True story: Holding Hands with Evil (pt.1)

What follows is a true story. I wrote it following interviews with Eric Nenno and Mark Young, and after reviewing newspaper accounts of the case. All names and information are public record. What is different is the perspective: of the killer, and the man who caught him.

PLEASE NOTE: while not unduly graphic in description, this is the story of the murder of a young girl. Do not read on if the subject matter is disturbing to you.


PART ONE

March, 1995 – The man walked to the kitchen and dropped his empty beer can into the trash. He counted five others below it, all drained since he’d gotten home from work two hours ago. As he stood there, the sound of an electric guitar caught his ear and he went to the window and looked out, trying to find its source. A drum roll strengthened the music and he listened for a minute. Then, as quickly as the instruments had started, both died away and the man wondered if a band was playing nearby. He decided to have a look.

The man went out of his front door and turned right, heading down the sidewalk towards the music. Definitely live, he could hear the instruments cutting in and out, and although he wasn’t a musician he easily recognized the sounds of a jam session. As he moved along the sidewalk a warm spring breeze cleared his head a little but his legs felt heavy, his step unsteady. Hardly surprising: his five foot four frame and 120 pounds were still not used to heavy drinking.

But his eyes worked fine. He could see a pretty girl headed right towards him, her head down, not looking where she was going.

Very pretty, in blue jeans, a black and white blouse, and the cutest little Mary Jane shoes.

He spoke a soft greeting, not wanting to startle her, and she looked up. She was surprised but not frightened. She’d come from a party, she said, and that was her dad playing in the band. Oh, said the man. I play in a band. Your dad plays the guitar?

So do I. Would you like to see it?

Her “yes” was shy, but the fact that she said it and started walking with him told the man she was interested in him. Sexually. Why else would she go to his house with him? No other reason.

Inside, he told her that his guitar was in the bedroom. Would she still like to see it? Good. But he could see in her eyes that she was not so sure now, although she followed him through the kitchen and down the hallway.

In the doorway to his bedroom the man felt her stiffen. He knew that she was looking around for a guitar and didn’t see one. But then she wouldn’t, his was safely tucked away in its case. It wasn’t about the guitar, they both knew that. He took her hand and drew her into the room, and read the confusion on her face as he began to undress her. She stood, frozen still, so he kept going. Only when he tried to take off her panties did she resist, and the fight in her shocked him. She defied his commands, she pushed him away and cried, her voice growing louder and louder.

It was then that the man knew he’d made a mistake, that he’d misjudged her. She didn’t want to play like that after all.

And she’d tell on him, for sure.

The man stood behind her and wrapped his left arm around her neck. He pulled her closer and tightened his grip, determined that she be quiet, that she tell no one what he had done, what he was. He held her like that until the noises stopped and she no longer moved. When it was done, he released her and laid her gently on the bed. Excited still, the man quickly removed her panties and lay on top of her, finally able to do what he couldn’t when she was alive.

(To be continued on October 17.)