Twisted Minds

Twisted Minds
 
 
 

The Book,

     Twisted Minds, 87,000 words, is the fourth book in the Twisted series centering around John Livingston Harvard, an ex-cop and current private eye.  He lives with his new wife and his daughter from a previous marriage.  All are haunted by memories of a vicious group of individuals, known as the Coeptus Guild.  At the same time, all are convinced that the threat this group had posed is gone forever after John and his friend, Frank Carlotta, had been instrumental in gutting the top level of the organization.
     Unfortunately, one of their former soldiers, an assassin by the name of Billyray Jenkins, has decided that they must pay for their transgressions and must pay dearly.  He has come up with an elaborate plot to not only kill them, but to make the men suffer beforehand.  Though an uneducated man, Billyray is a brilliant, meticulous individual who is completely devoid of human emotions.  The perfect killer.  To him, there can be no doubt as to the outcome of his plan.
     There is, however, one thing Billyray hasn't counted on... his own gifted, but flawed mind.  He doesn't realize just how unstable he is and before long, he finds himself caught in his own internal web of deception.  That web will cause him loose his greatest edge... his cold-blooded calculation.  Who is in control?  Billyray?  Or the persona of one of his latest victims?


Excerpt from Chapter 1

“The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.”  Joseph Conrad


Billyray Jenkins slapped the dashboard of the car he was riding in and let out a bellow of laughter as he turned to face the driver.  “That’s the funniest joke I’ve heard in a long time.”
The man behind the wheel smiled as he looked at his passenger.  “Yeah, I got it off the internet.”  The man slowed as he approached a gravel road.  “Is this where I turn?” the driver asked.
“Yup!  Like I told ya’ll at the bar, it’s quite a way off the beaten track, but it’s the best fishin’ hole I seen since I left my home state of Kentucky.” Billyray answered.  He had actually been born and raised in the bayou’s of Louisiana but had worked hard to cover his heavy cajun accent.
The driver looked at Billyray and smiled once again.  “Ya know Dave, I don’t wanna sound queer here, but in the two months since I met ya at that bar, you’ve become one of the best friends I’ve got.”
“Yeah, well, that’s only cause you cided to chuck society and become a hermit.  Don’t know why you cided to talk to me.”
The driver laughed yet again.  “Cause you wouldn’t leave me alone asshole.  Usually when ya don’t respond to people talkin to ya, they leave ya alone, but no, not you.”
“Cause I sensed another loner like myself.  Cept I was gettin mighty tired of bein a loner.”
“Well, I’m glad ya did Dave.”  They drove for some time before the driver spoke again.  “Hey, I think we’re here.  It’s not very big.” he commented as he pulled up to a small body of water that wasn’t much bigger around than a large swimming pool.  It was surrounded by towering trees and the small gravel road on which they had been traveling had gotten progressively smaller until finally becoming not much more than a dirt trail and had eventually petered out at the edge of the tiny pond.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s fed by a small stream an this is the deepest part for a long time.  Figure the fish must come here to breed and be cool in the summer.  Why don’t you go take a look while I get the poles outta the car.”
The driver nodded without commenting as he got out and walked to the edge of the water.  He stood looking down as he evaluated the possibilities.  He scanned the area.  “Sure is desolate out here.  How the hell did you ever find this place?”
“Told ya,” said Billyray as he approached the man from behind, “I love ta fish and I gotta nose for good places.” 
The driver nodded as he began to turn around.  “Okay, let’s give it a tr...”
The man never finished his sentence.  In fact, he never heard the barely audible, “phittt, phittt, phittt,” as Billyray pumped three slugs from a silenced .22 into the back of his head.  He didn’t feel it as Dave/Billyray turned his body over and fired another slug into his forehead.
Billyray shoved the pistol into his waistband, and returned to the car.  He removed a plastic bag and walked back to the corpse.  Using a silicon putty that he had to mix, Billyray carefully covered the ends of each of the fingers with the gooey substance and waited for it to dry.  When it was, he carefully removed the putty and placed each casting into it’s own box marked with the location of the finger from which it had come.
When he had completed this task, he grabbed the dead man by the collar and dragged him over to a depression located in the tall grass surrounding the pond.  The depression was located on a steep incline and he arranged the body so that the head of the corpse was downhill of the feet.  After collecting the man’s wallet and keys, he turned the driver over so that he was face down and retrieved a large knife from a scabbard attached to his belt.  Billyray bent down and with one quick motion, cut the man’s throat, severing the carotid artery and the jugular vein.  After wiping the blade of the weapon on the clothing of the driver, he stood up.  “There ya go buddy.  Can’t have ya bleedin all over the place now can I?” he muttered as he slipped back into his Cajun drawl.
