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Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast. The podcast dedicated to serial killers. Who they were, what they did. Episode 144. I am your Norwegian host, Thomas Roseland Weyborg Thun. Spring is upon us here in the West.
And I adore seeing life once again coming forth and the sun once again having some warmth in its rays. But although our hemisphere once again tilts towards the sun, I shall not leave my dear listeners hanging, waiting for details from the abyss.
And tonight's episode, the first in a multi-episode series, will truly bring to light events of almost unspeakable depravity and evil. If you, dear listener, are like me and love history and documentaries, you have probably seen and listened to hundreds of documentaries detailing the Second World War.
In many ways, WWII was an Armageddon of sorts, a bloodbath unheard of in mankind's many millennia old history. And most of us are familiar with its main acts. Perhaps you've seen excellent TV productions such as Band of Brothers and The Pacific, detailing the theatre of war in Europe and the Pacific.
And of course, most of us are familiar with the extreme horror of the Holocaust. But I doubt most of you are familiar with a serial killer case taking place under the cover of war. A serial killer case that, had it occurred in peacetime, it would probably be just as famous as that of Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer.
I am, of course, talking about none other than the real-life Dr. Hannibal Lecter. This killer had many nicknames. The Vampire of the Rue Leserre. The New Bluebeard. The Second Landrou. His full name was Dr. Marcel André Henri-Félix Pétillant.
and he viciously murdered at least 27 innocent men and women before he was stopped. This is his saga. Enjoy. As always, I want to publicly thank my elite TSK Producers Club. This club includes 29 dignified members of exquisite taste, and their names are...
Anthony, Brenda, Brian, Cassandra, Christy, Cody, Colleen, Corbin, Ella, Fawn, James, Jennifer, Juliet, Caitlin, Kathy, Kylie, Libby, Lisa, Lisbeth, Madeline, Mickey, Monica, Russell, Sabina, Skortnia, Shauna, Val, and Zosia.
You are the backbone of the Serial Killer podcast, and without you, there would be no show. You have my deepest gratitude. Thank you. I am forever grateful for my elite TSK Producers Club, and I want to show you that your patronage is not given in vain.
As mentioned in the last episode, going forward, all TSK episodes will be available 100% ad-free to my TSK Producers Club on patreon.com slash theserialkillerpodcast. No generic ads, no ad reads, no jingles. I promise.
And of course, if you wish to donate $15 a month, that's only $7.50 per episode, you are more than welcome to join the ranks of the TSK Producers Club too. So don't miss out and join now.
♪♪
Marcel André-Henri-Félix Pétillon was born at 3 a.m. on the 17th of January, 1897. He was the son of Félix Irène Moustiole Pétillon, a post and telegraph employee, age 30, and his wife, Martha Marie-Constance-Josephine Bourdon, age 22.
They lived at 100 Rue de Paris en Auxerre, an ancient town of about 30,000 inhabitants located 161 kilometers south of Paris in the rural Burgundian department of Ion. The locals in the town have a wealth of extravagant stories about Pétillan's youth.
"'Some of them true, some doubtless invented, as suitable for a future killer. "'People assured authorities that he developed a cruel streak at an early age. "'One day, when he was five, while he was sitting on the kitchen floor "'snipping his nursemaid's tape-masher into individual centimetres "'and storing the numbers in a matchbox, the neighbour's grey kitten strayed in.
He grew fond of the cat and threw fits and almost crushed it in his embrace if anyone tried to take it from him. But despite his affection, one day the nursemaid found Marcel standing beside a tub of boiling water she had prepared for her laundry. He was dipping the kitten's hind paws in the water and beaming rapturously as it howled with pain.
that night the maid let him take the cat to bed she thought that marcel was upset by his behaviour and felt remorse the next morning she found his hands and face covered with scratches and the kitten was dead suffocated in his bed
A favorite pastime he had in the same period was to steal young birds from their nests, poke their eyes out with a needle, and delightedly watch them hurl themselves against the bars of a cage. His schoolmasters agreed that Marcel was extraordinarily intelligent, but strange, solitary, incorrigible, and unable to show sustained interest in his work.
At age five, he could read like a child of ten. His exceptionally early development showed in other ways too, as when he was caught passing obscene pictures around the classroom or making indecent proposals to a male schoolmate. At eleven, he interrupted a history class on African civilization by firing a shot into the ceiling with a revolver stolen from his father.
Once, he spent one recess period standing a classmate against a door and throwing knives into the frame around him with astonishing accuracy. His parents once consulted a doctor about his eccentricity and such physiological or mental abnormalities as convulsions, sleepwalking, and a tendency to wet his bed and trousers between ages 10 and 12.
The medical man could only tell them that time and hope might cure what he could not. Petiot's mother died in 1912, when he was 15, and his brother Maurice was five. The father accepted a job at the post office in the village of Joigny, some 24 kilometers away, and his two sons stayed with their aunt Henriette Bourdon in Auxerre.
