Gene Tyler And The Case of The Chat n'Chew Slayer

## **Report from Garret Maryland 12th August Summer of 1969 Part 1**

Both Maryland state police and local Police cars crowded the parking lot of the Chat and Chew Dinner just outside the small town of Garrett Maryland. Though no sirens rang out into the chill of the early summer morning air, the lights atop the cars still rotated, throwing red light lazily across the horizon. There seemed to be every cop and state trooper for all of Maryland here.

A brand new Sony reel to reel tape recorder gives out a defined clunk as it is turned on and the tape heads lowered. The Machine dominates the passenger seat of a very out of place vehicle in the hubbub of Detroit's finest police packages. Here sits a 1949 Lincoln coupe illuminated by the *Open* neon sign of the dinner. The tape begins to swoosh from one large reel to the other.

“Supervisory Special Agent Gene Tyler FBI, recording. It’s the early hours of Tuesday one oh six am, on the 12th of August 1969 I’m documenting the events I’ve just witnessed here in Garrett Maryland, for the case file and the benefit of my wife Doctor Rose Tyler, Psychologist at Georgetown University and FBI consultant. I’m here at the Chat And Chew Diner and Truck stop just off Route 219”

The man sighs deeply, audible to the tape, this never got any easier.

“Garret local Switchboard operator Mary Sue Kirk received a call from a young woman they immediately believed to be a hoax as it was regarding a quadruple homicide, then another call regarding a complaint about a pest control incident a little later tonight”
A notebook is flipped open with a slap of leather on leather a notebook cover

“Just after nine PM, local PD car four stopped in to check it out, according to the shift supervisor one Sergeant Ted Simmons they get coffee here all the time, so stopped in to offer a hand with the rats... Officers Riggs and Murtaugh conduct a search of the area as there are no staff. It was like the *Marie Celeste* in there. Lights on, meals unfinished, coffee pots boiled dry. About twenty minutes later they make a grizzly discovery of four corpses, two male two female, the absent members of staff, in the walk-in freezer *Mitch for Mel Grey Skull* Is daubed in blood on the victim's clothing, initial examination points to a ritualistic slaying. Yet it was conducted with knives like a crime of opportunity as meat hooks from the walk-in freezer were utilized...”

The man's voice changes from documenting just the salient unsavoury facts, there is tenderness as he speaks directly to his wife.

“What do you male of that honey? Satanic cults in Maryland? A Knights Templar fascination maybe? How did the Killer control all the staff members did they have a gun? There are no signs of restraint on the victims. You know this part, That’s when they put a call into Quantico and wake you and me up. I'm sorry you had to fall in love with a G man. I hate to tell you but Still missing and unaccounted for is one Mrs. Melanie McKenzie, the sole survivor of this little Diners staff. A popular Waitress Age 22 local PD have already searched her Main Street apartment, nothing out of the ordinary”

The microphone moves and knuckles are hard to crack

“I’m waiting for the local coroner to finish with the scene, then I’m going to see Sarge, a friend that Melanie and I have in common. We were in Korea together. Small world. I want to know what’s going on in her life. It’s common knowledge that she has a husband, her high school sweetheart, who’s shipped out to Nam with the hundred and first airborne recently. I don’t really want to try and put a call through his unit to tell him his wife is missing or dead.”

The whole war in South East Asia was bad enough Gene counted himself fortunate that his brief time over there before benign headhunted for Hoovers Boys was as a Military Intelligence officer not fighting the VC in the Jungle that was a “real bad scene” as the hippie beatniks of today might say.

“I’m having our victims picked up and Taken to Doctor Elizabeth Shaw at Quantico, so she can conduct the post mortems, pick up anything we might have missed. I’ll call you at your office in the morning. Looks like I’m sleeping in the glorious Motel Lincoln outside Sarge’s house tonight.

He makes a wise-ass little joke

“I passed *The Garrett Inn* a while back, I’ll look into checking in there at a more sociable hour, I’ll get the local cops to get me a room before the press descent tomorrow morning. I’ll come home as soon as I can. I’ll need to be at HQ for the post anyway. I can’t let this get away from me, I won’t get pushed away from a serial killer on our doorstep, It’s not going to go down like in California last week.”

Then the tape heads clunked away from the ultramodern reel to reel cassette recorder and the cabin of the car fell silent for a second.

