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  JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS

  JOHN DOUGLAS AND MARK OLSHAKER

  POCKET BOOKS

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  GRIPPING READING FROM JOHN DOUGLAS

  MAN DOWN

  A Broken Wings Thriller

  And by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker

  THE CASES THAT HAUNT US

  From Jack the Ripper to JonBenet Ramsey, the FBI’s Legendary Mindhunter Sheds Light on the Mysteries That Won’t Go Away

  THE ANATOMY OF MOTIVE

  The FBI’s Legendarv Mindhunter Explores the Key to Understanding and Catching Violent Criminals

  OBSESSION

  The FBI’s Legendary Profiler Probes the Psyches of Killers, Rapists, and Stalkers and Their Victims and Tells How to Fight Back

  JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS

  The FBI’s Premier Investigator Penetrates the Minds and Motives of the Most Terrifying Serial Killers

  BROKEN WINGS

  A Novel

  AVAILABLE FROM POCKET BOOKS

  PRAISE FOR JOHN DOUGLAS AND JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS

  “An unsparing account of a brutal business … The real genius here lies in the analytical rigor of Douglas’s crimescene investigations…. Gutsy, hard-nosed police work of the most difficult—and readable—kind.”

  —Gene Lyons, Entertainment Weekly

  “Passionate, intelligent, and heartbreaking, the message of JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS is a hard-hitting, no-holds-barred attack on our namby-pamby, wishy-washy, ‘politically correct’ age.”

  —Roy E. Perry, Nashville Banner

  “One finally feels that Mr. Douglas’s keen eye for crimescene detail and his powerful inductive reasoning cannot be explained any more than one can explain his murderous quarries’ capacity for merciless savagery…. Mr. Douglas leaves us shaken, gripped by a quiet grief for the innocent victims and anguished by the human condition.”

  —Dean Koontz, The New York Times Book Review

  “A hard-hitting, no-holds-barred look at [behavioral profiling] and how it has been used time and again to solve crimes across the country.”

  —Anniston Star

  “John Douglas is a brilliant man…. And he’s a great guy, very articulate, very sweet. I wanted to cast him as Agent Jack Crawford in the movie.”

  —Jonathan Demme, director of The Silence of the Lambs

  PRAISE FOR JOHN DOUGLAS AND MARK OLSHAKER’S PREVIOUS BOOK MINDHUNTER

  “A quirky, winning tale of awful crimes and awe-inspiring detective work … Douglas gives us a pair of human eyes through which to view crimes and criminals that are at once grotesque and compelling…. In the end, Mindhunter rings the bell because Douglas knows what all the great crime writers know—that the criminologist must be at least as interesting as the crime. On that score, Douglas fits the profile.”

  —Richard Willing, USA Today

  “Although Douglas’s profiles reflect years of experience, there’s an uncanniness about their level of detail: He can predict the make and color of a killer’s car. In the Trailside Killer case, in which Northern California hikers were slain in 1979, Douglas rightly predicted the assailant was a stutterer…. Called the ‘FBI’s modern Sherlock Holmes,’ Douglas says he comes up with such details by going into a trancelike state in which he becomes both killer and victim…. Douglas’s conservative estimate is that there are between thirty-five and fifty serial killers hard at work around the country right now, leaving ‘several hundred’ dead people in their wake each year.”

  —Deb Price, The Detroit News

  “A fascinating journey into the thrill killer’s psyche … Douglas seems to have a true gift of instinct. Mindhunter is gripping….”

  —Lou Grieco, Dayton (OH) Daily News

  The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

  The excerpt from My 8 Rules for Safety that appears on pages 184-85 is reprinted with permission of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC). Copyright © 1990 NCMEC. All rights reserved.

  The excerpt from Child Protection on page 187 is reprinted with permission of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC). Copyright © 1985 NCMEC. All rights reserved.

