I Am Guilty

By Fritz Thenor

In the 1980s, five young women were found raped and brutally murdered in Chicago, Virginia Beach, San Francisco, New York, and Miami. The police could not find the perpetrators of those murders, in spite of their diligence. Those cases were classified as unresolved murder cases and stored in the police archives.

After seven years, in the d

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Mulberry Books
• Release date: Oct 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781950850907

Fritz Thenor

John Norte a.k.a. Fritz Thenor, MD, is a practicing forensic psychiatrist. He published the following professional books: Forensic Psychiatry, Study Guide, Questions and Answers (1997), and Mental Health Law ( 2004). The former has been used by psychiatrists to prepare for the examination to obtain the "added qualifications in forensic psychiatry". Mental Health Law, on the other hand, has been used by psychiatrists and lawyers to prepare for court hearings in forensic psychiatry cases. Another book to his credit is fictional novel Medea (2005).

Book preview

FULLTITLE3.jpg

Copyright © 2019 by Fritz Thenor.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher and author, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This publication contains the opinions and ideas of its author. It is intended to provide helpful and informative material on the subjects addressed in the publication. The author and publisher specifically disclaim all responsibility for any liability, loss, or risk, personal or otherwise, which is incurred as a consequence, directly or indirectly, of the use and application of any of the contents of this book.

ISBN: 978-1-950850-91-4 [Paperback Edition]

978-1-950850-90-7 [eBook Edition]

Printed and bound in The United States of America.

Published by

The Mulberry Books, LLC.

8330 E Quincy Avenue,

Denver CO 80237

themulberrybooks.com

mulberrylogo_BW.png

Prelude

Virginia Beach, Virginia

ELLA JURGENSEN was enjoying her sabbatical in the United States. She was an elementary school teacher in a small town in Norway. As far as she could remember, she had always dreamed of visiting United States—THE LAND OF OPPORTUNITIES—where every dream could become a reality with hard work and perseverance. She had worked overtime for three years and had saved all the money she could for this trip. It was worth it!

After she had visited New York, Philadelphia and Boston, she regaled herself with the grand finale of her trip to America: visiting Washington, D.C.

Washington, D.C. is a symbol of everything that stands out in United States. Beauty, grace, elegance, and power maintain themselves in balance; as if Paris, Athens and Rome should combine themselves in due proportion at the same place and time.

To Major Pierre Charles L’Enfant, a former member of Washington’s Continental Army Staff, was given the honor of designing the new City. L’Enfant had distinguished himself already by redesigning New York’s Federal Hall in 1789. They could not have chosen a better man for that job. L’Enfant’s design was symbolic, brilliant and practical. L’Enfant captivated the attention of the founders of the nation with a classical design that would remain ever serene and beautiful. He sketched 160- foot-wide avenues radiating from scenic squares and circles that would be decorated with monumental sculptures and fountains. His show-case was a mile-long 400-foot-wide mall extending from the site of the Capitol building. He designed the new Nation’s capital to be a city of parks and gardens. L’Enfant could not finish his assignment for he was fired without any decorum in 1792. And he died a broken man and penniless in 1825. But his contribution was recognized by the nation in 1929, when his remains were dug out from a little-known grave and transported to Arlington Cemetery.

Fortunately in 1901, L’Enfant’s original plans were revisited by an appointed committee to develop the city’s park system. That committee led by the classical architect Charles McKim, landscape architect Frederick Law Olmstead, jr., and the sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens, not only resurrected l’Enfant’s original plans, but extended his Mall design to a magnificent two-mile green centerpiece from the Capitol past the Washington Monument on to the Lincoln Memorial.

In L’Enfant’s original plan, the balance of power decrees by the American Constitution is symbolized with the homes of Congress, the president of the new Nation, and the Supreme Court. However he designed the Capitol to be the tallest among the three, as if the people representatives ought to have a plain view and watch over the executive and the judiciary. According to L’Enfant’s original conception no building should be as tall as the Capitol.

Ella Jurgensen was one among the twenty million visitors from around the world who come every year in diplomatic mission, for business, or just to admire the Capital of the United States.