It felt good to be himself for a moment.  Not only had Billyray learned to talk without his natural accent, but he’d learned to imitate laughter.  He was not a mirthful man.  In fact, Billyray was quite devoid of the usual host of human emotions.  Most people who met Billyray had one of two responses.  Instant fear, without really knowing why, was the most common.  Further study would have revealed that it was the cold, unfeeling eyes that was at the core it.  Billyray might walk by you.  He might kill you.  He might rape you, man or woman or even animal, it didn’t really matter.  Some primeval warning system, written into the code of the human psyche to protect them from ancient predators, that was what was awakened when both men and women looked into the eyes of Billyray Jenkins and that was why they ran.
That is, if they knew what was good for them.  Of course, there were always those who chose, through ignorance or sheer stupidity, to challenge him.  They were all taking dirt naps now with the exception of two men and Billyray had elaborate plans to take care of them.
Billyray walked back to the car and retrieved his pole and tackle box.  Though much about what the driver thought he knew about Dave/Billyray was a total fabrication, that he loved to fish was about the only thing that was factual.  Without looking toward the direction of the dead man, he selected a lure and cast his line as he commented to the driver as though he were standing next to him.  “While I wait for ya to bleed out, might as well catch a few.”
And he did just that.  Occasionally, he would walk over to the dead man and step on his back, jumping up and down in an effort to force more blood out of him.  Three hours and a number of fish later, Billyray put away his equipment and opened the trunk of the car.  He then walked over to the body of the driver and inspected the throat wound, jiggling the body and twisting the head as he did so..  “Yup, I think ya are ready now buddy.  Can’t have ya bleedin at an inopportune time.”  With that, he reached down and dragged the corpse back to the car.  Though lithe, Billyray was immensely strong.  He picked the driver up and unceremoniously dumped him into a trunk that he’d previously lined with plastic.
After closing the lid, he walked around the area, inspecting it for possible evidence that would link the murder of the driver to him.  Not that he thought anyone would know what had happened here, but one couldn’t be too careful.
When he was satisfied that all was in order, Billyray started the car and drove to the main road.  He checked that no cars were in sight before pulling out and turning on his lights in the near darkness.  
Forty minutes later, he stopped at the small house that belonged to the man in the trunk.  Dave/Billyray opened the door and went in.  He spent some time in the home, wiping down any items that he could find that might hold his fingerprint, even though he’d always been careful when he was there.  He also removed all of the dead man’s clothing and personal items.  There weren’t many.  He called and cancelled the man’s phone and TV service.  He found the man’s checkbook and wrote out a final rent check, forging the driver’s writing as well as he could.  He left the check and the house key on the kitchen table before leaving.
Billyray started up the car once more and drove off into the darkness.  At two o’clock in the morning, he stopped at a shopping mall where he dumped the driver’s clothing into a Salvation Army bin.  He drove to a car wash where he deposited most of the man’s personal items into a dumpster.  He returned to the interstate and continued for another hour, to the outskirts of a city, arriving there just before dawn.  He stopped in front of the locked gate of a recycling yard and waited.  A moment later the gate opened and a man walked out of the yard and approached Billyray.
“You got my money?” the yard worker asked.
Billyray didn’t answer, but instead handed the man a large wad of cash.  He took it and said, “Okay, get out and I’ll take er in.”
“No!”  Billyray shot back.  “I gotta make sure this car disappears.  Don’t want the insurance company or anyone else to ever know bout this.  If they ever find out this car wasn’t stolen, they’ll arrest me for shore and I don’t wanna go to jail.  My wife’d leave me shore nough.”
The yard worker shrugged.  “Fine, follow me.”
Billyray did as he was told and soon the car was being lifted into a crusher.  “Ya know,“ said the man, ”we usually strip the engine an such out first.  I...”
“Don’t care what ya’ll usually do.  For what I’m paying ya’ll, ya’ll need to just do what I say.”
The man nodded and continued his work.  Billyray stood, holding a small garbage bag that he had removed from the car when he got out.  When the yard worker was finished, Billyray asked.  “Do ya’ll have more cars to do?”
“Yeah, why?”
“That was neat, that’s all.  Can ya’ll do a couple more?  I wanna watch.”
The yard worker shrugged and Billyray watched as he processed two more vehicles and dumped the mangled carcasses onto the bed of a trailer, along with the dead man’s vehicle.  While intent on his work, he didn’t notice that Billyray had donned a jumper suit that he had found hanging on a hook.
