Hellbound: The Tally Man (4 page)
Read Hellbound: The Tally Man Online
Authors: David McCaffrey
As he opened the door leading outside, Eva ran towards him. “Obadiah, where are you going? You’re not even dressed.”
He glanced at her momentarily, before slamming the door and racing down the path. As he jumped the fence, Eleanor opened the door to the cupboard where she had been hiding, her cheeks stained with dried tears.
“Mummy, where’s Daddy gone? He sounded angry. He’s poorly again, isn’t he?”
Putting her arm around her daughter, she pulled her close and whispered softly to her. “I don’t know, baby. Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”
Dr. John Franklin, BS.c. HONS, PH.D. M.A., M.CLIN, PSYCH. A.F.PS.S.I.
Case Number: 01020541/27
Subject: Stark, Obadiah James (a.k.a. The Tally Man)
Classification: Serial Killer
Intro: During the years 1988 and 2003, the subject murdered no less than twenty-seven people (U.K. and U.S.) as verified by the Gardaí and the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI). Subject was captured in May of 2003 at Dublin airport attempting to flee back to the United States. He was remanded in custody until his trial with all extradition requests by the U.S A refused by the Irish Government. He was subsequently tried and sentenced to death at ADX Absolom.
Purpose of Study: To identify social, physiological, and psychological factors that could lead to better profiling of serial killers.
Methodology: Forensic evidence, crime-scene reports, interviews with FBI and Gardaí investigators over a three-year period (2007-2010) as well as a direct subject interview. Additional biographical information was gathered from schoolteachers, judges, solicitors, psychologists and correctional staff currently employed at ADX Absolom. Credit is to be given to Warden Richard Sabitch, who was instrumental in arranging the private session with the subject.
Subject classification: During the mid-1970s, the FBI agent Robert K. Ressler coined the phrase ‘serial killer’ after serial movies
1
. Supporting this, Akira Lippit argued that, ‘Like each episode of a serial movie, the completion of each serial murder lays the foundation for the next act which in turn precipitates future acts, leaving the serial subject always wanting more, always hungry, addicted
2
.’
Investigators describe three types of killer who commits multiple murders; the mass murderer who kills several people at one time, spree killers who go on a rampage with knives or guns, killing one person after another; and the serial killer, who dispatches victims one at a time, sometimes with a gap of several years between murders. Serial killers pose a special problem for criminal investigators because their motives are often far less obvious than those of someone who commits a single murder.
Obadiah Stark fits firmly into the serial killer category. His crimes took place over a period of sixteen years; taking the lives of twenty-seven people known to the authorities (this figure is based upon Obadiah’s ‘tally’, located on his back in the form of a tattoo. It is suspected his number of victims is greater than twenty seven, but this will be touched upon later in the report).
Psychopathology: Prior to the commissioning of this report, a request was made by this author to perform an electroencephalogram on Obadiah to assess possible enhanced brain activity. The intent was to evaluate the possibility of whether patterns that define serial killer behaviour are linked to the mind. The request was refused by both Warden Richard Sabitch and Obadiah himself.
A medical examination of Obadiah after his arrest revealed a biochemical imbalance present in his blood and urine tests, identifying a condition called pyroluria. Though widely contested in the medical profession, pyroluria is believed to be an inborn genetic abnormality in the haemoglobin causing the production of the protein kryptopyrrole.
3
. The condition is also thought to be responsible for a wide range of behavioural conditions such as schizophrenia, depression, paranoia and certain types of violent behaviour, though this remains mostly theoretical.
Present in up to 70% of diagnosed schizophrenic and depressive patients, it has also been found in the blood of alcoholics, children with learning disabilities and in approximately 10% of the non-psychiatric stressed population. It is also common in most cases of lung cancer. Certain ethnic groups such as the Irish show an increased percentage of pyrolurics
4
. This is interesting given Obadiah’s family background.
Subject history: Obadiah James Stark was born 21st November 1966 in Kerry, Ireland. He was raised in a working class Catholic household by his biological parents. Subject’s father, Eli Stark, worked at an iron works in Kerry. Subject’s mother, Aideen Stark nee Reed, worked as a cleaner at a local school. Anecdotal reports from neighbours indicated that Subject’s father was prone to beating Obadiah and his mother. Police records for Eli Stark indicate numerous arrests for drunken behaviour. One report highlighted an incident where Obadiah had to be admitted to hospital having been knocked unconscious following Eli shunting him into a wall.