•  SHE VISITED THE CAPITOL.

•  SHE VISITED THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.

•  SHE TOOK A TOUR THROUGH THE WHITE HOUSE.

•  SHE WALKED LEISURELY AMONG THE BLOSSOMING JAPANESE CHERRY TREES.

She found everything very big and amazing. She was happy and elated as a child walking through an amusement park, as she was strolling on Pennsylvania Avenue. She was fascinated with the luxury shops on both sides of the avenue.

Now she was on the last leg of her trip in United States. It was early Fall. From Washington, D.C. She traveled to Virginia Beach, where she rented a room in a small hotel on the beach.

The weather was balmy. She was lying on the sand, watching the hours glide away.

She started thinking about home, Norway, where Olaf was waiting for her. She had promised him that she had to visit United States first, before marrying him. Now she had been away from him for one month, and she had thought things over and over. Now she was sure of her feelings for him. It was time for her to settle down. To have a family. And to raise children.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she was mindless of the fact that night was falling, and that she was alone on the beach…and that it might dangerous….

The next day, early in the morning, two police officers were walking on the beach. John, look over there! said officer Matt Williamson. That girl is crazy…It is too early…too cold to lie on the beach. The two officers walked toward her. Matt, there is something wrong!

As they approached closer.

She is covered with blood!…she is dead!

Officer John Stewart immediately called the Central Police Station, to inform they had found a dead body on the beach.

In less than fifteen minutes, a police wagon and an ambulance were on the beach at the scene.

Gruesome! Awful! The sergeant was looking at the dead body, horrified. Rape! Sadistic murder!

Call the Forensic team. I want hand and foot prints be taken.

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

Marilou Vigier was enjoying a wonderful time in New York. Being in New York was for her a dream come true. She had saved money for five years to make this trip. She had heard so much talking about New York that she had planned to spend all her fifteen-day vacation in New York only. She could visit other parts of United States in other trips.

She had been afraid of being disappointed, for she had nursed high expectations. However she realized now that that city was more awesome and imposing than she could ever have expected.

She was exhilarated. Although she lived and worked in Paris, she could not keep herself from being in awe of New York.

The following day after she arrived in New York, She took the ferry boat across New York harbor to visit the Statue of Liberty.

And on subsequent days, she visited the:

•  UNITED NATIONS HEADQUARTERS

•  METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ARTS

•  ROCKEFELLER CENTER, LINCOLN CENTER

FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS

•  AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY

She spent evenings strolling the Greenwich Village. She went to different types of Jazz venues, saw several one-act plays. And ate at trendy little restaurants.

Now she was at the end of her vacation. She did not want to leave without a picnic at Central Park, where she sat on the grass with bread, salami, pickles, fruit and a bottle of water in front of her. It was Saturday afternoon. She was scheduled to fly back to Paris Sunday. Reflecting on her vacation in New York, she was satisfied.

While munching and watching the joggers, her thought drifted onto her life. She was 27-years old and still single. No serious engagement yet. She had dated several men. She had been proposed to several times, but she had felt she was not ready to settle down, build a family, and have children.

But all of a sudden, her mind focused on the idea of being married and having children. What joy she would experience if she had a husband and children, to share this simple meal. As she was thinking about family and children, she remembered Jean- Michel. He was not very impressive, but he cared for her.

"Marilou, je t’aime beaucoup. Je voudrais que tu sois mon epouse. Qu’est ce que tu dis?

Je t’aime bien Jean-Michel. Mais je ne me sens pas prete. And when she saw the disappointment on his face, she said ruefully, Donne-moi du temps.

That was the last she had seen of Jean-Michel before leaving for the United States.

Now on the grass she was thinking about him. She felt guilty. She thought that he could be a good husband, and a good father. She kept thinking about him. The wonderful life they would have together. The children they would raise. She was lost in her thoughts. She was so immersed in her reverie that she lost track of the time, and did not realize that it was becoming dark, and everybody else was gone….

