Killer Stories with Harvey Guillén - “The Torso Killer” Richard Francis Cottingham Pt. 2

Episode Date: July 23, 2020

In 1977, Cottingham was married with three kids, two secret girlfriends, and an itch for abusing sex workers. As the years wore on, he developed increasingly bizarre torture rituals, and his crimes escalated in both body count and brutality.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Due to the graphic nature of this killer's crimes, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes discussions of murder and assault that some people may find offensive. We advise extreme caution for children under 13. Firefighters race to a dingy hotel on West 42nd Street near Times Square. As their truck pulled up to the curb, they could see flames licking the windows on the fourth floor. Once inside, they were hit with a wall of thick black smoke. There was something else, too. A smell that shouldn't have been there.

Iron, so strong that one firefighter could taste it on his tongue. Iron mixed with decay. At the end of the hall, the firefighter saw a woman collapsed outside her hotel room door. The firefighter ran to her, hoping it wasn't too late. In smoke that thick, it can take only minutes to coat your lungs. As the blaze grew around him, The firefighter reached the woman, crumpled on the floor. He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her over to administer a CPR.

She was charred and covered in thin, bloody slashes. A chill skittered up the firefighter's spine. He moved to give her CPR, then screamed. The woman had no head. Hey, I'm Greg Paulson. This is serial killers, a podcast original. Every episode, we dive into the mind. minds and madness of serial killers. Today, we're concluding the disturbing story of Richard Cottingham,

nicknamed The Torso Killer. I'm here with my co-host, Vanessa Richardson. Hi, everyone. You can find episodes of serial killers and all other podcast originals for free on Spotify, or wherever you listen to podcasts. To stream serial killers for free on Spotify, just open the app and type Serial Killers in the search bar. Last week, we followed Richard Cottingham through young adulthood. his sadistic fantasies overwhelmed him and developed into a desire to kill. This week, we'll follow Cottingham's increasingly bizarre killing rituals as he vows to become the best serial killer of all time.

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Richard Cottingham was a busy man. At 32, he was a father of three with a full-time job at Blue Cross Blue Shield. When he wasn't at home in New Jersey with his wife, Janet, Richard was typically in Manhattan with one of his two secret girlfriends, Barbara Lucas. or Jean Connolly. He also found time to frequent sex clubs, swingers bars, and gay bathhouses all over New York, usually coming home after a night of sex around four or five in the morning. Janet was used to her husband stumbling through the doors at all hours, smelling like a distillery. For whatever reason, she put up with it.

Of course, she didn't know about all his extracurriculars, though she unlikely guessed. She also didn't know that her husband had taken up a new hobby, one he'd been fantasizing about since he was a kid. The Ledgewood Terrace apartments were blanketed in fresh powder. Christmas lights were wrapped around the balconies twinkling through the snowfall. 26-year-old Marianne Carr loved the holiday decorations. They were like cheery nightlights, welcoming her home after a long day at the hospital. She was an X-ray technician, overworked and underpaid. Marianne let her purse drop to the floor and kicked off her shoes.

She'd been on her feet for hours. She made herself a cocktail and lit a cigarette, a poor habit for a nurse, but everyone has their vices. Marianne took a long drag of her cigarette, never guessing that she was being watched, that something about her had caught the attention of a man standing in her parking lot. Marianne's body was found on the morning of December 16, 1977. in the parking lot of the Quality Inn in Ledgewood Terrace, New Jersey. She was wearing her white nurse's uniform, though the left pant leg had been sliced.

Disturbingly, lobs of Marianne's hair had been chopped off and laid across her right thigh. Police were disgusted to find lacerations on her chest and feet, as well as evidence that she'd been handcuffed. An autopsy would confirm that she'd been raped. It seemed that her assailant had bound her. her, tortured her, then strangled her to death. Most notably, the killer left a deep bite mark on her left breast. He then dumped her body by the chain link fence lining the parking lot. The killer had stolen Marianne's shoes, coat, and purse. Back at Marianne's apartment,

police expected to find signs of struggle, but everything was undisturbed, left neatly in its place. The only signs of movement were a room-temperature cocktail and a half-auntary smoked cigarette. Beyond that, there was nothing in the apartment that helped their investigation. A neighbor down the hallway mentioned that he had spotted Marianne the night before, talking to a sandy-haired man in the parking lot. The neighbor admitted that the man looked familiar. He supposed it was Marianne's husband. But Mr. Carr had been out of town on business when his wife was murdered. His alibi checked out. Police were stumped. It seemed like Marianne knew her attacker, but an exhaustive search turned up nothing.

