Murder In America - EP. 246 - SERIAL KILLER: THE TORSO KILLER - RICHARD COTTINGHAM PART 1

Episode Date: May 22, 2026

When firefighters rushed to a hotel room in December of 1979, they had no idea they were stumbling into the den of a serial killer. On the bed, they discovered the bodies of two women — their heads and hands cut off, and their torsos set on fire and left on display for first responders to find. It was the first glimpse into the madness of Richard Cottingham, the Torso Killer. Little did first responders know, his reign of terror went back decades, leaving a twisted trail that, to this day, we haven’t uncovered the full truth behind. Even now, as he sits in jail, we’re left to wonder: How many victims did he truly have?  - Sources:https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eTYeCoYyxm58DXXdoFbHQyWHlWbcH9iKGIefFcQToW4/edit?tab=t.y2yayotxnlcb Listen to our new show, "THE CONSPIRACY FILES"!: -Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/show/5IY9nWD2MYDzlSYP48nRPl -Apple Podcasts - https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-conspiracy-files/id1752719844 -Amazon/Audible - https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/ab1ade99-740c-46ae-8028-b2cf41eabf58/the-conspiracy-files -Pandora - https://www.pandora.com/podcast/the-conspiracy-files/PC:1001089101 -iHeart - https://iheart.com/podcast/186907423/ -PocketCast - https://pca.st/dpdyrcca -CastBox - https://castbox.fm/channel/id6193084?country=us - Stay Connected: Join the Murder in America fam in our free Facebook Community for a behind-the-scenes look, more insights and current events in the true crime world: https://www.facebook.com/groups/4365229996855701 If you want even more Murder in America bonus content, including ad-free episodes, come join us on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/murderinamerica Instagram: http://instagram.com/murderinamerica/ Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/people/Murder-in-America-Podcast/100086268848682/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/MurderInAmerica TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@theparanormalfiles and https://www.tiktok.com/@courtneybrowen Feeling spooky? Follow Colin as he travels state to state (and even country to country!) investigating claims of extreme paranormal activity and visiting famous haunted locations on The Paranormal Files Official Channel: https://www.youtube.com/c/TheParanormalFilesOfficialChannel - (c) BLOOD IN THE SINK PRODUCTIONS 2026 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

This spring, denim gets a softer, lighter update. Introducing Old Navy's drapey denim wide leg, a new fit that moves with you. It's everything you want denim to feel like for summer. Easy, breathable, and effortlessly cool. With a fit that creates natural movement and a wide leg that feels modern, not overwhelming. Plus, that signature, wait, for this price, moment. Old Navy's drapey denim wide leg. Warning, the following podcast is not suitable for all audiences.

We go into great detail with every case that we cover and do our best to bring viewers even deeper into the stories by utilizing disturbing audio and sound effects. Trigger warnings from the stories we cover may include violence, rape, murder, and offenses against children. This podcast is not for everyone. You have been warned. Room 417 was on fire. As New York firefighters raced up the stairs of the Travel and Motor Hotel in Midtown Manhattan, they were immediately engulfed in thick suffocating smoke, but beneath the stench of shriveling plastic and cracking wood was another smell,

a more haunting one, the smell of burning flesh. Responding firefighters had been told that there may still be people inside the room, but it wasn't until that aroma overtook them that they knew it for certain. There was someone in there who needed their help. A firefighter threw open the door to room 417 and instantly was overwhelmed by a wall of heat.

Through the smoke, he could make out two shapes. Two women, each laying on a separate bed in the center of the room. He raced forward, grabbed one of the women, and hurried out of the room into the hall. Running on pure adrenaline, he put the woman down and yanked off his mask, prepared to give her CPR. Then he screamed. Other firefighters watched as he fell back, crashing against the wall with a look of horror, on his face. The realization hit them all at once. He couldn't give CPR. He couldn't do anything because the woman lying at their feet had no head and no hands. And unbeknownst to law enforcement at the

time, her death had been the work of a serial killer, one who had been hunting in New York, New Jersey, and beyond for the past two decades. So this is the story of the torso killer, Richard Cottingham. I'm Courtney Browne. And I'm Colin. Brown. And you're listening to Murder in America. When we talk about serial killers, the story of their life usually begins with heartbreak, abuse, and neglect. Some notable killers like Richard Ramirez, John Wayne Gacy, and Charles Manson were raised in environments where they faced rape, abandonment, and physical violence at every turn. When a child is subjected to unthinkable things, It's a little easier to wrap our minds around how they evolved to commit such heinous acts as an adult.

But our story for today doesn't begin with a neglected child. It doesn't begin with assault or abuse or poverty. It begins with a loving family, in a nice neighborhood, and a stable, supportive home. And that just makes what grew within that home more terrifying. It was November 25, 1946, just three days shy of things. when Richard Francis Cottingham came into the world. His mother, Anna, and his father, William, couldn't have been more thrilled to hold their firstborn child in their arms.

It was a hopeful time, not just for the family, but for all of America. The war was officially over. After several years, couples were back together, building homes, growing their families, and settling into a new routine in a booming economy. Richard was the firstborn child in a family that was doing even better than most. Richard's father William hadn't served in the war and instead had been rapidly climbing the ranks at Metropolitan Life Insurance Company in Manhattan, New York. By the time Richie, as his family called him, came into the world. William Cottingham was serving an executive role, earning a

very impressive salary. That salary allowed the family to move from the crime-infested, overpopulated streets of the Bronx to the suburbs of Bergen County, New Jersey, just over the bridge. It was there where they settled into a newly built condo for Richie's early years. And soon enough, their house was filled. Within just a few years, William and Anna welcomed two daughters, Kathy and Carol. Every morning, William would kiss the kids goodbye and then take the bus to the city for work. Anna would stay home, dedicating herself to housework and taking care of the children. She was a doting mother and housewife who truly loved raising her kids,

and it showed in everything she did for them. According to investigative historian, Dr. Peter Vronsky, quote, Richard's childhood was absolutely idyllic, three younger sisters who absolutely adored him, all well-adjusted, no reports of family dysfunction, end quote. Neighbors reported that the Cottingham's were an above-average family. Their kids were incredibly polite. The parents seemed to love and respect one another, and they were all far removed from any poverty or violence. though there was one instant that some researchers believe may have been a turning point for Richard,

and it happened just a few days before his fifth birthday. On November 14, 1951, a man named Frank drove through the streets of Dumont, New Jersey, en route to an appointment. He would never make it to that appointment, though. Instead, he would find himself attending a very different one. Because, just as he began to turn onto a quiet residential street, there was a flash in front of his vehicle, a young boy, tumbling street. straight toward him from the nearby sidewalk.

Frank slammed on his brakes, but it was too late. The young boy, Richard Cottingham, had run headfirst into the turning vehicle's front fender. Frank leapt out of the car, gathered the sobbing boy, and immediately rushed him to the nearest hospital. The Bergen Evening Record reported, he took the boy to the nearby Dumont osteopathic General Hospital, where he was treated

for facial cuts and a possible concussion, then sent home. The following day, November 15th, He was to be x-rayed for a possible brain concussion. However, Richard has never mentioned this incident or what became of it, claiming he doesn't remember it happening. Investigative historian Dr. Voronski, who has been closely working with Richard Cottingham for nearly two decades, believes that the accident may have resulted in a brain injury, one that damaged his prefrontal cortex, resulting in the poor impulse control,

lack of empathy, and aggressiveness that Richard began to show later in life. Now, is that what truly happened to Richard? Or is it just a way for people to explain why a person raised in a good situation would go on to do such bad things? Really, we'll never know. But Dr. Vronsky seems certain that in that moment, at just four years old, Richard's life and his life's course was changed forever. For the next few years, the family remained in Dumont, until in 1958, when Richard's father was offered a role as vice president of Metro Life Insurance Company. With his increased salary, he purchased the family a split-level home in Rivervale, just northwest of Dumont. At the time, the quaint town was a community with growing suburbs on one side and an expanse of dairy farms on the other.

For the Cottingham's, it offered a safe place for their kids to grow up with the best of both worlds, plenty of nature to run around and play in, and enough businesses in the expanding downtown to keep them busy. Upon moving there, Richard was enrolled in St. Andrews, a co-ed school that required a long morning commute. As a result, he didn't know any of the children in his new neighborhood on Cleveland Street. Though his sisters had no problem making new friends, Richard struggled. On weekends, holidays, and summer breaks, he wasn't outside playing with his peers. Instead, he enjoyed working outside with his mother, reading, and raising homing pigeons in his backyard. As a quiet, introverted kid, Richard didn't mind staying home, and his mother, Anna, always

doted on her children, especially her only son. It wasn't until 1960 when Richard enrolled in high school that he really began to break out of his shell and find a group of friends. His freshman year, he joined the cross-country team. He would later say that he picked it because his bad eyesight disqualified him from other sports. But that year, he didn't exactly make an impression on people. One of his former classmates told author Jack Rosewood, quote, I met Richard on the athletic field. He stood apart in that he wasn't always at practice. He wasn't a joiner.

He didn't have a nickname, and he wasn't part of our clique. He had kind of a wise guy attitude about him. I don't think he was crazy about authority. There was nothing really extraordinary about him, except for the fact that he was removed from the mainstream, end quote. During high school, Richard seemed to perfect the very thing he'd be doing for the rest of, of his life, hiding in the shadows, keeping his distance and flying under the radar. He didn't cause drama or get in fights or act unusual, but at the same time, he didn't charm

people or captured their attention. He frankly just existed. Whenever he did have the chance to be a part of the conversation, there was one thing his classmates remembered him talking about. Richard Newman recalled, quote, when he spoke about women, it was kind of in a negative way. I certainly remember him talking among friends and perhaps in gym class about what girls attracted him. He would talk about the girls in class or girls out on the street who were better endowed, larger breasted. That just sort of seemed to be a key attraction for him. End quote. But what began as a pubescent attraction that he chatted about in the locker room soon became something entirely different, a dangerous obsession. By the time he graduated in 1964, experts believe that

Richard's sexual obsessions had evolved into something he acted on. But the path to knowing when Richard acted on these dark urges is still ongoing today. What we do know is that upon his graduation, no one had the slightest inkling that there was anything wrong with him. No one had any reason to suspect that there may have already been blood on his hands. From the outside, Richard seemed to be a good young man with a bright future. He had no interest in college and had a transcript that was far from impressive, but that didn't hinder his progress as he entered adulthood. Thanks to his dad's role as vice president of Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, he was able to skip college altogether and launch a career there as a computer operator.