Discussion with neighbours and former schoolteachers describe a child who would spend a great deal of his time alone. Records attained from the local church confirm Subject served as an altar boy between the ages of seven and ten. Neighbours confirm subject had established a friendship with Thomas Jacques, a fellow churchgoer whom he was often seen with after service.
Excerpt taken from interview with Thomas Jacques (altar boy at the same time as Obadiah):
“He was a bit of a loner. He never really talked about what went on at home, but I had an idea. I just felt bad for him, so one day I invited him fishing. We spent an hour together by the lake. He was very fidgety. We started messing around, skimming rocks. He managed to hit a duck near the shore. Next thing I know, he’s in the water, had grabbed it by the neck, beat it to death against a tree trunk, then tore off its head. I remember laughing, but really I was scared. He seemed unfazed by the whole thing. Almost calm. I avoided him after that. Thankfully he moved to the States.”
Additional information: Eli Stark’s acceptance of a job for Gerdau SA at its Atlas Steel unit meant that Obadiah moved with his parents to New Orleans in 1979. There he attended St Anthony’s School in the Jefferson Parish, one of many in the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New Orleans. Despite the opportunities such a change of location may have presented, police and medical records indicate that Eli’s pattern of alcohol-fuelled violent behaviour increased during this time. They had been there less than a year when Aideen Stark died after apparently drowning whilst in the bathtub. Evidence pointed to her having fallen asleep after drinking heavily. The police, suspecting foul play, questioned Eli following the incident and his history of violent behaviour towards his wife. No charges were brought against him.
One week later Obadiah’s father was found dead inside his car. According to the police report, Eli Stark had been the victim of a botched robbery attempt, though there was no evidence that anything had been stolen. His throat had been slashed, his stomach gouged and his spine snapped. The police reported that the attack seemed particularly frenzied for a robbery, with the injuries suggesting a personal attack. Obadiah was questioned in relation to Eli Stark’s death, and subsequently released. He was thirteen years of age.
Following this period Obadiah became a ward of the state, spending time in various care homes. Social workers at the time highlighted that he displayed unpredictable behaviour, often reacting to situations with sudden, violent outbursts. One report recounted a situation where he beat a boy bullying him almost to death with a metal clothes prop following a disparaging remark made against him. Carers at the various establishments Obadiah spent time living in noted that, despite his developing violent, disposition, he also became noted for his ability to manipulate other residents. Such coercion was noted as involving the promotion of gambling amongst other residents and the encouragement of others to commit theft. Entries in his social records indicated numerous warnings regarding the aforementioned, as well as cautions concerning violent behaviour. Such behaviour accounted for Obadiah’s transfer to different facilities over the course of eight years until he turned twenty one and thereby no longer the responsibility of the state.
Though such events and actions can perhaps be considered common place in an environment where children from broken homes congregate, it may also be suggested that in such places, Obadiah began to understand how his intellect and understanding of human behaviour could be used to satisfy his own needs. In this case, basic power and control over others and a developing narcissistic belief that he was above the law.
It is the author’s opinion that all of the aforementioned, his abuse as a child and its subsequent introverting effects on his personality, may well have led to the development of his sociopathic tendencies. However, it is important to note that I also believe these characteristics were already present in Obadiah’s personal makeup and simply suppressed, only coming to light when he underwent an emotional trauma. It is a sad truth that many children suffer physical, sexual and psychological abuse, but a great many do not grow up to be malcontents, murderers, rapists or paedophiles. As discussed under the heading psychopathology, genetic factors may be contributory to a person’s development, both morally and emotionally. Obadiah’s relocation to a foreign land and the reaching of his threshold of endurance for suffering at the hands of his parents may have only compounded his feelings of alienation. In Obadiah’s case, this alienation then channelled him towards a destructive path consisting of murder.
References
1
Ressler, Robert, K and Tom Schachtman (1992) Whoever Fights Monsters, St. Martin’s, New York.
