CRIMINAL CHRISTMAS: A Set of 8 Holiday Suspense Stories, page 62
“That’s great,” I said. When the weather was nice, I took the occasional day hike on trails in the forest, but there were always plenty of other hikers around. That gave me a sense of security. I didn’t have any desire to go camping overnight somewhere isolated, away from civilization. What a risky thing to do. Anything could happen out there, and in this case, it had. “So, I was wondering, when you say these men were tortured…”
“Once they were restrained, he started tearing off fingernails, then cutting off the tips of the fingers, then the rest of the fingers, toes, hands, uh,” Scanlon rubbed his chin and his eyes closed momentarily as he searched his memory for more. “Let’s see, he cut off someone’s ear at this site, and he gouged out one of Kevin’s eyes prior to the decapitation. There were also several burn marks all over both of the Nolan brothers, probably inflicted with a lighter. When I first began familiarizing myself with this case, I wondered if the killer had been trying to force information from them.
“We questioned Eisenbrey shortly after the bodies were discovered, but we never found any reason to believe that he had a score to settle with those men. He didn’t seem to know them, although they were all from Carnation, and they all liked to hunt. It’s a very common hobby out there. He admitted that he recognized two of them as the Nolan brothers. He said he’d seen them around town before, but they didn’t talk to him, which seemed reasonable since they were ten years older. And he said the third victim looked familiar, but he didn’t know his name.”
“So you ruled him out as a suspect?”
“I didn’t personally.” Scanlon smiled. “I was in high school at the time. Eisenbrey and I were born the same year. But yes, the officers that were working the case back then ruled him out. They reported that he was a loner, and he seemed a little odd, but he said all the right things during the interview. The fact that his brother’s body had been found in the forest a year earlier raised some red flags but, in the end, they had absolutely nothing to link him to the killings back in 1983.”
“When did you start working on this?”
“I met Eisenbrey in 1989. I was a rookie with the sheriff’s office. His mother came into the station to report that her husband hadn’t come home the night before, and she was very concerned that something had happened to him. So we searched the woods around their house thoroughly. We even brought dogs out there, but we found no sign of her husband anywhere.”
“I’ll never forget the feeling I got when I first laid eyes on Tom Eisenbrey. I knew…” Scanlon paused and shook his head, apparently reconsidering what he would say. “That was before I’d even heard about his brother’s death seven years earlier. When I questioned him about his dad, I could tell he knew I suspected him. Something about that guy just made my heart rate climb and my adrenaline surge. My senses felt sharper.”
Scanlon got a faraway look on his face. “I can recall strange details, like hearing a lawnmower through the open window, and Eisenbrey smelling like Irish Spring soap and spearmint gum.” He paused, and his expression became troubled. “I remember being struck by how unnaturally still he stood, and how he didn’t look away from me. He could go a long time without blinking. It made him seem almost reptilian. I could tell that I had to be on high alert when I stood near that guy.” His eyes returned to me. “And right after I questioned him, he disappeared. I didn’t see him again until Agent Johannson and I apprehended him in 2001.”
“I’ve heard that the police don’t tend to like the FBI because they barge in and take over the investigation, but you were working on this together?”
“Well, yeah, the FBI got jurisdiction back when we realized we were dealing with a serial killer, but I didn’t mind. I’m not into pissing matches.”
“I read that the FBI captured him. Did it bother you that they took the credit?”
He paused to chuckle. “Okay, I can see where you’re going with this, but I don’t need a pat on the ass for doing my job well. The bureau has better resources and training than we do, and I just wanted to catch our killer.” He shrugged. “In 2001, Johannson had just inherited the case from the previous agent in charge. There were twenty-two victims that all fit the same profile: men that were out in the forest hunting. We suspected they were all killed by the same guy, but he was very careful not to leave evidence linking him to the crimes. There was no confirmation yet of the Hunter’s identity, but by that time Eisenbrey was our prime suspect. In the end, we were only able to get Eisenbrey’s DNA from two of those crime scenes: the three guys from Carnation and the double murder of the Canadian fellas in Idaho.
