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Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast. The podcast dedicated to serial killers. Who they were, what they did and... Episode 230. I am your humble host, Thomas Roseland Weyborg Thun. Last episode, we began exploring Rifkin's ninth victim. But he was not done. Not at all.
So tonight, we continue down his path of utter depravity before we glimpse his final demise. Enjoy.
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A day off from work turned into a nightmarish odyssey for serial killer Rifkin. His destination was the seedy underbelly of Manhattan. There he encountered Iris Sanchez, a twenty-five year old woman struggling with addiction who was forced into prostitution to survive. After a brief encounter she followed him to a grimy rented room where they had sex.
What transpired next is a chilling portrait of violence. When Rivkin was nearing climax, he clasped his hands around the poor woman's throat and squeezed the life out of her as he ejaculated inside her. To him, it was the ultimate power trip. His fantasy of total domination come to life. When he rolled off her corpse, he started the work of disposing her lifeless body.
With Iris concealed in his vehicle, he crossed the iconic Brooklyn Bridge, while the cars, completely oblivious to who or what they were passing in the night. The final act of this macabre drama took place at an illegal dump off Rockaway Boulevard, a desolate industrial wasteland. It seemed the perfect place to hide a body.
Stripping sand-shears of her jewelry, Rifkin callously discarded her remains beneath a rotting mattress. Despite the dump's proximity to JFK International Airport, the site remained undisturbed for months until Rifkin, facing the inevitable, led authorities directly to the grave he had created.
Just weeks later, Joel met and killed 33-year-old Anna Lopez. Although her body would not be found for months, Anna's long-suffering mother, Maria Alonso, knew something was wrong right away. Her daughter had become addicted to crack six years earlier, and was often away from home for months on end.
Crack cocaine, simply cocaine in solid form that can be smoked, causing a crackling sound, is extremely addictive. Users often lose all will to pursue anything but their next hit of their crack pipe, and will do anything to get money to buy the drug. When Anna did not show up to retrieve her monthly social security check, Maria was certain something terrible had occurred.
All of her fears came true when it was determined that her daughter had been killed on the 25th of May, just nine days before her regularly scheduled visit to pick up her check. Although she had never displayed a great deal of confidence, Anna had been somewhat of a happy child right up until her adolescence.
But at the age of 13, she had tried to commit suicide by taking large quantities of the medication she had been given because of exposure to tuberculosis. The suicide attempt followed an incident in which she was slapped by her sister in front of a friend for not doing her share of household chores.
After going into convulsions, she was admitted to Kings County Hospital, where electrical paddles were placed on her chest to shock her back to life. After her daughter's murder, Maria could not get over the fact that her daughter had in essence died twice in one lifetime.
After being released from the hospital, despite receiving repeated warnings from the doctors about how serious the after-effects of convulsions could be, Anna adamantly refused to attend follow-up appointments. Looking back, her mother thinks she may have suffered brain damage, which eventually led her on the road to ruin and the fateful meeting with the man who would take her once-promising life.
At the age of twenty, Anna had married a man with a serious drug problem. By the time their daughter was born, not long afterward, Anna too was immersed in the drug culture. When her husband was imprisoned for a firearms conviction, she dutifully went to work in a sweater factory and wrote him every day.
He died shortly after being released from jail, leaving his devastated wife alone with their four-year-old daughter. She soon had two more children by two different men and began living solely for drugs. Joel saw her on Atlantic Avenue, close to Queens, and she agreed to have sex with him for money.
They drove down a residential street that ended at the gates to a factory, and they had intercourse in the car. He repeated his method of murder he had used on Sanchez. The high he got from ejaculating inside his victim as he strangled her to death was more powerful than any drug, and he was completely addicted to the feeling it gave him.
With the now lifeless Lopez sprawled on his front seat, Joel drove north, stopping for gas somewhere between the Bronx and upstate Putnam County. As night turned into day, he found a dump near what he called a 40-foot buffer zone of trees before the houses started, not far from the park and ride of Interstate 84 in Brewster.
When Anna was found by a man who stopped to urinate in the woods less than a week later, an earring was discovered in her sweater, which she was still wearing. The other earring was recovered in Joel's room after his arrest. Within weeks, Joel picked up 21-year-old sandy-haired Violet O'Neil in Lower Manhattan. He took her home to East Meadow.