  The excerpt from Kids and Company: Together for Safety that appears on pages 188-89 is reprinted with permission of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (NCMEC). Copyright © 1990 NCMEC. All rights reserved.

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright ¢ 1997 by Mindhunters, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information address Scribner, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN 13: 978-0-671-00394-4

  ISBN 10: 0-671-00394-1

  eISBN 13: 978-1-439-10781-2

  First Pocket Books printing September 1997

  10 9 8

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Cover photo by Joshua Sheldon / Photonica

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  “In this … fascinating memoir of his twenty-five-year career with the FBI, John Douglas contends that psychopathic serial killers have a warped need to kill…. The key to Douglas’s approach is to look for the ‘signature’—as opposed to the modus operandi—of serial killers…. Douglas is at his best describing the terrible crimes that were committed and explaining the logic of his profiling method.”

  —Charles P. Thobae, Houston Chronicle

  “Hannibal Lecter may have been a fictional creation but his counterparts exist in real life, and Douglas has tracked down, testified against or just sat down and talked with dozens of them…. A chilling memoir …”

  —Lynda Hurst, The Toronto Star

  “In his spellbinding new book, the legendary Douglas … delves into much of the gritty how-to of criminal personality ‘profiling.’ … He’s downright gifted…. I defy anyone interested in psychology, detective work, or logic and puzzlesolving, to put Mindhunter willingly aside once begun.”

  —Ann G. Sjoerdsma, Virginian-Pilot

  BY THE SAME AUTHORS

  MINDHUNTER

  Inside the FBI’s Elite Serial Crime Unit

  UNABOMBER

  On the Trail of America’s Most-Wanted Serial Killer

  JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS

  OBSESSION

  THE ANATOMY OF MOTIVE

  BY JOHN DOUGLAS

  SEXUAL HOMICIDE

  Patterns and Motives with Robert K. Ressler and Ann W. Burgess

  CRIME CLASSIFICATION MANUAL

  with Ann W. Burgess, Allen G. Burgess, and Robert K. Ressler

  JOHN DOUGLAS’S GUIDE TO CAREERS IN THE FBI

  BY MARK OLSHAKER

  NONFICTION

  THE INSTANT IMAGE

  Edwin Land and the Polaroid Experience

  VIRUS HUNTER

  Thirty Years of Battling Hot Viruses Around the World with C. J. Peters, M.D.

  FICTION

  EINSTEIN’S BRAIN

  UNNATURAL CAUSES

  BLOOD RACE

  THE EDGE

  ANTHOLOGY

  UNUSUAL SUSPECTS

  edited by James Grady

  For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special
Sales at 1-800-456-6798 or [email protected]

  To Karla Brown, Suzanne Collins, Kristen French, Ron Goldman, Amber Hagerman, Cassandra Hansen, Tammy Homolka, Christine Jessop, Megan Kanka, Polly Klaas, Leslie Mahaffy, Shawn Moore, Angie, Melissa, and Nancy Newman, Alison Parrott, Nicole Brown Simpson, Shari Fay Smith, and all the other innocents, their families, friends, and loved ones, and the dedicated law enforcement officers who worked tirelessly seeking justice for them, this book is dedicated with respect, with humility, and with love.

  Authors’ Note

  Our special thanks and deepest gratitude go out to all the people who have helped make this work a reality. The first team, as it has been since our first book together, consists of our editor, Lisa Drew, and our agent, Jay Acton, the two people who both shared the vision, encouraged us to see it through, and supported us every step of the way. Likewise, Carolyn Olshaker, our project coordinator, business manager, general counsel, editorial consultant, cheerleader, and to Mark, so much more. Ann Hennigan, our research director, has become an essential part of the operation and has contributed enormously. And we know that with Marysue Rucci handling things at Scribner for us with her amazing combination of efficiency and sunny disposition, everything is going to go smoothly and remain under control. Without these five …

  We want to express our profound appreciation to Trudy, Jack, and Stephen Collins, Susan Hand Martin and Jeff Freeman for sharing Suzanne with us. We hope, in telling her story, that we have lived up to their faith in us. We are also indebted to Jim Harrington in Michigan and Tennessee District Attorney Henry “Hank” Williams for sharing their recollections and insights with us, and to our intern, David Altschuler, and to Peter Banks and all of the people at the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children for their kindness, as well as giving us the benefit of their research, experience, and good work. We’re all a lot better because of them.

