Bennett His Own Flesh and Blood

The story of Raymond Goedecke, the killer in the choir.
1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 979-8-3509-0582-3
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 322 Seiten

'His Own Flesh and Blood' unravels the chilling true story of Raymond Goedecke, once an ideal Christian boy turned psychopath. From the brutal murder of his own family to his unnerving charade as a church choir director, this book explores the dark, deceptive life of a man who fooled an entire community.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Bennett, Steve

Leseproben

Chapter 2
“It was like a slaughterhouse.” At 7:50 a.m., Detective Ted Bell was home when a phone call disturbed his day off. The caller was Sergeant Kelso of the Chula Vista Police Department. “Ted, we’ve got a triple homicide. Lieutenant Dowell needs you to go to 162 First Avenue.” Bell was not scheduled for duty until Monday. Sitting bolt upright he asked, “Have you contacted Roy Borchers?” Kelso responded, “Not yet. Roy is at some church camp with his wife and daughter.” Shifting quickly into “Cop Mode,” Bell rattled off the names of three detectives. “Have them meet me there in twenty minutes.” He didn’t wait for Kelso’s reply. He quickly changed clothes and was out the door. Ted Bell was a nine-year veteran with Chula Vista PD. At thirty-three, he was an imposing cop, standing over six-one with a board-flat waist and broad, straight shoulders. He wore his brown hair clipped short, and his manner and bearing commanded respect, as would a Marine drill sergeant. Bell worked with a group the department called the Crimes of Violence unit which handled everything from misdemeanor assault to murder. His rise in the department had been steady, due to his keen intellect and strong work ethic. Ted’s work ethic was a family trait. His father, Clint Bell, worked as a cattleman on the West Texas panhandle, often in the midst of massive Depression dust storms. In fact, the dusty plains proved to be unsuitable for his wife’s health, which caused Clint to move his family to San Diego County. The Bells settled in National City, and Clint took a job managing the meat market for a local supermarket. Ted graduated from Sweetwater Union High School and often spent hours after school in his father’s butcher shop sweeping bloody sawdust or wrestling huge slabs of beef. Because of all that, Ted was well accustomed to the stench of blood. In 1955, Bell took a job as a patrolman for the Chula Vista Police Department and soon began having issues with his watch commander. Fortunately for Ted, Roy Borchers stepped in and transferred Bell to his watch. “Roy was sort of my salvation,” he would say later. The two men established a solid professional relationship and, in time, a friendship developed. Off duty, the Borchers and Bell families gathered for cookouts while Ted and Caroline Bell’s children romped about with young Tom and Connie Borchers. As Bell rushed to the First Avenue crime scene with Kelso’s “triple homicide” dominating his thoughts, he focused on police procedures: be open minded, take it from scratch, let the evidence guide you. Never jump to conclusions. But as he neared the front porch and eyed the young couple speaking with Sergeant Pauline, Bell’s first thought was, “This is a triple homicide?. . . Why aren’t those kids showing any emotion.” As Sergeant Pauline summarized for Bell what officers had learned thus far, Bell continued eyeing Raymond and Louise. Bell nodded to Pauline then stepped inside the house. In the living room, as he looked about, Bell wondered as had officers Pauline and Sendt, whether the home had been burglarized or was only sloppy. Taking it in, Bell leaned toward unkempt. His eyes fell on a rocking chair and he bent down to examine a wad of reddish towels dumped on a throw rug. As Bell knelt, he reached out with his thumb and index finger to gently lift the towel exposing a piece of concrete reinforcing bar. The bar was heavy, roughly eighteen inches long and bent at one end into an L shape. On the rug was a woman’s purse, its contents scattered about as if it were deliberately dumped and left there. He was certain the bar and towels were soaked in blood. Otherwise, the room was orderly: A man’s wallet sat undisturbed on an old Philco radio. Magazines and newspapers were neatly stacked in a bookcase and on the west wall there was an upright piano. Placed on the piano were two framed photos, one of a young smiling blond-headed-boy, the other a formal high school senior picture, apparently of the young man he’d met outside. Books and sheet music sat positioned on the piano as if waiting for the pianist. In the living room, two television sets rested upon movable stools, one with a flower arrangement which stood undisturbed. Judging from this, Bell was ready to rule out burglary. Just then, Lieutenant Jack Dowell, the watch commander, arrived