## **Report from Garrett Maryland 12th August Summer of 1969: Entry 2**

A cane clattered between the A-pillar and chrome wing mirror of the 1949 Lincoln parked on the verge of the county road, as the sun rose over Garret Maryland.

“Civilian life is making you lazy, do I call you Corporal, Captain or Agent?”

Sarge chuckled and Gene relaxed and tried to pat creases out of his crumpled shirt.

Gene Rolled down his passenger side window. The Sarge had somehow snuck up on him despite the wheelchair, the cast and the metalwork surrounding it. Some people were born soldiers, not just drafted and issued olive drab.

Before Gene could utter a clever rebuttal he was presented with a cup of government issue coffee

“You’d better come in Son, I’m afraid I'll be needing your professional services.”

Sarge uttered in the most stoic manner he could manage, with a slightly audible tremble in his voice. The older man had that familiar look about him, one Gene well remembered from their time in Korea. On edge, hadn’t had a wink of sleep, yet holding it together more for the benefit of his old two striper than for himself.

The familiar sound of the Sony’s tape head engaging and the tick of a clock is all that could be heard in the Sarge’s living room. This place could have been the living room of any of the Base houses Sage and Yuriko had lived in. *Zane Grey* Books lined the shelves, the walls were filled with keepsakes and photographs from a lifetime of service. It was all eerily familiar to Gene.

Gene began to speak into the microphone

“This is Supervisory Special Agent Gene Tyler FBI, recording. It’s the early hours of Tuesday zero five thirty-five, on the 12th of August 1969 with me is Master Sergeant Herbert J Seville United States Army, currently on medical leave due to being wounded in action. We’re at his private residence on Maplehurst Drive in Garrett Maryland.”

There was a latent pause

“Yuriko is missing son, I’m not sure how you’re going to break it to your wife and your boy. I’m afraid you won’t be able to tell the whole truth. You’re going to think I should be put in the psych ward at the VA to bounce off the rubber walls, but I swear this is God's truth. You won’t be able to find my wife because she’s lost in time. You need to talk to First Sergeant James Hendrix. Jimmy will tell you what’s going on. Because it’s not my story to tell.”

This might be the most Sarge had ever said to Gene at any one time in almost two decades of friendship.

“Jesus Herb, are we in the *Twilight Zone*?”

Gene tried to hold his professional composure. Sarge looked a little vexed the only television he watched was *Gunsmoke*

“So Melanie Mackenzie, she’s taken a ride on HG Wells’ time machine too?”

Gene tried not to sound too exasperated, even at his former subordinates' glib remarks. Rose would say it’s Gene’s defence mechanism the Sarge despised liars and would never lie or ask anyone to lie on his behalf if it weren't a life or death situation.

“Just yesterday afternoon we had four people who haven’t even been born yet on my front porch, I’m an old soldier, not some scientists, but I’d say it has to be possible”

Gene looked to his old sergeant, his friend, with wide-eyed wonder.

## Report from Garrett Maryland 09:00 12th August Summer of 1969: Entry 3

*“The Road is long, with many a winding turn”* The Hollies sang on SSA Gene Tylers radio as he drove out of Garrett Maryland. They’re new song *He ain’t heavy he’s my brother* played on GO 106.1 Maryland. It seemed fitting for Jimmy his old friend who had been revealed to be this Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's court type, yet he was still the same man Gene had stood shoulder to shoulder with trying to take another goddamned hill in Korea, he was still willing to lay down his life to project the Sarge or any other man in they’re unit. If that wasn’t a hero Gene didn’t know what was.

Then to be from the future and know which wars we were going to win, lose or draw and still enlist? Not flee to Canada or Mexico. Gene couldn’t get his head around it. He’d been drafted and seen it as a way to help pay for a college education. He hadn’t expected to leave Korea in 1953 not just alive and unscathed but with his six-month-old son in his arms. Sarge and Jimmy had his back when the other men had judged and jeered at him. *Plenty of Koreans in Korea Corp, why you need to take one home?* They’d asked. That had stuck with Gene these past 16 years of watching Ray grow into a fine young man, as if to defy them, he wanted to work at Derbourne like his Grandfather but as an auto designer, not on the line. The same young man full of fire wanted to change the world he’d seen his son out protesting America's continued involvement in Vietnam over last Easter Weekend. Without Sarge and Jimmy in Gene's ear, he’d have punched every motormouth below the 38th parallel who’d talked crap about his boy. If he’d acted like the hothead he was as a young man he would Probably have gotten himself dishonourably discharged, and who knows where he’d be now.

