Tuesday, May 13, 2014
SIX YEARS LATER (PART 12)
It had been nearly six years since the brutal murders that had terrorized eastern Wisconsin in June of 2008. The small village of Fredonia had gained not only notoriety within the state, but within the nation as well. The State found funding to increase the police presence in the village. And William Donaldson had been promoted to sergeant. All this attention would have normally made him proud. But under the circumstances, he was anything but. In the past six years Fredonia had become something of a macabre tourist destination. Curious true crime fans would come to visit, seeking out the locations of the Buster Koons crime scenes. More than a few real life crime-type television shows had come to film dramatizations about the events. There were even whisperings that a big-time Hollywood director was making inquiries about filming a big budget biopic about it. In Donaldson’s view, village president Charles Lapham was too quick to cash in on any moneymaking deal he could get – especially since he considered the whole Buster Koons saga as giving Fredonia a black eye. Sure the extra revenue for the village was nice. But at what cost? He often wondered if he was truly irritated at the president for profiting on the carnage. Or was he more irritated because the crimes had never been solved?
It was something he wrestled with every single day.
10-12 murders had been attributed to Buster Koons. The discrepancy laid with Rob and Heather, the young couple on the Fredonia railroad tracks. The official cause of death had been labeled an accident. But the toxicology reports had come back negative. There was no evidence pointing toward suicide. And most people (including Donaldson) found it hard to believe that both of them could have fallen in front of an oncoming train, or had fallen asleep on the tracks and not woken up in to the screaming sound of a locomotive. But based on any evidence to the contrary, an accident it was. No one believed it though.
Gary Grassman had never showed up in Fredonia. Or had he? Is it a coincidence that shortly after his alleged arrival the killings stopped? For awhile Donaldson surmised that maybe Grassman was Buster Koons himself. But investigations proved that Grassman was in Florida during the murders in Fredonia and Manitowoc. While flight records show that Grassman did in fact board a flight from Orlando to Milwaukee on June 19, 2008. But his whereabouts from that day forward remain a mystery. There were a few witnesses on Washington Island who stepped forward and claimed to have seen Grassman on the Island the day of the murders. But the reports were sketchy at best. And there was never any sufficient proof that he was there. Still the mystery remains. Why did the Buster Koons murder spree suddenly come to an end? And where was Gary Grassman? Was he somehow involved in ending it?
The questions from that horrible time weighed heavily on Donaldson’s mind. Some days were worse than others. Tuesday May 13, 2014 was one of the worst days. Because at 4:30 that afternoon he received the call he hoped he’d never receive again. It was Officer Peterson. “Sergeant, Buster Koons has returned.”
Sunday, June 27, 2010
MISSING IN ACTION (PART 11)
SATURDAY JUNE 21ST, 2008
William Donaldson's desk was strewn with newspapers, documents and coffee cups. It had been just over a week since the discovery of the Bonk's in Waubedonia Park. The stress of the entire situation was beginning to take its toll on him. The severe lack of sleep wasn't helping either.
Gary Grassman was supposed to have arrived in town on Thursday. But 48 hours after his promised noon arrival, there had been no sight of him. Donaldson had been constantly trying to reach Grassman at his Florida home to no avail. He'd even gone so far as to have the local Palm Bay Police Department drop by the home to see if he was there. In spite of repeated attempts, Grassman was never spotted. Based on the unusual tail end of their phone call he began to worry that maybe something had happened to Gary as well. Who is Buster Koons? How does Gary know him? And what does it all have to do with these murders? Was Buster Koons the killer? Had Gary arrived, only to become yet another one of Buster's victims? The lack of information was driving him nuts.
Donaldson had spent a good deal of time on Friday trying to track down Old Pete to see if the crazy old man could provide any decent information to him. After all, it was Pete who had first uttered the name "Buster Koons." Surely he must know something. But what? In spite of his best efforts, no trace of Pete could be found. Yet Pete was always around Fritz's - except now. Donaldson wondered if Pete could possibly be a victim as well. It was all overwhelming.
As he set down the cup holding the cold coffee he'd just ingested, the door to the station pushed open. In walked Officer Robert Teske of the Wisconsin State Police.
"Good morning Bill."
"Hey Bob... What's good about it?"
"Well the sun is shining. I just had a wonderful breakfast down at the Fredonia Family Restaurant. And the O's took it to the Brewers last night."
Teske had grown up in Laurel, Maryland - a suburb just outside of Baltimore. Since the Brewers had moved to the National League a decade earlier, his hometown Orioles didn't visit Milwaukee's Miller Park. But the Interleague schedule was taking place right now, allowing a rare opportunity for Teske to see his favorite team come to town. Unfortunately for him, although he had tickets to all three games that weekend, his prospects of attending had vanished thanks to the murders in Fredonia and Manitowoc.
"Yeah I caught some of the game on TV. Did you see the bomb that Fielder hit though? I'm telling you. With a little luck, they could get the wildcard this year."
"The Brewers in the playoffs? Keep dreaming Bill," chuckled Teske.
The two officers continued to engage in small talk for a few minutes when their conversation was interrupted by another officer running through the door. It was Officer Nora Peterson, Teske's younger partner.
"It's just coming across the radio now," blurted Peterson. "Three bodies found dead up on Washington Island. One was hacked up and stuck to a tree - naked as a jaybird. The other two were tossed off a tower. Could be a suicide... the two tower bodies, not the girl stuck to the tree."
"Woah, woah, woah, slow down there missy," said Teske in a calming voice. "Yer speakin' so fast I can't make a lick of sense of what you're saying. Tower??? What tower? And stuck to a tree? What do you mean she was "stuck" to a tree? Naked?"
Donaldson pushed his way past the other two officers, working his way to the waiting room where a small TV was set to channel 4 out of Milwaukee. His mind was somewhat in a fog as he listened to the breaking news story about three unidentified bodies being discovered on Washington Island. As the newscaster rattled off the phrase "stuck to a tree" the words repeated themselves in Donaldson's mind over and over again until in a fit if rage he screamed, "WHERE THE FUCK IS GRASSMAN???"
William Donaldson's desk was strewn with newspapers, documents and coffee cups. It had been just over a week since the discovery of the Bonk's in Waubedonia Park. The stress of the entire situation was beginning to take its toll on him. The severe lack of sleep wasn't helping either.
Gary Grassman was supposed to have arrived in town on Thursday. But 48 hours after his promised noon arrival, there had been no sight of him. Donaldson had been constantly trying to reach Grassman at his Florida home to no avail. He'd even gone so far as to have the local Palm Bay Police Department drop by the home to see if he was there. In spite of repeated attempts, Grassman was never spotted. Based on the unusual tail end of their phone call he began to worry that maybe something had happened to Gary as well. Who is Buster Koons? How does Gary know him? And what does it all have to do with these murders? Was Buster Koons the killer? Had Gary arrived, only to become yet another one of Buster's victims? The lack of information was driving him nuts.
Donaldson had spent a good deal of time on Friday trying to track down Old Pete to see if the crazy old man could provide any decent information to him. After all, it was Pete who had first uttered the name "Buster Koons." Surely he must know something. But what? In spite of his best efforts, no trace of Pete could be found. Yet Pete was always around Fritz's - except now. Donaldson wondered if Pete could possibly be a victim as well. It was all overwhelming.
As he set down the cup holding the cold coffee he'd just ingested, the door to the station pushed open. In walked Officer Robert Teske of the Wisconsin State Police.
"Good morning Bill."
"Hey Bob... What's good about it?"
"Well the sun is shining. I just had a wonderful breakfast down at the Fredonia Family Restaurant. And the O's took it to the Brewers last night."
Teske had grown up in Laurel, Maryland - a suburb just outside of Baltimore. Since the Brewers had moved to the National League a decade earlier, his hometown Orioles didn't visit Milwaukee's Miller Park. But the Interleague schedule was taking place right now, allowing a rare opportunity for Teske to see his favorite team come to town. Unfortunately for him, although he had tickets to all three games that weekend, his prospects of attending had vanished thanks to the murders in Fredonia and Manitowoc.
"Yeah I caught some of the game on TV. Did you see the bomb that Fielder hit though? I'm telling you. With a little luck, they could get the wildcard this year."
"The Brewers in the playoffs? Keep dreaming Bill," chuckled Teske.
The two officers continued to engage in small talk for a few minutes when their conversation was interrupted by another officer running through the door. It was Officer Nora Peterson, Teske's younger partner.
