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Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast. The podcast dedicated to serial killers. Who they were, what they did, and how. Episode 164. I am your Norwegian host, Thomas Roseland Weiborg Thun. We continue our tale of America's second most documented prolific serial killer, the Green River Killer.
Last episode, we delved into the discovery of the first of many bloated corpses to come and introduced some of our Dark Saga's main characters. Tonight, we take a closer look at what led up to the Green River becoming a dumping ground for our depraved serial killer superstar. Also, we make our acquaintance with a woman who danced with the devil and lived to tell the tale. Enjoy.
As always, I want to publicly thank my elite TSK Producers Club. Their names are...
Marilyn, Meow, Nick, Operation Brownie Pockets, Reed, Russell, Sabina, Skortnia, Scott, Shauna, Sputnik the Radio, Tim, Tony, Trent, Vanessa, and Val. 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. All TSK episodes will be available 100% ad-free to my TSK Producers Club on patreon.com slash the serial killer podcast. 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. Jill met Gary at the White Shuttles, once a country-western dance hall near the Seattle airport.
He was slender, with light brown hair and blue eyes. He said he was twenty-nine, but the drooped corners of his eyes and a slight sagginess beneath his chin made her wonder if he was older. It was late 1980, or early 1981. She was eighteen years old.
"'Jill had no reason to suspect anything odd about Gary back then. "'She ran into him a few times over several weeks, and he seemed nice enough. "'He always asked her to dance, and bought her whatever she happened to be drinking that night, "'usually tonic water or pineapple juice. "'Sometimes he sat with her friends and Jill, but he scooted his chair back and did not talk to the others.'
She could not tell if he simply enjoyed dancing or if he was genuinely attracted to her. His hands did not stray during slow dances, and he never tried to sneak a kiss. He acted like a true gentleman. One night he gave her a ride home in his pickup truck that, even in the dark, looked a little worse for wear.
Gary pulled into the parking lot of the nearby Puerta Villa apartments where she lived. As they approached the front door, she expected to hear the TV and be welcomed by her two roommates, who spent most evenings watching sitcoms. But the apartment was empty. Jill showed Gary the bathroom, then went into her bedroom to hang up her coat.
Because he had always been reserved, she felt no sense of danger when he came into the bedroom after her. If anything, she was embarrassed at the mess. Her bed was unmade, and there were dirty clothes in a heap on the floor. Gary did not seem to care one bit, though, and soon he made her relax. Gary had a narrow nose and blue eyes so focused on hers that she felt flattered.
He was taller by her by maybe ten centimeters. One feature about him she particularly noticed was his prominent Adam's apple, bobbing up and down as he talked about his job doing industrial painting. He fished out his wallet to show her his business card, along with a picture of his young son. He had recently separated from his wife, and he said the custody battle was bitter.
These things made Jill feel a little sorry for Gary, and his apparent openness about sharing his troubles with her was attractive. They talked and started kissing. Soon they let their inhibitions go beyond what she had told herself she intended to. When they started to have sex, his penis, being very large, caused a bit of trouble getting started.
Once they were at it properly, Gary repeatedly started and stopped in a strange way, as if he was pausing, thinking about what he should do. She did not really know what to make of it. Then he said something like, and I quote, "'You seem more relaxed now than before.' He wanted to know why. He seemed vulnerable with his marriage falling apart,
As he tried to impress her, telling her he was a good dad with a steady job, she felt a little sorry for him, and it made him seem totally harmless. She couldn't say that, though. So she told him, and I quote, I don't know, I just feel comfortable with you, I guess. But Gary never quite relaxed. He didn't seem to finish during the sex, though he said that he did.
They did not use a condom, and there was no semen coming out of her that she could see. However, after a break, his penis was solidly erect and he was soon ready to have sex again. This changed when they heard her roommates come through the front door. He jumped at the sound, demanding to know who it was.
She told him it was just her roommates, which caused him to look shocked, as if the idea of other people there ruined everything. After hurriedly putting on his clothes, saying little other than that he had to leave, he left a short while later. Jill regretted letting things progress as far as they had. Rationally, she knew even sad divorcees could be as dangerous as anyone.
But no one had courted her so properly before. Even though she saw him as pitiable, she was the one desperate for validation. The following weekend, Gary called to ask Jill out dancing. She had the beginnings of a sore throat and used that as an excuse to beg off. In truth, the idea of dating a man in the middle of a divorce and with a young son held no appeal.
