I (21 page)

The first few weeks after Angela, I thought about suicide again. I imagined myself slamming into a concrete over-pass support at sixty and wrapping around the steering column. But then I thought—with my luck I'll survive as a cripple. I wanted to die before I was caught so my family and my kids wouldn't know me as a murderer. People would wonder why I'd lost control of my truck, but they would assume it was fatigue and sleep deprivation. My children would be sad, but they would never have the torture of knowing their dad killed a bunch of women. Or having their classmates tease them for my crimes. And they wouldn't have to read stories that connected their father with Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy and other serial killers. Driving into an over-pass support seemed like a good option.

 

Now that I knew the end was near, I was free to let out some of the emotions I'd been holding back. I would get pissed off at another truck driver, follow him into a truck stop and cut an air line or fuel line or slash a tire. I chained two trucks together and watched them try to drive away. I laughed when they finally realized they were tied together. It felt good to do things like that.

At night I drove without lights, just for the hell of it. Surprisingly I was able to stay awake longer that way. In the full moon with no traffic, I drove for hours without lights except when I saw other vehicles approaching. Allowing my eyes to become adjusted to the darkness, I'd sneak up on a truck and warn him on the CB that I was about to pass. I told him I was “the voice from nowhere.” I would blink my lights after I passed and then switch them back off. The other drivers thought I'd flipped out. I was playing the last game of my life.

I passed a radar trap on Highway 93 while driving blind just north of Las Vegas. My radar detector went off and Smoky's voice came over the CB: “I don't care who you are or where you're going. Just slow it down and turn on some lights!”

About five miles up the road I switched them on. Only a couple of times did I ever come across another driver crazy enough to play this Russian roulette with me. Once I passed a phantom driver as he was in his stealth mode, and I know it scared him because he turned on his lights after I passed him like he was sitting still. I decided that I was having too much fun to kill myself.

On a Sunday morning two months after I turned Angela Subrize into roadkill, I pulled into the Burns Brothers Truck Stop at Troutdale, Oregon, to rest up for a day or two so my logbook and my actual miles would match. I'd dropped my trailer and was driving bobtail. I showered and headed for the bathroom when I saw my old girlfriend Julie Winningham. I wasn't sure if she saw me, so I ducked into the restroom and didn't acknowledge her.

I sat there thinking about what to do. Did I want to deal with her problems again?
Gimme money, buy me clothes, find me some marijuana
…. The answer was no. I'd had it with the bitch. But then I remembered some of the dreams I'd had about her, some of the fantasies as I was driving cross-country on NoDoz and coffee and Jolt and Dr. Pepper. I thought,
My logbook won't match my miles for another twenty-four hours, and a good lay is a good lay. Who knows? Maybe she's changed in a year and a half
. In the end Mr. Penis and Miss Pussy won out.

I caught up with her and said, “Hi, Julie.”

She said, “Keith!” She gave me a big hug. “Are you married yet?”

“No,” I said as we hugged. “Want to have coffee?”

“Sure.”

She sat across from me in the restaurant. We were both shaking. She laughed when I reminded her of the first time we met:
“Now there's a back I'd like to rub.”
We talked of what we'd done since our parting. I told her I tried to find her through her mother, but she hadn't called me back. Julie seemed pissed at her mother for that.

After an hour or so she asked forgiveness and so did I. What she didn't tell me was that she was broke again and still saw me as a mark. She claimed that she'd never stopped loving me. I picked up on the same old Julie in her voice. She was a scammer and a damn good one. I decided to play along.

She said she was out of cigarettes and I told her I always carried her brand in the truck just in case I ran into her. We walked out to the truck, and I followed her. She was the same pretty woman as before—same attitude. A bitch who could be fun at times.

She wiggled her ass as we climbed into the bobtail. She didn't even wait for me to sit. She planted a long tongue kiss on me and grabbed at my pants. I figured she missed me or wanted something or both. I was hot, but she said she needed a few drinks first. I knew I was set for at least one night.