“He also committed two other murders that didn’t fit his profile. One was a woman he was involved with named Tammie Lancaster, she was confirmed as one of his victims after we captured Eisenbrey, got a DNA sample from him, and started looking for other matches. There was also a murder he committed with another man, Roddy Jenks. They killed a club owner named Philippe Devereaux in British Columbia. We didn’t get any of Eisenbrey’s prints or DNA from that site, but there were eyewitnesses that saw him leaving the crime scene with Jenks. He was convicted of that one in 2002. Jenks is still wanted. To this day there are still seventeen other murder victims, and eight men missing and presumed dead that we suspect as the work of Eisenbrey.
“Anyway, Johannson and I got together a few times. I gave him all the info I had on Eisenbrey. He said he was going to speak with the mother, Sarah Eisenbrey, and I offered to go with him because I’d interviewed her several times and we had a good rapport. She wasn’t home, but while we were in her front yard Eisenbrey came walking around the side of the house toward us. I couldn’t believe our luck. I think it was just a crazy fluke we happened to show up at the same time he did because his mom hadn’t heard from him in ages.
“We chased him. I was the first one down, Eisenbrey grabbed a metal wheelbarrow and swung it into me, but then I managed to call for some backup while Johannson continued after him. When I caught up with them, Johannson had his gun on Eisenbrey and was about to put him in cuffs. Then Eisenbrey whipped around and attacked him. It happened so fast. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Scanlon closed his eyes and I could have sworn I saw a shiver run through him.
“Did he take Johannson’s gun?” I asked.
“No.” Scanlon shook his head slowly. “He uh…look, I don’t know how close you’re going to have to get to him for these interviews, but don’t ever forget this—he’s a biter.” He pointed to the scar on his neck and pulled the collar of his shirt back to give me a clearer view. I wished he hadn’t. It looked like the kind of wound you would expect to see after an attack from some wild animal. I gasped.
“How awful! That looks like it must have been life-threatening.”
“Sure as hell was. I was lucky I didn’t bleed out at the scene, but by some miracle he didn’t manage to tear open my jugular or carotid. If he had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Johannson wasn’t so lucky.”
“That’s so horrible. Why would someone do such a thing?”
“To avoid getting apprehended. And in Eisenbrey’s case, because he enjoyed it. The sick fuck was laughing when I took him down and cuffed him. He’s a psychopath.” Scanlon’s jaw tensed, and I could see he was clenching his teeth as he recalled the events. “We gave him a polygraph at the station, before he was transferred to the jail.”
“How did you get him to sit still for that?”
“Oh, he consented to the test. He found it amusing. It turned out to be a useless pile of shit.”
“Why?”
“Because he was unnaturally calm the entire time. The psychiatrist that evaluated him told me that it isn’t uncommon for people like him to ace the test. They don’t experience guilt or feel a normal level of anxiety. Eisenbrey didn’t show any change in heart rate, blood pressure, muscle tension, or breathing. And we knew he was definitely lying part of the time because he denied attacking me and Johannson. The only thing I got from him was that twisted, fucked up grin.
“Taking the test was just a way for him to show off for us. I even dug up the crime scene photos of his brother from 1982. I showed him a photo from when they found his body in the woods, and let me tell you, it was fucking sick. The guy’s throat had been slit so deep that he was nearly decapitated, and the body had decomposed quite a bit during the six days he was out there.” Scanlon paused and closed his eyes for a moment. “Seeing his brother in that condition should have caused…something, but the photos didn’t elicit any reaction from him, and the polygraph didn’t show one either. That’s just wrong. I understand that it had been several years since his brother died, so maybe he was over that loss, but shit, any normal person would have become upset from looking at that mess, even if the victim was a complete stranger.”
“So you believe that his brother was one of his victims?”
