I took a position, standing, pen and legal pad in hand, in the back of the room, off to the side, with a clean vantage over the masses. The whole thing had the feel of something large, not least for the reason that as Harrison took center stage, a CNN reporter stood on camera in the middle of the room, announcing, “Boston Police Commissioner Hal Harrison is ready to address the issue of whether the Boston Strangler, the most notorious serial killer in the history of the United States, has reappeared after a forty-plus-year absence; we’re carrying this to you live.”
“I’d just like to make a couple of brief comments and announcements, what have you, and then I’ll take a few of your questions,” the commissioner began.
“I’d like to start by saying this is a trying time in Boston, and certainly a challenging time in the Boston Police Department. We don’t like to see one single innocent person killed, never mind three of them, all women. I would like to take a moment to assure the public, particularly women, that we have every available resource dedicated to solving these prior three murders and preventing any future ones, and we are confident on both fronts that that is exactly what will be the case. I would encourage women to exercise appropriate precautions until the perpetrator is identified and apprehended. But as long as people use basic common sense, the city is safe. I repeat: Boston is safe.”
I’ve been to, what, a hundred police press conferences over the years? Maybe two hundred? Probably more. Never once have I heard a police official announce that they are addressing a problem halfheartedly, probably without enough manpower, and with no expectations of making any headway in the investigation anytime soon.
So, translated from police-speak to everyday English, what he’d just said was that he was totally screwed and completely panicked. If he was a woman, he’d stay inside, buy a pair of unneutered rottweilers, then nail plywood over all his windows. But look at the bright side: not dining out at expensive restaurants is probably a good way for the entire female population of Boston to save a few bucks and lose a little weight.
He said, “We have a team of the city’s best and most experienced homicide detectives on the case, around the clock, augmented by detectives and uniformed officers in virtually every other division of this department. We are all pressing our informants for leads. We have additional officers on patrol, keeping their eyes on the city’s neighborhoods. I have canceled official travel plans for the foreseeable future so I can remain in Boston overseeing the investigation.”
Translated: I don’t have the slightest semblance of a clue as to who is offing women at a stunning clip of one every other day, and nor do my tired old detectives in the homicide bureau. Of course, they’re all going to soak me in overtime on this thing, so much so that I don’t have the money left in my budget for the chiefs’ convention at the four-star resort in Cancún.
Real life: “At this time, with acting mayor Mara Laird’s approval, I would also like to offer an award of twenty-five thousand dollars for any information leading to the arrest of the killer of any of the three victims. Believe me, I’m fully aware what’s at stake in this case.”
Translated: The know-nothing acting mayor is so far up my ass on this thing that I can feel her hair tickle my lower intestine, not that she needs to be. My whole political career is at stake. So in utter, total desperation, we’ll simply throw money at the problem in hopes that some street scum turns on some other street scum, alleviating the need for any good detective work.
The commissioner said, “In anticipation of your questions, I’d like to make a few important points. As you know, we discovered the body of Kimberly May in her apartment yesterday, based on a tip to the news media, presumably from the perpetrator of the crime. I encourage each and every journalist in this room and in this city, and probably in this country, if you’ve had any contact with anyone who identifies himself as the killer of these women, or provides information about other possible killings, to please contact us immediately. This is imperative. An investigation with multiple victims unfolding over a lengthy period of time is complicated enough. It becomes unnecessarily complex when the news media plays something less than a constructive role in the investigation. I would remind you that interfering in an active investigation is a prosecutable criminal offense.”
Translated: It’s driving us fucking crazy that we’ve even had to admit there’s a serial murderer on the loose and that we have no idea who or where he is. The fucking media, meaning you, Jack Flynn, should stay the fuck out of our way. Or else.
“With the third victim murdered in similar fashion, we are now pursuing the theory of a single killer, even while we continue to keep all other options open and under investigation. Many of you have posed the question as to whether this could in any way be linked to the killings in the Boston Strangler spree from mid-1962 to early 1964, much as a serial killer in Wichita, Kansas, emerged after two decades of silence and criminal inactivity.”
No translation necessary here. Ten minutes in, he was finally getting interesting, even making news. I hadn’t taken a note yet, but marked my legal pad with the letters BTK — the acronym for “bind, torture, kill,” the self-administered nickname for the Kansan killer who had reached out to the news media some twenty years after his last known slaying.
“That, obviously, is impossible here. The man who confessed to being the Boston Strangler, Albert DeSalvo, was killed in prison in 1973. I personally worked on that case in the early sixties. In the last couple of days, I have gone back and reread key parts of his confession from 1965. I am as convinced now as I was then that DeSalvo was, indeed, the perpetrator of those violent crimes, and what we have now is a copycat killer, seeking fame and press attention that he is receiving, and that consequently is fueling his desire to kill again.”
Translated: Don’t you dare question the good work from the sixties that propelled my rocket ride to the commissioner’s office. And by the way, this whole thing is the news media’s fault.
“We have already consulted with some of the most distinguished and accomplished criminal profilers in the country, who have compiled a psychological composite of the perpetrator of these crimes. As we review and refine it, we will make our findings public. In the meantime, I will say that any suspect is certainly a male, probably someone who lives alone, perhaps grew up in a single-parent household with a strong mother or maybe dominant older sisters, works in a largely unheralded job, craves attention that he doesn’t get in his everyday life, and likely has a criminal record involving other violent crimes. We suspect he’s in his thirties or forties, and for obvious reasons, we believe he has a keen interest in history.”
My cell phone vibrated in my jacket pocket, and I pulled it out, assuming I’d see Peter Martin’s number on the caller ID, Martin thinking I should already have half the story written before the press conference was actually over. But by the time I got the phone in hand, the vibrations had stopped. A notice appeared on the face of the phone informing me that I had a text message. How Modern Age, though not really.