Butcher Baker Maniac Maker

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Sitting in the front seat of a rental car, Bertie
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Baker carefully applied her candy red lipstick. She needed to
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look her best, for the photographers gathered outside the prison.
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That had been easier when she was younger, of course. Though,
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Lord knows Bertie had never had much in the looks department,
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a fact her mother never failed to mention. Checking her
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reflection in the sun visor mirror, Bertie nodded to herself.
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then grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and stepped out.
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Her heels clicked on the pavement as she made her
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way from the visitor's lot over to the security checkpoint
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at the prison's main entrance, aware that she was being
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watched through the chain-link fence over at the media zone,
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where reporters mingled with the many protesters who were gathering.
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Think you'll get the bastard to confess, Ms. Baker? It
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would be three for three! Someone called to her. When's
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the new book coming out? asked someone else. Think it'll
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win you another Pulitzer? Bertie didn't answer, but she smiled
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politely in their direction, glancing up at the signs held
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by chanting hippies and stern-faced nuns who had come to protest.
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The slogans on their signs were the typical nonsense. Capital
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punishment equals murder. Vengeance belongs to the Lord. The system
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is the real butcher. Bertie rolled her eyes. then allowed
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a CO to hold the door open for her as
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she walked inside the prison, feeling equal measures of nerves
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and excitement about the task at hand. This would be
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the third time she had spoken with a condemned serial
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killer on the day of their execution, and if the
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results of the previous two interviews were any indication, the
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reporters outside would be in for a doozy of a headline.
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Before Bertie Baker walked back to the car that evening,
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she would do it. She had to do it. She
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had to get a confession out of that maniac, Sean Mingus, a.k.a.
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the Long Haul Butcher. And then she would finally have
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what she needed. To write the last chapter in her
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latest true crime masterpiece. Deep in the bleak white bowels
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of Death Row, the other prisoners watched on from behind
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bars in respectful silence as the guards brought the convicted
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mass killer out of his cell, and marched him, shackles jingling,
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around the corner to the visitation room for the last time.
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They brought the man inside, switched on the lights, and
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grunted for him to take one of the two plastic
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chairs set on either side of the table. Sighing, he sat.
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The guards checked the restraints on his ankles and wrists,
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clipped the chains to the restraint anchors in both the
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floor and the table, then retreated to the hall. In
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his chair, the prisoner hung his head, folded his hands
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in his lap, and tried to focus on his breathing,
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to stay calm, to stay in the moment. That was important.
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After all, he didn't have many moments left. He could
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practically feel the time slipping away, like water in his
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cupped hands, dripping through his calloused fingers and evaporating in
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the harsh fluorescent lights of the prison, going, going so fast.
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But he wasn't all that thirsty. He just needed a
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teeny tiny sip of that time. Just enough to get answers.
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And to finally understand why he was in chains. Why
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his life had fallen apart. And why today would be
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his last day on Earth. The unmistakable clap, clap, clap
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of high heels sounded from the hall. Then the petite
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figure of Bertie Baker entered the visitation room. Good afternoon, Sean,
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she said, standing just inside the door. The prisoner did
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not look over, but kept his head bowed as he answered. Howdy,
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Miss Baker. What we gonna talk about today, I wonder? Murder?
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My childhood? Maybe the weather? Nodding for the guards to leave,
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Bertie walked around the table to the second chair in
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the room and sat. just as the door swung shut
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and locked with a click. Then, it was just the
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pair of them, in the center of those four blank walls,
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under the glare of the fluorescent tube lights above. And
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what a pair they made. Little Bertie Baker with her
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salt-and-pepper perm, her bookish glasses, and her canary yellow cardigan,
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like some school librarian. And hulking Sean Mingus, in his
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gray prison jumpsuit, with his shaved head and his big
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hairy hands, like a lumberjack in chains. Sean's face had
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that unique half-and-half look common to truckers. The left side
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was creased and slightly sagged, weathered by years of sun damage,
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while the right side had been spared the accelerated aging.
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Setting her purse on the table, Bertie cleared her throat.
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I've come to visit you thirteen times now, Sean. Thirteen
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is my lucky number, you know. Yet you still call
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me Miss Baker. I keep telling you, it's Bertie. Sean
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looked up and met her eyes. My mama raised me right.
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I am respectful of my elders, ma'am. Behind her glasses,
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Bertie's eyelids flinched, even as she smiled sweetly. Indeed she did.
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Reaching inside her purse, she drew out a battery-powered relic
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of the early 2000s, A digital voice recorder. Do you
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mind if I record our session today, Sean? He glanced
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over at the little device and shrugged. You know, you
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can just use an iPhone for that now. I reckon
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that'd be easier. Oh, you know I don't have a
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cell phone. And yes, yes, I know. It's very old-fashioned
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of me. But technology and I are like teeth in
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tin foil. Put them together and eek. No, thank you.
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Clicking record on the device, she leaned back in her
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seat and took a deep breath. So then, how are
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we today, Sean? He was silent for a few long seconds,
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watching the little red light on the recorder. How are we?
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He finally said, his voice flat. In a couple hours,
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they're going to strap me onto a gurney. The doc
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will put needles in my arms and give me a
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drug that makes my whole dang body numb. That way,
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when they fill me up with their poison, the people
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watching on the other side of that there two-way mirror
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won't see all the pain I'm in as I die.
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He blinked, then whipped his gaze from the red light
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back to the woman's eyes. So how do you think
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I feel? Hmm, yes, well, I get your point. And
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I didn't exactly expect to find you all merry and bright, but...
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Negativity comes in all sorts of flavors. Sean's mouth curled
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at the corners, and he sniffed a little laugh. Laugh
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all you want, Sean, but I'll remind you that this
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isn't the first time I've sat across the table from
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an inmate, facing their end. Nor is it the second.
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And the two men in those previous meetings? They had
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different reactions to their dire circumstances. Okay, then. So how
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did they feel? Your first two. Sean narrowed his eyes.
