Criminal Mind

Bundy: A Psychopath's Psychopath

Theodore Robert Bundy, 1979

What would you do if one of your closest friends turned out to be a serial killer? One woman managed to remain on friendly terms with such a man and later, to write his story with deep understanding. Ann Rule, a former policewoman, met Ted Bundy when they were both volunteers at a crisis center in Washington state. Rule's motivation for volunteering at the center was probably an outgrowth of her own brother's death by suicide. She found Bundy as a young man warm, charming, empathetic.

At the suggestion of a psychologist friend, I have been reading some of Rule's books. To write about crime, understanding the criminal mind seems important. I can't say that I have a grip on it at this point in time, but I'm learning. I was disappointed that at almost the end of The Stranger Beside Me, few assessments of Bundy's psychological profile had been put forward, except to note that he exhibited "antisocial" behavior.

Bundy confessed to having killed at least thirty women between 1974 and '78, but he may have killed up to one hundred. He seemed to be able to compartmentalize his life so that, once the deed was done, to all outward appearances he carried on a normal life. For many years, he had a live-in girlfriend who had a young daughter. He was able to conceal his activities from his girlfriend for most of the time they were together, and indeed, he managed not to get caught for a very long time. When he was caught, it was at a time when he had begun to unravel.

The entire duration of his killing career is not known, although it is thought he might be responsible for the death of an 8 year-old girl as early as 1961. (He would have been 14 or 15 then.)  Once started, he  he left a swath of attractive young women dead, from Washington state, through Utah, Colorado, and finally Florida. He murdered two of his last unsuspecting victims in their sleep in a sorority house in Talahassee, Florida, in 1978. The same night, he bludgeoned another young woman. His final victim was a 12-year-old girl in Lake City, Fla., about halfway between Tallahassee and Jacksonville. Often, but not always, the women, who nearly all had long hair parted in the middle, had been raped and bludgeoned to death with a crowbar, a board, a log, or some similar instrument. Sometimes, he strangled them as well, and the last was thought to have been stabbed. Some were dismembered and their heads disposed of separately from their bodies.

A thread running through the book is Rule's belief that Bundy killed these women because they reminded him of a woman whom he had loved, but whom he felt was out of his league and who eventually left him. That humiliated him deeply; his ego wouldn't let him accept it. In an interview shortly before he was executed, he told a psychiatrist that he felt pornography was responsible for pushing him over the edge from voyeur to killer, that his sexual fantasies had progressed to a point where observing did nothing for him anymore.

Watching that interview, I couldn't help feeling that Bundy was playing the psychatrist. I believe Ann Rule had it right when she (finally) pegged him as a psychopath—that is, an individual who is not only incapable of feeling empathy for another human being, but one who feels no remorse, no guilt. Shortly before his trial, he contacted Ann, who had been his friend for so many years, and asked her to intervene. She was not allowed to do that, but stated that she "knew what he wanted, although he had not said it outright. He wanted to come home . . . to confess it all . . . to be confined in a mental hospital . . . "

"The antisocial personality is mentally ill, but not in the classic sense or within our legal framework," Rule wrote. "He is invariably highly intelligent and has . . . learned the proper responses, the tricks and techniques that will please those from whom he wants something. He is subtle, calculating, clever, and dangerous." Rule also quoted Dr. Herve Cleckly, a specialist in the antisocial personality, who interviewed Bundy before his Miami trial: "The observer is confronted with a convincing mask of sanity. We are dealing not with a complete man at all, but with something that suggests a subtly constructed reflex machine which can mimic the human personality perfectly."

Theodore Robert Bundy, Utah, 1975, shortly
 after his arrest for possession of burglary tools.

