Ted Bundy - Part 2
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Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast, the podcast dedicated to serial killers.

Who they were, what they did, and how. I am your Norwegian host, Thomas Weiborg Thun. And tonight, dear listener, part two of the Ted Bundy saga. If you have not listened to part one,

Please stop listening to this episode and go listen to part one first. It's important to understand Ted Bundy's childhood and youth before exploring his exploits during adulthood. Please check out my fan page on Facebook. Go to facebook.com slash the SK podcast for discussion, bonus content and frequent interaction with me, your humble host.

Also, feel free to visit my website at theserialkillerpodcast.com and of course, my Patreon page at patreon.com slash theserialkillerpodcast. Any donation, no matter how small, is greatly appreciated.

Hi, this is Linda with your Cascades Ski Report. Snowquamie Pass is 29 degrees with snow and ice patches on the road. Stevens Pass is 17 degrees and overcast with packed snow on the roadway. This is what Linda Ann Healy read in one of her popular radio announcements for Western Washington State.

Unfortunately, I have not been able to find a recording of one of her broadcasts, but her voice was apparently sexy sweet, friendly, and all-American. Linda was a very accomplished young woman. She was a beautiful girl, tall and slim with shiny clean long chestnut brown hair that was often parted in the middle and a ready smile.

She was tall, slender, and had many friends. Young women wanted to be her friend, and young men desired her. In typical American fashion, she is described as coming from a quote-unquote good family and an upper-middle-class environment. She loved to sing and even excelled at it. But Linda was not just a pretty face with a sexy voice.

She was a highly intelligent young woman who majored in psychology at the University of Washington. I am almost tempted to say "of course", since Linda, in addition to all this, also loved working with children who were mentally handicapped. In short, she was a beautiful, smart, empathetic girl who had her whole life ahead of her and the world lay at her feet.

She shared a house near the university with four other young women. On the 31st of January, 1974, she and a few friends went for a few beers after dinner at Dante's, a tavern that was popular with the university students. They didn't stay long, and Linda went home to watch television and talk on the phone to her boyfriend. Then Linda went to bed.

The roommate in the room next to Linda heard no noises coming from Linda's room that night. Linda had to get up every morning at 5.30 to get to her job at the radio station. The roommate heard Linda's alarm go off at 5.30 as it usually did. What was unusual was that the alarm kept going. It wasn't turned off.

Annoyed that her friend didn't wake her up for her early alarm, maybe because of partying or a very late night, the roommate got up to shut the alarm off for Linda and maybe get Linda to wake up as well. When the roommate entered the room, she heard the phone ring. It was a radio station calling to see where Linda was. The bed in Linda's room was made and nothing looked disturbed.

So the roommate assumed that Linda was on her way to work. When her parents called that afternoon to find out why Linda had not shown up for dinner as expected, everyone became worried. Nobody had seen her. She seemed to have vanished from the house. Linda's parents called the police.

In Linda's room, they found that her bed had been made up in a way that Linda had never made it up before. In fact, Linda was not normally one to make up her bed. Oddly, a pillowcase and a top sheet were missing on this carefully made-up bed. A small bloodstain, the same blood type as Linda's, was found on the pillow and the bottom sheet.

Blood was also on her nightgown that was carefully hung in the closet. An outfit of hers was also missing. Another alarming clue was that one of the doors to the house was unlocked when the girls were always vigilant about locking it. Now, dear listener, we need to remember that this was the 1970s, a more innocent time than our own 21st century.

So, especially in a resourceful upper-middle-class college town, they were not used to serious crime. The police were thus not initially convinced that Linda had been a victim of foul play, so no fingerprint, hair or fiber evidence was gathered.

Ultimately, law enforcement did realize that an intruder had somehow gotten into the house, removed her nightgown and hung it in the closet, dressed her in a change of clothes, made up the bed, wrapped Linda in the top sheet and carried her out of the house, and done it all very quietly.