While his friends were struggling to find jobs or going to college, he commuted to the city Monday through Friday for his job and returned home to his parents' house, where he continued to live, saving up money to build an independent life for himself. Really, he couldn't have asked for a better situation. His family loved and supported him. He had a job people actively wanted in a field that was rapidly expanding, and he had a nest egg growing bigger and bigger by the day. But for Richard, it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. Because, in his own words, quote, I was an animal, end quote.

And when you're an animal like Richard Cottingham, people aren't people. They're just prey for your own sick fantasies. Alice Jean Eberhardt was just 18 years old in September of 1965. She had just graduated from Fairlawn High School in Fairlawn, New Jersey, where she not only excelled academically, but socially as well. A neighbor described her to The Record as, an extremely intelligent girl, very good-natured and friendly to everyone,

everyone who knew her liked her. Throughout high school, she had a wide circle of friends and was a star pupil. Yet she still made time for drama clubs, skiing, concert choir, and her favorite activity of all, band. For Fairlon, she played the baritone horn, but in her own time,

she loved to play the guitar, mainly focusing on folk music. She was humble about her skills, but everyone who heard her play was wowed by her. Her best friend, Leslie Leopold, told the record, she liked musicians, people who created things that were rich and lively. By all accounts, Alice was one of the musicians, and she took her rich, lively nature into every element of her life. Following her high school graduation, she began to study at Hackensack Hospital School of Nursing, where she quickly became

the class leader. Even during long lesson days, she was always cheerful and exuberant. She never looked down on patients or anyone. Her mentor said that Alice carried no prejudice. She constantly saw the best in people and stood up for anyone around her. She was, undeniably, a ray of sunshine. But on September 25th, 1965, her light was snuffed out for no reason whatsoever. It was a balmy Friday afternoon. The leaves in Jersey had just started to turn to a golden red, an orange blaze. Alice had been in class for the majority of the day at Hackensack Hospital. But just shy of 2 p.m., she signed out to go home about a 15-minute drive away. That afternoon, She and her father were due to travel to upstate New York for her aunt's funeral.

Her mother and three older siblings were already there, setting up and getting things ready. For the family, it was a devastating loss, and they had no idea that another was just around the corner. Because as Alice got into her car in the hospital parking lot, Richard Cottingham was watching her. She made the short drive home, completely unaware that he was following behind, stalking her, As she turned down the familiar streets she had spent her whole life navigating. She made a quick stop at a diner to grab something to eat. Then, she pulled into her home at 334 Saddle River Road, a cozy two-story house. She made her way inside, bagged lunch in hand, eager to have some alone time before her father got home from work later that afternoon.

As she closed the door behind her, Richard was outside, watching. He turned off his car, waited a few minutes. minutes, and then he made his decision. He popped open the glove box, pulled out a fake police badge, and made his way up to the door. Then he knocked. Seconds later, Alice greeted him, opening the door with a smile. He returned the smile and told her, confidently and calmly, that he was an officer investigating a case. No one was in any trouble, but he needed to ask her father a few questions. He asked if he could leave his number behind for him. When he flashed the badge, Alice had no reason to question him. He seemed professional, so she welcomed him inside. But as the door

closed behind her, her fate was sealed. Now what happened inside was a matter of police interpretation of the crime scene, but based on the blood spatter, it seemed that as soon as Alice turned her back, Richard attacked her. She was bludgeoned over and over again with a blunt object. But she didn't give in. The living room, dining room, and halls were, quote, in shambles. Shelfes, furniture, and lamps were turned over, shattered on the floor in an apparent struggle. According to investigators, Alice had fought for her life. But Richard Cottingham was not a small man, and he had come prepared. He smashed her skull against the ground, leaving her with a double skull fracture that likely would have rendered her unconscious. Then he grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and slowly,

he dragged Alice's body upstairs, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He threw her on a bed, and there, armed with a dagger he had brought with him, he began to cut her bit by bit. He told investigators that he had intended to give her 52 marks, a reference to a deck of cards, but in his excitement he lost count. Ultimately, he sliced her 60 times, on her neck, her arms, her torso, her legs, all as she laid in a bed in her home completely defenseless. At some point, he tried to sexually assault her, ripping her underclothes and pulling her. bra up over her head, leaving her exposed. Now whether he raped her or not has never been revealed. But the sexual motivation of his crime was clear. When he was done cutting her and defiling her,

he plunged the knife into her windpipe, bending it with the force of the impact. And with that, he left out the front door the same way he had walked in. He closed the door behind him as if he had done nothing. And then he was gone. Two hours later, just past 4 p.m., Alyssa's father Ross pulled up to the family home. By this point in his life, the home had become relatively quiet. All of his children had moved out, and some had even started having families of their own. Alice was his youngest, and even though they were driving to a funeral that day, Ross was looking forward to the time it gave him to spend with his little girl. As he entered the home, he expected to hear her playing the guitar, or listening to the radio. But as the door opened, he was greeted with silence,

and then a sea of broken furniture covered in specks and pulls of red. He called out to Alice and searched the house for her, growing more frantic with every room, until finally he made his way upstairs and burst into the bedroom. There on the bed was his daughter with a knife sticking out of her throat. Her body was completely covered in blood. From the dozens and dozens of shallow cuts, her killer inflicted on her. By that point, she was long gone. Ross called the police hysterical and sat with his daughter as he waited for them to arrive.

The pain he experienced walking in on that scene is truly unimaginable. On top of that, he was faced with the impossible task of calling his already grieving wife and telling her that not only was her sister dead, but her daughter was too. For the whole family, the grief was compounded, and that grief never abated. Because try as they did, they weren't able to find Alice's killer. Within two days, over 100 people were interviewed by the Bergen County Sheriff's Office, but ultimately, no leads were found. No one had any reason to look at Richard Cottingham, and sadly, they wouldn't look his way,

not for another 25 years, during which he would be free to do what he did to Alice, again and again and again. On the outside, Richard was an average, if not above average man. He not only held down a job, but excelled at it. In early 1966, just a few months after brutally murdering Alice Jean Iberhardt, he was offered a new job at Blue Cross Blue Shield in Manhattan. He always came into the office clean-cut and willing to chat and schmooze the bosses. He was well-liked in the office, seen as a reliable, hardworking member of the team.

But his closest co-worker, Dominic Volpe, saw a different side of him. You see, Dominic and Richard worked at the same console together, because, at the time, computers took up entire rooms and required more than one person to operate. The two spent long hours together from 3 to 11 p.m. Monday through Friday, ensuring that the system was up and running for the company. But Richard wasn't always there for his scheduled shift, despite what his superiors thought. Dominic and Richard had found a way to cheat the system together, and it was their little secret as the only people who knew how to operate the program. They could alter the timestamps on their workstation time cards, making eight minutes of work read eight hours.

Often, they would take turns doing this, spending long hours of their shift out and about in the city that never sleeps while the other held down the fort. And Richard wasn't shy sharing what he did during those breaks, because New York in the 1960s and 70s was a wildly different place than it is today. Times Square, just a few blocks from their office, was known as essentially the Red Light District of New York at the time. Black's laws led to block after block of porno theaters, live sex shows, swinger clubs, BDSM clubs, and brothels. One cop estimated that at the time there were around 1,000 women operating as sex workers just in Times Square every single night. They would be forced by their pimps to hover in the doorways of porn theaters or other sex-focused businesses

to reel in clients for the night. For someone like Richard, this was Paradise, the ultimate hunting ground. Multiple times a week, he would slip out of work to hire prostitutes or simply to look for his next victim. When he wasn't slipping out of work, he'd be hitting the streets the second he clocked out, leaving him with the early morning hours to look for anyone he could take advantage of. At work, Richard would always brag to Dominic about his escapades. In an interview with author Jack Rosewood, Dominic explained, quote, he talked about crazy things, but we never thought he would do crazy things. I get chills on my arm thinking about it now 35 years later. It was a shock, end quote. Now, in particular, Richard liked to talk about his interest in S&M. At one point, he told

Dominic about going to the Hellfire Club, a sex club where a master slave act was put on stage in front of customers. The woman trapped in a collar would be whipped, pulled to the ground, tied, and even have pen stuck in her breast. Dominic recalls that when he heard about it, he was disturbed. He asked who would be into something like that, and Richard chuckled, telling him that he found it sexy. Dominic later told Jack Rosewood, quote, he was up front about it, bragging about prostitutes, S&M, gambling, all the vices that he had bragged about. He liked the slave thing, the handcuffs, end quote. He also talked about how if you add cash, you could get a sex worker to do anything you wanted.

And if anyone had cash, it was Richard. It was said that he always carried around at least $3,000 in cash with him, and he liked to flaunt it. He bragged in particular about how he liked to lure sex workers out of Manhattan by showing them a wad of cash. And then, after they had sex, he would steal their clothing and leave them in the hotel, naked, alone, and vulnerable. Richard thought it was hilarious. But Dominic, he said he didn't believe a word Richard said. He later explained, quote, when you're talking at work, some of it, you take with a grain of salt, it goes in one year out the other, end quote. And talking about sex at work in those days, especially when your office was right near the sex capital of the city,

it sadly wasn't unusual. Guys frequently tried to one up each other with stories that got more and more absurd over time. So although Dominic heard constant stories about prostitutes from Richard, he didn't think anything of them. Dominic was more concerned with how restless his coworker was. Every second that they were together,

Richard would bounce his legs, tap his pencil, or adjust in his chair. He later stated, The thing I remember most about him is that he couldn't sit still. He would be sitting in his office chair shaking, his legs were shaking, his back was shaking, and he would keep that up for a whole shift for eight, nine hours straight. To Dominic, he seemed like he was constantly on edge, nervous. Maybe it was his nervous personality that caused him to begin drinking in excess, or maybe he wanted to quiet

the demons in his mind. But in 1969, Richard was arrested for drunk driving. He was punished with a $50 fine and 10 days in jail, but for him, it was nothing. Drunk driving was, shockingly, the least heinous crime he was committing. But at the time, no one knew it, especially not his girlfriend, Janet. Sometime in 1969, Richard started a relationship with Janet. The two were both native New Yorkers, both hard workers, and both raised in relatively well-off successful families. Janet only saw what Richard wanted her to see, a young, promising man, earning $25,000 a year in a respectful field, a man who had a calm.

demeanor. He gave no hints that he was, as the news would later put it, a sex maniac or a killer. When they got married on May 3rd, 1970, Janet thought she hit the jackpot. In reality, she had just made the most devastating decision of her life. The couple moved into a small apartment at Ledgewood Terrace and Little Ferry, not far from Richard's hometown, and it's there where they could begin their married life in earnest. And in the beginning, things seemed to be okay. At work, continued to brag about his sexual escapades, hiring sex workers, going to live sex shows, and even seeing other women on the side. But at home, at least for a two-year period, Janet had no idea anything was happening. But in August of 1972, she got her first hint of trouble. Now, the

details are scarce, but on August 21st, Richard was arrested for shoplifting at Stern's department store in New Jersey. Of course, Richard didn't have to steal. He was the man regularly walking around with thousands of dollars in his pocket for Richard, stealing, gambling, and risky, unconsensual sex. It wasn't about the act itself. It was about the impulse, the danger. And that day, he happened to get caught. Now what happened inside his home when his wife found out?

