Chapters
Shownotes Transcript
Love this podcast? Support this show through the ACAST supporter feature. It's up to you how much you give, and there's no regular commitment. Just click the link in the show description to support now. Hey, it's Sharon, and here's where it gets interesting. Raise your hand if you want salon-perfect nails for just $2 a manicure.
Yeah, me too. With the Olive and June Manny System, you can say goodbye to expensive services that take hours and hours and love your nails more than ever. I would know. I've been doing it for years. Get 20% off your first Manny System with code PerfectManny20 at OliveandJune.com slash PerfectManny20. That's PerfectManny20 at OliveandJune.com slash PerfectManny20.
I don't know.
Until your ultimate demise. What if we just say forever? Okay. $25 a month forever. Get unlimited talk, text, and data for just $25 a month with Boost Mobile forever. After 30 gigabytes, customers may experience slower speeds. Customers will pay $25 a month as long as they remain active on the Boost Unlimited plan. Did you know one in two women wear the wrong foundation? Matching foundation is hard, but ill maquillage makes it easy.
Take the Power Match Quiz to find a better match in seconds. Customized for your unique skin tone, undertone, and coverage needs. With 600,000 five-star reviews, this best-selling foundation is going viral for a reason. Available in 50 shades of weightless natural coverage. And with Try Before You Buy, you can try your full size at home for 14 days. Just pay shipping. Take the quiz at ilmakiage.com slash quiz. That's I-L-M-A-K-I-A-G-E dot com slash quiz.
Welcome to the Serial Killer Podcast. The podcast dedicated to serial killers. Who they were, what they did and how. Episode 149. I am your Norwegian host, Thomas Roseland Weyborg Thun.
Tonight, I am happy to bring to you a fresh new Serial Killer Expo say, straight from the golden age of serial murder. As it is, with so many serial killers, our featured subject is not well known at all. I've done quite a bit of research into his life and crimes,
And I can tell you it has not been easy scrounging up details. So, let me take you on a journey back across the pond from wartime France and land comfortably in the good old U.S. of A. For the good people of Montana, especially those remembering the 1970s and 80s, his name might be recognizable.
But for those not extremely well versed in the topic of serial murder, Wayne Nance probably does not ring a bell.
However, it is probably due to the fickle nature of mass media's spotlight that he is not more infamous. Because Wayne Nance murdered at least six innocent human beings and might very well have killed far more that we do not know about. But for my dear listeners, tonight's series premiere starts at the end.
Tarantino style. The year is 1986. The date, the 3rd of September. We crouch down behind some bushes as none other than the Missoula Mauler lurks, ready to engage in his favorite pastime, murder. Enjoy.
As always, I want to publicly thank my elite TSK Producers Club. Their names are
Andrea, Boo, Cassandra, Christy, Cody, Corbin, Fawn, Gilly, James G., James H., Jennifer, Juliet, Kathy, Kylie, Lisa, Lisbeth, Marilyn, Meow, Russell, Sabina, Samira, Skortnia, Shauna, Tony, Trent, Val, and Vaughn.
You are the backbone of the Serial Killer podcast, and without you there would be no show. You have my deepest gratitude. Thank you. I am forever grateful for my elite TSK Producers Club, and I want to show you that your patronage is not given in vain.
As mentioned in the last episode, going forward, all TSK episodes will be available 100% ad-free to my TSK Producers Club on patreon.com slash theserialkillerpodcast. No generic ads, no ad reads, no jingles. I promise. And of course, if you wish to donate $15 a month,
That's only $7.50 per episode. You are more than welcome to join the ranks of the TSK Producers Club too. So don't miss out and join now.
♪♪ ♪♪ ♪♪
Imagine if you will, there are listeners. A man in his workroom. His name is Doug and he is holding a large rifle.
