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Edmund Kemper The Giant Terror

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The Story Of Serial Killer Edmund Kemper

“What do you think his sentence should be?” A reporter asked the judge. The judge replied that, if he had it his way, Kemper would be tortured to death.

Instead of fulfilling his wish, during the penalty phase of the trial, the judge sentenced Edmund Kemper to eight concurrent life sentences. Kemper’s sentencing took place in November of 1973. The judge was not able to sentence Kemper to the death penalty because California had already eliminated capital punishment.

At the time of his sentencing, Edmund Kemper was twenty-five years old. He was found guilty on eight counts of first-degree murder and would become known as the “Co-ed Killer,” though his victims were not restricted to college co-eds.

For Edmund Kemper, the descent into madness occurred early on.

Born December 18, 1948, in Burbank, California, Edmund Kemper was large from the start, weighing in at thirteen pounds. By the time he was four, Edmund was a head taller than his peers. Edmund was the middle child of Edmund Emil Kemper II and Clarnell Kemper; he had two sisters. His father, E.E. Kemper II, was a veteran of World War II. After the war, the Kempers settled in Burbank, which at the time was a small town located in Los Angeles County. E.E. worked at the Pacific Proving Grounds, where he tested nuclear weapons. He later became an electrician. The town of Burbank had grown during the war; Lockheed Aircraft had chosen it as a site for the production of planes. By 1943, Burbank had a population of 53,899.

Both of Edmund’s parents were strict disciplinarians, and their marriage was strained. Clarnell Kemper was known to be a difficult woman. It has been suggested that Clarnell may have suffered from borderline personality disorder. Edmund’s father would later state that testing bombs were nothing compared to being married to Clarnell. He even said that being married to Clarnell had more of an impact on him “than three hundred and ninety-six days and nights of fighting on the front did.”

Edmund felt close to his father, as his mother was distant towards him, rarely showing him any affection. Consequently, Kemper’s feelings for his mother fueled a rage that would escalate with the passing of time—a rage foretelling the destiny of both him and his mother.

If Edmund’s rage was a ticking time bomb, then the lighting of the fuse was the divorce of his parents in 1957. Edmund was only nine when his father moved out; his mother was left with full custody. Clarnell moved Edmund and his two sisters to Montana. It was during this time that Edmund started to express his anger and violent tendencies.

At age ten, Edmund buried the family’s pet cat alive; he later dug up the dead cat and played with it. When he was thirteen, he killed another family cat because it favored the company of his sister, Allyn. Edmund butchered the cat with a machete knife and placed its remains in a closet.

When his mother made the grisly discovery, Edmund denied any responsibility for the cat’s death. Years later, as an adult, Edmund would reveal in an interview that he took pride in the fact that he could successfully lie about the cat’s death, and that he could appear to be an average person despite the rage and fear he felt inside.

As a child, Edmund considered himself a chronic daydreamer, often fantasizing about committing acts of violence against others, in particular, his mother. He would set fires and engage in play that was violent, like dismembering his sisters’ dolls, or pretending he was in a gas chamber and mimicking the convulsive movements of a dying prisoner.

At ten, Edmund’s mother made him sleep in the basement of their home out of fear he might harm his sisters. To prepare the basement for him, Edmund’s mother placed a mattress in the dark, barren room. Edmund would later recall the single, bare bulb that provided light in the rat-infested quarters was his bedroom.

A few years later, when Edmund was fourteen, he could no longer tolerate living with his mother. He decided to run away so he could be with his father, thinking this would make his life easier. His hopes for a better life were short-lived—dashed when he arrived at his father’s home in California to discover Edmund II had remarried and had a stepson through his new wife.

Edmund’s father was less than enthusiastic to see his son but allowed Edmund to stay with him for a while before eventually sending him back to his mother in Montana.

Upon returning to his mother’s home, Edmund discovered that his mother was also planning to remarry. Like her ex-husband, Edmund II, Clarnell was not interested in having Edmund back. To remedy the situation, Clarnell decided to wash her hands of Edmund and sent him to live with his paternal grandparents in North Fork, California.

Barely a teenager, Edmund was unwelcomed by his parents. His father, the only person whom he felt close to, was starting a new life without him. His mother, who he held such deep anger for, was about to marry her third husband. Edmund was unwanted, friendless, and doing poorly in school. He wanted a connection with other people, especially girls or women, but felt completely inadequate. His mother’s cruel and domineering ways had burned a hole in Kemper’s soul.

He went deeper into his fantasies of violence and killing. What he could not anticipate was that his fantasies would materialize into reality upon arriving at his grandparents’ ranch.


The Carnage Begins

 

 

 

 

The town of North Fork is located in central California at the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. The town had three restaurants, two gas stations, and one grocery store. The home that Edmund’s grandparents, Edmund Kemper Sr. and his wife Maude, offered the fourteen-year-old Edmund was not dramatically different from that of his mother’s. Maude was also an authoritarian in her discipline and emasculated him just like his mother had.

Edmund spent as much time as possible outside to avoid dealing with his grandparents, particularly Maude. His grandfather had bought him a .22-gauge rifle so he could go hunting; however, his grandfather had taken the gun away from Edmund when he discovered he had been shooting birds and animals that were not game animals. Edmund’s shooting had been just for the sake of killing, especially birds. Later, Edmund’s grandfather allowed him to have his rifle back, thinking that Edmund had learned his lesson.

On the morning of August 27, 1964, Maude was in the kitchen, working on a children’s book she was writing while her husband had gone grocery shopping. Edmund entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, looking for something to eat. Maude made a comment about his sleeping in late and being useless when it came to helping out around the house. Edmund felt his mind drifting to the dark space, filled with the hate for his mother. He felt a surge of rage and stormed back to his room, leaving his grandmother thinking she could get under his skin.

Minutes later, Edmund returned to the kitchen with his .22-caliber rifle. Maude thought nothing of it, figuring he was going hunting. “Don’t shoot any birds!” she said to him firmly. Edmund pointed his rifle at Maude and pulled the trigger. The first bullet went through her head. Still pumped with emotion, he fired two more shots into her back. Edmund felt like he was in a daze when he realized what he had just done. He dragged her body to her bedroom and placed her in the closet. Something about killing his grandmother left him with a sense of satisfaction.

Then his thoughts turned to his grandfather, who would be returning at any time. Out of a distorted sense of compassion, Edmund felt he must also kill his grandfather. He did not want him to go through the experience of finding his wife murdered. Edmund looked out the living room window and saw his grandfather’s car pulling in. Edmund stepped out the front door, pointed the rifle at his grandfather as he got out of the car. After the shot rang out, his grandfather collapsed to the pavement.

At the age of fifteen, Edmund Kemper had taken the lives of two people.

With both grandparents dead now, the reality of what he had done hit Edmund; he did not know what to do. He called his mother and told her what he had just done. His mother told him to call the police, which he did. Edmund sat in the kitchen as he waited for them to arrive.

He was arrested and taken to the police station, where he was interrogated. When asked why he had killed his grandmother, Edmund replied, “I just wanted to see what it felt like to kill her.”


When Institutions Fail

 

 

 

 

Edmund was placed in Juvenile Hall pending the California Youth Authority’s determination of where to place him long-term. Psychiatrists at the California Youth Authority diagnosed Edmund as being paranoid schizophrenic, with an IQ of 136—near genius level.

They decided to place him at Atascadero State Hospital. Fifteen-year-old Edmund entered Atascadero State Hospital on December 6, 1964.

Atascadero State Hospital is a maximum-security facility located on the central coast of California that houses mentally ill convicts. In the late 1990s, there was an exodus of clinical staff from the hospital because they felt that housing sexually violent predators went against the hospital’s mission of providing the highest quality care to those who had serious mental illness, and it diverted time and resources.

Experts who are familiar with Edmund’s case believe that his referral to Atascadero State Hospital was an irresponsible decision. At the time Edmund was admitted to Atascadero, there were sixteen hundred patients. Of those patients, twenty-four were murderers, and eight hundred were sex offenders. The hospital only had ten psychiatric staff members to serve this population.

Not only did Edmund lack the quality of treatment needed for an offender of his age, but his short stay at Atascadero only strengthened his ability to carry out his future crimes. Edmund spent four years at Atascadero. During that time, he gained the trust of his counselor, even befriending him. His ability to act as a model patient earned him the position as assistant to the staff, which meant he had access to psychological test papers and diagnosis criteria.

Since Edmund was very bright, he was able to educate himself on how to fool the clinicians into believing he was fully rehabilitated. He passed all their psychological testing with flying colors, leading the hospital’s medical team to believe that there was no longer a need to contain him.

Despite the recommendation provided by his doctor at Atascadero, the California Youth Authority released Edmund to the custody of his mother in 1969. His doctor had urged them not to release Edmund to his mother, given her past abusive behavior and psychological issues.

There had been no psychiatrist on the panel for Edmund’s parole hearing, and no aftercare plan offered. Edmund was twenty-one, had killed two people, spent four years in a maximum-security hospital, and was being returned to the person he hated the most, his mother.

Clarnell had moved from Montana to Santa Cruz, California. Her marriage to her third husband had not worked out and ended in divorce. Clarnell found a job as an administrator at the University of California. Edmund was once again subjected to emotional abuse from Clarnell. She frequently attacked his sense of self-worth, just like she had with her three ex-husbands.

Edmund attended a community college and worked a series of odd jobs as part of his parole requirements. With his juvenile criminal record expunged, Edmund eventually landed a job with the California Department of Transportation in 1971.

Edmund wanted to be a state trooper. He had applied but was disqualified due to his weight. At six feet nine inches tall, and three hundred pounds, his weight was way above the standard; recruits needed to be between two hundred eleven and two hundred thirty-four pounds.

By now, Edmund wanted to get his own place. Through his job at the California Department of Transportation, he was able to save enough money to move into an apartment in the city of Alameda, located near San Francisco. He shared the apartment with a roommate. However, he was unable to pay his rent consistently, and Edmund had to move back in with his mother.

Edmund found himself facing a life he felt was as confining as being in Atascadero. He had failed in his ability to support himself. He wanted to socialize and meet girls, but he lacked any confidence with women. He had never kissed a girl or even been on a date.

As a twenty-one-year-old, having spent the last four years in a mental hospital, and living with his mother, how could he ever hope to start a relationship, especially with his background? At least in Atascadero, his basic needs were met, without the criticism from a belittling mother.


Days Of Training

 

 

 

 

Edmund’s anger toward his mother only grew more intense. She had made him feel like a failure throughout his life. The anger he held for her carried over to women in general, although he did want to socialize and have a relationship with them. As an outlet for his frustration, he engaged in voyeurism, and Santa Cruz was the perfect place for this.

As a magnet for young people, Santa Cruz is located on the northern edge of Monterey Bay and south of San Jose. Santa Cruz offered a great environment for those who enjoy an outdoor lifestyle and are open to free-thinking. The climate is moderate, and there are majestic coastlines, towering redwood forests, and plenty of wide, open spaces.

Hippies, flower children, and college students were attracted to Santa Cruz for its alternative community lifestyles and socially liberal attitudes, as well as its university. In 1970, the population of Santa Cruz was just over thirty-two thousand, a small university town nestled amid California’s natural beauty, where young people felt safe there and hitchhiking was common.

While working for the California Department of Transportation, Edmund bought a motorcycle. One day while out riding, Edmund was involved in an accident when a car hit him. Edmund received a fifteen-thousand-dollar settlement from a civil suit he filed against the driver. He used the money to purchase a Ford Galaxy.

Edmund’s violent fantasies became stronger and more frequent. In the beginning, he cruised the highways and roads for young females who were hitchhiking, with no other intention than looking at them, engaging in voyeurism. At some point, conflicting forces took over, and the rage and anger he felt for this mother trumped his desires to merely look at the young women.

Edmund purchased a gun and a knife and was able to obtain a pair of handcuffs. He became obsessed with putting his dark fantasies into action.

Edmund did not start out killing the girls he picked up. He would later tell authorities he had picked up around one hundred and fifty hitchhikers, letting each one of them go without incident.

He picked up female hitchhikers he found attractive; he gravitated to small, petite girls. As he drove them to their destination, he observed their behavior and how they reacted to him. He learned ways to make them trust him and to gain their confidence. While he was trying to make his passengers feel comfortable, his violent fantasies of what he really wanted to do to them became more intense.

With each hitchhiker Edmund picked up, he was rehearsing how he would kill them. He gained insight by reading police novels, finding tips such as keeping his car door locked once he had a passenger inside, or how to give others the impression he was safe. He rehearsed killings hundreds of times before actually doing it.

For over a year, Edmund practiced the art of picking up girls. During each of these times, the girl reached her destination safely. That is, until May 7, 1972, the day the killings started.

Edmund was working through a mental tug-of-war. He would later say in an interview with detectives, “I was scared to death of having a relationship with a woman. I am picking up young women, and going a little farther each time. It’s a daring kind of thing. First, there wasn’t a gun. We go to a vulnerable place, where there aren’t people watching, where I could act out and then say, ‘No, I can’t do this.’ Then a gun is in the car, hidden, and this craving; this awful raging, eating feeling is in me, and this fantastic passion takes over. It was overwhelming. It was like a drug. Addicting.”


From Fantasy To Reality

 

 

 

 

When Mary Ann Pesce and her friend Anita Luchese failed to arrive in Berkley, California, their parents filed missing person reports.

Both girls were students at Fresno State College and hitchhiking to Stanford University. They had planned to spend a few days in Berkley. Police did not give the missing girls report a high priority because of the high number of runaways and the transience nature of the Bay Area. Additionally, the police thought it was not uncommon for teenage girls to spend time with either friends or boyfriends, without telling anyone. While the lack of a rapid response by the police must have been deeply frustrating for the girls’ parents, an immediate response would not have made a difference this time.

Edmund had picked up Mary Ann and Anita from the highway on May 7, 1972, and driven them to a secluded area. He tied up Anita and left her in the car. He took Mary Ann, at gunpoint, into the woods. He stabbed her multiple times and left her for dead. He then went back to the car for Anita. He could not believe he had killed Mary Ann. Furthermore, he was fearful that Anita would report him. He was concerned with Anita seeing the blood on his hands. He told Anita he had ended up fighting with Mary Ann and had punched her in the nose. He asked her to go with him to take care of her. However, before Anita could even react, he started stabbing her repeatedly with his knife.

He would tell investigators the knife he used was inadequate for the job. He’d had to stab Anita numerous times to kill her because the knife would not penetrate the overalls she was wearing.

Edmund put the bodies of both girls in the trunk of his car and slammed it shut. He was about to drive away from the scene, but was unable to find his car keys. He panicked, thinking he had left them in the trunk of the car. After several futile attempts to open the trunk, Edmund panicked and ran away. While running, he tripped and fell. In his excitement, he had forgotten about the gun he was carrying and it dropped to the ground. Edmund realized he needed to calm down and gather his wits.

