Résultats pour "A" dans Tueurs en série

How does a man shake the hand of the First Lady of the United States in May, then drive home and bury a teenage boy under his linen cupboard before midnight? How does a Polish picnic organiser, a precinct captain, a children's hospital clown, run twenty seven young men into the dirt beneath his own kitchen floor across six straight years on a quiet suburban street, while his neighbours bring round Christmas hampers and the postman calls him by his first name?

Er war attraktiv, eloquent und politisch ambitioniert. Er engagierte sich ehrenamtlich bei einer Telefonseelsorge zur Suizidprävention, studierte Jura und hatte eine Freundin, die ihn vergötterte. Er ermordete außerdem mindestens dreißig Frauen in sieben US-Bundesstaaten und kehrte immer wieder zu ihren Überresten zurück, lange nachdem sie tot waren.

Er tötete zwei Menschen. Nur zwei. Und dennoch hat der Name Ed Gein Serienmörder überdauert, die Dutzende Opfer auf dem Gewissen hatten. Er inspirierte Psycho, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre und Das Schweigen der Lämmer. Er veränderte die Art, wie Amerika über das Grauen denkt. Nicht wegen dessen, was er tat, sondern wegen dessen, was er war. Dies ist keine weitere Biografie. Sie werden hier keine trockene Chronologie aus Daten und Gerichtsprotokollen finden.

Some of them hid behind a name that wasn't theirs. Others hid behind a uniform, a reputation, a famous last name, or a job so ordinary no one thought to look twice. The twelve cases in this volume share one unsettling thread: the distance between who these people appeared to be and what they did when they were certain no one was watching. A few held that distance open for years. Some held it for decades. One died before anyone ever closed it.

We tell ourselves we would know. That a killer would carry some visible mark, and that the people we trust could never be capable of the unthinkable. But the most chilling crimes are committed by the husband across the breakfast table, the coworker closing the shop, the polished stranger who remembers your children's names. This collection moves through quiet suburbs, small towns, and faraway cities to reconstruct thirty-six cases where evil wore an ordinary face.

My monster isn't locked away anymore. He's free. And he's mine. Every wall I once built between us has been demolished, replaced by Ghost's merciless obsession. He isn't my convicted patient anymore. He's my shadow, my captor, and my addiction. Except it's not my fear he wants anymore. It's my...

In January 1978, I slept in my bed at the Chi Omega sorority house at Florida State University as Ted Bundy stalked nearby. He grabbed an oak log from a stack of firewood, slipped through a back door with a broken padlock, and headed upstairs.He began twisting doorknobs. Room 9 was open, and he quietly and quickly killed one of my sleeping sorority sisters. Across the hall, he found another unlocked door and murdered again. Then, he turned the knob to my bedroom and found it was open. I remember the attack vividly. But Bundy wasn’t my first brush with death, and he wasn’t my last.