Plus, she was pretty sure he had lied about his age. She turned down her friend's invitation to go out that night, too. But the friend said they could go early. She said Jill could drink orange juice and get vitamin C. She promised they would leave before things got crowded. At the white shutters, the orange juice burned Jill's throat, and the low-grade fever added to her general malaise.
Heading into the ladies' room to splash cold water on her face, she spotted Gary sitting with an attractive older woman at a table behind a partition. He might not have seen Jill's friend and Jill, but she felt she owed him an explanation. Jill waited until his date went to use the restroom, then approached him and made her apologies. He nodded at her excuses and gave a half-smile.
His face was inscrutable. A few times after that, she thought she saw Gary's truck in their apartment parking lot. She had since met the man who would become her first husband. He was with her each time she saw Gary, who pulled out when he saw them. She didn't say anything for fear of her new beau's jealousy, and frankly, she did not think much of Gary being there.
As far as she knew, Gary might have dropped by to visit, but changed his mind when he saw her with another man. Or maybe he knew someone else who lived in the apartments. In any case, he never asked Jill out again. Jill is still very grateful that he never did. Imagine, if you will, dear listener, the intersection of 216th and Pacific Highway South.
It is late July, 1982. Seventeen-year-old Marie cannot remember what it was like to live a normal life. Her daily routine begins a little later than that of most regular workers. Unlike many in the workforce, she doesn't have to get up early in the morning and head to the office in rush hour, nor does she receive a paycheck or take the weekends off.
But Marie does have to report to a boss, provide services for clients, and she has hundreds of colleagues working the street just as she is. Marie is a beautiful young woman of Asian origin. Her hair is jet black, her eyes brown, she has full lips and a charming smile. She has been standing on a street corner on what is locally known as The Strip for an hour.
At only 17 years old, she still hasn't been completely worn down by her occupation and lifestyle. And for that reason, she is very popular among potential clients. Exhausted but resilient, she stands in the warm summer evening, her lithe frame underneath a camisole and leather hot pants. She feels sick at the thought of what she will have to do tonight. As she waits for her first clients of the night,
She remembers how it was the first time. She cried all the way through. But her boyfriend had told her he wanted her to sleep with other men, that it made him happy. He had offered her drugs for the first time that night. She had been fifteen. Marie thinks about the job. Once she's picked up, she can focus on making the money she needs to buy her fix and maybe find somewhere to rest for a few hours.
"'Plus the car is usually warm and comfortable. "'There are the parlours or escort services "'where she could use a room and have the punters come to her, "'but business isn't as frequent. "'Clients don't like that the girls are more expensive "'and the pimps take a larger cut of the earnings. "'But still, there might be more protection and security.' "'A grey sedan pulls up to the side of the road "'directly in front of Marie.'
She walks up to the window and looks in. As she speaks, she sizes up the guy in the car. She's terrified and nervous. He doesn't look crazy. She thinks the man inside is fat and obviously horny. He shows her a small wad of cash, so she gets it.
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I'm sorry, I shouldn't be victim blaming here. Give it a try at midmobile.com slash switch whenever you're ready. $45 upfront payment equivalent to $15 per month. New customers on first three month plan only. Taxes and fees extra. Speeds lower above 40 gigabytes. See details. 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 bears and having a laugh. For others, it might be an eating night. For me, one non-negotiable activity is researching psychopathic serial killers and making this podcast. Even when we know what makes us happy, it's often near impossible to make time for it.
But when you feel like you have no time for yourself, non-negotiables like therapy are more important than ever. If you're thinking of starting therapy, give BetterHelp a try. It's entirely online, designed to be convenient, flexible, and suited to your schedule. Everyone needs someone to talk to, even psychopaths, even your humble host.
Never skip therapy day with BetterHelp. Visit betterhelp.com slash serialkiller today to get 10% off your first month. That's BetterHelp, H-E-L-P dot com slash serialkiller. Marie is glad that her family doesn't have to witness what happens next. Even though she tries not to focus on her parents, she still feels disgusted and ashamed.
They haven't spoken much since she took up with the pimp. She closes her eyes and worries that she will never remember what it is like to be happy. Feeling trapped and repulsed, she prays that this one will not try to bargain too much, will pay properly and remain gentle. The John acts fine. He's not rough and finishes after less than two minutes. He even gives her a tip, five dollars.