Of course, Marianne's neighbor might have recognized the killer for another reason. Years ago, Janet Cottingham was a tenant in the same building, until she married her husband, Richard. And now, it seemed, Richard had returned to check in on some of his wife's old neighbors. There's no telling how he coaxed Marianne out of her apartment and into his car, but he likely used his wife's name to do it. Despite the horror of the brutality, the police were left with few leads in Marianne's murder. The case quickly went cold. And unfortunately, they didn't leak her murder to Richard's earlier brutal attacks on sex workers around New York.

32-year-old Richard Cottingham was the kind of John most sex workers looked for. He carried cash so the women knew they wouldn't get stiffed. And after a few shots, he was actually fairly charming, empathetic even. And while we might see his charismatic disposition as an act, his empathy might have been sincere. Vanessa is going to take over on the psychology here and throughout the episode. Please note, Vanessa is not a licensed psychologist or a psychiatrist, but she has done a lot of research for this show. Thanks, Greg. It's commonly believed that serial killers lack empathy, but a study conducted by criminologist Jack Levin and James Allen Fox suggests otherwise. In fact, they probably understand their victims incredibly well.

They feel their victim's pain. It's what gives sadist killers so much pleasure. Additionally, sadist killers like Richard must be able to understand their victim's feelings in order to deceive them. Levin and Fox believe that many serial killers are capable of empathy and even remorse when they choose. Though Richard never seemed to feel guilt, over his killings. In fact, it seemed like he was just getting started. On March 22nd, 1978, 31-year-old Karen Schilt finished her waitressing shift at Ruby Tuesdays. Around 6 p.m., she headed to 3rd Avenue Tavern on the Upper East Side. While there, she met a charming man who introduced himself as Joseph.

The pair hit it off, growing closer over a few rounds of drinks. Joseph had sandy brown hair and a childish grin. He was endearing, even when he asked if Karen was a sex worker. Karen laughed and assured him she wasn't. He shrugged, then kept on drinking. An hour later, he asked again, this time more pointedly. Karen shifted in her seat and assured him that no, she wasn't. A few minutes later, he asked again.

Karen tried to laugh it off, but Joseph wasn't smiling. Karen glanced at her watch. 9 p.m. already. She really ought to head home. But when she stood up, she felt dizzy, sick even. Maybe she'd had more to drink than she thought. Karen stumbled out of the tavern and down the street. Her apartment was only a few blocks away. But the world was spinning.

Each footstep seemed to rattle in her head like a thunder clap. She felt her knees buckle. Karen sensed a car pull up next to her on the sidewalk. Before she could look at the driver, her world went dark. When Karen next opened her eyes, she was sitting in the passenger seat of Joseph's marooned teabird, thundering down Route 80 in New Jersey, far from her apartment in Manhattan. Before she could really take in her surroundings, Joseph shoved red and blue pills into her mouth, and she lost consciousness again.

When she woke up, Karen was lying in a bed at Hackensack Hospital. She had been found lying in a parking lot by a police officer on patrol. There were deep scratches on her breasts, and a toxicology report showed Toonol, a common date rape drug in her system. Two and all is known to erase memory for up to seven hours after consumption. Because of this, Karen remembered almost nothing from the night before. which made the ordeal no less terrifying. Though Karen remembered little about her assailant,

she did have a fragmented memory of being sexually assaulted. She also remembered a burning sensation on her breasts, which were now heavily scarred. She also realized that her purse, coat, scarf, and ring were missing. While Karen came to terms with her assault, Richard was a few blocks away, working his day job at Blue Cross Blue Shield. There he was known as Cot, a hardworking oddball who was reliable enough.

