Archive of Our Own

THE DEFINITIVE NUMBERS KILLER RPF GOOGLE DOC

compiled by kaycie @f4lsealarm 

INTRODUCTION:

so, first of all, i know what you're asking: kaycie, who are these guys, why should i care? and ig the answer is that you probably shouldn't, but i haven't slept in 36 hours and im running on 3 monsters and a dream. here's a quick breakdown: 

who is the numbers killer?  (summary from numberskiller.tripod.com/faq)

in march and april of 1999 a series of gruesome murders took place across the greater chicago area. a number of factors connected these brutal slayings, but initially one was most evident: each victim was found missing a body part. indeed at first the cops likened this killer to ed gein, but as further evidence came to light it seemed these trophies were taken as part of a more intricate plan - each body had numerals carved into its back, for example, a clue that led to the media bestowing the 'numbers killer' moniker. however, when combined with the apostolic names of the victims, the detectives soon realised that several bible verses were indicated, all of them related to the resurrection. it was then surmised that perhaps the stealing of body parts was motivated by a religious fervour, perhaps a fanatic trying to rebuild and 'resurrect' the body of christ. (...) the perpetrator was eventually unmasked as gerald demus, a former psychiatric patient and the prime suspect in another string of murders in the early 1990s. he was killed in a confrontation with the police, shortly after his confession was extracted. 

who are we rpfing? 

the two lead detectives on the case, john prudhomme and andrew hollinsworth. 

why? 

ok LISTEN!!!!!! for my religion and crime module one of the additional readings was this book, 'resurrection: the hunt for the numbers killer' (written by today's crime reporter beth stanley). it was NOT GOOD and made a lousy source for my essay but the whole time i was reading it i was picking up on vibes between two of the guys she was interviewing - the way they talked about each other was legit insane??? so obviously i did a big internet deep dive and ended up watching all these crunchy vhs transfers of police award ceremonies and press conferences, and holy shit, i swear to god these two detectives were having a thing. i'm not sure i can bring this up to my classmates and nobody online is talking about them so honestly this doc is like, a work of desperation, i really just want someone else to confirm they see it too???? 

THE EVIDENCE:

(ordered from incredibly tenuous to extremely convincing) 

• THE 1999 NUMBERS KILLER PRESS CONFERENCE
• BETH VISITS JOHN'S HOME pg. 110
• ANDY HOLLINSWORTH FACEBOOK PROFILE
• JOHN PRUDHOMME FOUND DIVORCED IN CHICAGO 
• ANDREW HOLLINSWORTH INTERVIEW pg. 80 
• CHICAGO POLICE 37th ANNUAL RECOGNITION CEREMONY

The 1999 Numbers Killer Press Conference

available at numberskiller.tripod.com/media

[video description: a police press conference, filmed off a tv using a camcorder. the date in the corner reads 31/03/1999, and the logo for a local news station spins slowly on the bottom of the screen. the video's runtime is just shy of 12 minutes, and though the footage is mildly shaky at first, it soon evens out. five men sit at a long panel table, microphones and cardboard name plates in front of them. john prudhomme is the fourth in the row, and unlike his colleagues he is not looking out at the crowd - the men take turns answering questions, and he remains notably silent. however, around the five minute mark, a journalist asks for comment on the county general orderly attack. rumours have been circulating, she says, and a definitive statement linking it to the numbers killer case would be appreciated. prudhomme leans forward and speaks into his mic: 'i can confirm the attacks are related' he says, a flicker of upset in his expression. ever succinct, the journalist accepts and jots this down as his quote, but he clears his throat and continues speaking: 'i promised my partner, and i'll promise this city. we are going to nail this guy.' 

Beth Visits John's Home, Resurrection: The Hunt for the Numbers Killer, pg. 110

(italics mine)

It is now February 2001. We are nearing the second anniversary of that one grim month in Chicago history, and John Prudhomme is finally ready to tell me what he saw. 