We don't know. But ultimately, the legal consequences were minor. Richard wasn't imprisoned, and he simply had to pay a $50 fine for his minor theft. but the boat had started to rock in his married life. However, very quickly after his theft, Janet was distracted by something else, something exciting. They were expecting their first child.

By all accounts, Richard seemed eager and thrilled to be a father. Janet, who longed to be a mother more than anything, was immediately swept up in all that comes with being a mom, preparing a nursery, reading all the books, going to all the doctor's appointments. But just a month before her mother, anticipated baby was due. She was blindsided by something else entirely. On September 4th, 1973, Richard was taken into cuffs on charges of robbery, sexual abuse, and oral sodomy. The details are,

unfortunately, mostly lost to time, but this is what we do know. A 17-year-old girl who was being sex trafficked named Diana went to the police alongside her pimp to report a horrific act of violence against her. Richard Cottingham picked her up for a date, but when she mentioned her price, he became irate. He beat her, bit her, and sodomized her before he stole her costume jewelry and left her on the street. The jewelry wasn't expensive, but it meant everything to Richard because for him, it was a trophy, a reminder of what he had done that night to an innocent woman. Diana was insistent that she wanted Richard to be prosecuted, but when the time came for trial, she didn't show up. Ultimately, as a result, the charges were dropped, and Richard's violence was all but forgotten by police.

Yet, what he did to Diana, he did time and time again for over two decades. And for the most part, because it happened to prostitutes, it was ignored. Now, at home, we can't be certain how Janet reacted to this news. At eight months pregnant, how would anyone react to learning that their husband was accused of such a heinous crime? It should have been a happy time for her. Instead, as she gave birth to their first son named Blair on October 15th, her joy was clouded by her husband's criminal behavior. criminal behavior that only seemed to worsen after the birth of their first child.

Because about five months later, on March 12, 1974, he inflicted his violence on another sex worker. This time, he picked up a woman named Roberta, handcuffed her to a bed in a cheap motel, raped her, and coated her body in deep, bloody bite marks. Roberta was not only mentally traumatized, but physically damaged beyond recognition. Once she was released, she filed charges with the police department, but, Once again, she failed to show up for further proceedings, and the charges against Richard were dropped a second time. That's two charges within less than six months of each other, telling police that they had

a violent, aggressive man targeting prostitutes, and yet the cases were closed and everyone moved on. With luck and lack of police effort on his side, Richard went on with his life. Now that he and Janet had a son, they were quickly growing out of their small apartment and Little Ferry. In February of 1975, Richard moved his family to a three-bedroom rental home at 29 Freeland Street in Lodi, New Jersey, just south of where he grew up. While there, the couple mostly stayed to themselves. Richard continued his commute to the city, and Janet stayed home to take care of their child to help ease the loneliness of being away from her friends and relatives

in Queens Village, and to adjust to the odd hours of her husband, Janet often had visitors at her home, Friends, family, and neighbors never noticed anything wrong. Janet seemed happy, and on March 28, 1975, that happiness grew with the birth of their second child, a boy they named Scott. Then the following year, on October 13, 1976, they completed their family with the birth of their third and final child, a daughter they named Jenny. At home, Janet had her hands full with three young children, and she excelled as a mother and wife. Meanwhile, Richard seemed to be a doting father.

Neighbors recalled seeing him outside, playing in the yard with his kids. Halloween in particular was his favorite. Every year, he'd take the kids around in costumes and put decorations up around the house to celebrate. Neighbors said that the Cottingham's were quiet, but the children were happy, clean, and well-taking care of. But after the birth of their daughter, Richard's dark habits and behaviors started to be harder to ignore. He would often disappear for days at a time, telling Janet that he was working late.

On weekends and holidays, he would tell her there had been an emergency, then he would slip out of the door to go to Times Square instead. Another problem between the couple was their sex life, or luck thereof. After Jenny was born, Richard simply refused to have sex with his wife. If Janet ever brought it up, Richard would go into a rage, telling her that she was completely undesirable. He shut her out completely, but on the rare occasion he was home, he'd spend the entire time locked in a downstairs room, which he had dubbed his office.

Janet and the children weren't allowed anywhere near it, and when he wasn't home, he even put a lock on the door under the guise that he kept work materials in the room. Now as 1976 turned in 1977, Janet found herself struggling for any bit of stability. She leaned entirely on her friends and family for support. She had no idea what had become of the man who was kind to her and who loved her. And one day when Richard went to work, she decided that she couldn't wait to find out any longer. That day, Richard accidentally left his office door unlocked, so she crept inside,

desperate to find any clues about what her husband was doing, about what was wrong with him. And inside, she found more than she bargained for, hidden throughout her. the room were bags containing women's jewelry, undergarments, shirts, dresses, and even stuffed animals. Janet looked at item after item in horror, completely unaware that several of the things in her hands belonged to women that her husband had murdered. Janet could have never imagined that. At the time, she was convinced that her husband was having an affair, at worse, or was sleeping with sex workers when he was in the city. The idea of murder never cross. her mind. She thought it worst. Her husband was a sex addict, and the books throughout his

room confirmed it. On the shelves, there were books titled things like, Girls in Bondage, kidnapped by bikers, and the captive bride, among dozens more. The S&M books depicted women being controlled and dominated by men. The covers showed women wearing dog colors, gags in their mouth, chains around their bodies, and at times, men cornering them in clear depictions of rape. From that moment on, Janet completely shut down, and she began her plan to escape from the man who had vowed to honor and protect her. Throughout this whole period, Richard was targeting sex workers, but those weren't the only people he was targeting. For Richard, any woman he could get alone was fair game, and sometimes he went to extreme lengths to get them alone. It was December 15th,

1977 and Michael Carr had just made it to his business trip in upstate New York. His wife, Mary Ann, who went by Marzie, was still back at her home in Little Ferry, New Jersey. But she didn't want to spend the week by herself, so she decided to go stay with Michael's mother. However, in the middle of his work trip, he received a phone call from his mom. Concerned, she told him that Marzy hadn't shown up to her house. Michael's mother had called her repeatedly, but Marzie never answered the phone. Michael knew that his wife would never flake on anything, let alone a family engagement. So immediately, he called police and Little Ferry, asking them to do a welfare check on his wife.

Barsey was the reliable, hardworking type. Born and raised in nearby Englewood Cliffs, Marsey had excelled in school, particularly in science, and was a part of the Glee Club, the service club, and a member of the flag twirling team. Her love of science led her to become an X-ray technician, and at the time, she was actually studying to get a doctorate so she could become a radiologist. She was a go-getter, active, hard-working, and feisty when she had to be. Her not showing up was completely abnormal. But when the police arrived at Michael's apartment to check on her,

she was nowhere to be found. Yet, they also noticed that there was no sign of a break-in or a struggle. But her car was still in the parking line. It was as if she had simply walked out of her apartment and vanished. And that's when Michael knew that something was deeply, deeply wrong. He started calling everyone he could think of. Her boss, Dr. Arthur Grossman, confirmed that she left at 7 p.m. that night and had told him that she was heading home before she went to her mother-in-laws.

It was clear that whatever had happened to, to where it happened in the parking lot of their apartment complex, an apartment complex that, conveniently, Richard Cottingham, had lived in for several years. At 7.10 a.m., the following morning, a patron walked out of the Quality Inn in Hasbrook Heights, New Jersey. As he prepared to get in his car, he saw something that stopped him in his tracks, coiled into a ball between the chain link fence and the curb in the back parking lot. He spotted a girl in a white uniform. As he got closer, his original thought, was that someone was sleeping off a hangover,

but as he got closer, he realized he was wrong. The woman's hands were bound by ropes. Her ankles were circled with bright red, bleeding ligature marks from a pair of handcuffs that had since been removed. Terrified, the man ran back to the front desk and told them to call 911. When officers responded,

they were shocked to see the state of the woman. Though she was fully dressed, a later report would indicate that she had been sexually assaulted, after which her attacker put her clothes back on. Her stocking, shoes, and coat were missing. Bruises ran up and down her arms and legs. In her breast, it had been bitten so severely

that a chunk of skin had been peeled away in the shape of teeth. A ligature mark around her neck indicated she had been strangled with her own necklace. An autopsy would later reveal that her lungs had collapsed, indicating that after she was strangled, A pillow or bag was put over her, suffocating her.

