Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
The townsfolk of MP were experienced hands with this and weren’t fond of the reputation they were getting.
Outside of Melanie Iverson selling her daughter’s faked story, the only one who would talk to them was Kimmy Milford. And she didn’t have a lot she wanted to say about Richard Sandusky, Ezra Corbin, Carrie Molnar or Ray Andrews.
But she had some ideas about what happened to Jimmy Hoffa, and she claimed to have evidence that aliens visited the area on a frequent basis.
The Misted Pines monthly town council meetings were sheer bedlam for two months.
And then Megan Nichols felt they should have it out of their system, and she cracked the gavel with an iron hand.
But by that time, the press had lost interest and the town had gone back to the sleepy oasis it pretended to be.
It was discovered that Richard Sandusky had no knowledge of bomb-making and had never been to the state of Maine.
The investigation into the bomb that exploded in Alabama was therefore reopened. It took some time, but evidence led to a retired veteran who was having trouble with his neighbor who had a dog he didn’t clean up after when that dog used his lawn to see to business.
This vet also was suffering from PTSD.
He decided to do something about the situation, and he accomplished that, living some time with his lawn free of droppings.
It would take him going to prison to get the therapy the government should have given him for serving his country.
As for the call that came in from a vacant house in Maine, that remained a mystery.
Richard Sandusky’s victims came out of the woodwork. Members of the cult he still headed were either confused, lost or enraged. Wives left husbands. Additional charges of assault, rape, unlawful imprisonment, and a dozen other offenses were lodged against Sandusky.
His wife, Elaine, was sued by several ex-members.
She had a great deal of money, very powerful attorneys, and they lost.
Many members didn’t leave the church, and for reasons unfathomable, the notoriety of the case brought in more.
Elaine Sandusky took over her husband’s pulpit, with the support of two elders—their sons.
This was until evidence came to light that she, and they, were aware of Sandusky’s “work” with his victims, including the killings, and the entire family had a hand in assisting him in conducting his crimes.
The sons’ involvement, particularly, explained why a sixty-something man could lure women a fraction of his age to hotels, no matter how fit and attractive he was.
Elaine, an ex-hairdresser, was a dab hand with makeup, hairstyling and wigs.
They were all indicted as accessories.
The sons copped pleas.
Elaine, righteously indignant for herself and her husband, maintaining their work was holy, sat before a judge and jury. Regardless of her assertions, she was deemed fit to stand trial and was later convicted and sentenced to life, eligible for parole in twenty-five years, which, if she made it, would mean she would be out at age ninety-three.
An ex-elder stepped into the breach.
The church’s tax-exempt status was stripped through all of these activities, and they were currently in a battle with the IRS to have it reinstated.
They felt positive they would win.
Richard Sandusky pled guilty to multiple charges of abduction, false imprisonment, sexual assault and homicide.
He was sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.
As an ex-cop, he didn’t find it as easy to cultivate a following in the penitentiary as he thought it would be. And his beliefs that the human race were all stupid didn’t hold up well in a place filled with hardened criminals who established their own hierarchy.
His hubris was so overwhelming, he had no idea he entered a situation where he did not have a captive audience of potential disciples, but instead, there was no way out.
He was not the apex predator.
He was prey, a trophy to be won and proudly held in infamy.
Until eleven months into his sentence, when he lost his life during a brutal beating in the cafeteria during chowtime that had no witnesses, he wrote letters to Rus every week and sent them to the FBI office in Virginia.
Rus never received those letters.
Not only because he no longer worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigations.
Epilogue
QUIET AND WILDFLOWERS
Rus and Karen leaned against Karen’s cruiser, which was parked behind the Nissan Pathfinder.
They watched the two women walking warily toward them through a field of wildflowers.
“Your take,” Rus said. “How’s this gonna go down?”
“If it was just you, they’d try to cute their way out of it by flirting, thinking they’re young and pretty, and you got a dick, so you’ll let them do whatever they want.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rus agreed.
“They don’t like me being here.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rus repeated.
The women climbed the ranch rail fence about ten yards from a sign that said Private Property No Trespassing and made their hesitant way to Rus and Karen, eyeing the situation, not only the two law enforcement officers, but their Pathfinder blocked in by two cruisers.