Research

Writing about time for Writing.

This is a recurring theme for many writers and the model for most initially. Stephen King worked as a substitute teacher moonlighting in an Industrial Laundry. I’ve heard Joe Lansdale recount his work in blue-collar and trying to earn a living on low wages while writing in the early days. These are the folks that made it. And when I say “made it,” I mean they were able to shed their day job and write for a living. You don’t have to take my word for it, but I would say that many writers don’t break out and keep a day job to the day they retire from the labor force. Then they may have the time to write full time, but there are still so many challenges.

In the old days, getting published was a tough gig in itself. Most publishers wouldn’t look at you without an agent, and finding an agent to represent a “nobody” was like looking for a Unicorn to bet on in the Kentucky Derby. Could happen, I suppose? If you were taking the right psychedelic enhancements. Or, if you caught a bit of good luck.

Grab your copy in print, eBook, and as an audioBook by clicking here

In this brave new world, writers are tasked with being a salesman and branding themselves somehow or another. These are time-consuming tasks, as you are suddenly engaged in several separate social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter and trying to balance being a good person and friend online while inundating your followers and friends with advertisements about you and your books. Social media can be a huge time-waster, and it is time you’d rather be writing. But it is necessary because you’re not Stephen King. You can’t rest on your writings because they need more exposure before readers start coming back and growing. But holy good grief, when will we find time to write?

All of these things are important. My publicist, Mickey, is influential because he gets me exposure with interviews on radio, television, and on the web, and magazine interviews. All necessary to try and elevate those books to a larger audience. But these things also take time.

Grab your copy in print, eBook, and as an audioBook by clicking here.

There’s a new book coming. I just spilled some more blood yesterday. I also have three more novels coming slowly to life, but that takes time. Money is required to live, and at least for me, writing doesn’t pay enough to live, so the day job stays. Beyond the day job, beyond the duties of husband and father and grandfather, I still need to get these books written, and that is why I’ve taken a hiatus from social media and media in general. It’s horse-trading exposure for output and balancing life and writing. I’m sure many writers can identify, as well as other artists.

For me, I will always find time to write.


Thanks for listening.
MJ

2021, THINGS I APPRECIATE

I’m not a huge fan of Old Style Pilsner, but I feel inclined to have the prairie beer from time to time as a reminder that I live on the prairies. As if the winters weren’t enough reminder?

So, here we are in 2022, the wreck of two previous years sinking behind us like two pieces of the Titanic. I’m not going to recap all the weird effed up stuff we all saw happen both north and south of the border. The pandemic, of course, sucked. But what sucked more was the division among people based on polarization. Even more disheartening was watching politicians of all stripe exploiting the pandemic.

So, lot’s of crappy stuff happpened this year and if I wanted to get down and dirty I could pull out my list and start checking off all the bullet points. But I’m not going to do that, I’m going to tell you about the good stuff. I’ll start by saying I am married to the most wonderful woman in the world. My pet name for her is, Stormy. She has been the love of my life for 39 years as I approach my 57th year on this earth. We met young, fell in love, and I joined the army to find us some kind of a future. The military didn’t pay well, but it offered stability. Every year we ran our credit cards up to buy our kids Christmas presents. We would use our tax refund to pay the credit card bills and so the cycle went year after year. Stormy and I were working poor, with three boys, and few options, she took care of those boys while I was off training with the regiment. We did what we could and 39 years later, here we are.

After being medically released she supported me in the toughest year of my life. Transition from soldier to civilian can be a difficult process, I don’t know what I would have done if she gave up on me? I just know she didn’t and she was my rock. Trucking offered more money, our kids grew moved out. We sacrificed, time for the dollar.

Where the hell did the time go?

This year, more than ever, I am so thankful to have her by my side. Stormy has always been there for me, through the toughest times, we lived and we loved, and I love her with all my heart. So that would be number 1 on the great things about 2021. I still have the love of my life at my side.

Also in 2022, I fell head over heals for a blonde named Rachel Paige. She is the apple of my eye. Her brother, Declan also stole my heart as does my oldest grandson, Hunter. In 2021, I was happy to see the appearance of two more grandkids. My grandson, Fisher and second granddaughter, Katey Ann. At the risk of sounding philosophical, no matter the state of events, pandemics, wars, hate, or even fear, love and life always finds a way because all that other stuff is bullshit.

That is my closing statement on a tough year, and in the face of an uncertain 2022. Take stock of the things most important. Not everything goes our way, but if you keep your eye on the positive it makes navigating the negative a bit easier.

I am also thankful for my family and friends who never cease to amaze me.

Happy 2022!

Thanks for listening, and love the one your with.

MJ

PS

Jake and Milo also wish you a Happy New Year.

Beyond the Rabbit Hole

I am a pretty open guy, my Facebook profile is open to the public as is my Twitter, and as long as you are not a drooling lunatic or fake profile, I generally friend or follow back. Here’s the thing with me. I’m public to a point, and aside from this writer’s very public profile, there are things that remain private.

As you steal hours from your spare time to try and pound out a novel, life happens all around, and sadly so does death. And so we do what we can to climb the hills only to rest in the valleys where life springs eternal. For the record, I’m pretty sure I plagiarized that last part. For the writer who’s got a day job trying to get their work out there, time is a precious commodity. Time equals transforming your brain from the realities of life and going down that rabbit hole of creativity. Trust me, it’s an awesome place to be. Rock n Roll blasting in the headphones, the keyboard clacking in a cadence of thought. From the blank page words appear and become sentences, and paragraphs, and chapters, and from that, characters backdrops, emotions, anger, distrust, horror, and redemption!

When it’s happening you’re having the time of your life. The world outside that place is in another galaxy. You are in Pittsburgh with a cop suffering PTSD. You are in Bucharest where the assassins gather to take on the FBI. It’s crazy, amazing, funny, heartbreaking, and scary. It’s not a trance really, but like a waking dream when the muse starts kicking ass. Explaining it to you even brings back flashes in previous writing sessions where in my mind I see through the eyes of my characters and therefore hold their memories.

Life beyond the rabbit hole can take a toll on that state you need to get into. You can lose yourself for a while, sometimes you have to shift your priorities, and avoid the rabbit hole because life demands it. In my case, I didn’t really lose my muse, I just sort of left him sitting by the rabbit hole tapping his foot and looking at his watch. Meanwhile, life has its demands, and we give in to those demands because…life.

AVAILABLE IN PRINT, EBOOK, AND AN AUDIOBOOK READ BY RL KECK. GRAB YOUR COPY TODAY.

