I'm sorry to say it, but there's always one guy who threatens to make life miserable for everyone. A long time ago--then again, everything's "a long time ago"--there was this guy named Cutter, who stalked his prey from within after an open house. Here, take yourself a seat. I'll get you a drink and tell you all about this one.
===================================================
==============================================================="His children are far from safety; they shall be crushed at the gate without a rescuer."--Job 5:4
I got to the house the morning after a horrific crime had occurred there, having seen the first few seconds of a morning news report.
The current family--John, Mary Kay, and Patricia Highsmith--were about to move out. Before I went into the living room, I put a couple of those paper covers over my shoes, like the kind you see surgeons wear. Wouldn't want anyone to get a false positive from my footprints.
As for the living room...It wasn't a pretty sight, let's say that much. John and Mary Kay Highsmith lay there, covered by white sheets. There was blood on the carpet. The decorative iron screen from the fireplace had gotten knocked out of place in the struggle.
And there was Bletch, ready to fill me in. He told me that the murder weapon was "an antique hatchet," and that the house had an alarm system like the kind you started seeing commercials for around that time. I thought it might have been a burglary, but he said that nothing had been robbed. The security company got there about five minutes after the alarm system they'd installed went off.
Question: How does a guy break into a house with an alarm system?
Answer: He doesn't break in; he waits inside and trips the alarm as he's getting out.
Bletch shook me out of a vision of the killing and asked me about a little girl. There, at the foot of the stairs, was something I didn't notice earlier: a small stuffed bear, white fur. I went over to it and picked it up...and I heard a whimpering noise to my left. Under a corner table, there was a vent cover.
"Bletch!" I hollered. "I need a screwdriver!" He gave me his penknife--good enough for the moment--and I unscrewed the cover. Behind it was little Patricia Highsmith, alive, but in shock and terrified out of her wits. I stayed and held her while Bletch called for an emergency response team.
====================================================
Meanwhile, at the Public Safety building, a detective named James Glen held conference with the others. We were all poring over the guestbook, which included among the real guests such notables as Abraham Lincoln (!), Muhammad Ali (!!), and Elvis Presley (!!!).
One of the names caught my eye--John Allworth. Glen pointed out that his name had been signed two weeks prior to the open house...he was obviously casing the home. We noticed something about his signature: it looked deliberate, forceful, as if he were trying to contain his terrible rage.
Bletch guessed that the name and the address he'd left behind were bogus. "Well, if his name isn't John Allworth, maybe it's somebody he knows or somebody who knows him," I pointed out. "He's a risk-taker, but he's deliberate. He left the girl alive for a reason. He signed his name as 'John Allworth' for a reason. We'll catch him if we can find out what that reason is."
Jack Giebelhouse offered to go down to that address: an apartment building in a really skeezy part of town. Allworth's place was listed as #440. Naturally, nobody was home, so he tried #444, and found himself talking to an old man called Mr. Marcelli. Their little chat bore no fruit.
When he came back from his little stroll, Giebs joined us--Glen, Bletch, and me--in the conference room. On a roll-down screen, the kind you see in high-school classrooms, we looked at slides of pages from several different open-house guestbooks. Several of the names, including "Travis Bickle" and "Rudyard Holmbast," matched our John Allworth's signature.
"So what?" Bletch demanded. "You want us to go knock on his door too? I mean, what if it was just random? What if he chose his victims because they were the most convenient?"
Oh, Bletch...You can be remarkably dense, you know that, right?
"Either possibility will tell us something about him," I said. "You don't have much else to go on at this point."
"There's the little girl," he corrected me. I cannot believe he's still going to pursue that line of thought, I said to myself. In my book, she's our absolute last resort.
I don't even feel like raising my objections. Bonehead Bletcher can go ahead with it if he wants to.
It's on him, not me.
I don't even feel like raising my objections. Bonehead Bletcher can go ahead with it if he wants to.
It's on him, not me.
=====================================================
We took another look at the crime scene. Bletch must have finally come around and seen things my way. Still, he wondered what we'd find that the lab techs didn't.
I pointed out that, even if we didn't find anything they didn't, at least we'd have a fresh perspective.
We went up to Patricia's room. Typical pink girl's room, complete with stuffed toys and a dollhouse. The bed was a mess, and a painting by the dollhouse hung on the wall at an odd angle. There was a dresser with a TV and a lamp on it. The lamp was knocked over, and there were a couple of A/V cables coming out of the TV.
In my mind's eye, I could see her struggling and hear her screams. And I realized: our suspect took the VCR. Bletch dismissed it as burglary, but I disagreed. I went over to an armoire to look for more clues, and I found a camcorder box. Empty.
