On knowing the victim of a serial killer in A New Chapter

This is a topic that rarely gets brought up with my family. Maybe its because it was a rough time or maybe its because its generally uncomfortable. I follow websites, groups, etc for places I have lived in. I like to keep track of what has been happening to the places I once frequented. In one of them, recently, the 20th anniversary of a serial killer’s wave of murders was brought up.

(I don’t typically leave messages for readers here, but I suppose you should consider this a bit of a trigger warning. Lots of uncomfortable topics are about to be described here.)

Lets set the scene: Its 2004. I was living in Costa Rica at the time for my father’s job. His project there was coming to an end and we were about to move once again. We live in a large home, my dad still spends a lot of time there to this day. I was still in high school and my siblings were in middle school. My parents decide to hire a maid to help with a lot of the work around the house. We lived in a country home up on the mountains, we spend the majority of the day in the city and drove back during the evening.

The maid stayed behind and took care of our dogs and the home. Her name was Francisca (or Francis for short.) She was an elderly lady who had migrated from Nicaragua looking for financial opportunities. The relationship in Latin America with maids is different than what you would expect in the industrialized world. The film “Roma” is a very accurate portrayal in my opinion.

Francis had a room in our home and she would leave on Friday and came back Sunday evening or Monday morning. During weekends, sometimes one or two family members came to visit and kept her company. At this time, I’m a mostly a cynical teenager who can’t wait to move once again. In the living room, I would usually sit there with my laptop and chat late into the hours of the night or play games (I was deeply in love with the “Total War” series back then.)

I started overhearing conversations late at night that Francis was unable to reach one of her daughters. Someone that had come to visit before. Her daughter had been doing quite well and was a bit of a success story. She was in her 20s and had been doing well in life. After a brief time, her family started searching and reaching out to anyone who could have possibly known where she could be.

Francis had two other daughters,including one living in the United States, who came over to help out. I should have probably read the room a bit better but I was still just casually chilling in the living room every evening. On a Saturday, the investigative branch of the national police contacted my dad to let her know they might have found some remains. Why my dad? this woman was a bit grief-stricken and didn’t want to do much talking with the police. We also found out she was an illegal immigrant. My dad didn’t mind and he wanted to help. He also tends to have a fairly decent understanding of the law.

That Saturday afternoon we drove her to the morgue, crying nonstop the whole time. It was a tough sight. A few hours later, one of her daughters called and confirmed that they had indeed identified the body parts as her sister. A lot remained unanswered tho, who? what? why? when? and most importantly, where was the rest of the body?

A few days went by and the police were able to conduct a more thorough investigation.
She had been dating a medical student and the relationship was getting serious. He had been missing too and he was suspect number one. They went to his home and made some additional grizzly discoveries. He had killed himself via gunshot. Other remains were found buried in the garden. During probably the most traumatic aspect of this story, this woman was pregnant. It’s hard to put into words but I’m sure just that detail is descriptive enough.

As time went on, it was discovered that this was not the first time it had happened. I saw a photo of them together and they just looked like a normal couple. I will never forget that photo. He seemed taller, with a lighter complexion, glasses, shorter hair, and a goatee. He had a big smile on his face. As time continued, they were able to identify his involvement with multiple missing women. He kept some sort of journal/apology letter.

Surprising fact: a lot of TV channels and newspapers kept reaching out. My father firmly told them to please respect the situation. When Francis was ready to talk, if ever, she would reach out. They actually listened.

Francis was given multiple weeks off, paid, to allow her to sort her issues.
Every evening, I heard lots of crying coming from Francis’ room. Her daughters had stayed there for a bit. One time I heard thumping, one of them was banging her head against the floor.

A few months later we would start packing and move. 2004 was a very large year. This event, that move, and my parents divorced. All of those rolling out over just a few months, made just about everything from this time period very easy to remember.

The aftermath:
Francis’ eventually started working again and she seemed “fine.” She went back to her routine. We moved. During a sad moment, my dad kept her hired taking care of the house while we were away. My dad would primarily travel back sometimes to address business matters and stayed there. Sadly, one of the neighbors informed us that Francis was hosting large parties during our absence. Furthermore, she started stealing things. When she was asked to leave, the night before her last day she went to a neighbor’s home, to speak with their maid. She had taken a bunch of my family’s stuff there. Said maid called my dad and informed him of what was happening.

Final thoughts:
Seeing that type of grief first hand was a bit tough. I omitted some details that I originally planned to include, but really, I don’t see why I should. We were very disappointed by the way Francis behaved towards us. We always treated her with respect and I felt like we were extremely supportive during that rough time. I sometimes find the fascination many people have with serial killers a bit insulting. I’m not talking about those that have an interest with psychology, learning, etc. I’m talking about the ones who start justifying things and in worst case scenarios, claiming to be in love.

I shouldn’t have to even write this, but these victims are people. With goals, dreams, family members. They’re not just some random statistic for you to obsess over and have a podcast. Imaging taking someone you love and not only finding out they have passed, but that some psychopaths decided to rip them apart limb by limb. I’m so ashamed and disgusted by the people that create some of these “educational” videos about these topics. Monetizing other people’s grief by sharing photos, videos, on Patreon. Truly, close to the bottom of the barrel as far as living in a capitalistic society goes.

Anyways, time to finish my coffee and get started with my work day. This memory occasionally pops into my head.

See You Later Space Cowboy.