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Chapter Moses Sithole, South Africa. As such, some of the information is served up in small bites: quotes, brainteasers, lists, matching games, facts, and factoids permeate the book and make the gruesome information a little more, well, palatable. The meat of the book, chapters 2 to 36, is comprised of long stories that delve deeply into the lives of the most infamous serial murderers, the dark stars of our time and times past.

This book is designed both for people who are relatively unfamiliar with serial killers and their crimes and for those who have already devoured books and websites dedicated to all the grisly details.

We think that the quality and depth of the research will enable both groups to enjoy it. Enjoy may seem like a strange word to use when talking about murder— particularly serial murder—but the plain fact is that there is a certain subset of ghouls out there yours truly included who love reading about it. As in the first book, however, we have drawn a line on the morgue floor: There are some things that are so awful that they are not enjoyable to read.

We have tried to exclude that material without taking the bite out of the book. For example, there was one close-up photo that showed a young female victim with her vaginal vault gone, which could make, as they say, a goat barf. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.

Most people who commit murder do so out of passion and anger. When homicide cops investigate, they usually look at family members as suspects first. There are, of course, people who plan a murder for financial or other gain, but murder is most often a crime of passion. Serial killers are much different; they kill many people, almost all of whom are usually strangers, over a period of time, and usually with some sort of cooling-off period between killings.

According to the FBI, a serial killer is someone who has killed a minimum of three people. We agree that this generally is a true definition, but we would also put firmly into the serial killer category those killers who were stopped from murdering before they reached three victims because they were caught or otherwise incapacitated, but who, because of the way they committed their crimes, would have killed at least three— maybe many more.

I have committed thousands of burglaries, robberies, larcenies, arsons, and, last but not least, I have committed sodomy on one thousand male human beings. For all these things I am not the least bit sorry. Why this compulsion— and it is a compulsion—to kill multiple times? Some people think that the compulsion to kill may be the result of trauma to the brain.

This is what the Tampa, Florida, serial killer Bobby Joe Long thought drove him to rape and murder women; he claimed that, before a motorcycle accident that caused severe head trauma, he never thought about killing women. Another potential reason is that something dreadful happens to the human psyche when a child is shipped to an orphanage, or given up to a foster care system. It is no accident that Ian Brady of the A True Whore - Albert Fish Is My Hero - Aileen (Cassette) murders was such a one.

We believe that to understand the why of serial killers, one has to first accept the existence of the unconscious mind: that things are going on it constantly and that it is capable of controlling behavior. When a child is abused in one way or another by parents, the anger and terror he or she feels is hidden in the unconscious, which becomes like a seething cauldron, and the child starts looking for ways to deal with the terrifying feelings emerging from it.

Someone in the family, usually the mother or father, has clearly shown the child that he or she has no value except perhaps as a sex object or someone to hurt. Then, the child creates symbolic scenarios in which he or she is dominant or acts out, first by showing mastery over animals by abusing them, and sometimes over structures while burning them down. Michael Swango While all of us are subject to some stress in our childhoods from our parents, the stress we are talking about here is horrendous, and the reaction of the child is equally so.

We believe that serial killers are unconsciously terrified of and furious with people because of their own childhoods, and that they kill to temporarily alleviate that terror.

A person in that situation is God! Strange Trophies Between killings, some serial killers need something to remind themselves of how powerful they are. Masturbation usually accompanies tokenism, because it brings the power and satisfaction of the kill back to the murderer.

Some serial killers take body parts as trophies. Edmund Kemper took the head of one of his female victims and used it as a masturbatory aid in the shower. Ted Bundy took heads back to his apartment and masturbated on them. Some serial killers empower themselves by becoming cannibals, as the s killer Albert Fish did with a ten-year-old girl he had abducted. They want to be known and feted for their achievements as killing machines.

And this, as some of the stories in this book will show, sometimes gets them caught. Years ago, psychiatrists established that a serial murderer will have exhibited one or more specific behaviors in childhood: cruel- The Difference between Mass Murder and Serial Murder ty to animals, setting fires, and Many people confuse mass murder and serial murder, but they are different crimes.

In a mass murder, a group of people is killed all at once; serial murder describes the act of killing many people one at a time over a relatively long period of time.

An example of mass murder is the March 30,murders in Hamilton, Ohio, when James Ruppert shot eleven members of his family to death. In contrast, serial murderer John Wayne Gacy killed at least thirty-three young men over a period of six years.

If you know these symptoms, you should consult with a psychiatrist. In particular, cruelty to animals and setting fires are indicative of someone on a power trip: The person lords it over the tortured animals and the houses burned to the ground, and the behavior reassures the person of his or her power. Team Killers Sociopaths While the most common Unlike regular murderers, serial killers are sociopaths.

Sociopaths are missing an essential part of what makes a person human: the ability to empathize with the pain and suffering of others. While he stood in front of a judge describing the most wrenching acts imaginable, it was clear that he cared as much about the lives he took as someone might care about a discarded napkin.

No one showed sociopaths how to love or care for others when they were young. In this instance, one is usually dominant and the other person wants to do anything to please the dominant person. A striking example of this is the Hillside Strangler, who was actually two people: Ken Bianchi, who was trying to please his dominant cousin Angelo Buono Jr. But while there are two instead of one, they are both sick—although one might be more violent than the other, that does not make the submissive partner innocent or healthy—and just as deadly as any solo killer.