This time he took his time and strangled her after they had sex. I have tried to ascertain, dear listener, if he tortured her, but the transcript from his many interviews gave me no further details of the murder. He dismembered her body, then distributed it in the waters around Manhattan. Her torso was later found wrapped in black plastic in the Hudson River.
her arms and legs in a suitcase. By the end of summer, Joel was no longer able to handle the rigors of his landscaping business, so he quit and went to a temp agency to find work. In December, the agency found him a job as a stock clerk at an Olympus camera warehouse in Woodbury, Long Island.
Joel was thrilled to be around cameras all day, and while it was only a temporary job, it was a full-time position that might have led to an actual career. The employee discount he was offered might have afforded him the opportunity to revisit his interest in photography, had he not had a secret life. But through to form,
Joel was always too impulsive and lazy when it came to taking advantage of anything positive in his life. As usual, all of his money was spent before he even made it. Right around the time Joel began working at Olympus, a municipal worker in Yorktown, an upscale northern Westchester suburb, made a gruesome discovery while relieving himself at the end of an empty cul-de-sac.
The badly decomposed body of thirty-one-year-old Mary Catherine Williams was found lying in the snow amid a pile of branches. What was most haunting to the worker was her wide-open jaw, which looked as if it had let out a desperate shriek as it gasped its last breath. She had been killed sometime in the fall,
The Charlotte, North Carolina native, had been her high school homecoming queen, as well as a cheerleader at the University of North Carolina. The daughter of a dentist, Williams, who was briefly married to a football star back home, had always been an overachiever until moving to New York in 1987 to pursue an acting career.
Her fairytale life came to an abrupt end when she quickly fell in with a bad crowd and became addicted to drugs. A graduation photo of her shows a young woman with a deep and daring, almost mystical smile. She looks like the perfect daughter, a loyal confidant, trusted friend. By looking at the photo alone,
one would be hard-pressed to imagine her living and working on the streets of Manhattan. Joel was once again driving his mother's Toyota when he picked up Mary Catherine on the 2nd of October 1992. When he met her, she looked very different from her cheerleading days. Her cheeks were sunken in and she was rail-thin. Her hair was matted and in clear need of a wash.
Her eyes spoke of desperation and need. Joel knew he would kill her as soon as she got in his car. He purchased some drugs for her, and when she fell asleep in the car, he tried to strangle her. But she woke up. She started fighting Rifkin, trying to save herself. And although she was emaciated, her will to live was fierce. Her resistance was so great that she almost bent and ruined the car's gearshift lever.
But in the end, she had no chance against the much larger and stronger Rifkin. He overpowered her and strangled her to death. He drove her body to Yorktown, Westchester, and left her there. He kept her purse, credit cards, and the large amount of costume jewelry she had in the purse. Rifkin picked up the slight twenty-three-year-old Jenny Soto, a Latina woman, on a stroll near the Williamsburg Bridge.
One of three children, she never knew her father, who had been stabbed to death in a subway station a few months before she was born. The case has never been solved. Raised by her mother, Margarita González, and stepfather, a shipyard worker in what is now the fashionable Park Slope section of Brooklyn, she dropped out of high school after the eleventh grade.
Although she became a victim of the streets and was arrested several times for prostitution, Soto still had no shortage of goals that she was determined to bring to fruition. Eager to become a dancer or model, she regularly bought film and had friends take photos of her, presumably to mail to agents.
When her longtime boyfriend was imprisoned in January 1992, Soto met and fell in love with a rap singer named Popcorn, who, at nineteen, was three years her junior. Popcorn was as serious as Soto was reckless, and a slow positive change started coming over her. She talked about going back to school,
and even began canvassing music clubs to convince owners to audition Popcorn's group. She never missed one of his rehearsals, and, much to her mother's delight, finally seemed to have her life back on track. But, no matter how hard she tried, Soto could not completely shake her drug habit. Around Thanksgiving 1992,
She said goodbye to her sister at a downtown Manhattan subway station and is believed to have gone in search of drugs. She called her mother shortly before midnight to make sure her sister got home all right. It was the last time her mother ever heard her voice. When Joel solicited her on the corner of Allen and Eldridge streets, she readily jumped into his pickup truck.
