Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 03

"Wait a second please." Erica interrupted Arlene, furiously writing to catch up. "K got it, go ahead."

"Prisoner was all over the place, emotionally, mentally. Yelling out for hours, throwing himself around the cell. Next part though is what stuck with me. My partner said that when he went to check on him, he'd gone quiet all sudden like so my partner had gotten concerned. He finds the guy scrawling gibberish on the walls of his cell in his own excrement. Same phrase over and over."

"Holy fuck" Erica breathed, "What was he writing?"

"I can't remember. I have been wracking my brain trying to but either my partner never said or I've just forgotten. Remember this was twenty years ago when I heard the story."

"Sure, sure I get it. So, what was the interracial connection? What made you bring it up now?" Erica was literally hopping up and down in her seat as she waited for Arlene to continue.

"Prisoner and his wife, both white. The lover, black. Look maybe it's nothing, maybe it's a total waste of time and maybe, just maybe it's the clue that was needed. All I know is that it's a coincidence and neither of us are big believers in coincidences, right?"

"Right. So do you have a name, any details on the murder?"

"I looked it up before calling you, the prisoner was called Gerry Butterman." Arlene spelt out the name for Erica, "That's all you really need, there's plenty online about it. Happened in a place called Oxford, North Carolina. What isn't online is that after serving twenty-five years for his wife's murder, Gerry Butterman was released just over seven years ago. Before Morris smith was killed."

"Fuuucckk!" Erica breathed as she scribbled down the information. "Any idea where Gerry Butterman is now?"

"None, guy seems to have dropped off the map but I'll keep looking. While I do that, keep in mind that there is one other person there the night the murder happened. Okay, I need to get back to work. See ya."

Erica was so engrossed in her note taking that Arlene had rung off before she had the chance to thank her. She grabbed her computer and started to run searches for Gerry Butterman. No social media which came as no surprise, but a lot of old articles detailing the murder and subsequent trial. Erica read through a number of articles to get a feel for the event, it seemed like an act of jealous rage, the murder not being premeditated. Importantly she got the name of Mrs Butterman's lover, a Randall Tiller.

It took a couple of hours, again because of a lack of social media activity by Randall Tiller, but Erica was able to gather some information on him. The good news was he was still alive, he was still in North Carolina, he'd moved towns since the murder but he was still working on a road maintenance crew as he had been at the time of the killing. Sixty-one years old, unmarried and hopefully in possession of a good memory for Erica's sake.

Two days later and Erica found herself walking into Weavers Bar and Grill. It was a decent looking place on the south end of a small North Carolina town. What made it special, aside from their 'world famous ribs' as advertised on the sign at the door was that it was where the local road crew went for beers after work, at least according to the guy working the desk at her hotel.

Erica was wearing a long grey cardigan over a black sleeveless crop top and a pair of high-rise denim shorts that had a distressed and frayed look to them. She'd gone for a look that would draw attention but better that than to look like an investigator or reporter. She didn't want Randall clamming up on her. The place was all but empty, too late for a lunchtime crowd and still too early for the evening rush. She went straight up to the bar counter and settled onto one of the high stools in front of it.

"Hey, what can I get you?" The barmaid looked tired but she still greeted Erica with a friendly smile as she asked the question.

"Umm am I too late for food?" Erica looked about her but couldn't see a menu around.

"No, we serve all day. Wait there, I'll fetch you a menu." The woman turned around and went to pull a menu out from a slot beside the cash register. Erica scanned over it quickly, settling on one of their homemade burgers topped with avocado, portion of fries on the side. She ordered a beer while she waited.

About fifteen minutes later the food arrived, Erica ordered a second beer, the first now gone. As the barmaid set the second bottle beside Erica with a smile, the main door opened. Using the mirror set behind the bar, Erica checked out the four men walking in. Two were white and two were black but they were all in their twenties or thirties, the eldest was still a few years shy of forty. That meant none of them were Randall, but judging by their work clothes they could well be part of the road crew he worked with.

