Confession by Gary Whitmore - HTML preview

Chapter 30

It was that late in the afternoon.

Sam snuck out of his house while Cindy dozed off in the living room. Sam knew she always takes a nap around this time of the day.

Later, he arrived at Becky’s house and sat down with Marty and Becky at the kitchen table.

Marty looked at the old color picture of Annette Watson’s headstone with flowers around the headstone. “This is really bizarre!” Marty said.

“Why would Dad keep a picture of a dead girl’s gravesite?” Becky asked while trying to comprehend this information.

“But why doesn’t he have pictures of those other girls’ gravesites? Why only this one?” Marty asked and scratched his head while trying to come up with a reasonable answer.

Sam recalled his talk with John Watson in Phoenix. His eyes lit up as he firmly believed he had the answer. “Unless it’s a good place to bury something. A place nobody would ever think of looking.”

Becky got pissed after she thought about Sam’s comment. “That’s what Uncle Billy was looking for! For my life, I can’t understand why Dad protected that creep. Well, I’m not!”

“But you know something: He didn’t protect him with his book,” Sam said, then opened his cell phone and called from his contacts list. Hey John, it’s Sam Woods. Listen, I hate to bother you, but I need a huge favor from you,” Sam said into his cell phone.

“What’s that?” John replied from John’s cell phone.

“I need to dig at the backside of Annette’s headstone,” Sam replied.

“For what?” John replied, bewildered by this request.

“Well, remember when you told me about that day when someone planted flowers around her headstone?” Sam said.

“I remember.”

“A picture was found at Allan Stein’s house. It’s an old picture of Annette’s headstone taken with flowers planted all around her headstone. A picture that was taken over thirty years ago. I believe there could be evidence buried there,” Sam said.

“You have my permission. I’ll contact the cemetery,” John said immediately.

“Where is she buried?” Sam asked.

“She’s at the Rest In Peace Cemetery in Curtis, Mississippi,” John replied. “That’s where her parents wanted her to be buried.”

“Thanks, and I’ll let you know what we find.”

“Okay, thanks,” John replied, then disconnected the call.

“You won’t believe this, but she’s buried in a cemetery in Curtis, Mississippi. The Rest in Peace Cemetery,” Sam told Becky and Marty.

Becky’s eyes widened in surprise after hearing Sam’s news. “Oh my God, here Uncle Billy was searching for something in his hometown,” she said, then chuckled.

“If I find some evidence, I can’t wait to tell him it was in Curtis the whole time,” Sam said with a smirk.

Sam’s cell phone rang. He looked at the viewfinder and cringed, knowing he was in trouble. “Hello, honey,” he answered.

“Where are you? I woke up from my nap, and you were gone,” Cindy asked, sounding worried.

Sam hesitated for a few seconds. “I’m at Becky’s house in Kissimmee,” he said.

There were a few seconds of silence. “Didn’t that police officer tell you not to leave Daytona?” she scolded him.

“I know, but they found a picture, I believe, shows where the evidence might be buried in Mississippi,” he told her.

There were another few seconds of silence. “Sam, you becoming that dog that keeps chasing its tail and never catches it,” Cindy ribbed Sam, then disconnected the call.

Sam knew he was on thin ice with Cindy. “I better get back to Daytona Beach. A retired FBI agent who was friends with your uncle was killed in Jackson, Mississippi after I talked with him. I believe Billy fabricated some information and told the Jackson police I shot this guy named Bo Smithson. Now I’m a suspect,” Sam told Marty and Becky.

Becky looked furious. “I’m going to pray that evidence is found.”

Marty nodded in agreement with her statement.

Sam got up, and they walked him to the front door.

Meanwhile, while Sam drove up I-4 and headed north to Daytona Beach, Cecil Hartman watched the local news channel on the TV in the break room at Stein Chevrolet.

People in the break room made comments on how great it was that Billy was away on vacation.

“We’re on vacation when he’s on vacation,” one salesman told another, who nodded in agreement.

“Down in Jackson, police have an update on the shooting of retired FBI agent Bo Smithson. Sam Woods, another retired FBI agent down in Daytona Beach, Florida, has been identified as the potential shooter in the death of Mister Smithson,” the news reporter stated.