Here he was the first person in the visitor's bay of the Morgantown Veterans Administration Hospital. Hoping that his Badge would get him to see Jimmy before visiting hours actually began. Gene grabbed his suitcase sized Sony tape recorder, and a worn heavy leather gladstone bag that served as his briefcase and mobile office, put on his hat and tried to make himself look professional. Then proceed to  head up the steps to the main door. Preparing his senses to be overwhelmed by that distinctive hospital smell, a stomach churning cocktail of bleach and carbolic soap.

The badge had done the trick and a few moments later Gene was led to the private room of First Sergeant James Hendrix. Where the nurse had hurriedly removed a breakfast tray. Jimmy was still more cast than man. Nearly unidentifiable apart from his one blue and brown eye and that flash of delight across them as his old friend entered the room. How he’d managed to get Sarge and himself out of that jungle with this many holes in him and broken bones was a mystery Gene Tyler could never solve.

“Hey Jim, Ray drew you a car he’s going to build for you one day”

Gene withdrew a drawing from his Gladstone Bag of this futuristic all curves concept car, propping it up where Jimmy could see it.

“Tell the kid I love it, and I can’t wait to get out of here and drive one”

Jimmy smiled and Gene shrugged off his jacket and took off his hat. Resisting the urge for now to take out his notebook and pen.

“Jim I know you’d prefer me not to beat about the bush, but some things have happened in Garrett, and I’m, looking into it, two women are missing Yuriko Saville the Sarge’s wife is one of them, and a young waitress, only 22, so Sarge told me to ask you about where you come from.”

Jimmy gave Gene a quizzical look, and opened his mouth as if to say *I’m from right here in Marland Gene what of it?* But he didn’t.

“I Won’t be born for another four years, Gene. That's the truth, I’ve been stuck here for almost twenty years. I was a kid, I was kidnapped by a weird guy out of a book that won’t be written for nine years, and ended up going through some weird portal that opened up in 1988 in a bookstore on Mainstreet Garrett. So it’s possible that you’re missing people are both lost somewhere else in time.”

He tried to shrug in a nonchalant fashion but the cast stopped that

“Hell Jim”

Gene put his head in his hands. He’d heard enough liars in his time and this wasn’t a pack of lies. What Gene did want was a pack of cigarettes or at least something to do with his hands, but he’d promised Rose and Ray that he’d quit for good.

Jimmy, as always one of the kindest men Gene had ever met, gestured motionlessly, or as much as a man in a full-body cast could to a basket of candies at his bedside table, and amongst them mercifully was a fresh packet of candy cigarettes. Jimmy had always had a sweet tooth, they’d called him a big kid in Korea, always buying sweets at every opportunity he got.

“I’ve been terrified you’d catch me out Gene, I mean you're a big important Fed now, and I named myself Jimmy Hendrix and he’s been one of the biggest rock and roll stars in the world for a few years now.”

Gene pressed the candy stick between his lips as if it were the real thing satisfying his oral fixation as Freud would put it, and his wife would pick that apart because of how wrong Freud was on a myriad of subjects.

“Well, Jim, you'd better start at the beginning or in your case the future. This is between you and me, hell if I tapped it no one would believe me anyway. I’d just tell them we made a Sci-FI radio play while you were laid up in the VA.”

Jimmy laughed

“Go ahead, a record that can’t be tampered with locked up at Quantico might be a good thing.”

The tape heads made their familiar sound, Gene found the routine of setting up the tape recorder relaxing.

“This is SSA Gene Tyler FBI I’m at the Morgantown Veterans Administration Hospital in Morgantown West Virginia it’s oh nine thirty-five AM on Tuesday 12th August 1969 I’m talking to First Sergeant James Hendrix United States Army”

Gene repositioned the microphone on it’s strand on the tray table between himself and Jimmy

“Well to start off my real name is Christopher, my friends call me Chris, or rather will call me that.”

The tape continues to spool from the left to the right real as the two old friends talked at length.

