Please allow me to introduce myself

I'm a man of wealth and taste

I've been around for a long, long years

Stole million man's soul an faith

And I was 'round when Jesus Christ

Had his moment of doubt and pain

Made damn sure that Pilate

Washed his hands and sealed his fate

Pleased to meet you

Hope you guess my name

But what's puzzling you

Is the nature of my game

 The Long Island Serial Killer is notorious as the man that killed what came to be known as “The Gilgo Four.” That is four pretty young women that worked as “sex workers” according to the cops and media. They worked as “escorts” for those of us that do not want to insult them. I don’t think it really matters though because they’re dead. Let’s give them a hashtag already … Goodness I checked and they have one. And so it goes.

The Gilgo Four were made famous by the book Lost Girls and the movie that went by the same name, etcetera, etcetera and an etcetera. Their mostly skeletal remains were found on a stretch of Roadway called Ocean Parkway. Ocean Parkway is located on a barrier island called Jones Beach Island. The South Shore of Long Island is bordered by so called barrier islands a mile or two or less south of the main island that is Long Island. They are thin long stretches of beach and dunes about a mile or two wide; and upwards of 30 miles long. They serve Long Island as barriers against the hard charging Atlantic Ocean. There are five barrier islands (from west to east: Coney, Long Beach, Jones, Fire and Westhampton) and two spits (Rockaway and Southampton). They all attract murdered bodies except – as far as we know – the posh Hamptons.

We want to concentrate on Jones Beach Island. The important bay here is the “Great South Bay.” I have crossed it on a boat more than a few times. Crossed over it on bridges a bunch. Fished in it exactly once in the decades I have been here. Never swam in it. It’s not really great at all.

I grew up on the swank upper class North Shore of Long Island near a huge insane asylum. The people that worked at the asylum were much sicker than the ones that were forced to live there. The staff raped the patients. Beat them too. Just generally let out their frustrations on them. And the doctors experimented on them too. Perfected Electroconvulsive Shock Therapy on them like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and lobotomies, and new meds, and so on. The screams of the patients wafted over my neighborhood on the warm summer air right over the barbecues.

It was not really talked about much. My brother-in-law who worked at the asylum and was ten years older than me told me about it. (He’s since died of a slow motion drug overdose that took four decades to kill him) My brother-in-law would point out the real psychos walking around town. “You see him … that’s Spina … he’s an orderly like me … he loves to fuck patients that are strapped down on beds. Sick fuck.”

I cross examined him, “Do you watch this stuff happen?

But he wiggled out: “He’s got seniority …Let me show you the choke holds I use when patients act up.”

Many of the people that lived in my neighborhood worked at the “Crazy House” as my mother called it in her thick German-Romanian accent. They were all hardworking white staunch Conservatives that would never harm their neighbors.

Male patients had sex with the female patients at the Crazy House too; and then killed them. All hush hush. No need to upset those of us that didn’t work at the Crazy House.

My sister met my brother-in-law at a bar in the shadow of the tall Crazy House buildings. He picked her up by throwing cherry pits at her. My same sister met her next boyfriend at the actual Crazy House. She left my brother in law Jimmy for a paranoid schizophrenic. The schizophrenic named Eric talked to poets buried in the cemetery across the street. I didn’t find out about all that until later. It went like this …

I shared an attic apartment with my sister one summer when I was 18. Eric would call late at night when my sister was out. “She’s not home Eric.” Then Eric would confide that so and so “is trying to kill me.” “Jesus” I would say. Then I’d rush to pick him up. He’d spend the night on the couch. We’d watch horror movies together on a local channel. Finally my sister asked, “Why do you keep getting Eric?” 

I said, “People are trying to kill him.” 

She laughed, “Is that what he told you?” 

“Yes.” I had a busy life lifting weights and swallowing raw eggs. I just thought he was unpopular. That’ll get you killed on Long Island.

My sister explained, “Ray he’s crazy. He thinks everyone is trying to kill him.” 

“Why are you dating him then.”

She said, “He looks like Jackson Browne.” 

Jackson Browne was a famous 70s and 80s rock star. Eric did in fact look like Jackson Browne but he didn’t play the guitar or piano. 

Other than thinking people were always trying to kill him Eric was a cool guy. It was a cute trait too. He was always so polite and earnest about it: 

“Ray I thought you should know … my landlord is going to kill me tonight.” 

“He isssah …” I would say with feigned concern after I was enlightened by my sister. “You don’t say.”

 Eric loved Ronald Reagan. It did not seem odd that a nut was into Conservative politics. Anway I didn’t see Eric after the men literally dressed in “white coats” got him – back to the Crazy House he went one day. I am sure that he got out at some point. But my sister was over Eric. She ran into a guy that looked like singer-songwriter Harry Chapin and that was it for Eric. This guy actually owned a guitar. But he couldn’t play. Cats in the cradle and the silver spoon ...

One day Eric’s hero Ronald Reagan emptied out all the Crazy Houses.  Reagan put the patients on the streets so that they could all get high paying jobs and take advantage of the Reagan tax cuts. Maybe Eric became the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company. Or maybe he became a Wall Street Tycoon that did all kinds of insider trading. The wonders of supply side economics.

 My brother in law Jimmy never hurt a fly – except when he choked out crazy people at the Crazy House. The drugs he sold killed a few young men. Not your fault … he should have zigged when he zagged. The Oxy legally sold by billionaires killed a few hundred thousand people.

Point is that metaphorically speaking all of Long Island is a Crazy House.

Anyway I am also sure there are a bunch of dead bodies in the Great South Bay. The bay I never swam in … but fished in … just once. It’s not so great – I think I said that.

 The Gilgo Four and many more were found mostly on the North Side of Ocean Parkway near the hamlet of Gilgo Beach and the beach called Gilgo Beach. All so beachy. Their bodies had panoramic to die for views of the Great South Bay and the town of Massapequa where their killer lived. The Long Island Serial Killer case is also called the “Gilgo Beach Killer,” or “Gilgo Beach” or just “Gilgo” … “LISK” and so on. The bodies were spread from East to West on the Ocean Parkway as you drive in that direction. The bodies and body parts started East of Gilgo Beach. The trail continued almost to Gilgo – avoided the parking lot and community of Gilgo Beach, thank heavens – and then started again West of Gilgo Beach.

Some 10 or so total miles of bodies and body parts placed at intervals. Other than that the trip is beautiful. And the marsh is so thick you’re hard pressed to see the bodies. Even the median between the east bound and west bound lanes is wide and thick with marsh vegetation in some areas. That should be checked for bodies too. 

It seems that every so called “parkway” on Long Island has bodies alongside it. The “parkway” is called the “parkway” because amongst the myriad places on Long Island that the parkways lead to they also lead to State Parks. To keep in that park spirit they were designed with thin strips of thick woods on the sides. It makes you think that you’re driving through wilderness. But on the other side of the strips of woods there are miles and miles of houses. I used to see hawks and other animals in these wooded strips and I wondered if you added up all the miles of thin strips of woods you’d have a lot of acres of habitat … I wonder what kind of species of animals live in there. Now I wonder how many bodies are in there – maybe hundreds. You think I am fucking with you ... Right … Read on. You will see why I said hundreds. You have to trust me on that for just a short period of time before you see for yourself.

The parkways were also designed with exceptionally low overpasses to prevent the invasion of Long Island by bus loads of Black and Brown people coming from the City. When white people moved to Long Island from the City in droves their primary motive was to get away from dark people. Once in a while some idiot white person slams the top of his big truck into one of the overpasses shutting down traffic for hours. Sometimes when they wreck the overpass traffic is shut down for weeks. Oh well that’s the price of white exclusivity.  

Gilgo Beach is near famous Jones Beach – famous at least in the New York City metro area. Jones Beach has beautiful sand and in the summer thousands of near naked people (some who you are happy are nearly naked and some who you rather not see naked), sex on the beach, big name concerts at the beautiful outdoor amphitheater, intense airshows with everything from barnstormers to the latest supersonic fighter jets, and the Fourth of July Fireworks extravaganza. It’s a happy place. 

The Long Island Serial Killer worked at Jones Beach for the State of New York as a young strapping lad.

In the summer Jones Beach is now filled with all manner of recent immigrants that – whether male or female – wear string-like bikinis. One day I solemnly told my son as we were surrounded by bare immigrant butt cheeks and ass cracks … I told him without a hint of sarcasm that we should thank God for these people because they will never vote for Donald Trump.

Jones Beach also has some bodies and body parts at or near it. Remnants of sex crimes. But it’s still a place of intense merriment.

Don’t worry. We’re going to cover all the murders in more detail than anyone else on earth. You’re all going to be Long Island Serial Killer experts. Everyone is going to want to invite you to their parties. You will be the stars of holiday festivities. Your coworkers will want to take you out to lunch. Etcetera. You will never be lonely again.

Without further ado let’s make the introductions.

The Gilgo Four consisted of in order of death:

1) Gilgo Four # 1: Maureen Brainard Barnes. She is in the neighborhood of five feet tall and approximately one hundred pounds. Petite. Hazel green eyes. Pretty. Described as the perfect friend. Often taken advantage of. She advertised online. Maureen is last seen on July 6, 2007 in New York City. I know that the Long Island Serial Killer picked her up in Manhattan. He drove her back to Long Island. Had sex with her. Killed her. Maureen’s skeletal remains are found alongside the Ocean Parkway near Gilgo Beach on December 13, 2010. The police are looking because they found the skeletal remains of our next victim two days earlier close to Maureen.

2) Gilgo Four # 2: Melissa Barthelmy. She too is about five feet tall. Approximately one hundred pounds. Petite. Beautiful and exotic. Described as “a force.” Hazel green eyes. She advertised online. A budding hair dresser before she found escorting. She had a loving close-knit “normal” family. I don’t know why she found escorting. Melissa is last seen on July 9, 2009, in the Bronx, New York City, although He does not get her until the wee hours the morning of July 10, 2009. I know the Long Island Serial Killer came to the City to get Melissa.