She knows she can keep those five dollars for herself without handing her pimp a cut. The man drives her back to her corner and drives off into the night. He used a condom so she doesn't have to clean out sperm, as she sometimes has to if the client pays enough. It's been too long since she has slept or eaten and she feels dirty and used. Thinking of the money in the pocket of her shorts, she focuses on the only thing keeping her alive.
Her stomach rumbles. She hasn't eaten in almost a day. Her pimp doesn't let her eat too much. Says she has to look skinny and young. The younger she looks, the more money the Johns will pay, he says. As she's thinking about maybe taking a break to get some fast food, another car pulls up. This time a pickup. It's difficult to make out the color in the dim streetlight, but it's very beat up and old.
Marie leans into the open passenger side window and smiles at the young man inside. He's not too bad looking. In any case, a vast improvement to the fat middle-aged man whose huge belly had left sweat all over her less than an hour before. This guy has light brown hair. He keeps semi-long, parted at the side. His eyes are a clear blue. She can see this in the light of the driver cabin.
As he smiles back at her, she notices that he has buck teeth, making him appear slightly weaselly. "Hi," he says. "I'm Gary." "What's your name?" Marie smiles and is thankful of a John that seems to have preserved his manners. She tells him she's Marie and asks what he's looking for. He tells her he wants half and half.
In the sex industry lingo, this means he wants the time with her spent 50%, having her giving him a blowjob, and the other half involving vaginal sex. It's the most common request, and Marie tells him it'll cost him $50 for an hour. Gary agrees, and tells her to jump in the pickup truck. The pickup truck rumbles away from the street corner into the night.
As they drive slowly down the 27-kilometer stretch that runs from Federal Way to Tukwila in South King County, popularly known as the Sea-Tac Strip, the man does not say much. To Marie, he seems kind of shy. She thinks it's a good sign he'll be a good customer. After a few minutes, he turns away from the strip and drives into a cul-de-sac.
He stops the car in front of a simple beige one-story house. "'This is me,' the man says with a shy smile. He gets out and actually opens the door for Marie, which surprises her. She usually does not go home with Johns, but this one seems kind and mannered, so she steps out and thanks him. As they go inside, the man says his wife is with the in-laws and that he's home alone.
They enter the bedroom and Marie undresses. The man keeps his shirt on, but removes his pants and underpants. She gets on her knees and starts performing fellatio on him. It does not take long for him to tell her to stop and get on the bed. She does and he climbs on top of her and they start having sex. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, his face changes.
What had seemed like shyness twists into a snarl of rage, and he puts his hands on her throat and starts to squeeze. She is shocked and tries to scream. Nothing comes out. She can't breathe. It hurts, and she frantically tries to beat him and scratch his face, but he manages to keep his face out of reach. She panics and bucks, but he only increases the pressure.
The pain in her head reaches a crescendo. So does the searing pain in her throat as her larynx is crushed. It takes several minutes for Marie to lose consciousness. As she does, the man climaxes. He keeps pressure a good while after she blacks out to make sure she is dead. He stands over her and smiles. Bitch. He mumbles to himself. He gets himself a drink and relaxes, feeling great.
After a while, he masturbates over her corpse. After he finishes, he takes a shower, dresses and starts to pack up the body. He carries Marie out and tosses her onto the truck bed and drives away into the night. As he's driving, he hums along to the radio. There is a country song playing. It's not a long drive he's on. After a few minutes, he drives onto a small dirt road leading to a local trail park.
No one is out here this late, as he well knows, and he parks the car when he is out of view from the main road. He carries Marie over his shoulder a few meters and tosses her, like garbage, into a bunch of high-standing weeds right next to the river. Then he turns and drives home. He's going to work in only a few hours and needs to get some sleep. Time passes. It's now the 15th of August, 1982.
It had been raining, as it so often does in the Seattle area, but this Sunday it had finally stopped. The Green River was running low, even though it had rained. Robert Ainsworth loaded his inflatable rubber raft onto the back of his pickup and headed for the river for an afternoon of relaxed drifting. Usually he liked to go rafting with his wife, Maureen, and son, Jeff,
The family had often rafted down the Green River as a hobby. This Sunday, Maureen was visiting her mother, and his son had left for an appointment in Tacoma. Robert did not let this stop him. He simply decided to go rafting on his own. He had parked near a bridge close to the West Valley Highway. This was a road that bisected the valley south of Seattle.
He put his raft on the slow-moving water and began to leisurely float downstream. He liked to pay attention to the bottom. It was unusually clear due to the low running water. Robert was 41 years old, as it happens, exactly the same age as your humble host at the time of this recording. He had worked for a dozen years as a meat inspector for a Seattle-area meat wholesale company.
