and make a new life … and now this. Based on what I knew at that time, I had to believe him. What a sincere face he put on. Poor John.
Before he left my office nearly six hours after he had arrived, John Wayne Gacy wrote me a check in the amount of $3,000. I had been officially retained.
6
A S TEDIOUS AS it is to investigate and then draft the documents necessary for a warrant, that is also how much fun it can be to finally execute one, at least sometimes. Come on, imagine being able to invade someone’s home, break the doors down if you have to, and snoop to your heart’s content. For some … that’s heaven.
After having the warrant signed by Judge Marvin Peters at 3:10 p.m., December 13, 1978, a team was dispatched to the Gacy residence armed, with keys to the doors and imbued with a sense of purpose. They were like a pack of dogs on the hunt, sniffing here, poking there, in drawers and under cabinets, searching for something that would tie this creep to their missing boy. Some of the younger guys actually hoped to find Rob Piest tied up and hungry, hoping against hope that he would be found. The more seasoned among them knew better. There was seldom any good news that resulted from situations such as this. They were usually just fact-finding, evidence-gathering missions.
David Cram was at the Gacy house, quite coincidentally, when the search team arrived. He was there in a work capacity, to pick up items that he needed for the job that he was on that day. He was shown a warrant and a badge by one of the officers, and heexplained his presence there. He then beat feet as fast as he could, glad that the officers did not detain him for any reason.
They all knew that the owner of the house would not bother them. Gacy was being allowed to spin his endless stories, tell his tallest tales, and in general go on and on about just how important of a guy he actually was. Eventually, even Gacy got sick of this routine, although he did so long after the poor officers had tired of his spiel.
Finally, Gacy started barking about going to appointments that he had. He had to meet with a funeral director. He had business to attend to. At that point, the officers at the station simply put him in a room, gave him a can of pop, and locked the door. He wasn’t under arrest. He wasn’t in a cell. He was in limbo—a kind of land that time forgot while the team did their job at his house.
Most of the officers who took part in the search of the house noticed a slight odor that was unidentifiable. It was faint, but it was there. It became somewhat stronger when the thermostat turned on the fan for the heating system. Gacy also had a little dog that yapped incessantly during the search, but such were the trials of the job. At least it wasn’t a big one. That could have caused a problem.
When the search was over, the following report was filed, and the items recovered were categorized and logged into evidence:
Also found but not listed on the original report was a receipt for photographs, which had been dropped off for development at Nisson Pharmacy. This item was recovered from the garbage bag in the kitchen of the Gacy home. A supplemental report was filed regarding that item.
The implications attendant to the items found in Gacy’s house during the search go without saying. The suspect was either gay or bisexual, had drugs, drug paraphernalia, and what were potentially items of torture, weapons, and potential weapons; the consensus was quite simple to reach. What more proof did a good cop need? This guy was going down. Everyone agreed.
_________________________
A S FOR M R . Gacy, he had been released without being charged from the Des Plaines police station. Upon his arrival home, he was greeted by the aftermath of the search of his residence. He was shaken by the experience. His normally tidy home was in complete disarray. Before he had a chance to assess the mess, or even really check it out to see what the police had taken
Before he left my office nearly six hours after he had arrived, John Wayne Gacy wrote me a check in the amount of $3,000. I had been officially retained.
6
A S TEDIOUS AS it is to investigate and then draft the documents necessary for a warrant, that is also how much fun it can be to finally execute one, at least sometimes. Come on, imagine being able to invade someone’s home, break the doors down if you have to, and snoop to your heart’s content. For some … that’s heaven.
After having the warrant signed by Judge Marvin Peters at 3:10 p.m., December 13, 1978, a team was dispatched to the Gacy residence armed, with keys to the doors and imbued with a sense of purpose. They were like a pack of dogs on the hunt, sniffing here, poking there, in drawers and under cabinets, searching for something that would tie this creep to their missing boy. Some of the younger guys actually hoped to find Rob Piest tied up and hungry, hoping against hope that he would be found. The more seasoned among them knew better. There was seldom any good news that resulted from situations such as this. They were usually just fact-finding, evidence-gathering missions.
David Cram was at the Gacy house, quite coincidentally, when the search team arrived. He was there in a work capacity, to pick up items that he needed for the job that he was on that day. He was shown a warrant and a badge by one of the officers, and heexplained his presence there. He then beat feet as fast as he could, glad that the officers did not detain him for any reason.
They all knew that the owner of the house would not bother them. Gacy was being allowed to spin his endless stories, tell his tallest tales, and in general go on and on about just how important of a guy he actually was. Eventually, even Gacy got sick of this routine, although he did so long after the poor officers had tired of his spiel.
Finally, Gacy started barking about going to appointments that he had. He had to meet with a funeral director. He had business to attend to. At that point, the officers at the station simply put him in a room, gave him a can of pop, and locked the door. He wasn’t under arrest. He wasn’t in a cell. He was in limbo—a kind of land that time forgot while the team did their job at his house.
Most of the officers who took part in the search of the house noticed a slight odor that was unidentifiable. It was faint, but it was there. It became somewhat stronger when the thermostat turned on the fan for the heating system. Gacy also had a little dog that yapped incessantly during the search, but such were the trials of the job. At least it wasn’t a big one. That could have caused a problem.
When the search was over, the following report was filed, and the items recovered were categorized and logged into evidence:
Also found but not listed on the original report was a receipt for photographs, which had been dropped off for development at Nisson Pharmacy. This item was recovered from the garbage bag in the kitchen of the Gacy home. A supplemental report was filed regarding that item.
The implications attendant to the items found in Gacy’s house during the search go without saying. The suspect was either gay or bisexual, had drugs, drug paraphernalia, and what were potentially items of torture, weapons, and potential weapons; the consensus was quite simple to reach. What more proof did a good cop need? This guy was going down. Everyone agreed.
_________________________
A S FOR M R . Gacy, he had been released without being charged from the Des Plaines police station. Upon his arrival home, he was greeted by the aftermath of the search of his residence. He was shaken by the experience. His normally tidy home was in complete disarray. Before he had a chance to assess the mess, or even really check it out to see what the police had taken
Similar Books
