Strange Harvest (2024)

[bunniefuu]

There's still

so many things

we don't understand

about this case,

and probably never will.

We just had bits and pieces

of some kind

of strange puzzle.

And even if we could put them

all together,

I don't know if I want to see

whatever picture they make.

Yeah.

Uh-huh.

My name is Joseph Kirby.

I'm a former

lead detective sergeant

in San Bernardino County.

I was supervising

the Major Crimes Unit

between 2007 and 2015.

San Bernardino County

is about 60 miles east

of Los Angeles.

It is a part of California's

Inland Empire region.

We have a population

of about two million.

We've seen

our share of violent crimes,

g*ng-related homicides,

relatively large-scale

drug busts,

what have you.

We probably run

upwards of 65 murders a year

in the San Bernardino County

Sheriff's Homicide Bureau,

which is higher

than the national average.

But I had never seen

anything like what happened

to the Sheridan family

on Alton Avenue.

Nobody had.

911,

what is your emergency?

My name...

My name is Kacie Porter,

and I was friends

with Tiffany Sheridan.

Our kids went

to the same elementary school.

When you have kids that age,

and you meet a lot of parents

that you don't always care for,

but Tiff and I,

we just hit it off.

We were supposed to meet

at this restaurant for lunch,

but she never showed,

and I just...

I figured she had forgotten,

so I let it go.

But then Lauren came home,

and she said

that Sam hadn't been

to school in a few days.

And, um, I kept calling

and I kept texting,

but I never got a reply back.

And I just knew,

in the back of my head,

that something is wrong.

I'm Will Martinez.

I'm a deputy sheriff

with the San Bernardino

Sheriff's Department.

Me and my partner

were the first officers

to arrive on scene.

We got a call

regarding a welfare check

for a residence

in the Shandin Hills.

Nice area.

It was a gated community,

as I remember.

The whole thing felt weird.

Something about it

was just off.

Police department!

Police department!

Anybody home?

We need to go around.

Police department! Anyone home?

My partner called out,

identified ourselves again,

but there was no movement.

Hello?

Anybody home?

Mother of God.

This was a crime scene.

Oh,

what happened to them...

I think about it every day.

I have nightmares about it.

Why them?

That... was a bad day.

When I saw that, I was...

floored.

I looked at my partner

and I said,

"Oh, my God, he's back."

Hi.

My name's Lexi Taylor.

I'm a senior homicide detective

for the San Bernardino P.D.

I worked as a patrol officer

for about nine years

before being offered

a job in the homicide bureau,

and that's when I started

working with my partner,

Joe Kirby.

Growing up,

my mom worked two jobs

to support me

and my older brother.

There was a rotating door

of less-than-great men,

you would say,

come and go in our life.

I think that's

when I first started

thinking that,

maybe, I would like

to try to help people.

You know,

maybe I could help someone

like my mom

out of a tough situation.

I actually never intended

to be a cop.

I had aspirations of being

a drummer in a metal band.

But one of my friend's brothers

was in the Academy,

and I thought it sounded cool.

I liked how you had

to think on your feet,

use your brain

as well as your body.

After a couple of days

in training,

I was hooked, man.

That is

how I have always approached

my career in law enforcement.

Try to be there for people

when things are at their worst.

And, f*ck, it was never worse

than on this case.

Between 1993 and 1995,

there were three murders

in Riverside

and San Bernardino County

that we eventually

realized were serial murders,

and which had

some ritualistic aspects.

I think this is it.

Yeah.

Okay, she was covered

with a blue tarp.

You could see it

easily from the road.

This is a service road,

not a lot of people

come down it.

It was just horrible.

I mean, you never expect

to see something like that.

On August 8th, 1993,

the torso of 24-year-old

Shifra Gutierrez

is discovered

in San Bernardino

National Forest.

She had been dismembered.

Her genitals mutilated.

The uterus removed.

The coroner gave

a best-guess estimate

she had been there two weeks,

but it's difficult to tell.

Shifra was my best friend

in high school.

She was a dope b*tch.

She just had

this joy for living,

and this lust for life,

you know?

And she was funny as f*ck.

She wasn't a bad person.

You know, she just...

I don't know, she just

got into some bad sh*t,

like a lot of people

out here do.

I was always telling her,

I was like,

"This is dangerous, Shifra.

You know,

you gotta stop doing this."

Oh, sh*t, I said

I wasn't going to do this.

There's an area off the 91

in the Casablanca

neighborhood,

and that's where Shifra

was last seen.

We do know she went up

to a room at a motel

called Dean's Corner that was

frequented by sex workers.

And there was

a man with her, but...

clerk couldn't remember

what he looked like.

He could've k*lled her there.

Could've been strangulation,

for example.

We'll probably never know.

What we do know for sure

is that she was somehow moved

from that room

without anybody noticing.

Or somebody noticed

and just didn't care.

But we got our first lead.

A name.

All guests

had to fill out a ledger,

and the suspect

had written down

the name Albert Shiny.

And the case went cold.

I don't need to tell you that,

especially at that time,

sex workers

and marginalized people

tended to get

the short end of the stick

in the criminal justice system.

I'm not saying it was right.

I'm just saying it was,

and is the reality.

So, it was written off

as an isolated incident.

But we were wrong.

A grisly crime scene

has police on high alert

in Arlanza tonight,

not far from the Riverside

Municipal Airport,

where the body of 82-year-old

Ambrose Griffith

was discovered m*rder*d

in his apartment

earlier today.

Mr. Griffith was disabled

and, apparently,

suffered from MDS,

a blood condition

that required daily assistance

from a caretaker.

Nine months after

Shifra Gutierrez is k*lled,

Ambrose Griffith

is found m*rder*d

in his assisted

living facility.

On the night of June 3rd, 1994,

someone scaled the back side

of his building

and entered his unit

through a sliding glass door

that was apparently

left unlocked.

He was bludgeoned

with an oxygen tank

that was in his room,

and then stabbed

more than 30 times

with a box cutter.

That was brutal.

And you gotta understand,

this guy was bedbound.

I mean, he could not walk,

or could barely walk,

on his own.

So, he was totally defenseless

to the attack,

which was

obviously unprovoked.

No one else in the building

heard so much as a peep

from his room.

So, it must've happened fast,

which is...

some comfort, I guess.

One of his eyes

was also removed.

It was a sloppy scene.

A m*rder committed

by somebody in a frenzy

who was not thinking it

through at all.

It's probably why we were able

to get our first real clue.

The print was run

through the system,

but nothing came back.

The lab guys

stayed on it for weeks,

but it was only a partial.

No motive.

82-year-old victim

with no family and few friends,

except the few people

that lived in his building

who were just

as sick as he was.

So, the police didn't make

any connection

with the Gutierrez m*rder.

Not yet.

It's okay. It's okay.

It's okay. It's okay.

We want to thank everyone

from the Riverside

Police Department

with their continued support.

