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The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 5: The Return of Leatherface
By Predator2005
Stonewall County, Texas
1996
In 1996, Stonewall County State Police raided the home of convicted mass-murderer Drayton Sawyer. The Stonewall County State Police had received a tip from and unknown source, that there were murders still going on in the home. The county had been receiving numerous reports of missing persons since 1994, over fifty. What the police found was astonishing. Inside, the police found an estimated 200 skeletal remains, and ten were positively identified as the recent persons. Led by Texas Ranger Timothy Enright, son of former Texas Ranger James Enright (1936-1992), the State Police raided the desolate farmhouse. When the police ambushed the home, they encountered a man now known only as “platehead”. He was shot dead by the police when he brandished a chainsaw. No one else was found in the macabre farmhouse, and the case was closed. The file stated that the authorities had sufficient evidence to link “platehead’ to the murders. The case was closed. But Texas Ranger Tim Enright believes that it would more than just one man to commit so many murders. He went unheard. Now, along with two other men, Enright started his own search for the real killer, the one whom his father spoke of often, a man known as “Leatherface”.
Leatherface saw the police coming down the road. He was standing in a heavily wooded area. He was afraid this time, because there was a lot of them. His brother was still in the house, and he was worried his brother would get caught. Leatherface was burying a dead body, one his brother had finished filleting. He had his chainsaw sitting next to him. He looked around, and across the woods he could see Drayton’s old truck. He had to make a run for it. He was not going to get caught.
The police set up a perimeter around the home. The house was falling a apart, and there were multiple cars, maybe twenty or so, were spread around the yard. There were at least twenty-five police officers there, set up with shotguns and automatic assault machine guns. Enright stood up from a police car, holding a shotgun in one hand, and a microphone in the other.
“Come out, now, with your hands up!” the microphone echoed. “You are completely surrounded”
Nothing, no one emerged.
“Alright,” Enright said.
Enright looked at the other officers around him and nodded. He picked up a radio and said, “Now! Now! Now!”
Enright was the first to run from behind the car; the others followed behind. Enright blew the handle of the door and kicked it open. He cocked his again and entered the home. He could hear the officers entering the back door. As Enright entered each room, he yelled “Clear!”. He could hear other officers in the house. He kicked the door open to a room, and took a long, hard stare at what he saw. He was staring at a massive pile of human bones, and many piles of clothing and shoes. He suddenly had flashbacks of seeing his father trying to calm down his cousin, Sally; she was having a violent episode. Whenever something reminded her of this house she flipped. She eventually took her life in 1980. He was snapped out of his daydream when another officer smacked him on the back. He instantaneously snapped back to reality and he turned out of the room. Enright ran up the steps. He was the third one up. As he reached the top, he heard the yank start of a chainsaw. The officers stared at the door it was coming from. Enright pushed his way through the three when the door was thrown open from the inside. A short, black-haired man, wearing over-alls and a green shirt walked out of the room with a chainsaw. He wasn’t wearing anything on his face, and his teeth were rotted out and his face was pail white. He revved the chainsaw and took a step towards the officers and Enright. That was when they opened fire. Enright fired first, striking him in the right shoulder, causing him to drop the chainsaw. The other officers kept on firing; being hit by the bullets threw him around like a rag doll. He hit the wooden floor. They approached him. He was muttering something under his breath. Then he died. Enright walked over to the room where the man had approached from. Inside, a pile of bodies were hacked to pieces. Enright knew they got the wrong guy. This wasn’t the man his father spoke of. Enright was no where near finding the man named “Leatherface”.
Leatherface tore out of the yard in the white pickup. He was constantly looking back at the house. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t wan to stick around to find out. He had heard gunshots, and seeing the amount of police officers there, he knew his brother was dead, and now he was the only remaining family member. He yelled in frustration. He drove past the home, seeing the red and blue lights flicking down the lane. He would return someday. Soon, maybe.
Enright finished a few questions with a reporter. They were still on the premises of the farm house, and the police were packing up to leave, and the body of the man they killed in the house was on his way to the morgue, as was Enright. As he was walking to his car, an old friend approached him.
“Enright!” he yelled, trying to get his attention.
He turned to see Harold King walking across the grass to him.
“King, where the hell have you been? Everyone is leaving,” he said.
“So, I heard you got the bastard,” King said.
“I don’t think so,” Enright said. “My father wasn’t crazy, he knew what he was talking about.”