And her hair, for whatever reason, had been chopped off. There was a sticky residue around her mouth, revealing that while all of this was happening, she had been gagged. An adhesive tape had been wrapped around her head to prevent her from screaming. It was a horrific, painful death. And sadly, police knew the woman who had endured it

the moment they laid eyes on her. The body was that of 26-year-old Marianne Marsey Carr. Her husband Michael was rushed back to New Jersey for questioning, unaware of what had happened. When he sat down in an interrogation room and learned that his wife had been killed, he utterly fell apart. A report indicated that he, quote, needed to be supplied with oxygen on numerous occasions, end quote, because he was hyperventilating so severely. He and Marzie had been married for just 20 months. And not only had he just lost his wife, but in the beginning, people were pointing

the finger at him for murdering her. An initial witness, a neighbor claimed that she saw a man who she was certain was Michael around 7 p.m. the previous night. Michael argued that he had an alibi, having been in upstate New York, but initially, police thought he may have set aside time to drive back and hurt his wife. It wouldn't be until years later when police learned the truth. The neighbor had, indeed, seen a man who looked like Michael, but that man was Richard Cottingham. Shockingly, the two shared an uncanny resemblance. Luckily for Michael, police were able to be able to to confirm his alibi, and upon questioning other neighbors at the complex, they got more solid

leads. Responding Officer Alan Greco reported, a resident of the building informed us that at approximately 7.45 p.m., she heard the scream of a female coming from the direction of Marianne's apartment, and the words being uttered, I will, I will. It became clear that Marianne had been abducted from the parking lot of her apartment complex, forced into a car, beaten, killed, and then left for dead in the motel parking lot, just a few miles down the road. The police, knew what happened. They knew the series of events, the layout, everything, but what they didn't know was who had killed Marianne. Tragically, her murder quickly went cold. Although, had the police looked just a little bit deeper, they may have been able to solve the crime much, much sooner

than they did. Because during that same time period, several women had reported sexual assaults at the same quality in where Marianne had been killed. Had police staked out the location or spoken to the people who had been assaulted there, they would have had a lead much sooner. but unfortunately, that never happened. And as a result, the attacks continued. On September 23rd, 1978, 22-year-old pregnant waitress, Karen Schilt was having a horrible day. She had worked a long shift at Tuesday's bar and grill on 3rd Avenue. At about 6.30, she left work to go visit her husband at Bellevue Hospital, where he was mending a broken leg. The two were in the process of divorcing, but with a baby on the way, they had tried to maintain a friend

relationship. That night, however, Karen walked into his room to see him chatting with an ex-girlfriend. For her, it not only left her angry, but a little heartbroken as well. Wanting to get it off her mind, she went to a nearby restaurant. There, a man introducing himself as John Schaefer asked her why she was all alone. She brushed him off with a laugh, but to her surprise, he sat down, offering to buy her a drink. Now, as a quick side note at the time, it's surprisingly wasn't frowned upon to have a drink while pregnant. Believe it or not, some doctors even encouraged women to drink while pregnant into the mid-80s, claiming that the relaxation provided more good than harm. Now initially, Karen said she was okay, but when John offered again, she accepted. The two sat at the

bar casually chatting. At some point, he asked if she was a working girl. She declined saying that she was a waitress, not a sex worker. After that, the man did his best. to make her comfortable. He talked about work, his wife, and his kids, while Karen told him all about her troubles. By the time she was half finished with her drink, she felt as if she had suddenly hit a wall. She felt sick to her stomach. The room started spinning. She felt like at any moment she was going to puke. She later explained to author Rod Leith, quote, I started feeling a little woozy, like I just had to lie down. It was a funny feeling, like in the hospital when they give you an ether."

Distraught by suddenly feeling so ill, Karen stumbled to her feet and out onto the street, trying to make it to her apartment just a few blocks away. But the lights were starting to blur together. Her feet felt heavier and heavier and heavier. In the midst of her downward spiral, a car pulled up beside her. Inside was the man John Schaefer, the man who was, of course, Richard Cottingham. Feining concerned. He asked if she needed a ride home.

too disoriented to make it even a few more steps, Karen agreed. She later explained that under normal circumstances, she would never take a ride from a stranger. However, she added, quote, But this time I got in because I needed it, end quote. The minute she sat down into the car, the world blurred into non-existence. And when she came to again, she came to with an agonizing burning sensation, radiating through her chest. When Karen opened her eyes, the jersey turned pike flashed by. She was in a car. She was moving, and she was going to Jersey. None of it made sense. She hurt all over. Her brain felt like mush. And what the hell was that pain? What was that smell? Struggling in and out of consciousness, she snapped awake just long enough to realize what was

happening. Richard at the wheel was putting his cigarette out on her breast. Her skin sizzled as he dug the embers into her, pulling them away just long enough so they wouldn't smother out. Then, she felt his fingers in her mouth. He was saying something to her, demanding something. She felt pills on her tongue. At the time, she didn't know it was the same thing he had put in her drink. Tulanol, a date rape drug. And when she finally swallowed, the world went black once more. The following morning, September 24, 1978, Little Ferry Police Officer Raymond Auger made a shocking discovery. Buying in a drainage ditch at Ledgeview Terrace Apartments, the same apartment complex where Marianne Carr had disappeared,

and where Richard and Janet had once lived, was Karen. She was barely clinging to life. Her shirt had been pulled up, exposing her breasts, which were marred by bite marks and cigarette burns. Her pants were pulled down to her ankles. She had bruises and scratches all over her body, and her coat, purse, and scarf were all gone. The officer immediately gave her life-saving CPR,

and, after a stay in the hospital, Karen miraculously began to recover. When she came to in a bed in Hackensack Hospital days later, she could barely remember what had happened to her. Tests determined that she had been forced to ingest a mixture of Secobarbitol and Amobarbital, the exact combination found in Tylenol. She had been brutally sexually assaulted, and though physically she would recover, the mental scars haunted her. Bits and pieces of her assault came back in waves, but giving a physical description was a struggle. Almost as quickly as the case was presented to police, it went cold. Though, had they compared it to the disappearance and murder of Marianne Carr, they likely would

have seen some similarities. Both were linked to the same apartment complex. Both women had been sexually assaulted, beaten in a similar manner, and had similar items stolen from them. Then, there was the fact that both women had been bitten severely on their breasts. As you'll see, Richard Cottingham is a man who varied a lot of things when it came to his targets, how he killed them, where, and what demographic the women were from. But out of all the murders he committed, over half of them involved a woman's breasts being mutilated in some way. And if you looked at all the assault he committed, chances are that number is actually even higher. But sadly, there's no way to know precisely how many women Richard Cottingham assaulted. But in 1978, he was likely

assaulting several a month, if not several per week. On October 10, 1978, 19-year-old pregnant sex worker Susan Geiger was approached on the corner of Broadway in 7th Avenue by Richard Cottingham. He introduced himself as Jim and told her he wanted to spend the night together. He took out a wad of $5,000 and began to page through it in front of her, telling her that he had just wanted in a game of dice. For someone like Susan, who was engaged in sex work to make a living for herself after fleeing her home in Orlando, a big payday could change everything. That night, however, she had plans. So instead, she gave Richard her number. She told him to call her and schedule a date for the following night. Had that call not come, her life would have been incredibly different.

On October 11th, Susan answered her phone and was once again met by, as he introduced himself, Gem. He offered her $200 to spend the night with him, which is equal to about a grand today. For Susan, that was rent, that was food, that was days of being in. able to stay home rather than out on the streets. So she agreed. The two arranged to meet in front of the Alpine Motel at midnight. Before going to the motel, the two went to an Irish pub called Flanagan's on Furst Street. In the beginning, it was a pleasant night. Jim admitted that he had a wife and three children and that he worked in computers. He bragged about the cash he had won and even pulled out a wad of $100 bills to show her again. At some point in the night, she excused herself to go

buy a pack of cigarettes from a vending machine, all while Richard ordered the pair a round of screwdrivers. When Susan came back, she had no idea that he had laced her drink. And when she took a sip, it didn't take long for the effects to kick in. The room began to cloud. She lost her balance. and then the night only came to her in flashes. She didn't remember leaving the bar. She remembered bits and pieces, waking up in the front seat of a dark green thunderbird, seeing Richard Cottingham's face beside her,

waking up later inside room 28 at the Alpine Motel, startled into consciousness by the sting of a piece of garden hose, which Richard was whipping her with. He violently raped her as she floated in and out of consciousness, awaking only to the pain he was inflicting on her. She later told author Rod Leith, quote, He was biting me all over. I was trying to get him off me,

to stop hurting me because of my baby. I scratched him, but he was hurting me. He was biting me, end quote. And then miraculously, it stopped. When Susan felt the first ray of sun on her face, she woke up in a room where she was alone. But any gratitude she had faded in an instant, when she realized she was awakening

in a pool of her own blood. She was bleeding from her mouth, her vagina, and her rectum. Her face and breasts were oozing with blood from several wounds, including a bite mark on her nipple. Her earrings had been ripped out, taken by her assailant, the same assailant who left her bleeding from the slits that had been carved throughout her body.

The pain was immense, but the dehumanization was almost worse. She stumbled to the phone and called the police begging for help, And then she sat on another bed in the room in the sunshine, waiting for them to arrive. Captain John Agar from the South Hackensack Police Department was the first to arrive, and he was stunned by what he saw. Susan's face was so swollen that she was barely recognizable. She spoke, trying to tell him what happened, but due to the drugs and trauma, what she was saying made very little sense to the detective. She was quickly rushed to the hospital for treatment while investigators secured the scene.

Inside the motel room, they found mountains of evidence, several towels with semen, a piece of a green garden hose, and blood that didn't match Susan's, typo. Fortunately, Susan survived, but Justice wasn't exactly on the horizon for her, and sadly, that's largely because of the climate at the time. From the 60s and even into the 80s, some police departments across the U.S., notably in Los Angeles and New York, had an unofficial code that they used when reporting on certain cases. That code was N-H-I, which stands for no humans involved. The term was used for victims of rape, murder, or burglary who were determined to be undesirables, most often sex workers, drug addicts, and people of color. You can't really get more dehumanizing than referring to the murder of someone as unimportant because, in your mind, they're not worthy of being deemed a human.

We aren't saying this to put all detectives at the time on blast, because, as you'll see, there were some working hard to bring these women justice, but they existed within a system where people in power used terms like that, where sex workers were moved to the bottom of the priority list, because in the mind of the people who swore to protect them, they didn't count. Many close to the case, including Richard Cottingham documentarian Joe Berlinger, have suggested that the dehumanization of these sex workers is, ultimately, part of the reason why it took so long for law enforcement to catch a serial killer.

In their minds, the murders of prostitutes and the murders of good society folk were two separate things, and they were never even considered to be a part of the same twisted puzzle. And sadly, because of that and because of Richard's deranged behavior, countless people suffered. For over a decade, he worked in the shadows, but toward the end of November 1979, things changed, and likely that has a lot to do with what was going on in Richard's personal life. In late 1978, Janet, his wife, finally filed for divorce, citing extreme cruelty. Though the divorce wouldn't be finalized until 1981, Richard's image of a good family man was shattered from that moment on. And rapidly, he began to pull his heinous crimes out of the shadows and into the light for all to see.