Melissa’s skeletal remains are the first to be recovered out of all of the bodies discovered near Ocean Parkway. On December 11, 2010, a Suffolk County Police Officer named John Mallia (Italian) is conducting a training exercise with his K-9 partner – a beautiful German Shepherd named Blue.  

Suffolk County Police love live training when it comes to cadaver dogs – dogs that find bodies. They’re reasonably certain that there’s a body out there. 

A young woman named Shannan Gilbert went missing in May of 2010 at nearby Oak Beach located a few miles East of Gilgo on the South side of the Ocean Parkway. Shannan is not one of the Gilgo Four. She’s just a dead escort. The dead Girl that started it all. 

Police Officer John Mallia and Blue are looking for Shannan when they find Melissa which leads to the discovery of nine more. And then finally Shannan a year later. That’s eleven that we know of. Actually twelve if you count a young woman named Natasha that went missing on March 16-18, 2013. She came ashore on the South side of Jones Beach Island on the evening of June 24, 2013. Yes that’s over three months later. Suffolk cops said Perfectly normal.

It is June 24, 2013 at 8:30 pm. Two local men and a woman in their early 20s go to Gilgo beach to enjoy the ocean on a warm summer night. Life is easy breezy for them. It’s “the summer of love.” They’re hanging out by the lifeguard-stand right near the moonlit waves. They’re getting high. Then they see Natasha maybe one-hundred feet off shore. She’s floating in an East by slight North East direction right alongside the beach. Almost like she doesn’t want to come ashore. She finally hits the beach about a mile and half East of the lifeguard stand with the now very sober young people chasing her the whole way. The weed they smoked just went all to hell. Nothing high about what they find. It’s not the “summer of love.” Maybe next summer.

I am the only one working on figuring that one out.

Now back to Shannan Gilbert – the girl who started it all. Just a dead escort.

Shannan disappeared from a John’s house – a weirdo of a man named Joseph Brewer. Her driver convicted human-trafficker Michael Pak drove her from Manhattan all the way to secluded Oak Beach – a few miles East down the Ocean Parkway from Gilgo Beach. He drove her there well after midnight to meet Joseph Brewer for paid sex. 

The more we listen the more we see.

Near her end Shannan is in Brewer’s house hiding from fiends that are waiting for her outside. At least it sounds that way. What happened that night is more mysterious than any murder mystery in history – fact or fiction.  But it would have been so easy to solve right after it happened if anyone tried. 

You see Shannan literally disappears while on a 911 call pleading for help with 911 operators. And it’s all recorded. The recording is very much like Shakespeare. There are no stage directions but much descriptive dialogue. 

The operator announces “911 …” 

“There’s somebody after me.” Shannan shows how desperate she is: “Can you trace where I am.” 

Shannan has no idea where she is because Pak plugged Brewer’s address into his GPS. He drove through the night carrying Shannan to a faraway place. Shannan grew up in Upstate Ellenville and now lives in Jersey City. She knows nothing of Suffolk County Long Island.

The operator asks for Shannan’s location. All Shannan can say is “Long Island.” Then we hear her plead with inaudible male voices in the background – Pak and Brewer and perhaps others in the house:

“Why … Why … Why …” Shannan whimpers over and over again. Then to the operators – multiple operators by now because this is some call. Shannan repeats three more times:

“There’s somebody after me.”

The operators are listening to a female that sounds like a little girl.  It sounds like she’s being murdered on 9-1-1 right in front of the operators ears – that is a unique experience for sure.

The operators stay calm but beneath the training they are growing frantic because they can hear male voices in the background: “Put him on,” one demands like a mother – not from Shannan – but from the dominant male voice. Probably Brewer. 

Again they urgently ask where Shannan is located but Shannan doesn’t know for sure.

“Inside a house … Can you trace where I am … somebody is after me … Please.”

The operators ask, “Nassau or Suffolk.”

“I’m on Long Island.”

Then the pitiful cries of “No … stop … no … why are you calling me by my name.” And in the background gruff, stupid, guttural but mostly inaudible male voices. One stands out. Brewer orders Shannan: “Time to go.” 

Shannan is not trying to hide her name. She later tells the Operators that her name is “Shannan Gilbert” repeatedly. Even correcting them. 

So what does Shannan mean by “why are you calling me by my name.” I don’t know.

Then Shannan cries out over and over again: “Stop it … Please … Stop … Please … Can you close the door …”

Brewer’s voice “NO … Time to go.”

“PLEASE STOP …” comes Shannan’s shriek. 

Brewer: “C’mon let’s go … we’re all going outside.”

Who is the “all?” At a civil deposition Brewer asserted his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination when asked if there was anyone else present in the house with him, Shannan and Pak. Who is the “all?”

“No … please,” Shannan responded to “C’mon let’s go … we’re all going outside.”

And Shannan cries out: “Why … Why are you doing this to me … why are you calling me by my name …” Again her name. Are they taunting her with her name … Shannan … Shannan.

Brewer: “Come here … come here.”

Then Shannan’s cries out, “No. Stop it … Please stop it … Please.”

“What are you doin,” says Brewer.

“Please stop it.”

Brewer’s voice commands: “Let me fix that … Let me fix that …” What does that mean?

Then she cries out even worse: “Please stop it … Please … Stop it” over and over again. Then the crescendo: “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME … WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME … STOP IT” – the whole sequence repeats.

We don’t know what they’re doing to Shannan except that they’re trying to force her to go where she doesn’t want to go and do what she doesn’t want to do.

“Get out of here,” says Brewer.         

The operators are mostly dumbly talking amongst themselves. Trying to figure out what to do to stop the murder of what sounds like a little girl. “How old are you” they ask. 

Shannan doesn’t want to go out. But she wants to go home. Brewer wants her to go outside. It does not sound like he wants her to go home.

Listen …

Pak enters the picture now: “What’s the matter … are you okay.”

Shannan is still frantic: “What are you going to do to me … are you going to kill me.”

Shannan’s family is represented by a crusading attention loving attorney who had a theory about what happened to Shannan. He sued a retired Suffolk Police Department Surgeon for the death of Shannan Gilbert. Those details are not important here. What is important is that he spared no expense in his quest. Depositions. Affidavits. He had the 911 call digitally enhanced. Background noise was cleared including the ceiling fans. Voice fingerprints were taken. Conversations isolated. Certain voices isolated. What emerges is ordered confusion.

At this point Brewer and Pak are barely discernible speaking in the background. Remember the microphone to this bizarre murderous scene is Shannan’s cell phone.

Pak: “call him.”

Brewer: “my apologies …”

Pak: “… after than I call his number … then …”

Brewer: “Why dude. What is wrong with you.”

Then Shannan interjects: “Mike I am begging you.”

Brewer to Pak: “Why? Why did you do it.”

Shannan pleads again: “I just wanna go home.”

Brewer to Shannan: “What for.” 

Pak to Shannan: “You’re home already.”

“You’re home already.” No she’s not. She lives in Jersey City. What does that mean? 

Brewer would later maintain that he simply wanted Shannan to leave. But the words tells us a different story. Shannan says, “I just wanna go home.” Brewer says, “What for.”

Shannan responds: “Why are you saying … have to talk to him … something is going to happen to me.”

What sinister manifestation is the “Him.”

Pak: “There’s nobody outside … you see … right.”

But there is somebody outside and probably inside “Why are you saying … have to talk to him.”

There is sonic confusion than Pak speaks again with this bit of the non-sequitur surreal: “What’s going on here? You, where’s the bathroom. I’ll be in the bathroom.”

Pak never goes to the bathroom but someone anonymously said that they were in the bathroom that night. Again Brewer, while testifying under oath asserted the Fifth Amendment when asked if anyone else was present beside Pak and Shannan. 

Shannan continues to beg: “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it Mike.”

The Operators get through. They ask for Shannan’s name. Shannan tells them repeatedly – “Shannan Gilbert.”

One Operator asks, “Shannan Gilpert.” 

Shannan says, “Shannan Gilbert.” The operators repeat her name mispronouncing it amongst themselves.

Operator: “Shannan are you …”

“I’m in Long Island.”

“What’s wrong … what happened.”

Shannan: “These people are plotting to kill me.”

Pak: “Shut up.”

Then there is an eruption. Shannan screaming “MIKE … MIKE … STOP … STOP MIKE … PLEASE STOP. MIKE. MIKE. MIKE. STOP IT … MIKE STOP.”

We have no idea what they’re doing to her.

Brewer: “You want me to call the police. What are you going to tell them.” In context that could be Brewer telling Shannan the police won’t help her. An influential Suffolk County cop lives around the corner. So do members of the Suffolk County political ruling class. And a high ranking pedophile priest. 

But in response to Brewer saying, “What are you going to tell them” Shannan says:

“Tell them everything … You guys are plotting something … STOP IT.”

The Operators cannot take anymore: “What town are you in.” But Shannan has no idea. “I’m in Long Island.” She says again.

Then she begs: “You guys I didn’t do anything … I didn’t do anything … Why … Why … Why … Why Mike. Why. Why. Why. Why Mike … For fun … I’m never going to do it again … Why … I never did … Mike please. Mike please. Please. Please.”

Shannan to the Operators: “They’re going to kill me.”

Shannan to Pak: “So this was all set up.”

Pak: “You set up everything.”

Shannan: “Please get me out of here Mike … You’re being sarcastic about this … you’re a part of this all along … I just wanna go home.”

Shannan is recoiling in Brewer’s living room. Brewer and Pak know she’s on her cell phone with 911. They have to be careful with what they say. That’s why Shannan called 911 in the first place it seems. It sounds like she had her cell on speaker. She brought the 911 operators into the house with her for protection.

“Somebody is after me … please,” Shannan begged the operator.