I don't recognise the address he texts me, but as I pull up I see it's a family home. The neighbourhood is nice, a far cry from the smog-choked inner city, and Prudhomme's place is a squat bungalow surrounded by freshly mowed lawn. It's hard to imagine the Numbers Killer striking here, but the neat building conceals a dark history - one has to question why he stayed. 

The door swings open as I reach it, and the man standing there greets me with a grin. From someone who didn't want to be interviewed, it's a warm welcome, and we exchange 'hi's. He tells me to follow him.

I'm ushered through the front hall, which is bare, and into the rest of the house, which is barer still. It's not minimalist, but rather the home of someone who spends all his time at work. There's nails on the walls where, possibly, pictures used to hang. We're making our way towards a set of low, flat stairs, and for a second I stupidly worry that he's leading me into this basement to kill me. Clearly all the crime scene photographs have gotten to my head. 

Thankfully, it's no murder dungeon down there. In fact, it shows more signs of life than the rest of the house. We emerge into a study scattered with the artefacts of police work, and ephemera that suggests Prudhomme does have a personal life after all. There's a photo of a little boy on the desk, an armchair in the corner where I imagine his wife might read - half-finished books are splayed on their spines, a legal pad is covered in doodles and to-do lists. I spy at least six empty coffee mugs. 

I move some files off the armchair's seat, and perch on the edge. Despite Prudhomme's smile, which hasn't let up, I still feel uneasy.

"Why did you change your mind?" I ask, before I can stop myself. 

"I'm doing this as a favour." He shrugs. "Andy assured me you meant well." 

I didn't think my conversation with Hollinsworth had been all that successful, but I remind myself to thank him later. 

We chat a little, about my book and my interest in the case. His brow furrows when I mention my affiliation with Today's Crime magazine, but I assure him this project is more nuanced than my older work for the tabloids. I want to get the whole story, I'm encouraging the detectives to speak for themselves - my interview with Hollinsworth is almost all him, I point out. Prudhomme's smile returns, a little softer. He seems relieved. 

Unfortunately, upon further questioning my subject grows reluctant to answer. I wonder again why he let me in at all. My questions meet frowns, sighs, gritted teeth, and I wonder how he got so painfully detached, so avoidant. 

I decide to cut to the chase, and pose the question I came here to ask.

"Two years on, little is still known about the elusive Numbers Killer or his motivations - grieving family have been left without an explanation. What can you tell me about Gerald Demus?" 

Prudhomme's lip immediately curls into a sneer, any trace of that smile certainly gone.

"Oh, come on. That man - Demus, whatever - was pathetic. Mentally ill. We don't need to know why he did it. That won't satisfy people, his victims will stay dead. We should be forgetting him." 

"But won't knowing more help us identify and rehabilitate future murderers?" I press. 

"No. They'd already found him. Locked him up in a mental hospital. He got out, because he wasn't done yet. The problem isn't that we can't find these guys, it's what we do after that. Talking about them. Making them out to be more than they are. Demus, the fucker wanted to be famous. I won't let that happen."

"The people of Chicago are scared though - of course they were going to talk. They wanted to make sense of the violence-"

"They? They wanted to make sense of it?" He's almost spitting at me now, he's so irritated. "I've spent two years watching Andy recover from that violence. He was beaten, tasered, shot - he has no time to worry about motive, he's busy learning to walk again. Demus has nothing to teach us, about religion, about crime, about anything that matters. He was brutal, a maniac. We have to forget him."

Making a point not to be scared. Making a point not to listen. It's interesting to consider, but perhaps harder to execute. 

Andy Hollinsworth Facebook Profile

[image description: a facebook account with privacy settings on. the name at the top reads 'andy hollinsworth'. the header is the default grey rectangle; the profile photo a blurry snapshot of about 30 men, about half of them in uniform. the information listed is sparse - attended theodore roosevelt high school, currently living in baton rouge] 

so i can't confirm that this is the same andrew hollinsworth, but the details we do have match up. the pfp is dogshit quality and you can't really make out anyone's faces, but the uniforms look like chicago police, and yes there are like 15 theodore roosevelt high schools across the country, but one of them *IS* in chicago, which makes sense if andrew grew up there. ANYWAYYY where this becomes interesting is the 'lives in baton rouge', bc john is definitely from louisiana (surname, accent, and there's an old news article where he's named as a detective for the NOPD) -  maybe they moved back there together? it's a possibility??? 

