Oooh, good point about the stock-- and marrow! Can’t forget the marrow. Sadly I only have a meat grinder, so the bones would still have to be cremated. I could use them in a glaze for some of my pots though…
Around these parts, there were only really two forensics types that were high-profile enough to personally taunt.
Kim Rossmo, a former Vancouver cop and geographic profiling pioneer, upped and went to work in Washington, D.C., where there’s enough homicide to keep him interested.
And Larry Campbell, the crime-fightin’ coroner that Da Vinci’s Inquest is based on, is too busy being the mayor to spend time tracking down killers.
I mean, if you can’t identify with a worthy opponent and devise devious ways to get inside their head, what’s the point?
“Ooh, let’s see what Constable Hendricks does when he finds his wife’s earrings on the latest victim… He’ll really start to lose it. Heh heh heh. Uh… HE DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE? THAT DUMB FVCK!”
I mean, really. Why bother?
Aside from the obvious moral reasons and fear of legal repercussions:
-
I’m a lousy cleaner-upper. I can’t even get my drinking glasses to come out of the wash without spots. I’d never be able to clean up blood without a trace.
-
Like many people, I have a small freezer, and it’s already filled to capacity (with food, of course).
-
I also live a routine, structured life and it wouldn’t be hard for investigators to track me down.
-
I have a very distinctive, telltale scar on my left ring fingertip from when I accidentally cut my finger. It wouldn’t take a trained forensics specialist to match my fingerprints. I’d try to be careful about not leaving any incriminating fingerprints, but I’m sure they’d still turn up somewhere in such a way as to link me to the murder.
-
I have a big fear of handling guns.
I’m surprised that an aversion to guns is mentioned in so many posts. Very few serial killers use guns (as opposed to mass murders). Most serial killers want the actual physical thrill of killing their victims, and many want to keep the body intact for future use (use your imagination).
Another point against me is I hate physical contact, so I couldn’t stand strangling someone for five minutes to make sure that death occurs.
I’d be fucking great at it. Really, I’m just waiting for these bothersome scruples to go away so I can get some work done around here.
Of course, I’d have to move into a bigger place, like my own house with a basement. I’d have to keep working out for a couple of years and get some weapons training (which, without revealing too much, won’t be easy for me). I’d have to get some weapons, too. That won’t be too easy either.
But when those tiny matters are out of the way, and this conscience has gone the way of the dodo, watch out. I’ll depopulate the world in weeks.
I couldn’t do it because death saddens me, and regret lasts forever in my weak heart. During GW1 I was in my tank our whole company opened up on a Iraqi tank and truck and when my platoon went over to secure the site, the thoughts that my M240 might of caused some of that destruction and death still haunts me.
And truthfully I don’t think I can harbor enough anger toward someone or something to actually go find someone to kill.
A point worth remembering. After all, how many serial killers are not sexually motivated in some way? They may just be the ultimate male supremacists.
(Yet another reason I couldn’t do what they do.)
Actually, another reason is that as a transplant patient, I’m immunosuppressed. I’d be really squicky and squeamish about handing blood, dead bodies, bodily fluids, etc, for fear of cross-contamination, and as such, my murder locations would have a big bucket for ‘sharps’ and medical waste, boxes of used gloves, disinfectant, and those elasticated breather masks.
Well on the plus side I do have a clown costume, I can lend it out to someone with higher expectations then I have. 
Word up: Serial killing is not about sex, it’s about power (like rape, which is often a component of serial killing). Serial killers want power over their victims. They want to feel the power of killing and degrading them.
Lack of commitment. To be a serial killer you’ve got to murder at least five or ten victims in the same way. Me, I’d kill a couple one way, get a “been there, done that” feeling, and decide to use a chain saw for the next victim instead of a power drill.
Actually, I think I could be a really good serial killer: blood doesn’t bother me, I’ve worked as a cleaner in the past so that’s fine, I’m patient, I tend to obsession so the stalking is easy. Also into puzzles, so creating those challenging little ‘can’t catch me’ notes full of obscure clues would come easy.
Hubby has always wanted a van… Okay, I’m kinda small, but I figure this as my m.o.: hang around in bars selecting victim, slip something into his drink (easy access to medicines due to my job), help him out to my van when he gets woozy, use a bit of ether if the drug doesn’t knock him out completely.
Got the full basement, definitely creepy – plenty of spider webs, at least. Also have a regulation set of police handcuffs.
As for disposal of bodies, for at least three years we’ve been doing a slo-mo landscaping of our big yard. What with our cutting down trees, moving perennials, adding footpaths, digging a gold fish pond…heck, I could bury half a hundred bodies and no one would blink.
Yup. Think I’m all set.
Pay no attention to those reports of men going missing in the New England area. Just coincidence, that’s all.
Couldn’t you degrade them without killing them? Like, chloroform them and dress them up in a really horrible outfit or give them an awful perm and dye job, so they’d feel all embarrassed and degraded when they woke up?
(That seems to have happened to everyone I saw while out grocery-shopping this morning, by the way . . .)
And he doesn’t make you ice?? What a fool your husband must be 
What do you taunt the police about now?
I couldn’t be a serial killer 'cause I’m too shy.
Miss, would you mind stepping into this dark all… Miss… Miss… Drat! She didn’t hear me!
My freezer is teensy. It can only fit a few (small) things at a time. Major drawback.
I live in an apartment. No basement, no land. Well, there is a small amount of grass in front of the building, but it faces the street. I’m pretty sure someone would notice a grave-shaped mound of dirt.
I don’t have a car! How would I transport the body? My bike? I’m pretty sure someone would notice if I tried to drag a corpse ona bus or the el. Maybe taxi drivers wouldn’t care? Hmm.
I think the only way this could work is if I kill someone right next to the Chicago River. Then it would be a quick and easy disposal. (Police found a torso - a body sans head and limbs - in the river just the other day! Eeeuuugh. I swear I didn’t do it!)
Yeah, but have you checked out the rent for serial killing space over by the River? It’s ridiculous these days! Why, I remember when a little basement hovel and scary lab went for under $700 a month. Then all these damn suburbanite yuppie asshole serial killers decide they each want their own little bit of hell on earth, and there’s no Riverfront property under two grand! WTF? Can’t they just stay in Lincoln Park and be happy there?
And what’s wrong with Norwood Park, anyway? It’s a classic serial killer location! Why they gotta be bogarting my riverfront killin’ property? Damn trixies and chads.
My family’s funeral home makes necrophilia a lot easier than killing ever would.
I’m too afraid of contact with a stranger’s blood. What if I were stabbing someone and some of their blood sprayed in my eye or on a cut? I wouldn’t bet my life that all of my victims would be HIV-negative.
I’d never do my own murdering anyway, serial or not. There’s a certain elegance to hiring a hitman that I’d find more fulfilling than doing the deed myself.