When I was a child I would make frequent trips with my family to Lachine Canada to visit my grandparents, and one of the pit-stops along the way up there was in White River Junction, Vermont to a Howard Johnson’s restaurant. On the lobby wall of that restaurant was a huge map with buttons on it, and when you pushed a button, a peg on the map would light up. It would indicate the position where a woman was last seen and then another area would light up-depending on what button you pressed-indicating the body dump of that or another person. I recall a truck driver swinging himself from around the counter after seeing me interacting curiously with the buttons and its sundry lot of lit pegs. He hopped off and began to regale me about a monster in the woods, much to my parents shock and anger. It was then that I first heard and read-via the bulletin board-of the Connecticut River Valley Killer, a stabbing and slashing phantom who stalked and hunted the lone highways and byways of New Hampshire, Vermont and Connecticut. Even after the disappearances and murders had ceased and the map was eventually taken down, I never forgot what that truck driver said and how I correlated his words to the pictures and lit pegs on the wall. It was the first time that the idea of real earthly evil entered my mind, the idea that there was a hunter of humans roaming about, watching and waiting. The idea was so scary and outside the box of my reality that it left a stark impression on me, primarily because I always equated the bucolic and mountainous beauty of Vermont as something pristine and untouched by anything conceivably bad. As most kids do, I looked at everything through rose colored glasses.
Many years later, the T.V. show Unsolved Mysteries did a segment on the unknown killer and of the only known survivor of his vicious attack. It was frightening to watch the reenactment of the harrowing experience of the survivor, but it brought me back to White River Junction, Howard Johnson’s and the map. In connecting the dots and wanting to learn more about this case, I came across Philip E. Ginsburg’s outstanding book on the case: The Shadow of Death: The Hunt for a Serial Killer. His book is an incredibly engaging and well-written true-crime book, a work of nonfiction that will immediately transport readers to the bucolic and mountainous landscapes of New Hampshire, Vermont and Connecticut while looking over their shoulders for the slashing and stabbing bogeyman that lurked and hunted those specific corners of the Northeast.
In chilling and vivid detail, Ginsburg is quite accomplished at painting a picture with words. He evokes the quiet and peaceful landscapes, the carefreeness of summer and the contemplativeness of winter. He plays up the freedom of life and nature beautifully but is also adept at tinting that innocence with an unexplainable lurking darkness, for underneath the surface of all that, there was someone evil who was hunting, a phantom on the prowl stalking the woods, highways and rest stops. Ginsburg creates compassionate profiles of the victims and conveys what their unimaginable final moments must have been like, but he does it without being gruesome or graphic. He lets the factual aspects and scene analysis of the victim’s disappearance and demise speak for themselves while at the same time portraying the victims with compassion and respect. He unearths many interesting details about some odd yet colorful locals, one of whom is truly reminiscent of Norman Bates and of his lone and looming house from Psycho. But what I find Ginsburg does especially well is his before and after portrayal of what Vermont, New Hampshire and Connecticut was like before the vast influx of visitors came to those states and who later on chose to settle in those uninhabited hamlets of those states. His narrative is told through flashbacks. One chapter will represent the present. The next chapter will go back to the past. And it crescendos to the harrowing ordeal by Jane Boroski, the lone survivor of the Connecticut River Valley killer. There were suspects, but no one really fit the M.O., and when alibis were investigated, everything panned out to be truthful and legit. The case was truly one long and unending frustration. The dedication of the police and investigative force was very admirable. However, what was most unusual, at least from a crime perspective, was that there was not one serial killer, but in reality, two. And these two psychopaths either inadvertently or purposefully intersected. Who can say. Figuring out that dilemma made for some interesting reading.
The Shadow of Death: The Hunt for a Serial Killer was a sad yet edge-of-your-seat read, one that brought me back to a long lost episode in my childhood. The names of the cities and towns and stops were familiar to me, and it evoked in me a sense of loss of what once was: the natural carefree innocence of just roaming about freely in the woods and mountains and simply having fun. The Connecticut River Valley killer put a black stamp on that woodsy trusting innocence, I am sure, for many people. A compelling read.