While she checked them out surreptitiously, they were a lot more blatant in their scrutinization of her. Erica could see the leering looks clearly in the polished surface of the mirror. She took a few bites of her burger, savouring the taste. Delicious! She managed a couple of fries before the expected approach came. It was the eldest of the group, a sandy haired white guy who was actually decent looking but was badly in need of a shave and a better barber, his hair appearing ragged and self-trimmed.

He positioned himself beside Erica at the bar, shifting an empty chair slightly so he could stand right beside her. The bartender listened patiently as he listed off a clutch of drinks and then went to gather up his order.

"Hey, haven't seen you in here before." he said facing Erica. She took another bite of the French fry in her hand before answering.

"No doubt, since I've never been here before."

"Well, if you are looking for a bit of company while you eat..." he nodded his head towards the table filled by his friends, "we are a friendly group to hang with."

Erica turned in her seat slightly to look directly at the trio of expectant faces around the table, then she turned back to the man at the bar.

"No doubt." she repeated, "and does the group include Randall Tiller?"

"You looking for ol' Randall?" There was a hint of derision on his face as he asked the question. When Erica nodded in reply the man said nothing. He turned to pay the bartender for the drinks before gathering them up. As he started back to the table he spoke again.

"He's parking the truck, probably stopped for a smoke, expect he'll show up in a minute."

Randall showed up five minutes later. Once again Erica watched via the mirror as he entered the room. He was of average height and build although the arms and shoulders had the bulk of a man who had spent decades in hard physical labour. For a man of his age, he moved sprightly enough, the only indication of his years was the white/grey moustache he sported on his upper lip. His head was shaved clean. Erica continued to watch as he collected his drink from his work colleagues, his head turning to regard her as they outlined the situation to him. Once he knew he was a man in demand he hurriedly crossed the room to join Erica at the bar.

"It ain't my birthday." he said cryptically, continuing as Erica turned to face him. "Not my birthday or Christmas so you ain't a gift. I didn't enter any competitions or raffles so you aren't a prize. So, what are you and what am I to you?"

Erica had already prepared a story. She figured identifying herself as a reporter wasn't going to cut much ice with this man. She needed a ploy that would allow her to ask questions but also appeal to a lecher like Randall.

"Hi!" she said, offering her hand, "I'm Erica. I've just started at the local college and I'm looking for your help with something. Hoping you'll help I mean."

He took her hand in his, she could see the gleam in his eye as he processed 'just started at college' into 'eighteen or nineteen years old'. Erica was actually twenty-four but with her looks and how she'd dressed, nineteen was very plausible.

"Help with what?" Tiller asked.

"I have a project on eyewitness history. I was hoping you could tell me about... about the death of Kristine Butterman." Erica kept her expression as innocent as possible. She didn't want him picking up on her excitement or desperation. At the name he winced like he'd bitten into something sour; he took a swig of beer and ran the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Why you want to go digging up that shit? Woman is long dead and gone." Tiller asked.

"I understand." Erica leaned forward slightly, she let her hand touch briefly on his arm as if steadying herself as she shifted position, "It's just I really want to do well, I could just go online but if I had a direct source, well my lecturer is definitely going to score me well. You'd be doing me such a huge favour if you'd just talk to me a little while. Please?"

"I don't expect you hear 'no' all that often huh? Well, I wouldn't want to deny you something huge." Randall gave her a wink as he said this and he levered himself up onto the seat beside her. Erica could hear the groans of disbelief and lewd cackles from his co-workers.

"Do you mind if I record this?" Erica lifted her phone into view. "I forgot to bring anything to write with" she simpered.

He waved his hand acceding to her request and Erica turned the recording app on.

"Don't know that you'll need to record this, there ain't much to tell, everything was in the papers but if you want to hear it then I'll tell you. Can't tell you exactly when I met Kristine, wont lie to you, I was seeing a couple of other women at the same time so details like that can get all mixed up thirty years later. Maybe its in one of the interviews I gave back then, maybe it ain't, I don't recall."

He took another drink. He might have acted all casual about it but Erica could read the tightness in his body language, stress from an old memory, a memory that might have fuelled some nightmares over the years.

"I will tell you that she wasn't the sainted housewife they tried to paint her as in the papers. Woman wasn't much to look at, short, some thickness in her legs and ass, average face. But that woman was a demon in the sack. She had energy to burn and a real taste, a hunger for the cock. That I do remember."

