The Meaty Case of the Griller Killer

The scent of burning flesh offended his every sensibility, but Duane smiled as he flipped his famous burgers, and used his spatula to wave at a group of people who had just arrived at his BBQ party. The guests are all people he met on a Facebook group for meat lovers in and around Dallas. This was his seventh event and not once has anyone noticed that Duane never actually eats any of his acclaimed recipes. Nobody has any idea whatsoever that he is vegan, let alone that he is the infamous Griller Killer.

A reporter in Jackson, Mississippi had coined the moniker after the FBI revealed they had finally made a connection between the recent murders in which only the severed heads of the victims had been recovered. An observant agent noticed that each of the fallen men had elaborate grilling and smoking equipment, and based on that, it was discovered that they had all also been active in social media groups for BBQ enthusiasts.

This is how Duane had selected his victims. They were the most egregiously vocal flesh-eating douchebags he could find in social media groups for that type from his neighboring state. He never actually joined the groups or interacted with anybody in them, so that he could not be connected to them in any way. Most of the groups of that nature were public, so he simply lurked in them, seeking the most grotesque cliches among them to feed to his "friends" back home.

Duane himself had learned to parrot the carnivorous hyperbole so that he would remain above suspicion. He had even posted a video of him publicly and directly mocking a restaurant patron who had ordered his steak well done. His closet was full of t-shirts with quirky meatyboi slogans and he had a bumper sticker on his car which proudly stated his contempt for vegans, despite secretly being one. An entire image had been curated to present himself as impeccably dedicated to the consumption of food that previously had a face. 

The FBI had hypothesized, correctly, that the killer was vegan; that the murders were an act of vengeance by some deranged individual who saw his slayings as acts of justice committed on behalf of the rest of the animal kingdom. They had encouraged the public to rat out anybody who might fit the description of a disgruntled vegan terrorist. Nobody alive had any idea that Duane was flesh-abstinent.

"Alright meatheads, grills up!" Duane cried out, signalling to his guests that the first round of burgers, sausages and select cuts were ready for consumption.

As they ate, Duane walked among them, listening into their conversation and taking perverse delight in their ignorance. 

"I don't know how he does it, but I have never had a juicier burger than one of this guy's," a middle-aged man told a group of friends as he put his arm around Duane.

"That's the taste of terror, my friends. I instruct my butcher to arouse the beast to a state of peak fear before putting the bolt through its head, causing an endorphin rush that sends the animal's blood rushing to every muscle in its body. Super-oxygenated. That is why the meat doesn't dry out as it cooks." Duane revealed, telling the truth while conveniently sidestepping what sort of animal the meat had come from. Homo defectus.

As he strolled around doing his usual meat-and-greet, invitees asked various questions, hoping he would divulge secret tips and advice that would raise their grill game.

"This has to be aged, right?" one of the few women in attendance asked. The groups were almost entirely populated by men, but there were a handful of ladies who were just as fanatical about being seen as traditional meat-eating, God-fearing troglodytes.

"Of course. Six weeks," he smiled wickedly. "But that's all I can tell you, otherwise..."

"I'll have to kill you!" the group cried out in unison. It was one of their little in-jokes.

Later that night he would have to drink himself stupid to wash the taste of these obvious idiots and their banal bloodlust out of his proverbial mouth, but for the moment he just laughed along and then excused himself to continue making the rounds.

"Duane, my man! You gotta settle a bet for us." Hal, the administrator of the Dallas BBQ Army, stopped him. "These sausages, there's definitely coriander powder in them, right?"

"A little of that, and a whole lot of elbow grease," Duane responded, unbeknownst to listeners that he was being quite literal about the presence of elbow. The tendons, when pulverized, added a robust gamey flavor. He was big on using all the parts.

The most surprising thing was that nobody ever directly asked him what the source of his meat was. He guessed it was because to do so would be like admitting you were not an expert in all things meat, which was prohibited by the prideful identities these sort were constantly trying to present to others. Their allegiance to this image made them easy to fool and manipulate, while providing them with a dizzying delusion of superiority.

After he had spent twenty minutes cavorting with the unwitting cannibals, Duane returned to his post at the grill, to finish destroying the evidence. Not long after he threw the final remains of his most recent victim onto the grate above the hot coals, he was joined by Bronson, one of the few Dallas BBQ Army members he actually liked, despite his inhumane diet.

"I need some advice, man. I got this cousin in Biloxi who hasn't eaten meat since 2nd grade. He isn't exactly fanatical about it, but he is a creepy fuckin' dude. Though he did save my life one summer when I fell off a dock and got my leg caught in a fishing net underneath the water. Just jumped right in and untangled me, without a thought to his own safety. So I feel like I kinda owe the guy, but at the same time, I think its quite possible he is the Griller Killer. Cuz has a real morbid sense of humor. On one hand it doesn't feel right to narc on him, since he is family and I owe him my life. But on the other, if he is the killer, how could I live with myself if it comes out later it was him, and I said nothing?"

Bronson paused, waiting for the grillmaster to dole out some wisdom, but he just stood there with a quizzical look saying nothing in response. Duane was privately thinking about the pros and cons of focusing the FBIs attention on an innocent suspect who would fit their profile. Finally he spoke.

"I mean, this is just one guy talking, but blood is thicker than justice," he had decided that connecting himself to a suspect peripherally through Bronson was a bad idea. "If your cousin is that psychopath, either God has a plan, or will intervene Himself. When in doubt, do right by family, know what I mean?"

"Yeah. No. Yeah. I mean...you're right. Of course." Bronson paused and then gave Duane a friendly pat on the back. "Thicker than justice. I like that. You make that up?"

"Nope. The Bible," Duane lied, although he could not be sure. The Bible was full of stupid sayings, and it was possible it did mention that somewhere. 

Bronson pointed at tender flank Duane had cut from his victim's thigh. "Shoulder. Am I right?"

Duane answers, "If I told you..."

"You'd have to kill me."