Because not only does life happen but so do global pandemics. The day after I did a pre-taped radio interview that was supposed to air the same day I was doing a big signing for Highwayman, it all got shut down. Poof! Then we were sequestered to our houses and I kept pinching myself to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming about one of the dystopian ” movies I loved from the ’70s. “Get your dirty hands off me you stinking ape!” Or “Soylent Green is people.” Every time we ventured out we were purposely avoiding others. Those first few weeks were especially creepy. Honestly, I don’t think anybody had any idea what they were doing. Life beyond the rabbit hole doesn’t give a hoot about your story or novel.

Welcome to the pandemic, and while we’re at it, here’s another big helping of life stew. And this is not just specific to me, this is every writer who has their own peaks and valleys to navigate. Sure, some are more comfortable, some don’t have a day job, and they write full time, sell books, some lots of books. But life doesn’t care if you’re an Indie writer or a NY Times bestselling author. Life doesn’t care.

The rabbit hole is still there when and if you choose to come back to it. After my peaks and valleys, and still in the global pandemic, I met my muse, bastard that he is, and down the rabbit hole we went. Through all of this, we keep coming up with something, and he whispers ideas in my head.

Things are moving now and there are characters revisited, and new ones introduced and as life rages on I’m in that other place. Stumbling through the wreckage of a car. Trying to find a lost FBI agent. Going to war. I hope I can pull it off and take it to the Max. For the time being I swiped the keys to the rabbit hole and life goes on.

Thanks for listening.

MJ

wbp.bz/highwaymana
Grab yourself a copy of the two book case that follows the Highwayman over the course of his career in serial murder.
HIGHWAYMAN Click Here FOUR Click Here

Writer? You Haven’t Suffered ENOUGH!

MJ Preston Memoir

RANDOM THOUGHTS AND RAMBLINGS ON WRITING!

Bring on the suffering! That’s a running joke with writers, but I’m sure it is interpreted in many different ways. Like: It is through long periods of suffering from which we draw inspiration. Or: We suffer in our quest to earn our stripes. Maybe: We need to prove our worth in the writing world and therefore haven’t suffered enough? I don’t know. What I do know is that being a writer is an ongoing struggle to build a readership and sell a couple of books along the way. Sometimes when I mention the monetary, I am reminded that if you’re doing it for the money, you’re a monkey. I think Stephen King coined that. But money is a factor, because if you can earn a living writing, you’ve made it, and now can revamp your writing schedule with an extra eight or ten hours you never had before. That’s why monetary matters, at least if you want to write full time.

Art as a whole gets a bad rap. I’ve heard a pundit or five refer to it as unnecessary, a drain on the taxpayers. Perhaps they think of artists as people living in bubbles with unicorns and free cotton candy? Getting that fat royalty check or commision on a piece every month. Speaking for writers, most have struggled. Most artists struggle to make ends meet and sacrifice their personal time for their art. Stephen King worked in an industrial laundry and as a substitute teacher, while writing his breakout novel, Carrie. I’ve been to an industrial laundry, and that’s some serious suffering right there. The reality is that most writers, artists, actors, and even filmmakers have a day job. James Cameron drove a truck prior to the success of The Terminator. The other reality is that most artists will continue working the day job until they are able to retire. Some will break out. It happens, but don’t quit your day job. They are the exception, not the rule. That’s why you should pause before casting judgement, because truthfully, artists have more in common with you than not. A world without books, paintings, music, photgraphs, and movies would be pretty damned boring, so we need it art.

The Highwayman Series! IN PRINT! EBOOK! AUDIO BOOK Book 1 HIGHWAYMAN Book 2 FOUR

Most writers do this because they are compelled to tell stories either in fiction or non-fiction. Both fields are rewarding. I wrote movie reviews for a hometown paper before I joined the army in 87. Then I did military reportage for my unit while manning an M109 A3 self-propelled howitzer. Simultaneously, I was working on a little horror novel called, The Equinox. I started out in an army barracks, and then I got married and we moved into a cracker box post war house and had kids. There, I ventured down to folding chair in front of a six-foot table. Above that table were some movie posters to try and make the basement more inspiring. But in all honesty, if I was in that basement, it was because I had awoke or couldn’t sleep. Because I had an idea, a scenario or a character spinning around in my gray matter,. If I didn’t go pound away on that IBM that bowed the table, it would get away.

I saw plenty of rejection back in those days. Desperate to get published, I even wrote a horror/erotic vampire story and submitted it to a well known men’s magazine. When the rejection came back, my Troop Sergeant Major came into possession of the self-addressed stamped envelope returning my submission. He saw it was from Playboy, and took it into his office to read.

Writing the first draft of my first novel, THE EQUINOX, when I was living in an army barracks in 1987.

After he was done, he gave it back, a smile on his face. I was then tackled by my fellow gunners who took it upon themselves to do a live reading to the Troop. Somehow my well crafted erotic/vampire tale had become a comedy. More suffering. When I finally got that mangled story back, the Troop Sergeant Major whispered in my ear, “That was a pretty good story, Gunner Preston, except for all that vampire shit.” The boys gave me a hard time, but those knew me, and heard me banging away on that big IBM into all houtrs of the night understood that this was my passion. I think there was a quiet respect for that. One thing came out of that exchange. I was done with erotica, but probably not the vampires.

Rejection can kick the hell out of your confidence. I tweeted recently about self doubt, how it affects all writers, and it can be debilitating if you let it. Do they think I’m a crappy writer? A fraud? A hack? I used to worry about that stuff. But then I thought about it, and this is the conclusion I came to. Who gives a shit about popularity contests or being a part of a clicky group? Is that going to make you a better writer? It won’t, and it’s a waste of energy better spent creating. Don’t get me wrong. There’s some incredibly cool people in the writing world that I count as friends. We often support each other, throughout the insufferable suffering of being a writer and beating your heart against some mad buggers wall. Between pandemics, kooky leaders, countries blowing each other up, we don’t get to talk about writing near enough, but we sometimes share funny stories like the one I just told you.

Final random thought on suffering and the biz of being a starving artist. How do we measure our success in this business? I look back on what I’ve written and feel pretty good about it. Book sales can always be better, but beyond that this is where I am. I have met folks in this business and some are friends, whose paperbacks were in the back pocket of my Levis in the late 70s. It’s not a celebrity thing either, because most of these folks, still understand the struggle, the suffering, and that keeps them grounded and pretty awesome to hang with and chat about writing, or even Monty Python. So, I measure my success by the people I have met in this crazy black hole of uncertainty. I measure it by the readers that tell me that my stories have brought some happiness or escape.