As I mentioned in part one in this podcast series on Ted Bundy, Ted didn't start invading people's homes and abduct women from the beginning. He fantasized about it. He practiced it over and over again. And then he crossed the ultimate edge and did it. In his own words, I quote...

On succeeding evenings, I began to scurry around this same neighborhood, obsessed with the image I'd seen on the evening before. And on one particular occasion, I saw a woman park her car and walk up to her front door and fumble with her keys. I walked up behind her and struck her with a piece of wood that I was carrying. And she fell down and began screaming, and I panicked and ran.

What I had done had purely terrified me. The sobering effect of that was to, well, for some time, close up the cracks again and not do anything. For the first time, I sat back and swore to myself that I wouldn't do something like that again, or anything that would lead to it. And I did everything I should have done. Stayed away from... I did not go out at night.

And when I was drinking, I stayed around friends. For a period of months, the enormity of what I did stuck with me, and I watched my behavior and reinforced the desire to overcome what I had begun to perceive were some problems that were probably more severe than I would have liked to believe they were. Within a matter of months, the impact of this event lost its deterrent value.

And within months I was back, peeping in windows again and slipping into that old routine. The repulsion began to recede. Something did stick with me. That was the incredible danger. By allowing myself to fall into spontaneous, unplanned acts of violence, it took six months or so until I was back, thinking...

of alternative means of engaging in similar activities, but not something that would be likely to result in apprehension. Then, on another night, I saw a woman walking home. I followed her home. Eventually, I created a plan where I would attack her in the house. Early one morning, I sneaked into her house. I jumped on the woman's bed and attempted to restrain her,

All I succeeded in doing was waking her up and causing her to panic and scream. I left very rapidly. And then I was seized with the same kind of disgust, repulsion and fear and wonder at why I was allowing myself to attempt such extraordinary violence.

But the significance, the significance was that while I did the same thing I did before, stayed off the streets, vowed I'd never do it again, and recognized the horror of what I'd done, and certainly was frightened by what I saw happening, it only took me three months to get over it this time. Then, the next incident, I was over it in a month, until it didn't take me any time at all to recover.

During that spring and summer, more women students suddenly and inexplicably vanished. There were striking similarities among many of the cases. For instance, almost all the girls were white, slender, single, wearing slacks at the time of the disappearance, had hair that was long and parted in the middle, and they all disappeared in the evening.

Also, around the time of the disappearances, police interviewed college students who told them of a strange man who was seen wearing a cast on either his arm or leg. Supposedly, the stranger seemed to be struggling with books and asking young women nearby for assistance. Other eyewitnesses reported a strange man in the campus parking lot who had a cast and asked for assistance with his car.

a Volkswagen Bug, that he apparently had difficulty starting. Interestingly, around the same area where two of the girls mysteriously disappeared, there was seen such a man wearing a cast on his arm or leg. Sunday, the 14th of July, 1974, was hot in the Pacific Northwest

with temperatures approaching 32 degrees Celsius by noon. Those desiring a respite from the heat, or working on their tans, made their way to beaches, lakes and rivers, where they could swim, sail, water ski, picnic, or just lounge around, worshipping the sun.

Droves of sun worshippers descended on Lake Samamamish State Park near Issaquah, east of Seattle, and among them was Janice Graham. A 22-year-old blonde was able to nab a picnic table around 11.30, where she sat down to wait for her husband and parents, who were due to arrive at 12.15, after claiming the table.

She wandered over to the haban stand, and had been standing there for a few minutes when she heard a male voice say, "'Hello,' lifting her sunglasses. She returned the greeting and sized up the sandy-haired man with a slight British accent, whom she estimated to be around twenty-five and perhaps five feet eight inches or five feet ten inches."

In metric values, that's 178 to 181 centimeters tall. He asked if she would help him load his sailboat onto his car, explaining he could not do it by himself, gesturing with his left arm, which was secured in a beige sling. She agreed, and as they walked toward the parking lot, he looked around at the crowd and remarked,

"'This is out of sight. There are so many people here.' They continued to make small talk, and at one point he stopped to hold his arm, indicating he was in pain. He injured his arm playing racquetball, he told her, and asked if she had ever played. During their conversation, Graham revealed she lived in Bellevue and worked at Boeing.'