“You still believe that bull shit he told everyone. Now, here is the story. Your dad was found alive along with Drayton Sawyer. No one knows what the hell he was doing down there. But your dad talked about all these things that didn’t make any sense. ‘An overweight mass-murderer that wears peoples skin on his face to cover a facial deformity’,” King said.
“Why didn’t you believe him?” Enright asked, obliviously becoming pissed off.
“Because no one he described was ever found, even after he said he had rammed a chainsaw through his side,” King said.
“I’m, gonna find him myself. I’m taking some time off work. He is out there, probably half way across Texas now. But I’ll find him,” he said.
“You’re becoming your father, and you know that,” King said.
“Yes, probably so, but I’ll finish his job,” he said. “I need your help.”
“What do you want?” King said.
“I’m gonna need all the reports of any murders involving ‘a chainsaw maniac’ between 1987 through now, plus any knew ones coming up,” Enright said.
“It’ll take me a bit, but I could have it for you by Friday,’ King said.
“Thanks, King, I’ll see you Friday,” Enright said as he was getting into his car.
Enright walked into the low-lit morgue, seeing the deceased body of the man they killed in the home.
“Hey, Bart, what do we have?” Enright said as he approached him.
“Well, you guys tore him up good. I would estimate an approximate age of forty, maybe around your age. 43 in a month, right?” Bart asked.
“Yeah, but what else do you have on him?” Enright asked.
“Yeah, yeah. I cut him open and found some sort of meat in his stomach, and I sent a sample of it to the lab. I would like to believe it’s just steak,” he said, with a smile, “But I think the initial cause of death was a blast to the heart, killing him quiet quickly. But I found something weird. He had a metal plate on his head. I removed it, and it had markings from a government agency. I think he got it during a war or something. Anyways, he has no identification and no teeth left, but I seriously doubt he has dental records. What do you want me to put him down as?” Bart asked.
Enright looked at the man lying on the table. “Platehead.”
Bart smiled and wrote the name down in quotes on a sheet attached to a writing board.
“Did you identify the new bodies we found in his home?” Enright asked.
“No, it’s too soon. Tests aren’t back. But, I’ll tell you what, the Texas people are gonna look at you like a damned hero or something,” Bart said as he continued to write.
“Why?” Enright asked.
“Because when you guys brought all those fucking bones back, we estimate there were about two hundred deceased. They are gonna love you when they found out you brought the man down who was responsible for this,” Bart said.
I haven’t yet, Enright thought to himself.
Leatherface was almost through Stonewall county, and he needed a place to stay for the night. As he was driving, he noticed a small farmhouse. The lights were on, but it was getting late for him. He could barely keep his eyes open. He decided to stop. He turned down the lane and stopped at the house. He could hear a dog barking around the house somewhere. He got out of the truck, and grabbed his chainsaw. He rip started it and approached the house. A teenage boy opened the door as Leatherface was walking up the porch. His eyes were wide with fear. His mother followed after, and she screamed when she saw him. Leatherface cut through the screen door, killing the boy as he tore through. The woman took off. Leatherface followed after. At the top of the steps, her husband stood with a shotgun. As Leatherface turned the corner to steps, the shotgun blast tore a hole through the wall. Leatherface fell back. He had been hit by a stray buck shot. It didn’t hurt much, though. Leatherface killed the chainsaw and walked into the kitchen, where he found a small hatchet hanging on the wall. He put his chainsaw down and slowly walked to the stairs. Leatherface made a quick move, chucking the hatchet at him. The blade dug deep into the mans leg and he dropped the shotgun, and Leatherface laughed in joy. He picked his chainsaw up, ripped started it, and walked up the steps. He finished the husband off, decapitating him with the chainsaw. He could hear the woman whimpering in the master bedroom. She was huddled in the corner, praying to god for protection. Leatherface smiled as he walked up to her. He raised the chainsaw high in the air, cutting the ceiling. He brought the chainsaw down on her head, killing her instantly. He killed the motor and looked over. A bed. Leatherface dropped the chainsaw next to the dead woman and he got onto the bed, and drifted into sleep.
The next day, Enright sat down with two men in a local Denny’s, and it was pouring outside. The two men across from him were big; they were young, though, early thirties. They were well-known and respected bounty hunters. Their names were James Langley and Thomas “Freddy” Fredrickson.
“Alright,” Enright said, “I’m gonna need your help.”