And isn’t the point?

Thanks for listening.

MJ

CHECK OUT ACADIA EVENT IN PRINT EBOOK AND AUDIO BOOK

The Killer on the Road

The Highwayman Series

Welcome to the Sh!t Show!

The Highwayman series isn’t my first flirtation with serial murder. In my first novel, THE EQUINOX, an evil spirit known as a skinwalker forms an unholy alliance with a pedophile child killer. The marrying of the supernatural and the real wasn’t all that hard because both creatures personify real evil to me. Except, the human incarnation is much more repulsive and terrifying. I even flirted with psychopathic behavior in my Irish Hamilton gangster, Gordon Shamus. In ACADIA EVENT, he turns a man into a stew mud, blood, and bone with the bucket of an ecscavator, after shooting him both legs. I’m not a psychologist, but Gordon could have been a serial killer. He enjoyed inflicting pain, muses about raping protagonist, Marty Croft’s wife, as retribution for being disrespectful. I’ve said this before These people who operate by their own set of rules, who either lack or reject empathy, who derive a pseudo-sexual release from the acts of torture and murder. These are the most terrifying monsters of all. They’re unpredictable, they move among the societal norms of work, play, and even duty. You can never be sure if that guy issuing you a ticket, or flying the Queen of England, or landscaping your yard, might not be harboring some darker deeper need as they watch you with predatory eyes concealed by a a disarming smile.

Do I sound paranoid? Well easy there, I’m not suggesting you should be afraid to go out for fear that the policeman who patrols your neighborhood is akin to the Golden State Killer. Or that you should check your flowerpots as the dumping ground of a sadist serial killer. Honestly, the statistics of active serial murder within most societies are low, but when we hear about them, they both repell and draw our attention. As with my last blog, the discover of such a creature, makes us reflect, on the predators that do exist and do live within every facet of modern society.

Which brings me to the Highwayman Series and why I decided to tackle such a big project. The answer is that I’ve always been a voracious reader of thrillers, mysteries and by extension, true-crime. It’s how I became friends with author, Kevin M. Sullivan, likely the most versed on author alive on everything Ted Bundy. I wrote Sullivan an email to commend him on his book The Bundy Murders, and told him a bit about the project I was working on. Now we share a publisher but even more, a friendship. Here’s the thing about Sullivan, he’s a research hound, and he did his homework. He conveys the surreal when Ted Bundy’s murder bag ends up on his dining room table, containing an ice pick, right handed gloves, ski mask, rope, belt, laces as ligatures, and a package of Glad garbage bags. I hadn’t expected to end up at the same publisher, but life doesn’t have a roadmap. He’s a cool guy, and a hell of a true-crime writer.

During research for his first book on serial killer, Ted Bundy, the infamous murder bag ended up on Kevin M. Sullivan’s dining room table. Much to the consternation of his wife. Photo courtesy Kevin M. Sullivan. Check out The Enigma of Ted Bundy

When I decided to write the Highwayman story I had no idea that it would become a two-novel romp, but there you are. The strange thing about writing fiction is the mystery, but sometimes writing a story can lead you on all sorts of misadventures including meeting folks in the writing community. It also opens you up to this make believe world from which characters characters crawl out of the gray matter and become real not only to the author, but those who crack the pages of your work. Lance Belanger, aka Highwayman, is the personification of evil. He doesn’t care if you plead. CHOP! He doesn’t care if you have children. CHOP! He only cares about the presentation of his masterpiece and the driving need to remove the tether on the monster inside him. So, that it may feed. Along this trail of murder and mayhem, law enforcement is on the hunt. The first Highwayman FBI investigators, Lewis Ash, Michelle Leigh, are forever etched into my gray matter. Friends, really, whom I wish to revisit. Special Agent Dave Maxwell, aka Max, is a character who will stay with me in one form or another. He is middle aged, but dogged, he’s not your typical agent in that he is more personable even when newly promoted. But he’s tough. Not afraid to throw down.

In writing the Highwayman series, I have always been vague as to what Maxwell looks like. This is intentional, so that the reader draws their own conclusions. I won’t describe him here either, for those of you who have followed or preparing to ride with Maxwell’s posse, that’s for you to decide. But if you want to see what part of him looks like, at least to me, he’s peeking out from the new Highwayman series ad at the top and bottom of this blog.

One difficulty this writer faces in an over-saturated market of great and yes, bad fiction, is convincing the readership out there to read my stuff. It’s a constant struggle, but I keep going because that’s what my genetic fate is. I have used the word most of my life. To tell stories, to champion injustices, to express love, hate, humor, and the voyeuristic muses that come tumbling out of that blinking cursor and onto the screen. I will always be a writer, at least while there’s breath in my body. Judging by the feedback on my writing this far, I think I’m doing something right.

So, come on and check me out! Check out the Highwayman series. People are digging it. I think you’ll dig it too. Once you step into my world, you’ll want to hang around and see what happens next. If you do, you’ll make some friends along the way, like chain smoking Louisville PD homicide detective, Lonnie Perkins, whose vocabulary includes the phrases, “This just became a smoking aircraft.” and “Welcome to the shit show!”

I’m M.J. Preston.

Come and find me!

Take care

MJ

The Highwayman Series
Grab a copy of Highwayman for free as an Audiobook at WildBlue Press https://wildbluepress.com/sale-audiobook-offer/

THE HIGHWAYMAN FILES

Jessica Lloyd and Cpl

PART III – AN IMPRESSION IN MURDER

The Case of Russell Williams a serial killer in the making.

On January 28, 2010, Jessica Lloyd went missing from her home in Belleville, leading the investigators to suspect foul play. Canvassing the neighvborhood for witnesses, police were alerted by a neighbor of a suspicious SUV parked beside Lloyd’s place the night she disappeared. After walking the property surrounding her residence, they discovered tire impressions in the snow and mud. The tire tracks were distinctive enough that investigators decided to set up a highway canvas of vehicle treads using the highway in proximity to Lloyd’s house. Tire impressions are distinctive because every tire wears differently. In addition they also found shoe imprints in the snow.

A week passed since, Lloyd was still missing, and the Ontario Provincial Police set up a canvas of vehicles that regularly ran the highway in proximity to Lloyd’s house. It was a long shot, especially if she was taken by a passing stranger, but the impressions were a solid clue. The canvas ran from 7:00 p.m. on February 4, until 6:00 a.m. February 5, 2010. During the canvas, an officer noted a similar tread pattern on a motorist’s pathfinder. Evidence was gathered and the motorists proceeded on.