Do serial killers kill only members of their own race? The victims of a serial killer do generally belong to the same race as the killer, but not always. How many victims must a murderer have before he is considered a serial killer? At least three, according to the FBI most serial killers reach that benchmark with ease.

How many serial murderers are out there? There have been conflicting reports as to the extent of serial murder, but according to the FBI, there may be roughly seventy to one hundred serial killers operating at any given time. From what profession do the most serial murderers come? The medical profession has produced the most serial killers—primarily doctors but nurses closely follow.

Who is the most famous serial killer of all time? Hands down, Jack the Ripper. This infamous killer slaughtered five prostitutes in the Whitechapel district of London, starting on August 31,and was never apprehended. To this day—though there are many theories—no one knows his true identity.

The combined number of victims whom these men brutally tortured and murdered is staggering, yet every day they would sit together and play bridge, just like your grandma did with her neighborhood friends. The club broke up when William Bonin was executed. Before his execution, Bonin ate a very hearty last meal: two sausage-andpepperoni pizzas, three dishes of coffee ice cream, and fifteen cans of Coke!

The following chapters present the stories of some of the most infamous serial killers in America. I did not fuck her tho I could of had I wished. She died a virgin. And if there is a superstar among serial murderers, it is Albert Fish—and if there is a superstar among detectives pursuing serial killers, Will King of the New York Police Department is near the top of the list.

His pursuit of Fish Albert Fish as a young man. On May 27,an ad appeared in the Saturday afternoon edition of the New York World Telegram: Young man, 18, wishes position in country. Edward Budd, West 15th Street. Albert and Delia Budd had placed the ad for the oldest of their five children, Edward.

The family lived in a tiny The Killer Book of Serial Killers basement apartment, and the idea was that Edward could get a job and help support them. The next afternoon, there was a knock on the door and Delia Budd, who was home alone, answered it. He was very well dressed in a three-piece navy blue suit, blue shirt, black felt hat, and polished black brogues.

He had white hair, watery blue eyes, and Delia guessed he was in his sixties. In summary, he looked like a well-to-do gentleman. Later, Delia Budd would say that the only thing that tarnished the image of the man was his teeth. They were missing, broken, and discolored. Delia was excited by the prospect and invited him in. When young Edward came in a short while later, he too expressed interest in working for the well-dressed elderly man.

Howard explained to the Budds that he owned a farm in Farmingdale, Long Island, and that business had recently picked up to the point that he needed to hire someone to help. The Budds were very impressed with Howard, particularly his obvious wealth. At one point in the conversation, he pulled out a roll of greenbacks that would have choked the proverbial horse.

For a family who lived on the fiscal edge, it was an aweinspiring display. Howard offered Edward the job, and Edward enthusiastically asked him whether he might have an additional position on the farm for his friend Willie Korman. Howard said 16 Albert Fish yes. He promised to return the following Saturday and pick them both up. That night, they received a telegram from Howard, saying he had unexpectedly had to go to New Jersey on business. But Howard was early, and they were not ready to go.

As Howard and the Budds waited in the living room for the boys, ten-year-old Grace Budd came into the room. She was a thin, sickly sort of child, but today, Sunday, she was looking her best.

She had on her white confirmation dress she had been confirmed in the Catholic Church just three weeks earlierher soft, dark brown hair was bobbed, and her large blue eyes twinkled. Howard gushed at what a beautiful child she was.

Grace took to the old man immediately, walking over and sitting on his lap. And Howard took to her. He engaged her in a game of counting his money. Then Howard had an idea. His niece was having a birthday party at her home at th Street and Columbus Avenue.

They had a few hours before they needed to leave for the farm. Might it be OK to take Grace to the party? Delia Budd resisted the idea, but her husband Albert championed it.

How often, he said, did Grace get a chance to get away from their cellar apartment? Grace put on a gray coat and left with Howard, who said he would have her back in a few hours. Later, Delia Budd would admit to having an almost subconscious concern for her daughter as she watched them walk away. But she did nothing. Just before they turned the corner, Grace turned and yelled something, but they could not hear what she said.

If only the Budds had known a simple fact, Grace Budd might have lived. Columbus Avenue ended on th Street. The intersection of th Street and Columbus did not exist. Howard did not return with the little girl at the appointed time. The Budds wondered where they could be, and Edward and Willie were anxious to get going to their new jobs. Maybe, the Budds thought, Howard and Grace had been in an accident.

Incredibly—and this is something that has never been explained—the Budds did not contact the police about their daughter until the next morning. One of the detectives was Will King. King was a gruff-talking, heavy smoker who believed in order and discipline and whose life was being a cop. He was also gutsy, patriotic, and had that most important attribute of a great detective, determination. Frank Howard would have been better off if Sherlock Holmes and not Will King had come to investigate the case.

Word of what was then regarded as an abduction spread fast, and soon newspapermen of the day were assaulting West Fifteenth Street, swarming all over the Budds for tidbits about Howard and the little girl. Under immense 18 Albert Fish pressure to solve the case, the head of the Missing Persons Bureau assigned fifty detectives to it, forming a task force with King as the head. To King, there was little question that Grace Budd was dead.

But it riled him that a man could walk in off the street, take a little girl, and never return. King pursued the case with a withering ferocity. The detectives spread out and talked to hundreds of people.

