“Definitely,” he said without hesitation. “I’d have lots more victims. Yes. I would’ve killed and killed until I either achieved my goal of an all-white America or got caught. I knew I’d be getting caught sooner or later, although I believed it would have been much later than it was.”
“Didn’t you care at all about your victims, no matter what color they were?” I asked.
“To be honest, I didn’t give a fuck about them. You don’t understand, you never killed anyone, but I actually enjoyed it while I was doing it. I drugged ‘em all first, so they didn’t feel anything. They didn’t know what was happening. I just enjoyed the power of being in control of their bodies.”
“Why did you drug them so they wouldn’t feel any pain? If you were going to kill them anyway, what difference did it make?” I asked.
“Because when they were drugged, I could get them to do anything I wanted without them struggling. It was easier and more enjoyable.”
I didn’t say anything, mainly because I was busy writing. I didn’t know what to say anyway. I felt sad because it seemed that even after all our talks about God and forgiveness, he was still just as hateful and unremorseful as before. I wanted to talk about Jesus and the Bible, but I wasn’t as prepared as I’d been the in the past.
I couldn’t figure Jeff out. Sometimes he would seem like a changed man, interested in God and being a good person, but then there would be moments like these when the serial killer emerged all over again.
Jeff started talking again, this time about his probation officer, Donna Chester. On May 23, 1989, under terms of his probation, she was to meet with him every week.
“She was an idiot,” Jeff said. “I hope her eyes are open now.”
I asked him about Gerald Boyle, his attorney. I wanted to know how he liked him and if they got along.
“I don’t think he could stand me,” he said, “just like most people couldn’t. At least he did his job. I don’t care what other people think about me.”
Then Jeff started talking about how he also resented his parents and his childhood. He talked about how his parents rarely spent time with him, which was why he hung out in the woods so much. That was where he got interested in cutting up dead animals. He was alone all the time and his fantasies were open to run wild because no one was there to guide him in other directions.
“We [he and his parents] argued all the time when I was a teenager. I hated it,” he said.
Jeff said he was really upset when his parents divorced and when his dad married Shari. He said he was angriest when his dad made him enlist in the Army after he flunked out of college.
“He did it just to avoid spending time with me,” he said. “I know that. He wanted to spend more time with her [Shari].”
I asked one more question. I couldn’t determine if he was truly racist or hid behind racism. “Why did you target multiracial men … blacks, Indians, Hispanics, Asians?”
“I guess because I was picked on as a child. I’d just go into those clubs and I’d just want to pick on somebody who wasn’t like me. I never liked any of those other races.”
I didn’t quite understand what he meant. It was as if he still tried using racism as an excuse. His reasoning didn’t make sense to me.
Neither of us said anything for awhile; then he said, “Do you ever wonder why God caused Negros to be black and dumb or illiterate?”
I couldn’t let myself get angry or say anything back. He was probably trying to push my buttons, so I tried to change the conversation into something positive. I started thinking about what it said in the Bible about prejudice. I remembered a verse in Acts about treating everyone equally, so I looked it up.
“Jeff, will you open your Bible to Acts, Chapter 10? It’s the story about a Roman officer named Cornelius. He was a godly man and respected by the Jews. An angel appeared to Cornelius and told him to send for Simon Peter, who was Jesus’ right-hand man. The angel said Peter would tell Cornelius what God wanted him to do with his life. When Peter came to Cornelius’ home that evening, the Roman soldier fell on the ground to worship Peter.”
I started reading the verses from my Bible, hoping Jeff was following along.
But Peter said, “Stand up! I’m not a god!” So he got up and they talked together for awhile and then went in where the others were assembled. Peter told them, “You know it is against the Jewish laws for me to come into the Gentile home like this. But God has shown me in a vision that I should never think of anyone as inferior.” (Acts 10:26-28, TLB)
Jeff said he always thought God catered to one race, the white race.
“But that’s not true, man. Just remember that verse, ‘God has shown me in a vision that I should never think of anyone as inferior.’ We are all equal in God’s eyes. Nobody’s inferior.”
Jeff was quiet after that. I asked him a few more questions but he wouldn’t respond, so I stopped. We both had lots to think about that night.
Sixteen
The Pull Between Good and Evil
One of them, a lawyer, spoke up: “Sir, which is the most important command in the laws of Moses?” Jesus replied, “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. The second most important is similar: ‘Love your neighbor as much as you love yourself.’ All the other commandments and all the demands of the prophets stem from these two laws and are fulfilled if you obey them. Keep only these and you will find that you are obeying all the others.” (Matthew 22:36-40, TLB)
Saturday, March 7, 1992.
The first weekend in Unit 2 was my worst time in prison. There was no recreation; nothing to do except sit in my cell. Neither Jeff nor I had visitors or appointments.
The 11 a.m. mail call brought more bags of mail for Jeff. He figured he was getting about a thousand letters a week.
“How do you decide what mail to read?” I asked him.
“I look where it’s from, which city, state, or country; then pick the ones with the most interesting-sounding names. Or I read the ones with designs on the envelopes or the ones with colored envelopes.”