## **Personal Journal of Supervisory Special Agent Gene Tyler Monday 25th August 1969 10 am Part 4**

“Hi Rose, it’s the guy who sometimes crawls into bed beside you early in the morning AKA you’re erstwhile husband. I am so sick and tired of balancing my normal case-load and trying to call in every favour I have with the department of defence to try and get a meeting with this Arkaville guy, I’ve been trying for two weeks. I’ve tried to get a warrant for his new laboratory because the truck Yuriko Saville was last seen driving was towed by a third party loop subcontractor from the service road out here. I’ve been camped out outside this guy's house, and he never comes home. Yeah I know I’m a hypocrite. I’m wondering if I’m going to pull back the curtain and he’ll not be who I expect at all like in the Wizard of Oz. But hey I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

A knock came at the window glass of the 1949 Lincoln’s slightly ajar quarter glass.

“This is parking for Loop vehicles only Sir, I’m afraid you’re going to have to move along.”

A very measured formal yet flat emotionless tone announced.

“Ah Mister O’Neill you again, I see you’re in a fine state of humourless wit today”

Gene replied his voice not concealing the barbs for the special forces black ops hired gorilla type. He’d dealt with enough guys like this when he worked alongside *”The Company”* as they called themselves AKA the Spooks from Langley Virginia.

“You’re boss still won’t see me?”

Gene had to ask, he wasn't even sure that the elusive Doctor Arkaville knew he existed.

“He’s engaged in critical research and won’t have space in his calendar until at least February 1970, please move along Agent Tyler, unless you have a warrant.”

The word *warrant* hurt the most, he was the goddam FBI and everywhere he turned he was denied a warrant to just have a look around and inside this hastily constructed concrete slab building.

“Be seeing you them, Mister O’Neil”

Gene shut off the tape recorder on the passenger seat and started his car and the V8 rumbled into life as he proceeded back towards Main Street Garrett at a leisurely pace. Catching the little WW2 surplus Blue Jeep belonging to Loop Security Director O’Neil in his rearview mirror a few car lengths back, ensuring this nosey federal cop was off the property and not snooping around.

At last, there was a sign of life at the Arkaville home. Gene was driving by on the off chance, on his way back toward DC. There was something at the house on Oakland drive for the first time in over a week, well someone that wasn’t a maid or laundry service or delivery of some kind. A new 1969 Ford Econoline with a very new age paint scheme was parked on the drive with the garage open being unloaded. The paint job had been done well Gene observed. As he pulled his Lincoln onto the driveway.

A song Gene immediately recognised was being played on an unseen radio *For What it’s Worth by Buffalo Springfield.* He’d never admit it to his son but he enjoyed that song.

There was a young woman unloading laundry, camping gear, and various personal effects from the van. As Gene met eyes with her, typing his hat respectfully,  there was something timeless about her, what you might call an old soul. If you believed in such things.

“Hello Miss... “

Gene Extended a hand towards this flower child

“Maggie”

The young woman warmly shook his hand

“My name is Gene Tyler. I'm with the FBI and I’m looking into some missing woman here in town. The truck belonging to the second missing woman was found abandoned at the new Loop Laboratory. I was looking for Doctor Akraville and wanted to ask him some routine questions.”

That was good the woman didn’t jump out of her skin when he said FBI and ran off to dispose of every single ounce of the  devils' lettuce that she might have on hand.

“My Father? Oh, he’s not left the new lab since well before the construction crew finished. He says his research is at an *Important Juncture* he barely eats or sleeps, and that’s all I really know.”

Maggie began shifting camping equipment into the garage and Gene began to help her

“How was Woodstock?”

Gene asked conversationally. It didn’t take the intellect of Sherlock Holmes to deduce where she’d just got back from.

“Such a terrific energy Agent Tyler, I’ve never felt anything like it.”

She smiled with a faraway look in her eye

“My Son would have loved to be there, but he has to hang out with squares like me and his slightly less square Step Mum, he thought bringing a Fed and a Doctor of psychology to a festival of peace and love would really cramp his style.”

Gene grinned, his son had no idea what he’d gotten up to when he was knee-high and Gene was in college with a bunch of beatniks, maybe when he was older. He’d after all met Timothy Leary and had his future wife question his research methods most strenuously this was way before the press had sensationalised him and turned him into this counter-culture idol.