They dusted the entire house for prints, they questioned Western Union at length about the telegram Howard had sent the Budds, they went to Farmingdale to question farm owners. They followed every lead possible, but after a few months they had come up with nothing, and the task force members were reassigned to new cases.

It remained an open case, but the police department started to forget about it. However, Will King did not forget. He handled other cases, but in a mind-boggling display of determination, not a single day went by that he did not pursue one lead or another in the Budd case. Some of the earliest leads came from ordinary folks.

When the case first hit the media, the Budds were deluged with mail both sympathetic and crank, and from time to time they would receive letters that seemed to contain actual leads and would turn them over to the police. Will King doggedly tracked them all down.

Mail leads continued even after the police had stopped actively investigating. King specifically instructed the Budds to turn the mail on Grace over to him unopened, but invariably when he got it, it would be open. His relationship with the Budds became less than cordial—while King understood 19 The Killer Book of Serial Killers that they just wanted to find their daughter, the Budds were contaminating evidence. Weeks turned to months, then to years. Soon it had been A True Hustler than six years since Grace Budd had disappeared with the kindly old Howard, and not a single day had gone by when Will King had not worked on the case.

In fact, his superiors started to worry about him—and their worry proved well founded. In earlyWill King, working night and day on his other cases as well as on the disappearance of Grace Budd, collapsed and was confined to a hospital for three months.

Before he was discharged, his doctors warned him about overexerting himself. The police department, concerned for his health, assigned him to a desk job. But, of course, he did not stop. He pursued every lead, however thin, that turned up, and continued his awe-inspiring pursuit of the kidnapper. To King, each lead was a new hope, a new road that could lead him to the kidnapper—and each was a dead end.

She had received a letter from someone, and it looked like it was about Grace. Did he want to see it? He did. Edward Budd brought over the letter—this one unopened—and King carefully opened it and read it.

The contents of the letter were later to be read into the court record and would stun and repulse people, but King was excited: It was the handwriting. He did not have to be a graphologist to know that the spidery-inked handwriting in this letter to Delia Budd was written by the same man who had written the telegram to the Budds six years ago, telling them that his arrival 20 Albert Fish would be delayed because of business in New Jersey—Frank Howard.

Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her: On the pretense of taking her to a party. You said Yes she could go. I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had already picked out.

When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wild flowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get blood on them. When all was ready I went to the window and called her. Then I hid in the closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run downstairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mamma. First I stripped her naked.

How she did kick-bite and scratch. I choked her to death, then cut her in small pieces so I could take my meat to my rooms, Cook and eat it.

How sweet and tender her little ass was roasted in the oven. It took me nine days to eat her entire body. He noticed that the legal-sized envelope the letter arrived in had an emblem and some initials on it, and that someone had attempted to A True Hustler them out. King went to the headquarters and explained his business to the president of the association.

The president was concerned that King suspected one of his members, but King reassured him that he just wanted to check handwriting samples.

None was close to the handwriting of Frank Howard. King tried another tactic. A few days after reviewing the applications, he spoke in front of the seventy-five-member group and asked whether anyone had used any of the NYPCBA envelopes or had taken any for personal use. He made it clear that no one would get in trouble if they had, but he was vague about why he wanted to know.

After being reassured by King that there would be no punishment, Sicoski admitted that he had taken some of the envelopes and used them while he lived at a rooming house at Lexington Avenue.

He said he might have left some around. It was boarded up tightly, and a canvas of the neighborhood proved fruitless: No one knew anyone who looked like Frank Howard. Stymied, King went back to Sicoski to find out whether he remembered anything else. King hurried over there. It was a flophouse, and this time he found something. He spoke with the landlady and asked her whether she knew anyone who looked like Howard.

She did—and said it sounded like Albert Fish, who was staying in No. King looked at his signature on the register. Albert Fish and Frank Howard were the same man! King asked where Fish was. King checked it all out, and then he set up a stakeout, taking a room at the top of the stairs that gave him a view of the intersection at Fifty-second Street and Third Avenue.

He smoked, he exercised, and he ate canned food. He stayed awake for more than twenty hours a day. Fish did not show. On December 12,King decided to take a break from his routine and went Christmas shopping.

He was away for two hours, and as soon as he returned to his room there was a rapid-fire knocking on the door. It was the landlady. King strapped on his. He knocked. The person inside invited him to come in. Inside, sitting on the bed, was a man who perfectly fit the description of Frank Howard: a little white-haired, baggy-eyed man with watery blue eyes. King identified himself as a policeman and told Fish that he wanted to talk to him about some letters he had written, and that Fish needed to accompany him to headquarters.

Fish agreed mildly. King brought him downstairs and then, just as they were about to exit the building, Fish whirled, straight razors in both 23 The Killer Book of Serial Killers hands. King quickly subdued and shackled him; he had gotten a glimpse of the real Albert Fish.

At the police station, for whatever reason, Fish started to speak. He expounded on the horrendous letter for the detectives. He said that after he killed Grace, he positioned her neck on a oneAlbert Fish in the custody of Will King. He tried to drink the warm blood but vomited. Then he used a knife and a cleaver to cut her in half at the navel, and proceeded to cut her into pieces. He planned on eating all of her except her head, guts, and skeleton. And it was all true.

Later, at his trial, he admitted that as he ate Grace Budd over the nine days specified in the letter he was in a state of continual sexual excitement, and the memory of eating her during the day led him to masturbate at night.

