Imagine if you will, dear listener, an anonymous-looking apartment house on Barton Avenue, Richmond, state of Virginia. It hadn’t been opened for three baking-hot days. Opening the door, the seasoned investigators were blasted with a wave of heat and rot. The smell was like a wall, or more apt; a tsunami of death hitting them square in the face as they entered. They had experienced this before, for some of the investigators it was part and parcel of the job. But they had not seen a crime scene like this; with snakes slithering on the floor, stained with old blood from the floor. The investigators got out fast and called for animal-control officers to subdue and remove the snakes. Later, after this was done, it had to be admitted the killers knew something, however minimal, about psychological warfare. Releasing from their confinement Harvey Wilkerson’s pet snakes had been nothing short of successfully annoying, and potentially dangerous to anyone entering the crime scene. They were also very well capable of damaging and/or obscuring crucial evidence.

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