Alaska’s most famous serial killer. In the last episode, I left you with Hansen having just dropped off 18-year old Barbara Fields after having abducted and raped her repeatedly. She was one of Hansen’s very few victims who managed to survive encountering the Butcher Baker. Tonight we meet some of those that did not.

As we travel alongside our frozen-hearted villain in the Last Frontier State, the crimes become darker and more extreme the older Robert Hansen got. As this episode is released, we are very close to Christmas time. And tonight, we join our subject as he too was preparing for the festive holiday season. Admittedly, his preparations were different than most folks’ were.

Robert Hansen is looking at the inferno that used to be the town bus barn while he is pointing his firehose uselessly into the flames. He is exhilarated and can’t keep from smiling, his eyes reflecting the flames making them seem filled with fire themselves...

Many serial killers through history has never been caught and many, such as Robert Hansen, operated for years and years without being caught. Much of the general public’s knowledge concerning serial murder is a product of Hollywood productions. Story lines are created to heighten the interest of audiences, rather than to accurately portray serial murder. By focusing on the atrocities inflicted on victims by “deranged” offenders, the public is captivated by the criminals and their crimes. This only lends more confusion to the true dynamics of serial murder.

Imagine if you will, dear listener, the city of Anchorage in the great state of Alaska on the 13 th of June, 1983. A beautiful young woman is running. It is summer, but still the asphalt beneath her feet is cold and so rugged that it feels like the soles of her feet are on fire. She doesn’t stop running, though. She knows with absolute certainty that if she stops, if she hesitates even for a second, the hunter behind her somewhere will catch her and kill her. The young woman is not properly dressed for the Alaskan outdoors. She has a miniskirt on and a short jacket that’s obviously meant to be pretty rather than practical. The name she goes by these days is Kitty Larson, but her parents always knew her as Victoria Matthew.

Imagine if you will, dear listener, the small town of Tweed, Canada during winter. It is dark, around 2 am at night. You have a bird’s eye view of the athletic body of Russell Williams as he is walking on a snowy gravel road. Slung over his shoulder is the stiff, frozen corpse of...

Imagine dear listener, you get to your partner, shout their name a couple of times, but still no reply. You walk up the stairs to the bedroom, the place where you have had so many loving moments together. The sight that greets you there is odd. There, your partner is lying in bed, tucked in looking almost peaceful. But there is paleness, and is that blood? You rush over and quickly realise...

Imagine if you will, dear listener, a handsome clean-cut man sitting in his neat and spartan home office. He is wearing jogging clothes and a hooded jumper. Copious amounts of sweat is on his face, most of starting to dry up leaving white salt-stains. The man is grinning to himself and he has a raging erection. He has just finished masturbating, his third round this same day and now he is typing. I am course, dear listener, talking about Colonel Russell Williams.

Welcome to the third part of this ongoing series on the Killer Colonel. He has a focused look on his face as he is running along the suburban streets, although he does seem to look at the houses more than what one might think was normal. Usually when jogging, one tends to focus on the road ahead, many don the famous thousand-mile stare as jogging serves a nearly meditative activity. But this man, of course I am referring to Colonel Russell Williams, seems very much present. The public would learn why and it was not pretty.