As he settled down, he realized his car keys had been in his back pocket the whole time. He returned to the vehicle. As he drove around with the girls’ bodies in the trunk, he tried to figure out what to do next.

Eventually, Edmund decided it was time to bring the bodies to his apartment. Among the items he’d kept in the car, in preparation for committing murder, were blankets. Edmund wrapped the bodies in blankets and carried them one by one into his apartment. Once in his apartment, Edmund removed the girls’ clothes, dissected, and decapitated them. He then dumped the bodies in a remote ravine, but kept the heads in his apartment for a few days, before disposing of them. A feeling of power washed over him. He had appeased his inner demons. For now.

Four months had passed since Edmund had killed Mary Ann and Anita. Mary Ann’s body and head were discovered; Anita’s remains were not found. No one suspected that Edmund was the killer. During Edmund’s reign of terror, other serial killers were also committing murders in the areas around Santa Cruz, which may have added to the confusion.

On the evening of September 14, 1972, fifteen-year-old Aiko Koo was hitchhiking along a highway. Aiko was trying to get to her dance class after giving up waiting for the bus. Edmund spotted her on the side of the road. Aiko hesitated before accepting a ride from him.

Edmund’s confidence was increasing and he was bolder this time, going directly for his gun. Aiko started to panic, which posed a problem for Edmund. Unable to control his vehicle and Aiko at the same time, Edmund persuaded her he had the gun because he was going to commit suicide. He told her she would not be harmed if she did not attempt to signal for help from nearby cars.

Edmund turned off on to a mountain road and drove until he found a secluded spot. He grabbed and restrained Aiko, wrapping tape around her mouth so she could not speak. Then, he jammed his fingers up her nostrils so she could not breathe; Aiko’s struggling ceased when she lost consciousness. But to Edmund’s surprise, Aiko regained consciousness just a few minutes later. So, he grabbed her scarf and strangled her, not letting up until he was sure she was dead.

Edmund threw her body in his trunk and drove away. His confidence, not only in his ability to kill, but to get away with it, was growing—so much so that he stopped off for a beer at the Jury Room, a local bar.

The Jury Room bar was a frequent hangout for police offers. Edmund had always been interested in the police and enjoyed talking to them. Murdering Mary Ann and Anita had given him an added incentive to go to the Jury Room; to see if he could catch any conversations about their murders.

The police at the bar referred to him as “Big Ed,” and thought of him as a polite, articulate, and gentle individual. After a few drinks, Edmund drove to his mother’s home to visit. Neither the police at the Jury Room nor his mother had any idea the car parked outside contained Aiko’s body. Edmund even took time to excuse himself from these social visits to take another look at the body.

Like many serial killers, Edmund would often keep trophies of his victims. Besides body parts, he would keep articles of clothing, photographs, and other personal items.

After leaving his mother’s home, Edmund drove back to his apartment. He transferred Aiko’s body from the trunk of his car to his bed, where he laid her out. As with Mary Ann and Anita, he dissected her body and removed her hands and head, which he disposed of in various locations. Later on, he disposed of the rest of her body. Authorities did not connect Aiko’s disappearance to Mary Ann and Anita, and her remains were never found.

The day after killing Aiko, Edmund attended a meeting with psychiatrists—a requirement of his parole. The purpose of the meeting was to appraise Edmund’s progress and evaluate if he was adhering to the conditions of his parole. Edmund told the two psychiatrists exactly what they wanted to hear. Not only were they satisfied with his attending college and doing well, but they also liked that he was actively searching for a job and obeying the conditions of his parole.

Both psychiatrists reported that Edmund was not a danger to others and seemed normal. Given that Edmund had killed three women, one as recently as the day before this assessment, the conclusion is all the more staggering.

The following day, the San Madera Police Department received a dealer’s “record of sale” for a .44-caliber revolver that was purchased by Edmund Kemper. Sergeant Aluffi was chosen to follow up on Kemper to determine if he was authorized to possess it. Sergeant Aluffi went to Edmund’s home, which was difficult to locate, given the layout of the houses in the area. Eventually, he found it. No one was home. Then, he remembered hearing other officers mention that Edmund frequented the Jury Room, so that was his next stop.

Upon his arrival, he saw a vehicle pull into the parking lot. A huge man exited the vehicle; Sergeant Aluffi knew instantly, by the man’s size, it was Edmund Kemper. He approached Edmund, who was moving toward the trunk of his car.

Sergeant Aluffi advised Edmund that he needed to take his gun, in order to determine if he was authorized to own it. Edmund replied that the gun was in the trunk of the car. When Edmund moved closer to the trunk, Aluffi advised him to stop moving—that he would open the trunk. He did so, and found the gun wrapped up in a blanket.

When the gun, along with Edmund’s background, were checked, no red flags appeared. Since Edmund had been a juvenile when he had killed his grandparents, the record of his crimes had been expunged.

Edmund’s next murder would take him back to his mother’s home. Growing cocky in his ability to kill undetected, on January 8, 1973, Edmund picked up Cindy Schall, another hitchhiker. Edmund shot her and took her body to his mother’s home; she was out. Edmund carried Cindy’s body to his room. Just as with his previous victims, Edmund dissected, dismembered, then decapitated her. The following day, Edmund dumped her bloody body parts in the pristine oceans around Santa Cruz. As for Cindy’s head, he buried it in his mother’s backyard—directly in front of his bedroom window.

The police would later get a call from beachgoers who came across Cindy’s body parts; they’d washed ashore. The police had yet to connect Edmund to any murders, let alone link the victims to each other.

Edmund felt so sure of himself that he continued to visit the Jury Room on a regular basis. In the meantime, the University of Santa Cruz, in partnership with the Santa Cruz police, started an awareness campaign to warn students of the dangers of hitchhiking.

They released this message:

“When possible, girls especially, stay in dorms after midnight with doors locked. If you must be out at night, walk in pairs. If you see a campus police patrol car and wave, they will give you a ride. Use the bus, even if somewhat inconvenient. Your safety is of upmost importance. If you are leaving campus, advise someone where you are going, where you can be reached, and the approximate time of your return. DON’T HITCH A RIDE, PLEASE!!!”

On February 5 th , Edmund got into a heated argument with his mother. Storming out of her house, he hopped in his car. Edmund’s urge to kill kicked in; killing provided a release from the intense anger he had for his mother.

During this particular drive, Edmund’s windshield was adorned with a parking permit from the University of Santa Cruz, which he had acquired from his mother. It allowed him to drive on campus, looking for potential victims. He cruised around the interior of the campus area and spotted Rosalind Thorpe.

Edmund offered Rosalind a ride. She got in his car, without any hesitation. He drove a little further and spotted Alice Liu—another co-ed hitchhiking. Seeing Rosalind in the passenger seat and the University’s parking permit on Edmund’s car, Alice got in the backseat without concern.

Edmund was so confident in his ability to kill that he did not even attempt to find a secluded area to park. As they drove along the empty highway, Edmund distracted Rosalind by pointing to a scenic view of the ocean. As Rosalind stared through the passenger window, Edmund shot her in the head, killing her instantly. Alice screamed and tried to escape. He stopped the car and shot her in the head. Alice was still alive, and he shot her three more times in the head. Then Edmund continued driving, as though nothing had happened.

Finding a quiet place on the side of the road, Edmund placed both bodies in the trunk of his car, taking time to wrap them in blankets. He brought the bodies to his mother’s home. She was not home, so he carried the bodies to his room where he beheaded them. He had sex with Alice’s headless body and then dismembered the two bodies. He also took the time to remove the bullets from both heads. He disposed of the body parts in the area of Santa Cruz, and the heads and hands in the city of Pacifica.

In March, hikers in San Mateo County came across a skull and jawbone near Highway 1; the bones belonged to different people. When detectives searched the area further, they recovered a second skull that belonged to the jawbone found by the hikers. These remains belonged to Rosalind and Alice.

After his arrest, Edmund would tell investigators each of the co-eds he’d killed was a “practice run.” He was using them to sharpen his skills. All of this “training” was strengthening him so he would be able to murder the one person who stood at the center of his rage, his mother.

Edmund told the investigators, “I lived as an ordinary person most of my life, even though I was living a parallel and increasingly violent other life.” That “increasingly violent other life” would boil over on April 21, 1973.


Mother, This One Is For You

 

 

 

 

It was nighttime, and Clarnell was about to retire for the day when Edmund came in. Clarnell made a comment to him, triggering his anger and igniting an argument. Clarnell was tired of Edmund using her home like a hotel and not taking responsibility for himself. Disgusted, she went to her bedroom, closed the door, and got in bed.

Tonight’s argument did not have the same impact on Edmund as it had in the past, as he no longer felt like a victim. His killing of six people without bringing any suspicion upon himself made him feel more powerful and more in control than any other time in his life.

Edmund went back to his car and got his tools: a hammer and a knife. He brought them to his room. He turned on the television and watched some shows until it was late and he was confident his mother was asleep. He silently entered her bedroom and stood over her as she lay sleeping. He raised the hammer and brought it down as hard as he could on her head. His mother screamed, writhing in pain and bleeding profusely from her head. Within seconds, she lay motionless. Edmund then took his knife and decapitated her. Holding up her decapitated head, he dug into the opening of her severed neck and pulled out her larynx.

Feeling as though he were in a hyper-aware state, Edmund felt like he was observing himself from afar as he headed for the kitchen. Standing over the kitchen sink, he shoved the larynx down the garbage disposal and turned it on. As small pieces of ground flesh flew out the opening of the garbage disposal, Edmund laughed sadistically. He would tell investigators, “That seemed appropriate as much as she’d bitched, screamed, and yelled at me over so many years.”

Edmund then took the head to his room and placed it on top of his dresser. He went to the dartboard that was hanging on the wall and gathered up all the darts. One by one, he threw the darts at his mother’s head. In a final explosion of rage, he went back to her bedroom and had sex with her headless corpse. When he had finished using her corpse, Edmund dismembered it and hid the parts in a closet.

Edmund happened to think of Sally Hallett, a close friend of his mother’s. Concerned that the fifty-nine-year-old woman would become suspicious when her attempts to reach his mother proved unsuccessful, Edmund called Sally and invited her over for dinner, which she eagerly accepted. When Sally arrived, Edmund strangled her and placed her body in another closet. He then returned to his room, collapsing on his bed; he felt emotionally drained. A lifetime of anger and rage had been released from him like the air from a balloon.

The next morning, Edmund woke up early and took off, leaving the bodies behind. Before he left, he wrote a message and placed it on his mother’s bloody mattress. It read, “Sorry champs for the mess. I had to go and did not have time.”

Edmund took Sally’s car and drove toward Pueblo, Colorado, some fifteen hundred miles away. While driving, he listened to the radio, anticipating there would be a news flash about the murders. He was disappointed by the lack of news coverage about his mother and Sally. However, at the same time, he was beginning to sense the police would catch up with him, given Sergeant Aluffi’s inquiry about his gun.


Calling It Quits

 

 

 

 

Upon reaching Pueblo, Edmund pulled over to a payphone and called the Santa Cruz Police Department, confessing to the killings of his mother and her friend. The officer who took Edmund’s call did not take him seriously, figuring the caller was playing a prank.

Edmund called back again, but the officer who answered continued to express disbelief. The officer knew of Edmund’s reputation for hanging around the police at the Jury Room; officers knew Edmund as a jokester, who also gave the impression of being gentle. In addition, the police were unaware of the deaths of Clarnell Strandberg, her name from her third marriage, and Sally Hallett. Edmund requested that Sergeant Aluffi go to his mother’s home—telling him this was no joke.

As Edmund requested, Sergeant Aluffi and another officer went to the home of Clarnell Strandberg. When they entered the home, they were hit with a putrid smell. Instantly, Sergeant Aluffi realized that Edmund’s claims were true. When they entered the bedroom, they saw dried blood splattered everywhere. They found the note that Edmund had written: “Sorry champs for the mess. I had to go and did not have time.”

When they entered Edmund’s room, they began to feel physically nauseated. There, perched on the dresser, was the decaying head of Clarnell Strandberg, covered with darts. They left Edmund’s bedroom and made their way down the hall to the two closets. The first closet contained the body of Sally Hallett, and the second had the headless corpse of Clarnell Strandberg.

Sergeant Aluffi called for the coroner and forensic team to start processing the crime scene. The officer who had taken Edmund’s original call was notified and instructed that should Edmund call again, they were to keep him on the phone and get any information they could. In the meantime, Sergeant Aluffi contacted the Pueblo Police to inform them about Edmund.

Edmund did call again. The officer who took his call got Edmund’s location, which he freely offered. Edmund understood that the Pueblo Police would be notified. He offered to wait for them to arrive at the motel where he was staying. When police descended on the hotel, they found Edmund, calmly waiting for them. He was arrested without incident.

District Attorney Peter Chang and a group of detectives traveled to Pueblo to pick up Edmund and transport him back to Santa Cruz. Edmund continued to be cooperative and waived his right to an attorney.

He is the only serial killer to have ever turned himself in.


Tying Up Loose Ends

 

 

 

 

When they arrived back in Santa Cruz, detectives interviewed Edmund, who spoke freely to them. He confessed to killing the female hitchhikers and took detectives to the sites where he had disposed of their body parts. He told them of the rush he’d experienced when having oral sex with their decapitated heads, feeling like he possessed them as his property.

Edmund also disclosed to detectives the urge to kill women after he experienced clashes with his mother. Edmund freely answered all the detectives’ questions; he was an open book without a hint of remorse. During police interviews, Edmund explained he did not know how to connect with women, nor did he know how to communicate with them. He was scared of being rejected.

Edmund’s conflicting desire to connect with women, while being afraid of them, would later be expressed during an interview, with the magazine Cosmopolitan . The reporter asked him how he felt after killing his mother, when he saw an attractive girl. His answer to the reporter was, “One side of me says, ‘I’d like to talk to her, date her.’ The other side says, ‘I wonder how her head would look on a stick.’”

As detectives dug deeper through their interview, Edmund shared that he felt the fear of rejection he’d experienced was caused by his mother’s behavior toward him. Since he had been a child, he had never been able to stand up for himself. He loathed who he was. He always ran away when other kids tried to fight him. Fearing that he was gay, Edmund’s mother tried to “make him a man” by being tough on him. He explained how, at eight years old, his mother had ordered him to kill his pet chicken, which she later made him eat. After this ordeal, he ran out of the house, hopped on his bicycle, and rode away with tears streaming down his face.

Edmund also expressed he had never kissed a girl, never gone on a date, nor had he ever had sex. As much as he wanted to socialize and connect with girls, he felt useless and undesirable. For him, violence was the only way he could associate with women. As much as he wanted to relate with the hitchhikers who entered his car, he felt they were all untouchable. The depth of his desire to be with these co-eds was only matched by the anger and rage that he would never be able to make that happen.

The only way he could ever be with these girls would be if he was in total control—which required killing them. Having sex was with a corpse meant no chance of rejection. In fact, as much as he wanted to rape the girls, he feared he would not be able to perform.

