She worked the gag from her mouth and began to chew on the knot. The rope left little coarse hairs in her mouth which ground into her gums as she chewed, and it tasted like car oil. Her legs were also tightly bound with rope around her knees. She tried desperately to work her legs free but to no avail. The attempt seemed only to cut the blood flow to her feet, making them numb and, consequently, making it difficult to keep a firm footing on the root. Finally she turned around and fell against the branch where the other end of the rope was tied on. The rope was looser from chewing on it, and she could untie it with her hand behind her back. She undid the knot herself, and then got all the ropes off. It didn’t take very long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. But she still had the handcuffs on. She picked up the ropes that moments before had held her captive and ran, keeping low.

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In the subterfuge of this turbulent environment, a prolific monster operated right under the noses of law enforcement, preying on victims from the city’s most vulnerable population demographic.

On the 2nd of February, 2009, Christine Ross was walking her dog Rucca through the morning shadows of Paradise, her West Mesa subdivision community, when the hound caught a scent. Within a minute, he'd dug up a large bone and proudly presented it. Disturbed, Christine texted a picture of the fossil to her sister, who was a nurse. It looked like a human femur bone, her sister replied. Police investigators arrived on the scene and discovered the remains of multiple human bodies buried across 100 acres of barren land.

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Only two souls managed to escape the deadly clutches of the Briley brothers, this time Linwood and Anthony, to tell their tale: William and Virginia Bucher. Now, both have passed on, their stories echoing in the grave. Unless the shadows of the past decide to part and reveal hitherto unknown survivors or witnesses, the blood-curdling events that transpired on the night of the 12th of March, 1979, stand as the gruesome overture to a seven-month symphony of horror.

The modus operandi of these ruthless killers was as cold as it was random. Linwood, the elder of the two, sauntered up to the quaint, tightly packed home of the Buchers, nestled in the heart of Lafayette Avenue, and rapped his knuckles against the front door in a parody of normalcy. William Bucher, in a later account, revealed his initial assumption that it was the paperboy, come to collect his due, which rendered him unguarded enough to open the door. As the portal swung open, he found himself staring not at the familiar face of the paperboy, but at the strange and unsettling countenance of a complete unknown.

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Imagine if you will, dear listener, an anonymous-looking apartment house on Barton Avenue, Richmond, state of Virginia. It hadn't been opened for three baking-hot days. Opening the door, the seasoned investigators were blasted with a wave of heat and rot. The smell was like a wall, or more apt; a tsunami of death hitting them square in the face as they entered. They had experienced this before, for some of the investigators it was part and parcel of the job. But they had not seen a crime scene like this; with snakes slithering on the floor, stained with old blood from the floor. The investigators got out fast and called for animal-control officers to subdue and remove the snakes. Later, after this was done, it had to be admitted the killers knew something, however minimal, about psychological warfare. Releasing from their confinement Harvey Wilkerson's pet snakes had been nothing short of successfully annoying, and potentially dangerous to anyone entering the crime scene. They were also very well capable of damaging and/or obscuring crucial evidence.

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Lavrenti Pavlovich Beria was a Georgian, like Stalin, who called him ‘my Himmler’. Involved in revolutionary activities from his teens and head of the secret police in Georgia in his twenties, he supervised the ruthless 1930s purges in the region and arrived in Moscow in 1938 as deputy to Nikolai Yezhov, aka ‘the blood-thirsty dwarf’, head of the Soviet secret police. He soon succeeded Yezhov, who was shot on Stalin’s orders, apparently at Beria’s prompting. Beria, who went on to run the Soviet network of slave-labour camps, was notorious for his sadistic enjoyment of torture and his taste for beating, raping and murdering young women and girls. Bald and bespectacled, by the time of Stalin’s death in 1953 he was one of the most hated men in the country.

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Brandishing a menacing knife, he binds the child securely with rope he brought with him. After the child is tied up, he cuts away the boy´s clothes so that he lies completely naked under the sun. Smiling, the serial killer’s mask falls away and he quickly masturbates over the now crying boy. According to Garavito, he made a quote/unquote "pact with the devil" and Satanic rituals were also incorporated, the boy and others were apparent blood sacrifices.

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A darker facet of his childhood, less publicly disclosed but equally crucial in understanding this individual, was the sexual abuse he reportedly endured. The precise details of the abuse that Garavito endured are, understandably, scant and thinly documented. What is recognized, however, is that the sexual violence perpetrated against him was reportedly recurrent, beginning from an eerily young age, involved multiple perpetrators and often occurred within his family's crumbling walls.

Among the alleged abusers were some of Garavito's own relatives, neighbors, and even supposed friends within the community. The abusers exploited the vulnerability of Garavito's circumstances, his family's economic challenges, and their lack of protective measures.

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Buono returned to his office and told Cindy Hudspeth that it was time to close up his shop now but that he could give her some job openings if she would come into the house. She was grateful for his help. Once she sat down in the brown vinyl easy chair, her hours were numbered. Bianchi kept her occupied with small talk while Buono fetched the gag, tape, and cord. When she said that she lived in an apartment at 800 East Garfield Avenue, Bianchi said that that was quite a coincidence. He had lived right across the street last year. Bianchi won the coin toss this time. But before raping her, he agreed to Buono’s suggestion that they tie her arms and legs to the legs of the bed. The spread-eagled sacrifice appealed to both of them. They used her for nearly two hours. At Buono’s urging, Bianchi did the actual strangling. After she was dead and they were dressed, they agreed that her car was a problem. They would have to get rid of it as well as Cindy’s corpse.

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Small bruises showed around her breasts. And then, examining her more closely, Grogan noticed something that made him think at first that he was looking at the body of a drug addict: puncture marks on the inner arms. But there were only two puncture marks, none of the usual scars and needle tracks of the addict. The rectal bleeding and the absence on the body of any obvious signs of a dissipated, druggy existence suggested to Grogan that she might have been tortured before, during, or after the killing, maybe all three. He stepped back and looked about. He noticed no footprints or disturbances of any kind on the ground around her, and the body showed no signs of having been dragged.

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He tried pulling back on her throat with his forearm first, then used a rag Buono handed him. Even though handcuffed, she managed to kick Buono in the head, so he held down her legs, draped over the back of the front seat, with his free hand until Bianchi had finished the job. When she was limp, Bianchi surreptitiously removed a large turquoise ring from her left hand and slipped it into his pocket. He thought it would make a nice present for his girlfriend. Then Buono drove to a spot on Forest Lawn Drive, below the Oakwood Apartments he had once lived in. They dumped Yolanda Washington’s body beside the road, near a rockpile and the entrance to the graveyard, across the way from a Warner Brothers set depicting a peaceful New England village.

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One afternoon Buono and his pals cruised by as school was letting out and noticed a boy standing alone with his books, waiting for a ride. The boy was wearing a maroon satin jacket with the name “Aristocrats” spelled out across its back. Buono ordered the car to stop and told his buddies that he wanted that jacket. He got out of the car while his three buddies waited. Then he walked up to the solitary boy. The boy was much smaller than Buono and the idea of exerting power over a weaker person thrilled Buono. When told to take off his jacket so that Buono could try it on, the boy hesitated, but when Buono, long thumbs in pockets, feet apart, pelvis forward, stepped closer, the boy slipped off the jacket and handed it over. Buono’s friends lounged against the car, watching with glee in their eyes. Buono told the boy the jacket looked good and that he intended to keep it...

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