I was working the night watch at the city morgue, in the Bronx when the murders started, and the first body was brought in. He was an African American male six foot two inches tall, in good physical condition (aside from the fact that he was dead), and approximately twenty to thirty years of age. He had been bound by the hands, and feet, there were two burn marks on his chest. The burn marks on his chest were made by defibrillation paddles. The cause of death was electrocution.

Once a month for the next ten months a dead body would show up in various areas of New York. Sometimes the Bronx, sometimes Buffalo, even in Manhattan. Eleven bodies in all. Each one bound, and electrocuted. And each one an African American male six foot, to six foot three inches tall, approximately twenty to thirty years of age, all in good physical condition. There was only one significant difference to each body.

Each victim had the name of a dog carved into his chest right between the burn marks and each carving was covered with red acrylic paint. The word, “Rottwieler” was carved into the first victims chest and “Pitt Bull” was on the last victim’s chest. With a variety of dog names on the other nine bodies. Ranging from Great Dane to German Shepard.

The police department was stumped. The news service got hold of the story about the murders and due to the dog theme started calling them the, “Canine Murders.” I expressed to a co-worker of mine, that I was personally offended by the title given these murders by the media. The name made it seem that all black men in New York were dogs that needed to be killed. She said I was being silly, but I felt I had a right to be concerned. These murders affected me, because I am an African American male and at that time I was twenty nine years old, and six foot one inch tall. My name is Barry Williams.

In 1990, I was working in the morgue to finance my way through a Psychology major at City College. So these murders were of particular interest to me. They were also of interest to my co-worker, Beverly Simone Jasbelle, also a psyche major. We would listen to the coroners, and the police investigators when we could. Then go back to our psychology books and try to work out a profile of the killer.

Working in a morgue is very quiet work. I mean it’s not like any of the customers are going to disturb you. So we had a lot of free time to study the case up close. Our favorite game was to try and figure out what the killer was going to do next. I guess you could say we were basically trying to get into the killer’s head. Although, I have to admit, I sometimes had a hard time concentrating on the profile because of Beverly.

Bev was a very beautiful African American female. About 5 feet 8 inches tall, shoulder length hair; with skin the color of a fine cognac. The kind of body a man could spend an eternity making love to. With eyes that were so beautiful and deep dark brown there is no way a brother could look into them and lie to her. Her exquisite, although somewhat fragile frame was deceiving. She could handle a corpse as well as any of the men she worked with. She was very smart, a 3.95 GPA, but she also had that sassy (bad girl attitude.) which made her a match for any male that tried to play her. The one time I tried to take her out, she told me she didn’t date her co-workers. I replied, “hell, I’ll quit, if you’ll go out with me!”

Her answer was, “Barry I thought you were pass that macho, throw a woman a line, I’ll say anything I think you want to hear if it will get dem panties off yo ass, typical brother bullshit!!!”

I told her she was cold. She laughed, and said she would like to remain just friends, and if something happened later on, then it happened. I agreed but told her that from time to time, I would try her again, just to keep her on her toes, but before long we had become so close I started to feel she was my little sister rather than a love interest. I never hit on her again.

We formulated different psychological makeups on the killer. My first thought was that he had to have a persecution complex. I figured he was a white male, with a bad life. He probably just recently lost his job, or loved one, he needed someone to blame, and as per usual he blamed the black male. She asked what evidence supported my white male theory. I told her that only white males boil and eat the skin of their victims, or perform elaborate ritual killings, or just plain shoot em all, and let God sort em out. She said that I was the one with the persecution complex. Then she asks me why couldn’t the killer be a woman. I said that a woman wouldn’t be physically capable of dragging a body from where it was killed, to where it was found dumped. When she heard that, she gave me that, (you must be an idiot look), and asked,
“First of all, how can you watch me move these bodies around, and still think that a woman’s not capable of moving a body from one place to another. And second of all, each one of the victims had sex before they died. Now unless all of them were gay, the killer had to be a woman. Your problem is you’ve gotten to personally involved in the case.”
“Okay you’re right about moving the bodies but just because they had sex doesn’t mean they were killed by a woman. They could have been killed by an insanely jealous boyfriend.”
“I don’t think so. With so many victims, if it had been a jealous boyfriend the woman would have figured it out by now and gone to the police either because she didn’t want to be accused of helping her boyfriend or to get protection from him, so it had to be a woman.”
“Is that right? Okay then give me your profile of the killer”
“I think the killer is most likely African American. A woman with a bad childhood, who was probably molested by a man when she was growing up. Someone whose only means of revenge is to kill anyone she associates with the pain of their childhood. And since she only picks up professional black men and not the young hip hop type of brother, the person that molested her was probably a professional of some sort.”
“Either that or she knew trying to kill a young thug would get a bullet in her ass.”
“No I don’t think she is afraid of a weapon. There is no sign of a struggle which means whoever it is has learned to get around their victims defenses without a struggle. Oh by the way I’ve been thinking about what you said about all the black men in New York being dogs and while I still think some fo your theories come from a paranoid mind, that part of your theory is probably right. Whoever is doing the killings tattooed the names on their chest for a reason. If it’s a woman then most likely she really does thinks all of these men are dogs and deserve to die.. Which means every man that she comes in contact with she’s going to kill.”
“Damn Bev. That’s a messed up theory.”
“What’s the matter playa are you scared that one of the women you mistreated might decide to carve a name on your chest?”
“That shit ain’t funny Bev. Besides I don’t mistreat women I’m just not ready for a relationship yet.” “Uh huh and did you tell them that before or after you got in dem panties.”
“See you need to mind your own business.”
“Don’t get mad at me playa playa. I’m not the one that’s going to carve your ass up like a Christmas turkey. Now if you take my advice, if I were you I wouldn’t go out and try to meet any new honeys right now. You just may bring someone home who could end your sex life permanently.”
“I already told you that shit wasn’t funny. Let’s just drop the subject okay.”
“Whatever you say playboy.” She walked away with a laugh but her theory had me all shook up.