“What about man, anything,” Freddy said. He was a deep-voiced black man, with a large muscular build and no soul.
“I’m taking time off work to finish what my father had started a while back,” Enright explained. “In 1992, my father died of cancer. You both know that. Anyway, he encountered a family of cannibalistic people. They had taken shelter in a system of rooms and tunnels under a closed-down Dallas amusement park. He saved a young girl, some D.J. out of Dallas. Now, he had said he killed a man named ‘Leatherface’. When they found him, half dead and bloodied, they found two people: Drayton Sawyer and Edward Sawyer. Edward Sawyer was reportedly killed when my father destroyed the support of the underground shelter and Drayton Sawyer was sentenced to death in 1990 for the dead bodies that were found in the shelter. But, they never found Leatherface. Two days ago, I lead a raid on the farm house owned by Drayton Sawyer. We got a tip that some people disappeared near the home. Anyways, when we raided it, we killed a someone, but not Leatherface. Now, down to why I want help from you guys. I’m gonna need you to run errands for me. I’m personally starting my own ‘search and destroy’ mission on this ‘Leatherface’. I believe he is alive. I know it. I’ll have a map made up of reported chainsaw attacks in and around this county.”
The two just stared at Enright for a second. The two have both heard of the chainsaw murders and Enright’s father and his delusional ramblings.
“What kind of errands?” Langley asked.
“Visit some survivors, find out if they have a description of the attacker. I’ll pay you,” Enright answered.
“How much, Tim?” Freddy asked.
Enright took a napkin and a pen from his pocket and wrote down a number amount. He slid it over to them. Freddy picked it up and showed it to Langley. The two looked at each other and nodded.
“We’re in,” Langley said.
Enright smiled, and said, “Thanks, I’ll give you guys a call when I need you.”
Leatherface awoke to the yelling of a man downstairs. Someone had stopped by, and seen what he had done. Leatherface quickly grabbed the chainsaw and bolted down stairs, starting it as he went. In the kitchen, a dirty farm, wearing a flannel shirt and dusty blue jeans was standing there, making his way to the stairs. Leatherface yelled and started hacking at the man until he was in pieces on the floor. He had died without resistance, much like his other victims. They were in shock when they saw him, which made it so easy for him to kill. He made his way to the white pickup truck, and sped down the lane and tore out onto the highway once again.
Freddy knocked on the door first, and then Langley knocked harder, giving Freddy a look like he was an idiot or something. They two were friends, and they had been for a long time. They have always worked together, always refusing to work with someone else. The door came open, and a black man opened the door. He was older, about 55-60. He was black, and he shaved his head, but his goatee showed signs of white hairs.
“Who are you?” he said.
“Are you Benjamin Clarke?” Langley asked.
“Yeah, what about?” he said, looking confused.
“We have some questions for you,” Freddy said.
The three sat in his living room. The house had a dark, rustic feeling to it, and every window was shaded up, so there was no sunlight, only from the hanging lamp in the living room.
“Now, what do you boys want to know?” Benjamin asked. “Oh, call me Benny, everyone else does.”
“Alright, Benny. We did some research about you, and it seems that back in ’90 you had a run-in with a man known as Leatherface,” Freddy said, handing him a picture of a sketch of Leatherface.
Benny stared at it awhile. He gave it back and said, “Yeah, I did. I swore he died though. I shot that bastard I know it. He with some crazy family; cannibals. They called him Junior, or Leatherface, both. I watched him hack up two people. The family died. We killed them all, Michelle and I, but I thought Junior was dead. You have evidence he is alive?”
“Well, no, but we are investigating. Texas Ranger Tim Enright is leading it,” Langley said.
“Ah, Lefty’s boy. I’ve worked with Lefty before he died. He always talked about this guy. I fucking though he was crazy, but I know he wasn’t lying now. It was hard getting the other officers to believe me, but they couldn’t find the house Junior was staying in. If he was still alive, I’d help him hunt that bastard down,” Benny said. “Just promise me one thing, boys. Promise me you’ll show no mercy with that man if you find him.”
The officer sat in his cruiser under an overpass. He was sitting, clocking speeders. He was drifting into sleep when the sound of a truck awoke him. The radar detector clocked him at almost 82. The officer clicked his lights on and went into pursuit. It didn’t last long. The white pickup truck slowed down and settled on the road. The officer ran the plates. It was registered to a Henry Winters, who was reported missing almost thirty years ago. The officer got out of his car and pulled out his gun.
