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Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

‘BTK’ recounts murderous details


Sedgwick County, Kan., District Attorney Nola Foulston, left, and Assistant District Attorney Kevin O'Conner listen to Dennis Rader describe in detail on Monday 10 murders he committed in the Wichita area between 1974 and 1991. 
 (Associated Press / The Spokesman-Review)
Patrick Driscoll USA Today

The notorious “Bind, Torture, Kill” strangler pleaded guilty in a Wichita courtroom Monday to 10 murders that terrorized Kansas residents for three decades.

Then, to the shock and disgust of those listening in the courtroom and watching live on television, Dennis Rader gave the judge an unemotional, matter-of-fact accounting of how he had carried out each of his gruesome “projects.”

Rader, 60, a former church council president, Boy Scout leader and suburban dog-catcher, told of “trolling” at random for victims, then “stalking” selected targets until he was comfortable enough to break into their homes. Once there, he lay in wait, then attacked and killed them with bags over their heads and cords around their throats.

Armed with pistols and a knife that he used just once, Rader wore disposable “hit clothes” for his homicides and carried his rope and other tools in a “hit kit” briefcase, he said.

Rader’s string of unsolved homicides kept Kansas’ largest city on edge for 31 years. Under questioning by Sedgwick County District Judge Gregory Waller, Rader said he killed for sexual thrills.

Rader said he stripped one victim naked and took snapshots of her lifeless body. He said he hanged one of his first victims, an 11-year-old girl, from the ceiling of her family’s basement and then sexually gratified himself. Rader had killed her parents and 9-year-old brother moments before.

Calm recitation of crimes

Balding and bespectacled, his salt-and-pepper mustache and goatee neatly trimmed, Rader stood and recited the grisly details in a calm, steady voice. His defense lawyers, flanking him, looked down awkwardly. The packed courtroom, including members of the victims’ families, sat frozen in stunned silence.

Within hours of his plea, The Wichita Eagle, the city’s daily newspaper, published a special “extra” edition with the banner headline: “GUILTY.”

Robert Beattie, a Wichita lawyer who spent years writing a book about the case, “Nightmare in Wichita: The Hunt for the BTK Strangler,” said Rader’s admission is “a relief for Wichita. There is no longer any reason for people to be suspicious of their eccentric neighbor or co-worker.”

Beattie was appalled by Rader’s callous words. “Every one of his victims, he said he ‘put down,’ the way an animal-control officer says he ‘puts down’ dogs. I’m still shaking with so much anger. It reminded me of the Nazis talking about disposing of their victims like it was a procedural problem,” Beattie said.

In one particularly chilling account Monday, Rader described breaking into the home of Shirley Vian, 24, in March 1977. He said he told her he “had a problem with sexual fantasies and I was going to tie her up” after binding her three children first.

But once he had tied up the children, “they started crying and got real upset, so I said, ‘Oh, this is not going to work,’ ” Rader recalled. “So we moved them to the bathroom. She helped me” lock them in. Then Vian got sick and threw up. “I got her a glass of water,” he said, “comforted her a little bit and then tied her up and put a bag over her head and strangled her.”

Rader stalked and killed while living a double life as a father of two in the Wichita suburb of Park City, where he worked for a home-security firm and then as the town’s code-enforcement officer.

He returns to court Aug. 17 for sentencing. Each count carries a possible life sentence. Sedgwick County District Attorney Nola Foulston said she will ask that Rader serve the sentences consecutively for a total of at least 175 years.

The astonishing courtroom narrative gave a rare glimpse into a serial killer’s mind. Rader filled in some of the details that Wichitans had waited years to hear: how and why he picked his victims, how he got into their homes and what drove him to kill.

He did not say why he suddenly resurfaced last year, decades after he had taunted police and the news media with cryptic messages and then eluded capture. Shortly after the Eagle published a 30th-anniversary story about the first BTK murder, he broke his silence with chatty notes, clues and packages. Slip-ups around surveillance cameras and with computer data apparently led police to him. Genetic crime-solving, honed since Rader began killing and leaving DNA evidence behind, also was critical.

“He wants his story out there. That’s the whole purpose in all this,” said Wichita psychologist Tony Ruark, who was consulted by investigators in the early years of the BTK investigation.

Ruark said he was was struck by “the absolute coldness and clinical style” in which Rader described his crimes. “This total, complete lack of remorse or emotion or concern for the victims or anybody involved with them makes me wonder: What has this man been through in his life? What happened in his childhood and adolescence to create such a degree of pathology and sickness in him?”

Confessed soon after arrest

Monday’s plea came almost four months after Rader’s arrest and on the day he originally was due to stand trial. While awaiting trial, Rader and his defense team had remained mum.

Outside court, Sedgwick County chief public defender Steve Osburn said Rader “wanted to take responsibility for his actions early on.” Osburn confirmed earlier media reports that Rader had confessed “right after his arrest.” Osburn also said he believed Rader’s family had written him, asking him to plead guilty.

Asked whether Rader has shown any remorse, Osburn replied, “I think we’re going to leave that for Mr. Rader to say.”

Osburn added: “I hope that today Mr. Rader has given some closure to the families of the victims and to Wichita as a whole. There is no doubt at this point that the BTK killer has been caught. He has confessed. He has given details.”

Those details enraged many who had followed the case, including former Wichita Police Chief Richard LaMunyon. “He just referred to these people … like they didn’t exist,” LaMunyon told the Associated Press.