Before the end of the year, Marcel was thrown out of school for disciplinary reasons. He went to stay with his father at Joigny and was thrown out of school there too. Returning to Auxerre, he was once again thrown out of school, this time for more than mere unruly behavior and over-excitation.
Using a stick with glue on the end, Marcel, now seventeen, had stolen mail from a postbox, possibly to cash money papers or perhaps out of mere curiosity. A more sinister motive might have been to blackmail townsfolk who wrote of their indiscretions. He was eventually caught and in February 1914 was charged with damaging public property and mail theft.
French courts at that time, even as now, commonly recommended psychiatric examination of accused lawbreakers, particularly when there were any unusual circumstances, such as, in this case, the youth of the offender.
On the 26th of March 1914, a court-appointed psychiatrist found Marcel to be an abnormal youth, suffering from personal and hereditary problems, which limit to a large degree his responsibility for his acts.
Another physician concurred on the 6th of May, adding that the only cure for what ailed Marcel would be one mainly oriented toward his, and I quote, adaptation to discipline and social life, end quote.
Following these diagnoses, and abetted perhaps by his father's intervention with the postal authorities, charges against Marcel were dropped on the 14th of August because, according to the court judgment, and I quote, the accused appears to be mentally ill, end quote.
Félix Pétillon was so upset by Marcel's repeated delinquencies and unrepentant nature that he wanted nothing further to do with his son. Pétillon was thus sent to Dijon to complete his schooling.
finished only the first part of his bachelor's degree examination before unspecified problems forced him to return to Auxerre, where he was once again expelled from school. Finally, he received his degree from a special school in Paris on the 10th of July, 1915.
Now, as the avid listener might have noticed, the years described are the same years as those of the outbreak of what was then known as the Great War, today more commonly known as World War I. Hétion, being a Frenchman, was by no means unaffected by this historic moment in time.
He was inducted into the French 1809th Infantry Regiment in January 1916 and was sent to the Western Front in November.
He served with neither distinction nor dishonor until the 20th of May 1917. On that day, while bitterly fighting in the Aisne, hand-grenade shrapnel ripped open his left foot. He was evacuated to a military clinic in the Orléans Insane Asylum for treatment of this injury and a bronchial condition brought on by poison gas attack.
his wound healed well but he began to exhibit symptoms of mental disorder and was sent to a series of rest-homes and clinics to convalesce he returned briefly to his regiment then was almost immediately sent back to a clinic
There he was involved in an obscure incident involving stolen blankets and was placed in the military prison at Orléans. Renewed indications of mental unbalance caused his transfer to the psychiatric unit at Floris-le-Aubray.
in the same region where a doctor diagnosed him as suffering from, and I quote, mental disequilibrium, neurostenia, mental depression, melancholia, obsessions, and phobias, end quote, and concluded that Marcel Pétillon could not be held legally responsible for his acts.
After a month of treatment and another month's convalescent leave, Pétillan was returned to the front in June 1918.
There, he had a nervous breakdown, fired a revolver at his foot, and was transferred to a depot behind the lines. In July, he went into convulsions at the Dijon train station. He spent the afternoon unconscious in the railroad infirmary and was granted another three-week leave.
In September, he joined the 91st Infantry Regiment at Charleville as a machine gunner, but was unable to accept discipline, complained of incessant headaches, and claimed to be in constant dread of another fit.
In March 1919, almost five months after the war was over, he spent two weeks at the psychiatric division of the Rennes Military Hospital. There, the medical director found him the victim of neurasthenia, amnesia, mental unbalance, sleepwalking, severe depression, paranoia, and suicidal tendencies.
He recommended his discharge from the army. This recommendation was examined by the Commission d'Inreforme, which governs discharges and pensions. They approved, and on the 4th of July 1919, Pétillon was released from the army with a 40% disability pension. This summer, Instacart presents Famous Summer Flavors, coming to your front door.
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This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. As a family man with three kids, I know firsthand how extremely difficult it is to make time for self-care. But it's good to have some things that are non-negotiable. For some, that could be a night out with the boys, chugging beers and having a laugh. For others, it might be an eating night.
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The examining psychiatrist, concluding that Pétillant was suffering from severe depression, suicidal tendencies, hyper-emotivity, and utter inability to perform any physical or intellectual work, recommended that the patient might be best off placed under continuous surveillance in a psychiatric hospital.
Pétion was twice more examined by psychiatrists. Both of these reviews upheld the earlier conclusions, with the added notations that Pétion showed complete indifference about his future and had bite scars on his tongue from bimonthly epileptic seizures.
