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Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast, the podcast dedicated to serial killers, episode 130. I am your Norwegian host, Thomas Roseland Weyborg. Welcome back to the fourth part of this ongoing series on the Killer Kernel.
Last episode, I left you with the ominous letter that Williams intended, but did not follow through with, sending one of his victims. Tonight, we approach the crescendo of Williams' violent and murderous activities. The very hate of his depravity revealed. Enjoy.
Before we start to show proper, I want to, as always, publicly thank my elite TSK Producers Club. I am very happy to see that the very exclusive club of TSK Producers now include 25 dignified members of exquisite taste, and their names are: Andrea,
Anne, Anthony, Captain Waters, Cassandra, Christy, Corbyn, Evan, Fawn, James, Jennifer, Jesse, Kathy, Kelly, Lisa, Lisbeth, Mark, Mickey, Monica, Russell, Samira, Skortnia, Vanessa, William, 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. As always, if you want to donate to the show, you can easily do so at patreon.com slash theserialkillerpodcast. You can choose from many different tiers ranging from $1 to as much as you would like.
Bonus episode access starts at $10, while the TSK Producers Club start at $15. A fresh new bonus episode is now available, covering the second part of the expose of the Australian female version of Hannibal Lecter. So, don't miss out and join now. ♪
Imagine, if you will, dear listener, a handsome clean-cut man sitting in his neat and spartan home office. He is wearing jogging clothes and a hooded jumper. Copious amounts of sweat are on his face, most of it starting to dry up, leaving white salt stains. The man is grinning to himself and he has a raging erection.
He has just finished masturbating, his third round this same day, and now he is typing. I am of course, dear listener, talking about Colonel Russell Williams. His crimes have escalated, and he is feeling like an invisible superhuman, far superior to his boring peers, an inept police. What he is typing on his computer,
is a sort of mission debrief to himself from his latest crime. The document reads, and I quote: "On naked walk from back 40 after having watched and hear the name of his victim appears for 30 minutes or so and confident that she was home alone, I entered her house naked just after she got into the shower approximately 1:40
What had happened was an escalation from all his previous escapades. He had been in a house while there were people there before, but not intentionally.
when it happened last time he simply fled but the thought of prowling the home of an unsuspecting victim while the victim was at home had dogged him for some time and he had decided to act on it this time he attacked in tweed his original hunting area on cozy cove lane
The house was one he was familiar with, he had broken into it not once, not twice, not thrice, but five times before this entry, which would be number six. The date was the 10th of July, 2009, and it was the dead of night. The woman living in the house, her name has not been disclosed,
probably worked shifts, or had just come home from a night out on the town, because she had decided to take a shower at 1.30 in the morning. The woman was alone in the house, and Williams knew this and took advantage. Before entering the house, he stripped off all his clothes and walked naked down the hallway past the bathroom where he could hear the woman showering. He entered her bedroom and stole a black thong.
He was a bit nervous. This was his first time deliberately entering an occupied residence, so he didn't stay long enough to take photographs. Instead, he quickly left the house after he stole her black thong and went immediately back to his cottage, where he sat masturbating over his escapades. The same month as his naked spelunking in Tweed, Williams was promoted to full colonel,
With the rank came his most prestigious assignment. He was to command CFB Trenton, the busiest air base in Canada. He was replacing Colonel Mike Hood, whom he had known for almost twenty years, and the changing of the guard took place on the 15th of July in front of Eight Wing Headquarters, in a parking lot that occasionally doubles as a parade ground.
The 230 or so participants included representatives from all sections of the base, an assortment of civilian dignitaries, Williams' wife, Mary Elizabeth Harriman, his brother Harvey, his father David, and his mother, Noni Sovka. Also invited were some neighbors from Wilkie Drive in Orleans.
Williams settled into his new life, commuting from his cottage in peaceful Tweed, where he was largely unknown, to the base known as Eight Wing, where the pace was almost invariably hectic, a non-stop assembly line of formal duties and informal functions. His first full day on the job, the 16th of July, brought bad tidings from Afghanistan.