Shannan’s actions are not the actions of a hopelessly high woman like the Suffolk County Police want you to believe. She’s clear-headed, reasoned and even intelligent.  The operator asks for her location. But she has no idea. Oak Beach is on Nowhere, Long Island. She didn’t drive there. Remember she’s a Jersey City Girl that rides the trains to Manhattan. She’s originally from Upstate New York. The best she can do is say “Long Island.” She even says “Jones Beach” a couple of times. She’s so close.  

Far from suffering some psychotic episode as the Suffolk County Police also maintain Shannan’s multiple requests to have her call traced to her location is beyond lucid … it’s clever. It’s clever because the 911 operators could have – but the operators did not know that.

Something evil. Ugly. It’s out there waiting for her. Like a bad acid trip you can see it and feel it in her voice. Then Helter Skelter …

“Mike stop it,” Shannan cries. She warns the Operators, “They’re gonna kill me.”

Again the Operators ask: “Where in Long Island are you.” 

“I don’t know … They’re gonna kill me.” Then Shannan screams …

“GO AWAY … GO AWAY MIKE … MIKE STOP … MIKE STOP IT …”

Over and over again – maybe fifteen seconds or longer.

           Brewer snarls: “He’s not going to let you out anywhere.”

Shannan realizes something. She says to Pak: “Pleassssee … get me … You’re part of this all along.”

She can’t hide out in the house forever. So she makes a rational calculated but desperate move. All of a sudden she’s outside. She breaks for it. 

That’s when she ran into the nightmare only detected on John Ray’s enhanced 911 recording. A male. A distinct and unique voice. His voice has been fingerprinted by Ray’s audio recording experts. All we can make out despite the enhancement is a guttural vocal ejaculation as he swings for – or clutches for – Shannan. 

The monster grabs her by the jacket. She twists out of the jacket. The jacket falls to the floor. Someone else or maybe the same man grabs her by the hair and ends up ripping her earing out of her ear. 

Another male voice calmly urges “Get her.”

Now Shannan is running. You can hear her footfalls. You can hear her heavy breathing. It sounds like men are chasing her. She’s running fast. The pace of the footfalls tell you that. 

Then the blood curdling screams like you never heard before in all of your days. Not like a movie. This is real. It’s fear. It paints the picture of what she fears. After six times warning the Operator that “people are going to kill me” it is happening.

Shannan is running from her death. She is running for her life. 

She knocks on doors. Out of breath. Worn down. Freaked out. Fading. Police call her incoherent but she’s just sprinted hundreds of yards like an Olympian. She’s lost her breath. And knows she’s going to die. 

She gets to the fourth door. She knocks. Knock. Knock. Knock. Heavy breathing. Knock. Knock. Knock. A man’s voice with the distinct Long Island Italian accent:

“What’s the matter … Is somebody after you … Haaah.”

Operator’s voice: “Hello … Hello … Shannan.” Now the Operator is pleading.

Shannan out of breath: “You … You … Could you …” It’s not recognition as attorney John Ray opines. She’s trying to say “could you help me …” but her breath is caught.

Male voice [Gus Coletti is his name and he is old]: “Are you all right?”

Shannan: “I need help. People … people … people running around … people really …”

Gus in horror: “Don’t get yourself hurt … What are you doing … Wait a minute … Where are you going … Wadda you want”

Did the killer or killers catch up? Shannan sees them.  And she runs. I cannot help wondering what would have happened had she stayed with Gus. John Ray opines Gus was part of it but Gus calls the Police and says that there “is a 14 year old girl running around. Someone is after her.” And “she needs help.” Killers don’t call the cops on themselves.

More running.  More heavy breathing. More screams. More knocking. No one helps Shannan like in a horror movie filled with depraved religious fanatics … well there is a little boy buggering child molesting priest named Alan Placa living right next door to Joseph Brewer. As a Priest assigned to root out the sex abuse in the Catholic Church on Long Island Placa hid hundreds of the Priests’ pedophilic rapes. He did this while he was fucking little boys himself … he’s since moved to Florida with his boyfriend and all the other psycho perverts. Placa counted amongst his close friends and associates one Ruddy Guliani – another one of Trump’s deranged lawyers.

Shannan is running from homicidal maniacs it sure seems … more knocking … a middle aged woman named Barbara Brennan refuses to help her. We hear this woman tell another 911 Operator that there is a girl … a kid girl knocking on her door frantic for help. But Brennan will not let her in she tells the Operator. After all Brennan’s elderly mother is sleeping upstairs. The Operator asks where are you. “The Oak Beach Association.” 

They’ve got an Association of sex fiend killers.

And Shannan runs … then she’s gone … like in a black hole. All that’s left is the 911 Operator saying in a bureaucratic yet motherly tone: “Shannan … where are you Shannan” … over and over again … then nothing … The line goes dead.

Welcome to Long Island Shannan. They will find your skeletal remains over a year and half later not too far from where we last heard you. 

The Suffolk (pronounced “Suf-Fuck”) County Police rule it’s not a homicide despite all of the above and the fact that they are looking for a body. They even rule the death accidental before they find a body. Like they are clairvoyant. And I say, Hey maybe she’s not dead yet. But in any event without a body they say she died of exposure. Then someone points out that it was sixty degrees that early morning. An unseasonably hot May 1, 2010 day. It will go past 80 a little later. Then they say, “oh well she drown in the marsh.” I say, Why the hell would she go in that impenetrable marsh in the first place. Maybe you should find a body first.

The other problem is that unless it’s raining or storming in some manner the marsh is dry. A dry marsh it’s called. There was no storm that day or week for that matter. I have walked that marsh more than a few times for miles. The soles of my feet did not get wet.

They found Shannan’s pants and shoes at the edge of the marsh. And her lifeline cell phone is with the pants and shoes. That’s where they find her purse too. All arranged in a tight circle along with a perfume cap. All practically in the backyard of a psycho former Police Department Surgeon. Dr. C. Peter Hackett is his name. Dead bodies are his game. For years Hackett chased death. Airplane crashes. Car crashes – that’s how he lost his leg. While leaving his vehicle to check on an accident victim Hackett is hit by a car. Dead bodies are his passion – especially dismembered fingers. Shannan’s skeletal remains are missing fingers when they finally find her.

Dr. Hackett will call Shannan’s mother. He will tell her he runs a home for wayward girls. He had Shannan for a while. Then she left. How is she. Sounds like he’s getting off. Hackett will deny making the call. His cell phone records will prove him a liar.

And there’s a problem with Shannan’s purse. When Gus Coletti sees Shannan – he’s outside with her – she does not have a purse. When Barbara Brennan sees Shannan at her glass front door – Shannan does not have a purse. Someone brought Shannan’s purse to where Shannan’s pants, shoes and phone were.  Had to be the same people that killed her. No?

Here’s the biggest problem: According to the Suffolk County Police little 4’11” girls run into dense marshes filled with sharp bramble that will cut up bare legs and bare hips and bare privates. So before little girls enter that dense marsh little girls take extra precautions – they take off their pants and shoes and just dump them. And leave their cell phone – the phone that they’re pleading with a 911 operator on for their lives. They leave that all at the edge of the marsh. Because that’s what little girls do all of the time before they run into the razor wire marsh says the Suffolk County Police.

See …

 “Happens all the time” says the Suf-Fuck police. 

 Anway nobody is murdered in Suffolk County with cops making hundreds of thousands of dollars per year. But if there’s a body the cops will train on it. That’s what Police Officer John Malia is doing with his beautiful German Shepherd named Blue when … pay dirt. Blue signals a hit. Malia checks it out. “Hey we found Shannan,” he thinks. Except Shannan had metal in her jaw because her partial pimp boyfriend once punched her in that jaw breaking it. The doctors installed a metal plate. Metal doesn’t rot like flesh. These remains don’t have metal in the jaw. 

 And then the shit hits the fan. Hey people really are murdered in Suffolk County. What a headache.

 OH MY GOODNESS … LET’S GET BACK TO THE GILGO FOUR

 Like I said Melissa #2 is found close to where they will find Maureen #1 two days later. Now we come to #3 in order of death of the Gilgo Four – which are four out of hundreds.

 3) Gilgo Four # 3: Megan Waterman. Megan is last seen alive at the Holiday Inn in Hauppauge which is near where I live. I pass it almost every day. It is right near the offices of the Suffolk County Police Officer Union – the PBA – the malevolent entity that controls the County. Megan is last seen walking down the service road of the Long Island Expressway toward a convenience store at around 1:30 a.m. on June 6, 2010. Police find Megan’s remains on December 13, 2010 on the same day as they find Maureen’s and our next dead girl’s remains. Megan is found alongside the Ocean Parkway not too far from Maureen and Melissa.

4) Gilgo Four # 4: Amber Lynn Costello. By now the Long Island Serial Killer knows not to fuck around with the girl’s phones anymore. He’s heard that they got close when he psychologically tortured Melissa Barthelemy’s little sister by calling her using Melissa’s cell phone. He described exactly what he did to Melissa with precise detail to Melissa’s little sister Amanda. Of course it could not have been more horrific. But horror is his passion. With Amber Lynn he demanded that she leave her cell phone behind. 

Amber left her residence at 1112 America Avenue, West Babylon, Suffolk County, New York on September 2, 2010, late at night. Bad luck for the Long Island Serial Killer the police accidentally found Amber’s body with the rest of the Gilgo Four. Police found Amber near Maureen and Megan on December 13, 2010, along Ocean Parkway near where all of them were found. His botanical garden.

Amber Lynn is the girl that gets the Long Island Serial Killer caught almost 13 years after he killed her. She’s not around to celebrate. 

All four of the bodies were placed on the Northside of Ocean Parkway 22 feet and nine inches (Megan) to 33 feet and three inches (Maureen) from the pavement of the parkway … across the grass shoulder … and barely in what is called “the bramble.” Maureen was the first that he placed there so that is probably why he brought her the furthest into the Bramble – barely at all. The bramble is the dense – it is so dense on the shoulder of the Ocean Parkway … impenetrable … dry marsh like vegetation that lines the parkway between the pavement and the twelve foot tall marsh grass.