After we agreed to go out, she laid down the ground rules. The punch line was that she'd lost her license and had to pay off a fine for DWI. Her court date was coming up on Thursday, and she needed seven hundred dollars. Could I help?

I thought,
She must think her ass is made of platinum!
I decided to go along for the sex. “Sure, Julie,” I said. “I'll help.” I wouldn't mind her company for a while, and I knew that as long as she expected me to pay up, she'd come across. Otherwise it would be like screwing a dead sturgeon.

 

We played pool in a bar till 11:00
P.M
. and she drank herself drunk, like always. She could easily drink a hundred dollars' worth of liquor a night at bar prices. We drove around so she could introduce me to her local friends, a bunch of boozers and druggies.

When we got back to the parking lot, she proposed to me. I thought,
I'll go along and see what happens
. I was toying with another fantasy—the one where I take sex from a woman and keep her as a slave.

We drove to her mother's house and told her we were getting married. Her mom acted shocked, so we left. Back at the truck stop, Julie laid down and put my hand on her tits. I figured she must really have missed me. The sex was great, unlike her normal sex. She told me she remembered how sexually active I was and she said that from now on she wanted me to save it all for her. Maybe she was just trying to please, but any thought of kidnapping her or killing her went right out the window. By the next morning I was in love again. How could I tell? My dick told me so! She was in love with me, too. I was sure.

 

When we woke up to the morning sun, I went to the phone booth and called the company and told them where I was if they wanted me. They said it looked like I would have three or four days off. I knew what to do with them.

I bought Julie a carton of cigarettes and coffee and woke her up at 11:00
A.M
. She was back to her old bitchy mood. I think she felt that now that I'd gotten sex twice in twenty-four hours, she owned me. So she laid down the law again. Her car had been wrecked. That would cost a thousand dollars. Her drunk-driving trial was coming up, and she'd have to pay fifteen hundred dollars in fines and costs or go to jail. She had lawyers' bills. She was selling her car to a friend and needed me to sign the contract as a witness. I didn't want to put my signature on anything because of those Happy Face letters out there. What if I killed Julie and they found this contract and matched the handwriting?

That afternoon we drove to the house of one of her scroungy friends and drugs were on the table. I was about ready to leave her there when I heard her ask for pot. They didn't have any, but they knew where she could get some—for a price. Julie said she would buy the first round if someone else would keep it going. I knew she had no money and intended to hustle me for the money, so I walked to my truck.

She came running out and opened the cab door. She was steamed! She said, “You
got
to give me the pot money. My reputation's on the line. You remember the wild times we've had, don't you? You want more, don't you?”

I asked myself if she was worth all the headaches. The answer was no. Before I knew it, she had my wallet out and the money was in her hands. Two twenties. I didn't know what to do about it without making a scene.

They bought the pot and I stayed in my truck until they smoked it up. Then Julie came out to me and we drove over to the back of the lumberyard. We rocked the antenna for four hours of sex—pot made her horny when nothing else did. After I couldn't get it up anymore, she lit her pipe and got a buzz to make her sleep better. Then she cuddled in my arms all night.

We were supposed to go back to her mother's house for dinner the next day, but I made up a few personal errands so I could get off by myself for a while. Julie could be overbearing at times, smothering me with her closeness.

I drove over to Beacon Rock and hiked for a couple of hours. When I got back to the house, Julie and her mother were screaming at each other. We skipped the dinner and took off in the truck. Those two drunks could never get along.

 

Julie and I stayed together for a couple more days and then I took off to play a cribbage tournament. When that was over, we hung out for a few more days, but then she got to be too hard to handle. It was one aggravation after another.
Somebody stole my car keys, my mother called the cops on me, I'm worried about the DWI thing, I got no money for food, I gotta depend on you, blah blah blah
…. When she said she needed thirty dollars for a flagger's license so she could pick up some easy money in road construction, I thought,
What a switch. She'll earn some money of her own
. So I gave her a fifty-dollar bill. Of course I got no change.