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Thomas and Raj. Bertie's forehead creased ever so slightly, her
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carefully plucked eyebrows pulling down at the corners as she
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tilted her head, but she composed herself quickly. Well, well,
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I'm surprised to hear you bring them up. You've never
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shown any interest in my earlier work before, or the
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subjects of my first two books. Actually, ma'am, They have
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always interested me. That's why I requested your books from
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the prison library. But they took a long time to
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finally come. He nodded. You're a darn fine writer, Miss Baker.
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I can see why you have so many fans, including
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the warden here. Bertie leaned forward over the table. Do
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you mean to say that you've actually read them? A
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dozen pretty heads and hands red with lady blood? Sean
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smiled again. I can read. You know, ma'am, not too fast, sure.
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And some of them big words are a bit tricky.
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But ooh, yes, I read them. In fact, I finished
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Lady Blood just this morning. Stayed up all night. And
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if the new book you're writing now, the one about
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me and about the long-haul murders, well, if it's half
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as good as the first two, I reckon you got
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another bestseller on the way. Too bad. Doesn't have a
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title yet. She swallowed, then played off his comment with
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a shrug. I assume you are referring to the pattern
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of my book titles and the fact that the first two...
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Those books were named after the last words of the
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subjects involved. Yes, ma'am. I think I'm finally starting to
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get a grasp on your patterns, Miss Baker. Speaking of,
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Sean brought his hands up from his lap. The chains
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rattled against the edge of the table as he crossed
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his arms. You still haven't answered my question. On the
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day of his execution, how did poor Thomas feel? And
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how did poor Raj feel on the day of his death?
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Surely you remember that. Those were big days for your, uh, career.
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Just like today will be. There was something in his
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expression that unnerved her. Some quality in the eyes. A
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sort of hunger. Yes. Bertie made a mental note to
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jot that down when she left today. It could be
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an impactful visual for the book. The last thing his
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victims must have seen before his blade fell. The hungry
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eyes of Sean Mingus. Very well, then. You want to
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know how they felt? She straightened her glasses. Thomas Gibbons. Well,
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Thomas was angry on his last day. Absolutely livid. bright
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red in the face like a sunburn. And he wouldn't
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stop screaming, poor soul. Screaming at the guards, at the
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other prisoners, at me, at God. Until he confessed, that is.
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Doing that, admitting to his sins, it calmed him down, Sean.
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I think it was a relief for him, after all
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those years denying his crimes, to finally put the record
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straight before it was too late. Sean's eyebrows rose. Must
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have been a big moment for you. Two, after all
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that effort you put into interviewing him, to be the
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one to get that grisly confession if he is. And
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what about Raj, uh, Sh, Sherev, nah, I can't pronounce
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his name. What was he feeling? Raj Sharvan Mukherjee. Bertie
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had spoken the name many, many times on tour for
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her second book. It came easily to her tongue. Raj
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was scared. He cried and he cried and he cried
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like an infant. You could hear it all over the prison, haunting, harrowing.
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And when you got Raj to confess, did he stop
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crying then? Did it make him feel less afraid, Miss Baker,
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to finally put the record straight as it were? Bertie
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didn't answer. She stared at the prisoner across the table,
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searching for the reason behind the conversation's unexpected direction. Is
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that going to be your sane pitch to me today?
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He went on. Are you going to tell me that
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if I confess to the twelve brutal murders for which
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I have been sentenced to die, I will finally be
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free of my anger and my fear? You don't seem
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angry today, Sean, or frightened. You seem... I don't know...
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at peace? Well, I'm mostly resolved to my fate by
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this point. But there are still certain... questions... I'm hoping
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to find answers, too. Then I'll be at peace. Yeah,
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I've always been a man of peace, deep down. Some
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people might disagree with that, Sean. Because of them twelve murders?
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She nodded. I can't even imagine what the families of
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those men must think about me. Twelve bodies, chopped in pieces,
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spread out all up and down the highways of America.
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He peered across the table as he went on, surveying
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her eyes, the makeup-coated surface of her cheeks, the bright
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red lipstick around her mouth, watching for any reaction. A
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leg in a ditch in Virginia, a severed penis in
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a field outside Omaha, a frozen heart left in the
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snow of the Rockies, all those bloody parts scattered like garbage,
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scattered by the notorious long-haul butcher, Bertie stared back, her
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expression set, her mouth a thin, straight line. Yes, Sean,
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that is what I was referring to. But we don't
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have to discuss it today, if it's too upsetting for you.
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We can talk about something else, something nice. Would that
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be better? Perhaps. She wrinkled her nose playfully. Your last meal.
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No one's told me what you've ordered. Readers always find
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that very interesting. Is that right? Well, the warden told
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me that it don't matter much what I order, because
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most inmates are too nervous to eat any of their
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last meal. Waste of a good meal, he said. Bertie sighed. Hmm. Yes.
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I do know that happens sometimes. It did with Thomas Gibbons.
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Thomas only took one bite of his eggplant lasagna. Then
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he had to spit it out. And Raj, too. He
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ordered butter chicken. but he couldn't even look at it.
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Just the smell. It made a mill. Too bad. So,
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what meal did you choose? Pizza, she grinned. Classic. I
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wonder if it's already in the oven. It could be.
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Are you getting hungry, Sean? Think you'll be able to
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stomach it? He shrugged. A slice or two. Hmm. I
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guess we'll see. Sean adjusted himself on the chair, rotating
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his wrists to relieve the pressure of the restraints. Bertie
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glanced down at the recorder on the table, then over
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at the door. You look antsy, Miss Baker. Not getting
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what you wanted from me today? You worried about the time?
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Cause I'm the one short on that. Bertie closed her eyes,
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and putting her hands on her lap, rubbed her palms
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across the fabric of her wool slacks. Then she smiled
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and looked up at him. As you say, Sean, this
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is your big day. I'm just a guest, here to
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listen and to take down whatever final thoughts you may
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wish to share with the world. Whatever thoughts? He shook
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his head with a slow, deliberate rhythm. No, ma'am. You're
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trying to stay patient. Trying to steer the conversation. But
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we both know you came here today for one thing
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and one thing only. And what's that? My confessions. You
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got one out of Thomas, and you got one out
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of Raj, and now it's my turn. Bertie stayed silent.