"It's just coming across the radio now," blurted Peterson. "Three bodies found dead up on Washington Island. One was hacked up and stuck to a tree - naked as a jaybird. The other two were tossed off a tower. Could be a suicide... the two tower bodies, not the girl stuck to the tree."
"Woah, woah, woah, slow down there missy," said Teske in a calming voice. "Yer speakin' so fast I can't make a lick of sense of what you're saying. Tower??? What tower? And stuck to a tree? What do you mean she was "stuck" to a tree? Naked?"
Donaldson pushed his way past the other two officers, working his way to the waiting room where a small TV was set to channel 4 out of Milwaukee. His mind was somewhat in a fog as he listened to the breaking news story about three unidentified bodies being discovered on Washington Island. As the newscaster rattled off the phrase "stuck to a tree" the words repeated themselves in Donaldson's mind over and over again until in a fit if rage he screamed, "WHERE THE FUCK IS GRASSMAN???"
Friday, June 27, 2008
183 STEPS TO DEATH (PART 10)
Later on that evening, two recent graduates from Washington Island High School, Trevor Austin and Leah Nelson pulled into Moutain Wayside Park in the middle of the island. In the daytime the park was occasionally frequented by island tourists. The lone highlight of the park was a giant tower on the top of a hill which provided a great view to the north and west, over the water, including a view of nearby Rock Island.
At the bottom of the hill stood a long set of wooden steps leading to the top. About halfway up, even the most in-shape people would begin to get winded. There were no other cars around. So assuming they'd have privacy, they headed up the 119 steps.
It was an especially muggy night. And by the time they reached the top, each of them had a layer of sweat beginning to appear on their brow. Trevor put his hands on his hips and let out an exhausted "whew," then extended his right hand to help the long-haired beauty up the top step. The two of them then walked up the dirt incline which wound around and ended at the bottom of the tower.
It was extremely dark and the two of them struggled to find their footing. All the while they waved blindly at their heads as the numerous mosquitos buzzed their ears.
"These bugs are driving me nuts" Leah complained.
"I know. But they shouldn't be too bad at the top" answered Trevor.
Still out of breath, but anxious to keep moving to fend off the bugs, the young couple started up the remaining 64 steps to the top of the lookout tower. Eight steps, a platform, two left turns, then another eight steps to the next platform. They repeated this process four times until they had finally reached the top. Having been up here many times in the daylight they knew there was a great view in front of them. But the darkness hid most of it from their eyes. Off in the distance they could still see the moonlight cascading off the water. They held hands, briefly kissed, then sat down on the solitary wooden bench.
They sat there for awhile talking about their future. The two of them had met when Trevor's family had moved to the island for his sophomore year. They had been smitten with each other from practically the first time they'd met. They'd both recently turned 18. And they planned to get an apartment together in Green Bay later that summer, as Leah was set to attend UW Green Bay in the fall. In spite of Leah's urging, Trevor had no interest in college and had grandiose plans of starting his own contracting business. Privately Leah worried that their relationship would suffer. Trevor had similar worries that Leah would be tempted by other male students she'd undoubtedly meet. Nonetheless, they were excited about what the future would hold for them.
64 steps below, Buster Koons happened upon the scene. He was far enough below that Trevor and Leah initially never heard him. Koons made no effort at stealth. He stomped on each step, his massive frame shaking the boards with every step. By the time he'd made it halfway to the first platform, Leah whispered, "Someone's coming." Both of them went silent as Trevor confirmed it for himself. Leah found it a little creepy. But they were up there. So there was nothing really unusual about someone else coming up as well.
A minute later Koons stood at the bottom of the last eight steps. He made his way to the top. At the top step Leah called out a friendly, "Hello." Koons turned toward her. And with a thrust of his left hand, Leah saw a flash in front of her face as Koons' fist smashed into her nose, instantly breaking it.
Trevor jumped up to step in front of Leah. He took a swing at the monster's chest. But Koons barely twitched at the touch. Instead he reached out with both arms and heaved Trevor into the air over his head. Trevor screamed in fear but was unable to extract himself from Koons' clutches. Koons moved to the back of the tower, and with a simple flick of his wrists tossed Trevor over the side. A moment later Trevor landed with a sickening thud onto the picnic table below.
Leah had fallen over onto the wooden bench and was clueless as to the fate that had already befell her boyfriend. Her mind was so dazed that she barely was aware of the arm that reached out and pulled her up by her hair. He stood her up, grabbed each arm, and yanked them around her back until the bones snapped. Leah screamed in agony and fell to her knees. Koons once again grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the side. Reaching down he hoisted her in the air and gently set her over the side.
Leah dangled in the air, kicking her legs while Koons held onto her by her hair. Her arms hung limp at her side, unable to function due to the many breaks. Koons reached out further, holding her like a yo-yo. Leah began pleading for her life, "Don't drop me. Don't drop me. Please don't drop me." Koons started to swing her by her hair. Petrified, Leah yelled in vain. After a few swings, Koons calmly let go. With a final "Noooooooo" Leah dropped to the ground, instantly ending her life as her body burrowed into the ground only a few feet from Trevor.
Koons circled his way down the tower's steps, reached the bottom, and viewed the bodies he'd tossed from above, seeming to admire his handiwork. After a few moments Koons walked past the picnic table and headed back into the woods, following a small foot path.
At the bottom of the hill stood a long set of wooden steps leading to the top. About halfway up, even the most in-shape people would begin to get winded. There were no other cars around. So assuming they'd have privacy, they headed up the 119 steps.
It was an especially muggy night. And by the time they reached the top, each of them had a layer of sweat beginning to appear on their brow. Trevor put his hands on his hips and let out an exhausted "whew," then extended his right hand to help the long-haired beauty up the top step. The two of them then walked up the dirt incline which wound around and ended at the bottom of the tower.
It was extremely dark and the two of them struggled to find their footing. All the while they waved blindly at their heads as the numerous mosquitos buzzed their ears.
"These bugs are driving me nuts" Leah complained.
"I know. But they shouldn't be too bad at the top" answered Trevor.
Still out of breath, but anxious to keep moving to fend off the bugs, the young couple started up the remaining 64 steps to the top of the lookout tower. Eight steps, a platform, two left turns, then another eight steps to the next platform. They repeated this process four times until they had finally reached the top. Having been up here many times in the daylight they knew there was a great view in front of them. But the darkness hid most of it from their eyes. Off in the distance they could still see the moonlight cascading off the water. They held hands, briefly kissed, then sat down on the solitary wooden bench.
They sat there for awhile talking about their future. The two of them had met when Trevor's family had moved to the island for his sophomore year. They had been smitten with each other from practically the first time they'd met. They'd both recently turned 18. And they planned to get an apartment together in Green Bay later that summer, as Leah was set to attend UW Green Bay in the fall. In spite of Leah's urging, Trevor had no interest in college and had grandiose plans of starting his own contracting business. Privately Leah worried that their relationship would suffer. Trevor had similar worries that Leah would be tempted by other male students she'd undoubtedly meet. Nonetheless, they were excited about what the future would hold for them.
64 steps below, Buster Koons happened upon the scene. He was far enough below that Trevor and Leah initially never heard him. Koons made no effort at stealth. He stomped on each step, his massive frame shaking the boards with every step. By the time he'd made it halfway to the first platform, Leah whispered, "Someone's coming." Both of them went silent as Trevor confirmed it for himself. Leah found it a little creepy. But they were up there. So there was nothing really unusual about someone else coming up as well.
A minute later Koons stood at the bottom of the last eight steps. He made his way to the top. At the top step Leah called out a friendly, "Hello." Koons turned toward her. And with a thrust of his left hand, Leah saw a flash in front of her face as Koons' fist smashed into her nose, instantly breaking it.
Trevor jumped up to step in front of Leah. He took a swing at the monster's chest. But Koons barely twitched at the touch. Instead he reached out with both arms and heaved Trevor into the air over his head. Trevor screamed in fear but was unable to extract himself from Koons' clutches. Koons moved to the back of the tower, and with a simple flick of his wrists tossed Trevor over the side. A moment later Trevor landed with a sickening thud onto the picnic table below.
Leah had fallen over onto the wooden bench and was clueless as to the fate that had already befell her boyfriend. Her mind was so dazed that she barely was aware of the arm that reached out and pulled her up by her hair. He stood her up, grabbed each arm, and yanked them around her back until the bones snapped. Leah screamed in agony and fell to her knees. Koons once again grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the side. Reaching down he hoisted her in the air and gently set her over the side.