He loved to joke about all the sex workers he hired, though none of his colleagues took him seriously. Richard didn't mind. He just loved the attention. This was at the root of the way Richard moved through the world. He shocked his coworkers for attention. He flirted with women for attention. He simply wanted to be noticed. He didn't even care that his colleagues never believed his stories. Of course, they had no idea that Richard was secretly stealing their house keys and making copies on his lunch hour, nor that he would sneak into his co-workers' apartments while they were at work and rob them.

It made him feel powerful knowing that he had something on his colleagues. Not only was he evading the police, he was deceiving the people around him every day. He felt above the law. And as always happens, his perceived infallibility would cause his first mistake. In a moment, Richard Cottingham's gruesome murders escalate. Transport your senses with Solte Gennedos limited edition perfume mist collection. At Sephora, spritz on lush notes of rainforest orchid and crisp seabries with have fresco paraizzo. Embrace a floral and fruity scent inspired by Rio's nude beach with chiqui bikini.

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Not that anyone had noticed the serial killer prowling in New York City. The lack of publicity the disappearance has received meant that Richard never had trouble finding new victims. Richard first approached Susan Geiger on October 10, 1978. He offered her $200 for sex, but she turned him down. She was already booked for the night. Still, she slipped him her phone number and told him to make an appointment. The next morning, Richard asked Susan to meet him for a drink around midnight.

He even offered to pick her up in his maroon teabird. Normally, Susan didn't get into clients' cars, but Richard seemed so friendly that she decided to make an exception. The pair drove to Flanagan's Tavern, the same place that Richard first met his mistress, Barbara Lucas. One drink later, Susan felt dizzy and weak in the knees. Richard was leading her outside to his teabird. She was too groggy to refuse.

She could feel herself blacking out, losing control of her body. When Susan woke up, she was alone in a dingy hotel room, covered in her own blood. There were shallow cuts across her entire body and a deep bite mark on her right breast. Waves of shock moved through her, followed by waves of pain. It felt like every piece of her body had. had been tugged, pulled, and scratched. Her memory was foggy, though she thought she remembered Richard standing over her, hitting her with a garden hose. She could feel the bruise forming on her cheek. She looked around for her handbag, but it was gone. As were her earrings, she realized.

A shaking hand reached for the phone in the motel room. She called the police, then stumbled outside. The cool night air went down like glass. It felt like someone had tried to crush her trachea. Police Captain John Agar drove Susan to the hospital before returning to the motel, Room 28, the scene of the crime. But once again, the police were left with little to go on. Captain Agar found semen soaked into the towels, but this would prove a hollow victory.

Forensics learned that the assailant had type O. blood, but not much else. In the 1970s, DNA testing was still about 15 years away. There was only so much police could learn from body fluid. Captain Agar had a feeling this was not an isolated incident, but without any leads, he could do little, but wait for the attacker to strike again. But he would have to wait for over a year. Richard likely attacked women during this dormant period, but either their bodies were never found, or they were victims of rape who survived the ordeal, but never came forward. It might seem odd that Richard would leave his victims alive, but remember, he was only

interested in power. He might have liked the idea that women around New York lived in fear of him, even though date-raped drugs prevented them from remembering his face. Richard later described torture as an aphrodisiac, a fun power trip that allowed him to feel superior to his victims. He didn't see women as autonomous beings. Rather, they were like living sex dolls. In fact, he admits that's what he was looking for a year later in November 1979. When he approached 23-year-old Dita Godarsie and a second sex worker, a teen girl known only as Jane Doe. Richard took the two women to the Travel Inn Motor Lodge in Times Square,

where he checked in under the name Carl Wilson. Richard refers to what happened at the hotel room as a game. The torture, the rape, the subsequent strangulation. It put him in control. It let him play a part. But that night, he stood over the dead bodies of the two women he had mutilated, expecting to feel the rush of adrenaline he'd been craving. Instead, he felt flat,

like a fan who had seen his favorite movie, one too many times. Richard was an addict, and his usual dosage was failing to do the trick. In serial violence, analysis of modus operandi and signature characteristics of killers, criminologists Robert D. Keppel and William J. Burns wrote, Richard Cottingham belonged to a subgroup of sexually sadistic serial killers. The victim's pain and terror are a stimulus to the killer, driving him to intensify the level of the victim's torture until the killer's lust is momentarily satisfied.