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She didn't bother denying it. What I want to know is, why?
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Why is getting my confession so gosh darn important to you?
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You've talked about closure for the families, but I know
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that ain't it. Could be to show up the cops,
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or to keep up your little winning streak as a journalist,
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or even Just get your title quote for the next book.
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But something tells me it runs deeper. Meaning? He leaned in.
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You need to hear the words come out of my mouth.
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Without that, all the work you've put into this feels
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like a failure, don't it? Bertie crossed her arms. What
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are you getting at here, Sean? With all this talk
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about me and my books and... Are you upset with me?
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Do you want me to leave? Because I can. She
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reached over to pick up her recorder. Sean chuckled. You
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ain't leaving, Miss Baker. You're trapped in here, same as me.
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I won't get out until I'm cold in a box.
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And you won't leave until you've gotten what you came for.
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Bertie paused, looking between the device and the large man
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in chains across the table. Can we talk more about
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your books? Sean asked. They're fresh on my mind. And
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I got some comments and questions. And I want to
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tell you about my favorite character. Bertie retracted her hand
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and smirked. You do know the way to a writer's heart,
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don't you, Sean? Just start talking about their work. Settling
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herself back in the chair again, she adjusted her cardigan.
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But the subjects of my books are not characters. As
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for your favorite, let me guess. Is it Thomas... A
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lot of readers love him and a dozen pretty heads. Well,
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they love to hate him, that is. It ain't Thomas, no.
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But his story was certainly a, what you call it,
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a page-turner. That chapter about his childhood almost made me cry.
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That poor little white trash boy with his dead mama
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and his druggie dad got no love, no hugs, no
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presents at Christmas. And then when it got to the
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part about his teenage years, yikes. All that darkness rising
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up in his young soul. All his dark cravings. And
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the violence. Oh my. Smooshing goldfish in his fingers and... Well,
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I bet a lot of readers couldn't get through that
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part about him disemboweling the neighbor's cat while it was
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still alive. My readers tend to have a lot of
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what we call morbid curiosity. They love the part with
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the cat. She cocked her head curiously. Did you like it, Sean?
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Did it remind you of your own dark cravings? Of
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the things you've done? Sean didn't answer. And clearing his throat,
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he went on. And of course, Raj's early years sounded
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even rougher. That poor little boy. Slow and sickly. And
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talk about poor. I mean, he was dirt poor. Real poor,
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I mean. Living in that junkyard slum over in India.
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And when his family finally made it to America, and
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you sort of Tease the reader into thinking things are
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looking up. Boom! That same bloodthirsty nightmare darkness starts rising
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up in Teenage Raj's heart. Sean closed his eyes. That
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part in chapter five when Raj is bending his baby
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brother's leg further and further to see how long it
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takes the bone to snap. Sean released a shaky breath
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and looked at her. You sure can paint a dark,
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dark picture, ma'am. I'll take that as a compliment. And yes,
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both Thomas and Raj displayed an escalating pattern of violence
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long before they began their infamous killing sprees. It was
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all there, waiting to be uncovered. It always is. Not always.
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He set his elbows on the table and, intertwining his fingers,
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leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands. How
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in the heck are you going to write the chapters
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about my childhood? That's what I want to know. Because
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I was there, Miss Baker. And sure, I was poor,
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and my daddy was a real piece of work to
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me and my sister. But there was never any great
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darkness in my heart. No pet killing, no bone breaking,
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no pattern leading to the whole long-haul butcher thing, of
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which I am accused. Nothing worthy of a Bertie Baker
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crime story. Not if you tell the truth. Bertie shook
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her head and sighed. Oh, Sean, of course I'll tell
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the truth. I'm not a novelist. I'm a journalist. I
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report stories. I don't create them. Pardon my French, ma'am,
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but you and I both know that's bullcrap. Oh, really?
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Her mouth pulled back at the corners, stretching her lips
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into a blood-red smile. Your mama must have raised you right.
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But your father? Daddy was more than a piece of work.
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He was cruel, Sean. He was wicked. And what was
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that phrase you used with your sister? to tell each
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other it was time to run and hide from Daddy.
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Want to go camping? Was that it? Her smile widened.
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I can use that. I can draw a straight line
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from those early moments, right across the pages, to a
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monster sleeping in the cab of his truck, murdering his
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way across America, swinging an axe down again and again
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into his victims. All the victims of the long-haul butcher
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were men, remember? They were all white and bald and bearded,
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Just like your daddy. That's a pattern. It means it's motive.
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Everything the narrative needs, it's right there. Sean's eyes blazed
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and his face twitched, the wrinkles on its left side deepening.
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I never killed nobody. The change in his voice, the
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sudden depth of conviction, made the hairs on Bertie's arms
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stand on end. What's more? He went on. Thomas Gibbons
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and Raj, what's-his-name, never did neither, did they, Miss Baker?
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For a moment more, Bertie Baker's face retained its look
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of calm friendliness. Then her eyes went hard, her upper
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lip twitched and pulled up into a sneer, revealing a
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smear of bright red lipstick on two front teeth. Reaching
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over to her digital recorder, she jabbed a finger at
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the record button, and the red light went out. Here's
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what I know, Mr. Mingus. As we sit here, wasting
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precious time, someone is heating up that pizza pie of yours,
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and someone else is getting a lethal injection, potassium chloride,
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nice and cold. Pretty sure that drug has kept room temp, actually. Oh,
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you're suddenly so smart, aren't you, Sean? But I think
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you've said quite enough. It's my turn to speak. And
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you really should hear me out while you can. There
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are things I can offer you, Sean. should you choose
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to confess, on the record, to me, today, to those
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crimes for which you have been found guilty. Things you
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can offer me? Like what? A cozier coffin? Like financial
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stability for your loved ones, you fucking idiot. That wiped
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the grin off Sean's face. You didn't expect that, did you? Yes, Sean.
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I can see to it that the proceeds from your
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story are directed to your sister. She still lives in
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your family trailer, right? With her seven children, a lot
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of mouths to feed, and all you have to do
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is give me my quote, and you can go to
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your grave knowing you at least are leaving something behind
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for them. That's a hell of a deal if you
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ask me. Sean regained composure, considered her words, and exhaled.
