amphibi.us

The same day the body of a missing 16 year-old boy was found nailed to the trunk of a Redwood tree in Northern California, the Crescent Center police department received a painting depicting the horrendous murder.  Its extraordinary, if ironic, beauty and obvious mastery caused sheriff Ralph Taymor and his deputy, Ernie Cowell, to stare at it in awe and admiration for several minutes even though they knew it was the work of a psychopath.  By now four such paintings had been received by various law enforcement agencies up and down the West Coast.  Each shared one prominent characteristic—dominance of the color blue.  Because of this and the paintings’ somber subject the perpetrator was labeled the Blue Killer, a sobriquet inspired by an art historian who compared the works to those of Picasso’s Blue Period.

The murders had taken place at three-month intervals and the killer was indiscriminate in his selection of victims.  Thus far he had slain two women, one man, and the teenager.  The adults ranged in age from a 34 to 52 and the locations of their murders ran the length of California’s coast.  There was no evident pattern to the killings.  Some victims had been found in cities and others in rural areas, and the methods employed to take their lives ran the gamut.  One died of a knife-wound, one by a gun, one by strangulation, and the most recent victim had been crucified in a state park.  Two of the murder paintings arrived before the discovery of the bodies and two appeared at the offices of local authorities within 48 hours of the corpses’ discoveries.  The inconsistencies confounded police and making matters worse was the mesmerizing affect of the paintings.  The cops all but lost the focus required to pursue the Blue Killer.

Only with the third victim was a connection with the paintings made and the State Bureau of Investigation was called in to assess the situation.  Before examining the paintings, Curtis Ogilvy and his team of homicide profilers from the Behavioral Sciences unit of the SBI combed the sites where the bodies were found.  This took several days and by the time they completed their probe another victim had been added to the list and a new painting surfaced.

All five paintings were shipped to the SBI offices in Los Angeles and when Ogilvy saw them he, too, fell under their spell.  For two days he could not direct his eyes elsewhere, and when he finally managed to do so, he was still unable to think of anything else.  His attention shifted from solving the horrible crimes to basking in the hypnotic aura of the serial killer’s acrylics.  Despite the gruesome nature of their subject matter, they were compelling images.

Efforts to track down the serial killer came to a halt as law enforcement officials eagerly awaited the arrival of yet another painting.  However, when it became apparent to the public–which had yet to see the pictures–that nothing was being done to track down the murderer, the governor was forced to demonstrate concern.  He ordered the paintings be made available for a scheduled televised statement where he planned to address the crimes.  Ogilvy balked at the idea because he did not want to share the prized cache with the world but he had no choice.  All five paintings were delivered to KNBC where they would be unveiled during the governor’s appearance.

* * *

At 7 P.M., cameras showed the governor standing before the enshrouded paintings, and a few sentences into his speech, they were unveiled.

“Here before you are the works of a diabolical killer, paintings that depict . . ..”

The works prompted a gasp of awe from the reporters in the studio as well as from many viewers at home.  Noting the unusual reaction of the journalists, the state’s top official turned and took his first look at the paintings.  He silently gaped at the portraits of death and rather revulsion he felt a strong attraction to them.  Finally the governor turned back to the camera and continued with his comments.

“As I was saying, these paintings are the work of an extraordinary individual, and we will continue to pursue the person responsible for their creation to better understand the purpose and motivation behind these killings and this unique art.  They are truly the product of a great talent,” concluded the governor returning his gaze at the paintings, and the viewing audience fully agreed with his appraisal.

The day following the governor’s appearance another painting showed up at a police station in Glendale and it, too, was met with more excitement and enthusiasm than alarm.  The same reaction was repeated a couple days later when yet another painting was delivered to the sheriff’s office in Visalia.

By now everyone in the country had seen the Blue Killer’s spellbinding portraitures and they had become the rave of the art world far eclipsing any concern for the murders they chronicled.  At the recommendation of the President, they were installed on temporary display in the National Gallery to be enjoyed by the masses.  Thousands of fans lined the streets surrounding the gallery daily to see what the media heralded as artwork comparable to, if not surpassing, that of the most lauded painters in history, including Picasso himself.

A headline in a leading New York City newspaper declared: “Picasso Turns Blue with Envy in Grave!” while another claimed the Blue Killer’s paintings contained spiritual messages.  Meanwhile, the world impatiently awaited the arrival of the next masterpiece but for the first time weeks passed without another emerging.  Impatience grew and finally the President held a primetime news conference in which he appealed to the Blue Period Killer to get productive again.

* * *

With rapt attention, Carlos Samega watched the broadcast from his studio in his deceased mother’s house in a rundown section of Fresno.  He had thought of killing again, but the urge had been significantly diminished over the last weeks by the universally positive reaction his paintings had elicited.  The public loved what he did and this removed the incentive Carlos required to perform again.  That his paintings did not fill people with the disdain and horror he desired depressed him.  He decided to stop killing as an act of protest.

“What’s wrong with people these days?” he grumbled as he headed to the Fresno police headquarters with the intention of confessing his crimes and making his actual purpose clear to everyone.  “They think they’re beautiful . . . such fools!” Carlos growled as he climbed into his grimy pickup truck.

To his further dismay he had to wait in line for an hour before reaching the officer on duty.  When he finally did, he was greeted as if invisible.

“Yeah, what’s the problem?’ grunted the beefy figure behind the counter.

“I’m here to confess to a crime . . . several crimes,” said Carlos bracing himself for what he thought would come next.

“Let me guess,” replied the officer impassively.  “You’re the Blue Killer, right?”

“Well, yes . . . as a matter of fact, I am,” answered Carlos startled by the instant recognition.

“Take a number, buddy.  It’s confession day.  Better yet, come back in a day or two, because right now we’re up to our ass in suspects.  Next!” bellowed the officer gruffly as he looked past Carlos to the endless line behind him.

Carlos exited the precinct feeling more dejected and depressed than ever.  On his way home he concocted a plan of reprisal.

“Bastards take the fun out of everything, but we’ll see about that,” he mumbled gripping the steering wheel with the same force he had exerted on the throat of one of his female victims.

* * *

Upon arriving home Carlos went directly to his studio and removed the handful of paintings stored there.  He then made a fire in the backyard and incinerated them.  When there was nothing left but ashes, he returned to his studio and began to sketch.

“What the hell kind of world is this anyway?” lamented Carlos putting his pencil aside and removing a gun from a drawer.

It was weeks before police found his decaying body.

“Well, he’s no Blue Killer,” observed the detective inspecting the drawing found next to Carlos.

It consisted of a stick figure with its middle fingers extended and an inscription.

“It says ’Picture this?’  Now what’s that supposed to mean?” asked his partner pointing to the words below the drawing.

“Just another crazy glory seeker is my guess.  Lot of nuts out there,” replied the detective placing the sketch in an evidence bag.

© Michael C. Keith, 2010