2
Lippit, Akira Mizuta (1996). The infinite series: fathers, cannibals, chemists… Criticism: 1-18.
3
Kraus, R.T. (1995) An enigmatic personality: case report of a serial killer. Journal of Orthomolecular Medicine 10, 11-24.
4
Hoffer, A (1995). The discovery of Kryptopyrrole and its importance in diagnosis of biochemical imbalances in Schizophrenia and in criminal behaviour. Journal of Orthomolecular Medicine, 10 (1):3.
‘The death penalty is certainly pro-life to those would-be victims if a convicted killer is released. And in this day of ultra-liberal courts, anything is possible. The death penalty is appropriate punishment for capital crimes, and is also the ultimate form of deterrence: people who are executed can never murder again.’
Bob Meyer
Chapter Three
September 16th
07:15
Denny Street, Tralee (Trá Lí)
County Kerry, Ireland
FIRST published in 1904,
The Daily Éire
was now Ireland’s biggest selling regional newspaper. Save for a brief interruption when the Black and Tans destroyed the paper’s presses during the War of Independence in 1919,
The Daily Éire
had always prided itself as being on hand to break the news and report the most important events from not only Ireland, but the rest of the world. Such prestige had made it not only a bastion in the publishing industry of Ireland, but a working environment considered one of the best by most of its employees.
* * *
Joe wasn’t sure if it was the hangover that he was nursing or his book proposal diverting his focus, but the office hadn’t looked an encouraging sight to him from the moment he arrived. On his way into work, and despite the fact he knew he shouldn’t even be behind the wheel of a car, he had made a quick stop at McDonalds to try and shake himself out of his alcohol-induced reverie. Three cups of coffee later, he was still feeling the caffeine’s arrhythmic effects as he laid his bag down beside his chair and perused the surroundings.
A labyrinth of brown desks around him were already filling up with the early risers, their black computer monitors blinking to life as they began performing their daily wind-up routines of hectic communication and frenzied motion…all in pursuit of that looming deadline. Joe tried never to feel pressured by deadlines. His view of them was that they were something to aspire to, not be dictated by.
Surrounded by various papers, photographs and reports haphazardly decorating the surface of his desk and an in-tray stacked high with jobs to do, he sat down and flicked on his computer. Given that his work space was pretty much the same all year round, he couldn’t use his book as an excuse for not tidying it. Besides, he liked to think of his desk as user-friendly; if you stepped back and looked at it from a distance, it all made perfect sense.
Tapping in his username and password, Joe winced as the message notification flashed up on the screen, informing him of fifty-seven e-mails in his inbox. His hangover recovery not yet in full swing, he tilted back in the chair and began massaging his temples. His piece on Obadiah’s execution had brought with it all the ethical baggage he had expected with a state execution. The whole situation had ignited a capital punishment debate in the country, with even stanch Roman Catholic, Bertie Ahern throwing his opinion into the arena. Joe had caught him on Sky News that morning, arguing that criminals were real people who had lives and a capacity to feel pain and fear. He had smiled hearing the former Taoiseach insist that ‘what is being overlooked is the mental suffering that the criminal suffers in the time leading up to the execution.’ The faux drama of him asking a reporter how he would feel knowing he was going to die tomorrow morning at 08:00, was forced to the point of being comical.
Joe had to agree there was no such thing as a humane method of putting a person to death. Having seen the horrific process firsthand, he conceded that regardless of the crime, every form of execution was a terrifying and gruesome ordeal to witness. It would be hard for anyone to believe that the relatives of Obadiah’s victims could have enjoyed watching him die. There was no doubt that such an act had a brutalising effect on society as a whole, numbing them to the inhumanity that occurred in the world, almost as if Obadiah had embodied the island’s historic pain and turmoil. Yet whilst he didn’t believe they had enjoyed Obadiah’s execution, they had certainly taken comfort from that fact that the death penalty, being the bluntest of blunt instruments, had removed any last vestiges of the man’s humanity and any possibility of rehabilitation that may have existed. Just one more act resulting in cultural anathema, Joe thought.