There was some jurisdictional dispute, but Fish was eventually tried for the murder of Grace Budd in White Plains, New York, and after a nine-day trial in March he was convicted of her abduction and murder and sentenced to death in the electric chair. He engaged in coprophagy he ate human wasteand he liked to stick needles into himself. Indeed, on one occasion he tried to stick needles into his testicles but had to stop. It was too painful, he said. However, when doctors took X rays of Fish at Sing Sing Correctional Facility, they found numerous long pins that had been driven into his abdomen in a kind of gruesome acupuncture.

Technically, doing such a thing is known as a Piquer act: jabbing sharp objects into yourself or others for sexual gratification. On the day Fish was to be electrocuted, January 16,three of his six children visited him.

Will King knew that Fish, who had roamed the country as an itinerant house painter, had killed other children; in fact, a number of children had disappeared from neighborhoods where Fish had been working. However, he never officially confessed to any killings except the murder of Grace Budd, which was plenty enough to send him to his death. He was born on May 19,in Washington, D. She could hardly afford to support herself, so she had no choice but to place Albert in St.

When Fish was nine years old, his mother was a little more stable and able to take care of him, so she took him back. However, the orphanage had been a training ground for The skull of Grace Budd, found outside the abandoned cottage where she was killed. Fish in the perverse, sexually and in every other way. And, of course, because of his psychological makeup, Fish was ready to use what he had learned.

T he sexual drive of Bobby Joe Long can be described in one word: unbelievable. But for a number of women in Florida, it became all too believable—and deadly. Bobby Joe Long believes that his troubles began inwhen he was involved in a very nasty motorcycle accident. He was speeding down a street in Tampa, Florida, when a car suddenly appeared in front of him. He was thrown into the car hard enough to crack his helmet.

From then on, Bobby Joe says, strange things happened to his sex drive. He started to think about sex all the time—and to do it all the time, becoming almost satyrlike. Before the accident occurred, he would have sex with his slim, pretty wife, Cindy Jean, two or three times a week. After the accident they would have sex two or three times a day, and Bobby Joe masturbated an additional five or six times.

This kind of sex drive is reminiscent of that of another murderer, Albert DeSalvo—who claimed to be the Boston Strangler—who used to have sex with his wife more than thirty times a week. He would find ads for furniture or televisions for sale, and then, during the day—always during the day, when it was less likely that a man would be home—Bobby Joe would go to the home, ostensibly to look at the item for sale.

Once he was inside and sure that no one else was there, he would tie and gag the woman, then rape her. Long did this more than fifty times between andand he became known in the area as the Want-Ad Rapist. Local task forces and the FBI went after him, but he eluded capture. As the rapes continued, he felt a rising sense of anger. He started to feel anger as never before. The slightest thing triggered a towering rage, which he would act out in bizarre ways. Once, for example, his mother Louella was visiting and said something that displeased Bobby Joe.

He grabbed her and spanked her like a child, an absurd, painful, and humiliating event for her. Noise also started to bother Long. The slightest noise would set off an explosive reaction. Whatever was cooking inside him, inLong converted from rapist to killer—and then to serial killer.

His first victim was a Vietnamese woman named Ngeon Thi Long. He somehow lured her into his car, then tied her up, took her to an isolated spot, raped and killed her, and dumped her body on the side of the road. Prosecutor Mike Bonito would later say that Long set up his car to particularly serve his murderous ends.

The passenger seat could be pushed back flat. He would have the victim sit in the seat, tie her up, and then push her back so her head would be lower than the back window. With his free hand he would 28 Bobby Joe Long molest her as they drove, then he would rape and strangle her at their destination. Almost any woman was fair game for Long, but he particularly liked prowling the strip joints, bars, and assorted dives along Nebraska Avenue in North Tampa to look for victims.

However, there was one thing that all of his victims shared: They had to come to him, pick him up, or otherwise approach him. This was the way he rationalized Bobby Joe Long killing them—if they picked him up, he considered them as manipulative, detestable whores, people who should be killed. Loss of Desire With eight victims A True Whore - Albert Fish Is My Hero - Aileen (Cassette) him, something strange happened to Long.

Following his usual pattern, he picked up a big, sexy woman named Kim Sann in North Tampa. As soon as she was in the car, he started to assault her. But Sann was a fighter, and she fought back—and screamed. There followed a series of skirmishes inside the car during which he managed to choke her into unconsciousness, only for her to awaken and scream and fight. Finally he strangled her to death, and it was then that he discovered the curious thing: He had no energy to violate her sexually.

To some degree, his frantic sexual energy had dissipated. But an encounter two days before the one with Kim Sann was even stranger. Rather, she was homeless, rejected by her own family.

Not that this kept him away from her sexually. He took her to his own apartment and raped her, but he did not kill her. Rather, he was with her for more than twentyfour hours and then simply dropped her off where he had picked her up.

The really strange thing about this abduction was that he gave the girl the opportunity, though he kept her blindfolded throughout the rape and for much of her ordeal, to see him at various points, to glimpse his apartment, to see him at an automated teller machine. He knew he was putting himself in jeopardy but did nothing to stop it. In fact, because of leads that Growing Breasts the girl provided, the police On top of the various emotional burdens that Bobby Joe Long had to carry, he suffered, like some other members of his family, from a disorder of the endocrine system that had a devastating side effect.

