Fred Rosen - Deacon of Death: Sam Smithers, the Serial Killer Next Door

FRED ROSEN

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Deacon of Death

Sam Smithers, the Serial Killer Next Door

Fred Rosen

For my cousin Adrienne, whose love and support means so much to me.

The Spirit clearly says that in later times some will abandon the faith and follow deceiving spirits and things taught by demons.

I Timothy 3:4

Prologue

November 1, 1993

I drove right by the body and didnt know it was there.

Before Id left the Stiless trailer, Tyrill, mindful of the rash of vehicular robberies and murders in Florida, had advised, Watch yourself. If someone bumps you, you keep going.

So I was watching myselfmindful of any suspicious-looking cars on the road that might bump meand concentrating on keeping alive. And that is why I happened to miss seeing the girl who had been dumped by the side of the road.

I wasnt the only one who kept on going, whether out of fear or just a mistaken assumption that the crumpled remains of what had once been a human being was instead a discarded sack of clothes. It took awhile for someone to stop and investigate, because unusual things were the norm in Gibsonton, Florida.

Gibsonton was carny town USA, the place where the men and women who played carnivals and circuses during the summer came to winter, not just the normal ones who worked the Philly cheese steak concessions, the ball tosses, and the rides, but the freaks that made the carnival a unique art form.

Gibsonton could pass for freak-town USA. The post office had mailboxes at knee level for midgets and dwarfs. That kid walking on his flippers down the street was Grady Stiles III, whose father was the most famous freak of all, Lobster Boy. Unfortunately, for Lobster Boy his wife had arranged his murder and he was now six feet under. But his old buddy Midget Man, who married his wife, was still around. Id just interviewed him in the trailer he shared with Grady III, Gradys sister Cathy, and Tyrill, Cathys husband.

Maybe that night the Fat Man, the Bearded Lady, and the Worlds Only Living Half Lady passed by the girl on the side of the road and, like me, didnt see her, or maybe they just kept going. It wasnt until 10:40 P.M . that the headlights of the car driven by Michelle Akers picked out the girls body by the side of the road. Akers stopped and looked down at the girl, who appeared to be dead. Quickly, she looked around. There were no other persons or vehicles near the body. She sped toward her house and called the Hillsborough County Sheriffs Office.

By that time, I was back in my hotel, hard at work on the book Lobster Boy. As for the cops, their work had just begun.

One

When Detective Larry Lingo got to the scene, he saw a car in the road flashing its high beams on and off. He pulled his 1985 Ford LTD alongside it.

Its over there, said Michelle Akers, pointing.

Lingo pulled off to the shoulder and before hed even parked, he popped the trunk. With a grace that belied his tall, heavily muscled frame, Larry Lingo eased himself out of the car. His white hair and mustache made him look a little older than his fifty-two years.

Reaching into the trunk, he came out with a carton of plastic gloves. He put one set on, then reached back in and came up with a flashlight. Slowly, with the beam extended out before him, he approached the body.

Under the pale yellow light, her skin was a dead white except for the blood, dark brown, dried and crusted on her face. She lay on her back, her head pointing east, her arms stiff and up in the air as if in prayer. She wore a blue jacket, pink shirt, and white shorts with a black belt, blue socks, and white shoes.

Lingo worked the crime scene like his boss Corporal Pops Baker had taught him. He had forensics photograph and document the scene. He looked for foot or tire prints near the bodyfound noneand did a cursory examination of the victim.

She was maybe midtwenties to thirty, and it looked like shed been beaten up. Noting a lack of evidence of struggle at the scene, Lingo surmised that she had been killed someplace else and dumped there. He looked around.

There was a lake 200 yards distant; its water calm, dead silent. There were trailers nearby, where some of the carnies lived. Nothing but brush where she had been dumped. It was a lonely place to end a life.

Soon, the girl was bagged and taken downtown to the morgue.

November 2, 1993

At 9:45 A.M. , Lingo, wearing his normal work clothesa JC Penney sport jacket, shirt, and tie, as opposed to the more formal suits he wore on court daysarrived to watch the autopsy. At the morgue, Dr. Robert Pfalzgraf had the body stripped and each item of clothing placed in plastic bags for further analysis. If they got lucky, maybe a few microscopic strands of the killers hair had found its way onto the clothing, which they could later match up. Or maybe something else of value would show up.