“You’d have been welcome to camp with me, we may get another chance Jefferson Airplane are rumoured to be putting on another festival like Woodstock later this year”

Maggie rummaged in a box

“Here, I picked up these crystals from a new friend I met at Woodstock. They have very singular energy, take one for your son. So he can always have a piece of the spirit of Woodstock with him.”

She hands one over

“But for you I see Obsidian, it is said to be truth-enhancing”

Maggie explained to the born sceptic on her driveway

“That could be very useful in my work”

Gene admits, always willing to keep an open mind.

“It is A strongly protective stone, it forms a shield against negativity. It blocks psychic attacks and absorbs negative energies from around it. Obsidian draws out mental stress and tension. It stimulates growth on all levels, urging exploration of the unknown and opening new horizons. Brings clarity to the mind and clears confusion. I feel it is a good fit for you.”

Maggie seemed to get a little excited explaining healing stones.

“Thank you that’s very generous”

He popped the small black crystal into his jacket breast pocket, with the pocket square to ensure he didn’t lose it.

“Unlike my father I’m an open book, I just wish I could help you more with what my father's research entails, and how it relates to those poor missing souls. Perhaps you can meet with my friend Eugenie at ALTA in town. That’s the American Leaders of Tomorrow Association, he might know a little as he’s in Sciences.”

Gene was sure he didn’t have an idea about particle accelerators, the background research he’d had the lab work up with a junior agent had proved dense and vexing.

“Thank you very much, Maggie, you’ve been very helpful. If I can ever return the favour here’s my card, just leave a message with my secretary or service if you can’t reach me.”

Maggie grasped the card with both hands reached into her van and slotted the card in the sun visor where it wouldn’t be lost in the unpacking.

Gene left finding himself strangely centred after his encounter with this singular young woman. He only hoped that the father was like daughter in some way, that Arkaville had some scruple and honesty at his core and would want to speak with him. Gene needed to know about the disappearances in this sleepy little Maryland town. He hoped Araville would acquiesce to a meeting either out of a sense of duty and honesty, or of scientific curiosity. That or pressure from his daughter. The doctor's current project had something to do with these disappearances, and somehow lead back to the four dead bodies from *The Chat and Chew,* soon to be released by Quantico for burial. The good doctor wanting to sit down with him was unlikely Gene could smell *cover up* all over this situation.

There was nothing more he could do here, for now. He drove past the ALTA strip mall storefront and the place looked locked up, must only be used on evenings and weekends Gene concluded. The Chat and Chew Murderer remained an enigma as did the kidnapper or kidnappers of Yuriko Saville and Melanie McKenzie. Otherwise why would they leave this time willingly? Gene decided to return to Quantico and see if he could make headway on any of the twelve other open cases currently on his desk, or psychological profiles he was supposed to be working on. Yet this case involving his friends Sarge and Jimmy would always be on his mind. Because it wasn’t as if they were going to let him forget the strange goings-on in their native Garrett Maryland.

## **Report from Garret Maryland Entry 5 Friday 29th August 1969 4pm Part 5**

There was a car in the space marked ALTA as Gene Tyler rolled past the parking lot for the small newish strip mall off Main Street in Garrett Maryland. It was a French car, a bright red Citroën 2cv, named for its small two-cylinder engine. Gene had seen them in Vietnam, a rugged little go-anywhere car and they’d started to appear here being owned by frugal forward thinkers and environmentally minded people. Some of them were owned by hippies and were certainly not just red they were painted up instead in vibrant rainbows and ban the bomb symbols, like Maggie’s van. Not this one, it looked very stock. It was a courtesy car from a local air-cooled vehicle specialist *Artie’s Air-cooled of Garrett Maryland* was sign written across the doors.

Gene pulled his giant Lincoln up near it, and the small French car was lost in his big black coupe's shadow. This was a forties car as well. They were building bigger, far more powerful cars back home in Dearborn right now. Gene gave the curious little car a look over. They were a hoot to drive and would give a Jeep a run for its money across a field.

Gene examined the storefront that the American Leaders of Tomorrow Association occupied. An odd little group. Not a very big file on it, and a pretty small members list. He wasn’t exactly sure what ALTA material looked like, but it included one of his favourite flower children Maggie Arkaville so they couldn’t be all that bad.