Someone out there

knows what happened

to our little boy, and...

and...

We are begging

for you to help us

return him home

safely and unharmed.

Noah Lafone

was abducted

while walking home from school

on October 7th, 1995.

He was 12 years old.

There were no witnesses,

and pretty much

no information to go on.

There was

a pretty extensive search

and media effort this time

to try to find him.

We were doing door-to-doors.

This was the first case

I was on involving a child,

so I really threw myself

into it.

I'd get off work and I'd go

join Search and Rescue.

People put

in hundreds of hours,

but days turned into weeks

and it gets harder and harder

to stay positive.

Three months later, in January,

his body is discovered

in a shallow creek

near Silverwood Lake.

He had been weighed down

by concrete bricks,

and his body

was in pretty bad shape.

There were

multiple lacerations

to his abdomen,

and his liver

had been removed.

Twelve years old.

Whole life ahead of him.

Poof.

We also found a box cutter,

the weapon,

as well as Noah's

school backpack

and all its contents.

This is where we got

our second lead.

It was a page

that had been written on

and then torn out,

but you could still see

an imprint.

Kaliban.

What the heck was kaliban?

A bird from the Caribbean,

we found out.

Or a character

from Shakespeare.

I mean, was this

some kind of a code?

Was this

another Zodiac k*ller?

Then, two weeks after

his body was discovered,

the Riverside Police Department

received a letter in the mail.

Provided details

of the three killings.

It was unreleased information

only the police would know,

which basically proves

whoever wrote it

was the k*ller,

or at least someone

who had direct contact

with the k*ller.

And there was a message.

Thanks for not catching me.

Learned a lot.

Ten transits remain,

isn't it insane?

I'll be back.

Was he telling us he was

planning on k*lling ten more?

Was that what he meant?

This was the first time

we realized

this was

an actual serial k*ller.

It's worth mentioning

the jurisdictional problems

that can arise when someone

commits a m*rder

across county lines.

It can make connecting them

a lot more difficult.

But this guy wanted us to know.

He wanted us

to know what he did,

and that he wasn't finished.

And he signs the letter

with that symbol.

Years went by.

The cases went cold.

Detectives at that time figured

whoever was responsible

for the three deaths

was either incarcerated

for another crime

or had died,

because they probably

wouldn't have stopped k*lling

on their own.

But as soon as I saw

that symbol on the ceiling,

I realized that was

the k*ller from '95.

He wasn't bluffing

in his letter.

He hadn't stopped.

He'd just taken

a 15-year break.

Why?

We're still trying

to figure that one out.

One thing's for sure.

If his first m*rder

spree had felt sloppy

and unplanned,

this new one was anything but.

The suspect

gained entry

through the first

floor bathroom window,

cut through a screen

on the side of the house,

then attacks Ted and Tiffany

sometime after 1:15 a.m.,

after Tiffany sends

her last work email.

There was bruising

on Ted's face.

Struck by a blunt object.

We think the suspect probably

roughed him up

as a form of intimidation,

and convinced him and Tiffany

to go downstairs willingly.

This little girl, Samantha...

Yeah, it looks like she put up

more of a fight.

Some of the furniture

in her room,

her comforter,

all disturbed and in disarray.

The suspect zip-ties

their hands and feet,

wraps duct tape

around their mouths.

You see,

this guy had gotten smarter.

He'd learned

from the murders in '95.

Less sloppy, more methodical.

I mean, the buckets?

What the f*ck?

Pardon my French.

He ties the three of them

to chairs

around the dining room.

Deliberately facing each other,

do you understand?

He places their feet

in these five-gallon

painters buckets.

He prepared these things

ahead of time.

Like,

they had their names on them.

Literally.

Like, "Ted," "Tiffany,"

"Samantha" written out.

He draws three lines

on each of them,

like the kind you'd find

on a measuring cup.

Except this wasn't

for measuring out rice.

It was for their blood.

By volume.

Going.

Going.

Gone.

The suspect used a box cutter

to make a small,

six-centimeter incision

through the skin

on each victim.

And the result

was fatal blood loss.

There's about a gallon

and a half of blood

in the human body.

It takes maybe 15 minutes

for that to drain out,

but you can be dead

in as soon as three.

The femoral artery

is at your groin,

basically the top

of your thigh.

If you're sitting upright,

gravity just kind

of does its thing.

The technical term

for this is exsanguination.

Part of what really

earns that term,

"ritualistic,"

in my opinion,

is anything done post-mortem.

So, in a normal homicide,

you stab a person,

sh**t a person,

you get the heck out of there.

You don't stick around.

Every second you wait

is another second

to get caught.

From what we can put together,

our suspect hung around

another two hours at least.

He leaves the house,

comes back

with a 24-foot extension ladder

that he gets from his vehicle,

and then he goes to work

painting this thing

on the ceiling.

And it's not a small room,

and he goes

almost wall to wall.

It's almost 20 feet.

And he does a good job.

He's careful,

does a couple of layers,

almost no drips on the floor.

Then he positions the bodies.

And all this

he does without any neighbors

hearing a sound

or seeing a thing.

No fingerprints,

no DNA left at the scene.

No motive.

No relation to the victims.

Three days later,

another letter arrives

in the mail.

Hope you blue baddies

are having fun chasing my tail

because the harvest

has just begun,

and reaping's so much fun!

A gruesome discovery

was made just this morning

by a jogger

of a human head here,

in Perris Hill Park.

The jogger, Chelsea Lunsford,

has been coming here

every weekday morning

for two years.

She enjoys the serenity

of the landscape,

and was not prepared

for what she would find.

My friend was just telling me

how I should bring a mace

or a stun g*n

or something with me

when I go running, and...

Yeah, I guess she was right.

On the night

of November 8th,

the suspect entered the home

of the two victims,

Tamara Latour

and her boyfriend,

Glen Sandweiss,

through a dog door

in the back of the house.

They were watching TV

in the living room.

The volume was up,

which allowed him to sneak up

on them undetected

until the last minute.

According to Mr. Sandweiss,

he attacks Tamara first,

uses a stun g*n

to incapacitate her.

We think the suspect

was not expecting Sandweiss

to be home.

Sandweiss says

that he seems confused.

There's a brief struggle

before Sandweiss

is overpowered by the suspect,

brought to the floor.

That's when the attack

with the propane torch begins.

He literally burns

this guy's face off.

Is there anything else

you can remember

that will help us

catch who did this?

What the f*ck is happening?

Oh, God,

what am I going to do?

What do you want to know?

The f*ck you think I haven't?

You really think

I was going to be able

to be a teacher

looking like this?

Standing up in front

of a group of fifth-graders?

They'd be terrified.

Doing what?

Telling my story?

Huh?

Trying to be inspirational?

I can't work.

Got no friends.

Nerve damage.

Feels like my face

is on fire all the time.

I'm already dead, man.

I'm just not in the ground...

like Tamara is.

f*ck!