What police would discover, is that the pathfinder wasn’t just similar, but matched the tire wear like a fingerprint. The revelation of who the owner of that vehicle was must have given investigators great pause before proceeding.

The driver’s name was, David Russell Williams, a British born Canadian and a serving member of the Canadian Armed Forces. But what must have stalled investigators was that Colonel Russell Williams was the 437 Wing Commander at C.F.B. Trenton, Canada’s largest air force hub. Not only was a commanding officer, but a high profile and decorated pilot who had served overseas and had flown dignitaries, like the Canadian Prime Minister and the Queen of England.

Given that, police had to be sure, but the tire impression matched, and investigators continued gathering evidence. They decided it was time to call Williams in for an interview. They knew they had their man, but wanted to see if they could draw out a confession. Williams was an educated, intelligent man, with over 20 years of military service and training. The detective set to interview Williams was OPP Detective Sergeant Jim Smyth. Smyth was a seasoned investigator, with training as a forensic interviewer, a polygraph examiner, and was certified as a criminal profiler. Smyth had also worked the high-profile abduction/rape-murder of nine-year-old Victoria [Tori] Stafford, which ended with the conviction of Michael Rafferty and his girlfriend Terri-Lynne McClintic. McClintic had procured the child after school and brought her to boyfriend Rafferty who raped the child, and then McClintic murdered Tori with a hammer. A search for Tori’s body was fruitless, McClintic attempted to assit police, but she was not effective in Smyth found Tori Stafford’s body three months after her disappearance.

Smyth was the man for the job. What is clear in the video of the interrogation is that Williams presents himself as friendly, cooperative, and confident.  But this is mask. One can only speculate that Williams knew going in, that the police had something. His thoughts possibly harkening back to the canvas where officers checked his tires.

Smyth opens with some small talk, explaining they are interviewing many people, and walks him through his rights to ask for an attorney. He qualifies this by saying, that they are reading everyone interviewed their rights. But then asks if he would like to confer with an attorney which Russell declines. Several techniques are at play in the first stage of the interview. Smyth is mild sounding, not threatening, it is clear he working to build trust.  The Hollywood’s good cop/bad cop can’t be found in this room. Smyth might sound meek, it is all an elaborate ruse, Smyth has already started boxing Williams in. Smyth deliberately ignoring Williams’ rank, a deliberate tactic of taking power from the suspect. Not Colonel Williams, but Russell from Tweed. From the interrogation transcript you can see where Williams makes an attempt to steer his interviewer to his authority, but Smyth presents himself as uninterested and moves back toward the case.

The interrogation transcript illustrates where Williams makes a weak attempt to steer his interviewer to his authority, but Smyth shows little interest pushing Williams back toward the case. Smyth asks Williams if he’d be willing to submit to DNA, fingerprinting, and handing over his boots for imprinting.

Incredibly, Williams agrees, and Smyth takes his boots.

Left Russell Williams upon arrival to be interviewed with [inset right] Detective Sergeant Jim Smyth. Center Williams Pathfinder and Right his boots left matching impressions at the crime scene.

A transformation is underway. You might not be able to hear what Williams is thinking, but his body language betrays him. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat as Smyth asks several questions intended to box him in. He outlines that they are not just looking for Jessica Lloyd, but also investigating the murder of a Corporal from Canadian Forces Base Trenton, and two sexual assaults in proximity to Williams’ cabin in Tweed, Ontario.

Two months and three days previous, on Nov 25, 2009, in Brighton, Ontario, Corporal Marie France Comeau, 38, was found sexually assaulted and murdered in her home. Smyth pushes with an almost apologetic tone, wanting to draw out a confession, not send his suspect into lock down. He asks if Williams knows Jessica Lloyd, and most damning, if he’s ever been on her property. Williams fidgets in his seat, his head bobs, and he denies he’s ever been on the property and he is also asked about Marie Francis Comeau and the two women sexually assaulted on his street.

Corporal Marie France Comeau was found murdered in her basement. She was Russell Williams first murder victim.

Russell lies that he wasn’t friends with any of them, although “they” had cooperated with police during a neighborhood canvas. They, being he and his wife.  This is another attempt to shift the narrative using his wife as tool, to make the investigator focus on him as a married man. Someone who couldn’t possibly be a murderer. But Smyth continues to ignore the bait, and keeps handing Williams rope with which to hang himself. And with every lie, the noose tightens because Smyth is deliberately enabling Williams to lie. Getting “Russ” to lie is exactly what Smyth wants because he has evidence that will knock those lies flat. And though Williams hasn’t seen the evidence, his confident demeanor changes, his arms tightly crossed, his eyes moving down or away when answering questions. What law enforcement refers to as “a tell” of deception. This is another piece of the puzzle validating to investigators that this is their killer.

The mild-mannered Detective Sergeant steps out and returns during the interview, leaving Williams to stew in his thoughts.  When he returns, he explains how DNA is going to be a significant part of the four cases they are investigating.

Smyth leaves and returns. His demeanor is that of man who has learned information and is disappointed, but not angry. He states how he has put his best foot forward and tried to be fair, but evidence has come back contradicting Williams’ story.  Then he begins knocking down the lies one at a time. He produces the tire tread, explains how those treads are on his “Williams” Pathfinder.

Smyth then produces Williams boot imprint and compares it against the footprint in the snow taken outside Jessica Lloyd’s house. It is an exact match. Williams becomes quiet, and one can only assume what is going through his mind. Panic? Inventory? He picks up the photos looks at them. Then sighs and sets them down. Smyth tells him that they are executing warrants on his residences. There are long periods of silence, which Smyth uses effectively to break Williams down. Russell Williams knows his secret world of rape and murder are now being brought out of the obscurity into the light. He has been exposed, and there’s not one thing he can do about it.   

There are multiple gaps of silence. The silence is used by Smyth, and incredibly, in the video of the interview he mimics many of Williams’ mannerisms through the reticence.  Williams places a hand against his cheek, so does Smyth, Williams sighs, so does Smyth. Smyth is projecting, I know this is bad, but I’m trying to be your friend here. He asks Williams what he’s thinking, what he can do your Williams. Williams says he’s concerned about his wife and how to he wants to minimize the impact on her. Detective Sergeant Jim Smyth sees the opportunity and ceases it.

Williams provides the location of Lloyd’ body and investigators recover her the next morning. He also gives details about the crimes, which he’d videotaped and photographed. Further to the rape and murder, Williams had broken into 82 residences stealing lingerie, and photographing himself wearing it. Some of that clothing from prepubescent girls. On one nine-year-old’s computer he left her a note saying thank you.

