The dam has finally burst. Wide open. The pressure has been building for months. Men keep disappearing. Men who's lives give no reason for this to happen. They are under no mental, financial, job, marriage, etc. strains and yet they disappear. The stories have begun to hit the Atlanta news media to varying degrees, mainly competition with other news events. If it's a slow news day, the story may wind up on page one of the two daily newspapers and be featured on the local TV stations 6:00 pm news.
The disappearance of Fred Wilson changes that radically. He's a prominent bank executive who is seriously considering a run for Governor. His wife reports him missing at 8:00 am on Monday. By noon the newspaper and TV news investigative reporters know what the police know. He was last seen in the company of three prostitutes at various times the previous Friday night at a plush private club in north Atlanta.
Wilson sleeps around. He makes John Kennedy and Bill Clinton look like choir boys. His advisors tell him to hold off, at least until after the election. He ignores them. If John and Bill got away with it, why can't he? He's told basically two things, repeatedly. One. This is Georgia, a basically conservative state, not the whole country. Two. Even if he were running for President, not Governor, time and circumstances can make the bottom line hard to predict. Look what happened to Gary Hart. He ignores them.
This is a news media dream come true. Sex. Politics. Possible serial killer. Atlanta is one of the top ten media outlets in the country. Competition is fierce. It's also the home base and headquarters of CNN. Their Headline News has been repeating the story every fifteen minutes since noon. Local TV news video trucks are parked outside the Atlanta Police headquarters for live reports at 6:00pm. Investigative reporters for all media are told what the Chief of Police is telling his detectives. "Find those three prostitutes. Quick!"
Homicide detective Gail Adams huddles with her ten person team that will do most of the real work on the case. Her second in command is Steve Walker, a thirty year veteran, most of the time spent in homicide. If there is any jealously that he's taking orders from a young woman, not much older than his daughters, he doesn't show it. Steve Walker is a good investigator who's retirement is just eighteen months away. He's marking the days off on his calendar. If the top job had not gone to Gail on this case, he figures it would have gone to some other "bright and rising star."
Gail Adams, University of Georgia graduate, majored in criminal justice. Top grad. Atlanta Police Academy. Top grad. She spent two years in the uniform division, then transferred to the detective division. She asked for and was assigned the homicide squad. She's Afro-American, very attractive, light brown skin, thirty years old and looks a lot like pop singer Janet Jackson. Some detectives kiddingly call her "Janet." She smiles, but she doesn't think it's funny. She admires Janet Jackson, but Janet is Janet and she's Gail.
"Steve, you've got the bartender from that private club in for interrogation, right?"
"Yes, he and an attorney for the club arrived a few minutes ago."
They walk down a narrow corridor about twenty feet to a small interrogation room. Other detectives brush past them. Gail knows that although she's assigned to head up this investigation, the Chief has jumped in and is assigning detectives outside her ten person squad to work on it. No coordination. The Chief had wanted an older, more experienced person to head this up. The head of homicide advised him not to do it, told him Gail has been sending up red flags about a serial killer from the first disappearances. The Chief reluctantly agrees, but says he might call a few plays in this game. Understatement of the decade.
Gail opens the interrogation.
"Your name please."
"Jeff Denney."
"Mr. Denney, we'll be recording this conversation unless you or your attorney objects. Let me state from the beginning that you are not a suspect in the investigation at this point. We just feel that you might be able to provide some valuable information that may help us catch the person responsible for Fred Wilson's disappearance."
Denney glances at the club's attorney. He thinks for a moment and nods an OK.
"Mr. Denney. You told the uniform police officers you last saw Fred Wilson with three prostitutes. Is that right?," ask Gail.
"Yes."
"How do you know they're prostitutes?" ask Steve Walker.
Denney smiles.
"Trust me."
Gail starts to push the issue, bur decides to back off, for now.
"Very well. Was he talking to all three at the same time, or individually?"
"Individually."
"Over what period of time?" ask Walker.
"I'd say about two, maybe two and a half hours."