In other words, Richard needed to find a way of satisfying himself. He looked around the motel room for inspiration. Two twin beds, two women. It was a start. He scooped up Jane Doe and placed her on the second twin bed, arranging her just so. Following the thread of inspiration, he began to cut off the women's hands, then their heads.

It was grueling work, especially when you only have a knife to work with. He collected the heads and threw them in a garbage bag. He then doused the corpses with lighter fluid. It's unclear where he got the lighter fluid, though Richard seems the type to just have that in his car. He flicked his lighter to life, then set the twin beds ablaze. The bedspreads acted as perfect kindling. A wave of satisfaction rolled over him.

Then a final touch. Richard dragged one of the bodies halfway out the door, then took the garbage bag of heads and escaped down the elevator. Nobody would even know about the fire until half the hotel was up in flames. Richard only wished he could stick around to watch. By the time the firefighters arrived, The fourth floor of the motel was blanketed in thick black smoke. The firefighters found the charred bodies of Dita and Jane Doe.

It was nearly impossible to identify both women because of Richard's brutal mutilation. Once again, the police were left with no leads, and because Richard's New Jersey murders were being investigated by a different precinct, police were unknowingly overlooking two startling clues. First, Richard had mutilated the women's breasts, as had become his calling card. Second, the women's clothing was neatly folded in the motel bathtub, miraculously left unchard. Police likely knew this murderer wasn't a first-time offender, but Richard hadn't folded the clothing of his victims since he abducted Nancy Vogel from a parking lot in 1967, and a pattern

of breast mutilation didn't seem enough to connect the dots. A testament to the depravity of murderers all over New York City. By morning, the hotel murders were the talk of the town. All of Richard's co-workers were talking about the double homicide. Richard couldn't help but feel a little proud. He even jokingly took responsibility for the murders, though his colleagues laughed him off. Richard felt powerful, untouchable even. It's heartbreaking to wonder how many unknown sex workers Richard had the confidence to kill after getting away with a much publicized hotel murders. What we do know is that his extracurricular activities began taking up so much of his time

that he seemed to stop caring about his personal life. He started ignoring calls from his girlfriend, Barbara, leaving her confused and heartbroken. They've been dating for years, and now he just dropped off the face of the earth. It's believed that a distraught Barbara reached out to Richard's wife, Janet, though her reasoning is unclear. Either she wanted to make sure Richard was okay, or she wanted to get back at him by blowing up his marriage. If the latter was her intention, it worked.

Janet was so gutted to learn of her husband's infidelity, she filed for divorce in April of 1979. At the time, Richard was 32. In court documents, Janet claims that despite her husband's ample salary, he barely brought home enough money to feed their three children. It was clear he was blowing his paycheck elsewhere, and Janet soon figured out where the money was going. After some snooping, Janet learned her husband

frequented a swingers club called Plato's Retreat. He was also a friendly face at local gay bars and bathhouses. It stung. Richard had refused to have sex with her since around 1976, seemingly disinterested after she wouldn't let him essentially torture her in bed. Yet he had no problem sleeping with the rest of New York. In divorce documents, Janet charged Richard with extreme cruelty, but she didn't know the half of it.

Only the dozens of dead women lying in morgues across New York and New Jersey knew exactly how sadistic Richard could be. For reasons unknown, Janet ultimately withdrew the divorce petition and instead simply moved out with her children. We know that the separation upset Richard, likely because he loathed losing control of a woman he perceived to be his property. From that moment forward, his kills intensified, both in body count and in brutality.

