Ted Bundy

by Stephen G. Michaud

  “I have always felt deprived of underwear. I always felt that I would have really made it if I had all the socks and underwear I could ever use. Even in Pensacola (where Ted was arrested for the last time), I went to a shopping mall and bought some socks. I was buying socks everywhere.

  “This is for real. I mean, I’ve got a sock fetish. No question about it. I must have six or seven pairs right here with me in my cell.

  “I am really sick when it comes to socks. These are some of the things for people who really want to know what makes Ted Bundy tick. They’re parts of the combination to the deepest, most secret recesses of my mind.

  “I’m very close to my feet. Right now. I’m lying on my back with my foot propped up on the bars. And I’m studying my toes. For a good portion of the night. They’re probably the most attractive feet you’ve ever seen.

  “I’m sure all these law-enforcement officers around the country are looking through their unsolved crimes for anything to do with the presence or absence of socks.

  “Socks are such a serious part of my life. They’re so very important to me. They kept reading the list of socks and all [in court] and I felt proud. Honestly, it didn’t even begin to occur to me that people might wonder why I had all those socks. I just felt proud that I owned all those socks. Like a man who stands at the back of his ranchhouse and looks out over the range and sees all them cattle.

  “The only time I began to have a little bout of sheepishness was when I read about a white sock with a blue band and green stripe on the toe. Those are odor eaters – and that was getting too personal.”

  January 25

  This night Bundy recounted the highlights of his career as a thief.

  “Let me give you an idea,” he said, “of the way I operated. For instance this little Sony television I had. I can’t remember when this happened, but one day I decided I had to have a TV set. I had been out at Northgate Mall in Seattle and I saw the Sony in the display window.

  “Later I was sitting at home – this was some time after I started going to the university of Washington – and I was drinking Mickey’s Big Mouth, which is my favorite beer. That stuff makes me nasty. All of a sudden I said, ‘I’m going to go get that Sony!’

  “I parked the car close to the mall and walked in the store. The display window had a door that opened from the china-cutlery area.

  “It was about four o’clock. It wouldn’t have made any difference, daytime or nighttime. Anyway, I just walked right in the display window. Who’s going to question you if you just walk right in, like you belong there?

  “I was really pumped up. Intoxicated. I ambled on through the chinaware department and opened the door – and there were people looking right in the window at me, right? I reached in and gave a little wave to the people and picked up the TV and walked out of the window, closing the door behind me. Then walked straight through the sales area and out the door, and straight to my car.

  “The TV worked terrific and survived many years until the apartment was burglarized. I got my stereo in much the same fashion.

  “The thought of burglary or anything really criminal,” he went on, “never crossed my mind. I felt no remorse whatsoever about taking something like that out of a store. I’d only take what I needed. Not that that makes any difference.

  “I got my stereo by simply walking in and out of this hardware store in Seattle. Every time I wanted to get something just to pump myself up a little, I’d drink a few beers, ’cause I felt I wouldn’t have any inhibitions. I’d move quickly and not look over my shoulder. I wasn’t nervous – and that’s important!

  “So I just walked into this place and went over to the display area and unhooked the stereo – the turntable and the amplifier – and put them in a cart. Nobody was around. I pushed the cart back through the paint department and outside to where you can get potted plants, and then right on out the back by where they stack the fertilizer.

  “I pushed it to my car and unloaded it and then planned to go back for the speakers! As I headed back toward the store, I saw at least half a dozen hardware people running around with their little vests on, running this way and that! One of them ran up to me and said. ‘Did you see a man pushing a cart with a stereo in it?’ I swear to God this happened.

  “I said, ‘Let me think. Yes, I just saw a fellow carrying some stuff and headed toward the bowling alley over there.’ All of a sudden, the fear of God was in me! I said to myself. ‘Goddamn, Ted, you’ve gone too far now!’ So I moseyed over to the Volkswagen, slipped in, and drove away.

  “I got the speakers late. . . another time. I wanted to find a pair that matched. You need to get speakers that are to be driven by your system, right?

  “But I did stupid things. If I had spent as much energy trying to make a million dollars, I would have been able to buy all this stuff. Later I walked into this place with a big box under my arm. This is the truth. It was like a big toilet-roll box. And, ‘What? Me worry?’ I walked in – and I had all sorts of things to lose if I got busted – I walked to the back of the store and unplugged the two speakers, semi-large, and plopped them in my box, sealed the box back up, and walked right out the front door.

  “That gives you an idea what kind of nut I was. There was my kitchenware, several lovely prints and pictures I had on my wall, and a Navajo rug that retailed for $1,200.

  “That was something! It was a bona fide Navajo rug. I saw it in this gift shop in the new Hilton Hotel in Salt Lake – and I was feeling no pain that night. I had spotted this rug some time before, and I just wanted it. It was really me! The damn thing had a $1,200 price tag on it. It couldn’t be all bad.

  “So, without hesitation, I walked into the shop and walked up to it. There was only one person working in the shop. I didn’t look over my shoulder or anything. It had this big rock setting on it, along with a lot of dishware. A couple dozen items anyway, including the ninety-pound rock.

