The Ivy League Killer

Katherine Ramsland

Copyright

The Ivy League Killer
Copyright © 2012 by Katherine Ramsland
Cover art to the electronic edition copyright © 2012 by RosettaBooks, LLC.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Electronic edition published 2012 by RosettaBooks, LLC, New York.
ISBN Mobipocket edition: 9780795324468

eForeword by Marilyn Bardsley

The man at the center of
The Ivy League Killer
is unique in several ways. Unlike most serial killers, his achievements and IQ were sufficiently impressive for admission to an elite university. Physically and socially attractive, he could entice desirable women into committed relationships—even when he was in prison!

Despite receiving four death sentences, this man took the courts on a twisted ride. Because no one had been executed in this state since 1960, officials were squeamish about the ultimate judgment. This killer of eight young women, who entertained himself by reliving how he’d raped and strangled them, could have stayed in prison for life. So, why did he push so hard to ensure his death? No book has fully addressed this bizarre case, which resulted in New England’s first execution in more than 40 years.

It takes an expert in aberrant psychology and sexual predators like Dr. Ramsland to shine some light into the dark corners of this unique man’s psyche. She takes the reader through the evolution of a self-centered entitled youth from an unhappy family into a college student who tries to dominate his girlfriends and, failing, goes on to dominate and destroy their surrogates.

Dr. Katherine Ramsland has published more than 1,000 articles and 40 books, including
The Forensic Psychology of Criminal Minds
,
The Human Predator
,
Inside the Minds of Serial Killers
, and
the Mind of a Murderer
. She holds graduate degrees in forensic psychology, clinical psychology, criminal justice, and philosophy, and teaches forensic psychology and criminal justice at DeSales University in Pennsylvania. Ramsland has worked with prominent criminalists, coroners, detectives, and FBI profilers. She speaks internationally about forensic psychology and serial murder, and has appeared on numerous documentaries, as well as
The Today Show
,
20/20
,
48 Hours
,
Larry King Live
and
E! True Hollywood Story
.

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Chapter 1: No Place for Murder

Some say the Cornell University campus is too pretty for murder. It’s no place for a random fatal attack—at least, not until the spring of 1981. When this incident happened, it seemed like anything
but
murder.

Founded in 1865 in Ithaca, New York, Cornell is situated high over Lake Cayuga between two dramatic gorges. Considered one of the country’s most elite universities, its landscape is breathtaking. A dramatic suspension bridge 90 feet over Fall Creek spawned lore that a midnight kiss on this bridge foretold marriage, but unrequited love would cause it to collapse.

More darkly romantic were the suicide legends. Author Kurt Vonnegut wrote that the rushing waters far below inspired Cornell students to throw themselves in, and thanks to half a dozen suicides during the 1970s, Cornell was dubbed the suicide capital of the Ivy League. Students called the act of self-negation “gorging out.”

Bridge over Fall Creek
Photo by MT Bradley

That’s why the discovery of the bruised body of a female graduate student, found near Beebe Lake in May 1981, was considered a suicide. Friends reported Dzung Ngoc Tu missing, but it was three days before her body was discovered in Fall Creek Gorge, 60 feet downriver from the Triphammer footbridge. She’d gone over a waterfall, and because water was found in her lungs, it was clear that she’d drowned. Tu had last been seen studying for an agriculture course in Warren Hall. A quiet young woman from Vietnam, she’d been just 25 years old.

The police interviewed her friends, teachers, and relatives, but none offered a shred of support for a suicide theory. Tu had not complained about pressure. She hadn’t seemed depressed. No one had ever heard her talk about killing herself, and she had not lingered on the bridge, as many suicides did, contemplating what lay below.

However, even close friends don’t always know when someone is pondering self-destruction. It’s often a secretive act. Even if Tu had a confidante for her private thoughts, the police did not locate one and no one stepped forward to assist. Thus, the case remained open. Cause of death: drowning. Manner of death: undetermined. Some students suggested a link to several reported rapes on campus that year, and evidence on Tu’s body suggested sexual assault, but the evidence was insufficient to send investigators looking for a killer.

It would be six years before the only person who knew what had happened to Dzung Ngoc Tu would tell the tale. In fact, he’d committed the rapes as well, and four months after killing Tu, he’d been arrested during a rape attempt in Illinois. After talking his way into probation, he’d realized he’d have to be more careful. Thus, a killer was born.

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Chapter 2: Picking Them Off

At 17, Tammy Williams was a normal teenage girl. She had a boyfriend and she liked to play pool and listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd. Her friends thought she was fun to be around, and what they liked best was her easy laugh and generous heart. She had a part-time job at a department store in Brooklyn, Connecticut. On a cold winter day, January 5, 1982, Tammy left her boyfriend’s house and went to a local hangout. She listened to music with a friend and they went home in separate directions. Tammy walked along Route 6 toward Danielson, unaware that she’d drawn the attention of a man in a car. He asked if she wanted a ride on such a cold day, but she declined. She thought he went away, but she was wrong. He had parked and followed her.