“I didn’t say that. His brother is not on the victim list I gave you, and neither is his father.” He shook his head, obviously disgusted with the situation, then he leveled his eyes at me. “Ms. Reis, do you know what they have to do with animals once they’re trained to attack and kill humans? They have to put them down. There’s no way to change them. They just are what they are. And people like Eisenbrey are the same way. It isn’t possible to rehabilitate someone like him. There’s no way to take the desire to kill out of him. He just needs to be put down.” There was no hint of malice or hatred in Scanlon’s face as he spoke. He was just relaying a series of facts to me.
The phone on his desk rang and he took the call, telling the person on the line that he would be there in a minute. Scanlon looked disappointed as he said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Reis. I’m needed elsewhere.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Duty calls. You know, Detective, I appreciate your candor and directness about Eisenbrey. So many people don’t say what they really feel, and I prefer it when people do.”
Scanlon flashed me a boyish grin. “I’m just happy to be of assistance, Ms. Reis.”
“Please, call me Rebecca,” I said, as I got up.
“Okay, Rebecca, if you call me Darryl,” he smiled and took my hand in both of his, encasing it, caressing it with one of his thumbs. His hands felt so warm. I imagined that the rest of him was too. I thought about how nice it would be to have a guy like that wrapped around me on a cold night.
“It was nice meeting you,” I added.
He took a business card from his desk drawer and scribbled something on it before handing it to me. “Here’s my number. This one is my personal cell,” he said as he pointed to the handwritten number on the back of the card.
Interesting. He just gave me his private number.
“Feel free to call me with more questions…anytime.”
“Yes. I’m sure I’ll have a long list after I read through all of this. Thank you so much.” I took one last look at him as I left—the light brown hair, the honey colored eyes, the easy smile. I liked him. I might even call him if I don’t have any questions.
Chapter 4
October 26th, 2012
I waited at a stoplight not far from the prison in Walla Walla, staring at the ass-end of the vehicle in front of me: a late model Porsche 911. At least it had a nice ass. The cars proceeded so slowly that it looked like I would have to sit through another red light, my third one at that particular intersection. I was surprised by the miniature traffic jam. I hadn’t expected there to be enough cars in Walla Walla to impede the flow of traffic. As it turned out, the city wasn’t quite as small as I had envisioned it.
The drive from Seattle had taken me more than four hours. I tried to enjoy some of the scenery along the way as I drove through the Cascade Mountains and then through the high desert and farm landscape of Eastern Washington, but I spent most of the time focusing on Eisenbrey and dreaming up various scenarios on how our first interview would go. I had felt calm most of the way there, but as I neared the prison, I realized that I was gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles were white.
A feeling of nausea came over me. The same feeling I used to experience nearly every time I had exams in college. I was completely out of my comfort zone, having never set foot inside a prison or conversed with a convict. I was also nervous because our first meeting could make or break the success of the whole project. If he decided he didn’t like me and became unwilling to cooperate, the book would lack the quality that would make it meaningful for the reader. Writing was such a delicate art form. I needed the element that would breathe life into Eisenbrey on the page.
I turned onto 13th Avenue, the road leading into the prison. To the left sat the entrance to the parking lot, to the right groomed patches of earth awaited crops. According to the thermometer in my car the temperature was seventy-eight degrees, a warm day for Washington State in October. The dry, barren hills off in the distance reminded me of California. I entered the prison grounds, identified myself to the uniformed man in the small guard booth, and the barrier arm lifted allowing me access.
I had already done a little research on the Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla. The original facility, built in 1887, was now only a corner of the current compound, which had since been expanded to more than four times its initial size. The old stone perimeter walls had several lookout towers built into them, each tower constructed of red brick, while tall chain-link fencing topped with copious amounts of razor wire surrounded the newer sections of the penitentiary. I had been told to report in at the visitor’s entrance of the newer section of the prison. I parked and glanced at my dashboard clock. Twenty minutes early. I couldn’t have timed it more perfectly.