For the next ten months bodies kept showing up and all the time we were amazed how the killer seemed to know what the police were up to at every turn. They tried to come up with a list of possible suspects, but that didn’t work. And since most of the victims were known to frequent the club scene, they tried staking out some of the more popular nightclubs, and that didn’t work. They even put decoys in the clubs in hopes of attracting the killer, and even that didn’t work. Instead of taking the decoy, the killer took out the bartender that was working the same side of the bar the undercover officers were stationed at. The killer broke the police department’s face more than once. One of the bodies found in the Bronx, was found beside the diner where two police officers had stopped to eat. They came out to find the body lying beside the driver’s door of their own car, and no one saw or heard a thing.

After eleven months, just as suddenly as the killings started, they stopped. After 2 years of not finding another body, or another clue, the killings were put in the unsolved case files, and after awhile everyone in New York forgot it ever happened. Bev and I went on to graduate in 1994. I stayed in New York, and got my Masters at New York University. She left New York worked on and finished her Masters, and PH.D, at Duke University. We wrote each other from time to time, but lost touch for about four years. After receiving her PHD Beverly went to work in Seattle at an institute for the criminally insane. Her area of expertise was serial killers. About once every 6 months, I would read something of her work in the psychology journals. She had become very well known in her field. So I was glad when I received a letter from the hospital she was doing her research in, telling me that I had been accepted as a resident there, and they were eagerly awaiting my arrival. I still remember the conversation I had with another resident, at the hospital I was about to leave.

“Barry, you are about to leave a hospital that caters to yuppie larva with too much time on their hands, over indulgent parents, and drug problems. To go to a place where there are people with huge IQ’s, big mental problems, and a need to control everyone they see. And that’s just the doctors. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. This is what I got into this field for, to get inside the head of some of our countries most calculating minds, to see what makes them tick.”
“I don’t know how you can be so sure of this, there are maniacs out there who would take great joy in torturing you before they murder you. And afterward serving your heart up with a tossed salad, and a white wine.”
“I’ll be fine as long as I remember that I am not anyone’s savior, I’m just there to do my research. That way I won’t become careless and make a mistake. Besides they’ve got excellent security out there, they haven’t lost a doctor yet.”
What I didn’t tell him was, I couldn’t wait to get out of this institution. For the three years I had been here all I did was run a program that catered to the rich, and famous children of New York. These children would get themselves in trouble with the law for whatever reason, and our center took them in, and baby sat them for a 2 months program. Long enough for them to get clean, and sober enough to go before a judge and their probation hearing. No real rehabilitation was being done. They never tried to help the child solve his or her problem, just clean them up, send them out, and collect their fee. A very large fee, sometimes as much as $30,000.00 per visit. Most of the time the administrators in charge, were off on a ski trip, or gone to France, or something. Hell! I wasn’t much more than a degreed babysitter. Although the money was very, very, good, I decided I still wanted to do real research, I wanted to find out what makes a man hurt another man. Besides, I was only taking a $200.00 per year cut, which would be made up after a year, with a guaranteed raise, and a much better benefits package than my old job provided. And the cost of living in Seattle wasn’t close to what it is in New York. But you know, never having been away from New York, I was having a hard time saying goodbye.

When I put the key into the slot, the electronic gates started to open, very, very slowly. I found out later, they moved slowly just in case one of the patients made it to the gate, and somehow managed to get it to work. The slow movement would allow the guards to capture the patient.

As I pulled into the parking lot, a guard greeted me. He told me to get out of my car, go to the guard shack to the right of the lot, and he would park my car. When I entered the shack, I was asked to put my briefcase on the conveyor belt, and stretch my arms out to my side. He ran a scanner up, down, and around my body, and my briefcase through the X-ray machine. He then instructed me to wait by the door for my escort. 5 minutes later, an armed guard showed up and led me to the hospital administrator’s office.
“Mr. Williams, I’m Doctor Robinson. I’m glad to have you join our staff. I’ve heard so much about you.” “Thank you, it’s good to join such a prestigious program, although I don’t know where you could have heard so much about me.”
“Come now Mr. Williams, Dr. Jasbelle tells me that you two worked together for several years, and that she thought you would be an asset to our research team.”
“Well I must express my gratitude to Dr. Jasbelle, when I see her. But right now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get to my duties (which was true, I’d waited a long time for this, so I was really anxious to get started).”
“Very well Mr. Williams--
“Please call me Barry.”
“And you can call me Glenn. Alright Barry, we’ll start by meeting our staff.”
As Glenn took me around to the different projects, each Doctor in charge was most helpful in explaining what they were doing, and which patients they use for their case work. When we finally reached Bev’s wing of the institute, I have to admit, I was a little bit overwhelmed, and intimidated, by the immenseness of this project. I was beginning to wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew.

Bev greeted me with a smile, and a professional attitude. “Hello Mr. Williams, it’s nice to see you again. We’re all glad to have you join our team.” Glenn started toward the door. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone to catch up on old times.”
As the door closes, and Glenn walks down the hall, Bev waits until he’s out of sight then turns to me. “I’m glad that pencil pushing, tight ass, is gone. He gets on my last nerve. Barry, I see you’re still as fine as hell.”
“What do you mean, I’m still as fine as hell? I didn’t even think you noticed, and besides you don’t date co-workers, remember.”
“There you go with that typical brother bullshit. Can’t a black woman compliment a black man without him thinking she’s ready to get in his bed and rock his world?”
“Alright, alright, don’t start chewing my ass out, I just got here. It’s nice to see you too sister girl, I’ve missed these messed up conversations we seem to have from time to time. And I’ve missed having a good friend around, but most of all; I’ve missed that great peach cobbler you used to make for me. I haven’t had a good cobbler in 3 years. Do you still know how to make your aunts famous peach cobbler?”
“Yeah, I still make her peach cobbler. Do you still make the best Long Island Tea I’ve ever tasted? It’s been ages since I had one of those. No one in this town can make a decent drink.”
“Damn straight! After I get settled, we can get together for dinner, cobbler, and drinks. But right now, I want to get started with some real psychology, instead of the babysitting I did on my last job. And since I was hired to work with you, let’s get started.”
“Alright, let’s start with my patient list.”

Bev’s list of patients read like a who’s who of serial killers. All sentenced to die, and all volunteering for the research program, in exchange for life without the possibility of parole. All that is except one.

