agency. Get the hell out of my office!” Howard yelled.

Outside his office, Carl, Homer, and the other agents eavesdropped. The second they heard the door to Howard’s office open and close, they quickly ran.

Robert moped out of his office with a stunning look.

He moped back to his desk.

He started to pack up his belongings.

“What happened?” Carl asked from across the room.

“I’m being transferred to Phoenix,” Robert said

pissed.

Carl felt somewhat sorry for Robert, knowing that his friend was a victim of the Fall Slayer.

That night, Homer called Jimmy from home. “Hello.”

“Jimmy, it’s me, Homer. Listen, I have some news for you,” he said from the phone.

“What’s that?” asked Jimmy, and they started worrying that maybe Robert had a good lead.

“Robert Fillert’s off the case. He’s being transferred to our office in Phoenix.”

“Really?” said Jimmy, and he was surprised. “What happened?” he pretended to be clueless.

Homer told Jimmy the whole Alfred Sampson story.

Jimmy smiled, knowing his trick worked in his favor and that he was still in the clear.

For the next week, Jimmy schemed another plan, this one to be different and to make a positive change in his life.

Two weeks had passed, and Jimmy came up with a bullshit story that he had to go away for a long weekend. It was Army Reserve duty, and he couldn’t tell Betty his destination. She didn’t want to ask questions, so she accepted his story.

The long weekend was over.

Inside Jimmy’s house, Betty made dinner in the kitchen, as she expected home to be home any second.

“I’m home!” Jimmy called out from the living room after he entered the house.

Betty walked out of the kitchen.

When she entered the living room, her eyes widened with surprise. She saw Jimmy in his Army fatigues with Sergeant First Class stripes. He had a baby girl around nine months old in his arms.

“What are you doing with a baby?” she asked, a little concerned.

“Well, honey, we talked about adopting since we can’t conceive children. And with my connections and Daddy’s connections, I was able to adopt this beautiful baby girl,” he said with a proud smile, then kissed the baby on the forehead.

“You adopted a baby girl?” she asked, a little stunned.

Betty walked up and looked at the girl. “I can’t believe you pulled this adoption off. I know we talked about it, but I can’t believe it,” she said, her eyes welling up with joy.

“Like I said, Daddy and Ricky helped with their connections. But, we must never tell Wendy the truth, as doing so will ruin it for her,” Jimmy said.

“Wendy? Her name is Wendy?”

“Yes, her parents died in a horrible fiery car crash up in Kentucky,” Jimmy lied.

“Poor baby,” Betty said, taking Wendy from Jimmy’s arms. She kissed Wendy on her forehead. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll be the best parents in the world, and we will always love you,” she said while her eyes welled up.

“I have some adoption papers I need you to sign. Then I’ll run it back to the adoption agency tomorrow,” he said.

Betty does not hear Jimmy since she is too busy being a loving mother.

Years passed, and it was 1970.

Jimmy sat Betty down on the sofa, and he looked serious.

“Listen, honey, I volunteered to go on active duty, and I’m being sent to Vietnam,” he said.

“Vietnam? But men are getting killed over in Vietnam!” she said with fear in her voice.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be in the jungles. I’ll be in Saigon assigned as an MP,” he said to make her feel better.

It did not make her feel any better, and she cried inside.

A week passed, and Jimmy found a stack of 2x4 lumber and some drywall in his garage. He entered, wore work clothes, and looked ready to work on his project before he headed off to Vietnam.

A week later, Jimmy packed his duffel bag and was in his Army uniform. He waited in the living room for Betty.

“I’m ready,” he called out to Betty, who was in the kitchen with Wendy, now four years old.

Betty entered the living room with Wendy trailing along. Her eyes widened when she saw Jimmy in his uniform and duffel bag. “Jimmy, when you’re in Vietnam, could you kill a Vietnamese? I mean, they also have family,” she said with a worried look.

“Sometimes, you have to do what you feel’s right. But, I don’t want to kill,” he told Betty, then kissed her on her lips. He kissed Wendy on her forehead.

A car blew its horn outside their house.

“I’m going to miss you, Daddy,” Wendy said as she ran up to Jimmy, who bent down and hugged her.

