Jason Moss - The last victim: a true-life journey in the mind os a serial killer

THE LAST VICTIM. Copyright 1999 by Jason Moss and Jeffrey Kottler, Ph.D. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Warner Books,

Hachette Book Group

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New York, NY 10017

ISBN 978-0-7595-2830-7

A hardcover edition of this book was published in 1999 by Warner Books.

First eBook Edition: April 2001

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I t was autumn in the desert, but not like the kind of autumn youd ordinarily envision for that time of year. It was still hot, blazing hot. The only refuge from the sun was inside the refrigerated buildings.

With its stately palm trees and expanses of grass, the campus resembled one of the many resorts on the Las Vegas Strip. The difference was that, instead of neon and slot machines, there was a hotel college that taught would-be entrepreneurs how to operate casinos, as well as the usual academic buildings that catered mostly to local students and a few Southern California refugees. The most prominent structure by far was the Thomas and Mack Building, the basketball arena that played host to the Runnin Rebels. This was a university, after all, known primarily for its basketball program.

The best and the brightest of the students, a few hundred ambitious, sometimes compulsive scholars, enrolled in the honors program to get the best shot they could for entrance into medical school, law school, or the corporate fast track. The requirements included several exploratory seminars designed to expand students education beyond their narrow areas of specialty.

I had volunteered to teach one of these honors seminars, called Things That Matter. Id billed it as an opportunity for advanced students to explore a series of topics, including relationships, love, friendship, and, most vitally, the future. And on the first day of class, I encountered an ambitious group of young people: future lawyers, doctors, politicians, CEOs, and scientists.

One student caught my attention immediately because of the way he was dressed. While his peers, aged twenty to twenty-five, wore the uniforms of their generationjeans, T-shirts, sandals, shorts, even a skateboard or twothis particular student looked as if hed lost his way en route to a job interview. Beyond his crisp white shirt, striped tie, and polished loafers, I noted a resemblance to one of the Baldwin brothers, William maybe or Alec. He displayed the chiseled good looks that immediately attract the attention of the opposite sex. His eyes were serious, intent, and I noticed he was watching me carefully.

As the semester progressed, this young man stood out for a number of other reasons. He was predictably bright and precocious, even by the standards of an honors program. Yet he was also exceedingly confident and poised. In the jargon of my profession, he appeared older than his stated age. This was not just because of the way he looked but the way he acted.

Dr. Kottler, he said one day, addressing me formally even though I preferred the use of my first name, what exactly is the reason for requiring that our papers describe interviews the way you suggest?

Excuse me? I wasnt sure what he was driving at.

I mean, if your intent is to get us to reflect on what we learned during this field study, wouldnt it make sense for us to use direct quotes rather than just descriptions of what people said?

I heard a few classmates snicker. Was he challenging me? Your point is well taken, I said finally. Im looking for a balance between what you observed and the sense you make of those experiences.

As he nodded, I saw looks of admiration from his classmates. Everyone else had been so timid about speaking up, but Jason just jumped in, treating me as a colleague.

My first impression was that he might be a difficult student. Indeed, his eager-to-please attitude toward meand combative, competitive tone with peersdid create a certain degree of turbulence. Yet in spite of these challenges, I found Jason to be unusually smart, inquisitive, ambitious, and outspokenand not afraid to advance opinions that might be unusual or unpopular. His style, though provocative and at times trying, actually proved a catalyst for drawing out other students who were quite timid.

The semester-long seminar progressed nicely, perhaps one of my favorites in terms of depth and breadth of issues explored. The only thing that bothered me was the extent to which this group of students was concernedmake that obsessed with achievement. So many of their questions revolved around how various actions would affect their final grades.

In a class of hard chargers, Jason stood out as especially intense. He found reasons to approach me after many classes, wanting very specific directions about future assignments. While at first I was annoyed by these overtures, which seemed transparently driven toward getting an A, I soon recognized that Jason was reaching out for help.

It became our pattern to escort one another to our next classes. During these strolls across campus, Jason confided in me about his plans for the future, conflicts with his family, and the relationship with his girlfriend. In everything he talked about, and everything he did, he struck me as incredibly driven. I urged him to lighten up a bit, to stop trying so hard to do everything perfectly. Perhaps I recognized more than a little of myself in him. I too was an avid approval seeker who found it difficult to slow down.

I noticed that in spite of all that Jason had accomplished thus far in life, as an athlete, a scholar, and personality on campus, he didnt seem to be having much fun. Actually, he seemed haunted.

He was a straight-A student, chief justice of the student government, president of the psychology honors society, and a leader in community civic organizations. As we walked around campus, students, faculty, even administrators whom I barely knew by sight seemed familiar with him.

At times he would press me for advice about personal matters, and each time Id deftly put the focus back on him, as a counseling professor can easily do. Ill admit to feeling flattered he was willing to trust me: I could tell it was difficult for him to open up.

As the semester wound down, Jason and I got together for our last meeting. He thanked me for a stimulating class, then caught me by surprise by abruptly changing the subject. Shyly, he invited me to attend his honors thesis presentation.

I reluctantly agreed. These presentations, which were usually about some obscure area of research I could barely follow, could be quite boring. In fact, I couldnt help grimacing as I reflected on the last one Id attended. Dealing with political corruption in East Africa, it might have been interesting if there hadnt been so much sparring among the faculty committee members, each of whom was eager to demonstrate his expertise.

As the day for the event approached, I felt a little better about going. I didnt really have the time, but it was a constructive ritual and I felt honored that Jason thought enough of me to extend an invitation. Usually there are only a handful of people in attendancethree faculty members on the students committee and perhaps a friend or a parent.

I was shocked, therefore, when I walked into the room make that the auditorium and found seventy or eighty people. Somehow, word had gotten out that something unusual was going to happen. I had no idea that the next few hours would hold me spellbound, propelling me through emotions that ranged from indignation to admiration.