Where is this going?
Later on, the three of us got a nasty surprise. Ms. Beverly Bunn, the broker for the Highsmith house, had sent us a tape of a man slaughtering Mary Kay Highsmith. I can only assume that he filmed it with the camcorder from the empty box I found.
You'd think I'd be used to this kind of stuff, but I'd never wish that on anyone, not even the worst of the madmen I chase.
====================================================
The next day, we got another call. Open house, same as before, except he didn't trip the alarm this time. I suggested taking a look at the keypad, dusting for prints.
There wasn't much left of the realtor. From the look of her, I'd say he shot her point-blank with a 12-gauge shotgun...which Bletch hadn't found.
"He takes chances," I said, "but everything's considered, as if scripted, planned. What to leave; what to take; what he wants us to see; what he wants others to see. He's leaving records of the events: videos, 911 calls, witnesses."
I lifted the welcome mat. Underneath it, I found a red "X" painted on the ceramic tile. Think I might find that again later on...
Later that afternoon, I was in the basement, reviewing that videotape. Horrible...but I had to keep looking. There's something here we've all missed. I rewound to the beginning and watched the first minute or so, which was shot upside down.
...What's that? I zoomed in and turned the image right-side up. It was a breakthrough: The killer's face, as seen through the glass panel of a door.
The phone rang. It was Bletch, with some news: The stolen video camera, the one from the empty box I found, was discovered at a pawn-shop in Bellingham. In return, I told him about the face I'd just discovered.
"You still adamant about not showing anything to the little girl?" Bob demanded. I stopped for a moment, unsure. Normally, I'd play every card in my hand, but as soon as children get involved, there's a line. Cross the line, and I'm no better than the killers I chase..
"I'm considering it, Bob." I hoped I could at least placate him while stalling on my decision.
===================================================
I heard the front door open. 'Must be Cath and Jordan,' I thought as I put my work away and headed upstairs. As soon as I reached the kitchen, a small whirlwind on four legs charged between my feet. Our puppy, Bennie, was overjoyed to see Jordan.
"How was your day, Jordan?" I asked, a big smile on my face.
Before she could begin, Cath interrupted her: "First, we're going to go upstairs and take a bath and get those little piggies of hers all cleaned up." My daughter's hands were indeed filthy. "How'd those little piggies get so dirty?" I asked. "At school," she giggled as she ran upstairs.
Once the little tyke was out of sight, Catherine produced some drawings out of her briefcase. "Patricia's," she explained. Their childlike nature made them all the more unsettling. First, there was a large, sad face. Next, there were two small figures, their torsos colored with red crayon (I assumed those were supposed to be her parents). Beside them stood a larger figure with a big red "X" emblazoned on his chest.
Catherine was a little confused about the significance of the X. "The man we're looking for left a red X just like this at the second crime scene," I explained as I showed her the picture of I'd printed. "An image to work from."
"You want my permission," Catherine concluded. I could tell that she felt the same way as I do. "Maybe she knows him," I countered. "Maybe it's a neighbor, someone the family comes into contact with."
Our options seemed to have run out. "I'll do it," she said, resigned. "I'll do it if you think it's the only way."
And then, I realized. "No. That's what he wants--for us to use the child. Bringing her the clues--the video, the audiotape--We'd be forcing her to relive that moment. It's probably something he's relived all his life."
I called Bob Bletcher. When he answered, I said, "I want to talk to you and your men. I don't want anyone going to see Patricia Highsmith. Promise me."
"But she's the key," Bletch protested.
"Yes," I shot back, "but not in the way we thought."
====================================================
That night, I was at a meeting with Bob and Jack Giebelhouse. They found out that his real name was "Cutter." How appropriate.
Earlier in the day, they'd led a SWAT team to Cutter's empty apartment. Earlier than that, a couple of kids found a 12-gauge shotgun in a garbage can across the street from their school. They told the crossing guard, and he called it in. Here's the really twisted part: The man we were after was the crossing guard.
"He hasn't left the city," I said. "He left us the shotgun to lead us to his apartment, to prove that we couldn't find him."
Bob was indignant. "Two hours earlier, and the officer who took his report would have seen his picture."
"He's running now," I said. "He's gone off to gloat, to plan his next move." Bob wanted to put him in the papers, so that everyone would recognize him. "Don't make him too famous," I cautioned. "He'll disappear on us altogether. No...We have until Saturday to figure out how he's going to up the ante."
"For God's sake, he's working as a crossing guard," Giebs sighed.