Leah dangled in the air, kicking her legs while Koons held onto her by her hair. Her arms hung limp at her side, unable to function due to the many breaks. Koons reached out further, holding her like a yo-yo. Leah began pleading for her life, "Don't drop me. Don't drop me. Please don't drop me." Koons started to swing her by her hair. Petrified, Leah yelled in vain. After a few swings, Koons calmly let go. With a final "Noooooooo" Leah dropped to the ground, instantly ending her life as her body burrowed into the ground only a few feet from Trevor.
Koons circled his way down the tower's steps, reached the bottom, and viewed the bodies he'd tossed from above, seeming to admire his handiwork. After a few moments Koons walked past the picnic table and headed back into the woods, following a small foot path.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
MURDER ON WASHINGTON ISLAND (PART 9)
On the northern tip of the "thumb" of Wisconsin stood the small community of Washington Island. As the name suggests, it is in fact an island. The only way to reach it is to travel seven miles by ferry boat from the unincorporated community of Northport. The island itself boasts a year-round population of less than 700. In the summertime it can swell to over 2000 however, as people come to their summer homes. Tourism represents a large portion of the island's economy.
NORTHPORT FERRY DOCK WEBCAM
No one is sure how Buster Koons managed to get to Washington Island. But three days after the carnage he created in Manitowoc, he was there. He may have arrived a day earlier. Again, nobody knows. But what we do know is that this quiet little community where nothing bad ever happens faced a weekend they would never forget.
________________________________________________________
Tiffany Lucas was majoring in Communication Processes at UW Green Bay. She had aspirations to become a photographer. Taking pictures of nature was her favorite thing in the world. She loved the outdoors. Her twin sister Amber shared her passion. The two of them lived together in Sturgeon Bay and had planned to spend the weekend on Washington Island. But at the last minute, Amber got called into work. So Tiffany went up by herself on Friday afternoon. Amber wouldn't be able to make the last ferry which left Northport at 9:30 PM. So she planned to take the first boat out on Saturday morning.
With her sister stuck with going to work, Tiffany was able to get an earlier start than planned. She took an earlier ferry and arrived in Washington Island's Detroit Harbor around noon. She checked in at the Dor Cros Inn, threw her bags on the bed and headed back out - camera in hand. While most of the rest of the world had gone digital, Tiffany still preferred her 10-year-old trusty professional Canon EOS 630 - with real film.
Tiffany spent the next hour driving around the island, stopping periodically to take a few pictures. She even caught sight of a deer at one point. Garter snakes were also quite common. But she also enjoyed the trees and the various scenery that the quiet island provided.
While driving north on Deer Lane Road, she spotted what looked to be an old dirt driveway to the left. There was a tire path made into the grass. Although it appeared as if no cars were making regular appearances. She stopped and pulled over. To the south of the driveway was an address sign. So she wondered if in fact there was a property. Wanting to investigate, she turned in and drove a ways onto the land.
She hadn't driven more than 30 yards when the path became far too bumpy and treacherous. Rather than risk getting stuck, she ventured out and walked further, leaving her Suv parked on the path, under the clearing of some trees.
After another hundred yards, the woods opened up into a giant clearing. And the sun shone through as if finally allowed to breathe after being choked by the forest. To her right she spied what appeared to be a large abandoned cabin. The cabin was made up of full-length screened windows all the way around. It offered very little in the way of privacy. Some of the screens were ripped away. And the front door was clearly open. It looked like no one had been there in a couple of years. In front of it was a tree that appeared to be growing out of a large rock formation. Onviously this was something she needed to photograph.
For the next 20 minutes Tiffany basked in the beauty of the scene, snapping pictures by the dozens. Then looking at the tree protruding from the rock, a sly grin crossed her face. She glanced back down the path just to be sure there was no one approaching. The path was the only way in, as the forest around her was thick and devoid of any legitimate walking areas. So she felt confident of her isolation.
Tiffany set the camera on a nearby rock and focused in on the tree. She kicked off her flip-flops then quickly slipped the straps of her dress over her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Sliding off her panties she then stood in the sun completely nude. She set the camera's timer then jumped onto the rock, swinging on the tree as if it were a stripper's pole. She stopped, posed, then smiled as the camera snapped. She repeated this several times with various poses.
After running back to the tree once again, she positioned herself behind it, wrapping both arms and legs around the tree, making sure that the camera wouldn't be able to catch any "naughty" parts of her this time. She had just poked her head around the corner and smiled while waiting for the snap, when she suddenly choked on her own blood as a machete was thrust into her back. She let out one blood-choked gurgle before her appendages went limp. Yet she didn't fall. The force of the machete was so strong that it had gone completely through her and had embedded itself into the tree. Blood trickled down her stomach and legs and formed a little pool on the rock as Buster Koons calmly strolled away - into the woods.
NORTHPORT FERRY DOCK WEBCAM
No one is sure how Buster Koons managed to get to Washington Island. But three days after the carnage he created in Manitowoc, he was there. He may have arrived a day earlier. Again, nobody knows. But what we do know is that this quiet little community where nothing bad ever happens faced a weekend they would never forget.
________________________________________________________
Tiffany Lucas was majoring in Communication Processes at UW Green Bay. She had aspirations to become a photographer. Taking pictures of nature was her favorite thing in the world. She loved the outdoors. Her twin sister Amber shared her passion. The two of them lived together in Sturgeon Bay and had planned to spend the weekend on Washington Island. But at the last minute, Amber got called into work. So Tiffany went up by herself on Friday afternoon. Amber wouldn't be able to make the last ferry which left Northport at 9:30 PM. So she planned to take the first boat out on Saturday morning.
With her sister stuck with going to work, Tiffany was able to get an earlier start than planned. She took an earlier ferry and arrived in Washington Island's Detroit Harbor around noon. She checked in at the Dor Cros Inn, threw her bags on the bed and headed back out - camera in hand. While most of the rest of the world had gone digital, Tiffany still preferred her 10-year-old trusty professional Canon EOS 630 - with real film.
Tiffany spent the next hour driving around the island, stopping periodically to take a few pictures. She even caught sight of a deer at one point. Garter snakes were also quite common. But she also enjoyed the trees and the various scenery that the quiet island provided.
While driving north on Deer Lane Road, she spotted what looked to be an old dirt driveway to the left. There was a tire path made into the grass. Although it appeared as if no cars were making regular appearances. She stopped and pulled over. To the south of the driveway was an address sign. So she wondered if in fact there was a property. Wanting to investigate, she turned in and drove a ways onto the land.
She hadn't driven more than 30 yards when the path became far too bumpy and treacherous. Rather than risk getting stuck, she ventured out and walked further, leaving her Suv parked on the path, under the clearing of some trees.
After another hundred yards, the woods opened up into a giant clearing. And the sun shone through as if finally allowed to breathe after being choked by the forest. To her right she spied what appeared to be a large abandoned cabin. The cabin was made up of full-length screened windows all the way around. It offered very little in the way of privacy. Some of the screens were ripped away. And the front door was clearly open. It looked like no one had been there in a couple of years. In front of it was a tree that appeared to be growing out of a large rock formation. Onviously this was something she needed to photograph.
For the next 20 minutes Tiffany basked in the beauty of the scene, snapping pictures by the dozens. Then looking at the tree protruding from the rock, a sly grin crossed her face. She glanced back down the path just to be sure there was no one approaching. The path was the only way in, as the forest around her was thick and devoid of any legitimate walking areas. So she felt confident of her isolation.
Tiffany set the camera on a nearby rock and focused in on the tree. She kicked off her flip-flops then quickly slipped the straps of her dress over her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Sliding off her panties she then stood in the sun completely nude. She set the camera's timer then jumped onto the rock, swinging on the tree as if it were a stripper's pole. She stopped, posed, then smiled as the camera snapped. She repeated this several times with various poses.
After running back to the tree once again, she positioned herself behind it, wrapping both arms and legs around the tree, making sure that the camera wouldn't be able to catch any "naughty" parts of her this time. She had just poked her head around the corner and smiled while waiting for the snap, when she suddenly choked on her own blood as a machete was thrust into her back. She let out one blood-choked gurgle before her appendages went limp. Yet she didn't fall. The force of the machete was so strong that it had gone completely through her and had embedded itself into the tree. Blood trickled down her stomach and legs and formed a little pool on the rock as Buster Koons calmly strolled away - into the woods.
