Bind, Torture, Kill: The Inside Story of BTK, the Serial Killer Next Door by Roy Wenzl, Tim Potter, L. Kelly, Hurst Laviana Page A
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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mailbox while she was at work.
She lived in southeast Wichita at 843 South Pershing, not far from the Mall. She had no man that he could see, and no dog. When he checked the north end of the duplex, he learned that it was vacant�there was no one next door to hear a scream.
He spied on her while he spied on other women. Trolling for women had become nearly a full-time job, in addition to his real-world full-time job, which was working for the security company. He often blended the jobs�he trolled for women, and then stalked them, while driving the ADT van.
He was a busy guy. Besides being an ADT crew chief, he was still going to WSU classes at night, and he had a wife and small child at home.
Still, he picked a date: December 8.
Rader had told his wife he would be at the WSU library that night, which was true; he had term papers due, research to complete. He knew exactly when Nancy would leave Helzberg’s. So he had gone to the library an hour or two before to work on a term paper. Just before 9:00 PM , he left the library, changed into dark clothing, and drove his wife’s red 1966 Chevelle to Nancy’s neighborhood. He parked a few blocks from her duplex, took out his bag of tools, walked to her front door, and knocked. If she answered, his lie would be that he had come to the wrong apartment. But there was no answer.
He knocked next door, found that side of the duplex still vacant, and hurried to the back. He had not left the library as soon as he wanted, so he was running late. He cut Nancy’s phone line, then broke a window. He waited, crouching. He worried that when cars rolled through the curves on nearby Lincoln Street the headlights would shine on the duplex and expose him. He watched for lights, then crawled through the window.
What a neat, orderly girl Nancy Fox was: everything was tidy and polished. It was a tiny place, smaller than his, only 600 or 700 square feet. He found her Christmas tree lights on. Photographs of smiling people stood neatly arranged on shelves outside the bedroom. He liked everything he saw. That Vian woman had been so sloppy.
He pulled a glass out of Nancy’s kitchen cupboard, drank some water, wiped down the glass and put it back. He listened to make sure the phone was dead. He still had the phone in his hand when the front door opened.
Get out of my house.
Nancy had just come in with her coat on, carrying her purse. She stepped to grab the telephone.
I’m going to call the police, she warned.
That won’t do you any good, he said. I cut the line.
He moved toward her, showed her his gun.
What are you in my house for?
She had spunk; he liked that. She did not even look nervous.
What are you going to do? she demanded. What’s going on here?
I’m a bad guy, he told her. I want sex. I have to tie you up to take pictures.
Get out of here.
No.
You need to get out of here right now.
No, he said sternly. This is going to happen.
You’re sick, she told him.
Yes, I’m sick, he said. But this is the way it’s going to be.
She glared at him. She took off her coat�a white parka�and folded it onto the couch. She was wearing a pink sweater.
I need a cigarette, she said.
She lit one, watching him.
He dumped her purse onto the kitchen table and took some trophies. He found her driver’s license. He talked to disarm her, telling the same story, with variations, that he had told the Oteros, the Brights, Shirley Vian: he had a sexual problem, but he wasn’t really a bad guy. She would be all right.
And now she faced him squarely, or so he would remember.
Let’s get this over with so I can call the police.
He agreed.
I need to go to the bathroom, she said.
He looked in the bathroom, made sure there wasn’t a sharp object she could turn into a weapon.
Okay, he said. Make sure you come out with most of your clothes off.
He blocked open the bathroom door with a piece of cloth, then sat on her bed to wait. He looked around in admiration; clothes, closet,
She lived in southeast Wichita at 843 South Pershing, not far from the Mall. She had no man that he could see, and no dog. When he checked the north end of the duplex, he learned that it was vacant�there was no one next door to hear a scream.
He spied on her while he spied on other women. Trolling for women had become nearly a full-time job, in addition to his real-world full-time job, which was working for the security company. He often blended the jobs�he trolled for women, and then stalked them, while driving the ADT van.
He was a busy guy. Besides being an ADT crew chief, he was still going to WSU classes at night, and he had a wife and small child at home.
Still, he picked a date: December 8.
Rader had told his wife he would be at the WSU library that night, which was true; he had term papers due, research to complete. He knew exactly when Nancy would leave Helzberg’s. So he had gone to the library an hour or two before to work on a term paper. Just before 9:00 PM , he left the library, changed into dark clothing, and drove his wife’s red 1966 Chevelle to Nancy’s neighborhood. He parked a few blocks from her duplex, took out his bag of tools, walked to her front door, and knocked. If she answered, his lie would be that he had come to the wrong apartment. But there was no answer.
He knocked next door, found that side of the duplex still vacant, and hurried to the back. He had not left the library as soon as he wanted, so he was running late. He cut Nancy’s phone line, then broke a window. He waited, crouching. He worried that when cars rolled through the curves on nearby Lincoln Street the headlights would shine on the duplex and expose him. He watched for lights, then crawled through the window.
What a neat, orderly girl Nancy Fox was: everything was tidy and polished. It was a tiny place, smaller than his, only 600 or 700 square feet. He found her Christmas tree lights on. Photographs of smiling people stood neatly arranged on shelves outside the bedroom. He liked everything he saw. That Vian woman had been so sloppy.
He pulled a glass out of Nancy’s kitchen cupboard, drank some water, wiped down the glass and put it back. He listened to make sure the phone was dead. He still had the phone in his hand when the front door opened.
Get out of my house.
Nancy had just come in with her coat on, carrying her purse. She stepped to grab the telephone.
I’m going to call the police, she warned.
That won’t do you any good, he said. I cut the line.
He moved toward her, showed her his gun.
What are you in my house for?
She had spunk; he liked that. She did not even look nervous.
What are you going to do? she demanded. What’s going on here?
I’m a bad guy, he told her. I want sex. I have to tie you up to take pictures.
Get out of here.
No.
You need to get out of here right now.
No, he said sternly. This is going to happen.
You’re sick, she told him.
Yes, I’m sick, he said. But this is the way it’s going to be.
She glared at him. She took off her coat�a white parka�and folded it onto the couch. She was wearing a pink sweater.
I need a cigarette, she said.
She lit one, watching him.
He dumped her purse onto the kitchen table and took some trophies. He found her driver’s license. He talked to disarm her, telling the same story, with variations, that he had told the Oteros, the Brights, Shirley Vian: he had a sexual problem, but he wasn’t really a bad guy. She would be all right.
And now she faced him squarely, or so he would remember.
Let’s get this over with so I can call the police.
He agreed.
I need to go to the bathroom, she said.
He looked in the bathroom, made sure there wasn’t a sharp object she could turn into a weapon.
Okay, he said. Make sure you come out with most of your clothes off.
He blocked open the bathroom door with a piece of cloth, then sat on her bed to wait. He looked around in admiration; clothes, closet,
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