That someone is me you still haven’t caught me I tried to warn you but you never sought me you don’t under stand I’ll never be done it won’t ever stop
The music, already loud and vicious, exploded with a heavy percussion line, guitars blaring, as Tyler Skye completed his final rhyme, screaming it ferociously:
I’m not the only one
Riley killed the cassette player. They didn’t speak for a long time. I’m not the only one, probably the most horrific of all the lyrics. This music was out there, for any deranged person to buy into, to act upon.
“We’re absolutely positive there’s not a second burial site,” Riley said.
Lightner made an equivocal grunt. They’d used the county dogs and covered the entire Mansbury campus. They’d searched every inch of Terry Burgos’s house, excavating his garage and basement, digging up his yard. They’d looked everywhere and come up empty. “There’s no reason to think so,” Lightner said. “The murder weapons were totally clean. The machete was still in its wrapping. And I think ol’ Terry would tell us if there was another site. He’s not exactly shy about this.”
That much was true. Burgos had not been shy with the psychiatrists, who had begun to examine him after Burgos pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity two weeks earlier. He’d gone into great detail, not on how he committed the murders but why. He’d recounted the biblical verses and Tyler Skye’s lyrics, and the sins committed by the victims that made them worthy of his wrath.
“So,” Lightner said, “we’re officially down to five kills now.”
Last Friday, August 11, Riley informed the court that the prosecution was dropping the charges on the murder of Cassandra Bentley. Within about five seconds of the words leaving his mouth, simultaneous press releases came from the offices of the county attorney and the Bentley family. It was the Bentleys’ express wish that their daughter not be subjected to the cruel innuendo that would accompany this insanity defense, their accusations of promiscuity and whatever else a “desperate defendant” might try to say. It was enough, the Bentleys’ press release said, that Burgos was now conceding that he had killed Cassie, and that he would be prosecuted for the other five murders.
Riley forgot about it the moment he left the courtroom. It didn’t matter anymore. It was all about the insanity defense now. Burgos would have to demonstrate that he was suffering from a mental defect and that he was unable to appreciate the criminality of his actions. So it was now the prosecution’s job to prove the opposite-that Burgos was not suffering from a mental defect and that he knew that what he was doing was a crime.
Burgos had a decent argument on mental defect. He’d been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic for several years. And he had the easy, commonsense argument, too. How could someone who did this not be crazy?
The second prong of the insanity test was another story. Burgos would have to establish that he did not appreciate that he was committing a crime when he murdered those girls. Appreciation of criminality was less about shrinks and more about facts. So the task force focused on gathering such evidence, and things were already looking hopeful on that score. Burgos had killed the girls during the short break between the end of the spring term and summer school, knowing that no one would be checking the basement of Bramhall Auditorium during that time period. And he’d picked prostitutes from different parts of the city, so that he’d never have to show his face back in the same neighborhood while he continued on his murderous spree. All of these actions were indicative of a man who knew he was breaking the law and didn’t want to be stopped-a man who was not legally insane.
Lightner moved in for a closer look at Riley. “You eaten anything today, sweetheart?”
Riley waved him off, but his wife had made the same comment. Riley had dropped about six pounds in the last three weeks. Food was the last thing on his mind. This prosecution would be the biggest thing he’d ever do as a lawyer, and on top of that, he was trying to oversee one of the largest prosecutorial offices in the country.
“Let’s get a greasy cheeseburger at Baby‘s,” Lightner suggested.
Riley glanced at the clock. It was past one o‘clock. He’d been in the office since seven and hadn’t eaten a thing. He walked with Lightner back to his office for his suit jacket and found his secretary, Betty, placing the mail on his chair.
“More fan mail,” Betty said when she saw them.
The cops and prosecutors had received all kinds of weird mail about the Old Testament and wrath of God stuff since they began to prosecute Burgos. Almost none of the correspondence actually favored what Burgos had done, but many letters warned “sinners” of the consequences of their actions.
“This one, I thought, was especially weird,” Betty said.
Riley took the letter and, along with Lightner, read it:
As justice or belief will eternally live, likewise do others need evil. I must ask your new, educated elite: Does opportunity now evade morality or respect ethics and love? Behold a new year.
He looked at Betty, who shrugged. “This is weirder,” he agreed. Most of the letters they got simply recited verse from the Old Testament, or predicted rather dire consequences for people who did not follow the Lord’s teachings. But whatever else they were, they were not vague. “You have the original?”
She nodded. “Tagged and stored.”
As a precaution, the county attorney was tracking all of the original letters sent to its office, keeping each one sealed in plastic and dated.
“I don’t even get what this says,” Riley said.
“Some people need evil like others need faith,” Betty speculated, looking over his shoulder. “And today’s generation is greedy and immoral.”
“What is this, Philosophy 101?” Lightner asked. “Today’s generation is greedy and immoral? Today’s cop is hungry for a cheeseburger.” He nodded at Riley. “Can we go?”
Riley reread the letter. “This is weirder,” he repeated.
“Lawyers.” Lightner sighed. “Don’t make this more difficult, Riley. I’m starving over here: ”
“Yeah.” Riley thought for a moment. Don’t make this more difficult. He dropped the copy of the letter into the garbage and headed out for lunch.
Wednesday
June 22, 2005
24
THE DETECTIVES’ squad room at Area Four, Third Precinct, is filled with detectives and some uniformed officers, too. Detectives Ricki Stoletti and Mike McDermott stand up front. It’s nine in the morning. Everyone is on alert, a collective energy in the room.
Everyone is reading the sheet that has been put in front of them, the now-numbered lyrics to the second verse of Tyler Skye’s song “Someone.”
(1) An ice pick a nice trick praying that he dies quick
(2) A switchblade oughta be great for lobotomy insane a call to me
(3) Precision blade incisions made a closer shave a bloody spray
(4) Trim-Meter chain saw cheerleader’s brain’s all paint on the stained wall
(5) Machete in the head he isn’t ready to be dead I can’t explain why I’m in pain why I’m unable to refrain from getting in somebody’s brain
(6) Ditchin’ life kitchen knife no more itch and no more strife no more hate I passed the test
And on the seventh day I rest.