You... You got what you need.

I'm f*cking done.

Get my money and get the f*ck

out of my house.

Tamara's head,

the sculpture,

the weird trinkets

on the ground,

all of it was

carefully examined.

And, once again,

no fingerprints,

no DNA left behind.

We had nothing.

Until we got lucky.

A woman who works

at the strip mall

down the street from the park

said she had seen a guy

with a truck

unloading several garbage bags

into a dumpster

the morning of the m*rder.

White truck,

red lettering, she said.

So, we pulled footage

from the Credit Union's ATM

at the strip mall and...

It wasn't a great angle,

but it did catch something.

The owner

of the white truck,

Victor Shamaz,

was a 45-year-old man

living in Riverside

who had a small house

painting business.

He had a rap sheet.

It was relatively clean.

Few minor narcotics citations,

a B&E from a decade earlier.

But he had a restraining order

taken out against him recently

for apparently stalking

a woman he met online.

That didn't sit well with us.

We called him

in for questioning

and he agreed.

Mr. Shamaz,

thank you for meeting

with us today.

Yeah. It's...

Yeah. Just, you know,

wanted to help.

So, just to be clear,

Shamaz continues to claim

he has no knowledge

of any crimes,

that he simply didn't notice

his work truck was stolen.

We asked him

if he'd be willing to take

a polygraph test,

to which he agrees.

Is your name

Victor Shamaz?

- Yes.

- He bombs

the polygraph test

about as badly as you can.

Chose to be evasive,

or lying about nearly

every question asked.

In fact,

the only question he actually

appears to tell the truth

on are his name and address.

Of course, polygraph tests

aren't always accurate,

and they're

not admissible in court.

It's just a useful tool.

But it was pretty obvious

Shamaz was lying.

So, Shamaz manages

to get himself arrested

after it's discovered

he's carrying

a fairly large amount

of methamphetamine

and an unregistered handgun.

Looks like Shamaz

was trying to skip town.

I, uh, just wanted to come

and clear the air, you know?

I was at this Quick-N-Go...

Okay, slow down.

It became evident

Shamaz wasn't our guy.

I mean, he was a scumbag,

but he wasn't our scumbag

and he didn't really

know anything.

Although he did give us

one new piece of information.

No, I... Yeah, I saw him.

I should've mentioned

that, but...

He started

wearing a mask.

That meant only one thing.

He'd seen us on the news

and knew we were

actively pursuing him.

Oh, he wanted to make that loud

and clear in his next letter.

So close, yet so far!

How frustrating that must be.

The great Shambler

arrives at the gate.

We will all perish

in a flesh mausoleum

but be reborn amidst

wonder and glory forever.

A few months go by,

nothing new happens.

And of course,

a part of me is thinking,

hoping, maybe that's it.

Maybe it's already over

and this guy's finished.

Yeah, but another part of me,

the cynical part,

knows it can't be true.

He'll let us know

when he's finished.

It's about 6:00 in the morning

and I get a call from Joe.

They found another body.

Earlier this morning,

a horrific discovery

was reported to police here,

at the North Riverside

Aquatic Center.

This was a bad one.

A group of skate kids broke

into the building

to check the place out

and smoke weed.

You know, just a couple

of dumb teenagers.

They're not going to be doing

that again anytime soon.

When you first saw the body,

it looked like...

like it was covered

in mud or slime or something,

'cause it was so shiny.

Coroner's official

cause of death?

Fatal loss of blood

by leeches.

Victim's name

was Dennis Zao,

a 43-year-old

Chinese immigrant

living in Riverside.

He was last seen leaving

an apartment he shared

with several other people

to catch a bus

and was never seen again.

Body's found four days later,

and he had only been deceased

less than a day.

Our suspect

had been breeding them, right?

This particular type of leech

takes about three weeks

for the eggs

to form and hatch,

then another two weeks

to reach maturity.

So, he'd been preparing

this thing for over a month.

Coming here, day after day,

checking in on his babies,

feeding them,

keeping their water clean,

checking the pH.

He might be a monster,

but he does have some kind

of paternal instinct.

Then he abducts Dennis Zao

and brings him here,

strips him naked,

puts him in the water.

He creates this barrier

around the deep end

and all along the edges

so he can't get out

no matter how hard he tries.

Then he begins releasing

these things in the pool.

The species found in the pool

with Mr. Zao

is called H. stagnalis.

In the case of H. Stagnalis,

it has this sucker

on the front of its body

that it uses

to attach to the host.

They have three small jaws

that create

a Y-shaped incision.

It's how they get

the tasty paydirt.

Leeches will consume up

to ten times

their own body weight

in blood,

which sounds like a lot

but it's really...

It's like two teaspoons.

This bloodletting-by-leeches

process went on for nearly

three straight days.

The suspect

just methodically keeps

fishing out full leeches,

adding more empties,

on and on...

as Dennis Zao becomes

more and more incapacitated.

I've always been lousy

at math, but, basically,

it took a sh*t ton of leeches

to k*ll Dennis Zao.

Eventually, after he was naked

in this filthy,

leech-filled water,

he finally succumbed

to his injuries.

Oh, and the reason no one

ever hears screaming

from the building?

Zao's tongue was cut out.

A leech bite

looks a little like

the symbol, doesn't it?

See how it's

sort of a triangle?

But like most clues,

this just led

to more questions.

What do these dots mean?

What the hell am I looking at?

We later figured out

that the suspect

first got in contact

with Mr. Zao

because of a Craigslist ad

he posted.

They had exchanged

a few messages

and then arranged

to meet up for sex

at a motel down the street

from the pool.

This finally led

to the big break in the case.

Our technicians were able

to identify the IP address

where the Craigslist ad

was originally posted.

The ad and subsequent

back-and-forth messaging

had been made

from a coffee shop

in Mission Grove

on February 11th.

This was a huge lead.

We finally were able

to trace the suspect's

whereabout

outside of a crime scene.

I mean, I gotta admit,

I was really starting to think

we were chasing a ghost

or a vampire or something.

We did surveillance

on the place for about a week.

The last thing we wanted to do

was draw any attention

to ourselves.

If this guy was a regular,

for example,

and came in all the time...

I mean, we were always

hoping and praying

maybe he swings by

for a cup of coffee

or place another ad,

and just like that,

we'd have him.

No such luck.

There were three employees

working that day.

None of them

could remember the suspect.

It's a popular place,

so he may have picked it

for that reason.

No surveillance system,

no cameras anywhere at all.

But the area does have

a large homeless population.

Excuse me, sir.

You mind if I talk to you

for a sec?

That's...

You're talking about the one

near Andulka Park?

Yeah. Yeah, that's it.

I'm just sitting there, right?

And he...

He comes up to me and...

I knew what he wanted.

"I want to hire you

as day labor."

Did he say

what kind of labor?

Uh... landscaping.

Working on the house

or something.

And you get in his car?

- Yep.