In a rare firefight with Taliban fighters in the Panjabavi district south of Kandahar, 26-year-old Private Sébastien Corsi of Saint-Hyacinthe, Quebec, had been killed when he stepped on a hidden roadside bomb and was thrown off a cliff edge. He was the 125th Canadian soldier to die in the Afghan conflict.
On the 19th of July, Williams attended the Ottawa funeral of a young Air Force squadron corporal. Four days later, he was at a Trenton charity event, smiling cheerfully and donating televisions to needy children. Shortly after that, he presented a commendation to a military policeman for his role in helping secure the scene of a crime scene investigation.
During all this hectic professional activity, he had resumed his parallel secret life with a quick succession of break-ins.
On the 21st of July, he burgled a house on Kosykov Lane. On the 24th, he broke into a home on nearby Sulfide Road. And on the 25th and 26th, he committed two back-to-back burglaries at the same address on Matthew Drive in Orleans.
It's far from unusual for serial killers and predators to keep careful track of their crimes. Many serial killers collect trophies, for example. Williams, however, took the process to a whole new level. His photo-taking was nothing sort of obsessive, and as with most things technical in his life, only the best equipment would do.
His preference was a Sony Digital Single Lens Reflex Camera, a type he had used for many years, which employs a sophisticated mechanical mirror system to direct light from the camera's lens to an optical viewfinder on the back of the camera. He had many different lenses for it, and his knowledge of memory cards and memory sticks was extensive too.
It was the same with the home computer into which he would download his stolen images. He had long been an Apple enthusiast, and at the time of his arrest he owned a model of Macintosh computer more common in commercial applications than in home use. In August, Williams kept busy breaking and entering.
He committed five nighttime break-ins that month, all on Cozy Cove Lane in Tweed or on adjacent Charles Court. He broke into one home three nights in a row. There, once again, he posed for his camera in front of a bathroom mirror, wearing a woman's bra and panties as he masturbated. This was the same house he had entered while the woman was taking a shower.
In total, he would end up breaking into that house nine times, stealing underwear in eight of the nine raids. And so it was, dear listener, that we approach the crescendo. Williams had by now, for several years, thrived as a stalker in the night. A thief who came and went without the victims knowing he had even been there.
But as is so common with all serial criminals, the hunt for the original rush they felt when they started on their dark path was just as elusive to Williams as it was for other serial killers. He wanted and needed more. Stealing underwear to masturbate into just wasn't cutting it anymore. He was hungry for flesh.
It was shortly after midnight on the 17th of September when William stepped out of his cottage on Cozy Cove Lane and walked through the surrounding woods toward his target, once again a thief in the night. Well, inside his comfort zone, he was probably feeling confident and perhaps just a little nervous.
Two years had passed since his first break-in in Tweed, just around the corner from where he was heading now. Since then he had carried out more than thirty lingerie thefts in Tweed, and not one had been reported to police. Now he was about to dramatically raise the ante.
In his confession, and in the two highly detailed pages that he wrote and concealed on his home computer, Williams said he decided to attack Jane Doe, the name that he himself gave to his 20-year-old victim in his records, after glimpsing her one day when out in his boat on Stokoe Lake and thinking she was quote-unquote cute.
Alone with her infant child in the lakeside cottage, Jane Doe was sleeping in her bedroom when Williams broke in through a side window by cutting a screen. He was wearing a sweatshirt and dark pants, his face partly concealed with a small dark hat. When the attack began, she thought she was having a bad dream.
Clad in a tank top and pajama pants, she awoke to the realization that someone very strong was holding down her head as she lay in the bed. A struggle ensued, in which Jane Doe broke a chain around Williams's neck, but he subdued her by pressing the weight of his body down on hers.
Over the next thirty minutes or so, her head still firmly in Williams's grasp, a conversation of sorts took place. Jane Doe asked him if he was going to kill her, and he said no. He told her it was around one o'clock in the morning and inquired where her spouse was. She refused to say. He then maneuvered her onto her stomach.
sat on her and after a brief struggle struck her hard on the head three times with his hand warning her to be quiet and to make no attempt to see his face a curious exchange followed a further illustration of williams's contradictory impulses
Jane Doe told him he did not seem to be the type of person who would do something like this, upon which, she said later, he seemed to get quote-unquote nicer. With some difficulty, Williams tied her up. He first tried to use a pillowcase, then a couple of blankets, before finally succeeding in binding her hands with the pillowcase.