A friend of mine stated recently that the majority of those who kill are not the Ted Bundys, the psychopaths, the sociopaths (something I will be looking at as I research my book). However, having known a sociopath—and having anguished over the direction his life was taking—I do wonder if there is any help for such folks. It seems like a "Catch 22," an unsolvable dilemma. Some of what I have read recently suggests that, yes, a psychopath can be helped through intensive therapy, which may indeed provide coping mechanisms. But I've yet to see that therapy can insert the missing piece into a brain so cold, that lacks the capacity to empathize or to feel remorse. On the one hand, we cannot blame them, as they did not choose their brain's dysfunction. On the other, many of them cannot be trusted to walk freely among us: Ted Bundy showed us that very clearly. He lured some of his victims into his car by convincing them that he was injured and needed help, even wearing a fake cast on his arm or leg, using crutches, dropping things. The functioning of their normal brains—which caused them to feel sorry for another human being—led to their deaths.

However, I am left with the question of whether the tendency toward psycopathy is genetic or acquired. I tend to think it is both. And also, if not all killers are psychopaths, what is their psychological makeup? If you have any thoughts regarding psychopathic killers or treatments for psycopaths, I'd love to hear from you.

© Beth Morgan, January 2014

Note: photographs of Bundy are in the public domain.

Happy, happy happy!

I feel like Snoopy when he's doing his happy dance! Today, I received word that I just got my first book contract ever (from a book publisher other than my own company)!  It will be a photographic history of Vado, NM, and—a wonderful opportunity for me to gather background information for MY MYSTERY NOVEL! (Since it is to be set in the Mesilla Valley, hence the name of my blog, Mesilla Valley Murders.)

Soooooooooooo . . . if you lived in Del Cerro, Berino, La Mesa, or Vado, I'm interested in scanning your family's historic photos (that means from the earliest photos you have—from the late 1800s, forward). While we will primarily focus on Vado, all of these little unincorporated villages, called colonias locally, are pretty intertwined. The resulting book should be a valuable asset to the community and to scholars who are researching Vado and the Mesilla Valley.

Finding out something about the area in which one lives is always fascinating to me. There is much to be discovered, things that, once documented, should help Vado and other small communities in the area take their place in history. Do you know someone whose family is from one of these communities? Comment here or see me on Facebook. I will look forward to hearing from you!

Got Susto? Call a Curandera

What would you do if you had just experienced susto (magical fright or shock)?  How about mal de ojo (evil eye)?

Eggs, mint, and lemongrass, some of the items
that might be used by a curandera. Beth Morgan photo.

If you were among the Mexican-American population in the U.S. or Mexico who believe in curanderismo, you’d probably seek out a curandera or curandero, for a limpia (cleansing) or other ceremony to counteract the experience.

The ceremonies that I have heard of personally usually involve using an egg, which is passed over a person’s body—sometimes focusing only on a certain part—for cleansing. Usually, the egg is checked sometime later to see whether it is black, cooked, partly cooked, or unchanged.  Often, the egg is disposed of in a ritual manner.

“The use of the egg is quite common in curanderismo,” says Eliseo Torres, in his book Healing Herbs and Rituals: A Mexican Tradition. He explains that others who have gone before him suggest that the egg is an appropriate choice because, although it is used as a food, it also qualifies as a “sacrificial object,” being an animal cell.

Torres, a native of the Mexico/US border near Corpus Christi, Texas, is vice president of student affairs at the University of New Mexico. However, having grown up with this ancient, honorable, and for many, one of the few forms of accessible and affordable health care, Torres came to revere it so much he focused his studies on it and eventually earned a doctoral degree. He defines curanderismo as folk healing which arose around the time of contact between the Spanish and indigenous peoples of Mexico, although it contains some elements of Moorish tradition the Spanish apparently brought with them. It contains the idea that all healing comes from God, and thus, has strong, Judeo-Christian influences, as well as concepts and practices known to the indigenous populations of Mexico.

Some might consider curanderismo a thing of the past. However, this is not the case. While Torres has written extensively about a trio of well-known curanderos, one of whom was a woman exiled to the U.S. because of her political beliefs, he notes that curanderismo is alive and well today. He has worked with a curandera in Albuquerque and annually presents a class at UNM involving curanderas and students from around the country. I’ve also encountered people in my community who have studied curanderismo and traditional massage, and recently, I accessed the Facebook page of a Colorado curandera.