- What kind of car?

Like a...

sedan or something.

Like a, like a blue Camry.

When I started

talking to this guy,

my jaw was on the floor, man.

I mean, if he was telling

the truth, this was huge.

We even had

a vehicle description.

But it gets even better.

Mr. Johnson tells us

he knows

where the suspect's house is.

Apparently, the suspect

had driven him to it.

Okay, see that?

It wants you to go left,

but you're going

to go straight.

He didn't know

the street address,

but he says

he thinks he can remember

how to get there by memory.

Apparently, he'd been driven

to a residence in Highgrove,

where the suspect says

he needs to grab

some tools before they went

to the so-called "job site."

And that's

what brought us

to 144 Artesian Avenue.

After picking up a duffel bag,

they get

on the 215 headed north.

Mr. Johnson says

the guy seems normal, friendly.

I mean, even conversational.

And that brings us

to the bracelet.

Johnson says he found

this bracelet

in a trash container

a few years ago.

Says he just likes to wear it,

thinks it's cool.

Apparently,

the suspect asks him about it,

starts grilling him.

"How long

have you been a diabetic?

Do you take insulin?" etc.

Johnson tells him

the bracelet's not his.

And then the suspect

gets very visibly angry,

pulls off the highway,

tells him to get out,

drives off, and that's that.

Johnson never sees him again.

He's incredibly lucky.

I believe if that bracelet

had been real,

if Johnson had fit

whatever criteria

our suspect was looking for,

he would most definitely

be dead right now.

After learning

all this we go to the house.

Just a normal house.

We knock.

Nobody's home.

But we can't just kick

the door in

without probable cause.

I mean,

all we've got is the word

of an unemployed dr*fter

with a minor criminal record

who we also paid

for the information he gave us.

It's not going

to get us a warrant.

And that's when I see it

above the door,

staring us in the face.

We kept most of the evidence

we had, which wasn't much,

pretty close to the chest

as far as the media

was concerned.

That symbol, the image,

was never released

to the public.

So, nobody could know about it

unless they were involved

in one of the crimes.

That was enough.

We called in the cavalry.

Big windows on left.

All clear!

I don't know

what I was expecting

to find in there.

t*rture dungeon,

haunted house,

something from a horror movie.

But it wasn't like that at all.

It was... banal.

Mundane.

That doesn't mean

it wasn't a little weird.

But weird doesn't necessarily

make you guilty.

There was no evidence

the person that lived there

was involved in anything,

other than the symbol

over the doorway,

and that was

purely circumstantial.

Look at this.

That's just lovely, isn't it?

The property owner

was an older woman

who lived in San Diego

who said she'd been renting

the house to...

You guessed it,

someone who called themselves

Albert Shiny.

Apparently, Mr. Shiny

was willing to pay

for a year upfront in cash,

so she didn't ask

too many questions

and had only met him twice.

So, we start

dusting for fingerprints

but we can't find any,

literally.

Not one print,

which makes no sense

for the inside

of someone's house.

There should be

thousands of them.

I mean,

was this guy wearing gloves

every second of every day?

Finally,

we found some fingerprints

on a telescope that was

outside, on the deck.

We immediately

got them out to the lab

and ran through the computer.

And boom, we got a hit.

The print matched the partial

that was found in '95

on the Noah Lafone m*rder.

I couldn't believe it.

We might have our guy.

The fingerprints belonged

to a Leslie Sykes,

born December 20th,

1962 in Branson, Missouri.

Homer Johnson,

the homeless gentleman,

swore Sykes was the person

who had given him a ride.

The woman who rented the house

also IDed him off his photo.

Sykes had no criminal record,

no employment history,

no current address,

no phone number

or bank account and,

big surprise,

the guy hadn't paid taxes

in more than two decades.

Yeah, he really was a ghost,

but he was our ghost

and we had to find him

before he k*lled again.

Riverside police are asking

for the public's help

in locating this man.

Fifty-year-old Leslie Sykes

is a person of interest

in what has been dubbed

as "the Mr. Shiny murders."

The k*ller in that case

has now taken the lives

of eight people

in both San Bernardino

and Riverside counties,

and is still at large.

We tried to do

a total media blitz,

get this guy's picture in front

of as many people as possible.

The story got carried

all over California,

even in a few other

surrounding states,

but no one was really

paying attention.

But one person that did see

the coverage

was Leslie Sykes.

Leslie Sykes

has been transfigured.

You can't stop him

or what he has become.

Hail Azragor!

Hail Drag Aul!

You have no idea

what I am saying.

Five to go

and then you'll know.

Five to go

and then we'll know...

what?

It was a sick game to him,

but it was also

absolutely serious.

Would he really stop at five?

The next m*rder happened

less than a month later,

March 19th.

The victim was a 16-year-old

high school student

named Victoria Macenroe.

Sixteen.

She was alone at her parents'

home in Hiland.

They had gone out to visit

friends in Rancho Cucamonga.

Sykes jumped the gate

and entered

through a first floor window

at or around 9:21.

And we know this

because it was caught

on camera.

Okay, so this is

the Color Dreams palette

by Adorable Damage.

I am just obsessed

with this brand lately.

I actually reviewed

their Shimmer Shadow palette

in my top ten video

and they are

just k*lling it, okay?

What I'm going to do

is I'm going to go in

for kind of a smoky look

with this one right here.

And then, you can just go in,

like, a circular motion.

You don't have to do

a bunch of back-and-forth

windshield-wiper crap.

So, start...

"Windshield wiper,"

that sounds stupid.

Hey, I thought you were going

to text me on the way home!

I'm starving!

Mom? Mom?

Dad?

No, please! Please!

No, please! Please!

The video glitches

pretty bad there

and it's hard to tell

what's going on.

We've combed

over it frame by frame,

but it's just too messed up

to see anything clearly.

But obviously,

Sykes was performing

some kind of ritual.

Ritual m*rder,

strictly speaking,

is a relatively

obscure phenomenon

not just in the United States,

but worldwide.

It just doesn't happen

that often in its purest form.

To this day,

people still believe

that the Manson Family

was a satanic cult.

It's not true.

Of course, that's not to say

that ritual m*rder

never happens.

There were the m*rder-suicides

in the Solar Temple cult,

the Fall Rivers cult,

Order of the Black Sun.

The Mr. Shiny murders

definitely seem ritualistic,

but I didn't recognize

any of the iconography.

This wasn't some goetic rite

pulled from a grimoire,

there was nothing Abrahamic.

As I told the police

at that time,

whatever it was,

this guy was a true believer

and very, very dangerous.

And this is

all crazy in its own right,

but what's truly unexpected

is what happens next.

Somehow, Victoria

survives being shot

not only in the head,

but in the back twice

and the shoulder.

This is probably

because a 22-caliber weapon

was used,

and just incredible luck.

Victoria?

Oh, my God!