The first time I saw the Ocean Parkway at night I said to myself as I drove it – “my God this is the best body dumping ground in the world.” The first time I saw the Ocean Parkway by Gilgo during the day a queer baleful feeling came over me.  I didn’t like it. I don’t know why.

Moving East to West down Ocean Parkway – just like a driver would have to do because the highway has two lanes of East bound and two lanes of westbound traffic separated by what is sometimes a wide divider of marsh grass – the bodies were located in this order: Megan Waterman (disappeared June 6, 2010); 353 feet and nine inches to the west of Megan is Maureen Brainard Barnes (disappeared July 6, 2007); 251 feet and 1 inch to the west of Maureen is Melissa Barthelmy (disappeared July 10, 2009) and finally 810 feet and two inches west of Melissa is Amber (disappeared September 2, 2010). 

There is a bunch more bodies out there – that we know about – but we’re concentrating on these four … For Now.

On the night of July 9-10, 2007, the Long Island Serial Killer drove west bound on Ocean Parkway. Just East of the community of Gilgo Beach – across the four lanes of parkway from the beach with that same name – he pulled over to the shoulder on his right hand side. It’s dark. There are no street lights. They hadn’t yet built the bike lane with the cable barrier studded with reflectors. Like a dark straight tunnel. Vehicles coming from behind – the East – heading West can be seen in the rearview mirror maybe miles away because of their headlights. The same goes for East bound vehicles coming toward the killer. 

In a moment of solitude the Long Island Serial Killer took the stark-naked body of Maureen Brainard Barnes from his vehicle. He carried it to the edge of the bramble. Walked in a little. Then deposited it. 

I have no idea what I did that night. Probably nothing much although whatever it was I doubtless thought it to be important. I am deluded that way. I was so close to where it happened.

Back to the Long Island Serial Killer in July 2007. He left Maureen’s nude naked body in the bramble. He placed her the furthest into the bramble of them all – 33 feet and three inches from the pavement because he did not yet learn to camouflage the bodies. He left her like a hunter would leave an animal he just killed: her undressed body “restrained,” “bound” – I would say “strapped” or “belted” or “trussed” – by three leather belts. One of the belts strapped Maureen’s “feet/ankle/legs” together. We don’t know what other parts of her body were restrained. The “authorities” will not tell us. But I know based upon leaked information. Maureen’s bound legs were strapped upward to her chest and torso "like a ball" by another belt. Her wrists/arms were either bound together and placed to the front of her body by her belly button, between her strapped thighs and torso; or behind the back is another obvious possibility. Behind the back is more classic sadism but in front between her curled up legs and torso is more efficient for disposal.

Remember that rigor mortis begins to set in about two hours after death. Whatever position a body is in when rigor sets in it will stiffen more and more into that position; and then remain stiff – in this case in a tight ball – for another 12 hours. 

A nice tight nude “ball like a hunter" which would be easier to carry to a vehicle. Easier to hide in a vehicle during the drive. Easier to carry from the vehicle to the bramble. And harder to see from the roadway. Was her head bound around the neck to her knees – I would think that would be really efficient but we don’t know yet. That would take one more belt. And there were only three. Plus from that curled up position there isn’t much head swing. 

The bramble where he placed Maureen’s body is almost impossible to see through. Such a clever man. And the belts. Nice touch. But funny how things get caught in belt buckles.

One of the belts has the initials “WH” or “HM” embossed on the strap. The distal end of another belt – the part furthest from the buckle – was cut off. Maybe to hide the initials of the killer. We will find out who “WH” or “HM” refers too soon enough.

Did he wrap Maureen up like this while she was still alive. Did he rape her while she was restrained like that. Hang around and I will tell you.

But first the Long Island Serial Killer did things with Maureen that would end up being a chink in his serial killer genius armor. He started by using Maureen’s cell phone to check her voice mail twice on July 12, 2007. Each time the cell phone “pinged” – contacted – a cell site in Islandia Suffolk County near that hell highway the Long Island Expressway. He’s getting close. That’s maybe two or three miles from where I live. He should have dropped by. I could have killed him finally achieving some modicum of greatness.

What is the Long Island Serial Killer doing checking the voice mails? He’s listening to all the frantic calls from Maureen’s family. He’s masturbating as he hears the fear and anguish of her sister, brother and friends – probably right in his SUV.

A couple of nights after Maureen went missing her friend Sara gets a call from a man saying that he knew Maureen’s whereabouts. “Maureen is staying in a whore house in Queens.” He jerked to that too. The Long Island Serial Killer is a twisted arrogant fuck. And that is his weakness. The phone that the Long Island Serial killer uses has a number that Sara never saw before. If she checked the number it would have come back to a fictitious name and a fictious address for that name.

I might be wrong with the date that the Long Island Serial Killer placed Maureen in his little graveyard. Maybe or maybe not. The Long Island Serial killer drove Maureen across the 59^th Street Bridge from Manhattan toward Long Island at 11:56 PM on Monday July 9, 2007. The Long Island Serial Killer has a wife. Pretty little thing – I just told a lie. She’s hideous. Whatever she looked like the Long Island Serial Killer’s wife is out of town with her beautiful children – I lied again about the children’s beauty. They are hideous too. But they were out of town when the Long Island Serial Killer does his thing with Maureen. 

The Long Island Serial Killer loves doing his girls in his own home. 

Maybe he decided to take his time. Maybe he really takes his time all the way up to July 12, 2007, when he checks Maureen’s cell phone messages. The Long Island Serial Killer’s lovely wife and two beautiful children go to Atlantic City, New Jersey on July 6, 2007. They stay there until July 20, 2007. This fanciful man is a bachelor with the whole house to himself.

On July 13, 2007, this family man – the Long Island Serial Killer –  arrives in Atlantic City to spend vacay time with the ones he holds most dear. On July 13, 2007, the Long Island Serial Killer arrives in the big A.C. rejuvenated. He spares no expense in showing his family a good time. He checks his family into the posh Club Wyndham Skyline Tower in Atlantic City.

So he most certainly had until the 12^th of July.

Or else maybe he gets home by 1:00 to 1:30 a.m. on the morning of July 10, 2009. He has a couple of hours of fun. He still has time to package Maureen and dispose of her before sunrise. It is only a 20 or so minute ride to Gilgo in his rugged SUV.

Still I am haunted by the thought that this is a big event for him. He’s been communicating with Maureen on his special Maureen only “burner phone” (the “Maureen Kill Phone”) The phone records go back to a fake name and address. He has been in contact with Maureen using the Maureen Kill Phone for three days and 16 “interactions.” Once he kills Maureen he will kill the phone. He’s watched her online. He’s stalked her from the shadows of cyberspace – the digital fog – like an A.I. London Jack the Ripper. He cannot just end it in a couple of hours or can he. 

But he is a man of discipline.

Still I am further haunted by the “collection of violent, bondage, torture pornography” that the Long Island Serial Killer possesses when he enlightens the Gilgo Four. 

And I am somewhat concerned by what else he watches on the Internet – the window to his soul. His google searches show that the Long Island Serial Killer is an “eyes wide shut” exquisite man of advanced culture and finely honed playful but inquisitive imagination.

A favorite google search of his is “autopsy photos of female.” And “hung by tits porn.” Also “very skinny white teen tied up porn.” The Gilgo Four looked like skinny white teens. (My taste are less cosmopolitan in that I always favored curvaceous Black women) And then there is –

“medieval torture of women”

That is my favorite for it shows the adventurous spirit in this middle aged man of all seasons. 

But he is not done: “how I was raped audio” – who would have thought to search for that. Only a man of infinitely broad horizons. 

And “skinny black slave girl porn” – again with “girls.” 

And of course “stories of rape audio” – no finer a google search can be conceived. 

With the google search “young twink tied up porn” the Long Island Serial Killer demonstrates his sincere open mindedness.

Rounding out this exploration of healthy sexuality is: “girl begging for rape porn;” [okay] “teen girl begging for rape porn;” [yes] “pretty girl with bruised face porn;” [I see] “torture redhead porn;” [I feel you man] “10 year old school girl;” [?Huh] “skinny red head tied up porn;” [now we’re talkin] “short fat girl tied up porn;” [oh yeah … groovy] “tied up and raped porn;” [don’t stop it now … don’t stop it no] “Asian twink tied up porn;” [thought provoking]

This “beautiful fucked up man” who is “building a mystery” loves to tie the things he fucks … tie em right up … is the common theme here.

And then the Long Island Serial Killer shows us what “out of the box” creativity means with “tied slave forcefed cock” – goodness gracious how skillful.

Followed by the luminously descriptive: “cum shot and crying porn.”

And probably his most obvious: “girl hog tied torture porn.” He most certainly hog ties and tortures his girls – this charming man.

He is fascinated by “girls” that are “fat;” “skinny;” “black” and “white.” Look at this one: “Old Janitors gangbang little school girl.”  Because he cares about “old janitors.”

And here is a poignant pair of google searches: “Girl with face beat up” and “Chubby 10 year old girl crying.” Because the man cares. 

And with “Blonde hair girl young depressed” – he really shows yet again that he cares not just about “old janitors” but about issues such as mental health.

The Long Island Serial Killer’s lawyer – a small minded repulsive misshapen Cretan of a man named MICHAEL BROWN esq. – argues that this is all “normal.” That the Internet will lead anyone and everyone in these directions. “Perfectly normal.” But This Man … THIS MAN among men is far beyond normal. He has a libido as robust as Putin’s torso with a discerning flawless intellect that is not afraid to explore the limits of human sexuality. “Normal” says his lawyer. Oh how I wish I could be that … THATTT … divinely normal.

I only take issue with one google search: “hentai plump pussy lips cut off porn.” Yuk. What the fuck is that. It does not sound too well-mannered. This must have been a typographical error or my own limited originality failing to grasp true flair.

His most pedestrian google search: “Crying girl painful anal.” But still there is virtuosity in its simplicity.

