Fayner Posts: It was a warm Sunday afternoon in 1996, June 24th to be precise, as my roommate Willy and I headed out from our apartment, a mere block away from the Zanzibar nightclub we both worked at, to get some lunch after waking from another hectic evening serving cheesy people drinks.
A dozen steps from or building and we’re surrounded by local news crews hounding us for information about a murder linked to Zanzibar.
"What the fuck?" I remember asking.
We bolted straight for the Zanzibar office.
An excerpt from the Associated Press
The murder last week of Karina E. Holmer, a 20-year-old Swedish au pair who worked in Dover, has been a sobering return to reality for many of the young foreigners who work in the Boston area.
Ms. Holmer was last seen alive June 22 at the Zanzibar nightclub. The next day, the severed upper half of her body was found in a Dumpster in Boston’s Fenway neighborhood.
The lower half of her body has yet to be found and police were still trying Sunday to find the scene where she might have been slain to help them find clues to her killer.
I took the night off on June 22nd to attend my friend’s band rock show at another venue within what is called "The Alley," a group of watering holes owned by the same company, which also included Zanzibar.
Following the show at the 2 am closing time, Willy and I decided to invite people back to our place for an after hours party, mostly because it was only a city block away.
Lacking any alcohol, I was picked to go into Zanzibar and "borrow" some booze, a common practice for us.
Once inside, I noticed the usual random drunken chicks sitting around waiting for whichever bartender planning on fucking them to cash out and take them home.
One of the bartenders, Tony, yelled down to me from the balcony to walk one drunk chick in particular out to a cab, as she was not there as a fuck toy for anyone, just too drunk to leave.
"Sure," I shot back, "just let me grab some booze, okay?"
I was gone less than two minutes, returning to the same spot with the beer to walk her to a taxi. She was gone. I thought nothing of it and left.
Sometime later that day, that woman I was asked to help get a cab, a Swedish nanny named Karina Holmer was probably raped, then cut at the torso with a chainsaw to discard of any DNA that would have been present in the semen of the villain, her top half thrown in a dumpster near Fenway Park. Her lower half was never recovered.
Local Boston Homicide cops and the FBI were on the case, and during interviews with Zanzibar staff were told she was last seen inside the club with me. So began the interrogation.
Despite my alibi, I was many times called into the club office to meet with the authorities involving my possible involvement. It was becoming a pain in the ass for me, answering the same questions over and over. They kept pushing me for information, which I chalked up to the fact that they had no leads at all. It came down to me almost joking about the possibility that I was involved, telling the cops that I couldn’t even lift up a chainsaw, let alone cut someone up with one.
After months of random meetings with the fuzz, it was finally understood that I was innocent.
The case remains unsolved.
It is believed by many that the crime was done by a Boston police officer she had been dating.
Now you know the ugly secret I’ve been hiding for years.