In killing his mother, Edmund felt like he was finally in charge; exorcising his demons and standing up to her. This was his way of expressing to her who he was; no longer a scared, abused boy. He was powerful!

When asked why he had turned himself in, Edmund stated, “The original purpose was gone… It wasn’t serving any physical, or real, or emotional purpose. It was just a pure waste of time… Emotionally, I couldn’t handle it much longer. Toward the end there, I started feeling the folly of the whole damn thing, and at the point of near exhaustion, near collapse, I just said to hell with it and called it all off.”

Edmund’s original purpose was to get back at his mother, which he achieved. The fact he had frequented the Jury Room, socializing with the officers there, prevented him from falling under their suspicion for any of the killings.

Throughout the interview, Edmund told detectives he was living in parallel realities. When he was killing women or holding their decapitated heads, he felt like he was in another world, totally devoid of reality. Yet, he could snap back to reality instantly. He recalled a time when he was enjoying playing with the head of one of his victims and heard a knock at the door. He answered. It was his apartment manager, who Edmund was able to talk with calmly about her concerns, without arousing any suspicion. When she left, he went back to playing with the head.

Another time, Edmund was walking upstairs to his apartment and carrying a camera bag that belonged to one of his victims; inside the bag was his victim’s head. As he approached his apartment, he passed a young couple who were going out on a date. The couple smiled at him, and he responded back with a friendly smile of his own. Deep inside, he longed to be on a date like they were. His ability to seem invisible to others, despite the horrors that he was committing, boosted Edmund’s confidence in his ability to kill and get away with it.

He told police it had reached a point of flaunting his killings. He recalled burying the heads of two of his victims in the front yard of his mother’s home while she was there. Furthermore, her neighbors’ living room window faced him, with the curtains drawn open. The neighbors had been home as well.

Edmund told detectives his urge to kill always followed an argument with his mother. In fact, the co-eds he killed had somehow represented what his mother coveted. Most of his victims were students of the University of Santa Cruz, where his mother worked. His mother would not introduce him to any of the girls she knew there because she felt he was not good enough for them. Edmund stated he wanted to love his mother, but was unable to; calling her an angry, sick woman, and that he hated her. He saw how she was destroying herself with alcohol. However, he also acknowledged that she’d had a difficult life.


A Killer On Trial

 

 

 

 

On May 7, 1973, Edmund was indicted on eight counts of first-degree murder. Attorney Jim Jackson was the Chief Public Defender for Santa Cruz County. Jackson offered a plea of insanity. Jackson was limited to the insanity defense because Edmund had waived his rights to an attorney when he had been arrested and had spoken freely to the police. Offering an insanity defense would be a hard sell because Edmund had carried out the murders in a strategic and carefully planned manner.

States like California apply the M’Naghten rule, which includes:

“A criminal defendant is not guilty by reason of insanity, if at the time of the alleged criminal act, the defendant was so deranged that he or she did not know the nature or quality of his or her actions, or, if he or she knew the nature and quality of his or her actions, he or she was so deranged that he or she did not know that what he or she was doing was wrong.”

Jackson also challenged the diagnosis that had been given to Edmund at Atascadero, successfully arguing that Edmund’s violent fantasies were not sufficient to diagnose him as being psychotic.

Edmund attempted to take his life twice while waiting for his trial. He tried to slit his wrists; however, both attempts were unsuccessful. His trial began on October 23, 1973.

The prosecution had three psychiatrists examine Edmund before the trial, and they concurred in their assessments that Edmund was sane. One of the psychiatrists, Dr. Joel Fort, stated that Edmund had most likely engaged in cannibalism by eating parts of his victim and that he had experienced a sense of notoriety from being a serial killer.

Jackson offered the following closing statement to the jury, “There are two people locked up in the body of this young giant: one is fighting to be here with us now, and the other is slipping away to his world of violent fantasy where he is happy.”

When he was found guilty, Edmund requested he be put to death. An ironic request, given that dying by the gas chamber was a game that he used to play with his sisters.

His request was denied, given that California had temporarily banned the death penalty at the time of his sentencing.

 
Solace Amid The Cement And Steel

 

 

 

 

The trial was over in less than three weeks. After five hours of deliberation, the jury found Edmund guilty of eight counts of first-degree murder and sentenced him to life in prison at the California Medical Facility State Prison, in the small town of Vacaville. He shared the same cell block with Charles Manson and convicted killer Herbert Mullin.

Edmund did not show up for his parole hearings; he was eligible in 2007 and 2012, and declined both hearings. His attorney, Scott Currey, states, “His feeling is that he—and this is his belief—no one’s ever going to let him out and he’s happy; happy going about his life in prison.”

For Edmund, prison is the only real home he has ever known; a safe place where his needs are taken care of. He is free from the murderous temptations he had experienced when he was around women and excised his past with his mother.

He is considered a model prisoner and involved in numerous activities, including crafting ceramic cups, scheduling the psychiatric appointments of other inmates, and recording audiobooks for the blind; he has completed over five thousand hours of narration.

Edmund has accommodated researchers by allowing them to interview him in their pursuit to better understand the minds of serial killers. In fact, he was one of the first murderers to be interviewed by the FBI’s newly formed Behavioral Science Unit.

He feels he can provide a unique service to others by sharing his own experience in the hopes it can help someone else by preventing them from killing.

Edmund was one of the killers interviewed in the documentary Murder: No Apparent Motive , where he stated:

“There’s somebody out there watching this and hasn’t done that—hasn’t killed people, and wants to, and rages inside and struggles with that feeling, or is so sure they have it under control. They need to talk to somebody about it. Trust somebody enough to sit down and talk about something that isn’t a crime; thinking that way isn’t a crime. Doing it isn’t just a crime, it’s a horrible thing, it doesn’t know when to quit and it can’t be stopped easily once it starts.”

Despite the fact that Edmund is now a model prisoner, it was not always that way. There was an incident in the late 1970s when Edmund challenged a researcher, which resulted in a change in FBI policy.

Robert Ressler was a criminal profiler for the FBI, who had interviewed Edmund several times as part of the Criminal Personality Research Project he was working on. For his last interview with Edmund, Robert declined all offers by prison officials to have a guard present, which is normally provided for the security of visitors.

Robert felt comfortable with Edmund and felt any added security would interfere with the interview; besides, there was a button in the interviewing room that would alert guards if needed. When the interview was over, Robert pushed the button so they could let him out of the locked room, but no guards came.

Robert pushed the button two more times, but to no avail. Edmund told him, “Relax. They’re changing the shift, feeding the guys in the secure areas. Might be fifteen, twenty minutes before they come and get you.” Robert was worried, which fed Edmund’s manipulative personality. “If I went ape shit in here, you’d be in a lot of trouble, wouldn’t you? I could screw your head off and place it on the table to greet the guard.”

Robert tried to call Edmund’s bluff by advising him of the potential consequences that he would incur if he harmed him, to which he replied, “What would they do—cut off my TV privileges?”

Understanding the futility of his response to Edmund, Robert told him he was carrying a weapon. Edmund inquired as to the kind of weapon he was carrying, but Robert told him he would not give specifics. His continued stalling bought him the time he needed for a guard to finally show up. As Robert left the room, Edmund told him, “You know I was just kidding, don’t you?”

Since that incident, it has been FBI policy to conduct interviews with serial killers in pairs.

Edmund has also been known to manipulate other prisoners, in particular, Mullin. Edmund had a strong dislike for Mullin, who committed murders in Santa Cruz around the same time he did. He feels Mullin was an indiscriminate killer, with no good reason for what he did. At the same time, Edmund admits to the hypocrisy of his thinking. It was this kind of self-awareness that led FBI profiler John E. Douglas to call Edmund, “among the brightest prison inmates” he has ever interviewed, saying that he offered unique insights for a violent criminal.

Edmund used his towering six-foot nine-inch stature to impose his “house rules” on the five-foot-seven Mullin, whom he called “Herbie.” Edmund could not stand it when Mullin sang while he and other prisoners were watching television.

Mullin liked to sing, but lacked any consideration for others. Edmund trained Mullin to be courteous to others by employing behavior modification. When Mullin distracted others with his singing, Edmund poured water on him. When he demonstrated courtesy by respecting others, Edmund gave him peanuts, one of his favorite treats.

Edmund’s notoriety has made his story prominent in popular culture, inspiring movies, books, and music. In the 2000 film American Psycho , Edmund is the inspiration for actor Christian Bale’s character, Patrick Bateman, who uses some of Edmund’s words as dialogue.

The 2008 cult horror film Kemper: The Co-Ed Killer , is loosely based on the facts of the case. Edmund was one of five serial killers used to develop the character of Buffalo Bill in the novel, The Silence of the Lambs .

In his 1996 novel Intensity , author Dean Koontz used Edmund as his inspiration for creating the character of Edgler Vess. Punk and Thrash metal bands have written songs about Edmund with titles like Edmund Kemper had a Horrible Temper by Macabre, Fortress by System of a Down, and Murder by the German duo, Seabound.

Accessories can be purchased online that bear his image include: t-shirts, trading cards, novelty coins, and tote bags.

Even though Edmund Kemper has been denied parole multiple times, his family still lives in fear that one day he will be granted parole through some fluke.

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True Crime

Oswald Ruby And JFK

Published

4 years ago

on

September 5, 2020

By

Overnight, the case against Lee Harvey Oswald strengthened. In the Dallas Police Department Crime Lab, Lt. Carl Day discovered a palm print matching Oswald’s on the underside of the Mannlicher Carcano rifle barrel. Several of the boxes and the brown bag paper found on the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository also bore the accused assassin’s finger and palm prints.

Pressured by the FBI, Chief Curry released several crucial pieces of evidence to the federal agency. Tension between the local and federal authorities had heightened in the hours after President Kennedy’s assassination. Dallas Police officials were less than happy about the FBI’s failure to warn them that a Russian defector was working in a building overlooking the presidential motorcade. At the same time, the FBI believed local authorities were trying to shift responsibility for JFK’s death to parties outside of Dallas.

Since Oswald would be prosecuted in Dallas, Captain Fritz did not see the need to share evidence with the FBI. President Johnson, however, had instructed FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover to instigate a separate investigation. In the end, Chief Curry agreed to allow the FBI to keep possession of certain pieces of evidence for a twenty-four hour period.

In the wee hours of Saturday morning, Special Agent Vincent Drain boarded an Air Force C-135 tanker jet bound for Washington D.C. Drain, a Dallas-based agent, carried with him the suspect’s rifle and pistol, two of the three spent cartridge casings discovered on the sixth floor of the depository, the single unfired bullet found in the rifle chamber, the blanket used to conceal the rifle, the paper bag used to transport the weapon to the school book depository, the suspect’s .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver, the pistol casings found at the Tippit murder scene, the unfired pistol bullets found in Oswald’s revolver and his pants pocket, the suspect’s shirt, and the various identification cards found in Oswald’s wallet.

A by-product of the animosity between the local and federal agencies was miscommunication—the FBI was unaware that Lt. Day had discovered Oswald’s palm print on the underside of the rifle barrel. When the FBI seemingly failed to discover evidence uncovered by the local authorities, the tension between Washington and Dallas was further magnified.

FBI laboratory technicians did discover fibers in the butt plate of the Mannlicher Carcano rifle that matched Oswald’s shirt. Inside the brown paper bag, the FBI experts found fibers consistent with the blanket used to conceal the rifle, when it was stored in the Paine’s garage.

The FBI also traced the purchase of the Mannlicher Carcano to Klein’s Sporting Goods in Chicago. The weapon had been delivered to A. Hidell at a Dallas post office box rented by Lee Harvey Oswald. FBI document experts analyzed the handwriting on the mail order coupon used to purchase the rifle, proving that A. Hidell and Lee Harvey Oswald were one in the same.

At 1:30 a.m., Oswald was awakened in his jail cell. The bleary-eyed prisoner was taken to the Identification Bureau on the fourth floor of Dallas Police Headquarters, where he was greeted by a somber group, including Captain Fritz, Chief Curry, and Assistant District Attorney Alexander. Justice of the Peace David Johnston stood behind a countertop and grimly eyed the disheveled Oswald.

“Is this the trial?” Oswald sarcastically asked .

“No,” Johnston replied, “I have to arraign you on another offense.”

Complaint F-154, signed by District Attorney Wade, was read to the prisoner. The blanks of the affidavit were filled in by hand, and stated that Lee Harvey Oswald did then and there unlawfully voluntarily and with malice aforethought kill John F. Kennedy by shooting him with a gun .

The twenty-four year-old self-proclaimed Marxist had left an indelible mark in the annals of history. The reading of the charges, however, brought little more than a shoulder shrug from Oswald, who seemed nonchalant about the whole affair.

After leaving the Dallas Times Herald , Jack Ruby was still in no condition to sleep. As he cruised through the lightly traveled early morning streets, Ruby suddenly remembered an offensive sign that he had observed the night before; the billboard had been paid for by a local right wing group and featured a simple message: IMPEACH EARL WARREN. Impulsively, Ruby drove to his apartment and awakened his roommate, George Senator, at 4:30 a.m. He then called Larry Crafard, his live-in employee, and told him to grab the Carousel Club’s Polaroid camera, and wait outside until Ruby arrived. Twenty minutes later, Ruby and Senator picked up Craford, and the trio drove to the sight of the billboard near Hall Avenue and the Central Expressway. An agitated Ruby insisted that Crafard take three separate photographs of the sign.

In his troubled mind, Jack Ruby linked the IMPEACH EARL WARREN sign with the WANTED FOR TREASON ad in Friday’s Dallas Morning News . Ruby copied the post office box number from the billboard, mistakenly identifying it as the same one that he had seen in the offensive newspaper advertisement.

Ruby then drove to the post office, where he asked the night clerk for the name of the person renting the box number listed on the billboard. When the postal employee told him that he could not provide such information, the three men peered through box’s glass window, where Ruby was angered to see a stack of mail. More than ever, Jack was convinced a nefarious group was trying to frame the Jewish community for the messages of hate and acts of violence in the Dallas area .

After examining the post office box, the three men went to a downtown coffee shop. Ruby found a day old copy of the Dallas Morning News , and once again examined the WANTED FOR TREASON ad. Teary-eyed and angry, Ruby repeatedly mumbled to himself as he stared at the offensive page. After thirty minutes, Ruby dropped Crafard off outside the Carousel Club, and drove back to his apartment. Nearing 6:00 a.m., Jack went to bed—his tumultuous day had finally come to an end.

Robert Oswald did not know exactly where to go. The accused assassin’s older brother did not want to return home and drag his wife into the frightening and uncertain mess, and certainly could not share his concerns with his unbalanced mother. Alone, he drove from Dallas to Fort Worth, then turned around and came back. Robert was uncertain about his own future. Would the world declare him guilty by fraternal association? Would he lose his job? Would he be forever known as the brother of the man who murdered the President?