The murders of Comeau and Lloyd had involved blunt force trauma then death by asphyxiation. Comeau’s last words were, “Have a heart, I want to live,” before Williams struck her with a flashlight then strangled her. He killed Lloyd using the same technique after telling her he was going to take her home. He repeatedly raped both women before murdering them, and there were the women who survived. They were left in terror of their attacker who broke into their homes and sexually assaulted and photographed them.

Williams said that he killed both women because they posed a risk of identifying him. But Williams meticulous record keeping, trophies, and photographic and video evidence left him little room. He confessed to his crimes and is incarcerated in the Port-Cartier Institution in Port Cartier, Quebec. He is a dangerous offender, which makes him ineligible for the faint hope clause, a legal appeal afforded to criminals facing life sentences.

Russell Williams was a case I looked at closely because it is so unusual. Williams is considered at serial rapist, and a multiple murderer, but he does not fit the category of serial killer because he only killed two people. However, there is no doubt that he was well on his way. What also drew me to this killer is that he was the base commander of a unit, that was home to many friends whom I’d formerly served with, but more disturbing, my oldest son had served under Colonel Russell’s command.

There were references to Williams’ military career on the CBC news program The Fifth Estate.

As a forensic psychologist watches the interview, he draws a correlation between Williams’ military training and his ability to compartmentalize the murders of Comeau and Lloyd. In my opinion the connection is frivolous. While I do not hold a degree in psychology, my extensive research of these monsters sees this as a similar trait shared by most multiple sex murderers. They view their victims as objects rather than people. They are driven by a need and they disconnect themselves from the crime. Referencing the air force and the discipline of serving as some connection to Williams’ ability to kill without remorse is a reach. The air force isn’t under the strict constraints of discipline you will find in an Army unit. Officers and regular ranks often work on a first name basis. As Russell Williams was a pilot, he would be on a first name basis with the crews who made sure his airplane was flight-worthy.

The truth is most serial killers lack empathy and are driven to kill by a need for possession and domination of their victims. In Williams case, that need amalgamated sex and murder into the same thing. The media draw might be to the Killer Colonel, but he was no different than any other deviant of society who has ability to kill without remorse. I suspect that Russell Williams harbored these dark thoughts for quite some time before he acted on them and would say that the only connection to his military service was that he seemed an unlikely suspect because of his status.

The outstanding work of investigators on this case not only stopped a murderer and confirmed serial rapist, but also a serial killer in the making.

I’m MJ Preston, thanks for dropping by for another Research of True Crime in the Highwayman Files.

MJ Preston is the author of the HIGHWAYMAN Crime Series. available in print, digital and as an audio book from WildBlue Press

CHECK OUT THE HIGHWAYMAN SERIES AVAILABLE FROM WILDBLUE PRESS – CLICK HERE FOR HIGHWAYMAN CLICK HERE FOR FOUR

Below is a link to watch the Fifth Estate – Russell Williams – The Confession

THE HIGHWAYMAN FILES

PART II – THE CASE OF THE COED KILLER

When I decided to start the Highwayman series, I spent most of the creation process in the cab of a truck running up and down the road turning over ideas in my head. I coupled this with research, sometimes on audiobooks, reading true crime, and watching documentaries on the subject.

HIGHWAYMAN is a two-book project which follows the birth and evolution of a serial killer named Lance Belanger. When I started this project, I was faced with a couple of questions. The first was, “How do I want my character to be?” That’s an open-ended question. I mean, do I want Lance to be sympathetic or just plain evil? Most serial killers are evil people, but what really makes them tick? What is their reasoning for doing what they do? How do they compartmentalize their acts, and what emotions do they have that the reader can identify with?

In the case of HIGHWAYMAN, Lance Belanger knows that he is different. He shares in many of the aspirations of ordinary members of society. He has wants, needs, insecurities, and he also has regrets. While we share many of those traits, our interpretations of our wants and needs are limited by the lengths we will go to accommodate those needs. For instance, if a normal person sees something they desire, they are usually defined by an internal moral compass. They will not cross the line to steal, or rape or murder. But let’s be honest. We’ve all had thoughts. Maybe about someone we don’t like or have been slighted by. We might think, “I’d like to bash that person’s head in.” But we don’t act on it, because internally we know that is wrong. The same goes for stealing or acting on lust.

The true sociopath lacks that moral compass and is driven by a need to do the unthinkable. Case in point would be the incarcerated California Coed Killer, Edmund Kemper. Kemper was imprisoned twice for murder. On August 27, 1964, Edmund Kemper, then 15, got into an argument with his grandmother, took a rifle his grandfather had given him and shot her dead. What made Kemper cross that line is anybody’s guess. Having read about him and based on interviews he gave to FBI agents, Robert Ressler and John Douglas, I have come to the assumption that part of it was seeded in his feelings of inadequacy around women. Kemper had a strong bond with his father but was always at odds with his mother. When they divorced, Kemper lost the only person he could relate to, or that was his explanation. After killing his grandmother, he waited for his grandfather to return and shot him as well. Presumably, because grandpa would have been a witness? That might have been it, except Kemper then called his mother and confessed to the crimes. She urged him to call the police and turn himself in. He did and was taken into custody. 

Edmund Kemper had already crossed the line into the world of murder, but between 1969 and 1972 it appeared that Kemper was getting his life on track. He became briefly engaged to a 16-year-old high school student, worked for the Department of Highways and purchased a 1969 Ford Galaxy after receiving a $15,000.00 settlement for a motorcycle accident he’d been involved in.

But all was not as it seemed. Kemper began to take notice of the pretty California coeds hitchhiking in and around the university his mother worked at. In the trunk of his Ford, he kept instruments of murder and disposal. Bags, knives, guns, and handcuffs. He began dry runs, in which he would pick up female hitchhikers and let them go while easing just a little closer to his murderous fantasies.

On May 7th, 1972, fantasy morphed into reality when he picked up Mary Ann Pesce and Anita Luchessa. After driving to a secluded spot, Kemper handcuffed, raped and murdered both women. He then placed their bodies into the trunk of his car, and returned to his apartment where he took photos, dismembered their bodies, and had sex with their severed heads. He then drove out to Santa Cruz and disposed of them into a ravine on Loma Prieta Mountain. Pesce’s skull was recovered the following August, but the rest of her body and the remains of Luchessa were never recovered.

Left to right: Mary Ann Pesce and Anita Luchessa.