“Please, step out of the vehicle!” he yelled. “Now!”
No one emerged from the truck, and he yelled, “Now!”
Nothing. He slowly approached the truck, when the door popped open. He could hear a low humming, but could not determine whether it came from the trucks engine or something else. The officer still approached the vehicle. When he was about five feet from the vehicle door, it swung open, and a tall, burly man, wearing a mask of some sort stepped out of the truck, brandishing a chainsaw. That is when he charged. Leatherface ran full speed. The officer fired of one round, grazing Leatherface in the right shoulder. Not phasing him, Leatherface dug the chainsaw deep into the officers chest. He could feel the spits of blood on his arms and neck.
Enright looked at the large map of Texas he had stuck on the wall of his living room. He had Stonewall County outlined in black permanent marker, and red tacks on his the different spots where the attacks were reported. There were over fifty. Most were women, some men. They were mostly in between the ages of 20-30. Young kids, adventurous, ones who decide to take the back roads instead of the highways. Everyone of the reported missing were marked in blue tacks, from where they were seen last. All of them seem to be circling around the farm house, but some have been out as far as Dallas. Then, as he was shuffling through the papers, he got a phone call. He dropped the pile and grabbed the phone.
“Hello,” Enright said.
“Enright, this is King. There was another murder,” he said. “A cop this time, stopping a white Chevy truck, a 1970’s model. He radioed in and ran the plates. It was the vehicle of Henry Winters. He was reported to have disappeared around the area of that house.”
Enright held the phone to his head with his shoulder and went through the stack of papers and found a paper on Henry Winters.
“Enright, I was wondering, who the fuck was driving that truck?” King asked.
Enright waited a second. “Who the hell do you think?”
“Get down here, Enright,” King said.
It was around 11 o’clock when Enright showed up at the scene. He put on his cowboy hat and walked over to the group of officers around King. The group broke up when Enright approached them.
“King,” Enright said.
“Come here, Enright,” King said, and Enright followed him to a body bag. King unzipped it and showed it to him. The mangled body of the police officer was sitting inside; the mans face was frozen in fear. His eyes and mouth were wide open.
“The depth of the wound goes in about eight inches. It cut into his heart and lung, killing him instantly,” King explained.
“You believe me yet? Enright asked.
“Maybe. When they catch this guy, I’ll apologize about the things I said,” King said.
“Alright,” Enright chuckled.
“Well, which way was he heading?” Enright said.
“East, towards Louisiana, or what we think,” King said.
“I got a couple guys checking out a few places for me, getting some descriptions,” Enright said.
“What are you gonna do if you do get him?” King asked.
“What do you think?” Enright said. “The same thing my father was planning to.”
Enright had been planning to pick up where his father left off, but he was never very open about it. He never spoke of it to anyone, and he has been in a dry spell with it, but he was ecstatic when they got a tip about the farm house.
“Enright, you gonna need anything?” King asked.
“No, I have everything I need,” Enright said.
“Well, good luck,” King said, holding out his hand. “Call us if you need help.”
Enright shook Kings hand. “I doubt I’ll need it, but if I get into some trouble, I’ll let you know.”
Enright departed into the dark, Texas night.
Leatherface blew a tire on his way home. He decided he couldn’t go much longer with out home. He had just gotten back when the cops showed up and killed his brother, now he was by himself. He sat in the truck. He began rocking it back and forth, yelling in frustration. Then, in the rear view mirror, he saw a dark blue car pull up behind him. He smiled Another pretty lady stepped out of the car. She was calling to him, yelling, “Hello? Do you need help?” He didn’t, but Leatherface looked at her with harmful intent. Leatherface grabbed his chainsaw and started it once again. He got out of the truck, and by then the woman had fled to her car, trying to start it, but she couldn’t get the key in. Leatherface broke out the window. He began cutting at the door, hacking into it. He cut her in the shoulder, then in the chest, then in the head. She was dead. She was gonna help him, but she was dead. He opened the car door, killed his chainsaw and tossed it into the back seat. He shoved the dead woman into the passenger seat, started the car, and drove home.
Enright awoke to a phone call. It was King.
“Enright, we found the truck,” King said.
“And him?” Enright asked.
“No,” but get this, “It was dumped about a mile from the farm house.”
“You haven’t found him yet?” Enright asked.
