Inside the Mind of BTK

230 INSIDE THE MIND OF BTK
Over time, one of these projects began to emerge as his favorite.
Try as he might, he couldn’t shake from his head the images of all the
things he planned to do to her—not that he ever tried very hard. She
was going to be his last one, he told himself. When he finished with
her, he was going to shut down “his operation.” Which was how he
enjoyed referring to the past three decades of his life—as though it
were some sort of business endeavor.
Part of him seriously doubted he’d ever get around to pulling this
one off. He just wasn’t sure he was physically up to it. What he did
required plenty of brute strength, and now that he was getting older, he
wondered if he still had it in him. Nevertheless, he realized he couldn’t
let this one slip through his fingers. He’d been stalking his potential
victim for over a year. In that time he’d begun to realize that her days
followed such a predictable pattern that he could set his watch by her
comings and goings from her apartment. She never changed her routine.
And, as he always used to say, people like that were in bad shape.
She was a large woman, probably tipping the scales at 160 pounds.
She wasn’t the type whom most people might assume a serial killer
would target. Rader seemed to pride himself in that fact. It was
another one of those things that made him different from those other
killers—he didn’t discriminate. When it came to victims, everyone was
welcome—just as long as they were female, didn’t live with any men,
and adhered to a schedule that meshed with his.
He had big plans for her, which was why he wanted everything to be
perfect. He wrote in his journal that he’d either strangle her or suffocate
her, then spread her body out in the main doorway of her apartment in
a wildly suggestive pose. He could only imagine what the cops would
think when they saw her. Because of her size, he knew he’d have a heck
of a time lifting her and securing her into the position he’d envisioned.
He also couldn’t quite figure out exactly how he’d hold her there—would
he tie a rope around her feet or place a noose around her head?
Whatever method he chose, he realized he’d need some sort of a
device to winch her up into the position he’d been fantasizing about.
He stopped off at a hardware store near his house one afternoon during
work and purchased a massive hook, a pulley, and a large screw.
Rader had arrived at the conclusion that this was how he’d hoist her
body up above the door frame. He’d grown so excited about this project
that he began carrying his hit kit with him in his truck wherever
he went. He even kept his portable drill with him in order to help him
sink that screw into the door frame.