Confession (19 page)

He quickly glanced out his rear window and saw the other car was far away down the road.  He felt it was safe to proceed.

“Fucking
bastard
!” she yelled out at Jimmy and punched him in his face.

Jimmy whacked her in her throat.

Sandy gasped for air.

Jimmy grabbed her hair and repeatedly smashed her head into the dashboard.  She passed out and slouched down in the seat.

Jimmy turned his car around and headed down the road.

Twenty minutes later, Jimmy had Sandy stripped naked and tied to a tree in the woods. 

A big
boulder
about four feet high was ten feet away. 

His camera was by the front of his car on the tripod ready to capture this moment.

He heard more thunder in the sky and knew it would probably start raining soon.

Jimmy walked up to Sandy who was groggy and had a splitting headache from having her head pounded on the dashboard.

“So, you like hitting men?” he yelled then swung his bat.  He whacked her collarbone and it instantly snapped.

“Ahhhh!” Sandy screamed.

Jimmy swung his bat again and whacked her other collarbone and it instantly snapped.

“Ahhhh!” Sandy screamed in extreme pain.

Jimmy swung his bat and whacked her in her throat to shut her up.  It worked as Sandy gasped for air while in pain.

Jimmy swung his bat and whacked her jaw.  Teeth and blood flew out.  He swung his bat again and a few more teeth and blood flew out when he whacked her jaw again.

He dropped the bat and grabbed her head.  He twisted her neck until he heard a snap.  He knew she was dead.

He walked around and picked up all her teeth he could find in the dirt.  He shoved them in his pocket, and then he picked up his bat.

He rushed back to his trunk and dropped the bat inside.  He removed the axle grease from his trunk.

He rushed back to Sandy and ran a streak down her stomach to represent the number “4” as his calling card.

He rushed over to the camera and snapped a picture.   He took a few more pictures from different angles.

He then set the timer and rushed over Sandy.  The camera snapped a picture and Jimmy looked like a proud hunter who bagged a prize deer.

He rushed over to the camera and tripod and grabbed it. 

He rushed the camera and tripod to the rear of the car.  He dropped it in the trunk along with the grease.  He removed his gloves, dropped them in the trunk and slammed it shut. 

He rushed over and got back inside his car. 

He moved his car down to the paved road and stopped.  He got out and performed his usual cleanup with a small tree branch to erase his tracks.

He quickly got back in his car and drove off with a satisfying smile.

The second Jimmy pulled his car onto the two-lane country road, the sky opened up and it poured. 

“Perfect,” said Jimmy with a smiling knowing that the rain would help erase any signs of him being there with Sandy.

He drove off down the street whistling a tune.

When he was thirty miles down the road, he threw her purse and shoes out the window.

The next morning, he met up with Ricky at Artabatian Lake outside Pierce, Mississippi.

Ricky had a new white 1966 Ford Thunderbird with blue interior for Jimmy.

While they fished on the lake, Jimmy told Ricky of his time with Sandy. 

Ricky then confessed he raped a white teenage girl on the way to the lake.  Her name was Betsy and was from Melford, Mississippi. 

Jimmy looked proud of his little brother and they again promised to take their secrets to their graves.

The next day arrived.  Billy drove off in the 65 Galaxie while Jimmy drove off with the 66 Thunderbird.

But along the way back to Boldger, Alabama, Jimmy stopped off in another tattoo parlor in another town.

Jimmy drove his new 1966 Ford Thunderbird home and showed it off to Betty. 

She loved it. 

Then she saw that the letters under his skull tattoo has grown to “A, R, A, and S” and she just accepted his foolishness.

Inside his garage, Jimmy did his same routine of placing Sandy’s clothes, teeth, and the bloody tip of the bat into his chest.  After he developed the pictures from his camera, he dropped the photos of Sandy and himself, as the proud hunter into the chest and locked it.  He hid the wooden chest back up in his attic.

He went inside the house and showed Betty the pictures of Ricky and himself fishing on the lake.  She never had a clue what Jimmy actually did before he went fishing.

