The Omega 1i332c

THE OMEGA

JOANNA FAITH HOROWITZ

Copyright © 2019 Joanna Faith Horowitz.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8428-1 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4808-8427-4 (e)

Archway Publishing rev. date: 11/4/2019

CONTENTS

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

Epilogue

To all my family and friends

who helped and ed me along this long journey.

So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the fiery furnace. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

—Matthew 13:49–50 (English Standard Version)

I wept not, so to stone within I grew.

—Dante Alighieri

PROLOGUE

J ust as dawn was breaking over the valley of Sabine Lake, very near to Galveston, Texas, Detective Jeremy Reid and his team of cops and technicians were escorting the prisoner across the dew-glistening ground and through dense forest in search of evidence from a distinctively disturbing crime. The murder of Sonia Grand had taken place here. At least that’s what the prisoner claimed. A second team was simultaneously doing much the same recognizance work on location in Jupiter, Illinois, where the apparent murder of Rachel Sinclair took place. Detective Reid sent his top men on to the second location with explicit instructions about what to search for, also having given them very clear direction based on the recent confessions of suspect John Rotterdam, who had advised Reid on where to investigate. The second team would also have the full of the county sheriff and his crew while on the ground. First they would go to search Rachel’s old house, then they’d go interview her living friends and family, and finally they would search the apartment where John Rotterdam used to live just outside that city. A third team was also sent into Jupiter to search the original family home of the Rotterdams. The house had stood vacant for many years and had had no tenants for nearly a decade, but still it was owned and maintained by John Daniel Rotterdam. John Rotterdam had surrendered himself willingly to the authorities at his home roughly six months ago. He was accused of committing two murders along with a whole list of other offenses that amounted to a potential death sentence in the United States of America—or two if Reid had his way. According to Judge Ileana Harris, more definitive evidence was needed to secure the maximum sentence, so she challenged Reid to investigate further and report back to her. She also gave strict instruction to keep all information limited to the prosecution side for the time being and not to share with the defense until she was satisfied. In this particular case, in order for the charges to be securely proven beyond a doubt, the prosecution needed physical proof to go along with Rotterdam’s

confession. Then Rotterdam could be filed away forever like the garbage he was —thus the three searches that were currently being carried out. The problem wasn’t that Rotterdam denied any responsibility. He didn’t deny anything at all. In fact, he had confessed fully and provided significant details about each of the crimes. It was those details that were being plotted onto this criminal map piece by piece, to be constructed into a full picture that would solve the great mysteries of what had happened to those women. The golden payout for listening to all of John’s confessions was his promise that he would tell the authorities the exact locations of the crimes for forensics to collect any evidence for the prosecutor to present to the court. Thus this early morning expedition into the area of the last-known location of Ms. Sonia Grand. The goal was to uncover the body and bring Sonia home to her parents so they could rest with knowing the truth behind their daughter’s disappearance. Reid trailed closely behind his prisoner, who was cuffed and wearing a classic orange-sorbet-colored prisoner jumpsuit. He was sweaty and red-faced—fevered —and his blood was pumping hard in rhythmic unison with his memories of the screams of the young women. He was quite eager to get back to the place where he’d found his joy in his crimes, his release, his ion. He breathed heavily with each step he took, remaining ever vigilant on his path back to that place where he could allow Detective Reid to gain additional information that might allow everyone to get a glimpse into his own sick and twisted mind. They were dodging branches of trees that were hanging low and pushing aside shrubs from the left and right while navigating to avoid tree roots that were sticking out of the damp and dark brown ground. Rotterdam insisted he would lead them all straight to the location, which would his confessions. And in return he hoped—he asked—for some psychological from the authorities. He truly wanted to know why he had always had these dark urges, why he always envisioned and carried out acts in his life that caused other people pain and suffering. It was made very clear to Rotterdam that the law doesn’t work in trade; but for this case, not only the prosecutor wanted some answers, but also the defense and all litigating attorneys and arresting cops wanted answers, so a psychological assessment might very well be in order. The details of the murders were all now told, having been recorded and remaining fresh in the minds of the detectives who were now journeying to the

actual locations of the slaughters. It still felt somewhat unreal to Reid. In all of Reid’s twenty-five years of being an officer of the law, no other case had crawled under his skin like this one had. He had never been so affected before; he had never been so unsettled as he was with the crimes that had been committed against these women. These crimes against these women were heinous and cruel. He could not wrap his mind around how anyone could be so cruel or dissociated from reality enough to inflict these horrors onto another human being. How could a brain be so warped as to not flinch when hurting and ripping apart another living being? But the psychology of this case was not for Reid to decipher. His job was to unravel the mystery and secure matching DNA and any forensic evidence he could find, if there was anything left to secure. The votes were varied among the police officers who were aware of and working on this case. Nearly forty out of sixty sworn officers were in favor of this being a grand hoax that Rotterdam was orchestrating and manipulating within the department as some kind of wild search for attention. And perhaps he wanted the State to supply this trip outside the jail walls to a place with lots of beautiful scenery and many lovely memories. Or perhaps it was just plain and simple attention mongering. Since Rotterdam had come forward to surrender himself, there had not been a large following of folks believing that this older man was the killer. They all agreed that he was a fine storyteller with an imagination that slid beyond the hellish and dipped into the deranged, but they didn’t feel he was the real thing. Reid, on the other hand, knew the truth deep down in his gut and believed him fully. A true serial killer needs to be a born sociopath and a narcissist, and really that is a rare bigeminal mix of character traits for a person to have. Rotterdam had a special knack for coming up with stories about his alleged first crime in 1965 nearly forty-five years ago and about the more recent crimes in 2011—just six years and six months ago. The two women had nothing in common; they lived in different states, worked in different fields, and were of different ages, separated by twenty-one years, so there was no clear line of continuance. There was no link to either of these women except for Rotterdam’s confession, and more importantly there was no body found in the later murder. Only select parts were returned from the earlier murder, which made the forensic process challenging. Reid’s breathing was getting heavy and labored as they were walking slightly

uphill in this forested land. He wasn’t as fit as he had been as a young man. His body was betraying him on this little sojourn. There was lush foliage all around, and the smell of Japanese arrowroot lingered gently in the air. Reid was sure that if this turned out to be a wild-goose chase, he would take this guy behind secure doors and beat the living snot of out him for wasting so much time and so many resources. But then again, if the search did turn out to be fruitful, he might still seek out that secure door and still beat the snot out of Rotterdam for being such a sick and deranged motherfucker who hurt women in the worst ways imaginable. Reid often felt sick to his stomach when rereading the transcripts from the previous days’ confessions, or simply when thinking of words he’d been told of how the women suffered and ultimately died. After listening to John Rotterdam’s filth and watching this old man relive his sick fantasies about the unspeakable crimes against two young, innocent people, the truth was about to be discovered. When the group of officers got closer to what seemed to be a small clearing, Rotterdam announced that they had arrived. He pointed and announced that there was a patch of clearing just north of the lakeside, which was their favorite spot to fish in, and that they had come here quite often over the past year or so he and Sonia Grand had dated. They would usually arrive early in the morning on a Saturday, have a picnic, and then set the lines in the water for hours and wait for the fish to appear. On the particular day in question, John told Reid that there was a strong gully forming near the logs where he and Sonia would sit, so they had decided to move about 150 yards upstream where the next good fishing spot was. So, that was the direction Reid told him to take. Reid left two men behind in the clearing to look around and await further instructions. The rest of them pushed onward. With each step they took, the ground seemed to be getting spongier with moisture, and the dirt was getting slightly more golden in color. The air was cold and fresh, and the sky was getting brighter with every ing moment. The men moved slowly upstream along the bank, where the sounds of the bubbling water made for a relatively eerie backdrop to this most grave quest. Step by step the men walked in a line. First was Rotterdam, then Reid—and behind him was the forensics and recovery team, which was made up of five officers. The county medical examiner was on standby should a body be discovered. Also present was canine officer Sergeant Rex and his master lieutenant, Sam Reynolds. The dog had a higher rank than the human handler in order to ensure the senior

officer was never harmed and was always taken care of. The dog was necessary in sniffing out any potential decomposition scents nearby. And he specialized in identifying ignitable chemicals, which he did with professionalism. Rotterdam stopped walking and began to look around at the surroundings, looking to his left then looking to his right. He seemed to be trying to spot a certain landmark. When he found it, he turned his head to Reid and said, “Gentlemen, I do believe we are here.”

1

W ith the thrust of the first shovel lifting the heavy, moist earth, the crew had a pretty good idea of what they were going to find a little farther down beneath the soil. No one really wanted to find it, and none of the guys really had any desire to see the gruesome leftovers of a murdered woman. They kept telling themselves that there would be nothing there, that the suspect was just lying and making a mockery of the justice system by having all these resources jump on his command. Then one of the officers who was patrolling the immediate area came across a suspicious-looking object and yelled to the detective to come and take a look. Reid walked over and looked at the reddish color of the very dirtylooking cloth. It was clothing of some kind. He put on a pair of latex gloves and reached down to pick up the finding. As he held it up and tried to open it up more to see exactly what it was, particles of dirt and dust fell from the object; it was stiff from being buried for so long in the damp earth, and it wouldn’t give easily to stretching out. Reid could see that the object was in fact a sweater, a red medium-sized ladies’ sweater, with a label marked “Made in China.” It was a product of an exercise brand of workout clothing that many people wore, and this could be the first clue. “Get a bag,” Reid instructed the young officer. They placed the sweater very gently into the paper bag and labeled it “Article A.” It was sealed and put aside to wait for the rest of the evidence that was to come. Exactly at the second the bag was put down in the evidence box, another officer yelled out for Reid to come over and have a look. Reid turned around with a start and quickly moved toward the small group of men who had begun digging feverishly in the ground. They had all stopped their work and were looking down at the dirt pile. Reid’s eyes quickly made with the remains of someone, or something, lying in that shallow pit. He bent down and saw what looked like the remains of a burned-up and broken femur bone. He knew it was Sonia; the burns and abrasions matched up to with story that Rotterdam had told them all. He was sure of it. “All right, fellas, let’s be very careful here and photograph everything. Search

for fibers, and bag up everything. And that includes the two inches of dirt that was covering the body and the two inches lying below it.” He instructed them to put all the evidence into the boxes for processing with the utmost care. “Gentlemen, I do believe this is Sonia, so let’s treat her with great care and respect. The last guy who saw her alive did not. She suffered; she suffered like no one should. So let’s take her home with kindness.”

2

“I s the microphone on? Test, test … testing, one, two. Testing. This is Special Detective Jeremy Reid, and today is Tuesday, June 1, 2017, at 8:51 a.m. I am here in interrogation room C at the Cook County precinct with accused prisoner John Daniel Rotterdam, who has voluntarily turned himself in to the Cook County authorities and requested this meeting in order to confess to the alleged crimes he has been indicted for in the municipal court of Cook County. Also present is Officer Wallace McLean and Officer Dave Brown, both of the Cook County Police Department. “Mr. Rotterdam has not been arraigned or convicted of said charges at this point, but nevertheless he chooses freely to provide us, of his own free will, a detailed of the murder of Ms. Rachel Sinclair and Ms. Sonia Grand in the years 1968 and 1979. This meeting will be recorded on audio as well as video for documentation purposes. “Just to recount the list of charges for the record and for Mr. Rotterdam, we begin with premeditated first-degree murder for each of the victims and then some lesser charges, including breaking and entering, destruction of property, cruelty to a minor, two counts of forcible confinement, rape in the first degree, rape of a minor, rape in the second degree, sexual assault, stalking, stalking a minor, infliction of undue cruelty to an animal, indecency to a cadaver, and two counts of concealment of a cadaver. To all of these charges, Mr. Rotterdam, you have pled guilty until this point. Is that correct?” “Yes, sir, it is,” Rotterdam said. “For the record, please state and spell your full name, give your date of birth, and state whether you are here talking with us today voluntarily or against your will,” Reid commanded. “My … my name is John Daniel Rotterdam, R-O-T-T-E-R-D-A-M, born December 2, 1945, in Jupiter, Illinois. And yes, I am here of my own free will,” Rotterdam said for the recording.

“Mr. Rotterdam, are you aware that you have the right to remain silent and the right to retain legal counsel and have your legal counsel present for this interview?” “Yes, I am aware, but I don’t want that.” “So you are waiving your constitutional right to an attorney at this time?” “Yes, I am.” “Fine. Are you also aware that any statements you make during this interview may be used against you in a court of law?” “Yes, I am aware of that.” “So why did you surrender yourself, and why are you talking with us today, Mr. Rotterdam?” asked the detective. “I want to tell the real story of what happened to those girls. I want to confess in the hope of bringing some closure to the families and maybe get an understanding of why I did what I did, with the help of a county-appointed shrink. I want to know and understand why I needed to do what I did and why it felt so natural and so satisfying. I hope that maybe as a trade, some of your doctors maybe will take a look at my story, talk to me, and figure out why all of this happened.” “You do realize that no promise of a trade of any kind has been made in exchange for your testimony?” “Yes, I am aware of that. But I’m hoping that you will maybe recommend that help be provided for me.” “So let me understand this. You are going to provide us with detailed s of what happened to your victims of your own free will in order to maybe gain insight into why you did this? What about to lay to rest the unexplained points in these cases and allow the families to heal and close the door and perhaps, if they are lucky, move on?” “Well, yeah, that too. But honestly I am really only concerned with my own well-being and understanding my own disturbances. I am voluntarily telling you

that I am unable to even pretend to empathize with another human being’s feelings. I don’t want to lie to you. I cannot and do not care about the families or, for that matter, the victims. I have never been able to feel sympathy or guilt. I simply wish to unravel myself, if you will. I’m an old man now, and I’m tired. I just want to lay my burden down and hopefully die off with shoulders that are a little less heavy. Gentlemen, there are more killers than just me out there; there are hundreds and maybe thousands of fellas who hunt like I have. If you can learn something about me, maybe it’ll help you track down some others. We all just really want to tell our stories and be heard, some for fame and glory, others to relieve themselves only of their guilt. Either way, I’m not the only one.” “I see you are being rather honest, Mr. Rotterdam,” Reid stated sarcastically and with disgust. “Okay, well, why don’t you take us back to the beginning, the very beginning? Tell us a little of what it was like for you as a kid in Jupiter, your home, your family, your school—whatever comes to your mind in of your childhood. Then we’ll press on from there.” “Well, I was born into a middle-class family, I would say. My mother was a Christian woman and a homemaker. You know … she worked in the home and complained relentlessly about how hard she worked. My father was a banker; he managed the National Bank near the northwest edge of town. He died more than fifty-two years ago, and my mother died just five years after Dad was gone. He was forty-two, and she was thirty-eight; they were both older first-time parents and had my brother and me a little later in life. If memory serves, I think my mother was either very near her thirties or just past that when my brother, Sam, was born. “I would say that my life was rather quiet and uneventful as a youngster. My parents were involved in the church and the social clubs at the time and made sure that my brother and I attended events with them. We were always dressed well and were clean and presentable. They ed us in school and encouraged us to work hard and succeed to some degree in whatever interested us. They were both relatively quiet people. My father worked a lot of the time, and my mother was alone with us, which she enjoyed. It was just my brother and me, and he is four years older than me. His name is Samuel James Rotterdam, but we called him Sam. He was a great brother—if you liked getting the snot kicked out of you. “My mother was very devout and dedicated to the church; she was absolutely

convinced that the Messiah was coming, and she wanted all of us to be ready. She believed in the clean Word of the Lord and doing unto others as you would have done to you. She believed in helping the less fortunate and providing service to the community always. She took it all a little too far in my opinion and frankly turned me off of it by being so insistent on spreading the Word of God. She would talk to anyone who would listen and some who wouldn’t listen … if ya know what I mean!” He laughed. “I was a small kid, smaller than most my age, and that made me somewhat of a loner. I was always pasty-looking and pale-faced. My eyes bulged out of my skull. And because I had brown eyes, they always looked like they had dark circles underneath them. People used to wonder if my parents fed me enough because I looked emaciated sometimes. I used to lie and tell people that I was so pale because my parents kept me locked in the basement for so long that I lacked sunlight. It was so funny to watch people’s reaction to that.” He giggled. “Even back then, when I was a child, I never cared about anyone’s feelings. I would lie about just about anything at any time for no reason. For reasons I don’t fully understand and cannot find answers to, I always had the urge to hurt the other kids. I would wind up and whack someone in the back when there was no one looking. I just wanted to inflict a moment of pain onto the kid—watch him cry and look bewildered and shocked. If the kid told the teacher I hit him, I would say anything to manipulate the situation and avoid any kind of punishment. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t. If I ended up with a punishment, I would always seek out my revenge and hit the kid harder the next time. I’d make it very clear that if he told again, I would come back and knock his block right off his shoulders. That usually got my point across. And I had regular punching bags all throughout elementary school. “I had my brother and a few friends here and there throughout my childhood, but I was never really included in the groups that played together, unless of course my brother took me along with him and his friends—but he did that only when my mother forced him to. I was always the outsider in a group, and I preferred it that way. I wanted everyone to be afraid of me. I was always different and a loner, and I lived very contently within my own self-made nightmare. “I always being bored, bored in school, bored with friends and family, bored reading the comics or watching the new black-and-white TV we had—just bored all the time. I was unchallenged and too lazy to find a way to challenge

myself, so I would drift away quite a bit in my mind. I would just wander away mentally, and time would by. I couldn’t find a place for myself or feel right within myself, so I went inward. Whenever I was with folks, I felt stumped. I could not speak out of fear of saying the wrong thing, and that always made me feel stupid and inept. I wasn’t smart enough like my mother was, or fast enough like my brother, or responsible enough like my father. I had some friends, I guess, over the years … one best friend was Will. We were the same age and in the same grade, and he never seemed to fear me. I liked that about him. When we were first together in school as little children, I had hit him, but he wound up and walloped me right back. From that moment on, we were thick as thieves. We grew up together—same schools, same summer programs—and shared the same life in the small town of Jupiter. He was my confidant and my trusted guardian and good friend. We haven’t seen one another in many, many years, not since the days of our youth. He went his way, and I went mine. “Will and I went everywhere together back in the day. We told each other all our secrets and thoughts, and we stuck together in bad times. Okay, so I didn’t quite reveal all of my secrets to him. He never knew I thought about hurting people, but he did know that I was not eager to go out into the world and face the scores of people out there who would only be interested in themselves. “Will’s father died when we were about twelve or so. I watching Will suffer in sadness and grief, but I did not really feel any grief for the man who had lost his life. I sat with Will and listened to what he needed to say, but I didn’t really feel any kind of sorrow for him. Instead, I fantasized what it might feel like to have my father die. I tried hard to imagine my father just collapsing dead in front of me, and it didn’t really bother me. I never could understand why it didn’t bother me. But I held fast to Will during his dark time, and he came through it. Then we went back to our old ways of running the streets and kicking a ball. When I wasn’t with Will, I was usually alone. I spent a good deal of time in my room, away in my head, thinking about nothing in particular.” “What do you mean when you say ‘in my head’?” Sergeant Brown asked. “I mean that I could, and still can, spend a great deal of time sitting very still and being completely alone and mentally drift off to another place. I could think about something and just not be present here in the present moment. Hours would by without much effort. I would just disappear into my head and go away to whatever world I had created at that time. I wasn’t a happy boy, so I

would often just leave the present for somewhere else. I did that a lot when I was in school, which is why my grades were poor. I couldn’t sit still or stay in class for long periods of time, so my mind wandered away to far places—and sometimes to no specific place, just a different dimension in time, I guess. Really just a self-induced absence from the present moment.” “Did your parents ever seek out help for you? Professional help?” McLean asked. “Yeah, I think Mom did. I her taking me to the doctor’s office and making me tell him why I was so unhappy. I think they took me to a psychiatrist, but I don’t think it lasted long. I’m sure it was expensive for them, and maybe my mother really didn’t want to believe there was something wrong with her baby, so she tried to deny there was anything amiss. She did talk to the doctor on the phone quite a bit about me; I used to listen in when I could. I going into a room decorated with burgundy brocade walls and furniture to see a lady shrink. It was a quiet office in a nice part of town, but I only went there maybe three times. I don’t her name, but I do recall that she didn’t say much. Then again, neither did I, and that made for a really long and painful hour session,” he said. “Uh-huh. Okay, so what about your teenage years? Tell us about them,” Sergeant Reid asked as he tried to move the conversation along. “Okay, so then this is where it might get interesting. I think I was thirteen or thereabouts when I started to notice girls. Especially the way they moved and giggled. Something was curious to me about them. I found them to be people that I wanted to be among, the same as every other young man, I suppose. And when I was fourteen I even had me a girlfriend. Marylynn Radford was her name. Marylynn and I got along well. She wasn’t the prom queen or a beauty queen by far, but she liked me a whole lot, and I liked her company as well. She had brown hair that curled under just at her shoulders, and she usually wore a blue bow on the side that she clipped her bangs to. She had great big sad brown eyes and some freckles scattered around her nose and cheeks. We were an item for nearly a year and had plans to spend the following Christmas together at her parents’ house. Yeah, it was all really nice. She was great and a lot of fun. She didn’t even seem to mind that I was different from the other guys, and she didn’t ask a lot of questions, which served me well. I guess being a kid herself made her oblivious to the fact that I had some real growing problems.

“Then she got sick and had a flu that lasted for a long time over the summer break. She never recovered from it. I got a call from her mother on a Tuesday evening, and she told me that Marylynn had died earlier that day. She died of the flu. Can you believe that? I never heard of anyone dying from the flu before or since then unless it was an old lady or somethin’. “I went to the funeral, and I was all broken up inside. I felt torn about how I should be feeling versus how I actually felt. I sat there during the service listening to the eulogies and watching her family in shock, trying to grasp the reality of this final day. It fascinated me. I found myself watching them all cry in disbelief and agony, and I was attracted to that. In fact I felt sort of turned on by it. Just watching Marylynn’s mother hunched over sobbing and trying to breathe in between waves of despair made me feel really excited. I mean, she just lost her eighteen-year-old daughter. She must have been devastated. She was in tears realizing the weight of having just lost her youngest child, and her expressions and exhausted demeanor made me very interested in the psychology behind human behavior during grief. I read up on this topic later and learned about the stages of grief and how people can move through the levels at varying times. “At the funeral I was fixated on wanting to look inside the coffin and see what Marylynn looked like now lying at rest. I imagined she was blue and bloated, almost a distorted version of the person I used to know. It most certainly would not be the Marylynn I knew, but I wanted to see that dead girl and look deep into her lifeless eyes. I was curious as to what would return my stare.” “Did you get a chance to see the body?” asked Officer Reid. “No, I didn’t. But I dreamed of it, and I felt curious enough to think about diggin’ up the grave and opening the coffin right then and there one night in the cemetery. I started fantasizing about how I would feel if I saw Marylynn’s mother dead and all blue and bloated like her daughter. I would have buried her right next to her daughter. That’s when I started thinking about hurtin’ folks myself, with my own hands. I wanted to kill Marylynn’s mother and put her in the ground next to her dead daughter. I was fixated on that for a while, and it pained me that I couldn’t do it. It was like torture to have to see that woman walking around town after the funeral when all I could think about was ripping a knife right down the length of her backside. “I started to go to their house in the evening to look in through the windows after

it got dark, just to watch the family inside. I wanted to see Marylynn’s mother and see what she was doing, how empty she looked. I had hoped I could catch a glimpse of her crying over her dead daughter, and I was lucky that I did get to see her cry on more than one occasion. I watched her through the window of her bedroom. I seeing her sitting on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands, just shaking with grief. I couldn’t get enough of it. It made me smile, and it made me want to hurt her at the same time. It made me angry, and that anger welled up in my gut and made me feel electrified and excited. I hated her for no real reason that I know of. I just got filled with hate.” “Did you ever harm Marylynn’s mother?” Brown asked. “No, not physical harm. I wanted to. I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck and push all the living out of her. Instead, when I saw her in town, I just nodded or looked away altogether, and I think that hurt her. I believe that to her I was one of the last links she had to Marylynn, and when I snubbed her off in town, she was tortured a little bit. In those days, that was enough for me. Just knowing that I hurt her in some small way and that I contributed to her already shattered world was fascinating and wonderful,” said the psychopath. “So tell us about later on, when you started being interested in committing crimes,” Officer Brown said. “Oh, well, I think I always had an interest in crime, but I developed a desire to hurt and hate long before Marylynn died. It wasn’t until after her death that I moved that desire and made it into reality.” He smiled and looked down at the dirty cop station floor.