Another pillowcase was placed over her head and repositioned to turn it into a blindfold, and she heard him take what proved to be his camera out of the bag he'd brought with him. In a desperate bid to make him go away, she told him that giving birth had left her fat and unattractive. Not at all, he said. She was perfect, and once again he assured her he was not going to hurt her.
nor, he told her, would her baby be harmed. In all, Williams was inside Jane Doe's house for about two hours. The photo session began with him pulling down her tank top, fondling her breasts, removing her pajama pants, and forcing her to pose with her legs apart, exposing her vagina, hands still tied behind her back, eyes still blindfolded.
she became extremely distressed williams reassured her that there was no need to fret because he was soon going to leave she heard him leave the room then return and open the drawers of her bedroom dresser
She later discovered he had stolen bras and other undergarments. After pawing her breasts one last time and asking her the age of her infant daughter, he told her he was leaving and ordered her to count out loud to three hundred. She stopped at seventy, but he was still there and instructed her to resume counting. At a two hundred mark, she paused once more, yelled out loud and removed the blindfold.
He was gone. Using a flash, Williams had taken just nine photographs. The two pillowcases he used to restrain Jane Doe he left in her daughter's bedroom. Before fleeing into the night, he stripped a sheet and a baby blanket off her bed and took them, along with a shirt she owned, most likely because they were items he had touched. He didn't want to leave any of his DNA behind.
Williams kept the five underwear items he had stolen, but later told police he'd disposed of the sheet, blanket and shirt at the Tweed Public Dump in acute distress. Jane Doe called her mother-in-law, then 911, and police and friends soon arrived. As it got light, forensic experts and a police canine unit scoured the area in and around her home, but found nothing useful.
no one in the area reported having seen or heard anything no cars or boats had been spotted leaving the vicinity the opp officers trying to make sense of these events were perplexed nothing remotely similar had ever happened in tweed before they had no physical evidence at all to go on save for the two pillow cases
All they had was the account of the extremely distraught Jane Doe, who, never having seen her assailant, could only offer the vaguest description of him. She guessed he was between thirty and fifty, with a demeanor she described as fatherly, seemingly thoughtful and concerned, even as he was tormenting her, something that the detectives found particularly puzzling.
She said it sounded as if he had tried to make his voice sound deeper than it was. Jane Doe also said she thought he was wearing hiking boots and a tight sweater, which she ripped during the short struggle at the beginning. He was clean-shaven and wore a ring on one of his hands. He smelled dirty.
What the police were completely unaware of until after William's later confession was that his assault on Jane Doe didn't mark the end of his activities in her house. Incredibly, just twenty-four hours later, on the night of the 18th of September, he returned to the scene. Only Jane Doe wasn't there. She and her baby had gone to stay with friends.
Williams broke in again, this time through an open window. He stole another fifteen pieces of large array, took more photographs, and left. He came back again the following night, the 19th of September, but he noticed that the father of Jane Doe's child had returned home and decided not to venture inside. Earlier that same evening, before heading down the road to Jane Doe's house,
He had had dinner at his Cozy Cove Lane cottage with his wife, Mary Elizabeth Harriman, and a friend, Geoffrey Manny, who was staying over. Before retiring for the night, Mary remarked to Geoffrey that her husband often liked to go for late-night walks before he went to bed. It's that time of the year. Your vacation is coming up.
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$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 beers and having a laugh.
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more late-night walks, occurred on the 24th and 26th of September. Both times he broke into the home of Laurie Massicotte, who lived three doors down from his cottage in Tweed. Both times he stole lingerie, wore pieces of it, and photographed himself while masturbating.
on the thirtieth of september he broke into massy cott's home for the third time this time however she was home and he knew it he had been stalking her for a while and wanted to attack her in a similar manner as his attack on jane doe
As with Jane Doe, the most peculiar component of Massie Cott's terrifying experience was the attacker's blend of vicious domination and purported concern for her well-being, getting her a couple of aspirin, repeatedly reassuring her that if she cooperated he would be out of her home and on his way.