And now for a brief ad break. Anyways, y'all, let's get back to the show. It was November 30th, 1979. in New York City was covered in rain in a layer of fog. 23-year-old Dida Gidarzi would have rather been anywhere else than Midtown Manhattan. Born in Iran, she had immigrated to the States when she was just eight years old. And her early life had not been an easy one. She dropped out of high school and soon after gave birth to a daughter who she named Ghania.

Because she was so young, she was unable to care for her baby girl, so she put her up for adoption, where she was renamed Jennifer Weiss. Dedea knew it was the best thing to do for her daughter. And without a degree or a family to support her, D-D-D-A was quickly picked up by a pimp and coerced into sex trafficking. She was considered a quote-unquote high-end escort, and she often only worked out of massage parlors or clubs that her pamps operated. But that weekend, she had been pushed to work in Times Square.

When she was approached by Richard Cottingham on that rainy day in November of 1979, she saw an opportunity because at the time she had already known Richard for about two years. He was a customer she was familiar with, and detectives estimate that she may have already met him several times. She likely would have felt safe with Richard. So when he invited her to stay at the Travel and Motor Hotel in Midtown Manhattan, she likely didn't hesitate. It was a good payday, a chance to get out of the rain, and an opportunity to be away from her pimp, at least for a night or two.

but Dida wasn't the only one invited. That same day, Richard invited another girl up to the room with him, who to this day is only known as Jane Doe. The second girl, who is estimated to be white and around 16 years old, join Richard and Dida in room 417 on that fateful day. It remains unknown who arrived first in the motel, Dede or Jane Doe. But what happened in that room is not much of a mystery.

Over the course of two days, the two women were subjected to horrific, torture. Both were brutally raped, sliced, and bitten. There were slash marks on their torsos, but not deep enough to kill them. Forensic pathologist Dr. Luis Napolitano said, quote, the thing that's most important, there were no penetrating wounds. End quote. Instead, there were dozens of curved, shallow slices around the women's breasts, not deep enough to cause any real damage, aside from psychological. Each cut was a taunt, the promise of what he could do to them. The girls had countless marks all over their bodies, their breasts, their

legs and arms, their torsos, cigarette burns dotted them, ligature marks encircled their bodies, showing that they had been handcuffed and at times tied together as they were brutally assaulted. One of the girls was forced onto her stomach and then repeatedly had a knife drawn down her back over and over and over again until her back was nothing but strips of skin. Then, after 48 hours of unthinkable torture, Richard decided he was done. Using some type of saw, he cut off the women's hands. Then he cut off their heads. And then he put the body parts inside a large duffel bag.

After, he laid both women on separate twin beds inside the room. He then doused the room in an accelerant. He focused the majority of the accelerant between their legs. Whether he was sending a message or trying to get rid of evidence, To this day, he's never said. But at around 9 a.m., he struck a match, threw it down, and then walked out of the room, with two heads and four hands, and his duffel back. Moments later, the front desk called 911, reporting smoke coming from room 417.

Firefighter James Rogers was one of the first responders on the scene, and he was immediately overtaken by the horror of what he was facing. He had the smell of burning flesh and the smoke was thick, he later stated. he burst into the room through a wall of flames and grabbed the victim closest to the door. He told the New York Daily News, I carried her out the door and put her down on the hall floor. I was preparing to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, which is standard procedure, when I suddenly noticed there was no head. According to others on the scene, James stumbled back against the wall, horrified by what he was looking at.

He added, I'm used to seeing charred bodies, but this was the worst experience I'd had in my 12 years of firefighting. I've never come across something like that, and I hope to never again. The experience was so traumatizing that immediately afterwards, James was put into trauma counseling to help him deal with what he had seen. Because, faced with one headless body, he still had to get up, go inside, and recover the other body. This time, he knew there would be no CPR necessary. As he laid both women down in the hall, the sergeant approached and stated, one sick bastard did this.

And unfortunately, that phase doesn't even be. began to cover it. When firefighters finally managed to put out the fire, the police took over the investigation. But inside the room, despite the horror of the situation, they were met with very little physical evidence. Despite the torture the victims had endured, they were unable to find a single spot of blood inside the room, indicating that the killer had been meticulous with either his cleanup or his prep. Perhaps he drained their blood in the bathtub, which is why there was no blood in the room. But inside the bathtub, police found the clothing belonging to the victims, clothing that was neatly folded, along with two pairs of platform shoes on top of the pile.

Now, as police assessed the damage, from a small cafe across the street from the travel in, Richard watched the chaos unfold over a cup of coffee. While officers inside faced one of the worst days of their career, Richard soaked in it, gleefully watching as people were traumatized by his actions. A later autopsy revealed that Dita Godarsie had died after several days of torture when Richard Cottingham plunged a knife through her back, puncturing one of her lungs. How the Jane Doe died has never been revealed, though it has been reported that the girls died at different times, suggesting that one of them had to watch as the other died, knowing that, tragically, they were next. Dita was identified within a few days of the murder. Please published photos of the clothing of the victims on

mannequins, which resulted in one of Dita's friends calling and reporting that she believed the clothing had belonged to her. To this day, the other girl, who is referred to as Manhattan Jane Doe, has not been identified. She's estimated to have been between the ages of 16 and 22. She wore a size 7 pair of bonjour jeans, a dark burgundy sweater, black boots, and a floor-length black coat. Although posters of her clothing were hung up around New York City, it didn't garner any results. While Dita got her name back, the woman who suffered alongside her still to this day remains anonymous. And sadly, Richard couldn't care less. Describing what he did, he later stated, I enjoyed it. It was a game. It's scary to a girl to have something done like that,

to be so close to a knife, so to speak, pressed against you. The situations that I was seeking were more of a power trip. What I was doing was something like a power trip. The power of holding someone's fate in your hands is a very powerful aphrodisiac. The adrenaline rush is, you're in complete control of somebody's destiny looking for answers new york city deputy police chief richard nicostro interviewed several staff members at the hotel he wanted information on the man who had rented room 417 for four days a man who signed in as carl wilson but staff members claimed that he mostly stayed in the room and avoided conversation maids weren't allowed to enter as the do not disturb placard had been on the doornaub for his entire stay they were unable to

provide a description of the two women who were murdered however as for Carl Wilson, staff stated that he was, a white male, about 35 years old, five feet 10 inches tall, weighing 175 pounds. Brown hair neatly cut with sideburns no longer than his earlobes, all of colored face, high cheekbones. The description was a clear match for the man

sitting across the street from the hotel, drinking a coffee. After finishing up at the cafe, Richard Cottingham made his way to a nearby bridge, where he claims to have dumped the head and hands of Dede Gidarzi. in the Manhattan Jane Doe. To this day, their body parts have not been found. But for those who knew and loved Dida,

knowing Richard killed her isn't enough. They won her body whole and at peace. Now, if you remember, De De Dey had a daughter who she put up for adoption when she was just shy of two weeks old. Her daughter, Jennifer Weiss, went on a mission at age 24 in the early 2000s to try and find her birth mother.

Instead, she found an article about her mother, her mother's horrific murder. For Jennifer, it was a dream turned nightmare. She had always imagined being reunited with her mom. And now, she was faced with the reality that her mother wasn't just dead. She was in pieces. And she decided to do something about it, not just for herself and not just for her mother, but for the other victims of Richard Cottingham. She reached out to him and began seeking closure in her mother's murder. Everybody deserves to be forgiven for things in life. The magnitude of what he did is unfathomable.

But I became friends with Richard for my mother's sake and for my quest. I desperately wanted to find Dita's skull. And that is the driving force behind what I'm doing. Whether or not he's telling the truth or not, we are getting bits and pieces of the truth. I'm doing this for the mothers who lost their daughters and my own mother.

He was sitting there waiting in the window, visit with a sheet of glass in between us. And although the image of him was a little frightening, I wasn't scared because he was behind a sheet of glass. But also, I was more concerned with finding about my mom and that was the driving force and I usually forget about everything else when it comes to finding out about my mom. We'll dive a bit more into Jennifer Weiss's quest for justice a bit later but for now we just wanted to give a glimpse into the love that people had and have for

Dita and the love that the Jane Doe deserves but due to the nature of the murders and the scene news of the double killing spread like wildfire immediately articles labeled the murderer the torso killer, and people all across the city latched on to the horrific details of the crime. For some, however, the details were far too close to home. Sex workers across the city, many of whom were being forced into the world at the hands of their traffickers, were on high alert. When one sex worker heard that Deputy Chief Nicastro said the local prostitutes were scared, she told a reporter.

He said, we was frightened? Well, I'll tell you something, honey. I was scared as hell. I thought he was going home and making himself a Frankenstein whore. Women refused to go out to the travel in motor lodge with customers, some worked in teams, and others moved out of the city altogether. The double homicide became the worst mutilation murders in New York City in recent history at the time, and they were so brutal that they were often compared to the murders committed by Jack the Ripper,

and Richard Cottingham loved every second of the notoriety. When Richard returned to work after the double homicide, the news was making its way around the office. One of his co-workers slammed a newspaper down and remarked, What kind of sick son of a bitch does something like this? Richard laughed and shrugged, saying in a funny tone, I don't know, it could have been you, it could have been me. Everyone laughed it off as a joke, not knowing that the man responsible was standing right in front of them.

At that point, no one had any idea Richard Cottingham was a killer. No one even suspected that there was a serial killer prowling the streets of New York and nearby New Jersey. At the time, departments rarely worked with one another, especially if they crossed state lines. The Hudson River may as well have been an ocean, dividing two continents back in those days. There was no centralized system, no communication.

So the murder of people like Marianne Carr and the attacks of women in New Jersey weren't connected whatsoever to the killing of Dita and the Manhattan Jane Doe across the river in Midtown. Sadly, it would take several more victims before any connection at all was made, and those victims came in rapid succession. Valerie Ann Street was just 19 years old. Born in Gary, Indiana. She had moved to Miami, Florida at some point.