John Burton was jogging in the Central Park, as usual, early in the morning. He was followed by his faithful companion Botang, his dog. While he was running on the track, his dog suddenly moved off the track and went to a bush. Jogging ahead of the dog, he had not noticed the dog’s off-track escapade. Then he heard loud barkings and moanings. Quickly he stopped, and backtracked to the bush.

My God! a dead body! He was stunned.

The dog was barking and moaning and sniffing. At once he pulled out his cell-phone and called 911

In an instant a police cruiser and an ambulance were in the park around the dead body, and police were taking photos.

William Donovan, a stout, red-haired detective, was conducting the preliminary investigation. He was accompanied by the Detective Joe Scarlanti, and the Coroner Jack Miller.

Joe, put your gloves, search the body.

That was done. A French passport. And twenty dollar bill, reported Scarlanti. Jack, take finger-prints. Be careful.

As the coroner was complying with the order, Detective Donovan looked at the passport, made notes on his pocket-book. And resumed:

"Marilou Vigier…27-year old female…French citizen…raped… and brutally murdered…fourteen sharp-knife wounds.

Then he looked at the detective Joe Scarlanti. Contact the French consulate. Report what happened.

Then he added, Whoever did it, he’s a psycho.

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Heather Williamson had traveled from London, England, to participate in the annual meeting of the American Psychological Association, held in San Francisco that year. She was not really interested in spending long hours listening to lectures. But it was an opportunity for her to visit this city, of which she had heard so many praises.

She was not disappointed. The city lodged on a magnificent bay, with its extraordinary landscapes, its cultural activities, and its ethnic diversities, offered the visitors a kaleidoscopic array of entertainments. Its stunning beauty and elegance captivated her at once.

She was staying at a hotel on Nob Hill, where they held the meeting. The lectures were scheduled from 8a.m. to 4.30 p.m. with one-hour and a half break from 12 Noon to 1.30 p.m.. But she managed to leave at Noon to visit the city.

Usually she took the cable car from Nob Hill to Fisherman’s wharf. There she had lunch at some ethnic restaurants. Then she walked along the wharf visiting the shops, looking at the seals basking in the sunshine, and watching the street performers.

One day she took a boat trip for a breath-taking view of the bay, and visited the famous bygone prison Alcatraz. She had difficulty imagining a prisoner swimming the cold water of the bay to escape.

Another day she skipped one lecture day to cross the Golden Bridge, and visit Napa Valley and its wineries. She was amazed at the abrupt change of the temperature. They were suddenly in the middle of the summer. She had to take off her sweater, and the bus driver had to lower the temperature.

The tour guide led the group to the most known wineries—Mondavi’s, Christian Brothers’ and others. She could not refrain from testing the different varieties of wine. And she became mellow and almost giddy at the end of the wine tour.

As the bus tour had left Napa Valley and was approaching the Golden Bridge, she began to shivering and gritting her teeth. She pulled her sweater from her hand-bag eagerly … Then she remembered Mark Twain’s aphorism, The coldest winter I have spent is a summer in San Francisco.

Friday was the last day of the convention. Heather had a scheduled flight to London on Sunday morning. She left the convention hall early in the morning, she wanted to slow down and meditate before returning to England. She strolled along the beach all the way to San Mateo County; then she returned back to San Francisco with a leisured step, being lost in her thinking.

She was thinking about making some changes in her life. All of a sudden she began to think about having a husband and children. Her biological clock was ticking. She stopped walking. Then she lay down, watching the sunset. She began to meditate about her new life.

John Gascoyne was a colleague… She was fantasying about him… He had asked her to marry him once. She thought that she was not ready; she wanted to continue with her academic career. But she had not told him yes or no. She was physically attracted to him and did not want to lose him. Now suddenly on the beach, his athletic body structure, his shiny black hair, and his aristocratic features filled her imagination so completely that she lost contact with her environment; and did not realize that the sun had set some time ago, and that it was dark….

SATURDAY 7 AM. Deputy Black of the San Francisco police was inspecting a dead body on the beach. He was careful not touch the body. He contacted Sheriff Nowland by phone, Sheriff I have to report that we have a murder on the Ocean Beach. White female, blonde hair, about 30 years old. Multiple stab wounds and rape.