When the commissioned psychiatrist found Pétillan incapable of any work and suggested his placement in a mental hospital, Pétillan was indeed already at a mental hospital, in the town of Evreux, 97 kilometers west of Paris, in the Jura.
he was not there as a patient however but as a medical student serving his internship and preparing a thesis on an incurable progressive nerve degeneration called landry's paralysis
Some newspapers later misunderstood their informants and wrote that Pétillon had written his thesis on the infamous serial killer that my dear listeners might have heard me talk of before, named Henri-Désiré Landreau.
Truncated and accelerated medical programs designed for former soldiers enabled Pétillant to complete his schooling in eight months and his internship in two years. He received his degree from the Faculté de Médecine de Paris on the 15th of December 1921. Pétillant was proud of his new position.
His friend at the time, named Nézondé, believed that he wanted it only for the power it conferred, the power of healing, the power over life and death, the prestige, the control over people who gave him their trust and confided their secrets. Félix Pétillant was proud too, and wrote to the son he had banished in disgrace years before.
Marcel went to see him. He listened to his father's apologies and praise. He dined with him, and when dinner was over and Felix prepared to sit down to a long talk, Marcel rudely announced that he was expected elsewhere and walked out of the house. Armed with his Paris medical degree,
Petillon moved to the town of Villeneuve-sur-Yon, an old historical village on the banks of the Yon River, built in 1165 as a royal residence for King Louis VII. Villeneuve was only 40 kilometers from Petillon's native Auxerre,
and with a population of 4,200, served only by two aging physicians. It appeared the ideal spot for an ambitious young doctor of 25 to set up practice. He rented a small house on the Rue Carnot with three rooms and a garden, and spent several weeks distributing pamphlets he had printed up that announced his arrival. They read, and I quote,
Dr. Pétillon is young, and only a young doctor can keep up to date on the latest methods born of a progress which marches with giant strides. This is why intelligent patients have confidence in him. Dr. Pétillon treats but does not exploit his patients."
At first, this boastful flyer attracted only those patients already dissatisfied with the other two doctors, as well as hypochondriacs always eager for new treatments and a virgin air. But Pétillant quickly began to lure away even the more devoted patients. He was a gentleman to the ladies, paternal to the children, and a sympathetic listener to the men.
While maintaining his exalted position, he nonetheless made the people of the village feel he was just one of them. Patients without money were treated for a fraction of the cost or for free, and he was known to open his office on Sunday for those whose work prevented them from coming during the week, and to travel great distances late at night to treat sick children.
His treatments were successful and his tone reassuring. He seemed able to diagnose an ailment and write the necessary prescription even before the patient had a chance to describe his symptoms. According to later witnesses, he would typically say something like the following, and I quote,
No, don't tell me. I know all about it. You have this, this, this, and that. Take a bit of this, and you will feel better in no time. End quote. More often, Pétillon would persuade his patients that there was really nothing wrong with them at all. Many of his patients were flattered by the interest Pétillon took in their lives.
Something about him drew out their confidence, and he enjoyed hearing about their social lives, their finances, their small worries in life. A patient would sometimes realize, after being ushered to the door with a prescription in his hand, that during the entire consultation he had spoken about nothing but his life, and had never actually mentioned his ailments.
As we say here in Norway, hvis noe virker for godt til å være sant, så er det det. Directly translated, the saying is, if something seems too good to be true, it is. And so it was with our Dr. Petillon. It was not quite so self-sacrificing as it seemed.
it was learned later that he enrolled virtually all of his patients in medical assistance without their knowledge so that he was reimbursed by the state for those who did not pay and was paid twice for many of those who did
Although patients went to see him in ever-increasing numbers, local pharmacists occasionally complained about his prescriptions, which all too frequently contained potent doses of narcotics. Once a pharmacist telephoned Petillon to correct a prescription that called for a near-lethal dose of a dangerous drug.
Petillon replied that since the pharmaceutical companies and druggists watered down the products, it was only by prescribing excessive amounts that he could compensate and obtain the required dose. Another pharmacist refused to fill a prescription for a child that would have killed an adult.
When he complained to the doctor, Pétillot replied, and I quote, "'What difference does it make to you anyway? Isn't it better to do away with this kid, who's not doing anything in the world but pestering its mother?' End quote. Still, not one of his patients seems to have died, and none complained. In his private life, Pétillot was taciturn and distant."
The main feature of his personality seemed to be scorn. Scorn for people. Scorn for institutions. Scorn for sickness, danger, life, and the law. Beneath his seductive charm and professional devotion, there appeared to be nothing but cold amusement and detached interest.
a turbulent inner life there was which made him nervous and tense and sometimes plunged him into sudden despair and fits of weeping the cause of these crises was never communicated to those around him
He did not smoke, did not drink, or frequent cafes. He had few friends and shared none of the simple problems, joys, and casual conversations that draw people together and form the tissue of daily life. When he did speak, his talk did not seem to emerge from amiability, but from a desire to manipulate people.