When he was about twelve, he began to develop breasts. He was terrified that he was becoming a woman. This certainly would have a traumatic effect on a twelve-year-old boy, particularly one who already must have had severe doubts about his sense of worth and self.

Eventually he had to have an operation and doctors removed several pounds of tissue from his breasts. He said later that his capture did not surprise him, that he wanted to be caught and knew he would be. As time had gone by, he had gained more and more a sense of revulsion— though not remorse—at what he was doing. Less than a year after he was arrested, Long was tried on multiple homicide charges. There was a mound of evidence against him, includ- ing the testimony of the girl he had raped and held at his apartment.

His defense counsel tried mightily to establish 30 Bobby Joe Long a medical reason for his actions: Medical experts presented evidence that the motorcycle accident had caused trauma to his brain and that his injuries were the precipitating factor in his assaults on women.

Before the brain injuries, his counsel argued, there had been no offenses. After, there had been the fifty-plus rapes of the Want-Ad Rapist and nine homicides.

There was no question he had brain damage. Brain tests showed it, and he also had physical symptoms: His face felt dead on one side and he walked with a limp. They found him guilty, and in earlyhe was sentenced to death in the electric chair. He is still—after all these years—on death row in Florida. Bobby Joe Long was an only child raised by his mother, an attractive woman who was a waitress who lived on the edge of poverty after divorcing her husband.

Until he was twelve, Long and his mother shared the same bed in a series of hotel rooms she rented. When she got finished with her waitressing jobs, she would go out on dates rather than stay home with her son, whom she had neighbors watch. Her work 31 The Killer Book of Serial Killers and dating schedule also angered him in terms of the times she would come home: five or six in the morning, when Bobby Joe would be getting ready for school.

They spent almost no time together. As mentioned earlier, when Long was twelve, he stopped sleeping with his mother. But whatever damage there was had already been done. Perhaps sleeping with a grown woman diminished the young boy. Indeed, in studies conducted with serial killers, psychiatrists have found that the most savage are those who feel sexually diminished by women.

Feelings of shame also might have been a factor. Such feelings coupled with the terror and rage he felt over his mother neglecting him may have made for a murderous combination. A: The electric chair. The state of Florida has no problem at all letting bad guys ride the lightning.

And it may well be that Ted Bundy, one of the most infamous serial murderers of this century, wanted to ride it—at least subconsciously.

Consider this conversation Bundy had with his lawyer while in jail in Aspen, Colorado, on multiple murder charges, as reported in Bundy: The Deliberate Stranger, by Richard W. Supreme Court. Why not one of the other forty-nine states, where he was less likely to be executed? Although we may not understand his motives, one thing is for sure: Ted Bundy ranks as one of the most malevolent serial murderers of the twentieth century, mainly because he was a con man supreme.

If you were pretty girl who had long, dark hair parted in the middle and you met Ted Bundy, you were in deep trouble. Looks That Could Kill Bundy was a trim man about six feet tall with wavy brown hair, penetrating eyes, and even features, born in November He was handsome and articulate.

Bundy graduated from the University of Washington, went partway through law school, and was active in both politics and community activities in Seattle, where he was raised—he even worked for the governor, Dan Evans. It was hard to imagine that behind this polished exterior lurked a monster.

Indeed, Ann Rule, one of the top truecrime writers in America, had befriended Bundy at the crisis hotline and never suspected that it was he who was responsible for the host of women being killed or disappearing in Washington and, later, all across the Pacific Northwest.

He approached one woman in the morning and one in the afternoon, and asked each for her help loading his boat on to his Volkswagen bug. The women went with him, and that was the last anyone saw them alive. He tried it on other women, too, some who, fortunately, did not fall into the trap.

One woman in Tallahassee, Florida, told a local newspaper about coming out of the Florida State University library one night and encountering a scruffy-looking man whose arms were loaded with books.

He seemed to be in obvious pain and was struggling to carry his books with one arm. The woman offered to help him carry them, and she walked along with him in the darkness. But there was something about him that turned her off, and by the time they arrived at his car—a VW with the rear seat missing—she was scared.

When he asked her to get in, then ordered her, she ran away—an action that undoubtedly saved her life. Most of the killings occurred in the Pacific Northwest, but three occurred in Florida, and two of those in the Chi Omega sorority house at Florida State University.

The Great Escape Bundy was ensconced in jail in Aspen, Colorado, while a number of murders in the state were being investigated. In December, against the advice of his attorney, Bundy filed a motion with the judge for a change of venue—mysteriously, because his lawyer advised him that Aspen was one of the most liberal towns in the state and that he was likely to get a lighter sentence there.

The judge obliged Bundy and moved the trial to Colorado Springs. Bundy realized that he had to break out of prison to avoid being tried and sentenced in Colorado Springs. He plotted various means of escape before discovering a metal plate directly above the ceiling light fixture in his cell that had been improperly welded and was loose. By prying and probing, he was able to push it off, leaving an opening of about one square foot.

Bundy had been dieting to lose weight in preparation for escape, and he was down to a very lean pounds. He realized that he could wriggle through the hole into the area above. A few times Bundy stealthily crawled up into the ceiling to explore, Bundy the Lothario and he finally found an escape route—he From the television writer Tom Towler: could Bundy, of course, portrayed himself as a Lothario who could attract women at will.

In fact, he always used a ruse to get them to his VW, a fake cast on his arm, a crutch, etc. He, like the Green River killer, returned often to his victims for sex and to watch them change colors.