The man has been working on it for some time, and he examines it once again. It is a Savage, a lever-action Model 99G takedown, and probably had been built as far back as the 1920s. The bore was badly pitted, but a gun was worth saving. Someone had pawned it.
and the owner at Missoula Pawnbrokers wanted to know if it fired well enough to be sold. There was an interesting history behind this old hunting rifle. The Model 99 fired a Savage 250 round, which originally was called the Savage 250-3000,
Named so because it was the first cartridge to achieve a velocity of 3000 feet per second, which was noteworthy in 1915 when it was introduced. This specimen had excessive headspace, so Doug had to manufacture cartridges that would probably fit the bigger bore.
After he set the rifle on its butt, leaning it against his workbench in the basement, he then stuffed his custom-made cartridges into an ammo box, wrapping tape over every three cartridges and labeling each load with the exact amount of powder and primer. Later he would make entries in his logbook detailing how each load fired. As he was close to finishing, he heard his wife Chris come in the front door.
He picked up the rifle and the box of cartridges, and with his one free hand grabbed her rifle also, a Savage Model 99. Hers was a newer model, which he had cut down to fit his wife's petite frame. They were planning a night out with some friends. They had met John and Darla McKee through a wine-tasting group.
But John and Darla and Doug and Chris weren't going to be sampling wines tonight. This was going to be a gun night. Darla, a novice shooter, wanted a chance to fire Chris's rifle before she borrowed it for antelope season, which was coming up. This was Montana. This was indeed gun country.
Doug wanted to give the old savage a workout too, and the McKee's place was perfect for this kind of thing. They lived in Frenchtown, a twenty-minute drive west of Missoula, along the Clark Fork River. It was a warm Wednesday night, and the prospect of taking the drive along the river and seeing their friends was something to look forward to.
There was at least an hour's worth of light left by the time they arrived at the keys. John and Doug set up some targets, and Doug and Darla opened fire. The gun fit her well, and Doug, who was firing the pawn shop relic, was pleased to discover that with the right cartridge load, it could still be used.
John joined in, shooting off a few rounds as Doug made some notes and packed up the six leftover cartridges. Darla headed inside with Chris to see to dinner, and soon the men quit shooting as well. It was starting to get dark, but it was also getting a bit late to be making such a racket with gunfire. The foursome ate barbecued chicken and drank a few beers.
On previous occasions, when they had gotten together like this, they would often let the party stretch on, and they would have a lot more to drink. But not on this night. John was very tired. Doug's day job was as a foreman at Stone Containers pulp mill in Frenchtown. Lately, he had been working 12-hour days because of a strike, and he was facing an early shift the next day.
So, at 11.30, Doug loaded the guns into his Honda, and they all said their goodnights. It was ten minutes to midnight by the time they neared their house on Parker Court. As they approached from the west, turning off reserve onto River, and then proceeding along Davis, which intersected their street,
Doug noticed an orange and white Ford pickup parked obtrusively just off the road on the side lawn of their property. It was half down the street and half in the yard. The sight of the misplaced and rudely parked truck annoyed Doug. He told his wife as much, commenting how people had no respect for other people's property. After they both were inside the house, he decided he was not going to let it go.
He grabbed a flashlight, heading back out to investigate, and Chris, who had patted their dog Sundance on her way through the living room, was making for the bedroom. She couldn't wait to get into bed. It had been a long day.
Doug kept a fourteen-foot fishing boat on a trailer under his backyard deck, and he often fretted about how simple it would be for someone to back up to it and drive away. As he headed out of the house, he first aimed the light under the deck. He breathed a sigh of relief. The boat was there, all right. Then he walked toward the misplaced pickup, hesitating as he got within ten feet of it,
Then coming up for a closer look, he could see someone slouched down the front seat. The man moved slightly as the light was shown on him, but it appeared to Doug that the guy was sleeping one off. He did not investigate further and headed back inside. Once inside, he called out to his wife that the truck belonged to some drunk who was sleeping off his booze.
