|
|
|
|
|
|
Curious Chapbooks & Hysterical Histories |
|
|
|
Chapter I "So you're interested in vampires." I sit in a small, square, windowless office with Deputy Sheriff Kim Allyn. He is the Community Relations Officer for the Santa Cruz County, California, Sheriff's Office. Kim Allyn has been a peace officer for 26 years now. He is a tall, handsome man with a surfer tan. I nod encouragingly. "Not much call for vampires around here," Kim Allyn says. . .or I think that's what he says. The radio in his office is turned on. The program "Dead Doctors Don't Lie" is playing loud in the background.
"Let's see what I can find on the departmental database," the deputy mutters. I glance around the room while the search is being made. All are photos of celebrity lawmen. At my elbow is a framed publicity still of Ronald Reagan in a cowboy outfit. On the filing cabinet in front of me sits a book's tan dust jacket of Wyatt Earp. Behind me is a newspaper photo of Clint Eastwood. Behind the desk are two medals framed on the wall. "What was the name of the first one?" Kim Allyn asks. "Deborah Jean Finch." "Her picture isn't in here." "How vampire-like! Soulless, they have no reflections in mirrors or in snapshots. . . ." "I found her. Deborah Jean Finch," he begins reading, "five feet/eleven inches, 135 pounds, brown hair, green eyes-- arrested four/twenty-nine/ninety-one on two counts of felony homicide." He looks up and smiles with delight. "She was a ride operator at the Boardwalk." "Yes, that's the one," I tell him. "The Boardwalk vampire, like in the movie Lost Boys." "That movie was made around the time of Sudden Impact, wasn't it?" Kim Allyn pauses for a moment to consider. "I got to meet Clint. You know he's married to KION's Dina Ruiz? I've known her for years. She interviewed me when I was Mr. California." I glance again at the gold medals and see that they are for bodybuilding. Kim Allyn laughs. "That was before she married the mayor," he confides. "Does it give any details about the arrest?" I ask. "The call was made at 207 Riverside, Number 7." "Beach Flats." "That's right. Says here she was tried on a one-eighty-seven." "A what?" I ask straining hard to hear over the dead doctor pronouncements on the radio. "Murder," Allyn explains. "Holy cow! She was only sentenced to four years at a state prison. That doesn't seem like much for taking a man's life." No indeed. The case caused quite a scandal ten years ago due to the public outrage at the minimum sentence. "Says here," Allyn reads, "that her attorney got the murder charge dismissed 'in the interests of justice.'" "Interests of justice?" I ask, "What does that mean?" Allyn smiles. Big, bright teeth. Nice canines. "The State couldn't make the case, so they plea-bargained it out." There were many irregularities about the case. For one, the murder at Santa Cruz's notorious Beach Flats this time was not drug related. The victim, twenty-two-year-old Brandon James McMichaels, was found dead in his apartment with twenty-seven knife wounds in his chest and neck. The suspect, Deborah Jean Finch, was known to indulge in bizarre behavior. According to witnesses, McMichaels was depressed over a fistfight with his half-brother, Andrew Venturi. Sharing his personal problems exhausted the sympathy of his neighbors early on the evening of April 25. Someone suggested he just kill himself to save them all the misery of listening to him anymore. Deborah Jean Finch was a neighbor of Brandon McMichaels, so when he said he "didn't have the guts," Finch came to his rescue. The murder weapon was a seven-inch boning knife. Complicating the case was the rumor that after the murder Finch drank McMichaels' blood. If so, it was evidently not the first time. According to co-worker Heather Maxwell, Deborah Jean Finch "drank the blood of a cat." Heather Maxwell told authorities that "Finch had powerful urges that could be sated only by drinking blood." I hear Kim Allyn let out a low, musical whistle. "Wow, I wonder what drugs she was on." "No drugs were found connected with the case," I remind him. "Is there any mention of Zwar?" I ask. "How do you spell it?" "Z-W-A-R. There was supposedly an eleven-foot stature of the Chinese Vampire Goddess Zwar found in her apartment." "Who said that?" he asks. "According to the Santa Cruz Sentinel, the prosecuting attorney George Kovacevich." Kim Allyn laughs. "It figures. George studied to be a priest. You know, Catholics and their exorcisms." "Right," I agree. "What about Eric Knight?" The deputy reviews his database as I look over the faded news clipping of last summer. The headline reads: "Jury convicts 'vampire' in attack." I stare blankly, so Kim Allyn explains. "Fruit Loops." In my news account Knight was arrested on charges of misdemeanor battery after he bit deep into the jugular of a 28-year-old college student who gave the hitchhiker a ride from Santa Cruz to San Francisco. Knight was arrested after a chase in Golden Gate Park. He was heard to gasp, "I need the cure. . . I need blood." He told arresting officers that "he suffered from an illness that left him unable to eat food and that he needed blood to survive." Allyn smiles sympathetically. "You know how it is, nut cases not taking their meds. Frankly, just between you and me." Here his handsome smile grows wider. I lean in closer to hear. "Cases like this the authorities just run through the system and they're back on the streets. Too much time, effort, and money, otherwise." I write all this down without comment. "What about the Live Oak molestation case?" I ask. "A middle-aged man bit a fifteen-year-old boy in the neck and threatened to murder him." I look up and see the deputy glancing at his watch and realize the interview is over. As I rustle about ready to give my thanks and leave, Kim Allyn suggests, "You should speak to Peggy Townsend. She writes for the Santa Cruz Sentinel." He stands and we shake hands at the door. Large hand. Firm grip. "We share the same birthday," he tells me. "Every year we have a drink at the Crow's Nest." He shrugs his broad shoulders and grins. "I can't go in there without being recognized. I get no f--ing peace!" TO READ THE WHOLE STORY, ORDER "THE BOARDWALK VAMPIRE"
|
"There is the case of the Boardwalk vampire
in '91," I remind him. "There was Ramon Leon, the Live Oak Molester in '96, and Eric Knight, the self-professed vampire, just last August." We had gone over this on the phone earlier when we set up the appointment. Naturally,
as community relations coordinator, Allyn does not want to fuel speculation about the local undead, but I have found three legal cases of vampirism adjudicated here in Santa Cruz County. I have him dead to rights. So to speak.