Williams also made clear to her the paramount importance of him getting his photographs. When he stripped her clothes off by slicing them with a sharp blade, she panicked, thinking she was about to be raped. He responded, "'No, there will be no need to rape you if I get these pictures.'"
In the attack on Jane Doe, Williams took just nine photos, but in this instance, he took 29, and they provide an indication of how his sexual aggression was accelerating.
Most are pictures of his captive, in her blindfold and restraints, being forced to present herself in assorted pornographic poses. But in the final three, Williams is seen too, displaying his erect penis, and, in the final picture, standing fully clothed in front of a mirror, wearing a black toque, his face wrapped in one of Massicotte's undergarments so only his eyes are visible.
On the night of the 17th of November 2009, the well-kept brick house on Brighton's Raglan Street that belonged to Corporal Comeau was empty when Williams arrived there. She was away on a mission accompanying Prime Minister Stephen Harper to Singapore, Japan and India.
As base commander with ready access to her schedule, Williams would have known that. He nonetheless took precautions, parking his vehicle in a wooded area about 650 yards from her house. He broke in by removing the screen of a small basement window at the side of the house and squeezing through. Once inside, he looked around, then headed for the bedroom and the lingerie drawer.
He played with and put on some of Comeau's garments, stealing seven pieces when he departed. And, as usual, he took dozens of photos, including images of his erect penis, as he modelled the undergarments and shots of Comeau's military uniform with her name on it.
After about ninety minutes of this, he left by one of the doors, carefully replacing the screen on the basement window, and headed towards his cottage in Tweed. His lingerie trophies in his burglar's bag, William sped away from Comeau's house, but he was not yet done for the night. During his almost two and a half years of known break-ins, encompassing more than eighty different burglaries,
There were only four occasions on which Williams raided two different homes on the same night. This was one of them, and he returned to the second home the next night as well, in a pair of back-to-back intrusions that illustrate how swiftly his aggression and risk-taking were picking up pace.
After leaving Como's house in the early hours on the 17th of November, he drove east along Highway 401, then headed north on Highway 37, which links Belleville and Tweed. On the rural outskirts of Belleville, close to the city limits, he pulled into the driveway of a darkened 150-year-old farmhouse with outbuildings on the west side of the highway.
The house belonged to transplanted Quebecer Anne Marsan Cook, an artist and musician in her late 40s who moved to Belleville in 1999 with a degree in mining technology, but chiefly making her living through teaching music.
A lively, engaging figure with a ready laugh, she has two adult sons who have left home and is married to a mining engineer and consultant who is often out of town on business as he was that night. Sometime after 3 a.m., he climbed through an unlocked window into her sprawling, deserted farmhouse and followed his usual routine.
he grabbed more than forty pieces of marsan cook's underwear along with three sex toys and a sex movie and he took an assortment of photos including six shots of himself wearing some of the lingerie and masturbating then at some point he departed
Marsan Cook didn't immediately notice that any underwear was missing, but the theft of the sex toys was evident, and at first she thought it was a practical joke. After calling friend and neighbor Howard Gray, who rushed over, she realized it was probably not a joke, and they debated calling the police.
confused about what had happened and wary of not being taken seriously she decided not to do so so she and gray checked the downstairs doors and windows and then headed to the small birthday party where she stayed over for the night
The next morning, the 18th of November, Mars Ann Cook had to work, and Gray drove her home and waited downstairs while she went up to the office on the second floor, where she needed to make some photocopies. That's when he heard her scream. On the screen of an older, rarely used computer. No login code was needed,
was a message in place of the screensaver. It was still dark outside, and the text was visible as soon as she walked into the office. In large letters it read, and I quote, End quote.
Marsanne Cook noticed this time that her lingerie drawer had been ransacked. In this, his second theft from the Marsanne Cook home in less than 24 hours, William stole a total of 116 pieces of her underwear.
Quebec-born Corporal Marie-France Comeau joined the reserves in 1995 and had been with the military full-time for 12 years. Her family was originally from New Brunswick, and she was raised in Quebec, New Brunswick, and Germany. Like her father, Ernest, who spent 42 years with the Canadian forces, and like her grandfather before that, she was a career soldier.