Though the country currently had a mutual understanding unimaginable since the 1960’s, Obadiah’s actions had reminded people of the atrocities committed by various loyalist gangs at the height of The Troubles. Paramilitary activities of abduction, torture and murder on random Catholic civilians had been common occurrences, with some crimes arguably as brutal as Obadiah’s murders. It could at least be argued that during The Troubles, people were killing for something they believed in. Obadiah Stark had killed simply because he was a monster and one of the most dangerous human predators on the planet.
The thrum of the office brought him back to his surroundings, as he began deleting e mails without opening them. Reading the first few lines of them in the viewing pane provided him with enough information to know whether or not they were going to be relevant.
An envelope slapping onto Joe’s desk caused him to jump. Alison Climi was walking away by the time he registered who had dropped it there. Alison, long mahogany hair, a slight but curvy figure and a thirty six year old face that was gentle yet attractive, flicked a gaze back at Joe as she moved back towards her corner of the office. Her column, the ‘tits and arse’ section as Joe called it, was all showbiz and celebrity gossip. Yet despite the potential shallowness of her clientele, Alison always seemed to make her pieces project more depth than they probably held in reality. Joe knew she was married, but that didn’t stop him continuously flirting with her when the opportunity rose. She had never said she was happily married. In fact, he often thought she deliberately encouraged him to come onto her just to appease her ego. She certainly always dressed the part; low, v-necked sweaters and short skirts that had encouraged many of the men in the office to start a pool on the colour of her knickers. Though she had yet to perform her interpretation of Sharon Stone so he didn’t know for sure, Joe had ten Euro’s on them always being black. Seeing her caused him to momentarily forget his hangover.
Grabbing his fourth cup of coffee of the morning, he walked towards her desk and sat himself in the chair opposite her.
“Mornin’,” Joe said cheerfully.
“Hey,” Alison said back at him, not looking up.
Idly flicking through the piles of papers in front of him, he quickly scanned some of the information held on them. “I thought Jennifer Aniston was seeing Gerry Butler?” Joe asked casually.
“She was,” came the playful reply, as Alison slammed her hand down on top of the pile. “About five years ago. And, just like all the rest, you will just have to wait until tomorrow’s edition to read all about it, no pun intended.”
“Oh, I can hardly wait,” he said sarcastically.
“Don’t you have something to do?” Alison enquired with as much implication as she could manage.
Joe seemed oblivious to the hint. “Of course, but nothing that can’t wait until you call a time-out and let me know I’m getting on your nerves.”
“Okay, you’re getting on my nerves,” she said laughing. “I have work I need to get on with. The world won’t wait forever to find out about Jen and her beau you know. Besides, don’t you want to know what is in the envelope I gave you? The postmark said London, I think.”
“London? My reputation must be preceding me,” he replied, striding across the floor to his desk. He noticed the package had been posted from Mayfair as he tore open the top and removed its contents. A note and a business card were paper clipped to a booklet advertising a criminal profiling service, run out of London. The company, Behavioral Relativity Service (BRS), offered a service that reflected the field of criminal anthropology’s ‘multidisciplinary composition and theoretical plurality, presenting an authoritive focus on the theoretical concerns surrounding the causes of crime, their interrelationships and the criminal process to the addressing of the actual crime and its perpetrator.’
The note was signed by Victoria Carter, head anthropologist of the BRS. Writing to offer her assistance to Joe, she had been following his pieces on Obadiah Stark during his murders, arrest and execution, and had heard he was intent on writing a book on Obadiah’s life and crimes. Placing the note and booklet on his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped into his chair. He knew he should be flattered that someone with such experience should want to meet and possibly work with him.
Joe knew his book would need someone like her to lend it credibility. He was determined not to fall into the trap of stereotyping Obadiah as the nice, quiet boy next door who, by the light of the full moon had mutilated his victim’s naked bodies because they reminded him of his father who he hated with a passion. Though without a doubt a sociopath, in Obadiah’s case the word was more a description than an etiology.
The man had certainly projected callousness and been able to manipulate other human beings without guilt, displaying the kind of narcissism that isolates someone from basic feelings and emotions. But to really understand how his level of dysfunction had alienated him from his fellow human beings, Joe knew he needed a specialist in the area of the ‘cause and effect’ processes precipitated by such narcissistic disorders. He was still flicking the business card between his fingers when he heard his editor shouting his name across the office floor.