“No, but I have a good idea where he is at,” King said. “But, we aren’t moving for another five hours. If you want to take care of it, take care of it now,” King said, and the line was dead.
“Hey, Freddy, this is Tim, we’re on the move. What did you guys find out?” Enright asked.
“Well, we found out there was a lot of fuckin’ shit about this dude. He apparently went on the down-low after 1987, not many, but we talked to some people. They were pretty shook up about the situation. Most of the sole survivors of these attacks eventually kill themselves or go into this thing called catatonia. Anyways, we talked to an old Texas Ranger named Benny. He said he swore he killed the guy, put one right in his heart, but no before Leatherface tore the shit out of him with a chainsaw. This guy is crazy, it’s like he works on instinct. The people said he just did it, with out hesitation or remorse.”
“Well, looks like we have a tip on where he is at. He’s back home,” Enright said, “Do you guys need any thing before we move?”
There was a short pause, then, “No. Where do we meet?”
“My place. The police move in five hours. We gotta get this done,” Enright said.
Two and a half hours until the police raid.
Enright, Freddy, and Langley suit up. They were parked at the end of the long drive lane to the farm house. Enright put a holster and a belt around his waist. He put a Colt .45 in the holster. He also grabbed a 12-gauge street sweeper shotgun. Freddy put a .9 mm in a side holster. He also picked up a MP5-N. Langley grabbed a P229 S and stuffed it into a side holster, and he also grabbed a M4. They all loaded their guns and took the walk down the lane.
Leatherface watched them walk over the police tape and enter his home. His home. Leatherface was in the woods once again, much like all this started. Leatherface was out in the woods, once again, burying a dead body of a women he had murdered on his walk back home. She was very pretty. He knelt down and brushed through her hair. He was to deal with these guys then he was to get away. Forever.
Enright and the two entered the house, Enright took the first story, searching the kitchen and the other various closets and rooms. Freddy searched the upstairs and various bedrooms, and Langley searched the basement.
The bones and furnisher had been cleared out, as well as the appliances. It was basically vacant, except a chair or a lamp. The walls had not been clean, though. There were still bloody handprints on the walls and sprays of blood on the walls and ceiling. Enright knew he was here, where else would he be?
Langley searched for the hanging light, and swung his hand around to find the pull switch. He found the chain and yanked down on it. Then, when the light filled the room, he realized what was standing directly in front of him. That fuckin’ murderer. Leatherface revved his chainsaw and went at the shocked bounty hunter. He started with his arms. After he had cut through them, he began hacking at the left shoulder. As he mercilessly went at the poor man, Enright and Freddy ran down the stairs. The two stood and watched Leatherface kill Langley. That was when Freddy snapped.
“Mother fucker!” he yelled over a blaze of gunfire. The bullets struck Leatherface in the right arm. He turned and ran, ducking behind a wall, making his way to the basement steps leading to the outside. Freddy followed first.
The man ran through the dark basement. He mad his way to the steps and ran up them. That was when Leatherface brought the chainsaw down on him. It dug into his right arm, shredding it off. He stumbled back and hit Enright’s legs as he was running.
“What the fuck happened?” he yelled.
“God damned mother fucker cut my hand off. He was waiting for me at the top of the steps. Go get his bastard ass!” Freddy yelled, clenching his wrist in pain.
Enright nodded and ran up the steps. When he reached the top, he could see Leatherface running off into the woods. Enright leveled the gun and fired. The buck shots struck Leatherface in the leg. The man hit the ground, tossing his chainsaw. Enright smiled and ran.
He was rolling on the ground, screaming, grabbing his leg. Enright didn’t want to kill him, yet. He grabbed the gun and smacked Leatherface on the fore head, knocking him out.
Leatherface awoke. He was staring at a tall man, wearing a tan suit and blue dress shirt. He watched him remove his cowboy hat and look him in the eyes.
“Look at you,” Enright said.
Leatherface realized he tied to his chair, and they were sitting in the living room of the house.
“Lets take that fucking thing off,” Enright said, grabbing the facemask and ripping it off, revealing his hideously disfigured face. He squirmed and screamed. Around him was a puddle of blood from his gun shot wound. He hated it when people saw him like that.
Enright looked down Leatherface.
“I don’t know what the fuck happened back in ’86, but I’m gonna find out,” he said.
Enright lifted Leatherface’s shirt to reveal a jagged, twisted scar.
“My dad wasn’t crazy,” he said.
