DEAD FLESH
The police dog brought back a human bone with decayed flesh hanging from it. Investigators followed the trail and discovered a human spine and bits of teeth covered with maggots.
Then the bodies surfaced.
The first body was male, badly decomposed from months in a shallow grave. His feet had been gnawed off by wild animals.
Diggers found two more bodies, wrapped in sleeping bags, buried together. Both victims were bound hand and foot, a hard ball S&M device jammed into the mouth, head bagged with a plastic sheath. Cause of death: bullet wounds to the head.
As the grisly excavation continued, evidence of dozens of murder victims surfaced: eyeglasses, bloody clothing, wallets, checkbooks and handcuffs.
Three more bodies added to the terrible results. One body was even encased in lime to speed up the decomposition.
Evidence of human cremation and dismemberment added to the horrific discoveries of the police investigators.
After weeks of digging, authorities found six full corpses, various organ parts and a total of 45 pounds of human bone fragments from victims ranging in age from two to forty.
Enough for at least twenty-five more victims.
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Chapter 1
October 1983
Wilseyville California
Settling into a well-worn brown fabric recliner chair, Leonard Lake turned his placid green eyes toward a tripod-mounted video camera and spoke in a calm, soft voice with no trace of any emotion. Good evening. Its Sunday, October ... twenty-second, twenty-third, something like that. Very close to my thirty-eighth birthday, and Im starting this tape without script or without any real organization of what I want to say. But I do feel I need to explain.
Apparently alone in the room, occasionally leaning his head back to gaze toward the ceiling, then once more facing the camera lens, and crossing his ankles on the footrest, the burly, balding speaker continued. This tape, which youre hearing now, is going to be the lead-in of the various phases of construction of a building which, hopefully, will be the first of a series of underground buildings. As if to rationalize the purpose, he described plans to erect what he called a tool and storage room. With no change in his quiescent tone, Lake gradually admitted a much more sinister intention for the planned structure. But the main emphasis of the building, the whole justification for its expense and its effort, will be a hidden portion... a secret room, if we can call it that, that will house a cell... a jail cell, if you will.
Dressed in a long-sleeved black-and-white patterned shirt, faded jeans, and brown boots, Lake clasped his hands in his lap. Still exhibiting no signs of excitement, he explained, The purpose of that cell... will be the imprisonment of a young lady who probably, at this moment, is unknown to me.
Drifting away from the chilling hint of capturing a woman, Lake turned to a rambling narration of his personal philosophy. These are troubled times. There are wars and rumors of wars going on. Today, one hundred thirty-five Marines were killed in Lebanon.... Lake misstated the casualty count in his reference to a stunning tragedy that took place earlier that same Sunday, October 23, 1983, in Beirut. A terrorist had crashed a truckload of explosives into the U.S. Marine Corps headquarters building, taking the lives of at least 216 Marines in the massive explosion. Lake, having served with the Corps in Vietnam, identified closely with the fallen leathernecks. After mustering out, he had concluded that an imminent holocaust would wipe out most of humanity. The only survivors, Lake theorized, were those who possessed the foresight to build bunkers in the mountains and stock them with food, weapons, and money. His personal bunker, though, would also provide a place to live out his dark sexual fantasies.
Lakes soliloquy continued, describing the concrete and steel bunker he visualized. It would be ... designed not around the cell, but ultimately around the concept of a secret, secure living place for myself and perhaps for friends. But, he admitted, ... it would be a lie to say it was for anything other than primarily emphasizing the cell.
Leonard Lakes favorite book, The Collector , by John Fowles, told the tale of a butterfly collector who carried out his fantasy of capturing and enslaving a young woman. It meshed perfectly with Lakes own hidden desire. The idea of having complete control over a female slave formed the most erotic thrill he could imagine.
Wondering aloud about recording his most intimate thoughts on video, Lake said, Posterity may care less about this tape, care less about what I have to say. To be honest, Im not too sure who I want to show this tape to, or if I will ever show it to anyone. But, for anyone that is interested, anyone who needs my justification and my rationalizations as to why I would want to imprison, and, in fact, enslave [a woman] they have only to look closely at me. Im a realist. Im thirty-eight years old, a bit chubby, not much hair and losing what I have, not particularly attracted to women. Realizing his mistake, Lake corrected it. Or, I should say, particularly attracting to women. All of the traditional magnets, the money, position, power, I dont have. And yet, Im still very sexually active, and Im still very much attracted to a particular type of woman who, almost by definition, is totally uninterested in me. Dirty, old man. Pervert. His hand gestures became momentarily animated.
Im attracted to young women. Sometimes even as young as twelve, although to be fair, certainly up to eighteen to twenty-two is a pretty much ideal range as far as my interests go. I like very slim women, very pretty, of course petite, small-breasted, long hair. [But] such a woman, by virtue of her youth, her attractiveness, her desirability to ... the majority of mankind, simply has better options. Theres no particular reason why such a woman should be interested in me. But theres more to it than that. Its difficult to explain my personality in twenty-five words or less, but I am, in fact, a loner. I enjoy peace. The quiet, the solitude. I enjoy being by myself, and while my relationships with women in the past have been sexually successful, socially theyve been almost always a failure. Ive gone through two divorces, innumerable women, fifty to fifty-five, I forget exactly the count.