The yard man had just finished his task when his world went blank as Billyray struck him on the back of his head with a length of pipe he’d found in a corner.  The man went down in a heap, unconscious.  Billyray then stripped the man before shoving the bloody pipe into his anus.  He worked it in and out a number of times before he withdrew it and used the pipe to smash the man’s skull, killing him.  As a coupe de grace, Billyray inserted the pipe back into the man’s anus and shoved with all his might, forcing the object through the intestines and far into the chest cavity.  He then spent some time stabbing the now very dead man repeatedly.
When he was finished, he retrieved the money he had given the worker from the man’s clothes and inspected his work.  When the cops got there, they would assume that this had been some sort of perverted sex crime.  The repeated stabbings would indicate rage which would in turn lead them to believe that it was most likely homosexual in nature, an enraged lover.
The act that Billyray had just committed was one of unimaginable horror, of unimaginable evil and he was correct in assuming that the police would classify it as a crime of passion, of anger.  Cops like to put things into little prefabricated psychological boxes.  They try to use logic to make sense out of horrific human behavior.  Sometimes that helps in solving the crime, sometimes not.  But for their own sanity, policemen the world over try to comprehend the heinous crimes they see.  In their own, usually sane minds, they have difficulty conceiving that any human being could do what was done to the yard worker without feeling some kind of emotion, without having some sort of reason.  But the even more ghastly fact about the crimes that Billyray had performed on this date was the vile fact that the man felt... absolutely... nothing.
The term, cold blooded killer, is often used to describe anyone who kills without compunction.  But almost always, the killer feels some emotion, of some kind.  However, in the case of Billyray it was a particularly apt description of the man.  For Billyray Jenkins felt no emotion.  Like other cold blooded creatures of this earth, he killed dictated by the situation, based on wether or not his otherwise normal brain decided to do so.  Fear, anger, greed, love, lust, even pain never entered the equation because he didn’t feel those things.  He would just cooly decide that killing was necessary... or not and when it was completed, he went on with his life with absolutely no afterthought of what he had done.  His was truly a very Twisted Mind.
Not even the tenacious emotion of hate affected his decisions... that is until very recently.  Now, somewhere deep within his cold skinned soul, lay the budding new feeling.  “IT” wasn’t very strong at this point.  “IT” was just there, but “IT” was, slowly, growing.  And he did not like “IT.”  “IT” was not a comfortable thing to have around.  He intended to eliminate “IT.”  “IT” had nothing to do with the two men he had just killed other than a means to an end.  He did not hate either of the two men and in fact had nothing against them at all.  They just needed to be killed.  Nothing more to it than that.  Period.  End of story... at least for them.
The seeds for, “IT,” had been sown by two men.  John Livingston Harvard and Frank Carlotta.  Billyray had decided that to eliminate “IT,” to go back to his comfortable existence of no emotion.  He had to, therefore, snuff out the lives of these men.  However, HATE had grown sufficiently in Billyray’s soul that merely ending their presence on this planet wasn’t enough.  He wanted to make them pay for this thing growing inside him.  He had a plan for that too. 
Billyray looked out the window at the crushed hulks that had included the car he had driven there.  He wanted a couple of more cars put on the flatbed tailer behind the one he had brought in on the far off chance that one of the cops thought that a crushed car might have had something to do with the murder.  If they did, they would most likely look at the last one in line, maybe two.  He couldn’t see them looking three cars back.
Billyray now removed a clean set of clothing from the trash bag he had taken out of the car and and after wiping himself down with a set of wipes that he had also had the forethought of bringing, he donned his new clothes.  He put the bloody overall’s and his old clothes into the bag.  After one last look around, he walked out and headed for the field behind the center, still carrying the bag.  It would be light soon and he had no time to lose.
The killer walked a little over a mile before reaching a seedy apartment complex and the parked car he had left there.  He opened it and was soon back on the interstate.  By mid morning, he’d gotten off the highway in a suburb of another large city.  He cruised the neighborhoods until finding what he was looking for, a garbage truck trundling through a subdivision collecting garbage.  He threw the plastic bag full of bloody clothes into the open back of it and proceeded on to the city itself.  He had one more person to see and his day’s work would be done.  It had been a good day and he reckoned that within a few months, he would be exactly where he wanted to be.