Eventually, Robert checked into a hotel near the Dallas police station. He was uneasy about how to sign the guest register, wondering if his last name would draw attention and perhaps ridicule. He thought for a moment before signing his own name to the book.

When he gave the guest his room key, the clerk smiled, cheerfully and without recognition, “Good night, Mr. Oswald.”

President Lyndon Johnson did not fall asleep until well after midnight. After being taken by helicopter from Andrews Air Force Base to the south grounds of the White House, Johnson met with senior members of Congress in his vice-presidential suite in the Old Executive Office Building. As bold as he might be, Johnson was unwilling to occupy the Oval Office on the same day that his predecessor had been murdered. He also resolved to give Jacqueline Kennedy as long as she needed to move out of the White House living quarters.

The new President prepared handwritten letters to President Kennedy’s children expressing his admiration for their father and sorrow at his death. Later in the evening, the Secret Service transported Johnson to his home, The Elms, located in a fashionable section of Washington D.C.

Reclining atop the bed in his pajamas, Johnson watched the continuing news coverage of the assassination. Every so often, the new President would bark out orders to his aides, who were sitting in chairs next to the bed, legal pads and pens in hand. When the Commander-in-Chief finally dozed off, the exhausted staff members tiptoed out of the room to find beds of their own.

A string of headlights illuminated the darkness, just before dawn, as the gray naval hearse carrying the flag draped coffin of the 35th President of the United States cruised slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue, before entering the White House gate.

After a very long day, John F. Kennedy had returned home.

Before leaving the police station on Saturday night, Chief Curry told the assembled reporters that Oswald would not be transferred to the county jail until the next day. The eager newsmen pressed Curry for details.

“I think if you fellows are back here by ten o’clock in the morning, you won’t miss anything,” Curry announced.

At 2:30 a.m., an overnight security clerk at the FBI office in Dallas received an anonymous phone call: “I represent a committee that is neither right nor left wing. And, tonight or tomorrow morning, we are going to kill the man that killed the President. There will be no excitement, and we will kill him. We wanted to be sure to tell the FBI, police department, and sheriff’s office. We will be there and we will kill him.” The caller immediately hung up after delivering the threat.

Dallas County Deputy Sheriff C.C. McCoy received a similar call during the wee hours of the morning. The mysterious caller warned: “A group of a hundred people has voted to kill the man who killed the President.”

The FBI and Dallas County Sheriff’s Office compared notes and shared the threats with Chief Curry. When Curry arrived at police headquarters on Sunday morning, a decision was made to transfer Oswald from the city jail to the county facility in an armored truck. A local armored transport company was contacted and agreed to deliver a vehicle to the Dallas police department.

Chief Curry conferred with Captain Will Fritz about the transfer. Fritz told Curry that he should be finished with his interrogation of Oswald by the scheduled transfer time of 10:00 a.m. Curry planned to escort Oswald out of City Hall through the basement garage, and then load him into the armored truck for transport to the county jail, ten blocks away. Uniformed officers were ordered to clear the basement of all reporters and cameramen, such that the entire area could be thoroughly searched. Policemen were posted at the two ramps leading into the basement, and the newsmen were allowed to re-enter only if they had proper identification. The general public was barred from coming down either the Main or Commerce Street ramps. The external doors to City Hall were also locked to prevent access from sidewalk traffic.

Since the arrest of Lee Harvey Oswald, less than forty-eight hours ago, the Dallas Police Department had done a credible job of building two strong murder cases against him. In a brief interview with the press, Captain Fritz pronounced the case cinched . The police department’s remaining task was to safely deliver the prisoner to the county lock up, where he would remain until his murder trial.

The Dallas Police Department usually handled the transfer of prisoners to the county jail. Aware of threats against Oswald, Dallas County Sheriff Bill Decker was concerned about the prisoner’s safety, and recommended a night-time transfer, when there were fewer people on the city streets. Chief Curry, wanting to cooperate with the press, stuck with his original plan.

Jack Ruby awakened around 9:30 a.m. and read the Dallas Times Herald , immediately focusing on an article entitled My Dear Caroline . Ruby had gone to bed in emotional turmoil a few hours earlier, and his mood only worsened as he read about President Kennedy’s young daughter. George Senator, Ruby’s roommate, noted that Jack was mumbling to himself, and appeared to be in shock . Ruby kept reading the morning newspaper, as continuing coverage of the presidential assassination ran across the television screen in his apartment .

Another Times Herald article caught Ruby’s eye—District Attorney Henry Wade was quoted as saying that Jacqueline Kennedy might have to return to Dallas to testify in Oswald’s murder trial. Jack was appalled at the idea of the former First Lady returning to the city where her husband had been murdered. Of course, if something happened to Oswald, there would be no trial.

Elnora Pitts, the elderly African American woman who regularly cleaned Jack’s apartment, called him in the middle of the morning. Pitts felt like she was talking to a total stranger, as Ruby seemed distracted and disoriented. After hanging up the phone, Pitts was uneasy, and decided to wait a few hours before traveling to Ruby’s apartment, telling her daughter, “He don’t sound right.”

In Washington D.C., the second full day of official mourning for President Kennedy was underway. In a black dress, with her two small children in hand, Jacqueline Kennedy watched her husband’s flag draped coffin carried out of the North Portico of the White House, where it was placed atop the same horse-drawn caisson that carried the body of President Franklin Roosevelt, some eighteen years earlier. President and Mrs. Johnson joined Jacqueline Kennedy and her two children, as well as Robert Kennedy, in the first of ten cars that followed the caisson and a riderless horse up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol building. Military drummers provided a muffled cadence as the procession made its way through the chilled morning air. President Kennedy’s body would lie in state in the Rotunda of the Capitol for the remainder of the day and night; thousands of people were already lined up in four-deep rows to view the casket.

When the procession reached Capitol Hill, the Navy band played a soft, mournful rendition of Hail to the Chief . Mrs. Kennedy, who had thus far remained composed, wept openly when she heard the familiar tune.

Postal Inspector Harry Holmes had reached his church, when he decided that he might be able to assist Captain Fritz with the interrogation of Lee Harvey Oswald. After dropping his family off in front of the church building, Holmes drove to the Dallas police headquarters, and greeted Fritz in the Homicide and Robbery Bureau.

“We’re getting ready to talk with Oswald, one more time, before we transfer him to the county jail. Would you like to join us?” Fritz asked Holmes.

“I sure would,” Holmes replied.

Fritz, Holmes, Secret Service Agent Forrest Sorrels, and Dallas Police Detective L.D. Montgomery, waited for the prisoner to be brought down from his jail cell. Chief Curry, who had informed the press that Oswald was going to be transferred around 10:00 a.m., also joined the group. In short order, Detectives Leavelle, Dhority, and Graves brought the prisoner into Captain Fritz’s office. Secret Service Inspector Thomas Kelley arrived a bit late for this final interrogation session.

Oswald eyed the small group, and immediately noticed that Holmes was a new face, “Are there any FBI men in here?”

“No. No FBI men,” Captain Fritz replied.

“Well, who is that man?” Oswald asked, pointing at Harry Holmes.

“He’s a postal inspector, and he has a few questions for you,” Fritz answered.

“Okay,” Oswald responded, reserving his more blatant hostility for any FBI agent that might enter the room.

Before asking any questions, Captain Fritz handed Oswald a telegram from an East Coast attorney, who had offered pro bono defense services for Oswald.

“Maybe you should call him,” Fritz suggested.

“I’ll call him later, if I can’t reach Mr. Abt,” Oswald answered, extending his role as the defenseless suspect for a while longer.

Fritz once again showed the suspect the picture of himself, dressed in black, holding the Mannlicher Carcano rifle and wearing his pistol.

“Lee, why don’t you tell us when this picture was made?” Fritz asked.

Oswald stared straight at the photograph, but remained silent.

“You know, you’ll save us a lot of time if you’ll just tell us. We’ll find the location, sooner or later,” Fritz calmly said .

“I don’t have anything to say about it,” Oswald defiantly answered.

Captain Fritz noted Oswald’s discomfort, and tried to catch the prisoner off guard, “Did you shoot the President?”

“No,” Oswald quickly replied.

“What about the shooting of Officer Tippit?” Fritz asked.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re asking me these questions. The only reason I’m here is because I popped a policeman in the nose at the theater on Jefferson Avenue. Okay, I admit it. But the reason I hit him was because I was protecting myself. As far as the rest of it, I emphatically deny having anything to do with shooting an officer or killing the President,” Oswald responded.

The witnesses to the shooting of Officer Tippit said they saw a man in a white shirt and it was a man in a white shirt who shot Tippit. Oswald was arrested wearing a brown shirt. Prior to being to put in a line up so that witnesses could identify the shooter of Officer Tippit, Oswald was stripped down and put in a white shirt. The image above is from television news coverage which clearly shows Oswald protesting this “rigged” procedure before he is put in the police line up.

Chief Curry quietly left the room to check on the status of Oswald’s transfer. At this point, Postal Inspector Holmes was invited to join in the questioning by Captain Fritz.

“Did you have a post office box here in Dallas?” Holmes asked.

“Yeah,” Oswald nonchalantly replied.

“What number?” Holmes asked.

“Box 2915. I rented it at the main post office a few months before moving to New Orleans,” Oswald calmly answered.

“Did you rent it in your own name?” Holmes asked, aware that Oswald had a history of employing aliases.

“Yes,” Oswald replied.

“How many keys did you have?” Holmes asked.

Two,” Oswald answered, “When they closed the box, I had them forward my mail to my address in New Orleans.”

“Did anyone else receive mail in the box, other than yourself?” Holmes inquired.

“No,” Oswald lied.

“Did anyone have access to the box other than yourself?”

“No.”

“Did you permit anyone else to use the box?” Holmes asked, fully aware that the Mannlicher Carcano rifle had been delivered to A. J. Hidell at that same post office box.

“Well, it’s possible that I may have given my wife one of the keys to go get my mail. But, that was rare. Certainly, no one else used it,” Oswald answered.

“Did you ever receive a package in that box?” Holmes inquired.

“What kind of package?” Oswald asked, feigning curiosity at the nature of the question.

“Did you ever have a rifle shipped there?” Holmes asked, in a more pointed fashion.

“No, I did not order any rifle!” Oswald emphatically replied.

“Ever order a rifle under another name?” Holmes quickly asked.

Oswald regained his composure, “No. In fact, I’ve never owned a rifle. I haven’t practiced or shot a rifle since I was in the Marine Corps.”

Captain Fritz could not let this blatant lie go unchallenged, “You’ve never shot a rifle since your discharge?”

Oswald continued the charade, “No. Well, maybe a small-bore .22 or something.”

“You don’t own a rifle?” Fritz asked, once again.

“Absolutely not!” Oswald answered, annoyed that the same question was being asked repeatedly, “How can I afford a rifle on my salary? I make $1.25 per hour. I can hardly feed myself on what I make.”

Inspector Holmes stared at the documents in his hands. When Oswald had made an application for a post office box in New Orleans earlier in the year, he had listed Marina Oswald and A. J. Hidell as additional persons who could receive mail at this address. Holmes asked Oswald about the name Hidell.

“I don’t recall anything about that,” Oswald tersely replied.

Secret Service Inspector, Thomas Kelley, joined in the questioning, “Well, isn’t it a fact that when you were arrested you had an identification card with the name Hidell on it, in your possession?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Oswald calmly answered.

“How do you explain that?” Kelley asked.

“I don’t explain it,” Oswald replied, in a defiant tone.

Holmes resumed his line of questioning, “Did you receive mail through Box 2915 under any name other than Lee Oswald?”

“Absolutely not,” Oswald lied.

“What about a package to an A. J. Hidell?” Holmes asked.

“No!” Oswald replied angrily.

“Did you order a gun under that name to come there?” Holmes inquired .

“No. Absolutely not,” Oswald answered.

Holmes tried to rephrase the question, “If one had come under that name, could this fellow Hidell have gotten it?”

“Nobody got mail out of that box but me,” Oswald answered.

The Postal Inspector knew that he was not going to get more out of the suspect. In fact, Holmes doubted that Oswald would ever confess his guilt.

Jack Ruby was still not dressed for the day, and continued to watch television coverage of the assassination aftermath. At 10:19 a.m., Karen Carlin phoned Ruby to remind him that he had promised her a more substantial salary advance. Jack assured her that he would send the additional money, “I have to go downtown, anyway, so, I’ll send it to you by Western Union.”

Ruby shaved, showered, and dressed in his typical methodical fashion. As far as he knew, the scheduled 10:00 a.m. transfer of Oswald from the city to the county jail had already occurred.

The addition of Postal Inspector Holmes to the interrogation team caused the questioning of Oswald to run well past 10:00 a.m. Chief Curry nervously pressed Captain Fritz to complete the interview, but the homicide investigator had no intention of tailoring his schedule to suit the waiting news reporters.

The interrogation continued, and shifted toward Oswald’s involvement in protest activities, particularly during his stay in New Orleans.

“Is that why you came to Dallas, to organize the Fair Play for Cuba Committee in Dallas?” Holmes asked.

“No, not at all,” Oswald answered.

“Did you work on it or intend to organize here in Dallas?” Holmes inquired.

Oswald smirked, “No, I didn’t. I was too busy trying to get a job.”

Secret Service Inspector Kelley joined in, “Do you think the attitude of the United States government toward Cuba will change since the President has been assassinated?”

Oswald turned to Captain Fritz, “I’m filed on for the President’s murder, right? ”

Fritz nodded yes.

“Under the circumstances, I don’t believe I will answer the question, because whatever I say might be misconstrued,” Oswald replied, but unable to resist the urge to pontificate, he continued, “When the head of any government dies, there is always a second in command who takes over. And, in this particular case, it will be Johnson. So far as I know, Johnson’s views and President Kennedy’s views are the same, so I don’t think the attitude of the U.S. Government will change toward Cuba.”

“Are you a Communist?” Captain Fritz asked.

“No, I am not a Communist. I am a Marxist, but not a Marxist-Leninist,” Oswald answered.

“What’s the difference?” Fritz replied.

“It would take too long to explain,” Oswald annoyingly replied.

“Try me,” Fritz answered, with a slight smile.

“Well, a Communist is a Leninist-Marxist, while I am a true Karl Marxist. I’ve read just about everything by or about Karl Marx,” Oswald smugly answered.

“Do you read a lot of Communist publications?” Fritz asked.

“I’m an avid reader of Russian literature, whether it’s Communist or not,” Oswald bragged.

As Oswald’s interrogation progressed, two armored trucks arrived at the Commerce Street ramp. The larger truck was deemed to be more appropriate for the transfer, as it would allow two police detectives to ride in the rear of the vehicle, along with the prisoner. By now, the basement of police headquarters had been searched and no one was supposed to enter without proper identification. The eager reporters and cameramen stood near the jail office entrance, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the accused presidential assassin.

Upstairs in Captain Fritz’s office, Service Inspector Thomas Kelley shifted the conversation to Oswald’s belief system, “What do you think about religion?”