3

“M s. Rachel Sinclair was my first. Oh, how I loved her,” Rotterdam said with fond memories of the girl he ed. “She was only eighteen years old, maybe nineteen at best. I first saw her on a bus ride into town. I was on my way to meet Will to catch the early show at the Metropolis Theater—the one on Fifth Street downtown. She got on the bus at the Sherway stop and sat down across the aisle from me and up one row. I had a spectacular side view of her from top to bottom. She wore a tailored skirt suit of dark navy blue with a white blouse that had a small ruffle at her neckline. Her eyes were the exact same color of her suit. I that as striking to me. Her hair was shiny black and long, down past her shoulders. It was tied in a ponytail, but the tip of that tail nearly ran three-quarters of the way down her back! I was instantly smitten with this beauty. “So what does a boy do, fellas? Well, I got off the bus when she did and followed her; yes, that’s what I did. I completely forgot about Will and the movie actually, but he never minded once I told him I had met a girl. He would do the same to me if he ever ran into a young girl who may be interested in him. I followed Rachel right to her doorstep. She lived on Broadway South and Ninth Line, number 62 if I recall. It was a little square white bungalow type of house with green siding and trim—green, can you imagine? That green was so ugly! “I would sit across the street, hidden in a neighbor’s bushes, and watch the house for some time before I would get bored and leave. I went back to that house every day for two weeks just to watch and see if I could see her again. And when I did, it was like winning the sweepstakes. There she came bouncing out of the front door and jumping down the three front steps in a carefree and easy way. She was a remarkable beauty. This time her hair was down and falling free. She wore dark-colored pants with a red sweater. I followed her to the library that day. I even went inside and sat down right near her in that library just to be close to her. She never noticed me there.” “Did she talk to you at all?” Reid inquired. “No, not until later, when I stabbed her in the leg for the first time. Then she

spoke …” The psychopath’s laughter filled the room as the officers winced at the sight of the sociopath sitting before them and laughing at the memory of an innocent girl who had died a horrible and painful death. “You thought it was funny?” Reid asked. “Hell yeah! I think it’s hysterical!” Rotterdam answered with a giggle. “Okay, calm down. We will stop this interview right here, right now, if you don’t show some respect!” Detective Reid commanded. “Nothing about any of these cases is amusing. If you cannot respect the integrity of these girls, then we can end right here and now.” Reid was getting antsy. He couldn’t believe he’d traveled so far to finish this case. He had picked up the case when the Galveston County Sheriff’s Office ed him in Illinois about a possible link to the Grand cold case they had. Reid had read the Galveston report about the missing Rachel Grand and tried to put the pieces of this bizarre puzzle together and make a possible fit with what the psychopath had confessed to over the past month or so. Could the missing girl in Galveston be Rotterdam’s second victim? he thought. Yes, she could indeed. So he jumped on the chance to interview him and relive this whole journey with the killer himself. And here he was eye to eye with a soulless creature not of God or anything holy. This was a shell of a man, something created in darkness and foreign to all that he knew of nature and spirit. Still, Reid was curious and allowed the story to unfold. “All right, jeez, don’t get all upset. Sorry. I’ll try to settle down. Okay, so where did I leave off? Oh yeah, at the library. So, yeah, while I sat there watching her, I started to think about what she might look like all cut up in little pieces. I watched her hand holding a book that she was reading and fantasized about that hand lying on the floor somewhere, bleeding from an open wound at the wrist t. I had many fantasies about what I could do with that severed hand! “The adrenaline was coursing through my veins, and I knew I was hooked on her. I also knew I had to do something about it. There was just too much rage toward her inside me to let it go. It was a craving I had never experienced quite like this before. It was like a hunger, but not in the stomach—rather, deep within the cells of my bones.” John grasped one arm and squeezed it at the memory of seeing Rachel sitting so content and easy. “At one point I thought I saw her look my way, but now I don’t think so. She sat

and read on for a few hours, and the whole time I sat on the same wooden chair just a few feet from her and watched her breathe. I could see her eyelashes flutter up and down as she read the lines on the paper in the book before her. Every now and again her face would contort into some expression depending on what she was reading—which, by the way, I don’t know. I never did get a look at the subject of the book; it was of no importance to me. She would smile a little here and there, or furrow her brow a little, and it just made me want to rip off her face so that it would freeze in the same contorted way for the rest of eternity. I pictured taking a small pocketknife and running the blade around the hairline of her face and down her cheek, around the underside of her chin, and up to meet with the initial incision point. Then I would just naturally slide a finger or two underneath the layer of skin and lift up, slowly separating the flesh from the skull. I could imagine the noise the tissue separating from the bone would make. I got hard right there in the library thinking about this. I took a gamble and left my seat at the table, risking that she would get up and leave, but I had to run to the men’s room and alleviate myself—and I don’t mean urinate! I couldn’t help myself; it got to the point where the damn thing wouldn’t go down, I was too revved up thinking about all this stuff. It didn’t even take me all that long. Just a few strokes and I was refreshed. I was so tied up in the thought of running my hands alongside the inside of her face and even licking the moisture from the lining of her scalp.” Rotterdam started to cough and clear his throat. “Gentlemen, I’d like to ask for a little break at this point … seems I need to use the little boys’ room,” he stated. “You can only use the bathroom escorted, you realize? We are not about to let you go play with yourself and get your rocks off at the sound of your own voice recalling these events,” Officer McLean explained. “Oh, okay. I guess that makes some sense. It’ll keep, then. Shall I go on?” “Go right ahead.” “Well, so after the trip to the bathroom, I went back and sat down to watch her reading, and it was pretty uneventful really until around nine o’clock, when she got up to leave because the library was closing. She gathered her things and put on her coat. I pretended that I didn’t care. She got into the line to check out two books and then flailed out the door, on her merry way. She didn’t know I was there following her. I stayed back a bit and kept in the shadows as best I could. I really wasn’t planning anything; I had no idea what was going to happen, and I

felt like I was just along for the ride, I suppose you could say. “Eventually the bus came. It made the stop, and she got on. So did I. We rode the bus together, and I felt close to her, like I really was getting to know her at this point. I knew when to expect her to get off the bus, right before her street, and guess what? So did I.” “What time would you say it was at this point, Mr. Rotterdam?” McLean asked. “I would think about a quarter to ten.” “Okay. Continue, please.” “When she went into the house, I noticed that no one was home. The house was dark, and there were no cars along the driveway or street. The opportunity was right there, staring me in the face! I slowly moved closer to the house, waiting for the lights to go on, and I figured I could watch her get ready for bed or maybe get busy doing something in the house. But instead, I went to the front door and found myself reaching for the knob and slowly trying to turn the handle as quietly as I could to find out if she had locked it behind her. She hadn’t. “The door slowly gave way an inch. My breath was gone; I got a rush of hot flush through my body from my feet all the way up to my head. I could hardly believe it. I thought I would out right there on the front steps. I had to physically remind myself to take a breath. I pushed the door open very slowly until it was halfway open. I could hear the faint sound of a radio playing somewhere in a room. I could hear her humming or singing along with the song slightly—if I recall it was an Elvis song, ‘Love Me Tender,’ a slow song. It was a great song, and she sang along really very well. “I stepped inside the doorway; it was a very small house. The family room had a television, and it was directly in front of the foyer near the door where I stood. The room also had a sofa and coffee table with some magazines spread out. The color of the sofa caught my eye; it was the color of the flesh of an almond. And in fact the whole room decor was coordinated in an almond color. It felt warm, inviting, and homey. “I turned to my left and saw the doorway to what I thought was a bathroom. Then I saw another doorway to a darkened room, and then to the right of that the lighted doorway to her room where she was. Now there was a part of me that

wanted to run away from there and knock my head on a rock because I knew this was wrong. I mean, I was inside someone else’s house—a stranger. A young woman was right there alone in this little house, feeling completely safe and secure, and here I was lurking about. “I had memorized every line of her, every detail of her, and now that I could hear her, I thought she sounded like a songbird … and immediately I wanted to rip out her throat and stop the sound. Yes, that was my thought. I was hooked, and I couldn’t go back. I had to move forward. “I had entered into a new chapter of my life when I walked through that door. I became another person, someone more daring and more serious about exploring all of these dark thoughts I had. I thought back to Marylynn and how much I wished she were here sitting on that almond-colored sofa all dead and bloated. I wondered how Rachel would react if I forced her to lie down right next to good old dead Marylynn. She would cry, I’m sure; she would wretch and scream. If I had let her live through that, it would have scarred her forever, I’m sure. I actually liked that thought. “But again, boys, the thought of hurting someone emotionally was exciting for me. And maybe that would have been enough in the past, but there I was standing in the foyer of this little house. I could smell the dinner that the mother must have made and served only hours earlier, and I could hear the sound of the daughter singing, the same daughter who’d eaten that dinner hours earlier. I got angry for some reason. Maybe I was angry because her parents weren’t home to protect her from me. Or maybe because I hadn’t been invited to dinner with them.” “How long did you stand there at the door?” Officer Brown asked. “Oh, not long, probably just a minute or so. But at the time it felt like hours. I just absorbed the stimulation I got from being in a place that I was clearly not allowed to be in. I was feeling so stimulated by just conceiving thoughts that were not of right mind. “At some point my right foot took a step forward, and my left just followed. I was headed for her open doorway, getting closer to my songbird. I felt in my pocket for a weapon but realized I hadn’t brought anything with me! How foolish! Can you imagine showing up for a gunfight without a gun?! Yeah, that

was how far away I was from being prepared and having the whole thing planned out. “Well, I was right about at the door, so unthinkingly I kept going; I was going to wing it. With a surge of adrenaline and with an excitement level I had never, ever experienced before, I stepped into the arch of her bedroom doorway, and there she was. Her back was to me, and she was just slipping on a nightgown. The material literally was falling over her shoulders when I arrived in the doorway, her arms still over her head putting it on. In front of her was her bedroom window, and that’s where she caught her first glimpse of me. My reflection in the window startled her, and she spun around with such force, kind of like a ballerina would. Truly I was just as startled as she was in that moment. She was speechless; the singing stopped while she looked at me and tried to understand why this strange man was standing in her doorway. “She tried to form a word, but only a slight sound came out. It sounded like ‘wha …,’ but I never let her finish her thought. I took a step in and said, ‘Sing me a song, my lovely.’ She just looked at me, confused. I felt the rage just festering in my stomach, and my upper lip curled with hate for this beautiful creature. I thought of dead Marylynn, and I wanted to kill her again, be responsible for her second death. I kept taking small steps toward Rachel mindlessly, as if on autopilot. I realized that she was taking small steps backward in an effort to keep the distance between us. Eventually she was stopped short by the wall with the window, and then the distance did indeed shorten between us. I reached out to touch her hair. I really wanted to touch her hair, but I pulled my hand away when she made a shrieking screaming sound. I put my hand over her mouth and told her to shut up! Shut up or I’d kill her! She stopped making noise but was whimpering like a hurt puppy. “The song changed on the radio, and this time it was ‘Runaround Sue’ by Dion I think that came on. But no one was singing along with it at this point! Still, to me, the tone of the song was dark in that the singer was telling everyone to stay away from Sue because she was a dirty cheater. I could sympathize with the sound of hate for her in Dion’s voice; I felt the same for Rachel at that moment.”

4

“I mmediately I felt powerful, energetic, and very much in control. I felt like I was someone special. I was special to someone for the first time in my life. I was the most special person in Rachel’s life at that moment. I had her full attention. With her back up against the wall and my hand over her mouth, I started to tell her how fond of her I had become, and I told her that while watching her at the library, I knew for sure that I would introduce myself to her. I asked her if she understood, and she shook her head. I told her that it was okay—that in fact she didn’t need to understand and that I would take care of everything. “I nudged her toward the bed and told her to sit on the edge of her bed and to be calm. This was the very moment I became very conscious of the fact that I wanted to hurt this girl physically and not only emotionally. I just knew it. It wasn’t just a fleeting thought of hurting her like I had in the past with other people. I wanted to actually do it. I became bewildered with all the different ways I could go about this. I felt like the most powerful man in the world, and that feeling was delightful!” “Okay, let’s take a break here at this point,” Reid interrupted. “We’ll stop the audio, but video will remain on. The time is now 10:12 a.m. We’ll restart the interview in fifteen minutes. Officers Brown and McLean are excused, and the prisoner will be escorted to the facilities by me and returned to this room, interview room C, by me.” The three officers stood, gathered their notebooks and pens and all their belongings, and headed to the locked door of the room. A guard on the other side of the door opened the lock, and the men stepped out. Reid told Rotterdam, “Stand up and turn around.” The prisoner’s hands were cuffed together by the wrist in the back, and Reid took hold of his elbow to lead him out of the room and into the hallway, where the washroom was located, about 150 feet ahead. Inside the hallway the two men walked on, and then Reid opened the door for the psycho to go inside. They both stepped into the tiny single-use room. The toilet was about two feet away from the sink, which was only about three feet away from the door. Indeed the moment was becoming intimate, but Reid was

used to escorting prisoners and having to be on close guard. Reid removed the handcuffs and told Rotterdam to go ahead and urinate. When back in interview room C, the prisoner was again locked in from the outside, and then Reid went off in search of coffee. He needed the caffeine and sugar boost that had become increasingly necessary over the past few months. He was in no particular rush to get back to the meeting and used the fifteen minutes to ready himself for the remainder of the story yet to be told. He knew it would be bad. He had read Rachel’s autopsy report, which had come through after various pieces of her showed up, and he also saw the crime scene photos, which caused him to become resigned to the fact that hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth would be a whole nightmare in and of itself. He thought to himself that he was grateful on some level that Rachel hadn’t survived the ordeal. How unbearably broken she would still be today if she had lived. He shook his head at the thought … how awful.

5

“A ll right, gentlemen, we are back on audio recording. Video remained on in this room during our break. The time is now 10:37 a.m., and all original participants are present: me, Officers Brown and McLean, and prisoner John Rotterdam. Mr. Rotterdam, please state again for the record that you are participating in this confession of your own free will.” “Yes I am, sir.” “You are what, Mr. Rotterdam?” “Ah, yes, I am freely participating in this interview with no coercion from any outside member. And I am waiving any rights to have my lawyer present at this time.” “All right, so shall we begin where you left off, or would you prefer to pick up from another place, Mr. Rotterdam?” “No. Let’s go back to Rachel’s bedroom, where we left off. I think that it’s only fitting not to leave her hanging in wait for us.” “Behave yourself, Mr. Rotterdam. A word of warning: we are of the authority to stop this interview at any time and report back to Judge Harris with recommendations not to consider your information due to attention-seeking behavior,” Reid reminded him. “Yes, I know. I’ll behave, but keep in mind that it is difficult for me to know when I am being out of line. Nothing I say feels wrong to me, and this is part of the whole problem. Should we have a doctor in here with us, you know, so they can listen and maybe make a diagnosis?” “Not at this time, Mr. Rotterdam. If Judge Harris feels the need to appoint a psychiatrist for assessment or review of your file, then she will at a later point. Let’s get back to the information you have for us. Tell us about Rachel.”

“So we were there, still on the bed. Rather quickly I lost control of myself and began to rape her. She was basically already undressed, so it was easy. I had been aroused from the moment I stepped in the front door, and by the time she sat down on the bed, I was ready. I still kept a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were mostly squeezed shut, so she didn’t look like the same girl I had watched. The sex wasn’t the main issue for me; it was more like going through the motions to make this experience as horrific as I could for her—and if I could get off while doing it, great. “She protested at the beginning and started to cry harder when I first entered her. She winced and tried to get away, but I wouldn’t let her. I had more physical power and restrained her easily. In all reality, the rape lasted only maybe five minutes, I’m sure. I tried to make it last, but it was difficult. I got rough with her when she became resilient and steadier, so I took my hand off her mouth and slapped at her face a few times. I grabbed her breast and felt that mound under my hand, then I slapped it, hitting it again and again with the rhythm of each thrust into her. I slid my hands across as much of her body as I could reach; I wanted to mark it all as my territory, I guess. The more I touched, the more was mine. She just cried and cried. I was busy doing my thing and was really enjoying the fact that I was crushing this poor thing—psychologically and physically.” “Wait a moment, I have a quick question. At what point did you learn her name was Rachel Sinclair?” McLean asked the psychopath. “I asked her straight out. Just as I was walking into her bedroom, I asked her what her name was and how old she was. She told me ‘Rachel’ and eighteen. Then I asked for the last name. She didn’t want to tell me at first when she was in that stunned moment. But within a moment or so she did.” “Okay, continue please,” Reid said. “At the point when I was ready to—well, you know, finish—I didn’t want to just do it like that. I wanted something more special for her, and something special for me to too, so I pulled out of her and slapped her face hard, real hard, a few times! I moved up her body, straddled her head, and positioned myself downward and forced it into her mouth. And then slowly but all too quickly really I let her have it in her mouth. Then I forced her to swallow it. She choked and coughed and made a face like she was going to be sick. I told her not

to throw it up. I told her that if she did throw it up, I would make her eat it and that I would hurt her more. I promised this as I held her mouth shut. “After the sex happened, I made her go into the bathroom across the hall and wash herself up. I knew enough that I didn’t want any of my fluids to be found. I also knew that leaving sperm in the vagina can be traced and eventually connected to the person who put it there, although I didn’t leave anything behind to find. Some kind of DNA matching—and this is why I wanted to do it in a different way, through her throat. I knew the stomach acids would take care of any evidence, so I wouldn’t have to worry.” “Where’d you go to medical school, Rotterdam?” Reid asked sarcastically. “And after Rachel was cleaned up and came back out of the bathroom, what did you do with her?” Brown inquired. “I told her to come back into her bedroom and asked her when her family would be home, where they were, and how many family lived there. She told me that they would not be home until the next morning and that they had gone to her aunt’s house about 150 miles away, where they’d be staying the night. Her sister would be coming home with them. It was now around eleven o’clock, so I had an hour. “I really didn’t want to get to know her, you know? I didn’t really care, and I really had no interest in raping her again. To me that wasn’t the highlight. The highlight would be coming. I told her that I wanted to kill her and that she had to die. She tried to beg me not to, asked me with ‘Please, please, please, sir, don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you ask me to.’ She was crying really hard now and told me that she was very scared. I just told her that unfortunately the worst-case scenario would be her fate. She wanted to know what that meant and how I would do it. I thought being honest with her would be the most horrifying thing for her, so I went with it and told her what I had in mind. “We proceeded into the bathroom together, and I told her to take off the nightgown and get into the bathtub, saying that I would be right back when she was ready. I left the room, giving her ‘privacy,’ which in fact was time for me to go to the kitchen to find a filet knife and some rope. I chose the most slender serrated knife they had in the drawer, and I fingered it. It was certainly good and sharp. I also chose a second, sturdier knife as a backup, just in case. It was a

carving knife. And to my good fortune, there was a line of twine in one of the kitchen cupboards, so I took that along. “I went back into the washroom, where she was just finishing up what she’d been told to do. And I think I even said, ‘Thank you for listening to my instructions,’ adding that it meant a lot to me. She just looked at me and was crying, begging me not to hurt her. She would do anything, she said; she wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened, and no one needed to know. But really I wanted people to know. Maybe not right away, but I did want these details to get out one day and make folks very horrified and uncomfortable,” he lamented.