WISCONSIN SERIAL KILLER (PART 8)
No sooner had Officer Donaldson stood up at his desk when the phone rang. He answered it and had a chilling phone conversation with Police Sergeant Thomas Brey of Manitowoc. Brey told a chilling tale of five murders the night before which had paralyzed his town. Neither one was willing to concede to an absolute connection. But the gruesomeness of the series of crimes certainly led the two of them to speculate on the possibility. They were sure the press would no doubt speculate as well. But they couldn't announce a connection without sufficient proof. And thus far, neither of them had any leads at all.
Donaldson sat back down and tried to reach Gary Grassman again. But the phone just rang and rang.
Donaldson sat back down and tried to reach Gary Grassman again. But the phone just rang and rang.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
OFFICER DONALDSON'S DILEMMA (PART 7)
Back in Fredonia Officer Doanldson cursed in frustration. Fredonia was his home. He was born and raised there. These days he was the only police officer in the small town. He had a gruesome double homicide on his hands - something that was absolutely unheard of in his home town. And after nearly a week, he still had no leads. There were no suspects, no witnesses, virtually no evidence, no nothing. To say that Donaldson was frustrated would be an understatement. The local residents as well as the Milwaukee news media were pressuring him for results. Yet even with the state's top investigative minds working the case with him, they'd come up with nothing. The case was in serious danger of growing cold while it was still fresh.
While pouring over the crime scene photos looking for something - anything that might shed some light on the perpetrator responsible, his mind suddenly flashed back to the words of Old Pete. "Find Richard Grassman's son. He's the only one that can stop the plague of murder."
"What the hell does that mean?" he wondered out loud.
Richard Grassman had run the Grassman Meat Company in Fredonia for 50 years. It was a family-owned business started by his grandfather in the 1800's. Grassman had shut down the factory in the early-1980's shortly after his 70th birthday. There was a belief that he'd always wanted his only son Gary to take over. But Gary had never shown any interest in the business. So when Richard's health took a toll on the business, he opted to simply close up shop. Last he heard, Grassman had moved to Florida to retire. Gary had lived in nearby Port Washington for several years. But when his parents moved to Florida, Gary followed suit.
Donaldson pulled up 411.COM on his computer and put the name "Grassman" in the search engine for Florida. 35 listings popped up. Sure enough, there was Gary Grassman with a listed number in Palm Bay, Florida. Not sure exactly what he was going to say, Donaldson picked up the phone and dialed the number.
GARY: "Hello?"
DOANLDSON: "Hello... Gary Grassman?"
GARY: "Yes?"
DONALDSON: "This is officer William Donaldson from the Fredonia Police Department."
GARY: "Fredonia, Wisconsin?"
DONALDSON: "Yes sir. I was actually in grade school when your father closed up shop."
GARY: "That was 1981. My father passed away 12 years ago."
DONALDSON: "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know."
GARY: "Thank you. So anyway, not to beat around the bush here, but I'm guessing this isn't just a social call?"
DONALDSON: "Well no it isn't. Unfortunately we've had a horrible situation happen here. A few weeks back we actually had a double homicide."
GARY: "Oh my God... in Fredonia?"
DONALDSON: "Yes. It was particularly brutal. The Milwaukee press is all over me too. We've got a dozen people working this case and have thus far come up with nothing."
GARY: "Can I ask why you're calling me? I haven't been back to Wisconsin since my aunt's funeral back in the mid-1990's."
DONALDSON: "Well... this is going to sound odd. But do you remember Pete Maxwell?"
GARY: "Old Pete?"
DONALDSON: "Yeah yeah, Old Pete. I'm not sure he has all his marbles these days. But a few days after the murders I found him running up and down Fredonia Avenue yelling incoherently. When I stopped him, he babbled something about finding you and that you were the only one who can help. I know this sounds crazy but do you have..."
GARY: "Stop. Did he mention the name Buster Koons?"
DONALDSON: "Yes! Not to me. But I did hear him screaming that name as I drove up. Do you know what that means?"
Gary paused for several seconds before finally uttering, "Officer Donaldson, I'm taking the first flight out of Orlando in the morning. I'll be in Milwaukee by noon. Officer, listen to me closely. You've got a big problem on your hands. God help us all."
Officer Donaldson sat there stunned as he listened to the click of Gary hanging up the phone. An overwhelming sense of fear crept over his body. He didn't know what to think. But he knew that he was suddenly frightened.
While pouring over the crime scene photos looking for something - anything that might shed some light on the perpetrator responsible, his mind suddenly flashed back to the words of Old Pete. "Find Richard Grassman's son. He's the only one that can stop the plague of murder."
"What the hell does that mean?" he wondered out loud.
Richard Grassman had run the Grassman Meat Company in Fredonia for 50 years. It was a family-owned business started by his grandfather in the 1800's. Grassman had shut down the factory in the early-1980's shortly after his 70th birthday. There was a belief that he'd always wanted his only son Gary to take over. But Gary had never shown any interest in the business. So when Richard's health took a toll on the business, he opted to simply close up shop. Last he heard, Grassman had moved to Florida to retire. Gary had lived in nearby Port Washington for several years. But when his parents moved to Florida, Gary followed suit.
Donaldson pulled up 411.COM on his computer and put the name "Grassman" in the search engine for Florida. 35 listings popped up. Sure enough, there was Gary Grassman with a listed number in Palm Bay, Florida. Not sure exactly what he was going to say, Donaldson picked up the phone and dialed the number.
GARY: "Hello?"
DOANLDSON: "Hello... Gary Grassman?"
GARY: "Yes?"
DONALDSON: "This is officer William Donaldson from the Fredonia Police Department."
GARY: "Fredonia, Wisconsin?"
DONALDSON: "Yes sir. I was actually in grade school when your father closed up shop."
GARY: "That was 1981. My father passed away 12 years ago."
DONALDSON: "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know."
GARY: "Thank you. So anyway, not to beat around the bush here, but I'm guessing this isn't just a social call?"
DONALDSON: "Well no it isn't. Unfortunately we've had a horrible situation happen here. A few weeks back we actually had a double homicide."
GARY: "Oh my God... in Fredonia?"
DONALDSON: "Yes. It was particularly brutal. The Milwaukee press is all over me too. We've got a dozen people working this case and have thus far come up with nothing."
GARY: "Can I ask why you're calling me? I haven't been back to Wisconsin since my aunt's funeral back in the mid-1990's."
DONALDSON: "Well... this is going to sound odd. But do you remember Pete Maxwell?"
GARY: "Old Pete?"
DONALDSON: "Yeah yeah, Old Pete. I'm not sure he has all his marbles these days. But a few days after the murders I found him running up and down Fredonia Avenue yelling incoherently. When I stopped him, he babbled something about finding you and that you were the only one who can help. I know this sounds crazy but do you have..."
GARY: "Stop. Did he mention the name Buster Koons?"
DONALDSON: "Yes! Not to me. But I did hear him screaming that name as I drove up. Do you know what that means?"
Gary paused for several seconds before finally uttering, "Officer Donaldson, I'm taking the first flight out of Orlando in the morning. I'll be in Milwaukee by noon. Officer, listen to me closely. You've got a big problem on your hands. God help us all."
Officer Donaldson sat there stunned as he listened to the click of Gary hanging up the phone. An overwhelming sense of fear crept over his body. He didn't know what to think. But he knew that he was suddenly frightened.
MANITOWOC REVISITED (PART 6)
When Buster Koons reached the set of railroad tracks at the top of the embankment, he turned and began to follow the tracks to the east. A minute later he found himself crossing over the river on the railroad bridge.
Half a mile away to the northeast, three young teens were peddling their bikes through the darkness that was Evergreen Cemetery. They made their way to the southwest corner and abandoned their bikes near a bench.
"The path is around here somewhere." said Tommy.
"I can't see shit. It's too dark." Caden replied.
The boys had come to the cemetery with the plan of smoking pot. None of them had ever tried it before. But Tommy had found some in his older brother's car and had pilfered it.
"Hey, I think I found it!" yelled Terry.
"Will you be quiet," hushed Tommy. "Now let's go."
Within the trees and the bushes hid a steep path which wound down a hill that had been overgrown with brush. Even in broad daylight it was hard to find. The footing was terrible. Tree roots sprung from the ground to form makeshift steps. And at one point a small fallen tree blocked their path. Nonetheless the boys continued on undaunted in spite of the treacherous footing made even worse by the darkness.