His wife barely answered as she was drowsily browsing People magazine as she laid comfortably in their bed. Being a dedicated gun enthusiast and hunter, Doug knew he could not head off to bed just yet. There was work left to be done. He went down to the basement where he soaked a cleaning patch in solvent
scrubbed the bore of the old savage with a bristle brush, and then threaded the wet patch through the barrel. He left the gun leaned up against his reloading badge, right next to the six unshot rounds. Then, as he headed back upstairs, he started thinking about a strange truck outside. As he had had time to mull things over,
He came to the conclusion that it was simply too weird for the truck to be parked on his front lawn like that. This time, when he went back outside, the truck was gone. As he turned back into the house to turn off the lights and also to get a glass of water before going to bed, he remembered it was garbage night. The next day, Thursday, was pick-up day.
Because Chris had the day off, they probably would sleep late the next morning. So he decided he better take out the garbage too, before turning in for the night. He walked back down the short flight of steps to a landing, and stepped down into the garage. He slid the two refuse containers across the floor to the garage door, and with one hand lifted it up.
As he took about two steps into the driveway, he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye. Crouched down between an ornamental evergreen and the side of the house was the figure of a man. The sight of a strange man in the middle of the night startled him, and he called out to the figure, demanding to know who he was. At that moment, the man behind the bush leaped out into the front yard.
The man said he was quote-unquote Wayne from Conlins. Doug didn't recognize him, but his mind was putting it together and he managed to vaguely remember who the man was. He asked what the hell the man was doing at his place at this late hour, and Wayne Nance started stammering. Nance said he had seen something, and that Doug probably should get a flashlight to investigate.
The first thing Doug thought of was the orange and white truck from earlier. He didn't stop to think that it was even more strange that Wayne Nance was standing in his front yard at midnight, or that Wayne had been sneaking around in the bushes. Doug's millisecond-long rationalization was that maybe Wayne was out driving around and had seen the guy in the truck somewhere.
Without thinking about things too much, Doug simply said he would get a flashlight. As he turned and re-entered the garage, stepped up to the landing and was just about to take the last step into his living room, Doug felt a searing blow to the back of his head. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor in the living room. The back of his head was split wide open and bleeding.
Nance was coming towards him, branching a mean-looking black billy club with a rope used to secure it that was looped on his wrist. Nance had wide open eyes and looked very angry.
As Nance was almost upon him, Doug managed to kick out with his foot, hitting Nance with enough force to send him crashing into the wall. This gave Doug enough space to be able to get to his feet, and he was no timid victim. Doug went straight into Nance, hard.
Grabbing Nance by the collar, he wrestled the man until they both fell down upon the dog-bed. No words had been exchanged, and Chris could by now hear loud thuds and crushing sounds.
Chris thus came running down into the living room, where she saw the two men fighting. At that moment, Nance managed to push Doug away, and he reached behind him and pulled out a gun. It was Nance's father's gun, a quick-draw Ruger. Breeding hard, he pointed the gun at the couple and ordered them to keep back.
At this point, Chris too had recognized the man, and she yelled at him, asking why he was doing this and what the hell he thought he was doing. After a while, Nance calmed down a bit and told the couple he was on the run. He had done something quote-unquote really bad and had to get away. He knew that Doug had gotten his paycheck that day, and thus he needed that money before eloping.
No one talked for a couple of minutes as Nance gestured for them to get farther back into the room. Chris rested Doug's head against a sofa. Then Nance produced a section of white clothesline rope he'd carried in a plastic bag he pulled from under his plaid cotton flannel shirt, which he wore tails out.
Otherwise, Nance was dressed just as he might be any other day, in blue jeans and a T-shirt. He took off his brown jersey gloves to cut a section of rope with a kitchen-type cutlery knife he pulled from a scabbard he wore on his belt. Then he told Chris to tie Doug's hands and feet.
Chris tried to reason with Nance, telling him that he really didn't need to tie them up. But Nance had gotten colder and more sinister now. He told her again to do as he commanded, and this time she complied, hoping that by being compliant, Wayne Nance wouldn't hurt them. Once Doug was tied up, Nance demanded to know where the money was.
Chris told him, and also told him she kept some cash in her purse. She also offered him their car, if he needed transportation. By now, Doug was barely conscious. His head wound was a severe one, and he had lost a lot of blood. Chris begged Nance for something to secure Doug's head with, and reluctantly, Nance tossed her a bathroom towel.
