Sniper on the Loose (page 5 of 8)

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One mans confession led to another mans realization.

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Where are these shootings happening?

"Blood on My Hands"

He thought about how it was still possible Dieteman was just telling tales and that by calling the cops, he would be stirring up needless trouble for a friend. Plus, there was an unspoken code among bikers: You never snitch on someone you know.

But then Horton thought about all those innocent people dying and told himself that if Dieteman was the killer, he might be able to stop him.

"I sat there and went over all of it a long time," Horton says. "I knew I could lose my friends for doing this to Sammy. But I have to be able to put my head in my pillow at night."

He finally dialed. After an operator assured him that his number was not being recorded and no one would call him back, he provided Dieteman's name, along with the disclaimer that he wasn't certain he was the Serial Shooter. Horton also said there could be at least two shooters out there.

After the call, he felt a combination of dread and relief. "I wash my hands of this," he told Gang. "It's on the cops now to track down my lead."

Except they didn't. Horton spent a good part of the next several days in his car, driving to different work sites, and he listened to the news nonstop. "I watched the news all night, too, looking to see if the cops moved on my tip." But the police were reporting they still had no suspects. Horton thought maybe he'd been so worried about getting involved that he'd been too vague with his information. In fact, he'd given the cops too little to go on—not much beyond Dieteman's name—and his tip was buried in a stack of thousands of others.

Meanwhile, the Serial Shooter struck again, targeting three new victims in downtown Phoenix. All were hit from behind—one in the head, the other two in the back. Amazingly, they managed to survive. When he heard about these shootings, Horton felt responsible. "I knew something that might have stopped them," he says. "I had blood on my hands."

He called the tip line again, but he couldn't provide the kinds of details the police needed. Dieteman's cell phone no longer worked—Horton had tried that number already—and he had no idea where in east Phoenix Dale lived. He didn't even know Dale's last name.

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