The first patient was the Memphis Tennis Shoe Man. He killed 30 people, and cut their feet off at the ankle. One foot was always left on the steps of a different police precinct after each murder. And each foot was wrapped in a beautiful blue box, with a pink ribbon. The other foot he kept in a freezer at home. Arranged in alphabetical order, with a tag on the shoe listing the date, and time of the murder. All his victims wore tennis shoes.

Number 2 on the list was the San Antonio Dresser. In his case, each of the 18 female bodies found, were clothed in the finest silk skirts, and jackets, laid out neatly on a blanket, with their heads missing. He kept the heads in his home.

The next one was really strange. He killed 7 members of one household, then called the police department to ask what wine should be served with human flesh, The police officer asked him to hold on, and had the call traced. When they got to the house he was calling from, he was still sitting in the kitchen, with his gun in one hand, the phone to his ear, the oven on, and 7 bodies lined up neatly on the kitchen floor. The arresting officers said he put up no resistance. He did however, ask every officer present, what wine should be served with human flesh. When questioned about the murders, the police found out he had done this twice before, and the only reason he called is because he lost his wine book. When they asked him why he did it, he told them human flesh was the cheapest, and most plentiful meat around.

The 4th case was a woman. This lady killed 12 men by having them drive her to a secluded beach at night, then teasing them into playing a erotic game where she tied their hands and feet with silk scarves, made love to them, then poured gasoline all over the inside of the car. After throwing a match in and shutting the door she would watch them burn. She claimed that anyone that would make love to her was dirty and deserved to burn in hell. Number 5 killed 15 people with a butcher’s knife during an 18-month period. He claimed to be the reincarnation of Jack the Ripper.

Last, and most surprising of all was Number 6. John Heathcoat was his name and he was not a serial killer, nor had he been sentenced to any jail time although he had killed a man. He wasn’t convicted of the killing it was ruled self defense. He was under Bev’s care not because he killed the murderer of his family. But because after catching this man in his house killing his wife and children, he shot him 19 times, stabbed him 13 times, cut off his arms, and legs, then hung each part separately on the wall. When the police got to the house, he was found with his dead wife in his arms, his children at his feet, staring at the body parts, whispering, “he didn’t have to kill them.”

Before he killed John’s family the murderer already had warrants out on him for breaking and entering, rape, murder. He also was an escapee from prison. John pleaded self-defense, and the jury agreed and acquitted him. However they were a little concerned about how viciously he did it and so was Judge Harlow. The judge asks him if he would consider counseling and he agreed.

His lawyer wanted a private counselor but instead John chose to come here in hopes that Bev could help him understand what he did. He felt he needed someone that had an expertise in the field of serial killers to help him understand what was going on inside his head. However since he wasn’t a serial killer or hadn’t even been convicted of any crime, he couldn’t be allowed to stay at the institute unless he got a court order. He asks the Judge Harlow if he would sign the papers for him to stay with Bev for eight months. The judge agreed and he was sent here. After reading Bev’s patient list, I opened the research folder, and began to study it. Bev’s research centered on a controversial approach to psychology. She compiled a case study on each of the victims, of every killer in the program. She used their backgrounds, conversations with family members, audio tapes of the victims voices, video of the victims life, including prom dates, weddings, and family outings. She also used a computer program to help her project what could have happened to each victim on any given date past their death. She could tell the inmate that victim number 5 would have graduated today, or this victim would have gotten married today, or this victim would be having a baby today.

She also kept a list of each victims birthday, to remind the killer that victim number three’s birthday would have been today, she would have been 17. Lasts, but not least, a video of each victim’s parents looking directly into the camera asking, “Why did you have to kill my child?” Taped so that it ran 100 times consecutively before the tape stopped.

Hidden in the fifteen-foot ceiling of each inmates cell, were several tiny microphones, and cameras that observed the inmates day and night, to see if there were any mood changes, difficulty sleeping, or conversations with themselves anything that would help in discovering a change in the behavior of the inmate.

I have to admit, after reading the patient list, and research papers I couldn’t wait to get started. I left my office and went in search of Bev. I found her office locked. I went to Glenn’s office, and knocked on the door.
“Come in”
“Excuse the interruption Glenn, but have you seen Dr. Jasbelle?”
“She’s gone for the day. She said she had some kind of emergency at home.”

I closed the door, and wondered why she didn’t tell me, not that I was her parent or anything. And come to think of it, if she knew I was thinking this, she would give me that sister girl look, the one where a black woman twist her lips up, and starts her neck moving. Then I would have to listen to the same line all over again.

“I am a strong African American woman, I do not require your protection, nor do I need your help in solving my problems. Thank you very much.”
Which is probably true, but still I worried about her. Not only that, but I had some serious questions about her research. The first one being, why would John Heathcoat volunteer for this research? I didn’t feel he merited the extreme measures used in the treatment. And where was his folder? Every inmate’s folder was there but his, Why? Well, I guess I’d just have to wait until tomorrow to find out. Right now, I needed to go home myself. I’d just moved to Seattle four days ago. I didn’t even have my own furniture yet, and I hadn’t unpacked anything but my clothes. I had been busy getting my utilities cut on.

The phone was ringing when I got home. I almost missed it because of the damn broken ass lock on the front door. I got in the house, ran, tripped over one of the boxes in the living room, and finally got to the phone to pick it up.