“Be a good girl for Mommy,” he told her, then kissed her forehead.

“I will, Daddy,” Wendy replied with a warm smile. Jimmy stood up and grabbed his duffel bag.

Betty and Wendy’s eyes filled with tears while they watched Jimmy leave through the front door.

Jimmy got inside the taxicab, which drove away. Jimmy then took a taxi to the Greyhound station in Boldger.

He boarded a bus and headed to Columbus, Georgia.

Once the bus arrived at the Greyhound station in Columbus, he got a taxi. He headed off to Fort Benning to meet with other soldiers bound for Vietnam. From Fort Benning, Jimmy and his fellow soldiers boarded a DC-8 jet. The jet took off and flew to McCord AFB.

At McCord AFB in Washington, Jimmy boarded a Seaboard Airlines stretched DC-8 jet with two hundred and seventy other soldiers, all bound for Vietnam. A few of these soldiers were actually on their second tour of that war. The DC-8 took off the McCord AFB runway and headed to Vietnam.

The DC-8’s flight made short refueling stops in Anchorage, Alaska, Japan, and Okinawa. Twenty-three hours later, it landed at Cam Rahn Air Base, South Vietnam.

Jimmy was now going to experience war, but his experience would not be the horror that so many other soldiers would experience.

Jimmy was an MP in Saigon, so all he had to experience was soldiers who went off the deep end and committed crimes, sold drugs, or got into fights at bars.

Four months after he arrived in Saigon, Jimmy was strolling the streets late one night. He was off duty and in civilian clothes.

He walked down the street and then turned left down a back alley. He was heading to the known entrance of a Siagon brothel frequented by many soldiers.

Jimmy often checked out the brothel for any Army soldier

who might be dealing drugs.

Down the alley was the entrance to a strip club.

A black soldier in a Khaki uniform walked out of the bar and appeared to sway a little from being drunk.

Jimmy walked down to check out the soldier.

Once Jimmy got close to the soldier, something appeared familiar to him. It was his nostrils. The left one was smaller than the right nostril.

While Jimmy tried to figure out why that was so familiar, he glanced at the name tag on his uniform. It took a few seconds for it to dawn on him. “Sampson,” he said, recalling this soldier from nineteen forty-eight. “Joey Sampson,” he said.

“Here,” said Joey while he swayed at Jimmy. “Do I know you?” he said while he squinted to get Jimmy into focus.

“Yes, you do. Nineteen forty-eight. Boldger, Alabama. My name is Jimmy Nalla.”

Joey Sampson swayed while he looked at Jimmy. It took a few seconds, then his eyes lit up, recalling that time back in forty-eight. “Fuck.”

Before Joey could get his rubbery legs away from Jimmy, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He glanced down and saw Jimmy shoved a switchblade knife into his stomach. Joey looked at Jimmy’s eyes, which were lit with fury. While he started to sink down to his knees, he felt the sharp blade of Jimmy’s knife slice through his neck.

Jimmy watched while Joey dropped to his knees with a blank stare of disbelief.

Joey dropped to his side and curled up in the fetal position.

Jimmy watched while a puddle of blood started to flow out of Joey’s neck onto the alley pavement. He panicked and looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody saw him. The coast was clear again for Jimmy.

Jimmy stared down at Joey Sampson’s dead body for a few seconds.

He rushed away down the other side of the alley.

When Jimmy went to duty the next morning, he got word about the dead black soldier found in the alley last night. His superior officer assigned Jimmy the case of locating the killer.

Of course, this would be one case in Siagon that Jimmy would never solve. He had his superior believing that the killer got away with murder that night.

After his tour of duty in Vietnam, Jimmy returned home to Boldger. He quit the Army Reserves and lived a quiet life as the town Sheriff while raising his daughter.

He never killed again.

So here you have it—the tale of the Fall Slayer killer Jimmy Nalla. But would FBI Agent Robert Fillert finally catch Jimmy, or would Jimmy’s secret life go with him to his grave?

Only time will tell. That FBI Agent might find me, but only if he gains an additional ounce of gray matter. Hopefully, that extra ounce of gray matter will make him dig a little deeper.