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Inside the Mind of BTK

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Q<br />

Landwehr had gone downstairs to snag a Mountain<br />

Dew, smoke a cigarette, and make a couple <strong>of</strong> calls. The guy needed<br />

to take some time <strong>of</strong>f, I thought. Reminded me <strong>of</strong> me, back before I<br />

crashed and burned, <strong>the</strong>n spent a week in a coma.<br />

I turned on my laptop, clicked my mouse a couple <strong>of</strong> times, and<br />

began wading back through Landwehr’s disc, looking for something<br />

I might have missed, something to help explain when <strong>the</strong> murderous<br />

short circuit inside Rader’s brain occurred. Just as I stumbled on several<br />

pictures <strong>of</strong> Rader in a feminine mask, buried up to his neck in a<br />

grave, Landwehr marched back into my room and took a seat in <strong>the</strong><br />

chair by <strong>the</strong> window.<br />

“These damn journals <strong>of</strong> Raders,” I said. “They really start playing<br />

tricks on your head if you spend too much time reading <strong>the</strong>m.”<br />

“Yeah,” he said. “But that’s your specialty, right? I don’t need to<br />

read his diaries to know he’s a sick little pervert.”<br />

“You have any idea what Rader was thinking about on <strong>the</strong> morning<br />

you arrested him?” I asked.<br />

“Haven’t a clue,” he replied. “But I know he didn’t have any idea<br />

what we had planned for him.”<br />

258<br />

20

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