After engaging in sex with her bespectacled customer, she found herself in the grip of Joel's bare hands. As slight as she was, Soto did not die passively, and Joel later described her as the toughest one to kill. She kicked and scratched, digging her nails into his face and neck as she desperately tried to escape.
By the time Joel was finally able to break her neck, all of her fingernails had been broken in the struggle. After making certain she was dead, he removed her panties, bra, gold drop earrings, ID card and syringe, then drove into the South Bronx where he dumped her body off a rocky hill and watched it land on the edge of the Harlem River, not far from where he deposited Yan Li.
A few days later, it was found at Lincoln Avenue and 132nd Street. A huge billboard for Newport cigarettes flashed in the background. Soto was identified through her fingerprints, which were on file because of her numerous arrests. This was the first time a victim had left marks on Rifkin, where anyone could see them. This shook him a bit.
He had to try and explain how he had received the scratches, which unsettled him. This event slowed down his killing spree, and it would be 15 weeks before he struck again. The new Boost Mobile Network is offering unlimited talk, text, and data for just $25 a month. For life. That sounds like a threat. Then how do you think we should say it? Unlimited talk, text, and data for just $25 a month for the rest of your life? I don't know.
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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. 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.
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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. While trolling for victims one night, he picked up Leah Evans as she stood against a wrought iron fence on the First Avenue stroll.
Evans was the 28-year-old daughter of a one-time Manhattan civil court judge. While police said she had lived an unconventional life, Leah Evans had no record of prostitution or drug arrests. She lived in Park Slope with her mother, a public relations woman, and her two children, a boy aged four and a girl aged two.
After spending two years at Sarah Lawrence College in Bronxville, the only employment she was able to find was as a waitress and a cook. Jo later admitted that she might not have been a regular prostitute at all. Perhaps she had gotten mugged or robbed and was in desperate need for money that fateful night.
after they got to the parking lot and got half undressed the young mother suddenly changed her mind saying they shouldn't have sex in the car instead they should go to a house one of her friends had that she had access to a lot of times rifkin had done that with other girls in the street
and he had usually ended up getting ripped off. So he decided to stay in the car and continue, even though she was uncomfortable. She started complaining, even crying, and this added stress caused Rifkin to not being able to sustain an erection. Humiliated and furious, he grabbed her by the neck and squeezed and squeezed until she was dead.
Then he drove Evans to the east end of Long Island, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the scene of the crime. During the off-season, the east end is fairly uncrowded, so he had no trouble finding a deserted road. He thought it was a service road, but it was a dead-end dirt road.
There were some woods there, and Rifkin thought it would be perfect to take her into the woods. It was nice and secluded. This was the only girl he buried. As always, though, he was lazy, and only barely covered her corpse with dirt and underbrush. As hard as he tried to make the body disappear, he failed miserably.
Several months later, on the 9th of May, a group of Asian nature lovers from Queens trekked to the area to hunt for edible ferns. Much to their horror, they stumbled upon Evans's hand, still adorned with red fingernail polish, sticking creepily out of the earth. The hand was attached to a body that was in an advanced state of decomposition.
The next victim was Lauren Marquez, a 28-year-old Tennessee native who had been raised in a military family. The mother of two, Marquez loved her children dearly, but was so addicted to drugs that her habit had consumed her life. By the time she arrived in New York, all of her energies were geared toward staying high.
Joel picked her up on the corner of East 11th Street and 2nd Avenue, near a Japanese restaurant. He had seen her many times before, but had never chosen her as a date. When she and Joel arrived at a location for sex, Joel immediately grabbed her neck in order to murder her. Loren was strong, much stronger than many of his other victims, and they fought hard.
so hard that Rifkin later speculated that he might have fractured her ribs during the struggle. Lauren's corpse was found in the Pine Barrens of Eastern Long Island, not far from where Evans was deposited. While driving his mother's since-repaired Toyota along the Allen Street stroll on an early June morning, Joel Rifkin spotted 22-year-old Tiffany Bresciani,
She was wearing a mid-length skirt and a sheer blouse that buttoned up the front. He could not help noticing her breasts, which were outlined against the blouse, as well as the purple rose tattoo that encircled her wrist. Enhancing his desire even more was the fact that he had seen her performing at an Eighth Avenue sex emporium called the Big Top Lounge just weeks earlier and had been transfixed.
