Kenhardt - Secrets 31

‘What’s this talk about killers?’ Tom Sr. asked his mother. ‘Did I ever tell you about that?’ ‘No.’ ‘Huh,’ Suzanne said. ‘Well, I’ll let Joe here explain it to you. He’s the Detective.’ ‘Oh, no, you go ahead. You were there,’ Joe insisted. She smiled at him. ‘Oh, alright. Well,’ she folded her hands in front of her. Everyone was finished eating now and was paying attention to Suzanne. ‘It was the summer of ‘65. A hot one. Before we knew it, bodies were pilling up. All young men in Kenhardt.’ ‘The only serial murders the town’s ever seen.’ Joe added. Suzanne nodded. ‘Such a small place, small population. Makes me wonder who it could have been.’ ‘Wait,’ Tom Jr. said. ‘They never caught the guy?’ Suzanne shook her head. ‘Never caught him. He got away.’ ‘That’s why Joe is so interested in it,’ Jordan play - punched his shoulders. ‘He loves a good Cold - Case.’ ‘I bet,’ Tom Jr. said. ‘Got any suspects?’ ‘No,’ Joe laughed. ‘I’m afraid not. But I’ve been talking with people from that time. Reporters, Officers. Awfully kind of them to let me pick their brains. I just find the whole thing so intriguing. Jordan says that’s sick,’ he looked to her. ‘I just mean intriguing in the way that the guy was never caught. And I find psychology and the criminal - mind so interesting. The mechanics of it all.’ ‘So, what,’ Tom Jr said. ‘You’re going to solve this thing now? Fifty years later?’ Joe laughed. ‘I don’t know. It would be cool to at least have a few leads. I’m sure the guy is long gone now. Could be dead, even. They predicted he was anywhere between thirty and fifty in 1965. So he could be in the ground already.’ ‘Then what’s the point?’ Tom asked Joe. ‘I guess it’s just something to do,’ Joe said. ‘No it’s not,’ Jordan said to him. ‘You have another case to solve. One that’s in this time period. You should be focusing on what happened to those girls, rather than running around playing detective on a Cold - Case from fifty years ago.’ ‘You sound like Frank,’ Joe told her. ‘Good,’ she smirked. ‘This one will keep you in line,’ Jordan’s father winked. Joe laughed. ‘I have this thing.’ he said to Tom. ‘I can’t accept a Closed - Case. It’s tempting, this one. It’s as though I’m drawn to it. I need to solve it.’ ‘Well, I hope you do. That would be satisfactory for you.’ ‘And all of Kenhardt. I’m sure,’ Tom Sr added. ‘Do you remember anything from back then?’ Joe said to Suzanne. ‘Did you know any of the victims or their families?” ‘I don’t believe so,’ Suzanne said, thinking back. ‘It was so long ago. But I don’t recall knowing any of them personally. I think they were all older than me anyways.’ ‘Yeah, I think the youngest was twenty - seven.’ Joe said. She nodded. ‘Is there anything else you remember from that time? Any suspects or witnesses?’ Joe asked. ‘Oh, leave her alone, Joe,’ Jordan said. ‘It’s fine, dear, really’ Suzanne said to Jordan. ‘I love chatting with Joe.’ ‘Yes, Gran,’ Jordan continued. ‘But you could talk about something other than serial killers.’ ‘Jordan’s right,’ Joe smiled at her. ‘It’s her birthday, after all. We’ll cut this talk about murder for the night. Sound good, love?’ ‘Sounds more than good,’ she said. ‘How about some cake?’ Jordan’s mother was standing up, already on her way back to the kitchen. They got home shortly after eleven. Jordan was full of energy and Joe was exhausted. He had enjoyed himself at the Hopkins’ place, laughing and talking for hours. He was glad that Jordan had a good birthday. At least he was able to get a bit of reprieve from the case, even if only temporarily. But as he entered the quietness of the house, Kenhardt and its inhabitants were slowly seeping back into his mind. Haddie, Anya and Kiera staring back at him, pleading with him for answers. Don’t you know I’m trying, he wanted to say to them. IF only he could get some answers. There was still so much that he didn’t know, so many unanswered questions. If only he could speak to them, what would he even say? Did you jump? Did someone push you? Why? And to Haddie, did you know? About the baby? It was a task that felt impossible. When he first arrived in Kenhardt one week ago, he believed it would be cut and dry. But as the days progressed, and the situation grew more complex, Joe began to question whether he’d ever get to the bottom of this. Why was it so complicated? He had solved dozens of murders and homicide investigations in the past. What was so difficult about determining the deaths of three teenage girls? He needed to get some rest. That was the best course of action. He would go to sleep, stop thinking about Kenhardt - both the girls and The Sad Killer - and he would reconvene in the morning. It would be a new day. Perhaps he’d get lucky and discover something new. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Joe had a late start to the day. He slept in, took longer than usual to get ready, and by the time he drove to Kenhardt and arrived at the station, the rest of the team were already long gone. He stood there for a moment, thinking, debating what to do. Where else could he go? Who else could he speak with? He felt as though he was chasing his tail, going in circles. He couldn’t find one person who would want to hurt those girls, and simultaneously, could not conclude whether they jumped or not. Could they really have done this? Could they have ended their own lives? Killed themselves, simply by jumping off the building? But then he thought to the lack of suicide note. That fact alone was Odd, but still, it didn’t mean the notion of suicide was impossible. Perhaps a break from the case would be beneficial to him. He could come back with a clear mind, a fresh perspective. Joe’s mind was already made up before he could stop himself. Before he knew it, he was following the secretary back to the evidence room. ‘You know,’ she said to Joe as she unlocked the door. ‘If you want more information on this case, you should speak with Gus Francis. He was the constable in charge back then.’ ‘I have, actually’ Joe smiled at her. ‘He was very helpful.’ ‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘You could also speak with Gil Vanhorn. He wrote the book on The SAD Killer. Literally.’ ‘He’s an author?” She nodded. “The Sad Summer, it’s called. Look him up. Maybe he can help you’ ‘I will. Do you know if he’s still in Kenhardt?’ ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I don’t believe so. I think he moved away years ago.’ ‘I’ll look into it. Thanks, Rancy’ Joe was in the vacant office at the Kenhardt station, skimming over the files. In particular, he was reading over the first victim’s file, Mark Irving. Why was Mark the first? He was thirty - two, a charming bachelor, a pillar of the community, was well - liked and respected by everyone. Perhaps the unsub knew him personally. Or had and attraction to him. Felt threatened by him? There had to have been a reason why this man was murdered, why this man was the first of seven. Joe wished he could get a better idea of what Kenhardt was like in 1965. What the community was like and how the people interacted with each other. He decided to take Rancy up on her recommendation and look up Gil Vanhorn. A quick Google search informed him that Mr Vanhorn was the author of four non fiction crime novels. The Sad Summer was his first, published in 1967. After searching through his website, phoning a plethora of different numbers, and talking to his editor, Joe was finally able to reach a number connected directly to Gil Vanhorn. ‘Hello,’ a man’s voice answered on the third ring. ‘Mr Vanhorn?’ ‘Speaking.’ ‘This is Joe O’Reily. I’m a detective from Riverton working on a case in Kenhardt,’ he paused a moment. ‘I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about The Sad Killer.’ ‘Ah, I see you’ve stumbled across Kenhardt’s most well - known case.’ ‘I have. And I hear you’re the man to speak to.’ Gil gave a slight laugh. ‘How is Kenhardt today?’ ‘Fine, I guess. I wouldn’t really know. It’s my first time here. Well, this past week.’ ‘You got lost in it,’ Gil said. ‘I haven’t been there for about twenty years now.’ ‘Where are you currently?’ ‘Mosselbaai. But everything’s always up in the air. I’ve travelled all over. Lived in Thailand for a year, wrote a book about the tourist murders there.’ ‘Why did you decide to write a book on The Sad Killer?’ Joe asked. ‘Well,’ Gil inhaled deeply. ‘Crime had always interested me. And so had writing. I was going to school to become a journalist. The murders happened at a time in my life where I needed something to do. So I started investigating. I would camp out in front of police station, nag them for details on the case. I was invested. As if solving the case and finding the killer was somehow my duty.’ ‘Did you always plan to write the book? Or did that decision come afterwards?’ ‘I guess it came afterwards. I mean, as I said, I was focused on catching a killer,’ he laughed. ‘It’s funny, really, how ridiculous I was. I was a writer for crying out loud! What did I know about crime and murder?’ ‘But you did discover a lot, yes?’ ‘I did. The police found me a nuisance in the beginning. But they knew I wasn’t going to relent. Eventually the officers began to work with me in a sense. Accepting ideas I threw at them, sharing key pieces of information they found.’ ‘I spoke with Gus Francis,’ Joe said. ‘The constable at the time. Are you familiar with him?’ ‘Oh yes,’ Gil said. ‘Gus hated my guts. Thought I was getting in the way of the investigation. But eventually they caved. Let me follow them around with my notepad and tape recorder.’ ‘Okay,’ Joe said. ‘So what can you tell me then?’ ‘I have one question for you, son,’ Gil said. ‘What is it?’ ‘Why are you looking into this now? I mean, it’s been fifty - one years.’ Joe thought about this for a moment. ‘I guess the same reason as you,’ Joe said. ‘I only heard about it last week, but it’s been at the back of my mind ever since. And I think being here in Kenhardt is making the case even more alluring. Because they never caught the guy, and that really bothers me.’ ‘Trust me, kid, me too,’ Gil said. ‘So you have some questions?’ ‘Yes,’ Joe opened the file in front of him. ‘I guess let’s start with Mark Irving.’ ‘Ah,’ Gil said. ‘Victim number one.’ ‘What was he like? Did you know him personally?’ ‘I didn’t, no, I only knew one of the men, and that was David Hill, the 6th,’ he paused for a moment. ‘But Mark Irving - he was a good guy. When I went around doing interviews for the book, everyone had only good things to say about him. How nice he was, helpful. The kind of man who would help and old lady get her cat down from a tree. ‘He was an electrician, made a fair bit of money. He was good - looking, I recall. Had a knack for golf. He flourished for thirty two years in Kenhardt. And then ended up dead on his living room floor, stabbed to death.’ ‘Did you have any ideas on who could have done it?’ ‘Around the time - and remember, this was the very first - the police were looking at friends and family, members of the country club - anyone who he associated with. They brought a few people in for questioning. Now, what I can tell you, as a writer, is that police have a biased opinion when interrogating people. They’re were desperate. They wanted to catch a killer, so they treated every suspect as though they’re guilty. And you can’t do it like that,’ he paused. ‘No offence. But really. I mean, they brought in about a dozen or so people, desperate to solve this singular, isolated murder and bring Mark Irving justice. Little did they know, Mark was simply number one on a list of seven.’ ‘And there was no other correlation between the men?’ ‘I mean, correlation? Of course. Kenhardt was miniscule. Everyone knew each other in one way or another. My buddy’s sister dated my cousin. My boss was related to my neighbour. But concrete correlations? No. Nothing that would explain why this guy killed seven of Kenhardt’s brightest men.’ ‘What did you say?’ ‘Which part?’ ‘The last part. About Kenhardt’s brightest?’ Gil laughed. ‘That could be the name of my next book.’ ‘Why did you say that? What was so special about those men?’ The line was quiet for a moment. ‘Listen, kid - they were good men. All of them. That’s what doesn’t make sense about this case. My buddy, Dave - he was a good guy. Had a family, a six year old girl, His wife, Melinda, was devastated. No one could understand what was happening in Kenhardt. Why all of these men were dropping off, being eliminated. We were all worried, wondering who was next. David was the 6th, and by then, even I had my concerns. I was a man, in the same age group as the victims. HELL, I convinced myself at one point that I was next! That’s how arbitrary these murders were, Any one of us would be next. And then there was the 7th - Paul Monoly - and seven dead bodies was enough to drive the town to mayhem. But we waited and we waited. Months passed and no more men died. No more bodies turned up. We were finally safe. The killer had finally finished with Kenhardt. No one ever heard from him again.’ ‘What about you,’ Joe said. ‘Who do you think did it?’ ‘God, that’s a difficult question,’ Gil said. ‘I wrote the book and still don’t have a definite answer,’ he was quiet again. ‘I mean, I had my suspicions back in the day, but nothing ever progressed. There was this one guy, Larry, I believe his name was, A real creep. I thought it might be him, just from his look and disposition. Obviously I knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but I mean, detective - if you had a look at this guy. And he was always watching things. People, buildings, observing everything. didn’t talk to many people, didn’t socialize or have many friends. I think the police might have brought him in for questioning, but he had a solid alibi for one of the murders. That’s the thing with serial murders - they all have to add up and make sense. It’s one person doing it all and somehow getting away with it.’ ‘NO one ever thought it might have been a group thing? Gang related, even?’ ‘A gang? In Kenhardt,’ he laughed. ‘But no, that’s a valid question. I don’t think the police ever suspected a group, or even a partner, for that matter. It was always one guy. One sociopath behind all of the madness.’ ‘But the M.O’s were so different,’ Joe said. ‘A group or a cult would have made sense.’ ‘Maybe’ Gill said. ‘What about drugs?’ Joe asked. ‘Or gambling. What if the seven men were into some trouble? couldn’t pay off a debt or something.’ ‘You’re thinking a hitman angle?’ ‘Yeah. It’s a possibility, right?’ Gil made a sound. ‘It’s a good theory, but the police disproved any drug theories back then. They looked into everything. Money, Bank Accounts, family history. The men were clean.’ Joe nodded silently. ’Tell me about his signature. The thing that made him so infamous.’ ‘SAD. That’s all he put - sad. The police took it as an apology of sorts. I mean, what kind of killer murders someone, then writes sad beside the body. Was this an apology? A sign of remorse? No one was sure. They had a behavioural analyst come in. She said something about feelings of empathy and guilt being portrayed through this last, final act. The killer might have felt forced to kill. That’s the thing with psychopaths and sociopaths - they don’t have a choice, it’s their obligation. And it’s sad. It truly is. That these people have an inherent problem in their brains. They were born with it. They can’t help it. Killing is in their DNA. No matter how many times we arrest them and attempt to rehabilitate them, it doesn’t do any good. Because they are intrinsically good at this one thing - killing. It’s what makes them whole, what they do to survive,’ he took a moment. ’So that’s why he left the word sad. Not only as a type of apology or sign of remorse, but it became his signature, A way to let us know that it was him. Because you know serial murderers have to do that, right?’ ‘Do what?’ ‘Let everyone know it’s them who is doing the killing. Psychopaths are narcissists. They thrive off attention. The notoriety is what they live for. They want people knowing it was them. It’s like the murder is their Artwork, and they have to take responsibility. Another compulsion of theirs, much like the killing. It’s all very artistic. Not the killing, I mean. The act around it.’ ‘I see,’ Joe said. ’This is very helpful, thank you.’ ‘Of course. Anything I can do to help. It sure would be great to finally solve this thing. After all these years.’ ‘It would be, but I highly doubt I’ll be able to.’ ‘Why not? You got all the tools, you’re talking to the right people. Hey, I bet it would help if you bought my book,’ Gil said. ‘No promo or nothing, just saying. There’s a lot of good information in there.’ ‘Maybe I will, Thanks.’ ‘And you should also try to contact the families if you can.’ ‘The families of the victims? You think they’re still around?’ ‘Probably, You’re a cop - look them up. I bet most of them are still in Kenhardt for God’s sake. People never leave that place. And those who did leave, like me, well, I’m sure you can track them down. Give them a call or something.’ ‘If they’re still around,’ Joe said. ‘Or alive,’ ‘Fifty one years,’ Gil said. ‘Some of them would be. The children, definitely. A few of the victims had kids, so you could try starting with them. That might prove useful. Although, a few of them were young at the time, so don’t expect too much. I’d also try the wives or girlfriends of some of the victims. Like Mark Irving. I’m sure you could track down a whole list of women who dated him back in the day. I’m sure they’re old geezers now, like me, but still worth a shot.’ ‘Alright, I’ll look into it. Thank you. Gil.’ ‘My pleasure, kid. Hey, give me a call if you ever crack this thing, alright? I’m dying to know.’ ‘Will do.’ ***************** Tracking down the surviving families of the deceased wasn’t difficult. As Gil Vanhorn said, most of them would likely still be in Kenhardt. The first was a seventy - nine year old woman named Flora Willard, Married to Robert Baldwin in 1948, Flora remarried twice since the death of her husband on June 16, 1965.……