One night when the jailer and his wife went to the movies, Bundy dropped down and made his escape. He was not discovered noon the missing until following day, when jailers went in to wake Bundy and discovered that he had bulked up books and other objects under his blanket to make it appear that he was sleeping there.

In the meantime, Bundy was busy stealing cars and taking public transportation across the country until he arrived in Florida. The Oak housed a number of people who went to Florida State University and was about a block and a half away from the campus. On the night he began to kill in Florida, he went to a local bar frequented by students, and at least one girl there had a very close brush with death. He danced with her and then asked her if she wanted to take a ride. Her life had been saved because she caught a glimpse of a madman.

The author Richard W. One of the sorority sisters, a pretty strawberry blonde named Nita Neary, was returning to the house with a date a little after three in the morning after an uncharacteristically cold night for north-central Florida. She came in through the side door, which she opened by dialing a combination lock.

She walked inside quietly and heard a loud thump from upstairs, and then the sound of someone running. Then she heard someone racing down the stairs and caught a glimpse of a person moving quickly across the foyer toward the front door, A True Hustler.

He was wearing a dark cap, a dark coat, and in one of his hands he was carrying a club of some sort or a rough, thick piece of lumber. Neary went upstairs to her room and woke up her roommate, Nancy Dowdy, and told her to get up, that something strange was going on.

Together they woke up the president of the sorority, Jackie McGill, and they were standing in the hall when the first victim of the night found them. They rushed to her aid, and then went into her room and found her roommate, Kathy Kleiner, sitting on the edge of her bed in a daze, her head also soaked with blood.

Someone called the police, and they were there in minutes. A description of the man with the club went out over the police airwaves. The officers started to check the other rooms, one of which belonged to Lisa Levy. Levy was lying prone on the bed, covered with a sheet. An officer pulled the sheet back and saw that her buttocks were bloody, and when he rolled her over, he saw that she was already cyanotic—her lips purple and her eyes covered with the grayish film of death.

Where was she? With trepidation, one of the officers opened the door to her room and turned on the light. It was as if someone had hosed the place with blood.

The bed was covered with blood and the walls spattered with it, as was the victim, Margaret Bowman. Kathy Kleiner and Karen Chandler were taken to an area hospital. They survived, but with physical and psychological wounds that would last all their lives. Lisa Levy and Margaret Bowman were dead. An hour and a half after the assault on Chi Omega, Bundy struck again, six blocks from the first scene, at Dunwoody Street.

One young woman was awakened from her sleep by a rhythmic pounding noise, which she quickly realized was 39 The Killer Book of Serial Killers coming through the wall of the adjoining apartment, whose single occupant was Cheryl Thomas. She awoke her roommate and they heard Cheryl, a pretty dance major from Richmond, crying and moaning. Bundy was frightened off. The girls next called the police, and medics who had recently worked on the sorority sisters now had to minister to the savagely beaten Cheryl Thomas.

This time the police found the weapon—a length of a twoby-three near the bed. On February 15,Officer David Lee was on car patrol, tooling down Cervantes Street in Pensacola, when he noticed a yellow VW bug idling in an alley behind a restaurant.

It was late and the restaurant was closed; it seemed suspicious that someone was there. Lee went past it but watched the car in his rearview mirror. It pulled out of the alley and headed in the opposite direction. It came back as stolen, and Lee started going after the car, which sped up and began a series of evasive maneuvers.

Finally the car stopped. Lee drew his gun and approached the car cautiously. Ted Bundy reacted with characteristic slickness, wondering aloud why he had been stopped. Lee quickly subdued him, and Bundy was brought into the station. Because Bundy had false identification on him, it was a while before the Tallahassee police realized they had hooked as large a fish as anyone could imagine. It was televised, and Bundy represented himself. The consensus was that he did a bad job, though not a lot of lawyers could effectively fight the amount of evidence the prosecution had against him.

For one thing, they had an eyewitness who could place Bundy at the scene: Nita Neary, the woman returning to the sorority house from a date.

And then there was the forensics evidence, the centerpiece of which was expert testimony from a forensic dentist. For the Close Call assaults, he received sen- From television writer Tom Towler: tences totaling years. For The detective who got [Bundy] to confess, Bob Keppel, got a letter one day from the [Florida] state slam. In the letter, Bundy told Keppel that he was incarcerated with some serial killers and so knew a bit about them.

Keppel, by the by, was put on the Seattle area Bundy murders as a young cop. Birth of a Monster How did Bundy get to be the way he was? There are only hints. His mother Louise had him out of wedlock in November of at a home for unwed mothers in Vermont, and for a time Louise and Ted lived with his maternal grandfather in Philadelphia. A reporter told one of the authors of this book that Bundy had once come very close to getting murdered himself before his trial. The father of one of his victims, twelveyear-old Kimberly Smith, spotted Bundy being transported in a police car and, for a millisecond, contemplated driving his car into the police car to kill Bundy—but he was able to control himself.

There are a lot of crazies out there. The authors Steve Michaud and Hugh Aynesworth provided plenty of circumstantial proof: They interviewed Ted Bundy after his date with the electric chair. Bundy talked freely with the authors about the murders but in the third person, distancing himself from the crimes and never admitting anything directly to them. However, of all the books written about Ted Bundy, none is as horrendous as theirs—Bundy brings the readers into the scenes as he killed his witnesses.