"He wants that girl to relive a nightmare," I said. "How does he up the stakes?"
"He wants us all to relive it," Bob said.
Later that night, I went out to the front porch to get some air, and Cath came to join me.
"I was just thinking about my parents--my grandparents," I mused. "Forty, fifty years ago, they never locked their doors, day or night. We seem to have accepted it so gracefully, so naturally...the security systems. We've allowed ourselves to become almost besieged by our own fear."
Cath tried to reassure me. "If you're not afraid, you're living in denial. The world's changed."
"I know," I said. "I just wonder: Where are we headed from here?"
=====================================================
We staked out the new house in the morning. Giebs posed as a visitor, while Bletch and I set up shop in a locked room with a few other cops. Small radios allowed us to keep in touch.
Giebs' initial search gave us nothing. "Either he got a whiff of us or he beat it out of town," Bob sighed. "I really don't think this is going to happen."
Suddenly our radios crackled to life. "Entryway, white male, tall, glasses," Giebs whispered. "Can't tell if it's our guy or not."
"Give him lots of space," I said.
We heard Cutter and the realtor make small talk over the radio as Giebs said, "If it's him, he's heading right to you."
The radio went dead for a few seconds. Giebs reported in again, his voice slightly panicked. "Olly-olly-oxen, he's going upstairs." Why the sudden change? Did Cutter notice him?
We quietly headed up the stairs. Our attempt at surprise fell flat, though, as we heard Giebs ask the realtor where Cutter went. "He's using the bathroom," she said.
Sure enough, he went out through the bathroom window.
======================================================
That evening, Bob and I took our cops back to the house. The two of us staked out the house for five-and-a-half long, weary hours while Seattle's finest searched the house.
"This guy booked it, Frank," Bob groaned. "I'm telling you, he's gone with the wind."
"I don't think so," I protested. "Get the blue-and-whites out of here. Then, you and I are going for a little walk."
We searched the neighborhood for a while, looking for anything suspicious. As we went past one of the houses, I got a funny feeling, like I was being watched. Warily, I tried going around the house.
A dog barked...German Shepherd, to be exact. Poor guy got locked out of the house, 'cause he was up on his hind legs, scratching at the door.
He noticed us and ran up to us, barking like crazy. Bletch found some candy in his pocket (thankfully, not chocolate--dogs and chocolate don't mix, you know) and distracted him while I went inside.
The screen on the security system's keypad said "Door Ajar: Section Five." Curious, I popped the little panel open. Nobody set off the alarm...nobody set it either, for that matter.
He was here, though. He'd found a picture of the family who lived here--husband, wife, young son. I felt myself fall out of the room and into his mind. It was a scene from his childhood, etched into his mind's eye with a branding iron.
We took another look at the crime scene. Bletch must have finally come around and seen things my way. Still, he wondered what we'd find that the lab techs didn't.
I pointed out that, even if we didn't find anything they didn't, at least we'd have a fresh perspective.
We went up to Patricia's room. Typical pink girl's room, complete with stuffed toys and a dollhouse. The bed was a mess, and a painting by the dollhouse hung on the wall at an odd angle. There was a dresser with a TV and a lamp on it. The lamp was knocked over, and there were a couple of A/V cables coming out of the TV.
In my mind's eye, I could see her struggling and hear her screams. And I realized: our suspect took the VCR. Bletch dismissed it as burglary, but I disagreed. I went over to an armoire to look for more clues, and I found a camcorder box. Empty.
Where is this going?
Later on, the three of us got a nasty surprise. Ms. Beverly Bunn, the broker for the Highsmith house, had sent us a tape of a man slaughtering Mary Kay Highsmith. I can only assume that he filmed it with the camcorder from the empty box I found.
You'd think I'd be used to this kind of stuff, but I'd never wish that on anyone, not even the worst of the madmen I chase.
====================================================
The next day, we got another call. Open house, same as before, except he didn't trip the alarm this time. I suggested taking a look at the keypad, dusting for prints.
There wasn't much left of the realtor. From the look of her, I'd say he shot her point-blank with a 12-gauge shotgun...which Bletch hadn't found.
"He takes chances," I said, "but everything's considered, as if scripted, planned. What to leave; what to take; what he wants us to see; what he wants others to see. He's leaving records of the events: videos, 911 calls, witnesses."
I lifted the welcome mat. Underneath it, I found a red "X" painted on the ceramic tile. Think I might find that again later on...
Later that afternoon, I was in the basement, reviewing that videotape. Horrible...but I had to keep looking. There's something here we've all missed. I rewound to the beginning and watched the first minute or so, which was shot upside down.