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You gotta be kidding me. A simple bribe? I figured
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Bertie Baker's means of persuasion would be far more complicated
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than that. The Bertie Baker in the books is a genius,
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a mastermind of manipulation. What are you talking about? I'm
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talking about my favorite character. I'm talking about you and
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the 36 murders you've committed. Bertie's whole face flinched, as
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if struck. Why would... You're starting to sound like quite
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the conspiracy theorist. I don't know what it is you
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think is going on here. But I assure you, whatever
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little story your sick mind is cooking up, whatever you've, you've,
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you've told your lawyers or the warden or... Sean's chains
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jingled as he raised his hands, placed one finger across
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his lips, and shushed her. Shh! Quiet down now, ma'am.
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You're getting riled up. Don't make the COs cut our
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visit short. I ain't done talking. Well, I'm done listening!
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She stood up so fast, that her chair legs squeaked
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against the floor. Snatching up her recorder, she shoved it
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into her purse and turned toward the door. I ain't
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told anybody my theory, said Sean, and she paused in
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her tracks. I'm still figuring it all out myself, to
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tell you the truth. It's like I said, I only
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finished the books this morning. Heck, I'm figuring a lot
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of this out as we speak, and your reaction right
382
00:25:55.339 --> 00:26:00.150
now ain't exactly doing you any favors. Bertie scoffed. and
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slid her purse on her left wrist. Goodbye, Sean, and
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happy execution. She started walking. I'll give you your darn quote.
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She stopped. Halfway to the door, the click of heels
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on the concrete floor going silent. You have my word, ma'am.
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It'll be the last thing out of my mouth before
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I leave this earth. But only if we can finish
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our conversation here and now. Bertie's cheeks flushed. I... Very well.
390
00:26:32.289 --> 00:26:36.789
Now blushing, through her makeup, she returned to the table, sat,
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and after a moment's hesitation, drew out the recorder once more.
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Okay then, Mr. Mingus. You have the floor. What do
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you want to talk about? He glanced over at the door,
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which remained shut, the shadows of the guards shifting through
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the door windows. Then he looked back at her. I
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want to talk about Bertie Baker. Bertie blinked. The me
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in this chair, or the me in my books. Didn't
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you say they're one and the same? She shrugged. The
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books are about the killings and the killers. Yes, I
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do include certain autobiographical details, but that's only because to
401
00:27:19.279 --> 00:27:22.579
do otherwise would be to ignore the impact a journalist
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has on their investigation. Don't sell yourself short, ma'am. Your
403
00:27:27.420 --> 00:27:30.200
role in the story is much more than that. but
404
00:27:30.240 --> 00:27:34.049
it's a bit of a puzzle to see clearly. You
405
00:27:34.089 --> 00:27:37.430
drop in all these little hints, see, like breadcrumbs. Bits
406
00:27:37.490 --> 00:27:41.890
about your own childhood, about your career struggles, about your
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00:27:42.009 --> 00:27:46.839
own morbid curiosity. It's good stuff. Acts as a nice,
408
00:27:47.579 --> 00:27:52.819
what's the word, parallel between yourself and those convicted of
409
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the killings. Is that right? Uh-huh. You also had it
410
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tough in your early days, didn't you, Miss Baker? Absentee father.
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A mama who was, shall we say, harsh in her judgments.
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Sounds like she blamed you for just about everything that
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went wrong in her life. Her husband leaving, money troubles,
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all of it. That must have been hard. But you
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bros above all that, didn't you? You got away from
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your mean old mama. You even put yourself through journalism school.
417
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Good for you. Is this your attempt to psychoanalyze me? No, ma'am.
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I'm just telling a story. And like all good stories,
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it has its ups and its downs. Your career didn't
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exactly take off after college, did it? Things got hard again.
421
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Failed relationships, money problems, rock bottom for Bertie Baker. Then
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there was that first decapitation, and everything changed. Bertie nodded.
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A slow, calculated movement of the head, as on the table,
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her fingers gripped into fists, the nails digging into the
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flesh of her palms. Sean straightened up in his seat,
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raising his head so that the fluorescent lights above glared
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off the dome of his head and glinted in his eyes.
428
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At age 30, Bertie Baker found herself back in a
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small Midwestern town, working at a failing newspaper, just when
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the internet was closing all of them down. She was
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going nowhere, and fast. That is until... The headhunter arrived.
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Bertie relaxed her facial muscles with an effort, then did
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the same with her hands. Thomas Gibbons. Sean narrowed his eyes.
434
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It must have been... been an exciting day for your
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little paper. When a woman's severed head was found on
436
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the lawn outside City Hall. You actually knew him, didn't you?
437
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Victim number one. Jackie Scholes. She lived in an apartment
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above your office. You were even brought in by the
439
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local PD for questioning. Everyone at the paper was. I
440
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found the experience rather... stimulating. The others were more... upset.
441
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No doubt. None of them saw what you did in
442
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that killing, in the killings that followed. You saw an opportunity.
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I suppose I did. She straightened up in her chair,
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her gaze flicking back to the red light on the recorder.
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Our little town was suddenly all over the news because
446
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of the murders, and the articles I was writing... were
447
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being reposted by the Associated Press. They talked to me
448
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on the news, you know. And when they arrested... And
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when new evidence suddenly popped up, said Sean, cutting her off,
450
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leading them to arrest Mr. Thomas Gibbons, you kept up
451
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the stories. You got yourself in to interview him. You
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even spoke to him on his last day. And you
453
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got him to confess. Very impressive, ma'am. Well, I suppose
454
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it's less impressive now, knowing you had to... She moved fast,
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her right arm darting now, snatching the recorder and jamming
456
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the button with her thumb. Sean rolled his eyes. Some
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of the pride in her expression faded. The bribe was necessary,
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and it was clever. Thomas was stubborn, you see. But
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his wife was ill then, and the medical bills were
460
00:31:19.269 --> 00:31:22.589
piling up. But it's like I said, it did calm
461
00:31:22.630 --> 00:31:26.190
him down, bring him comfort in his final moments to
462
00:31:26.230 --> 00:31:29.710
read his little script. She closed her eyes and smiled.