"And the night of the murder? The reports said her husband arrived home just after seven in the evening" Erica prompted him.

"That sounds about right. He was an accountant or some such. Office worker anyway. He headed out just before eight that morning. Soon as he drove off, I was slipping in the back door and into his bed. Sheets still warm from him heh-heh. Yeah, we brewed up a storm that day, fucking hard all day long, right up to the point he walks in on us. Like I said, she was a demon, we lost track of time in all the excitement."

"Uh, um are you sure? I mean about the timeline? You and Kristine were together, I mean having sex from 8am till 7pm? Eleven hours?" Erica thought that the three decades had colored his view on the events.

"Yep, I'm sure. Aside from a few piss breaks and eating a grilled sandwich we were pretty much humping the entire time." he answered with a noticeable pride.

"Eleven hours!" Erica repeated incredulously.

"Girl I was fucking every night of the week, nutting two or three times each night before you were even born. Marathon like that was nothing to me back then. I might have slowed up some since, but I figure I'd still be good for half that anyway."

"Um, err, okay, so umm back to him walking in." Erica said. She stole a quick glance at the old man's crotch, she thought she could see the front of the work pants shift but figured her imagination was getting the better of her.

"Kristine was on all fours; I was behind her and she was wailing like a cat on fire. We were both getting close as I recall. Anyway, I'm yelling my head off now as well, then the door bursts open. Fucker is standing there, shaking like a leaf, big ass gun in his hand pointed right at me. Fucker yells something at me, or maybe at her, can't recall. Then this fucking cannon in his hand goes off. I figure he was aiming at me but missed. All I know is, Kristine goes limp, like dead weight limp and I'm throwing my naked black ass out the bedroom window. Broke my ankle when I landed but I still ran flat out for like ten minutes before a passing cop car pulls me over. Naked black man running down the street, course they stopped me. I tell them what happens and they toss me in the car and drive full speed back to the house. By the time we get there, husband's gone, Kristine is dead."

Randall swallowed the last of his beer, tapped the bottle idly against his leg, lost in his memories for a while.

"That was it. She died, he went down for it and I lived. End of story." he cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at Erica's phone. She picked it up, turning off the recorder.

Episode 3: 'The game is afoot'

"You know he got out?" Erica spoke softly as she put the phone back into her shorts.

"No, figured he would eventually if he wasn't shanked in prison first." Randall replied.

"The idea doesn't worry you?" Erica asked.

"Girl, I got one thing about that night that keeps me awake from time to time. It ain't fear of that fucker coming back to finish the job. It's regret I didn't take that gun off of him and beat his ass to death with it, ya hear me?"

"Yes." she replied in a small voice. Erica pulled out some cash, leaving a good tip for the woman behind the bar. She indicated Randall's empty beer bottle, "Can I get you one before I go?"

"I'm good." He hitched at the waistband of his pants casually, it drew Erica's eye once more to his crotch. This time she definitely saw movement beneath the coarse material. "Can I get you anything before you go?" Randall let the rejoinder hang there.

"Umm." Erica said, her brain sending a signal for her mouth to say 'No, thanks anyway' but somehow the message got scrambled in the delivery.

"College project, you need...watchyacallit... verification, right? Like proof of facts. I'm thinking you need to verify what I just told you, check stuff up in papers and such. Right?"

"Uh, yes, right" she answered.

"So, you won't get no... thingy... verification thing... from the papers about what went on between Kristine and me. Only one way to verify that." Randall stated flatly.

'Fuck' Erica thought as she saw his cock clearly straining against the front of his workpants. 'No, no, no' she thought, 'you have the interview, time to go. So just say it...time to go.'

"You're right let's go!" Erica said.

They took the crews truck to his place, a single storey home about three miles outside the town, the nearest neighbour looked to be a good mile away.

"Won't the others need the truck?" Erica twisted her head to look through the back panel window at the contents in the flat bed. There were a couple of men's jackets and back packs among the equipment lying there.

"I'm texting them; they'll swing by to pick up their stuff." he answered, one eye on the road, the other on the phone in his hand, his thumb jabbing at buttons.