And then fleeing charges of prostitution. She arrived in New York City in late April, early May, 1980. Now, we searched high and low for information about Valerie, through family trees, countless newspaper articles, yearbook, social media posts, you name it. And sadly, we could only find two things about her. We know she had two sisters, and we know that for some reason,

she carried a tiny stuffed koala bear with her, A token from home, from her childhood, from a loved one, we don't know. But that little koala bear brought her comfort. And when she arrived in New York City, she added with her. When she arrived at the quality in motel in Hasbrook Heights, New Jersey on May 3rd, and signed in as Shelly Dudley. She had it in her purse. And when she disappeared into room 132, it was the only comfort she had for what few hours

remained in her life. The following morning, a hotel worker entered room 132 to find it in disarray. The sheets on the bed were disheveled, and as soon as she stepped in, there was a foul odor, one that she didn't recognize. The worker began to vacuum going about her duties. But when she tried to push the vacuum beneath the bed, she bumped into something. She pushed it again, but whatever was underneath the bed wouldn't give. Frustrated, she lifted up the mattress, and there, peeked it.

Taking through the slats in the frame, she could see the body of 19-year-old Valerie Ann Street. Immediately, the worker sprinted into the hall and began to cry for someone to call 911. When police arrived, they discovered a scene that had become all too common. Valerie was naked. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and she had been trying to escape the cuffs for so long and so fiercely that they had carved bloody gouges around her wrists. Her body was covered in vicious bite marks, including one on her left breast, which had nearly severed her nipple. It was clear two detectives on the scene that she had fought like hell,

and a later autopsy confirmed it. It was estimated that Valerie had been tortured for up to 24 hours, and that she had been hit on the right side of her head with a blunt object. There were wounds to her vagina and anus, indicating severe sexual assault. In her system, they discovered she had been severely intoxicated and likely drugged. Marks on her back were determined to have been knife marks, not from stabbing, but from pressing the knife into her skin, taunting her for extended periods of time. Forensic psychologist Louis Schlesinger would later state,

quote, those were torture marks. It's eroticized, the power and control the offender has over the victim. To make the victim realize that he, the offender, is in control of life and death. So oftentimes, the offender will prolong her agony and kill her in a very slow, deliberate way, so that she's aware that he's going to kill her, end quote. And ultimately, that's exactly what Richard Cottingham did. There were two ligature marks on her neck, indicating that she had died as a result of strangulation. Richard Cottingham had watched her die as he tightened that ligature, and as he did it,

he fully believed he was going to get away with it. And that's because Richard had taken great precautions to not get caught. caught. All of Valerie's clothing was removed, and the sheets where the assault happened had been stripped. Investigators dusted for fingerprints and located two, one belonging to Valerie. The other, police knew, had to belong to her killer. At the time, though, there wasn't a centralized database for fingerprints. So when police ran the fingerprint in their system in New Jersey, they didn't get a match. Because Richard had been arrested in New York for the assault of those two sex workers way back in 1973, his fingerprints were in the system just across the river. But at the time in

New Jersey, they were practically useless. Now, fortunately, one of the detectives on the scene recalled an earlier murder that had taken place at the exact same hotel, the murder of Marianne Carr two years earlier. Dr. Catherine Ramsland would later propose, using the same motel was narcissistic. They're so superior to everybody else that there's no chance they're going to get caught. Some narcissists absolutely believe they are invisible, untouchable. But soon, Richard was going to find out that he wasn't untouchable. And the heinous things he had hidden for so long would eventually be brought into the light. Because finally, after years and years, the police made their first connection between cases. The Bergen County Sheriff's Department in New Jersey determined that the

deaths of Marianne Carr and Valerie Ann Street were committed by the same person. The connection to the New York torso killings had yet to be made, but it wouldn't be long, because rapidly, Richard Cottingham was losing the control he had obsessively craved all his life. Just about a month later, the New York City Fire Department was facing another one of the worst scenes of their career. In the early morning hours of May 15, 1980, firefighters were dispatched to the Seville Hotel on East 29th Street. Again, it was a report of a room on fire. When they threw open the door somehow, a scene even more disturbing than the one they had uncovered at the Travel Inn Motor Hotel awaited them. Once more, the bed had been set on fire, but this time,

the victim's head and hands were intact. Instead, her killer had severed her breast and put them on top of the headboard facing the door. The victim, the woman who was posed on the bed, had endured relentless torture. She was covered in bite marks. She had been left naked, and she had ligature marks on her neck, wrists, and feet. And just like the murder of Dita and the Manhattan Jane Doe, the room had been extensively sterilized, leaving no evidence behind. The second firefighters walked into the scene, they knew this was the work of the man that the news had dubbed the torso killer. And with how he left the scene, with the breasts facing the door, it seemed like now he was taunting them. Police took fingerprints of the victim, who was soon identified

as Marianne Jean Rainer, who more often went by Jean. Jean was just 25 years old. She had a young son she was trying to support. Due to a separation with his father, she found herself embroiled in a contentious custody dispute and desperate to fund the best lawyer she could find. She turned to sex work. She'd only been doing it for a few weeks when she met her horrific death at the hands of Richard Cottingham. By this point, law enforcement had started to make connections. One detective, Paul Bleakin, kept thinking about two sex workers, Roberta and Diana, who had both been brutally assaulted and bitten by a man named Richard Cottingham in 1973 and 74. If you recall, charges had been filed, but both women failed to show up at court and the cases against Richard were dropped. For years,

both cases had been eating away at Detective Bleakin. On paper, Richard appeared perfect. He had a steady career, a family, paid his taxes and tolls, but Detective Bleakin wasn't convinced. He went back to the address of Carl Wilson, the alias of the man who killed Dita Gudarsie and the Manhattan Jane Doe. In the logbook at the Travel and Motor Lodge, he had written his address as Anderson Place, Merlin, New Jersey.

By this point, investigators had determined that it was a fake address and a fake name, but it made Detective Bleakin wonder if the murderer could have really been from Jersey, When he pulled the file of Richard Cottingham, he read that he worked in New York City, but lived in New Jersey. He couldn't get over the fact that what had happened to the Manhattan Jane Doe and Dita was eerily similar to what had happened to Roberta and Diana, the level of torture, the biting of the breasts. Detective Bleak and wanted to bring Richard in for an interview. He wanted to compare the composite sketch that staff members helped create to the man he remembered as baby-faced with the stocky build. However, it wouldn't be long before the case was blown wide open.

on May 22nd, 1980 in Bergen County, New Jersey. Around 9.20 a.m., police officer Stanley Mellevich received a phone call regarding a woman who had been sexually assaulted and tortured in room 117 at the Quality Inn Motel. Her name was Leslie Ann O'Dell. And unlike the other victims that had entered the Quality Inn Motel with Richard Cottingham, she was still alive. 18-year-old Leslie had just arrived in New York City on a Greyhound bus. Originally from Olympia, Washington, Leslie had arrived

in the Big Apple hoping to find an escape from her problems. After a brutal argument with her long-term boyfriend, in a life that felt as though it was collapsing, she had fled to start a new chapter. And like so many other starry-eyed teens, she thought New York would fix her problems. She thought that it would put her on a path to greatness, allow her to make something of herself, and to give her a place where she'd find other people with goals like her own. But when she walked out of the bus station, the reality of what she had done hit her. She had little money, no belongings, no way to get home, no way to really start a life in New York. So she sat on a bench and began to brainstorm. She was smart. She knew she could find something. But just as she was starting to come up with a plan,

a man approached her and offered to buy her breakfast. Leslie agreed, completely unaware of what was happening. During this era specifically, sex traffickers would often post up around bus stations, waiting for teens or runaways with big dreams to arrive. They'd scope out the most vulnerable, people with no connections, no money, no job, and they'd offer to take them out for a nice meal or put them in a nice hotel for the night. And what would begin as a nice gesture

would evolve into something much darker. Sadly, that was the case with Leslie. By the end of breakfast, the sex trafficker who approached her offered her a job where she could make good money. Pennyless, Leslie made a plan. She would work the streets for a day or two, make enough money, and then buy a ticket back home.

But that's the trap that sex traffickers want their victims to fall for. As soon as Leslie began to work the streets, her money was taken from her, and she was passed to person to person, relying on her trafficker for food, housing, and comfort. After just four days, Leslie felt like a shell of her former self. She was terrified, desperate to get out in any way she could. And that's when she met Richard Cottingham, who introduced himself as Tommy. After days of aggression, loneliness, and pain, Richard played the part of a friendly, trustworthy man when he encountered Leslie. He chatted with her and offered to take her for a nice meal so she could get off the streets for the night.

Leslie didn't hesitate. In fact, the streets scared her, so she happily got into the man's blue and silver Chevy Caprice. When the two arrived at a bar, they settled into a booth and chatted over a whiskey sour. Richard told Leslie bits and pieces about himself, that he had been married, had kids, and worked with computers. Soon, Leslie began to trust him, and ultimately she broke down. She told Richard that she wanted to go back to Washington, that she was terrified of the man who had trafficked her, and that he kept taking her money,

so it felt like she had absolutely no way out. Richard ordered a steak and fries and listened to her as she talked about her troubles. Finally, he told Leslie that he would help her. After they ate, he'd take her across the river to Jersey and drop her off at a bus station there. That way, she wouldn't run the risk of encountering her trafficker. In exchange for a little time together in a hotel room, he'd give her $100, plenty for her to get back home.

Leslie was overjoyed. She thanked Richard over and over, grateful, fully believing that this man was going to help her. However, there was one odd statement that he made, something she later said should have been a red flag. According to Leslie, Richard looked at her and said, well, he'll do anything when it comes to a life and death situation. And in time, Leslie would find out how true that was.

just not in the way she was expecting. The two arrived at the Quality Inn in Hasbrook Heights just before sunrise. Richard paid the $27.77 room bill with two $220 bills and went back outside to get Leslie. They entered room 117 from their rear entrance. While Leslie excused herself to freshen up in the bathroom and smoke a cigarette, Richard told her that he had to go back outside and move his car to the front of the building. As she stood in the bathroom, getting ready in the mirror, and dreaming of what tomorrow would bring, She never could have imagined what Richard was really grabbing out of his car.

Richard returned to the room with a paper bag, containing a bottle of whiskey and a briefcase. In the briefcase, he had his toolkit, gags, collars, knives, handcuffs, tape, and ties. He set the briefcase on the floor and offered Leslie a drink. She obliged and took off her clothes, unaware of the nightmare that was about to unfold. She had promised him half an hour of sex. She hoped it would be quick so she could make the $100 and go back to her old life.