Gene collected his usual supplies, going to knock on the glass door for the building then upon hearing no response popping his head around the door jam. The place seemed pretty empty.

A man in a white short-sleeved shirt with a pocket protector and pens in it appeared as Gene put down his cases, and elected to wait. He looked like one of those NASA boffins the world was still raving about one of the guys at mission control tentatively watching feeds from Apollo 11.

“Mr Butts, Mister Eugene Butts? FBI sir, Supervisory Special Agent Gene Tyler, Maggie Arkaville suggested we meet.”

Eugene Butts smiled in recollection

“Ah yes, Agent Tyler do come in, glad you could stop by. Take a seat.”

He gestured towards a couch and easy chair that looked like it had been donated to the organisation. It looked like it would fit in in his father’s front room. Gene placed his tape recorder on a low coffee table Then sank into the comfortable sofa.

“Do you mind if I record this conversation? Force of habit I’m afraid it can remain strictly off the record if you prefer.”

Eugene Buts opened his palms face up

“I have nothing to hide from the FBI”

He moved his chair slightly towards the microphone as Gene set up

“Mr Butts”

The man smiled a friendly smile

“Please call be Eugene”

He said before Tyler could being his spiel

“Okay Eugene”

Tyler went back to speaking for the tape

“This is SSA Gene Tyler I’m in Garrett Maryland it’s ten after four on 29th August 1969 I’m at the American Leaders of Tomorrow Organization on Garrett Maryland talking to Eugene Butts,”

Gene Finished his opening

“Eugene, I wanted to ask your opinion on what’s going on at the new loop facility. I understand you’re a scientist. Their chief scientists keeps avoiding me, and I’m starting to take it personally.”

The younger man nodded enthusiastically at being consulted by the FBI

“That's awfully rude Agent. Yes, they’ve been trying to headhunt me, the people from the loop. I’ve just recently finished my Master's Degree in theoretical physics at MIT.”

Gene smiled, at last someone to decode some of the geek speak. Eugene Butts seemed like a very amiable fellow.

“Do you know much beyond what they say in the newspapers about the particle accelerator? Could it be somehow related to the missing people around town? Perhaps even to the Chat and Chew Murders? We at the Beau believe there’s a commotion.”

Gene had to ask as he studied Eugene Butts across the coffee table. By “we at the Bureau” he meant mainly himself and his wife, but his superiors were still currently humouring him. Gene was going to keep at this until he was dragged before Director Hoover himself.

“It’s a particle accelerator Agent. I’m not sure how it could lead to missing people unless it had ripped a hole in the space-time continuum.”

Eugene smiled thinking the statement humorous then his face fell as he scratched his head, that was surely impossible.

“You mean a big honkin’ whole in the fabric of the universe?”

Gene’s jaw dropped a little. Could you really have people go missing to another universe, a separate reality? Could you get lost in time through one of these holes? It lined up with some of what Jimmy had recalled. Also lined up a lot with *The Twilight Zone.*

“In theory, yes, In fact, there’s a paper I read on the subject authored by Professor Emmet Kathrop and his daughter Doctor Zara Kathrop. They’re Australians and the Professor has been studying the loop and the Magantriene effect for a decade. They believe that a temporal instability could theoretically be created due to prolonged usage of particle accelerators. It’s all very fascinating.”

A light had gone on in the eyes of Eugene Butts as he talked about this with an air of amazement and a noticeable undertone of dread.

“Looks like I need to make a series of very expensive phone calls. Thank you, Eugene. You’ve been very helpful.”

Tyler wrote down the names of the Kathrop's and the title of the paper he needed to find a copy of from one of the local university libraries. Hopefully, Georgetown would have one and Rose could pick it up tonight.

“I could be of even more help, Agent. The Loop are still trying to recruit me.”

Gene closed down this chain of thought.

“I can’t ask you to do that for me Eugene. Four good people are dead, Five kids might be lost in time. One man, a friend of mine, is still stuck three years before he was even born. I’ve no idea if our universe can even support two iterations of the same person without killing one or, worse.”

Gene tried to lay the facts as he understood them on the table, yet the look of wonderment wasn’t fading from the face of Eugene Butts. Natural scientific curiosity. Gene hoped one of the Katrhop's would be able to talk him out of the perilous cause of action he seemed to be seriously considering.