"Did he leave with any of the women?" ask Gail.
"No. The last one left and then he talked with me about twenty minutes. Then he left."
"Talked about what?" ask Walker.
"Small talk. Sports. His running for Governor. That type thing."
"Mr. Denney, "says Gail. "Concentrate on this. Take a few moments to think, if you want to. Was there anything about any of these women that stood out? You know, would make you remember her a few months from now. Sort of set her apart from all the other prostitutes you see. Or any woman, really?"
Denney leans back, closes his eyes and thinks for a few minutes.
"No. Not really."
"Are you sure?" ask Walker.
"Yes, I'm sure...........but..........."
"But what?"
"Well, one of them had really strong legs."
Gail and Walker try to hide it, but their eyes widen just a little bit.
"Yes. Go on," replies Gail.
"Well, virtually all the prostitutes I've ever seen have great legs. Good muscle tone. Like they work out at a gym or something. But one of the gals legs muscles looked really powerful. Well tanned and extremely sexy, but very muscular, like they were strong enough to..................
"To what?"
"Kill."
Now Gail and Walker's eyes do light up.
"Just one more question, " says Gail. "Do you have any idea how we can find these women?"
"No. None. No idea."
"Think you, Mr. Denney. That will be all," says Gail
Jeff Denney and the club attorney leave and Gail and Steve Walker head for a conference room and a 4:00pm meeting of their ten person group assigned to the case. They're running a little early and she takes the opportunity to duck into her office and work off a little tension. Gail is an excellent amateur boxer. Has a punching bag mounted to the ceiling. She slips on a pair of lightweight gloves and pounds away at it for a few minutes, then remembers something. Damn. Almost forgot the match with Sue at 8:00 tonight. Don't really have time. What the hell It's only a five rounder. Should be in and out of the gym in thirty minutes.
At 4:00pm Gail briefs her group on the interrogation of the club bartender and throws the floor open for ideas.
"I think we should distribute flyers to all the plush bars in the area asking them to on the lookout for a pair of legs that can kill."
The idea comes from detective Jill Holly, the other woman in the group. Gail likes having her around. Gail knows it's silly, but she feels a little uncomfortable when she's the only woman in a large group of detectives. The words are barely out of Jill's mouth when comments start coming from all directions.
"That's a lot of bars."
"Not really. Not when you limit it to the type that a Fred Wilson would visit."
"It's still to many for ten people to hit in one night."
"Let's ask the uniform division for help. They're out cruising around anyway."
"Yes, but not in the half dozen or more jurisdictions where a lot of the bars are located."
"We'll ask Assistant Chief Bowers for more detectives. Just for tonight," says Gail.
"Legs that can kill. That would make a great headline."
"We need a news blackout, a least for three or four days. When this hits the media, "strong legs" will see it and definitely stay out of the bars."
"Lots of luck on a news blackout. You know how those sharks are."
"How much time should we ask for on the news blackout?"
"Forever."
"Get serious."
"I am serious."
"All right guys. That's enough. Jill, design the flyer ASAP. We need it in one hour. Steve, please ask Bowers for as many detectives as he can spare for tonight. Everyone else start deciding who goes where. I'll talk to the Chief about the news blackout. Meeting adjourned."
Gail persuades the Chief to make a conference call to the newspaper editors and the news directors at all the major TV and radio stations. Amazingly they agree to a news blackout in regard to the flyer. But for only two nights. Tonight and tomorrow night. Better than nothing. But we're starting to make too many assumptions. We're assuming that the lady with the strong legs is guilty. Guilty of what? So far there's no crime. Just a string of missing person reports. Where are the bodies?
Gail assigns herself to an area in downtown Atlanta to pass out the flyers and question the bartenders and club managers. She does this so she can dash quickly to the south side gym and her 8:00pm match with Sue Carlson. The gym is actually in a non profit Boys Club that has opened its door to women who want to learn to box. Gail and Sue are the best of the women boxers there and have fought seven matches. Gail has won four of them. The women are very skilled for amateurs and some pretty hard punches are landed. There have been some bloodied noses and black eyes, but no knockouts. No serious damage. Gail and Sue's matches are the only ones that attract enough attention for the club to charge admission. That's the main reason she has not wanted to cancel. The club needs the money.