463
00:31:31.049 --> 00:31:35.059
I confess, t'was me. I tracked them down and took
464
00:31:35.119 --> 00:31:39.079
their lives. I took their heads. A dozen pretty heads.
465
00:31:40.319 --> 00:31:45.500
A dozen pretty heads, Sean repeated, by Bertie Baker. Quite
466
00:31:45.519 --> 00:31:49.059
the debut. You were a big star then. Got on
467
00:31:49.180 --> 00:31:52.769
Oprah's book club and everything. Were you proud of yourself,
468
00:31:52.829 --> 00:31:57.650
Miss Baker? Bertie opened her eyes. Of course not. I
469
00:31:57.769 --> 00:32:03.380
earned that success. Hmm. He sat back, sliding his hands
470
00:32:03.420 --> 00:32:07.059
into his lap. We both know what happened next, of course.
471
00:32:07.680 --> 00:32:10.920
The book tour, your big move to New York, and
472
00:32:10.960 --> 00:32:15.299
then silence. Seems like a whole decade passed without any
473
00:32:15.319 --> 00:32:18.640
more big wins for Bertie Baker. Must have been difficult.
474
00:32:19.420 --> 00:32:23.200
Knowing that without the gory details of the headhunter's bloody handiwork,
475
00:32:23.759 --> 00:32:26.549
you didn't have anything to say that anyone wanted to read.
476
00:32:28.190 --> 00:32:32.289
She opened her mouth to retort. But just then, voices
477
00:32:32.369 --> 00:32:35.710
raised in the hall outside. The shadows of the guards moved,
478
00:32:35.769 --> 00:32:38.349
and for a moment, both Sean and Bertie were worried
479
00:32:38.369 --> 00:32:41.130
the COs would open the door and end the interview.
480
00:32:41.970 --> 00:32:45.690
But then the voices faded. Bertie released a pent-up sigh.
481
00:32:46.750 --> 00:32:49.230
We're short on time here, Sean. Do you really want
482
00:32:49.250 --> 00:32:52.089
to spend the last few hours of your existence recapping
483
00:32:52.109 --> 00:32:56.559
the details of my career? He swallowed. Guess I'll jump
484
00:32:56.630 --> 00:33:00.299
ahead to when you got Let's call it lucky again.
485
00:33:01.380 --> 00:33:04.269
You found yourself another new serial killer to write about.
486
00:33:04.289 --> 00:33:12.190
The Brooklyn Ripper. Raj Sharvan Mukherjee. Sure. And when they
487
00:33:12.210 --> 00:33:15.819
caught him, after 12 sex workers had lost their lives
488
00:33:15.930 --> 00:33:19.440
once again, Bertie Baker was there in his cell to
489
00:33:19.480 --> 00:33:22.420
hear him tell his tale and to record his last
490
00:33:22.519 --> 00:33:25.880
fateful words. Let's see if I can get him right.
491
00:33:26.759 --> 00:33:31.750
Sean cleared his throat. Oh God, forgive me. I stabby stabby,
492
00:33:32.190 --> 00:33:35.009
I kill her in the night. My hands red with
493
00:33:35.069 --> 00:33:38.490
lady blood. How much did you promise to pay his
494
00:33:38.589 --> 00:33:42.970
family for saying that? Bertie chuckled. Not a damn cent,
495
00:33:43.299 --> 00:33:45.819
I'll have you know. Raj was so broken by the
496
00:33:45.900 --> 00:33:48.319
end that he would say anything I told him. Like
497
00:33:48.359 --> 00:33:53.220
a parrot, like a ventriloquist's dummy. Huh, is that right?
498
00:33:54.119 --> 00:33:56.960
He nodded toward the recorder. You gonna turn that thing
499
00:33:57.000 --> 00:34:01.700
back on? I'd hate to be misquoted. No, I don't
500
00:34:01.740 --> 00:34:05.480
think I will. This little conspiracy theory you're attempting to
501
00:34:05.519 --> 00:34:11.250
build here isn't worth recording. Fair enough. So where are we? Ah, yes.
502
00:34:12.050 --> 00:34:16.469
Raj confessed and was executed. And Hands Red with Ladyblood
503
00:34:16.530 --> 00:34:19.630
by Bertie Baker came out and sold even more copies
504
00:34:19.650 --> 00:34:23.070
than heads did. It says so in the third edition.
505
00:34:23.590 --> 00:34:26.530
That's the one I read. Heck of an accomplishment, ma'am.
506
00:34:27.340 --> 00:34:30.960
But that was over a decade ago. Where you've been
507
00:34:31.039 --> 00:34:35.360
since then. What you've been up to. I don't have
508
00:34:35.400 --> 00:34:38.320
a way of looking that up in here. If you're
509
00:34:38.340 --> 00:34:40.780
so smart, Sean, why don't you guess what I've been
510
00:34:40.820 --> 00:34:45.210
up to? He took a deep breath. Despite his best efforts,
511
00:34:45.650 --> 00:34:47.849
the impending hour of his own death was starting to
512
00:34:47.889 --> 00:34:50.769
take its toll on him. To make him nervous. To
513
00:34:50.809 --> 00:34:54.070
make his palms sweat. It was almost over for him.
514
00:34:54.789 --> 00:34:57.630
A few more minutes with Birdie. then a slice of pizza,
515
00:34:58.070 --> 00:35:04.889
then the gurney and the grave. He exhaled. I think
516
00:35:04.909 --> 00:35:08.400
you've been traveling, Miss Baker, coast to coast. Maybe you
517
00:35:08.420 --> 00:35:11.280
got yourself a little RV or a camper van, something
518
00:35:11.360 --> 00:35:14.659
old school, since you don't like fancy new tech like
519
00:35:14.739 --> 00:35:19.329
phones or anything that can be tracked. His lips twitched.