Cecil felt ashamed, left the break room, headed to his cubicle, conducted a search on the Internet, jotted down some information, and then rushed out.

Cecil rushed out of the dealership and got inside his car.

He drove out of the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, Cecil parked his car at a CVS store, rushed to the pay phone, and made a phone call.

“Jackson police department, how may I direct your call?” the female officer answered.

“I need to speak to the detective working the case on the murdered retired FBI agent,” Cecil said while doing his best to disguise his voice.

“One second,” the female officer replied.

“Detective Blaine Salt. How may I help you?” Blaine said from the phone.

“Yes. I would like to remain anonymous, but you have the wrong suspect in the shooting of that retired FBI agent. It wasn’t the man from Daytona Beach, it was Billy Stein from Curtis, Mississippi,” he said into the phone.

“How do you know that, sir?” Blaine asked.

“I was in Hoo Hoo Park that night with another man. We were in the woods doing, you know what, and I saw Billy Stein shoot that other man and then drive off. He was in a two thousand five brown Malibu from his dealership in Curtis. Come to his business, and you’ll discover that a Malibu matching that description is missing. I can’t talk anymore since I’m married,” Cecil said, quickly hung up.

Cecil rushed to his car, feeling relieved he had done the right thing. He swore he would never return to that park or any other similar park.

Cecil got in his car and drove back to the dealership.

Sam napped in his LazBoy three hours later with his cell phone in his lap. It rang, and Sam jumped up, startled. “Sam Woods,” he answered the call.

“Sam, it’s John Watson. I contacted the cemetery, and you have permission to dig on the backside of her headstone only. A Brent Brooke will have a worker dig for you. You can call him at five, five, five, six, nine, six, two to make arrangements,” John said from Sam’s cell phone.

Sam looked happy. “Thanks, and I’ll get back to you if we find something of value,” Sam said, then closed his cell phone.

Sam got up from the chair and did a little victory dance with his cell phone in hand when it rang again.

“Sam Woods,” he answered.

“Mister Woods, it’s Detective Blain Salt from the

Jackson, Mississippi police department,” Blaine said. Sam stopped dancing and knew this had to be bad news.

“Yes, sir,” he answered while his stomach knotted up.

“We had some new developments in the shooting of Bo Smithson case. An anonymous individual called and told us that he was in the park that night and witnessed a Billy Stein from Curtis, Mississippi, shoot Smithson. He said it was a new Malibu, and we verified that Mister Stein had borrowed a Malibu from his dealership a few days ago. Plus, Joel Nelson checked out your story. I’m no longer considering you a suspect,” Blaine told Sam.

“That’s a relief. Thank you, detective,” Sam said, then disconnected his call.

Sam quickly returned to his victory dance but suddenly stopped when his right calf cramped. He then limped in pain out of his den.

Five minutes passed, and the cramp disappeared. Sam called Brent Brooke and arranged to be at that cemetery in Curtis, Mississippi, tomorrow afternoon.

Then Sam’s eyes widened, and they made another call.

“What now?” Cindy answered the call, knowing Sam was calling about the case.

“Detective Salt from Mississippi called, and some anonymous individual called claiming that he saw Billy Stein kill Bo Smithson, so I’m no longer a suspect,” Sam informed her.

“I’m so glad,” Cindy replied.

“But, I do need to drive up to Curtis, Mississippi. They’re going to dig up the backside of Annette Watson’s tombstone. Based on that old photograph, I have this strong gut feeling evidence is buried there,” Sam stated.

“If you don’t find anything, will you please stop!” Cindy ordered. “Or you can stop seeing me,” she threatened.

Sam hesitated for a few seconds. “Okay, if this is a dead end, I’ll stop,” he promised.

“Good. Be careful in Mississippi,” said Cindy.

“I will,” Sam said, then disconnected the call.

Sam got ready for bed and was soon fast asleep.

Sam awoke at one in the morning and left his house at two for the twelve-hour drive to Curtis.

It was a long drive to Curtis, but Sam wasn’t that tired.