Two days later, a farmer’s hound dog ran off into the woods and he went after him.  The farmer found his dog barking at Sandy’s dead body tied to the tree.  The farmer ran back to his farm house and called the Sheriff.

An hour later, Sheriff Phil Dickson from Downing, Tennessee arrived at the scene with three deputies.  The farmer showed them Sandy’s body, and they immediately roped off the area.  After Sheriff Dickson noticed the number on her belly, he got pissed.   He knew that the Fall Slayer was in his neck of the woods. 

“Steve,” he called out to his deputy.

“Yeah, Sheriff,” Steve replied while he walked over.

“Call the office and request they call the FBI office up in Atlanta. I want Agent Robert Fillert down here.  I think we have another Fall Slayer victim,” he told Steve.

“Yes sir,” Steve replied then ran back to his squad car.  He sat inside his car and called their dispatcher.

Sheriff Dickson and his other two deputies stared at Sandy.  They were furious that some scumbag would do such a horrible crime to a woman close to their quiet town.

Four hours had passed.

A government car drove down the dirt road and parked behind the squad cars.

Sheriff Dickson watched while Robert and Carl got out and walked over to the area.

“I’m agent Robert Fillert,” he said while he flashed his identification badge.  “And this is Carl Meyers,” he added while Carl flashed his identification.

They all shook hands.

Robert went under the rope to check out the fourth victim.

“Does anybody know her name?” Robert asked while he walked up to Sandy.

“No sir,” Sheriff Dickson replied.

Robert stopped four feet from Sandy where flies buzzed around her dead flesh.  He saw the “4” grease mark on her belly and knew this was the work of the Fall Slayer. 

He looked at her face and saw the mole on her upper lip.  Something struck him as being familiar with this girl.  He reached in his suit pocket and removed a pair of white gloves.  After he put them on, he lifted her face by her chin to get a better look.  It hit him hard.   He looked sick and turned white as a ghost. 

He rushed over to that big rock and barfed behind it.

Carl, the Sheriff and the deputies watched while Robert barfed up the rest of his breakfast.

“He’s never done this with the other victims,” Carl said and looked a little concerned.

“I thought about barfing the second I saw her,” Sheriff Dickson said.

The three deputies nodded in agreement, as they’ve never had such a horrible crime in their peacefully county.

“That scum of a human sure beat the crap out of this poor girl.  We couldn't find any identification,” Sheriff Dickson said while they watched Robert sit white as a ghost on the rock.

“Her name is Sandy Lurcott,” Robert told everybody
while
his eyes welled up.

“Do you know her?” Carl asked.

Robert choked up and fought off from crying.  “She’s the sister of my best friend from college,” Robert said then he walked away.

“Oh my God,” Sheriff Dickson said quietly to himself and felt sorry for Sam.

“Take tons of fucking pictures,” Robert yelled at Carl while he headed back to his government car.

Carl snapped tons of pictures.

Inside the government car, Robert’s eyes welled up and he removed a small flask of whiskey from his inside suit pocket.  He took a huge swig.  All he could think about was finding that killer and snapping his neck like a twig.
  His body started shaking while all he could think about was Sandy being killed.  His blood started to boil thinking about that killer.  But he knew the killer was smarter than what he was and might never catch him.

It was quiet while Robert and Carl drove back to their Atlanta office.

Thanksgiving arrived and it was the traditional turkey dinner at the Nalla house with Melvin, Ricky and Emily.

Christmas arrived.

Jimmy and Homer had their usual Christmas Black Label beers at Jimmy’s house.

“How’s that Fall Slayer case coming along?” Jimmy asked the second Homer sat down on his couch.

Jimmy handed Homer a can of beer.

“Nowhere,” said Homer while he opened up his can of beer.

“Oh,” said Jimmy while he opened his can of beer but was smiling inside with Homer’s response.

Homer’s eyes widened the second he remembered something.  “Oh yeah, I heard something really interesting about the last victim.  Well actually, it’s sorta sad for Robert.”

“What’s that?” asked Jimmy and he was a little worried that maybe Robert had a good lead.

“Well, it appears that this last victim was the sister of a friend of Robert’s.  How about that?”