The Book,


     Twisted Minds, 87,000 words, is the fourth book in the Twisted series centering around John Livingston Harvard, an ex-cop and current private eye.  He lives with his new wife and his daughter from a previous marriage.  All are haunted by memories of a vicious group of individuals, known as the Coeptus Guild.  At the same time, all are convinced that the threat this group had posed is gone forever after John and his friend, Frank Carlotta, had been instrumental in gutting the top level of the organization.

     Unfortunately, one of their former soldiers, an assassin by the name of Billyray Jenkins, has decided that they must pay for their transgressions and must pay
dearly.  He has come up with an elaborate plot to not only kill them, but to make the men suffer beforehand.  Though an uneducated man, Billyray is a brilliant, meticulous individual who is completely devoid of human emotions.  The perfect killer.  To him, there can be no doubt as to the outcome of his plan.

     There is, however, one thing Billyray hasn't counted on... his own gifted, but flawed mind.  He doesn't realize just how unstable he is and before long, he finds himself caught in his own internal web of deception.  That web will cause him loose his greatest edge... his cold-blooded calculation.  Who is in control?  Billyray?  Or the persona of one of his latest victims?



Excerpt from Chapter 1


The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.”  Joseph Conrad



Billyray Jenkins slapped the dashboard of the car he was riding in and let out a bellow of laughter as he turned to face the driver.  “That’s the funniest joke I’ve heard in a long time.”

The man behind the wheel smiled as he looked at his passenger.  “Yeah, I got it off the internet.”  The man slowed as he approached a gravel road.  “Is this where I turn?” the driver asked.

“Yup!  Like I told ya’ll at the bar, it’s quite a way off the beaten track, but it’s the best fishin’ hole I seen since I left my home state of Kentucky.” Billyray answered.  He had actually been born and raised in the bayou’s of Louisiana but had worked hard to cover his heavy cajun accent.

The driver looked at Billyray and smiled once again.  “Ya know Dave, I don’t wanna sound queer here, but in the two months since I met ya at that bar, you’ve become one of the best friends I’ve got.”

“Yeah, well, that’s only cause you cided to chuck society and become a hermit.  Don’t know why you cided to talk to me.”

The driver laughed yet again.  “Cause you wouldn’t leave me alone asshole.  Usually when ya don’t respond to people talkin to ya, they leave ya alone, but no, not you.”

“Cause I sensed another loner like myself.  Cept I was gettin mighty tired of bein a loner.”

“Well, I’m glad ya did Dave.”  They drove for some time before the driver spoke again.  “Hey, I think we’re here.  It’s not very big.” he commented as he pulled up to a small body of water that wasn’t much bigger around than a large swimming pool.  It was surrounded by towering trees and the small gravel road on which they had been traveling had gotten progressively smaller until finally becoming not much more than a dirt trail and had eventually petered out at the edge of the tiny pond.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s fed by a small stream an this is the deepest part for a long time.  Figure the fish must come here to breed and be cool in the summer.  Why don’t you go take a look while I get the poles outta the car.”

The driver nodded without commenting as he got out and walked to the edge of the water.  He stood looking down as he evaluated the possibilities.  He scanned the area.  “Sure is desolate out here.  How the hell did you ever find this place?”

“Told ya,” said Billyray as he approached the man from behind, “I love ta fish and I gotta nose for good places.”

The driver nodded as he began to turn around.  “Okay, let’s give it a tr...”

The man never finished his sentence.  In fact, he never heard the barely audible, “phittt, phittt, phittt,” as Billyray pumped three slugs from a silenced .22 into the back of his head.  He didn’t feel it as Dave/Billyray turned his body over and fired another slug into his forehead.

Billyray shoved the pistol into his waistband, and returned to the car.  He removed a plastic bag and walked back to the corpse.  Using a silicon putty that he had to mix, Billyray carefully covered the ends of each of the fingers with the gooey substance and waited for it to dry.  When it was, he carefully removed the putty and placed each casting into it’s own box marked with the location of the finger from which it had come.

When he had completed this task, he grabbed the dead man by the collar and dragged him over to a depression located in the tall grass surrounding the pond.  The depression was located on a steep incline and he arranged the body so that the head of the corpse was downhill of the feet.  After collecting the man’s wallet and keys, he turned the driver over so that he was face down and retrieved a large knife from a scabbard attached to his belt.  Billyray bent down and with one quick motion, cut the man’s throat, severing the carotid artery and the jugular vein.  After wiping the blade of the weapon on the clothing of the driver, he stood up.  “There ya go buddy.  Can’t have ya bleedin all over the place now can I?” he muttered as he slipped back into his Cajun drawl.