Emergency workers

arrive in about 15 minutes

and they're able

to stabilize Victoria

on her way to

St. Bernardine Medical Center.

I wish I could tell you

the story ended there.

After going through surgery,

she was put

in the recovery ward,

and I had multiple officers

assigned to guard her room,

just in case.

And the hospital security

was put on alert.

It should've been enough.

Sykes attacks

and subdues a nurse

just getting off his shift

in the hospital parking lot,

takes his uniform

and entry badge.

He walks straight

through the front doors,

right past security,

and goes to Macenroe's floor.

I mean, he seems to know

exactly where to go.

He goes to the nurses' station

and introduces himself

to the other staff,

says he was transferred

from Pediatrics.

They believe him.

Says he knows

all the vernacular

and hospital procedure.

Sykes quite literally cares

for three different patients

over a four-hour period.

He walks by police

and security several times

and is never noticed.

Yeah, including by Joe or me.

He was right there.

We practically

touched each other.

If I'd just

been paying attention,

if I'd just

looked into his eyes...

I'll never forgive myself

for not realizing

just how bold

he might really be.

He waits

until there's a shift change,

enters the room

for storing pharmaceuticals,

and proceeds to poison an AB

negative blood transfusion bag

with an industrial cleaner

he finds

in a custodial closet.

He knows that Macenroe

is the only with AB negative

in the wing and is the only one

who will receive that bag.

Then he leaves.

Later that night,

a nurse comes in to rotate out

Macenroe's backup bag

and unknowingly replaces it

with the poisoned one.

Victoria was dead

within minutes,

but Sykes was long gone

by then.

This was a huge blow

to everyone involved

in the case.

The one victim that survived,

we couldn't protect her.

I mean, we were right there.

We could've had him.

Yeah, that was one

of the roughest nights

in my entire life.

Could we take a break?

Yeah.

It was a rollercoaster.

Realizing

that she might be hurt,

then thinking

that she might be okay...

thinking

that she was okay, and...

Some days I feel

like she's still here.

Yeah.

We couldn't touch it.

I think about

that saying a lot,

"you really die the last time

someone says your name."

Yeah, I guess

we kept all her stuff

because we didn't want her

to die.

Even though I know she's dead.

Victoria Macenroe was

serial k*ller

Leslie Sykes' ninth

and most recent victim

in the Mr. Shiny murders,

a k*lling spree that spans

three counties

and over 18 years.

Authorities continue to urge

the public

to keep a watchful

lookout for Sykes,

who remains at large

and is considered armed

and extremely dangerous.

Residents of the Hiland

neighborhood

where Macenroe was m*rder*d

have expressed

their frustration at police

for their inability

to capture,

or even come close

to capturing,

the elusive k*ller.

It's unacceptable.

It's insane.

Somebody in the San Bernardino

Police Department

should be held accountable

for letting it get out of hand

like this.

It's messed up how they haven't

caught the guy yet.

This used to be

a pretty great place to live,

but, honestly,

I'm really scared.

And that girl,

she just lives, like,

a couple blocks from here!

So, I mean, who's next, right?

We were really

feeling the pressure

by this point.

Macenroe's m*rder seemed to be

the straw that broke

the camel's back

in terms of public outrage.

But I felt for all of them.

Every single victim

deserved justice.

And for everything

we'd done up until this point,

until you catch your guy,

you haven't done sh*t.

We'd already been offering

a cash reward

for any lead that led

to the arrest of Leslie Sykes,

but I convinced the D.A.'s

Office to substantially up it.

It ended up being

one of the highest

in San Bernardino's history.

$80,000 for just one person.

At the same time,

we were digging

into Sykes' past,

trying to figure out

everything we could,

which wasn't easy.

All his known relatives

were dead.

He had been

briefly married in '88

to a woman named

Suzanne Hemler,

but that was over by '91.

Tried to contact her,

but she committed suicide

in 2008.

We started reaching out

to people

Sykes went to high school with,

but nobody seems

to remember him.

Finally, we find

someone who will talk to us.

A guy named Jared Kelly.

How so?

Just, like, agitated,

distracted.

A cave?

Like what?

It's, like, ingrained.

Which is metal as f*ck.

Police.

Sykes attempts

to break into the residence

of Miles and Kelly Harris,

an older couple

living in Rancho West.

He scaled the fence

into their backyard,

but is almost

immediately attacked

by the Harrises'

48-pound pit bull, Caesar.

Mr. Harris

overhears the commotion,

looks into his backyard

and sees

the struggle happening.

I mean, this was a big animal,

and it's able to physically

knock Sykes off his feet.

We know he was hurt pretty bad

because we find blood

on the ground

in multiple places.

Sadly, the dog's

only able to keep this up

for so long before Sykes

uses a bladed weapon

and stabs it repeatedly,

then he jumps the fence again.

This time,

I was not going to let

the same thing

happen to the Harrises

that happened

to Victoria Macenroe.

They were immediately

put into protective custody.

Not that it mattered,

because Sykes must have had

a backup plan for that night.

31-year-old Leo Deetz

was working the night shift

at a 24-hour doughnut shop

in La Sierra

when he was attacked.

Yeah, I don't

like fantasy sh*t,

but this one's

actually pretty dope.

It's, like,

violence and sex and stuff.

It's based on books,

so it seems pretty legit.

Yeah. Yeah, you too, man.

Yeah. Peace!

Leo Deetz

is found the next morning

with his heart

removed from his body.

A security guard sees Sykes

exit the back of the shop

and tries to confront him,

but Sykes flees.

Honestly,

I was just doing my job.

I was wrapping up my rounds

for the evening

here in this complex.

I was going to take

some doughnuts home

to me and the girlfriend.

I saw a man leaving the shop

in a very, very weird mask.

The guard

still manages to grab

his license plate number

and report it to the police.

I'm just bummed

I didn't get the reward money.

In the surveillance video

from the doughnut shop,

you could tell Sykes

was in pain from the dog bite.

He's unfocused and unprepared.

Then he's forced

to ditch his car

after it's reported

by the guard,

which we find abandoned

near the 91

and 215 interchange.

The more desperate

Sykes became,

the more likely

he was to make a mistake.

That was the hope.

We'd

kind of hit a brick wall

digging into Sykes' past.

He just vanished

into thin air after '91.

That's when we realized

it's because he wasn't

in the country.

Turns out Sykes had used

his late ex-wife's credit card

to purchase a one-way ticket

to, of all places, Jerusalem.

I know, what the F, right?

I mean, we were just baffled.

And we also realized

this was beyond the scope

of our resources,

so we reached out

to the FBI

and asked for their help.

They, in turn, got in contact

with Interpol

and a whole side

investigation got underway,

trying to find out what Sykes

was doing over there.

What was found out was...

Let's just say

it didn't clear anything up.

Sykes flies

to Jerusalem in '96,

not long after the m*rder

of Noah Lafone,

and then, evidently,

he passes into Syria.