Every afternoon that week, new prisoners came to our unit for different violations. Every time a new prisoner arrived, he joined the “let’s ridicule Dahmer” group.
That night after supper, the jokes started in on schedule. Most weren’t even funny.
Finally, after standing count that night, things got quiet and I pulled out my pad of paper.
I asked my neighbor, “What were some other ways that you got black guys to come back to your apartment, especially because you are a white guy?”
“It was easy,” Jeffrey replied. “If I saw anyone looking at me at the various bars, I’d start talking to them. Sometimes I’d say, ‘Do I know you?’ Or, ‘Have we met some other place before?’ You know, the usual tactics, small talk. When we got to my apartment, I’d tell them that the apartment belonged to a black friend of mine who’s in the Army and he had to report back to the base. Then I’d say that my black friend said I could keep the apartment until the rent ran out. I figured they’d feel more comfortable there if they thought it belonged to a black man. That way, being with a white guy wouldn’t seem so weird to them.”
“Didn’t your neighbors suspect anything?” I asked. “What about loud noises?”
“I always made up some story about the noises when I was using the saw or drills, something about remodeling. They complained about the smells, so I’d make up something about that–cleaning fluids or whatever.”
“If you had lived in an area that was mostly white, instead of a black neighborhood, would this killing spree have gone on so long?”
“If I only killed whites, it would have ended a long time ago,” he said. “That’s one reason I targeted minorities. Whites are superior. The families would have been more outraged if the victims were all white. They would have been reported missing right away and stuff like that.”
His answer was sad and frustrating. It remind
ed me of that Laotian boy who had escaped Jeff’s apartment only to be escorted back by the police. There was a lot of outrage regarding how the cops handled that situation; many believed racism was the reason the boy was returned to Jeff. Was he right? Was there some logic behind his rationale?
Jeff continued, cutting off my thoughts. “Another reason I chose blacks is that they were easier to trick once they saw my money. If I promised them money, they’d come to my apartment easily.”
I didn’t counter his answer but instead asked him, “How do you feel about the victims’ families? What would you like to tell them now?”
Jeff must have been in a lousy mood that day because he said, “The simple fact is that I don’t give a fuck about them or how they feel. I knew each of the victims had families when I killed them, and I also knew that I would cause them a lot of pain in doing what I did, but I didn’t care. I really don’t have any remorse for what I did. I do regret getting caught, more should die, but it’s over for me. I would like to say to the families that I truly enjoyed what I did and that I regret nothing.”
Jeff’s words upset me so much I could hardly talk. How could anybody be so cold, have no conscience or empathy or sorrow? The more I thought about it, the less I believed that Jeff really meant what he said. In fact, the more I talked to Jeff over the next few days, the more I was convinced he didn’t mean a lot of what he said, especially about not regretting his actions.
Up to now, Jeff sat in his cell with nothing to do except read. Some letter writers wrote saying what he did was good; other wrote and threatened him, wishing he would die. He had to be confused just reading those letters and listening to the ridicule coming from the other inmates on our tier. Nobody in the tier said anything nice to him except me.
He seemed to fear leaving his cell, even for recreation, so I could imagine he said those hateful things out of frustration. I think comments that he made were more than just lashing out; I believe he tried to blend in and sound like a coldhearted tough guy.
I reread the letter he sent me and realized there was an internal struggle going on inside him. One minute he was letting Jesus win, the next he was letting Satan win. I honestly didn’t think what was coming out of his mouth was what was actually in his heart.
“Jeff, how do you feel about what the media had to say about your crimes?” I asked.
“I believe the majority of [the media] didn’t get the picture of why I did what I did. They wrote what they believed and it’s all fucking lies. They can think what they want, but it doesn’t matter because they’re just as confused about me and my actions as the public is, so fuck them.”
I’d never seen or heard Jeff this defensive or agitated. Again, I thought his constant confinement was getting to him. I said people were curious about him, and the media reported what they knew and got their stories from different sources. It was true; no one in the media had interviewed Dahmer so, beyond the police reports, everything was hearsay.
I wanted to comfort him. He seemed so upset and angry, so tormented. Maybe he didn’t understand what he did or why he did it. Maybe hatred and racism was an excuse, not a motive at all. Perhaps it was just easier and made more sense to him to say those vulgar things. I didn’t know how to feel about it, but I wasn’t going to give up on him.
I asked Jeff to open his Bible to the Book of Daniel, Chapter 10. I read a verse to him that talked about how Daniel was afraid. I suspected Jeff was afraid, maybe so terrified about what would happen to his soul that at times, he just gave up and let the hatred and evil emerge when he talked.
I read the verse aloud:
Then he said, “Don’t be frightened, Daniel, for your request has been heard in heaven and was answered the very first day you began to fast before the Lord and pray for understanding; that very day I was sent here to meet you.” (Daniel 10:12, TLB)
I told Jeff, “Demons can do various things to Christians such as take control over the person’s mind, body, and spirit. As long as Jesus is on the throne of the believer’s heart, no demon can reside there. But the temptations are always there to slip back into our old ways of thinking and that’s when the demons can cause believers a great deal of torment. If we invite a demon in, he will come in. He’ll move into our minds and tempt us and deceive us. I think what you said earlier tonight were the words of a demon.”
