Reel to Real (27 page)

Despite the unease — or because of it — many people continued to visit the Hollywood Video store memorial that sprang up at the store. The grieving public brought flowers, teddy bears, balloons, cards, signs, pictures, poems, candles — anything they could carry to help memorialize the victims.

It was one of the few ways the citizens could feel like they were doing something. The other was to contribute to the reward fund.

The fund grew to over $100,000.

Sunday, March 10, 1996 2 AM

For the fourth night in a row, Esther dared not sleep.

Ticking clock.

Biting nails.

Flopping side to side.

2 AM

Whirring refrigerator.

Twisting stomach.

Traffic noise.

Tick, tick, tick.

Emptiness.

Pain.

Guilt.

Desperate sadness.

Remorse.

One eye open.

Racing heart.

Suspicious sounds.

3 AM.

Start all over.

***

The nightmares and cold sweats happened again. Every time John closed his eyes, he imagined the scenes Esther had described to him. Over and over, he saw the grandparents, whose faces were burned into his brain via TV images, viciously riddled with bullets.

Esther had no idea that as a child, John had seen his parents brutally shot and murdered. That incident had affected him more than he would admit to. Despite the fact that he, John Lausell, was a grizzled ex-con of the hardest sort, the reality of what had happened in the past and what had happened in the present with Esther, now gnawed at his insides.

Besides the moral dilemma (which he wasn’t used to) he had a practical dilemma on his hands. He knew that if he contacted the police, told them Esther’s story and told them who he was, they would arrest him on the spot. Beyond that, he was well aware of the repercussions of being a snitch in prison, if that was where he ended up. Inmate code was very strict: snitch on a fellow inmate and risk a grisly death.

But keeping this information to himself made him feel disrespectful to the memory of his parents. And then there was the issue of the money he had just been made aware of. The gleaming, glinting, alluring reward money that he might take possession of, if everything was to somehow, someway, work out in his favor. The thought had crossed his mind more than once that perhaps he could save his ass and get the cash too.

Tempting. Very tempting.

***

In an effort to help parishioners heal, many local churches focused their sermons on the uncertainty of life and forgiveness. Thousands more than usual packed the churches. Clergy of all denominations sought to comfort their members. Albuquerque’s heart had been broken.

“Everyone is full of sadness,” Maria Sandoval said outside the Our Lady of the Most Holy Redeemer Church. “We don’t know what to say to our children. There are so many feelings right now. We’re hurting. We’re scared too, because they haven’t caught the killer, but we’re also mad. Because why would someone do something to innocent people that just don’t deserve it?”

***

Crystal was trying to be patient with John’s current behavior, but finally she wanted to know why he had been so quiet and standoffish since returning from Albuquerque.

“What’s up with you?” she asked over and over.

“Nothing,” he answered again and again.

Crystal did not buy it. He wasn’t himself. He seemed preoccupied all the time, grouchy, and he had no appetite. He even had performance problems in bed. This was not the John Lausell she had known prior to his recent trip to New Mexico.

She slowly realized he was keeping something from her. When he sat down at the kitchen table, he seemed more distant than ever. Normally, a fairly talkative guy, he poked at his eggs and did not speak.

“Come on John. Something’s wrong,” Crystal said. “What’s going on? Tell me … please?”

John looked up at her with droopy, bloodshot eyes. He knew he had to confide in somebody or he would go crazy.

He scratched his head, thumped his fingers on the table, took a pull from a nearby bottle of beer, and cleared his throat. “There is something,” he said, leaning toward her. “Something I don’t even know how to tell you, but I gotta tell you.”

“What?” Crystal said, also leaning in.

“I know who did it,” he confided in a hushed tone. “I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Did what?”

John thumped his fingers again, then took a couple more pulls from the bottle of beer. Then, at the last minute, told Crystal that he could not tell her after all.

Crystal shook her head. “I don't know why I even try,” she said.

At that moment, John was not concerned about Crystal's feelings. He felt like his head was going to explode. He knew deep down that Crystal was the wrong person to tell, but he had to tell someone — and soon. He considered calling the police, but ultimately, he changed his mind and did not call anyone.

