The

Be it. I was really angry at that point.

I was really angry at that point.

You've been angry for a long time, hadn't you? Yeah, she was getting me angrier. Sorry, because I was really angry at that point.

And you've been angry for a long time, hadn't you?

Yeah, she was getting me angrier, angrier and anger every day. On the afternoon of the 18th of September 1989, workers at the Port Authority

bus terminal in New York City were carrying out their usual tasks.

They were cleaning spillages, sorting uncleaned luggage and ensuring the smooth operation

of one of the busiest transit hubs in the country.

The parcel check area, which is a place where travellers stored their belongings before continuing their journeys,

was particularly active. It cost just $2 for 12 hours of safekeeping and the area was filled with an

assortment of suitcases, duffel bags, and the occasional forgotten package.

Amidst the usual clutter, there was a green army duffel bag that had a lock securing it.

At first it blended in, just another item among the sea of belongings waiting to be claimed.

That afternoon, however, a man arrived at the parcel checking counter flanked by

police officers. He was rugged, disheveled, a presence that immediately drew attention. Without

hesitation, he handed over his claim ticket. The clerk retrieved the bag and set it down in front

of him. Then, in a voice disturbingly casual, he turned to the officers and said,

If you open the bag, you'll find bones inside.

The officers exchanged glances.

This was no ordinary luggage retrieval.

With growing unease, they unfastened the lock and pulled open the bag.

...