On the morning of May 5, 1980, another victim was added to the pile. A housekeeper at the quality in motel in Hasbrook Heights, New Jersey, was growing frustrated. She'd been cleaning the room at the end of the hall for 20 minutes, but a stench still lingered. She went over the floor with a vacuum again. As she cleaned, the vacuum bumped against something under the bed. Curious, the housekeeper stooped. down to see what a guest had left behind. She found the body of 19-year-old Valerie Ann Street, still handcuffed. The housekeeper screamed and called for help. When police entered the room,

they found a familiar scene. Valerie had been tortured extensively. Her handcuffs were so tight that they left deep gouges on her wrists. A bite mark on her left breast was so deep it nearly severed her nipple. She had endured all of this before she was strangled to death. But unlike Richard's previous murders, this one gave police a clue, a single fingerprint left on the handcuffs. And police detective Alan Greco noted that this was the second time a woman's body had been found at the Quality Inn motel.

Three years before, the body of Marianne Carr had been found along the chain-link fence in the parking. lot. Marianne's body had also been mutilated, bite marks and everything. It was becoming clear that they might actually have a serial killer on their hands, and now they had his fingerprint. After a kill, Richard would return home to a now empty house and wash the smell off of him. He'd take his trophies downstairs to his study, where he kept his torture tools and mementos.

Then he'd spread out in the bed he once shared with. his wife. While he slept, police in Manhattan were working his case. They had connected the murders of Marianne Carr and Valerianne Street, and police detective Greco suspected there were more victims. But while they searched for old victims, a new one turned up. On May 15, 1980, firefighters were called to Hotel Seville in New Jersey. Another body had been burned. The charged remains were identified as 25-year-old Gene Rayner, a sex worker who usually posted up in Times Square. Richard had sliced off both of her breasts and laid them on the headboard. To Detective Greco, it was clear the killer was vying for attention. He was acting out, possibly in the hopes of gaining notoriety. It was also clear

that the killer had an obsession with his victim's breasts. The media began calling him the Times Square Ripper and the torso killer. Richard got what he wanted. Attention. The entire city was living in fear of him. But as Richard was about to learn, you can have too much of a good thing. Next, Richard's confidence leads to sloppy mistakes.

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Instant room upgrade. Stop taking bad travel advice. Start comparing hundreds of sites with kayak and get your trip right. Kayak, got that right. Now back to the story. Following the hotel fire on May 15, 1980, police began to piece together the murders of Richard Cottingham. Unfortunately, however, they had no idea that the 34-year-old software engineer was their culprit.

While they hunted for a monster, Richard went prowling for his next victim. 18-year-old Leslie and Odell had only been working as a sex worker for about a week. Like so many young women before her, she ran away from home and headed to the Big Apple, dreaming of a better life. Instead, she met Richard Cottingham, though he introduced himself as Tommy. Leslie was nervous, but Richard put her at ease. He was newly divorced and heart-pressed. broken. He just wanted a little companionship. It was kind of sweet, really. She agreed to go for a drink. In fact, it seems like the two commiserated. As Richard complained about his failed marriage, Leslie shared her own woes. She worked for a controlling pimp who scared her. Richard suggested

they grabbed dinner, spent the night together, then he could drop her off at a bus terminal in New Jersey, so she could start a better life elsewhere. Leslie smiled. Richard was the the first caring soul she'd met in New York. They stopped at an all-night diner where Richard bought Leslie a steak. Then he drove her to the Hasbrook Heights Quality Inn Motor Hotel, the same place where a housekeeper found the body of Valerie Ann Street a few weeks prior. The room was dingy, but Leslie did her best to settle in while Richard made himself more comfortable. She watched as he took off his jacket and put a few belongings on the chair. and she watched him kick a gun under the bed.

It triggered an alarm bell, but she tried to stay calm. Maybe he worried that she was armed too. Richard asked her if she'd like a massage. She spread out on the bed face down. But instead of sensual foreplay, Richard surprised her with a knife to her throat. He handcuffed her wrists behind her back. Then he began to torture her,

cutting into her back with a knife, At one point, he uncuffed her to better maneuver her, and she seized her opportunity. Leslie dove off the bed and reached underneath, grabbing Richard's gun. Before he could grab her, Leslie was on her feet, holding Richard at gunpoint. He lunged at her, and she pulled the trigger. But it didn't fire. The gun was a fake. Leslie bolted toward the door, but Richard grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back. just as her fingertips touched the handle.

