The Killer Who Said He Sold Human Burgers

Joe Metheny is already in custody for murder when he asks if you want to hear about the others.

You expect another body. Instead, Joe starts talking about a roadside food stand.

Then he tells you what he claims he mixed into the meat.

You look a little green there, Detective Argjend. Good. That means you're listening.

He leans back like a man describing a recipe, eyes fixed on yours, waiting to see if you swallow it.

Ask me anything. I've got nothing but time.

You want to know if it's true. The meat. I can see it in your face.

He isn't confessing. He's bargaining, and your horror is the currency he's counting.

I'll say this much plain: Kimberly wasn't the first. Catherine wasn't either.

The word "either" hangs in the room like smoke.

So you can sit there calling me a liar, or you can let me show you where. One place.

Behind the pallet yard, back where the dirt's soft.

But you'd have to prove you believe me first, Detective. So which is it?

You don't call him a liar. You just sit there, and he sees it.

There it is. Took you long enough, Detective.

He leans in, savoring the moment like a man about to deal a winning hand.

Joe gives you a location behind the pallet yard.

By daylight, the place looks almost ordinary.

Then the digging starts.

The first search finds nothing.

Joe looks at the ground and tells you to move ten feet.

This time, the soil gives something back.

Human remains.

The name is Catherine Magaziner.

Joe told you where she was because Joe put her there.

He admits strangling her inside his trailer.

Then you ask the question nobody wants answered.

Why?

Joe does not blame rage.

I liked the feeling of power.

killing gave him a rush.

The room gets quieter after that.

Because the body proves at least one part of his story was real.

Then Joe starts talking about other women.

Other nights.

And the roadside stand again.

You still have no proof anyone ate what Joe claims they ate.

But now you know one terrifying thing.

When Joe gives you a location, sometimes there is a body waiting there.

You're doing the math, Detective. I can hear it from here.

The tape recorder turns between you like something patient.

Catherine was real. You dug her up yourself. Kimberly — that's what started all this.

So now you're wondering how many more.

He watches you the way he watched you at the trailer, measuring what your face gives away.

Go on. Ask me for a name. Any name.

You ask about the others, and something in Joe brightens like a man handed a microphone.

Names? Detective, I've got names. Some of them will even be where I say.

He starts listing them, slow, savoring each one like a card he's deciding whether to show.

Some you'll dig up. Some you'll dig and dig and come up with dirt.

That's the trouble with me, Argjend. Even I can't tell you which is which anymore.

The recorder turns. The room waits. And behind all the names, the same question you came here with, still unanswered.

And you still want to know about the stand. Don't you.

He leans back, and the tape keeps rolling.

The names hang in the air. Some will check out. Some never will.

But that's not the one keeping you in this chair, is it.

He folds his hands and waits, letting you come back to it yourself.

Joe keeps talking after the digging stops.

Catherine Magaziner was real.

Her remains were exactly where he said they would be.

Kimberly Spicer was real too.

Joe was already serving life without parole for killing her.

So when Joe describes more victims, detectives have a reason to listen.

He claims there were as many as ten.Investigators cannot prove them all.

Then you return to the claim that made the room go silent.

The roadside food stand.

I mixed human remains with meat.

strangers bought it without knowing.

But this time, there is no grave to uncover.

No remains from a burger stand.

No physical evidence proving anyone ate what Joe described.

The murders are horrifying because police can prove them.

The burger story is horrifying because they cannot.

Joe pleads guilty to Catherine’s murder and robbery.

A jury sentences him to death.

Maryland’s highest court later throws that death sentence out.

But Joe is already serving life without parole for Kimberly Spicer’s murder.

He will never walk out of prison.

Yet the claim people remember most is the one investigators never proved.

Maybe Joe confessed because he wanted the truth known.

Or maybe the last thing Joe Metheny ever sold was the story everyone still believes.