Robert Waggoner - John - The Senior Killer

Brad’s pacing stopped when agent Jones started the idea of a historical look at the Spruce Goose and other planes at the museum Then he resumed his place listening carefully to the discussion. He sat there and smiled once he heard where it was going.

For the next hour they kicked around the many details of the operation which by then was accepted as a go. Nancy was making notes on her laptop fast and furious as details were flying around the group it was hard to keep up. She took a break and a deep breath thinking how a run and walk on the beach came up with an almost foolproof method of catching John the serial killer; or so they thought.

John drove down I-5 to Portland, Oregon. South of Portland he took 99w towards the coast on his way to highway 101 and down to Bandon by the sea. First he wanted to check out McMinnville and then relay via a cell phone to his brother. He’d given his brother a cell phone and showed him how to use it when he stopped off at the pig farm. Nearing McMinnville he took the Dayton bypass road that led to the airport and connected with 99w to the coast. He took the time to visit like a tourist and left of his view of Brad’s Round House. Before he left he called his brother to give his thoughts on the airport and security that surrounded it. He told him the picking looked good as lots of old timers were wandering around looking at the giant Spruce Goose and other planes of interest. The plan was set and he drove off into the sunset for his date with a view of his nemesis.

John drove the speed limit at all times. His alias Clyde Walker of Wenatchee, Washington was bona fide along with a passport. He had two more stashed in a safety deposit box in two other cities. But for now he was he was happy, but a long trip was ahead of him. When he reached highway 101 he turned south and drove through what is known as the “Twenty Miracle Miles.” This was a section of the highway where small towns joined each other is a strip along the beach highway for tourists. Motels sat on the beach shore; restaurants with giant windows overlooked the beach and ocean; and of course the ubiquitous tourist shops to browse until you moved to another place just like the one you just stopped at.

John made his way down to Newport, a fair size town on the coast before he stopped for the night. He would get an early start and be in Bandon about two hours after the sun came up. But now heavy rain and wind beat against his windshield and he was happy to hole up for the night as dark set in.

Brad and his running team were running on the beach about two hours before daylight. The storm had abated and now low clouds drifted across the calming sea. Seagulls were out in force seeing what was to eat after the storm surge left wounded clams and small crabs dotting the beach. Only a slight wind was blowing onshore as they headed back up the trail to the Round House feeling good that both the exercise and a well-made plan felt good. Wendy looked at her watch and it was close to six am as they entered the house. Sandy and her brood were on shift with Rocky running with them. At eight am Rocky would replace Sandy as point dog for the day.

It was Rocky who alerted the team as they just finished up breakfast about nine am. What he spotted was someone about three hundred yards away up on a high dune among the scrub pines looking through field glasses down upon the Round House. Rocky was trained to be aware of stationary people, but people walking the dunes were rare and a person not moving alerted his senses that something was not right.

John had left Newport long before daylight and arrived in Bandon at about eight am. From his map he found the Beach Loop road and made his way to where at a gas station he learned of the strange house about three miles or so off to the west of the Beach Loop road past the golf course. John had a good idea where it was as he passed a side road that looked like no other he had seen driving slowly down the road. He went passed it about a quarter mile to a parking lot for beach combers to make their way to the beach. He climbed the sand dune and walked along the ridge through the scrub pines until he came to where he could see to the north across the small creek that ran into the sea, sitting on a bluff the Round House. As soon as he spotted the house he quickly ducked down and crawled along the opposite side of the dune until he felt he was close to where he could get a good view of the house. John made his way slowly with his large spotting scope in his back pack. Once on top, hidden fairly well he set up his spotting scope and looked down at the Round House some two hundred fifty yards away.

For twenty minutes he looked down as the sun tried to break through the drifting clouds rushing inland. The sun was off his right shoulder and no reflection off his glass should be noticed. The first thing he saw was a large dog with three pups in the front yard. Two cars and a van sat in a gravel parking lot in front of the house. He saw a trail leading down to the beach across the side hill of the bluff. One nice spot for a house, he thought. No doubt the security was about the latest technology as he settled in for a long watch until about noon he thought. He’d brought a sandwich along with him and some bottled water. A heavy coat made of Gore-Tex to stay warm and dry if it rained

After watching the house he thought about the written letter to the Batt Team and would mail it from the Bandon Post office. Then his plan was to meet up with his brother at the truck stop just north of Salem off I-5. Some movement caught his attention as a man walked out of the door making John’s heart pound with excitement knowing he was looking at the leader Brad Pratt at his own home with the Senior Killer watching him through a spotting scope. Another large black dog was left outside while the other tan dog and her pups went into the house.

He focused on the large black dog who first did a three sixty of the house and then sat staring up at him! John never moved an inch while the dog sat and looked his direction. Fear and adrenaline raced through his body knowing if spotted the chase was on. Before he left the motel he borrowed some Oregon plates for just this trip. If he had to make a run for it, he didn’t want Washington plates standing out like a red flag to local and state police. If discovered he was sort of boxed in. South on 101 where no roads east were available until the Oregon California border; or back north on 101 of Coos Bay; and what was an unlikely option was a highway that went to Coquille from Bandon and then highway 42 to Roseburg and I-5.

About the time he decided to pack it in the black dog set off the alarm and after setting off the alarm raced down the side of the bluff directly towards him. John left the scope and raced down the back side of the sand dune falling head over heels rolling to a stop at the bottom of the hill next to the parking lot. Completely out of breath and the hair standing up on his neck knowing the dog would be on him in only seconds. Dragging his car key out, pressed the unlock button, he jumped in and was off out of the parking lot when the black dog entered the parking lot just behind him. The dog chased for a few seconds, but looking in his mirror, he saw the dog give up the chase and turn around trotting back home. John’s hands were shaking and his heart was about to come out of his chest he thought. He tried to settle down and drive safely, but realized he was driving way too fast as he rounded a sharp corner to the left and then down a steep hill, back up the other side and came to a stop sign on highway 101. A sign pointed left to Bandon and to the right and south to Port Orford. He turned left and found he had slowly come back to normal as he drove the speed limit back to Bandon about four miles north.