6

“I tied Rachel’s hands together and her feet together as she was seated in the tub and basically had nothing to fight back with. Then I hog-tied her restrained hands to her tied feet so she was hunched forward slightly. It was rapture for me —complete and utter control of another person. What would happen next would be my will and decided only by me. I started to strangle her. I had wrapped my hands around her throat and started to squeeze. I strangled her almost to the point of her ing out, but I stopped short of that because I didn’t want her to die yet. So I stopped and took a step back to catch my breath and revel in the moment. I watched for her breathing, which was very shallow, so I knew she was alive. When she came to, eventually I wrapped my hands around her neck again and strangled her some more. There was no sound; everything was very quiet. She had tried to cough and choke before, but not now. And for a moment there I thought I could do that all day long, it was so exciting for me. I felt almighty and solid. She was experiencing and living in such complete shock and terror, and I wanted to prolong it. “I think I did this to her another two or three times, and each time was the same: I would choke her to the point of ing out, and then I would stop. And she would try to wriggle her body away from me somehow. She tried to fight. But by the last time, I was getting bored. I choked her past the point of being able to sputter and get herself back to the land of the living. She wasn’t quite dead, but she was halfway there—half in and half out. Her face was pale and swollen; her eyes and eyelids were reddened with little lines. She had a reddish-blue tint to her lips, and her skin had little spots of yellow. “At this point I took a step back to ire my work and see her lying all askew in the bathtub. The position she was in did not look not natural or comfortable in the least. I took the heavy-duty knife and decided to take the first foot. The left foot was my initial target. I brought the knife to her ankle and lightly started to saw back and forth, just enough to split the skin and see some blood come forth. I motioned back and forth this way for a while, adding more and more pressure with each movement in my task. I think at this moment something in my mind confirmed to me that this was what I was supposed to do, that this was my

success, my happiness, my calling. So I began to slice even harder, faster, and with all my body weight. I wasn’t concerned with the bathtub getting bloody as I was prepared to clean it well, very well, with bleach and other heavy chemicals that were sold in the drugstore and would likely be found in this house. “The foot came off eventually. It was a little harder than I thought it would be to saw off an appendage, but there it was in my hand. I couldn’t believe that the foot that had helped Rachel walk over to the bathroom on my command just a few moments ago was now in my hand. I put it down in the tub and moved up to her left hand. As soon as I put the knife to her wrist, she started to cough and come to. Oh Christ, she is still alive! She didn’t die. That made me saw faster and harder with a fury. She screamed in horrific pain while I did these things to her. I gave her a choice: ‘Shut up, or would you like me to strangle you again so you don’t feel this?’ She cried and moaned, ‘No.’ So I continued to her right hand, which had to be removed—and it was. She may have ed out at that point because she stopped complaining so much. Then I wanted to see what if felt like to slice off a breast. With her breasts already exposed to me, I did so. I decided to keep the right one as a souvenir. I sliced it right off with very little trouble. A lot of blood, though, and it ran fast down the front of her belly and down in between her legs. I did try to wake her up one more time before she was to be finished just to say goodbye, I guess, but she didn’t respond. “I cut through the thigh on the left side, which was particularly difficult as there is a lot of bone and muscle to go through. Then I tried to saw away at the hip, but it was difficult there too. I clearly had the wrong tools. I was getting physically tired with all the back-and-forth motion, but I was having so much fun and enjoying myself and didn’t want to stop, so I stabbed her in the throat maybe thirty-five times, so many times in fact that her head almost just rolled off her shoulders. I must have cut through many important muscles and tendons while stabbing that there wasn’t a lot left to hold her head up. So I stuck my knife in her neck one last time, twisted it nearly 180 degrees, and whispered ‘goodbye’ in her ear—then I ripped her head off her shoulders. Finally it was done.” “What time was it at this point?” Brown asked. “Oh, I don’t know, somewhere around 11:30, I suppose. I wasn’t really watching the clock too closely. I knew I still had some time before the family got home. I planned on leaving the premises by no later than 2:00 a.m., but I am not a

hundred percent sure of what time it was at that point.” “So what happened next?” Reid demanded. He was getting sick to his stomach just listening to this psychopath and wasn’t sure if he should be believing these god-awful stories, but he knew that at the end if they were able to prove this was the truth, Rotterdam would be on the way to death row if Reid had anything to do with it. The officers glanced at each other as if to say, Please, let’s just get this over with. “I went ahead and cleaned the body parts off with shower water and then put the pieces of what was once Rachel in green garbage bags that I found in a kitchen cupboard. I knew I would have to get rid of the body and didn’t really know what to do with her. I did consider just leaving it there in the bathtub for the mother to find, or maybe putting her back in her bed so that Mommy would think her baby was fast asleep when they got home. Then maybe they wouldn’t discover her until the next day! How great would that be if the family slept through the night with the dead girl in the room next door and didn’t even know about it?! Awesome. I could picture the mother trying to wake her up the next morning: ‘Oh, darling Rachel, you must get up. It’s time for you to do your chores …’ And then there would be no response! Maybe Mother would bend down and try to nudge the girl to shake her awake. Then what would happen? Her heart would sink to the pit of her stomach with shock and disgust. She would be confused for a time, not sure what was going on. Then she’d peel away the blanket and see the corpse, likely all gray and sallow by that time. It would have a stench by then too, and Mommy wouldn’t know what the hell was happening. “Or I could take her all with me. And then I thought I could drop her off to Mommy one piece at a time over the next weeks or month. That would be risky for me, but it did have some measure of—oh, I don’t know—wonderment, and it would be an extended experience of horror for the family. Can you imagine finding a hand one day on your doorstep, a foot the next, maybe an eyeball the following week?! I would get them their daughter back to bury, but very slowly. This idea was brilliant!”

7

“I took it upon myself to have a look around through the house, in the closets, in Mommy’s room. I found a staircase leading downstairs into a basement, and of course I snooped around some. I came to a storage room, or maybe it was a cold cellar, at some point, and in it I found some travel bags and suitcases. It occurred to me that if I used one of those to take the body with me, no one would notice it missing. There was a fine layer of dust covering the cases, so I felt assured that no one had been using them for quite some time. So no one would miss one bag, right? I took the bag upstairs and opened it up. I went down the hallway to where the two garbage bags containing Rachel were, and I dragged them over to the suitcase. Both bags fit nicely inside the case with a little elbow grease and some manipulation. “Once she was packed up nice and tight, I got to cleaning the bathroom from top to bottom. I found some bleach and powder cleaner under the sink and washed away any trace of carnage. I cleaned the floor and the sink too just for good measure. I washed down the mirror on the wall and then even wiped the walls too. There was surprisingly little blood on the walls. I guess I was good at my newfound craft. I wanted to these skills for next time—you know, control the process in order to lessen the spray of blood in order to make the scene cleaner. Anyway, after the bathroom looked presentable, I went back to Rachel’s bedroom and took her bedsheets. I replaced them with a clean set I found in the closet in the hallway. I scanned around her room to see if anything looked out of place, and when I was satisfied that everything seemed as it should be, I knew it was time to go. I took the suitcase and quietly left the house. “I hid her in plain view really; I kept her in my apartment. I hid her for two weeks before I made the first call. And when I was ready, I called the parents, taunting them. I made them believe that Rachel was still alive and being held for ransom, when the whole time she was rotting in my bedroom in her suitcase tomb. I tried to disguise my voice to make it seem more ‘commanding,’ and I would only speak to Mrs. Sinclair. It felt like I was once again speaking to Marylynn’s mother back in the days when she was distraught after the death of her daughter. Mrs. Sinclair showed the same devastation, but she remained

strong-willed and poised. I’m sure she was determined to save her child, so she didn’t falter at all. The cops who had told her what to say and how to manage the kidnapper no matter what he asked for must have coached her. She begged me nicely not to hurt her baby. She told me that she would do anything or give me anything I wanted to get Rachel back. And it’s funny, because those were very similar to the words Rachel used when she begged me to let her live. Mrs. Sinclair cried like I Marylynn’s mother crying for her dead daughter, but Mrs. Sinclair didn’t know yet that her baby was in fact dead. I think the yearning emptiness of not knowing where your child is, is enough to destroy a mother. “Now I figured the cops or FBI guys would be with the family as technically Rachel was simply ‘missing,’ so I had to be careful and limit my phone call times. And of course I only used pay phones from various parts of the city at different times of the day. I also watched the local newspapers and news channels for all the updates on the latest Jupiter County ‘mystery.’ I felt like I was part of a grand scheme—no, not part of, but the mastermind of a grand scheme. I was calling the shots. I was leading the Sinclairs in the way I wanted them to go. I think Rachel would have been proud if she could have been there to watch.” The psychopath laughed out loud at his own joke. “Just stick to the facts, please. We don’t need to hear your insights or attempts at humor for Chrissakes,” Reid said. “Okay, gentlemen, what else can I tell you? I kept the girl with me for some time. I called the Sinclairs several times over the course of my time with Rachel. Mostly the calls were the same. I would promise something if they gave me what I wanted. They did ask to speak to Rachel several times to prove that she was alive and well, but when I said that they couldn’t talk to her and they had to trust me that she was otherwise okay, they really didn’t have a choice but to believe me. I told them some story about how I had Rachel in another location, different from where I was calling from, so it was impossible for them to talk to her. They bought it. They didn’t have a choice in the matter, really. “I would often ask for a sum of money and then tell them I would be in touch as to where I wanted it dropped off, but I would always evade the subject at just the precise moment. Poor Rachel was locked up nicely in the closet of my bedroom, and I tell you, after the first week or so the smell was enough to make me sleep outside on the balcony. But it was still a pleasure to have Rachel stay with me for

so long. I thought of her as my guest. “Several times I opened the suitcase and peeked inside the plastic bags. I was curious to see her just like I had been with Marylynn. I wanted to see what she looked like dead, and that forced me to remain in the moment of her murder— and that led me to relive it over and over again. She was as lovely in death as she was in life. The color of her eyes had changed; they had lost their luster but remained just as jeweled as when they were alive with life. “I couldn’t help myself a few times. I’m not particularly proud of this, but I would take Rachel out of her chamber and make love to her. I know what it sounds like, and I’m sure the thought of it is somewhat disgusting, but, gentlemen, you have to put yourself in my shoes. Here was this young woman whom I had conquered and whose life I had changed in a matter of mere moments—and that is very powerful. So when I felt the need to show her how much I appreciated her and loved her, I took her out. I would lay her parts down on the bed or the floor and make sure that she was ‘comfortable and safe.’ Then I would lie down next to her and hold her. I told her that everything would be all right and that she could go home soon but that I needed her too. I would touch her gently and move myself so that my stiffening groin pushed up against a part of her—usually the torso, but sometimes I just used her head. I would rub myself on her and get so excited that I would just explode without even penetrating her. Only once did I actually penetrate her torso in that way, and to be truthful, it didn’t feel so great, kind of dry and scratchy. So I gave up on that pretty soon.” “And how many times would you say that you had sexual relations with Ms. Sinclair postmortem?” Brown asked. “Oh, I don’t rightly know. It was intimate and personal, and I didn’t count. Do you gentlemen count how many times you’ve had relations with your wives? No, of course you don’t. It would be absurd to do that. So I didn’t either. I had Rachel with me for a total of fourteen days, and we got very close. I grew to truly love her. She was my immortal doll, the perfect woman who was frozen for all time in a second of fear caused by me. Me! I did this. And in her last moment, I was all she could think about. And that, gentlemen, is history that cannot be replicated. That experience cannot be duplicated. No other person I chose to kill would die like Rachel did. No one would ever have that exact experience again. And the fact that I had Rachel suspended in time was incredibly valuable and personal to me,” the psychopath proclaimed.

“Detective, can I have a glass of water? I’m getting a little emotional and just need a moment, please.” “Yes, sure. I think this is a good time to stop for a break. Maybe we can call it a day and pick this interview up tomorrow. Officers Brown, McLean, if you are in agreement, let’s call it,” Reid said. As everyone was in agreement to call the interview done for the day, Officers Brown and McLean got up to leave. They gathered their gear and bolted quickly for door. Reid was left alone with the prisoner. Reid felt the throb of his headache reach proportional levels. The thought of escorting this deranged individual anywhere but hell was not particularly pleasant. He got up and motioned for Rotterdam to stand up. He instructed him to place his hands behind his back and proceeded to handcuff his hands together. For good measure, Reid also applied a waist restraint that connected via chains to both ankles of the prisoner. Now Reid didn’t think for a moment that Rotterdam could escape, but he did inflict some pain while tightening up the restraints for this horrible excuse of a human being, and knowing he was hurting him was rather satisfying. Reid wondered, Am I like this scumbag who wanted to inflict, and thrived at inflicting, pain and suffering on another human by putting him in these chains— and for nothing more than my own selfish pleasure? In that moment he could, on a minute level, identify with the psychopath, but then he quickly shook it off. No way in hell could he be the same! Wasn’t torturing and killing a person be in a whole other class from merely making the walk down the hallway as difficult as possible for this guy? And with that, the thought was gone.

8

R otterdam finally got back to his holding cell and really felt like he needed the space and quiet time to decompress. After confessing some of his innermost-kept secrets, he felt exhausted and empty. He looked around to survey his lonely cell. It was long but narrow. The floor was concrete, painted a dank gray color, and the walls were cinder block style, painted beige. Along the back wall was an iron ledge that was bolted into the cinder, and this was to be his bed. For good measure they had put down a half-inch-thick burgundy-colored mat. The only items he had that weren’t bolted down were a wooden chair and a gray-spotted blanket. There was a stainless steel toilet and sink combo near the entrance of the cell—absolutely no privacy at all! If he had to use the latrine, he would do so at the risk of an officer walking by. The room was considerably bright with fluorescent lights plastered to the ceiling. Those lights never went off; they continuously burned down on him. The reason behind the lights was that the recording camera that was placed in the top corner of the cell had to be able to capture every single detail of every single day and minute he was in there. He had often made smiley faces or flipped the camera the bird because he knew some newbie was sitting behind a desk somewhere monitoring the prisoners. This was a medium-level security facility used to house people accused of serious crimes but not yet convicted. When convicted, Rotterdam would go to the big house and would live out his days in a maximum-level security facility, one that would likely have a death row. They fed him three times a day only because they had to by law. In the morning a slice of buttered toast and an apple was given to him, and usually there was a cold cup of coffee or tea along with it. For lunch he would get some kind of sandwich with a cookie and tap water in a paper cup for drinking. He would be allowed to have that cup with him for only twenty minutes before they would confiscate it; apparently someone had attempted suicide using a paper cup. The prisoner had rammed it down his own throat and choked on it. The attempt was a failure—brilliant! Rotterdam wore the standard orange jumpsuit of any incarcerated man in the state with his prison number in black on the front and “Property of Cook County

Jail” on the back. There were no women housed at this facility; they went to another place, where Rotterdam understood the amenities and food were much better, but that could just have been rumor. Every half an hour or so, a guard would walk past the cell bars and look in to make sure Rotterdam was still alive. He thought it was a suicide watch; forty-eight times a day he would see some man walk past. Most of them didn’t speak a word to John, and only some acknowledged his existence with a nod. There were no clocks and no windows, so estimating the time of day was a real challenge. Most of the time he had to rely on his own body’s clock to tell him if it was time to sleep. He tried asking the guards once or twice what time it was, but they never answered; they would just keep walking their beat. He wondered if maybe he wasn’t considered a human anymore, so they didn’t have to talk to him, or maybe it was against some regulation. He thought back on his childhood and wondered why his life had turned out the way it had, curious what had happened to him that made him turn out to be so bad. Or perhaps he was born like this? He tried to ask himself if he was really sorry for all the bad things he had done in his life, but he couldn’t really answer it truthfully, not even to himself in his own innermost heart. He lay down on his bed and turned to face the side so the lights wouldn’t be blaring into his skull. He was tired and truly exhausted. He felt like he was doing the right thing in talking to the cops. It was something he needed to do, and it would be good closure for everyone involved. On some level John really didn’t want to hurt any more people; he’d had his fun, and it was over. He was really ready to face the electric chair. In fact, that was his goal. He thought about his own death and how it might come. Would it be very painful or quick and easy? Would it be by lethal injection or electricity? He didn’t know, but he didn’t care either. He did know that there would be people watching him die, usually a gallery of carefully selected guests. Anyone from the victim’s families who wanted to bear witness and watch the killer being killed could attend. The prosecutors and other state and county officials would be present. If John had any family , they might be invited to watch too, but he didn’t, so that was a given. He wouldn’t have wanted any of his family to watch this happen anyway, so that was a blessing. He knew he was entitled to have a spiritual advisor with him for the weeks leading up to the execution, but he didn’t know if that person would be watching him die through the glass partition with everyone else in the gallery or if that person could be there in the room with him, close by.

He reminded himself to find that out if and when the time came. He knew he would be asked if he wanted to make a last statement and put something on record as to his last thoughts. He wasn’t sure if he would do this or not. He thought about what he might want to say, but mostly he figured he would just decline the offer. A nice, simple apology would be in good taste, but did he really care enough to waste his breath at that moment? Likely not. He thought back on the memory of his mother and father and decided that they were relatively normal and not psychotic. He didn’t think there was a family history of mental illness of any kind, but then again he didn’t really know much about his grandparents. There were no aunts or uncles, so therefore there would be no cousins either. His brother was, in his opinion, quite mean and nasty and could possibly have fit the criteria for having some mental issue, but that had gone undiagnosed just like his own mental troubles had. There must have been someone somewhere down the genetic line who had the same issues as John did. He could not possibly be the only one in the family dating back to Adam and Eve. He felt sure of this, and that thought somehow comforted him in his hours of solitude. He thought, What is wrong with a person who can hurt people so fluidly and violently and not even flinch? He hoped that a psychiatrist would give him some answers after all this was over and before he went to the electric chair. With some answers he might be able to do his prison time with some peace of mind— or at least some good medication!

9

“O kay, let’s get started. This is Staff Sergeant Jeremy Reid here, and we are beginning our second day of interviews with accused prisoner John Rotterdam. Today is Wednesday, June 2, at almost exactly nine o’clock in the morning. We are here in interrogation room C at the Cook County Jail, where Mr. Rotterdam has requested this meeting in order to confess of crimes he has been accused of and indicted on in the Municipal Court of Cook County. Also present is Officer Wallace McLean and Officer Dave Brown, both of the Cook County Sheriff’s Department. Mr. Rotterdam has not yet been arraigned or convicted of any of the standing charges at this point, but he does wish to provide us a detailed of the murders of Rachel Sinclair and Sonia Grand in the years 1964 and 1971, respectively. He has been advised that these statements may be used against him in a court of law. This meeting will be recorded on audio as well as on video for documentation purposes. “Mr. Rotterdam, for the record, can you please state your full name and your date of birth and tell us if you are freely giving us this interview with no promise of leniency in return? Also please acknowledge the fact that you are aware that you are entitled to have your attorney present during these discussions and that you have chosen not to avail yourself of that option,” Reid stated. “Ugh, yeah. My name is John Daniel Rotterdam, and I was born on December 2, 1945. I am giving these details of my crimes of my own free will in order for Officer Reid and his men to be directed to crime scenes and be given information necessary for them to gather evidence in an effort to prove that I have indeed committed these crimes. I do not wish to have my lawyer present. “For the record, officers, I am hoping that this will lead to some kind of thorough psychoanalysis for me with the hope of gaining a better understanding of my actions. I do understand that you have not made me any promises of this. I do, however, wish to continue.” The psychopath was getting comfortable in his chair in preparation for the day’s confession. “Right, Mr. Rotterdam. I wanted to talk a little more about Rachel Sinclair before we go forward to discuss Sonia Grand. Mr. Rotterdam, what made you

decide to give Rachel back to her parents and end the captivity situation?” “Well, I suppose that after the two weeks, I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that I could not keep Rachel forever, that she would have to go home. And there was a part of me that was growing tired of the responsibility of continuing the whole charade. I felt like I was chained down to the situation, and I felt like I was suffocating in a sense. I had to continually think of how to manipulate the Sinclairs to great intensity and all the while not getting caught, which meant keeping the cops off my tail. And I did grow fearful. I had to go into hiding in a sense and live off the grid for a while. I didn’t want to go to jail, and I didn’t want to face up to the whole situation, but I also knew it was coming to the time when it would need to stop. So I had to come up with an ‘ending’ of sorts. That is when I decided to send Rachel home. And I wanted Rachel to make a grand entrance when she arrived! “I came up with the idea of mailing her home piece by piece. It started with the left foot, the part of her I’d removed first, so it only seemed fitting to give that part away first. I wore rubber gloves and wrapped the foot in a plastic bag. I put that bag into a shoebox and then wrapped the box in butcher paper. I addressed the box to Mrs. Sinclair and marked it private and confidential. I did not include any letter or note for her, just the foot. I knew that using the post would lead cops to track me down—same with using a courier service—so I found a kid who lived nearby to the Sinclair house and I paid him ten dollars to put the package in Mrs. Sinclair’s mailbox out in front of the house. I told him that if it didn’t fit to just leave the box near the front door. “The kid agreed. He had never seen me before and was so young that I didn’t fear him giving too detailed of a description of me if he were asked. I sincerely wanted to watch the reaction of the Sinclairs when they opened the package, but I didn’t feel confident enough to be close by, which only left me with my imagination. I imagined what chaos and sorrow might be going through the household when they opened the box and discovered a part of Rachel was home. I never knew, and I still don’t know, what actually took place with that delivery, but in my heart I know that Mrs. Sinclair must have cried, sobbed, and collapsed in desperate sorrow. Again, I liked knowing that a lot. “I let two days after that first package had been delivered. I watched the news, but there was no report of this latest discovery. I figured they were keeping this out of the press for the sake of the family, or maybe because of

some legal reason that would help to convict me when I finally got caught. It pissed me off. I wanted some recognition and a little bit of glory, I guess. I wanted people to know that I was out there, that I had Rachel, and that I was willing to give her back to her family. “So on the second day I prepared Rachel’s hand in the same fashion as I had the foot, except this time I included a short note in the box. It read:

Sinclairs,

Your girl is coming home. I know I told you that she was safe and sound all this time, but I lied. Sue me. Now you can go fuck yourselves, because you couldn’t save your baby!