The normally savvy Bresciani, a native of Metair, Louisiana, who had come to New York in the hope of being a dancer, was high on cocaine and methadone that night, and perhaps her judgment was impaired. But Joel was so nondescript, so ordinary-looking, she must have thought he looked harmless.
After she agreed to straight sex for a fee of twenty dollars, Joel took her to the New York Post parking lot. He had difficulty getting a sufficient direction, a problem that was compounded by the appearance of an interloper who, had he looked inside the car, would have borne witness to a murder in progress.
Tiffany was strangled to death in the back seat. Then Joel drove home at seven o'clock in the morning, her corpse still in the back seat of her car, totally naked. He took his time and drove around the neighborhood and even picked up a large patio window that he was going to use for a greenhouse. There were other girls where the same night they were killed and within an hour or two they were disposed of, but not this time.
Once back in the relatively safe confines of his home, his behavior got even odder. He went through the house, grabbed some more money, then drove to Kmart. The young woman's corpse was still in the back seat. In the store, he bought antifreeze, oil and a tarp before driving to another lot. There, he wrapped her in the tarp and transferred the body to the trunk.
Once back home, the corpse still laying in the trunk, his mother said she had to take the car to do some shopping. Rifkin knew his mother rarely used the trunk, but was still beside himself with worry when his mother took off to do her chores, oblivious of the fact that she was transporting around the corpse of a young woman that her son had murdered just hours earlier.
After she returned, and still oblivious to the presence of the body, Rifkin shifted Tiffany into the garage and left her in a wheelbarrow, among other clutter. Strangely, he spent the next three days working on his own pickup truck with the body still in the garage, despite the sweltering heat of summer and the stench of decomposing tissue.
He finally decided it was time to shift the body and loaded it into his pickup truck. He planned to dump it near Melville's Republic Airport, located about fifteen miles away from his house, until a simple lack of vehicle maintenance brought him to the attention of police troopers.
On the night of the 28th of June 1993, Rivkin was driving around with the body of Tiffany Bresciani in the back of his truck on his way to dispose of her remains when he caught the attention of state troopers. They noticed there were no license plates on his truck and attempted to pull Rivkin over, but he refused to stop. What ensued was a rather bizarre type of police chase.
Normally, these chases would involve high speeds, but Rivkin never exceeded 50 miles per hour throughout the chase. After 20 minutes of trying to escape, Rivkin crashed his truck into a utility pole. Ironically, it was right outside the courthouse in Mineola, New York.
When Rivkin made the first confession to the state troopers who apprehended him, they later recalled that his reaction and emotion while admitting the murder was cold. He told them he had picked her up near the Williamsburg Bridge, strangled her, and then hid the body for three days. He had been on his way to Republic Airport to dispose of the corpse when they caught him.
Rivkin was taken to Troop L. Barracks for further investigation and questioning. What proceeded was around eight hours of Rivkin confessing to 17 murders, telling the investigators about each murder one at a time, like retelling a story. In some cases, he could only remember small details about the women, but he recalled all of the factors around the murders and the disposal of the bodies.
Astonishingly, there were no recordings made of the interrogation, which led to conflicting information regarding whether or not Rifkin was offered legal counsel. He later claimed he had asked for a lawyer multiple times, but was told he could not speak with a lawyer until they gave them more information.
However, the written transcript tells a different story. It claims he was asked if he wanted a lawyer, and Rifkin had said no. The information Rifkin provided about each murder was very specific, including that he preferred women who were white, Ishan, or Latino.
He went into great detail about dismembering some of his bodies, and where he had either dumped them or, in one case, buried them. Each story he told was done so in a matter-of-fact way, with little or no emotion. In some cases, he could not remember the name of a victim, but he could tell the officers what jewelry or clothing she had been wearing.
At first, the investigators were uncertain how truthful Rifkin's stories were. They knew, without a doubt, that he had killed at least one woman, considering her body was still in the back of his truck, but they could not be sure if he was recalling memories or stories he had read in books or newspapers.