It felt good to be himself for a moment.  Not only had Billyray learned to talk without his natural accent, but he’d learned to imitate laughter.  He was not a mirthful man.  In fact, Billyray was quite devoid of the usual host of human emotions.  Most people who met Billyray had one of two responses.  Instant fear, without really knowing why, was the most common.  Further study would have revealed that it was the cold, unfeeling eyes that was at the core it.  Billyray might walk by you.  He might kill you.  He might rape you, man or woman or even animal, it didn’t really matter.  Some primeval warning system, written into the code of the human psyche to protect them from ancient predators, that was what was awakened when both men and women looked into the eyes of Billyray Jenkins and that was why they ran.

That is, if they knew what was good for them.  Of course, there were always those who chose, through ignorance or sheer stupidity, to challenge him.  They were all taking dirt naps now with the exception of two men and Billyray had elaborate plans to take care of them.

Billyray walked back to the car and retrieved his pole and tackle box.  Though much about what the driver thought he knew about Dave/Billyray was a total fabrication, that he loved to fish was about the only thing that was factual.  Without looking toward the direction of the dead man, he selected a lure and cast his line as he commented to the driver as though he were standing next to him.  “While I wait for ya to bleed out, might as well catch a few.”

And he did just that.  Occasionally, he would walk over to the dead man and step on his back, jumping up and down in an effort to force more blood out of him.  Three hours and a number of fish later, Billyray put away his equipment and opened the trunk of the car.  He then walked over to the body of the driver and inspected the throat wound, jiggling the body and twisting the head as he did so..  “Yup, I think ya are ready now buddy.  Can’t have ya bleedin at an inopportune time.”  With that, he reached down and dragged the corpse back to the car.  Though lithe, Billyray was immensely strong.  He picked the driver up and unceremoniously dumped him into a trunk that he’d previously lined with plastic.

After closing the lid, he walked around the area, inspecting it for possible evidence that would link the murder of the driver to him.  Not that he thought anyone would know what had happened here, but one couldn’t be too careful.

When he was satisfied that all was in order, Billyray started the car and drove to the main road.  He checked that no cars were in sight before pulling out and turning on his lights in the near darkness. 

Forty minutes later, he stopped at the small house that belonged to the man in the trunk.  Dave/Billyray opened the door and went in.  He spent some time in the home, wiping down any items that he could find that might hold his fingerprint, even though he’d always been careful when he was there.  He also removed all of the dead man’s clothing and personal items.  There weren’t many.  He called and cancelled the man’s phone and TV service.  He found the man’s checkbook and wrote out a final rent check, forging the driver’s writing as well as he could.  He left the check and the house key on the kitchen table before leaving.

Billyray started up the car once more and drove off into the darkness.  At two o’clock in the morning, he stopped at a shopping mall where he dumped the driver’s clothing into a Salvation Army bin.  He drove to a car wash where he deposited most of the man’s personal items into a dumpster.  He returned to the interstate and continued for another hour, to the outskirts of a city, arriving there just before dawn.  He stopped in front of the locked gate of a recycling yard and waited.  A moment later the gate opened and a man walked out of the yard and approached Billyray.

“You got my money?” the yard worker asked.

Billyray didn’t answer, but instead handed the man a large wad of cash.  He took it and said, “Okay, get out and I’ll take er in.”

“No!”  Billyray shot back.  “I gotta make sure this car disappears.  Don’t want the insurance company or anyone else to ever know bout this.  If they ever find out this car wasn’t stolen, they’ll arrest me for shore and I don’t wanna go to jail.  My wife’d leave me shore nough.”

The yard worker shrugged.  “Fine, follow me.”

Billyray did as he was told and soon the car was being lifted into a crusher.  “Ya know,“ said the man, ”we usually strip the engine an such out first.  I...”

“Don’t care what ya’ll usually do.  For what I’m paying ya’ll, ya’ll need to just do what I say.”

The man nodded and continued his work.  Billyray stood, holding a small garbage bag that he had removed from the car when he got out.  When the yard worker was finished, Billyray asked.  “Do ya’ll have more cars to do?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That was neat, that’s all.  Can ya’ll do a couple more?  I wanna watch.”