When they reached the parking lot, he guided her to a newish-looking Volkswagen Bug, which she believed was metallic brown. But it wasn't what she saw, but rather what she did not see, that gave her pause. "'Hey, where's the sailboat?' she inquired. He told her it was at his folks' house, just up the road in Isakwa. Janice hesitated and asked him for the time."

He glanced at the watch on his right arm and said it was 12.20. She quickly made her apologies. I was supposed to meet my parents at 12.15. Smiling, he said that was okay, admitting he should have explained the boat wasn't in the parking lot, and thanked her for her time.

In recalling the encounter later, she emphasized the young man was very pleasant. He was very polite, very sincere, and did not get upset when I told him I could not go with him. Mrs. Graham returned to her table, and some time later noticed the same man with another young blonde wheeling a bicycle in the direction of the parking lot.

She smiled, thinking to herself, "'Boy, that guy sure works fast.' At five feet one inch, or one hundred and fifty-five centimeters, and weighing no more than forty-five kilograms, Janice Ott, twenty-three years old, appeared younger than her age."

She had studied psychology, specializing in the anti-social personality, and worked as a probation officer in Seattle. She felt her experience and kind nature meant she could really help those who required special guidance.

Married just a little more than a year, Janice was living in Issaquah, while her husband James attended medical school in California, and some would say theirs wasn't a traditional marriage.

Everyone liked the bouncy, effervescent young woman with the expressive grey-green eyes and sunny personality, which had earned her the nickname Sunshine Girl in the office. That morning she pulled on cut-off jeans and a white blouse tied at the midriff over her sexy black bikini and left a note for her roommate. I'll be at Lake Summermamish sunning myself. See ya!

She ended the note with a smiley face. It was afternoon when she rolled her yellow ten-speed tiger bike among the couples, families and lone sunbathers in an effort to find an empty spot on the grass to spread her towel. She sat down, stripped down to her swimsuit, applied cocoa butter and welcomed the heat of the sun on her body. Suddenly, a man was standing above her.

"'Excuse me,' he said. "'Could you help me put my sailboat onto my car? I can't do it myself because I broke my arm.' She hesitated a moment, then invited the young man to sit down. "'Let's talk about it,' she replied. "'It's up at my parents' house,' he explained, accepting her invitation."

She told him she lived in Isakwa, and after a few minutes, those sitting and lying nearby heard her say, "'Well, okay, but what about my bike?' he indicated. "'That wouldn't be a problem,' saying, "'It will fit in the trunk.' She said she had an interest in sailing, but had never tried it. "'Oh, it'll be easy for me to teach you,' he offered."

Encouraged by his friendliness, she pulled on her jeans and blouse and commented flirtatiously, I get a ride on a sailboat? As the two began walking toward the parking lot, she was overheard saying, I'm Jan, and you? Her handsome companion replied, I'm Ted. No one saw Janice Ott alive again.

Jerry Snyder, a 30-year-old Drug Enforcement Administration agent from Seattle and his family, were at Lake Summermamish that day. They had also brought their dog, a Doberman Pinscher. And as everyone else headed for the water, Snyder, who was in charge of the animal, found a seat around 9 meters from the lake.

He looked around and later recalled a young blonde in a black bikini sitting a short distance to his left and remembered having seen the same woman riding a bicycle as he and the family were arriving. He later recalled observing a white male walking to my right, walking down the beach toward me and the reason I noticed him was that he was looking at all the girls. He would almost come to a complete stop

and it appeared to me he was trying to pick up a girl, or trying to find someone who met with his qualifications. Shortly thereafter he saw the young Casanova approach the girl in the black swimsuit and heard him say, "'Excuse me, miss.' The lady invited him to sit down, and he slowly lowered himself onto the towel, careful of his left arm, which was bandaged and in a sling."