Nance proceeded to find around $130, which he put in his pocket, and continued to move back and forth throughout the house. In the kitchen, he tried to close the window blinds, but he was having trouble. He was pulling and pulling, but he couldn't get them to work. Chris called out to him, offering to help. She was worried he would ruin the blinds. She painfully knew how expensive they had been.
But Nance simply growled at her to shut up and stay where she was. Eventually he got them closed, and he headed back into the living room, where he pulled the shades down. Both Doug and Chris had commanded Sundance to lie down by the wall. The dog obeyed. They sensed that Nance was getting antsy about the two of them being together.
And when Nance said he was going to tie Chris, Doug woke up enough to loudly protest. He really did not want Nance to tie Chris up, and he tried in vain to talk him out of it. This summer, Instacart presents famous summer flavors coming to your front door. Or pool. Or hotel. Your grocery delivery has arrived, sir. That was faster than room service. No violins in the lobby? Seriously?
Anyway, sit back, relax, and get delivery in as fast as 30 minutes. Starring your favorite snacks, drinks, and more. Download Instacart for free delivery on your first three orders. Rated H for hungry audiences. Offer valid for a limited time. Minimum $10 per order. Excludes restaurants. Additional terms and fees apply.
Millions of people have lost weight with personalized plans from Noom, like Evan, who can't stand salads and still lost 50 pounds. Salads generally for most people are the easy button, right? For me, that wasn't an option. I never really was a salad guy. That's just not who I am. But Noom worked for me. Get your personalized plan today at Noom.com. Real Noom user compensated to provide their story. In four weeks, the typical Noom user can expect to lose one to two pounds per week. Individual results may vary.
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. 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. Nance tied Chris's hands together in front of her and again started with his justification. And I quote, I've done something really bad and I gotta get out of town.
Once I get out of town, I'll call somebody, and they'll come and untie you. Then you'll be free. I'll be gone. End quote. Then he stated that he had to separate the pair, as he couldn't risk them tying each other free too fast after he left. It was by then, just after 12.30 a.m. Nance had held his hostages for more than 30 minutes.
Doug was down on his side, unable to see much of what was going on, but he saw Nance lift his wife off the floor, heading for the bedroom. She was in her nightshirt, and it occurred to her that she was in a pretty vulnerable position. Chris felt almost weightless as Nance carried her down the hall. He put her on the bed and proceeded to tie her hands and feet.
She was still just thinking about when he was going to leave, as Nance fumbled with the ropes, trying for a good anchor to secure her hands. The brass plate headboard wobbled too much, so Nance tied her hands to the frame. Then he tied her right hand in a slip-type knot that closed tighter as it was pulled. He tied her feet together with one loop of rope secured by a square knot.
Nance then found a pair of pantyhose in Chris's wardrobe. He opened a second drawer and removed a pair of Doug's white athletic socks, trimmed with a red band at the top. He stuffed a sock into Chris's mouth and tied the pantyhose around her head, securing the gag. Chris could feel that he hadn't tied it very tightly.
Then Nance returned to Doug, who was still on his side, his hands tied behind him and his head resting on the sofa. Doug was still bleeding, and not thinking straight, when Wayne stuffed a sock into his mouth. Nance was visibly excited by now, exhibiting clear signs of an adrenaline rush.
He told Doug he was going to take him into the basement, to keep him even further away from his wife. Doug did not protest, but after Nance removed the sock to allow him to speak, said he could not walk with him down to the basement with his feet tied up.
Nance freed his feet, stuffed the sock back into Doug's mouth, and stood above him on the stairs as he half supported his prisoner and half pushed him down the short flight of seven steps, all the time holding Doug's right arm. Nance's revolver was back in the holster where he had put it soon after he tied them both. Nance shut the door behind them. The basement was an unfinished space.
There was a washer and a dryer, a framed-up bathroom wall, and Doug's reloading bench. Nance pushed Doug right past the bench, right past the old savage rifle and a stack of ammo, to a structural support post. Nance then moved Doug up against the wood column support.