In this brave new world of Trumpian scruples where there is no perversion or shame … the Long Island Serial Killer is a master artist. He paints a masterpiece of sexual perversion, depravity, torture and murder. And the people of Trump Land Long Island appreciate you Good Sir.

I was alone in my home. The family was out. I retreated to the home office. I locked the door. Closed the shades. Sat before my great large computer screen. Undid my pants. And I tried … and I tried … and I tried … and I struggled. The Google bar where you enter your searches was wide open. I had the words copied and ready to be pasted. One of the Long Island Serial Killer’s less provocative searches: “Chubby 10 year old girl crying.” But I could not do it. I lacked the moral courage … the open minded bravery … to simply paste those words. And I felt small … unmasculine. So un-Trump-like. There … one click of the mouse away was a cornucopia of sexual delights … but I could not click the paste function ... I am so fucking wretched and weak. 

***

This man could not take his time with a victim. Oh he made it last … an exceptionally long time.

***

Maureen has a sister that is a little bit older than her but in all other aspects a carbon copy.  Pretty. Adorably cute. The Long Island Serial Killer … this unselfish Long Island MAGA man … planned to someday give her his gift of romantic delights. We know from his google searches.

Maybe I am not 100% correct here. Just maybe the Long Island Serial Killer’s lovely wife and children are home for all the festivities involving Maureen.  You see the Suffolk County Police and District Attorney Ray Tierney in their infinite wisdom believe that Asa – the hideous wife – and the heinous children went to an Atlantic City Hotel on July 6, 2007. This is based upon bank records which show the amount charged to the wife’s credit card by the Atlantic City Hotel on July 6, 2007. But the intrepid lawyer for the Gilbert family – and the family of one of the dismembered victims not amongst the Gilgo Four – the intrepid John Ray Esq. found out differently. He called the Hotel. It is not a traditional hotel setting. It is a time share. He asked the hotel manager to check back in the records for July 2007. According to Ray the manager checked the computerized records. The manager told Ray that the Long Island Serial Killer’s wife did check in to that time share hotel in July 2007. The manager repeated the following information twice. The lovely lady checked in … but she checked in on July 17, 2007. Which means that – according to Ray – the Long Island Serial Killer’s wife and children were home on July 9-10 when the Long Island Serial Killer got Maureen. 

This also comports with an Affidavit that Ray got from a former swinger that detailed the swinging lifestyle of the Long Island Serial Killer and his wife. “Swing” as not swing on a swing set. “Swing” as in group sex including the Long Island Serial Killer really giving it to the woman that swore out the Affidavit – as in the Long Island Serial Killer really nailing the affidavit signing woman’s cop boyfriend right up the ass. Just like in the classic movie Deliverance. “Squeal like a pig” the Long Island Serial Killer said to the male cop he so dominated. As in the Long Island Serial Killer’s wife’s and daughter’s hair were found on the victims too. So what the fuck is really going on with this forward looking MAGA man and his Conservative Long Island family values: The family that fucks and murders together stays together. And now it’s a little bit of … Well … Holy Shit …

I watched with glee while your kings and queens

Fought for ten decades for the gods they made

 I shouted out, "Who killed the Kennedys?"

Well, after all, it was you and me

Oh fuck that is so sweet.

On the night of July 10/July 11, 2009 – or was it after that – the Long Island Serial Killer drove through the tunnel of dark hell West bound on Ocean Parkway looking for headlights in his rear view mirror or coming at him from the West. All clear. He glides to the grass shoulder passing right by Maureen. Familiar nighttime land marks guide him. About 250 feet West of Maureen he stops. He exits his SUV. Pulls out Melissa’s dead body. He walks it into the bramble just a few feet. He dumps Melissa’s nude stripped body 251 feet and one inch West of Maureen.

Melissa is bound, strapped, restrained, belted, trussed, bound in a tight “ball like a hunter” would do … just like Maureen. But the Long Island Serial Killer used strong tape – probably duct tape – instead of belts. Another clever adaptation is the use of camouflage burlap material commonly utilized by hunters to hide the little dwellings they build so that they can wait in comfort to slaughter one of God’s creatures. Melissa’s tight little package is restrained in this burlap. It looks just like the bramble in day time. He’s been there during the day. As a youthful man he worked summers at Jones Beach – I said that already. The burlap holds moisture. Speeds up decomposition. The media reported this to be “burlap sacks” probably because their cop sources fucked the leak up. In a press conference – one of his many and many again interviews – District Attorney Ray “New Deal MAGA” Tierney blamed the press. In any event every landscaper or nursery on Long Island became a suspect because of “burlaps sacks.” 

Do you see the way he hides the bodies … he’s evolving … so God damned clever he is. 

I am sure the Long Island Serial Killer raped Melissa. He told her sister that. I am sure he raped them all. Even though the Gilgo Four were escorts I am sure that when the Long Island Serial Killer told each of the four girls that he was going to kill them – the girls did not then consent to the sex and sodomy.

Did the Long Island Serial Killer restrain Melissa before he entered her. Did he restrain her before he killed her. We don’t know … or do we. Unfortunately we have some idea. It’s not good. I think we saw that.

On the night of July 10/July 11, 2009 I have no idea what I was doing about 15 miles away. Nothing much I am sure. Waiting for the greatness that was my destiny to arrive. I’m still waiting and time is growing short. 

The burlap shows just how clever he is. But he still has that weakness. He loves to jerk off to psychic torture. With Melissa the Long Island Serial Killer really got off on the phone. On July 11, 2009, the Long Island Serial Killer checks Melissa’s voice mail pinging a cell site in Freeport Long Island. Her younger sister Amanda is leaving messages looking for Melissa. She’s worried. She’s supposed to come to New York City from their hometown in Buffalo to visit Melissa.

And then on July 12 the Long Island Serial Killer makes two more calls checking Melissa’s messages. A cell site in Babylon is pinged. Babylon is the township where Gilgo is located. It’s the township where Melissa and Maureen’s bodies are dumped. Is the Long Island Serial Killer returning to the scene to whack some more. Masturbation is a symptom of high self-esteem – is it not.

Messages for Melissa are becoming desperate – especially from her sister and mother. They wonder where she went. With each message the Long Island Serial Killer is affectionately – and with much self-admiration – jerking himself off because that is what they all do. That’s what he does best. When a hunter shoots an animal he’s jerking off too.  He ejaculates the bullet.

On July 17; July 23; August 5; August 19; and August 26, 2009 the Long Island Serial Killer really goes to phone call whack off town. More than the losers that populate this great nation who make calls for phone sex spending ten dollars a minute in so doing.   

On July 17, 2009 at approximately 12:40 PM the Long Island Serial Killer is in the Midtown Manhattan Office where his business is located. He makes sure that he’s alone. It’s lunch time. He sits down in his office. Extracts his penis from his trousers. Takes out Melissa Barthelemy’s cell phone. He places a call. And so begins his carnival of self-esteem boosting wanking.

Melissa’s younger sister – 15 year old Amanda – received the first call from Melissa’s cell phone. At first she thinks it’s Melissa. Amanda is ecstatic. She answers loudly with much relief “Melissa.” A “controlled, comfortable, soft spoken male” – a white male with no discernible accent – spoke instead of Melissa. He said: “Oh this isn’t Melissa.” And so it begins … His maniacal perfect genius.

Amanda received a series of depraved phone calls that were placed from Melissa’s cell phone. In these calls The Long Island Serial Killer referred to Melissa Barthelemy as a “whore” and “a horrible, nasty person.” This charming man has rigorous standards that must be met. 

On July 23, 2009 at approximately 6:42 PM the Long Island Serial Killer is in his Midtown Manhattan Office. He makes sure that there are no employees around. He sits in his chair. He pulls out Melissa’s phone. He pulls out his penis. He dials Amanda again. And he jerks off.

Amanda has to answer. She’s been waiting for the call. This is the only link to Melissa. Is she dead. Is she alive and being held by this monster. Is she being tortured like the caller suggests. A tough place for a 15 year old in America especially since the police are doing nothing.

During the calls the Long Island Serial Killer asks “Is this Melissa’s little sister? I hear you’re a half-breed.” Amanda has a white mother and an African American father. Melissa does not share this bi-racial attribute. The Long Island Serial Killer knows this because the information might be in Melissa’s phone. But the truth is probably far worse because that is not so likely to have been clear in a 2009 cell phone. With Amanda it’s not easy to tell her mix. She looks like a tanned white girl. And The Long Island Serial Killer said, “I hear … you’re a half-breed.” He says he heard. He could only hear it from Melissa. Probably by doing things to her. 

He mocked this poor 15 year old high school girl: “Are you going to be a whore just like your sister” He knew personal things about her like where she lived. He told her that he would come for her. Funny thing, as we will find out, he meant it. 

Starting with the third call after a big push by a local attorney the police finally became involved. The calls are approximately traced and determined to originate from midtown Manhattan in the Madison Square Garden and Times Square areas of town. Police rush to the scene after each call but The Long Island Serial Killer keeps each communication short. 

The exact spot specific location of the call could not be determined – triangulated – with any accuracy. Amanda and her mother wait for these horrible calls in the hope that police can track the killer down and find her sister. At this point no one has even heard of the Long Island Serial Killer.

One time Amanda and Melissa’s mother Lyn answered the phone but The Long Island Serial Killer hung up instantly. This tells us he’s a non-confrontational man – that must be it –  he can only whack to little girls. Police show Melissa’s photograph to local bars and clubs in the Midtown area in the hope that someone will recognize her. No luck.

Surveillance video of the area where the calls came from show hundreds of people milling around, many with phones pressed to their ears. The Long Island Serial Killer is mocking the police. 

The thing is a cell phone can be tracked even when it’s not being used as long as it is turned on. If it is turned on wherever it may go the cell phone reaches out to the nearest available cell site and sends a message “hey I am here and ready to go.” As the phone moves it reaches out to successive cell sites saying, “pleased to meet you … won’t you guess my name.” It leaves a digital trail. But the Long Island Serial Killer only turns on Melissa’s phone when he uses it. Once he’s done he turns it right off. He’s still a genius now. If they do not accidentally find the bodies he’s always going to be an unknown genius.