Now, the information here

is sketchy at best,

but apparently, Sykes

was living in northern Iraq

for two years,

but then flees

after Operation Desert Fox

in '98.

As far as we know,

Sykes didn't speak Arabic,

but apparently, he learned.

Sykes then crosses

the border into Turkey,

and then into Italy in 2001.

While there, he attends

a museum exhibit

on Etruscan pottery

in the city of Mantua

and gets into some sort

of altercation and is arrested.

I don't know

what Sykes is doing

looking at Etruscan pottery,

but he doesn't stay

in Italy long

before moving

on to Germany in 2003.

And that's where we learn

of someone who claims

to have had direct contact

with him there.

I met Mr. Sykes

when I was living in Xanten.

He contacted me

through the internet

about several books

that I was selling.

Specifically,

he was looking to buy

my copy of a printed work

from the late Middle Ages,

a manuscript known

as...

It's a very valuable book,

only half a dozen copies

or something still exist.

It's a book of spells,

basically.

Witchcraft.

Well, he wanted to buy it

off me,

but I wasn't selling.

I don't know

if he was for real or not,

but he offered

some wild prizes.

100, 150,000 euro.

The guy kind of creeped me out,

to be honest.

So, when my shop was vandalized

a couple days later

and the book was gone,

I immediately knew who did it.

To know that I came

that close in contact

with a serial k*ller...

The thing that gets me

more than anything else

though is what the hell

happened to that book.

We had hoped,

maybe, that Sykes

would be deterred

by how bungled

the last two attacks had been.

We didn't think he would stop,

but maybe just slow down

long enough

for us to find him.

If anything, it must have

reinvigorated his cause.

Get in the f*cking car, Coby!

- This is not our issue.

- Wait!

We can't just leave him!

Are you f*cking kidding me?

This is not our problem!

I'm leaving.

Emily! Wait!

Holy sh*t.

This is f*cking crazy.

The victim

was Saroj Mallick,

the security guard

that saw Sykes

behind the doughnut shop

and reported his plate

to police.

After leaving work

on April 2nd,

he was supposed to meet

his girlfriend at a bar

at 8:30 but never shows.

He doesn't show up

for work the next day either,

and his cell phone is off.

Although his coworkers

are a little concerned,

nothing's reported to police.

I guess he had a habit

of just blowing out

to Vegas for the weekend

without telling anybody.

But he didn't go to Vegas.

The following day

he's found hung

from a public playground

swing set.

"Displayed" is the word.

It was a form of t*rture

the ancient Vikings

used to use called

"blood eagle."

The flesh of the back

is cut open,

ribs are bent back,

then both lungs are pulled out.

The mutilation resembles...

Yeah, you guessed it, wings.

Blood eagle.

It was clearly done

for dramatic effect.

When the Fire Department

is getting his body down,

they find a CD.

The f*ck?

Hello?

Hello?

Anybody, help!

Hello!

Help!

Hello!

Somebody help me!

Yo, yo, yo, yo! Okay, okay!

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Sir, please no, no, no!

Oh! Oh, sh*t!

No! No! f*ck!

No! sh*t! Somebody!

Stop it! Somebody!

Okay, I'll do anything!

I'll do anything!

Please stop!

Please stop! Please stop!

Okay.

"I have been selected

because of my direct actions.

I should not have interfered

with the Great One's plan.

And for my blasphemies,

I will be put into transit."

Hello?

Hello?

Help!

He wanted us to know

he was punishing this guy

for trying to stop him.

He was saying,

"Stay out of his way or else."

He was saying,

"This is your fault, not mine."

Oh, but I do.

No, I'll carry his death,

and all of their deaths,

on my conscience until the day

I leave this planet.

After the Mallick m*rder,

a lot less tips came in.

People were afraid.

I guess they had

every right to be.

We picked apart Sykes' house

with a fine-toothed comb

and found almost nothing

useful at all.

We excavated parts

of the backyard.

There was nothing but dirt.

We knew Sykes used

Presto brand toothpaste,

the one DVD he owned

was season two

of Meet the Furballs,

and his favorite drink

was 2% milk.

Yikes.

He ate there,

he slept there,

but it didn't seem

like he lived there.

It was like a front.

It was like a show being put

on to pretend

the person that lived

there was vaguely normal.

After a long day

of chasing some leads

that went nowhere,

I went to the backyard

of Sykes' house

to get some fresh air.

I think I was hoping I'd have

some transcendent moment

a lot of profilers talk about,

you know,

when you enter

the headspace of the k*ller

and you start

to think like them.

That never happened.

None of it

made any sense to me.

So, it was

like 2:00 in the morning

and I'm just...

you know, zoning out,

looking up at the stars.

And then

I remember that telescope

that we pulled

Sykes' prints from.

What stars was Leslie Sykes

looking at?

The area in the sky

that Leslie Sykes

had his telescope pointed at

was interesting

for two reasons.

First, he was looking

at Ophiuchus.

Now, most people hadn't

even heard of Ophiuchus.

It's one of the 13 major

constellations

along the ecliptic,

smack in between Scorpius

and Sagittarius .

It's also called the...

The so-called 13th zodiac sign,

although that's getting

into astrology

and not hard science.

My wife would k*ll me

for explaining it that way.

The ancient Greeks

were the one that named

all the constellations

as we know them today.

Pisces is a fish,

Taurus is a bull, etc.

Ophiuchus is

the serpent bearer,

a man battling a giant snake.

The reason I mention Ophiuchus

is because a rare

celestial event

was taking place

in its constellational

borders that exact month.

A planetary alignment

where Mercury,

Jupiter, and Saturn

come in earshot of each other

in a way that happens

once every 800 years or so.

This is a real thing,

you can look it up.

May 13th, 2011.

You could view it

with a naked eye.

But only for a few hours,

which is why it's so special.

The symbol.

A leech bite.

Mercury, Jupiter, Saturn.

The rare planetary alignment

that was only a few weeks away.

So, is this all

one big coincidence?

One thing they really drill

into your brain

at the Academy is

that the human mind

is very adept

at finding patterns

in things,

even if they aren't there.

They tell you

to watch out for it,

to not get carried away,

to remember Occam's razor.

The simplest explanation

is usually the correct one.

But sometimes,

it's actually the strangest.

We had brough in

these big halogen lights

to Sykes' house

because the place

was so dark at night.

But as soon as we turned it on,

it blew a fuse.

So, one of the deputies is

trying to reset the breaker

and realized the subpanel

in the closet wasn't working.

As he's messing with it,

the whole thing

just comes out of the wall.

Like everything in that house,

it was a fake .

Behind it, there was a space

with a lockbox.

Of course, we cleared the house

and called the b*mb squad,

just in case.

They used

one of those little robots

and everything.

No b*mb.

But that didn't seem

like his style, anyway.

The box was just a cheapo,

we just pried it open

with a crowbar.

And inside, just two things.

