I was visiting a friend in her office the other day when I noticed this book in her IN box and commented on the title, and she said “Do you want to read it?” I have read it; I could not put the damn thing down! Ann Rule has a marvelous facility for capturing your attention and making you want to see what comes next, and I was intrigued by the way she wove the threads of this plot into something that reads like a novel with alternate points of view.
This book is the story of the Green River Killer, who terrorized Seattle WA for three years or more years back in the 1980s. Ann Rule, who had started life as a Seattle police officer well before then, had become a crime-writer, writing for True Detective and other magazines of that ilk, some eight or so stories a month, and then had turned to books after it was discovered that she had worked for a year or more with a young college student, studying psychology, with the two of them being the night staff operators at a crisis center, before he went on a murderous rampage across the country; his name was Ted Bundy. By the mid 1980s, Ann was writing documentaries about crime and found herself living in the middle of a crime wave as street-working prostitutes in south Seattle started disappearing, some of them last seen and/or their bodies later being found within a few miles of Ann’s home. As the rampage went on, it began to include young women who were not working the streets, but simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Ann knew she was going to write a book about this -- but the major problem was that the police could not find the murderer. She kept taking notes, cutting out clippings, talking to the police officers working on the case, interviewing friends and relatives of the victims, but she could not write the book until the killer was caught. As a public speaker, Ann talked about the book she would write and commented about the Green River Killer, and her readers and members of her audiences began to send her suggestions, called her on the phone to report suspicions, etc. The years rolled by, however, with a noticeable drop in the killings … until finally enough evidence came to light to identify who the killer was, and Ann could write her book--20 years later.
Ann’s book starts off as a straight history, reporting on how the first few bodies were found, with the account being enlivened by a mug-shot photograph of each girl in turn as Ann combined the last-known sightings and survivors’ recollections into third-person accounts that bring the girls to life on the pages, giving you insight into what was going on in their minds even though their lives are so incomprehensible. She makes their hopes and childish imaginings so understandable that there is a repeated shock every time one of them disappears into the night, leaving behind boyfriends (often their pimps), toddling children, bewildered parents and siblings, mystified friends. Ann does not romanticize their existence in any way, but she does express an understanding of how they came to be in their terrible position, finding that the vast majority of them came to the streets because of abuse at home or involvement in drugs that left them incapable of finding any other way of making a living.
At the same time, Ann draws on her friendships with the police and her understanding of police work to paint a detailed picture of how the police department goes about the process of establishing a team of investigators to address this continuing case--a team that over the course of time expands to more than 50 officials at a cost of millions of dollars, slowly going through the grinding process of checking out body sites, interviewing possible witnesses and acquaintances, sifting through clues in an attempt to figure out who is causing all these deaths (believed to number more than 50).
Interspersed with these two story lines, however, Ann interweaves into these accounts the concurrent third-person viewpoint of the killer, himself, based on what was eventually learned from his confessions and interviews with those who knew him, and we also get the fascinating account of how he grew, from a nasty incompetent little boy to a generally likable young man who drifted through three marriages under the control of his dominating mother.
The result is a “true” story about the series of happenings that terrorized Seattle back then and horrifies the reader now, to the extent that I keep having the urge to call loved ones and ask if they are all right, for fear that there are other equally evil people in the world, consumed by similar ungodly thoughts and depravities.
I grew up in a family that never had a key for the doors to their home, and I lived that same way until after my wife died, but you cannot read a book such as this without feeling that you should go check the lock on the door.