“Karl Marx is my religion,” Oswald answered, in a flat tone.

“What I mean, what faith are you?” Kelley inquired.

“I have no faith. I suppose you mean the Bible?” Oswald answered.

“Yes, that’s right,” Kelley replied.

“Well, I’ve read the Bible. Some people find it interesting reading, but not me. As a matter of fact, I’m a student of philosophy, and I don’t consider the Bible to be even a reasonable or intelligent philosophy,” Oswald lectured.

“You don’t think much of it?” Kelley asked.

“You could say that,” Oswald answered.

“Do you believe in a deity?” Kelley continued

“I don’t care to discuss that with you,” Oswald tersely answered, ending that line of questioning.

Captain Fritz continued to skillfully mix his questions, hoping to catch the suspect off balance, “I understand you were dishonorably discharged from the Marine Corps.”

For a moment, Oswald was caught unaware, and then grew angry, “I was discharged honorably. They later changed it because I attempted to renounce my American citizenship while living in Russia.”

The armored truck attempted to back down the Commerce Street ramp into the basement to be closer to the door where Oswald would exit the building. Since there was not enough ceiling clearance for the vehicle to make it all the way down, and the driver did not want to park on a steep incline, fearing it might stall, the armored truck remained at the top of the ramp, adjacent to the curb, with only one to two feet of clearance on either side.

When the police officers opened the rear door of the vehicle, an empty soda bottle rolled out and shattered on the ramp’s concrete floor. The noise echoed throughout the cavernous basement, startling the crowd of policemen and newsmen, and foreshadowing the events to come.

Chief Curry repeatedly checked with the homicide office to see if Oswald was ready to be taken to the county jail, but Captain Fritz and his fellow interrogators were progressing at a leisurely pace.

“Lee, why did you go to Irving to visit your wife on Thursday night, instead of Friday, like you normally did?” Fritz asked .

“I learned that my wife and Mrs. Paine were giving a party for the kids, and they were going to have a house full of neighborhood kids there. I just didn’t want to be around then. So, I went out Thursday night,” Oswald lied, knowing the birthday party had been held the weekend before, when he had remained in his Dallas boarding house.

“Did you bring a sack with you the next morning?” Fritz inquired.

“I did,” Oswald answered “What was in the sack?” Fritz asked.

“My lunch,” Oswald calmly replied.

“How big of a sack was it? What was its shape?” Fritz asked.

“Oh, I don’t recall. It may have been a small sack or a large sack. I don’t know. You don’t always find one that fits your sandwiches, just right,” Oswald answered, matter-of-factly.

“Where did you put the sack when you got into Wesley’s car?” Fritz inquired.

“In my lap, or possibly on the front seat next to me. That’s where I always put it, because I don’t want it to get crushed,” Oswald answered, with feigned sincerity.

“You didn’t put it in the backseat?” Fritz asked in a contrived, yet puzzled tone.

“I didn’t put any package in the backseat,” Oswald defiantly answered.

“Wesley Frazier says that you brought a long parcel over to his house and put it in the backseat of his car. Do you deny that?” Fritz asked.

“Oh, he must be mistaken, or else thinking about some other time when he picked me up,” Oswald casually replied.

“Did you tell him you had curtain rods?” Fritz persisted.

“Absolutely not!” Oswald answered, his voice rising again, “I never said such a thing.”

In the end, Oswald was able to lie effortlessly. At the same time, he seemed to greatly resent being called a liar.

Captain Fritz quickly shifted to another area of inquiry, asking the suspect his exact whereabouts when President Kennedy was shot. In an earlier interrogation session, Oswald had said he was in the depository lunchroom when the shots were fired. Unaware of his inconsistency, Oswald now told Fritz he was upstairs at the time of the actual shooting and went downstairs to investigate the commotion. When he stopped to purchase a soft drink, Lee recalled encountering a policeman, as well as his supervisor, Mr. Truly. It appeared that Fritz’s interrogation methods were finally beginning to work, as the prisoner had started contradicting himself.

Chief Curry returned to the outer office and continued pacing, impatient to transfer Oswald. Eventually, Curry cracked open the door leading into Fritz’s office. The homicide chief, who had never before allowed himself to be intimidated by a Chief of Police, continued his interrogation.

“We’ll be through in a few minutes,” Fritz said, without looking up.

Curry withdrew, but his facial expression betrayed his displeasure. It was after 11:00 a.m., and the impatient crowd of reporters and cameramen had been assembled in the basement for over an hour, awaiting the transfer of Oswald.

Secret Service Agent Forrest Sorrels took the opportunity to briefly question Oswald, “Now, you say that you have not used the name A. Hidell, but you show the name on this change-of-address card as a person entitled to receive mail at this address. If you don’t know anyone by the name Hidell, why would you have that name on this card?”

Oswald was defiant, “I never used the name Hidell.”

“Lee, you do not know anyone by the name of A. J. Hidell?” Captain Fritz asked.

“No,” Oswald replied.

“Have you ever used that name as an alias?” Fritz inquired.

“No! I never used the name and I don’t know anyone by that name,” Oswald said, his tone growing louder.

“What about the draft registration card we got out of your wallet showing the name A. J. Hidell?”

Oswald was clearly agitated, “I’ve told you all I’m going to about that card! You took notes! Just read them for yourself, if you want to refresh your memory. You know as much about it as I do!”

Captain Fritz realized that he was going to get very little else out of Oswald today, and decided to bring this interrogation session to a close. He planned to question the prisoner further after he was transferred to the county jail.

As the group began to disperse, Secret Service Inspector Thomas Kelley told Oswald that he would meet with him at a later date to get all the facts straight about the assassination of President Kennedy. Oswald indicated that he would consider his request after seeking the advice of an attorney.

At 11:00 a.m., Jack Ruby, cradling his favorite little dog, Sheba, in his arms, headed out his apartment door. He informed George Senator that he was going to the Western Union office to wire money to Karen Carlin, and then drop Sheba off at the Carousel Club, where his other dogs were housed. Before leaving the apartment, Ruby slipped his revolver into his suit coat pocket.

It took about fifteen minutes for Ruby to drive from his Oak Cliff apartment to downtown Dallas. Along the way, he once again passed the memorial wreaths in Dealey Plaza, which likely intensified his emotional turmoil. He also noted a crowd gathering on Houston Street, just outside the county jail, awaiting the overdue transfer of Lee Harvey Oswald; another grim reminder of that total loser, who killed our President. As he made his way up Main Street, Ruby saw yet another crowd gathered on the curb outside City Hall. Reaching the Western Union office, Jack made an illegal left turn off Main into a parking lot just across the street from his destination. Had he continued up the street, circled the block, and come back to park, it would have taken him several additional minutes to conduct his business at Western Union.

Ruby locked the trunk of his Oldsmobile, which contained over $800.00 in cash, packed inside grocery bags. Illogically, he placed the trunk key and his wallet in the glove compartment, but left the vehicle’s doors unlocked. Of particular note, he left his beloved dog, Sheba, in the car, suggesting that he did not expect to be gone for long. Inside the pockets of his suit coat and matching trousers, Jack haphazardly stuffed nearly $2,000.00 dollars in cash.

As he crossed Main Street and approached the Western Union building, Jack Ruby was carrying most of his life savings and packing heat.

The armored truck was in place at the top of the Commerce Street ramp. The police officers in the basement had formed a human chain to create a passageway for the prisoner between the doorway and the transfer vehicle. The seventy policemen were joined by nearly thirty reporters and cameramen, creating a crowded, noisy, and tense environment.

On the third floor, Chief Curry approached Captain Fritz, “Are you ready for the transfer?”

“When the security downstairs is ready, we are ready,” Fritz replied.

Curry outlined the transfer plans, including the use of the armored truck. Fritz frowned, “Chief, I don’t think it’s a good thing to try and move him in that money truck. I don’t think it’s a good idea, at all. For one thing, we don’t know the driver or anything about that wagon, and if someone tries to take our prisoner, we should be in a position to be able to cut out of the caravan or to take off, or do whatever is necessary to protect him. The heavy money wagon will be too awkward in that kind of situation. I would prefer to transfer him in an unmarked car.”

Curry saw the wisdom in Fritz’s logic, “Well, okay. But, we’ll still use the armored car as a decoy, and let it go right on down Elm, just as we planned, and if anyone tries to take the prisoner away from us, they’ll find themselves attacking an empty armored car.”

Fritz nodded in agreement, “I’ll transport him in one car, with myself and two detectives. And, we’ll have another carload of detectives as a backup. We can cut out of the caravan at Main Street.”

Curry, who remained anxious about the transfer, felt the decoy vehicle added another degree of security to the operation. While curiosity seekers were focused on the armored truck, the unmarked car would have already reached the protective confines of the county jail.

Captain Fritz, however, was concerned about what sort of crowd might greet them in the basement, “You know, Chief, we ought to get rid of the television lights and cameramen, so they don’t interfere with our getting to the car.”

“The lights have already been moved back, and the media have been moved back in the basement, back of the rail, and the spectators have been moved across the street. You won’t have any trouble,” Curry reassured him.

Lee Harvey Oswald had been wearing the same ragged tee shirt throughout the weekend. A stack of his confiscated clothes was brought to him, and he picked a black pull-over sweater to wear over his undershirt. The prisoner’s hands remained manacled in front of him, and Detective James Leavelle used a second pair of handcuffs to secure his own left wrist to Oswald’s right one.

Captain Fritz addressed the prisoner before they departed his office, “Lee, I want you to follow Detective Leavelle when we get downstairs and stay close to him.”

Leavelle injected some levity into the process, “Lee, if anybody shoots at you, I hope they’re as good a shot as you are.”

“Aw, there ain’t going to be anybody shooting at me,” Oswald chuckled, “You’re just being melodramatic.”

“Well, if there’s any trouble, you know what to do—hit the floor,” Leavelle told him.

“Captain Fritz told me to follow you. I’ll do whatever you do,” Oswald replied.

“In that case, you’ll be on the floor,” Leavelle said .

Before the group left the third floor to travel to the basement, Secret Service Agent Forrest Sorrells approached Captain Fritz, “If I were you, I would not move Oswald to the county jail at an announced time like this. I would take him out at three or four in the morning, when there’s no one around.”

Captain Fritz nodded in agreement, but was resigned to the situation at hand, “Chief Curry wants to go along with the press and not try to put anything over on them.”

Fritz then spoke to Lt. T. L. Baker, “Call down and tell them we are on the way.”

The group, led by Captain Fritz, made its way out of the Homicide and Robbery offices and headed to the elevator. Most of the reporters were in the basement by now, but a few remained on the third floor, shouting random questions at Oswald. Captain Fritz, Lt. Swain, and Detective’s Levealle, Graves, and Montgomery escorted the prisoner onto the elevator.

Jack Ruby exited the Western Union office, less than a block away from the City Hall, pocketing a receipt for $26.87, which represented the total cost of the money order that he had just wired to Karen Carlin. The order was stamped at 11:17 a.m., documenting the exact time of Ruby’s transaction—the Western Union clock was synchronized on a daily basis with the U.S. Naval Observatory in Washington D.C. The crowd mingling outside police headquarters drew Ruby’s attention, and he decided to investigate, turning left and walking briskly down the sidewalk.

Officer Roy Vaughn had drawn the assignment of guarding the Main Street entrance to the City Hall basement. While closely monitoring the crowd, he heard the sound of a car engine approaching from his rear. Surprised, Vaughn stepped to one side to allow the police car to come up what was normally the one-way entrance ramp. Lt. Rio Sam Pierce was driving the patrol car, which was forced to exit the basement in the wrong direction because the armored truck was blocking the Commerce Street exit. Pierce had been ordered to drive his car around the block to lead the armored truck out of the basement—both of those vehicles would function as decoys, while the third car would actually transport Oswald to the county jail.

Vaughn turned his back to the sidewalk for a moment to help Lt. Pierce make a left turn across traffic onto Main Street. At this point, Jack Ruby simply walked down the ramp, unseen by Officer Vaughn. A veteran gatecrasher, Ruby always acted like he knew where he was going, and purposefully strode into the basement. With a dark suit and matching fedora, Ruby’s appearance was not unlike a plain-clothes detective, which made it easier for him to merge with the crowd at the base of the ramp.

Had Oswald been transferred at the scheduled time or had it taken Ruby a minute or two longer to place the money order at the Western Union office, the two men would not have rendezvoused in the City Hall basement. In less than a minute, police detectives would escort the prisoner out the door, just a few feet from where the agitated, impulsive nightclub manager was standing.

Jack Ruby’s motive was well established and the opportunity was now at hand.

Lee Harvey Oswald rode silently down the elevator with his escorts. He had no way of knowing what the crowd would be like in the basement but had grown accustomed to aggressive reporters, flash photographers, and television cameras. His name and face were becoming nearly as popular as the President he had assassinated.

Dressed in all black, Oswald was a vivid contrast to the man on his right. Detective Leavelle, who was linked to the prisoner by a pair of handcuffs, wore a cream-colored western suit, suede boots, and a white Stetson. To Oswald’s left, Detective L.C. Graves, dressed in a dark suit and hat, had a firm grip on the prisoner’s other arm.

When the elevator came to a halt on the basement floor, Captain Fritz stepped out into the hall, adjacent to the jail office, and turned to Lt. Swain, “I want you to lead the way.” Led by Swain and Fritz, the group headed toward the garage.

The reporters in the basement had ignored the order to remain behind the parking lot railing and were crowding closer and closer to the door, much to the chagrin of the police officers that were gathered alongside them. Detective Dority, who was driving the unmarked car that would carry Oswald to the county jail, was having difficulty backing it into position, for fear of running over the reporters.

“Get back, get back!” a police officer yelled to the newsmen.

Jack Ruby slipped his hand inside his coat pocket—the Colt Cobra .38 revolver was fully loaded.

“Here they come!” a reporter shouted.

Swain and Fritz emerged from the swinging door and headed toward the unmarked police car that was still trying to back into place. Oswald, flanked by Detectives Leavelle and Graves, came out next, with Detective L.D. Montgomery trailing them. In an instant, the television lights illuminated brightly, obscuring the vision of the prisoner and his protectors.

WNEW radio reporter Ike Pappas had raced down the stairwell from the third floor, after he saw Oswald and his escort exit Captain Fritz’s office. Pappas burst out the basement door and stationed himself adjacent to the spot where Oswald would walk out of the building.

“Now, the prisoner, wearing a black sweater, is being moved out toward an armored car. He is being led out by Captain Fritz,” Pappas spoke into his microphone.

The blinding lights were making it difficult for Fritz, Leavelle, and Graves to locate the unmarked transfer car, which had not been able to back into the proper location, due to the crush of the crowd. Detective Dhority honked the horn to signal his location.

Pappas, close enough to brush elbows with Detective Graves, posed a question to Oswald, “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

The prisoner was momentarily stunned by the television lights, but had to know that his picture was being displayed to television viewers all over the world. Just then, Oswald saw an approaching blur.