During the calls the Long Island Serial Killer describes what he was doing to Amanda’s sister Melissa in graphic detail, including explicit details of the torture of Melissa. Amanda described the man’s voice as “he knew exactly what he was doing …” “enjoying it …” “controlling every second.” He was orgasmic. 

On August 5, 2009, at approximately 6:50 P.M. it has been another busy day for the Long Island Serial Killer. His office is now empty. He sits down. Pulls out Melissa’s phone. Takes out his penis. Dials Amanda. And self-pleasures himself.

On one call the Long Island Serial Killer asked Amanda, “Do you think you’ll ever see her again? You won’t. I killed her.” Then he hung up. The phone call lasted less than a minute. 

Melissa’s mother Lynn told journalists: “Most of the calls were in the evening. We thought maybe he lived somewhere else and works in the city and commutes.” Melissa’s mother was a better cop than the cops.

Then the calls stopped for a while.  The Long Island Serial Killer went to Iceland to join his family’s vacation. He’s a busy man.

The Long Island Serial Killer returns to New York on August 18, 2009.  A busy, busy, man.

On August 19, 2009 after a busy, busy, day at approximately 7:23 PM the Long Island Serial Killer once again relaxes. Pulls out his dick. Pulls out Melissa’s phone. Turns it on. He calls Amanda. And he wanks and wanks in sheer delight. This is better than 100 google searches of “chubby ten year-old beat up girls.”

On August 26, 2009 the Long Island Serial Killer is in his office at 11:29 AM. He cannot wait for the evening. He makes sure his office is secure. He pulls out his little penis. Whips out Melissa’s phone and dials Amanda. His last words to her are: “I’m watching your sister’s body rot.” Maybe he has been to the place where he placed Melissa. Serial Killers love to return to scenes of their dastardly acts to do what? … Well good for you … you guessed it … they jack off.

The press in Buffalo New York caught wind of the Long Island Serial Killer’s calls. Being idiots they reported it.  Despite being a busy, busy, man the Long Island Serial Killer always has his ears up. He knows the police are getting closer. Melissa’s phone is never heard from again.

He still longs for Amanda. He plans to visit her one day. He googled searches her all the time. I friended her on Facebook at the same time the Long Island Serial Killer watched her from the dark alley of cyberspace. She did not get back to me. I hoped to talk to her about Him. Maybe get some clues.

Did I fuck up the dates with Melissa. The Long Island Serial Killer’s wife and kids are in Iceland when he does Melissa. The Long Island Serial Killer invested time in Melissa. He used his Melissa “Kill Phone” – the burner with the fictional name and address that he will kill when he kills Melissa – to communicate with Melissa starting on July 3. This “burner phone” is for Melissa only. He communicates with Melissa on July 6, 9, and 10 too. Texts. No one talks anymore. Texts hide the weirdness. The odd other in a man’s voice.

He’s watched her online. The Long Island Serial Killer fantasized about Melissa as he stalked her without any knowledge on her part. When he contacted her on the 10^th he arranged to get her. 

The Melissa Kill Phone traveled from the Long Island Serial Killer’s house on Long Island into Manhattan on the 10^th.  That’s the last day Melissa is seen. But we know Melissa travelled from Midtown Manhattan to the Long Island Serial Killer’s house on Long Island. Melissa may have even met the Long Island Serial Killer at his office. If he finally called her that is. He would never text that information. 

She learned everything about him. His name. His business. His work address. Where he lived. But the Long Island Serial Killer knew Melissa would never live to tell the tale before he ever saw her in the flesh. 

And we can see Melissa’s cell phone leave Midtown Manhattan and travel right to the Long Island Serial Killer’s house. Melissa is with the phone leaving a digital trail. Melissa’s cell phone is right beside the Melissa Kill Phone in the Long Island Serial Killer’s suit jacket pocket during her last ride … alive that is. At 1:43 a.m. the cell site loses contact with her cell phone. She’s all alone now … all alone with him. Goodbye. She’s passed the event horizon into a cold black place.

Is she dead at 1:43 a.m. or is that when he shuts off her phone to start the fun. He has the house to himself. This is a big night. Maybe two years in the making. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s killed in Upstate New York. Maybe he’s killed in Vegas. Maybe he’s killed in the Carolinas. He is a busy, busy, man. And the devil makes work for idle hands.

There’s places the Long Island Serial Killer can put Melissa in his house for safe keeping whether she’s dead or alive. There is a place in the basement of his house that will not let the screams out. The hot summer suburban breeze sifts silently through the houses with their manicured lawns in the Long Island Serial Killer’s beautiful neighborhood.

People stay away from his house. Something is off here. They whisper but never too loudly.  No trick or treaters go there. Saves on candy costs.

Does he keep her dead or alive – either way – until the Babylon cell site pings on July 12, 2009. He’s a busy, busy man. He could have went off to the office on the morning of the 11^th after a night of fun. His neighbors would have seen him walk to the Long Island Rail Road train station with his brief case just like he always did. They didn’t say a word to him. They didn’t even wave. No one does that on Long Island anyway. He could have grabbed some much needed Zzzzzzs on the train. Rushed home that evening. Grabbed yet another cat nap. And had some more fun. Then did his final act – Bind. Torture. Kill. Serial killer BTK is one of his biggest fans. 

But wait. July 11, 2009 is a Saturday. Forgive me folks. The Long Island Serial Killer picked up Melissa on a Friday night. He had the place for a weekend of unfettered fun. The night of Sunday July 12, 2009 would have been a good time for an exhausted satiated Long Island Serial Killer to dispose of Melissa before his busy, busy work week.

The Long Island Serial Killer spouted puddles of his foul mawkish maudlin jism.

My only question is this. With all of his jerking off how come he is such a fat fuck?

What haunts the intelligent is his Internet search history. What does it tell us about the Long Island Serial Killer’s fantasies. Alone with Melissa his fantasies become reality.

Stuck around St. Petersburg

When I saw it was a time for a change

Killed Tsar and his ministers

Anastasia screamed in vain

So fucking goddamn sweet.

Then came Shannan  – I said that already. She is not one of the Gilgo Four. She’s just a dead girl. She literally looked 14 when she died. Without Shannan the Long Island Serial Killer never gets the name. No one knows who he is. But then came Shannan. I don’t think the Long Island Serial Killer killed Shannan. Not this Long Island Serial Killer anyway. Not our boy. Another Long Island Serial Killer.         

The Police eventually – after 19 months – find Shannan’s remains in a marsh. You can see where they found her from psycho Dr. C. Peter Hacket’s backyard porch. He’s the weirdo that called Shannan’s mother with the story about running a home for wayward girls where he took care of Shannan. In fact that’s where Suffolk Cops bring Shannan’s mother to show her where they found her daughter’s skeleton – they took her to Dr. C. Peter Hacket’s porch, pointed and said, "that's where we found your daughter.” Considerate fellows they are. A few days earlier they found her jeans and shoes on the fringe of the marsh that’s basically in Hacket’s back yard. 

She died from exposure to the warm sunny morning air as the morning birds sang their songs said Suffolk Law Enforcement. Then they said “She drown” where there is no water. I like intrepid lawyer John Ray have walked right over where they found her body. You are in greater danger of dying from thirst than drowning there. 

But Shannan had a disfigured bone in her neck consistent with strangulation. 

The Suffolk County Police Department did a great job of covering it all up. They kicked the FBI off the case. They kicked a Jersey City Detective off the case who suspected Hacket. (Shannan lived in Jersey City) They kicked the State Police off the case. Hacket who secretly confided to people that Shannan was dead from the day she was missing – even though he helped look for her – left the state. He’s in Fort Myers Florida where women are disappearing. Brewer is gone too. So is the old man that tried to save Shannan – Gus Coletti. He’s dead. Barbara Brennan who wouldn’t let Shannan in also moved. Others familiar with the case have died of overdoses. And so it goes. This is, after all, Long Island. Home of the Crazy House.

On the night/early morning of Sunday June 6, 2010, the Long Island Serial Killer visits Megan.

That day – Saturday the 5^th of June – the Long Island Serial Killer contacts Megan on the Megan Waterman Kill Phone. That “burner phone” with a fictitious name and address is just activated on June 5, 2010, for the express purpose of contacting an escort that the Long Island Serial Killer will kill. After the kill it will be destroyed. 

Megan is staying at the Holiday Inn right on the Long Island Expressway in Islandia, Suffolk County, New York. The same hamlet where the Long Island Serial Killer pinged a cell site when he called Maureen Brainard Barnes voice mail nearly three years prior. Islandia is the H.Q. for the Suffolk County Police Union. It’s also about three miles from my house. I pass that hotel nearly every day on the way to the office. I will pass it in about nine hours tomorrow morning. A gloomy place.

Every single hotel or motel on Long Island hosts human sex trafficking and escorts who depraved losers pay for sex. That is what study and analysis have shown us. My former best friend used to frequent escorts. He was a cop who retired on disability at the ripe old age of 29. He could bench press 425 pounds. His morality was the only thing that was disabled. He is all “Back the Blue.” 

Nothing is done about the sex trafficking. A Federal and State funded crack down drew the ire of all of the Long Island lawyers, doctors, accountants, judges, politicians, etc., and other jack-off professionals that were part of it. That had to stop. All of the funding to combat it now goes to paying cop salaries who do not work on sex trafficking if they work on anything at all. Sex trafficking is just a fact on Long Island like Donald Trump’s approval rating. It is what it is.

BUT I DO NOT WANT TO GET POLITICAL. There is no room for that here.

At about 1:31 AM the Long Island Serial Killer contacts Megan again using the Megan Waterman Kill Phone. That is the last time Megan’s cell phone is used. No more cell phone shenanigans for our white boy.  He learned from Melissa. He is a busy, busy, clever, clever, manipulator of all that is ministerial. 