The man came up softly from behind, so Tammy couldn’t hear him until he was on her. He overpowered her and dragged her to an isolated spot near a pond. She tried to scream, but he told her he’d hurt her if she made any noise. He forced her to the ground. Tammy begged and whimpered as this man ripped off her clothes, raped her, turned her over, and put his hands around her fragile neck to strangle her. The murder took about eight minutes and his hands kept cramping. When it was done, he raised himself to look at the smooth skin of her small, lifeless body.

His hands tingled from the difficult exertion. His heart pounded. This was his sacred moment, the supreme sense of power. He basked in the afterglow. But it flew by too fast. Reality closed in, and now he had a dead body to get rid of. He dragged it over to the swampy pond and shoved it in. When it sank out of sight, he got back into his car and drove a short distance to his home.

Tammy Williams
Victim

When Tammy failed to come home as expected, her father reported her missing. Detective Michael Malchik, with the State Police Major Crime Unit for Eastern Connecticut, acquired her file. He didn’t wait long to start looking. Nothing about this girl suggested a runaway, especially after her pocketbook turned up on the side of the road.

Once Malchik had a case, he wrestled with it every waking moment. He’d lay notes out on his living room floor, and if he failed to solve it after viewing everything, he’d start over. Meticulous and absorbed, he’d mentally examine a case from every angle, asking himself what he’d missed. It was often some small detail, he knew, that tipped a mystery toward a solution. At 36, Malchik had the look of a California surfer. He was confident, too, and whenever he spoke about his achievements, he could rub coworkers the wrong way. As he said, if you can really do what you say you can, then it’s not bragging. In fact, Malchik had often proven himself. He hated to fail.

Yet in Tammy’s case, he barely generated leads. He’d found someone who’d seen her struggling with a white male on the side of Route 6, but Malchik could take this no further. No one had seen a car, and even the description of the unknown male was too vague to be useful. Still, Malchik was certain that Tammy had met with foul play, so he kept the case within reach on his desk. He did not realize that in the days that followed, Tammy’s killer revisited the body dumpsite several times to masturbate and relive his experience.

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Chapter 3: Misplaced Trust

Just two months later and three hours west, over the state line into New York, the same man who’d attacked Tammy went looking for another target. With an IQ in the superior range, he knew enough about investigations to launch an assault in an area where no one knew him. But sometimes the need to kill overcame him and he acted on impulse. Young girls were best, he’d discovered, because they were so gullible. They let strangers pick them up. He cruised through Middletown, New York, a straight shot on Interstate 84 from where he lived, until he spotted Paula Perrera.

Paula’s friends knew she often hitchhiked to get to her house in the country, but she always assured them that she’d never get into a car with anyone who seemed creepy. The slender teenager, just 5 feet tall with curly blond hair, trusted her instincts. She’d
know
a rapist or killer if she saw one.

A friendly girl, Paula was active in her church youth group. She suffered from depression at times and disliked being teased, but she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to harm her. She had plans. She was going to be a chef one day. Her life would work out just fine.

So just after she passed an auto shop on Route 211, Paula got into a car with a man who offered her a ride. He was friendly. He wore a suit. He acted normal. One eye seemed a little off behind his oversized aviator-style glasses, but that wasn’t his fault. As they drove, Paula chatted freely with him, directing him where she wanted to go. Instead, he pulled onto a side road. She didn’t understand. Then she did. The sudden change in his face told her all she needed to know. She’d been wrong about her instincts. He wasn’t nice anymore.

He pulled into a remote spot and ordered Paula out of the car. Trembling and scared, she obeyed. His next instruction, delivered in a cold voice, was to remove her clothes and lie facedown. Starting to cry, Paula obeyed him. She was old enough to know what he wanted and she hoped it would be finished quickly. She prayed that all he had in mind was rape.

Paula Perrera
Victim

Paula felt his weight press down on top of her. He groaned and worked at penetrating her. She kept crying, but he seemed indifferent to her pain as he violated her. She could hardly catch her breath. Then it was over. He withdrew, hurting her in the process. She wanted to scream, but his hand was over her mouth. Then she felt his hands go around her throat. She struggled, but he was strong. She couldn’t breathe. She choked. Paula hadn’t expected this. He was
killing
her. She thought of the people she loved. Would they find her out here in the weeds? Eventually the pain receded, and then nothing mattered. The killer placed her body next to a stone wall. Then he went home. Soon he was ready again.

In April, he talked his way into the Ohio home of a pregnant woman he’d just followed. He told her he worked at a farm nearby and his car had broken down. He wanted to use her phone, so she let him in. He reached for her throat, but she was a police officer, experienced in self-defense. She blocked him, so he fled, but a parking ticket led the police to him. Under arrest again, he bailed himself out and returned to Connecticut. There the court forced him to undergo an assessment at the Brooklyn Learning Clinic. He’d have to come back to Ohio for his court date, he knew, but in the meantime, he’d entertain himself somewhere else.

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