He took pleasure in the kill, not the bounty it provided. Songbirds, their sweet melodies silenced with a single, brutal crack. Land crabs, scuttled across the sand only to meet a leaden demise. These were the trophies John craved, not sustenance, but the chilling dominion over life and death. The boy who once played by the canal now held the power to extinguish the spark of life in living creatures, a darkness blooming beneath the veneer of a good student and budding athlete.

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Fair warning, the content is graphic and disturbing. I quote: “She was expecting dinner but instead was driven down a deserted road. She was asked to get out of the car and submitted to a frisk search. Then the handcuffs were locked around her wrists and the blindfold placed over her eyes. She was then led away into the dark to the place of execution. She was assisted in mounting the laddar and sat down on the top of it. The hangmans noose was placed over her head after a pillow case was dropped over her face in a hood arrangement. She sat there very composed and ladylike while I adjusted the rope. She obviously had no inclination of what was about to happen.

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She worked the gag from her mouth and began to chew on the knot. The rope left little coarse hairs in her mouth which ground into her gums as she chewed, and it tasted like car oil. Her legs were also tightly bound with rope around her knees. She tried desperately to work her legs free but to no avail. The attempt seemed only to cut the blood flow to her feet, making them numb and, consequently, making it difficult to keep a firm footing on the root. Finally she turned around and fell against the branch where the other end of the rope was tied on. The rope was looser from chewing on it, and she could untie it with her hand behind her back. She undid the knot herself, and then got all the ropes off. It didn’t take very long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. But she still had the handcuffs on. She picked up the ropes that moments before had held her captive and ran, keeping low.

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In the subterfuge of this turbulent environment, a prolific monster operated right under the noses of law enforcement, preying on victims from the city’s most vulnerable population demographic.

On the 2nd of February, 2009, Christine Ross was walking her dog Rucca through the morning shadows of Paradise, her West Mesa subdivision community, when the hound caught a scent. Within a minute, he'd dug up a large bone and proudly presented it. Disturbed, Christine texted a picture of the fossil to her sister, who was a nurse. It looked like a human femur bone, her sister replied. Police investigators arrived on the scene and discovered the remains of multiple human bodies buried across 100 acres of barren land.

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Only two souls managed to escape the deadly clutches of the Briley brothers, this time Linwood and Anthony, to tell their tale: William and Virginia Bucher. Now, both have passed on, their stories echoing in the grave. Unless the shadows of the past decide to part and reveal hitherto unknown survivors or witnesses, the blood-curdling events that transpired on the night of the 12th of March, 1979, stand as the gruesome overture to a seven-month symphony of horror.

The modus operandi of these ruthless killers was as cold as it was random. Linwood, the elder of the two, sauntered up to the quaint, tightly packed home of the Buchers, nestled in the heart of Lafayette Avenue, and rapped his knuckles against the front door in a parody of normalcy. William Bucher, in a later account, revealed his initial assumption that it was the paperboy, come to collect his due, which rendered him unguarded enough to open the door. As the portal swung open, he found himself staring not at the familiar face of the paperboy, but at the strange and unsettling countenance of a complete unknown.

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Imagine if you will, dear listener, an anonymous-looking apartment house on Barton Avenue, Richmond, state of Virginia. It hadn't been opened for three baking-hot days. Opening the door, the seasoned investigators were blasted with a wave of heat and rot. The smell was like a wall, or more apt; a tsunami of death hitting them square in the face as they entered. They had experienced this before, for some of the investigators it was part and parcel of the job. But they had not seen a crime scene like this; with snakes slithering on the floor, stained with old blood from the floor. The investigators got out fast and called for animal-control officers to subdue and remove the snakes. Later, after this was done, it had to be admitted the killers knew something, however minimal, about psychological warfare. Releasing from their confinement Harvey Wilkerson's pet snakes had been nothing short of successfully annoying, and potentially dangerous to anyone entering the crime scene. They were also very well capable of damaging and/or obscuring crucial evidence.

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Lavrenti Pavlovich Beria was a Georgian, like Stalin, who called him ‘my Himmler’. Involved in revolutionary activities from his teens and head of the secret police in Georgia in his twenties, he supervised the ruthless 1930s purges in the region and arrived in Moscow in 1938 as deputy to Nikolai Yezhov, aka ‘the blood-thirsty dwarf’, head of the Soviet secret police. He soon succeeded Yezhov, who was shot on Stalin’s orders, apparently at Beria’s prompting. Beria, who went on to run the Soviet network of slave-labour camps, was notorious for his sadistic enjoyment of torture and his taste for beating, raping and murdering young women and girls. Bald and bespectacled, by the time of Stalin’s death in 1953 he was one of the most hated men in the country.

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Brandishing a menacing knife, he binds the child securely with rope he brought with him. After the child is tied up, he cuts away the boy´s clothes so that he lies completely naked under the sun. Smiling, the serial killer’s mask falls away and he quickly masturbates over the now crying boy. According to Garavito, he made a quote/unquote "pact with the devil" and Satanic rituals were also incorporated, the boy and others were apparent blood sacrifices.

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