  Finally, as always, we want to thank all of John’s colleagues at Quantico, particularly Roy Hazelwood, Steve Mardigian, Gregg McCrary, Jud Ray, and Jim Wright. They will always be valued pioneers, explorers, and esteemed fellow travelers on the journey into darkness and back out again.

  —JOHN DOUGLAS AND MARK OLSHAKER,

  October 1996

  Contents

  Prologue: In the Mind of a Killer

  1 Journey into Darkness

  2 The Motive Behind the Murder

  3 Candy from Strangers

  4 Is Nothing Sacred?

  5 For the Children

  6 Fighting Back

  7 Sue Blue

  8 Death of a Marine

  9 The Passion of Jack and Trudy Collins

  10 The Blood of the Lambs

  11 Have They Got the Wrong Man?

  12 Murder on South Bundy Drive

  13 Crime and Punishment

  Index

  Either man’s freedom of decision for or against God, as well as for or against man, must be recognized, or else religion is a delusion, and education is an illusion. Freedom is presupposed by both; otherwise they are misconceived. Freedom, however, is not the last word. Freedom is only part of the story and half of the truth. Freedom is but the negative aspect of the whole phenomenon whose positive aspect is responsibleness. In fact, freedom is in danger of degenerating into mere arbitrariness unless it is lived in terms of responsibleness.

  —VIKTOR E. FRANKL, Man’s Search for Meaning

  “The Simple Art of Murder” Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.

  —RAYMOND CHANDLER,

  JOURNEY INTO DARKNESS

  PROLOGUE

  In the Mind of a Killer

  This isn’t the Hollywood version. It isn’t sanitized or prettied up or rendered into “art.” This is the way it really happens. If anything, it’s worse than the way I describe it.

  As I had so many times before, I put myself in the mind of the killer.

  I don’t know who she’s gonna be, but I’m ready to kill someone. Right now.

  My wife’s left me alone for the whole evening, gone out to a Tupperware party with her girlfriends rather than spending the time with me. It probably doesn’t matter all that much; we’ve been fighting all the time anyway and we’d been fighting all day. Still, it’s depressing and I’m sick and tired of being treated that way. Maybe she’s really out seeing other men like my first wife’d done. She got hers, though—ended up face-down in the bathtub gagging on her own puke. Served her right for the way she treated me. Our two kids ended up with my folks; that’s another thing pisses me off—like I wasn’t good enough to take care of them anymore.

  I sit around watching TV for a while by myself, drinking beer, a couple of six-packs, then a fifth of wine. But I still feel bad. I keep sinking lower. I need more beer or something else to drink. What’s it now—9:00, 9:30 maybe—I get up and drive to the mini-mart near the commissary and get another six-pack of Moose Head. Then I drive down to Armour Road and just sit there drinking the beer, trying to sort things out in my own mind.

  The longer I’m sitting here, the more depressed I’m getting. I’m here alone, living on the base as a dependent to my own wife, they’re all her friends, no friends of my own, don’t even have my kids. I was in the Navy myself, you know, and thought it was gonna work out, but it didn’t. Now it’s just one dead-end job after another. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Maybe I should just go on home and wait, then have it out with her when she comes back, get some things settled. It’s all running through my head at the same time. I’d really like to have someone to talk to right now, but there isn’t anyone around. Hell, I don’t know anyone to tell my problems to, anyhow.

  It’s dark all around. It’s starting to feel … kind of inviting. I feel one with the night. The dark makes me anonymous. The dark makes me omnipotent.