“A sister to the friend of Robert?”

“Yeah.  He knew the victim.  How coincidental is that?”

“Yeah, that is coincidental,” replied Jimmy with a smirk then he took a drink of his beer.  He realized he was good but not that good.

Jimmy and Homer spent the next hour putting away two more cans of Black Label and chatting about other police stuff.

New Years Eve arrived.

Jimmy and Ricky did their other usual event and had drinks at Hank’s Bar and rang in 1966 by getting drunk

Back to reality…

In Daytona Beach, Sam sat in his back porch, while he highlighted some areas of the book that were of extreme interest.  His eyes welled up, as this book brought back those memories that haunted him for so many years. 
Then his blood boiled thinking how that killer taunted him.

In Kissimmee, Marty was so interested in Allan’s book that he could not put it down.  Becky was more interested in collecting all the loose photos she had of Allan.  She wanted to make a special photo album on his life.

In Curtis, Mississippi, Billy was in his office at his Chevy dealership.  He was steamed while he read more of Allan’s book.  He threw it to the floor then stormed over to his wall.  He looked at the framed pictures of previous fishing trips, including the ones during the years of the October Slayer.  He wanted to strangle his older brother.

He stormed out of his office and went out to the sales department to cool off before he did something stupid.

A
Killer’s Tale
story
continued…

It was now March 1966.

Up in Atlanta, FBI Agent Robert was still cold with any viable leads on finding this killer of now four women.

Then one afternoon in late March, Carl watched Robert from his desk.

Robert stared at Sandy’s file folder in between discreet sips of whiskey from his flask.

Homer was at his desk and he also watched Robert.

Homer’s phone rang.  “Agent Maris,” he answered.

“It’s me Ricky.  How are you liking your new Mustang?” Ricky asked from the phone.

“I love it!”

“Great.  I’ll see you at Christmas time again,” said Rickey.

“Looking forward to it.”

“Listen, Jimmy wants to know if that Robert Fillert has a favorite drinking hole.”

“Yeah and he’s been going there every night for the past month,” Homer replied.

“I need the name of the place,” Ricky said.

“Why?”

“Don’t worry about it.  I’m giving you a Mustang each year and that’ll all you need to know.”

“Oh, okay.  He frequents Wet Willie’s,” just outside Hatfield,” Homer responded.

“If you still want these new cars you better not tell a soul about our conservations.”

“Okay, I won’t,” said Homer as he loved the new Mustangs and it was making him a hit with some of the women in the office. 

“Great.  Now, don’t forget to come to the dealership at Christmas.  I’ll have a new red 1967 Mustang waiting with your name on it,” Ricky said then disconnected their call.

Homer looked excited and couldn’t wait for his new car.

Back in Boldger, Jimmy was alone one Wednesday night while Betty played bridge with her girlfriends. 

Jimmy revisited his chest and looked at his souvenirs from Annette, Rhonda, Angie, and Sandy.  He had his new
True Detective
magazine and it had an article about Sandy’s killing.  The article mentioned that the FBI agent, Robert Fillert, on the case personally knew Sandy Lurcott, as she was the sister of his best friend.  Jimmy looked happy when he read that bit of news.

Later that night, Jimmy sat naked in his living room chair and masturbated while he reread the article.  He loved the fact that this killing was closer to home for Robert.  He ejaculated on the page about Sandy and closed the magazines. 

He dropped the magazine into the chest and locked it.  He lit a cigarette and took a drag. 

He felt satisfied then returned the chest back to its hiding place in his attic.

The following week, Jimmy gave Betty some bullshit story that he had to go up to Atlanta for a conference new advances in law enforcement procedures.  She bought his story hook line and sinker.  

It was around nine that evening a few nights later, and at Wet Willie’
s
bar in the Atlanta area business was slow.   The building stood alone off a country road, and was outlined with red neon lights.  A 1966 Ford Thunderbird pulled into the parking lot and parked.

There were only three drinkers inside the bar and one of them was Robert.  He drank alone in his suit.

Jimmy entered in a Fedora hat, and he walked to the back of the bar and sat down at a table.