  “Well, I lifted the rock and put it over to one side and lifted all the other shit up and rolled the fucker up and put it under my arm and walked. I thought, ‘If they get me going out the door, I’ll just say, “Hold this for me.’ I just kept walking, with it under my arm, like I’d just bought the evening paper. That was that.

  “One of my fondest memories was the night. . . I’ve always had this passion for plants, right? But plants are so damned expensive. Liz was justifiably freaked out by all this because she knew that I couldn’t afford these things and she knew I was risking a lot and was stupid for doing it.

  “But you know, these were just, uh, you know, little luxuries. And I had this deep desire for this Benjamina tree.

  “I’ve got to tell you this story! There’s a big nursery close to the university in Seattle. Lots of greenhouses and beautiful, beautiful plants. I used to go there and drool at all the plants. Well, on this occasion – just before I left for Utah – I got this urge. ‘I want a tree,’ I said to myself.

  “And this thing was eight-feet tall! All I had was a Volkswagen (bug) with a sunroof. I walked in the side entrance of this place where this beautiful Benjamina was and picked it up. It was heavy and bulky. Anyway, I got it and started walking. I got to my car. I lifted it up and down through the sunroof. There’s a good five feet sticking out the top!

  “And I calmly walked around, got in the car, and took off. I don’t know what would have happened if somebody would’ve stopped me and asked me, ‘Sir, just what did you have in mind here?’

  “In those days, I wouldn’t go into stores and shoplift. This is the honest-to-God’s truth!” he said. (When Bundy got to Tallahassee in 1978, low on cash and the object of a nationwide manhunt, he virtually subsisted on shoplifting.) “What I went for,” he added, “were things that I couldn’t afford – expensive things.

  “I know that doesn’t negate the fact that these actions were stupid and senseless. . . and the risks I was taking – considering, you know, my professional possibilities – it was ridiculous.

  “The b
ig payoff for me was actually possessing whatever it was I had stolen. It wasn’t the act, necessarily. Ofttimes I would have to get intoxicated to get loose enough to be able to do it right. Apart from that, I really enjoyed having something on my wall or sitting in my apartment that I had wanted and gone out and taken.”

  Bundy’s description of his motives for thievery – possession – would echo eerily when he later talked about why he killed. The fact that he was a murderer of young women also gave another of his anecdotes, meant to amuse us, a chilling resonance.

  “After I was in there a while,” he said, “things loosened up at the Glenwood Springs jail. They were allowing me to go down with shackles on to the trustees’ cell to watch TV. And smoke massive amounts of marijuana. Goddamn, I got ripped! These were really nice young guys, nineteen or twenty, and they’d go out on work-release and bring this stuff back at night. We’d get just rip-snortin’ fucked up. Time after time.

  “On one occasion – I think it was a Saturday – they had these two juvenile runaways, females, who they put in the women’s cell. These girls were saying things like, ‘Hey guys, let’s get together.’ They were really precocious. One was semi-attractive, the other somewhat obese. I imagine they were somewhere between fifteen and eighteen.

  “There was an old jailer on duty that night, so we decided to see what could be done. If we’d have had a set of keys, there’s no question that we would’ve gotten it on.

  “I took the initiative. I said, ‘Hey baby, what’s happenin’? We think you’re terrific. How about gettin’ together?’ This was through the wall. The other guys were just listening in.

  “The door to the girls’ cell had a window with a grating you could look through. So we sneaked around and I said, ‘Well, you girls are good-looking. Let see what you’ve got!’

  “This went on for some time. The excitement was mounting and they were getting into it too, right? We told them that later on the guard would fall asleep and we’d be able to get his keys and get in there with ’em. They said, ‘Really? Really?’ This could not have happened, of course. Just part of the little game we were playing.

  “So bit by bit, I first convinced them to shed their tops – and then their bottoms. They were parading around and dancing and being coy, okay?

  “There were three of us at the little window, the grate we were peeping through, but only one person could look in at a time. Now, the final revelation here was going to be when we got em to shed their panties.”

  Voice rising in excitement, Bundy went on: “I hadn’t seen a real woman in the altogether since February 28, 1976, when Liz and I last slept together. So I can’t be held accountable for my motivations being purely perverse and voyeuristic at this point. I mean, I wanted to see a real live woman in the flesh!

  “Well, they were edging their panties down slowly, slowly. . . when we heard the rattle of doors and we all scampered back to the trustees’ cell. And immediately, I hear the call: ‘Bundy! The Pitkin County deputies are here to pick you up and take you to Aspen.’

  “And I cursed, ‘The sonuvabitches! The sonuvabitches!’ I was so pissed off!

  “It was two or three days later when I returned that I learned that the other guys had consummated this stripping act. And, you know, it is not wholly inconceivable – given the fact that the jailer was a nice, kindly old man – that I might have slipped the keys away from him. I was thinking of it; I really was.

  “The sight of this one particularly attractive, fresh, firm young nymphet was just fantastic! And I’m sure that if we would have gotten in there, they would have gotten into it. Of course, they were minors and all I needed was a charge of statutory rape – or rape of any kind. Whatever. What we got was a little peep show.”