At thirty-seven, she owned the house on Raglan Street, part of a tidy new Brighton subdivision that was home to many other military households, having moved in a little less than a year earlier. She was a beautiful woman, very attractive and pleasant. She was content and happy, and felt she had found her calling in life.
In the late 1990s, Comeau was stationed at the big NATO base in Laar, Germany, as a member of the army before switching to the air force. Then followed a tour of duty in which she shone. In 2002, she was posted to Afghanistan, part of the first Canadian contingent of troops to be rotated through after the US-led invasion and the ousting of the Taliban.
There and at Camp Mirage, the airbase in the United Arab Emirates that served as the chief conduit for the Canadian mission in Afghanistan, Comeau served as a traffic technician moving cargo. She drove a forklift truck, loading and unloading the big Hercules aircraft that ceaselessly flew in and out, and it was a taxing environment, hot, dusty and demanding, long hours.
She was known for doing an excellent job and was popular with her colleagues, who all thought of her as a very pleasant and friendly person. Seven days after breaking into Kumho's home the first time, Williams returned.
Late in the evening on Monday, the 23rd of November, he switched off his BlackBerry, locked the door of his top-floor office at Eight Wing Headquarters in Trenton, and made the short trip to Brighton. He arrived there shortly before eleven, and once again he parked his vehicle a few hundred yards away, in a patch of woods, and walked down Raglan Street to Comeau's house.
Her travels with Prime Minister Harper to Japan, Singapore and India had taken her right around the world. First west across the Pacific Ocean, and then back to Canada via Europe and across the Atlantic. It had been a tiring haul, and she was still recuperating, so she wasn't expected in at work the next day.
With his easy access to her work schedule, Williams was well aware of that fact. He paused outside her house and listened. She was talking on the phone. When the house went quiet, he once again used the same point of entry to slip inside, the horizontal, two-foot-by-five-foot basement window on the east side of the house.
He was wearing a sweatshirt, dockers pants and running shoes. His features masked by a small black cap and wide black band that concealed his lower face so only his eyes were visible. With him was what could be called his rape kit. Rope, duct tape, lubricant, a flashlight and of course his camera equipment. All of it carried in a blue duffle bag.
The unfinished basement looked like countless others in newish homes. A concrete floor, pink glass fiber insulation in high wood-frame walls that had not yet all been closed in with drywall, a spare bed, a furnace in one corner, and it was there by the furnace that Williams silently stood for more than half an hour.
waiting for his prey, one floor up, to retire for the night. In his hand was the same weapon he had used to club Laurie Massicotte, his heavy red tubular flashlight. But Comeau did not go to bed. Instead, dressed only in a shawl, she walked down the wooden basement stairs in search of one of her two cats, calling out to it.
Of course, there was a reason the cat was lingering in the basement. It had spotted the intruder hiding by the furnace, and was staring fixedly at him. And as Comeau came downstairs, she caught sight of him too. In the dim light, and with his face covered, it is unlikely that she recognized the base commander. Williams later insisted she did not.
but her reaction on finding an intruder in her home was swift and vocal. She shouted out, You bastard! began screaming and a struggle ensued. It ended when William struck her over the head several times with a flashlight, forcefully enough to cause extensive bleeding and bruising. Comeau made an attempt to escape,
but he pushed her to the floor, binding her arms behind her back with the rope so tightly that it left burn marks on her forearms and wrists. He wrapped her entire face in the silver-colored duct tape he had brought along, leaving an air hole around her nose for her to breathe through. He hauled her to her feet and tied her to a metal post in the center of the basement that served as a ceiling support.
among the numerous injuries sustained by commot and recorded by pathologist dr michael pollanen was a wound to her back inflicted by a metal pin in the metal post then williams reached for his camera and took a couple of photographs his captive secure and blindfolded he began taking elaborate precautions to ensure he would not be disturbed
First, he went back outside the house and replaced the screen on the basement window through which he had entered. Bloodied footmarks were later found in the walkway between the two houses, and also on the basement stairs. He found a key for the front door of the house, inserted it in the lock and snapped it off, so the door could not be opened from the outside.