Kemper would go on to abduct, rape, kill and defile the corpses of his victims. On September 14th he murdered, Aiko Koo, a Korean dance student who had opted to hitchhike to class after missing her bus. On January 7th, 1973 he shot and killed Cindy Schall, who he decapitated and after keeping her head for a few days, he buried it in the garden at his mother’s home. The following month, February 5th, after a heated argument with his mother, Kemper abducted and killed Rosalind Thorpe and Allison Liu. Again, Kemper removed their heads and used them in his depraved sexual ritual. He disposed of them at Eden Canyon.

On April 20, 1973, Kemper’s mother, Clarnell Strandberg, returned from a party and her son, who was again living in her home, entered her bedroom. According to Kemper, his mother was indifferent, saying, “I suppose you’re going to want to sit up all night and talk now.”

Kemper said, “No.” Then withdrew from the room and waited for his mother to fall asleep.

He returned with a claw hammer and bludgeoned her to death in her bed. He then had sex with her head, placed it into his closet and purportedly yelled at it for an hour. He would commit other indignities, including cutting out her tongue and larynx which he attempted to destroy in the garbage disposal. He then left his mother’s home to drink and returning some hours later he invited his mother’s best friend, Sara Taylor Hallett, to come over. When she arrived, he attacked and killed her, then defiled and had sex with her corpse. After depositing her body in a closet, Kemper took Hallett’s car and fled California, driving through Nevada and Utah into Pueblo, Colorado. It was there he found a pay phone and contacted authorities. At first, they didn’t take him seriously and asked him to call back. After a few hours, Kemper did call back, asking for an officer he knew and again confessed to the murders of his mother, her friend, and the missing coeds.

Left to right: FBI Agent Robert Ressler, Serial Killer Edmund Kemper, FBI Agent John Douglas

After turning himself in and confessing to his crimes, Kemper received concurrent sentences of 7 years for each victim. He has repeatedly been denied parole and waived future hearings. Kemper stated that his murderous rampage ended with the killing of his abusive mother but claimed that he would still pose a danger to society.

In interviews with FBI agents, Robert Ressler and John Douglas, Kemper was extraordinarily forthcoming and likable. He stated that the only reason he was incarcerated was that he turned himself in. His words, “Came in out of the cold.” But Kemper would have been caught, the bodies of his mother and her best friend would eventually be found and link him to the crimes.

Ressler, in his book WHOEVER FIGHTS MONSTERS, spoke of how comfortable both he and Douglas had become with Kemper. This would later prove to be a poor judgment as Ressler, who was alone with Kemper, wrapped the latest interview and was waiting for the guards to let him out. After ringing the bell, with no response, Ressler waited uneasily.

That was when Kemper told him, “Relax, they’re changing shifts, feeding the guys in the secure areas. Might be fifteen, twenty minutes before they come and get you.” After pausing, Kemper said something that alarmed Ressler. “If I went apeshit in here, you’d be in a lot of trouble. I could screw your head off, and place it on the table to greet the guard.”

For the next 30 minutes, until the guards arrived, Kemper and Ressler jousted verbally. Ressler stating that FBI Agents don’t come to interviews unprepared. While Kemper countered, “They don’t let anybody bring guns in here.”

Kemper was a giant of a man, who could have easily overpowered and killed Ressler. After that, the FBI instituted a policy that two agents were to be with a prisoner during all future interviews.

Highwayman http://wbp.bz/highwaymana
FOUR http://wbp.bz/foura

That communication, with the likable forthcoming Edmund Kemper, was a wakeup call regarding psychopaths. They are master manipulators, disarming is a part of their arsenal, and it wasn’t the first time Kemper used his charm. After abducting Aiko Koo, Kemper locked himself out of the Ford Galaxy but managed to convince Koo to let him back into the car. He killed Koo after regaining entry to the vehicle. Gaining the trust of his victims and authorities is something Kemper does very well. The interaction between the two, in those very long 30 minutes, fed into one of Kemper’s fantasies of instilling fear.

FBI agent, Robert Ressler died May 5th, 2013, after a lengthy battle with Parkinson’s Disease. Edmund Kemper remains at the California Medical Facility in Vacaville, California. He is considered a model prisoner, who narrates audio books for the blind. It is unlikely he will ever be released.

Kemper is one of a long list of serial killers who I researched when I decided to start the HIGHWAYMAN BOOKS. What stuck out for me was the relaxed nature of this man responsible for the killing of 10 known victims. What also resonated was his ability to manipulate his psychiatrists, both while incarcerated and even the psychologist who treated him during his release and run up to the coed killings. They didn’t have a clue. Kemper, like Ted Bundy, had a charm that hid the horrific intentions of the monster lurking behind the mask. In jailhouse interviews for the documentaries, THE KILLING OF AMERICA and NO APPARENT MOTIVE, Kemper is charming, engaging and comes off as cured of his homicidal tendencies, having ended them with the killing of his mother and turning himself in. But that is the mask he wears, and the monster that feeds on his fantasies is alive and well.

In the present day, we have turned some of these killers into pop culture icons. Charles Manson’s glowering face can be found on silk-screened shirts and posters. Fictional characters like Dexter Morgan portray sympathetic serial killers, driven to kill while conflicted by a moral code. Then there’s Edmund Kemper, who has been made a household name after the release of the NETFLIX semi-fictional series MIND HUNTER. I say semi-fictional because screenwriters have taken a lot of liberty with the original book written by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker. Make no mistake, I am not being self-righteous. I have no illusions that these are the monsters that inspire fiction. But I will admit that I was disappointed with the deviation and historical errors purposely written into the Mind Hunter storyline.

We, writers, draw from a pond of murder and mayhem to create the fictional characters in our stories. Or at least I do. Edmund Kemper was one among many subjects which I researched before beginning the Highwayman project.

In my next blog, I will be visiting another case from those research files.

See you then.

M.J. Preston

Highwayman http://wbp.bz/highwaymana
FOUR http://wbp.bz/foura

THE HIGHWAYMAN FILES

PART I – THE MONSTERS WHO WALK AMONG US

I have always had an interest in true-crime and the enigma of serial murder. In writing, I often find myself drawn to the serial killer as the definitive monster. Mostly, because they’re real, which makes them more terrifying than DRACULA or the zombies of THE WALKING DEAD. The difference is, that those creatures aren’t real. They can be explained away by a parent’s soothing words or extinguished by a crack in the bedroom door or a night light.