“Hello”
“Hey Barry, I’m glad I caught you.”
“Hey Bev whats up?”
“I’ll need a ride to work with you tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, no problem, but what’s wrong with your wheels?” “I had a little accident, nothing major, I just need to get a little body work done.”
“Sorry to hear that let me ask you a question though. Are you still driving that old ass truck, or did you finally get rid of that ugly thing?”
“Oh no you didn’t bust on my truck!! If I remember correctly, it got your ass to work when your brand new Pimpmobile couldn’t make it through the snow. And for your information, sister girl is now driving a brand new, cherry red, Jeep Cherokee, with all the deluxe features.”
“Look out now, I’m scared of you! It’s about time you moved up in style, although with the money you make, you should be driving a Benz.”
“You know how I feel about cars, I just don’t like them. Too much flash, too much cash, not enough function. By the way did you finish the reports I gave you?”
“Yes I did, and I’ve got several questions about patient number 6, John Heathcoat. First question is, why are you letting him stay in this program? Isn’t the treatment a little harsh for him?”
“Well first of all, he’s not actually in the program. He volunteered because, one week after he was acquitted, he started to have night dreams. In these dreams he kills whole families, cuts them up, and hangs their parts on the wall. He will be released from the sanitarium in two weeks, by court order. He came here because he’s afraid he might act on his dreams when he’s released. But his treatment is not like the others. We used the same type of profile for the man that killed his family that we use for the victims of our serial killers but the treatment is reversed. We show him the killer’s record, and the pictures of his victims, including his family. We discuss why he did what he did, and what was wrong with it. We try to get him to understand that he is still an asset to society. He was a surgeon, and from what I understand he was a good one. We also allow him to sit in on other treatments to see how different he is from a real serial killer. I’ve been working with him for 3 months now, and the dreams haven’t completely stopped, but we’re making progress. Hopefully, after his last 4 to 5 months, he’ll be ready to resume his life. I handle his treatment personally, because he’s a brilliant man, he’s been through a lot in a short time, and I would hate to see him go over the edge.”
“And that’s why there is no file on him in the research folder. Now it makes sense but I kind of feel sorry for him though. I can’t imagine coming home, and catching someone in the act of killing my family
“I can!”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, so you’ll pick me up tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there about 8:00, bye sister girl.”
“Bye Barry.”
Something about her last answer puzzled me. Next time I talk to her, I’ll ask her about that. I’ll also ask her why she chose this field to begin with. About 2 minutes after I hang up the phone, it rang again. I picked it up expecting to hear Bev on the other end; after all she was the only person I knew in Seattle. What I heard next scared the hell out of me.

“If you go near Simone again, by this time next week, I will kill you and feed your body to the rats.”
Before I could say anything, he hung up. I thought what the hell was that about? It took me a minute to realize this wasn’t a crank call. That’s when I remembered that Bev’s middle name was Simone. I got on the phone and called her back.

“Hello”
“Bev, some asshole just called and said that if I ever went near you again, he would kill me and feed my ass to the rats! The strange thing is, he called you Simone. I don’t remember anyone ever calling you Simone. Do you know this guy?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.
“Hello, Bev are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here but I can’t talk to you right now. I got something on the stove. Call me back at 12:01.” And she hung up.

12:01, why would she want me to wait until 12:01 to call her back? That was three hours away. I started to dial her number again when it hit me, she wasn’t talking about the time she was talking about an old code of ours. 1201 was the code we used when we were on a bad date, and wanted to leave. If the date was going bad for me, I would excuse myself, page her, and put in 1201 as the code. She would know it was a bad date, and in 10 minutes she would call me on my cell phone. She would tell me that there was an emergency down at the morgue. I would explain to my date that I had an emergency at the morgue, and I would take her home. Then I would fill Bev in on the details of the bad date the next day. When her date turned out bad, she would use the same code. Now I guess she wanted me to call her on the cell phone number she gave me this morning. Something was wrong I could feel it on the back of my neck, like cold clammy air. And I could hear the fear in her voice, even though she tried to hide it. When I called back the phone rang 3 times before she answered.

“Hello”
“What the hell is going on Bev? Who the hell is this fool, why is he calling me, and for that matter, how does he know who I am?”
“Calm down Barry, for a psychologist, you’re not very calm in this situation.”
“Damn right, I ain’t calm. It’s bad enough for a man to tell you he’s gonna kill you by shooting, or stabbing you. But when a man tells you he’s gonna kill you and feed your ass to the rats you know you’re dealing with a sick individual! Who the hell is this guy, how do you know him, and why haven’t the police picked his butt up yet?”
“I don’t know who he is. I never met him before in my life, and he’s never been arrested, because he’s never actually done anything that could be proven. So I didn’t report it, but I will now. After you called I knew he had bugged my phone. When you hung up I checked it and it does have a bug in it, but my cell phone doesn’t. The bug is how he found out about you.
“What do you mean, you haven’t reported it. Are you out of your mind?”
“I didn’t report it because he’s never done anything this radical before. The worst he had done up until this point, was come in my house and cook me dinner.” “I thought you said you didn’t know him.”
“I don’t. One day a month ago, I came home to find a pot of stew on my dining room table, complete with candles, wine, and a note that said, I’ll love you forever.”
“Bev, that’s called breaking, and entering. That’s when you should have called the police.”
“And tell them what? That someone broke into my house, and cooked dinner for me. Here I am a psychologist, and I’m gonna call the police, and tell them that, without any proof, I would end up in a cell beside some of my patients.”
“Well either you call tomorrow, or I will. Goodbye sister girl.”

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep at all that night. I kept thinking that if this fool comes in here tonight, he’s gonna get several bullets in the ass, before he can pull a disappearing act with my ass. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, so that I could talk to Bev, face to face. There were a lot of things I needed to know. Things such as, what else has he done to her? Does she have a clue as to why he picked her? And most importantly, does she know what the stalking laws are in this state?

The next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of my phone. I had fallen asleep in a chair, in the kitchen, with my 9 millimeter in my hand. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pick up the phone or not. When I did, I was relieved to hear Bev’s voice on the other end.
“Barry what’s wrong with your cell phone? I tried to call you but it’s out of service.”
“And good morning to you too. It’s probably dead. I left it off the charger last night because I had other things on my mind. You know there are more important things to think about. Things like serial killers.”
“Look Barry, don’t freak on me now. We’re psychologists, we can handle this. Just come and get me, and we’ll decide what to do at the office.”

After she hung up, I sat down for a minute, to calm myself, and decided she was right. We could handle this. Especially after I call the police. After putting my cell phone on the charger I got up, showered, got dressed, and stepped out of the door, only to be greeted by a steaming pot on my porch. It was a blue porcelain crock-pot with a top that had a circular ring for a handle on top of it. After a minute of looking at it, I went back into the house, got a broom, and used the handle to slide into the ring and lift it up. When I lifted it, all I found was what appeared to be stew.

Underneath the lid was a letter wrapped in plastic that said, “This is just a reminder that I can get you anytime I want to.” Now, instead of getting concerned, I got mad.
“Alright asshole, you can get to me, but you may not enjoy it.”
I kicked the pot off of my porch, went to my car, opened the door, threw the letter inside, got in and drove to Bev’s house. As soon as she got in the car, I got right to the point.