That night I dropped her off at a tavern and gave her another forty dollars to get drunk on while I played crib at the Round Table Pizza Parlor in Sandy. It was rainy and stormy when I got back to my truck. It was parked along old Highway 14 just east of Washougal.

I was asleep when she climbed in. She helped me out of my jeans and I helped her out of her boots and clothes. She tasted like a pot plant and couldn't wait for me to get inside her.

After an hour and a half of multiple orgasms she lit a cigarette, leaned back against the wall and started bitching. “It was your fault I lost my car. My friends agree. So you owe me six hundred dollars for that. The court hearing is tomorrow. I didn't tell you, but I got two DWIs in one day, and the judge will fine me big-time. I need two thousand dollars.”

I said, “Will that about cover it?”

“Engaged couples are supposed to help each other out,” she said. “You
will
give me the money, Keith.” She sounded confident, maybe because we'd just had sex. But I was on to that game and I'd had it.

Now I realized why she was so happy that I had agreed to marry her. It had nothing to do with loving me. It had to do with cash.

“First thing, Julie,” I said. “I don't have two thousand dollars. And if I did, I wouldn't give it to you now. Not with your attitude. When you look at me, you don't see a fiancé. You see dollar bills.”

“You'll give me the money all right!” she said. “I just had sex with you, Keith. I've been telling all my friends that you always want it but I never give it to you. Never! That's what they all believe. So if you don't give me the money, I'll tell 'em you raped me for it. Who'll they believe? Little me, or big you?”

I tried to give her a warning. “You don't know what you're saying, Julie. You don't know what you're getting yourself into.”

“I know
exactly
what I'm saying! So what's it gonna be, boyfriend? The money or the cops?”

By now she'd scrunched herself against the wall and was yelling so loud I was afraid she could be heard a block away. I couldn't believe that my sweetheart just backed me into the same corner as some of the other girls had. She pointed at my crotch. My penis was getting hard again. She said, “Keep that ugly thing away from me! Come up with the money first.”

It didn't take a genius to figure out what I had to do to her. Was somebody watching my truck, or was she running her scam alone? I decided to take a chance.

I pushed her toward the back of the bed and said, “If I'm gonna pay, then it better be for a good reason.”

Maybe she saw what was coming. She went from fighting me to loving me again. Or was she just accepting reality? She seemed to put a lot into the sex. I guess it was because she still believed that Sugar Daddy would come across with the cash. She always screwed better when there was something in it for her.

After the sex I pulled her to the center of the bed and started to strangle her. Her shocked eyes showed surprise. I guess she figured she could hustle me forever.

I choked her till she passed out and then I taped her arms behind her back, taped her ankles, and gagged her good with tape. I was wearing just my shoes and a shirt when I headed east. I knew she would wake up soon and then she'd really know terror.

I braked hard at a stop sign and heard her grunt. She tried to get into the front passenger's seat but fell to the floor and cut her forehead on the seat pedestal. A little pool of blood formed.

I reached down, patted her on her back and said, “Nice of you to join me, Julie. Now just stay there until I stop up ahead, and then you'll find out what's gonna happen to you.”

She looked up at me and tried to talk through the duct tape. I said, “You should have never backed me into a corner. Now you're mine.”

She was so scared that she lost control of herself. I was talking to the bitch and then she did it all over the floor. She was just trying to aggravate me. I had to use Carpet Fresh later.

I picked her up and put her on the bed. She stared at me while I wiped the blood off her face with a clean sheet. I rubbed her tits and felt her all over. Then I yanked the tape off her mouth and said, “Now, Julie, we're going to have a kissing lesson. Show me what your life is worth.”

That bitch could kiss when she wanted to. She asked me to fuck her again, so I did. She said, “Sweetheart, I was only kidding about the money. I wouldn't really say that to you. I
love
you. Can't you see that?”

I said, “You don't love me, Julie. You never have. Now you're gonna die.”

She sniffled and said, “What about your children? I was gonna look after your kids.”

