by Stan Gibbs
Whoa, hold the phone. Myron knew the name. Stan Gibbs had been a big-time newspaper columnist, the kind of guy who regularly pontificated (read: pimped) on the cable news talk shows, though he'd been less annoying than most, which is like saying syphilis is less annoying than gonorrhea. But that had all been before the scandal gutted him like Ted Nugent over a fallen moose. Myron read: The phone call comes out of the blue.
'What is your darkest fear?' the voice whispers. 'Close your eyes now and picture it. Can you see it? Do you have it yet? The very worst agony you can imagine?'
After a long pause, I say, 'Yes.'
'Good. Now imagine something worse, something far, far worse…'
Myron took a deep breath. He remembered the series of articles. Stan Gibbs had broken a story about a bizarre kidnapper. He'd told the heart-wrenching tale of three abductions that the police had supposedly wanted to keep quiet, out of, Stan Gibbs claimed, embarrassment. No names were mentioned. He had spoken with the families under the condition of anonymity. And, the coup de grace, the kidnapper had granted Gibbs access: I ask the kidnapper why he does it. Is it for the ransom?
'I never pick up the ransom money,' he says. 'I usually leave explosives at the spot and burn it. But sometimes money helps me sow the seeds. That is what I'm trying to do. Sow the seeds.'
Myron felt his blood stop.
'You all think you're safe,' he continues, 'in your technological cocoon. But you're not. Technology has made us expect easy answers and happy endings. But with me, there is no answer and there is no end.'
He has kidnapped at least four people: the father of two young children, age 41; a female college student, age 20; and a young couple, newlyweds ages 28 and 27. All were abducted while in the New York City area.
'The idea,' he says, 'is to keep the terror going. Let it grow, not with gore or obvious bloodletting, but with your own imagination. Technology is trying to destroy our ability to imagine. But when someone you love is taken away, your mind can conjure up horrors darker than any machine— than anything even I can do. Some minds won't go that far. Some minds stop and put up a barrier. My job is to push them through that barrier.'
I ask him how he does that.
'Sow the seeds,' he repeats. 'You sow the seeds over time.'
He explains that sowing the seeds means giving hope and taking it away over a sustained period of time. His first call to the victim's family is naturally devastating, but merely the beginning of a long and torturous ordeal.
He begins the call, he claims, with a normal hello and asks the family member to please hold. After a pause, the family member hears their loved one give a blood-curdling shriek. 'Just one,' he says, 'and it's very short. I cut them off in mid-scream.
'This is the last they'll ever hear from their loved one,' he continues. 'Imagine how that scream echoes.'
But for the victim's family, it does not end there. He demands a ransom that he has no intention of claiming. He calls after midnight and asks the family to imagine their darkest fear. He convinces them that this time, he will really let their loved one go, but he is only extending hope to those who no longer have it, rekindling their agony.
'Time and hope,' he says, 'sow the seeds of despair.'
The father of two has been missing for three years. The young premed college student has been missing for twenty-seven months. The newlyweds were married almost two years ago this weekend. To date, not a trace of any of them has been found. Rarely does a week pass when the families don't get a call from their tormentor.
When I ask him if his victims are alive or dead, he is coy. 'Death is closure,' he explains, 'and closure stops the sowing.'
He wants to talk about society, how computers and technology are doing our thinking for us, how what he does lets us see the power of the human brain.
'That is where God exists,' he says. 'That is where all things valuable exist. True bliss can only be found inside of you. The meaning of life is not in your new home entertainment system or sports car. People must see their limitless potential. How do you make them see? Right now imagine what these families are going through.'
His voice soft, he invites me to try.
'Technology could never conjure up the horrors you are now imagining. Sow the seeds. Sowing the seeds shows us the potential.'
Myron's heart pounded in big thuds. He sat back, shook his head, started reading again. The crazed kidnapper ranted on, his theories feverishly demented, sort of Symbionese Liberation Army by way of Ted Kaczynski. Stan Gibbs's column continued into the next day's paper. Myron hit the link and read on. During the second day, Gibbs opened with some heartbreaking quotes from the family of the victims. Then he questioned the kidnapper some more: I ask him how he has managed to keep these kidnappings out of the media.
'By sowing the seeds,' he repeats yet again.
I ask for an example.
'I tell his wife to go to the garage and open the red Stanley toolbox on the third shelf. I tell her to pick out the black pliers with the bubble grip. Then I send her to the basement. I tell her to stand in front of the Mission chair they bought the previous summer at that tag sale on the Cape. Imagine, I say, your husband tied naked to that chair. Imagine those pliers in my hand. And finally, imagine what I'll do if I see anything about him in the newspaper.'
But he does not stop there.
'I ask her about the children. I mention their names. I mention their schools and their teachers and their favorite breakfast cereal.'
I ask him how he knows these things.
His answer is simple. 'Daddy tells me.'
Myron fell back. 'Jesus,' he uttered.
Deep breaths, he told himself again. In and out. That's it. Think it through. Slowly now. Carefully. Okay, first off: Horrible as this is, what does it have to do with Davis Taylor ne Dennis Lex? Probably nothing. The worst sort of long shot. And again, horrible as this is, Myron knew that there was more to the story. More — and in a sense, less.
The Gibbs columns drew weeks' worth of nationwide attention and criticism — until, Myron remembered, it all blew up in the most public way possible. What had happened exactly? Myron hit some keys and clicked the mouse. He started a search of articles where Stan Gibbs was the subject. They came up in date order:
FEDS DEMAND GIBBS'S SOURCE
The Federal Bureau of Investigation, which in recent weeks has been denying the allegations listed in Stan Gibbs's columns, took a new tack today. They demanded his notes and information.
Dan Conway, a spokesman for the FBI, began by saying, 'We know nothing about these crimes,' then added, 'But if Mr. Gibbs is being truthful, he has important information on a possible serial kidnapper and killer, perhaps even harboring or aiding him. We have a right to that information.'
Stan Gibbs, a popular columnist and television journalist, has refused to reveal his sources. 'I'm not protecting a killer here,' Mr. Gibbs said. 'The families of the victims as well as the perpetrator of the crimes spoke to me under the strict condition of confidentiality. It's a cry as old as our country: I will not reveal my sources.'
The New York Herald and American Civil Liberties Union have already denounced the FBI and plan on backing Mr. Gibbs. The judge has ordered the case sealed from the public.
Myron read on. The arguments on both sides were pretty standard. Gibbs's attorneys naturally wrapped themselves in the First Amendment, while the feds equally naturally countered that the First Amendment was not