Reviewing my notes one last time I thought about Scanlon, his good looks marred by that horrible scar on his neck. I thought about how painful it must have been for him when the teeth pierced his skin and tore at his throat, how frightened he must have felt when he thought that he faced death. About to see the man who exacted the brutality, the monster, Thomas Eisenbrey, I trembled slightly.
That wouldn’t do.
I felt beneath the driver’s seat of my car for the stainless steel flask that I kept for times like this, when my nerves felt a bit delicate. I took a generous sip, reveling in the exquisite warmth of the Jack Daniel’s as it descended down my throat. I sighed, feeling calmer already. I took one more gulp, then secured the lid and returned the flask to its hiding place. I checked my glove box for some chewing gum and was irritated not to find any. I’d just be careful not to be too breathy when I said hi.
It was time now to leave the security of my car and dive into the belly of the beast. I grabbed my bag and walked with deliberate steps into the penitentiary.
Chapter 5
Once inside the visitor’s entrance and after a thorough search of my purse and person, which included a pat down, I was met by a guard who had been assigned to escort me to death row. My meeting with Eisenbrey would take place there instead of a visiting room, a deal that Andrea had worked out with her friend, Barnett. I agreed with her that it would be good for me to see his living environment. Because of the special arrangement, they allowed me to keep my handbag where I had my items for the interview.
The guard introduced himself to me as Amos Tilly and shook my hand. I detected an accent that smacked of Oklahoma or perhaps one of the states right next to it. Officer Tilly was a good old boy. As I noted his belly, which put a lot of stress on the buttons of his dark-blue shirt and hung down over the matching pants of his guard uniform, I wondered how long it would take him to address me as Little Lady. It certainly didn’t take him long to get through the pleasantries and into his opinions. At least he could walk and talk at the same time.
Tilly led me through the building, and then outside to a cement walkway that crossed the grounds. As we hurried along it, the pleasant scent of freshly mown lawn hung in the dry air around us, I held my hand up to my forehead to shield my eyes from the bright sun. I felt irritated with myself for leaving my sunglasses in the car.
“I think it’s a disgraceful commentary on our society that these motherfuckers get so damned much attention. That’s exactly what the bastards want. They eat it up. Why do you people keep writing books about them? No one ever writes about the officers that put their lives on the line every day to bring these peckers to justice.”
“Well, several books have been written about law enforcement personnel also, but I get your point. I agree the good guys should get far more recognition than they do.” We passed a water tower, and I saw several white, cement buildings around the compound. I couldn’t tell yet which one he was taking me to.
“If I had my way, Eisenbrey would have been executed a long time ago, and the American people would have forgotten his goddamned name. He doesn’t deserve any glory. Do you know why you’re going to his cell for these visits and not a visitation room?”
“Not exactly. Because I’m writing a book about him?”
“Several other writers have graced us with their presence before you, and they used the visitation rooms. You aren’t being allowed to do this in the cellblock because you’re special. It’s because of Eisenbrey. Every time we have to transport that son-of-a-bitch anywhere outside of his cell, we run the risk of harm to one of our officers. Do not trust that man under any circumstances.” Tilly glanced at me, his expression grave, as we continued walking at a steady clip. He nodded toward the building we approached and said, “This is where we keep him, the IMU North, that’s short for Intensive Management Unit. We keep all of the death row inmates here.” A white cement building with narrow windows stood before us. It was solid. The place looked like it could contain the Incredible Hulk if it had to.
Tilly held the door open for me and a blast of cool air hit my skin as we entered. As expected, the inside of the building had an institutional appearance: polished cement floors, sparsely furnished, a dull color scheme of off-white and tan. It was clean. Tilly led me through the lobby and down a hallway in silence. I heard the click of a lock being released as we approached the steel door at its end. Tilly held the door for me again, then paused before we entered and said, “One more thing, Miss Reis. He’s a crafty son of a bitch. Don’t underestimate him.”
