Terry Adams - Eye of the Beast: The True Story of Serial Killer James Wood

An Addicus Nonfiction Book

Copyright 1998 by Terry Adams, Scott Shaw, and Virtu Studio Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopied, recorded, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. For information, write to Addicus Books, Inc., P.O. Box 45327, Omaha, Nebraska 68145.

ISBN 1-886039-32-1

Cover design by George Foster, Jeff Reiner

Typography by Linda Dageforde

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Adams, Terry, 1946

Eye of the beast : the true story of serial killer James Wood / Terry Adams, Scott Shaw, Mary Brooks-Mueller.

p. cm.

ISBN 1-886039-32-1 (alk. paper)

1. Wood, James, 1947- 2. Serial murdersIdahoCase studies.

I. Shaw, Scott, 1953- II. Brooks-Mueller, Mary, 1954- III. Title.

HV6533-U8A33 1997 97-34332

364.15230978647dc21 CIP

Addicus Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 45327

Omaha, Nebraska 68145

Web site: http://members.aol.com/addicusbks

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To the memory of Jeralee

J ames Wood is not like other serial killers. He has no victim preference, no sexual preference. He is opportunistic and will abuse, assault, rape, kill, or mutilate anybody, anytime. The social standards that motivate most of us to abide by the law and lead lives of decency are the very triggers for Wood to lie, steal, and murder.

Upon his arrest, he told Detective Scott Shaw, Im a monster. I have demons inside of me. Later, he told Mary Brooks-Mueller, Ill write you from prison and pour my heart out to you. Maybe you can unscramble it.

In reality, James Wood has no conscience. He is not possessed by demons, but rather by rage and vengeance. He lives to manipulate, control, and deceive. Yet he looks quite ordinary. He is a master at pretending to be normal. You wouldnt notice him in a crowd. But make no mistake, he is a predator, a career killer.

To assemble this book, we drew in part from our own interviews with James Woodone of the most unique and dangerous criminals we have encountered in our two decades of law enforcement work. In all, we spent four years researching Wood and his crimes. We interviewed dozens of individuals. Some of their names have been changed to protect their privacy. We pored over thousands of pages of court documents, mental evaluations, and forensic records to tell this story.

We hope this book will help educate readers about the true nature of the psychopath and, in turn, help protect others from the likes of James Wood.

A ugust 1993. Bannock County Jail. Pocatello, Idaho. Tell me about the two girls in Shreveport, Detective Scott Shaw asked. The ones in 1967.

Scott, I tell you, I was so drunk, its all just a blur. James Wood said, leaning back in his chair. He took a deep drag off his cigarette and thumped the ashes down the floor drain. They were just whores, anyway. Maybe the devil just wanted it to happen, and he chose me to carry out his work.

Jim, do you know what manipulative mitigation is? Shaw asked.

Cant say as I do.

Its self-serving bullshit. It means you have an excuse for everything you do. You were drunk or the devil wanted you to do it. Youll say anything you can think of to get yourself off the hook, and when you think Ive bought into it, you start with the Ive found God stuff. I dont buy it Jim. You think youre playing games with me, that you can control me. Im not a little gill who doesnt have a clue about dealing with somebody like you. Youre wasting my time.

Youre saying Im evil?

No, Im saying youre full of crap. I know youre used to dealing with people and situations you can control. Im saying, drop the poor pitiful me garbage and get to the point. Youre starting to piss me off. Shaw saw Woods anger starting to surface. Wood leaned forward in his chair and glared at the detective. So, what is it you want to know, Scott?

Tell me about the two girls in Shreveport.

They were just two bitches I met in a bar. I had just got me a Pontiac GTO. One night it got stolen. I was so pissed, I couldnt fuckin walk straight. I knew those two girls had something to do with it.

What made you think they had any anything to do with it?

I just figured they did, and the more I thought about it, the madder I got. So I decided to make them pay in a big way. I went to their apartment and told them I was drunk and asked if I could stay til I could sober up and go home. When they were asleep, I went to the kitchen and got a knife from one of those things that holds about six knives.

A wooden knife block?

Yeah. Then I went to the bedroom and didnt say anything. I just cut their goddamned throats. I left them there and went back to the kitchen and fixed myself something to eat. I was hungry as hell. After a while, I went back to the bedroom. I figured they were both dead because neither one of them was moving, and there was blood all over the bed. I thought Id show the bitches, so I drug one out to the dining room. Some way she ended up under the table, and I just screwed her right there. Got blood all over me and everything else.

You thought she was dead when you raped her?

I sure did. But, sonofabitch, I had blood all over me!

Why would you want to have sex with a dead person, Jim?

Because I showed them not to fuck with me.

Bullshit. I think sex with a body is just your ultimate form of control. Theres no way they can criticize your performance. It seems to me you had what you consider a perfect partner.

Well, I aint really sure, Wood said, looking into the eyes of the detective. But, Ill tell you thisits the best. She got what she deserved, and I got what I wanted. And Ill tell you something else, Scott. It shocked the shit out of me when I found out them two gals lived. Wood paused, then continued. And you know, when I got out of prison, I looked one of em up. Turned out she was teaching at one of them universities in Florida. I went down there and went right in her class, just to let her see me. That was something!

Why would you do that?

Just to let the bitch know I was out, Wood said, taking a drag from his cigarette and thumping ashes down the drain. And to show that I can do any damn thing I want to!

And this also has been one of the dark places of the earth.

Joseph Conrad
Heart of Darkness

S unday, October 25, 1992. Near Alton, Illinois. James Edward Wood was on the run. This time, his fourteen-year-old stepdaughter had caused the problem. It was her own fault, dammit! She shouldnt have been wearin them skimpy clothes around the house. I told her to change, but she wouldnt mind! It was her own fault!

Wood took his eyes off the road long enough to look over at his sullen passenger. She was leaning against the door, her head swaying lazily with the movement of the truck, the wind from the open windows swirling her disheveled hair around her face.

As the dark-brown pickup slipped along the empty highway, the night before came back into hazy focus. Started drinking pretty early in the morning with that ol boy I spent the night with at the Holiday Inn in St. Louis. Later that afternoon, after hepassed out, I drove over the river to Illinois. Met the gal in a biker bar in Alton. Had a few beers, then we went bar-hopping. Let her drive my truck for a while, but she kept popping the clutch. Then we got to that last bar. Mustve had close to eighty dollars in my pocket when we went in. Ordered a round for everybody at the bar,