Ridgewick told his deputy to stop the cruiser just around the side of the hill from the crypt-said he wanted to give the guy all the rope he needed to hang himself. As it turned out, Rudolph ended up with enough to hang himself from the moon. When Ridgewick and LaPointe finally moved in with their guns drawn and their flashlights on, they caught Raymond Andrew Joubert half in and half out of an opened coffin. He had his axe in one hand, his cock in the other, and LaPointe said he looked ready to do business with either one.
I guess Joubert scared the hell out of them both when they first saw him in their lights, and I’m not a bit surprised-although I flatter myself that I can imagine better than most what it must have been like, coming on a creature like him in a cemetery crypt at two in the morning. All other circumstances aside, Joubert suffers from acromegaly, a progressive enlargement of the hands, feet, and face that happens when the pituitary gland goes into warp-drive. It’s what caused his forehead to bulge the way it does, and his lips to pooch out. He also has abnormally long arms; they dangle all the way down to his knees.
There was a big fire in Castle Rock about a year ago-it burned most of the downtown-and these days the Sheriff jugs most serious offenders in Chamberlain or Norway, but neither Sheriff Ridgewick nor Deputy LaPointe wanted to make the trip over snowy roads at three in the morning, so they took him back to the renovated shed they’re using as a cop-shop these days.
“They claimed it was the late hour and the snowy roads,” Brandon said, “but I have an idea there was a little more to it than that. I don’t think Sheriff Ridgewick wanted to turn over the pinata to anyone else until he’d taken at least one good crack at it himself. Anyway, Joubert was no trouble-he sat in the back of the cruiser, chipper as a chickadee, looking like something that had escaped from an episode of Tales from the Crypt and-both of them swear this is true singing “Happy Together,” that old Turtles tune.
Ridgewick radioed ahead for a couple of temp deputies to meet them. He made sure Joubert was locked up tight and the deputies were armed with shotguns and plenty of fresh coffee before he and LaPointe left again. They drove back to Homeland for the van. Ridgewick put on gloves, sat on one of those green plastic Hefty bags the cops like to call “evidence blankets” when they use them on a case, and ran the vehicle back to town. He drove with all the windows open and said the van still stank like a butcher’s shop after a six-day power failure.”
Ridgewick got his first good look into the back of the van when he got it under the arc-lights of the town garage. There were several rotting limbs in the storage compartments running along the sides. There was also a wicker box, much smaller than the one I saw, and a Craftsman tool-case full of burglar’s tools, When Ridgewick opened the wicker box, he found six penises strung on a length of jute twine. He said he knew it for what it was at once: a necklace. Joubert later admitted that he often wore it when he went out on his graveyard expeditions, and stated his belief that if he’d been wearing it on his last trip, he never would have been caught. “It brung me a power of good luck,” he said, and considering how long it took to catch him, Ruth, I think you’d have to say he had a point.
The worst thing, however, was the sandwich lying on the passenger seat. The thing poking out from between the two slices of Wonder Bread was pretty clearly a human tongue. It had been slathered with that bright yellow mustard kids like.
“Ridgewick managed to get out of the van before he threw up,” Brandon said. “Good thing-the State Police would have torn him a new asshole if he’d puked on the evidence. On the other hand, I’d have wanted him removed from his job for psychological reasons if he hadn’t thrown up.”
They moved Joubert over to Chamberlain shortly after sunrise. While Ridgewick was turned around in the front seat of the cruiser, reading Joubert his rights through the mesh (it was the second or third time he’d done it-Ridgewick is apparently nothing if not methodical), Joubert interrupted to say he “might have done somefing bad to Daddy-Mummy, awful sorry.” They had by that time established from documents in Joubert’s wallet that he was living in Motton, a farming town just across the river from Chamberlain, and as soon as Joubert was safely locked up in his new quarters, Ridgewick informed officers from both Chamberlain and Motton what Joubert had told them.
On the way back to Castle Rock, LaPointe asked Ridgewick what he thought the cops headed for Joubert’s house might find. Ridgewick said, “I don’t know, but I hope they remembered to take their gas masks.”
A version of what they found and the conclusions they drew came out in the papers over the following days, growing as it did, of course, but the State Police and the Maine Attorney General’s Off ice had a pretty good picture of what had been going on in the farmhouse on Kingston Road by the time the sun went down on Joubert’s first day behind bars. The couple Joubert called his “Daddy-Mummy'-actually his stepmother and her commonlaw husband-were dead, all right. They’d been dead for months, although Joubert continued to speak as if the “somefing bad” had happened only days or hours ago. He had scalped them both, and eaten most of “Daddy.”
There were body-parts strewn all over the house, some rotting and maggoty in spite of the cold weather, others carefully cured and preserved. Most of the cured parts were male sex-organs. On a shelf by the cellar stairs, the police found about fifty Ball jars containing eyes, lips, fingers, toes, and testicles. Joubert was quite the home canner. The house was also filled-and I do mean filled-with stolen goods, mostly from summer camps and cottages. Joubert calls them “my things'-appliances, tools, gardening equipment, and enough lingerie to stock a Victoria’s Secret boutique. He apparently liked to wear it.
The police are still trying to sort out the body-parts that came from Joubert’s grave-robbing expeditions from those that came from his other activities. They believe he may have killed as many as a dozen people over the last five years, all hitchhiking drifters he picked up in his van. The total may go higher, Brandon says, but the forensic work is very slow. Joubert himself is no help, not because he won’t talk but because he talks too much. According to Brandon, he’s confessed to over three hundred crimes already, including the assassination of George Bush. He seems to believe Bush is actually Dana Carvey, the guy who plays The Church Lady on Saturday Night Live.
He’s been in and out of various mental institutions since the age of fifteen, when he was arrested for engaging in unlawful sexual congress with his cousin. The cousin in question was two at the time. He was a victim of sex abuse himself, of course-his father, his stepfather, and his stepmother all apparently had a go at him. What is it they used to say? The family that plays together stays together?
He was sent to Gage Point-a sort of combination detox, halfway house, and mental institution for adolescents in Hancock County-on a charge of gross sexual abuse, and released as cured four years later, at the age of nineteen. This was in 1973, He spent the second halt of 1975 and most of 1976 at AMHI, in Augusta. This was as a result of Joubert’s Fun with Animals Period. I know I probably shouldn’t be joking about these things, Ruth-you’ll think I’m horrible-but in truth, I don’t know what else to do. I sometimes feel that if I don’t joke, able to stop. He was sticking I’ll start to cry, and that it I start to cry I won’t be cats in trash barrels and then blowing them to pieces with the big firecrackers they call “can-crushers,” that’s what he was doing… and every now and then, presumably when he needed a break in the old routine, he would nail a small dog to a tree.