This curious little town still held more secrets., that it was fighting tooth and nail to never give up. There were answers here but also answers in Australia of all places. Flying to Australia would probably be simpler than organising a meeting with the elusive Doctor Arkaville. It was extremely unlikely that the FBI would allow him to expense it. Hopefully one of the local police forces would want a seminar on serial offenders one day soon.

“Seriously Eugene, for however long you have left three years or eighty years. You live your life and don’t let this draw you in. Are you a married man?”

Tyler enquired not seeing a ring on young Mr. Butts finger, but not a lot of men wore them, as Gene did.

“No Agent, but there’s Jeana and we’re hoping to be wed after I get a job and she sets up her practice.”

Eugene seemed to glow a little thinking about the woman he loved.

“Then focus on what’s best for her. Eugene, trust me, a happy wife makes for a happy life.”

Gene assured him. He was fortunate enough to have a wife and family who supported his career. They understood he could be cancelling on them, and be called away to anywhere in the country with zero notice. It didn’t make things any easier. This wasn’t easy either, this vexing case just a few hours from his home.

He bid the young Mr. Butts farewell as he began to scribble on legal pads trying to connect the strange events in Garrett Maryland with the advances being made in particle physics. He seemed very happy in his work. Gene Tyler prepared himself to leave Garratt and actually follow his own advice, and take a weekend off to be with his family.

## **Winter 1969 Entry 6 New York City Part 6**

The Garret related intrigue continued. Gena Fisher was missing. The finance of Eugene Butts. She had attended a conference in New York on sexual dysfunction. In fact Rose Tyler had been giving a keynote at the event on sexual sadism. A theory she had worked on along with her husband FBI Supervisory Special Agent Gene Tyler. As they were acquaintances Gina had volunteered to buy them a celebratory drink after the keynote address, yet she had vanished before she could even get to the ballroom of the Sedgewick Hotel. One eye witness had seen her talking to a man with long black hair, extremely underdressed compared to the hotel's normal clientele as he was wearing a blue jean jacket and pants. Gene had not been seen since, no activity on her credit cards, her bank accounts. Her AMC Javelin was in the parking Garage of the Sedgewick where she had parked it at the beginning of the conference.

Down by the banks of the Hudson river in Brooklyn fourteen days after the disappearance of Gena Fisher, the ever present 1949 Lincoln Coupe of SSA Gene Tyler is parked along with the Quantico Coroner's Waggon outside The NYPD’s Harbour Unit Headquarters at the old Brooklyn Army Terminal. It was a chill early morning around dawn in the city that never slept. This time the passenger seat of the Lincoln was not occupied with a large Sony reel to reel tape recorder but with the svelte figure of a woman in a channel pantsuit wearing a long leather trench coat and square heeled gogo boots. She was immaculately turned out despite the early hour of the morning that she had been awoken. This was Dr. Rose Tyler.

“Are you sure you want to see this my love?”

The gruff voice of Gene Tyler enquire of his wife

“I’ve seen it all before Gene, I see the photos in you’re case files all the time”

Rose replied curtly

“Yes but this is the body of a colleague, a friend. The River police say it’s real bad. Something caught in discarded fishing nets then a large propeller."

Gene looked sombre. It was odd to have his wife directly in the car with him, at a scene and not have the tape and a gap of time between them.

“I still want to see for myself, you can’t protect me from everything. I might pick up on something you don’t notice, we need to catch this one.”

Gene nods, further protests would be counterproductive.

“We need to know if it’s the same Killer as at the Chat and Chew. If they’re following Garret residents and hunting them away from the town, what’s the pattern? There has to be one.”

Gene theorised

“Then our unknown subject has become emboldened, yet only one body this time. Why was Gena the target?”

Rose just carried on with his thoughts.

“It’s all tied up with Arkaville and the Garret Loop. The only issue is how?”

Gene Continues to ask questions despite the lack of answers.

Rose took her gloved hand and placed it on her husbands

“I know Gene, we need to focus on the scene work the evidence, we owe it to Gena, and poor Eugene deserves answers”

At that moment one of the NYPD Harbour unit’s boats began to dock.

“Well this is it”

Gene and Rose got out of the car simultaneously, they're credentials at the ready.