When they reached the bottom they had to cross a small dip in the ground to land on the other side where an old set of railroad tracks were laid. To their left was an old railroad bridge which spanned over some other tracks several feet below. To their right the tracks continued. Although it was clear that no train had been on the tracks in quite awhile, as weeds had covered up portions of it.
The three teens took a seat on the tracks. Tommy reached into the right pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small baggie. In it were four rolled-up marijuana joints. None of the boys had ever even smoked cigarettes before. So they had difficulties not only inhaling, but even lighting it. The three of them bickered like the Three Stooges, each one having no clue what to do. Finally Caden was able to get the joint to stay lit. He took a puff, then immediately began coughing and hacking. The other two started laughing at him as Tommy reached out to grab the joint from his flailing hand.
Terry had no luck either. One puff from him and he too began to cough out of control. As he hacked up a lung, he passed the joint to Caden. Caden immediately took a drag and tried his best not to cough himself. His cheeks puffed out as he attempted to hold back. But he too was incapable of holding in the smoke. The three of them continued to hack and cough. Within moments of their first use of drugs, all three of them had no desire to ever have a second use.
"I'm done" Tommy announced.
"Me too," both Caden and Terry announced in unison.
Tommy made sure the joint was extinguished before putting it back in the baggie and sealing it up. As he did that, Caden and Terry walked over to the giant concrete "steps" that led down from the railroad bridge to the train tracks below. The steps were covered with brush as well. But the two boys made it down safely with Tommy close behind.
At the bottom the boys found more railroad tracks. To their right and off to the west, the tracks led to another railroad bridge. This one crossed over the Manitowoc River. With little discussion, the tree teens headed off towards the bridge.
As they reached the bridge they found themselves on the right side, carefully walking on the old planks that appeared as if they could fall away at any point. Of course even if they did fall, it was only a 10-foot drop into the water. But getting wet certainly wasn't in their plans.
Clearly the trio had been to the graffiti-covered bridge before. Halfway across they crossed to the left side of the bridge and jumped down to a large crawlspace that held the pillars of the bridge. The boys then sat there, dangling their legs off the side. In the daytime this crawlspace often served as an ideal spot for fishermen. It was also a location where one could literally have their head inches below a moving train.
Sure enough, they felt a low rumble in the distance. Poking their heads up they saw the distant light of a train engine headed right towards them. Moments later they felt a shift as the train first found its way onto the bridge. Their whole platform started to shake along with the rest of the bridge. The boys laughed as the sound of the approaching locomotive became deafening.
A set of fireworks could have gone off at that point without any of the boys hearing it, due to the pounding of the train on the bridge. So they never heard the mountain of a man who suddenly leaped off one of the train cars, landing on the fishing platform a few feet behind the boys. Buster Koons, still bloodied from the teenage couple he'd killed a few minutes earlier now stepped towards the boys.
The three teens were kneeling in the crawlspace, daring each other as to which one of them could move their head closest to the moving train. Koons reached out with both arms, grabbed Terry and Caden by the backs of their shirts, then hoisted them upwards into the path of the train. Like fresh meat in a food processor, as the boys heads went upward, the train sliced into them, grinding away until the heads were all but disintigrated in a mass of blood, tissue and brain matter. Tommy had been rolled over and had fallen into the water below. He splashed away as his friends were being torn apart a few feet above him.
When he'd finished with Terry and Caden, Koons let the bodies fall. Terry flopped onto the crawlspace while Caden landed in the water a few feet from the splashing Tommy. Koons jumped in he water landing in front of Tommy. He held Tommy by his shirt and pulled him under the water. Tommy's arms and legs flailed under the water. When he'd just about reached his breaking point, Koons pulled him up. Tommy coughed and spit out some water. Koons calmly pulled Tommy's face close to his. Tommy stared in fear and pleaded, "What do you want?" Koons just stared at him inquisitively. "What do you want?" he asked again. Then Tommy's eyes grew wider as he felt his body being pulled under again. Koons slowly pushed Tommy's mouth and nose under the water, then moved down to look at him eye to eye. Tommy was incapable of moving a muscle, being held in place by the enormous strength of Buster Koons. His head fidgeted slightly as he struggled to push his nose or mouth above water. But it was to no avail. After 30 seconds his body went limp and the eyes of his death stare gazed helplessly into the lifeless eyes of Buster Koons.
Half a mile away to the northeast, three young teens were peddling their bikes through the darkness that was Evergreen Cemetery. They made their way to the southwest corner and abandoned their bikes near a bench.
"The path is around here somewhere." said Tommy.
"I can't see shit. It's too dark." Caden replied.
The boys had come to the cemetery with the plan of smoking pot. None of them had ever tried it before. But Tommy had found some in his older brother's car and had pilfered it.
"Hey, I think I found it!" yelled Terry.
"Will you be quiet," hushed Tommy. "Now let's go."
Within the trees and the bushes hid a steep path which wound down a hill that had been overgrown with brush. Even in broad daylight it was hard to find. The footing was terrible. Tree roots sprung from the ground to form makeshift steps. And at one point a small fallen tree blocked their path. Nonetheless the boys continued on undaunted in spite of the treacherous footing made even worse by the darkness.
When they reached the bottom they had to cross a small dip in the ground to land on the other side where an old set of railroad tracks were laid. To their left was an old railroad bridge which spanned over some other tracks several feet below. To their right the tracks continued. Although it was clear that no train had been on the tracks in quite awhile, as weeds had covered up portions of it.
The three teens took a seat on the tracks. Tommy reached into the right pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small baggie. In it were four rolled-up marijuana joints. None of the boys had ever even smoked cigarettes before. So they had difficulties not only inhaling, but even lighting it. The three of them bickered like the Three Stooges, each one having no clue what to do. Finally Caden was able to get the joint to stay lit. He took a puff, then immediately began coughing and hacking. The other two started laughing at him as Tommy reached out to grab the joint from his flailing hand.
Terry had no luck either. One puff from him and he too began to cough out of control. As he hacked up a lung, he passed the joint to Caden. Caden immediately took a drag and tried his best not to cough himself. His cheeks puffed out as he attempted to hold back. But he too was incapable of holding in the smoke. The three of them continued to hack and cough. Within moments of their first use of drugs, all three of them had no desire to ever have a second use.
"I'm done" Tommy announced.
"Me too," both Caden and Terry announced in unison.
Tommy made sure the joint was extinguished before putting it back in the baggie and sealing it up. As he did that, Caden and Terry walked over to the giant concrete "steps" that led down from the railroad bridge to the train tracks below. The steps were covered with brush as well. But the two boys made it down safely with Tommy close behind.
At the bottom the boys found more railroad tracks. To their right and off to the west, the tracks led to another railroad bridge. This one crossed over the Manitowoc River. With little discussion, the tree teens headed off towards the bridge.
As they reached the bridge they found themselves on the right side, carefully walking on the old planks that appeared as if they could fall away at any point. Of course even if they did fall, it was only a 10-foot drop into the water. But getting wet certainly wasn't in their plans.
Clearly the trio had been to the graffiti-covered bridge before. Halfway across they crossed to the left side of the bridge and jumped down to a large crawlspace that held the pillars of the bridge. The boys then sat there, dangling their legs off the side. In the daytime this crawlspace often served as an ideal spot for fishermen. It was also a location where one could literally have their head inches below a moving train.
Sure enough, they felt a low rumble in the distance. Poking their heads up they saw the distant light of a train engine headed right towards them. Moments later they felt a shift as the train first found its way onto the bridge. Their whole platform started to shake along with the rest of the bridge. The boys laughed as the sound of the approaching locomotive became deafening.
A set of fireworks could have gone off at that point without any of the boys hearing it, due to the pounding of the train on the bridge. So they never heard the mountain of a man who suddenly leaped off one of the train cars, landing on the fishing platform a few feet behind the boys. Buster Koons, still bloodied from the teenage couple he'd killed a few minutes earlier now stepped towards the boys.
The three teens were kneeling in the crawlspace, daring each other as to which one of them could move their head closest to the moving train. Koons reached out with both arms, grabbed Terry and Caden by the backs of their shirts, then hoisted them upwards into the path of the train. Like fresh meat in a food processor, as the boys heads went upward, the train sliced into them, grinding away until the heads were all but disintigrated in a mass of blood, tissue and brain matter. Tommy had been rolled over and had fallen into the water below. He splashed away as his friends were being torn apart a few feet above him.
