Bind, Torture, Kill: The Inside Story of BTK, the Serial Killer Next Door by Roy Wenzl, Tim Potter, L. Kelly, Hurst Laviana Page B
Tags: Fiction, General, Social Science, Biography & Autobiography, True Crime, Biography, Serial Murderers, Murder, Criminology, Criminals & Outlaws, Case studies, Serial Murders, Serial Killers, Kansas, Serial Murder Investigation, Serial Murders - Kansas - Wichita, Serial Murder Investigation - Kansas - Wichita, Wichita, Rader; Dennis, Serial Murderers - Kansas - Wichita
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husband.
“Then I’ll have to interview your employers, and your neighbors, and do a complete background check on you,” Holmes said.
“Don’t give these people anything ,” the woman said.
“Excuse me for just a moment, Officer,” the man suddenly said.
He turned to his wife.
“Shut up, bitch,” he said. Then he turned to Holmes. “Take whatever blood you want.”
The cops tracked down former wives of suspects.
Sorry to ask this, they would say. But does your ex-husband like bondage during sex? Does he like to penetrate from behind? Does he like anal sex? They asked because BTK had accentuated the buttocks of the women in his drawings.
The cops had thought people would argue or refuse their requests for samples and information. But nearly everyone cooperated. “Most people are law-abiding citizens who want to help police do their jobs,” Stewart concluded.
Every one of these suspects was eliminated; the chemistry of their bodily fluids did not match that of BTK. This surprised the task force. They started new lists.
In October 1984, FBI criminal profilers, including Roy Hazelwood, provided the cops their first detailed impressions of BTK. Hazelwood thought BTK practiced bondage in everyday life, that he was a sexual sadist, a control freak, and could interact with others only on a superficial level. “You know him but you really don’t know him.” The profiler felt that although BTK would do well at work, he wouldn’t like anyone telling him what to do. “He would love to drive…. People would associate him with driving.”
Hazelwood also thought BTK collected bondage materials and read crime books and detective magazines. That caught the cops’ interest. They considered detective magazines to be instruction manuals showing how to get away with murder. After Hazelwood told them that, Holmes, when he entered someone’s home, looked around for detective magazines.
They were working sometimes seven days a week. “It’s terrible,” Landwehr said later. “You’d be up for one week, and down for three because you don’t have anybody that looks good and you don’t know where he went. There’s times you don’t even want to come to work.”
After work, they sought a traditional cop stress remedy.
“We needed to get drunk,” Stewart said. “The guys were working twelve, fourteen hours a day on their own.”
One day, not long after the task force started, Holmes overheard an officer ask: “What are those guys doing in that closed room?”
“Chasing ghosts,” someone said.
Someone taped a poster to their office door. It advertised a Bill Murray movie about ghost-chasing pseudoscientists in New York.
Ghostbusters.
A catchy name.
But the Ghostbusters caught no one.
In 1985 Stephens took a job at the Dallas Morning News . He made a copy of the BTK file and took it with him. He had long ago showed the original file to Laviana.
“You need to study this,” Stephens told him, “in case he comes back.”
If BTK ever sends a message to the Eagle again, Laviana should take it to the cops, but only after making a copy, he said.
Right after Stephens left, BTK killed again.
20
April 26–27, 1985
Marine Hedge
Marine Hedge stood not much more than five feet tall and weighed about a hundred pounds. She was a fifty-three-year-old grandmother with a southern accent that slipped off her tongue the way molasses drips slowly off a spoon.
She liked jewelry, dressing with care, and stocking her closet with shoes to match every outfit. She made small look stylish. She liked cooking from scratch and taught younger in-laws how to fry hush puppies and catfish the way she learned when she grew up as little Marine Wallace in Arkansas.
Marine Hedge lived only six doors down from Dennis Rader.
Her husband, a Beechcraft worker, had died in 1984, leaving her feeling lonely in their house at 6254 Independence in the Wichita suburb of Park City. She dealt with loss by giving to others, to
“Then I’ll have to interview your employers, and your neighbors, and do a complete background check on you,” Holmes said.
“Don’t give these people anything ,” the woman said.
“Excuse me for just a moment, Officer,” the man suddenly said.
He turned to his wife.
“Shut up, bitch,” he said. Then he turned to Holmes. “Take whatever blood you want.”
The cops tracked down former wives of suspects.
Sorry to ask this, they would say. But does your ex-husband like bondage during sex? Does he like to penetrate from behind? Does he like anal sex? They asked because BTK had accentuated the buttocks of the women in his drawings.
The cops had thought people would argue or refuse their requests for samples and information. But nearly everyone cooperated. “Most people are law-abiding citizens who want to help police do their jobs,” Stewart concluded.
Every one of these suspects was eliminated; the chemistry of their bodily fluids did not match that of BTK. This surprised the task force. They started new lists.
In October 1984, FBI criminal profilers, including Roy Hazelwood, provided the cops their first detailed impressions of BTK. Hazelwood thought BTK practiced bondage in everyday life, that he was a sexual sadist, a control freak, and could interact with others only on a superficial level. “You know him but you really don’t know him.” The profiler felt that although BTK would do well at work, he wouldn’t like anyone telling him what to do. “He would love to drive…. People would associate him with driving.”
Hazelwood also thought BTK collected bondage materials and read crime books and detective magazines. That caught the cops’ interest. They considered detective magazines to be instruction manuals showing how to get away with murder. After Hazelwood told them that, Holmes, when he entered someone’s home, looked around for detective magazines.
They were working sometimes seven days a week. “It’s terrible,” Landwehr said later. “You’d be up for one week, and down for three because you don’t have anybody that looks good and you don’t know where he went. There’s times you don’t even want to come to work.”
After work, they sought a traditional cop stress remedy.
“We needed to get drunk,” Stewart said. “The guys were working twelve, fourteen hours a day on their own.”
One day, not long after the task force started, Holmes overheard an officer ask: “What are those guys doing in that closed room?”
“Chasing ghosts,” someone said.
Someone taped a poster to their office door. It advertised a Bill Murray movie about ghost-chasing pseudoscientists in New York.
Ghostbusters.
A catchy name.
But the Ghostbusters caught no one.
In 1985 Stephens took a job at the Dallas Morning News . He made a copy of the BTK file and took it with him. He had long ago showed the original file to Laviana.
“You need to study this,” Stephens told him, “in case he comes back.”
If BTK ever sends a message to the Eagle again, Laviana should take it to the cops, but only after making a copy, he said.
Right after Stephens left, BTK killed again.
20
April 26–27, 1985
Marine Hedge
Marine Hedge stood not much more than five feet tall and weighed about a hundred pounds. She was a fifty-three-year-old grandmother with a southern accent that slipped off her tongue the way molasses drips slowly off a spoon.
She liked jewelry, dressing with care, and stocking her closet with shoes to match every outfit. She made small look stylish. She liked cooking from scratch and taught younger in-laws how to fry hush puppies and catfish the way she learned when she grew up as little Marine Wallace in Arkansas.
Marine Hedge lived only six doors down from Dennis Rader.
Her husband, a Beechcraft worker, had died in 1984, leaving her feeling lonely in their house at 6254 Independence in the Wichita suburb of Park City. She dealt with loss by giving to others, to
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