Jerking the pistol from his pocket and lunging forward, Jack Ruby fired a single shot, at point-blank range, into Oswald’s left upper abdomen.

“Oh!” Oswald groaned loudly, wincing in pain, and then doubling over .

NBC News reporter Tom Petit was broadcasting the transfer, as millions of Americans watched on live television, “He’s been shot! Lee Oswald’s been shot!”

Ike Pappas, who was still carrying a Carousel Club pass in his pocket, was close enough to see the flash of the pistol shot against the prisoner’s black sweater, “There’s been a shot. Lee Oswald has been shot!”

Dallas Morning News photographer, Jack Beers, squeezed his camera shutter right before the shot sounded. The photograph revealed a man in a dark suit lunging towards Oswald, pistol in hand.

Robert Jackson, a photographer for the Dallas Times Herald , snapped his own picture a fraction of a second after Beers. Jackson’s photograph, which would ultimately earn him a Pulitzer Prize, showed Oswald grimacing in pain as Ruby pulled the trigger.

Detectives Leavelle and Graves saw the same dark blur as their prisoner, but did not have time to react before the shot echoed off the basement walls. Oswald continued to moan, before sinking to the floor. Operating on reflex, Leavelle pushed against the gunman’s shoulder, while Graves reached for the pistol.

“Turn it loose! Turn it loose!” Graves yelled, as he felt the gunman trying to pull the trigger again.

A mass of uniformed and plain clothes cops pinned the shooter on the concrete floor. Detective Graves finally wrestled the revolver from gunman’s hand, before he could squeeze off another round.

“I hope I killed the son of a bitch!” Ruby shouted from underneath the pile.

There’s absolute panic here in the basement of the Dallas police headquarters,” NBC News reporter Tom Petit shouted into his microphone.

“Get a doctor!” a police officer bellowed.

Police detectives carried the gravely wounded Oswald back into the basement level jail office. The prisoner had suffered a point blank gunshot wound to his left upper abdomen. Still conscious, Oswald continued to moan, but did not speak.

Oswald’s handcuffs were removed and an ambulance was summoned to the police station. Lying on his back, the prisoner stared at the ceiling as his level of awareness slowly waned.

“Do you have anything you want to tell us now?” Detective Billy Combest asked.

Oswald shook his head no, but raised his fist in a clenched fist salute—a symbolic gesture for a wounded revolutionary.

It only took four minutes for the ambulance to enter the same Main Street ramp used by Jack Ruby a few minutes earlier. By then, Oswald had lapsed into unconsciousness. Frederick Biebendorf, a twenty-five year-old medical student, who was on call to provide routine medical care to inmates at the city jail, attended to the wounded prisoner. Unable to locate a pulse, Biebendorf initiated closed cardiac massage on the unconscious prisoner. When the ambulance arrived, Oswald was loaded onto a stretcher .

Ike Pappas watched as the stretcher was loaded onto the ambulance, “Here is young Oswald, now. He is lying flat. To me, he appears dead. There is a gunshot wound in his lower abdomen. He is white.”

The ambulance had to wait for the armored truck to be moved out of the Commerce Street exit ramp, before racing to Parkland Hospital, lights flashing and siren wailing. Biebendorf, along with Detectives Leavelle and Graves, were wedged into the rear of the ambulance, next to the stretcher. Oswald never regained consciousness during the frantic race to the hospital.

When the ambulance arrived at Parkland, Oswald was rushed into Trauma Room Two; the hospital staff purposefully avoided placing the presidential assassin in the same room where President Kennedy had died. Doctors Malcolm Perry and Ronald Jones, who had participated in the emergency treatment of the President, just two days ago, were summoned to the emergency room.

Oswald was ashen, with no blood pressure, a faint heart beat, and labored respiration. Anesthesiologist, Dr. Marion Jenkins, inserted an endotracheal tube to improve oxygenation, and the patient was rushed upstairs to surgery.

The spent bullet was located just under the skin, adjacent to a rib, on the opposite side from the entrance wound. One of the surgeons removed the slug and handed it to Detective Leavelle, who immediately realized that had Oswald’s rib not stopped the bullet, he would have also been wounded.

Dr. Tom Shires, Parkland Hospital’s Chief of Surgery, joined the group of physicians in the operating room and assumed the role of lead surgeon. Oswald’s abdomen was sliced open, where more than three quarts of blood were found to have leaked from damaged blood vessels and perforated internal organs. Both the aorta and vena cava had been lacerated by the bullet, which also severely damaged the right kidney, liver, spleen, pancreas, and stomach. As blood and intravenous fluids were rapidly infused to maintain circulation and oxygenation, the surgeons worked feverishly for nearly an hour, trying to save Oswald’s life.

Dr. Shires and his colleagues were able to finally control the bleeding, and it appeared that Oswald might actually survive, when his pulse and blood pressure suddenly plummeted, followed by full-blown cardiac arrest. Dr. Perry alertly opened Oswald’s chest cage and administered open heart massage. Calcium chloride and epinephrine were directly injected into the heart muscle, and a cardiac defibrillator was employed to try shock the failing organ into normal rhythm. As a last desperate measure, Dr. Perry sewed a pacemaker onto the right ventricle of the heart, but no life-sustaining heart beat could be established.

Lee Harvey Oswald was pronounced dead at 1:07 p.m.—forty-eight hours and seven minutes after the death of President Kennedy.

Robert Oswald rushed to Parkland Hospital after Secret Service agents informed him that his brother had been shot. Before leaving for the hospital, Robert asked the agents to withhold the shocking news from Marina and Marguerite. Shortly after being escorted into a private hospital visitation room, Robert was informed of Lee’s death. The sobbing older brother asked if he could view Lee’s body, but was told he must wait. Meanwhile, the hospital chaplain was summoned to pray with him; in the ensuing chaos, Robert was never taken to see his younger brother’s body.

Secret Service Inspector Thomas Kelley entered the tiny room where Robert Oswald sat crying. Still angry and grieving over the assassination of President Kennedy, Kelley was less than sympathetic, “Well, what do you expect? Violence breeds violence.”

“Inspector, does that justify anything?” Robert moaned.

When the Secret Service learned that the accused presidential assassin had been shot, they decided to move the rest of the Oswald family to the farm where Robert Oswald’s in-laws lived—a remote location, deemed much safer than a Dallas area hotel. Before the transfer could be completed, Marguerite and Marina learned of Lee’s death from the agents guarding them.

“Marina, our boy is gone,” Marguerite said.

Both women wept, and Marguerite demanded that the Secret Service agents take her to Parkland Hospital.

“I want to see Lee,” Marguerite announced.

“Me, too. Me want to see Lee,” Marina said in broken English.

The Secret Servicemen did not want to take them to the hospital, fearing for their safety, especially after Oswald’s murder. Stubborn and aggressive, Marguerite convinced the reluctant agents to drive them to Parkland Hospital.

The three major television networks were broadcasting live from the Capitol rotunda, as President Kennedy’s family gathered around his flag draped casket. A news flash interrupted the solemnity of the occasion: LEE HARVEY OSWALD IS DEAD.

At Parkland Hospital, Marguerite and Marina were introduced to Dr. Earl Rose, the Dallas County Medical Examiner. Just two days ago, Rose had unsuccessfully attempted to block the transfer of President Kennedy’s body from Dallas until after an autopsy was completed. Rose was unwilling to risk the same mistake twice, and explained to Oswald’s wife and mother that Texas law required a postmortem examination of murder victims.

“I understand that you wish to see the body. Now, I will do whatever you ladies wish. However, I will say this. It will not be pleasant. All the blood has been drained from him and it would be much better if you would see him after he is fixed up,” Dr. Rose warned them.

Marguerite was quick to reply, “I am a nurse. I have seen death before. I want to see my son, now.”

“I want to see Lee, too,” Marina added.

Rose led the two women to the X-ray department, where Lee’s body lay naked under a sheet, with only his face exposed. A handful of Dallas police officers stood in the corner of the room, keeping a close watch over the corpse.

Marguerite eyed her son’s body, but did not touch it. She did, however, make a point to chastise the policemen in the room, “I think someday, you’ll hang your heads in shame. I happen to know some facts, that maybe my son is the unsung hero of this episode. And, I, as his mother, intend to prove this if I can.”

Before leaving Parkland, Marguerite would tell Robert and the hospital chaplain that Lee should be buried as a hero in Arlington National Cemetery .

Marina Oswald kissed her husband’s cold body, and then pulled open his eyelids.

Staring into Lee’s lifeless pupils, Marina said to no one in particular, “He cry. He eye wet.”

 

 

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True Crime

The Story of Luka Magnotta

Published

4 years ago

on

September 5, 2020

By

Eric Newman alias Luka Magnotta 1 Lunatic 1 Ice Pick And Don’t Fuck With Cats

For someone who had committed a gruesome murder, Luka Magnotta seemed outwardly calm as he eluded Police. He was fixated with the need for attention and would shortly be an internationally fugitive. He had planned everything from the suffocation of kittens to this final murder. He had arranged his bedroom lights, the defilement of Lin’s body and the final picture of himself posing by the poster of Casablanca for maximum global viewership. To make sure he had it right, he had even gone through a ‘dry run’ 6 days prior to the murder and had included 53 seconds of himself straddling a naked unconscious body as he held an electric razor.

His calmness was all a facade as he went through mood swings from being fearful to feeling excited and then wallowing in nervousness. After the murder, he took an Air Canada flight from Montreal to Paris dressed in a dark wig and a Mickey Mouse tee shirt. Seated in Row 33 he acted very strangely and quite agitated. He smelt of stale sweat. At one point he was seen crying at the back of the plane . It was assumed by some passengers that he was afraid of flying!

Luka Magnotta, a failed Canadian porn model and actor, always wanted to be famous. He was in fact, just creepy looking, anti-social and basically a total loser. Regardless of reality, his warped dreams became an obsession that consumed him. How was he to use social media to reach out to the billions of people all over the world who would remember his name rather like a Hollywood movie star? Magnotta had penned a blog piece in 2009 entitled, “How to completely disappear and never be found.” His advice included how to assume a new identity. He had huge social media footprints on Facebook and YouTube, for example. A transsexual performer who dated him 10 years earlier said he had an obsessive addiction for fame because he was like a shell, empty inside. Magnotta even admitted it to her when she confided in a moment of kinky courtship passion, “I’m afraid that when you look into my eyes . . . that you’ll see that there’s nothing inside of me.” A moment of insight that at least was momentarily honest. One social media observer noted that Magnotta’s plan was to be famous and then have a trial where he would be found not guilty and then become a notorious legend.

He was born as Eric Clinton Kirk Newman on July 24, 1982 in Toronto and reinvented himself in 2006, in keeping with his online persona as Luka Rocco Magnotta. With his dark gruesome story appearing in all the major global media networks he succeeded in attracting notoriety. He successfully cultivated an online image of the angst filled youth with a twisted sexual image trying to find meaning in his convoluted world. At various points he has written about how he identified with James Dean in “Rebel Without A Cause.”

In 2006 Eric Newman legally changed his name to Luka Rocco Magnotta. He made a living as a small-time porn actor and part time model. He also moonlighted as a stripper and male escort. Although he was pictured as a pin up model in Toronto’s ‘Fab’ magazine his forays into TV (OUTtv and COVERguy) were not successful. He did achieve success of sorts in 2008 on ‘Plastic Makes Perfect’ after undergoing several cosmetic surgeries. He had trouble with the law in 2005 when he was convicted of impersonation and fraud. Disguised as a woman, he had applied for a credit card and bought goods worth $10,000. After pleading guilty, he was put on 12 months’ probation. He was overwhelmed by $17,000 worth of debts and applied for bankruptcy in 2007.

Magnotta had a penchant for making up stories about himself (for example, that he claimed he had sex with murderess Karla Homolka) under fake user names. Later he would personally go to the media to vehemently deny them often shedding indignant tears! He befriended international student Lin Jun from China who had been studying engineering at Concordia University since 2011 and was working part time in a convenience store. Lin’s friends reported him missing to the Police on May 29 after checking his apartment.

An 11 minute video called ‘1 Lunatic Ice Pick’ was posted on Bestgore.com on May 25, 2012 showing a naked young man tied to a bed and being stabbed with an ice pick and a knife. The body was cut up, partially eaten and Magnotta had sex with it. Two weeks before the video appeared, he had advertised it online. Several viewers in the US tried to report it but their attempts were rebuffed by Police who thought it was fake. On May 29, 2012 part of Lin’s body was mailed to the Conservative Party of Canada. The note accompanying it said that 6 body parts had been distributed and that the killer would kill again. Another package held up at Canada Post was being sent to the Liberal Party. A rotting torso was found by a janitor in a suitcase in Snowdon, Montreal. Cameras at the sight showed Magnotta carrying down garbage bags. It also matched his image caught on camera at the post office. Police searched Magnotta’s apartment and found blood in various places. Inside a closet were written the words, “If you don’t like the reflection, Don’t look in the mirror. I don’t care.” All the body parts matched Lin Jun. Lin was cremated in July, 2012.

 

Security Cameras Showed Magnotta & His Victim

The security camera feed showed Magnotta and Lin walking casually into his apartment at 10.16 pm. They looked at each other in an affirming way like any other couple warming up for a night of intimacy. After they entered, there was a four hour lull period. Then Magnotta began coming and going about 12 times. In all these occasions, he carried a bag. He also changed his clothes 4 times during this period. At one point he even wore his victim’s clothes. On 2 occasions he looked in the mirror to brush back his hair before moving on. He put some of the bags in basement barrels. Other bags were put on the curb. The trash included a dead black dog which the security camera feed showed was alive earlier in the night. After 18 hours of coming and going he ordered pizza. A day later, he was in Paris.

 

Arrest Warrant For Luka Magnotta

An international arrest warrant was put out for Magnotta for first degree murder, committing an indignity on a dead body, publishing obscenity and harassing Canada’s Prime Minister and several parliamentarians. Magnotta went to Paris then on to Berlin. On June 2, 2012 he was caught in an internet café in Berlin. He was always obsessed with fame and it seemed morbidly fascinating that he received it in the form of being named “Canadian Newsmaker of the Year” in 2012. On June 19th he pleaded not guilty to the murder charges. A preliminary hearing started on March 11, 2013. It was reported that Magnotta fainted once during the proceedings. In April, Magnotta was indicted on murder charges. On December 23rd 2014, he was found guilty of first degree murder and 4 other charges. He received an automatic life sentence with no possibility of parole for 25 years. An additional 19 years were added on for the four other charges he was found guilty of. Magnotta showed no emotion as the jury foreman announced their verdict. The jury of 8 men and 4 women had taken 8 days to reach their conclusion.

The craving to self promote on social media is not a new phenomenon. The very wide usage of social media networks like Facebook, YouTube and Twitter has made it easy to spread information to a huge worldwide audience. It just requires a few ‘friends’ to circulate a shocking or unique video, picture or information before it goes viral.