“I had a visit from your harmless friend, last night. He must like stew, because he made a pot of it, and left it on my porch, along with this note.”
After she read the note, she said, “Barry, I’m sorry to get you mixed up in all this. I didn’t know he had my phone tapped.”
“I hope you’re convinced now that we should call the police. This maniac is gonna kill somebody, and I’d rather it not be you or I.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence. When we got to the institute, we went straight to her office, closed her door, sat down, and both of us took a deep breath. I think we both had the same thought about wanting to get into this field, but not meaning to become the victim of anyone remotely like the patients we handle. And I wondered if I had made an error in coming here in the first place. But now it was time for action.

“Bev, are you going to call the police, or am I?”

She got on the phone and called. After she hung up, she sat there for a minute. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would someday become the victim If the kind of sick people I’m working with now. Now I understand the helplessness of the victim.”

I got up, crossed over to her, and started to rub her shoulders. “Don’t worry Bev, the police are involved now, with their help and our expertise, we should be able to do something to catch this person.”
“I hope you’re right Barry.”
“Excuse me Dr. Jasbelle.”
“John! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m here for my 8:00 session. Would you prefer that I come back later?” “No John, come in and take a seat. Allow me to introduce my new Research Assistant to you. John Heathcoat, this is Barry Williams.”
“Hello Mr. Williams, I’m glad to see Dr. Jasbelle finally got an assistant to help her keep her meetings, and research straight. She’s a very busy lady, and she’s needed an assistant for quite some time now. She would have had one a long time ago if Dr. Robinson wasn’t so cost conscious.”
“Hello John, call me Barry. So you say that Dr. Robinson is cheap huh?” Well that explains why Dr Jasbelle has a problem with him. By the way John, how long have you been standing in the doorway?”
“Long enough to hear that Dr. Jasbelle is being stalked, and long enough to disagree with your opinion. The police probably won’t be able to catch him, and if they do, they won’t be able to hold him unless he’s done something real drastic.”
“Well gentlemen, we’re not here to discuss my situation. We’re here to help John, so lets get started.”

We started into our session with John, and I was amazed at how intelligent this man was, and how calm he was. I expected him to be a basket case; instead he was solid as a rock. He knew what his problem was; all he needed was someone to talk with. We were about halfway through the session when someone knocked on the door. Bev opened the door and was pleasantly surprised by what she saw.

There in front of her was the answer to an African American female’s fantasies. The Quintessential African American male. Tall, dark, muscled, handsome, bald headed and a smile that would light up a dark night. With an aura that was intelligent, and streetwise all in one. Dressed in a white collarless shirt buttoned to the neck, and fresh pressed pair of black khakis, with one hoop ear ring in his ear. The perfect answer to the question, “Are there still some good brothers out there?”

“I’m detective Chris Adams. I’ve come to ask you a few questions about your complaint. May I come in?” She stood there for a second before answering his question.

“Would you mind waiting a few minutes, I still have a meeting in progress. If you would just have a seat, I’ll be with you shortly.”
She shut the door, and said to John, “Would you mind if we cut your session short for today?”
“Of course, Dr. Jasbelle. I’ll see you later in the video room. It’s nice to meet you Barry.”
“Nice to meet you too John, I look forward to working with you some more.”
As John was walking out, the detective was walking in. “Dr. Jasbelle, I’m sorry to interrupt, but the quicker we get started, the better our chances of catching this person.”
“Yes detective come right in. Let me introduce you to Mr. Williams.”
“Hello Mr. Williams, are you involved in this case too?”
“Well if getting a threatening letter from this psycho is any indication, yes I guess I am involved.” “I’m gonna need to look at that letter.” I handed him the letter.
“Where did you find this letter?”
“I found it on my front porch this morning, attached to a pot of stew.”
“A pot of stew, why was it attached to a pot of stew?”
“Let me start this from the beginning. I called Dr. Jasbelle last night, and 2 minutes after I got off the phone with her, the phone rang again. The male voice on the other end said that if I went near Dr. Jasbelle again he would kill me and feed my body to the rats. This morning when I opened the front door, I found a pot of stew, with that note under the lid. Why the note was attached to the pot of stew, I don’t know. Oh! By the way, he called her by her middle name. I’ve known Dr. Jasbelle for about five years now, and I’ve never heard anyone call her by her middle name. I don’t know if that will help, I just thought it was a little strange.”
“What did you do with the pot of stew?”
“I kicked it off my porch.”
“After we’re through here I need you to go and get the pot. How long has this been going on Mr. Williams?”
“For me, it just started last night. Anything else you need to know, you’ll have to ask Dr. Jasbelle.”
“Ok Dr. Jasbelle, when did all of this start for you?”
“About a month ago. I came home to find dinner already prepared on the dining room table, and a note that read, I’ll love you forever. That was followed by a phone call. He asked me if I liked the dinner he prepared. He also stated his intentions to make me his, so that we could live together for the rest of our lives, and as long as I was faithful to him, we wouldn’t have any problems. I asked him who he was, and he said that I would find out in due time. I then told him that as a psychologist, I found his approach somewhat strange, and that maybe we could meet in one of my offices to talk about it. He cursed me out, and said he wasn’t crazy. Then he gave me a clue that I knew him from somewhere, when he said, “we will be together again Simone, I promise you that.” He hung up before I could find out if I had met him as a patient or as a friend. Since then I’ve been getting letters Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”
“Do you have the letters with you?”
“Yes I have them right here.”
“I’ll have to take these with me for examination. One question though. You know that breaking and entering is against the law. Why didn’t you call the police when this first happened?”
“Like I told Mr. Williams here, what was I supposed to tell you? That someone broke into my house and cooked me dinner. After you stopped laughing, you probably would have tossed me in here with my patients.”
“No mam, we would have been able to start this investigation a little earlier, and possibly kept Mr. Williams here out of it completely. Now we have two people to watch, which makes this case a little more difficult.”
“Well I didn’t think he was that dangerous. I felt that if I could talk to him again, I could help him get past his problem.”
“First of all Dr. Jasbelle, with all due respect, I know of your reputation in the field of serial killers. But a stalker is a completely different animal. He doesn’t kill because of hate, or voices in his head, or because he thinks he’s the devil. He kills because the one person that he’s built his life, and self worth on, has rejected his love, and affection. He doesn’t just love you, he worships you. And if you don’t return that love, or are found in his eyes to be unfaithful, he will kill you. I’ve been working on stalking cases for 7 years now and I’ve come to realize one thing. If the complaint about a stalker is true nine times out of ten the stalker usually comes to the point where he’s been rejected and he’s really pissed and he’s gonna do something about it. So please don’t think you can help this person, even with your vast knowledge of psychology. Trying to get close to him will only get you in trouble.”
“Ok detective, you’ve made your point, what do we do now.”
“You do nothing. If this man contacts you or Mr. Williams again, anyway at all, use your cell phone to call me. They are free of bugs. There will be a phone repairman at each of your houses after you get off work; he’ll install a bug of ours on your land lines. Let’s see if we can get a trace on the call when it comes in. Also if you receive anymore letters, don’t pick them up with your hands. Use a pair of tweezers, and put them in a plastic bag. If we’re lucky we’ll get some fingerprints. I’m going back to the office to study these letters. Dr. Jasbelle, I will be meeting with you and Mr. Williams again tomorrow.”
“It looks like we’ll be working together for awhile, so call me Beverly, and I’ll call you Chris.” “Alright Beverly.”
“Yeah Chris, my name is Barry.”
“Nice to meet you Barry.”
Chris walks over to Barry, “Let me ask you a question. This isn’t exactly the type of work Black men and women go for. How did you and Beverly get into this line of work?”
“Well I could say the same thing about your profession. How did you get into this line of work?”
“I got into this field because my older sister was killed by a stalker 8 years ago, when she was about Beverly’s age.”
“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. Her death was painful for me but with the creation of the my unit we’ve been able to stop it from happening to others just like her.”
“So by helping others you help yourself in the healing process.”
“Well I never thought of it in those terms but I guess that’s right. Now what about you?”
“I got into the field because I wanted to help prevent this type of thing from happening. I wanted to get into the mind of killers, and find out if there was a way to stop them. What about you Bev, why did you get into this field?”
“I got into this field because as a child I saw too many women in my neighborhood affected by domestic violence, and too many of our people killed in the street. From there it grew into wanting to know why a person would kill another human being, and what would motivate that person to kill someone as a part of a ritual, and why would that person kill again and again.”
“I see, well maybe with me getting them off the street, and you trying to straighten out their minds, we can keep a lot of other people from getting hurt. But lets start by keeping you out of harms way. Now if you’ll excuse me?”