He loved to float slowly on the river, calmed him, and probably did wonders for his ulcer. In addition to being pleasant, he sometimes managed to make his rafting trips lucrative as well as pleasurable. He had brought along a long rod with a custom hook on it. With it, he had several times fished out old bottles and other knick-knacks he could sell at flea markets or antique stores.
The Green River had been used as a barge route to farms upstream in the valley in earlier years.
Pioneer throwaways could still be found one hundred years later when the water ran shallow and currents revealed new layers of sediments. Old whiskey bottles, bottles of patent medicine, mason jars, plates, utensils, farm implements, crockery, and just about every type of non-perishable article that people had thrown away could be found on the river bottom.
Just past the place where Ainsworth put his raft in, the river made a broad turn to the south. A half mile later, it doubled back on itself to head north once more, forming a giant horseshoe. From Robert's vantage point, the channel seemed like a deep green canyon with steep banks covered with blackberry bushes, yellow-flowered wild tansy and tall grass.
Rocks and logs stuck out of the mud and sandbars piled up on the river bottom. Occasionally, he drifted over deeper, darker holes where fish rested quietly before continuing upriver to spawn. When Robert would spot an object of interest, he would lower himself over the side of his craft and wade to the spot for a closer look. If the object looked valuable, he would try to snag it with his hook.
This Sunday, Robert found a one-and-a-half-meter fragment of waterlogged singletree, the wooden tongue used by the pioneers to harness horses to farm wagons. He pried it loose from the river bottom and dumped it in his raft.
Shortly before noon, having drifted around the top of the horseshoe and heading north once again, Robert could see the looming bulk of the P.D. and J. Meat Company's slaughterhouse. Being Sunday, it was for once quiet. He saw a man standing next to the water's edge, and on top of the bank a pickup truck with another man behind the wheel.
"'Robert waded over to the bank "'and asked the man if he had caught anything, "'assuming the man was there fishing. "'The man asked in return if Robert had any luck, "'and when Robert showed him the single tree, "'the man pointed at a spot in the river nearby. "'He said there was a car motor down there, "'and Robert, following the man's finger, "'saw that he was right. "'The man in the pickup shouted something then, "'and the man left Robert.'
He climbed back into his raft and floated downstream for another minute or so. When he again gazed into the water, he saw right into the face of a dead black woman. Her hair was bobbing gently along with the current under the water. Her eyes stared back at him without blinking. She seemed very petite, almost childlike. Robert tried to tell himself he was looking at a mannequin and tried to hook the body.
One of the legs was stuck under a submerged rock. His raft turned underneath him as he reached out. It bumped into something. Looking over his shoulder, Robert saw another mannequin right next to his raft. He realized he wasn't looking at mannequins at all. He was surrounded by corpses. He quickly got himself to the riverbank. He sat down and was not sure what to do.
We have to remember, dear listener, that this was way before anyone had a mobile phone on their person at all times. Robert's car was far away upstream, so his best bet was to wait for someone to pass by. After about half an hour, a man and two children came by on bicycles. Robert hailed them and asked them to call the police. The man said he would, and the group peddled off at speed. Robert sat down and waited.
Another half hour passed, his ulcer was acting up, and the calm and joy he had felt earlier was replaced by anxiety and dread. Finally, a police cruiser drove up, and a uniformed police officer stepped out. Robert led the officer down the bank to the two bodies. The officer stepped into the water to feel one of the corpses. He quickly came back, and the men climbed back up the bank.
The officer radioed for reinforcements, and the men sat down to wait. Detective Reichert always took his wife and children to church on Sunday. That same afternoon, he received a call from the department communications center. He was instructed to head out to the Green River once again. Reichert did not believe what he was told. He too thought someone had mistaken mannequins for corpses.
By the time he arrived at the scene, several green and white county police cars were parked along the road about 200 meters south of the slaughterhouse. He parked and picked his way down to the river's edge. One of the bodies was almost ashore, half in, half out of the water. The other one was still submerged. One of the uniformed officers at the scene told Reichert, and I quote,
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And so, we come to the end of part two of the Green River Killer saga. Next episode, we'll continue our sojourn into this dark and depraved abyss of serial murder. 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 theserialkillerpodcast, by leaving a review on Apple Podcasts, facebook.com slash theskpodcast, or by posting on the subreddit theskpodcast. Thank you. Good night, and good luck.