The thought of finding evidence gave him energy, and lots of cups of coffee helped.

Sam drove to the Rest in Peace Cemetery and headed to the office.

After meeting with Brent Brooke, the director of the Heavenly Peace Cemetery, and an older African American cemetery worker named Harold.

“Howard will assist you and do the digging,” Brent told Sam

Howard and Sam left the office and walked through the cemetery to Annette’s headstone.

They stopped, and Sam glanced at her headstone.

“Where would you like me to start digging, sir?” Harold asked with his shovel ready.

“At the backside of the headstone,” Sam replied.

Sam paced while Harold stuck the shovel in the ground. He was careful not to disturb Annette’s headstone.

Ten minutes passed, and Harold dug two feet down, and Earth Earth revealed no evidence.

“There’s nothing there, sir,” Harold said.

Sam walked over, peeked inside the hole, looked disappointed, and remembered something from the end of Allan’s book. “Dig deeper,” Sam told Harold.

Howard looked at Sam and frowned as he was getting tired.

Sam removed his jacket and opened his wallet. “Two more feet, please?” Sam said while offering Howard forty dollars in cash.

With a smile, Howard quickly snatched the cash and shoved it into his pocket. “Don’t tell the boss,” he said while digging deeper.

“It’s our secret,” Sam replied, watching more dirt emerge from the hole.

Fifteen minutes passed, and Howard dug deeper into the Earth.

“Nothing, sir,” Howard said.

“No! Something has to be down there,” Sam worried, then grabbed the shovel from Howard. He started poking at the bottom and sides of the hole, then heard the thud from hitting something while poking at the right side of the hole.

“There’s something down here!” Sam said excitedly while scrapping dirt away from the side of the hole where he heard the thud.

After a few more minutes of digging, Sam saw the side of a plastic bin. “Bingo.”

Howard looked in the hole and saw the side of the bin. He took Sam’s shovel and proceeded to dig the bin out.

Five minutes passed, and Howard reached down and lifted a plastic bin out of the hole, placing it on the grass.

Sam tried to open the lid, but it wouldn’t budge.

Howard removed a knife from his pocket and pried the lid open.

Sam took a deep breath, and part of him was scared. This would be another dead end, the end of his investigation.

Sam removed the lid, looked inside, and stared briefly. A huge grin developed on his face while looking inside the bin. “It’s about time!” he cried out in joy.

Howard didn’t have a clue what this was all about. “What’s so important that you had to find this bin?”

“It contains evidence of five murders that happened a long ago,” Sam told Howard.

A cold chill fell upon Howard, and he stepped away from the bin. Even though he worked around graves all day, the thought of evidence of murder gave him the chills.

Sam knelt down and looked inside the bin.

He saw dresses, pants, panties, driver’s licenses, teeth in a jar, sawed-off tips of baseball bats, car keys, pictures, and some negatives.

Sam stood up, removed some latex gloves from his front pocket, and slipped them on his hands.

Sam knelt back down, reached inside the bin, and removed the pictures.

The first picture he saw was of Billy in mid-swing while he beat Angie with a bat. “Fucking bastard!” Sam said while his blood boiled, as he knew he finally caught the October Slayer.

He looked at the picture of Rhonda tied naked to a tree. There was another picture of Allan standing by Rhonda’s naked body, looking like a proud hunter.

“There’s another killer!” Sam said.

He scanned through pictures of Allan, who stood next to the dead naked bodies of all the other four girls. In all of these pictures, he looked like a proud hunter.

Sam dropped the pictures back in the bin. “Billy just killed one girl,” he said while he thought about all his interviews.

Then he thought about Allan’s book, which hit him like many bricks. “It was right in front of me the whole time! Jimmy’s last name was Nalla. Nalla is Allan spelled backward. Why didn’t I see that? Allan Stein was the October Slayer, and Billy helped him with one girl!” Sam cried out.

“Wait, this is evidence from that October Slayer case from the sixties?” Howard asked Sam.

“It is,” Sam replied.

“And you’re that FBI agent that didn’t solve the case?” asked Howard.

“I am, but I solved it now,” beamed Sam.