After he left, Bev turned to me with one of her sneaky little smiles on her face. “You know Barry, I must be the luckiest woman in the world. Here I am with two fine African American brothers looking after me, and a lot of sisters can’t find one.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. As soon as this is over, I’m going to find me one of those sisters you’re talking about, and start chasing after, I mean looking after her.”
“Cute Barry, real cute. Get out of my office before I hit you with some knowledge in this psychology book.”

His name is Richard Black. He has an I.Q. of 180, is a whiz at electronics, a master lock picker, a computer geek, and a wire tap expert. In other words, in another life he could have been a FBI agent. He’s quiet, shy, non-assertive, and keeps his private life to himself. When he was in school, the kids made fun of him because he was fat. They would knock him down, and beat him up. When he entered the 4th grade, he was given an I.Q. Test that’s when his teachers discovered he was extremely smart. His teachers convinced his parents to move him to a special school. He went there 2 years, and enjoyed his time. He learned a lot of things, and he especially like electronics, and computers. But dad died, the studies stopped, he was sent back to his old school, and the jokes, and laughing started again. After 5 years of the jokes, laughs, and fights, he was put out of school for fighting for the tenth time, and his mother decided it was time for him to leave school completely. So in the11th grade he took the General Education Proficiency Test, passed it, got his diploma and got a job.

Even though he didn’t get to college, he has read every electronics manual he could find, and sometimes ventures to the library to read up on new ideas in electronics. That’s how he learned to bug phones, and bypass alarms. He is smart, and he works hard, but other than his mother, he has no friends.

In a run down house on a street that has been abandoned by everyone except crack addicts, and homeless people, he resides. The front porch is caved in, the grass is so high you can’t see half the windows in the house, the roof leaks, the gutters have fallen off, the paint has long since chipped off, and the wood is rotten. Inside the house, garbage is everywhere. In the winter, the wind whistles through the holes in the wall. The place smells so strongly of rotten garbage, and human excrement it causes you to gag, there are rats everywhere. The house is so filthy; it couldn’t even pass inspection at the city dump. Every room is filled with some sort of trash, every room that is except for one. He lives in this room. He keeps this room is so spotless you could eat off the floor. He is meticulous about every part of the room. Every spring the walls and floor are repaired, a new coat of paint is put on the walls, and the old carpet is taken up and replace with a new one. But the center piece of the room is the big oak, canopy bed. It is a king sized bed and it dominates the room with it’s crisp, clean, white sheets and bedspread, it looks like it comes straight from the pages of a upscale decorating magazine. He keeps it clean and perfect even though he doesn’t sleep on it. The bed is strictly for the only woman other than Simone he has ever loved.

On the bed is the skull and twelve bones of his dead mother. She has been dead for 5 years, but you would never know it by the way he has arranged the 12 bones that’s left of her body in a white night gown, and placed the skull on top of it. This in it’s self would be sick, but in order to understand how sick you would have to picture these bones with pieces of decayed flesh still hanging from them, with patches of the original hair still on the skull, while being laid out on a white sheet, in the white gown. And you would also have to understand that during the first year after her death the rats managed to eat the majority of her flesh and drag off most of her bones leaving the 12 bones he has so lovingly taken care of the last five years. After a years time there was little or no flesh left to eat and the rats went elsewhere for food, but he still thinks they are after her, which is why he has eaten rat stew every day for the last 5 years.