Gail rushes into the gym at the last minute and heads to the locker room. Focus. Focus. For just fifteen minutes forget about Fred Wilson. Forget about everything but the match. She's seen other boxers who are ahead on points start thinking about their jobs, girl friends, boy friends, etc. And if you have a skilled opponent, that's when you get popped.
Gail is ahead on points going into round three. There have been a lot of solid punches landed by both women who are standing toe to toe and slugging it out. So far no one has drawn blood. Just a few bruises and bumps. The crowd has been on its feet most of the match.
Suddenly in round three, Sue abandons the toe to toe style and backs off, starts bouncing around lightly on her feet, throwing an occasional jab. The slower pace lets thoughts about Fred Wilson's disappearance start to creep into Gail's head. She never sees the punch coming. She knows she's laying flat on her back, staring up at the gym lights and the referee has already reached the count of five. She tries to jump to her feet, but her legs are wobbly and she just manages to avoid the ten count. But her vision hasn't returned to normal. She's seeing two of everything. The referee spots this, comes over and waves his hand in front of Gail's eyes. When he gets virtually no response, he stops the match. Sue by a TKO in the third round.
Sue walks over to Gail who is getting her senses back. Her legs are still slightly wobbly, but at least now she only sees one of everything.
"Are you OK?", ask Sue.
"Yeah, I'm fine. But I think I'm about to have a king sized head ache. What did you catch me with?"
"Right cross to the side of your forehead. You lost focus for a few seconds, Gail. I could tell it in your eyes. Take my advice. Come down and workout, but until some of the intensity of this missing men case drops off, don't get in the ring. You can't keep it out of your mind and you'll just get your brains rattled.
"Good advice, Sue. Oh, I want a rematch, of course."
"Of course," says Sue with a laugh. "What will this be? Rematch seven or eight? This club lives on our rematches."
"Eight. One other thing, Sue. Do you have any aspirin?"
"Sure."
Satisfied that nothing has been injured but her pride, Gail resumes her visits to the bars. So far the blackout is holding. That's good news. She tries to be as low profile in clubs as possible, calling the bartender over to the side. Most prostitutes can spot a detective one hundred yards away. In the dark. Blindfolded.
It's midnight and Gail and her team are back at Atlanta Police headquarters going over the night's results. Some promising leads have been turned up. Maybe. Twelve bartenders have said yes, they remember a woman in past months with very sexy, but exceptionally strong looking legs. But when asked to describe the rest of her, it goes in many directions. She is a blond. She has brown hair. She has black hair. She has red hair. She is loud. She is mysterious. Same woman using disguises? Maybe. Gail adjourns the meeting and tells everyone to go home and report back at 7:00am.
"Heard you got decked tonight," says Steve Walker as they leave the room.
"My, my. News travels fast."
"You should never have gotten in the ring with this case on your mind."
Now where have did I hear that before? Maybe its an echo.
Gail's phone rings. She glances at the clock. 3:00am. It's one of the detectives who pulls a graveyard shift.
"Just thought you should know that some sophomore journalism major at a small radio station broke the story at 1:00am. By 1:30am, virtually all the media people in town knew. I hear the morning newspaper is running a special edition. It's on all the major all night talk radio shows. CNN is giving details every fifteen minutes. The announcer holds up a copy of our flyer. Very dramatic."
"Thanks for the heads up."
"Don't mention it."
Damn! We needed that one extra night. She may have planned to visit one of the bars tonight. I wonder what she'll do next. She will not stop killing. Serial killers have no control. They're psychos. Maybe she'll leave town. Maybe she'll change tactics. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. But we're making progress. It's just a matter of time. We'll get her.
# Tom Adams, 2001. All Rights Reserved. Comments to: blackwidowdiary@aol.com