“And you believe Allan Stein was the October Slayer?” asked Howard.

“I now have the evidence that proves it,” grinned Sam.

“I knew Allan and his brother Billy. They are two of the biggest racist assholes in Curtis. Besides their father,” said Howard, recalling the past.

“Yep,” said Sam, bushing away dirt from the bin before picking it up. “Thank you,” he told Howard while rushing away with the bin tucked under his right arm.

Sam put that bin in the trunk of his car and then made a call.

“I found my evidence,” Sam blurted out, not allowing Cindy to say “Hello.”

“I’m so happy this is finally over,” said Cindy.

Sam got in his car and drove away, heading back to Florida.

He made numerous stops because of the frequent bathroom stops due to many cups of coffee.

Sam got home at three in the morning and slept with that bin close to his bed.

Sam woke up at eight in the morning.

After a shower and breakfast, he drove off, heading east.

Sam arrived at Becky’s house at nine in the morning, parking in her driveway.

Sam got out of his car with the pictures from the bin. “This was going to be the most challenging task I’ve ever done,” Sam quietly said, walking to the front door.

Sam took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. A few seconds passed, and the front door opened. Becky appeared with her hair up and was wearing her jogging outfit.

Then Marty appeared at the door.

“Good morning, Sam,” she said, noticing his concerned look. “I guess you didn’t find evidence to fry Uncle Billy?” she asked, frustrated.

“No, I did find evidence to bring your uncle up on a murder charge, but someone else was involved. Someone who was the real October Slayer,” Sam told her with a grim look.

Becky looked curious. “Well, please come inside. I can’t wait to find out.”

With her hair up, Sam noticed a stork bite birthmark on Becky’s neck. He didn’t think anything of it while entering her house.

After they sat down on her living room sofa, Sam showed her the picture of Billy.

“That’s the sister of my best friend. Her name was Angie,” Sam said.

“I’m so sorry, my uncle killed her. But with this, maybe we can keep him behind bars for the rest of his life.”

Sam hesitated but knew she would eventually find out. “And here’s the real October Slayer,” he said, handing her the other pictures.

Becky looked anxious to see the killer while she glanced down at the pictures. Marty leaned over, and they looked at the pictures together.

They looked at the picture of Allan with Rhonda.

They looked at the picture of Allan with Sandy.

They looked at the picture of Allan with Fran.

They looked at the picture of Allan and Angie.

They looked at the picture of Allan with Annette.

They both were stunned by what they saw.

Then it dawned on Marty. “Jimmy Nalla,” he said. “Nalla is Allan spelled backward. It was in front of me the whole time.”

“I know. I missed the easiest clue in his book,” Sam replied, feeling a little stupid.

“No, it can’t be! There’s no way!” Becky said while her eyes welled up. She let go of the pictures, and they dropped to the floor.

“What other evidence did you find?” she asked.

“Some teeth, sawed-off tips of baseball bats, driver’s licenses of the girls, car keys, pants, panties, and dresses,” he told her.

“Just like his book,” Marty said.

Becky thought about the evidence he found. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. “I wore a dead girl’s dress!” she creeped out, recalling that day she found the chest.

She looked sick and then ran out of the room.

Sam and Marty heard her vomit in the toilet down the hall.

Sam felt so sorry for Becky. “I’m going to take this stuff to a friend at the FBI in Tampa,” he told Marty.

“I’m going with you,” Marty responded.

Sam opened up his cell phone and made a call. “Hey Peter, it’s Sam,” he said.

“What do you need now?” Peter asked jokingly.

“I found some evidence, and I want to bring it to your office,” Sam said.

“When?

“I’ll be there in a couple of hours,” Sam replied.

“I was planning on going home to prepare for my vacation,” Peter said.

“I’m sorry, but I finally discovered the identity of the October Slayer,” Sam replied.

“Okay, I’ll be waiting,” Peter said, then disconnected his end of the call.

“Will she be okay alone?” Sam asked while they heard her vomit again in the toilet.

“I’ll call her best friend to come over and stay with her,” Marty said, then he made a phone call on his cell phone.