It is this skull he has been having the previous conversation with, and come to think of it every meaningful conversation for the last 5 years has been held with this skull. In fact, the only other person he’s had a meaningful conversation with, is Dr. Beverly Simone Jasbelle. He went to the free clinic for 2 weeks, about 3 years ago, where he met Simone. After his visits to the clinic Simone became his every waking thought, his dreams at night, his reason to live, his total and overwhelming obsession. “Simone, what a pretty name, just the same as mothers, she even spelled it the same, with and I, not a Y. The Y is so unattractive. We will be together soon I promise you my dear and no one, not even that Barry person will separate us.” She was so pretty, and she seemed to understand exactly how he felt about being beaten by his father so many times when he was little. If she had not started asking him to bring his mother to the clinic, he might have been able to tell her about killing the man he hated so much, and how mother got sick right after that, but she got better, and stopped complaining about her chest pains. But Simone kept asking for his mother, so he had to stop going to see her.

He followed Simone, as she became one of the best in her field, although he didn’t understand why she would want to be around all those sickos everyday. When she became the head of her own research team, he decided that he had watched her enough. It was time to tell her how he felt about her. He planned to make her his wife, so he, mother, and Simone, could live together, forever. But before he could do that, he had to convince mother, that Simone was good enough for him. To accomplish this he put every article and picture of Simone he found on the wall of his room. Now he had every wall in the room covered by either her face, or her accomplishments. Now mother had to agree that Simone would make a good wife for him but until his mother agreed he would be alone.

“What did you say mom? Yes the stew is almost ready. Yes I did clean the meat. No it wasn’t hard to catch them; after all, they are all over the place. But why do we have to eat this stew all the time? Why can’t we have a hamburger or some fish, or chicken some time? Yes mother I do like your stew, but every once in awhile I’d like to have something other than rat stew. I know it saves us money, but daddy’s pension check still comes every month, and I make good money at the electronics store. I’m just saying that we can afford to eat something else sometimes. Yes mother I know the stew is good for me, but sometimes I have a hard time keeping it down. No mother, I’m not trying to be difficult. Yes mother I know you do the best that you can, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Don’t worry I’ll eat my stew like you want me to. I love you to mom.”

Reality has no place in his realm of thought. Anything that passed for sanity in his mind had been purged from his thought processes, a very long time ago. For years, while he was a child, father would come home drunk, and beat him, and his mother. It didn’t matter that the man he was forced to call father wasn’t his father, he was just some man that mother lived with. After his real father died, his mother wasted all the money from dad’s insurance policy, and savings account. Then she started to date bad men. He couldn’t even remember all the men she had brought home. All he remembered was her coming home with a man, and watching her go into her bedroom with him, and lock the door. Then his mother would start making moaning noises, like she was being hurt. He would sit by the door worrying about her. Most of the time, he fell asleep by the door. The next morning, mother would come out of the bedroom unhurt, pick him up, and take him into the kitchen for breakfast. She would kiss him and tell him that he was her favorite little man. And every time he asked her to stop bringing men home she would say, “I’ll try.”

A year passed before she brought a strange man home to stay with them for good. She told Richard to call this man father. He didn’t like this but he couldn’t stop him from taking over the house. He paid all of the bills, which was nice because that stopped mother from crying when the lights got cut off. But after awhile he started coming home drunk, and he started to beat mamma.

Richard tried to stop him, but he just beat Richard too. Over the years, Richard became numb to the beatings. He would just ball up in a little ball, and lay there until it was over. As the years passed, Richard got bigger, and stronger. By the age of eighteen, Richard had grown to six foot three inches tall, and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. By that time his mother had gotten so sick that all she did was stay in the bed. She told Richard that she had a bad heart, and that she had to take her pills so that she could live. The only thing she did if she got up at all was knit.

When she got sick the man Richard called father stopped hitting her but that didn’t stop him from beating Richard. The last time he came home drunk, and started to beat Richard, Richard got mad and hit him back. He fell to the floor, and Richard picked up one of his mother’s knitting needles, and stabbed him, he stabbed him for every time he had been beaten, he stabbed him for every time someone made fun of him, he stabbed him for every time he was beat up in the past, he stabbed him for the way he had beat his mother, but most of all he stabbed him because he hated him so much. He stabbed him until he was sure the old man would never hit him again. After he finished he stood over him for a minute, and then he stabbed him some more because he thought he saw him move. After Richard was satisfied he wasn’t ever going to move anymore, he went into his mothers room, and asked her what she thought I should do about the red stain on the carpet, and the furniture. Since he was soaked with blood, she screamed when she saw him, got up, and went into the living room. When she saw the old man, she grabbed her chest and said, “If they see this, they’ll take my baby away from me.” Then she fell to the floor. She begged Richard to call emergency, but he told her he couldn’t because if he did they would do what she said they would do, they would take him away, and he couldn’t deal with being away from her.

So he picked her up, took her to her bedroom, and laid her down. He told her that she would be alright as soon as he found her pills, but by the time he got back, she was resting, so he decided not to disturb her, and she’s felt so good ever since that she hasn’t needed the pills from that day till this one. While she was sleep, he buried father in the back yard, cleaned up the room, and he’s been taking care of mother every since, and mother has never been happier. The only thing he and his mother worry about now are intruders. They come in the house and act like they own the place, but he has learned how to handle this situation too. At first he felt bad about doing it but he had already tried everything else including putting signs out on the porch that said no trespassing and that didn’t stop them. So he had to do something to keep mother safe.

A CRACK ADDICT HAS JUST BOUGHT a couple of rocks from the corner dealer. Now he’s walking into this deserted house to smoke his pipe. And even though there are faded signs on the porch that say no trespassing, everyone knows the crazy man lives there, and people sometimes disappear when they go into this house, he walks in. At last count 10 people have been lost inside this house but the addict doesn’t care, all he wants is to get high, get out, and hustle up enough money to get high again. Nothing on this earth can stop his high. As he sits down to smoke, he doesn’t realize that he’s made his last mistake. The 2 rocks he has left, will never get smoked, and he won’t ever have to worry about his habit again.

Richard hears the intruder as he enters the house, “Would you please be quiet mother! No I’m not getting smart; there’s someone in the living room. Probably another one of those robbers. I don’t know why they keep coming in here. We don’t have anything worth stealing. Don’t worry mother, I’ll protect you, I always protect you. You just rest, I’ll take care of this.”