Snyder couldn't hear everything they said, but before long the girl began gathering up her things and pulling on her clothes. He estimated the man was somewhere between 25 and 29 years old and around 178 to 181 centimeters tall.

He had light brown, collar-length, wavy hair and was wearing white shorts and a pullover shirt, beige in color. Teresa Marie Sharp was 26 years old and a housewife from Waltham, Massachusetts. She was much closer to the location where Janice Ott was lying and she, too, remembered the pretty young woman with long blonde hair.

Three days later, she gave a statement saying she was dressed in blue jean Levi cut-offs, real short, similar to hot pads, an off-white midriff blouse with three or four buttons. She took these articles of clothing off and sat down in her swimsuit and she put on cocoa butter. Prior to laying down, she laid her ten-speed bike down in the sand in front of where she was going to sit.

The bike was bright yellow. At 12.30 p.m., she continued, a guy came walking up to her. He said something about a sailboat. It sounded like, will you help me with my boat? Or would you like to ride in my boat? The girl sort of hesitated, but then said, can I bring my bike with me? He said, okay, sure.

She thought the boat was at the lake. And he said no, it was at his parents' house. She looked like she wasn't going. I couldn't hear what was said then, but then I heard her say, under one stipulation, that I meet your parents. He said, sure. Then she said, I don't know how to sail. He said, that's okay, it will be easy to teach you. She asked him if there was room in the car for the bike.

He said it will fit in the trunk. She got up, slipped her blue jeans and her top on, and then she picked up her beach bag. The two of them then left. Mrs. Sharp described the man as around 180 centimeters, 85 kilograms, brown collar length, wavy hair, and tanned. His shirt was white, she said, with some sort of design, white shorts, and his left arm was in a sling.

There was something about him, about the injured man, about his arm, that bothered her. I didn't feel that his arm was really hurting. I do remember he took his arm from the sling and moved it around. One of the best descriptions of what transpired between Janice Ott and the man with the injured arm was provided by Sylvia Valent, a 15-year-old girl who was sitting no more than a meter away.

Although she underestimated his height, believing him to be no more than 164 or 170 centimeters, she recalled he was of medium build with blondish-brown hair down to his neck, parted on the side, and that he had a dark tan. His left arm, she recalled, was in a cast that started at the wrist and bent around the elbow.

He had on white tennis shoes, white socks, white shorts and a white t-shirt. He was a smooth talker and as he approached the girl on the white towel said: "Excuse me, could you help me put my sailboat onto my car because I can't do it myself because I broke my arm." At this point the woman in the black bikini said: "Well, sit down and let's talk about it. Where's the boat?"

and he told her it was at his parents' house in Issaquah, and the lady remarked that she lived in Issaquah. According to Valent, she stood up and put on her clothes. She picked up her bike and said, under one condition, that I get to ride in the sailboat. He said, my car's in the parking lot. She said words like, well, I get to meet your folks then.

As the two walked towards the parking lot, Valent heard the woman say her name was Jan, and he said his name was Ted. Somewhere around 4pm, 16-year-old Cindy Siebenbaum was approached by a man asking her to accompany him to his car. I was heading back from the restrooms when a man who was walking toward me said, "'Excuse me, young lady, could you help me launch my sailboat?'

I then asked him what he had done to his arm. He stated that he'd sprained it and he couldn't find anyone to help him. However, she was disturbed by the fact he seemed unusually nervous and gestured with the elbow of his injured arm and actually tugged at her arm as if to guide her in the direction of the parking lot.

Looking into his deep-set eyes, his tiny pupils unnerved her and she said firmly, No, I'm sorry, I've got people waiting. Even then, he still seemed reluctant to take no for an answer, and continued trying to convince her to go with him. The last I saw of him, he was walking toward the restrooms, she later recalled.