Richard told Leslie to roll over on her stomach so he could give her a back massage. It was a kind gesture and she happily obliged. But as soon as she rolled over, without warning, she felt the weight of the man on top of her and a sharp object pressed against the back of her neck. Richard grabbed her hands and secured a pair of handcuffs around her wrists. Leslie tried her hardest to remain calm. She told Richard that he didn't have to hurt her. She would do what he wanted.

She frantically reminded him how nice he had been, how he had offered to get her out of this life. But in response, Richard told her, You have to take it. The other girls did. You have to take it too. You're a whore and you have to be punished. It's something he repeated over and over

throughout the assault that followed. He pressed the knife harder against her neck. He told her not to scream. He threatened that if she made any noise, he would cut her face, breasts, vagina, and anus. He said he would leave horrible scars on her body and beat her. So Leslie agreed not to say a word, but it wasn't enough for Richard. He took a line of tape and wound it around her mouth, silencing her. From there, Richard tightened the handcuffs so much that they dug into her wrists.

He then flipped her back over so the two were face to face. This time, he pressed the knife on one of her breasts with enough pressure to cut her and leave a mark. She fought back tears as pain surged through her body. He then squeezed and bit down on her breast as hard as he could, nearly severing her right nipple. The man who had told her that he wanted to be her friend was torturing her.

Richard taunted Leslie, telling her in detail that he planned on burning her breasts, genitalia, and anus, and that he only got pleasure when he inflicted pain. And for the next several hours, Leslie was sodomized, raped, and beaten. He forced his penis down her throat, handcuffed her ankles, and pulled out a black pistol from his briefcase, telling her that if she resisted anything, he would blow her brains out. He whipped her with a leather belt, slashed her with his knife, and bit into her skin again and

again and again. Between the torture, he wiped her face with a cool washcloth to make sure she didn't pass out. It was the cruelest game he could possibly play. Whenever she had the respite of blacking out, falling into unconsciousness, he forced her back so he could take pleasure and her pain. Now at one point, Richard decided to uncuff Leslie's wrists,

and he took the tape off her mouth, ordering her to lick his feet. Leslie knew in that moment that this may be her only chance at escape. She began to do as he commanded. All the while, she scanned the room for a large enough object to hit him with.

Suddenly, she remembered the black pistol in the briefcase, the one he had threatened to blow her brains out with. During her torture, it had slid underneath the bed. And while she kneeled down in front of Richard, going to lick his feet, she reached for the briefcase and grabbed the weapon. She had no idea how to use a gun, but it was her only option if she wanted to survive. And finally, in her hand, she had her salvation. She quickly stood up and raised the gun to Richard's face. Then, but the face that stared back at her was filled with anger. Leslie knew she had to kill him right then and there, so she pulled the trigger.

But to her dismay, nothing happened. The gun in her hand, unbeknownst to her, was fake. Enraged, Richard grabbed his knife and charged at her. With no tape over her mouth, Leslie screamed as loud as she possibly could. It was around 9 a.m. when hotel worker Eleanor Psychawake heard screaming from room 117. After the murder of Valerie Ann Street in room 132, Eleanor was on high alert. She didn't dare enter the room, and instead, she rushed to the nearest telephone and called the front desk. On the other side of the door, Richard threw Leslie on the bed and pressed his hand against her mouth.

He told her that if anyone came to the door, he would kill her. But unbeknownst to him, assistant manager Todd Radner had been alerted to the screams coming from room 117. He had picked up the telephone and called the room. Richard told Leslie to pick it up and tell them that everything was okay. She did as she was told. She told him that she was fine, but the trembling in her voice said otherwise. Todd told Leslie that he would send motel security to the room. Without alerting Richard to what was said, she told the manager, that would be fine. It was her last chance. After she hung up, Richard slapped her and threw her onto the floor. By that point, she had no fight left in her. She didn't know how much longer she could last, and then the

And then, finally, came the help she so desperately needed. It was Todd and the head housekeeper Paula de Matthews. Richard ordered Leslie to answer it and to tell them that everything was fine. Once again, Leslie did as she was told. She pulled open the door but didn't unlatch the chain lock at the top. Richard stood behind her out of sight with a knife held at her back. Todd and Paula caught a glimpse of Leslie's swollen face, but as instructed, she told them that she was fine. They asked if she could open the door all the way, and she replied that she could

couldn't because she was naked. The tension was rising, reaching a boiling point with every passing second. As they stood there, Leslie subtly gestured with her thumb, a silent plea for help. She could only hope they understood as they walked away, and she closed the door behind them. Whether they understood or not, Richard was unraveling. He began to panic. He ordered Leslie to call the front desk and repeat that everything was fine. Obediently, she picked up the phone and spoke with Todd again, explaining that she had argued with her boyfriend, but that things had been But instead of saying, okay, Todd told her the words she had been desperate to hear. I called the police. They're on their way.

Moments later, Officer Stanley Mellewick pulled his cruiser into the parking lot. Just beyond the walls, inside room 117, Richard panicked and quickly gathered his belongings and torture devices, stuffing them back into the briefcase. Leslie cowered on the bed as Richard fled through the door and down the hallway. But just as he did, Officer Mellewick entered from the other side. In the distance, he heard the faint jingle of keys, the sound growing closer. Suddenly, a man appeared holding a briefcase and what looked like a gun. Officer Mellowick shouted for him to stop, drop his weapon, and raise his hands. He had a shotgun aimed and ready to fire. Richard did

as he was told. He kicked the gun away from himself and raised his arms towards the ceiling. It's here, where Officer Mellowick was able to cuff Richard, bringing the entire ordeal to an end. Out of breath, Richard explained that he was in the room with a hooker and got scared. He swore he did nothing wrong. But as police spoke with Leslie, they knew immediately that she had been through hell. She was hysterical, shaking and sobbing as she told them every detail. She was rushed to a nearby hospital while Richard Cottingham was taken to the police station. Finally, after two decades of terror, terror which the police didn't even know the half of,

Richard Cottingham was sitting behind bars. Richard was swiftly interrogated and immediately began to victim blame. He argued that everything that happened between himself and Leslie was consensual and that he had only run when police arrived because he was with a hooker at the motel and he was scared of being arrested for paying for sex. Throughout the entire interrogation, he dehumanized Leslie, referring to her only as the female subject. When police pressed him about the savagery of his acts with Leslie,

he rushed it off by saying he was stressed about his divorce and Leslie had enticed him to try something new. but the items police discovered in his briefcase told a different story. Inside, police located handcuffs, tape, two slave collars, a leather gag, a switchblade, date rape drugs, and replica pistols. Unable to explain the items or the severity of Leslie's wounds, Richard decided to stop talking and get an attorney, but the police didn't care. At that point, they were sure that Richard was behind a number of the tortures, rapes, and murders

that had plagued New Jersey and New York. But it wasn't until they obtained a search warrant. for the home that he shared with his estranged wife, Janet, that they were introduced to the full scope of the work ahead of them, and the horrors as well. They entered Richard's office, the room that had been off-limits to his wife and kids the entire time they had lived in the home, and inside they found a treasure trove, perfume, jewelry, clothing, motel keys, and purses. Janet answered questions, at first, hesitant, claiming that the items were gifts for her, as well as Richard's mother and sisters. But when she learned the seriousness of the charges

against the father of her children, she broke down. She admitted that he kept an odd work schedule, barely came home, and wouldn't allow her into the basement of her own home. Investigators started referring to the basement room as Richard's trophy room. As they began to inspect the items more closely, they were stunned at the evidence before them. If you recall, 19-year-old Valerie Ann Street carried a small koala bear stuffed animal with her for comfort. That bear was discovered inside Richard's room, definitively tying him to Valerie's murder. Alongside it, they discovered a key that fit Marianne Carr's apartment door. But there was one other clue that provided even more insight.

At the time, police were still struggling to link Richard concretely to the torso murders in New York, the murderers of Dita Gudarsie, the Manhattan Jane Doe, and of Gene Reiner. But that was changed the minute police looked inside the trophy room, because, hidden in the pile of costume jewelry, they discovered a necklace that belonged to Jean. And for the very first time, the killings in New Jersey and New York were to finish. connected, and over the coming days, even more evidence came forward to support that. Throughout their investigation, police questioned those close to Richard, including a woman he was seeing on and off, named Barbara Lucas. Barbara reported that Richard had never been

aggressive with her, and that he often took her to nice dinners, on vacation, and dancing at local clubs. She admitted that the two of them often met at the Quality Inn. She said he frequented a bar called Flanagan's on First Avenue, the same bar where he met Susan Geiger before he kidnapped and tortured her. Both Susan and Karen Schilt were brought to the police station to identify Richard as the man who kidnapped, assaulted, and tortured them. During a lineup, both agreed that he was the man responsible. Now by this point, investigators in New York and New Jersey were working together to get the cases solved, and very quickly, they had a long list of crimes. They believed that Richard had drugged and raped Karen Schilt, Susan Geiger, and Leslie O'Dell,

all in New Jersey. There, he had also murdered Marianne Carr and Valerie Ann Street. But across the Hudson in New York, they believed he was responsible for the murder and mutilation of Dieda Gendarzine Riner and the Manhattan Jane Dull, all of whom were set on fire in hotel rooms after their torture and murder. Police began to dig, questioning Richard about. about all of the crimes. And for the first time in his life,

Richard had lost control. So, he took the only control he felt he still had. Alone in his cell, he slammed his eyeglasses on the floor and used the broken glass to cut his wrists. When a guard entered moments later to check on him,

he was stunned to find Richard pale. Blood was pulling at the ground by his feet, but he was still alive. He was quickly rushed to the hospital treated and then sent back to jail to await further charges. On May 23, 1980, Richard was arraigned on the attempted murder of Leslie O'Dell and held on a $250,000 bond. In time, several other charges followed.

The murders of Valerie Ann Street, Marianne Carr, Dita Godarsie, Gene Reiner, and the Manhattan Jane Doe were added as the days went on. He was also charged with kidnapping, aggravated assault, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, aggravated sexual assault while armed, possession of a weapon, and possession of controlled substances. Richard's bond was increased to $350,000 and more charges were added, including attempted murder charges and more kidnapping charges. The news of Richard Cottingham's sadistic and twisted sex acts and murders spread like wildfire across the streets of New York in New Jersey.

