Little Girl Lost
It seemed almost as hot as hell itself on the afternoon of May 31, 1986. But a blast of summer heat was what many people welcomed on a weekend as summer began. Not Hadden Clark. Hadden, 35, stood outside of his brother Geoffrey’s empty home, sweating in the 92-degree heat. He was a wiry, six-feet-two inches tall who leaned against his Datsun pickup truck feeling sorry for himself and getting angrier by the minute as the temperature soared. The house was eerily quiet. Everyone who lived there was gone--out and having fun. Geoffrey Clark, the only brother he had who wasn’t in prison, had deserted him.
Things were not going well for Hadden. He had been asked to vacate the room he rented at Geoff’s house because he had masturbated in front of his young children. There were nephews and a niece. A few months before that, he had been arrested for shoplifting women’s underwear at a local department store. Hadden didn’t steal the bra and panties to give to a girlfriend. He stole them to wear himself.
“I like my ladies’ clothing,” he once told his mother. “Don’t try and change me.”
Less than a year before he had been bounced from the Navy. His discharge was a medical one--the doctors had diagnosed him as a paranoid schizophrenic. Hadden wasn’t taking the medicine they prescribed for him either. He just didn’t care.
Then, just a week ago, his six-year-old niece, Eliza, had called him a
. He wanted to kill her for that remark. It wouldn’t have been the first time he had murdered someone who “dissed” him.
So Hadden stood there, seething in the hot sun, about to go into his brother’s residence on Sudley Road in Silver Spring, Maryland to pick up the last box of his belongings. As he began to move towards the house, a little girl walked up to him. What was her name? He had seen her around the neighborhood several times.
Was it Kelly? Shelly? Michele? That was it, Michele. The tyke with the bangs and the freckles over the bridge of her nose was Eliza’s weekend friend, the daughter of a divorced man down the street who had custody of her on weekends. Michele was wearing a pink ruffled swimsuit that was still wet from playing in a plastic backyard pool.
“Where’s Eliza?”
It was then that Hadden Clark knew how to get back at his niece for calling him a. Nobody who crossed him got away with stuff like that for long.
“She’s in the house. Upstairs in her room playing with dolls. You can go inside if you like.”
He watched Michele wander into the house and heard her steps as she walked up the stairs of his brother’s silent home. When she was out of sight, he walked around to the back of his truck and pulled a toolbox towards him. Hadden made his living as a chef and inside the metal box were the tools of his trade--every kind of knife a commercial restaurant would ever need. There were deboning knives, carving knives, and fish filleting knives with serrated blades, meat cleavers, and more. Each had been honed to its maximum degree of sharpness. Hadden selected a 12-inch long chef’s knife and casually strolled into the house and up the stairs of his brother’s house.
Link
http://www.crimelibrary.com/serial_killers/weird/clark/index_1.html
It seemed almost as hot as hell itself on the afternoon of May 31, 1986. But a blast of summer heat was what many people welcomed on a weekend as summer began. Not Hadden Clark. Hadden, 35, stood outside of his brother Geoffrey’s empty home, sweating in the 92-degree heat. He was a wiry, six-feet-two inches tall who leaned against his Datsun pickup truck feeling sorry for himself and getting angrier by the minute as the temperature soared. The house was eerily quiet. Everyone who lived there was gone--out and having fun. Geoffrey Clark, the only brother he had who wasn’t in prison, had deserted him.
Things were not going well for Hadden. He had been asked to vacate the room he rented at Geoff’s house because he had masturbated in front of his young children. There were nephews and a niece. A few months before that, he had been arrested for shoplifting women’s underwear at a local department store. Hadden didn’t steal the bra and panties to give to a girlfriend. He stole them to wear himself.
“I like my ladies’ clothing,” he once told his mother. “Don’t try and change me.”
Less than a year before he had been bounced from the Navy. His discharge was a medical one--the doctors had diagnosed him as a paranoid schizophrenic. Hadden wasn’t taking the medicine they prescribed for him either. He just didn’t care.
Then, just a week ago, his six-year-old niece, Eliza, had called him a
. He wanted to kill her for that remark. It wouldn’t have been the first time he had murdered someone who “dissed” him. So Hadden stood there, seething in the hot sun, about to go into his brother’s residence on Sudley Road in Silver Spring, Maryland to pick up the last box of his belongings. As he began to move towards the house, a little girl walked up to him. What was her name? He had seen her around the neighborhood several times.
Was it Kelly? Shelly? Michele? That was it, Michele. The tyke with the bangs and the freckles over the bridge of her nose was Eliza’s weekend friend, the daughter of a divorced man down the street who had custody of her on weekends. Michele was wearing a pink ruffled swimsuit that was still wet from playing in a plastic backyard pool.
“Where’s Eliza?”
It was then that Hadden Clark knew how to get back at his niece for calling him a
. Nobody who crossed him got away with stuff like that for long. “She’s in the house. Upstairs in her room playing with dolls. You can go inside if you like.”
He watched Michele wander into the house and heard her steps as she walked up the stairs of his brother’s silent home. When she was out of sight, he walked around to the back of his truck and pulled a toolbox towards him. Hadden made his living as a chef and inside the metal box were the tools of his trade--every kind of knife a commercial restaurant would ever need. There were deboning knives, carving knives, and fish filleting knives with serrated blades, meat cleavers, and more. Each had been honed to its maximum degree of sharpness. Hadden selected a 12-inch long chef’s knife and casually strolled into the house and up the stairs of his brother’s house.
Link
http://www.crimelibrary.com/serial_killers/weird/clark/index_1.html
