Inside the Mind of BTK

278 INSIDE THE MIND OF BTK
people are dreaming at the same time, that they can appear in each
other’s dreams. I don’t like thinking about that sort of stuff.”
Casarona’s journey to this hotel lobby had been fraught with
plenty of drama, headache, and frustration. We’d first bumped up
against each other in December 2005 when I wrote Rader to request
an interview for this book. He’d forwarded my letter to her, and she
promptly telephoned my office, leaving a curt message that instructed
me to cease and desist. Rader was hers. She’d bagged him. She had
exclusive access to him, and it was this access that was going to net her
a book contract, which she would use to jump-start her writing career.
She had a point, of course. A very good one. But if I had been the
type of guy who backed down whenever someone told me to go away,
I’d still be a FBI field agent, working the streets back in Detroit. I didn’t
bother telephoning her back—I decided to let her come to me. Three
weeks later, I sent Rader another letter reiterating my same request
and expressing my surprise over his decision to pass my first letter on
to Casarona. I wanted to push a few buttons—both Rader’s and
Casarona’s. She wasted no time getting back to me and fired off a private
e-mail to me through my Web site, repeating how she had an
exclusive deal with Rader and that he would speak to no one but her.
She also mentioned that she’d read all my books and was, for lack of
a better word, a fan of my work. I decided not to respond.
A few days later, Casarona once again telephoned my office. I
picked up the phone, and we had a brief conversation. I listened as she
told me how she’d become interested in the case and why she wanted
to write a book on Rader. But I’d begun to grow a bit miffed at
Casarona and the way she was preventing me from gaining access to
Rader—something that had never happened to me before.
I told her how I first started working on the BTK case in the late
1970s, explaining that I used the knowledge I’d gleaned from decades
spent in the trenches researching violent offenders to enlighten my
readers about what made these guys tick, educating them in ways she
never could.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve read all your books....But I just can’t let
you talk to Dennis. I’ve got bills piling up, and I need the money from
a book deal to pay off all my lawyers.”
“So you don’t have a book deal yet?” I asked.
“Well ...no,”she said. “But I will.”