Doug was facing the stairway and to his right, about four meters away, was the reloading bench and the Savage. Hands still tied behind, Doug was weak. He started to slide down to the floor, leaning into the post. Nance had let go of him and just as Doug began his descent, he felt a blow to the head. Nance had hit him.
Then he hit him again, and again. Doug was scrambling to get away, looking up at Nance, who was chasing him with the billy club. Doug stopped when he got to the middle of the basement floor and reeled up on his behind, his feet in the air. He shouted at Nance to get out, to take the money, the car keys, and to leave Chris and him alone. Nance answered by again pulling out his gun.
ordering Doug to get back to the wooden post. There was no doubt in Doug's mind, then, that Nance planned on killing him, and it was the first time that it had sunk in that they were in very bad trouble. Nance produced another section of white cotton-cloth-lined rope and looped it across Doug's neck and around the post. Doug feared Nance was going to bear down and strangle him,
But he did not. He tied it tight and left it at that. Then he wrapped the rope around Doug's armpit, tucked it under his shoulder, looped it around the post, and then around the other armpit. As Nance then tightened up the slack, Doug's shoulders were anchored to the post, just as his neck and head were securely fastened.
Nance then tied Doug's feet together, and just as soon as he had bound Doug's feet, Nance was gone. He had left Doug, and now Doug knew Chris was next. The single bare bulb cast its harsh light on the rifle by the bench. Doug thought if he could get loose and get that rifle, he could stop this.
He started working to lose the binding on his arms. In the time Chris lay tied to her bed, all she could think about was getting loose, so she could jump out the window and get next door and across the street for help. There was a phone on the nightstand, but her hands were tied, and even if she got free, she was going out the window, she told herself.
It did not occur to her that Doug's handgun was in the drawer. It was an AMT backup, an American-made stainless steel .22 caliber semi-automatic long rifle job that he kept with the clip loaded but nothing in the chamber. The safety was kept off.
Thus, to use the gun, all she would have to do is hand operate the slide that would feed a cartridge into the chamber. Chris was trying to work the knots with her fingernails, and she was making some progress when Nance entered the room. He did not say anything. He gave her a dispassionate look as he walked around the bed, checking the knots and inspecting the gag.
Then he left, and she heard the basement door close again. Doug had discovered that his rope bindings were tied unevenly. One hand was tied very tightly, but on the other, the rope was fashioned in a loose loop. He got one loop undone,
and with his hands parted a little, was starting to pull on the knots, trying to gain slack when the door opened. Doug pressed his hands together for appearance's sake. Nance grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off the floor, seeing if Doug was still affixed to the post. Then Nance started to pace at Doug's feet. He came around behind Doug,
and they both suddenly heard a noise upstairs. The bed, which was almost directly above them on the first floor, had moved. Nance looked up, and in no time was shutting the basement door behind him. Doug worked harder on the ropes. The raising back and forth, from the basement to the bedroom and back again, seemed to occupy hours.
Doug and Chris had lost track of time. Doug knew that he was losing consciousness. He was running out of time. He was worried about Chris more than anything. It was harder and harder to keep his eyes focused on Nance. Then Doug couldn't see him at all. Nance had gone around behind him, and that was when Doug felt it. It was like a hard punch to his chest.
Doug looked up, and Nance was in his face, down low, with his hand on Doug's chest. Nance was stooped, oddly, to Doug's right side, it seemed, and when he looked down, he could see why. The tip of the oak handle of a knife was sticking out of his chest, wrapped in Nance's brown-gloved hand.