To hell with my Image Gene though as his wife rounded the polished black and chrome fender of his Lincoln coat tails caught in the breeze, he took her hand in his again. It wasn’t every day he took his wife to view a body recovered from the Hudson. Gene didn’t particularly care if the whole of the law enforcement community knew that; shock horror! He loved his wife. The woman who would step in and help raise someone else's child who helped him catch the most depraved offenders. So what they said around the watercooler was true, he’d be nothing without her. Without Rose they wouldn’t have the budget to set up a dedicated unit to identify criminal behaviour and tackle serial offenders.

## **Epilogue Summer 1973**

It had been over a week since Eugene Butts had missed his regular bereavement counselling session with one of Rose Tyler’s colleagues at Georgetown University. Rose’ colleague believed he might be in an advanced  state of denial. A major setback in his otherwise excellent progress. He hadn't answered any calls and had taken a leave of absence from his job at the loop. One that naturally no one would tell Gene the nature of, for  fear of the wrath of the ever so genial head of security Mister O’Neil. There was only one thing for it: a drive out to Garret to check on George. Whom Sarge and Jimmy had not seen in some time, believing him to be held up in his house, perhaps sick or just under the weather.

Gene, accompanied by his wife Rose, rounded the corner of the street where Butts lived to find him walking a stroller down the street. The Tyler's shared a look of bewilderment. What on earth was Butts doing?

Gene slipped his car into the Butt’s driveway behind Eugene’s vibrant yellow Volkswagen Super Beetle.

“Hello agent Tyler, and Doctor Tyler”

George greeted them in a stage whisper

“I’ve just got this little tyke off to sleep, or I’d make the introductions. He’s been keeping us up all hours teething. We’re just about ready to lose our marbles! ”

He leaned into the stroller and checked on the baby who couldn’t have been more than a few months old.

“Tyler's this is my son George, It’s so nice of you to come out all this way just to see our little family. Gena is asleep, but do come in.”

Gene and Rose shared a look of astonishment, while George tended to the baby. Gena Fisher, they were certain that they’d pulled Gena Fisher’s corpse out of the Hudson river in New York City almost two years ago. Even without dental records the blood test and the costly and time consuming Cranial reconstruction by the Archeology and Anthropology department at Georgetown was conclusive enough for them even if it was inadmissible in court. Then again they had no concrete suspect, just a man in denim on denim with long black hair.

The fleeting look said it all and the Tyler's continued to play it Bogart and go along with the pretext for the visit that George Butts had unwittily created for them.

“We where in the neighborhood on other business, so we haven't had chance to pick up a gift I’m afraid.”

Rose took the lead

“I’ll have to send you some of Ray’s baby stuff we still have so much in storage, perils of having my aunts sew and knit a thousand baby grows!”

Gene continued the casual conversation

“I’m not sure you can ever have enough. We felt so unprepared, Gena and I where both so wrapped up in our work, her practice my job, little George keeps on growing out of everything!”

They followed Eugene and George into the Butts house and there she was at the top of the stairs in a robe of a dead woman walking  The soon to be Mrs. Gena Butts nee Fisher. Resplendently alive and breathing, with her hair a mess and bags the side of cement sacks under her eyes.

“Oh guests, I wish I’d known”

She smiled. Not an unsettling smile, unless you’d spent hours wishing those teeth hadn’t been destroyed in the Hudson River.

“Oh Doctor and Agent Tyler, I feel like I’ve not seen either of you in an age, let me throw some clothes on.”

A few hours and a pleasant visit later the sleek low black 1949 Lincoln containing the Tyler's crawled through the leafy suburban streets at 25 mph towards the Garret city limits.

A commercial cut out for the voice of Disk Jockey.

“Rockin Ricky Fox is taking some much deserved personal time today, so it’s me, Jackie ‘The Intern’ Emrock taking you through the evening Garret. Boy do I have a Sweet track for you. Brand new all the way from Swingin London England It’s the Sweet with Blockbuster!”

Sirens began to wail from the radio. As opposed to the one behind the car’s grill.

*You better beware*

*You better take care*

*You better watch out if you've got long black hair*

The song begins as the car is observed at the now leaving Garret Sign by a gaunt figure in a blue denim jacket and jeans with as the song says long black hair. Known to a select few as Randall Flagg, and many more who wish they’d never laid eyes on him. His Beady eyes followed the car making a mental note of the Virginia license plate, he smiled to himself. A man more than content with his work.