Leslie Sykes' passport,

expired from 2003,

and a key

with an attached keychain.

We drove over there

straight away

and went inside the unit.

In retrospect,

it was pretty stupid of us.

I mean, the thing

could've been booby-trapped,

or he could've been waiting

in there for us.

Who knows.

But it felt like we'd run

out of time.

We just got lucky.

Everywhere my light goes,

you can go, okay?

Jackpot, winning-lotto-ticket,

royal-flush lucky.

Here's why we never

get fingerprints.

Guy wears

a full-on hazmat suit.

This is the mold, we believe,

for the mask he's been seen in.

Yeah, this guy

is big into space.

Over here.

Real big.

Oh, you gotta check this out.

This is...

early-childhood reading for...

"Celestial Witchcraft

of Early England."

This right here

we think is Dennis Zao's

tongue, alright?

Unless he's cut out

other tongues.

This here's Victoria Macenroe,

we think it is because it's...

We watched her hair

get cut off.

And that is Saroj Mallick.

He's been here recently.

Yeah.

Over here is what we think

is Sheridans' blood.

What's this sh*t up here?

"Hail Azragor."

And then this weird...

altar.

Is this Azragor?

Azragor? No.

How about Kaliban?

Like in Shakespeare?

The Thorn of Time

sounds familiar.

I've heard that.

Where have I heard that?

This is pre-cuneiform

so it's all very cryptic,

but here.

"The temple of the outer gate

beyond the thorn of time."

I've heard before.

That means...

Kronung.

Crowning...

Coronation.

Whereas before

we had little to no evidence

to go on,

we now had way too much.

Sykes had collected

tons of information

on each of his victims,

had them all

in a filing cabinet.

Criminal history,

medical records,

information the public

does not have access to,

so he must've been paying

off cops

or private investigators.

And every m*rder had been

meticulously documented.

There were photos, drawings,

hundreds of hand-written pages

by Sykes with his ramblings.

A pure window

into a man's madness.

We were pulling all-nighters

in that horrible space.

Even after

the bodies were removed,

the smell never went away.

We were going crazy.

On May 8th,

the manager of the place

comes looking for us.

Someone sent mail

to the office for us.

It was another letter.

The great lord

of the threshold

has arrived at the gate .

The great rectification,

the final extirpation.

The dawn of Kaliban.

One left for me,

then he's set free.

Around midnight on May 12th,

Sykes breaks into the home

of Glenn

and Stephanie Courtland

via a garage window

and abducts

their three-month-old baby,

Sawyer.

He could've k*lled that child

in his crib

right then and there,

but he was waiting.

I mean, he was deliberately

waiting for something.

But what?

But we had no idea where Sykes

was going

or what his plan was,

but it didn't seem

like a coincidence

that the triangle in the sky

was supposed to appear

that morning.

That was a Friday, by the way.

The 13th.

Coincidence, right?

I am just getting to work,

it's around 3:00 a.m.,

and... Let's see.

Okay, right here.

Right here, not 20 feet

from where I found

that woman's body,

I see this red SUV parked.

The vehicle is empty.

I just got a weird vibe.

So, I called it in.

I immediately got a reply

that the automobile

has been stolen,

and that the driver

is armed and dangerous.

Now, I...

I watched the news closely

and I was like,

"Is this Mr. Shiny?"

They found Sykes' SUV

right in the spot

of the very first m*rder

in '93.

He ran out of gas right there,

of all places.

What are the odds?

This three-planet alignment

was going to be visible

between 6:00 and 6:30 a.m.

I mean, that gave us

just a matter of hours

to find Sykes and baby Sawyer.

But one way or another,

this thing was going to end.

But , that...

That's a pretty

believable thing

that he died. I don't know.

- I...

- I don't know.

I believe that's the case.

Do you want

a marshmallow?

- Ready.

- Yeah.

Made the s'mores.

Oh!

I said I was going to do it.

Mm.

This is disgusting,

I'm so sorry.

We all went to UC Riverside

together,

but I was moving out of state

for my Master's degree,

so it was sort of a last hurrah

with the girls.

We didn't even know that thing

with the planets

was even happening.

I think we're

just getting old, dude.

Old asses for life.

Do you hear that?

We had units

coming in from Arrowhead,

Crestline, even Big Bear,

but they were spread out

all over the place.

If Sykes was on foot,

he could only get so far,

but we still needed

a lot of manpower.

Best we could do

in that first hour

was two cars.

Two.

That park is

almost a million acres.

When we were

on the way out there,

you know,

I was actually excited.

Why?

'Cause Sykes was

the boogeyman of Berdoo.

I mean,

even the FBI was after him.

If we were

the arresting officers...

That would be huge.

So f*cking stupid.

They started going

from campsite to campsite

in a grid.

Every tent, RV,

Porta-Potty out there,

they were shining

a light into it.

Who's

in there with you?

It's just my daughter.

Nobody's

being cooperative

or wanting to talk to us,

but, I mean, who would be?

Anybody else

here with you?

No.

Imagine you're asleep

in your tent

and a cop shines a light

in your face.

Like, I'd be pissed too.

You see anything

suspicious tonight?

You see a man with a baby?

A baby?

It was a clusterfuck.

Heavy brush, too dark,

lots of places to hide.

Even now, GPS maps

in that kind of area

just aren't that reliable.

Neither are cell phones.

But luckily, some places

still had landlines.

There's a property out there

where you can rent

these individual cabins

for the night.

Sykes forces his way

inside one of these cabins

where Martin and Silvia Vallejo

are staying.

It's about 4:00 in the morning

at this point.

He's able to subdue Martin,

but Silvia gets away

and calls 911

at the cabin next door.

Did you make

the call, ma'am?

Yes, he's in there

with my husband!

Where's the cabin?

Third cabin on the right!

Please help him!

Stay here.

He has a child!

There's a baby with him!

Stay here.

The two closest units

arrived at the cabin

around 4:50 a.m.

Backup was on the way,

but ended up getting lost

and wouldn't get there

for over an hour.

These guys had no idea

what they might be

walking into.

Check out

the front door.

Clear.

Come on.

Alright, it's clear.

Stand by.

The place was

deserted, alright?

Extremely bad vibes.

Are you seeing this?

I think that's...

that's when I started

to get scared.

Then we found Mr. Vallejo.

Looks like a bedroom.

We got a suspect.

We got a suspect!

Let me see your hands!

Hands! Hands!

Give it up.

It looks like he's duct-taped.

His hands.

What the f*ck?

- I got him. I got him.

- Get the mask.

Oh my God.

Get medical out here!

Sykes essentially

lobotomizes the man...

leaves the body

to be found like that.

It was just bad,

bro, I...

I don't know what else to say.

An empty glass is found

on the kitchen counter

with remnants of milk

from the fridge,

and Sawyer's dirty diapers'

thrown in the garbage.

Even then, he was still

taking care of the baby.

After this pit stop,

he leaves into the woods.