  February 6

  Two hours after the jury had convicted him, Bundy recorded a tape for us in his cell. Obviously shaken, he ran the gamut of emotions – from sighs and lengthy pauses to an occasional sob – as he fought to keep his composure.

  “It’s February 6, 1980, about four o’clock in the afternoon,” he began. “I’m back in my cell in the Orange County jail. Two hours or so ago the jury rendered its verdict – or rather, I should say, it rendered its verdict to the effect they found me guilty of murder in the first degree, uh (clears throat).

  “I really have trouble right now finding a place to begin. I don’t really feel like I have (sigh) any really cute insights or observations or analyses to add to what happened this afternoon. I’m tired, sad (voice breaks). And while I wouldn’t really say that I was despondent, clearly I’m, uh, extraordinarily disappointed.

  “Anyone who has ever been through a criminal trial as a defendant – whether it be a burglary of an automobile or a robbery or a case such as the one I’ve been involved in, a case of first-degree murder – cannot help but be (voice breaks) drawn in to the defense of the case. And, not withstanding, perhaps, the reality of the situation, begins to develop a whole (sigh), develop glimmers of optimism. . . that the jury will see things the way my attorneys and myself have seen them.

  “Between my conviction in Miami toward the end of July of ‘79 and the beginning of this trial, I had what I thought. . . had fairly convinced myself I would be convicted. Not on the merits of the case. Not on the facts introduced by the State. And not on the effectiveness or lack of effectiveness of my counsel. But my conviction was assured principally as a result of the extensive knowledge that pervaded communities throughout Florida concerning my prior convictions and allegations about my background.

  “Of course, the most significant of these extrajudicial influences was the publicized trial, the televised trial in Miami. . . for the Chi Omega murders. I doubt that any intelligent observer, whether he be a law person or someone involved in the legal profession, doubted for a second that it would be, uh (voice breaks). . . extremely difficult (sighs) to find a community in Florida where I could find a jury that had not been tainted by the massive and pervasive amount of publicity concerning me and the cases with which I was charged – the cases for which I had been convicted.

  “Still, within me at least, there always remained an undercurrent of optimism, hope, that things would turn out the way they should turn out. But the jury (coughs) didn’t see it my way. The jury selected to deliberate the case in the Kimberley Leach murder (swore that they) were truly able to put aside everything they had heard, read, and seen about me, prior to the time they came into the courtroom and were sworn as jurors. . . and that they would evaluate the evidence solely upon the evidence introduced in court, the testimony of the witnesses – the typical evidence introduced in court.

  “Yes, that was the undercurrent. Anyone who can recall speaking to me about my predictions concerning the Leach trial knows very well (voice breaks) that my belief has been – for at least six months, maybe longer – that there would be a conviction in the Leach case. . . but that this conviction would not be based solely on the evidence. . . which came out of the courtroom.

  “The conviction would be a combination of the information the jurors had been exposed to prior to the time they came into the courtroom in conjunction with (voice breaks) the evidence they heard.

  “I’m not saying I’m clairvoyant. I’m just saying that any reasonably perceptive person would see, would know – based upon the way our minds operate, based upon the way we assimilate information, the way in which we recall past events – that the jury selected in this case, no matter how sincerely they believed that they could judge the evidence presented to them in court; no matter how much they might have wanted to do this, the reality, the manner in which we process information, record it, memorize it, and then retrieve it, would render the task impossible.

  “Certainly, these observations of mine derive from a somewhat biased point of view. After all, I am the defendant. And, notwithstanding my attempt to. . . on occasions to step back and objectively look at the State’s case, I found myself increasingly drawn in to the intense process of (sigh) preparing and present
ing my defense.

  “Implicit, I believe, in immersing myself in my defense, along with my attorneys, was the belief that we would succeed, even though, once again, in the back of our minds, perhaps – on occasion in the forefront of our minds – we knew that we were at an extreme disadvantage.

  “Always in attempting to protect myself from the harsh eventuality of conviction, I repeatedly told people that the outcome in the Leach case. . . there would be a conviction. I said this again and again. And my opinion was not only shared by myself alone. Certainly, many people who approached me expressed the same opinion.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is. . . while for at least six months I had prepared myself in every way possible for a conviction, this defense mechanism began to slowly disintegrate once I became involved in the active conduct of the trial. I guess there are several factors which forced me, which influenced me, to play a role. To play the role of the defendant, who had every hope and expectation of being acquitted of a crime of which he knew himself to be innocent.

  “Certainly I don’t mean to say I was simply playing a role. What I’m saying is that the role I was playing required. . . and I become, uh, became. . . become (voice breaks). It’s hard for me to put words together right now. That I had become so enamored by the strength of our case and the weakness of theirs that that undercurrent of hope that I would be acquitted began to surface, slowly. More gradually. Until it was not a vague and improbable outcome, but a real and possible consequence.

  “I must admit, however, that I relied throughout most of these proceedings on the defense mechanism I alluded to earlier. That this trial really didn’t make any difference; that the outcome was preordained. . . (voice breaks) that there was nothing we could do. Virtually nothing, no matter how effective or how sensational or how persuasive, that we could do to convince the jury that I was not guilty.