Leatherface was confused. Who was this person? What did they want? Why were they trying to kill him?
“My father tried to kill you 10 years ago. I’m gonna finish his job.” Enright looked at his watch. “Thirty minutes till they show up.” He looked over at Freddy, holding his hand in pain, obviously in pain. “You gonna make it?”
“Yeah, I will,” Freddy said through his teeth.
Enright turned back to Leatherface.
“You know what it’s like to be chopped up into pieces with a chainsaw?” Enright yelled. He turned around and picked up a chainsaw. He rip-started it.
“Guess what? You’re gonna feel the pain of it!” Enright said over the motor of the chainsaw. Leatherface yelled in fear.
Enright Brought the chainsaw down on his right hand, ripping it off. Leatherface began to cry as he yelled. Enright brought the chainsaw down along the side of his face, ripping the skin and ear off his skull. Leatherface couldn’t take it much longer. He began rocking back and forth, loosening the old chair. Enright took the chainsaw and held it out in front of his chest.
Just as he was to thrust it into Leatherface, he knocked the chair over, ultimately breaking it and freeing himself. Leatherface rose quickly and attacked Enright, causing him to drop the chainsaw after a punch from his left hand. The two struggled. Enright was now unarmed, facing a big, heavy, merciless brute. Enright hit Leatherface, not even phasing him. Leatherface tackled Enright. Leatherface was coking him,. And Enright could see his .45. He reached for it and grabbed it. He rose the gun to Leatherface’s head and gripped the trigger. Just before he pulled it, Leatherface rolled out of the way, and when he pulled it, he struck Freddy in the chest. The blood from him sprayed all over Enright face. He rose in shock.
“Mother fucker! Freddy!” Enright yelled as he ran to him. Freddy was dead. In his left hand he was holding a pistol. Freddy was gonna save him, but now Enright killed him, and he felt the most anger in him. Enright turned to see Leatherface next to him. Leatherface kicked him with his boot in the side of the head. Enright laid on the floor, dizzy and confused. He looked up and saw Leatherface with his mask back on, holding his chainsaw in his hand. Enright knew Leatherface had the upper hand. Leatherface put his boot on Enright’s neck. He took the chainsaw and dug it deep into Enright’s chest. Enright could feel it ripping into his skin, sinking deeper into the chest. When it cut into his heart, Enright felt a great amount of pressure in his chest and he closed his eyes. Enright was dead.
Leatherface pulled the chainsaw out of him, and it died. It was out of gas. He picked up Enright’s .45. He walked out of the house and into the bright sunshine. Leatherface was unstoppable. His will to live was much large than anything. Then, in the distance, blue and red light flashed and they were coming fast. Leatherface looked at his pistol. He had to stand up to them, the murderers of his brother. He knew he could make it. He stood and waited. He stood on the porch, waiting to defend his home.
Soon, the police cars formed a circle around the house. The police exited the vehicles, brandishing shotguns and pistols. Leatherface was to take them on.
“Put the weapon down, now!” King yelled.
Leatherface rose the pistol. He fired off a round, hitting a cop in the head. The others opened fire. Leatherface got blasted by the bullets and buck shots. A blast to the head was the fatal gun shot. His blood was splattered all over the wall behind him. He dropped to the deck, with a massive amount of blood spewing from the shotgun blast to his head. The cops closed in. Once they realized he was dead, they radioed for an the coroner and an ambulance King pointed at other officers to check out the house. He looked down at Leatherface. King already knew what happened there, in that hell hole. Enright couldn’t finish the job himself. But, they brought him down. The killings stopped and the state of Texas would soon forget this whole mess.
After the police killed a man known as Bubba Sawyer, Jr. during another raid on the dilapidated farmhouse, other officers found the dead bodies of Texas Ranger Tim Enright, and two Texas state bounty hunters, Thomas Fredrickson and James Langley. The police demolished the house and the Texas Chainsaw Massacre case was closed. The state incinerated the body of Bubba Sawyer, Jr. In total, the killings ranked up to over 200, the true total would never be found. What Enright and the others were doing in the house, the police would never be sure, but the autopsy reveled Bubba Sawyer, Jr. had other gun shot wounds, saw cuts, and bruises previous to the police shooting. Texas Ranger Tim Enright has a plaque hanging next to his fathers in the Stonewall County State Police station. They will never forget the both of them.
7/16/2005 2:18:46 PM
(Updated: 7/16/2005 11:45:34 PM)
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