Detour to Sea View

My faithful followers, you will undoubtedly be delighted to learn that I anticipate defending another high profile case worthy of a position in the proverbial trophy case of my illustrious career.

I am dictating this blog entry from my BMW Z8 at 3AM, yet another testament to the tireless dedication I have to educate you concerning my life and career.

I was returning to the Upper East Side moments ago when a news flash blared out of my new RA:1K audio system. The authorities in Sea View, NJ, incarcerated a girl for the Satin Strangler murders. Pursuant to a rising tidal wave of media coverage, this case promises to be monumental. I imagine even illiterates are aware of the Satin Strangler.

The case would be tantalizing enough for me based on the killer’s 40-victim curriculum vitae, which dwarfs even that of my Gloria Watson case. Strangulation, however, is what makes the Satin Strangler case particularly intriguing. Such homicidal technique is typically the modus operandi of male serial murders, whereas women have a propensity for killing at more ample distance with firearms or poison. Strangulation requires an amalgam of will, cunning, passion, and strength. Anything could go awry, particularly when a woman attacks a man.

Strangulation is the most intimate crime. Killer and victim momentarily unite as a single organism. Their eyes lock. Their breath intermingles. They exchange body heat with each other as the sweat boils up to the surface.

The intimacy of strangulation consumes my every thought as my BMW Z8 penetrates the Lincoln Tunnel toward New Jersey. What possesses a woman to terminate life by strangulation? What enables her to succeed? She must be driven by the addictive surge of adrenaline.

How much seductive power is necessary to entice so many victims? Those 40 men must have sensed her passion surge. How did it feel as that passion was interceded by impending demise? How would it feel to succumb to the Satin Strangler’s clutches?

The radio commentator just announced that the suspect, Destiny Blande, is a former office assistant and an entomologist, eliciting an image more of a damsel in distress than of a rabid psychopath. A reporter live in Sea View interviewed a group of inebriates just released from custody after a bar skirmish. They described Destiny Blande as petite but menacing, a “librarian with a secret.” Is she the Satin Strangler? The reporter seems convinced.

I must confess that I am enthralled more by the prospect of meeting the suspect than by the intellectual challenge of defending her case. I am compelled to know the woman behind the public’s Satin Strangler facade. Not since my studies at Yale Law School have I been so intrigued by a suspect.

The Manhattan skyline dims in the rearview mirror. An internal force is luring me down the Garden State Parkway toward Sea View for an encounter with Destiny Blande, accused serial killer.

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This is post #12 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).

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