Megan is picked up by a surveillance camera exiting the hotel shortly thereafter. She is seen walking to a convenience store East Bound on the service road of the Long Island Expressway. Always a Tom-Boy.

The Long Island Serial Killer’s wife and kids are supposedly out of town again. Does he have fun with Megan all night until sunrise. Torture her. Then kill her and store her body for the day. Or does he get back to his house at about 2:15 a.m. on Sunday the sixth of June … Do Megan pretty quick. And dump her on Ocean Parkway about 20 minutes away before sunrise. That gives him all day – Sunday – to rest up. 

Megan does not use her cell phone again – ever again – after 1:31 a.m. the morning of June 6, 2010. But it travels to the Long Island Serial Killer’s house. We know that much. The last time that phone will ever be in touch with a cell site is at 3:11 a.m. on the morning of June 6, 2010. Then it’s signal and life forever disappears down the Long Island Serial Killer black hole. Is it turned off when Megan is killed giving the Long Island Serial Killer roughly two hours before sunrise to bundle, transport and dump Megan’s body. Or is it turned off at 3:11 a.m. to cut off a still living Megan from the rest of the world. To bring her too across the event horizon to a cold dark icy hell from which she will never return.

I don’t know. 

I do know this. June 7, 2010, is a Monday and the beginning of a strenuous work week for the Long Island Serial Killer at his office.

If he took his time with her he may have even kept her alive during the day of – Sunday – June 6, 2010 while he caught some sleep. The Long Island Serial Killer has a vault in his basement with concrete walls, floor and ceiling. There is a thick metal door. It’s sound proof.  He stores approximately 300 firearms in it. Many are even legal. He is the master of all that is ministerial after all.

Or maybe he just kills her and leaves her laying around. Because it doesn’t matter to him. He can have sex with her dead too. Famous beloved serial killer Ed Kemper used to have sex with his victims’ severed heads. Give him an egg salad sandwich.

Either way he does twisted things to her and sexually assaults her repeatedly. Then he takes her to her final resting place on Sunday Night/Early Monday morning. Or maybe he keeps her longer. The Long Island Serial Killer is a bachelor now with his family out of town. 

When I am alone I celebrate my bachelor status with Pizzas and action movies like Judge Dredd starring Sylvester Stallone or I treat myself to the billionth viewing of the best fucking movie ever made – Road House starring Patrick Swayzee – R.I. fucking P. 

Nothing that trivial for the Long Island Serial Killer and his zest for life. He celebrates his temporary bachelor status with sadistic sex then pitiless murder.  He might want to make it last. 

It is tiring. And he’s got that strenuous week of work ahead of him. But I know this for sure … 

Listen here you inconsequential ingrates …

That Monday morning he takes his morning walk to the train station with his brief case in hand. He gets into his favorite train car. He gets some much needed shut eye on the way in. He goes about his busy, busy day. Then takes the train home that evening. Megan may still even be there for more fun and games. We have no way of knowing because when we find Megan she’s mostly bones. He could dump Megan that Monday night, Tuesday, or Wednesday and so on. His wife and lovely family are in a faraway land on a long vacation. Snoopy creepy neighbors stay away from his house – I believe I said that already. 

He is a man of fastidious duty and exacting responsibility.

Listen to me again you miscreant malefactors …

Did you people just for once in your god damn lives ever stop to think … while ensconced in your niggling existences … did you ever for one moment utterly understand … did you ever comprehend  … maybe even ponder in admiration about … how much of a busy, busy man the Long Island Serial Killer is. Small business owner. Employer. Boss. Family man. Member of the NRA. Registered Republican. For God’s sake he did important work for the Trump Organization. 

What about you … did you ever do important work for the Trump Organization …

I didn’t think so.

He’s an upstanding citizen. Avid sportsman-hunter. Owner of close to three hundred firearms – I said that. Marksman. A fucking American hero in the truest sense. Just ask his lawyer.

And he’s a famous fucking serial killer to boot.

Can you even come close – in your small minded tightly rationed imaginations – to comprehending the burden on this man’s expansive shoulders ... Think … ahh … Think …

I didn’t think so.

On or about the night/early morning of June 6^th or night/early morning of June 7^th – or thereabouts – the Long Island Serial Killer drives East bound through the tunnel of death known as the Ocean Parkway. The lights of Gilgo glow ahead in front of him. He spots familiar night time landmarks. He glides to the shoulder of Ocean Parkway. He decides to extend his line of bodies Eastward. He stops on the shoulder about 353 feet East of Maureen Brainard Barnes. The marsh between Ocean Parkway and the Great South Bay feels wider here. Not that it matters.  But he is a man with a masterful meticulous ministerial nature. He gets out of his SUV. He grabs the bundle that is Megan. He walks her slightly into the bramble where he positions her unclothed body. Dumps the body. So long.

She is bound, strapped, restrained, belted, trussed in a tight “ball like a hunter” would do … just like Maureen and Melissa. Duct tape again. All packaged especially tight in camouflage burlap – he had to really work to wrap her because Megan is curvy. And that is a pleasant thing for normal males who aren’t attracted to women who look like little girls. But The Long Island Serial Killer is like Jeffrey Epstein and Donald Trump – he likes his girls young. 

The Long Island Serial Killer also bound Megan’s head to her body. He’s getting so proficient. And he keeps honing his craft getting better and better. It is funny how sticky duct tape really is – bound around the head.  Burlap wraps her head too … so this pretty girl’s chin pushes into her upper chest right above her beautiful breasts … that are ruined by death.

On June 6, 2010, I worked running my small but profitable law practice. I spent time on the Internet – AOL Radio where I rediscovered Big Country ... In a big country dreams stay with you like a lover’s voice across a mountain side … stay alive … Shaaaah.  I still managed to lift weights. I coached youth sports. The greatness was right around the corner. I was going to win the PAL 7 year old age bracket football championship. 

I could feel it.

I rode a tank

Held a general's rank

When the blitzkrieg raged

And the bodies stank



“Make America Great Again.”

Amber Lyn Costello [not Italian; her maiden name is Overstreet – she kept her husband’s last name from a short marriage] is a pretty petite girl that doesn’t reach five feet tall nor 100 pounds soaking wet. She is horribly addicted. She has been an escort for years. She’s from the South. She works her twang. It’s enough to turn on any man. Of all the Gilgo Four she had the least shot at a good life from early in her short life.

On the night of Thursday September 2, 2010, an angry Long Island Serial Killer is bent on vengeance. If this assiduous man of wealth and taste has one character flaw it is arrogance – I said that already. He has been slighted by Amber. 

Earlier that day – it was still September 1 – a man contacted Amber at 11:33 and 11:34 p.m. The phone he used travelled a short distance then contacted Amber again at 12:05 a.m. –   September 2, 2010. A persistent fat fuck he is. During those communications, the phone pings cell site towers in West Amityville and Massapequa Park – on Long Island. The man arrives at the house Amber shared with her roommates shortly thereafter. He is a large middle-aged white man 6’4” to 6’6” tall – with “dark bushy hair” and “big oval style 1970’s type glasses.” He came over to see Amber for some paid sex. He looked like an “ogre” in his “mid-40s” according to Amber’s roommate Dave. 

Amber and her roommate Dave had a con. Amber would lure a John in for some paid sex. Once she got paid but before the sex Dave – a big guy with a mixed martial arts background before the massive drugs –  would burst in pretending to be her jilted enraged boyfriend causing the John to flee without his money. Maybe Amber is getting tired of sex.

They pull this con on the Ogre.

The Ogre leaves without his money after Amber’s roommate Dave pretends to be a shocked, violent and heartbroken boyfriend. (How funny it was what they did to him)

But the Ogre is our boy the Long Island Serial Killer. (Whoa … Ho … Ho … Oh no) He’s huge. And he’s got so many firearms too. He knows it’s a con.

The detective lesson here: That is why the Long Island Serial Killer took such great pains to hide the bodies and/or body parts – without a body those persons close to the victims are never questioned. Amber’s roommate saw the Long Island Serial Killer. So did persons close to other victims. I am sure. They were not thoroughly questioned.

Our boy came back and got Amber later that night – September 2, 2010. He is angry. Amber embarrassed him like the girl who said “hell no” when he asked her out in front of a crowd of people back in high school. They are all whores in need of some torture and a killing. 

More importantly this roommate saw the Long Island Serial Killer’s unique first-generation Chevrolet Avalanche – I believe there were only eight in the state. If the Suffolk County Police Department did a simple computerized DMV records search – combined with other information –  they would have had the identity of the Long Island Serial Killer in 2011.

What is the other information? Based upon the cell site pings an elite FBI unit had already determined that our boy lived in an area of the town called Massapequa Park – which they dubbed “the box.” Using the same data they knew he probably worked in Midtown Manhattan. Find the Chevy Avalanche registered in Massapequa Park and … Bang! You got him. And you get him in 2011 my “Back the Blue” boys. 

I hope he hasn’t killed anyone in the last dozen years but I bet he has.  Because he hooked up with hundreds of escorts since then and he loves to torture and kill those escorts. These are all facts. Not inventing anything here. 

Roommate Dave’s statement identifying the Chevy and the Long Island Serial Killer just hung around for a decade or so doing nothing.

Meanwhile He – the Long Island Serial Killer –  is a busy, busy man. And the devil makes work for idle hands – I said that already.

The Long Island Serial Killer has his trusty laptop computer. On September 1, 2010, at 9:03 p.m., he started digitally stalking his quarry. He accessed Amber Lyn’s Backpage ad, just a couple of hours before Amber and her roommate pulled the fast one on him. 

Only an hour after they embarrassed him, at 1:18 a.m. the Long Island Serial Killer uses the Amber Lyn Kill Phone – a phone that comes back to a fictious name and address (it will be killed after Amber is killed). The Amber Lyn Kill Phone communicates with Amber Lyn’s phone. During those communications, the Amber Lyn Kill Phone pings cell site towers in West Amityville and Massapequa Park – on Long Island. The Long Island Serial Killer is keeping it light. Setting the trap. Here is the vibe he gives off: Oh no I’m not angry. I’m just an overweight middle aged professional that got victimized by fraud. So what. Happens all the time. What can I do about it. I’m still horny.  He texts Amber like a hip teenager would text sans grammar and punctuation:

“That was not so nice so do i credit for next time.” 

