Free The Devil's Cinema by Steve Lillebuen Page A

killer. Like anyone just starting out in a new skill, I had a bit of trial and error in the beginning of my misadventures. Allow me to start from the beginning and I think you’ll see what I mean
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    Clark’s jaw dropped.
    Anstey couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. “It’s a diary of how he killed the guy!”
    â€œHoly shit!” Clark smacked his head. “Gimme a copy! Come on! Come on!”
    Kerr yanked the papers away from Clark. “No, no, no. Hang on, hang on here. This is the
original
. We’ve gotta be careful how many of these we make.”
    Eventually a few photocopies were made – on Clark’s insistence – but only enough for all the major detectives. They wanted to keep this unexpected development very quiet.
    The text had been pulled off the laptop found in Twitchell’s car. Constable Michael Roszko in the tech crimes unit had found two temporary files buried in the hard drive and stitched them together. Both files had been made automatically in Microsoft Word by a user logged in to an account titled “Xpress Entertainment.” One temporary file was likely created when the text was copied to the clipboard; the second was likely made during an auto-recovery backup. The original Word document, however, had been deleted. There were thirty-five pages of writing. The document appeared to have been saved as “SKConfessions.doc.”
    Clark huddled around his copy at his desk, reading as fast as he could.
    I don’t remember the exact place and time it was that I decided to become a serial killer, but I remember the sensation that hit me when I committed to the decision. It was a rush of pure euphoria. I felt lighter, less stressed, if you will, at the freedom of the prospect. There was something about urgently exploring my dark side that greatly appealed to me and I’m such a methodical planner and thinker, the very challenge itself was enticing to behold
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    â€œThis is incredible!” Clark kept repeating as he read, at times covering his face in disbelief or clutching the back of his head. “Wow!”
    The first page described the decision to begin killing as the “hand of fate,” an idea taken from a fantasy book by David Gemmell. The second page detailed the method: targeting men through online dating websites. At first, the diary stated, the plan had been to lure cheating husbands, a way of “taking out the trash” – a line borrowed from the fictional Dexter Morgan, who justified his actions because he only killed bad people society already held in contempt. But the plan of targeting married men was too risky, the diary concluded, so it was changed to luring “middle-aged single men who lived alone.” The writer reasoned it would be easier to get away with killing such men undetected. With no roommates or wives to worry about them, a victim could disappear for longer before people would notice. A fake female profile would do the trick: an attractive girl, using photos of a real woman’s profile living in another city, but under a fake name and fake personal details. The girl would be flirty, toying with the man until he was so eager his guard would drop and he would fall for the trap.
    The document revealed that a “kill room” had been chosen: a double-door detached garage with a dirt driveway in the south end of the city. All the killer had to do was remove the address sign from the back wall of the garage and give out strange directions so nobody would know the physical address. The diary detailed the killer’s disguise: a black hockey mask, the forehead painted with gold streaks. It served the “double purpose of facial protection and identity shield to give the victim a false sense of security in thinking they would be let go.” Then he picked out his “kill knife” from a military surplus store to help with the “nasty mayhem” about to transpire:
    The trap