Yours truly, Your worst nightmare

“I sent the box with the hand in it in a taxi with instructions for the driver to deliver it to Rachel’s house. I gave him the address. I felt a little cocky and figured this taxi driver could describe me. Maybe I was ready to divulge myself, or getting ready to do that at least, so I took a risk. I timed it so the package would arrive in the evening hours. I hid across the street from the Sinclairs’ house in the bushes. My heart was pounding in my chest. I could feel my pulse throughout my entire body. I was literally pulsating. I was so pumped! I was energized, scared, and hyped up at the same time. “Finally, finally, the taxi came by and stopped at the end of the driveway. I knew this was it, and I smiled to myself at a job well done. The driver ran up the drive and rang the bell. A man answered the door finally. I suppose it was Mr. Sinclair. He took the box and exchanged some words with the taxi driver. I don’t know what was said as I was too far from earshot—and dammit, I hated that. Anyway,

Mr. Sinclair opened the screen door and took the box in hand. I did see his face sort of drop as if he knew what was inside that package. I saw his fear and anguish. And denial crept onto his face too. “I saw the taxi driver turn and leave the driveway when another man shot out of the house and ran after him. He flashed a badge. Later I would be honored to meet that man. And I did indeed meet Detective Reid. I saw that you took that driver back into the house and kept him there for a long time—hours, two at least. The front door closed after you brought him into the house, so I wasn’t able to see any more, but I waited. I wanted to look through the window and watch, the same window I had looked through on that night I took Rachel, but I didn’t dare go over there. There were too many cops in that house. “Eventually you let the driver leave. It was late. I being so cold sitting there on the ground, and it was damp and dark. I was shivering and had to pee badly, but my being uncomfortable was just gravy because I took those feelings of physical discomfort and tried to imagine that Mrs. Sinclair was feeling hugely uncomfortable too. I felt that linked us together in some cosmic way.” “Mr. Rotterdam, what were you hoping to gain that night in of a reaction from the Sinclairs?” McLean asked, knowing full well that he was afraid of the answer. “I wanted to see their pain. I wanted to know I caused it. I was hoping to see them cry in disbelief and horror. But I also knew there would be other nights. And with that I snuck away and went home quietly. Again I waited two days, and then I wrapped up Rachel’s thigh, from the knee up to the bottom of the hip. It went in a bigger box. If I correctly, it was a carton from a delivery of Florida oranges; I had stolen the box from a fruit market on Fifth. This was to be the third piece of Rachel returned. The fourth would be her head, which I thought was the pièce de résistance! I just had to be there to see what happened when they finally got to see their daughter’s head. Just had to. “So I made a call to WYUT News and claimed to be Rachel’s killer. I told them that I wanted to send an apology of sorts to the Sinclairs, but that I wanted it to be televised so the community could also see that I had some comion—not! I would give them the exclusive story, but only under my conditions. At first they didn’t believe me and asked a lot of questions, most of which I didn’t answer. I mean, screw them. Why should I answer any asshole questions about

my work or my life for those losers? So I laid it out for them one final time and told them that if they didn’t believe me, I would be only happy to take the story to CBS or NBC.” “And what were the instructions you gave them?” Reid asked. “I gave them a brief history of the past few weeks, how I met Rachel and watched her. I spoke to the city beat guy, Dave Edwards, directly, and I explained that Rachel and I spent some time together, but not both of us came out alive! I told them I felt badly but wasn’t ready to give myself up to the cops yet, and in the meantime I really did want to send my thoughts and apologies to the parents. “Of course this was pure hogwash. And I told them that I wanted this apology to be broadcast so I could watch the Sinclairs ‘forgive me,’ and in return I would tell everyone what had happened to Rachel and make a full confession. I was also hopeful the Sinclairs would be so kind to give a statement in return and say something directed to me. I told the news guy that I was really hoping someone from the family would speak at the news conference and ‘forgive me’ or at least express some sympathy for me as a mentally deranged individual who clearly needed help. Which, of course, was all baloney—just my way of getting these guys to do what I needed them to do. I told them that they would need to the Sinclairs and get them to agree to this. If and when there was an agreement made to do this news story, I would leave my written apology in a secret location, which I would then let the news guy know about so he could find it, then he could take it over or have the Sinclairs meet him at the spot to give a press conference. “I wanted all of this televised. The opening of the apology envelope had to be on live TV—all of it. The news guy’s response was that he needed to discuss this with his station manager first. I gave him twenty-four hours to talk to the station manager, saying that I would call back then. “The next day when I called back, they told me that the Sinclairs had agreed to my and were willing to move forward with this. I felt like I had just won the freaking state lottery! My whole life had meaning again all of a sudden. The plan was that on the following Tuesday at 6:00 p.m., I would call the station with a local payphones, and when I saw the live broadcast, I would reveal the location of the apology. The News guys would have to go and retrieve the package on

live TV. They agreed to it. I couldn’t freaking believe that these guys had agreed. So Tuesday came, and it was time for the 6:00 p.m. news. I was so juiced up, it felt like I had snorted a line of coke or had shot heroin. Man, it was so amazing. I watched the television, and for the first time I saw the face of the reporter I had been talking to, Edward Davies. He was some young piece of shit, green—an asshole who was just out of school and who thought this was going to be his big break—he might even get the anchor position for breaking this massive story. “And all the while, I was safe behind doors in the security and comfort of my little home. Davies started talking to his audience, telling them some of the events of the past few weeks, what the status was now, and what would be happening that evening. He reminded everyone that this was a very unorthodox and unusual situation and that the Sinclairs were a strong family. He added that the police ed the Sinclairs’ decision to move forward with this operation in the hopes of getting some kind of clues from the apology statement from the alleged killer. He told the audience that he was expecting a call from the person who wished to send the apology; at that point they would go over to the location and see what was there. He insisted to his watchers that he would remain on the air no matter what happened. Everyone was anticipating the unknown. He instructed that all children should not be watching the broadcast. I got disappointed that the kiddies out there weren’t going to get to see my big great ‘apology.’ But what the hell; you can’t have everything, can you? “I placed the call to the news kid at the agreed time, and I could clearly see him answer his phone on the screen. When I talked, he listened. I told the guy to go to Boling Park Hill, the east side where the playground is, and find the single public washroom house. I had placed the letter in the stall the day before, so it was all ready to go. I indicated that there was a package for him to give to the Sinclairs in the last stall of the men’s room. I told them the stall door would be locked and the package would be sitting on the toilet bowl. I reminded him to keep his end of the bargain and keep this on the air. He nodded his head on camera for me to see instead of just saying yes. He then updated his audience with this latest development, then he and his crew, the Sinclairs, and some cops all got into the news van and began to drive the short distance to the park. I think they only had about a mile to go, so not a long ways. I didn’t want the viewers at home to get bored with a long, drawn-out car ride, so I made it short and sweet. All during the car ride they maintained a live

connection to all of us at home watching, encouraging the viewers to hold tight to themselves in this most unusual broadcast. For the most part, the Sinclairs had remained in the background yet were present with the group going out to the park, so I knew they were there. And I could see they were frightened. Even seeing their fright in brief interludes was amazing. The fact that this plan was happening was freaking amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever pulled something off like this in my life—ever.” He gloated. “Mr. Rotterdam, did you ever know exactly how old Rachel Sinclair was at the time you killed her?” Brown inquired. “Yes. She told me she was eighteen,” he replied. “Sir, she was eighteen—only eighteen with a full life ahead of her. That didn’t make a difference to you?” “No, not likely. It didn’t make any difference to me. She was still attractive to me, and she was someone I felt I completely had to possess. I knew she was young, I thought maybe sixteen, but if I had learned she was younger or older, well then, so be it. I suppose it would have made the sex better and more interesting, but that’s about it,” the psychopath confidently stated. “Okay, so continue. Tell us about that night with the news coverage. What happened next?” Brown insisted, getting a little hot under the collar with rage and hate for this piece of shit sitting in front of him. Brown really wanted to lose his cool and rip this guy’s eyes and tongue out and leave him to die. But he refrained from doing so and ensured he remained professional—someday there may be a promotion for him if all went well with this creep’s story. “Okay, so I could tell they were pulling into the park grounds and heading toward the playground and, subsequently, the washroom hut. They all got out of the car and gathered around the van. The scrawny news reporter told the audience that he would be going inside the men’s room to see what there was to be seen. He said into his camera, ‘This is it, folks. We are about discover what secrets, if any, lie ahead for us in this case, a case that has gripped our small city for weeks now. We could potentially find some closure for the family or an ending of sort with this apology coming, but we still don’t really know what that apology will say or how it will play out. So stay tuned. And , folks, that this is late-breaking news you can only see here on Channel 3, right here,

right now, live! This kind of broadcast is the very first of its kind, and we are bringing it to you as it rolls out!’ He continued to be his usually melodramatic self and added that if something untoward were to happen unexpectedly, they would go off the air immediately to a commercial break until the situation had been resolved. “That was not part of the agreement, but I couldn’t fault him for that. In truth I never gave him clear directions not to cut out, so I just chuckled as I watched the screen come alive with the blaze of mystery that Dave Edwards was creating. I saw him step carefully into the washroom hut, and it seemed as if everyone in the nation who was watching took a collective deep breath and held it. I knew what he was going to find, but of course no one else did. “When Dave came out a minute or so later, he was carrying the box, my box, and had a look on his face like he had just found Atlantis. The camera went back on him immediately, and he started. ‘Folks, I have found a box as predicted that contains something inside; the box weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of ten pounds, I would guess. For the record, I have not opened this box, as I think the authorities are going to want to look at it first. Officer Reid, can you please give me a statement as you take this package into custody?’ asked Davies. “‘No comment at this time. Our bomb squad is here to examine the package before it goes over into the hands of the Sinclairs. At that point we will remain here on standby as the Sinclairs open the package as agreed,’ Reid stated professionally, devoid of the anxiety he felt in his heart. “‘Thank you, Officer. So let’s get the bomb squad guys in to take the package from me and ensure it is safe.’ Davies then went ahead and handed the box over to two men in heavily padded black uniforms with helmets that shielded their faces from the bottom of the neck up. “The cops took the package somewhere off-screen, which made me quite mad. What were they doing with it that I couldn’t see? I wanted a clear view of that box from the moment Davies found it until the end, dammit. But Davies gave a lengthy commentary for each step that was taking place, and then they actually broke for a commercial. I couldn’t believe it. So in the meantime, I went to pee and then grabbed a beer from the fridge. I headed back to the sofa for the finale. When I got back, it was just at the end of an ad for an over-the-counter antiinflammatory pill that apparently helped with arthritis pain. I made a mental note

of it for later. Then the special news report came back on. There was Davies all primped and glowing like a peacock. “He began, ‘Welcome back, everyone, from our commercial break. Folks, I just want to bring everyone up to date with the events of this unique and disturbing evening. We are here at Boling Park Hill with the family of Rachel Sinclair and the local authorities bringing you this live broadcast. Folks, we received word several nights ago from a gentleman who claimed to be the killer of Rachel Sinclair, our beloved missing teenage neighbor whom we have been searching for, for several weeks now. At first we didn’t take this claimant seriously, but the more we entertained his story, the more interested we became. His details were highly suspicious. Everyone, this man told us that he wanted to send an apology to the Sinclair family before giving himself up. He wanted to make sure they got the apology, so we made a bargain to televise this message to the Sinclairs, and then he would surrender his position and face the full force of the law based on his criminal actions,’ Davies instructed his viewers. “Now, boys, I never said I would turn myself in. That man was embellishing, which I figured he would do on TV. Sensationalism begets ratings, I suppose,” the psychopath stated. “The news anchor began again: ‘And so here we are. I have just retrieved a box from the men’s room as directed by our caller. It was located in the stall in which I was directed to go, and that package has now gone over to the authorities for a safety check. That package will then be handed over to Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, who will then, well, decide if they want to open it or not. Folks, we don’t know what is inside this “apology box,” but we are going to remain here with you for the duration. Whatever happens here tonight, whatever is said in this apparent apology statement, we are in this together. I am Edward Davies, and we are coming to you live from Channel 3. We are staying on the air with you throughout this most unusual evening. Now let’s turn our attention over to the Jupiter County Police Department for a brief statement as I see they are prepared to give on at this time.’ “Officer Jeremy Reid reached out from behind the scene to take the microphone in hand and spoke clearly and very directly into the camera: ‘My name is Staff Sergeant Jeremy Reid. We are here on this most unusual evening together to lend to Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. I am not at liberty to disclose any facts related to why we decided to go along with this very dramatic event, nor am I prepared

to comment on the case in any manner, as it is still an open and active case. I am here to represent the authorities and oversee the proceedings to ensure the law is being followed while also protecting the Sinclairs. The Sinclairs have given their consent to all of the activity that is happening now, but they will not be making any kind of statement before or after opening the package. There will be no questions taken, and there will be no statements made at this time. A formal statement will be released in the days to follow. “‘The local bomb squad and authorities have had a look at this box. We are satisfied that there is no immediate explosive threat, and we will leave the next move up to the Sinclair family, whether they want to proceed to open this package in this most public way or leave it up to the authorities to remove from the scene and take back to the station. “‘Everyone, we are aware that news station WYUT management has made a verbal agreement with the caller on what the procedure would be during this evening, but in the end if the Sinclairs wish not to be a part of this, or if they wish to stop this event at any time, we will their decision and remove the package from here and take it down to the station for further investigation in a controlled environment. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, would you like to move forward with this?’ Reid asked. “Mrs. Sinclair cautiously and very hesitantly nodded while looking at her husband, who was white as a sheet and looked ready to vomit right there on the ground. They looked at each other for what was only a brief second but which to them was an eternity of memories of their lovely daughter. They needed to play this horrible game through to the end no matter what the ramifications were. If there was an apology found, they would likely brush it off as being the product of a crazy person who was looking for a moment of fame in return. As the police had reminded them earlier, opening the package would be giving the authorities insight into who he was and why he was doing what he was doing. He could inadvertently give up some clues as to where the rest of their daughter was, and that was the most important part; they just wanted her home. On the flip side of that, they were also fully aware that there could be another part of Rachel inside that box. They had already received several parts of her and were forever scarred from the experience, so they both believed they needed to play this through. Each step of this horrid game would be decided on as they went, moment by moment. They felt somewhat in control and able to say ‘no more’ if they wanted to or needed to, and that gave them back some power. In reality, they knew they were being played like pawns in some psycho’s mind-fuck of a game, but this is what life had brought to them and their daughter. Being a faithful Christian

family, they bounded together alongside the church and pushed forward. “With the nod of Mrs. Sinclair’s head, one of the officers carried the box over to the parents, who were bracing themselves at the edge of a table, waiting to see what was coming next. “And right there, gentlemen, was my moment. My moment had arrived. I could see the box now on the TV screen, and I was watching for every little hint of emotion from anyone who was present. I held onto Rachel’ right hand, which I had with me on my thigh for . I held her hand tight for , and together with her I felt even stronger and more confident in my siege. Her hand was as hard as a rock and cold, but in my mind it was as warm and lovely as the day I had met her. “Mrs. Sinclair reached for the box that was resting on the table the news station had set up for them and went ahead to read the writing on the top of the box. It simply had Rachel’s name on it. Mrs. Sinclair began to rip at the paper with a fierce determination to retrieve some further information about her daughter. She clawed at the cardboard and tore at it without even drawing a breath; she was cautiously aware that what lay inside could bring her heart to a complete stop. Part of her wanted to stop and walk away, I’m sure, but the other part of her had to see. “I brought the back of Rachel’s fingers up to my cheek for a loving touch while watching Mrs. Sinclair proceed to open a flap of cardboard at the top end of the package. She hesitated before opening it fully. Then she took a deep breath and looked down. … I could hardly breathe. I squeezed Rachel’s hand tighter for , and then I saw Mommy flip the lid open and slowly look down into the box. She saw the telltale plastic bag, which was the same type I had used before when sending other parts of Rachel home. And I’m sure she just knew. “Someone went ahead and handed her a pair of scissors, and she began to cut open a section of the bag. I could see Officer Reid step in behind her to watch the whole procedure at very close range; he was the official present and had to participate to bear witness. Mrs. Sinclair then very gracefully set the scissors down on the table and manipulated the plastic bag within the box. Her eyes widened with terror and her face turned to stone right there on live television. I’m sure her heart skipped a few beats in her chest.” The psycho was proud and gleaming while telling his story.

10

“M rs. Sinclair went stark pale white as all the blood drained out of her face. Her mouth dropped open and widened, but no sound came out. I’m pretty sure there was no breath in her lungs to let go of. She stood there in the same spot for what felt to me like an eternity. Her husband was dutifully holding her up for , and she ever so slightly shook her head in disbelief and shock. She took half a step back in what I think was a failed fainting spell. Then she flew forward and wretched and vomited all over the table and even into the goddamned box! I nearly died laughing! “She fell flat on her ass at that point and started to bawl her eyes out. The husband was trying to her, but he himself was red-faced and looked like he was about to have a massive coronary. I was just breathless, just amazed at the real drama of the whole situation I had created. What power, what mastery I had. I finally got to witness what Marylynn’s mother must have felt, but to a magnified degree in this situation. Mrs. Sinclair would never be the same again. I had changed her. I had altered her soul just as I wanted to.” John stopped his story at this time and needed a break. He wanted some coffee and a chance to use the bathroom. Everyone agreed. Reid announced the time and details of this break. They agreed to meet again in thirty minutes. The men all stood and trotted to the door. Reid again had the “pleasure” of escorting John down the hallway and to the restroom. After that Reid would take John back to the interrogation room and go fetch a coffee for himself. Once he had finished that, he would refill his cup and also take one back for his prisoner. He didn’t want to hear any more evil from this man. He really just wanted to lock him up and leave him there to wait for the day of his execution, which would likely be some years away. Reid was certain of one thing, though: he would be present and ed for at both Rotterdam’s sentencing in court and his execution day at the slaughterhouse.

11

“A t this point, Mr. Rotterdam, what was your plan for the rest of the body parts?” Brown asked. “I didn’t have a laid-out and drawn-up plan. I was kinda flying by the seat of my pants. I just wanted to glory in the moment I had; maybe that would have been enough for me, I didn’t know. I held fast to Rachel’s hand and told her just how wonderful I thought she was, and I thanked her over and over again for the gift she had given me. I kissed each of her fingers and reveled in her beauty. I wanted to every single crease and contour of her small hand and how it felt and smelled in this most victorious moment. I was never clever enough to make a plan with follow-through, and really the best part of the suspense is being open and free to whatever happens. So while I knew I had the body and I knew I had set up the situation at that very moment, I didn’t know what to do next. “Even after the news guy stopped the filming and broke for a commercial break, I sat there still staring at the screen. The television became a blur. The only thing I could focus on was Rachel. I wanted her again, and I started breathing very heavily and shallow. I was getting hard in my pants, and the swelling was aching. I released myself and put Rachel’s hand around me. As soon as she touched me, I was in heaven. She just had a way of touching me.” “How in the hell did you manage to do this?” McLean demanded. “I wrapped my hand around the back of hers, and we did it together. Up and down slowly at first. I didn’t want to hurt her or tear her skin. It was really becoming very fragile at that point. But I was in pure delight and felt like the most powerful king of the world. We stroked together, and I leaned back on the couch and thought about Rachel and her mother and how much I wanted to fuck her. I whispered her name and pictured in my mind how she’d looked when I first met her. I thought about the look on her face and how she’d reacted when I forced myself into her and didn’t stop until I was ready. I thought about how easily her breast was fileted off her body and what her nipple tasted like when I sat back with the breast in my hand on that bathroom floor. I got harder and

harder with each stroke of her hand. I squeezed her hand a little tighter on me, and that was all I needed. An explosion of relief came out and, curiously enough, landed on the top of her hand. I imagined her groaning with the pleasure of having given me pleasure. I kept stroking slowly until the thrusting was over. I still had the hunger inside me for her, deep in the pit of me I loved her.” “Okay, we get the picture, John. What next?” McLean interrupted the gruesome story with disgust. “Well, it did take me a little while to recover. I mean, I could hardly breathe properly for a few minutes afterward. I laid her hand down, and I tried to compose myself and put myself back together. It struck me in that moment that her hand would be the next piece sent back to her mommy. The hand that just jerked me off would be the next gift to the woman who’d given birth to it.” “Uh-huh, right. And, John, how do you feel about all this now, at this point in your life? Do you have any regret? Would you do anything differently?” Brown asked. “No, fellas, I wouldn’t do anything differently. I am who I am, and I needed to do what I did. Don’t get me wrong, I realize it isn’t the ‘right’ thing to do based on what the majority of people may think right is. I know that killing people is not the right thing to do, period. But in my mind, it was the only thing I could do. Like an itch I had to scratch. And now I feel like it’s all in the distant past, and I can feel sorry about that, being as it is in the past. I miss Rachel and Sonia, but it was a long time ago, and I’m an old man now rotting in jail, which is where I do belong. I would like to contribute somehow to the future generation of you good guys who work to stop this kind of business—maybe give you some clues about what to look for in young people who may be interested in my kind of work. I’m not sure every young killer shows signs of interest, but in their heads they sure do know something is wrong. They just don’t know what to do with the mixed signals in their heads. I’m offering you guys a chance to poke around in my head. Get me a shrink, and let me talk to them and unravel all of these things. Let them study me and my life.” Rotterdam was almost begging at the idea of getting some help to perhaps understand the reasons behind his actions as what he did sometimes surprised even himself. “We’ll see about that, John. Tell us about what kinds of thoughts went through your mind as a kid, John. What was so mixed up in your head and making you

so angry?” Reid asked. “For one thing, when I was maybe six or seven I started fantasizing, trying to imagine what it might feel like to press my fingers straight through a fresh human bicep. I willed myself to feel what my hands would feel like pushing through the muscle fibers. I could actually feel the sensation of moisture from blood and imagined it might be thick and slimy with a smell of copper. I knew that if I had the chance to feel it for real, I would want it to be warm, like just out of the body from which it was taken, and I would rip my fingers right through the meat and tear it apart. With those kinds of thoughts, I knew something was wrong. I tried to ask my brother if he had thoughts similar to this, but he always pushed me aside and thought I was nuts, which was correct. But he didn’t want to talk to me. He had his own life and left home when he was young, like around fourteen if I correctly, and we never heard from him again. Thank goodness my parents had both ed on by the time Sam left, or at that point my mother would have taken to prayer for the rest of her days.” “Sounds like you have some jealousy toward your brother?” Brown asked. “No, no, ain’t nothing like that. Some resentment maybe, yes, but not jealousy. My mother, being the good religious lady that she was, dove headfirst into the good book and tried to drag us all down with her. She seemed to favor Sam because he showed her that he was interested in religion and spirituality, so she allowed him to get away with so much. As she got older, she became more and more cold and distant and didn’t want to be around us too much because she was either at her church, her church group, or the prayer club or just plain sitting at home, reading, and praying. But she always had time for Sam. I resented that bigtime. In truth I wanted to slice her throat open and watch her die for caring about him so much more than she cared about me. Obviously, I didn’t have any love for the woman. I mean, she was my mother and all, but I stayed out of her way and didn’t really want to get involved with her shit. She tried to reel me in, but like I told her, ‘If God was real, he would have been a trucker, and he ain’t, so he’s not.’ Right, guys?” The psychopath laughed hard from deep down in his belly. “Maybe you are right, John. And why wouldn’t God want to be a trucker?” The officers made fun of John’s ridiculous attempt at humor. Reid wondered if God was in fact real. He was needed in a big way right now to deal with this guy who had seriously lost his way and had strayed far from the flock.

“Now you’re talkin’, Chief!” The belly laugh continued. “Don’t call me Chief. Just Officer McLean is fine. Let’s get back on track, okay …? So, John, how did you get caught in the end? What happened?” “Ah, well, when I sent the last piece of Rachel back to her parents, I waited for someone to come to my door and drag my ass downtown, but no one ever came. I thought I had gotten away with it and couldn’t believe how easy it had all been. I had kept Rachel’s jaw with me but didn’t want to take it along on the move to another city, so I sawed a small hole in the wallboard and put it inside. I had to plaster the wall up and repaint, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t take her with me; our journey together had officially come to an end. I didn’t want to press the good luck I was having, so I packed my things, whatever I could carry, and left town. I took a train over to Ratcliff, Washington, DC, and set up a little apartment near the downtown section. I kept a low profile as much as I could. I worked for cash here and there at the pier and lived like that for a long time. I was just an average guy living and working in a city with tons of other normal people—or was everyone nutty like me and I just fit right in? Whatever … I didn’t live like a king, but I wasn’t starving either. I went on living like this for a long time, and I had to stifle my urges to hurt people when I felt the need. I also had to push away the thoughts of satisfaction I would get out of doing my real work. “Rachel would come in and out of my mind now and then, and I would have to push her way back in my mind where she belonged. I was a really well-behaved guy. You would have been proud.” “No doubt, John. Why did you stop behaving yourself?” Reid asked. “Sonia Grand came along, and I could not stop myself. It was like a dam bursting.”