Why do I bring this up here? Well, because some of my mysteries’ characters will be clients of a curandera.  I’m sure that there are male practitioners out there. However, since I began hearing of these healers, I have heard only of the feminine variety, thus, my characters likely will work with a female healer.

Like many other systems of healing, curanderismo is thought to work on the physical, spiritual and mental planes.  Many curanderas, therefore, are those who treat only physical ailments. These folks are usually called hierberas, because they work with herbs. Those who use traditional massage (sobadoras) to treat physical illness may also treat issues affecting the nervous system or the mind. “That sobador might be said to operate on the psychic level as well,” Torres states.

Thus, when we speak of susto, we are not speaking of the medical condition of shock. We are referring to something more. From what I have read, this condition sounds very much like post–traumatic stress disorder, which can be deeply rooted and which may affect all areas of a person’s life. So, for people who are victimized in some way, or who have seen something they weren’t supposed to see, a consultation with a curandera may be just the thing to pull them back from the brink of madness.

You must wait a bit, if you want to know who consults a curandera in one of my Murders in the Mesilla Valley.  As always, your comments are welcomed.

* * *

For more information about curanderismo, see Torres’ book mentioned above, and Curandero: A Life In Mexican Folk Healing, also by Torres, both published by the University of New Mexico Press, in 2006 and 2005, respectively. 

© Beth Morgan, October 2013

Quirks and Style Make the Character

How does one create a character that is believable and memorable? I would humbly submit (chuckle, snort), that it is one's quirks that make a memorable character—just as it is these same characteristics that make we humans who we are. By quirks, I don't just mean our hinkiness: I mean our mannerisms, our speech patterns, the things that matter to us, our "personal style," our pastimes and habits. All of these things and more, like a clay sculptor adding layers to his creation, build upon a memorable—or simply a useful—character.

Here's an example: Joan was an average American: she did not distinguish herself in school nor in taste. She had no major gift for conversation, limiting her comments to what she saw on TV last night and what she and her friends bought when they went shopping. She drives a white sedan that resembles every other white sedan on the road. She dresses in a style that makes her blend into the crowd: sweat pants, T-shirt, and athletic shoes. Her medium length, light brown hair she has twisted up on the back of her head and secured with a hinged comb. She wears tiny diamond studs in her ears. She is not a beauty; neither is she ugly. If you met her on the street, your impression of her would evaporate like a drop of water on a griddle.

However, Juana, while also no beauty, couldn't be any more dissimilar.

"What you lookin' at, gringa? Haven't you ever seen anyone roll a smoke before?" Juana is making herself a professional-looking roll-yer-own, which she will spark with a lighter that looks like a gun. On her bare left arm is a tattoo with a heart that reads "Mamacita;" on her right bicep is a chupacabra. You know it's a chupacabra, because the word is incorporated into the design. She wears tight jeans, stiletto heels, and a black leather motorcycle jacket is draped on the back of her captain-style bar stool. Her head is encased in a red bandana tied in the back, and her hoop earrings are so big they reach her shoulders. Although her hair is hidden, her makeup is chola-style, and her lipstick matches the bandana. She has enhanced a mole near her left eye.

Mr. Stripeypants in his stronghold (B. Morgan photo).

"Well, come on; sit down. I don't bite, bitch," she growls. She takes a deep drag of her fag and pops out a smoke ring. "That's right—beauty and talent. Now, what are you sniffin' around here for? I don't got all friggin' day." After she's heard your story, Juana leaves, in a hip-twitching display that makes all the male bar patrons howl, mounting her Harley and taking off in a deafening roar.

My thought is that when you are creating a character he must have something that makes him stand out from all others. Maybe she takes off her glasses every time she looks you in the eye. Maybe she dresses in bright colors and a flurry of ruffles. Maybe he pees outside whenever possible. He displays his nerves—or his boredom—by flipping his buck knife into a nearby log. Maybe he stutters or picks his pimples; maybe he whistles when engrossed.