520
00:35:19.989 --> 00:35:24.679
How's my guess so far? Go on. July 7th, 2018,
521
00:35:24.679 --> 00:35:28.239
I'm guessing, ma'am. On that evening, you were at a
522
00:35:28.280 --> 00:35:32.940
rest stop just outside in Eric, Oklahoma. That's the night
523
00:35:32.960 --> 00:35:37.610
you were arrested. And the location? Yes, it is. And
524
00:35:37.650 --> 00:35:42.230
you think I was there? He met her eyes and squinted. Well,
525
00:35:42.429 --> 00:35:45.650
somebody put a bloody axe in my truck. Odd thing
526
00:35:45.690 --> 00:35:48.989
about that axe. There was DNA of eight of the
527
00:35:49.070 --> 00:35:52.380
butcher's victims on the blade. but the handle had been
528
00:35:52.440 --> 00:35:57.909
wiped of any prints. Funny. Funny. She put her elbows
529
00:35:57.969 --> 00:36:02.389
on the table. This story of yours, Sean, where little
530
00:36:02.469 --> 00:36:05.849
old me is some ghastly villain, it is intriguing, I
531
00:36:05.889 --> 00:36:09.010
grant you. It might even gain some traction online with
532
00:36:09.050 --> 00:36:14.599
the conspiratorial-minded folks. But there's no evidence. Who have you
533
00:36:14.639 --> 00:36:18.070
told it to so far? Your lawyer? Is she making
534
00:36:18.130 --> 00:36:21.550
a final last-ditch bid to the governor to stay your execution?
535
00:36:22.710 --> 00:36:26.530
Sean shook his head. No, ma'am. I'm sorry to say
536
00:36:26.610 --> 00:36:30.360
she is not. If I was a faster reader, or
537
00:36:30.409 --> 00:36:35.019
a faster thinker, maybe I'd have time to use it, but... No.
538
00:36:36.059 --> 00:36:39.719
The public wants me dead. And in an election year
539
00:36:39.760 --> 00:36:42.920
like this, the governor can't be seen as going soft
540
00:36:42.980 --> 00:36:47.150
on crime with any last-minute shenanigans. I know how this
541
00:36:47.190 --> 00:36:51.630
day ends. It ends with me in a box. So then,
542
00:36:52.230 --> 00:36:54.989
all this rambling, what's the point? Do you want me
543
00:36:55.030 --> 00:36:59.110
to feel ashamed, hmm? A sadness came into Sean's eyes,
544
00:36:59.690 --> 00:37:03.090
and he frowned. I don't think you know what shame is,
545
00:37:03.150 --> 00:37:07.110
Miss Baker. I think you are a heartless, merciless killer
546
00:37:07.150 --> 00:37:11.489
to the core. That's why you did those terrible things. No.
547
00:37:12.309 --> 00:37:14.610
The last thing I'm simply trying to piece together is,
548
00:37:15.170 --> 00:37:19.199
why is the confession so important? You already got away
549
00:37:19.219 --> 00:37:23.380
with the murders. All thirty-six. Twelve for the hunter, twelve
550
00:37:23.400 --> 00:37:27.179
for the ripper, twelve for the butcher. All those roles
551
00:37:27.219 --> 00:37:31.079
you've played so well, and framed so perfectly. But it
552
00:37:31.139 --> 00:37:35.360
ain't enough. You need to hear us take the blame. Why?
553
00:37:36.489 --> 00:37:42.190
She stared at him, unblinking, stoic. Why, ma'am? What is
554
00:37:42.250 --> 00:37:46.360
the twisted game you're playing with me? A twinkle came
555
00:37:46.380 --> 00:37:50.039
into her eyes. It doesn't matter why. I want you
556
00:37:50.079 --> 00:37:54.590
to confess. And you will, Sean. Soon. I guarantee it.
557
00:37:55.579 --> 00:37:59.480
Because I promised I would? Because if you don't, your
558
00:37:59.639 --> 00:38:03.940
sister will. She don't need your dirty money, he interrupted.
559
00:38:04.480 --> 00:38:07.539
But she grinned and shot back. Because if you don't,
560
00:38:08.019 --> 00:38:10.739
your sister will die. That's what I was going to say.
561
00:38:11.360 --> 00:38:14.760
And her children will die. And they will die in agony, Sean.
562
00:38:15.219 --> 00:38:20.260
I'll make sure of it. Perhaps a fire. Yes, that
563
00:38:20.360 --> 00:38:23.639
old trailer. It was an accident waiting to happen. And
564
00:38:23.679 --> 00:38:27.420
I will make it happen. That is my promise. The
565
00:38:27.440 --> 00:38:32.719
visitation room went very quiet. Across the table, both Sean
566
00:38:32.739 --> 00:38:34.579
and Bertie could hear the beating of their own hearts
567
00:38:34.639 --> 00:38:37.920
in their chests. And the breaths issuing from their lungs,
568
00:38:38.119 --> 00:38:40.980
in and out, measured and even, like a tick-tock of
569
00:38:41.019 --> 00:38:45.929
a clock counting down. The confession. It's the whole point,
570
00:38:46.030 --> 00:38:49.949
isn't it? He said, no anger in his voice, no fear.
571
00:38:50.730 --> 00:38:54.610
He was at peace again. He had his answer. You
572
00:38:54.670 --> 00:38:58.530
enjoy the murders, sure, and the success of your little books,
573
00:38:58.650 --> 00:39:03.030
but all those bodies cut apart, all that blood spilled,
574
00:39:03.329 --> 00:39:07.650
those families shattered, all of that is just set up.
575
00:39:08.909 --> 00:39:13.980
The real target is us, Thomas and Raj and me,
576
00:39:15.139 --> 00:39:19.760
the 13th victims. He leaned forward, seeming to glow in
577
00:39:19.800 --> 00:39:22.679
the lights, even as she shrank back into the shadows.
578
00:39:23.670 --> 00:39:27.269
Ain't that right, birdie? She shuddered at the sound of
579
00:39:27.309 --> 00:39:31.519
her own name, her mind rewinding decades back to her youth,
580
00:39:32.119 --> 00:39:35.179
to when she was small and panicked and so full
581
00:39:35.219 --> 00:39:38.840
of resentment, resentment at all of it, at the whole world,
582
00:39:39.280 --> 00:39:43.599
with its confusing rules and inherent unfairness. Fuck you, Sean.