John Prudhomme Found Divorced In Chicago

ok i'm not proud of myself either but i was drinking alone in my apartment scrolling page 17 of the google results for john prudhomme when what do i find but a cook county court records page??? i had to pay $2.95 for a 7 day trial which is crazy bc trials are usually free but ANYWAY, i got this short downloadable report and turns out it was DIVORCE FILINGS, dissolving the marriage between a john l. prudhomme and a sara prudhomme. we know john was married because a) he's wearing a ring at the press conference and b) his wife's sister was one of the numbers killer's victims, but her name was redacted in beth stanley's book and i have no way of finding it unless any of y'all are internet sleuths and want to help me out. idk how many john l. prudhommes there are in illinois either but probably not a lot? anyway the proceedings were filed in december 1999 after the press conference was filmed so it all adds up....... if only there was a SINGLE photo of john from 2000 onwards so i could look for a ring 😭

Andrew Hollinsworth Interview - Resurrection: The Hunt for the Numbers Killer, pg. 80

(italics mine)

Andrew Hollinsworth, who I meet in a dingy South Canal diner, bears very little resemblance to the detectives we read about in books and see on our TV screens. Jittery, crude, and rather squeamish around the gory details, I struggle to believe that this man was so lionized by the Chicago media - he seems bemused by my questions, and, with his mouth full, complains about his food and coffee at length. I don't remind him that he chose our meeting place. 

After thirty minutes of rehashing my book concept, it is only by accident that we stumble into more meaningful conversation. Hollinsworth has gone to the bathroom, and I'm staring dejectedly down at my page of notes, wondering if this project will be a total bust. Prudhomme, the other lead detective on the case, has completely ignored my requests for interview. I have no new insight. 

"Fuck!" Someone exhales, and when I look up, Hollinsworth is back.

He's trying to pull himself into our corner booth, one hand clinging to the table's lacquered top. I guess I'm staring, because he feels the need to explain. 

"Leg's giving me hassle. Nearly two years and I'm still not used to it." 

I ask Hollinsworth if he sustained this injury in the field, and at this his eyes widen, disbelieving. 

"Do you really not know? Or are you just asking because you want to get it in my own words?" 

I assure him I'm on the level, to which he responds with a rueful smile. I get the sense he's really looking at me for the first time. 

"Fuck. Sorry. Even if you're lying, I guess I need to get used to that question. Though my memory's shot to shit - you'd do better asking John."

Embarrassed, I admit that Prudhomme has been dodging my emails. Hollinsworth snickers at this, and I suspect his partner's antisocial nature has become a private joke. 

"That sounds like him. Uh, I guess I'll tell you what I remember, and then I'll tell you what John told me?" He swallows, his throat clicking. "Um, aside from those who were present, I've only told my shrink, so, you know, this is an exclusive." 

I nod, prompting him to go on. He does. 

"John got a lead, and when John gets a lead, we go along with it. It sounded wacko, but the whole case was wacko, right? Some of the worst things I'd seen in my eight years on the force. So I drove to this studio to meet him, this falling-apart house just south of the Loop. It was pretty quiet, dark, and I had a bad feeling - I always have bad feelings, though, I can only get things done when I ignore them. Just in case, on my way over I called the guy, Ordway. James or something, I can't remember now, but I told him to lock up and hold on tight. Then John pulled up and told me to radio for backup. He went straight in, but he knows I'm worse with crime scenes, I want to know what to expect first. So I hung around outside, watching and waiting, starting to sweat. 

Then I get comms from inside - John's sure our guy is here, so it's all hands on deck. The air was really dusty, really still, and there was plastic over everything, like the coroners had been already. When I went up the stairs I lead with my gun, looking all around me, but I didn't see anyone until I was got in the jaw."