Richard wrestled her back into handcuffs and pinned her on the bed, calling her every name in the book. He then went to work making shallow cuts down her body. Though it's incredibly graphic, it's worth noting that this torture went on for hours. Richard would hurt Leslie until she passed out, then bring her back by washing her face with a cold washcloth. The pain she endured was mind-boggling,

and speaks to the strength of her character. Richard enjoyed hurting sex workers because he believed they were beneath him. Criminologist Louis Slessinger explains that many serial killers view themselves as being of high moral fiber. Therefore, they should be allowed to punish sex workers who they believe are already debasing themselves. Of course, one might argue that sex work is a two-person activity, but it's safe to assume that Richard never really unpacked that. Richard had just revived Leslie with a washcloth when a heavy fist wrapped on the door.

Someone had heard Leslie screaming and called the police. The police knocked again. Richard warned Leslie to lie to police or he'd kill her on the spot. Feeling utterly helpless, Leslie agreed. Convinced, Richard cracked open the door a few inches, and thrust Leslie in front of him, knife pricking into her back. In a trembling voice, she told police she was fine, but she darted her eyes wildly back and forth,

trying to get their attention. The police thanked her, then left. She truly didn't know whether they'd gotten the message. She almost broke down as she shut the door and turned toward Richard. Richard's eyes were wild. This was the closest call he'd ever. had with law enforcement, and he'd gotten away with it. He grabbed Leslie, who refused to break down in front of him. But secretly, she was in near hysterics. This man would kill her,

and the police had just left. Or maybe not. There was another forceful knock at the door. Leslie gasped as police again identified themselves. They warned Richard that he had only seconds to open the door before they kicked it down. Richard went into panic mode. He grabbed his torture devices from around the room, then escaped out the back door. But the police anticipated this, and a second unit was there waiting for him. They tackled him to the ground. Finally, it was Richard's turn to be in handcuffs.

Back at the station, Richard made it about two minutes in the interrogation room before he broke down. His interrogating officer named Denning remembers holding his hand as a tear-stained Richard said, I have a problem with women. But after this fleeting moment of self-actualization, Richard deflected. He blamed the attack on stress, what with the divorce and all. But this narrative quickly fell apart once police obtained a search warrant for his house. There they found Richard's trophy room.

Inside was Marianne Carr's apartment keys and a stuffed koala that belonged to Valerie Ann Street, who was only a 19-year-old kid. They found clothing belonging to countless other victims, and notably, copies of house keys belonging to Richard's colleagues at Blue Cross Blue Shield. Though his possession of his co-worker's keys might seem insignificant, it's chilling to wonder what he might have used them for

had he not been caught when he was. Once the search of his stuff, was complete, it was time for the final nail in the coffin. Both of Richard's surviving victims, Karen Schilt and Susan Geiger identified him in a lineup. Richard was hit with a laundry list of charges, including murder, kidnapping, attempted murder, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, and possession of a deadly weapon. Stunningly, he pled not guilty. His face was on the front of the New York Times, the Bergen County Record, and the New York Daily News for weeks. He was the most notorious killer in New York. Once again, Richard got what he so deeply desired, attention. But it was at the

trial that Richard's last victim was truly revealed. Janet showed up every day in support of her husband, somehow convinced he was not the killer. She told as much to her entire family, who also showed up to support Richard. Despite the neglect she suffered at his hands, she testified on Richard's behalf, providing him with at least one alibi. She stood by him, as he told the jury time and again

that it was impossible for him to have committed these murders. Whenever he hadn't been with Janet, he explained, he was with one of his two secret girlfriends. Because nothing proves you respect women, quite like serial adultery. It's hard to understand why Janet would stand by Richard, even while he humiliated her in court.

But abusive relationships are never easy. Richard thought the women he hurt deserved it. It seemed his wife was the only one who believed him. In June of 1981, 35-year-old Richard Cottingham was convicted on 15 of the 21 felony counts he'd been charged with. Three days later, he attempted suicide by drinking six ounces of liquid antidepressants. He was rushed to the hospital where he made a full recovery.