583
00:39:44.480 --> 00:39:46.699
You just can't stand the idea of facing the truth,
584
00:39:46.739 --> 00:39:50.670
can you, Birdie? about your brokenness, about all the darkness
585
00:39:50.730 --> 00:39:53.530
in your heart. You gotta find somewhere to put it all.
586
00:39:53.929 --> 00:39:56.130
So you take a man and turn him into a
587
00:39:56.190 --> 00:39:59.059
maniac in the eyes of the world. You make him
588
00:39:59.139 --> 00:40:04.039
claim the guilt, and so be buried with it. Across
589
00:40:04.079 --> 00:40:07.179
the room, the locks clicked and the door swung open.
590
00:40:07.920 --> 00:40:10.949
Time's up, Miss Baker. Inmate Mingus here has a medical
591
00:40:10.989 --> 00:40:14.610
check before his last meal. Bertie blinked, a pair of
592
00:40:14.650 --> 00:40:18.139
hot and salty tears falling from her furious eyes. She
593
00:40:18.199 --> 00:40:21.099
whipped around to the CO standing in the doorway. I'm
594
00:40:21.139 --> 00:40:24.989
not finished with him! Sean shook his head, a satisfied
595
00:40:25.139 --> 00:40:28.909
look on his face. Oh yes she is! He clasped
596
00:40:28.989 --> 00:40:31.769
his hands and held up his wrists, dragging the chain
597
00:40:31.789 --> 00:40:34.630
through its loop on the table. And I'm getting hungry!
598
00:40:35.570 --> 00:40:38.989
As the guards entered and detached Sean's restraints from their hooks,
599
00:40:39.630 --> 00:40:43.070
Birdie wiped viciously at her eyes and cheeks, knocking her
600
00:40:43.110 --> 00:40:47.530
glasses askew and messing up her makeup. It's not too late, Sean!
601
00:40:48.059 --> 00:40:50.360
she said, as they got the prisoner to his feet
602
00:40:50.739 --> 00:40:53.179
and led him toward the door. You still have your
603
00:40:53.239 --> 00:40:56.670
last words to make things right. Your last chance to confess.
604
00:40:57.530 --> 00:41:00.929
Chains jingling, Sean shuffled into the hall and out of sight.
605
00:41:01.550 --> 00:41:09.269
Remember what I said, Sean. Remember what I promised. Bertie
606
00:41:09.309 --> 00:41:12.820
didn't usually watch the executions, but when the warden offered
607
00:41:12.860 --> 00:41:15.900
her a seat in the witness chamber, she had no
608
00:41:16.000 --> 00:41:19.380
choice but to accept. She had to see it, to
609
00:41:19.440 --> 00:41:22.619
hear it, to be sure Sean went through with the confession.
610
00:41:22.860 --> 00:41:26.699
But of course he would. He had figured it out,
611
00:41:26.780 --> 00:41:30.019
after all, when no one else could. He knew what
612
00:41:30.059 --> 00:41:33.360
she had done, what she was capable of doing. He
613
00:41:33.409 --> 00:41:36.869
knew she wasn't bluffing about the sister and kids. It
614
00:41:36.909 --> 00:41:40.329
might have been thrilling, having someone finally see and appreciate
615
00:41:40.369 --> 00:41:43.090
that side of her accomplishment. But the tension of the
616
00:41:43.150 --> 00:41:45.769
minutes slipping by was too much for Bertie to feel
617
00:41:45.869 --> 00:41:50.110
anything but agitation. As the stiff plastic chairs filled up
618
00:41:50.150 --> 00:41:52.949
around her, Bertie tightened her grip on her purse and
619
00:41:53.010 --> 00:41:55.730
her lap and clenched her jaw so tightly that her
620
00:41:55.769 --> 00:41:59.800
teeth squeaked together. Another journalist took the seat next to
621
00:41:59.840 --> 00:42:02.360
her and tried to ask how the day's interview went,
622
00:42:03.219 --> 00:42:07.340
but Bertie didn't even bother responding. She kept her gaze
623
00:42:07.380 --> 00:42:10.679
straight ahead, through the two-way mirror on the wall to
624
00:42:10.699 --> 00:42:14.420
the stark white execution room on the other side, where
625
00:42:14.460 --> 00:42:18.420
a nurse and a CO were preparing things. And then,
626
00:42:19.340 --> 00:42:22.880
he was let in, walking boldly on his own two feet,
627
00:42:23.360 --> 00:42:25.380
with a guard on one side and the warden on
628
00:42:25.400 --> 00:42:29.099
the other. There was a calm expression on his face,
629
00:42:29.760 --> 00:42:33.409
and a drop of tomato sauce on his chin. The
630
00:42:33.510 --> 00:42:36.309
sight of the convicted serial killer caused a great deal
631
00:42:36.349 --> 00:42:39.489
of drama in the witness room, mostly from the families
632
00:42:39.530 --> 00:42:43.150
of the long-haul butcher's victims. One young man burst into
633
00:42:43.210 --> 00:42:46.610
tears and ran from the room. Two women clung to
634
00:42:46.670 --> 00:42:50.360
each other, prayed in hushed voices, and another woman hissed
635
00:42:50.400 --> 00:42:55.699
in anger, like a cat. Bertie swallowed, watching as Sean's
636
00:42:55.760 --> 00:42:58.559
chains were removed, and he took a seat on the gurney.