When he'd finished with Terry and Caden, Koons let the bodies fall. Terry flopped onto the crawlspace while Caden landed in the water a few feet from the splashing Tommy. Koons jumped in he water landing in front of Tommy. He held Tommy by his shirt and pulled him under the water. Tommy's arms and legs flailed under the water. When he'd just about reached his breaking point, Koons pulled him up. Tommy coughed and spit out some water. Koons calmly pulled Tommy's face close to his. Tommy stared in fear and pleaded, "What do you want?" Koons just stared at him inquisitively. "What do you want?" he asked again. Then Tommy's eyes grew wider as he felt his body being pulled under again. Koons slowly pushed Tommy's mouth and nose under the water, then moved down to look at him eye to eye. Tommy was incapable of moving a muscle, being held in place by the enormous strength of Buster Koons. His head fidgeted slightly as he struggled to push his nose or mouth above water. But it was to no avail. After 30 seconds his body went limp and the eyes of his death stare gazed helplessly into the lifeless eyes of Buster Koons.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
A KILLER IN MANITOWOC (PART 5)
Five days after the Fredonia killings the state of Wisconsin was still buzzing about it. The police still had no leads. 50 miles to the north, the city of Manitowoc sat on the shores of Lake Michigan. Although relatively close in proximity, the events in Fredonia really didn't have much of an impact on this city of 34,000.
It was a warm summer evening. A teenage couple, Eric Malley and Rachel Hynek were driving around town. Rachel was driving since Eric hadn't gotten his license yet. They were heading north on S. 21st Street and had just passed Holy Family Hospital when Rachel abruptly took a left turn onto Clay Pit Road. With a lecherous tone in his voice, Eric asked, "Where are you going?" Rachel just gave him a mischievous smile and kept driving.
Clay Pit Road was a dead end road smack dab in the middle of town. It ran by the mysterious Chiefs club then hugged the Manitowoc River crossing over then under some railroad tracks before coming to an end. The end of the road had a reputation of being a local makeout spot. Clearly Rachel had that very thought on her mind. Eric certainly didn't care.
There wasn't much light beyond the car's headlights once they'd passed the Chiefs club. The road got a little bumpy once the paved portion ended and the road turned to gravel.
A quarter-mile down the road, Rachel suddenly brought the car to a halt. Unfortunately for them, due to some recent heavy rains in town, the river had risen to a level which had caused some flooding on portions of the road. So the city officials had put up a temporary barricade barring vehicles from going the distance.
"Looks like the road's blocked," said Eric.
"Not to worry," Rachel replied.
And with that remark she reached around into the back seat and pulled a blanket from the floor.
"My little sister gets cold sometimes. So my parents keep this old blanket in here for her. Now let's go! I'm horny!"
Before Rachel had the entire blanket in her arms, Eric had exited the car and was working his away around the front of the car. Once Rachel was out, the two of them ducked down, passed through the barricade and began walking down the gravel road.
After a few minutes of walking, Rachel spotted a small clearing in the darkness on the left.
She threw the blanket down, spreading it out somewhat evenly over the lumpy ground. She then stood in the middle of the blanket and aggressively pulled Eric towards her until they were body to body. Eric looked down and said, "I think it's a little wet here."
"So am I," she seductively replied. She then planted her lips on his while at the same time moving her right hand over his crotch. Their breathing immediately got heavier when they became startled by the snap of a breaking twig.
"What the fuck was that?" Eric yelled.
"I don't know." said Rachel, suddenly sounding a bit worried herself. "Maybe we should just go back to the car."
As they gathered the blanket up, Eric's body suddenly stiffened. He then made a gurgling sound and started to convulse. Rachel took a step back then caught a side glimpse off Eric silouhetted in the moonlight. Protruding from Eric's chest was a massive fist. Frozen by fear, Rachel watched as the hand unclenched itself and some of Eric's entrails dropped to the ground.
An equally massive left hand then appeared from behind her boyfriend, grabbed Eric's left shoulder and pushed it away, unwedging the killer's right hand. As Eric's corpse crumpled to the ground, the killer grabbed the blanket from his hand. He then took three steps towards Rachel, who by this time had backed up into a tree. Unable to move or even scream, Rachel found herself face-to-stomach with Buster Koons.
Knowing his prey was petrified to the point of immobility, Koons slowly wrapped the blanket around her neck, winding it around several times. Koons rolled the final end of it around his own wrist. Then with minimal effort he swung his arm, lifting Rachel off the ground, and swinging her violently onto the gravel. Rachel landed with a thud and screamed in pain. But her scream was cut short as she was yanked into the air again, this time being swung back against the very tree she had been leaning again moments earlier. The tree was instantly covered with blood as Rachel's body split open. With one final pull of the blanket, Rachel's head popped off into the air, landing in a small pool of water.
Koons ventured backwards, stepping on Eric's lifeless body before spinning around and walking up a gravel and bush-covered embankment to a set of railroad tracks running east and west.
It was a warm summer evening. A teenage couple, Eric Malley and Rachel Hynek were driving around town. Rachel was driving since Eric hadn't gotten his license yet. They were heading north on S. 21st Street and had just passed Holy Family Hospital when Rachel abruptly took a left turn onto Clay Pit Road. With a lecherous tone in his voice, Eric asked, "Where are you going?" Rachel just gave him a mischievous smile and kept driving.
Clay Pit Road was a dead end road smack dab in the middle of town. It ran by the mysterious Chiefs club then hugged the Manitowoc River crossing over then under some railroad tracks before coming to an end. The end of the road had a reputation of being a local makeout spot. Clearly Rachel had that very thought on her mind. Eric certainly didn't care.
There wasn't much light beyond the car's headlights once they'd passed the Chiefs club. The road got a little bumpy once the paved portion ended and the road turned to gravel.
A quarter-mile down the road, Rachel suddenly brought the car to a halt. Unfortunately for them, due to some recent heavy rains in town, the river had risen to a level which had caused some flooding on portions of the road. So the city officials had put up a temporary barricade barring vehicles from going the distance.
"Looks like the road's blocked," said Eric.
"Not to worry," Rachel replied.
And with that remark she reached around into the back seat and pulled a blanket from the floor.
"My little sister gets cold sometimes. So my parents keep this old blanket in here for her. Now let's go! I'm horny!"
Before Rachel had the entire blanket in her arms, Eric had exited the car and was working his away around the front of the car. Once Rachel was out, the two of them ducked down, passed through the barricade and began walking down the gravel road.
After a few minutes of walking, Rachel spotted a small clearing in the darkness on the left.
She threw the blanket down, spreading it out somewhat evenly over the lumpy ground. She then stood in the middle of the blanket and aggressively pulled Eric towards her until they were body to body. Eric looked down and said, "I think it's a little wet here."
"So am I," she seductively replied. She then planted her lips on his while at the same time moving her right hand over his crotch. Their breathing immediately got heavier when they became startled by the snap of a breaking twig.
"What the fuck was that?" Eric yelled.
"I don't know." said Rachel, suddenly sounding a bit worried herself. "Maybe we should just go back to the car."
As they gathered the blanket up, Eric's body suddenly stiffened. He then made a gurgling sound and started to convulse. Rachel took a step back then caught a side glimpse off Eric silouhetted in the moonlight. Protruding from Eric's chest was a massive fist. Frozen by fear, Rachel watched as the hand unclenched itself and some of Eric's entrails dropped to the ground.
An equally massive left hand then appeared from behind her boyfriend, grabbed Eric's left shoulder and pushed it away, unwedging the killer's right hand. As Eric's corpse crumpled to the ground, the killer grabbed the blanket from his hand. He then took three steps towards Rachel, who by this time had backed up into a tree. Unable to move or even scream, Rachel found herself face-to-stomach with Buster Koons.
Knowing his prey was petrified to the point of immobility, Koons slowly wrapped the blanket around her neck, winding it around several times. Koons rolled the final end of it around his own wrist. Then with minimal effort he swung his arm, lifting Rachel off the ground, and swinging her violently onto the gravel. Rachel landed with a thud and screamed in pain. But her scream was cut short as she was yanked into the air again, this time being swung back against the very tree she had been leaning again moments earlier. The tree was instantly covered with blood as Rachel's body split open. With one final pull of the blanket, Rachel's head popped off into the air, landing in a small pool of water.
Koons ventured backwards, stepping on Eric's lifeless body before spinning around and walking up a gravel and bush-covered embankment to a set of railroad tracks running east and west.