12

“I met Sonia at the pier; she worked for her father as a secretary or bookkeeper for one of the fisheries he owned. She was the secretary or some sort of istrative worker, and she decided on the work details for all the guys. She was a looker! She was around fifty or so, and we became friends at first. She was a blonde woman with green eyes and stood around 5’5” with smallish shoulders for her frame. She always had a smile on her face and was eager to say hello to anyone. She had such wonderful green-colored eyes that just sparkled like lightning. I think I was in love with her or as close to love as I was ever going to get. This was a different kind of love from what I’d had with Marylynn; this was a grown-up love and of course different from my love for Rachel. “At the beginning we just talked at work and would make small talk when I would come into the office to pick up my next work detail. She was a real nice gal and gave me all the shifts that I wanted. Soon enough I began to walk her home, and sometimes we’d stop in for a coffee at the Café Shoppe on Shenandoah Avenue. We would just sit there and talk and talk about all sorts of things. We had similar tastes in music and liked the same movies and found that we had a lot in common. She was really interested in fly-fishing, and she came by that naturally, I suppose, ’cause her father owned the fishery that we both worked for. She did love to fish. I hadn’t ever fished myself before meeting Sonia, and she was keen to teach me at some point. “Sonia lived about half an hour or so from the pier area, and we would walk together for the duration. When I dropped her off at home, I’d hitch a ride back into town on the evening bus, and that became somewhat of a routine. At this point, it had been nearly eight years since Rachel was gone. “Sonia took me to her favorite fishing spot near the northern point of Lake Mason. It was a gorgeous spot; a canopy of large oaks shaded the clearing, making it always a comfortable temperature. It was really picturesque. There were old washed-up logs on the shore, and we’d sit on those for hours with our lines in the water. Sonia always made me laugh. We joked about this and that, talking about what was happening in the world and what we thought would

happen with all the maddening politics in governments that we didn’t understand. And until that time there really was no other person whom I spoke to so freely. She was becoming a good friend. No, she did become a good friend, a trusted person. “Sonia and I had been friends for over a year when one day, during one of our walks, she turned to me and put her cards on the table. She told me that she liked me—liked me more than as a friend. In fact, she was falling in love with me, and she wanted to take our friendship to another level and become closer. She was so sincere about it. For any other, normal person, it would have been flattering and the perfect thing. Now I knew that I couldn’t give her what she wanted because quite simply I can’t give that to anyone. I just don’t have those feelings. She was great and a real lovely girl, but in of partnering up, getting engaged, and eventually being married and then building a home and having a family—forget it! There would be no way I could settle down into a life with a yard and picket fence. What kind of father would I make? Not a very good one. People like me cannot be with anyone. We are loners by spirit and cannot conform to live a ‘traditional’ life. My anger and hatred would have infested the relationship in no time! “At the same time I didn’t want to lose Sonia, so for the time being I lied and accepted her invitation to move the relationship forward. I told her that I felt the same way she did and that we should not see any other people and be an exclusive couple. I had heard something along those lines in a movie once, and it paid off. She was so happy to hear me say those things; I thought she was going to explode when I said those words to her. Meanwhile, inside me there was a churning sensation, and the devil was clawing at me, reminding me that he was there and planting the seed for me to mull. “So there we were together, holding hands and strolling like silly schoolchildren with smiles on our faces. I felt like I was living in a play. This wasn’t my life; this was someone else’s life, and I was merely a puppet. “One day I stopped for a moment about three blocks from Sonia’s house and pulled her close to me in an embrace. She nuzzled in and got as close as she could possibly get to me. I just held her close for a while. I smelled her scent and breathed it in deeply. I kissed her for the very first time right then and there in the middle of the street. She was shaking from happiness; I could feel it.”

“Sounds like you and Sonia hit it off pretty well! Why hurt her? Why not just break up with her and let it be at that?” Brown asked. “I had no choice. I couldn’t be this husbandly person that she wanted. And if I’d told her that I wanted to call it off, she would have gone right to her father, and I would have lost my nice cash job. I didn’t want to mess with the job because it was going so well for me. I had to pretend with Sonia as long as I could until I could figure out what to do about the situation. “We went places together for a few weeks after declaring our relationship; we went to the movies and had dinner here and there. Then she wanted to go to bed with me, and I just couldn’t do it. Or at least I really didn’t want to do it. She wasn’t like Rachel, you know. Rachel wouldn’t have complained if I did things unconventionally, whereas Sonia might.” “Ugh, John, Rachel really never had a chance to complain to you now, did she?” Reid pointed out. “Well, I just couldn’t take the criticism if it came my way, so I kept telling Sonia that I wanted to wait until a special time, a special moment when it would be right and we would it forever. That kinda melted her heart a bit, and she was content with that for a while. All the while my gut was telling me that I had to get rid of her—and I knew it to be true. I could feel that old feeling creep up into my chest. The anger was building, the hate was bubbling to the top, and I just let it and went with it. For so long I had been suppressing these feelings, you know, keeping them under control as best I could, and now I realized that I could let them go and that I should embrace them and with great anticipation and excitement. Which is what I did.”

13

“W e had made plans to go on a fishing trip the following weekend, back to our favorite spot up the lake. We would head out Saturday before lunchtime and get there with enough time for a late picnic, and then we could fish the afternoon away. I was actually looking forward to the trip. It was one of the things we always did together and had a great time at. But this trip was different—or at least it felt different to me because I knew it would be the last. We weren’t going as friends that day; we were going as boyfriend and girlfriend. And the thought terrified me all the way down to my bones. I felt like throwing up. I didn’t want to go.” “How’d you get out of it?” Brown asked. “I didn’t. We went, and that became the day.” “You mean that was the day you finished it?” “Yup, that was the day. I knew I was going to kill her. I thought I would strangle her, throw her body in the lake to get rid of it, and then act like nothing was wrong. Then I could pretend to be out of my mind with worry because Sonia would be ‘missing.’ I could search for her frantically along with her family and friends, along with the cops and the state. I would pull my weight and search for her like a good friend, a good boyfriend, until all hope was lost and the authorities chose to call off the hunt. But that’s not what happened. “We drove up there on the Saturday, and I could hardly contain myself. It had been too long since I did my work, and really that wasn’t fair. A man needs to do what a man needs to do! Right? Okay, well, you gentlemen don’t necessarily agree with that. And I can’t expect you to. “So we got there and parked the car in our usual spot not too far from the clearing. We walked over, set down our gear, looked around at the lake current, and decided we would set up for lunch a little farther upriver to avoid a gully that was formed near our usual spot. We thought the gully might scare the fish away. So we gathered our stuff and walked a little ways upstream. Once we were

situated, we laid out a blanket and set up to have a lunch that we had packed back at home. We opened a bottle of merlot and enjoyed some sandwiches and fruit. All in all the day was lovely, really very nice. We had a bright and sunny blue sky with some scattered clouds that seemed to just roll by. It was peaceful and quiet with only the sound of the water flowing by to invade our little party. Wildlife was present too. We saw a blue-crested sparrow and some baby ducks waddling in a line behind their mother. “We started to talk, and I asked Sonia to tell me what she envisioned for her life, what she could see for herself and us in the coming decades. She wanted to get married eventually and have a family. She saw us one day inheriting the fishery and maybe living closer to the pier on a houseboat or in a family home somewhere close to the docks. She wanted to have two kids, a boy and a girl, and she could imagine us vacationing with them and proudly attending their school events. She really wanted to love and take care of her own children and nurture them into successful and happy people. “In essence what she didn’t know at that time was that she would never have the opportunity to have a child, nor would she be married or live a life in any sense of the word. But I thought it respectful at least to hear her dreams and hopes. This way I knew what I was going to be flushing out of the world. “The little boy and girl who were never going to be were staring at me in my mind’s eye. I could see them standing side by side in the dark vastness of my mind, both with the same green eyes as their mother, both looking at me very sadly and with disgust for killing their mother. And in my mind I imagined blowing them both away with a .45 mm shotgun and then watching them bleed to death slowly.”

14

“A nyway, after lunch Sonia and I finally sat down on a log at the side of the shore and cast our lines out. We settled in for a long afternoon of fishing. We’d slowly reel in the lines with each second that ed. Then we would recast, and then reel in again. It was as quiet and serene as it could be. Almost right away Sonia caught a little fingerling fish and quite easily reeled it in and unhooked it. It must have been a quarter of a pound or so, not big but a decent start to the day. She put it in the cooler we had brought and got back to fishing. The surface of the water was gleaming glasslike and blue. It was gorgeous like you’d see in a movie, just calm little waves that rolled on by. “We fished for a couple of hours without speaking too much, which was wonderful because I really didn’t want to hear anything from her. You see, one of the rules of fishing is no noise! No talking or else you scare away the fish. And in this particular moment that was heaven. All in all, Sonia caught four small fish. I was not as fortunate; I hadn’t reeled in one. I suppose that was God’s way of punishing me for what I was going to do to this woman. All four of her fish were scrawny, but she was very proud indeed. She had always caught larger ones, but she was flaunting the fact that I hadn’t caught any and she caught four. It was like she was pushing me closer and closer to the anger point, which is what I needed. She taunted me and questioned my ability to ‘bring home the bacon’ like she could. She giggled and laughed at me, and she told me that she was sure I would have better luck next time and not to feel badly. She also told me that she would graciously share her fish with me and that we could have dinner together later, if I would do the cleaning of the fish, the cooking, and then the dishes, because ‘we each had to participate’ in the meal. And of course she’d done all the work in catching them.” “When you say she was pushing you closer and closer to the anger point you needed, what do you mean by that?” Reid asked. “She was egging me on and purposefully trying to make fun of me, and that was making it easier for me to reach inside and touch the part of me that I needed to rip her apart. She was asking for it in a sense. She was causing me to start to get

hot. Tiny beads of sweat had started to form near my hairline. I had a prickly feeling on the back of my neck, and I could feel my top lip curl up in disgust. I was feeling hate and feeling the strong desire to kill her grow. “When I had heard enough from her and felt the need arise to end this whole mess, I went over to the fishing gear and told her I was going to restring my rod. I had told her that the line had come loose and needed to be repaired. At this time she was busy cleaning up from the lunch and packing it all away in the basket to take home. I took the line off the rod completely and doubled, then tripled, a six-foot section to make a poor man’s rope. Then I knotted it at certain increments along the shaft to ensure it was strong and durable. When satisfied, I wrapped the ends around my fists to take up the slack and turned to face my ‘bride.’ I walked over to Sonia and got in nice and close to her. I gave her a hug from the back so we were both looking straight out over the water. I held her shoulders gently and pressed my chest and hips into her back and buttocks. I just held her. She leaned back into me and gave out a loving sigh. She turned her head to the left to look at me, and I leaned down a little to kiss her lips. I wanted to taste her for the last time. I kissed her for a moment or two, and she told me she loved me. I slid my hands down her arms slowly. I reached her wrists and gently moved them back toward me, toward her backside. She was very content and relaxed. I quickly took the rope and wrapped it around both her wrists as fast as I could before she had time to react. I wrapped and wrapped it over and over again until she twisted around and asked, ‘What … what are you doing?’ “‘Oh, honey, I’m just playing a little game. It’s called tied and true,’ I told her, and I put a knot in place to secure the line. Then I stepped away so she could turn and face me square-on. She told me to take the rope off at once; she didn’t want to play any games. I just said, ‘Well, sorry, darlin’, it’s not going to work that way. Unfortunately you are going to have to go away. I don’t ever want to see your face again. In fact, the only time I do want to see you is when I go to visit your grave.’ “‘What the hell are you talking about?” she exclaimed. “‘This, honey. This is your death. Welcome to it. You see, I don’t want to get married, and I don’t want to be anyone’s lifetime partner. It was fun and all for a short time, but in essence, even though I like you and we have had some fun times together, you make me sick, darlin’. You and your whole fantasy life makes me furious. So, my conundrum is that I can’t just break it off with you

because I know you’d go cry to your father, and then my job would be just about done. So you need to die. Are you ready to die, Sonia?’ “‘I don’t know what you are talking about. What have I done to make you so angry? Stop this. It isn’t funny!’ “‘You trapped me, Sonia. You took a simple relationship and made it into something that is suffocating and complicated. I don’t want it, I don’t want you, and I don’t want anything to do with you.’ “‘Oh my God, you’re serious, aren’t you? So just let me go, and I won’t say a word to anyone. Just untie me, and we’ll go back to the city. We don’t have to see each other again. I do love you, though, and I don’t understand what is happening right now. Please just let me go.’ “‘I’m not going to let you go, Sonia. I can’t. And frankly, I don’t want to,’ I told her. “I couldn’t stand her being so talkative and questioning everything that was happening. She was really starting to irritate me. I had to hit her a few times straight in the head just to get her to shut up. The first punch landed just above her left ear, and she got this stunned, glazed look on her face like she couldn’t believe what had just happened. She made a ‘whoa’ noise when I struck her, then she was dazed and just said, ‘Huh? Why’d ya … do that?’ I told her to shut her mouth or I’d do it again, which I did anyway, but I liked toying with her. I enjoyed lying to her, telling her one thing then doing another, making her unsure about what she should do or not do. It became a joke for me. I hit her a few more times until she dropped to the ground. I laughed at how weak she was. “When she was down, I straddled her and smacked her upside the head and face for a bit, all the while laughing at her, kinda snickering at her. I told her that I would treat her four stupid fish better than I was treating her right now, so she could be happy about that at least. I asked her if she still thought she was a more talented fisherman than I. She didn’t really answer me. So I went over to the cooler and took out one of the small slimy fishes and held it by the tail. I brought it over to Sonia and swung it around her face a little and told her to go fuck her fish! I told her that I should shove this fuckin’ fish right up her arse and see how she liked it. Now by this time she was gagged and couldn’t speak, but she just nodded her head up and down and then shook it from side to side and tried to

communicate, No, no, no. “I slapped her in the head with the fish. I felt bad for the fish really. He gave his little life in order to be a weapon of choice for me, a tool if you will. We’ve all got a role to play in this life, I guess!” The psychopath laughed out loud at the memory of the horrific conversation he had with this woman. “What possessed you to get the fish out of the cooler, John?” Brown asked. “Terror, Officer. I wanted to terrorize this woman. It’s part of the reason I cherish these moments of the crime. It does me good to actually bring terror to an individual and make them suffer. To see shock and disbelief on a person’s face is comforting to me. It calms something down in me. I feel like I have control and like I am the most important person on the planet. It’s like I felt with Rachel. I had the say in her life in those few moments, you know? Whatever happened to her was going to be my choice, my decision. And I don’t take that power lightly. In fact I respected it and appreciated it. I’ve never forgotten those choices. “So there was Sonia lying sideways on the dirt, whimpering and trying to wriggle out of the ropes binding her hands. Whenever she tried a little too hard to wriggle free, I’d kick her in the back or whatever until she got the message to stop. I laid her little fishy down right beside her in front of her face, where she could see it up close and personal. Since she was so attached to and proud of catching the thing, she might as well be able to see it. I kept telling her that she just had really bad luck to run into a guy like me and that she should have tried to get romantic with one of the bean counters whom her father worked with at the office instead of a workhand like me. But since she didn’t, I figured I’d enjoy her efforts. “Gentlemen, Sonia and I never had consensual sex during our whole relationship. I always told her that I wanted it to be special with her and that only at the right time and in the right place would we do it so that it could be memorable and something to cherish forever and ever. And on that day I told her that our opportunity had come. We were going to finally get to consummate our relationship right out there on the bank of the lake, under the bright sunny sky and in the presence of the great oaks that stood over us as if in watch! “I looked through the tackle box we had brought to see what kind of tools were on hand. I grabbed a small penknife and proceeded to rip and tear at Sonia’s

shorts until they split open to reveal her skin. I did the same with her underpants until she was completely naked from the waist down. She was crying and pleading with me in some unspoken way, with sounds only as she couldn’t form any words. I taunted her with ‘What? What was that, Sonia? I couldn’t hear you, darlin’.’ Then she’d only cry a little louder or collapse deeper and deeper into her nightmare. And we went on like that for a while … until I was ready. “It takes me some time to get ready—sexually I mean. I can’t just jump in and ride the pony, if you know what I mean. I had to work up to the moment a little, and the torture helped get me there faster. The more I hurt and frightened my partner, the more aroused I actually became. “Finally I was ready, or at least felt like I was ready, for some fun. I grabbed a couple of sticks, branches that had fallen and were lying on the ground. I ground them into the dirt about three feet on either side of Sonia’s hips, then I tied each of her ankles to a length of string, which was tied off to those makeshift stakes in the ground. I kept telling her to just hold still and relax. She wriggled and wriggled, and she was very frightened and couldn’t believe what was happening to her. On some level, at the time, in my mind I was under the impression that she was having fun, maybe even enjoying this. I can’t tell you why I felt that in the moment, but I was feeling like we were doing all this together. Maybe it eased my mind a little; maybe that is the way a killer’s mind works to get through the job? I don’t exactly know. Maybe that is a good question for a psychiatrist! “When she was secure and her ankles were tied up, she was pretty much stabilized because her hands were still tied tightly behind her back. She was basically hog-tied and secure. I asked her if she was comfortable, or as comfortable as she could be in the situation, and she nodded her head slightly. I bent down next to her and asked her why she had to go ahead and make the move to push our relationship to another level, the next level. Why couldn’t she just leave things the way they were? I removed the gag and duct tape from her mouth and let her answer. She sounded very sweet and reserved, almost like she was afraid of saying the wrong thing or, better yet, if she should really be saying it at all. She was confused, but she spoke. “She said, ‘Because I love you. I fell in love with you, and that is usually the next step. I thought you may be too shy to ask me, and I really didn’t want to lose you, so I gathered up the guts to bring the subject up to you. I was very

nervous about bringing the subject up, but by the same token I couldn’t not bring it up because I wanted to be with you exclusively. And I had hoped you would want to be with me as well. Clearly I was wrong, and I’m so very sorry. I’m sorry I said anything about it at all. John, we can go back to the way it was, you know. I won’t tell anyone about today. I promise. We’ll just pretend nothing happened. We’ll go back into the city and continue our jobs. And if you feel like it, we could walk together sometimes, but, uh, if that’s too much for you, we don’t have to. We can remain friends, John. I see that you are not ready for what I was proposing, and that’s all right. We don’t have to move ahead at a fast pace. In fact, John, we can take a step or two back and remain only friends. We can rebuild our friendship to whatever level you decide. But, John, this isn’t the way to have a discussion. John, we need to sit down where no one is tied up and talk about the way we feel and what we want. I’m here for you; I can listen to you and understand you and your feelings. I don’t want you to be unsure about talking to me.’ “‘So you think this is all about me being unsure about talking to you?’ I asked. “‘No. I’m not really sure about why all this has happened at all. I would like to understand it, if you are willing to talk to me and help me understand.’ “‘You don’t need to understand. The time for understanding is over.’ “‘John, you know I have a life. I love my job, and working in my family’s business is very special to me. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t do anything that may hurt them. My family has been good to you over the years, haven’t we? You were always our favorite, most reliable worker and always did a great job with a smile on your face. Don’t mess that up. We can get up from here and walk away from this and go back to where we were,’ she begged me wholeheartedly. “‘We can’t go back now. There isn’t any turning back now. This is the new direction of this relationship and my life. This afternoon will be what it has to be in order for me to fulfill my desire for this type of work. Doing this job has been on my mind for a very long time, Sonia. This afternoon is necessary to silence the pain you have caused me. You have disrupted my life, and I can’t go back.’ “‘No, John, we can go back. Nothing has happened here that went over the line. No one was hurt, and nothing needs to be reported or told to anyone. Let’s just pack up and walk out of here. Please, John, I promise it will all be all right if you

just untie me and allow me to get dressed. We can go back home together, or you take the car alone and I can find a bus back into the city if you don’t want to ride back with me—that is no problem. What do you think? Please,’ she pleaded.”

15

S onia was trying to be very calm and trying to maintain a shred of comion for this man she used to love so she might be able to communicate with him honestly and so he wouldn’t be able to detect the note of fear in her trembling voice. She knew in this nightmare that she would do absolutely anything he wanted, and she was resigned to that helplessness. She knew she had to survive this ordeal. She couldn’t believe how wrong she’d been about John all the months she actually believed he was the perfect match for her. There had been absolutely no signs of any danger or any kind of emotional defects or anger problems that she could see at any point over the past year. This was a completely different person from the man she had been getting to know, and the fact that she hadn’t been able to see any of this anger in his eyes prior to this made her question her own judgment—because she was obviously wrong! Now she was lying here on the ground in the forest with a person whom she thought she knew but who in reality had some very serious psychological problems, greater than she had the knowledge to understand. She did know that she had to keep him talking in order to try to find out exactly what was happening. If she had any opportunity to escape, she would go for it, but for now she would need to watch for an opening to either talk him down or run like a wild cheetah! John walked around a little bit. He checked out the area and looked at the gear he had packed. He wanted to take stock of what was there and consider his options for what he would be using as “tools.” Then he went back over to where Sonia was. She was still whimpering and trying to figure a way out of this situation. Tears were streaming down her face, a race of hot liquid running down her cheeks to the ground below her. She had already lost so much today. She had a loyal boyfriend this morning who had been on board with being exclusive and together building a future with a family later on down the road, and in just a few short hours all of that was gone! She also realized the gravity of what she had never really had with John. It was all just a lie. John said, “I kneeled down to her, low enough to reach close to her ears, and

whispered, ‘Do you still love me, Marylynn?’” “‘I’m not Marylynn. Who the hell is Marylynn?’ she asked.”