He makes a gesture with his hands that I can't really interpret. 

"Bam, I went down. I thought I was going to die right then, and I did get pretty winded. If I wasn't wired on adrenaline, I... I should've stopped, but I couldn't. I didn't want to.

I remember John checked in before we kept going, he asked if I was okay, but I don't even remember what I said back. We just kept on running after the fucker. We split up for a better chance of finding him. By this point I was panting too hard to really argue, even though the alleyways outside are a maze, and rain was coming down in buckets. I kept getting it in my eyes, my shoes were wet, there was a dog barking at me somewhere. I could hear sirens though, and I knew we weren't far from ending this.

And then I was- I was up against a wall. My muscles all cramped up at once, it felt like having growing pains all over. I've been tased before, in training, but it's hard to tell what's happening if you're not expecting it, you know?"

I nod, but I don't know at all. 

"My memory kinda goes to shit here. I was on the ground. I wanted to get up but I couldn't move, I don't know how long I was trying for. Then there were hands on me, lifting me up. I thought please let these be John's hands, please be someone I know. But then I heard John screaming, and I knew it wasn't, and I just wanted to get to where he was. 

I got to my feet and I could still hear the cars and hear John's voice, so I tried to walk that way. My legs were shaking, I was so out of it, I couldn't breathe. I didn't even wonder why Demus was letting me go. But fuck, of course it was a setup - we played right into his hands."

He falters. I'm confused. 

"So you were injured when you fell? Or by the taser?" I attempt to clarify. 

Hollinsworth shoots me a heavy lidded stare in response. 

"Both. Neither. There's more." 

He describes the noise, the sudden numbness in his leg, crashing back onto the rain-slicked ground. Prudhomme's hand cupped around his chin, patting fingers on his cheek to keep him awake. Being tugged into someone's lap, and promptly throwing up. You get the sense that these details have been pieced back together, from his own hazy recollections and from what he's been told later on. He remembers shouting at people. He remembers faces, swimming in and out of view. The ambulance ride too, fragmented and frightened - Prudhomme barely holding it together, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

"Man, I didn't know which way was up. John told me I kept reaching out, trying to comfort and shush him. Like I didn't know that I was the reason, he was crying over me." 

Hollinsworth leans across the table, leather jacket creaking against itself. 

"And here's where it gets really fucked." 

He describes waking up in a white-walled room, exhausted and in pain. A nurse is gently taking his hand, trying not to jostle his IV. He finds it hard to take in what she's telling him, understanding but not understanding - an orderly has been attacked, on his way to dispose of medical waste.

"They took my leg." He sighs. "And then he took my leg.'

Chicago Police 37th Annual Recognition Ceremony

available on the internet archive here

[video description: a grainy VHS transfer of a year-end police awards ceremony, as aired on CBS chicago 11/26/99. the video's runtime is 4 minutes and 10 seconds. the chicago police commissioner is giving a speech; behind him is a line of uniformed officers. amongst these men and women are john prudhomme and andy hollinsworth, stage left. john looks visibly uncomfortable and buttoned up, his posture stiff and his gaze locked straight ahead. andy is beside him, seated - a little flushed, hair longer than the pictures in beth stanley's book but neatly combed away from his face. the camera is focused on the CPD commissioner but that's not important right now. at 1:02, andy puts a hand on john's arm, getting his attention. john bends down immediately, angling his body so his ear is millimetres from andy's mouth. it's hard to make out exactly what is being said (i've tried to lipread), but whatever it is makes john laugh. he shakes as he straightens back up, clinging on to andy's shoulder to stop himself from cracking. even more damning: at 2:12, the speech ends and the detectives are called up to collect their medals. andy's name is read out first but john steps from the line, circling his partner and bending down beside him - andy, with one hand on john's shoulder, pulls himself to his feet. they move slowly towards the podium. andy's walk is still a little jerky, so john adds another point of contact. his hand goes to andy's back, or maybe his ass. it's hard to tell, because they're both wearing long blazers.]