...What's that? I zoomed in and turned the image right-side up. It was a breakthrough: The killer's face, as seen through the glass panel of a door.
The phone rang. It was Bletch, with some news: The stolen video camera, the one from the empty box I found, was discovered at a pawn-shop in Bellingham. In return, I told him about the face I'd just discovered.
"You still adamant about not showing anything to the little girl?" Bob demanded. I stopped for a moment, unsure. Normally, I'd play every card in my hand, but as soon as children get involved, there's a line. Cross the line, and I'm no better than the killers I chase..
"I'm considering it, Bob." I hoped I could at least placate him while stalling on my decision.
===================================================
I heard the front door open. 'Must be Cath and Jordan,' I thought as I put my work away and headed upstairs. As soon as I reached the kitchen, a small whirlwind on four legs charged between my feet. Our puppy, Bennie, was overjoyed to see Jordan.
"How was your day, Jordan?" I asked, a big smile on my face.
Before she could begin, Cath interrupted her: "First, we're going to go upstairs and take a bath and get those little piggies of hers all cleaned up." My daughter's hands were indeed filthy. "How'd those little piggies get so dirty?" I asked. "At school," she giggled as she ran upstairs.
Once the little tyke was out of sight, Catherine produced some drawings out of her briefcase. "Patricia's," she explained. Their childlike nature made them all the more unsettling. First, there was a large, sad face. Next, there were two small figures, their torsos colored with red crayon (I assumed those were supposed to be her parents). Beside them stood a larger figure with a big red "X" emblazoned on his chest.
Catherine was a little confused about the significance of the X. "The man we're looking for left a red X just like this at the second crime scene," I explained as I showed her the picture of I'd printed. "An image to work from."
"You want my permission," Catherine concluded. I could tell that she felt the same way as I do. "Maybe she knows him," I countered. "Maybe it's a neighbor, someone the family comes into contact with."
Our options seemed to have run out. "I'll do it," she said, resigned. "I'll do it if you think it's the only way."
And then, I realized. "No. That's what he wants--for us to use the child. Bringing her the clues--the video, the audiotape--We'd be forcing her to relive that moment. It's probably something he's relived all his life."
I called Bob Bletcher. When he answered, I said, "I want to talk to you and your men. I don't want anyone going to see Patricia Highsmith. Promise me."
"But she's the key," Bletch protested.
"Yes," I shot back, "but not in the way we thought."
====================================================
That night, I was at a meeting with Bob and Jack Giebelhouse. They found out that his real name was "Cutter." How appropriate.
Earlier in the day, they'd led a SWAT team to Cutter's empty apartment. Earlier than that, a couple of kids found a 12-gauge shotgun in a garbage can across the street from their school. They told the crossing guard, and he called it in. Here's the really twisted part: The man we were after was the crossing guard.
"He hasn't left the city," I said. "He left us the shotgun to lead us to his apartment, to prove that we couldn't find him."
Bob was indignant. "Two hours earlier, and the officer who took his report would have seen his picture."
"He's running now," I said. "He's gone off to gloat, to plan his next move." Bob wanted to put him in the papers, so that everyone would recognize him. "Don't make him too famous," I cautioned. "He'll disappear on us altogether. No...We have until Saturday to figure out how he's going to up the ante."
"For God's sake, he's working as a crossing guard," Giebs sighed.
"He wants that girl to relive a nightmare," I said. "How does he up the stakes?"
"He wants us all to relive it," Bob said.
Later that night, I went out to the front porch to get some air, and Cath came to join me.
"I was just thinking about my parents--my grandparents," I mused. "Forty, fifty years ago, they never locked their doors, day or night. We seem to have accepted it so gracefully, so naturally...the security systems. We've allowed ourselves to become almost besieged by our own fear."
Cath tried to reassure me. "If you're not afraid, you're living in denial. The world's changed."
"I know," I said. "I just wonder: Where are we headed from here?"
=====================================================
We staked out the new house in the morning. Giebs posed as a visitor, while Bletch and I set up shop in a locked room with a few other cops. Small radios allowed us to keep in touch.
Giebs' initial search gave us nothing. "Either he got a whiff of us or he beat it out of town," Bob sighed. "I really don't think this is going to happen."
Suddenly our radios crackled to life. "Entryway, white male, tall, glasses," Giebs whispered. "Can't tell if it's our guy or not."
"Give him lots of space," I said.
We heard Cutter and the realtor make small talk over the radio as Giebs said, "If it's him, he's heading right to you."