Patricia Ann Turner estimated it was close to 4.15 when she encountered the man in white with his arm in a sling. As I walked to the concession stand, he followed me, she told authorities. We talked to each other on the sidewalk. He said, I need to ask a really big favor of you. I looked at him as if I didn't understand.

He said, I normally wouldn't ask this favor, but my brother is busy and unable to help. He sort of pointed in the direction of the parking lot. I said, well, I'm sort of in a hurry to go. He said, that's okay. He just stood there for a few seconds. That's when I walked onto the concession stand. I glanced off into the crowd and saw him walk away.

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as a family man with three kids i know first-hand 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. 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. Close to 4 p.m., Jacqueline Plischke steered her bicycle into Lake Sammamish Park.

She was wearing cut-off jeans and a revealing bikini top, and as she locked her bike in the bike parking area, she noticed a young man with his arm in a sling staring at her. In an attempt to ignore him, she made her way to the edge of the lake, but a few minutes later she saw him coming toward her. "'Hello,' he said. "'I was wondering if you could help me put my sailboat on my car.'

She explained she wasn't very strong, and she said it was better he ask someone who was able and alone to help. Somewhat unnerved, she told him she was waiting for someone, to which he replied, Oh, I see, and walked towards the restrooms. Later, she estimated the time of her encounter with the insistent stranger occurred at approximately 4.20 p.m.,

Around 4.40 p.m., Denise Naslund, a pretty 162-centimeter-tall girl with long, thick, dark brown hair, arose from her beach towel and seemed to steady herself before heading in the direction of the bathroom. She didn't say anything to Kenneth Littell, her boyfriend.

According to Nancy, Denise had told her earlier that she was still high from the beer, Valium and the joint they had smoked with three other friends. The four of us then ate the food at our picnic area after Denise awoke from a nap. Sargent added,

We sat and talked and drank beer. Around 4.15, Ken dozed off. Around 4.40, Denise got up from where we were sitting and walked away without saying anything to me. That was not unusual, because I assumed she was going to the restroom or to find her dog that we had taken to the picnic.

As Denise made her way toward the ladies' room, the man with a sling on his arm was observed walking back and forth near the wood and cinder block building where the bathroom was located. It just so happened that a Seattle policewoman was visiting the restroom at the same time. She and Denise left together. The last time she saw Denise...

The girl had stopped to speak with the man loitering nearby. So far as is known, this was the last time anyone other than her killer saw Denise Naslund alive. When she failed to return, Little became concerned, and he and their friends began searching for her. We looked all afternoon and evening without finding her, he related.

As they searched, they thought about what a nice person Denise was and how she was friendly toward everyone and, even when under the effects of drugs and alcohol, would have helped if someone had asked her. It was close to 9 p.m. when Little drove his girlfriend's car into the driveway of Eleanor Rose's home and informed her Denise was missing.

Fearing the worst, the older woman called the police. There was no doubt in her mind that something horrible had happened to her daughter, because she would never have gone off and left her car with the purse in the trunk or her dog. Rose had purchased the car, a tan 1964 Chevrolet Impala, for Denise because she didn't want her hitchhiking or getting into a vehicle with the wrong person.

As she waited anxiously for the police, she remembered Denise's talking about how she and her friend Robin Woods enjoyed frequenting different bars in the area, and one of the places she'd mentioned was the Flame Tavern. The last place Brenda Ball, one of the missing girls everyone had read about in the papers, was last seen June 1st, just six weeks earlier.

She passed along this seemingly unrelated snippet of information to the authorities. When the anguished lady was formally interviewed on the 17th of July, she continued to speak of her daughter in the present tense. Denise, she said, was taking a night course in computer programming and working part-time in an office. She had been living with Ken Little, her boyfriend, for nine months,

But according to Mrs. Rose, who was planning to move back home, Denise is very loving and would often pick me up a gift for no special occasion, and I have always felt very close to her. The distraught mother revealed, When she walks into my home, it's just like sunshine coming through the door. Robin Woods, Denise's best friend, also spoke highly of the perky 18-year-old

but admitted if she was high on July 14, she would be loose. If the guy was a smooth talker and good-looking, Denise would help him. What Ted did to Denise and Janice, no one but Ted knows for sure. But he did reveal in interviews what he usually did to his victims after he had lured the girls to his car.