Fifteen minutes later, Becky’s best friend, Charlotte, stayed with Becky, who cried continuously.

Sam drove, with Marty, to the Tampa FBI office. It was a quiet drive while they both thought about the evidence. And Marty thought about how he knew a serial killer.

When they arrived at the FBI office, Peter met them in the lobby and got the authorization to take the bin to his office.

Later, inside Peter’s office, he peeked inside the bin that was placed on a table.

Sam entered with latex gloves and removed a blue cabin boy pants and a light blue jester shirt. “This belonged to Rhonda Moore,” Sam said.

Peter double-checked her case file.

Sam entered with latex gloves and removed a black Montgomery Wards sleeveless scoop neck dress. “This belonged to Fran Adams.”

Peter double-checked her case file.

Sam reached inside with latex gloves and removed a pair of black Capri pants and a white blouse. “This belonged to Angie Gardner,” Sam said, and then his eyes welled up when he saw his friend’s clothes.

Peter double-checked her case file.

Sam entered with latex gloves and removed a brownish pattern micro mini dress. “This belonged to Annette Watson.”

Peter double-checked her case file.

“There’s a dress missing,” Peter said while he looked at the files. “Clothing for Sandy Yoder. A blue pattern skirt waist dress,” Peter added.

Sam looked ashamed when he recalled. “That’s because the killer, or I should say, Allan, framed me and hid some evidence in the trunk of a car belonging to a Scott Harley in Georgia. I beat the poor man, thinking he was the killer. They transferred me to Phoenix after that.”

“I vaguely remember hearing about that,” Peter said.

Sam reached inside and removed five sawed-off tips of baseball bats with dried blood on them. “He used a baseball bat on the women,” he said while placing the tips on the table.

Sam reached inside, removed five pairs of white panties, and set them on the table.

He reached back inside and removed a jar with many teeth inside. Sam was pissed when he set the jar on the table and didn’t say a word. He knew some of those teeth were once part of Angie’s beautiful smile.

Sam reached inside and removed all the pictures that showed Allan posing like a proud hunter with all the dead girls. There were also numerous other pictures of the dead girls tied to the trees.

He removed all the negatives.

He returned inside and removed two sets of car keys, one for a Chevy and the other for a Dodge, and the driver’s licenses for Rhonda, Angie, and Annette. He set them on the table.

He reached inside and removed another photo.

Marty saw it was a picture of Allan at Annette’s headstone, showing off the bicep of his right arm. He had a skull tattoo with “R, F, S, A, A” lettering under the jaw of the skull.

“I never knew he had a tattoo,” Marty said. “But he did have some scarring on the bicep of his right arm,” Marty recalled. “I thought that happened when he was in Vietnam.”

“He probably had it removed when Becky was a baby, and those techniques left scars,” Sam said.

“That’s possible,” said Marty, his eyes widened. It appears my father-in-law used his book as his confession to being the October Slayer,” Marty told Peter.

Sam reached inside and removed another picture. “This also shows his brother Billy Stein assisted in killing Angie Gardner,” Sam added when he held up the picture of Billy beating Angie. All Sam wanted to do now was strangle Billy by his throat.

Sam reached inside and removed a picture that showed Billy naked in the woods with a young black Betsy, who was also naked. “Looks like we have proof Billy raped a young girl back in the sixties,” Sam said, then handed Peter the picture.

“The statute of limitations ran out for statutory rape,” Peter said.

“Maybe we can get this guy expunged for raping the young girls that Billy Stein actually performed,” Sam said.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Peter said, then set the picture down with the other evidence.

Sam reached inside the bin, removed a black cable for a car engine, and glanced at it.

“Looked like the cable that goes to the ignition coil and distributor cap,” Peter said.

“Just like the book,” Marty replied.

Sam nodded in agreement and then looked inside the bin, which was empty. “That’s all the evidence,” Sam said.

“I’ll get these items to the lab and get back to you,” Peter said.

“I think you finally solved this case,” Peter told Sam while they shook hands.

“Marty found the key piece that led me to the evidence. He helped,” Sam said, then patted Marty’s shoulder.

Sam looked happy and hoped those nightmares would be a thing of the past.