The radio went dead for a few seconds. Giebs reported in again, his voice slightly panicked. "Olly-olly-oxen, he's going upstairs." Why the sudden change? Did Cutter notice him?
We quietly headed up the stairs. Our attempt at surprise fell flat, though, as we heard Giebs ask the realtor where Cutter went. "He's using the bathroom," she said.
Sure enough, he went out through the bathroom window.
======================================================
That evening, Bob and I took our cops back to the house. The two of us staked out the house for five-and-a-half long, weary hours while Seattle's finest searched the house.
"This guy booked it, Frank," Bob groaned. "I'm telling you, he's gone with the wind."
"I don't think so," I protested. "Get the blue-and-whites out of here. Then, you and I are going for a little walk."
We searched the neighborhood for a while, looking for anything suspicious. As we went past one of the houses, I got a funny feeling, like I was being watched. Warily, I tried going around the house.
A dog barked...German Shepherd, to be exact. Poor guy got locked out of the house, 'cause he was up on his hind legs, scratching at the door.
He noticed us and ran up to us, barking like crazy. Bletch found some candy in his pocket (thankfully, not chocolate--dogs and chocolate don't mix, you know) and distracted him while I went inside.
The screen on the security system's keypad said "Door Ajar: Section Five." Curious, I popped the little panel open. Nobody set off the alarm...nobody set it either, for that matter.
He was here, though. He'd found a picture of the family who lived here--husband, wife, young son. I felt myself fall out of the room and into his mind. It was a scene from his childhood, etched into his mind's eye with a branding iron.
He was just a boy. I could see his terror and hear his screams as a man opened an air vent and screwed the cover back into place. Then, he went and slaughtered the boy's parents while they were asleep in their beds.
Then, clarity: He relives that day over and over again, and he wants everyone around him to join in that. The security systems, the camcorder, the crossing guard; it all fits: He wants us to feel as absolutely helpless as he did. No matter how "secure" we make ourselves, someone who's really with-it will come along and turn it into a sick joke.
The sound of Bob coming into the house snapped me out of my vision. I crept up the stairs, and when I hit the third floor, I heard muffled whimpers. The sound led me to a closed door. Inside, I found the couple from the picture, bound and gagged but still very much alive.
A quick look up rewarded me with the sight of Cutter's reflection in the window. 'Is that a lead pipe in his hands, or is he just happy to see me?' I thought to myself as he struck me across the face with it. Stars danced in my eyes as I tried to get up. He took another swing, but missed as I rolled out of its path. The next two caught me in the shoulder and in the ribs.
He tried to go for the killing blow, but stopped when something down the hall growled. It was the dog from outside! Cutter dropped the pipe (so much for all his smarts earlier) and bolted. Rin-Tin-Tin gave chase and cornered him at the third-floor balcony.
And then--I kid you not, this is really what happened--the dog got up on his hind legs and shoved Cutter off the balcony. Down he fell to the first floor, where a glass-topped table broke his fall.
Then, clarity: He relives that day over and over again, and he wants everyone around him to join in that. The security systems, the camcorder, the crossing guard; it all fits: He wants us to feel as absolutely helpless as he did. No matter how "secure" we make ourselves, someone who's really with-it will come along and turn it into a sick joke.
The sound of Bob coming into the house snapped me out of my vision. I crept up the stairs, and when I hit the third floor, I heard muffled whimpers. The sound led me to a closed door. Inside, I found the couple from the picture, bound and gagged but still very much alive.
A quick look up rewarded me with the sight of Cutter's reflection in the window. 'Is that a lead pipe in his hands, or is he just happy to see me?' I thought to myself as he struck me across the face with it. Stars danced in my eyes as I tried to get up. He took another swing, but missed as I rolled out of its path. The next two caught me in the shoulder and in the ribs.
He tried to go for the killing blow, but stopped when something down the hall growled. It was the dog from outside! Cutter dropped the pipe (so much for all his smarts earlier) and bolted. Rin-Tin-Tin gave chase and cornered him at the third-floor balcony.
And then--I kid you not, this is really what happened--the dog got up on his hind legs and shoved Cutter off the balcony. Down he fell to the first floor, where a glass-topped table broke his fall.
I picked myself up and staggered over to the balcony. Bob Bletcher stood on the first floor and surveyed the grisly scene.
"Guess one of us ought to call the paramedics," he said.
"Do you remember the number?" I asked.
"Not offhand," he shrugged.
Of course, I went and called for an ambulance.
======================================================
Bob and I were at the hospital the next day--just visiting. Catherine had just told me that a foster home had been found for Patricia, and that she'd keep tabs for a while.