But what of the predators that walk among us? The monsters who cannot be bargained with, whose souls are without mercy or conscience? They are the stuff of nightmares, terrifying and unrelenting, knowing no bounds in their craving for torture and murder. That is what makes them so chilling. Why they inspire the monsters of literature and film. They are enigmatic, loathsome, robotic, and unremorseful. But as already stated, they walk among us every day. I read extensively on these real-life monsters while doing research for written works, finding myself inspired by the depravity and humbled by the tragedy. Let me tell you a bit about what I have found and experienced.

THE GHOUL OF PLAINSFIELD

“I like this place, everybody treats me nice, some of them are a little crazy, though.”

 — Ed Gein referring to his incarceration at the Mendota Mental Health Institute

Ed Gein has inspired authors like, Robert Bloch [PSYCHO,] Thomas Harris [SILENCE OF THE LAMBS,] and filmmakers like Tobe Hooper [THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE.] Serial killers are the real monsters that walk among us. They hide in plain sight, predators who feed on fear, torture, and death. They lack conscience and are usually master manipulators. Gein was the extreme of decadence. When authorities entered his home in Plainfield, Illinois, they found soup bowls fashioned from human skulls, a belt made of nipples, lips hanging from a drawstring on Venetian blinds. When police entered his barn, they found the body of missing store clerk Bernice Worden. Authorities had been drawn to the farm after they discovered a receipt for anti-freeze filled out to Ed Gein by Worden at the hardware store where she had disappeared. Little did they know that this ghoulish little man would be the inspiration for so much horror in the future.

HELTER SKELTER

“These children that come at you with knives–they are your children. You taught them. I didn’t teach them. I just tried to help them stand up.” –Charles Manson

I remember when I was a kid back in the 1970s, and my mother had a copy of HELTER SKELTER by Vincent Bugliosi and Curt Gentry lying around. I picked it up and began reading. While Charles Manson wasn’t a serial killer, he was most assuredly a psychopath and his cult, THE FAMILY were a terrifying bunch. I was 11 years old when I began reading about the 1969 murders of the Tate–LaBiancas. Strange that a kid would be drawn to such a book, but I’d already read THE EXORCIST, and I absolutely loved horror movies, but HELTER SKELTER scared me. When they aired the television movie, I watched it with my mother, and I was afraid to go to sleep. You see, not all of Manson’s family was locked up when the television miniseries aired in 1976, and I was fearful that cult members might come calling to my home. My mom assured me that they were thousands of miles away and eventually, with the door open a crack, I fell asleep.

I’d also had two brushes with such evil in my youth. One confirmed, the other speculative.

THE ROSEDALE MURDERS

“I shot them and stabbed them in the heart to make sure they were dead. It all happened very quickly. I threw the bodies into the river.” –Walter Murray Madsen

Rosedale Killer: Walter Murray Madsen

In the 1970s four teenagers were murdered by a stranger on British Columbia’s Fraser River outside the town of Rosedale. Everyone knew about the killings. My older brother had gone to school with the victims. We were all talking about it. One evening after the murders, myself and a friend were camping in his backyard in a pup tent. I said to my friend that maybe we should stay A picture containing building, outdoor, street, person

Description automatically generatedinside because the Rosedale Killer [a name coined by the media] was still at large. My friend replied, “He’s miles from here.”

Two houses down, the police arrested a young man on that same night. His name was Walter Murray Madsen, and he was charged with the murders. I would recount this night in an essay titled: THE OLD MAN IN THE RAIN. In the piece, I recounted the evening of the arrest and the aftermath in which I followed the killer’s father down Yale Road East after the arrest. Madsen’s father was also a victim of his son’s rampage and would die not long after the arrest from what would be deemed as natural causes. But I am sure that the shock of his son’s act played a role in his passing by elevated stress. We forget that the families of criminals are often casualties themselves.

THE BEAST OF BRITISH COLUMBIA

If I gave a shit about the parents, I wouldn’t have killed the kid.

–Clifford Olsen

Clifford Olsen

In the early 80s, a serial child killer was abducting young girls and boys and killing them in the lower mainland of British Columbia. On one such night, a friend of mine and I were down by the Chilliwack River in a truck doing what teenagers do, and I decided to have some fun. We both knew there was a serial killer at large, so freaking my friend out seemed like a great idea.

I thumped on the inside of the door and said, “What was that?”

My friend, whom I’ll call Danny, said, “Quit screwing around.”

Then something scary happened.

Somebody banged on the side of the truck, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

Again, Danny said, “Quit screwing around.”

“I’m not!”

He turned on the backup lights, and this scruffy looking guy came walking up the side of the truck. He had unkempt hair, a half-grown beard, and he was stalky. He walked right by the passenger window peering in at us. His eyes were piercing, his face emotionless, and my heart was thudding like a jackhammer. He continued by into the amber headlight array of the ’69 FORD pickup.

Once he was a safe distance away, maybe 75 feet, I stuck my head out the window, and called to him, “Hey man, you scared the shit out of us!” He turned back and held us in his gaze, then carried on down to the river. Danny threw the truck in reverse, and we got the hell out of there.

On August 12, 1981, a serial killer named Clifford Olsen was arrested, and charged with the murder of 11 children ranging in age from 9 to 18 years old. One of his victims was recovered from a remote location on the Chilliwack River. I can’t say for sure if it was Clifford Olsen we encountered that night, but I have always wondered. Olsen bore an uncanny resemblance to the stranger who had spooked us that evening.

When I decided to write my third and fourth book, I knew that I would be going back to the enigma of serial murder. I immersed myself in that world and the police that hunted them. I had already read a lot of true crime by authors like Ann Rule, Park Deitz, Robert Ressler, John Douglas and hundreds of others.

In fact, at one point, in reading true crime, I had to put it down for a while. The content was incredibly disturbing. Some of it involved the killing of children, some of it was about dismemberment, necrophilia, cannibalism, the use of sex organs or appendages like feet for deviant sexual practice. I read about monsters like, Jeffrey Dahmer, Henry Lee Lucas, Ottis Toole, and scores of others who had crossed the line that separates good from evil.

I thought I knew everything there was to know about these killers.

Meet Lance Belanger, he has only one ambition. To be the most prolific serial killer of all time! You wanna take a ride?

Highwayman http://wbp.bz/highwaymanaFOUR http://wbp.bz/foura

Highwayman http://wbp.bz/highwaymanaFOUR http://wbp.bz/foura

THE DELIBERATE STRANGER

“Murder is not about lust and it’s not about violence. It’s about possession. When you feel the last breath of life coming out of the woman, you look into her eyes. At the point, it’s being God.”