Closer ETA

on RO unit, over.

What the hell was that?

We should go

check it out.

Shouldn't we wait

for backup?

But, dude, he's got a baby.

I didn't even want to go,

you know?

But it was a baby, right?

Like, what would you do?

Imagine that's your kid.

But I should've said no.

I should've waited at the car.

If that makes me a coward,

I don't give a sh*t.

Oh, sh*t.

You heard that?

He was doing witchcraft

out there, man.

You saw the video.

What else would you call it?

Yo, what the f*ck is this, man?

f*ck!

f*ck!

f*ck!

I didn't understand

at the time

what exactly that wood thing

was, but...

You know, I found out

they have a name for it.

A pyre.

That's where the...

the crying was coming from.

Sykes...

Oh, sh*t.

What the f*ck?

I don't know what we saw

or didn't see.

It was strange.

If you looked at it

from one angle,

you could see it.

From another,

it wasn't as clear.

The videos don't do it

justice at all.

I'm just still

not convinced any of that...

what do you call it?

Karmic phenomena?

Cosmic phenomena.

I mean, sky looked weird

that morning,

no doubt about that,

but there's plenty

of weird stuff

that happens in the sky.

Aurora borealis?

Okay, but you can't tell me

that's not some weird looking

space stuff too, right?

I don't remember much.

It gets hazy.

So, that...

that thing in the sky?

It looked like red eyes.

Jeez, dude.

Holy sh*t.

What the f*ck?

What the f*ck is that?

I don't know, dude.

Lizzie?

Lizzie?

Lizzie!

Liz!

Dude, Lizzie!

Lizzie! Lizzie! Lizzie!

Lizzie! Kate! Kate, wake up!

I need you to call 911!

Kate, please!

And just like that,

it was over.

We got him.

Don't turn away, just...

I'll be right...

How's the baby?

He's okay.

That was

too g*dd*mn close.

- He's gone!

- What?

We need

some help over here!

You've got to be

f*cking kidding me!

Leslie Sykes' body was found

about 100 yards

from the cabin, in a creek...

covered in leeches.

He'd only been in the water

for a matter of minutes.

It's like they were

drawn to him.

They made any kind of visual

identification impossible,

but we still confirmed it

with fingerprint and DNA.

It looks like Sykes

had been living out there

for at least a couple weeks.

Sleeping

in a makeshift shelter,

stealing food

from other people's campsites.

His final time on this earth

was spent hungry,

cold, and alone.

No phantoms,

no ghosts.

A flesh-and-blood human.

Piece of sh*t human,

but human nonetheless.

So, I was...

I was getting up

for work that morning

and I was checking my Facebook,

and I had, like,

all of these messages,

and I was like, what?

You know, what's going on here?

And then I realized

they got him.

Like, they really

f*cking got him.

The Inland Empire

can breathe a sigh of relief

with the news just coming in

that the hunt

for serial k*ller

Leslie Sykes,

a.k.a. Mr. Shiny,

has finally come to an end.

Police shot and k*lled Sykes

this morning in a standoff

in the San Bernardino

mountains,

but not before ending the life

of one Riverside Police

Department deputy.

Richie...

I don't want to talk about it.

Should've been me.

I'm here to formally

announce that Leslie Sykes,

otherwise known as Mr. Shiny,

died this morning

at approximately 6:00 a.m.

Pacific standard time

as a result of an extended

g*n battle

with local authorities.

I couldn't believe it.

Like, all of this...

This, like, weight was

just lifted from my chest,

you know?

Like Shifra could finally

rest in peace, you know,

'cause that f*cking as*h*le

was dead.

I mean, nothing's ever going

to bring my girl back, but...

at least we can all,

like, start to heal now.

I feel no joy

in Leslie Sykes' death.

I really don't.

I did in the beginning but,

as time has gone on...

I wish I could've

interviewed him.

I wish we could've gotten

more information.

In the timespan that Sykes

was actively k*lling,

that we know about, there were

over 100 unsolved homicides

in the two counties.

Could some of these be Sykes?

We'll never know.

Is it possible

Sykes had an accomplice,

someone that helped him,

funded him?

We'll never know.

He got off too easy,

if you ask me.

Should've drawn and quartered

that m*therf*cker.

Sorry, is...

Was that too much or...?

No,

that's actually perfect.

Happy I could set

the record straight.

When we first found out

that they k*lled him...

I guess it was bittersweet.

I was just glad

he couldn't hurt anybody else.

We tried to keep

Victoria's memory alive,

but it gets harder

as time goes on.

Friends lose interest.

I think about that saying a lot

that goes

"you really die the last time

someone says your name."

Honey,

you already said this.

I know.

It's just so true.

Ted Bundy. Gacy.

These guys will live forever.

And now so will Mr. Shiny.

Eight victims

were honored today

at a memorial held

at Pioneer Memorial Cemetery,

including those

from the original crimes

in 1995.

Almost 1,000 people

joined the service

to pay their respects

to those lives

taken too soon

by serial k*ller Leslie Sykes.

Lizzie! Lizzie!

Kate! Kate, wake up!

I need you to call 911!

Yep.

Great place to have

your first one, right?

Started for the first time

that night.

And I wasn't the only one

who had bad luck, either.

Gail randomly started

having vertigo

after that trip.

So, you know,

you asked me if I believe

in ghosts

and this paranormal stuff,

and I don't. But...

No, I don't believe

in that stuff,

but I still wish we never

went camping that weekend.

We moved to Portland.

I know it sounds superstitious,

but it just seemed like

that whole county was cursed.

I have no idea.

What do you want me to say?

He was part

of some apocalypse cult

trying to summon a

six-million-year-old leech god?

Thorn of Time, Kaliban?

That's not something you put

in a police report, pal.

That's not going to help

the families

try and bring closure

and heal from this mess.

What I can say

for sure is this.

Leslie Sykes was a monster.

We caught him

and we k*lled him.

As Lexi likes to say,

same sh*t, different day.

Same sh*t, different day.

It's postdated

two days before he died.

If he sent it, he must've had

an inkling things

might not go to plan.

Well, if it's true,

I guess we'll find out

in another 800 years.

Rejoice for I can now learn

the mysteries of the world.

The harvest season

will return.

The reaping will continue.

I'll be back.

There's still

so many things

we don't understand

about this case,

and probably never will.

We just had bits and pieces

of some kind

of strange puzzle.

And even if we could put them

all together,

I don't know if I want to see

whatever picture they make.

Yeah?

Got what you need?

I think

that's all we need...

Okay. Awesome.

Alright. Thanks, guys.

Okay,

August 23rd, 2023.

Back at Pinto again.

I'm a little further south

this time, but...

Yeah, it's a bust.

Something about this place

just doesn't...

doesn't feel right.

Talked to a guy

at a gas station,

he told me there's

a series of caves down at a...

Coxcomb,

so we're going to try

that next.

It's worth a shot.