The sound of escaping air came next, released in a croaky, rushing sound as Doug's diaphragm was severed. It was a sidearm thrust with a Chicago cutlery knife that came in just underneath Doug's heart. Doug's mouth was open, but he could not talk. He could not make any noise. He had accepted his death,
and it came in a simultaneous moment of total disbelief in slow motion doug raised his eyes to nance's and he looked him right in the eye he saw nothing no glee no remorse just a dead gil doug slumped hanging limp on the ropes he couldn't move
Nance then removed the knife, with Doug watching as all eight inches of the smooth, narrow carbon blade glided out of his body. Nance then put the bloodied knife next to Doug's pant cuff, which Nance held between his thumb and forefinger, and wiped the blade clean. Without another word, Nance turned around and left.
not even bothering to close the basement door behind him. Upstairs, Chris had managed to get one hand free, once again, and when Doug returned, he was furious. He demanded to know if she had called the cops, which she denied, saying he would have heard her if she had. He nodded at that and started working on tying her up properly again. Downstairs, Doug was getting free.
The thought of Nance with his wife had given him renewed strength. When he turned his head to the side, he created a new slack in the ropes around his torso and throat. He wiggled free of them and gave a giant pull to slip his hands out. Doug stood up and walked directly over to the bench and the rifle.
He figured he had anywhere from 10 to 20 seconds, and he based that on his hunting experience. He had shot many deer in the chest, and sometimes they'll run that long before dropping. He also figured there was only enough time to load one cartridge, not just because he was now that wounded deer,
but also because Wayne Nance might return any second. He drew the cleaning patch from the barrel, shoved a single round into the chamber, closed the lever, freed the safety, and closed the bolt. Doug was too beaten to know whether he kicked the wall with his foot or knocked against it with his elbow,
But he knew as soon as Nance heard any noise, he would come running. And he did. Doug was set. He knew Nance was coming. The light from the kitchen would be momentarily eclipsed as he approached the top of the landing.
The sound of his running footsteps would tell Doug too, and he knew that Nance would not be able to see him until he turned around the half-wall partition at the top of the stairs. He would aim for the middle of the body. Nance came running, and when his wide-open eyes seized on the picture of a bloody, beaten Doug Wells, a dead man,
who was hunkered aimed ready to fire he stopped in his fast-forward tracks for only a second there was fear in nance's face but the face turned as the body began to pull away doug fired
The savage 250 slug tore through Nance's side, exited across the living room past the television, through the wall of the house into the night. Doug did not hear the gunfire or smell the discharge, but he could see that Nance was gone again. For a second, he despaired, as he thought he had missed
But then he heard a wounded Nance fall to the floor behind the partition, beyond Doug's view. Nance cried out, and I quote, Oh God, I'm a dead man, end quote. Doug managed to climb up the stairs and encountered Nance, who was on his hands and knees trying to get up. Holding the savage by its barrel,
Doug slammed the stock down on the back of Nance's head. Nance fell to the floor. Doug hit him again and again, hammering Nance about the head and neck. On all fours, Nance moved in a bear crawl down the hallway towards the bedroom, with Doug right behind him, swinging away, pounding and pounding and pounding. As Nance got to the bedroom doorway...
Doug struck a particularly massive blow, breaking the rifle's wooden stock. Splinters flew and the lever action was thrust open, ejecting the single shell casing into the bedroom. Nance rolled onto his back and covered his face with his right arm, and as Doug prepared to deliver the next thundering blow, Nance yelled out, and again I quote,
Doug, stop. Don't do this. Please stop. End quote. Doug, understandably, did not stop. Doug hit him again and again until Nance was forced into a tight corner of the room next to the nightstand at the head of the bed. And then he hit him some more. Chris came too. Her husband was raining blows on Nance, who was cowered in the corner.
And with her right hand still tied to the bed, she started to punch at Nance, screaming, You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch! Doug did not have a clear target, with Chris now flailing at Nance's chest, and he could see that Nance was moving his hands lower, towards his own gun.
Doug shouted at his wife to get away. She was blocking his access to Nance, and he had to forcibly shove her back onto the bed. When he looked back at Nance, the revolver was pointed at him. Doug swung his rifle at the gun and ducked just as Nance pulled the trigger. The slug went into the ceiling and through the roof and out into the sky.
