Mancias left for downtown Austin and TCSO headquarters to prepare an affidavit.
At 5:08 A.M ., on Saturday, January 14, 1995, municipal judge David Spencer signed the search warrant for the apartment on North Lamar Boulevard in Austin, Texas. Two minutes later, Wooley let Gage know they had the warrant.
At 5:15 A.M ., Hill and Day returned to the crime lab to mix up a batch of Luminol, the chemical that makes blood glow in the dark.
At 5:25 A.M ., Mancias and Wooley arrived back at Aubry Hills, and Wooley began his close inspection of the apartment. In the master bedroom, he noticed that the boxes on the floor were empty gun boxes, one for a Winchester 1300 Defender 12-gauge shotgun, the other for a Savage .243-caliber rifle.
In the small bedroom, he noted cans of white spray paint sitting on a dresser. There was a large white fingerprint on the bed frame, another white fingerprint on a brown folding chair splattered with white paint. There were no blood splatters that could help the investigation.
The piece of skull on the headboard, however, told him that the murder victim had been lying in bed when he was blasted in the head by a shotgun, exploding his head.
Wooley left Aubry Hills to run checks on Chris Hatton and his roommate, Will Busenburg.
Hill and Day arrived back on the scene around 6 A.M . They completed photographing the apartment and began collecting evidence: a blue Lysol lid, a newspaper with a shoe impression on it, a VHS tape with “Chris 244-9739” on it, and two maroon T-shirts inside a Randalls grocery store bag, all from the living room.
From the dividing wall/counter separating the living room from the kitchen, they collected, among other things, the handwritten note to Chris from Will and the pager. The pager had five calls on it: 10:07 P.M ., 1:23 P.M ., 10:01 A.M ., 5:21 P.M ., and 11:15 A.M . Two of the pages were from the same phone number.
Time was ticking away. Daylight was approaching. The Luminol tests had to be done while it was still dark. Evidence collection was put on hold so that the Luminol tests could begin.
At 6:15 A.M ., Hill sprayed the master bathroom with Luminol; then she turned out the lights. The showerhead glowed. The tile walls were illuminated. Foot marks on the wall shone. The dirty bottom of the bathtub glowed with blue light—the Luminol blue light of blood. The drain glowed. Gage saw the swirling path a gush of blood had taken as it washed into the drain.
Photographs were made of the Luminol blood glow.
Hill continued spraying. The outside of the tub glowed with large, running blood drips. The bathroom floor glowed in swirling mop marks, as if the blood had been scrubbed from the floor.
The vividness of the bloody cleanup stunned Sergeant Gage. The Luminol shine, he thought, told the story. The lack of shine also told the story. When Hill sprayed the hallway, there was no blood glow. Gage knew that the body had been dragged on a comforter or sleeping bag from the bedroom to the bathroom. Either had obviously caught the blood. Both had been found at Pace Bend Park.
Finally Hill sprayed the bedroom with Luminol. The walls and ceiling flashed like lightning. It was the quick glow of the blood beneath the fresh paint. Gage had never seen anything like it. Flashing blood. The sheer amount of splatter.
Hill sprayed again. The blood flashed again, streaking like electricity burning the sky, burning Gage’s memory.
He thought about the living room and the dining room, the packed boxes, the stacked dishes on the floor. The killer was packing up the apartment to move. His mind went back to the bedroom; the blood must have dripped like a waterfall. He spent a lot of time with all that wet blood, scrubbing, painting. He returned more than once. Gage shook his head and walked out the door for a cigarette. He knew the killer would be back. The job wasn’t finished.
Mancias and Hill returned to the bloody bedroom. He helped her cut out a piece of
At 5:08 A.M ., on Saturday, January 14, 1995, municipal judge David Spencer signed the search warrant for the apartment on North Lamar Boulevard in Austin, Texas. Two minutes later, Wooley let Gage know they had the warrant.
At 5:15 A.M ., Hill and Day returned to the crime lab to mix up a batch of Luminol, the chemical that makes blood glow in the dark.
At 5:25 A.M ., Mancias and Wooley arrived back at Aubry Hills, and Wooley began his close inspection of the apartment. In the master bedroom, he noticed that the boxes on the floor were empty gun boxes, one for a Winchester 1300 Defender 12-gauge shotgun, the other for a Savage .243-caliber rifle.
In the small bedroom, he noted cans of white spray paint sitting on a dresser. There was a large white fingerprint on the bed frame, another white fingerprint on a brown folding chair splattered with white paint. There were no blood splatters that could help the investigation.
The piece of skull on the headboard, however, told him that the murder victim had been lying in bed when he was blasted in the head by a shotgun, exploding his head.
Wooley left Aubry Hills to run checks on Chris Hatton and his roommate, Will Busenburg.
Hill and Day arrived back on the scene around 6 A.M . They completed photographing the apartment and began collecting evidence: a blue Lysol lid, a newspaper with a shoe impression on it, a VHS tape with “Chris 244-9739” on it, and two maroon T-shirts inside a Randalls grocery store bag, all from the living room.
From the dividing wall/counter separating the living room from the kitchen, they collected, among other things, the handwritten note to Chris from Will and the pager. The pager had five calls on it: 10:07 P.M ., 1:23 P.M ., 10:01 A.M ., 5:21 P.M ., and 11:15 A.M . Two of the pages were from the same phone number.
Time was ticking away. Daylight was approaching. The Luminol tests had to be done while it was still dark. Evidence collection was put on hold so that the Luminol tests could begin.
At 6:15 A.M ., Hill sprayed the master bathroom with Luminol; then she turned out the lights. The showerhead glowed. The tile walls were illuminated. Foot marks on the wall shone. The dirty bottom of the bathtub glowed with blue light—the Luminol blue light of blood. The drain glowed. Gage saw the swirling path a gush of blood had taken as it washed into the drain.
Photographs were made of the Luminol blood glow.
Hill continued spraying. The outside of the tub glowed with large, running blood drips. The bathroom floor glowed in swirling mop marks, as if the blood had been scrubbed from the floor.
The vividness of the bloody cleanup stunned Sergeant Gage. The Luminol shine, he thought, told the story. The lack of shine also told the story. When Hill sprayed the hallway, there was no blood glow. Gage knew that the body had been dragged on a comforter or sleeping bag from the bedroom to the bathroom. Either had obviously caught the blood. Both had been found at Pace Bend Park.
Finally Hill sprayed the bedroom with Luminol. The walls and ceiling flashed like lightning. It was the quick glow of the blood beneath the fresh paint. Gage had never seen anything like it. Flashing blood. The sheer amount of splatter.
Hill sprayed again. The blood flashed again, streaking like electricity burning the sky, burning Gage’s memory.
He thought about the living room and the dining room, the packed boxes, the stacked dishes on the floor. The killer was packing up the apartment to move. His mind went back to the bedroom; the blood must have dripped like a waterfall. He spent a lot of time with all that wet blood, scrubbing, painting. He returned more than once. Gage shook his head and walked out the door for a cigarette. He knew the killer would be back. The job wasn’t finished.
Mancias and Hill returned to the bloody bedroom. He helped her cut out a piece of
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