Magnotta had 70 Facebook identities and over 20 websites. He was known to make up stories to jazz up his supposedly glamorous life. Under one alias he wrote that Magnotta “is now living in the Caribbean with his new wife” This was fiction. Under another alias, he posted, “You are so HOT. I wish I lived my life like you…you have lived one hell of an exciting life. Don’t let haters get in the way of your happiness. Your No 1 Fan.”

However, becoming instantly world famous is not as easy or simple as I note here. This is because tens of millions of social network users are also looking at ways and means of enlarging their online footprints. It often requires some brazen self promotion and sometimes the mixture of facts and fiction in one’s posts to make network users sit up and take notice. For example, the Dutch woman who posted in Facebook about how she had tattooed the photos of her 152 friends all over her body was later found out to be lying, but not after her image had been viewed by millions!

There is a powerful desire to gain fame, fortune, notoriety or a combination of these in whatever ways possible. This can be a harmless hobby or a very dangerous pursuit.

Some can be innocent enough. Take the case of 13-year-old Rebecca Black who claimed she was spreading the ‘worst video ever.’ She managed to get 29 million viewers globally. Others go to personal lengths to acquire fame and fortune. For example, Ray Dolin, a West Virginia writer who claimed to be the victim of a drive-by shooting on a rural Montana road later confessed to having shot himself. He did this to promote his upcoming e-book ‘Kindness in America’.

It is a sign of the tech savvy nature of people in the 21st century that news only becomes highly newsworthy if it is outlandish, weird and bizarre. The gruesome details of Magnotta’s murder oversaturated online media e-pages for months. The cynical saying that ‘if it bleeds more blood it leads the headlines’ proved true in this case. Even when Magnotta was a fugitive on the run, millions were glued to news services and on the lookout for him.

A Toronto Sun report of 22/6/2017 noted that Magnotta was getting married in prison.

Magnotta’s fiance is Anthony Jolin who murdered inmate named Kevin Whynder in 2003. They will not be allowed to consummate their marriage. What is the aim of getting married then? Magnotta’s ex-girlfriend Barbie Swallows said that, “This is just his way to get attention and have his name back out in the spotlight by having media outlets writing about him again. The (prison) system is a big joke for allowing inmates to get married. What is this, Walt Disney World or something?”

Insights into the character of Magnotta

Three impressions seemed to stand out about Magnotta from the people who met him. He either did not create an impression (an ‘average guy’ or ‘an ordinary Joe Blow’ as one said) or gave the impression of being disturbed or was very self centered. Sophie Delancey a Toronto based PR director familiar with the erotic film industry hadn’t heard of Magnotta before his notoriety. (This could have been because Magnotta did not use his name in erotic promotional websites.) Larry Peloso, the TV director who oversaw Magnotta’s auditions for ‘CoverGuy’ said that he did not stand out in the crowd, perhaps because he was too thin and lacked confidence. A girl friend said that Magnotta was a regular at a strip club called Remington’s but patrons and staff there had no recollection of him.

Toronto Sun’s Joe Warmington who met Magnotta in 2007 said that he had come forward to deny his links to convicted murderer Homolka and noticed that he was not all there. Magnotta’s ramblings seemed to be centered around his fantasies about someone killing his dog and his popularity as a male escort. Warmington could see he was troubled and delusional and somebody he felt sorry for. London Sun reporter Alex West who met Magnotta in London found his appearance weird and his behavior strange as he spoke in a high-pitched voice for 20 minutes denying he killed cats on YouTube videos.

A girlfriend remembers that although Magnotta was nice to her, he was obsessed with fame. His whole apartment including the hallway was plastered with only his photos. She accidently knocked down one of his pictures and he yelled and snapped to be careful. When he was caught in a Berlin internet café, Police were surprised to find that he was watching nude images and videos of himself.

Magnotta’s road to fame

Magnotta went to extraordinary and bizarre lengths to get the fame and notoriety he craved.

Magnotta had a fascination for movies and death. The poster of the Hollywood movie ‘Casablanca’ featured prominently on the wall adjacent to the bloodied bed where the gruesome murder took place. The movie recounts the story of an American expatriate torn between love and virtue. If he did not help his lover’s husband, he would surely die at the hands of the Nazis.

The name “Magnotta” was taken from the 1996 video game ‘Ripper’ that starred Hollywood legend Christopher Walken. It was about a serial killer who butchered his victims. Magnotta’s penchant for gruesome violence was developed over a period of time. In 2010 he posted several YouTube videos showing cats being killed. In ‘1 boy, 2 kittens’ he suffocated 2 kittens with a vacuum cleaner. Yet another was drowned in a bath tub. It was alleged that he also produced ‘Python Christmas’ a video displaying a kitten being consumed alive by a Burmese python. His cruelty to cats was linked to necrophilia because just as he took sexual liberties with Jun Lin’s corpse he rubbed the dead cats on his genitals.

Magnotta’s use of social media to let the world know of his crimes is not new. Convicted US murderer Mark Mitchell, among other killers, also used social media to gain online notoriety. Regarding his actions, Magnotta wrote in a blog that, “It’s not cool to the world to be a necrophiliac. It’s bloody lonely. But I don’t really care. I have never cared about what people thought of me. Most people are judgmental idiots.”

Reactions to the online video have elicited shock and horror. One viewer said, “I saw the Luka Magnotta video and the images are not leaving my mind…please help. I did a very stupid thing. Curiosity got the better of me and I watched parts of the 1 lunatic 1 ice pick video. Saw about 30 seconds only by fast forwarding many parts which became too unbearable.”

A second viewer reported that. “I made the mistake of watching it and I was so shocked and upset that I basically couldn’t really function for three days. I’ve never seen anything like this before. While it was stupid, I was curious to see what a sicko like Magnotta actually did, and to see if the descriptions by the media were just hype or true. As it turns out, I wasn’t fine, but I don’t think I could have known that prior to watching it.”

Magnotta has also attracted a gaggle of admirers, mainly young women, who have set up blogs dedicated to defending him. One reads, “If you feel Luka is a monster, a psychopath, I encourage you to adjust your focus and perception. You can either focus on humanity’s imperfections, which will eventually create emotional poverty and bankrupt you of all optimism and faith in humanity, or you can choose to focus on light. I will choose to angle my light to reflect value and brilliance.” The majority of blogs are in the vein of ‘wanting to touch his lips’, ‘really want to taste him’ or ‘want to have sex with him.’

Perhaps as a way to unconsciously explain his bizarre behavior, he noted that he had a traumatic childhood. He claimed to have been sexually abused by a male relative. In his teenage years he wrote that he experimented with drugs and alcohol and wound up being hospitalized for a ‘depressive disorder.’ After he was released, he claimed to have left home and lived as a street kid. His life improved when he met a social worker who helped him get medication and positive living conditions.

There was a prophetic post in one of his blogs!  “Only God can judge me and I’m waiting for my judgment day. Life is too short, live every day like it’s your last!”

Magnotta went through delusions of grandeur often boasting that he earned $250,000. In another post he wrote, “I am now successful beyond my wildest dreams. I travel the world, ride around in limos and have only the most expensive clothes. I’ve come a long way from eating out of old pizza boxes on the streets”

In one of his posts written under a fake identity he wrote, “Apparently now he (Magnotta) has moved to France, and splits his time between Paris and Russia, he is Russian/Italian. He is married with one child and he owns his own online business and works as a legal consultant. I believe he has retired from films and modeling.”

The truth however was not as flattering as he made out. Magnotta’s landlord said that he was an average quiet guy, an “ordinary Joe Blow” who wasn’t shabby and did not trash the cheap apartment he had rented (and where he had committed the gruesome act.)  Although ‘a little skinny guy’ he spoke eloquently and had a deep voice. The landlord had suggested that he look for a career in broadcasting though Magnotta had laughed it off as a joke.

Derek MacKinnon an actor who played a serial killer in the 1980 horror movie ‘Terror Train’ said that he lived in the same apartment building as Magnotta and occasionally spoke to him. MacKinnon thought that he probably related to him since he was gay and in the movie he had killed 11 people. He found Magnotta to be cold and aloof. He always looked presentable except for one occasion where he noticed a hair dyeing job gone haywire since he spotted red hair looking like a bad wig rather than his jet black standard look.

Magnotta had a morbid fascination for serial killers especially cannibal Jeffrey Dahmer, who raped, dismembered and had sex with his male victims. His adoption of necrophilia in the murder of Lin Jun was copied from Dahmer who killed his victims first before having sex with them. This was the only way Dahmer could get an erection. The killing was also done so that the sex partner would not resist or reject the overtures. A girl friend remembers that he was afraid of intimacies perhaps because most of his sex was through male prostitution and he saw it as something dirty.

In one of his blogs he had written, “What about the child molesters, the rapists, the murderers, the thieves, the backstabbers, the gossipers and the liars? Would you give up your life for them? “Would you walk into Jeffery Dahmer’s home knowing that he would kill you in a horrible torturous way, if it meant that he would have a chance to improve his life?”

 

The Victim, Jun Lin


Jun Lin is described as a kind and hard-working man who believed in Buddhism. Friends said that he had a positive view of life, had an entrepreneurial bent, liked to make friends and was helpful to others.

It is reported that Jun Lin broke up with his lover Lin Feng 12 days before he was killed. (They had been together since 2010). Lin Feng reported that Jun Lin had faced family pressures to get married. They had not been aware that he was gay. It is reported that Jun Lin had used a gay hookup app called Grindr and used westernized aliases like Justin. Jun Lin is described as a faithful partner with an obsession for gym activities. He wasn’t into drugs or rough sex. He and his ex partner remained friends and exchanged text messages daily until he died.

He never mentioned Magnotta in his blog on Weibo.com. His posts centered around fashion, food, favorite TV soaps, his cat Andy and his emotions about going back to university classes in Canada. He wrote that he felt nervous because he had been out of school for such a long period. He realized that he would be ten years older than his peers and they might call him ‘uncle.’ He wrote that this was a crushing thought. His last post was written one week before he was killed. One story that emerged in court was that Magnotta had advertised for a partner interested in kinky sex and Lin had responded. Lin was outgoing and friendly while Magnotta was introverted. These incompatible characteristics were often the basis for friendships.

In a blog post he put up prior to the killing Magnotta wrote,

“When I was a young child, I used to spend much of my time alone, either in the woods or in the local cemetery, where there was the grave of a 19 year old boy who died in the early half of last century. I felt close to that boy and would pick flowers in the woods and take them to his grave. In 2003, I discovered a mummified corpse of a young man in a vault, in a church where I was doing restoration work for a friend. I fell in love with him, and it broke my heart to seal him in there. I wanted to take him home and look after him. I day dream about having him here with me. Silly ordinary things like watching TV together, listening to music, taking him out for picnics, watching a DVD late at night before taking him up to bed with me. All very ordinary things, apart from the fact that I want to do them with a desiccated or mummified corpse. I don’t have a problem attracting living men. I’m just naturally attracted to the dead.”

Jun Lin’s mother stated that at first, she considered Magnotta a monster for his gruesome act. However, she has since been changed spiritually by her Christian faith. She discovered her spiritual self and began to develop sympathy for Magnotta realizing that a troubled youth would bring negative consequences to society later in life. She highlighted that by showing compassion, we would be able to sustain peace and love in society. It was noted in court that Magnotta’s dad had suffered from schizophrenia.

Jun Lin’s parents have indicated that they will set up a charity foundation in their son’s name to help troubled young people. They hope that the proposed fund would help stop suffering young people from becoming killers in their adulthood.

Jun Lin’s mother said that he believed he would be contented with this decision. ‘Mommy will stay strong. Rest in peace, my son. Goodbye!’ she said at the funeral.

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True Crime

The Gianni Versace Murder

Published

4 years ago

on

September 5, 2020

By

On the 15th of July 1997 the world of fashion was changed forever. Gianni Versace had decided to have a change of routine. Instead of sending out an assistant, as he usually would, to collect the morning papers, Versace travelled down to his local coffee shop to get them himself. As he returned home to his Miami Beach mansion, Andrew Cunanan pounced. Firing his gun and shooting Versace twice, a fashion icon fell to his knees and left the world shocked. An eyewitness at the scene said: “There were two shots fired in his head. The police came very fast; they were trying to help him, revive him.” Two shots in the head, destroying a  brilliant mind forever.

Gianni Versace was born on the 2nd of December 1946 in Reggio in Italy. With an elder brother, Santo, born two years earlier and a younger sister, Donatella, nine years away, the Versace children had a loving home created for them by their father and mother. Gianni Versace also had an elder sister but unfortunately she passed away at the age of 12. It was almost inevitable that at least one of the Versace children would end up moving into the fashion industy, their mother was a dressmaker and owned her own dressmaking business. By the age of 9 Gianni had begun to show a prodigious streak after he followed his  mother’s teachings and finally made his first dress. This had come from hours of watching her working on different dresses and creating designs in her boutique. Gianni knew from a very young age that he desired to become a designer, as well as being influenced by his mother’s work, he was influenced by the Roman and Greek ruins that lay in the surrounding area. By the time it came for Gianni to finish high school he actually worked in his mother’s boutique until he decided it was time for him to spread his wings and move on to create his own legacy. He moved to Milan at the age of 26 with the intention of working in the fashion industry, encouraged by his success serving as an apprentice for his mother .

He managed to find work for various Italian fashion brands, being successful at everything he tried his hand at. Buoyed by this success he decided that again, working for other people was stifling him too much. In 1978 he finally managed to step up to the plate and opened his own boutique. In doing this he also started his own company, keeping it in the family by making his brother the CEO and making his sister the vice president as well as giving her a job as a designer. By the 1980s Versace was the sexiest fashion brand on the block, and it was all due to Gianni’s skill creating sexy and soulful clothes. In 1982 Versace first met a young 23 year old model named Antonio D’Amico. Then began a relationship that lasted until Versace’s death, with D’Amico being given the chance  to work as a designer within the Versace brand. Before he was murdered Gianni Versace had managed to beat a rare form of inner ear cancer and was devoted to the children of his siblings. He had a lot to live for, all of it taken away from him by Andrew Cunanan.

Andrew Cunanan was born on the 31st of August 1969. The same day that Andrew Cunanan was born, Rocky Marciano, the only man to retire undefeated while heavyweight champion of the world, died. While these two men ended up with lives that were defined by violence, Marciano lived his life with a good sense of morals and justice, something that Cunanan would end up without, and instead Cunanan  had a sinister sense of evil. Born to a Filipino-American father and an Italian-American mother, Andrew Cunanan was a precocious child who was instantly shown to be different to his three siblings. Andrew was an incredibly bright child. He was sociable and well liked by other children. His school, encouraged by his evidently high intellect, decided to test Andrew’s I.Q. He came out with a 147. This put Andrew in the 99.9th percentile. While his natural, sociable nature and high level of intelligence gave him the opportunity to make many friends at school, things changed as he grew older.