  I’m over on the north side of the base, parked on the side of the road, still drinking beer, just past the buffalo pens when I see her. Shit, those buffaloes get better treatment than I do.

  She’s just crossed from one side of the road to the other. She’s jogging on the side of the road, all by herself, even though it’s already dark out. She’s tall and really good-looking, about twenty, I’d say, with long brownish blond hair hanging in a braid. Her forehead glistens with sweat in the moonlight. Yep, very pretty. She has on a red T-shirt with the Marine emblem in gold on the front and little red shorts that show off her ass real nice and make her legs look like they go on forever. Not an ounce of fat on her. Those Marine women keep themselves in real great shape. All that exercise and drilling. Not like the ones in the Navy. They could whip an ordinary man’s ass if given half the chance.

  I watch her for a few moments, her boobs bouncing up and down with the rhythm of her run. I’m thinking about getting out to run with her, maybe strike up a conversation. But I know I’m not near in the shape she’s in. Besides, I’m dead fucking drunk. So maybe I pull up in the car, offer her a ride back to her barracks or something, get her to talk to me that way.

  But then I’m thinking to myself, what’s she gonna go with someone like me for when she’s probably doing those hotshot Marines? Girl like that thinks she’s too good to give my type the time of day. No matter what I say, she’s gonna blow me off. And I been blown off enough for one day already. I been blown off enough for one lifetime.

  Well, I’m not putting up with any of that bullshit anymore—not tonight, anyway. Whatever I want, I’m just gonna take; that’s the only way you get anything in this world. Bitch is gonna have to deal with me whether she likes it or not.

  I start up the car and pull alongside her. I lean across to the passenger window and call out, “’Scuse me! Do you know how far it is back to the other side of the base?”

  She doesn’t seem scared or nothing—I guess ’cause of the base sticker on the car, plus the fact that she probably thinks she can take care of herself, being a Marine and all.

  She stops, comes over to the car
real trusting like, breathing a little heavy. She leans in the passenger side and points back and says it’s about three miles. Then she smiles real pretty and turns back to jog some more.

  I know this is my only chance with her—another second and she’ll be gone. So I open the door, jump out, and run up behind her. I whack her real hard from behind and she goes sprawling. Then I grab her. She kinda gasps as she realizes what’s happening and tries to get away from me. But even though she’s tall and strong for a girl, I’m nearly a foot taller than her and have to have more than a hundred pounds on her. I hold on to her and whack her on the side of the head as hard as I can, which must make her see stars. Even so, she still puts up one hell of a fight, tries to beat the shit out of me to get away. She’s gonna pay for that, all right; no bitch is gonna treat me that way.

  “Don’t touch me! Get away!” she’s screaming. I have to practically smother her to get her over close to the car. I whack her again, which makes her wobbly on her feet, then I grab her and put her in the car on the passenger side.

  Just then, I see two men who’ve been jogging run up toward the car and they’re shouting. So I gun the engine and get the hell out of Dodge.

  I know I have to get off the base; that is the first thing. So I head down the road toward the gate near the base theater; that’s the only one that’s open this time of night. I know because it was the one I came in. I prop her up in the seat next to me to look like she’s my date. Her head’s resting on my shoulder, real romantic like. In the darkness it must be working because the guard doesn’t even react, just passes us through.

  We’re out on Navy Road when she starts coming to and begins screaming again; she threatens to call the cops if I don’t let her go.

  No one talks to me that way. It’s not about what she wants anymore; it’s about what I want. I’m fucking in control, not her. So I take a hand off the wheel and backhand her hard across the face. That quiets her down.

  I know I can’t bring her home. My old lady could be back by now. What am I gonna do—explain that this is what I really should be doing to her? I need somewhere me and this new bitch can be alone; that we won’t be disturbed. I need to go somewhere I feel comfortable. Somewhere I know. Somewhere I know I can do what I have to, where no one’ll interrupt us. I got an idea.