Getting Ready to Ride the Lightning In his final jailhouse interview with the psychologist James Dobson, Ted Bundy was agonizing over how his addiction to hardcore pornography had ruined his life and how much it had contributed to his violent sexual urges. Midway into the conversation, the prison lights dimmed.

Bundy reassured Dobson that the lights would be back on momentarily. Bundy knew the reason that the lights had dimmed.

They were testing the electric chair that he would be sitting in at seven-fifteen the next morning. O n August 8,the police received a call from a young man who requested that they come to a house in Pasadena, a suburb of Houston, Texas. As John Godwin reports in Murder U. Ah killed a guy here. A patrol car responded, and on the street outside the ordinary-looking, white, ranch-style house, they found two teenage boys and a teenage girl who were obviously high on drugs.

Henley identified himself as the one who called, and then led them inside. The few rooms were sparsely furnished and had a heavy, sickening smell. On the floor of the bedroom the cops found the corpse of a tall, pudgy man with sideburns that Henley The Killer Book of Serial Killers said was Dean Corll.

Henley said that he had shot him in selfdefense—six times—because he had feared for his life and the lives of his friends. Henley laid out the whole story for the stunned cops. It seems that Henley had met Corll about two years earlier, and Corll had given him money, food, a place to stay, marijuana, and plenty of other drugs. All Henley had to do was troll the streets of Houston for young boys and reel them in for Corll.

Corll would then rape them, but also, Henley came to learn, sometimes torture and kill them, too. Then Henley explained exactly how he usually found the victims and exactly what Corll did to them. The boy would be encouraged to drink, smoke marijuana, and sniff acrylic paint that Corll stole from his job as a relay tester at the Houston Lighting and Power Company. Eventually the boy would pass out, and more than occasionally when he awoke he would be spread-eagled and pinned to a sheet of plywood, his hands and feet restrained by nylon cord and handcuffs.

In preparation for what was to happen to the boy, Corll would always place a sheet of plastic under the plywood to catch the excreta, blood, and vomit that would invariably discharge from the victim while Corll had his fun. Corll would use knives and other implements to work his victims over, sometimes castrating them. He would crank up the radio full blast while working on someone so that his screams could not be heard.

In conclusion he usually shot or strangled the boy, sometimes with the help of his young assistants. His family thought of him as a normal wild kid, his only vice being the propensity to drink too much beer. Corll was enraged at Henley for bringing a female into his male den, but after a while he relaxed, and the four of them started to drink, smoke, and sniff acrylic paint. Eventually everyone seemed to pass out, but then Henley gained consciousness and adrenaline snapped him totally awake.

Dean Corll was just finishing handcuffing Henley to the plywood sheet; the other two people had already been immobilized, and Corll was muttering angrily that he was going to kill them all. Henley spoke rapidly, and he spoke for his life. He told Corll not to do it, and that if Corll would release him, he would kill Williams and Kerley. This appealed to Corll. Then he called the police. Henley led detectives and four convicts—who were to do the digging—to the shack, one of a number of metal storage units about thirty-four feet long and deep enough to handle large boats.

The floor was earthen, and Henley said that after Corll buried the bodies there he poured crushed limestone over them to destroy them. The trek to the boat shack had attracted the attention of the media, and they arrived in force: newspaper reporters, magazine writers, and television reporters, complete with their equipment. It was a media circus. Then the first body was unearthed. It was the decayed remains of a young man in a plastic bag, accompanied by a stomachwrenching odor. Then another body was unearthed, and another.

The convicts dug down, sweat pouring off them in the hot, muggy weather. Another body, and another. Each was a young man in a plastic bag, but the lime had also done its work. The diggers started to come across body parts—feet, hands, legs, bones— human remains in a boggy mess.

The smell was atrocious and so was the sheer horror of what the convicts were uncovering, body after body after body.

Then one convict could not go on: He simply started to weep, his psychological defenses broken down, and then another had to stop because he could not stop retching. It was all too much.

At around ten or eleven in the evening, some burly detectives took over, with the scene illuminated by high-wattage lights secured to fire trucks that had parked at the scene. More bodies were found, and then more after that. Jesus Christ. One of the detectives at the scene had a nephew who had been missing.

The boy was the tenth body to be unearthed. After a while, close to vomiting, the detectives donned gas masks, but soon afterward They they were stopped. Only twenty-seven. Henley was not subtle about the pickups, and when families started to complain to police about missing sons, it should not have been that difficult to make a connection between the missing boys and Henley.

But at the time, the Houston Police Department was woefully understaffed; there were only some 2, cops to handle a population of 2 million people. It was also charged that the cops were poorly trained, unmotivated, 49 The Killer Book of Serial Killers underpaid, and their efforts misguided. They never made the connection, and the abductions and killings continued unabated. Apparently, Corll first killed in August At the time, people who knew Corll said that his personality underwent a change.

Beforehe was described as a hardworking man—he worked at the power company and at a candy company he and his mother owned—with very little outward expression of emotion. He also started to drink, and in conversations with his mother, Mary West their names were different because she had been married a number of timeshe seemed very depressed, on the verge of suicide.

He was born in Waynesdale, Indiana, on Christmas Eve in At the time, his parents, Mary and Arnold Corll, were twenty-four years old. Arnold worked in a factory, and Mary stayed home to take care of the kids. There was trouble in the marriage almost from the start. He was distant from Dean and his younger brother, Stanley. Shortly afterward, Arnold and Mary Corll were divorced, and Mary was suddenly on her own with two small children, though Arnold did make child support payments.

