Dear Reader:
Some crime cases remain in our mindsand in our heartslong after the jury has returned its verdict. With its shocking incidents of sex and violence, the case of convicted killer Tom Luther is one of the most compelling of all.
Handsome, polite, and charming, when he wanted to be, Luther seemed to have what it took to be a success. But something compelled him to prey upon vulnerable women. He left a trail of victims from Colorado to West Virginia, leading law enforcementparticularly, tenacious detective Scott Richardsonin a bloody game of cat and mouse.
In this newly updated edition of Monster, best-selling author Steve Jackson provides new information and insights on this case. Recently extradited from prison in West Virginia to serve his sentences in Colorado, Luther continues to cast a dark shadow over the friends and families of his victims. Yet, his story offers valuable lessons for all of usabout what makes violent predators tick, and what society can do to limit their relentless tollwhile inspiring us with the courage, faith, and perseverance of the victims of his evil and those who pursued him.
Already hailed by experts, reviewers, and readers, Monster will enthrall and amaze you. Sit back and enjoy a fascinating story, told by one of Americas finest investigative journalists.
If you would like to comment on Monster, wed love to hear from you at marketing@kensingtonbooks.com.
Dont miss Steve Jacksons other real-life crime thrillers, also available from Pinnacle!
With my best wishes,
Michaela Hamilton
Executive Editor, Pinnacle True Crime
Chapter One
March 28, 1993Somewhere in the mountains west of Denver, Colorado
It was sometime after 2 A.M. when the small car pulled into the gravel turnoff from the highway and rolled to a stop with its lights out. A dark figure emerged from the drivers door, pausing a moment to make sure he was alone on the mountainside.
The night was bitterly cold, and the wind howled like wolves, rattling the tall dry grasses that poked through the snow. A stream rushed noisily over rock in the valley below, invigorated by the spring thaw.
Rock, bush, and tree cast black shadows in the moonlight, but no headlights appeared on the highway. Satisfied, the man opened the rear door and, leaning over, reached inside. Straining against the dead weight, he hauled the body of a young woman out and onto the ground.
Cher Elder lay unconscious and naked in the moonlight. He had beat her, punching her repeatedly in the face, and strangled her to the point of nearly passing out before he raped her. Then he fractured her skull with a blow from behind.
It had been a mistake to go anywhere with this man. But Cher, a pretty 20-year-old whose schoolbooks were laid out neatly at home for a future she would never see, was a friendly young woman, always laughing, trusting. Shed had no reason to fear him, until it was too latewhen he changed into a monster.
The man reached back into the car and removed something small and dark from under the front seat and put it in his pocket. Then he half-dragged, half-carried Cher to a place out of sight from the road. As she lay helpless, he pulled the gun from his pocket and pressed it against her head, just above and behind her left ear. Three quick shots echoed briefly off the surrounding hills, then were swallowed by the wind.
The man thought for a moment, looking down at the body as dark blood seeped into the ground beneath her head. Crouching, he picked up Chers hand and tugged a ring from her lifeless finger.
Scott Richardson reluctantly climbed off his Harley-Davidson. It was days like this when all he wanted was to head the bike up one of the mountain passes west of Denver and ride. Forget the crimes and the tragedies, and clear his mind in the fresh air and sunshine as he leaned into each curve and opened up the throttle on the straightaways.
But duty called, so he turned and walked into the Lakewood city building, down the stairs and, after punching in a code number, through the police departments security doors. He had just poured a cup of the bitter black brew that passed for coffee in the squad room when the detective division secretary, Donna, handed him a slip of paper. Some guy named Tom Luther called, said hes the one youre looking for. Heres his number.
Thanks, Donna, Richardson said, taking the note. He was expecting the call has to be the mystery man in the videotape, he thoughtbut he hadnt known the mans name, nor had he anticipated the call coming so soon.
Donna stood watching but was disappointed when Richardson turned away without further comment. Lean and handsome, despite the thinning of his coal black hair, the soft-spoken Texan wasnt an imposing man physically, even though his fellow detectives kidded that his thick, Fu Manchu mustache made him look more like an outlaw biker than a cop. But it was his coffee-brown eyes that suspects found intimidating, especially when he was angry and they turned as dark as his mood.
His eyes were dark now. There was a girl missing, more than likely dead, from his adopted home of Lakewood, a bedroom community washed up against the Rocky Mountains due west of Denver. And this Tom Luther character had something to do with it, he thought. There had been too many false leads in his career, let alone this case, to get too excited, but Luther smelled like the real thing.
Richardson took a deep breath and let it go slowly to take the edge off as he walked back to his cubicle in the crowded office. He sat back in his chair and put his worn cowboy boots up on the desk to collect his thoughts before he called Mr. Luther.
As he did, he glanced up at the photograph of the dark-haired young woman hed tacked to the wall. Cher Elder. The picture hung purposely near the photos of the five things he loved most in the world: his wife, Sabrina; his three-year-old twin sons, Brent and Brandon; hunting; and his Harley-Davidson softtail motorcycle. (Not necessarily in that order, Sabrina teased when she was in a good mood, a little more pointedly when ticked at him.)
