The Evil That Men Do: FBI Profiler Roy Hazelwood's Journey Into the Minds of Sexual Predators by Stephen G. Michaud, Roy Hazelwood Page A
Authors: Stephen G. Michaud, Roy Hazelwood
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California. While locked up together, the pair had shared their fantasies; Odom described to Lawson his dreams of rape, and Lawson confided to Odom his violent imaginings of female evisceration and mutilation.
“We’d fantasized so much that at times I didn’t know what was real,” Odom later said.
Upon their release, the two hooked up in South Carolina and went hunting victims together. They abducted at gunpoint a twenty-five-year-old convenience store clerk and drove the woman to an isolated location. Odom raped the victim in the backseat of a Ford belonging to Lawson’s father. Then Lawson cut her throat with a knife the clerk had sold him earlier, and savagely mutilated her dead body with it.
“I wanted to cut her body so she would not look like a person, and destroy her so she would not exist,” Lawson saidin his subsequent confession. “I began to cut on her body. I remember cutting her breasts off. After this, all I remember is that I kept cutting on her body.”
Odom and Lawson put scant effort into concealing what they’d done. Their victim was soon discovered, the car was easy to trace, and within days they were arrested for the clerk’s murder.
As Hazelwood pondered this crime, he couldn’t get over how haphazard and sloppy the killers had been. “I said to myself, ‘Gosh, this was really not well planned, not well thought out. These guys were really kinda disorganized.’
“And I compared them to Ed Kemper. He was
really
organized. Kemper put a lot of time and effort into his crimes.”
Edmund Emil Kemper III occupies an extralarge niche in the BSU’s early history with aberrant criminals. Not only was the six-foot nine-inch, three-hundred-pound necrophile a highly intelligent and well-spoken serial killer, an ideal subject for interview, but Kemper also had a sadistic wit.
He was serving seven life sentences in California’s Vacaville State Prison when Bob Ressler, pursuing his serial-killer study, paid Ed Kemper a call. It was their third meeting.
After spending several hours together with Kemper, talking murder and dismemberment in a locked cell adjacent to death row, Ressler buzzed for a guard. None came. He buzzed again, and a third time. After fifteen minutes of waiting, still no guard.
The agent tried not to betray his nervousness, but Kemper saw his chance.
“If I went apeshit in here, you’d be in a lot of trouble, wouldn’t you?” he toyed with Ressler. “I could screw your head off and place it on the table to greet the guard.”
As Ressler disconsolately imagined how easily such a scene might play out, he gamely warned Kemper of the trouble he’d be in for committing such a crime.
“What would they do, cut off my TV privileges?” the killer replied with a smirk.
Inwardly berating himself for the stupidity of allowing such a situation in the first place, Ressler continued to keep Kemper talking, trying out every interrogation and hostage-negotiation trick he’d ever been taught—plus some he made up as he went along—hoping someone, soon, would happen by to rescue him.
Finally, a guard appeared to escort the homicidal giant back to his cell.
“You know I was just kidding, don’t you?” Kemper said on his way out the door.
“Sure,” Ressler answered.
Kemper was every bit as depraved as James Lawson. At age fourteen, he murdered his grandparents, and he spent seven years at the maximum-security California state hospital at Atascadero (where Odom and Lawson later met) before being paroled to his mother’s custody in 1969.
Over the succeeding nine years he killed eight more people: six young women he picked up hitchhiking, plus his mother and one of her female friends.
All were dissected or decapitated or sexually assaulted after death. He cut leg meat from two of his victims into a macaroni casserole he prepared and ate.
Kemper bludgeoned his mother with a hammer as she slept. He sawed off her head, had sex with her corpse, and carved out her larynx and
“We’d fantasized so much that at times I didn’t know what was real,” Odom later said.
Upon their release, the two hooked up in South Carolina and went hunting victims together. They abducted at gunpoint a twenty-five-year-old convenience store clerk and drove the woman to an isolated location. Odom raped the victim in the backseat of a Ford belonging to Lawson’s father. Then Lawson cut her throat with a knife the clerk had sold him earlier, and savagely mutilated her dead body with it.
“I wanted to cut her body so she would not look like a person, and destroy her so she would not exist,” Lawson saidin his subsequent confession. “I began to cut on her body. I remember cutting her breasts off. After this, all I remember is that I kept cutting on her body.”
Odom and Lawson put scant effort into concealing what they’d done. Their victim was soon discovered, the car was easy to trace, and within days they were arrested for the clerk’s murder.
As Hazelwood pondered this crime, he couldn’t get over how haphazard and sloppy the killers had been. “I said to myself, ‘Gosh, this was really not well planned, not well thought out. These guys were really kinda disorganized.’
“And I compared them to Ed Kemper. He was
really
organized. Kemper put a lot of time and effort into his crimes.”
Edmund Emil Kemper III occupies an extralarge niche in the BSU’s early history with aberrant criminals. Not only was the six-foot nine-inch, three-hundred-pound necrophile a highly intelligent and well-spoken serial killer, an ideal subject for interview, but Kemper also had a sadistic wit.
He was serving seven life sentences in California’s Vacaville State Prison when Bob Ressler, pursuing his serial-killer study, paid Ed Kemper a call. It was their third meeting.
After spending several hours together with Kemper, talking murder and dismemberment in a locked cell adjacent to death row, Ressler buzzed for a guard. None came. He buzzed again, and a third time. After fifteen minutes of waiting, still no guard.
The agent tried not to betray his nervousness, but Kemper saw his chance.
“If I went apeshit in here, you’d be in a lot of trouble, wouldn’t you?” he toyed with Ressler. “I could screw your head off and place it on the table to greet the guard.”
As Ressler disconsolately imagined how easily such a scene might play out, he gamely warned Kemper of the trouble he’d be in for committing such a crime.
“What would they do, cut off my TV privileges?” the killer replied with a smirk.
Inwardly berating himself for the stupidity of allowing such a situation in the first place, Ressler continued to keep Kemper talking, trying out every interrogation and hostage-negotiation trick he’d ever been taught—plus some he made up as he went along—hoping someone, soon, would happen by to rescue him.
Finally, a guard appeared to escort the homicidal giant back to his cell.
“You know I was just kidding, don’t you?” Kemper said on his way out the door.
“Sure,” Ressler answered.
Kemper was every bit as depraved as James Lawson. At age fourteen, he murdered his grandparents, and he spent seven years at the maximum-security California state hospital at Atascadero (where Odom and Lawson later met) before being paroled to his mother’s custody in 1969.
Over the succeeding nine years he killed eight more people: six young women he picked up hitchhiking, plus his mother and one of her female friends.
All were dissected or decapitated or sexually assaulted after death. He cut leg meat from two of his victims into a macaroni casserole he prepared and ate.
Kemper bludgeoned his mother with a hammer as she slept. He sawed off her head, had sex with her corpse, and carved out her larynx and
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