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I

And so it appears he has made one more mistake—a vital mistake, which, unbeknownst to him at the moment, will open up a Pandora’s box of possibilities for investigators looking into the disappearance of Carmen Rodriguez. All of which will, of course, lead back to him.

II

“This guy, the one you’re writing the book about,” one criminal profiler, who has studied him for the past twenty years, tells me as we are discussing serial killers over the telephone, “could have left bodies all over New England. He is one of the most dangerous people I’ve ever tracked.”

“Everyone says that,” I respond. “I don’t know.”

“Believe them,” he offers.

Indeed, in the days of researching and writing this book, I come to learn that they are all spot on with their judgments of my guy. He is, as David Zagaja has said, the embodiment of pure evil.

Satan himself.

To get to the juxtaposition of Carmen and Christina’s stories, however, we need to start at the beginning: in New Jersey, where the end of our serial killer’s path began with the biggest mistake of his murder career, when he met a woman one night at a bar—a woman he underestimated.

I'll Be Watching You

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