Inside the Mind of BTK

The Capture and Arrest of BTK 233
My cell phone rang. It was Landwehr.
“You up yet?” he asked.
“Never went to bed.”
“Got tied up last night,” he said. “Homicide we’re working. Couple
things we’d been waiting to happen fell into place. Made some
arrests.”
“That always feels good,” I said, remembering the rush that I’d
sometimes get after helping take some dangerous scumbag off the
street.
“Yeah. I’m hungry,” he said. “You wanna grab some breakfast? I
got some time before work.”
“Sure,” I said.
“You get a chance to look at that disc I left on the desk?” he asked.
“You might say so,” I laughed, wearily. “He’s one prolific son of
abitch.”
“Yeah,” Landwehr grumbled. “Just another poor frustrated artist.”
“Twisted,” I said. “Don’t think I’ve ever stumbled across one quite
like him.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said. “I’ll tell you all about it
over breakfast.”
“Meet you down in the hotel lobby,” I said.
“Gimme fifteen.”