The Serial Killer Podcast Thomas Rosseland Wiborg-Thune

The torture the girls were subjected to have been difficult to ascertain. The details probably fit with Schafer’s own writings, detailed in previous episodes in this series. One can only hope that Georgia lost consciousness, due to fear or intoxication, and that Susan, perhaps, had an epileptic episode and that in either case they would not have known what atrocities would befall them. But it is more likely that she was screaming as Georgia was tortured...
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The 27th of September, 1972. A date etched in blood on the Florida calendar. Georgia Jessup, a wisp of a girl with dreams far exceeding her sixteen years, vanished from her home. No struggle, no screams, just a blue suitcase packed with aspirations – her own clothes, a few pilfered treasures from her mother's closet, and a younger sister's forgotten dress, a silent plea for a piece of childhood amidst the coming storm.
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He took pleasure in the kill, not the bounty it provided. Songbirds, their sweet melodies silenced with a single, brutal crack. Land crabs, scuttled across the sand only to meet a leaden demise. These were the trophies John craved, not sustenance, but the chilling dominion over life and death. The boy who once played by the canal now held the power to extinguish the spark of life in living creatures, a darkness blooming beneath the veneer of a good student and budding athlete.
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Fair warning, the content is graphic and disturbing. I quote: “She was expecting dinner but instead was driven down a deserted road. She was asked to get out of the car and submitted to a frisk search. Then the handcuffs were locked around her wrists and the blindfold placed over her eyes. She was then led away into the dark to the place of execution. She was assisted in mounting the laddar and sat down on the top of it. The hangmans noose was placed over her head after a pillow case was dropped over her face in a hood arrangement. She sat there very composed and ladylike while I adjusted the rope. She obviously had no inclination of what was about to happen.
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She worked the gag from her mouth and began to chew on the knot. The rope left little coarse hairs in her mouth which ground into her gums as she chewed, and it tasted like car oil. Her legs were also tightly bound with rope around her knees. She tried desperately to work her legs free but to no avail. The attempt seemed only to cut the blood flow to her feet, making them numb and, consequently, making it difficult to keep a firm footing on the root. Finally she turned around and fell against the branch where the other end of the rope was tied on. The rope was looser from chewing on it, and she could untie it with her hand behind her back. She undid the knot herself, and then got all the ropes off. It didn’t take very long, maybe ten or fifteen minutes. But she still had the handcuffs on. She picked up the ropes that moments before had held her captive and ran, keeping low.
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In the subterfuge of this turbulent environment, a prolific monster operated right under the noses of law enforcement, preying on victims from the city’s most vulnerable population demographic.
 
On the 2nd of February, 2009, Christine Ross was walking her dog Rucca through the morning shadows of Paradise, her West Mesa subdivision community, when the hound caught a scent. Within a minute, he'd dug up a large bone and proudly presented it. Disturbed, Christine texted a picture of the fossil to her sister, who was a nurse. It looked like a human femur bone, her sister replied. Police investigators arrived on the scene and discovered the remains of multiple human bodies buried across 100 acres of barren land.
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