Ron Franscell - ShadowMan : An Elusive Psycho Killer and the Birth of FBI Profiling

BERKLEY

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Copyright 2022 by Ron Franscell

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Franscell, Ron, 1957- author.

Title: ShadowMan : an elusive psycho killer and the birth of FBI profiling / Ron Franscell.

Description: New York : Berkley, [2022] | Includes bibliographical references.

Identifiers: LCCN 2021021990 (print) | LCCN 2021021991 (ebook) |

ISBN 9780593199275 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593199282 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Meirhofer, David, 1949-1974. | Serial murder

investigation--Montana--Case studies. | Serial murderers--Montana--Case studies. |

Criminal behavior, Prediction of--Montana--Case studies. |

Criminal psychology--Montana--Case studies. |

United States. Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Classification: LCC HV6533.M9 F73 2022 (print) | LCC HV6533.M9 (ebook) |

DDC 362.88/29309786--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021021990

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021021991

Cover design by Emily Mahar

Cover photo of David Meirhofer Oliver Campbell

Book design by Daniel Brount, adapted for ebook by Maggie Hunt

Interior art: Wool string Picsfive/Shutterstock.com; tack pin Robyn Mackenzie / Shutterstock.com

While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers, Internet addresses, and other contact information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

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THE SHADOWS: SOME HIDE, OTHERS REVEAL.

POET ANTONIO PORCHIA

THIS WAS A NORMAL TOWN ONCE, AND WE WERE NORMAL PEOPLE.

R. L. STINE

PROLOGUE

SHADOWS COME

MONDAY, OCTOBER 10, 2005

MANHATTAN, MONTANA

A hired man discovered the stuff in the hidden space behind an old wall. Hed boast years later that he always knew these thingsthese ghostswere hidden there, but really he was as surprised as anybody.

Manhattans got a past. It is one of those places where winter and shadows come early, but it isnt the town it was before everybody died.

It is just one of those things that nobody wants to talk about. You can ask, but the memories are always fuzzy when it comes to him. Theyll pick out a few, switch around a couple of facts, and point to some old pictures on the bank wall.

But those photos are like the memories: Theyll never tell the whole truth, because the photographer decides what he wants you to see. They recall something that isnt there anymore.

Except him. Hes still there, hanging over everything.

The hired man called the boss, who called the sheriff. A deputy came out to look at the stuff and take it away. His boss, the sheriff, saw nothing of value in the old bad memories, and took them to a mother whod grieved for thirty painful years.

Why does this damn thing keep coming up? he thought.

There are no degrees of separation here. Everybody knows everybody, they tell you. That whatever you did, they always knew you would. That they know whos driving past their houses by the sound of the enginealthough they dont know where the cars going. That they know about the skeleton of the old wrecked car beneath the Lovers Leapalthough they dont know how it got there. That they know everybody by first namealthough they dont know their secrets.

What goes on behind those doors goes on, they say.

Asking about him is like picking a day-old scab and waiting for blood. Theres an uncrossable line that outsiders cant see.

All these years later, some of them say they knew all along he was evil. But nobody said anything then.

Hes still got family here, they say. Youll be stepping on toes, they say. Let sleeping dogs lie, they say.

But what about the secret the hired man found hidden in the wall?

Aw, hell, they say, there are secrets hidden behind all the walls.

CHAPTER 1

PRELUDE TO NIGHT

MANHATTAN, MONTANA

One expects more from a place called Manhattan, but its just a southwestern Montana village (pop. 900) more than two thousand miles from that other Manhattan. While that one screams for attention, this one keeps to itself. Not impenetrable, but not very approachable.

Except for a forlorn old grain elevator, the Conoco sign out near the frontage road, and a church steeple thats slightly closer to Heaven than the trees around it, the town mostly hides itself from passersby on the interstate. Not that theres much to see. Get off the highway and youll find, way back, an aimless congregation of buildings divided smack down the middle by the NPthe old main line tracks of the Northern Pacific Railway.

If you happened to be here at noon, youd hear the firehouse whistle that goes off every midday, as it has since it got a whistle.

Manhattan calls itself the Potato Capital of the World, but that might be more chamber-of-commerce hype than a genuine agricultural fact. Nevertheless, the town sponsors the Manhattan Potato Festival every year, highlighted by a grand parade and the volunteer firefighters breakfast. Spuds are a big deal.

A town has existed here since before Custer was slaughtered at the Little Bighorn. The town has had a few different names, but in 1891 when beer-brewing executives of New York Citys Manhattan Malting Company moved operations closer to the Dutch barley fields out West, they simply renamed the whole town Manhattan out of pure puffery.

Since then, nothing much out of the ordinary has happened here. Manhattans history is static and unexciting, the way its subdued, devout Dutch settlers intended. Farmers and ranchers passed their land to their kids, not Hollywood stars and rich guys wearing cowboy boots from Fifth Avenue. No traffic jams (except parades), so no traffic lights. More keggers than baptisms, more paperboys than parking spots, more steeples than stop signs.

Oh, they still talk about the time the whole town was in a national TV commercial for beef (which is definitely true), and some folks are proud that Manhattan, Montana, has raised up more military generals per capita than any other municipality in America (which might not be true, but nobody can say otherwise).