Inside the Mind of BTK

76 INSIDE THE MIND OF BTK
Thimmesch asked if he’d object to undergoing hypnosis at police
headquarters.
“No problem,” Davis replied.
But there was a problem. The killer had surfaced again. For seven
brief seconds and in fifteen words, he’d broken his silence and risked
everything to let the local authorities know he’d returned.
Shortly before 8:30, two patrol cars pulled up to the curb beside
the pink duplex identified by the caller. The two officers who arrived
at the scene quickly surveyed the exterior of the house. A back window
had been shattered, they observed, and the phone line leading
into the dwelling had been cut. The front door was unlocked. The officers
entered the house and were hit by a blast of hot air.
A moment later, twenty-five-year-old Nancy Fox was found lying
face down on the neon-blue paisley bedspread, wearing only a pale pink
long-sleeved sweater. The tips of her toes, which hung over the edge of
the mattress, had turned black. The nails of her long, slender fingers
were pink. Something about the way they were positioned—partially
extended, partially curled—looked deceivingly peaceful, beatific. Nylon
stockings tightly bound her wrists behind her back. Her violet-colored
panties had been pulled down around her hips, just above her knees.
A cream-colored yellow nightgown had been tied around her ankles.
When police rolled Fox over, they saw that the left side of her face
had also turned black. In her mouth was stuffed a gag fashioned out
of various colored panty hose, and her dark tongue was swollen to
many times its normal size. Wisps of sandy blonde hair covered much
of her face, but beneath it smears of blood could be seen caked around
her nose and mouth. Another pair of panty hose had been cinched
tightly around her neck.
“Whoever did this was a real pervert,” recalled one homicide detective
who arrived at the crime scene a few minutes later. “You could just
see the sexual perversion all over that poor girl....The whole thing
really just aggravated me.”
Dumped on a coffee table were the contents of Nancy Fox’s purse.
The killer, it was believed, had taken her driver’s license as a souvenir.
On the dresser beside the bed sat a picture of Fox’s bowling team—
she and four friends stood there beside their bowling balls, goofy grins
plastered on their faces. On either side of the picture, two jewelry
boxes appeared to have been rifled through.
On the bed next to Fox’s body, the contents of her lingerie drawer
had been dumped. Police speculated that the killer had been search-