A waitress walked up to him.

“Bourbon and coke, please,” Jimmy instantly replied.

She nodded she got his drink order and walked away.

Jimmy glanced down the bar to his left and saw Robert drinking alone.  He got a smirk and walked over to him.

Jimmy sat down one bar stool down from Robert. 

The waitress walked up and gave Jimmy his drink.

Jimmy took a sip while he glanced at Robert who had five empty glasses in front of him.  Robert looked like a sad and pathetic drunk.

“Hey buddy, did you have a rough day?” Jimmy kindly asked Robert and faked he was concerned.

Robert looked glassy eyed over at Jimmy.   “It’s been a rough three fucking years,” Robert slurred out his response.  Robert gulped down his sixth drink. 

Jimmy motioned at the bartender.  “His next drink is on me.”

The bartender nodded that he acknowledged. 

Robert lifted up his glass at Jimmy.  “Thank you my good man.”

Robert gulped down his drink.

A few seconds later, the bartender walked up and placed another drink down in front of Robert.

Robert sipped his drink.  “How about joining me?” Robert slurred out while he held up his drink and felt like he wanted some company.  He just wanted someone to listen to his sorrows, as the bartender got tired and ignored Robert.

“I wish I could, but I just got a promotion at work and I’m taking my wife out to dinner to celebrate,” Jimmy replied.

Jimmy patted Robert on his back then discreetly dropped a pair of his Army’s Sergeant’s stripes into Robert’s suit pocket.  Jimmy was promoted to Staff Sergeant in Army reserves two months ago.

“My name is Jimmy Nalla,” Jimmy whispered near Robert’s ear, but Robert did not hear him.  Jimmy patted Robert on his back and headed to the door.

Robert remained in a drunken stupor at the bar and was on the verge of passing out.

Jimmy went home that night and did not have any concerns that Robert would pick up on him being the killer.   “He’s too stupid,” chuckled Jimmy while he thought about Robert finding those stripes in his suit coat pocket.

October 1966 took forever to arrive and Jimmy was getting itchy for another adventure.  He sensed he would never get caught and could last for years.

This time, Jimmy decided to make it a longer trip to Arkansas.

He drove his Thunderbird into the parking lot of a Piggly Wiggly in the small town of Garrison, Arkansas one night.  He waited in his car for his next victim.

Then he saw a blonde female get out of a 1964 Dodge Dart about one hundred feet away. 

She walked into the store with her purse in hand. 

“She’s my girl,” Jimmy said while he sipped his bottle of Jack Daniels.  He put the bottle down and got out of his car.

He rushed over to the Dodge Dart.  He opened up the hood and reached inside.  He yanked the cable from the ignition coil to the distributor cap.  He closed the hood and rushed back to his car.

Inside his car, he tossed the cable under his seat and waited while he sipped more Jack Daniels.

Twenty minutes later, he watched while the blonde woman walked out of the store with her grocery bag in hand.  He noticed she wore a brownish pattern micro mini dress and thought she was extremely sexy. 

She walked to her Dodge and got inside.  She tried to start her car.  It would not start so she tried again, but it still would not start.

She got out and opened up the hood and peeked inside.  She knew nothing about engines but for some reason, she felt that if you peeked inside it would magically fix itself.

She got back inside and tried to start it again, but it would not start.

She got back out and walked over and started at the engine.

Jimmy started his car and drove over and parked near her Dodge.  He got out and left his engine running.

“Excuse me, are you having car trouble?” he asked while he got out of his car and walked up to her.

The woman looked up at Jimmy and his eyes lit up, as he knew her.  It was Fran Schaefer, the girl he had a crush on in high school and played that cruel joke on him. 

Jimmy looked her over and she was still sexy but gained a little weight.  Then the horrible memories of that day
flooded
his mind and
made
his blood boiled. 

“Fran Schaefer?  Is that you?” he said while he acted cool.

Fran thought for a couple of seconds while she glanced at Jimmy.  Then her eyes widen when she remembered.

“Jimmy Nalla?  I don’t believe it.  What are you doing here in Arkansas?” she replied happy to see someone from her hometown even thought she thought he was creepy back in high school.