He would hit them hard across the back of the head with a crowbar. This would cause immediate unconsciousness, but not death. Both girls were put in Ted's Volkswagen. It had a missing right side passenger seat, so there was plenty of room for the two lithe girls.

He would drive them to a secluded spot, away from prying eyes where no one was around and no one could hear any screams. Then he would wake up the first girl, rape her, both anally and in the vagina, without any sort of lubrication. He would then strangle her to death, as the other girl, now awoke, handcuffed, was forced to watch.

When one girl was dead, he would repeat it all over with a second girl. When finished, he would cut off their heads and have oral intercourse with the heads. The bodies would be left naked to be eaten by wildlife. Police Chief Louis Smith of Midvale, Utah, had a 17-year-old daughter whom he frequently warned about the dangers of the world.

He had seen all too much during his career and worried for his daughter's safety. Yet his worst fears were to come true on the 18th of October 1974 when his daughter, Melissa, disappeared. Melissa did not look so similar to other victims as many reports would have it. According to the photos, she had wavy, almost curly hair.

Her face was more round, although slender and attractive. Also, from what I could tell, she was a blonde. She had been found nine days after her disappearance, strangled and raped. Again, both anally and in the vagina, without any sort of lube, so there were significant tearing of the sphincter and vagina.

Thirteen days later, on Halloween, 17-year-old Laura Amy disappeared. Laura was very similar to many of the other victims. She was slender, attractive, had brown hair and large brown eyes. She was found on Thanksgiving Day in the Wasatch Mountains, lying dead by a river. Laura had been beaten about the head and face with a crowbar.

raped and sodomized. It was suspected that she was killed someplace other than where she was found due to the lack of blood at the crime scene. I have tried, dear listener, to find out if Ted left any semen inside the bodies of his victims or at the crime scenes.

But since DNA evidence was not yet in use back then, it was probably not as high a priority to find as other forensic evidence. They did find traces of semen on some of the sheets in other crime scenes, but I couldn't find anything about semen inside corpses. Also, most of Ted's victims' bodies were found in a state of decomposition.

Any trace of semen would be very hard to locate amidst the rotting flesh and insects. So other than her body, there was no physical evidence for the police to use. The similarities with the Washington state murders caught the attention of local police in Utah, who were frantically searching for the man responsible for the grisly crimes. With each murder, the evidence was slowly mounting.

Utah police consulted with Washington state investigators. Almost all agreed that it was highly likely that the same man who committed the crimes in Washington state had also been responsible for the murders in Utah. Thanks to eyewitness accounts of the man in the cast seen near the areas where many of the women had disappeared,

They were able to come up with a composite of the could-be killer who called himself Ted. When a close friend of Elizabeth Kendall saw the account of Melissa Smith's murder in the paper, the composite of the could-be killer, she knew that Ted Bundy must be the man.

It wasn't just her intense dislike and mistrust for Elizabeth's boyfriend that led her to believe that Ted was the man, but also the fact that he looked so much like the composite picture in the paper. Deep down, Elizabeth must have known her friend was right. After all, Ted did resemble the sketch. He drove a Volkswagen similar to those seen by witnesses.

and she had seen crutches in his room, even though he never injured his leg. According to the book The Phantom Prince: My Life with Ted Bundy, which was later written by Kendall, she anonymously called the Seattle Police Department in August of 1974. There, she stated that her boyfriend might be involved in the recent murder cases.

She called again later that fall and gave more pertinent information that might assist the investigators in the case. She also agreed to give recent pictures of Ted to later be shown to witnesses. However, the witnesses did not make a positive ID after viewing the pictures and Elizabeth's report was eventually filed away.

