CHAPTER 2: “THE DISTRAUGHT FAMILY”
It was an unfortunate truth at the time that some news stories were simply too raunchy for the front page. That is why I had to dig back into copies of The Chicago Tribune to find any stories about this homosexual necrophiliac. This blatant self-censorship disgusted me, but didn’t surprise me. It seemed that the killer had been active since August 1926. The Gorilla Killer had been active since February of 1926. The homosexual one first killed 22-year old Joseph Andrews in August. Joseph was the owner of a local cigar shop, and he was mutilated in his own home on August 14, 1926 at around 3am. From the pictures, I could tell why he was chosen. He was a well-built man with a handsome face, and I think our unsub knew he could never have this person as his own unless he killed him and had sex with his dead body. This, apparently he did. So now, the question is who is this man? How do I even know he’s a man? He definitely seems like a man. All eyewitness reports link him to a man. I therefore concluded he was a man. I decided that the best thing to do at the time was to talk to Joseph Andrews’ closest family members. I found out the address of the Cigar Shop, and then I got the number. I called the family and arranged a meeting. About 24 hours later, I was sitting in the Andrews living room. They lived in the outskirts of Chicago. I didn’t operate well in these kinds of situations, but I tried my best. “Um, I’m sorry for your loss, and I know the police are looking for this guy, but I think I might have a better chance. I just need to ask some questions if that’s okay.” I said very calmly. “JOSEPH NEVER DID ANYTHING TO ANYONE!” The grieving mother cried out in anguish. I was sympathetic, but also slightly annoyed, because she was yelling at me as if I was responsible, she was off subject, she wasn’t helping anything certainly, but I tried to remain sympathetic. “I am very sorry but I need to know some things. Would you mind answering some questions?” I repeated. “HE WAS SO YOUNG!” She exulted with various sobs as her husband and children held her. I was then forced to sit there awkwardly while they huddled together. I considered reaching my arm to her for half a second, but that seemed like too much. I even considered just slipping out the door. Once they unbundled, they looked at me as if I was supposed to say something new even though I had repeated my request twice. So I just said “So, can you guys answer some questions to help me catch this guy?” The father took off his glasses and looked at me. “He was really talented, you know. Why would they do this?” He started crying too. They all broke out crying and re-bundled. “Jesus Christ.” I thought to myself. “When will it stop?” I awkwardly looked around the Andrews living room while they continued discharging salty fluids from their eyeballs. I checked out the family photos, and saw how much they treasured Joseph. He was apparently the quarterback on the team that won the 1921 Lakeside High School Championship. He graduated from Lakeside in 1922, top of his class. He attended Chicago University from 1922 to 1926, graduating with a Bachelor’s Degree in socioeconomics. Wow, a football star who graduates with a degree in socioeconomics. Who would have thought it? His coach’s name sounded familiar. Bartholomew Higgins. I was trying to think where the hell I had heard that name from while the family continued to vociferate, and then it hit me. The crime blotter on the January 15, 1924 edition of the Chicago Tribune. At 2:24 AM on January 14, 1924 two men were arrested for having consensual anal sex in an INN on the south side of Chicago under the state of Illinois’ anti-sodomy law, one of them being BARTHOLOMEW HIGGINS! AH-HA! He was coached by a homosexual man. This was a big lead. I had to track down this pervert and give him what for. “HE NEVER HURT A FLY!” The husband shouted at me. “Yeah, that’s cool. Hey, I’m going to go.” I said as I picked up my stuff and left while they continued to sob uncontrollably, barely even acknowledging my absence. I left their house with one thing and one thing only on my mind. I had to track down the faggot who coached that kid. I hopped into my car and drove off. I had bought the car yesterday using the money I got from my uncle’s inheritance. It was a brand new ’26 Auburn Roadster. It was just the car for me. As I sped along, nearing a roaring 50 miles an hour, I thought about how I was going to track down this scumbag. I knew only this. He was a retired football coach named Bartholomew Higgins, who had taught at Lakeside High School in Chicago. Lord knows where he could’ve been. I decided the only sensible place to go was Chicago City Hall, where the 1920 Census Records are. Wherever he lived then, could lead me to where he lived at the time. I drove on down and asked for access to the Census Records. Unfortunately, those were kept private. This is where my sleuth detective skills kicked in. Being already in a suit, I simply tried to look like I was on the Chicago City Council. I walked a walk of confidence all the way the records. When the 98-year old records keeper asked me my name, I said “WHAT? You don’t know the name of the great Chicago City Councilman-““Oh, of course. Come in, sir.” He interrupted. I’m glad he did, because I didn’t know any City Councilman names. He led me into the room. It was a room full of drawers with various locks and keys and stuff like that. “What would you like Councilman?” He asked. “I want the 1920 Census Record for a man named Bartholomew Higgins. “Oh, Councilman, you know I can’t do that.” He responded. I looked around confused. “But I’m a councilman, you half-witted charlatan.” I retorted. “Yes, but there is privacy to protect citizens even from councilmen.” He stated. I looked around again, and then I closed the door. I didn’t want to do this, but he gave me know choice. I used the old “touch-on the neck” knockout trick. He fell immediately, but I caught him so he didn’t injure his senile brain. I gently laid him on the floor. I then went to the Census section, and I went to the drawer labeled “H”. I walked over to the old man and stole his key. I used it to open the drawer, and it came open pretty quickly. I searched and searched and searched some more, and then I found it. Bartholomew Higgins’ 1920 Census Record. He lived at 2200 Bellevue Street, Apartment 6B in the South Side of Chicago. He lived alone and he began renting the apartment in February 1917. He was a white male, no surprise there, and he was thirty-three at the time he filled out this census record. He was never married. He was literate and was born in 1887 in San Francisco, California, which was interesting because that is exactly where the Gorilla Killings were taking place. He was still a coach at the time. The rest of the stuff was useless. The only thing I got out of this was his address in 1920. Lord knows if he still lived there. But then, suddenly, the door blew wide open, and there was a sight I never thought I’d see ever again. My uncle. ALIVE.