When asked what kind of person police should be looking for, Candacy’s reply is disquieting. “Good-looking, innocent-looking, someone who could easily disarm you,” Candacy replies. “This is not your stereotyped monster. When he is not killing — which is most of the time — he has a job, probably an ordinary life.”

But such a person believes he is immune to laws and rules, Candacy explains. “He thinks he won’t be caught,” Candacy adds. “If he is apprehended, he can completely block out his guilt. He has selective amnesia.”

Candacy says it’s likely that this type of person gets into minor trouble, traffic violations, petty crimes. On the other hand, he could be a person everyone knows and respects.

Robert Dipthorpe, a handwriting analysis expert, concluded after a study of the first letter that obsessive-compulsive tendencies were evident in the cramped, meticulous writing.

Dr. Candacy believes the killer is asking to be caught by writing such letters.

Are there any female serial killers, this writer wonders. “They’re usually poisoners,” Candacy says. “Or caretakers of the sick who think they’re doing their terminally ill patients a favor. But it’s always possible that the Christmas Killer could be a woman. We can’t rule out anything at this point.”

Item

Danville Ledger

December 19

A Westley Village householder, 69-year-old Mary Wollenschaft, reported that upon return from a week’s visit to her sister in Spring Farms, Massachusetts, she discovered bloodstains on her bathroom walls.

“It’s the work of the Devil,” Wollenschaft said when she reported it to police.

“Looks like a lot of rust to me,” a neighbor who refused to give his name said. He added that Mrs. Wollenschaft had been in poor health and was nervous, When this reporter went to the premises, 896 York Hill Road, Westley, Wollenschaft refused to answer questions and turned off her hearing aid.

Westley police called in the Danville forensics department to take paint samples to determine if the stains are blood or rust.

Rose

Twenty-two

Martha Mackey’s house was south of town, where there had once been a booming lumber mill. All that was left now were a few crumbling buildings, some rusting equipment and weeds. The house was up a lane behind the old mill, across the stream. The footbridge groaned as they crossed it.

“So this is Wallace Romola’s romantic hideaway,” Jerram said, surveying the scene.

“Miss Mackey is just a friend. You know how Wallace hates his family for what he thinks they’ve done to him. This is probably the only place he feels at home.”

“Wallace is a crackpot, Rose, but you won’t see it. What about what he’s done to them? Like the time he put a bunch of baby mice inside the Thanksgiving turkey?”

“That’s only a rumor and you know it.”

“And the Christmas tree? He set it on fire, remember? That’s no rumor because the whole fire department was there.”