"That guy we caught," Bob suddenly said, "His parents shipped him out. Watched his aunt and uncle get tortured by some farmhand. Makes you wonder."
I reminded him that killers aren't born.
The door opened. Jordan and Patricia came out. Seems they'd made friends pretty quickly. Bob took them to the car--Jordan was headed home, and Patricia was headed to her new home.
It's comforting to know that something good can come out of even the most horrifying tragedies.
=====================================================================
COMMENTARY
For almost every episode now, I'm just waiting to pull out the line, "And this is the point at which Millennium becomes a standard, run-of-the-mill procedural."
With "Open House," I once again have to eat my words, because there are quite a few interesting things to talk about.
Let's start at the very beginning. The first scene shows a group of boys playing football in the street. Their fun comes to an end when Cutter's car, a nondescript gray Ford (Taurus?), comes in as if from out of nowhere. Already we see that his arrival has brought the typical narrative to a halt, and he's about to supplant it with his own. Of course, the boys don't like his presence: one of them very faintly says, "Get out of our game."
At this point, there's nothing really out of the ordinary about him; he's just a guy looking to buy a house. It's when he gets out of the car that he starts to become a little strange. He barely speaks, and he shows a panther-like quality in his body language and movements...he's slow and methodical, drinking in his surroundings and dissecting them down to the slightest detail.
And then, when he's in the little girl's bedroom, he goes to the closet. On a rack of clothing, there's a tie-dyed shirt, and there are Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls on the shelf. A picture of innocence, one that triggers an unwelcome childhood memory. We see him as a little boy, screaming at some unseen horror.
We meet the family that's about to move out. On the surface, they're there to be killed, so they don't really get that much characterization. In fact, the only significant thing we see any of them do is turn on the home alarm system, and they don't know that someone is already inside.
Their final moments are an ADT commercial gone horribly wrong.
Before I go any further, I'll give you a very brief history of the company. Per Wikipedia:
In the beginning, there was the stock ticker, which was invented by a one Edward Calahan in 1863. Soon after he invented the device, he formed the Gold and Stock Telegraph Company so that he could profit from it.
Three years later, someone broke into his house, and he invented a telegraph-based alarm system, which he eventually shared with fifty of his neighbors. Basically, each of them had a system in each of their homes, and these systems were connected to one central dispatch station. Bear in mind, though, this was just in his district. There were many other small telegraph companies at that time; they eventually merged into "American District Telegraph."
Over the years, they specialized in security systems for banks and major department stores, but things don't get interesting until a British businessman entered the scene in the late 70s.
That businessman was Lord Michael Ashcroft, who in 1977 bought a camping-supply company called Hawley Goodall and morphed it into a service and staffing company. Ten years later, he bought an Indiana-based company called "Crime Control, Inc." as well as ADT later that year.
This is when the ADT Corporation became a major powerhouse in America...and also when it started advertising. I remember when these commercials were broadcast several times a night. Almost every prime-time commercial break had at least one.
Here's their inaugural TV spot, courtesy YouTube user VaultMasterDBT (and presented here with kind permission):
As you can see, ADT's early commercials focused primarily on burglaries, and later commercials substituted burglars with angry ex-boyfriends (they looked a little bit like the climax of Episode 7, "Blood Relatives"). Whatever the situation, though, the "break-in" motif remained the same.
Also, the earlier ones were pretty heavy-handed, and I remember that they gradually softened over time. The stern, gravel-voiced, male announcer gave way to a softer female voice, and the grainy, lurid, "thief's-got-away" camerawork and narrative gave way to a "crime-in-progress/stopped-just-in-time" tone.
In the final analysis, though, ADT's products can only really offer an illusion of greater safety. Notice that the above commercial focuses solely on robberies and things being taken. "Wide Open's" first jab at the ADT narrative is Bob Bletcher saying that nothing had been stolen. Right away, the question is, "What kind of a burglar breaks into a house but doesn't steal anything?"
We then learn that the suspect tripped the security system on his way out. With that, our illusions of safety are ripped to pieces and turned into a sick joke.
...Then, later on in the episode, there's a plot twist. He did steal something after all: A VCR and a handheld video camera, with which he recorded his butchering of Mr. and Mrs. Hightower. (It's also a classic "double-edged sword": The video footage gave away a reflection of his face, which Frank isolated and used to catch him.)
Camcorders first came out in the mid-1980s, concurrent with the then-recent introduction of VHS video tapes. They were popular enough (Back to the Future most notably used one as a major plot device), but the things themselves were heavy, unwieldy things that had to be worn on the shoulder and relied on large battery-packs for power. The one featured in "Wide Open," on the other hand, is remarkably smaller and lighter than the one from Back to the Future. This is because camcorders from the 1990s used smaller, specialized videotapes, which could be hooked into an adapter and played on a standard VCR.
