Sam gives him a look that sends him directly to the kettle without further comment. She checks her watch and decides that a third paracetamol won’t kill her but might take enough off this headache to let her concentrate for an hour. She swallows it, then picks up the damned book and turns to the next chapter.
How to Win Friends and Influence People
Nothing hurts asmuch as being betrayed by someone you love. I myself was betrayed by a family member. It cut me deeply and I wish I could say more about it without giving too much away. Perhaps in a later chapter. Remember that a whopping 20 percent of serial killers become a suspect this way: someone they trust points the finger at them. In fact, this dreadful fate befell many of the greats.
Ted Bundy’s girlfriend called the authorities on him twice. The first time after she read a news report detailing the killer’s vehicle and saw a sketch that resembled Teddy. She tried again after finding crutches in his car. Luckily, the police dismissed her on both occasions and our hero enjoyed many more months of freedom.
Ted Kaczynski’s own brother dobbed him in. After the Unabomber reached the peak of his career and finally achieved publication for his manifesto, his sister-in-law recognized the style of the writing and a few key phrases TK had used. The woman then persuaded her husband, Kaczynski’s brother, to call the police.
“You can’t eat your cake and have it too,” the brother said to thecops. “My brother Ted always uses that phrase. He must be the Unabomb killer.”
I paraphrase, but you see the point: many have fallen foul of law enforcement because those they loved most turned on them. Let’s think about how you can avoid such a betrayal by the Judas at your own table.
The most important lesson I can teach you here is how to find your lobster. There’s an old saying about being able to choose your friends but not your family—that’s codswallop. You can choose both. You must surround yourself with the right people. That can mean cutting off any clingy parents or siblings who are overly intrusive and prone to radical behavior such as asking where you are all the time or turning up at your home unannounced. Don’t let silly sentimental ties be your undoing.
Having a partner or spouse can be troublesome but highly useful if you select the right candidate. Firstly, try to secure a relationship with someone who has a job that screams “nice.” Women who run shelters for abandoned animals, child-minders and dinner nannies can be priceless pawns in your cover-family lineup. Single mothers are good and easily attainable, but that obviously involves living with children and we can’t all stomach that—better to spawn your own if you’re willing to go to these extremes. Consider your partner’s age with care. Young women can be troublesome. Do you really want to be with someone who photographs their food before they eat it? While a nineteen-year-old might look hot in your shirt, she will not be able to iron it for you. Women in their forties are your best bet. They have been through the mill and generally have far lower expectations of the men in their lives. As long as you don’t beat them and put out once or twice a month, they will be largely self-sustaining.
It’s a tragic fact that it will be far more dangerous and difficult for a female serial killer to find a good partner. Women account for only around 15 percent of all serial killers—that we know of, at least. I have always believed that women are superior to men as murderers and this number is likely a massive underestimate. If you’re looking for Mr. Right,never accept a man who still lives with his mother. There is no greater risk to your mental well-being. You can guarantee that, no matter his age, Mummy’s little prince has never cleaned a toilet before. He’ll tell you that he’s very happy to help you, but he justcan’t see what needs doing around the home like you can. You will end up killing him, and you need to remember our principles. Select a man who has lived alone for a long time. One who is grateful for human female companionship, and won’t ask too many questions about where you are and who you’re spending your time with. Perhaps try video-game stores or your local Dungeons and Dragons club. Women are far more flexible than men, and I urge my female readers to consider dating other women instead of persevering with mediocre males. Or embrace spinsterhood. Perhaps acquire a cat, join several book clubs, take up crochet or learn to bake cakes that look like household objects. I am certain you will be happier.
Avoid intelligent partners. Normal IQs are between 80 and 120, with 100 considered average. Around 80 is the real sweet spot. You don’t want an absolute vegetable, just someone who won’t ask too many questions or see through your lies.
Interestingly, while we’re on the subject of IQ, we serial killers are thought to be “below average” in terms of intelligence. According to the Serial Killer Information Center, the average serial killer is believed to come in at 94.5. This is simply further evidence that the police have no clue about how many of us there are, and have failed to catch those of us who are smarter than Joey Tribbiani.
I don’t want to discourage you if you think you aren’t the sharpest knife in the block, though; many stupid serial killers have achieved great things. The Green River Killer barely scraped through high school, yet he murdered over ninety people. It took law enforcement almost twenty years to catch him. He got so bored waiting that he even wrote confession letters to newspapers, including unique knowledge of the crimes he’d committed that had not been released to the press. The famous profiler on the case dismissed the letters, calling them a “feeble and amateurish attempt to gain some personal importance.” Green River went right onkilling until a random DNA breakthrough led to his capture and arrest in 2001. I love profilers, me.
A valuable digression, but now, back to choosing your family.
Once you have secured your significant other, be sure never to ask them to engage in anything other than vanilla bedroom activities. Ted Bundy took a big risk when he asked lovers to pose dead during sex. Big no-no. You need to be the model partner, parent and professional. Never show any psychopathic or narcissistic traits in your relationship. Don’t beat your lover, control them or lose your temper. The best way to do this is to create a lifestyle whereby you’re apart as much as possible.
