During the years 1968-1974 there was a string of brutal homicides in New Mexico’s 4 corners area. During this period there were 18 killings and the residents, particularly the female residents, were terrified. State Troopers, County Sheriff’s Departments and other local law enforcement authorities banded together to make catching the killer top priority. Then, as suddenly as they had started, the killings abruptly stopped.
The interior of the Santa Fe Station looked much the same as any Trailways Bus Terminal in the Southwestern United States, a poorly lit cavernous area tiled in a dingy black and white checkerboard pattern and festooned with overflowing trash receptacles. Scattered throughout the area was the usual gallery of rogues, small groups of sleepy eyed college students in their bell-bottoms and quasi-Native American headbands, the occasional wino complete with brown paper bag clad bottle of cheap wine raised in perpetual toast to a society that had long since ceased to acknowledge their existance. Some of the students were asleep on their backpacks, others rocking out to a cacophony of discordant sound blaring from their transistor radios, each seemingly tuned to a different station, while the winos, mercifully insulated from the chaos by vast quantities of Thunderbird and Ripple, ignored their surroundings perferring instead to converse with the voices that only they could hear.
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