When he told the investigators he had been using prostitutes since the day he got his driver's license at the age of 16, never horrified at the potential number of victims he may have killed. Because of his statements and the propensity for a high number of victims, investigators had to take what he was telling them seriously. He claimed to have dumped three bodies in Southampton,
so a team of investigators were sent there first. While teams of investigators searched for bodies, warrants were also obtained to search Rifkin's vehicle, the home he still shared with his mother, and any other places they could link him to. During these searches, a vast number of evidentiary items were discovered,
At his home in East Meadow, his mother Jean was confronted with the sight of police officers outside her house. They initially told her Rifkin had been detained following a traffic incident, then that he was in jail for a crime, but they refused to tell her what the crime was. Later she saw a media report about her son and called Robert Sale, a criminal attorney, for assistance.
In Rifkin's bedroom, officers found numerous items belonging to women, including underwear, jewelry, purses and wallets, clothing, hair accessories and makeup. They also found prescription medication packages with women's names on them and driver's licenses. There were a variety of photographs of women as well.
A lot of the items found in Rifkin's bedroom were later connected to cases of unsolved murders involving women. He had kept these items as trophies from each kill, common behavior among serial killers. They serve as a tool for remembering each murder and the women they have killed. Also found in the bedroom were a lot of books about various serial killers.
It seemed as though Rifkin had been studying these killers, though at the time it wasn't certain if he idolized them or was trying to understand his own mind. There were also pornographic movies, all with a sadistic tone to them. The most disturbing discoveries were made in the garage of his home. In the wheelbarrow, investigators discovered three ounces of human blood.
There were a number of tools that were also covered in human blood. On examining a chainsaw, the blades were found to contain both blood and human flesh stuck in them. There was no doubt at the time that at least some of Rifkin's claims about committing multiple murders were true. While investigators were searching for physical evidence, Rifkin was still confessing to his crimes.
He wrote down a list of dates, names and locations of his murder victims. Although some of the information was incomplete, investigators were able to piece together what Rifkin gave the evidence they had found and missing persons reports to establish the identity of some of the victims. Jury selection for Rifkin's first trial, before Wexner, began on the 11th of April 1994.
A panel of seven men and five women were seated nine days later, with opening arguments begun on the 20th of April. Prosecutors Fred Klein described Rifkin as a sexual sadist who relished his victim's suffering.
Defense lawyer Lawrence called his client a paranoid schizophrenic who, quote-unquote, lived in the twilight zone, overwhelmed by violent, irresistible compulsions that took control of his life, end quote. Rifkin, for his part, snored throughout much of the prosecution's case.
Long Island psychiatrist Barbara Kirvin deemed Rifkin's psychological test results the most pathological she had seen in 20 years of practice. Appearing for the state, Dr. Park Dietz, earlier a prosecution witness against Arthur Shawcross, Jeffrey Dahmer, and John Hintley, found Rifkin, and here I quote, "...sick."
but not insane. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he did it. End quote. Jurors agreed with Dietz, deliberating briefly on the 9th of May before they convicted Rifkin of murder and reckless endangerment for leading police on the wild car chase. Wexner gave Rifkin 25 years to life for murder, plus two and one third for seven years on the lesser charge.
Rifkin was then transferred to Suffolk County, pending trial for the Evans and Marquez slayings. The last trial took place two years after the first trial. During sentencing for the murder of Iris Sanchez, Rifkin finally stood before the court and apologized for the horrors he had committed.
The presiding judge, Justice Robert Joseph Hanoffy, said that it was unfortunate he was not able to sentence Rifkin to death, because Iris Sanchez's murder had taken place before the capital punishment law had been re-enacted. A death sentence was thus not available.
In total, Rivkin was convicted of nine murders out of the 17 and received 203 years imprisonment as a result. Prison officials decided in 1996 that Rivkin was so notorious that his presence in the general prison population could be disruptive. He was confined to his cell at the Attica Correctional Facility for 23 hours per day.
He spent more than four years in solitary confinement, then was transferred to the Clinton Correctional Facility in Clinton County, New York. Rifkin sued, arguing that his solitary imprisonment was unconstitutional. In 2000, a state appellate court determined that prison officials had not violated his constitutional rights by housing him in isolation.
Corrections officials said that Rivkin was imprisoned with more than 200 other inmates at Clinton who were not allowed into the general prison population. He is eligible for parole in the year 2197, at the age of 28. In other words, Rivkin will die alone in prison.
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And with that, we come to the end of the saga of Joe the Ripper Rifkin. Next episode, I will bring to you a brand new serial killer expose. So as they say in the land of radio, stay tuned.