It's the terms of endearment we use with our loved ones, Poopsie, the pet names we give our pets. Our cat has a name, but we call him Big Kitty, or B.K. for short; Big Galoot, because he weighs seventeen pounds, Mr. Stripeypants, because he's a tabby; Biggus Cattacus, and His Royal Hineyness, just because. It's the goofy songs we make up while on a road trip, the personal adornments we choose (or don't choose) that define us for others. It's mannerisms, speech patterns, thought patterns, presence, and a whole lot of other small details that distinguish  us from each other—the same being true for characters.

This is not to say that choosing vanilla over Boom-Choco-laco-laco-boom! has no value. Some characters must blend in. When that's what you want, they won't be flamboyant. Maybe they'll be like Joan.

What are some of the quirks of your favorite characters? I'd love to hear from you.
© Beth Morgan

Humility: Every Writer Needs It

Open Punctuation

I’ve just had a lesson in humility. I’ve been editing a manuscript written by someone else. When I felt that it was as good as I could make it I sent it to a proofreader. Her main comment when I got it back was that “if I shook it real good a lot of commas could come out.”

Well, she was right about that. I don’t know how much difference that will make in how I write. However, I have noticed that fewer commas are used in modern books. What I have learned from and because of my proofreader is that:

1. If both independent clauses are short, using a comma to separate clauses in a compound sentence may not be necessary.
2. Not every phrase or clause has to be set off with a comma. Sometimes things make just as much sense without them.
3. “Open” punctuation style displays not only fewer commas but other punctuation as well.

However . . . . .

In attempting to research “open” punctuation online I find that it is a recent innovation (thank God!) brought about by the electronic age and most references to it have to do with business letters. Phew! I was starting to wonder if I’ve become passé.

Pop Quiz

I’ve only used three commas in the passage above. I could have added at least ten more. Where should they go?

Have you had an experience involving “open” punctuation? I’d love to hear about it. Please use the comment form below.

© Beth Morgan

What Kind of Crazy Kills?

I've often wondered what makes a person a murderer. In today's blog, I will discuss a couple of psychological types I've encountered, and I will explore whether these folks could be killer material. As far as I know, I've yet to meet an actual murderer; other types of criminals are a dime a dozen.

Borderline Personality Disorder Sufferer

Over the past decade, I've become increasingly aware that some of the folks who've crossed my path are just plain sick. This does not mean that they are hopeless cases, but they generally are resistant to treatment, because they think it's everyone else who has a problem. The first category of individual I'd like to discuss is the person who suffers from borderline personality disorder. To quote a local psychiatrist, these people are "angry, needy, and narcissistic."

With this type of individual, you will never win an argument: this person is always right. The world has wronged him or her (i.e., the individual has a "victim" mentality), and the sufferer may have become quite bitter. Such people often self-medicate with alcohol or drugs, because they are so miserable that they will go for anything, if it can can relieve their pain. Whether that means they isolate themselves, drink, take drugs, or lash out, there likely will be something or some activity they use to feel better. These folks are often lonely, because they tend to alienate people. I mean, really: don't you have better things to do than allow someone to rake you over the coals when you don't even deserve it? And there is the needy aspect: this type of person needs a lot of stroking, and if she doesn't get it, she will make your life a living hell (think Fatal Attraction). There is one is every family, every church, every business place, and in every institution of higher learning. After many painful experiences with such folks, I've learned that the best way for me to take care of myself is to get the hell out of their way!

Schizophrenic

The only schizophrenics I can talk about are those I've actually met. These folks really do hear voices and see things—and to them, these things are as real as the 100-plus-degree weather in the summer where I live. (That's real!) They may be rude and abusive and say things to complete strangers that have nothing to do with reality. They may be so paranoid that they must move every couple of months to be comfortable. They cannot process information rationally, because there is so much going on in their heads, they don't know what's real and what isn't. They will use you, lean on you, and be your best friend, until you piss them off (like the BPD individual above). Then, nothing you can do will change their minds. I have seen the aftermath of a suicide attempt by a schizophrenic. Thus, I know they can be suicidal.