The New York Times, New York Daily, and the Bergen County Record published sensational front-page stories about his crimes. Title such as nude, torture, and slain in Midtown Hotel, dominated the newsstands. Everyone was talking about it, and everyone was shocked. His co-workers, relatives, and acquaintances alike. One of his coworkers told the media this. He was a computer mainframe control operator, and I was a programmer. He was a quiet, nervous man, but he didn't give off any other signs. He was a family man living in Lodi, and no one suspected him of what he was doing. Even his wife didn't know what he was doing. He gave off no signs. He had a bunch of buddies working in the computer room with him that he hung out with. They did not even know.

Richard's mother, Anna Cottingham, was shocked at what was being penned on her son. She didn't believe the charges, still looking at him as the young quiet boy who enjoyed staying home with her and training homing pigeons. Although she now lived in Florida, she didn't. She didn't decided the best way to help her son was to hire the best attorney in the business, Donald Conway. To afford the bill, she even put her house up for sale in Tampa. Meanwhile, Richard's strange wife, Janet, withdrew her divorce proceedings. Why she did this, no one knows. Though it seems likely that she did it for some legally beneficial reason. She never visited him in jail, and she and her three children quickly moved to Poughkeepsie, New York.

north of the media circus surrounding the man they had once loved and trusted. On May 19, 1981, Richard was on trial of the state superior court in Hackensack, New Jersey for the crimes he committed there, the murder of Valerie Street, and the assaults of Karen Schilt, Susan Geiger, and Leslie O'Dell. Prosecutor Dennis Collo told the jury that consisted of nine men and nine women, you may be tempted to flinch. The facts of this case are not pleasant. They are hard, they are bloody, and they are gruesome. The prosecution argued, that Richard would lure the prostitutes by telling them he had won a large sum of money while gambling and he would then flash a large sum of cash. Once he had them, he would drug them,

rape and sodomize them, beat them, and torture them. The prosecution stated that Richard was sexually aroused when he inflicted pain and he tended to prolong the torture as long as he could. But throughout everything, those closest to him, his wife, Janet, his sisters, and his mother did not believe that he was a serial killer. Throughout the trial, Richard remained calm. even when Karen, Susan, Leslie, and his mistress, Barbara Lucas, took the stand. Although his attorneys did not want him to take the stand in his own defense, Richard was determined to clear his name. He believed he could win over the jury, and it would be his own narcissism that sealed his fate.

On the stand, Richard casually spoke about his interest in bondage. He said, The whole idea of bondage has aroused and fascinated me since I was very young. He even admitted that he forced women to refer to him as master, but he continued to deny that he had killed anyone. When it came to the charges, he said he had been with his girlfriend for a majority of them, but he couldn't claim that when it came to the assault of Leslie O'Dell. For that case, the police caught him red-handed, so there was no denying that Richard had

brutally raped, sodomized, beat, and tortured Leslie. However, when asked, he simply turned it around and blamed the victim. He stated that Leslie knew he was into bondage in S&M and had agreed to let him do anything to her for $180. He claimed that he didn't remember biting Leslie's breast, and when shown a picture of the wound, he said it looked only like a minor scratch. Now, when it came to the murder of Valerie Anne Street, Richard maintained his innocence. Even after his thumbprint had been matched to the mysterious print found on Valerie's handcuffs, he brushed it off. He genuinely believed that the jury

wouldn't question his account. Richard's own defense attorney, Don Callaway, didn't even believe his own client's story. He knew that Richard was guilty. And in June 1981, after a four-week trial, Richard Cottingham was found guilty on 15 of the 19 counts. His sentencing was scheduled for July. However, after he returned to his jail cell, he attempted suicide a second time. This time, he drank six ounces of liquid antidepressants. He was transported to Hackensack Hospital, where, ultimately, he survived. On July 25, 1981, Richard was sentenced to 173 years to 197 years

for the murder of Valerie Ann Street and the brutal assaults of Leslie O'Don. Della, Susan Geiger, and Karen Schilt. But it wasn't over yet. In February 1982, Richard collapsed in an elevator while awaiting trial for the murder of Marianne Carr. He was taken to the hospital and diagnosed with a dual dino ulcer, and the judge declared a mistrial. No trial date was set, as Richard would have to recover from his illness before they could continue. Finally, on September 28, 1982, Richard was officially on trial for the murder of New Jersey X-ray technician Marianne Marsey Carr. This time, he requested a non-jury trial, opting for District Superior Court Judge Fred Seagolda to determine his guilt or innocence. But believe it or not,

on October 3rd of that year, Richard managed to escape custody. At trial during a lunch recess, he ran across the street trying to escape. But luckily, he was swiftly apprehended. The Marion Carr trial was a non-jury trial. And the judge refused. refused to handcuff Cottingham in any way. During a break in the proceedings, all hell did break loose. When he was taken to the holding cell, he had a jacket that he had been wearing, and he threw it over the head of the sheriff's officer

and made a dash for the hallway. I saw the sheriff's office matron running from the judge's chambers, flying across the back of the judge's bench, yelling. He escaped. I immediately went back out the door, quickly ran down the north stairs. I saw him dashing, and we all started calling out. Cottingham is escaping. We all arrived about the same time on Cottingham and brought him to the ground, handcuffed him, and as he turned and looked up, he said, why didn't you guys just let me go and shoot me?

For Richard's trial, the prosecution presented evidence, including the white adhesive tape that had been found on him when he was arrested for Leslie O'Dell's assault and attempted murder. The same tape had been used to silence and gag Marianne. There were also consistencies between Marianne's murder and Valerie Streets' murder, handcuffs, strangulation, sexual assault. When Marianne's partial apartment key was located in his trophy room, it sealed his fate. On October 15th, Richard was sentenced to an additional 25 years to life for the murder of murder. Mary Ann Carr. The sentence was to be served consecutively with his 1980 sentence. On March 30, 1983, Richard was transferred from the maximum security state prison in Trenton, New Jersey, to a men's detention center in Manhattan, New York. He now had to face the charges for the murders of

Dita Goodarze, the Manhattan Jane Doe, and Gene Rayner. During the trial, Richard attempted suicide a third time by slashing his left forearm with a razor in front of the jury. But the jury was unsympathetic, especially after learning the depravity of the torso murders. And four days later, on July 9, 1984, they found him guilty on all counts. On August 28th, Richard Cunningham was sentenced to an additional 75 years to life in prison. He was then transferred back to the Trenton State Prison, a maximum security prison now renamed the New Jersey State Prison. In many cases, our episode would end here, a killer behind bars. The case closed. And with Richard arrest and conviction, there were so many unsolved murders that detectives finally could close.

But unbeknownst to them, there were dozens more he had committed that sat in boxes unsolved. Hundreds of friends, family members, and loved ones, wondering what had become of their daughters, sisters, or mothers. Because Richard Cottingham hadn't just killed five people in his lifetime, or 10, or 15. In his own words, he'd come. He'd come. killed almost 10 times that. Do you have any, do you have a number in your head that you think? Did you ever sit back and think about it? It's safe to say, I couldn't count that.

That is, they start to get jumbled. I would say this is well over here. You think that many? Well, to be able to do, it was like the perfect murder every time. But for everyone that I killed, I've done this to 30 other girls. You've just heard a portion of a confession from Richard Cottingham that was 10 years in the making. Because in 2004, years and years after Richard's initial incarceration, a young detective was hired by the Bergen County Sheriff's Department. His name was Robert Anzolotti.

And as Detective Anzalotti settled into his desk on the force, he was presented with box after box of unsolved cases ranging from 1960 to 1980. cases where teenage girls were drowned, where mothers were killed in their homes, where sex workers were strangled and abandoned on hiking trails. They all seemed so different, and yet there was something about them that was hauntingly familiar, an invisible thread that connected one to the next. And as Detective Anzolati paged through all of the cases, his mind kept going to one person, Richard Cottingham. What began as boxes of unsolved murders, slowly evolved. into a game of cat and mouse, a detective hunting down the truth

from a serial killer, desperate to keep it hidden. So join us next week as we tell the story of Richard Cottingham's additional victims in a group of three strangers who embarked on a multi-year quest to give them back their names. If you're a Patreon member, you can listen to Part 2 right now,

but in honor of this episode and in the hopes of one day being able to identify victims like the Manhattan Jane Doe, we will be making a donation to the DNA Doe Project, a non-profit organization dedicated to giving the names back to victims whose stories deserve to be told more than the stories of their killers. We also want to thank author Rod Leith. His book titled The Prostitute Murders,

The People v. Richard Cottingham, was one of the main sources for this episode, along with Jack Rosewood's book titled, Richard Cottingham, The True Story of the Torso Killer. Hey everybody, thank you so much for listening to today's episode of Murder in America. Like we just said, if you want to listen to Part 2, please consider joining us and supporting the show on Patreon. Part 2 is live now.

If you want to help support the show in that way on Patreon, you can get access to early ad-free versions of every episode of the show. So if you don't like the ads, you want to get the episodes early, please consider joining us on there. And in addition, we have an entire library of bonus episodes. These are full-length episodes of the show. Sometimes they're even longer than the episodes that we release that week here on the main feed. And if you've never signed up, you can immediately get access to, I don't even know how many 130, 140, 50 bonus episodes of the show.

There are a lot on there. And if you love what we do here, that's definitely the place you should go. Also, do not forget to leave us a five-star review on our podcast wherever you listen to this show, whether it's on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Those five-star reviews really help us grow. show and help us grow our audience. And on top of that, don't forget to follow us on Instagram at Murder in America to see photos from every case that we cover here on the show. Anyways, y'all, we'll be back next week with Part 2. Thank you so much for tuning in. I hope you all have a great weekend if you're listening on Friday or a great rest of your week

if you're not listening on the weekend. Anyways, y'all, it's calling here. Thanks for tuning in. And yeah, we'll catch you on the next one. Descend into the unexplained and unimaginable. Mom said to them, what are you here for? What do you want? That's not human! That's not human! True accounts of crimes and anomalies so strange, they defy reasoning. It was extreme violence. I've never seen anything like it. She was forced to eat human flesh and survive the unthinkable.

Welcome to the antiquarium of sinister happenings and documented atrocities. And at that moment, the feeling to survive kicked in almost like an animal instinct. I told her to run. I knew that minute something terrible had happened. Why would somebody do this to him? Why would they try to hurt my baby? Search the Antiquarium of documented atrocities on Apple, Spotify, and wherever you get your podcasts. A presentation of Bloody FM.