Free The Boston Strangler by Gerold; Frank Page A

must have met and bedded forty to fifty women. Once he achieved a conquest, the girl never saw him again. Nor had any of them been able to find his name in the telephone book or in any medical directory. Only this curious fact led them to disclose so personal an experience.…
    Lieutenant Sherry could only marvel at human nature—that these sophisticated career girls could allow a stranger to walk into their apartment and make love to them when an entire city lay paralyzed with fear of a sex-mad strangler known for his ability to talk his way into the homes of his victims.… Sherry determined to set a trap for the extraordinary Dr. Logan. He had little hope of coming up with the Strangler himself—none of Dr. Logan’s conquests had complained of odd or psychotic sexual behavior on his part. But how could this happen, now, in these tense days, in Boston?
    Indeed, how was one to cope with it all—the grotesque, the comic and awful, the appalling varieties of human behavior coming to light? For even while Dr. Logan was plying his art, young girls recently arrived from Ireland in search of domestic jobs were receiving telephone calls from a man who identified himself as a doctor on the staff of the United States Immigration Service, taking them to task for failing to report for their “three-year physical.”
    Three-year physical?
    The doctor would explain, with some annoyance, that United States laws required all immigrants to have a physical examination every three years.
    Oh, she hadn’t known, the girl would say apologetically. When might she make an appointment to come down?
    â€œYou’re too late for that now, we’ll just have to do it over the phone,” the voice would reply briskly. “Remove your dress and brassiere, please.” As she disrobed, he asked her to report each step to him; then, to test her reflexes; and then, to her dismay, to follow other instructions he gave her. Standing at the telephone, one girl had stripped herself nude and on the verge of tears was carrying out his orders when her mother walked in on her, managed to slam the receiver on its hook, and called the police.
    Three weeks after Sophie Clark’s killing, on Monday morning, December 31, the last day of that terrible year of 1962, Patricia Bissette, twenty-three, was found dead in her locked apartment at 515 Park Drive. It was the same Back Bay area, that of Anna Slesers and Sophie Clark. Patricia, dark-eyed and capable, was a secretary at Engineering Systems, Incorporated, across the street from the famous Lahey Medical Clinic. In her living room a Christmas tree stood, still glittering with the decorations she had hung on it. In the adjoining bedroom Patricia lay face up on the bed, a white coverlet drawn up snugly to her chin. She lay peacefully, her eyes closed, her head turned a little to the right as if she had just lain down for a moment’s nap.
    When Dr. Michael Luongo, the medical examiner, removed the coverings he saw the nylon stockings tightly twisted about her neck. There were three of them—Patricia’s own stockings—knotted and intertwined with her white silk blouse. She wore only the tops of her imitation leopard-skin pajamas, and these had been pushed up to her shoulders. She was naked from the breasts down. There was evidence of recent sexual intercourse. Her apartment had been searched. There was no sign to show how her killer had gained entrance.
    The last time Patricia had been seen was 3:30 P.M. Saturday. She had taken her wash down to the laundry room of the adjoining building, No. 509. Superintendent Christian Von Olst had passed by as she was pouring in the soap powder. She was humming to herself, gave him a cheery smile, turned on the washer, and hurried out. At 4:30 P.M. Von Olst passed through the laundry room again. The machine was empty. Patricia had evidently returned and picked up her wash.
    Curious, thought Dr. Luongo as he made his notes.