The investigators working the case decided to turn their attention towards more likely suspects, such as convicted sexual predators, and Ted Bundy was forgotten until a few years later. The killer continued to elude investigators, assuming that by operating in different states, the police would be unable to compare the cases.

His behavior became increasingly bold and risky as he approached women. Those who escaped his advances would later recognize him and provide the police with valuable information. Ted Bundy started showing a typical serial killer trait, escalation. As he murdered and raped the young victims, he increasingly did not feel satisfied after each kill.

His hunger, death, possession and extreme sexual violence only increased. Ted himself described this evolution as follows. As far as remorse of the act, that would last for a period of time, but it could all be justified. I would attempt to justify it by saying, well, listen you, you fucked up this time, but you're never going to do it again.

So let's just stay together and it won't ever happen again. Why sacrifice my whole life? But this did not last for very long. A matter of weeks. We go first into a state of semi-dormancy and then it would sort of regenerate itself in one form or another. Once the condition began to reassert its force, it didn't look back. It looked forward.

didn't want to dwell on the preceding event, but begin to plan, anticipate, contemplate the next. Things would be learned, experience teaches in overt and subtle ways, and over a period of time there would be less panic, there would be less confusion, there would be less fear, and there would be less apprehension. There would be a faster regeneration period."

When he was not hunting, he would return to his dump sites. He would leave several victims, usually two or three, at the same spot. There he would reenact the murder and have sex with the corpses until the bodies would be so decomposed he wouldn't be able to anymore. But it wasn't enough for him to reenact the crimes. He wanted more. And since he wasn't caught, he thought himself above the police.

It was on November 8th, 1974, when police investigators were to get a break in the case for which they had been waiting. That Friday evening, a strange but handsome man in a bookstore at a Utah mall approached 18-year-old Carol D'Arange.

The stranger told her that he had seen someone trying to break into her car and asked her to go along with him to the parking lot to see if anything had been stolen. Carol thought that the man must have been a mall security guard because he seemed so in control of the situation. When they arrived at the car, she checked it and informed the man everything was there.

The man, who identified himself as Officer Roseland, was not satisfied and wanted to escort her to police headquarters. He wanted her to ID the supposed criminal and file a complaint. When he led her to a Volkswagen Bug, she became suspicious and asked for identification. He quickly showed her a gold badge and then escorted her into the car. He drove off quickly in the opposite direction of the police station.

And after a short while, he suddenly stopped a car. Fear had set into Carol D'Arange. The quote-unquote police officer suddenly grabbed her and tried to put handcuffs on her. D'Arange screamed for her life. When she screamed, the man pulled out a handgun and threatened to kill her if she didn't stop. D'Arange screamed.

found herself falling out of the car and then suddenly pushed up against the side of it by the madman. He had a crowbar in his hand and was ready to hit her head. Terror struck, she did what women being attacked by men always should do. She kicked him hard in the genitals and managed to break free. D'Arrange ran towards the road and caught the attention of a couple driving by.

They stopped and the ranch frantically jumped into their car. She was crying hysterically and told them a man had tried to kill her. They immediately took her to the police, sobbing, with the handcuffs still dangling from her wrists. She told the police what one of their men had done, but there was no man with the name of Roseland that worked there.

Immediately, police were dispatched to the place where D'Arange had struggled for her life just an hour earlier. But the madman was long gone. However, the police were able to get the description of the man and his car, and a few days later, from off the girl's coat, a blood type. The blood was type O, the same as Ted Bundy's, as police were later to learn.

That same evening, the director of a play at Viewmont High School was approached by a handsome man, who asked for her assistance in identifying a car. Yet she was far too busy and refused him. Again, he later approached her and asked her for assistance, and again she refused him. Something seemed odd, almost scary about the man, but she ignored it and kept on with the work at hand.

It disturbed her to see the man again in the back of the auditorium. She wondered what it was he really wanted. Debbie Kent, another brunette with hair parted in the middle, but with a more full and round face, was watching the evening performance along with her parents. She left early to pick up her brother at the bowling alley.