He went into Komo's bedroom and draped a sheet over its single window. He removed all the small nightlights from the living room and the spare bedroom. Then he returned to the basement, untied Komo from the metal post, and hustled her to the foot of the basement stairs, where another struggle took place as she once again fought back against her attacker.
Large quantities of blood were found spattered about, and a section of the drive wall was dented. Camus was knocked unconscious, and she ended up lying on the staircase, naked, with her hands still tied behind her back. Williams took four more photographs, carried her upstairs to the bedroom, and reapplied the duct tape to her face. She was still bleeding from the head wounds, which stained the bedroom carpet.
He placed her on the bed, the long rope binding her hands lying on the floor and neatly coiled in a figure-eight around her head. He wrapped a burgundy towel, tightly secured with duct tape. Then he turned on his video camera and proceeded to create a macabre record of his deeds, not to mention the most damning physical evidence imaginable.
Over the next two hours, he repeatedly raped Comeau, recording the assault with video and dozens of still close-up photos shot with a handheld camera. He seemed preoccupied with obtaining as much variety in his footage as possible in terms of angles and close-ups, and he too is very much part of the nightmarish photos and video clips that police found on one of his computer hard drives.
The first glimpse of him on camera shows him naked, except for the balaclava-like mask on his head and face. He even shot video of himself taking still photos. The video camera's lens, trained on the Sony camera he grasped in one hand, held inches away from what he was photographing. That way he had two sets of images for his collection.
Williams kept Comeau prisoner for over two hours, and during this time he tortured and raped her continuously. This was Williams' first rape in his life, that we know of, and he wanted to make the most of it. All his pent-up deviant desires came flooding out, and what Comeau endured can only be described as horrific.
In the video he recorded of the attack, he is seen gleefully applying lubricant to his knuckles as he prepares to forcibly fist Comeau. This caused tearing and bleeding and extreme pain, but he showed no mercy. He repeatedly raped her vaginally and anally and seemed to only be egged on by her repeated screams of terror and pain.
As he was in the process of raping her, Comeau was crying out, "'I don't want to die! I don't want to die!' Williams placed a pillow over her face, but even though still bound and gagged, she briefly managed to pull it away and fight him off. He forcefully ordered her to shut up, saying that if she did, he would allow her to breathe."
"'Comeau also sustained injuries to her eyes and neck, "'thought to have occurred at around this stage "'when Williams exerted pressure on the jugular veins on the side of her neck. "'He reached for his roll of duct tape, "'and there was a further struggle, leaving Comeau on the floor screaming, "'No, again he warned her to be quiet, or he would suffocate her.'
He got dressed, ordered her to get to her feet, and led her by the rope still binding her hands to a corner of the bedroom. "'I want to live so badly,' Comeau can be heard saying. "'Did you expect to?' Williams replies, and the mumbled response is, "'Yes. Give me a chance. I'll be so good. I don't deserve this. Please go. Please go away. Please.'"
He told her he was not going to kill her, but as so often is the case with psychopaths, it was a lie. As Comeau cowered in the corner, her face still wrapped in the duct tape save for an air hole for her nose, Williams completed the act of murder by placing another piece of tape over the hole. She subsequently fell writhing to the floor in spasms.
Her last words, a muffled plea for her killer to have a heart please, I've been really good, I want to live. Russell Williams had no heart and instead watched her die, the video camera still rolling. He then took two more still photos, the last one at 4.23 a.m. Then he cleaned up,
He took the sheets from the bed and ran them through Como's washing machine, dumping in a bottle of bleach, shooting yet more video and still photos as he did so. He went back to the bedroom and removed the duct tape from Como's face, placed her body on the bed and covered it with a duvet. Finally, he took nine pieces of her underwear, put them in his duffel bag and left her house by the back patio door.
He walked up the road to where his Pathfinder was parked and drove away up to Highway 401, headed for Ottawa.
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And with that, Colonel Williams' first act of murder, this episode and part four in this saga covering Russell Williams comes to a close. I hope you enjoyed listening to me telling it to you. The next episode, number 131 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 theserialkillarpodcast, 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.