16

“J ust let her fucking scream! That’s what I wanted to do, you know, hear her scream. That is what moved me to hurt her more. She was still tied up and crying with fear, and somehow that only egged me on. The more she fought, the more I wanted to hurt her. She was still all tied up and sprawled out on the ground. I threatened her with the dead fish again, and she begged me, saying no the best she could with a taped-up mouth. I knew it was time for her to go. It was starting to get dark, and the sun was changing position and slowly trying to dip behind the clouds. So I said to her, ‘Hey, it’s getting late, so let’s get the party started so I can go home soon.’ She shook her head from side to side real fast, knowing what might be coming. “It started with what she’d really wanted all along. … I took down my pants and kneeled down between her legs. I told her that she was finally going to get the chance to make love with me. I don’t think she was too happy about that at the moment, but I just chalked it up to her being nervous about our first time and all. … I bent forward to steady myself and positioned my backside so that I was all lined up, then I went ahead and just did it. She yelped a little but didn’t put up too much of a fuss. And I just took my sweet old time. No one was around for miles, and again I felt like I was the king of the world, in total control, and that just made me feel electrified. I kissed her cheek and told her how much she meant to me. I asked her, ‘Is this what you’ve been waiting for? Was it worth it? Does it feel good?’ She didn’t answer, and I didn’t expect her to really, but asking was for my own pleasure. The more I talked dirty, the more I just needed to move inside her. I can’t explain the need to hurt someone just because it feels so good inside yourself. “This went on for some time. I did what I needed to do, and then I pulled out. You know how it is, Reid?” “No, I actually don’t. Can’t say I have ever raped a lady, John.” “I thanked her, and then I got up, got myself together, and got dressed. I left her right there where she lay with those legs spread apart and tied to the branches in the dirt. Her hands were still tied up behind her back, which at this point must

have been hurting a great deal because she’d been lying pretty much on them for hours now—and sometimes with my weight on her too. I considered for a moment that I should change her ties to another position, or maybe stake her arms out like her legs to give her some relief, but no way; I wasn’t going to get all soft on her now. So I let her be. “I thanked her for her hospitality and told her that I supposed now we were truly ed given the ion that we’d shared. The sweat on her brow just glistened in the reflection of the setting sun. “I ed that there was a small can of lighter fluid in the tackle box that we brought, so I walked over to it to have a look. In among the lures and lines and all the tools necessary to build a trap for some poor stupid fish, I found the fluid. I shook it up against my ear to try to guess how much might be in the can. It felt fairly full. I walked back over to Sonia and showed her the can. I asked her if she had packed it as a general rule, or was she planning to use it for something in particular? She just closed her eyes really tight and moved her head to the opposite side of where I was standing. The woods were getting really quiet in the dusk at this point, like all the trees had begun to come alive and just stare at us. “I removed the orange protective tip, put my finger over the hole in the nozzle, and shook the can up and down. I wanted to stir things up a bit, plus it was a great effect for her to see. With that I turned the nozzle downward and sprayed the length of her body with the liquid. First wetting her legs and then her midsection, I moved up and around her stomach and chest with the glistening stream of golden juice. Then I found my way to her neck and face. She coughed and choked a bit and tried to keep her eyes shut so it wouldn’t sting. She choked on the fumes from the fluid and really just made things worse for herself by trying to fight it off. “I showed her the matchbook, the cardboard book that was full of its little paper soldiers. I taunted her with the strike of any one of those matches and what could happen. She was pleading with me with her eyes; the terror just emanated out of her. I could sense her heart rate just racing with fear. And then I did it; I struck a match and smiled at her. I told her that I wished her a fond journey and that she really would only suffer a short time. Then I gently threw the match downward toward her, like a cliff diver who so elegantly falls downward to his destination. It felt like everything was in slow motion. Time was allowing me to enjoy this most special event. When the match was maybe an inch above her body, it

ignited, and a whoosh of flame burst up and over her legs. It happened so fast, in a matter of seconds, that the whole lower part of her body was on fire. I stepped back because I could feel the heat from the flames. I watched as the fire crept slowly up her writhing body. I just watched her face and listened to her muffled screams. Her shoulders caught the flames, which of course laid the way for her face and hair to catch. With each breath she used to scream out, to make a noise, she needed to inhale to replace the used air, and when she did so, she breathed the flames deep into her lungs. I watched her face start to melt away. Her ears dripped down, and the hair took hardly any time at all to burn up, leaving her scalp unguarded. She was engulfed now in total hellish flames. “The only thing that struck me to do was to grab another stick that had fallen from the ground and spear one of the fish she had caught earlier from the cooler that we had brought. I moved the stick through the tough scaly skin of one of the fish and then right through the innards and to the other side. I moved the stick with my fist secured on it at the bottom end and then held it over the flames, you know, turning it over every once in a while to make sure the heat would cook the fish thoroughly. The had flames mellowed a bit at this point and just became a slow burning mound of fire. Sonia had stopped moving at some point. The char mound was still but red with ember. I couldn’t recognize her anymore. She didn’t look like Sonia. What was left was still melting away and drying up and turning to something resembling black charcoal. Her legs were still stretched apart at the same skewed angle at which they had been tied, except the rope had long burned away, so the legs maintained their arc on their own. Even her arms remained behind her back; they were just melted in place, I guess. Her face was nearly gone too; there was nothing worth looking at, really. Her mouth was still taped shut, but the fiber of the tape had melted and dripped down the sides of her neck. Her jaw and teeth were visible through a hole in her check, and her tongue was burning. In fact her whole body was red with heat underneath the layer of thick char on the outside. “By this time my fish was getting done on both sides and started to bubble up a little, so I pulled it away from the bonfire. I blew on it and then let it cool down as I took a seat on the ground a little distance away from the fire, close enough to get some warmth from the bonfire, because as the sun was setting, the chill in the air was ever present. I used my hands to peel the skin of the fish away, and I looked for its lovely cooked sweet flesh to eat. I ate that whole damn fish and only left the bones and innards. It was delicious.

I let the fire die down all the way until there was only a red glow. There was a smoldering billow of smoke that was emanating off the body. I thought of getting a bucket of water and throwing that on her to make sure the fire was out, but I decided against that as it might damage the frail skeleton that was on the ground. I needed to bury her; Sonia needed a resting place and a spot out of the way so I could hide this incident. “I got up and took a close look around the immediate location. It was very close to total darkness, and the sounds of the woods grew louder. There were chirping sounds of night owls, and sticks were breaking as maybe a raccoon was moving from tree to tree. I couldn’t see very well at this point, and I wondered if maybe I should just call it a day and come back in the morning to finish the job properly. I didn’t want to make any mistakes in hiding Sonia. I contemplated what would happen if I did leave and someone happened by this site and found her. I knew it would be big news around town! “So I decided to do a minor cleanup of the site. I packed up the tackle box and cooler, picked up any tools or evidence that I could see, walked it all the way back to the main site, and packed it all into Sonia’s car. I decided to take a chance that no one would come along. When I was satisfied that the site was clear of items, except for Sonia of course, I crawled into the car and started it up. I immediately put the heater on and took a moment to warm up. It was really cold outside. I thought of how nice and toasty Sonia had been during her last sunset on earth. She wasn’t cold at all now!”

17

“I slowly put the car into reverse and navigated my way out of the parking lot. After taking a sharp left turn, I drove forward onto the road leading out of the park. It felt like a long drive down all the winding roads and down toward the city. It was dark, but the sky was clear above me. I could see the tiny sparkles of the stars above, and it felt like they were smiling down on me, signaling their and a kinship between those stars and me. After all, they had borne witness to what I had done and seemed to dance in the sky. “I drove slowly and tried to relax a little. I listened to the radio and started to think about what the plan was going to be for the next day. I decided that I would awake early and go back up there to find a suitable place deeper in the foliage, where I would dig a hole. I would find an appropriate place to leave Sonia’s burnt remains. Out of some kind of respect, I suppose, I wanted to find her a spot near a tree and close to a view of the water if I could. I would also throw everything into the grave with her, you know, anything of mine that may have been left behind. I’d leave the lighter fluid can and bits of leftover fishing line, anything that could be traced back to her or me. I would even break her fishing rod into three pieces and would throw that in too. After I had her all taken care of, I would go back to town and play it all cool. I would go back to my normal routine, inquire where Sonia was, and seem at a loss, as everyone else would be. I would become part of the search and rescue process and work very diligently at trying to find my dear girlfriend! I would be worried sick, and I would search endlessly, day and night, just to find her safe and sound.” “So you went back the next morning …?” “Uh, yes. Yes, I did. About an hour before sunrise. When I got up there and went to the spot where she lay, she was in plain sight in that remote location that was our fishing spot. I walked slowly up to her, steadily and carefully, and I took a close look at her in the breaking daylight. I could see every fine crack and crevice in her body in its altered state. She looked like she was made of wood, wood that had been set on fire—you know, all cracked and bent and ashen. She was all blackened with white ash around some of the places where tissue and

bone had come apart from each other. I reached down and tried to touch her and gently laid a finger on the surface of her arm. It just felt hard and very dry. When I removed my finger, there was a fine dusting of ash outlining my fingerprints on her body. I stared at the dust on my finger for a moment and was repulsed by how dirty my finger was and at how dirty I was going to get touching and moving this body. I knew I would have to move her once the hole was dug, but I really flinched at the thought of moving it over and getting soot and remains on me, so I diligently tried to put that out of my mind for the moment and set out to find a suitable spot to dig. “I grabbed the shovel and began to wander around awhile. I found one site that was really out of the way and quiet, but I decided against it as it might be just a little too close for my liking to one of the walking trails that was not too far off from that spot. So I moved on. I ended up near the head of Fountain Creek, which was probably only half a mile away, if not less. I thrust the shovel into the ground and began to dig through the soft dirt on the surface and hitch it over my shoulder. I did this again and again. After quite some time I felt comfortable with the five-foot hole that was now in the ground before me. It wasn’t a perfect rectangle, but it would be suitable to my purposes. I knew I would have to bend Sonia in order to fit her in the hole, but that was fine; I just wanted to get her out of the way. I stuck the shovel in the ground and went back to fetch her. “I came to her on the ground and very carefully—and with a huge amount of disgust on my face and in my stomach for this person who was causing me so much trouble—scooped her upper body in my arms and discovered she really was heavy. I hadn’t really expected that. When I lifted up to stand straight, her right leg broke off and fell to the ground. I also noticed that an arm was detached and remained on the ground, along with her head. I left it all where it lay and started to walk back to the hole in the ground with the upper torso. I threw it down into the hole, and most of her fit in, but an arm and a leg remained clinging to the ground above, almost in desperation not to be buried for all eternity. So I pulled at the leg and shimmied it a bit, which lifted the torso up an inch or two, and then I heard a crunch. The torso came down to rest with a thump, and I was left holding the leg. I threw the leg in on top of her torso and went back for the remainder, brushing the dirt off my hands as I walked. I traced my steps back to the spot while trying to recall what equipment I had used and what would be necessary to bury along with Sonia, you know, so as not to leave anything behind.

“I grabbed the leg and the arm and put them under my arm so I could grab hold of her head. Then I walked back to the grave. These remains were also thrown in the pit. I went back for the tackle box with the empty lighter fluid can in it and walked back to the hole, where I threw it all in. Just out of caution, I suppose, I went back one more time to look around for any remaining things that needed to be buried, and it was a good thing I did so because I saw the fishing line and a roll of duct tape. Those had to go in the hole! “And then it was time … so I began to scoop the dirt from the mound beside the grave and shovel it onto the body in the hole. With one shovelful at a time, it took a little while. I was sweaty and getting tired, but I had to ensure a good job done. Finally the ground was even, and I was pleased with the result. She was out of sight and almost out of mind, so just to be sure, I covered the spot with some brush and two rocks I had come across by the waterfront.” “So that’s it? You just buried her, left, and went on about your business?” McLean asked. “Yup, pretty much, Officer. You have to that there is a void in my gut when it comes to things like this. I have no moral com to guide me, and there are no pangs of guilt or thoughts of remorse. Oh, hell, I know I should be in shock or overwhelmed with the horror that I had just committed, but I wasn’t. There was nothing. I don’t get all choked up, and I am able to just pick up and go on with little thought for the victim or my actions. This is how I know I am different from other people, and this is why I am asking for help in return for these confessions. Can you understand that?” “Yeah, I get it,” McLean stated, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get it, understand?” “I understand,” John repeated. “Let’s call it a day, folks,” Reid said as he stretched his back in the chair. “The time is now 3:45 in the afternoon on June 12. We will end this session and meet back here tomorrow at 9:00 in the morning. Brown, please take John back to his cell while I make some notes here,” Reid instructed. He watched the men walk toward the door. He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath as Brown escorted the prisoner out of the interrogation room. It’s no wonder why I don’t have a life. Working with filth like this all the

time certainly isn’t a romantic feature to tell a lady, he thought. He gathered up his files and got up to head back to the little desk area the station had provided him for the time he would be in-house. His very own little swing office near the front of the station—how thoughtful. All he could think about was a hot cup of coffee, dark and black. He sought out the nearest carafe he could find. In the lunchroom there was a leftover pot that someone had abandoned. He poured a cup and threw it in the microwave for a few seconds. That would have to do. He considered spending half an hour looking through the files and then calling it a day himself as he was feeling tired and sluggish from sitting all day listening to the horror show that Rotterdam was giving. Reid didn’t especially want to stay and work, but he also wasn’t looking forward to going home. And he hated the thought of sitting in an empty hotel room; then again, his empty apartment back home didn’t appeal much to him either. There is truth to a man being married and committed to his job, he thought, and he knew he would never stray from the old girl no matter how emotionally tired he got with each case. Just like Rotterdam knew who he was inside, Reid knew what he was made of inside and out. He couldn’t deny his love for the job or the fact that it was more a part of him than anything else. He was proud of being a knuckle dragger. As Reid was walking down the hallway, making his way out of the station for the evening, he couldn’t help but feel something just was not right. With each step he took out in the direction of the “normal” world, far outside this police station, his energy will return. He just wanted to get as far away as he could get from the degenerate John Rotterdam. But he paused for a moment just before he was to step out into the public waiting area of the station. He felt something— again, something that simply wasn’t right. He had ed to shut down and lock the interrogation room and lock the door. He has his keys and files. He checked his pocket for his wallet, and it was there. He was wearing his jacket, so he hadn’t left that behind. How odd he felt with this presence of something pulling him back, suggesting to him subconsciously that this wasn’t over. Something tugged at him to go back. ‘‘What the hell?” he whispered to himself. He took another step forward then halted and paused again. He felt ridiculous. He’d missed something; he just knew it and felt it. He must have just missed something. He spun back around and headed to the swing-desk office, where

visiting officers could work while on-site. He swung his coat back over the back of the chair where it had just been moments ago and dumped his files on the desk surface. He sat down hard with contempt for himself for having turned back and subjecting himself to go over this horror some more tonight and review the notes. He took the top file and opened the front cover. A mug shot of Rotterdam was attached to the inside cover, and other details of his identification were typed in neatly below. The file contained his old rap sheets and the few reports of trouble he had been in over the years. Nothing major, really: disturbing the peace in 1972, a minor assault charge that was dismissed, a DUI from 1975, and a report of disorderly behavior while in custody in the Oakland City Police Station after the news broke that Sonia had gone missing. The record of Rotterdam’s current incarceration read clean with no trouble reported since he had been housed there, a period of approximately six months. A dietary restriction report was attached; it seemed as though this nutter was allergic to soy. Reid pondered the mental image of force-feeding the fucker tofu and shoving it right down his gullet and then watching him go into anaphylactic shock and eventually dying. He let the thought linger a moment … That was the end of the first folder, so Reid closed it up and pushed it aside to pick up another. The next was Rotterdam’s full medical workup, including a suggested psychological workup by the MD. Noted was that the MD did suggest having a complete psych evaluation for this guy, but no follow-up had been organized. A complete medical history of this asshole was right here in front of Reid, and curiosity more than anything else forced him to read each and every line carefully. Who knows, there could have been some weird congenital disease or a genetic mutation that would ensure John would face a rare, painful, and drawn-out death. But nothing notable was in the file. His tonsils and adenoids had been removed as a child, he was circumcised, he had had the chickenpox when he was five, and all his vaccinations were up to date. According to the doctor who conducted the exam, John did have a mild heart arrhythmia where the attending physician commented that he felt it was quite a benign problem. And there was a history of heart disease and diabetes in the Rotterdam family, so it wasn’t unlikely that John would have a mild heart condition too. His liver, kidney, and bladder functions were all normal. The report went on to tell that John stood a mere 5 feet 10 inches tall and weighed in at a hefty 216 pounds. His eyesight was able with no presence of

cataract or glaucoma. His respirations were measured and documented to be 38 per minute, and his blood pressure was considered very normal at 126/82. “Goddamn it, this fucker is healthier than I am!” Reid said to himself quietly. He closed up the medical file and moved onto the next one. This third file was a general list of known addresses and employment history dating back to 1963 in Jupiter, Illinois, which was the hometown where he Rotterdam had lived with his mother and father. “Hmm, the family,” Reid muttered to himself.

18

T here really wasn’t a lot of information about Rotterdam’s family of origin. John was born in Jupiter, Illinois, in 1945, as stated earlier. His family lived in the small town from his birth and right up until John left when he was in his early twenties. His mother and father’s history was almost exactly as John had described during one of the many interview sessions held earlier. There were some details of the Rotterdams’ bank s and holdings. They weren’t Rockefellers, but they seemed to get by okay. Really there was nothing remarkable here. The father, Lawrence, died from leukemia when John was just seven years old, and the mother, Sarah, died of a massive coronary in her bedroom of the family home just six years after Lawrence’s death. So, where the fuck was Sam? Reid stood up like a bolt of lightning and looked around for any information or details about Sam. Nothing. There was nothing listed in the pages and pages of reports and no mention of him after he moved out of the home at age seventeen. So where did he go? Reid thought. Reid picked up the phone on the desk, called in-house to the desk clerk, and ordered an immediate records search on one Samuel James Rotterdam. And since it was going to be a long night, he wanted to know a little more about Marylynn Randall as well. Reid gave the clerk all the known information for the man and woman and told the uninterested clerk on the other end of the phone that he would be waiting for the report in the swing office. With the phone resting back in its cradle, he leaned back, reclined gently, and closed his eyes. He rubbed his face and would have given just about anything for someone to have walked into that office right then and told him he had won a plane ticket to Jamaica with all expenses paid for a week that would be great. As the time ed, Reid couldn’t help but sympathize with Sam and his desire to run as far and as fast as he could from that family. Living in that house must have been quite awful, what with absentee parents more focused on their own doings and a brother who was clearly a psychopath in the making. Reid wondered if Rotterdam’s parents really ever realized what kind of a freak they

were raising. Maybe they did know. Maybe they were in denial and couldn’t face up to the fact that their youngest boy had problems and was growing up to be a serial killer. Reid felt sorry for them and sorry for all the mothers whom John had touched in his life. Was it possible that his parents were completely mentally normal even though they produced someone like John? It happens, sure, but what are the odds? About half an hour later, somewhere near the end of a dream state that Reid was enjoying, the door to the swing office opened a crack. Kelly poked her head in with a slight smirk on her face and offered the paperwork over to Reid. Reid thanked her for the rush job and reached to grab the report that he couldn’t wait to see. He instantly pushed his back in against the of the chair with the paperwork in his hands as he began to scan the pages. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Sam’s date of birth was February 16, 1941. He made decent grades and attended Jupiter South Elementary School and then onto high school at Franklin Roosevelt, but he never graduated. He withdrew from high school in grade eleven. He did have a part-time job working at a local grocery store in town, and he held that job for roughly a year and a half with no issue. The report went on to show that Sam was reported missing on March 2, 1958. There was no large-scale effort to find Sam as he was considered an adult at the time and free to choose where he wanted to live. He was age seventeen. He was reported missing not long after Sarah had died, and the cops simply believed he had moved on. The report also showed that there was never any made by Sam to any of his family or friends after the day he was reported missing. At that moment, Reid shot up and took off running out of the office and down the hall. He ran toward the stairwell and flung himself down the first bank of stairs leading to the basement floor. Round and round the staircases he flew as he ran four banks of stairs. He almost jumped them rather than stepping down. He flung the heavy metal doorway open that led into the lower basement and made a hard left, heading west all the way down the dark hall. The walls were a dirtgray color, and the dim lights didn’t help for any atmosphere. With a glare in his eye, Reid stopped short of the second-to-last holding cell on the right. He grabbed the bars and yelled at the psychopath “Okay, asshole, what the fuck happened to Sam?”

19

“W haddya mean, what happened to Sam? I already told you. Keep your shorts on, Officer!” John demanded. “C’mon, there is no way he ran away or just moved out and never had any with any of you for fifty years. Where did he go?” “Oh, you’re quick, Officer Reid, aren’t ya? … It’s taken you boys so long to catch me, and when you finally have me, it takes you nearly a week to ask all your goddamned questions. Well, the really important questions, at least. … What Ivy League university did you graduate from, Reid? ’Cause it shows in your methodology,” John stated sarcastically. “Tell me what happened, or I will come in that cell and grind your head into the piss bucket of a toilet over there, then beat the living snot out of you myself. And trust me, you won’t like the anger and contempt I can muster up and dish out. You think you hurt those girls? Well, that will be nothing compared to what I’ve got for you!” Reid yelled. “All right, all right, calm down, will ya? You know, Officer, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just threatened my life. I have rights, you know. You’re giving me hives!” he joked, smiling in an effort to upset the already angry officer who was standing in front of him. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but first can you get me a coffee?” he asked. “No. You’ll talk now!” Reid demanded. He was losing his patience. “Fine. Come in and sit down.” Rotterdam relented. Reid took out a set of master keys the county had given him before the start of this misery. He found the one that unlocked all the doors on the lower basement floor, including the row of holding cells. He slid the brass key into the lock that was mounted and set onto the bars that made up the front wall of the cell. He turned the key until it clicked, then he slid the door open just enough to move inside. John had been sitting in a wooden chair near the back left corner of the

cell. He stood up in a gesture of offering the spot to Reid. Reid took the chair, and Rotterdam moved to sit down on the bottom corner of his cot. They both seemed to dig in their heels in preparation for a good long chat. “Aren’t ya gonna ask me more about Marylynn too?” “Should I?” he queried. “Why not? We’re here, aren’t we? Might as well if you think there is something more.” “Let’s start with Sam. You said he left home at seventeen. What happened?” “I killed Sam. Simple. Are ya happy now? I killed him. Sam became a problem for me in our preteen years, and I tolerated him just as much as I could until I broke. I just couldn’t take it anymore. He was overbearing and bossy. He would hurt me emotionally and taunt me in my mind. Sam needed to be silenced and removed from my life.” “Why? What did he do that was so bad?” Reid inquired. “He pushed me around since we were kids. Called me girl names and said I was a sissy. He told me that he would tease me like this for all our lives and that I would never amount to anything. He would pin me down on the ground and spit in my face. He would hit me and laugh at me, and that was painful. Yes, a lot of sibling rivalry stuff, but he just kept going. After years of this, over a decade, a person just can’t take it anymore. He would do these things in front of our parents and behind their backs too. No one cared or said anything about it; it was almost like he had permission to treat me this way. We could be walking into church on Sunday morning, and he’d push me while walking up the steps. I’d trip and fall flat on my face, scraping my knees and bloodying my pants. Then he’d laugh and point his finger at me, and people were there to see it all. There were crowds of folks heading into service; even the priest was there. But my mother would just say, ‘Sam, don’t do that to your brother.’ To which my brother would say, ‘Okay, sure, Mom.’ And that would be the end of it. “He would also come into my room at night when I was asleep and do things like pour water all over me, then tell everyone that I was still wetting the bed. My mother was furious at me when she thought I was bed wetting. Even when I told her that I was not wetting the bed and that Sam was to blame, she couldn’t

fathom it and insisted I ‘stop trying to put the blame on my brother.’ She even took me to the doctor to try to find out why I was wetting the bed! I told the doctor exactly what was going on and insisted that I was not wetting the bed, and so what did the doc do? Well, he ran some tests to make sure I didn’t have an infection or some other problem that he could fix. Things went on like that for years, beginning from the time we were little. Sam was brutal, and I hated him to his very core. Sam was a real bad guy!” “Where is John’s body, then? Do you really expect me to believe this crap story? I want some proof. Tell me where the remains are, and I will send out a detective to look,” Reid said. “He’s buried under the back steps of my house, the family house in Jupiter. You see, after our mother died, the estate was willed to John and me equally; we got the house and all the family holdings. We were well secured and taken care of financially. My dad was really sharp in the world of finance and investing, so we were able to stay in the house without worry. It had been previously paid off, and we could ourselves and stay in school by simply living off the interest every month. We both chose to remain in Jupiter and in the same house, but we did not get along. In fact nothing changed between us. Sam and I fought more and argued almost constantly with no one running interference.” “How did you murder him?” “Cyanide. Rat poison, Detective, is all I needed. It’s easy to get, and it’s legal to purchase and fairly cheap too. I went down to the local handyman outlet and bought a box of Rid-X, which in those days was the rat poison of choice. It was fitting, really, because I felt like Sam was a rat, so he should die like a rat too. I walked home with that box in my hand right out there in the open, and no one was the wiser. People didn’t even notice that box, which was bright red and green. And for that matter, they didn’t notice me either. I walked with that box in my hands for ten blocks just as if it were an ordinary day. Once I got home, I knew I had to come up with a recipe for something very fine for Sam to enjoy. “I didn’t really know how much to give him, so I started out with a little at a time just to experiment and watch to see what happened. He would complain of an upset stomach or feel like he was getting the flu and go lie down, and the nausea would be short-lived. He would bounce back relatively quickly from those initial ‘illnesses,’ until I stepped up the effort and made a steak pie with