Stay put, answered the sheriff, I’ll send the police cruiser and the Coroner.

MIAMI BEACH, FLORIDA

Anna Maria Fernandez was jogging along the beach. She felt free and happy, Away from the rate-race of Buenos-Aires. She had prepared this trip very well. She had heard so much talk about Florida, and especially Miami Beach that she had refrained from spending money unnecessarily in order to save for this trip.

She had visited several sites:

•  DISNEYLAND in Orlando

•  EVERGLADES NATIONAL PARK

•  FLORIDA KEYES.

Now that she was in Miami, she spent her mornings swimming in the warm Caribbean sea until mid-day, and jogging over the crispy sand in the afternoon. During the evening she strolled on the main street of South Beach, and ended the night at a trendy restaurant facing the sea shore.

She felt more relaxed now that she was close to the day of her return to Argentina. It was Thursday, her flight was scheduled at 10 p.m. on Saturday. She would arrive at Ezeiza early in the morning on Sunday. She would rest on that day, and would return to work the following Monday.

After three hours of jogging on the beach, she was somehow physically spent. She lay down on the beach caressing the sand with her hands while it was becoming dark. Her mind wandered, and she fell into a reverie. She went back into time.

Siento mucho no poder ir con vos de vacaciones, said Rogelio ruefully. His vacation had been cancelled because one coworker’s mother had died. He had to cover for him.

Anna Maria was tearing. They had planned the trip together, and intended to get married soon after. Estaras conmigo adonde voy, mi amor.

Then she jumped forward in time. Now she was with Rogelio back from the United States; He had been waiting for her at the international airport Ezeiza. She ran into his arms. And they were kissing. At once they were making plan for the wedding. She saw herself in the Church with a beautiful wedding dress, and Rogelio elegantly dressed at her side. They were exchanging vows. And rings. They were very happy. Then she heard the priest.

Now you may kiss the bride.

Happy, their faces illuminated by the shining light of the church, they advanced toward each other, puckered their lips for the blessed kiss. But a black veil fell suddenly in between them.

Officers Pedro Almeida and Rodrigo Santa-Cruz, of the Dade County Narcotic Division, were following their two dogs early in the morning as usual, in search of dropped-out drug bags. The dogs were sniffing eagerly any bulky objects on the beach. Suddenly one of the dog started yelping, the other dog ran to it. And the two dogs were barking loudly. The two officers looked up and saw the dogs sniffing and barking on an ill-defined object on the sand. They ran toward the object.

Lucky day! a catch, said Almeida gleefully. The Boss will be happy.

As they arrived at the spot, they were disappointed. A body of a young woman was sprawled on the ground. It was covered with blood.

Rodrigo, call the Cruiser and the Coroner’s office. Don’t touch! yelled Almeida. Hijo de la gran-puta! La re-puta que lo pario! Santa Cruz was overwhelmed by the gruesomeness of the murder. He fucked her up! Why did he have to butcher her!

As the FBI was having difficulties to solve those carbon-copy types of rape-murder, the media had become restless. All over the world newspapers and tabloids were making a business with their front pages news:

SERIAL RAPIST ON THE LOOSE IN U.S.A.

FOUR WOMEN RAPED AND BRUTALLY MURDERED IN VIRGINIA BEACH, NEW-YORK, SAN FRANCISCO AND MIAMI BEACH….

YOUNG WOMEN …BEWARE OF THE BEACHES IN U.S.A…. FBI UNABLE TO FIND RAPIST….

On the TV channels psychologists and criminologists were trying to find a motive for the killings.

…All the victims were young women and attractive. The rapist undoubtedly hates women. Must have been rejected by his mother.

…low self-esteem…passive…the only way for him to exercise control.

…Obsessive-compulsive behavior. Obsessive thoughts welled up to a peak… then the obsessive thoughts are cancelled out by the compulsive behaviors: rape and brutal murder.

They continued with this show for awhile. But as it was not fueled by any other sensational rape-murder, nor any new discovery from the FBI, the media lost interest as they were focusing on a new hot topic: The Teheran Hostage Crisis.

