Body Hunter by Patricia Springer Page A

into the proper slots. He completed the task in under six seconds.
    â€œThat’s the fastest I’ve ever had anyone put the blocks in the correct slots,” the psychologist said, smiling. “Do you mind doing it again?”
    Wardrip, who had rarely been praised, was elated by the compliment. “Sure,” he said.
    Again the button on the chrome watch was compressed and the sweeping hand on the watch began to move.
    â€œSix seconds,” she said again.
    Wardrip swelled with pride. “What’s this test for?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s to determine your space perception and planning skills,” she said. “To be able to put the patterns together so we can determine how your brain works. It’ll help in determining what kind of work you are best suited for. In your case, you are very mechanically minded and are probably artistic.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Wardrip said proudly. “I’m an artist.”
    Wardrip finally received his TDCJ classification and was assigned to one of the more than one hundred facilities operated by the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. At twenty-seven, Wardrip was one of just under a hundred thousand inmates incarcerated in the TDCJ system and he fell into the twenty-eight percent of Caucasians.
    Wardrip sat in his cell staring at the institutional green walls. He knew he had to do something to change his circumstances. He wanted to be free of confinement. He had a choice. He could become bitter and resentful toward the system, as many of his fellow prisoners had obviously become, or he could work toward making the most of the time he had to serve. He glanced at the black-bound Bible on the bed beside him. Someone had left the book in his cell shortly after he had arrived. He picked up the Bible and began to read.
    Passages surged through Wardrip like bolts of lightning striking a rod.
    â€œFor God so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
    â€œAnd shall come forth; they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.”
    â€œIf ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
    Wardrip rested the open book in his lap. If I know the truth, the truth will make me free, he thought. He wanted to be free, released from the burdens of his sins and the nightmares of seeing Tina Kimbrew’s face in his restless sleep. And most of all he wanted free of the steel bars that restricted him. He read on.
    â€œYou are the light of the world. . . . Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in Heaven.”
    That was it. Wardrip knew what he had to do to turn his life around.
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    June 1992
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    Although Faryion Wardrip was safely behind bars, Danny Laughlin nervously waited to find out when, or if, Barry Macha would take him back to court for Toni Gibbs’s murder, and Ken Taylor continued to be harassed by the Fort Worth Police Department and shunned by his family, the victim count continued to climb.
    The family of Terry Sims agonized over her death. Their world had been shattered. Their loss was intensified by the lack of information on the unsolved killing. Who could have done such a horrible thing? And why? The questions were constantly asked by the Sims.
    There appeared no reason for the senseless slaying.
    â€œShe wasn’t a girl who walked the streets in a short skirt and makeup. She was the opposite of that,” her agonized mother said. “She loved to help people. She worked with autistic children and visited patients in the hospital in her free time.”
    The family couldn’t understand why someone would take the life of a person like Terry. No one understood.
    Sims’s mother cried for