“I was sitting in my car looking at a road map, as I got lost on my way to Little Rock for some Army Reserve duty.  Then I saw you,” he lied through his teeth.  “What's wrong?”

“My car won’t start.  It was fine when I went in the store, but now it won’t start now,” she said.

“That’s the way it goes with automobiles.  They work one minute the are broke the next,” he said.  “Let me take a look,” he added then looked in the engine compartment.

After having his head buried under the hood of her car, Jimmy looked at Fran.  “Ah, there’s your trouble, your cable is missing from the distributor cap to the ignition coil,” he said and pointed to the distributor cap.

“How could that be missing when the car was sitting still?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied then faked like he pondered a viable answer.  Maybe it fell out and is underneath the car?” he said then dropped to his knees and peeked under the car.  “Nope, it didn’t fall out,” he said then stood up.

Fran looked worried.  “What am I going to do?”

“Why don’t I give you a ride home and you can get it fixed in the morning?” he offered.

“I don’t want to be a bother.  I can call a friend,” she replied.

“Oh no, it’s no bother.  After I drop you off, I’ll head to Little Rock.”

The sound of thunder filled the air and drops of rain started to fall. 

“Let’s hurry before we get soaked,” he said.

Fran ran over with Jimmy to his car and got inside while the clouds poured on them.

Once inside, she looked at his Thunderbird.  “You have a beautiful car,” she replied in awe. 

“Ricky took over dad’s business and since I didn’t want to join him.  So dad said I can get a free car each year for the rest of my life.  It’s part of my inheritance,” Jimmy said while he drove out of the parking lot.

“Are you still living in Boldger?” she said while he pulled out onto the street and drove off.

“Yep.  And the place hasn’t changed much,” he said then glanced over at Fran.  “How do I get to your place?” he added.

“Turn right at the second traffic light,” she replied.

“How long have you been living here in Arkansas?” he asked while he made the right turn at the traffic light.

“I moved here to Arkansas to be with mother but she recently got remarried and moved down to Orlando, Florida.  I’m going to move down there in three months,” she replied.

Jimmy thought for a few seconds.  “Ah yes, I remember hearing your parents got a divorce,” he said while he turned right at the second traffic light.

While he drove down the street, he reached under his seat and grabbed his whiskey bottle.  He opened it and took a swig.

“Would you like a drink?” he offered and held out the bottle.

“No thanks,” she replied.

Jimmy screwed the cap back on the bottle.  Then he looked a little mad.  “Remember that cruel joke Ralph Johnston, those other guys, gals, and you played on me?  Remember how you tricked me into a romantic moment at the lake but left me naked in the woods?”

Fran thought for a few seconds while she recalled her high school days.  “I do and I’m so sorry for that day.  We were stupid jerks back during high school.  I hope you can forgive me,” she said but got a little nervous all of a sudden.

“Sure. We were dumber back in those days,” Jimmy pretended but inside he was still furious.  “So, what ever happened to Ralph?”

“We got married after we graduated from high school.  He's in the Navy and just left for Vietnam three months ago.  We have a little.”

“That’s nice,” Jimmy said interrupting her sentence.  “Remember that night we graduated?  And you had that party down at the lake.”

Fran thought for a few seconds.  “Yeah.  But someone played a mean trick on me with daddy’s car.”

“Oh, you mean someone took a shit on the seat?”

Fran looked surprised at Jimmy for knowing.  “How did you know?”

Jimmy had a smirk on his face and Fran knew it was his confession.

“Why the fuck would you do that?  You’re an asshole!” she said recalling getting home and her daddy being furious that she had shit all over the rear of her jeans when she came into the house.

“I was in love with you and you treated me like shit!  My dad beat the hell out of me with a belt for letting a girl get the better of part of me that day!” he yelled out.

Fran looked at Jimmy.  She saw the hatred in his eyes, and she got scared.

“Please let out right here.  I can walk home,” she said but didn’t finish the sentence because Jimmy tightened his grip on the neck of his whiskey bottle and slammed it into the side of her head.