“O’Connell. You got a minute?”
Putting the card in his pocket, he walked into the office at a measured pace, closing the door behind him. Lit with plain, hazy fluorescent illumination, the blinds drawn across the windows filtered subdued incandesce in slats across the room. Joe sighed blissfully at the numbing effect the subdued lighting had on his head, sitting down in the seat opposite his editor.
Ciaran Walsh was in his late forties, slightly overweight but possessing the broad shoulders of someone who was once lean and fit. His brown eyes, peered through his steel-rimmed, black glasses. As well as being known as a nice guy, he was softly spoken and casual, dressed in a blue shirt, no tie, no jacket and black trousers completed with meticulously polished shoes. Ciaran had a reputation in the office for being a man of stringent self-control and punctuality. Many of the staff saw him as the eye of the hurricane; calm in the face of the chaos that was a press room. Always coming across as if he had any situation under his complete control, Ciaran Walsh was someone who was not only a good editor, but a decent human being. Joe knew he often played upon those most principled characteristics to get what he wanted, and sometimes he felt guilty about it. He liked his boss, but he had never been one to fall into line easily, often trying to find holes in other people’s logic as to why they should do something a particular way. Joe knew he often came across as belligerent and that the only reason he still had a job was that he was damn good at it. And his editor knew it too.
Joe was certainly one of the most proficient journalists Ciaran had had working for him in many years. During his eight years with the paper, his crime reporting had gone from simply commenting on local delinquencies, to being one of the countries’ leading sources of information on not only local criminals and their activities, but on international crimes and their after-effects, both politically and emotionally. Ciaran always expected good work from Joe, but even he was constantly surprised by his ability to gather information from witnesses, victims, and most intriguingly, the criminals themselves in some cases. Not only did Joe seem to understand the bureaucratic ways of things, but he had an ability to get under the skin of the people he was investigating, often coming back and producing a piece of journalism that was not only factually accurate, but imaginative and powerful. Though Ciaran didn’t want to know how Joe gained most of his information, he did know that not once in eight years had Joe O’Connell produced a mediocre piece of work for The Daily Éire. It was that reason and Joe’s knowledge of the crimes that had convinced Ciaran to offer him the prestigious job of reporting on the execution of Obadiah Stark.
As he spoke in his melodic Gaelic tone, he looked serious but thoughtful. “So, how are you? I know we haven’t really spoken since the prison.”
Joe shrugged his shoulders, not used to answering questions from his editor that required emotional honesty. “Okay. You know, just getting on with things.”
“There’s no shame in admitting that watching someone die, regardless of what they’ve done, is a pretty big deal. I don’t know how I would feel about it.” Joe could feel his boss’s sincerity as he spoke, his voice soft and empathetic.
“Well, he didn’t writhe around in agony. He just looked like he fell asleep, albeit suffering what appeared to be a myoclonic jerk halfway through.”
Ciaran looked at Joe quizzically. “What’s a myoclonic jerk?”
“You know when you’re just falling asleep and your dreaming you’re riding a bike and you fall off. You wake yourself up by jumping in your sleep as you bang your head in your dream. That’s a myoclonic jerk. Obadiah had what looked like one, just before he actually died. It was creepy, actually.” Joe stared at the floor for a moment, playing back the moment in his mind when Obadiah had looked at everyone in the viewing chamber. It had almost been as if something had momentarily interrupted the execution process.
“Interesting,” Ciaran replied, moving his empty coffee cup absentmindedly across the desktop.
Looking back up, Joe smiled halfheartedly. The whole conversation had him uncomfortable. Sensing his unease, Ciaran quickly moved onto his reason for asking to see him. “Anyway, I received a phone call from Margaret Keld this morning.”
Joe quickly straightened up in the chair, his interest piqued and his discomfort forgotten. “Really? And…?”
“…and, she’s agreed to your request for an interview and is willing to meet you today. She laid down a few stipulations, but nothing that will interfere with you too much, I don’t think.” Ciaran sounded almost triumphant as he delivered the news.