–Ted Bundy

Serial Killer Ted Bndy
Florida Photographic Collection

Probably America’s most notorious serial killer would be Ted Bundy. I had read Ann Rule’s book, THE STRANGER BESIDE ME, but then I picked up a book by author Kevin M. Sullivan called: THE BUNDY MURDERS: A Comprehensive History. Sullivan delved deeper into Bundy’s history uncovering new evidence, giving a criminological account of the monster that was Theodore Robert Bundy. I knew that Bundy was a rapist-killer, but I had either forgotten or was being newly schooled on the absolute depravity of this killer. A bold psychopath, Bundy was known to abduct some of his victims from the safety of their homes. Even in broad daylight, amongst 100s of potential witnesses, in Lake Sammamish, WA, Bundy lured not one, but two young women on the same day using a ruse in which he wore a cast on his arm and asked for help to load a sailboat onto his car. After abducting and raping the first woman, Janice Ott, 23, he returned to Lake Sam [sic] and abducted a second young woman, Denice Naslund, 19. Years later A picture containing person, person, wall, indoor

Description automatically generatedhe would confess to killing one woman in front of the other to heighten his sexual thrill by elevating fear in the other. Bundy not only tortured raped and murdered his victims but had a taste for necrophilia. Bundy sometimes decapitated his victims, keeping their heads to use in necrophiliac acts. He was one of those rare monsters that move among us, seemingly ordinary, but behind the mask, a monster in its purest predatory form waits to feed.

After being apprehended and tried for a kidnapping attempt, Bundy would escape twice. First by leaping from a courthouse law library window. Bundy would remain at large from Jun 7th to 13th in 1977. After becoming lost and traversing the forest unsuccessfully for a week, he eventually stole a car and was apprehended by two officers in Aspen, Colorado. On December 30th of 1977, Bundy would mount his second escape. Thanks in part to the lax jailers and a broken light fixture, Bundy climbed out of his cell into the ceiling above. This would lead him to the apartment of the chief jailer and freedom. After breaking through the ceiling of the apartment, Bundy stole items and successfully escaped, this time he went to Florida. There he would melt into the environment he felt most comfortable in. Bundy rented a room in a boarding house under the alias, Chris Hagen, he was in the heart of Tallahassee’s university district.

Considered a methodical planner when it came to murder, Bundy was able to evade detection in the past, but the monster that drove him had begun to take over. In a heightened state of homicidal frenzy, Bundy entered the Chi Omega sorority house at Florida State University and went on a spree of rape and murder. He raped and killed two women and severely injured another two. But he didn’t stop there. After leaving Chi Omega, Bundy attacked another FSU student in her apartment, and likely would have killed her, if not for neighbors who had heard the student cry out and reciprocated by calling to her through the apartment wall. Bundy fled the apartment, but not before severely beating the woman and masturbating on her bed. He would escape detection on this evening, returning to the boarding house, but his reign of terror was not yet at a climax.

On February 8th, 1978, Bundy would first attempt to abduct a 14-year-old, but this was thwarted by the young girl’s older brother intervening and asking questions. The young man even jotted down the license plate of Bundy’s stolen vehicle. Unfulfilled, Bundy continued to troll and would abduct his final victim, Kimberley Diane Leach, 12, from Lake City Junior High School.

Bundy would be apprehended on February 12th driving a stolen Volkswagen in Pensacola Florida, but he didn’t go down without a fight. The officer, David Lee, was knocked down by Bundy who attempted to escape, but after a struggle, that included a single gunshot by the officer, Bundy was taken into custody. Transporting his prisoner to jail, and completely unaware of his notoriety, Lee heard Bundy say, “I wish you had killed me.”

Ted Bundy met his fate in the Florida electric chair on January 24th, 1984. At the end of his life, he confessed to the killings for which he was suspected, 30 in total. But authorities alleged that Bundy may have killed many more, possibly as many as 100 women.

Even in his final moments, Bundy remained a master manipulator. Having become a born-again Christian, Bundy blamed his killing as being rooted in the evils of pornography in an interview with Dr. James Dobson, a pastor with the organization FOCUS ON THE FAMILY. He claimed that his early exposure to pornography seeded a growing madness that demanded to be fed. Having started with pornographic images, that included bondage and sadomasochism, he stated that he evolved from a voyeur whose dark fantasies intensified until he resorted to rape and murder. While there may have been a kernel of truth in Bundy’s last interview, his manipulative nature contrasted by millions of others who did not take the same path after being exposed to similar pornography casts doubt on his sincerity.

On January 24th, 1989, Theodore Robert Bundy was strapped into the electric chair and died after being executed. Outside the prison walls, a crowd of 500 celebrated his end, while a smaller group of anti-death penalty advocates protested it. The night before is reported to be a night of weeping and praying on Bundy’s part, little consolation to the families of the 30+ women and children whose lives he extinguished.

ART IMITATES LIFE

Writers often base their fictional stories on the monsters who walk among us. In SILENCE OF THE LAMBS by Thomas Harris, serial killer, Buffalo Bill uses the ruse of wearing a cast and struggling with loading a couch into a van to lure and abduct a victim. Ted Bundy regularly wore a cast and used a story in several scenarios where he abducted and killed women. Harris also touched the character of Ed Gein, in which Buffalo Bill, a frustrated transvestite, denied gender reassignment surgery for psychological reasons His solution was making himself a woman suit fashioned from human skin. As stated at the beginning of this writing, Gein had a fascination with the dead, especially the sex organs of the female anatomy.

Harris, Bloch, Hooper, and countless others have drawn their own fictional characters from the pages and documentaries of the crimes that haunt us. I am no different in that regard. My first book drew from the evils of child killers Dean Corll and John Gacy. The Highwayman series follows the trail of a serial killer who crosses America in search of victims to feed not only his homicidal cravings but his ego in becoming as infamous as Bundy.

We the public have a fascination with the monsters that walk among us. We read and sometimes write variations on their deeds. Even making movies and television programs that mirror the real-life horror. In the interim, as we go to the well of information to draw inspiration and research, a new generation of monsters, move out of the shadows and into the anonymity of society ready to strike and kill.

In my next blog, we will look a little closer at one such monster.

I hope you’ll join me.

M.J. Preston – The Voyeur

†††

CHECK OUT THE HIGHWAYMAN SERIES AND TAKE A RIDE WITH A RISING STAR IN THE WORLD OF SERIAL MURDER

Highwayman http://wbp.bz/highwaymanaFOUR http://wbp.bz/foura