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MARC SAPPINGTON: THE KANSAS CITY VAMPIRE
A World of Church Bells and Sirens


Sappington grew up on the north side of Kansas City, a world punctuated by church bells and police sirens. It’s a place where Sunday morning preachers paint vivid word pictures of Hell, and congregants don’t have to look very far to find it.

Kansas City skyline at night
Kansas City skyline at night

Abject poverty is as common as welfare.  The African-American infants there – like their counterparts in the rest of the country – have a mortality rate twice that of white babies. While politicians thump their chests about declining crime rates, somehow the crime reductions never seem to happen in places like Kansas City’s north side.

But it’s also a neighborhood where thousands of decent people try to scrape by, a place where single mothers do what they can to keep their kids from falling into the traps of crime and violence.

Sappington’s mother was one of them. A hard-working single mom who relied on her religion for solace, she had struggled to raise her son, Marc, alone. The boy’s father vanished before Marc was born. In fact, Marc never even met the man. That meant that his mother had to be particularly strong, and one of the ways she tried to instill a set of values in her son was to drag him to church every Sunday.

For the most part, her efforts appeared to succeed. Sappington developed into something of a choirboy, a rarity in a neighborhood where gangsta wannabes ruled the streets.

Although never a particularly good student, Sappington’s intelligence was revealed in a quiet charm.  His engaging personality drew people to him – teachers, parents and other kids. Among the kids was Freddie, a skinny little 16-year-old whose real name was Alton Brown. Freddie genuinely admired Sappington. He saw him as something of a big brother, authorities would later say.

By that point though, Sappington was hardly the perfect role model – despite his mother’s best efforts. As he reached adolescence, Sappington acquired a taste for PCP, a drug which some say can make users paranoid, even psychotic.

Sappington loved his “danks,” the street slang for cigarettes soaked in embalming fluid, dried and then smoked.  Typically, his drug use resulted in a few minor and routine encounters with the police.

“There were never any crimes against people,” says Jerry Gorman, the assistant Wyandotte County prosecutor who is handling Sappington’s case.

At least not until March 16, 2001.


CHAPTERS
1. Muttering Retreats

2. A World of Church Bells and Sirens

3. The Uncovering

4. Shame and Fear

5. On the Hunt

6. Serial Killer

7. Endgame

8. The People vs Marc Sappington

9. Bibliography

10. The Author

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