A Rage To Kill And Other True Cases

matter of how much terror, loneliness, time and repetition it will take. There are four steps: (1) the subject suffers a profound psychological shock; (2) the subject is taken away from every person and place where she felt safe; (3) the “programmer” repeats his message over and over and over, and (4) he holds out the promise of a reward—usually the captive’s life.
    Toni Lee Simms had been brainwashed. She was kidnaped, terrorized, raped, and taken far from home. Amazed that she was still alive as the miles zipped by, she began to be mesmerized by Wilder’s deceptively soft voice. He had not killed her yet, and she hoped that he wouldn’t kill her if she just listened to him and did what he asked of her. After four days with Chris Wilder she began to think only as he gave her permission to think.
    By the time they crossed the Indiana state line, Toni Lee was prepared to do whatever Wilder asked of her. He had convinced her that even when she was out of the car and away from him, he could still hurt her. In order to stay alive, she would have to follow his orders. In Gary, Indiana, on April 10, Wilder ordered Toni Lee to go into the West Lake Mall and bring back a girl. He gave her the script. She was to offer a likely-looking girl a good job, and then bring her to the car.
    It turned out to be nowhere near as difficult as Toni Lee thought it might be. She walked around the mall, no longer even psychologically capable of escape, until she saw a girl about her own age filling out a job application on a bench outside a clothing store.
    “I work here,” Toni Lee said. “You look as if you’d be fine for the job. If you’ll come outside this mall exit here and wait, I’ll call the manager and tell her.”
    Chris Wilder was waiting for his next prey, Carrie McDonald*, sixteen. Now, as the Cougar sped away, Toni was no longer the prime captive; Carrie had taken her place and lay trussed up and gagged with duct tape in the back seat of the car. Her ordeal would last for three days as they drove across as many states. Even in her terror, Carrie wondered about the other girl—the girl who had led her to the cruel man who enjoyed torturing her. The girl he called Toni seemed to be in a trance. She wouldn’t help Carrie or even look at her.
    The last place Wilder’s partner’s credit card had been used was in Arizona, and so law enforcement agencies were concentrating their efforts there. And yet they knew that they couldn’t be sure
where
he was; he had covered over six thousand miles already in a crazy, zig-zagging pattern. And then they tracked him to a motel in Wauseon, Ohio. He was moving northeast.
    That, combined with the disappearance of the girl in Gary, Indiana, made them suspect that he was still abducting women. There was no way of knowing how many women might have gone missing between Arizona and Ohio.
    On April 11, the credit card was used again in a motel southeast of Rochester, N.Y. No one there recalled seeing anyone with the man who had checked in. For that matter, the clerk couldn’t really describe the man, either.

    On Wednesday, April 11, a tractor mechanic was driving on a meandering two-lane road in the woods near Penn Yan, N.Y. It was an easy place to get lost, and the tractor serviceman finally accepted that he was headed for a dead end. He sighed and wheeled his rig around. As he did so, he saw what looked like an apparition lurching toward him. It was a young woman who was nearly naked. Her breasts were scarlet with blood as she tried to stanch the flow with her clothing.
    The mechanic blinked his eyes as if to clear the “ghost” from his sight, but the girl was still there. He jumped out of his truck and helped her into the passenger seat. She was real, and begging him to take her to a doctor.
    The closest medical help was at the Soldiers and Sailors Hospital in Penn Yan, and the man floored his accelerator, afraid that the injured girl would die before he could get her there.
    Carrie McDonald proved to have incredible recuperative powers, despite the stab wounds in her chest. Sheer luck had prevented the thrusts from piercing vital organs, and she was anxious to talk to the FBI agents who flocked to the Yates County District Attorney’s office.
    For the first time since Jill Lennox had escaped from Chris Wilder, the investigators had a living witness who could look at a laydown of mugshots and identify him as her attacker.
    It was Christopher Wilder all right. He had gone