6 PM

The manhunt continued. Citizens were asked to report anything suspicious, anything unusual, anything that would cause anyone to think twice. Over 1600 different tips poured in to the Crime Stoppers tip line. The police task force pursued every lead, every hunch, every foggy idea, and every sighting of any type of vehicle even remotely resembling the mysterious black van. Authorities wanted to leave no stone unturned.

The public seemed to have an unquenchable thirst for information regarding the case. They not only wanted to know who was responsible, but they wanted to know why. Why had this happened to those least able to defend themselves? Why did it happen in Albuquerque? Why was it so ultra-violent? Citizens couldn’t understand what could have possibly motivated someone to murder five innocent people who were going about their ordinary lives.

“The only way I can describe it is senseless,” a frustrated at-large city council member declared. “Senseless.”

“Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein.”

P
ROVERBS

Pueblo, Colorado

Monday, March 11, 1996 8 AM

The room was filled with smoke. A thick gray haze lingered near the ceiling, like a ghost. Except for the physical act of smoking, he hadn’t moved for hours. The only light came from a blue swag lamp hanging directly above his head.

What to do? What to do? Should he be a hero and give the people of Albuquerque what they wanted? A break in the case? An arrest? He knew he would not be a hero. This was not about that.

After yet another sleepless night, he decided to contact authorities about his knowledge of the murders. He couldn’t take the internal conflict anymore, plus he needed the money — if he could somehow pull it all off and not go to jail.

After days of indecision, John Lausell made a few phone calls.

His first call was anonymous, and it was to the Pueblo Police Department. Unfortunately, they had never heard of the Hollywood Video murders, but John pressed forward. He called the Pueblo District Attorney’s Office, also anonymously, who pointed him in the direction of a couple of detectives from the Albuquerque Police Department. John, using a fake name, called Detective Damon Fay and Detective James Torres of APD’s Homicide Unit and provided them with just enough information to get their attention.

He gave them the names of Shane Harrison and Esther Beckley. They were the ones responsible for the Hollywood Video murders, he said. He gave facts and specific information that had never been released to the general public. He told them repeatedly that he was telling the truth.

6 PM

It was cold outside, especially in the East Mountains. Dark already, too. Shane didn’t feel like going out, but he had to. He needed his guns. Just in case.

He brought Larry, another prison buddy, to help.

The guns were supposed to be buried at the end of the dirt path under the square-shaped rock, next to the big tree. After digging a few test holes, Shane found what he was looking for and dug deeper. He ended up doing all the digging himself because Larry said he had a bad back.

Shane pulled out the cache of guns wrapped in towels and then refilled the hole with dirt and paper scraps.

“Ha,” he said.

On the way back to town, Shane tried discussing potential robberies with Larry, but Larry said he didn't feel like talking. Shane made a mental note not to bring Larry again.

11 PM

Because she wasn’t sleeping, deep circles surrounded Esther’s sad eyes. John was supposed to call, but so far he hadn’t. He had called her the night before last but he seemed kind of down, kind of distant. He wasn't himself at all. She hoped that if he did call tonight, he would be more positive. She knew it was selfish, but she had so many problems of her own she didn’t want to deal with a bummed-out John too.

Finally, the phone rang.

“Hello, babe,” John said cheerfully. “How’s my favorite girl?”

Esther removed the phone from her ear and looked suspiciously at the handset. “John? Is that you?”

He laughed. “Yeah, it’s me. How’re you doing?”

“Well, I’m kinda tired, but I’m okay.”

“That’s great. Hey, I gotta question for you.”

“What question?” The question about a question made Esther suspicions. Maybe he was about to give her bad news.

“What’s your schedule for the next few of days?”

Esther thought about it for a couple of seconds and said, “Nothing special. Just the regular. Going to work, meeting with my P.O., stuff like that. Tomorrow I gotta go see my shrink, talk about my feelings. Same old boring shit.”

John laughed again. “Well, don’t be too bored, 'cause I’m coming down in a couple of days.”