I laughed. I said, “You can't even look after yourself! How could I trust you with my kids?” I was thinking,
How do I keep running into these kind of women?

All this time she's staring at me with tears in her eyes. I removed the tape around her ankles, but I left the tape on her arms so she couldn't go after my eyes with her long fingernails.

When I closed the curtain, she said she felt sick. I blindfolded her with a shirt and waited a couple of minutes. She yelled, “Keith, I want to see you.
Keith!”

While she was blinded, I touched my fingers to every spot that makes a woman a woman. I did it softly and with care. Pretty soon she went back to her old tricks. “Keith, make love to me again! I want you inside me again. Please! Don't let us end like this.”

I entered her, and she put some feeling into it to regain control. “Sweetheart,” she whined, “I would never hurt you! I promise that I'll never tell anyone about this night. As far as I'm concerned, it didn't happen. We can start fresh. How about it, sweetheart?”

I said, “You shouldn't have ordered me around. You should never have threatened to yell rape.”

“I didn't mean it! Really I didn't.”

I let her beg while I orgasmed again. I stayed inside and decided to clue her in on a few things to take to the grave.

“In January nineteen-ninety,” I said, “I killed a woman named Taunja Bennett. In nineteen-ninety-two, I killed three more women in Oregon and California.”

The muscles in her pussy began working overtime. I felt myself getting hard as she tried to buy some time. She said, “Fuck me, Keith, or cut me into a thousand pieces.”

“Okay, Julie, I'll fuck you.”

“Fuck me and let me get away from this damn truck!”

As I started again, I told her how I'd dragged a woman under my trailer till a thousand pieces flew off. When she heard that, she went limp. She laid there quiet and docile waiting for the end.

I played the death game three or four times. I thought about saving her for the next night as well but didn't want to push my luck. She could put me in prison. I'd already had a dream about killing her and being hanged.

Dawn was coming, and pretty soon the traffic would be too heavy for me to unload her on the shoulder. I thought back to when I first met her and loved her and wanted her for all time. I needed to do one more killing and then end this murder machine for good.

“Time to go, Julie,” I said. “Say bye-bye!”

I ground my fist into her throat. My knuckles went white. When she passed out I sat with her for a few minutes before stepping outside to take a leak. As I was pissing, a sheriff's car drove by. He kept on toward town.

I got back in my truck just in time to hear her whisper, “I love you, Keith. Please let me go. I won't say anything. I promise.”

I said, “Everything will be all right, Julie.” I kissed her face and decided to let her prove her love. She always told me that she never gave blow jobs, but she broke her rule for me.

After that, I looked down at her face and smiled. I said, “Now you're gonna die.”

I put my fist against her throat for the last time. Just before she passed out, I told her, “You're number eight. And, yes, I
will
get away with it.” She didn't breathe again.

I drove to a spot on the downhill side of Highway 14 on the Washington State side of the Columbia Gorge, right across the river from where I threw Taunja Bennett's body in Oregon. I carried her over past a guardrail and some garbage sacks and pitched her down a fifteen-foot embankment. I stared at her crumpled body in the weeds and thought how she'd only lasted five days with me. What a waste.

I thought,
You shouldn't have treated me like that, Julie.
I climbed into the driver's seat and leaned my head against the steering wheel and cried.
I love you, Julie! I really do! Why were you like all the rest?

Then I thought,
Too many people saw us together. This time I'll get caught for sure. Julie and me—we're both dead meat.

 

Later that night I decided to drag her body further down the hill, out of sight. But I changed my mind. Part of me wanted to get this nightmare over with, and the best way to get caught was to leave her where she was. I was tired of being a killer. But I would never hand myself over.
Let the cops catch me, do a little work, treat me and my murders with respect, instead of waiting for me to make all the moves. With so many witnesses that had seen Julie and me together, it shouldn't take long
. My life was over anyway. I thought,
Catch me! Convict me! Throw me away! What's the difference? I'm just a piece of shit!