Monday, June 16, 2008
OLD PETE (PART 4)
It was three days after the brutal slayings in Fredonia. The local and state police had no leads whatsoever other than a large set of footprints near the Bonks' murder scene in Waubedonia Park. As for the murder scene at the railroad tracks, that had been officially ruled as an accident, with the police surmising that the young couple had simply fallen asleep on the tracks - perhaps due to alcohol or drugs. Toxicology reports would not be known for awhile.
Old Pete had blown a fuse. The octogenarian paced back and forth on Fredonia Avenue, never venturing off the block in which Mr. Fritz's stood. He waved his arms at passing cars and shouted "Buster Koons! Buster Koons! He's back! We're all gonna die!"
Within 10 minutes Officer Donaldson was on the scene trying to calm the old man down.
"We're all gonna die! We're all gonna die!" Pete continued to scream.
Donaldson grabbed the old man by his collar and stopped his frantic pacing. "Pete, you need to settle down here. I don't have time for this today. I've got real work to do. Now go on home, lay down, and get some rest."
The confrontation brought Old Pete back to Earth. He reached out his wrinkled hands and lightly tugged on Donaldson's chest, pulling on his shirt. He looked the officer right in the eyes and whispered, "Find Richard Grassman's son. He's the only one that can stop the plague of murder. Find him. Find him."
The old man pulled away and disappeared around the corner. Donaldson looked a bit confused, lightly shook his head and mumbled, "Crazy drunk."
Old Pete had blown a fuse. The octogenarian paced back and forth on Fredonia Avenue, never venturing off the block in which Mr. Fritz's stood. He waved his arms at passing cars and shouted "Buster Koons! Buster Koons! He's back! We're all gonna die!"
Within 10 minutes Officer Donaldson was on the scene trying to calm the old man down.
"We're all gonna die! We're all gonna die!" Pete continued to scream.
Donaldson grabbed the old man by his collar and stopped his frantic pacing. "Pete, you need to settle down here. I don't have time for this today. I've got real work to do. Now go on home, lay down, and get some rest."
The confrontation brought Old Pete back to Earth. He reached out his wrinkled hands and lightly tugged on Donaldson's chest, pulling on his shirt. He looked the officer right in the eyes and whispered, "Find Richard Grassman's son. He's the only one that can stop the plague of murder. Find him. Find him."
The old man pulled away and disappeared around the corner. Donaldson looked a bit confused, lightly shook his head and mumbled, "Crazy drunk."
Thursday, June 12, 2008
FRIDAY THE 13TH (NIGHT) (PART 3)
Later on that night, two teens, Rob Dunsmeyer and Heather Rivera held hands while walking on the railroad tracks. The tracks ran through the middle of town and were about a mile east of that morning's murder scene.
Rob and Heather worked at the Fredonia McDonald's on the corner of Fredonia Avenue and Highway 57. Their shift had ended at 9:45, and the two of them had gone back to Rob's home on Wisconsin Street. After letting the dogs out for a few minutes, the two decided to walk to Heather's house. This was a fairly normal routine for them as they did nearly everytime they worked together.
Heather lived about a mile south of Rob, out on Meadowlark Road. There was no direct route however, other than a set of railroad tracks which crossed over a partially-forested field and a small creek. And that was fine with them. They enjoyed the privacy that the railroad tracks provided.
Tonight was a little different however. The moment they left Rob's house, Heather felt a little nervous because of the events of the night before. Truth be told, Rob was slightly nervous as well. But the machismo in him refused to let it show. So they walked to the end of Wisconsin Street and followed the biking/walking path which led to the railroad tracks. The end of the path had a small footbridge followed by a criss-crossing chain link fence, no doubt placed there to prevent unsuspecting bikers from coasting over the railroad tracks and getting smacked by a train. Rob and Heather made their way through the fence maze and headed south on the tracks, destined for infamy.
The walk was somewhat treacherous, especially at night. Some of the railroad ties were elevated above the ground, while some of them were slightly buried, thus making it very easy to trip. Walking outside the tracks on the rocks proved to be equally treacherous. But nonetheless they made their way.
They'd only walked a minute when they noticed a train heading towards them. It wasn't unusual. It happened from time to time. The two of them moved to the west of the tracks and huddled down the slight incline, 10 feet from the tracks. The sheer power and noise of the train was always intimidating. But in spite of the close proximity, it nonetheless always proved safe. The two of them laughed as the train flew by, yet neither could hear the other due to the roar of the colossal beast. Suddenly their laughs turned to cries of agony as each of them took turns receiving a jarring pain as their knees were shattered from a metal pipe wielded by the mysterious man known as Buster Koons.
Before either of them knew what had happened, Koons followed up with a vicious jab of the pipe first into the chest of Rob with one end, then into the face of Heather with the other, knocking her unconscious.
Koons dragged Rob's battered body up the embankment towards the still-charging train. Rob was unable to defend himself against Koons' superior strength. It was somewhat too dark for him to see what would have been the final sight of his life: the thick steel of a train wheel as it crushed his skull across his face.
Koons let go of Rob's lifeless corpse and slid back down to Heather. With little effort he lifter her up and simply tossed her under the train. An explosion of crimson pierced the night as Heather's body was shredded. The engineer never felt a thing. And the train never stopped.
Rob and Heather worked at the Fredonia McDonald's on the corner of Fredonia Avenue and Highway 57. Their shift had ended at 9:45, and the two of them had gone back to Rob's home on Wisconsin Street. After letting the dogs out for a few minutes, the two decided to walk to Heather's house. This was a fairly normal routine for them as they did nearly everytime they worked together.
Heather lived about a mile south of Rob, out on Meadowlark Road. There was no direct route however, other than a set of railroad tracks which crossed over a partially-forested field and a small creek. And that was fine with them. They enjoyed the privacy that the railroad tracks provided.
Tonight was a little different however. The moment they left Rob's house, Heather felt a little nervous because of the events of the night before. Truth be told, Rob was slightly nervous as well. But the machismo in him refused to let it show. So they walked to the end of Wisconsin Street and followed the biking/walking path which led to the railroad tracks. The end of the path had a small footbridge followed by a criss-crossing chain link fence, no doubt placed there to prevent unsuspecting bikers from coasting over the railroad tracks and getting smacked by a train. Rob and Heather made their way through the fence maze and headed south on the tracks, destined for infamy.
The walk was somewhat treacherous, especially at night. Some of the railroad ties were elevated above the ground, while some of them were slightly buried, thus making it very easy to trip. Walking outside the tracks on the rocks proved to be equally treacherous. But nonetheless they made their way.
They'd only walked a minute when they noticed a train heading towards them. It wasn't unusual. It happened from time to time. The two of them moved to the west of the tracks and huddled down the slight incline, 10 feet from the tracks. The sheer power and noise of the train was always intimidating. But in spite of the close proximity, it nonetheless always proved safe. The two of them laughed as the train flew by, yet neither could hear the other due to the roar of the colossal beast. Suddenly their laughs turned to cries of agony as each of them took turns receiving a jarring pain as their knees were shattered from a metal pipe wielded by the mysterious man known as Buster Koons.
Before either of them knew what had happened, Koons followed up with a vicious jab of the pipe first into the chest of Rob with one end, then into the face of Heather with the other, knocking her unconscious.
Koons dragged Rob's battered body up the embankment towards the still-charging train. Rob was unable to defend himself against Koons' superior strength. It was somewhat too dark for him to see what would have been the final sight of his life: the thick steel of a train wheel as it crushed his skull across his face.
Koons let go of Rob's lifeless corpse and slid back down to Heather. With little effort he lifter her up and simply tossed her under the train. An explosion of crimson pierced the night as Heather's body was shredded. The engineer never felt a thing. And the train never stopped.
FRIDAY THE 13TH (MORNING) (PART 2)
It was 7:20 in the morning when the first 911 call came into the Ozaukee County Sheriff's office. A middle-aged man who regularly biked through Waubedonia park each morning with his unleased dog had called from his cell phone. The man had just stepped off his bike and was beginning to comprehend the horror that was in front of him when his dog ran up to him with Brenda Bonk's scalp in its mouth.
Seven minutes later Officer William Donaldson arrived on the scene. Right away he knew this matter was over his head. He immediately called the Wisconsin State Police and let them know that he had a particularly gruesome double homicide on his hands.
In spite of the fact that Fredonia had roughly 2000 people, word spread rather quickly. Within 20 minutes of Donaldson's arrival, curious onlookers began to arrive in droves. Donaldson tried in vain to keep them at bay. But his efforts were futile as the local residents trampled the crime scene in order to get a better look at the carnage that had happened several hours earlier.