mashed potatoes and gravy one evening. Sam loved that meal; it was his favorite meal that Mom used to make us—and thankfully she was always happy to have a helper in the kitchen to learn. She wanted both of us boys to learn how to cook, and I made a very good student. I paid close attention to how she would cook and learned how to take care of myself properly. At least I paid attention to one thing in my life! “Mom would fix that pie for Sam anytime he felt down, so I made one and dosed that pie with four times the amount I had been giving him off and on for weeks. I was getting desperate to knock him off. I had already started to dig a hole in the ground in the backyard to dump him in, but later I thought twice and filled it in, deciding to go with burial under the back staircase. “So that night after dinner, Sam became ill again. I told him, ‘Shut up and stop complaining. All I hear is you complain all the time,’ and brushed him off. I could hear him in the bathroom wrenching and vomiting and I hoped that he wouldn’t throw up the majority of the poison before it could take effect. “When he came out of the bathroom, he was pale-faced and sweaty and couldn’t walk straight. He had a greenish tinge to his face and neck area, so I helped him get into his bed and ran to make him some tea to help calm his stomach. He was asking for Mother and wanted her to call for a doctor, but I stepped in and reminded him that Mother was dead and we didn’t need a doctor because he had been complaining of all this before. I said that he would simply get over it, that it was just a bug. I figured he’d die during the night and I would drag him out and into the ground when he did. Then I could become him. “He didn’t die, though; he was alive the next morning. He couldn’t get out of bed worth a damn, so I tended to him like any good brother would. With each cup of tea I made for him that morning was a dose of Rid-X. He questioned me about a strange smell to the tea, but I told him that he was just smelling funny because he was sick. I told him not to worry and reminded him that Mother would have told him to drink plenty of fluids and stay in bed, so he agreed to let his illness run its course. “He would sort of start to get feelin’ better and then go back to being gravely ill. It was a whirlwind medical journey I felt I was on, and it only assured me that I knew I didn’t want to repeat this another time. This was just too messy and unduly inconvenient for me. I decided I would never use rat poison again. I

would need another way that was fast and clean and less taxing on my time. “Eventually, Sam would succumb to his death, and I would have to move his body out of the house, along with most of his belongings to fake his ‘runaway.’ That was a difficult time. I mean, I was just a kid, twelve I think, and riding by the seat of my pants with no planning or forethought, really. I didn’t really know what was going to happen until it actually happened, and that was very exciting to me. “When it was time, I was right there with him and watched. I’ll never forget those last few hours of Sam’s life. It was just him and me in the house, and everything was very quiet and serene-feeling. I was in my room reading a comic book when I heard Sam coughing. I went to his room to see if I could get him anything, and he looked absolutely awful—such a drastic difference from earlier that morning. His skin was gray, and he was gaunt like a skeleton. His cheekbones were sticking out, and his eyes were glazed over and sunken into his head. He had a waxy look to him as if he wasn’t real—more like a doll. He could barely speak to me; he only barely whispered, and that was a huge effort. “I walked in. He looked at me and tried to say something, but I just smiled at him with a look on my face that wasn’t one of brotherly concern but was rather a ‘hurry up and die’ snide smile. He looked confused for a moment but then started to choke and cough. I just stood there rooted in the same spot, feet firmly planted on the ground. I was afraid, genuinely very afraid of what was happening, but at the same time there was no instinct for me to help him. I felt conflicted really with wanting to see him suffer and die, even knowing that the right thing to do would be to get him help.” After a deep breath and a pause, John thought back to the morning of Sam’s death and continued. “Yeah, earlier that morning he hadn’t been feeling too badly, so I made him some oatmeal like Mother used to, and I took it to him. He even ate some of it. But I had dumped in as much Rid-X as I had left in the box. I walked into his room holding that bowl of oatmeal with a smile on my face. I was ‘so happy’ to see him feeling better and told him how ‘wonderful’ he looked. He sat up and looked really energized and had some color in his face. He was ready to be eating something, and he even wanted to get up and try to have a walk to the front yard for some sun. He said he was starving and feeling quite a lot better. I told him that I was happy for him but that he should stay in bed a little longer just to recover properly.

“Now, you have to understand that for me all this was really different from how it was with Marylynn because I didn’t have to watch her wither and die every day. No, sir, that fell to her mother. She was the one who had to wipe up the vomit and diarrhea.” “What do you mean, it was different with Marylynn?” Reid inquired. “Officer Reid, had you been paying any attention at all in getting to know me over the course of our time together, you would have wondered about all the deaths that happened around me in my life, not just the ones that I was confessing to! Yeah, I did Marylynn in too. She was my first. I was experimenting with her. I would dose her up when we went out for a soda or when we grabbed a hamburger. I would sneak potassium into her drink or toss some over her hamburger when she went to the bathroom. But I wouldn’t have the chance to observe her sick. She’d miss a day at school or call to say that she couldn’t go out, and I never got to see her ill. Toward the end, on a Friday evening, I just couldn’t stand her not being dead yet, so I gave her a big whopping end-of-life dose to finish her off. I went to visit her on that Saturday morning and took her some books and puzzles and a bottle of Coke. Then her mother called me that Sunday with the news, and I felt rather victorious in my accomplishment.” “Why did you kill Marylynn? What possible reason could you have had for that?” “Curiosity. It was nothing more than a young man’s curiosity and a desire to inflict harm onto an innocent. I needed to cause something, to initiate the pain and suffering of another. I wanted to play God. Marylynn was the closest person to me, and we were always together, so I naturally picked her to be the one. Besides, she was an easy target. She suffered from chronically low magnesium and potassium levels was always taking vitamins and minerals for that. She used a prescription for potassium chloride at one time when she was really sick with her levels, and at one point I stole it off her and hung onto it for when I was ready. I don’t even think her family noticed the bottle was gone. Or maybe they just thought she lost it. “After I did some research on potassium chloride, I learned that a rather large measured amount of potassium chloride would stop a human heart immediately. Given in small doses it was used to control Marylynn’s low level of potassium,

and it is also a naturally occurring substance in the body, which meant the presence of it wouldn’t alarm anyone. I had jimmied the cap on the Coke bottle and poured in all the potassium chloride that was left in the bottle. I managed with a pair of pliers to secure the metal cap back on the bottle. She wouldn’t have even had enough time to taste the Coke because the potassium chloride is instant and immediate. As soon as it was absorbed into her system through the soft tissue of her tongue, the heart would just cease to beat. The doctor might even think she accidently overdosed on her own supplements if her death was ever to be questioned.” John laughed and shrugged his shoulders as he thought of Marylynn for a second. “When I think back to that time, I was afraid to watch the repercussions of my actions. I was afraid of the situation on some level. Would I get caught? Would they figure out that Marylynn hadn’t just had the flu and start to look at me? What would I say if they pointed the finger at me? Those fears really only sparked more of a desire to see the situation through to the end, to tempt the Fates if you will. It was invigorating to stand up in the face of a challenge with a possible penalty if caught. I mean, I was just a kid back then; I didn’t know about medicine or the way the world worked. I just needed to do what I needed to do. And watching the outcome with the family was enlightening. I really did want to see her dead at her funeral. I wanted to peek inside the casket and see my creation.” Rotterdam recalled the feeling in his body of the need to see inside that casket. There was a slight knock at the steel bars that startled Reid; he turned to see that Kelly the office clerk was standing by the bars with a file in her hands labeled “Marylynn Ratcliff.” Reid stood up and moved closer to Kelly so he could take the file from her. He reached out, and she placed it through the bars and into his open hand. She asked if there was anything else he might need, and he told her no, saying that he had everything he needed. He thanked her again for her quick work on short notice. She smiled and turned to walk away. Reid was left holding the file in his hands, knowing full well what the report would say. He went back to his chair and flipped the folder open to the first page, where he found an ancient copy of Marylynn’s death certificate. Marylynn Esther Ratcliff was listed as having died from influenza and exhibiting all the related symptoms over a two-week period. The medical officer noted that the patient died struggling to clear her airways of a blood-tinged froth that was gushing from the nose and mouth. All traditional medical intervention had failed, and the patient expired at roughly 2:43 on Sunday morning. The doctor noted that while death by influenza

was not common, it was also not unheard of. The brief history that was attached to the death certificate had been written by the family physician and listed each visit Marylynn made to the doctor prior to her ing. All symptoms were dated, noted, and recorded. She had been complaining of nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. She had a high fever and was sweating uncontrollably at times. Her symptoms would subside and ease off and then return, sometimes even fiercer. The doctor wrote in his notes that he was puzzled but indicated that the virus was clearly taking an extended period to resolve and that Marylynn’s immune system might be slow in fighting it off because of her naturally low mineral levels. The doctor felt that given time it would move through her and eventually run its course and that Marylynn would begin to recuperate. In the meantime, Marylynn’s mother had been instructed to push fluids and keep her daughter as warm and as dry as possible. Marylynn was mandated to stay in bed and not do anything strenuous or stressful. The report listed four visits to the doctor’s office and one home visit right near the end. All of the paperwork was signed and sealed with no mention of suspicious causes for her death. Everyone thought Marylynn had caught the flu and that it overtook her as it did sometimes with the very elderly or infants. She will have to be exhumed, Reid thought. He wondered if there would be enough tissue for the forensics team to recover anything to test with. Had our advances in science delivered us to the point of performing DNA mapping and genetic matching on a person who had been dead for well over forty years? How on earth was Reid going to get permission from the chief medical examiner in Jupiter to get this girl exhumed? Reid closed the file and took in a long, deep breath. Then he exhaled. He looked at Rotterdam, who was sitting not too far out of reach, and said, “What else is there, John? Or should I just be calling you Sam at this point if that’s who you are? Who else needs to be dug up? How many others?” “That’s the lot of ’em, Detective. It started with Marylynn, then Sam, and then Rachel, and ended with Sonia. I swear, there isn’t any more. My parents both died of natural causes. I did not have anything to do with either of their deaths,” Rotterdam insisted. “Prove it! I’ll have to get them exhumed too. I don’t believe you didn’t have anything to do with their deaths …”

“Nah, don’t waste your time on them. I’m telling you the ones I am responsible for. Just these four and only the four. I wish there had been more, but I guess each one was its own work of art and had to be unique.” Just at that moment, Kelly reappeared at the jail cell entrance a little out of breath and asked Detective Reid if she could speak with him for a moment in private. He nodded and began to get up to go to her. She handed him yet another file and told him to look at it as the report had just come through from Jupiter County. “They found the jawbone from the Rachel Sinclair case in John’s old apartment, and it matched the DNA they recovered from pieces the family had received in the mail years ago,” she eagerly announced to him. Reid took a quick glance at the report that his second unit had produced and sent over to him posthaste. Reid was amazed and almost couldn’t believe his own eyes! The evidence was in.

20

T he report from the team in Jupiter City stated that they had done a full recovery sweep of John Rotterdam’s old apartment in search of evidence for the missing persons case of Rachel Sinclair. It noted that there had been several tenants living in the apartment over the years with many different families coming and going. The current family, after having the situation explained to them, had been moved to a hotel nearby for the duration. The young Asian family was horrified and terrified at the thought of any criminal activity having gone on in their home. That would be against the feng shui and would throw off the balance of energy. They were very frightened at the thought of having had a serial killer living in the home they now had, but they cooperated and couldn’t wait to get their kids out of the way of the authorities! When the family was moved completely out of the way, a full crime scene investigation unit was brought in. They did a preliminary search of the premises and discussed the possibility that any DNA would be left after many years had gone by, and with so many people having lived in that small apartment, it would be very close to impossible to retrieve any viable cells for inspection. But they would try. The floors and walls were closely inspected visually, and then the surface of the floor was vacuumed with a very powerful lifter known affectionately as “Nosy Nelly.” All the particles gathered within the vacuum storage compartment would be taken to the lab for further microscopic breakdown and analysis. They had a mobile version of a very powerful microscope used in the criminal investigations lab, and it was a digital marvel close to the original version; it was a respectable, finely tuned piece of equipment but not well suited to take on this case. This unit was used, but all particles were sent on to the lab for verification and processing. The portable used an LED ultraviolent light stream to magnify the specimen on scene well over 220 times. It connected via USB to any computer for on-screen viewing or file transfer. It was compatible with both Mac and PC software but was recommended for use on a Mac because of the higher resolution value of those monitors. The floors were hand-cleaned with a sterilized gauze cloth that had been soaked in a solution that was commonly used by law enforcement in the collection of

microbes or micro-particles. The officers, who were fully gowned and gloved, literally were down on all fours, wiping the floors up with this concoction. Those dirty rags would also be sent in for analysis to the lab. The same process would be followed for the walls and ceiling. All closets were thoroughly inspected in much the same manner as the common rooms. There was really nothing to see, and the team didn’t feel confident they had found any trace evidence that Rotterdam had even been here, let alone lived here. After four days of surface scrubbing, they eventually sought out permission from the landlord to remove the drywall boards to have a look into the inner workings of the walls. The landlord refused, afraid that he would be left to absorb the cost of repairs. So as an alternative, a search warrant was issued by the local judge in chambers. And although this delayed the process significantly, in the end it proved to be invaluable. When the team had the signed warrant, they began removing small sections of wall about eleven inches square, just enough for them to be able to fit a light and an articulating video recorder into the gap between the outside brick and the inner drywall surface. They would use the video feed as a live guided tour, and this footage would also be recorded for evidence. This was a very slow process and required a steady hand in guiding the lead through the wall. So far there was nothing visible or noteworthy. The insulation was mostly rotted away, and what remained had been removed and was mostly moldy and littered with traces of past insect infestation. All the insulation that was gently removed was packaged away, awaiting to be moved to the lab for processing. It came to a point where the walls were littered with holes at various heights and of various widths and in different proximities to the center hole where the team had made the first punch in a particular wall. The footage that was being received was very clear and visible; there was a lot of dust resting on the floor between the base of the drywall and the base of the exposed brick. Multiple layers of soot betrayed years of nothingness within those walls and would hopefully tell a story generations old. The levity in the room as at a lull until the wall nearest the kitchen was tapped open to reveal its treasure. When that small hole was made, a plume of dust escaped in a white cloud as if a ghost were there saying, It’s me. I’m here. Find me. The officers coughed and let the air settle before moving forward. The insulation was removed, tagged, and stored away for transfer. Then the light

was inserted and held by a technician, and the video arm was inserted. The hole itself was the midpoint of this particular wall. It was a seven-foot-high wall with a width of four feet, so the view was rather small in comparison to the other walls in the home that had been opened. In this smaller wall, it looked like there had once been electrical wiring here as loose wires were connected to a fuse box, but the wires were left dangling downward as if they were wilted flowers long since dead. The wires were examined, and footage was taken of the type of wires used in hopes of dating the work. The outermost wall of the space wasn’t brick, as this wall faced out and into the hallway of the second floor of the building, so it was made out of plaster and hardboard of some kind. “We’ve got something down there, Sergeant,” one of the techs said loudly. “Well, get a feed on it, and let’s have a look. Probably a dead mouse or some critter,” the officer said. As the feed on the monitor changed to show the downward movement of the video camera, the scenery on the screen reflected what looked like a dark or discolored place on the drywall. “Could be water damage,” the officer suggested. The camera continued down and followed the path of the dark stain. The camera tripped and bounced around a little, so everyone had to remain patient, but the collective was holding its breath, waiting to see if there was anything to be found. Then video revealed something that looked like a rock, but it was slightly elongated. Colors were difficult to distinguish from one another as the camera was shooting in black and white. This particular find had some rounded edges and lay flat on one side. “Hey, Steve, can you get the camera to straighten up and shoot directly at this object from the bottom?” “Yeah, I’m tryin’. The cord is stuck on a joist that is sticking out of the wall,” he said while trying to maneuver the equipment with his sheer will. “All right, I think this is the best way we are going to get to see this thing,” the tech said as he put the camera down on the flooring in the space. The viewer was

directed right at the object, and everyone started to stare at the monitor. “Looks like a stone.” “Could be a dried-up lump of plaster, maybe a lump that fell when the building was being put together?” “I don’t know,” said the attending sergeant. “I’d like to have a little closer look at it if I could. I think we need to get into the wall there and get it out. Make another hole, boys. Maybe that will help pull it out,” he ordered. The technicians began to mark a spot on the wall that was very low to the floor and would not be too far out of reach for an arm to go through to get to the object. The first poke was made in the drywall, and then the handsaw came out and started to eat through the wall. The tech doing the sawing was very eager to get an opening and reveal what lay on the other side. Once the wall gave way and a hole opened up, the tech moved away and allowed the officer to come forward and retrieve the object. The sergeant donned a set of latex gloves and ensured his sleeves were tucked in to the end of the glove on each arm. He bent down on all fours and squinted his eyes in hopes of being able to focus his old eyes enough to get a decent view of the object. He stared at it and thought, Yeah, definitely a rock. Very gingerly he reached in and took hold of the object, and very gently he withdrew his arm from the hole. He looked at the object closer in the better light, turning it over to examine the underside, and discovered that the surface of the object was not smooth or flat like a blob of dried-up plaster might be. This looked bumpier and felt rough to the touch, even through his gloved fingers. He turned it over again to see the top portion and noted that there were four holes open at the top end of the object. There were no real angles to measure on this thing, but it was roughly an inch wide and four inches long. At one end of it the surface was the same consistency as the bottom side, but on the other end it was very coarse and broken-looking. It reminded him of a tree branch that had been snapped in two. The edges were feathery and not in any logical order. “This cannot be stone or plaster, guys. This is something else. Oh, dear Lord, this is a bone. I think this is the part of a bone from that girl. Fellas, I think we found some evidence, so tear down the rest of the goddamned walls!” the

sergeant commanded loudly. The room became busy with noise and movement once again. The sergeant placed the object into a bag and labeled it for evidence. He handed it over to his junior officer on duty and instructed him to drive it over to the forensics lab at headquarters that instant. He couldn’t believe what he had discovered. It was true; it had happened here. That crazy guy was the one who killed Rachel so many years ago.

21

A t that very moment, Reid understood the gravity of the situation at hand. He now had evidence of Rotterdam being linked to Rachel’s death with DNA proving his involvement, as well as all the evidence found with the remains of Sonia Grand. He was sure he would find the remains of John, which would also be linked to Sam—and Marylynn. If at all possible, getting DNA from her corpse would likely prove that Sam had also played a role in her death. Reid stood up and began to pace within the cell. He had so many more questions for Rotterdam; he just didn’t know where to start. “You know I’ll be pushing for the chair, right? I wanna go to it as quickly as I can,” Rotterdam said. “I’ll be happy to you to the judge on that decision, ‘Sam’. Happy to help. What else is there to be recovered, ‘Sam’? There has to be more. There has to be more than four people, ‘Sam’. Give up the rest so we can wrap up this case nice and tight. Don’t you want to go out knowing all of your handiwork will be linked directly to you?” “Well, yeah, sort of, if it was me. I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

22

R eid was back the next day feeling slightly refreshed from the toll the previous days had taken on him. He was looking forward to the end of this investigation and more so forward to testifying in court to get Mr. Rotterdam his wish—the chair. He was walking into the headquarters building with a strong cup of coffee in hand and feeling the stress of the day that hadn’t even started yet building pressure in his shoulders. He turned to the right and moved down the hallway to a bank of offices. He found his swing office, where he had left his files and belongings the night before. He sat down heavily on the chair and pulled himself into position at the desk. He took a gulp of the strong brew and swallowed. It was very satisfying to feel the heat slide down the back of his throat, all the while knowing the caffeine kick would follow shortly. He drank some more and then put the cup down on the desk to the right. Flipping through some of the folders that he clearly ed from yesterday, he noticed a yellow envelope that he didn’t recognize. He put the folder down and reached for the envelope. It was very light, so it could only contain a page or two. He flipped open the lip and opened the sides to reveal one single white sheet of paper. He pulled it out and put the empty envelope down on the desk. The paper had the date at the top just under the letterhead of the FBI Forensics Lab in Quantico, Virginia. Under that was a brief and general report of lab work done on the remains submitted from a corpse recently discovered in Jupiter, Illinois. The original query for the lab was to test any remaining DNA to match that of Sam Rotterdam and compare it with the DNA currently on file for John Rotterdam. Clearly there would be a relation, and that could positively identify the remains. Reid read on:

Our lab is in the possession of three sample tubes, each containing viable genomic samples. The first (sample A—John) is consistent with the accused offender’s blood on file (Rotterdam, case number 67890). Two more tissue sample tubes were collected from an unknown deceased donor, and testing was

carried out first to determine if there was any viable quantifiable DNA material left to examine, and if so, what the genomic mapping showed in comparison to sample A. A full DNA interpretation report will follow for all three specimen donors, including fully mapped genome patterns of the DNA samples.

Interestingly enough, and very rare indeed, is the finding in John Rotterdam’s blood sample (sample A). His blood contains two full sets of genetic material, suggesting nothing other than a chimera phenomenon.

Notably, the fusing of two sets of cellular makeup into one organism is the result of an unsuccessful gestation of fraternal twins resulting in one coned twin. One twin has absorbed the other, causing a parasitical fusion, while the host embryo absorbs and maintains the spliced DNA from both twins. It is my opinion and belief that this is the explanation for why John Rotterdam’s DNA has not been tagged or matched in the national DNA database from previous years for any crimes he may have been involved in. Legally speaking, there was never one set of DNA code to secure. Or, simply put, he got lucky and the DNA from the parasitical twin was entered into the system and his own was not. Therefore he was not traceable. John’s sample contains two separate and distinct lines of cellular makeup that was originally two separate zygotes.

This is truly a rare and remarkable finding and one that I would greatly like to explore in more depth with the subject in order to document it for future research and study.

Sample B (Sam) was taken from tissue recovered from a gravesite from the family home in Jupiter apparently containing the skeletal remains of a male who is believed to be the sibling of sample A (John). This is consistent with the findings of a 50 percent match of DNA material present in both samples.

Sample C was taken from a hair follicle recovered at a crime scene in Jupiter County, Illinois, and is consistent with that of a matriarchal match to samples A and B.

