Cold Serial: The Jack The Strangler Murders - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

The perspective of Brian E. Forschner, PhD, has been created through a span of experiences involving seminary training, the operation of halfway houses, university teaching, writing and research, to more recently, the building and operation of affordable housing for families and elderly Americans, retirement and nursing homes, home health, and post-acute services for a major health system. During his career his role spanned from one of minister, teacher, writer, counselor, and consultant, to CEO. His passion is social justice.

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Fifteen couples expected an unforgettable evening at the home of Charles and Carrie Lantz. Their six children---Walter, age four, George, nine, Ada, eleven, Robert, fourteen, Charlotte, sixteen, Fred, eighteen, and Anna, thirty---had planned a surprise birthday party for their parents who shared the same birth date.

Ada was overwhelmed with anticipation. Her siblings involved her in the planning, and this made her feel very special, very adult. Her brothers and sisters saw her in a new light. She sensed it. After all, she thought to herself, I am going on twelve.

Charles loved to tease Ada, his favorite. When he seized an opportunity to do so, her eyes widened like silver dollars, saying nothing, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. When she discovered the tease, her smile illuminated the room. Few things delighted Charles more than his ability to flip this switch.

Ada had a stubborn streak and could be a rascal. She didn’t like to be told how to do something (like her mother, Charles often remarked). She learned by doing things, trial and error.

Ada eavesdropped on conversations at the dinner table, which were often full of local gossip. Charles and Carrie attempted to filter these mealtime exchanges lest Ada pass them on to her friends and classmates.

Ada also delighted her many friends, young and old, with her cheerfulness, talkativeness, and childlike candor. She shared her toys and books generously. Teachers at the Sixteenth School District of Dayton referred to her as a “sweet tempered child, one of the brightest scholars in her class.” They went on to comment that she was “an interesting little talker. She was small for her age and didn’t look eleven.”

Ada’s unexplained frailty perplexed the family. She stood shortest in her class and was plagued by colds and asthmatic-type attacks. Keeping her from exhausting herself at play constantly taxed her mother and her siblings. Recently, after playing kick the can in the alley with her friends, Ada, unable to catch her breath, plopped down on the ground. Her mother, who was hanging laundry in the backyard, noticed her and came running. She scooped her up and carried her to the house. But after a little rest, off Ada went. Often, they awakened to her spasmodic coughing, which recently had left spots of blood on her pillow. The family doctor was to pay her a visit the following week.

Most of the party guests lived nearby. At around 8:00 p.m., the neighbors huddled down the street, just beyond the comfortable Lantz residence. They then quietly marched up the porch steps and rapped on the door. Carrie answered, flabbergasted. She nervously dried her hands on her dirty apron and commenced a stream of apologies. A raucous, kind-hearted laughter ensued, the kind shared only among close friends. Charles came downstairs, suspenders dangling around his knees. He howled with surprise, immediately grasped the situation, and joined in the laughter. The Lantz children had accomplished the impossible. They had surprised Dad.

“We finally got him!” Fred, their eldest son, chortled. He began to strum on his mandolin, which magically appeared. He and his band would provide the evening’s entertainment.

Ada, not to be outdone, stood on the steps and singsonged, “We surprised you! We surprised you!” catching her dad’s attention. He shook a playful finger at her.

“I’ll get you for this. I’ll get even, you just wait.”

Ada beamed, proud to have kept the surprise a secret, no small feat for her. “See, I told you I could keep a secret,” she announced to her brothers and sisters. “Well … I did. Sort of. I only told Lillie, but I made her cross her heart and hope to die not to tell. So that doesn’t count.”

The antics of Ada and her friend, twelve-year-old Lillie Brandon (daughter of Patrolman Charles Brandon, who was a neighbor), brought broad smiles and further merriment to this act of contrition, albeit imperfect. Ada and Lillie immediately paired up and congratulated each other on helping to orchestrate the evening and keeping the secret.

“I have nothing prepared,” Carrie said. “Let me go fix something.”

“Just relax, Mom,” Fred reassured her. “We’ve already taken care of that.”

Fred took Ada and Lillie by the hand and led them to the cellar to gather some of the prepared snacks that had been hidden there. They brought breads, preserves, pretzels and mustard, and everyone’s favorite (certainly Ada’s), an assortment of strudels. An ample supply of wine bottles and jugs of beer appeared on the table, punctuating the festivities, all supplemented by covered dishes brought by the neighbors. Ada and Lillie each took a plateful of food and disappeared upstairs to play board games.

At around 10:00 p.m. Carrie invited all to play a game of progressive euchre, where couples rotate from table to table, enabling everyone to mix and talk with one another. The neighborhood already had several erstwhile euchre aficionados whose expertise grew by the glass.

Lillie tugged on Carrie’s sleeve as her friend’s mother led another trump. “Mrs. Lantz, do you know where Ada is?” Lillie and Ada had both come down for some snacks just as the euchre game was starting, but when Lillie turned around, Ada was gone. It was now 10:40 p.m.

“She probably went up to bed, honey. She gets tired early. Have you checked upstairs?”

“No, I haven’t, Mrs. Lantz,” she replied politely. “I’ll go see.”

Five minutes later Lillie came running down the steps, out of breath. “Mrs. Lantz,” she panted, “Ada isn’t up there.”

“Let’s go see if we can find her,” Carrie said as she excused herself and got up from the table. “She said she had a headache. I’ll bet she fell asleep upstairs in one of the bedrooms.”

Together Carrie and Lillie checked all four bedrooms. “Well, honey, she isn’t up here,” Carrie said matter-of-factly. “Maybe she went outside. The fresh air makes her feel better. Let’s go check.” They slipped past the guests who were sipping beer, nibbling snacks, and dancing to music played by Fred and his band. Carrie and Lillie looked around the yard, partially lit by a lantern and the light shining through the house windows. Ada did not appear to be in the back or side yard. A troubled furrow appeared on Carrie’s brow. She and Lillie came back into the house and bumped into Charles, who was standing in the kitchen with some of the men.

“Charles, I’m worried,” Carrie whispered as she pulled him aside. “Ada isn’t upstairs, and she isn’t out back, either. Have you seen her? She hasn’t been feeling well.” Carrie kept her voice down to avoid troubling the guests.

Fred, however, overheard the conversation. “She likes to sit out back after dark and look at the stars,” he chimed in. “Let me see if she’s still wandering around the yard.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Charles agreed. “Let me go with you.” Carrie seemed satisfied.

Fred and Charles opened the back door and went down the steps into the side yard. They walked around the yard and circled the house. They checked the area around the pump. No Ada.

“She must be in the outhouse,” Charles said confidently. The door was shut, so he politely knocked. “You in there, Ada?” Receiving no answer, he opened the door and looked in, but saw no one.

A slight wind buffeted the lantern hanging from the grape arbor in the side yard directly across from the rear door. It lit the side yard reasonably well but cast an uneasy, teetering vision of the backyard. No sign of Ada.