She told her parents that she'd be back to pick them up shortly, but she never did. In fact, she never made it to the car, which stood empty in the school parking lot. Debbie Kent was nowhere to be found. What police did find in the parking lot was a small handcuff key. Later, when police tried to fit the key that they found into the handcuffs worn by D'Arange earlier that night,

It was a perfect match. Almost a month later, a man would call police to tell them that he had seen a tan Volkswagen Bug speed away from the high school parking lot the night of Kent's disappearance. Ted was increasingly doing high-risk abductions. When one abduction went very wrong, so wrong that a witness got away,

He did not flee or go into hiding. He quickly found another victim, abducted her, raped her, and killed her. On the 12th of January, 1975, Karen Campbell, her fiancé, Dr. Raymond Godowski, and his two children took a trip to Colorado. Karen was an attractive 23-year-old brunette with her hair parted in the middle.

Karin hoped she could enjoy the break away from work and spend more time with the children while her fiancé attended a seminar. While relaxing in the lounge of her hotel with Godowski and his son and daughter one night, she realized she had forgotten a magazine and returned to her room to retrieve it. Her fiancé and the children waited for her to return in vain.

He knew she was a bit ill that night and went back to the room to see if she needed help. Karin was nowhere in sight. In fact, she had never made it to the room. By mid-morning, confused and worried, Gdowski informed the police of her disappearance. They searched every room in the hotel, but they found no trace of Karin.

Almost a month later, and a few miles from where she had disappeared, a recreational worker found Karen's nude body lying a short distance from the road. Animals had ravaged her body, which made it difficult to determine the precise cause of death. However, it was evident that she received crushing fractures that could have been fatal,

Like many of the victims found in Utah and Washington, she had suffered from repeated blows to the head, possibly made by a sharp instrument. Knowing Ted, the blows were probably made by a crowbar or a hammer. According to Richard Larson's book, Bundy, the Deliberate Stranger, the blows were so violent that one of her teeth was actually separated from the gum line in her mouth.

There was also evidence that she had been raped. It was believed that she was murdered just hours after she disappeared. Apart from Karen's brutalized remains, there was little evidence to be found at the scene. A few months after Karen Campbell's body was discovered, the remains of another person were found 10 miles from where the bodies of Naslund and Ott were located.

It was Brenda Ball, one of the seven women who had disappeared earlier that summer. The cause of her death was blows to the head with a blunt object. Police also searched the Taylor Mountains, where several of the bodies were found. It would only be a couple of days later when another body would be discovered. The body was that of Susan Rancourt, who had also disappeared earlier that summer.

The Taylor Mountains had become Ted's main burial site, a sort of hallowed ground in Ted's own words. Two more bodies were found that month. One of them was Linda Ann Healy. All of the victims suffered from severe head contusions from a blunt instrument, possibly a crowbar. Police continued unsuccessfully to look for the killer.

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And so, dear listener, ends part two of the tale of Ted Bundy. The next episode will air on the 15th of November. So, as they say in the land of radio, stay tuned. The Ted Bundy saga will also, for the first time on the Serial Killer podcast, soon feature our recorded interview with noted Bundy scholar, Dr. Carlisle.

And if you want to contribute to that episode, feel free to send in questions at my Facebook page or on Twitter using the hashtag TedBundyTSK. That's hashtag TedBundyTSK. I have been your host, Thomas Warburg-Thun.

Doing this podcast is a labor of love. This podcast has been able to bring serial killer stories to life thanks to you, dear listener, and especially those of you that support me via Patreon. There are especially a few patrons that have stayed loyal for a long time. Maud, Wendy, Linda, Thomas, Megan, Craig and Charlotte...

Your monthly contributions really help keep this podcast alive, and you have my deepest gratitude. As always, thank you, dear listener, for listening, and feel free to leave a review on Apple Podcasts or your favorite podcast site, and please do subscribe to the show if you enjoy it. Thank you, good night, and good luck.