The media completely forgot those horrendous crimes. And the FBI classified them as unresolved murder crimes, and put them in the back-burner.

Chapter 1

The last plane had landed. O’Hare airport was closed. The blizzard had covered Chicago with a blanket of snow ten-inch deep. The streets were clogged. The cars were forcing their way, bumper to bumper, through the snow-packed streets. And the people were trudging over the frozen sidewalk under the blasts of icy winds that hissed fiercely. The temperature had dropped to ten degrees below zero.

Officer Kevin O’Malley had been battling with the traffic jam, the snow, the bitter cold, and the cutting wind since 7a.m. when he took duty in the Loop. Now it was already 3 p.m., the time of his relief. But officer Williams, who had been scheduled to take over his duty, had called to inform that, due to the traffic jam, he would not be on time.

O’Malley remained in his car, with the motor running to generate heat, while he kept contact with his police station, which was busy attending emergency situations. Off and on he glanced at his watch. As the time was moving toward dusk, and the pedestrians were becoming scarcer, he felt lonely and sorry for himself. It was already 6 p.m.. It was dinnertime—time to be with his wife and two children at the dining-table to break bread together and share the evening meal.

What the hell I’m doing here! he thought. My children will be anything they want to be, but not cops! I’ll see to it that they have a good education, so that they can become a doctor, a lawyer, a successful businessman, or a—

But, his train of thoughts was cut short by a knock on the cruiser’s door; reflexively he pulled out his gun. A huge silhouette with a heavy coat topped with a fur hat was obstructing his view to the street. An enormous hand was knocking on the Plexiglas, as if it wanted to talk to him.

Recovered from the first shock, officer O’Malley, still holding his gun, was able to perceive that a rather big black man was knocking on the cruiser’s door, wanting to talk to him. The man was impressively big—a grizzly bear! he thought.

What the hell does he want to tell me! the officer said to himself.

Reluctantly he lowered the Plexiglas just an inch, as to hear him, without exposing himself.

Sir, began the man politely, I want to make a confession. O’Malley was surprised; nonetheless he kept up his guard.

About what?

A murder, answered the man calmly.

The officer then looked at the man closely. Though huge, the man spoke softly and displayed good-mannered behavior, as if he came from a good family. Instinctively, he felt no danger.

A crackpot! he thought, as he put back his gun into his holster.

The man appeared contrite, and was eager to talk as if he wanted to unload a heavy burden from above his soul.

Seven years ago, he began, I killed—

Hold on! cried out O’Malley. You have a right to remain silent. You have a right to a lawyer; If you cannot afford one, the court will appoint one to you. Whatever you say, can and will be held against you in court.

I know my rights, sir, continued the man, undeterred, I have come to Chicago with the firm intention to confess a crime I committed here seven years ago.

Shit! I’ll be damned if I take this confession from this psycho, said O’Malley to himself. I’ll never go home.

And after a brief moment of reflection, he pulled up his mobile phone and called. Central! central! this is officer O’Malley in the Loop…I have here a suspect…He wants to make a confession of a murder that occurred here seven years ago… I have given him the Miranda warning…But he still wants to confess…I’ll take him to the station… Don’t worry I’ll be careful.

He put down the phone on the passenger seat, and turned to the stranger, I’m taking you to the central station of police. There you can make your confession, if you still want to do so.

He detached his handcuffs from his belt, opened the cruiser’s door, stepped on the snow, hand-cuffed the man, and threw him into the cruiser’s backseat.

It was already 8 p.m. when officer O’Malley arrived at the central station of police with the suspect. It took him one hour to navigate through the snow-encumbered streets, from where he had been, to the central station of police. Usually he covered that distance in fifteen minutes.

The central station had been in commotion since early morning. The blizzard had compelled them to pay attention to the most serious accidents which were overwhelming. Lieutenant William Miller, a heavy-set, red-haired man, was fuming with anger when O’Malley entered his office. He was on the phone yelling.

"I’m tired in saying the same thing, we need back-up officers for situations like this!