Mary Corll went out to work, and a variety of people took care of Dean and his brother—sometimes they even took care of themselves. But the Houston police have shown no inclination to investigate that. Psychotic people, however, build worlds that look safe and habitable and try to live in them. To do this they might assume different identities that help them cope with the stress. Indeed, unconsciously the child may loathe the identity.

This may well have been the case with Dean Corll. Consciously he loved interaction with young boys, but unconsciously he loathed it; it frightened and diminished him. Afterword Elmer Wayne Henley was tried for his murderous participation in the Houston killings and was found guilty. He was sentenced to years. A short while later, though, Henley was retried and found guilty again. He is still in jail. W ith a little luck, lives might have been saved.

On November 26,Sandra Lindsley, a mildly mentally disabled young African American woman who lived in northern Philadelphia, went to the corner drugstore to pick up a package of Midol.

She spent an anxious weekend trying to find her daughter. She returned a couple of times that day, but there was still no answer. In fact, as she knocked, her daughter was inside the house. If only Sandra had screamed, or if Jeanette had called the police.

And then, later, there was the smell. An atrocious, gagging kind of smell was coming from the house on Marshall Street, and it was so powerful that it could be smelled along the entire block. Because Heidnik had not been seen for quite some time, the neighbors assumed that the smell might be his rotting corpse.

They called the police, and a Detective Aponte went to the house. He pounded on the door, and this time Gary Heidnik, a good-looking man with dark hair and eyes, opened up. Aponte inquired as to the Gary Heidnik stench. Heidnik said that he had just burned his dinner. Astonishingly, Aponte accepted this explanation, even though the stench had been permeating the neighborhood for days. If only he had not accepted the explanation, but instead had insisted on being let in.

The Colony The details, as they were revealed later, were to be some of the most shocking that Philadelphia could ever have imagined. In essence, Gary Heidnik ran a mini—slave colony of African American women in his basement, keeping them chained, abusing and beating them, feeding them a blend of dog food and human flesh—which the starving women were ultimately forced into eating by their hunger—and sexually abusing them.

It all started with Josefina Rivera, a slim prostitute with a pretty, hard face. On November 26,she was working the corner of Third and Girard streets and hoping to meet a john. All told, it had been a miserable night for Josefina. She had had an argument with her boyfriend, Vincent Nelson, she was broke, and in an hour or so it would be officially Thanksgiving Day.

The night, too, was miserable, cold, damp, and windy. She was wearing a thin jacket and her thin legs were encased in skin-tight jeans. She hoped she would turn at least one trick, but as time went by, her prospects got dimmer; there were few johns cruising by that night. Then she noticed that a Cadillac Coupe DeVille stopped. The window lowered electronically and the driver, a middle-aged white man, asked her what she charged. He invited her into the car and she got in. He was dressed in a fringed leather jacket and wore a Rolex.

The car was fairly new and heavily customized with chrome. Josefina figured that the man had money to spend. He told her he was going to take her to his house. View On One Page. Previous Next Start Slideshow. Around The Web. You May Also Like. Welcome toMr. Jude Law. Now You Know. Celebrity News Surprise! Latest Entertainment.


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8 Comments

  1. Toshicage   Sajind
    Listen to music from Albert Fish is My Hero like Neglect And Sexual Abuse, Ruined & more. Find the latest tracks, albums, and images from Albert Fish is My Hero.
  2. Mazugami   Mazumi
    Sep 13,  · The Hustlers true story is even stranger than the movie itself. The movie was largely based on facts – or, at least, based on the story one of the women who confessed to a Author: Alyssa Choiniere.
  3. Bazshura   Mazushura
    Sep 12,  · Here’s the true story behind the movie Hustlers. Keo is now writing a book, which she told New York Magazine will be called The Sophisticated Hustler. Correction, Sept. Author: Rachel E. Greenspan.
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    Hustlers made its debut on the big screen halfway through September and has raised a variety of reviews since then. The true story details the life of Destiny, a hard-working stripper who works long hours to provide for the financial well-being of her grandmother — the person who raised Destiny when her mother decided she didn’t want a child anymore.
  5. Kagal   Kagalkree
    Nov 22,  · Albert Fish’s Pelvis after self-mutilation. Image from botrelitaballjo.brasahaberontradopentriculnelting.co Surprisingly, in , he was married and fathered six children. According to one of their testimonies during Fish’s trial, they lead average lives until their mother ran off with another man in Author: First to Know.
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  7. Mazujind   Migar
    Sep 13,  · It sounds like something straight out of a movie: Two women — one a stripper, the other a veteran still working in the club scene — grow tired of witnessing their rich Wall Street clients blow through cash while they struggle to maintain their own lifestyles, so they decide to turn the tables on the men by drugging them and stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars.
  8. Gulabar   Vudojar
    Sep 10,  · Hustlers—starring Jennifer Lopez, Cardi B, Constance Wu, Keke Palmer, Lili Reinhart, Julia Stiles, and Lizzo—hits theaters on September ; The movie is inspired by Jessica Pressler's New York article "The Hustlers at Scores," and it closely follows the real-life women behind the scam, who were eventually arrested and charged but received little to no jail time.

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