A few weeks later, Richard somehow escaped his holding cell. Officer Greco spotted him running down the street and tackled him. Richard Cottingham was convicted in three separate trials and sentenced to multiple life sentences. In the years following his convictions, he began confessing. to cold cases, including his first murder in 1967, that of Nancy Vogel. He even took the time to apologize to Nancy's brother and her two children, possibly the first time in his life that he took responsibility for his actions. It was also the first time he'd ever shown remorse for a kill. He went on to admit six more killings in New York and New

Jersey, though police are still unable to properly identify these cases. They have to have haven't found any evidence linking Richard to the crimes and cannot rely on a confession alone. However, if these murders could be proven, they would ensure that Richard would remain behind bars for the rest of his life. Eventually, he seemed to make peace with the realization that he would never leave prison. And for some reason, that allowed him to take responsibility for more of the pain that he inflicted on other people. He wrote to the daughter of Dida Godarsie, one of the two women he'd burned in a hotel room.

He wrote, I just don't know what to say to you or how to say it. I can only tell you what's in my heart and pray that you believe me. I am truly and deeply sorry, so very sorry for all the pain I have brought into your life. But lest anyone mistake the letter for contrition, it should be noted that Dita's daughter had long brown hair, and was Richard's exact type. It's been speculated that of all his victims,

Richard chose to reach out to Dita's daughter because he was sexually attracted to her. He likely just wanted her attention. It's still unclear how many women were murdered at Richard's hands. In 2009, he claimed there were between 80 and 100 victims who had not yet been tied to him. He says he knows his exact number, but won't reveal it. His numbers don't exactly match up with police records, though there's one possible explanation for that.

Toward the end of his killing spree, Richard preferred to drug his victims prior to raping and torturing them. He would strangle them, but because they were unconscious, he wouldn't truly know whether they were dead or simply passed out. So those women who survived would wake up alone and ashamed. In the 1970s, sex workers had a hard enough time as it was. they probably thought there was no way police would believe them, and so they never came forward. They may have watched Richard's entire trial, feeling deep-seated vengeance,

knowing he was the one who attacked them. Richard Cottingham, now 73, still sits in prison. But unless the police can verify his six additional killings, he will be up for parole in 2025. Thanks again for tuning in to serial killers, We'll be back soon with a new episode. For more information on Richard Cottingham, amongst the many sources we used,

we found The New York Ripper Serial Killer Richard Cottingham by Peter Ronsky, extremely helpful to our research. You can find more episodes of serial killers and all other Parcast originals for free on Spotify. Not only does Spotify already have all of your favorite music, but now Spotify is making it easy for you to enjoy all of your favorite parcast originals like serial killers.

for free from your phone, desktop, or smart speaker. To stream serial killers on Spotify, just open the app and type Serial Killers in the search bar. We'll see you next time. Have a killer week. Cereal Killers was created by Max Cutler and is a carcast studio's original. Executive producers include Max and Ron Cutler,

sound designed by Anthony Valsick, with production assistance by Ron Shapiro, Carly Madden, and Aaron Larson. This episode of serial killers was written by Amanda Prager, with writing assistants by Abigail Cannon, and stars Greg Poulson and Vanessa Richardson. Want to hear something spooky. Some monster, it reminded me of Bigfoot. Monsters Among Us is a weekly podcast featuring true stories of the paranormal. One of the boys started to exhibit demonic possession.

Stories straight from the witnesses' mouths themselves. Something very snake-like lifted its head out of the water. Hosted by me. Your guide, Derek Hayes. Somehow I lost eight whole hours. Listen now on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. A beloved 75-year-old man washing up, getting ready for bed, is brutally beaten and killed. Despite an exhaustive investigation, the killer avoids arrest and then strikes again.

I'm Global News crime reporter Nancy Hicks. You might listen to a lot of true crime podcasts this year, but they're not crime. Beat. Search for and follow the award-winning podcast Crime Beat on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, and wherever you find your favorite podcasts.