The yard worker shrugged and Billyray watched as he processed two more vehicles and dumped the mangled carcasses onto the bed of a trailer, along with the dead man’s vehicle.  While intent on his work, he didn’t notice that Billyray had donned a jumper suit that he had found hanging on a hook.

The yard man had just finished his task when his world went blank as Billyray struck him on the back of his head with a length of pipe he’d found in a corner.  The man went down in a heap, unconscious.  Billyray then stripped the man before shoving the bloody pipe into his anus.  He worked it in and out a number of times before he withdrew it and used the pipe to smash the man’s skull, killing him.  As a coupe de grace, Billyray inserted the pipe back into the man’s anus and shoved with all his might, forcing the object through the intestines and far into the chest cavity.  He then spent some time stabbing the now very dead man repeatedly.

When he was finished, he retrieved the money he had given the worker from the man’s clothes and inspected his work.  When the cops got there, they would assume that this had been some sort of perverted sex crime.  The repeated stabbings would indicate rage which would in turn lead them to believe that it was most likely homosexual in nature, an enraged lover.

The act that Billyray had just committed was one of unimaginable horror, of unimaginable evil and he was correct in assuming that the police would classify it as a crime of passion, of anger.  Cops like to put things into little prefabricated psychological boxes.  They try to use logic to make sense out of horrific human behavior.  Sometimes that helps in solving the crime, sometimes not.  But for their own sanity, policemen the world over try to comprehend the heinous crimes they see.  In their own, usually sane minds, they have difficulty conceiving that any human being could do what was done to the yard worker without feeling some kind of emotion, without having some sort of reason.  But the even more ghastly fact about the crimes that Billyray had performed on this date was the vile fact that the man felt... absolutely... nothing.

The term, cold blooded killer, is often used to describe anyone who kills without compunction.  But almost always, the killer feels some emotion, of some kind.  However, in the case of Billyray it was a particularly apt description of the man.  For Billyray Jenkins felt no emotion.  Like other cold blooded creatures of this earth, he killed dictated by the situation, based on wether or not his otherwise normal brain decided to do so.  Fear, anger, greed, love, lust, even pain never entered the equation because he didn’t feel those things.  He would just cooly decide that killing was necessary... or not and when it was completed, he went on with his life with absolutely no afterthought of what he had done.  His was truly a very Twisted Mind.

Not even the tenacious emotion of hate affected his decisions... that is until very recently.  Now, somewhere deep within his cold skinned soul, lay the budding new feeling.  “IT” wasn’t very strong at this point.  “IT” was just there, but “IT” was, slowly, growing.  And he did not like “IT.”  “IT” was not a comfortable thing to have around.  He intended to eliminate “IT.”  “IT” had nothing to do with the two men he had just killed other than a means to an end.  He did not hate either of the two men and in fact had nothing against them at all.  They just needed to be killed.  Nothing more to it than that.  Period.  End of story... at least for them.

The seeds for, “IT,” had been sown by two men.  John Livingston Harvard and Frank Carlotta.  Billyray had decided that to eliminate “IT,” to go back to his comfortable existence of no emotion.  He had to, therefore, snuff out the lives of these men.  However, HATE had grown sufficiently in Billyray’s soul that merely ending their presence on this planet wasn’t enough.  He wanted to make them pay for this thing growing inside him.  He had a plan for that too.

Billyray looked out the window at the crushed hulks that had included the car he had driven there.  He wanted a couple of more cars put on the flatbed tailer behind the one he had brought in on the far off chance that one of the cops thought that a crushed car might have had something to do with the murder.  If they did, they would most likely look at the last one in line, maybe two.  He couldn’t see them looking three cars back.

Billyray now removed a clean set of clothing from the trash bag he had taken out of the car and and after wiping himself down with a set of wipes that he had also had the forethought of bringing, he donned his new clothes.  He put the bloody overall’s and his old clothes into the bag.  After one last look around, he walked out and headed for the field behind the center, still carrying the bag.  It would be light soon and he had no time to lose.

The killer walked a little over a mile before reaching a seedy apartment complex and the parked car he had left there.  He opened it and was soon back on the interstate.  By mid morning, he’d gotten off the highway in a suburb of another large city.  He cruised the neighborhoods until finding what he was looking for, a garbage truck trundling through a subdivision collecting garbage.  He threw the plastic bag full of bloody clothes into the open back of it and proceeded on to the city itself.  He had one more person to see and his day’s work would be done.  It had been a good day and he reckoned that within a few months, he would be exactly where he wanted to be.