VCRs, of course, were the dominant home-video technology of the 80s and 90s. By 1996/97, they'd become cheap enough that every department store had one...so why did Cutter steal the one from the Highsmith house? The easiest answer is, "it was there." Or, perhaps, we're led to believe that this was his first actual kill, and it holds some intrinsic value for him.
Later on, he goes to the Emerald Shore real-estate office and gives a videotape to the realtor whom he'd met earlier. She puts it on, and it's the Highsmith murder. And it looks just like the opening shots of an ADT commercial.
Cutter has successfully invaded and taken over two narratives so far. The third? He works as a crossing guard, hiding in plain sight, ferrying schoolchildren across a busy street. Normally, one would think, "Oh, no, he's going to kidnap one of them or something," but his occupation doesn't come up until three-quarters through. Its only narrative function is to show why Patricia Highsmith put a big red "X" on his chest when she drew her parents' murder: his reflective vest had red "X" marks on them. She recognized him, because she saw him and his vest every day as she crossed that street.
All throughout the episode, Bob Bletcher and Frank Black lock horns about this little girl: Bob wants to interview her; Frank is determined to stall him, because he knows that doing so would give her parents' killer far more power than he should have. In the end, it was unnecessary, because Frank, who exists outside the usual police-procedural narrative, was able to find the murderer with the Millennium Group's image-manipulation technology.
Backing up for context: At the time, most commercial VCRs had fairly unreliable pause and freeze-frame equipment. Most of the time, it left a lot of white "snow" on the screen. That Frank was able to take a perfect freeze-frame from a camcorder video, and magnify it to the point where he could discern the reflection of Cutter's face, was nothing short of cutting-edge in 1996. I certainly don't think shows of the time, like NYPD Blue, ever used it to look for clues, and it didn't really see any traction on TV until CSI a decade later.
That being said, to make the case that Millennium is trying to predict the technology of a few years' time is to miss the point: It's noteworthy precisely because it doesn't otherwise exist within the world of Millennium. If the Millennium Group can provide him with equipment and software like this, then what else do they have at their disposal? What else can they do with it? We'd best keep an eye on them, for now...
Tune in next time when we cover Episode 10: "The Wild and the Innocent."
======================================================================
(Millennium copyright Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. All screenshots are property of Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. All rights reserved. Special thanks to Millennium--This Is Who We Are for episode transcripts, which helped me adapt the episodes.)
Let's start at the very beginning. The first scene shows a group of boys playing football in the street. Their fun comes to an end when Cutter's car, a nondescript gray Ford (Taurus?), comes in as if from out of nowhere. Already we see that his arrival has brought the typical narrative to a halt, and he's about to supplant it with his own. Of course, the boys don't like his presence: one of them very faintly says, "Get out of our game."
At this point, there's nothing really out of the ordinary about him; he's just a guy looking to buy a house. It's when he gets out of the car that he starts to become a little strange. He barely speaks, and he shows a panther-like quality in his body language and movements...he's slow and methodical, drinking in his surroundings and dissecting them down to the slightest detail.
And then, when he's in the little girl's bedroom, he goes to the closet. On a rack of clothing, there's a tie-dyed shirt, and there are Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls on the shelf. A picture of innocence, one that triggers an unwelcome childhood memory. We see him as a little boy, screaming at some unseen horror.
We meet the family that's about to move out. On the surface, they're there to be killed, so they don't really get that much characterization. In fact, the only significant thing we see any of them do is turn on the home alarm system, and they don't know that someone is already inside.
Their final moments are an ADT commercial gone horribly wrong.
Before I go any further, I'll give you a very brief history of the company. Per Wikipedia:
In the beginning, there was the stock ticker, which was invented by a one Edward Calahan in 1863. Soon after he invented the device, he formed the Gold and Stock Telegraph Company so that he could profit from it.
Three years later, someone broke into his house, and he invented a telegraph-based alarm system, which he eventually shared with fifty of his neighbors. Basically, each of them had a system in each of their homes, and these systems were connected to one central dispatch station. Bear in mind, though, this was just in his district. There were many other small telegraph companies at that time; they eventually merged into "American District Telegraph."
Over the years, they specialized in security systems for banks and major department stores, but things don't get interesting until a British businessman entered the scene in the late 70s.