and together they moved down the hallway. Dowell turned into the kitchen while Bell entered the hall bathroom. Inside he found it messy–clothing and towels covered the floor with cosmetics, shampoo, and bobby pins strewn across the vanity. Then Bell’s attention was drawn to the color of the toilet water—reddish-brown. As the bloody rebar and towels in the living room pointed to, he believed the toilet water must also be mixed with blood. Outside a bedroom in the hallway, Bell was struck by a familiar odor. “It smelled like a slaughterhouse.” Peering from the doorway into the shadowy room, he saw the body of a child on a bed, his legs dangling ragdoll-like over the side. Moving closer, he realized it was the boy in the living room photograph, his blond locks obscured by a mask of matted blood. A thick reservoir of blood had pooled under the boy’s face by the headboard and as he bent down over his body, Bell smelled a more putrid odor, before the boy died, he became sick and vomited. Dotting the wall above the headboard were several dime-sized blots mixed with tiny spray-like spots. This told Bell two things: the mist-like marks came from powerful contact blows to the head; the larger spots dripping down the wall in a tear-shaped pattern—known as fliers—were the result of repeated blows from the weapon, like a painter slinging paint about the room. Turning to the door, Bell observed fliers across the room next to a bookcase. All of this told him the attack was violent and persistent. Everything else in the room was messy: clothes and shoes lay scattered about, the second bed was empty and covered with dirty clothing, and a chest of drawers stood open exposing shirts and socks. Bell continued to the next bedroom. The bed appeared to hold two pillows stacked on top of the other. The bottom pillow was covered in blood, yet the top pillow had very little. On the bed, two white objects by the pillows caught his attention. When Bell realized what they were—human teeth—he was stunned. Next, he moved into the narrow space by the wall to look down upon the body of a teenage girl. Clad in red-striped baby doll pajamas, she lay crumpled on the hardwood floor, with her face jammed against the wall. Above her body was a record player resting on a folding table, and apparently, she fell off the bed during the attack and became entangled in her bedspread. Blood spatters much like the ones in the boy’s room sprayed about the wall and record player. From the hallway, Officer Sendt called out, “Ted, the father and mother are over here.” Bell stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, taking a moment to absorb the scene inside. To discover the young boy and girl was horrific, but Bell was shocked by the carnage he discovered in the master bedroom. In all his years in homicide, Ted Bell had never witnessed such an exhibition of violence. “Someone beat these people to a bloody pulp,” he thought. Partially blocking the doorway was the body of a man and on the bed lay a woman, apparently his wife. Soon he’d learn they were Henry and Joan Goedecke, both so completely blood-covered that normal human features were obliterated. On the bed was a pillow, splashed in bright crimson, and between the bed and nightstand, bloody dots covered the wall. From the bed, the bloody trail led to the man’s body. It was clear to Bell that the entire family had been surprised in the night. . . but what kind of monster had done this? Though he was surprised and stunned by what he’d witnessed, Bell kept his feelings to himself since he had a job to do. Returning to the living room, he spoke with Lieutenant Dowell. “Jack, I’ll contact the coroner and try to reach Roy Borchers.” Ted spotted a phone in the dining room and dialed O. In a calm, controlled voice, he said, “Operator, this is Detective Ted Bell, Chula Vista Police. . . this is an emergency call.” At 8:30 a.m., forty-four miles to the north, Connie Borchers answered the Camp Caroline phone to hear a familiar voice, that of her dad’s friend Ted Bell. “Connie? Is that you? It’s Ted Bell. Is your dad there? I need to speak with him.” Somewhat surprised, she answered, “Ted, he and Mom just left for a dental appointment.” “Connie, I need to reach him. . . what’s his dentist’s name?” “It’s Dr. Meckfessal; he’s downtown,” she said. “I need to speak with him, we’ve got a case down here.” Ted hung up. As the daughter of a policeman, Connie was accustomed to harried officers trying to reach her father so Ted’s curt manner was not unusual. To her, cops had two moods: friendly during off-duty, and very “cop-like” and serious when dealing with police business. But it was Bell’s next call, just minutes later, that raised her suspicions. “Connie, Ted again. Is John Kohls at the camp?” Embarrassed, she said, “Geez, I should have told you that before.” For a moment, Bell hesitated, and then he asked, “Connie, as far as you’re aware, was...