That night I wrote Jeff another letter and sent it along with a Christian magazine and some scriptures. Here’s what I wrote:
My dearest brother Jeff,
Just as I sat down here to write to you, God put it in my heart to read from John, Chapters 13 and 14.
“And so I am giving a new commandment to you now–love each other just as much as I love you. Your strong love for each other will prove to the world that you are my disciples.” (John 13:34-35, TLB)
“If you love me, obey me; and I will ask the Father and he will give you another Comforter, and he will never leave you.” (John 14:15-16, TLB)
“The one who obeys me is the one who loves me; and because he loves me, my Father will love him; and I will too, and I will reveal myself to him.” (John 14:21, TLB)
“Judas (not Judas Iscariot, but his other disciple with that name) said to him, ‘Sir, why are you going to reveal yourself only to us disciples and not to the world at large?’ Jesus replied, ‘Because I will only reveal myself to those who love me and obey me. The Father will love them too, and we will come to them and live with them. Anyone who doesn’t obey me doesn’t love me. And remember, I am not making up this answer to your question! It is the answer given by the Father who sent me.” (John 14:22-24, TLB)
My dear friend, we must love each other. Love comes from God, and when we love each other, it shows that we have been given new life. We are now God’s children, and we know HIM.
Jeff, GOD is love, and anyone who doesn’t love others has never known HIM …
GOD showed his love for us when he sent his only SON into the world to give us LIFE …
REAL love is not our love for GOD, but his love for us.
GOD sent his SON to be the sacrifice by which our SINS are forgiven.
Brother Jeff, those scriptures were put in my mind to share with you.
Your Christian Brother,
Calvin
After I finished that letter, I wondered what else I could do to help pull Jeff’s soul away from the devil and into the arms of God our Savior. All I could do at that moment was pray, pray unceasingly, like it says in the Bible. And so I did.
I didn’t sleep well that night. Awful thoughts found their way into my head. I was worried about Wednesday’s hearing. I worried about my future, too. Jeff came to mind often. Sometimes I believed he had filled my head with nightmares, all those things that he told me, all those terrible things he did. I wanted Jeff to find God. I knew God was the only answer.
Seventeen
A Quiet, Lonely Sunday
The first time I was brought before the judge no one was here to help me. Everyone had run away. I hope that they will not be blamed for it. But the Lord stood with me and gave me the opportunity to boldly preach a whole sermon for all the world to hear. And he saved me from being thrown to the lions. Yes, and the Lord will always deliver me from all evil and will bring me into his heavenly kingdom. To God be the glory forever and ever. Amen. (II Timothy 4:16-18, TLB)
Sunday, March 8, 1992.
Sundays were as quiet as Saturdays, and just as boring; nothing to do and no outside mail. Jeff received the letter I wrote him along with the magazines and literature.
Quite a few prisoners had visits from friends and family, but not me. Not Jeff, either.
On that particular Sunday evening, inmates in the regular housing units attended church services in the chapel between 6:30 and 8:30 p.m., but not those in Unit 2. I didn’t like missing church services. In fact, I was starting to hate this restricted unit. Time passed far too slowly.
On the other hand, I knew God put me there for a reason. So even though I was
tired, I pulled out my Bible to find verses to share with Jeff that night.
After the 9 p.m. standing count, I tapped the wall to get his attention. I always tried to say something interesting to get him talking before I started asking him questions.
I wanted to know more about his probation officer. It seemed like he didn’t want to talk about her much. In fact, he just repeated the same things he’d said the night before and then dropped the subject.
I asked him about the police officers who brought Konerak Sinthasomphone, the fourteen-year-old Laotian boy, back to his apartment in May 1991.
“I thought for sure I was caught,” Jeff said, “and I was even more shocked when the officers left him with me without even asking to look in my bedroom. They’d have been surprised to see three bodies in there, wouldn’t they? That just shows you how ignorant society is on this planet. Those officers had no idea whether they were doing the right thing or not. I still can’t believe they handled the situation the way they did.”
“What about your parents, Jeff?” I asked. “How do you feel about them now and what did you think about them before?”
Jeff thought for a moment, then answered cautiously. “They were good at one time, but they became blind, like most people on this planet, to the fact that we must rid this earth of scums. I love my parents, but I have no pity for them. It’s up to them to open their eyes to the facts themselves.”
I didn’t really understand what Jeff was talking about but I had a feeling he was going to go off on one of his racist rants again. I didn’t want to hear it.
I didn’t feel like talking to him anymore and I couldn’t think of any more questions so I opened my Bible and started reading, looking for more scriptures that might help him.
A little while later, I said, “Jeff, do you know that our Lord, Jesus, the son of God, has complete authority over demons?”
I wanted to make sure Jeff knew that God is the all-powerful one, not Satan. I also wanted two things specifically: I wanted him to be free and I wanted him to be a better person. I prayed to God that He help me find the right words to say. I wished I could have gone to church to pray about it.
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