The truck slowed to a halt in front of the house. As Erica got out she could hear muffled barking from inside. 'Not another dog' she thought to herself remembering Tiny's aggressive pet.

Randall stepped onto the porch. There was a waist high, flat surfaced railing enclosing it, white paint chipped and faded on both it and the walls of the house. He opened the front door and a big Coonhound bounded out, leaping up, front paws on Randall's chest, to greet its master affectionately. He ruffled the dogs head in turn before pushing him off gently. He then stepped inside, the dog and Erica following behind.

"Take a seat." Randall said gesturing to one of the chairs around the kitchen table. He then proceeded to pull some food for his dog out of a press, filling up a bowl. Erica hadn't really paid much attention to the house as she'd walked in. Clean, plain, minimally furnished was her impression. A big step up from sex on a pool table. Randall filled a second bowl with fresh water and then, a bowl in each hand, he led the dog outside, closing the door firmly behind him.

"That's him fed and happy, now let's get you fed." he said with a salacious grin.

The bedroom was even less furnished than the rest of the house, a few boxes in a corner served as a wardrobe, a king-sized bed, the old-fashioned iron framed type, filled most of the rest of the room. Randall leaned with his back against the door jamb as Erica walked a couple of paces further into the room, when she realised, he had stopped she drew up as well, turning to face him.

"Let's see what we're working with eh? Been a long fucking time since I had a piece of young flesh like you come into my life, been even longer since it looked as good as you. I'm gonna enjoy this. How would you college types say it? Gonna savour the moment. Strip. But slow."

Erica started with her shoes, simple tennis shoes that she edged off using just her feet and leaving them by the bed. Then she shrugged the cardigan off of her shoulders, letting it fall slowly to the floor behind her. She saw Randall licking his lips, he seemed older now under the bright white light coming from the bedroom ceiling. She could see the weathered look to his skin, age and working outside in the elements adding wrinkles to it. Erica pulled her top over her head. She'd gone braless beneath it. As the material blocked her view, she heard Randall's breathing deepen at the sight of her white tits.

Finally, she unbuttoned the waist of her jeans, hooking her thumbs inside the waistband to pull it down.

"Stop, turn around and do it." Randall ordered.

Erica turned 180 degrees and slowly pulled the shorts down, bending over by increments as she guided them to the floor. She stood up straight then, repeating the manoeuvre with her pale-yellow panties.

"Can I turn again?"

"Slow, turn slow." Randall answered.

Erica turned back to face him, naked as a new-born. 'You are such a slut' she thought, but she was completely turned on by the situation. Maybe it was the porno she'd watched the other day, maybe it was the lingering tension and stress from the party and then again maybe she just wanted to get fucked. Erica had no illusions to how she looked, she'd gotten used to getting hit on, had men aplenty desire her. But there was something to be said for a man 'wanting' her.

"Fucking sexy, damn fucking sexy." Randall said, Erica just smiled in response.

He took his clothes off then, no slow striptease here, just a need to get nude and fast. His body wasn't amazing, although his work had kept him in shape there was still a slight paunch around his middle and the slight sag to his skin that again was a hallmark of his years. But his cock looked as it probably had when he'd been a young man in his prime. Hard, long and black... it was eleven inches if it was one. He'd trimmed his pubic hair as well, cock and balls shorn clean, so there was no sign of his age to be seen at all.

He walked towards her, Erica hopping backwards onto the bed in anticipation.

"I won't be able to give you a full day, but you'll leave here happy that I guarantee." Randall said pushing her back so she lay flat across the bed. He knelt down and ran a strong finger firmly lengthways over her slit.

"Mmmh yes." Erica moaned softly.

He pushed his finger inside, pulling it out again, licking at her juice. "Sweet little peach, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh" she moaned, her hips rolling slightly as she settled herself.

"I'm gonna bruise this peach tonight. You know that?" He pushed his finger back inside, deeper this time, moving it slowly as he spoke. "This ain't gonna be one of those 'fumbling in the back seat of a car-five minutes of disappointment fucks' that you get from one of those white college boys. Nah, this is gonna get nasty, understand?"