You see … He’s so fucking clever.

He’s patiently waiting in his duck blind. Using his little duck call. Waiting for the right time to pounce. The Long Island Serial Killer goes to work that Thursday morning September 2, 2010. Patience is a virtue. He contacts Amber from work. He tells her that he wants to see her again. But he doesn’t want to come back to the house because of Amber’s boyfriend.  You see … he’s setting the trap. He is going to convince Amber to go on a dangerous “outcall” – an escort term for when the escort leaves the security of her apartment or house or hotel room and let’s some unknown man – who could be a psycho serial killer – pick her up.

At 9:32 PM the Long Island Serial Killer’s Amber Lyn Kill Phone communicates with Amber. Our man is still working. Supporting his family. Appearing nonchalant to his prey. And being ever so patient like the excellent well-armed hunter he is. 

The Long Island Serial Killer travels to his home. He wants to be fresh. At 10:39 PM and 11:05 PM he contacts Amber. A patient persistent fat fuck – I may have said that already. Then the Amber Lyn kill phone travels to West Babylon, arriving close to the house Amber Lyn lives in at 11:17 PM.

Amber leaves her house. Oh man she took the bait along with her roommate Dave who is depending on her escort sex dollars to help fuel his drug habit. She walks into the darkness. She disappears. She will never be seen alive again. The next time she is seen she will look vastly different. She will be mostly bones. 

The Long Island Serial Killer’s masculine Chevy Avalanche drives past the house. All the witness sees is a dark truck pass from the direction that Amber had just walked. Amber falls past the event horizon into a black of hole of torture and death.

He made sure that she left her cell phone at home. He knew it could be traced to cell sites because he learned from the Internet that authorities had done that with the other still undiscovered victims. Good bye Amber.

He has a three day labor day weekend coming up. Monday the 6^th of September is Labor Day.  He can bang in on Friday. Nobody is in the office the Friday before Labor Day. It is a tradition to turn it into a four day weekend. He’s the boss. 

Besides the Long Island Serial Killer works oh so hard to keep his family in good stead. He deserves some R&R.  He can really take his time with this one … he’s mad at her too … oh so mad – Amber is going to suffer for all of them. Amber – who looked just like a little teenage girl – is going to get the full panoply of the Long Island Serial Killer’s google search treatment.

This is what he did to Amber: “autopsy photos of female;” “hung by tits porn;” “very skinny white teen tied up porn;” “medieval torture of women;” “how I was raped audio;” “stories of rape audio;” “pretty girl with bruised face porn;” “torture redhead porn;” “tied up and raped porn;” “tied slave forcefed cock;” “cum shot and crying porn;” “girl hog tied torture porn;” “Girl with face beat up;” “hentai plump pussy lips cut off porn.” And still I say: What the fuck is that. 

Maybe conning this man of wealth and taste was not such a good idea. Amber’s roommates Dave and Bjorn a.k.a. “Bear” were stupid addicts that have grown famous in books, true crime shows and YouTube interviews as the druggie roommates of a victim of the Long Island Serial Killer – low life folk heroes. Why am I so angry? These brave boys did not even bother to report that Amber went missing. If the Long Island Serial Killer kept her alive for some time she could have been saved.

Dave says they were afraid to report her missing because they didn’t want the Suffolk County Police to find out that they were doing massive amounts of drugs. But big deal. This is Long Island. Everybody is crushing Oxy and snorting it up their nose. It’s so bad people started robbing pharmacies – not for money. They leave that. They commit armed robberies on pharmacies to steal the Opioids. 

A little bit after 10 AM on Sunday, June 19, 2011 – Father’s Day – 29-year-old Melinda Brady drove her unemployed husband, 33-year-old David Laffer, to Haven Drugs on Southaven Avenue in Medford. They were a young power-couple with so much Long Island potential. By the way Medford is a white trash middle class hamlet in Suffolk County – Trump Land USA – about 60 miles East of the Sodom and Gomorrah City of New York.

This is all captured on video. Laffer wore a fake beard, a white baseball cap that said “Make America Great Again” – I am lying about that part. But he did wear the fake beard, white hat and sunglasses to conceal his identity. He miserably failed to conceal his identity. 

Anyway Laffer walked into the pharmacy. He exchanged a few words with pharmacist Raymond Ferguson. Laffer shot Ferguson in the abdomen, then he shot 17-year-old clerk Jennifer Mejia twice. In just two days pretty sweet little Jennifer was going to graduate from Bellport High School. Bellport High School beat my son’s football team in both his Junior and Senior years. Anway … Laffer then shot Ferguson two more times just for good effect. Laffer said absolutely nothing as he did all this.

As Laffer began stuffing pain pills into a knapsack, two very unlucky customers entered the store. They were and no longer are: 71-year old Bryon Sheffield (he was old anyway – Covid would have probably gotten him years later if he lived) and 33-year-old Jaime Taccetta. Laffer snuck up behind them "and executed them by shooting them in the back of the head." Jaime was a bit too young to die for some Oxy.

Jamie Taccetta's fiancé, James Manzella (he’s now available ladies), had just dropped her off at the drugstore when he noticed a thin, unshaven young man walk out. Laffer ran East on Southaven Avenue where his lovely wife Melania … I mean Melinda Brady picked him up. Together the Suffolk County power-couple sped away.

Manzella rushed inside the store. "I saw her laying on the floor with blood near her … I thought she had a seizure, but then I saw a man in a lab coat also on the floor with blood around him. I freaked out." Yeah I guess you did.

The first 911 call came at 10:23 AM. Laffer executed four people.  He stole more than 10,000 hydrocodone pills. What a rush.

"Why couldn't God watch out for her?" 17-year-old Jennifer Mejia’s father asked on his day – Father’s Day. Because God stays away from Long Island.

The only good thing that Suffolk County Police ever did was beat Laffer senseless when they caught him. He looked so tuned up for his arraignment. He is now serving life with no parole. His lawyer – the incomparable teenage client fucker Eric Naiburg – observed that Laffer “did not seem remorseful” at his sentencing. For his part Laffer blamed it all on pain killing pills. He’s a real laugh – that Laffer.

It got so bad for a while on Long Island you had to call and make appointments at the pharmacies just to pick up your antibiotics. The door is locked. Windows barred. You show up at the glass. They eyeball you like they were some burrowing creature. Recognize you. Open the door really quickly. Let you in. Lock the door. Take your money and give you your medicine. Goodbye. Out the door you go. You can hear it lock behind you. You are on your own. 

Hey Amber’s roommate Dave … Big deal you fucking cold coward. This is fucking Conservative MAGA Long Island. Everyone is high on something. Everybody wants to kill someone.  Nobody cares about your habit. You could have reported her missing.

It turns out Dave feared the Long Island Serial Killer. But when the police quite accidentally found Amber’s skeleton, then found Amber’s identity with no Amber left to fill it – then the police found her roommate Dave.  At that point Dave told the police something important.

On or about the night/early morning of September 2, 2010 … or night/early morning of any day of our lord the 2^nd through 7^th of September 2010 … or thereabouts … the Long Island Serial Killer drives West bound once more on the highway of death – through that gateway to hell – called the Ocean Parkway. The lights of his home town across the bay appear to his right. The hamlet of Gilgo Beach lies ahead. He spots old friends – the familiar landmarks. He coasts to the grassy shoulder of Ocean Parkway.  He decides to extend his line of bodies Westward. He also decides to put a little bit more space between bodies so he glides just a bit longer until he is 810 feet West of Melissa Barthelmy – the biggest distance between bodies. He is always evolving like the superhuman that he is. How clever. He is.

He stops on the shoulder. He exits his SUV. Steps in a dream. He’s been here before. He hoists the little bundle of joy that is Amber Lyn’s tortured naked body into his arms. He saunters with her slightly into the bramble. Plops her down twenty nine feet and three inches from the pavement. Adios he might have said with jocularity because He is a jaunty, jolly, spry, sprightly man.

Amber’s nude body is meticulously bound, restrained, tethered in a tight “ball like a hunter” would do … just like Maureen, Melissa, and Megan. He uses three long pieces of clear white duct tape. He further reinforces this with that camouflage burlap used by hunters. He makes damn sure to bind her head close to her body with this camo wrap. She’s a tight ball packaged in camouflage that looks just like the bramble. 

You wouldn’t see Amber if you saw Amber in that bramble. He’s so fucking clever. But remember this. Duct tape is sticky. Oh duct tape is sooooo sticky. Things like hair will stick to duct tape.

Just as every cop is a criminal

And all the sinners saints

As heads is tails

Just call me Lucifer

'Cause I'm in need of some restraint

Oh sweet Jesus so fine …

Got my MAGA cap … high on Percocet … got my dick way out … the computer screen … Google search open … so fucking horny … talking poetry … about to click “paste” … “hog tied torture porn.” … Zeig Heil Don Trump …

I'm rockin' the suburbs, just like Michael Jackson did,

I'm rockin' the suburbs, except that he was talented.

Ben Folds Five

Like a hunter treats a trophy or the carcass of an animal he just killed – the Long Island Serial Killer was busy, busy. He is an avid hunter you know. He used to brag to his female employees about how he hunted and killed animals …  how he set bait for bears and then blew them away with his big, big, gun as the bears ate honey. It had to make him hard … killing … thinking about killing and talking about killing to young women that he employed that looked strangely like the women he really did kill. 

I could kill him in a fight you know.  Torture him. Then snap his neck.

So if you meet me

Have some courtesy

Have some sympathy, and some taste

Use all your well-learned politnesse

Or I'll lay your soul to waste, mm yeah

Because of all the dark souls on Long Island I fear my soul is the darkest by far.