He is reported to have said to his friend the following, and I quote, To succeed in life, one must have a fortune or a powerful position. One must want to dominate those who might cause one problems and impose one's will on them. End quote. For a man in his position, Petio lived very modestly.
so modestly in fact that local townspeople found it inappropriate an old woman came to clean house and prepare his meals his clothes were not in the latest style except for his neckties in which he took some pride besides being poorly cut his suits were often covered with grease stains
He made his own automobile repairs, and never troubled to change before burying himself in the engine or sliding under the car. His light yellow sports car was his only luxury, and also the greatest danger to the local townspeople.
He would drive without headlights, and over several years caused dozens of accidents. And though the car gradually lost bumpers, mudguards, paint, and all respectability, Petiot himself was, miraculously, never injured. Mostly, Petiot kept to himself when not working. He read voraciously.
generally police stories and pulp literature, which he would devour at a rate of three hundred pages an hour, reading a page at a time and fixing it so firmly in his memory that he could quote long extracts of unbelievable tripe. He went out little, and then mostly at night. He could see well in the darkness, and was able to pick up a pin in near total obscurity.
and often walked the streets for hours long after the lights were out and the village asleep he seemed born of the night it was said and his personality changed when he plunged into his element he was more alive his movements supple and feline his carriage different his face more relaxed his smile more frank and open
it hardly seemed that he slept at all his peculiarities conspired to make people uneasy at the same time that they did trust him though his style of living was far from lavish and he scarcely needed money petillot displayed an acquisitive streak a need to accumulate and possess that would grow with the years
As with many serial killers, he had a great desire to possess and own things. He was a kleptomaniac and frequently took something besides himself when he left the house after a visit. Pétillant once told his friend, Nézondé, he always searched his brother's pockets at a door before bidding him farewell.
the items the doctor stole were never very expensive or important and the village people excused or overlooked his quirk in nineteen twenty six a far more sinister and serious suspicion was aroused regarding
One of Petillot's patients was an aged woman, a Madame Fleury, who had a beautiful 26-year-old housekeeper named Louise, or Louisette de Lavaux. When Madame Fleury made an extended visit to Paris, Louisette decided to stay behind.
A few days later, the people of Villeneuve were surprised to discover that Pétillon had dismissed his old housekeeper and Louisette had moved in. Ostensibly, she was employed only as a cook and housekeeper, but soon it was common knowledge that she had also become Pétillon's lover.
This was a surprising change for Pétion, who had never previously shown much interest in any of the women who lavished their attention on the eligible young bachelor. Soon after Louisette moved in, the house next door to the Fleury home was burglarized, and several days later the Fleury house itself was robbed and set on fire to cover the traces of the burglary.
In light of later events, these incidents would seem significant. For several months, the life of Pétillon went on more happily than anyone would have suspected, and his friend, Nézondé, noticed that Pétillon for once seemed calm and relaxed.
The only problem was that Louisette seemed to be gaining weight, and gossips murmured that she was pregnant. Then, on the Monday after Pentecost, in mid-May, Louisette disappeared.
Several days later, while attending a funeral in the village, Pétion asked the local gendarme, that's police officer, if the people of Villeneuve were not concerned about Louisette's departure. His manner of asking was so odd that the officer mentioned the incident to his chief. Someone then reported he had recently seen Pétion loading a large trunk into his car.
A similar trunk, containing a decapitated and unidentifiable young female corpse, was found floating in the river not long afterward. Louisette was a working-class woman, and this being France in the 1920s, no significant police effort was made in solving her disappearance. The corpse in the river was never positively identified.
and the brief police search for Louisette ended without any official suspicion cast on the respectable Dr. Pétillon. Trusted friend of Pétillon, René Nézondet, fended off unpleasant rumors from local townspeople. He stated he had met Pétillon on the street after Louisette's disappearance.
He was weeping in a state of utmost misery, bemoaning the fact that Louisette had abandoned him. Throughout lunch, Petillon stared straight ahead, his hands trembled, and he barely spoke, as he seemed to search for some kind of solution to his woeful state. Suddenly, he appeared to find it.
He immediately calmed down, poured himself a drink, and announced cheerfully to Nesunday, and I quote, I think I will get involved in politics. End quote.
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And with that, we come to the end of part one of this serialized expose of Dr. Marcel Petillon. I hope this episode has been to your liking. Next episode, number 145 in number, will continue his saga. So, as they say in the land of radio, stay tuned. Finally, I wish to thank you, dear listener, for listening.
If you like this podcast, you can support it by donating on patreon.com slash the serial killer podcast by leaving a review on Apple podcasts, facebook.com slash the SK podcast, or by posting on the subreddit, the SK podcast. Thank you. Good night. Good luck.
