There are no serial killers here. Serial killers are an American invention, a Western decadence that could never exist in our motherland.
Politburo member just before the fall of the Soviet Union in 1988
Remember this, every son, know this, any child, any son will grow into a pig if he starts out as a piglet.
The boy went away happy and Munchkin decided: I will do good, and not bad!
Vladimir Mayakovsky, Soviet poet, 18931930
The real truth about many of these gruesome murders is exposed here for the first time in defiance of the veil of secrecy thrown over these crimes by the Soviet Union and its successor, Putins Russia.
However, Ive occasionally had to deduce certain aspects of these events in order to ensure each story flows from a dramatic perspective because my main aim is to enhance rather than detract from the impact of these horrifying murder stories. This means that, while all scenes have been inspired by real circumstances, occasionally dialogue has been expanded, and certain names and locations have been changed out of respect for the victims and their families.
I make no apologies in advance to those of you who are squeamish about such graphic scenes because there is no way to water down what these killers have done.
These stories provide a unique perspective into a deadly nation through page-turning prose intended to grip readers from the start to finish of each case. The accuracy of the murders themselves, their causes and their consequences is irrefutable.
To understand a serial killers motivation, its crucial to get beneath their skin and find out what makes them tick. In this book, Ive reported their crimes but also unpeeled the lives of these murderers by revealing events that so clearly contributed towards turning them into psychopaths.
Over the past 30 years, Ive encountered male and female serial killers in prisons across the world while researching my books and TV documentaries. Most struck me as empty, soulless characters who obviously lacked empathy and, more often than not, charisma. By the time I talked to them, theyd mostly been broken by the reality of facing a one-way trip to the execution chamber or the rest of their lives in prison. I concluded that Hollywoods enigmatic Hannibal Lecter-type version of serial killers was a long way off the personalities of the real murderers. That is, until I found myself working and living in California in 1995.
One morning, my agent called me about meeting someone who had a unique book project at a small, rundown dive bar just off Hollywood Boulevard, in the centre of Los Angeles. When I asked my agent who the subject was, he laughed and told me all would be revealed when I met him. Three hours later, I was sitting in a shabby, threadbare maroon velvet corner booth in the far end of the bar when my agent walked in alongside a man with flowing blond hair and a beard. Dressed like a fashionable lumberjack, complete with denim jacket, checked shirt and jeans, he resembled a laid-back young Californian university professor. The pair headed straight to where I was sitting. We shook hands, and he refused an offer of a drink, sat down and then introduced himself. Up until that point, no one including myself in the tavern that day had the vaguest notion he was the nations most wanted man.
Glen Rogers, aged 33, was on the run and wanted in connection with at least half a dozen random killings of women. Millions of Americans were transfixed by the televised nationwide hunt for him because he didnt fit the usual profile of a serial killer. Hed just been nicknamed by the media as The Cross Country Killer (because he was on the run heading west across America) when he plucked my literary agents name out of the Hollywood yellow pages and phoned him. Rogers wanted someone to write his life story before he was either arrested or mowed down in a hail of police bullets.
Three elderly drunks downed bourbon shots at the main bar as a scratchy old jukebox next to us blared out Riders in the Storm by The Doors. Rogers then carefully placed his hands down on the table between us as if to assure me he was not armed, and then he began to speak.
Please dont judge me, said Rogers quietly, while constantly panning his eyes around the dimly lit bar to see if anyone had recognized him. I want folks out there to understand how I became this person. Things happen in your life especially when youre a kid and those events send you in one of two directions. I went down the road marked The Devil and from then on I didnt care who I hurt. People meant nothing to me. They were just objects that got in my way. I didnt consider them as flesh and bone. They were just stopping me from having what I wanted. What followed were allegations by Rogers of a harrowing, abuse-filled childhood filled with unimaginable horrors. He talked about being sexually abused and abandoned. As he spoke, tears welled up in his eyes, and it was clear he meant every measured word that he was saying.
The reason for mentioning Rogers here is that I never forgot his words. I have no way of knowing if his specific claims were true because his book never materialized. A few days after that meeting, he was arrested following a dramatic 13-mile police car chase on the outskirts of Waco, Kentucky. But meeting Glen Rogers in person that day made me fully appreciate for the first time that what so often happens to serial killers before they cross that line is as important as the crimes they ultimately commit. And that is one of the main reasons why this book reveals so much about the backgrounds and damage that turned many of these individuals into psychopathic killers, as well as outlining their appalling crimes. The soul was starved and beaten out of many of these characters before they were old enough to read and write. As a result, they grew up unable to relate to the emotions most of us take for granted.
Many of the Soviet Unions state-appointed psychiatrists during the nations communist rule insisted that all mass murderers had been born to kill and that there was little that could be done to prevent them from committing their heinous crimes. These experts shrugged their shoulders and gave the impression that people hunters, as they called serial killers back then, were in their country to stay. But what is it about the nations psyche during those often-harsh Soviet times that made these homicidal criminals believe they could get away with mass murder?