That businessman was Lord Michael Ashcroft, who in 1977 bought a camping-supply company called Hawley Goodall and morphed it into a service and staffing company. Ten years later, he bought an Indiana-based company called "Crime Control, Inc." as well as ADT later that year.
This is when the ADT Corporation became a major powerhouse in America...and also when it started advertising. I remember when these commercials were broadcast several times a night. Almost every prime-time commercial break had at least one.
Here's their inaugural TV spot, courtesy YouTube user VaultMasterDBT (and presented here with kind permission):
As you can see, ADT's early commercials focused primarily on burglaries, and later commercials substituted burglars with angry ex-boyfriends (they looked a little bit like the climax of Episode 7, "Blood Relatives"). Whatever the situation, though, the "break-in" motif remained the same.
Also, the earlier ones were pretty heavy-handed, and I remember that they gradually softened over time. The stern, gravel-voiced, male announcer gave way to a softer female voice, and the grainy, lurid, "thief's-got-away" camerawork and narrative gave way to a "crime-in-progress/stopped-just-in-time" tone.
In the final analysis, though, ADT's products can only really offer an illusion of greater safety. Notice that the above commercial focuses solely on robberies and things being taken. "Wide Open's" first jab at the ADT narrative is Bob Bletcher saying that nothing had been stolen. Right away, the question is, "What kind of a burglar breaks into a house but doesn't steal anything?"
We then learn that the suspect tripped the security system on his way out. With that, our illusions of safety are ripped to pieces and turned into a sick joke.
...Then, later on in the episode, there's a plot twist. He did steal something after all: A VCR and a handheld video camera, with which he recorded his butchering of Mr. and Mrs. Hightower. (It's also a classic "double-edged sword": The video footage gave away a reflection of his face, which Frank isolated and used to catch him.)
Camcorders first came out in the mid-1980s, concurrent with the then-recent introduction of VHS video tapes. They were popular enough (Back to the Future most notably used one as a major plot device), but the things themselves were heavy, unwieldy things that had to be worn on the shoulder and relied on large battery-packs for power. The one featured in "Wide Open," on the other hand, is remarkably smaller and lighter than the one from Back to the Future. This is because camcorders from the 1990s used smaller, specialized videotapes, which could be hooked into an adapter and played on a standard VCR.
VCRs, of course, were the dominant home-video technology of the 80s and 90s. By 1996/97, they'd become cheap enough that every department store had one...so why did Cutter steal the one from the Highsmith house? The easiest answer is, "it was there." Or, perhaps, we're led to believe that this was his first actual kill, and it holds some intrinsic value for him.
Later on, he goes to the Emerald Shore real-estate office and gives a videotape to the realtor whom he'd met earlier. She puts it on, and it's the Highsmith murder. And it looks just like the opening shots of an ADT commercial.
Cutter has successfully invaded and taken over two narratives so far. The third? He works as a crossing guard, hiding in plain sight, ferrying schoolchildren across a busy street. Normally, one would think, "Oh, no, he's going to kidnap one of them or something," but his occupation doesn't come up until three-quarters through. Its only narrative function is to show why Patricia Highsmith put a big red "X" on his chest when she drew her parents' murder: his reflective vest had red "X" marks on them. She recognized him, because she saw him and his vest every day as she crossed that street.
All throughout the episode, Bob Bletcher and Frank Black lock horns about this little girl: Bob wants to interview her; Frank is determined to stall him, because he knows that doing so would give her parents' killer far more power than he should have. In the end, it was unnecessary, because Frank, who exists outside the usual police-procedural narrative, was able to find the murderer with the Millennium Group's image-manipulation technology.
Backing up for context: At the time, most commercial VCRs had fairly unreliable pause and freeze-frame equipment. Most of the time, it left a lot of white "snow" on the screen. That Frank was able to take a perfect freeze-frame from a camcorder video, and magnify it to the point where he could discern the reflection of Cutter's face, was nothing short of cutting-edge in 1996. I certainly don't think shows of the time, like NYPD Blue, ever used it to look for clues, and it didn't really see any traction on TV until CSI a decade later.
That being said, to make the case that Millennium is trying to predict the technology of a few years' time is to miss the point: It's noteworthy precisely because it doesn't otherwise exist within the world of Millennium. If the Millennium Group can provide him with equipment and software like this, then what else do they have at their disposal? What else can they do with it? We'd best keep an eye on them, for now...
Tune in next time when we cover Episode 10: "The Wild and the Innocent."
======================================================================
(Millennium copyright Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. All screenshots are property of Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. All rights reserved. Special thanks to Millennium--This Is Who We Are for episode transcripts, which helped me adapt the episodes.)
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