Esther gasped in happiness.

“Spend some time with you.”

Esther again looked at the phone. “Aren’t you worried about the cops? Did they drop the charges or something?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know. I just figured they forgot about me by now. I wanted to come by and see you.”

“You do?” Esther said, warming to the idea. “That would be great. I miss you,”

“Yeah, I’m taking the bus down the day after tomorrow. I was able to get my hands on some money since I last talked to you.”

“Wow,” she said, trying to take it all in. “I’ve saved some money too. Not much, but maybe if we put it together, maybe we can get the hell out of Dodge. Maybe as soon as you get here we can leave for Mexico or wherever.” She paused and sobbed, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to stay here anymore, John. I can’t. I can’t take it. All I want to do is go somewhere else ... with you.”

“We’ll do it, babe. We’ll go wherever you want,” John said.

Esther cried. Maybe her tears were caused by extreme exhaustion, but more likely they were due to the exhilarating new possibility of permanently escaping her self-made hell.

“Babe,” John interrupted gently, “I need you to take a deep breath for me. I gotta go in a minute. I'm outta quarters.”

Esther took several breaths. At last, she composed herself and haltingly asked, “Are we still gonna get married?”

“I’ll bring my suit,” John said, a smile in his voice.

Tuesday, March 12, 1996  2:30 AM

At five foot three, Esther’s feet hung from the overstuffed chair like a child’s. She was excited but so tired. She needed to relax, but not too much. Even though John said he was coming soon, he wasn't there yet. She was still not safe. She had to keep at least one eye open or Shane would surely murder her in her sleep. He had told her exactly that many times.

She shifted in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but it was a no go. She was scared and bored at the same time. She had already watched as much TV as she could stand, and she didn’t particularly feel like reading, so there she sat, thinking frightening thoughts. She tried to be positive, to think about John, but a day and a half seemed like a lifetime away. She kept telling herself to calm down.

Intermittently, she would turn on the table lamp to work on a cross-stitch of a blue cat, a hobby she had picked up in prison. Inevitably, she would start to nod off.

Even though she did not want to sleep, sometimes, for a few minutes, she did. As soon as she closed her eyes she slid into some horrific, heart pounding nightmare. In one of her dreams, gobs of mud poured from the sky and covered her face. She couldn’t see or breathe. She’d wake up in a panic, gasping for air. Sometimes she dreamed she was sleeping. In those dreams, she would wake up, still in the dream, to find a large pistol pushed hard against her head. Clicking and clicking.

She eventually gave up and went outside on the balcony. She looked like an old woman, bent and worn-out, her eyes the color of blood.

She heard a noise from behind. Someone was walking up the steps.

A short, skinny, light-skinned black guy named Razor appeared. Razor had crowded, crooked teeth and smelled of stale sweat. He was yet another person she knew but was not supposed to hang out with.

“Where’s John?” he said as he fidgeted with a lighter in his hand. “I need to see him. He owes me money and I gotta get it.”

Esther informed him that John had left town unexpectedly and she had no idea where he was or when he might return.

“That’s a sorry bummer,” Razor said, flicking the lighter and holding the flame to Esther’s face. “Cause now I’m gonna get the shit kicked outta me if I don’t come up with that cash. He still owes me. Ya see him, ya tell him. Tell him I lent him a hundred bucks for a favor and he said I’d already get it back. He said it’d be a quick favor and now I’m short the wrong way to Old Man Bunch. I gotta pay Old Man Bunch or else.”

Esther changed the subject and asked Razor if he had any meth. Said she was looking to buy. Razor’s face lit up like a beer sign in a bar, and he promptly dug out a small, sealed baggie. His hand shook as he held it out, just above his pocket.

“It’s good shit,” he said, his hand growing even shakier. “Ya could ask John. I always sell good shit.” He fiddled with the bag for a moment then continued. “It’s my last one. Gimme a bill and ya could have it.”

“A bill? I’m not giving you a fucking hundred,” Esther said, voice hard. “It’s not worth that.” She shook her head. “I don’t have that much anyway.”