Book Five - Part Nine - Raging Evil: Chapter Seven
Halloween Night – 5:30 – 9:30 p.m.
Many doors had Halloween decorations attached, or on a porch, one might find Jack-O Lanterns or pumpkins carved out and sitting on a straw-stuffed pair of blue jeans and a checkered shirt body with a straw hat on top.
Doorbells would ring, and doors would open as little boys and girls dressed as princesses and queens, Batman, Spiderman, Iron Man, or Cat Woman and the like would cry out, “TRICK OR TREAT!” A few seconds later, treats would go into a Halloween bag and the kids would be off to the next house.
Ed and Stevie were but two of many who would open their doors that night. Baker was busy doing the mom-thing. She walked side-by-side another Batman, whose secret identity was Leon Hargrove.
It was his first ever costume and his very first Halloween.
In Leon’s mind, he knew this was the beginning of things he never had the chance to do before; things out in the world were waiting on him to do.
Somewhere In Columbus Ohio – 11:03 p.m.
A tall man jumped out from behind a clump of bushes from the side of Mackinaw Road.
At one time it was a hundred-mile stretch of blacktop that used to be a trail that would lead you from Columbus to Cincinnati back in the day. Almost seventy years ago, three large sinkholes ended that idea. Now, if it’s used for anything, it’s either to bring a date there to make out with or dump your trash.
In this case, Johnny “Baby Boy” Jackson, just finished making out with a chubby sixteen-year-old girl who begged and pleaded with him not to hurt her.
Johnny had snatched her from a bus station in Columbus, punched her in the mouth to shut her up until he got to Mackinaw Road.
He kept his promise not to hurt her after he raped her brutally. To Johnny, sex isn’t brutal, sex is all about feeling good, and when he gets rough; to him, that feels wonderful.
But he kept his promise not to hurt her anymore. He broke her neck.
In a notebook in his car, he wrote her name down: Natalie. 16. Number 41. The first one? Ellaine Mae Jackson. 62.
His mother.
Thursday – November 1st
The Squad Room – 8:31 a.m.
“This just came in a few minutes ago. Another young girl was found raped and murdered just south of Columbus, Ohio.
“Following his pattern, Jackson started in Phoenix, and has raped and killed in a haphazard manner.
“Two in Arizona, four in New Mexico, six in California, seven in Texas, one each in Oklahoma, Missouri, Kansas, and Nebraska. Then he hikes it to Oregon and Washington and rapes and kills five more girls.
“From there he hit Idaho and kills two more. Then in Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Illinois, another five.
“His pattern isn’t normal, but from Tennessee to Ohio, there’s the possibility he’ll make a run through the Keystone State and might come up our way. The age range of the vic’s have been 14 to 62.
“As I said before, keep an eye on the kids and if you do spot him, bring him in. Make sure backup is there.
“Speaking of backup, Clauson and Banyard had their hands full yesterday. You both did a hell of a job.
“These two men had backup that saved their lives or from severe injury. And no matter how good you think you are; when you need help, call for it. Don’t play John Wayne.
“Halloween came and went without incident which is always a good thing. Now, does anyone have any questions?”
Silence.
“Then get out there and stay safe and keep our streets safe.”
As Baker started toward her office, Satchell followed behind her.
“I know today is your day to go through all the unsol’s but do me a favor.”
“Let me guess? Cross-check all the girl’s this Jackson has killed and see if any of them are in my files that can be closed, right?”
“You read my mind. How many do you have left, anyway?”
“Five. I’d be surprised if any of ours are in his kill group. All but two or three have been identified.”
“There might be one, two, or three we might be able to close. Work on it and see what you come up with.”
Sitting behind her desk waiting for her computer to boot up, she nodded her head at Satchell, then asked, “Are you and Samantha doing all right?”
Satchell, about to turn and leave for his office, stopped short and tilted his head at Baker.
“Things are progressing nicely. Let’s say better than all right.”
Just as he made it to the center of the doorway, he stopped and snapped his fingers.
“Almost forgot. I’m going to Stanhouse for a business luncheon with Don Baters, and at two, he wants me to attend one of the school’s there with him. If anything goes down while I’m gone, call me. ASAP.”
“No problem, Satchell, and uh,” she looked at the clock (9:12) on the wall, “enjoy your lunch.”
Baker pulled up the remaining unsol’s.
Through NCIC’s system website and her police authorization code, she was able to search for and find each of the deceased victims. Four unidentified bodies.
The early rapes and murders were horrible. Heads decapitated, hands removed, vagina’s and breasts were burned. Jackson was one sick degenerate SOB.
Baker knew that when he was finally caught and sentenced, he wouldn’t last a day behind prison walls even if he was put into solitary. She felt that if he were cornered with no way out, he would probably blow his brains out. Most generally do. Surely, Jackson had to know it was only a matter of when before he was tracked down and caught.
Baker began looking closely at one particular file of Jane Doe: estimated age by bone structure: 14. Height: 5’2”. Weight: 98. A half-moon scar on the inside of her left ankle. That got her attention.
She opened the file on Denise Lassiter. Missing three years while vacationing in Oregon with her parents. She disappeared at the Dalles, alongside Klamath Falls. Jane Doe was found not too far away from a hiking trail. Her body was found. Her head and hands never recovered. But as she looked at Denise’s file she read where it stated a half-moon scar was on the inside of her left ankle had occurred while riding her bike at age seven. A spoke snapped when she lost her balance, and it gouged her ankle.
She called the Dalles Police and informed them she would fax the information she had, she believed would identify their Jane Doe.
With a lift in her spirits, Baker checked the other two remaining girls. No luck. Nothing listed with any of the states Jackson had been in, matched her files.
She switched over to overseas operatives, logged onto Interpol’s website, entered her password, and went to recent updates of unsolved crimes. Scrolling on the left, she clicked on: MURDERS. On the next page she clicked: FEMALES ONLY. Then she clicked the age group: 6-14. 4,365 listings.
This kept her busy the rest of the day right up until five that afternoon when she received a fax from the Dalles Police Department. They changed the Jane Doe’s name to Denise Lassiter. They would also prepare to ship her remains to Montie once the parents were notified.
At 5:30, she would be at the home of Charles and Marlene Lassiter, telling them their little girl would be coming home. She had wanted to avoid the gruesome details of their daughter’s death, but explaining as gently as she could saying, “An open casket wouldn’t be a good idea,” both Charles and Marlene understood what she was saying. At least their closure could finally begin.