In summary: Two of the donors have O-negative human blood type, and the third had AB-positive-type human blood. The two participants of this round of testing (samples A and B) are in fact related by a known factor of 1 out of 4.6 billion, which suggests that they are indisputably related to each other and are in fact siblings. The sequence of the DNA strands are also visually a match, and we expect both samples to come back revealing a genomic map similar to each other.

About a day after receiving the initial two samples, the Jupiter County Sheriff’s Office sent us the third donor sample, a hair follicle (sample C) taken from the crime scene in Jupiter from the original family home, in order to compare it with the original two (samples A and B). An analysis was carried out on this third sample (a full DNA interpretation report will follow), and it was found to be the DNA from the matriarch relative of the Rotterdam siblings based on a comparison of the two original samples.

If we look at the three donors’ profiles all together, we can clearly identify the markers that two of the samples of DNA contain 50 percent from the matriarch’s genetic material. No sample patriarch DNA is available at the time of this report to test for the remaining 50 percent. This would conclude that we have the DNA, which is confirmed for Mrs. Rotterdam and her two sons, John and Samuel. Note that the sample for Samuel Rotterdam was positive for 4-Hydroxycoumarin and Indandione, which are both used as anticoagulants. The other two samples were clear of any foreign chemicals or free radicals.

Detective Reid, I question the process in securing the DNA from Samuel’s corpse in Jupiter as the contents of his container are indistinguishably consistent with the known DNA sequencing of John. I submit that somehow the contents

were switched as the contents of the sample we received from John’s donation were indeed matched to Samuel’s genetic material. I believe this constitutes a break in the chain of custody. At the same time, we must question which sibling tissue is taken from which vial sample. Is John the chimera, or was Sam?

More specific details for each sample will follow in the coming days. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call me at the number listed above.

—Senior Forensic Pathologist C. Scott Cobb

Reid scratched his head. The confusion overtook him and made his head swell. It felt like it was going to explode. “What the hell?” he whispered. Reid was getting the idea that cross-contamination must have occurred when Sam buried John in the backyard. Reid knew that he could vouch for the processing of John’s blood sample collection as he was present during the whole procedure. He confirmed the label himself and provided the safety seal to secure the contents. And in a flash of sudden awe, he knew that the man he had been taking the confession of could be in fact Samuel Rotterdam and not John. John was dead. He was the one buried so long ago under the stairs at the back of the house. Sam must have assumed his identity and carried on living life as his brother. How on earth did no one realize that Sam was going around town as John? How had no one reported that? Reid supposed that with the parents both deceased, no one would have been the wiser if he kept to himself and out of trouble, which he’d done for quite some time. Clearly there had been a resemblance between the brothers, so using Sam’s identification was of no challenge and would prove to be simple. Holy Christ, this is perhaps the most elaborate and cunning case of identity theft on the books anywhere, Reid thought. But who was the mutant? Reid got up with a start and started walking toward the end of the hall and into the stairwell that would lead him down to John, or Sam he supposed it would be now. He walked at a confident pace as he shook his head while thinking of the

complexity of the situation and what it must have been like to live out your life disguised as your own brother whom you murdered slowly and intentionally. He was breathing harder and almost couldn’t wait to get downstairs. “Sam, what the hell else are you not telling me? I think there is one little interesting piece of information that you may have that would complete your little story. Are you willing to tell me about it, or should I beat it out of you? Because I am getting just about sick and tired of all the lies that come out of one side of your mouth. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? Who the fuck are you really? Tell me everything now, or I’m gone, and you will never see me again. Nor will I go before the judge with any of your information,” Reid ionately demanded. “What are you talking about, Detective?” “Don’t give me that crap. You know damn well what I’m talking about. I know everything, John. Or is it Sam?” Reid questioned. “Ah, now I understand. Tell me, Detective, what you know or what you think you know about me and my brother.” “Well, let’s see. For starters, I have DNA gene matching that links you and your brother to your mother’s cellular and DNA makeup, so I know you are all related. I also know your brother’s tissue had remnants of coagulants, and that gives me enough evidence to hold you able, based on your confession, for his murder. What I also know is that the lab tested your brother’s tissue, the guy who is buried in Jupiter, and ran his DNA in the federal DNA database and found that there is no known record on this guy. But you and your fingerprints are linked with many, shall we say, ‘petty incidents’ throughout your life, including a set of fingerprints that were taken from a petty shoplifting charge back in the 1950s when you were a minor. But those fingerprints don’t match up with Sam Rotterdam even though your blood work tells us that there is a DNA match for two siblings.” “So you think John is buried in the house in Jupiter?” Rotterdam questioned. “Yes, that is exactly what I think, Sam. And I want the truth now,” Reid demanded. “Well, John was the brother who beat up on me, even though he was the younger

of us. He was heartless and cruel. When it was time to finish him off, I thought I could assume his life and forgo my already mounting criminal record. You see, I didn’t want to be Sam anymore; I hated Sam almost as much as I hated John. But only one of us could live, and I was the stronger of the two. He never really saw it coming either. He thought I was going to take his abuse for the rest of my natural life. I saw to it that that wasn’t going to be the case. Call it self-defense if you will, Detective,” he pleaded. “No, I call it murder, Sam—murder in the first degree. Premeditated murder, just like with Rachel, Sonia, and Marylynn. I will have confirmation on Marylynn once I get her exhumed and examined. I think you premeditated these murders for your own self-gratification and some sexual fantasy—or simply because you are a pathetic waste of a human being!” he yelled. “Come on now, there’s no need to be rude, Detective. I’ve been cooperative with you over the past three days in order to help these cases come to an end, now, haven’t I?” “Really, Sam, you think you’ve been helpful? A real Boy Scout, huh? Why is it that each step of the way there has always been pieces missing from your stories? There is always something that my team or I must find out on our own because you leave out some of the most important pieces of information.” “I never said you wouldn’t have to work for it, Detective, now, did I?” he teased. “Screw you. I don’t believe for one minute there are only four. I’m almost willing to bet my life that you have come across other people during your disgusting waste of a life whom you have hurt and maimed. I just don’t believe that a psycho like you has the restraint to kill only four people. Now are you going to tell me what I need to know or not?” “Detective, you are right about me being Sam. I took Sam’s identification and began to live my life as him after he died. I didn’t want to be John anymore, and this was the perfect way to fix two problems in one: no more John, and a new life for me. I also figured if my life as John got too complicated, I could always revert to being Sam and just tell everyone I had run away and lived on some remote island abroad for all those years in an attempt to find total isolation and that I was back. At which point, John would have to be wiped off the slate—but I hadn’t worked out all of those details yet.”

“In essence, then, you used your brother’s life to run around and slaughter people with the knowledge that one day you could stop being John and go back to being yourself, Sam. Is this correct?” “Yes, Detective, it is correct. I have never had any intention of living a normal, boring life with a little nine-to-five office-bearing job, a lovely wife, a family dog, and kids. Nor did I want to achieve any of the expected milestones that society preaches that folks must meet. I wanted to have fun and cause a little hell along the way, and I did so as John. It’s not like he would have minded now, really, would he?” He chuckled. “If he had had a choice, dammit, yes, he might have minded, but you took that away from him. He didn’t get a choice. Now I’ll ask you one more time about your parents: did you have anything to do with their deaths? You’d better tell me the goddamn honest truth here, because if you don’t and I find out otherwise, your ass will be in the chair faster than you can imagine.” “No. Those two both died of natural causes just like I said.” “Was it John or Sam who killed Marylynn?” “It was me, Sam. I did it, but I was pretending to be John at that time. He was still alive. An experiment, if you will …”

23

R eid woke up with a start at 5:30 in the morning and had to catch his breath. He had been dreaming about witnessing a murder in a poppy field north of his hometown of Bethlehem, Maryland, and not being able to stop it. It was clear that his mind even in sleep was always working and trying to serve justice. He slowly rose from the bed and tried to clear the murderous images from his head. The dream wasn’t real and he knew it, but he still felt it deep within his core. His heart was racing from the adrenaline that his sympathetic nervous system was pumping into his body, and the effects of the adrenaline were fierce. It was a good rush—but not so early in the morning! He went into the bathroom and relieved himself and prepared a shower to wash away the strain and stress of a short night of sleep that had been filled with villains and murderers. He thought about Rotterdam and how he’d been caught only on suspicion at the beginning. Only now was the hard evidence coming in. Would there be enough viable evidence to the stories the psychopath was telling? Reid wasn’t sure at this point if he would be able to tie it all up, but as soon as he woke up properly, he would dig back in and do his damnedest to find a way! As he reached for the shower knobs to turn on an even mix of hot and cold water, Reid wondered how many more years he could stand to do this job really. He was getting older, and each case seemed to get worse and worse for him, more emotionally draining and psychologically taxing. He couldn’t understand or reason how people could do these things to each other. And the more he saw and knew, the worse the knot in his stomach felt. An ulcer for sure, he thought. He thought of early retirement, but then what? Where would he go and be able to escape the horrors that lived within his mind? Would he a bowling league and volunteer at some old-age home to waste away his time? Maybe a knitting club …? None of those options seemed reasonable. The question was how many more psychopaths he could fit into the crevasses of his mind before they all ganged up on him and destroyed him. What would happen if he had another case like the John Rotterdam case or, God forbid, worse? Suddenly, the telephone brought Reid out of his deep thoughts and flung him

back into reality. He could hear the telephone ringing over the sound of the falling water in the tub. He ran for the phone and just nearly reached it on its last ring. “Hello,” he greeted. “Uh-huh, what? … What are you saying exactly? … Holy shit. I’ll be in as soon as I can. Get Brown and McLean in, and tell them to meet me at the station.” The sergeant on the other end of the phone had given Reid news that he was completely not expecting. Rotterdam was dead. Sam had died at some point over the night, alone and asleep on his cot. There was no reason to suspect a suicide or homicide of any kind as the whole night had been recorded on video surveillance and there was no one in the cell with him at all overnight. Sam had simply stopped living. Reid was stunned and felt as if the floor had fallen right out from under him. His stomach dropped, and he felt the urge to vomit. He instructed the voice on the phone not to release the video to anyone until he got there and watched the whole thing himself. He hung up the phone and sat up on his bed, still wild-eyed and still recovering from his nightmare of seeing a child strangled to death in that poppy field. Now his nightmare was not the first and foremost thing on his mind. The death of the psychopath was. He thought to himself, This isn’t right. We don’t have the whole story. He hasn’t been convicted and sentenced. He has not paid for his crimes. No one will ever get justice for the victims. Dammit. How would he ever get to close the file?’ Reid rose from the bed and grabbed some clothes that were hanging on a chair nearby. The jeans and T-shirt he had been wearing the day before would do just fine again for today. He couldn’t even fathom gathering a more official outfit; he just wanted to get dressed and get on the way to the station. When he was dressed, he ran into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. He dried his face, brushed his teeth, spit, rinsed, and left.

24

O n the way to the station, Reid was wondering if Sam had suffered any pain when he died. What exactly had happened to this guy? It’s like he unloaded all of his stress and then just lay down and ed on—that was not right at all. Most people, most good people, didn’t get the opportunity to die in such a peaceful and easy way. Most people lingered on with disease and had to endure many medical procedures or medications, and then they had to live with pain and the knowledge that they were on the way out. How horrible it was that Sam had no suffering, or very little at best, and didn’t have to wait for his end. He didn’t have to wait day by day for either the electric chair or death from a disease that ate away at his body cell by cell. He’d gotten off way too easily, and this made Reid mad. Reid drove angrily through the early morning commuter traffic, which wasn’t heavy at all for this time of the day. He thought it was a good thing there wasn’t a backlog or bottleneck of cars to fight through, because he was not in the frame of mind to do it nicely. He much preferred rolling along at a heightened pace in pursuit of his newly discovered dead suspect. After a rather short twenty minutes, he skidded into the department’s parking lot and shot into the first space that he deemed available. He threw the car into park, gathered his jacket and whatever files he had left in the car the night before, and ran into the building. The glass doors flung open and bounced off the sidewall behind him. He walked hard and left behind stains of black rubber from his shoes on the waxed linoleum floor. He rounded the corner toward the side of the front reception, where the doorway into the offices was. He threw his stuff down on the desk that had been his for some days now and turned immediately and went toward the hall that led to the officers’ offices. He found McLean and Brown and couldn’t find any words to use, so he just grimaced, mouthed the word what, and raised his hands, physically asking, What the hell happened? Neither of the officers spoke; they just shook their heads. Brown finally spoke up; he asked Reid if he wanted some coffee and told McLean to get the video ready for viewing. Reid agreed to coffee

and asked for a large mug. He grabbed a napkin that was lying on a cabinet that was standing up near the closest wall. He wiped his forehead, which was now wet and glistening. He sat down in Brown’s chair and waited for coffee and further instruction. “Here you go, Jeremy. I guess I can call you that now that the case is over?” Brown wondered. “Yeah, you can call me whatever you like. But what the hell happened here last night? Thanks for the coffee. I appreciate it—and I may need some more.” “Noted,” Brown responded. “Well, as far as we know, Rotterdam’s routine was nothing out of the ordinary. He was returned to his cell at 5:06 p.m. and fed dinner around 6:00. He read the newspaper for an hour, got washed up a little at his sink, used the latrine, and changed his clothes. He went back to reading his newspaper and flipped through it until roughly 9:45. He got up at that time and placed the newspaper on his little table. He did some stretching and eventually got into bed and was watched without incident from that moment on. Nothing happened, Jeremy. There was no gut-wrenching sickness or chest-clutching attack. He simply went to bed and died. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.” “I’m speechless, really … with all the new evidence coming in, he was surely going to trial for at least two capital offenses. He was going to death row to wait for the chair. Motherfucker, he got off lucky! That son of a bitch … I want to see the tape, please. Now, Brown. I have to see this for myself.” “Yeah, no problem, Jeremy. Let’s go into McLean’s office, where the monitor is set up with his computer. Do you want a top-up on your coffee before we go in? You’ll need it. Trust me.” “Yeah, great. Might as well, thanks.” Both men got up from their seats and meandered over to the pot on its hot plate with a dwindling level of joe in it. Brown lifted the carafe and poured a little more into Reid’s mug and then helped himself to another shot in his own mug. They moved toward the door and proceeded to the right and into McLean’s office space, where the computer was already powered up and waiting patiently to play its curious footage for what would be the second time in six hours. The men all sat down in disbelief at the situation and got as comfortable as possible

on the sterile and cold plastic chairs. McLean reached over and took the mouse in his hand, then scrolled over to the play icon on the waiting feed. In an instant the screen came alive with images from the familiar cell. “For the sake of time, gentlemen, I am going to play this recording on fastforward at a three-time speed. If we need to slow down and go back, we can, but let’s not linger.” Both men nodded their heads in agreement and were eager to get started. The footage was shot in black and white and originated from a camera that was barricaded in the far left corner of the ceiling, where its ever-watching eye paid attention to our Rotterdam. It started off just as Brown had said. Rotterdam was brought into his cell and fed dinner. He read his newspaper and did get washed at his sink. He used the commode, got changed into another county-issued uniform, and did some jumping jacks and bending at the hip, although he couldn’t touch the floor. He turned and slid his body into the sheets of his cot and shuffled around until he got settled. Then he fell into what looked like sleep. The recording was stopped, and play was resumed at real-time speed. Reid wanted to watch and take note of the rhythm of Rotterdam’s breathing and look carefully to see if the lord of death himself had showed up or if this all just happened like everyone was saying—quietly. He could barely see movement in the sheets, but every now and again Rotterdam would move his foot or hand. Once he scratched his ass and rolled in the other direction. At around 3:57 a.m. there was no more movement detected going forward, which indicated Sam’s death on film at 3:57 a.m. after confessing all his sins and unraveling some very mysterious and gruesome cases. There was no grim reaper, there was no flash of light, and there was no movement in the body. He just stopped; he ceased to be alive without pain or suffering. Sam was truly gone but would never be forgotten. The officers tly watched the rest of the film up until the time first roll call was made at 6:00 a.m., where the guard realized something wasn’t right and entered the cell. The guard tried to wake Rotterdam but without luck. She stepped toward the body and shook him once or twice, and when there was still no response, she ran out of there and went to seek help.

25

“I want to see the body. Where is he?” Reid asked. “He’s here, downstairs in our morgue. After emergency services left, we took custody of the body. We will continue to wait for any instructions from his family, if any, or until a will is found and read, to see if there was any instruction on burial. If not, he goes to the city for cremation, and the taxpayers will officially own his remains and the bill. I assume the burial of the brother will also be something the state will fund,” McLean said. “I’m sure he didn’t have any life insurance or benefits in place for burial, so I think it’s safe to say we’ll torch him. We’ll wait the standard three days to see if anyone shows up to claim him. Take me down, okay? Let me just finish my coffee,” Reid said. They all drank the remains of the coffee in their mugs and then headed downstairs. Without speaking, they walked past the cell where Rotterdam had lived and died. Reid looked in as he walked by. He didn’t want to, but some morbid curiosity made him look in the cell to see if the ghost of Sam Rotterdam might be sitting there smiling back at him. Such was not the case; everything was exactly the same way Sam had left it. His newspaper remained on the little table, his bed was unmade, and you could see the indentation of a human form on the mattress. The men walked on toward the large brown door that was magnetically charged and linked to the swipe box that waited for someone with just the right magnetic strip to swipe through. Brown took his ID card out and swiped it, and they all stepped inside. It was a small, dark room with a bank of three stainless steel doors lining the farthest wall. Each door was able to hold a grown deceased human being in a refrigerated state to impede the process of decomposition. If autopsy was mandated, the body would be transferred to the chief coroner down in the medical arts building at the university in town. In this case, no transportation was needed to the university; no one was going to question the manner of death for this bastard.

“Brown, I think he’s in number two,” McLean started. “Yup, he is. Come on over.” Brown reached out for the elongated silver handle that would serve to open the crypt. He heaved down on it, and it made a thumping unlatching noise to indicate the lock was now free. He opened the door all the way. The instant it was open, Reid could see feet that were wrapped up in a white blanket lying on a stretcher table. There was a fine mist of steam that rose as the warm air from the room rushed into the frigid holding cell. Brown reached out for the handle of the gurney and pulled out the table slowly. The stretcher was on wheels, so withdrawing it was not difficult. When the whole stretcher was exposed, the outline of a man was seen wrapped up in white sheets. Reid moved closer to the head of the body and maneuvered the sheet around to reveal Rotterdam’s face. There he was; this psychopathic monster was dead. His skin was almost a gunmetal color, like a smoky silvery tinge had settled on it, which Reid thought had happened really fast since he’d only been dead a handful of hours at this time. Regardless, Rotterdam was somber and pallid, and his lips were insipid and almost undetectable as if they had sunk in and ed with the new pallor of his skin. “You fucker,” Reid told the dead man. “I hope you rot in hell, Rotterdam, and I hope it’s as painful there for you as you made it for everyone you killed here. We all think you deserve it, my friend.” And with that Reid threw the sheet back over the dead man and said, “All right, boys, let’s get the hell out of here. The history of this man and what he did to his victims will be ed and studied. I don’t want to see him again.” Brown pushed the stretcher back into the dark, cold, frosty hell that was waiting to take the corpse back, and then he shut the silvery door until the handle made the latched sound. “Rot in hell, Sam.” All that was left to do really was to write up a report of the findings and present it to the district attorney, who would then file the findings, and then a judge would officially mark this case as closed. This case would stick with Reid for years, maybe forever. The crimes were brutal and senseless, and the complexity of the DNA had made this monster hard to catch. He had been smart and never left his DNA behind. And even if he had,

it would have be inconclusive given the nature of the similarity of DNA mapping between the brothers. “We can’t really see the difference between the two siblings, so we couldn’t really convict either of them of the murders beyond a reasonable doubt. In essence, Sam got away with murder several times, being John but living his life as Sam.”

EPILOGUE

T he morning alarm rang out with a shriek. Reid fluttered his eyes open in shock. Is it really 5:30 a.m. already? he thought. He felt heavy from a difficult night’s sleep, not rested and not refreshed, more troubled by the dreams he’d had. After forcing himself to what the dreams were, he ed Sam and the murders. He ran his hands over his face and applied pressure to his eyes. He shook his head and became concerned about the damage to his psyche from the years of homicide detective work that made his brain conjure up Sam Rotterdam and the horrible murders he had committed. He had to think really hard to recall if this was real or if it had all been a dream. He sat up, saw the logo of the Hilton Hotels, and ed that he was in the Hilton at Sunnyside, New Jersey, waiting to begin a case of a murdered prostitute. So it wasn’t real? he questioned himself. No, it couldn’t be, he responded to his own question. And at that Reid took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the clean-smelling air of the sterile hotel room. He realized that he needed help and fast. He couldn’t keep having these nightmares. He got up, scratched his head, and brushed his wild hair down to stick to the layer of sweat that moistened his brow. “Oh, God, I’m so messed up,” he told himself. The reality was that his brain was conjuring up images and stories for him to solve in his dreams because in real life some of the crimes were just not solvable. Reid had not been able to solve some cases, and he psychologically couldn’t deal with it, so his brain took over in sleep and solved crimes—and that made him feel redeemed. The reality also was that Reid needed to get help and maybe even retire. He just couldn’t align himself with the reasons behind his decision to be a homicide detective in the first place. His scope of reality was so distorted from seeing and reliving so many heinous crimes that he felt tainted, almost tarnished, and forever bruised. He had come to the end of his proverbial rope and needed help

to climb to the next level in his life. There was no way he could start another case now, not with the remnant of Sam and John Rotterdam in his mind. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and fingered the corner of the stark white sheet. “No more,” he said out loud. And with that decision made, he stood up with a charge of electricity that thrust him toward the beginning of a whole new life. He was still young, he was fit and relatively handsome compared to some men of the same age, and he was ready to stop the ghosts in his head. He entered the bathroom, turned on the light, and slowly closed the door behind him. In his thoughts the lyrics to the well-known Rolling Stones song “Sympathy for the Devil” rang in his head loudly. And he felt sure he had indeed met the devil, and the devil had introduced himself several times in real life as well in the shards of sin that remained in Reid’s own head. The evil he had borne witness to took the shape and form of anything it wished, morphing into whatever it felt necessary to reside there and make a statement in Reid’s head that it was real, teasing him with his history of not being able to solve past cases. Reid felt sure that Sam Rotterdam was in fact a vestige and culmination of all the cases that ever came across his desk throughout his career, leaving the devil to reside in his head. Reid threw the door of the bathroom open, and with the song still playing in his mind’s eye, he refused to allow the wickedness to win. He would go forward and fight the good fight. Even if he caught only one more murderer and took him off the street, that was enough of a victory for him. The Sam Rotterdams of the world must not win. He came out of the bathroom. He reached for and grabbed the new case file that lay on the bedside table and began to flip through it. The morning was just beginning. Another day was dawning, and he continued on like the troubled hero he was. He was determined to be the best cop he could be and catch as many of these offenders as he could until his time came to stop. That was the purpose of his life. No love, no home, no friends to be with, just catching these people who chose to horrify the world and leave their deadly bloody marks. Reid would clean up those marks or die trying.