While I couldn't say that it is typical for a schizophrenic to self-medicate, the individual I am acquainted with has had addiction issues. Unfortunately, the medicines this person should be taking to help her condition are generally the ones she doesn't take, and if you suggest that she is getting a little wierd and has she taken her meds today, she just gets resistant.

Sociopath

The sociopath may be charismatic, a veritable silver-tongued devil. However, he lies with every breath he takes. He has absolutely no conscience: he does not feel regret for anything he does that may hurt or inconvenience another, nor does this individual learn from having to pay the consequences of his actions. Life is all about him. He is convinced that he is a superior being and, therefore, deserves special treatment. These folks usually blame others for their problems. They are manipulative and have poor impulse control. My understanding is that these folks are somewhat different from psychopaths. I've looked into this some, because it interests me. These two antisocial personality disorders have many similar characteristics, but psychopaths are more violent and more erratic.

The individual I know best that I would term a sociopath does have addictive behaviors, as do several of his family members. Whether they are self-medicating is questionable: perhaps they just have to have something extra in their lives to keep things exciting (or in turmoil, which feels normal to such folks).

Potential Murderers, All

My personal belief is that, given the right circumstances, all of us are capable of taking a life. Thus, that would have to be true for all the crazy people I have mentioned above. I can easily see someone with borderline personality disorder getting so angry that she whacks someone over the head with a hammer.  The schizophrenic could always claim that it was the voices in her head who told her to snuff someone. The sociopath would blame someone else; the psychopath is probably the only one who would take credit for the kill.

I am not a psychologist, so I have much to learn about who kills. What do you think? I'd like to hear your ideas.

© Beth Morgan

Bones

                                                                     

All one has to do to get material for one's book is

read the news. Or, perhaps, make it. One evening recently, my husband went for a walk near where we live in a rural area above the Mesilla Valley. I was fully expecting him to be home within the hour he is usually gone. However, instead, he used his cell phone to call me.

"Bring the truck and my GPS unit," he said. "I think I've found some human bones." I did as he asked. By the time I found him, a couple of miles north of our house, he had called 911: he had found additional remains that confirmed what he'd found was human: the lower jaw. As an archaeologist, my husband is fairly well-acquainted with the human skeleton, however, I think even I would have recognized a human mandible.

While waiting for officers from the Sheriff's Department to arrive, we pinflagged all the remains he had found and some that we located after I arrived. When the deputies got close, we had to meet them farther down the dirt road and lead them into the rough, rocky country, where my husband had found the remains. This area sports a variety of plant life, including yucca, ocotillo, prickly pear, and creosote.

We spent the next couple of hours showing the deputies the remains we'd found in and near a small wash and assisted them in looking for more. It was getting on to dark; however, one of the deputies found the skull not long after they had arrived. We left after a period of not finding any additional remains; we had missed dinner and were getting cold and hungry.

The deputies and others stayed out there all night, looking for additional bones or bits of clothing that might have belonged to the individual they had decided was a male, probably in his 20s or 30s.
My husband had first found clothing; a belt buckle and a shoe, before discovering any of the bones, the first of which was a femur.  Although they found what they believed to be a fragment of some boxer shorts, law enforcement officers found little more that night. They've been out there since that night and found a cap.

How did this man come to be there? We are not in an area of the state where people regularly cross the border from Mexico into New Mexico. Was he a murder victim someone dumped or did he die at the scene? Was it a drug deal gone bad or something else? How long has he been out there? Was he a hiker who died of exposure? (My husband and I do not subscribe to this theory, as he was within sight of houses, which even at night, would have been lit well enough that he could have navigated toward them.) Temperatures can fall below freezing here, but based on the shreds of clothing that were found, I would guess he didn't end up out here in the dead of winter.

The deputies informed us there are numerous unsolved missing persons cases, quite an interesting tidbit in itself. Perhaps someone who recognizes the cap, the buckle, or the shoe will come forward and give some grieving family a sense of closure. Or maybe the mystery man will remain just that: a faceless, nameless individual who met his death in a unknown manner, alone in the desert.

© Beth Morgan