Doug's adrenaline-stoked brain made it clear to him that Nance could finish them both off if he weren't stopped now. So he clubbed Nance with all the fury he could muster. Nance fired again, and Doug's leg jerked away from him. The bullet entered above the knee and exited three inches below the crotch and was stopped by his blue jeans.
The sting woke him even more to the battle. He started thinking about how to widen his attack strategy. His single-minded approach, just pounding away at Nance, was not working, because Nance wasn't dead yet. But there was no time. He hit him again, swinging wildly, catching the nightstand lamp and sending it flying. The bulb shattered completely.
The room was now pitch black, and Doug continued his feverish swinging in Nancy's direction. He felt something hit against the rifle. Then the darkness was marked by the muzzle flash of a third gunshot.
Doug knew Nance had to cock the single-action six-shot revolver every time, and he instinctively seized this interim moment to leap across the bed, reaching for the gun in the nightstand, the AMT backup. He chambered around and moved the gun to his left hand, pointing it at where he thought Nance was, and flipped on the overhead light.
As Doug watched Nance, he moved the gun to his right hand. Nance was slouched down, his eyes partly rolled up in his head. He was wheezing, his legs were quivering. Nance had been shot in the head, just above and behind the air, with his own gun.
The Ruger's barrel had been jammed into the side of Nance's head at the moment of fire in the split second after one of Doug's repeated swats with the rifle had hooked Nance's hand and deflected the gun into a suicide lock. After a few seconds, Doug came around to the front of the bed and told Chris to get Nance's gun off the floor. Doug told Chris he did not know how long he had left.
and collapsed on the bed. Chris proceeded to call 911. Nance had been fatally wounded by the savage slug that passed through his midsection. The slug severed a renal artery, hit the spleen, the pancreas, and the right lung and liver, clipping the ribs on its way in and out.
The autopsy would conclude that Nance would have had less than a minute to live after such a gunshot wound. As a result of Doug's seconds-long counterattack, Nance's body from his knees to the top of his head had suffered some 60 bashes, cuts, scrapes and abrasions, which had been meted out by Doug at a fierce rate of nearly one blow per second.
The slug from the contact shot to the head traveled through Nance's brain and lodged inside his skull on the other side. The paramedics had shown up minutes later, and when Doug woke up, he was on his back in a hallway just beyond an operating room in the emergency ward. In the operating room, he could hear voices saying someone's vitals weren't all that bad.
and that respiration was there and a pulse quick and strong. Doug was sure they were talking about Nance and cursed himself for not managing to kill the man. Then Chris was there. She told him Nance was dead and that the voices he had heard had been talking about him, not Nance. Doug would be fine.
If there's one thing that my family and friends know me for, it's being an amazing gift giver. I owe it all to Celebrations Passport from 1-800-Flowers.com, my one-stop shopping site that has amazing gifts for every occasion. With Celebrations Passport, I get free shipping on thousands of amazing gifts. And the more gifts I give, the more perks and rewards I earn.
To learn more and take your gift giving to the next level, visit 1-800-Flowers.com slash ACAST. That's 1-800-Flowers.com slash ACAST. Need new glasses or want a fresh new style? Warby Parker has you covered. Glasses start at just $95, including anti-reflective, scratch-resistant prescription lenses that block 100% of UV rays.
Every frame's designed in-house, with a huge selection of styles for every face shape. And with Warby Parker's free home try-on program, you can order five pairs to try at home for free. Shipping is free both ways, too. Go to warbyparker.com slash covered to try five pairs of frames at home for free. warbyparker.com slash covered.
At Ashley, you'll find colorful furniture that brings your home to life. Ashley makes it easier than ever to express your personal style with an array of looks in fun trending hues to choose from, from earth tones to vibrant colors to calming blues and greens. Ashley has pieces for every room in the house in the season's most sought after shades. A more colorful life starts at Ashley. Shop in store online today. Ashley, for the love of home.
And with that, we come to the end of part one in my expose on Wayne Nance. Next episode, number 150 in number, will feature part two in the Missoula Maulers saga. So, as they say in the land of radio, stay tuned. Finally, I wish to thank you, dear listener, for listening to
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.