Finding ways to have your spouse or family completely dependent on you might also help, as they are far less likely to betray you under those circumstances. For example, if their visa depends on being married to you, or if you’re very wealthy and they would otherwise be dirt poor—Thai brides, Nigerian princes awaiting their inheritance, and so on.
I’d recommend having a lot of acquaintances—golf buddies, book club pals—but no one too close who expects you to share emotions. I fear that I can’t say too much more than I have about my own familial situation. I already told you about my cousin Bobby, and divulging more detail puts me at risk. I can say, however, that I did have a best friend named Tony who I cherished with all of my heart. We went everywhere together and he knew all my secrets. I told him about Jono and Sarah and he listened unjudgingly to all of my thoughts about Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, Mary Ann and the rest of the gang. For my part, I shared my food with Tony and didn’t hold his halitosis against him.
I suppose I ought to take this opportunity to dispel the long-standing myth that serial killers hurt animals. This is simply untrue. There may be the odd example of serials who hang kittens from washing lines, but those are few and far between. If the little boy over the road torches ants with a magnifying glass or ties cats’ tails together, it’s far more likely that he’s destined for a life as a dentist than a killer.
Because this myth is deeply entrenched in society, largely thanks to the fecklessness of profilers, let me give a few examples to counter it. Britain’smost prolific serial killer, Harold Shipman, aka Doctor Death, killed hundreds of people. Hundreds. Yet he was an animal-rights campaigner and cared diligently for his pet poodle and his little bunnies, which he adored. Dennis Nilsen murdered at least twelve men and boys, but cried when he discovered that the pound had euthanized his collie Bleep, following his arrest.
My Tony was the best boy you could ever meet. I found him one day tied to a tree. Not long after Sarah died, I was walking through a small wood that separated my cousin’s house from my own. It was stunning at that time of year; bright-pink hawthorn blossom sprinkled like confetti in my hair as I made my way along.
I was usually alone in the woods, but that day I heard children shrieking and strange yelps, and suddenly a pebble hit me in the chest. I spun to find who’d thrown it, but the kids were long gone. I was about to go on my way when a pitiful whining started up, somewhere off to my right.
I followed an overgrown path and came to a small clearing. He was tied to a tree, lying on his side, licking his front legs. As I approached, he growled but seemed to lack any real fight. Around him were dozens of small rocks, like the one that had hit me, along with sticks and other instruments of torture. “Sshhh,” I soothed, “good dog.” He eyed me and whined. I noticed bloody patches. Protruding hips and ribs. “Poor thing,” I crooned. He flopped his head up fully to look at me and I saw then that there was a vicious, bloody hole where his eye should be. I jumped back—I’ve never loved gore. Oh, I know, the irony.
I spent a good hour coaxing him to let me near. Eventually, I managed to untie him and carried him home, where there was surprisingly little objection to my having a dog; my family thought it would be good for me. I was relieved at this because I’d already decided that were my mother to try to take the little creature from me and ship him off to some God-awful shelter, I would have broken my own rules and staved her head in with a tin of Spam. While that proved unnecessary, I did, however, have to begin working weekends in a meatpacking warehouse to pay Tony’s vet’s bills.
We were inseparable, Tony and I. Soon, I discovered that a dog was not only a wonderful companion, but an excellent accessory for an aspiring serial killer. Let me explain why.
A man walking alone at night will set any woman’s teeth on edge. She’ll lace her car keys between her fingers, as if that does anything, or call someone and ask them to stay on the phone with her as she walks home. A man walking a dog at night? Normal. You’re just a dog walker; you’re the person who finds the body, not slices and dices it. People with dogs also interact an awful lot. They chat and pretend not to notice as their canines lick each other’s assholes. If you enjoy chatting with your victim before the big day, a dog might help you make the connection.
Interestingly, our friends in law enforcement don’t own many pets. Statistically, police officers are more likely to be non-pet owners than other professions. Even dentists rank higher. I believe that Tony, were he not a dumb creature, would have thanked his lucky stars that it was a serial killer who found him that day and not a copper. With me, he had a home for life. Who knows what dreadful shelter he’d have ended up in, had someone paid to protect and serve discovered him? This should give you pause. If you’re just a regular reader and not set on your career path just yet, really think about which side of the fence a true psychopath belongs on. If you really want to get away with murder, a police badge might not be a bad idea.
You may consider other pets, but do be careful, particularly if you’re a single man. Have you ever met a normal single dude with a budgerigar? Snakes and lizards are exclusively owned by weirdos, too. Who wants to keep grasshoppers and mice in the fridge? Sadists, all.
To complete your perfect family setup, I heartily and unreservedly recommend a dog like Tony. It was thanks to Tony that I met victim number twenty-four, a young woman called Melanie. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. First, I need to teach you about Blondie, and the principles of victim selection.
Chapter Six
Sam snaps the book closed and takes out her notebook and pen, to add to her list.