Behind the gathering crowd of people was Old Pete. Pete was in his late-80's and looked every bit his age. Although the label of "town drunk" was something that generally wasn't heard of anymore, if Fredonia had a resident who could fall into that category, in spite of his age, it was Old Pete. Old Pete could often be found hanging out at Mr. Fritz's Bar on Fredonia Avenue - the main street in town. In the summertime Old Pete was a fixture at Mr. Fritz's, often sitting in a chair out front or on the side porch, watching the day go by. Old pete was the uncle of the current owner, and was more-or-less allowed to loiter. Most of the time he kept to himself and didn't bother anyone.
As Old Pete strained his neck to peer over the shoulders of the other onlookers, a look of fear crossed his face. He stepped back, looked around, paying close attention to the trees and forest. As he backed away he quietly mumbled, "Koons... Buster Koons." One man overheard him but paid the old drunk no mind. Old Pete then sauntered off, moving quicker than a man of his age should.
Seven minutes later Officer William Donaldson arrived on the scene. Right away he knew this matter was over his head. He immediately called the Wisconsin State Police and let them know that he had a particularly gruesome double homicide on his hands.
In spite of the fact that Fredonia had roughly 2000 people, word spread rather quickly. Within 20 minutes of Donaldson's arrival, curious onlookers began to arrive in droves. Donaldson tried in vain to keep them at bay. But his efforts were futile as the local residents trampled the crime scene in order to get a better look at the carnage that had happened several hours earlier.
Behind the gathering crowd of people was Old Pete. Pete was in his late-80's and looked every bit his age. Although the label of "town drunk" was something that generally wasn't heard of anymore, if Fredonia had a resident who could fall into that category, in spite of his age, it was Old Pete. Old Pete could often be found hanging out at Mr. Fritz's Bar on Fredonia Avenue - the main street in town. In the summertime Old Pete was a fixture at Mr. Fritz's, often sitting in a chair out front or on the side porch, watching the day go by. Old pete was the uncle of the current owner, and was more-or-less allowed to loiter. Most of the time he kept to himself and didn't bother anyone.
As Old Pete strained his neck to peer over the shoulders of the other onlookers, a look of fear crossed his face. He stepped back, looked around, paying close attention to the trees and forest. As he backed away he quietly mumbled, "Koons... Buster Koons." One man overheard him but paid the old drunk no mind. Old Pete then sauntered off, moving quicker than a man of his age should.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
THURSDAY NIGHT IN WAUBEDONIA PARK (PART 1)
John and Brenda Bonk had spent over an hour driving back to the small Wisconsin village of Fredonia. Though they'd moved away 20 years earlier, they still had a fondness for the place where they'd grown up and met each other. So each year on their anniversary they reserve a campground spot in Waubedonia Park - the scenic area of town, down by the Milwaukee river.
Througout the summer weekends the park is flooded with campers. But during the weekdays it's mostly barren at night. Since the park closes at 9:00 PM, the Bonk's could pretty much assure themselves of privacy. Although in spite of the 9:00 ordinance they would still see the occasional stray dog-walker. The lone police officer in town would patrol the park once or twice at night. So the odds of anyone ever getting caught were pretty remote.
In past years they'd brought their camper, plugged in, and enjoyed a few modern conveniences while they were roughing it. But this year they'd decided to simply bring a tent. At first they wondered if they'd regret that decision as it turned out to be a somewhat chilly evening for a night in June. But once they settled into their sleeping bags and began to snuggle, the cold seemed to filter away.
The Bonks enjoyed these little getaways - especially now. At this point in their lives they liked to reminisce and reflect a bit. They had three children - two daughters and a son. Their oldest daughter was married. And the twins were both juniors at UW Milwaukee. They were looking forward to visiting their son the next day. He had his own apartment on Milwaukee's east side, and had elected to stay there during the summer months.
As midnight approached and the passing cars from highway A in the near distance had slowed to a trickle, the Bonks drifted off to sleep. So they never heard it coming...
20 yards away a large figure loomed. From his vantage point he could just make out one corner of the tent which was made visible by the moonlight. The man slowly crept toward the tent, his boots getting wet from the fresh dew on the grass. As he approached the tent he saw a circle of giant rocks which surrounded a fire pit. Wasting no time he scooped up an impossibly heavy one and tossed it onto the tent with ease.
The spikes from two of the corners ripped from the ground as the tent collapsed onto the unsuspecting couple. John screamed in agony as the rock crushed both his knees. Yet the weight of it resting on him wouldn't allow him to move. Brenda screamed in confusion, unable to see, with the tent's ceiling pressing against her face. Her scream suddenly changed to a gasp as she received a boot from the large man directly into her stomach. Brenda collapsed from her sitting position then watched as a giant tear ripped into the tent over her head. Looking up into the sky she saw the man hovering over her. Her eyes caught the shiny glint of the machete in the moonlight just as it came crashing down across her throat.
John screamed for his wife, unknown what had just happened, only knowing that something had hurt Brenda. As he tried to reach for her, the tent pulled back from his upper body as the large man loomed over him. From behind his back, the man pulled out the severed head of his wife. The fresh blood still dripped down, landing all over John's face and in his mouth. He tried to scream but found himself choking on his wife's blood. As he spat it out, the man used Brenda's long hair and swung her head in the air, crashing it down on John's face. He repeated this several times until John stopped making noise and his head was thoroughly crushed.
Satisfied that his work was done, the man walked off the grass and onto the road which ran through the park. In one final swinging motion he brought Brenda's head onto the concrete, exploding it. He let the final strands of her hair fall from his right hand as he walked back down the road, disappearing into the woods.
Througout the summer weekends the park is flooded with campers. But during the weekdays it's mostly barren at night. Since the park closes at 9:00 PM, the Bonk's could pretty much assure themselves of privacy. Although in spite of the 9:00 ordinance they would still see the occasional stray dog-walker. The lone police officer in town would patrol the park once or twice at night. So the odds of anyone ever getting caught were pretty remote.
In past years they'd brought their camper, plugged in, and enjoyed a few modern conveniences while they were roughing it. But this year they'd decided to simply bring a tent. At first they wondered if they'd regret that decision as it turned out to be a somewhat chilly evening for a night in June. But once they settled into their sleeping bags and began to snuggle, the cold seemed to filter away.
The Bonks enjoyed these little getaways - especially now. At this point in their lives they liked to reminisce and reflect a bit. They had three children - two daughters and a son. Their oldest daughter was married. And the twins were both juniors at UW Milwaukee. They were looking forward to visiting their son the next day. He had his own apartment on Milwaukee's east side, and had elected to stay there during the summer months.
As midnight approached and the passing cars from highway A in the near distance had slowed to a trickle, the Bonks drifted off to sleep. So they never heard it coming...
20 yards away a large figure loomed. From his vantage point he could just make out one corner of the tent which was made visible by the moonlight. The man slowly crept toward the tent, his boots getting wet from the fresh dew on the grass. As he approached the tent he saw a circle of giant rocks which surrounded a fire pit. Wasting no time he scooped up an impossibly heavy one and tossed it onto the tent with ease.
The spikes from two of the corners ripped from the ground as the tent collapsed onto the unsuspecting couple. John screamed in agony as the rock crushed both his knees. Yet the weight of it resting on him wouldn't allow him to move. Brenda screamed in confusion, unable to see, with the tent's ceiling pressing against her face. Her scream suddenly changed to a gasp as she received a boot from the large man directly into her stomach. Brenda collapsed from her sitting position then watched as a giant tear ripped into the tent over her head. Looking up into the sky she saw the man hovering over her. Her eyes caught the shiny glint of the machete in the moonlight just as it came crashing down across her throat.
John screamed for his wife, unknown what had just happened, only knowing that something had hurt Brenda. As he tried to reach for her, the tent pulled back from his upper body as the large man loomed over him. From behind his back, the man pulled out the severed head of his wife. The fresh blood still dripped down, landing all over John's face and in his mouth. He tried to scream but found himself choking on his wife's blood. As he spat it out, the man used Brenda's long hair and swung her head in the air, crashing it down on John's face. He repeated this several times until John stopped making noise and his head was thoroughly crushed.
Satisfied that his work was done, the man walked off the grass and onto the road which ran through the park. In one final swinging motion he brought Brenda's head onto the concrete, exploding it. He let the final strands of her hair fall from his right hand as he walked back down the road, disappearing into the woods.
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