He gets up, picks up the long butcher’s knife from the table, turns out the light, and moves the rug from under the door. Slowly, he opens it. He keeps the hinges oiled real good, so that the door doesn’t squeak. In the dark, he moves around piles of rubbish. This is his house, and he knows where each pile is, because he put it there. He walks through the door to the living room, and sees the light from the lighter the crack addict is using to light his pipe.

Slow and soundlessly, he moves to within 2 feet of the addict, (it wouldn’t have mattered if he had made all of the noise in the world, the addict wouldn’t have noticed.) When he’s close enough, he raises the knife, and stabs the addict, just like he has done 10 times before. He stabbed him until he didn’t move anymore. Then he grabs the body and drags it to the back yard. It was harder to find a place to bury all the bodies. 11 dead crack addicts and the police weren’t even aware there was a serial killer in their city. Why should they? Nobody cares about the death of a crack addict.

After he finished, he realized that he hadn’t mailed his next letter to Simone. He walks back into the house, cleans up, picks up his car keys, and heads for the post office to mail the letter, and check his box. When he checks his mail, he finds a water bill, an electric bill, and a package from the Gadgets and Electronics Store.

“Oh good! They’ve finally sent the rest of my phone taps. It’s amazing what you can order over the internet. Now I can go over to that Barry persons house, and fix his phone.”

The next morning, he sits in his car down the block from Barry’s house and watches as Barry kicks the stew pot off his porch, gets into his car, and leaves. Barry drives right by him, and never notices he was there. After waiting 15 minutes, Richard backs into Barry’s driveway, goes to the door, picks the lock, and slips inside. He walks through the house until he finds the phone. He starts to work on it, then notices the cell phone in it’s charging cradle, and decides to take the bug out of the house phone, and put it in the cell phone.
“I’ll probably get better information from here.”
Richard finishes his work and decides to check out the rest of the house. He walks into Barry’s bedroom and is amazed by all the electronic equipment there. Barry has a state of the art audio video system with the latest DVD’s.
“I’ve read about these units they cost a lot of money. So that’s what Simone likes about him, he has money. Damn I wish I had known she was so shallow. Maybe I’ll get one of these so she can be impressed the next time we meet.”
He walks back to the kitchen and fixes himself something to eat. After he finishes and washes the dishes he takes one more look around decides he needs a souvenir. He takes one of Barry’s expensive bottles of wine from the shelf above the refrigerator. “This will be the bottle Simone and I share after we’re married.” Then he leaves the house.

After driving home, he hooks up the new tap. He had to hurry, or be late for work. He attached the wires, and hooked it up to the same recorder that Simone’s tap was hooked to. After work, he went home, and checked the recorder to see if Simone, or that Barry person, had made any calls. First, Simone’s tap. There was nothing on it. Which was strange, she usually called her friend Maria, across town. Then Barry’s tap. What he heard next brought his blood to a sizzlin boil.

“Hello”
“Hey Bev, has the phone man got there yet?”
“Yeah, he’s been here, and gone. Now Chris is here.”
“Well I’m glad you decided to get the police involved. This psycho could very easily hurt you, and I wouldn’t want to see that happen.”
“Barry, don’t start getting over protective, I’m a big girl, and I can handle myself.”
“I know, but being stalked is not a situation I wanted to see you in.”
“We all have our problems to solve. Besides, with detective Chris, and you around, he couldn’t get me if he wanted too.”
“Well I’ll be damned! She actually gave me a compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. I just wanted to tell you I appreciate your looking out for me.”
“Why thank you sister girl, anytime you need me, just call. Talk to you later.”
“Wait a minute Barry, Chris wants to talk to you.”
She hands Chris the phone, and then walks upstairs.”
“Barry, did the phone man get over there yet?”
“Yeah, he’s been here. Now there’s an officer Teasley here. What’s she here for?”
“Tameka is there for protection, but don’t worry she’s the best I’ve got. She caught one stalker, and disarmed him before we could offer any assistance.”
“I wasn’t worried about her competence. Baby girl looks like she can handle herself. I wanted to know is she married, or serious about someone, or what?”
“Be careful Barry she bites and if I were you I wouldn’t let her hear you call her baby girl. But she’s not married, and as far as I know, she’s not seriously involved. The only problem is you’re not gonna have a lot of time to talk to her. She’s Beverly’s protection. I’m gonna be yours.”
“I don’t care whose protection she is, I just wanted to know if she was free to go out.”
“As far as I know she is, by the way, what’s the story on Beverly, is she involved with someone?”
“Be careful man, she ain’t with no one now, but it’s not because a lot of brothers haven’t tried. She’s a hard woman to get to know, and she bites, kicks, and will talk about your momma, if she feels she’s caught you in the wrong. I’ll tell you this though, if you treat her with respect, and kindness, and don’t back down, you may be able to start something. Oh, and good luck, you’re gonna need it.”
“Thanks, but I’m not looking for a relationship I just wanted to know if there was someone else she was involved with that I needed to check out.”
“Naw she ain’t got a man right now so you don’t have anyone else to worry about but her.”
“Good that makes my job a lot easier. Look Barry what I want you to do is call Beverly on the house phone, and talk to her about why she hasn’t gone to the police. While you’re talking, dog the stalker real bad. If we can convince him that the police haven’t been called, and make him mad enough, we just might end this tonight.”
“So I’m gonna be the bait for your trap.”
“Don’t worry there’s 2 police officers in the rented house across the street. If he comes we’ll get him.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could she betray him like that? Why would she let that Barry person convince her that he was stalker? Now she had betrayed him. Just when he thought he had found someone he could trust, she hurts him just like all the other people. Well now, she had to die slow, and painfully.

“They actually think I’m that stupid. I’ll just have to show them that I’m not a fool, and that I can defend myself from all those that want to hurt me. Now I’m gonna be famous for killing four people, and getting away with it. Barry, Simone, Chris, and Tameka, your judgement day is coming. And it’s coming right soon.”

He sits back, and starts to eat his stew. Whatever little humanity he possessed, has left his heart. His eyes are completely devoid of compassion. It was time to show the world that he was the master of his own fate. He would show them all he had power, and when provoked his wrath would be swift. No fear, no regret, no emotions of any sort. Just a calm, self assurance that he was right, and he could not be hurt, or stopped again. To kill without remorse, with his victim’s last vision of life, being the maniacal look in his eyes, just before they die.