By the time Cunanan had moved up to high  school people had begun to grow tired of his outlandish claims and stories. He made up stories about the people involved in his life and even himself. Cunanam also gained a reputation as a chameleon like person, changing his personality and appearance in order to fit whatever social norms were required at the time. People didn’t know who the real Andrew Cunanan was. At the age of 19 Cunanan’s father left the family. He ran away to Manilla after he was accused of cheating his clients at his stockbroker job out of money. This left the Cunanan family in financial difficulty. Andrew dropped out of university in California and left for Manilla to join his father, but when he saw the poverty that his father was living in he left Manilla to go back to America. It was during this time that he finally came  out of the closet to his Mother. It lead to a vicious argument between the pair, which ended with Cunanan violently launching her against a wall, dislocating her shoulder in the process. Cunanan began to develop different personalities during this time when out at clubs. He created a different persona depending on his mood. He could be an up and coming Hollywood high flyer, a graduate of the top universities in the United States or even a naval officer, possibly a tip of the head to father serving in the US navy during the America-Vietnam conflict. Cunanan was becoming a well known figure on the San Francisco gay scene.

He was known not just for his fantastic  conversational skills, a side effect of his high intelligence, but for his flamboyant nature and need to be the centre of attention at all times. He entered clubs as the most well dressed person there. He drank the finest champagne. Smoked the most exclusive cigars. Everything that Andrew Cunanan did, had to be as exclusive and over the top as possible. Whenever he went out to dinner with friends he always paid the bill. Everything that Andrew Cunanan did was for the benefit of other people, he needed people to both remember him and be impressed by him. He needed to show that he was someone important. He craved respect. He didn’t have a job to pay for all of these luxuries though, he was subsidised by a succession of older homosexual men. Sugar daddies. His mother  referred to him as a “high class male prostitute” but this wasn’t a completely accurate description of the truth. Cunanan engaged in a pseudo relationship with the men who provided him the means for his lavish lifestyle. They paid him in material gifts and in return he gave them companionship.

The companions that Cunanan was making were giving him access to new levels of society that he had only ever dreamed about before. One companion in particular, a lawyer Eli Gould, allowed Andrew Cunanan to be a part of the elite scene that he had always dreamed of. Hollywood stars. Major players in the fashion industy. Everyone that Cunanan looked up  to was part of the social circles he was now playing in. It was while part of this new social class that Cunanan first bumped into Gianni Versace. At the Colossus Disco after opera party Cunanana and Gould were there when Versace arrived. In the Maureen Orth book ‘Vulgar Favors’ she wrote: “The designer walked in with an entourage…who quickly introduced him to a few people. After about fifteen minutes of chitchat and waves of young men eager to met him, Versace began to survey the room. He noticed Andrew standing with Eli, cocked his head, and walked in their direction. ‘I know you,’ he said to Andrew. ‘Lago di Como, no?’ Versace was referring to the house he owned on Lake Como near the Swiss border…Andrew was thrilled and Eli couldn’t believe it. ‘That’s right,’ Andrew answered. ‘ Thank you for remembering, Signor Versace.'”

Whether Andrew Cunanan had ever met with Versace at Lake Como or not is something that will never be known. Some people think that Versace simply mistook Cunanan for someone else and Cunanan being a fantasist and as one childhood friend once said “a pathalogical liar” he went with it and allowed people to believe he had met with Versace at Lake Como. Others think that he actually had met Versace there, but for what reason it will be forever a secret. What can be said for sure is that Andrew Cunanan used this a basis for proof of his own social standing within his circle of friends and companions for  the rest of his life.

Andrew Cunanan didn’t just partake in high society parties though. His new found lifestyle also carried him into a dark under belly of gay culture. He got into the sadomasochism scene and began to not just indulge in kinky sex, for which he had always been a fan, but had begun to allow himself to be filmed while he was abused by his lovers. He had not just become a “high class male prostitute” as his mother would say, but he was becoming an S&M porn star.  Some of the scenes were so disturbing that even his friends who were also involved in the kinky sex world couldn’t watch them. He wasn’t bothered by this, he enjoyed the  celebrity status, and sexually he enjoyed the humiliation, it was his way of seeking thrills outside of having a high social standing. All of this was taking its toll though. Friends of his said he began to have angry outbursts more regularly. He was slowly descending into a dark pit of depression that he would struggle to get out of.

It wasn’t due to how the porn films made him feel that lead to this feeling of depression though. Cunanan had been showing symptoms of AIDS. He went to get tested during the first few months of 1997, the final year of his life, but had never bothered getting the results. He just decided that he had AIDS. He didn’t  need to get the results, because as far as he was concerned he had it. This lead to the rumour after the death of Gianni Versace that Versace had AIDS and that Cunanana thought he had infected him, and this was why he had shot him. Rumours that were quickly dispelled by the Versace family, although no-one will ever know if this was what Cunanan actually thought, even if it was untrue, pathological liars do tend to believe their own lies after all.

This depression and belief that he had contracted a life changing illness, lead to Andrew Cunanan becoming less worried about his appearance. He began to put on weight, a stark contrast from his  former well exercised physique, his hair became a long, tangled mess as opposed to the well groomed mane he sported previously. He stopped wearing expensive, fashionable clothes and started dressing as cheap as possible. He became a user of the drugs he was selling, possibly descending into addiction. All of these degradations of his appearance lead to his rich, successful companions deserting him. He was alone and without money. He had to face up to the prospect that he had no money or lovers left. As well as all of this, he had to live with jealousy as two of his former partners had started a clandestine affair that they trying to keep hidden away from Cunanan. Jeff Trail and David Madson .

Trail had been Cunanan’s lover five years earlier while he was in the navy. However, he decided to drop out and take a job across the country in Minneapolis. Cunanan told Trail that he would visit him as often as possible, and he did live up to that promise. It was during one of these visits that Cunanan introduced Trail and Madson to each other. Madson was another former lover of Cunanans who had moved from San Francisco to Minneapolis. An architect by trade and very wealthy, Madson realised that Trail had only just moved, had few friends and didn’t really know where to go, so he said he would introduce him to his circle of friends. Cunanan wasn’t happy about this, he didn’t want the possibility of two men he had his eyes on, becoming enamoured with each other, taking away  two potential love interests, and meal tickets, away from him in one fell swoop.

By April 1997 knowledge of Cunanan’s drug use and drug dealing had reached Madson in Minneapolis, leading to Madson attempting to split away from Cunanan. He had a respectable and successful life, he didn’t want this potential trouble changing that. Cunanan had decided he was going to leave San Diego, he told friends he was going to move to San Franciso, where Madson had formerly lived, he had bought a first class, single air line ticket that only went one way. It didn’t go to San Diego, it was a one way flight to Minneapolis. Andrew Cunanan had  confided in some friends that he was going there to settle some business. Business that turned to murder.

Between April 27th and May 1st 1997 Andrew Cunanan committed two murders, for reasons that no-one will ever know for sure. Some people think that Cunanan found out about Trail and Madson’s involvement with each other. This sent him into a jealous rage, leading him to murder Jeff Trail. Others think that Cunanan’s drug use had made him paranoid and unstable, after a disagreement about this, he flew into a rage and murdered Trail. The only things that are known about what happened on the night of April 27th are that Cunanan invited Trail to Madson’s apartment  and while there he bludgeoned him to death with a hammer and then left him rolled up in a carpet. Although Madson helped Cunanan with the initial covering up of the murder, there is nothing to suggest that he was involved with the planning of it, if indeed it was pre-meditated. It took two days for the police to find Trail’s body rolled up in that carpet.

After murdering Trail, Cunanan persuaded Madson to abscond with him, it was two days after the discovery of Trail’s body that Cunanan shot Madson in the head with Madson’s own gun. They had driven 50 miles away from Minneapolis when Cunanan finally decided to do it. By the time the body was discovered  Cunanan had fled the scene and moved on to his next victim. This time however there was no personal vendetta behind the murder, this one was purely based on self preservation. Cunanan needed a change of car, having stolen Madson’s, and he also needed to change his outfit.

Lee Miglin was a 72 year old millionaire. He had made his fortune from real estate. He was well liked within his social circle: “Lee was a terrific, sweet, gentle guy,” architect Stanley Tigerman apprises. “Very self-effacing. He was never the type to blow his own horn.” quotes like this one were the rule rather than the exception. Cunanan somehow managed to gain access  to the Miglin property, he had fallen lucky, Miglin’s wife was out of town on business, he was alone and vulnerable. There is no proof that the two ever had any dealings with each other before Cunanan killed Miglin, so there is no known reason why Andrew Cunanan decided to torture Lee Miglin before he finally killed him. The general consensus of Miglin being a well loved person makes it even less likely that it was a personal vendetta. The torture was particularly barbaric with Cunanan restraining Miglin and wrapping his head completely in duct tape, though leaving space around the nose to breathe. After this he stabbed him over and over again with pruning shears, finally to finish the job he lacerated his throat with a garden saw .

After murdering Miglin, Cunnan made no attempt to hide himself away or escape quickly. He first ran over Miglin’s dead body over and over again with Miglin’s Lexus. Leaving the body destroyed for no reason. His brazen disregard for getting caught lead to him spending the night at the Miglin residence, even going as far as to take food and drink from their kitchen, steal some gold coins and watch some movies before he retired to the bedroom for the night. When he woke up the next morning Cunanan ditched the jeep he stole from David Madson and made off with Miglin’s Lexus.

By May 9th Cunanan had found another victim,  out of necessity again. Cunanan needed to change his vehicle again. He was smart and cunning enough to know that he needed to constantly change up his car in order to evade capture. He also knew that he had to kill his victims in order to increase the shelf life of his transport. His victim was a cemetery caretaker by the name of William Reese. Shooting him in the head once, using Madson’s gun again, and stealing his red pickup truck, Cunanan made his escape. His 12 day killing spree had driven him across the country and driven him onto the infamous FBI most wanted list. Although it wasn’t necessarily the kind of fame that he had always craved, it was fame regardless. Cunanan had achieved what he always wanted. He was famous. He wasn’t famous enough to never be forgotten though. Not yet  anyway.

It took two months for Andrew Cunanan to finally cast himself into immortality, in the worst possible way. For two whole months Andrew Cunanan took a sick pleasure in hiding in plain sight. So much so that after he had murdered Versace a Chicago policeman who was an expert on serial killers said “Down deep inside, the publicity is more sexual to him than anything else. Right after one or two of these homicides, he probably goes to a gay bar in the afternoon when the news comes on and his face is on TV, and he’s sitting there drinking a beer and loving it. You hide in plain view.” He spent his evenings visiting  gay bars and clubs. He was hiding in plain sight, it was almost as though he got a thrill out of being on the FBI ten most wanted list and still spending his time in nightclubs, without even trying to be conspicuous about it. Not only did he spend time at nightclubs, but he found willing people to go home with him at the end of the night. He didn’t completely shirk fear of capture though, during the day he wore different disguises to ensure that no-one recognised him and brought the police looking for him. He even took to dressing as a woman on some days, partly to evade capture and partly to attract lovers who might be interested in transvestitism. The closer he got to his final goal, the more time he spent walking past the Versace mansion. Trying to spot a glimpse of his famous target. His  previous murders may have got him noticed by the FBI, they didn’t get him what he really wanted though, fame and immortality.

By 1997 Versace wasn’t just a fashion designer anymore. He had transcended that. He had invented supermodels, by paying the women at the top of their game astronomical figures to make sure that they wore his clothes at the top shows. He had not just got the most famous sports stars, rock stars, Hollywood stars and royalty to wear his clothes, he was their friend. Versace was as much an icon as some of the clothes he created. As Wensley Clarkson said “Versace thumbed his nose at those who said his fashion was the height of  bad taste” Versace needed time to unwind though, he had been burning the candle at both ends, after embarking on a European tour and as he had confided in one of his many business partners he intended to “quiet down my life”. It is hard to believe that Gianni Versace would actually follow through with that intention, Versace, the company,  had after all been making profits of $900 million a year. This was largely due to Gianni’s image as a larger than life, super designer. All of this didn’t matter though, Andrew Cunanan intended to make sure that Gianni Versace rested far more than he ever intended.

On the 15th of July 1997 Andrew Cunanan  followed Gianni Versace back from collecting the newspapers, outside his Miami beach mansion he shot him twice in the head. The saddest thing about Versace’s murder is that if it wasn’t for oversight and bad luck then Cunanan could have been apprehended before he even had chance to get near him. The red truck he stole from William Reese had been at a parking garage for the whole two months between his fourth and fifth killing. That an apparently deserted vehicle had been ignored speaks volumes for how easy it was for Cunanan to hide in plain sight. He had been spotted in a sandwich shop and an employee had sneaked into the back to phone the police, unfortunately another diligent employee served him and let him leave before the police managed to arrive and arrest him. The  final piece of luck, good for Andrew Cunanan, bad for Gianni Versace, was when Cunanan was running low on funds. To help himself get by he pawned one of the gold coins he stole from Lee Miglin, in order to do this he had to provide his real details, including various forms of identification and where he was staying. Then the clerk in the pawn shop had to fax these details to the local police department. Unfortunately for Versace and the police the clerk who dealt with this was on holiday at the time it was sent. It wasn’t discovered until after Versace was murdered, and even then only because a ticket for the pawn shop was found in Cunanan’s effects that he had left with the abandoned red truck .

After shooting Versace, Cunanan made a run for it. He managed to escape from one witness to the murder of Versace at the time, but the police had a recent description and they knew the area where he was. They were closing in. It took eight days for them to finally find Andrew Cunanan. The FBI were not happy with how the case went with one member of the task force commenting “There were not many successful moments of the investigation, because we never were really close to him. We never did catch up to him.” It wasn’t until a caretaker at Indian Creek Canal was doing his rounds and checked a houseboat that was moored there and discovered the door to the boat slightly open that Cunanan’s three month killing spree and time on the run came to an end. The caretaker  entered the boat and checked the bottom floor. It seemed fine. It wasn’t until he went upstairs that he saw a shocked man standing there. The man ran to a bedroom and shut the door behind him. The caretaker realising that he must be who the news had been talking about phoned the police.

It only took a matter of minutes for the boat to be completely blocked off. There were snipers, helicopters and police boats all surrounding the house boat. The order came over the megaphone for Cunanan to come out with his hands in the air. Nothing. Had he escaped? Had he managed to once again slip through the fingers of the FBI? At 8:15PM the boat was  stormed. Gas grenades filled the boat, the SWAT team stormed in to silence. The tension was rising, as was the belief that Cunanan had escaped capture again. It wasn’t until they entered the bedroom and saw him slumped on the floor. Andrew Cunanan had shot himself in the head. Taking away the opportunity for punishment and justice to be served forever. More importantly, when Andrew Cunanan killed himself on July 23rd 1997 so did the possibility of ever finding out his motivations for killing not just Gianni Versace, but the other four men he killed on his savage and evil killing spree.

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