637
00:42:59.360 --> 00:43:04.429
It was all very anticlimactic. Sean was cooperative, nodding along
638
00:43:04.469 --> 00:43:07.429
to instructions, and when asked, he stretched out on the
639
00:43:07.469 --> 00:43:10.670
gurney and lay quietly as they strapped down his wrists
640
00:43:10.789 --> 00:43:15.269
and ankles, and the nurse took his vitals. Stepping up
641
00:43:15.320 --> 00:43:20.079
beside the gurney, The warden cleared his throat.' Mr. Mingus,
642
00:43:20.800 --> 00:43:24.940
do you have any final words, son?' Bertie sat forward
643
00:43:24.980 --> 00:43:28.500
in her seat, her eyes wide holding her breath. On
644
00:43:28.539 --> 00:43:31.139
the other side of the glass, Sean Mingus lifted his
645
00:43:31.159 --> 00:43:33.480
head a few inches, looking from the warden to the
646
00:43:33.530 --> 00:43:36.269
two-way mirror, and though there was, of course, no way
647
00:43:36.289 --> 00:43:39.190
for him to see through to the other side, somehow
648
00:43:39.789 --> 00:43:44.809
his gaze landed right on Bertie's face.' Suppose I got
649
00:43:44.829 --> 00:43:49.130
a few, yeah?' Firstly, there's a little matter of a
650
00:43:49.159 --> 00:43:53.969
certain book, which I guess I'm supposed to name. At
651
00:43:54.010 --> 00:43:57.590
these words, the journalist next to Bertie chuckled in surprise,
652
00:43:58.210 --> 00:44:00.429
and several others turned to look at Bertie in her seat,
653
00:44:01.030 --> 00:44:05.150
watching for a reaction. Bertie continued to stare straight ahead.
654
00:44:06.550 --> 00:44:09.750
I'm not much of a writer, but how'd this look
655
00:44:09.789 --> 00:44:12.429
on the cover of a New York Times bestseller list?
656
00:44:13.610 --> 00:44:21.789
Bertie swallowed, waiting and waiting He declared, a glint in
657
00:44:21.829 --> 00:44:36.719
his eyes. Next to her, the other journalist gasped. All
658
00:44:36.760 --> 00:44:39.630
around the witness chamber, hushed voices whispered to each other
659
00:44:39.690 --> 00:44:42.650
in shock and confusion, as every muscle in Birdie's body
660
00:44:42.710 --> 00:44:45.989
went rigid in fury. Her fingers turned white as they
661
00:44:46.030 --> 00:44:49.179
squeezed upon her purse. so tightly that she heard the
662
00:44:49.219 --> 00:44:52.880
plastic casing of the digital recorder with a crack. That
663
00:44:52.960 --> 00:44:55.960
arrogant son of a bitch! She growled under her breath
664
00:44:56.440 --> 00:44:59.559
as Sean settled back against the gurney. Let's see what
665
00:44:59.599 --> 00:45:03.329
the internet does with that one. Standing over him, the
666
00:45:03.349 --> 00:45:08.750
warden looked as confused as everyone else, his mouth hanging open. Uh,
667
00:45:09.690 --> 00:45:14.449
okay then, he grumbled, looking over at the nurse. Bertie
668
00:45:14.469 --> 00:45:17.460
was hardly paying attention. She was shaking in her seat
669
00:45:18.019 --> 00:45:21.880
Sweat beaded on her forehead and cheeks. Already, she was
670
00:45:21.960 --> 00:45:25.400
mentally planning her road trip to that bastard's hometown. She
671
00:45:25.440 --> 00:45:28.389
had said she'd make the murder of Sean's sister, nieces,
672
00:45:28.429 --> 00:45:31.929
and nephews look like an accident. But no. A fire
673
00:45:32.070 --> 00:45:35.829
wouldn't do. It would be too quick. No. She would
674
00:45:35.869 --> 00:45:38.269
take her time with the family, make the mother watch
675
00:45:38.309 --> 00:45:40.929
while she carved up the children one by one. She
676
00:45:40.969 --> 00:45:43.199
would make them do things to each other, make them
677
00:45:43.239 --> 00:45:45.940
eat little pieces of each other, make them hurt each other,
678
00:45:46.489 --> 00:45:49.539
Maybe she'd make the children kill their mother. Yes, that
679
00:45:49.559 --> 00:45:52.579
was it. It was perfect. It would be the magnum
680
00:45:52.639 --> 00:45:56.800
opus to her bloody career. A masterpiece. Through the mirror
681
00:45:56.860 --> 00:45:59.619
on the wall, the nurse moved to the gurney and
682
00:45:59.679 --> 00:46:04.539
inserted the IV needles into Sean's arms. Oh. Sean said suddenly,
683
00:46:05.119 --> 00:46:07.820
making Bertie jump in her seat. He looked up at
684
00:46:07.860 --> 00:46:12.219
the warden standing beside him. One other thing, warden. Somebody
685
00:46:12.260 --> 00:46:14.699
get on the horn to my sister. Ask her if
686
00:46:14.739 --> 00:46:17.380
she'd want to go camping. and have her bring all
687
00:46:17.420 --> 00:46:22.440
the kiddos. She'll know what that means. Yep. Nodding, he
688
00:46:22.480 --> 00:46:25.280
turned to cast a sweet and supportive smile at the nurse.
689
00:46:25.800 --> 00:46:29.340
Then he closed his eyes. Resting back against the headrest
690
00:46:29.389 --> 00:46:32.989
of the gurney, he said, All right, then. Let's get
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00:46:33.030 --> 00:46:36.489
her done. Bertie did not wait to see the moment
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of his death. As the poison flowed in Sean Mingus's veins,
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she was hurrying down the prison hallway, her heels clicking,
694
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her breath panting, her makeup running from the sweat on
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her face as she jogged toward the exit. The evening
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00:46:51.670 --> 00:46:54.829
air was crisp and breezy as she moved outside. She
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fumbled in her purse to get out her car keys
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and cut one fingertip on a piece of the broken recorder. Wincing,
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she pulled out her finger and sucked on a tiny wound.
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It was all too much, the weight of this disaster.
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Too much. She had to flee. She had to get
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back on the road and far away from this prison
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and the son of a bitch lying limp and peaceful
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on the gurney inside. The man who in his death
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had beaten Bertie Baker had her own twisted game. Thanks
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for tuning in. If you enjoyed the story, be sure
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00:47:28.960 --> 00:47:31.639
to follow or subscribe and share the show with a
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00:47:31.679 --> 00:47:34.119
fellow horror fan. I'll see you in the next one.