Response to Libel Suit

I apologize to my faithful followers who were planning to get a glimpse of me during the upcoming pre-sale book tour. I have been distracted and slightly delayed by a frivolous libel suit filed by the father of Destiny Blande. I have never even met this man. I cannot even recollect his first name at this moment. In fact, he was in absentia when his daughter was being tried for serial murder. He was nowhere to be seen while I single handedly saved her from capital punishment.

Why is it that someone who never appeared in public while his daughter’s well being was in jeopardy is now so interested in protecting her “good name?” What a fascinating sequence of events.

Destiny’s daddy contends that my book, If She Did It, misrepresents his daughter. The initial quandary here is that the book is not about his daughter. It is a fictionalized account the Satin Strangler, with a protagonist named Daphne Blain. If there are similarities in the book between Destiny and Daphne, then they are coincidental, per the legal disclaimer therein.

It would appear that nearly everyone still believes that Destiny Blande is guilty of the Satin Strangler crimes. Fortunately, the 12 citizens making up the jury did not agree with the populace at large. Perhaps Destiny’s daddy should drop to his self-righteous knees and thank me for that. No. Instead, he is pursuing me through the courts for this so-called libel.

If you believe that Destiny Blande is the Satin Strangler, then you will believe that my story is about her. That is for you to decide as the reader, but it is certainly not my intent. If you are more interested in the details of how the murders could have been committed, then my book will satisfy your craving. If you want to picture Destiny Blande walking in Daphne Blain’s place, using Daphne’s hands to tighten satin stockings around victims’ necks, then I cannot manipulate your imagination.

An esteemed lawyer of my stature need not tolerate an insufferable maggot like Destiny’s daddy. I apologize to all of my faithful followers for any inconvenience resulting from his behavior. As I say, he is a maggot. In case he is reading this, I cannot be accused herein of committing libel against him, because he cannot literally be misconstrued as a maggot as defined in the dictionary:

n - a soft-bodied legless grub that is the larva of a dipteran fly (as the housefly) and develops usually in decaying organic matter or as a parasite in plants or animals

In celebration of the libel suit against me, here is a preview of a later chapter from my book – a chapter that I did not originally intend on releasing until the print version. I dedicate this to Destiny’s daddy.


If She Did It, by Horace P. Krouch
Chapter 20: In Bed With a Strangler

“Daphne Blain” and “Henry Crow” were living under incredible tension for months. Unless you have been a defendant or a lawyer in a murder trial, you have no way of imagining the emotional overload. Every hour in the courtroom is the culmination of hundreds of hours preparing. Every word can help to make your case, or destroy it. The stakes are high; a life waits in the balance. In this case the future of a young woman was at risk.

Daphne and Henry were on edge during all that time. The acquittal released the life and death tension that characterized their relationship, but it forced them into a new sea of emotion. Heretofore, they had been in a purely business relationship. Now they had to decide whether to carry that through to a personal relationship, or go their separate ways.

Henry was only a little beyond indifferent to this issue, although he enjoyed Daphne’s company. He had just freed himself from a pending relationship and had his next few dates lined up in the queue.

Daphne was still feeling vulnerable and felt reassured by Henry’s presence. She saw him as her savior, a personality larger than life. She was experiencing the conversion from admiration to love. He was used to this scenario. These were emotions he had seen many times before in his defendants, particularly when the stakes of the case were highest. He had been careful not to give in to the temptation of falling in love with any of the other women he defended. Maintaining a professional relationship was of utmost importance.

The difference between Daphne and his other clients was her aggressiveness. She had to get what she wanted, and in this case she wanted Henry.

Yesterday Daphne came over to his office to gather copies from her file. Henry worked alone, and had a habit of leaving his office door unlocked. Daphne made her way inside. She swung open the door of his office, smiled, and moistened her lips. She reached back to unfasten her chignon and shook her auburn hair free. Her eyes flashed a malachite glow.

“I have your files,” he said.

“You know that’s not why I’m here,” she said while closing the blinds.

“What do you want, then?” he asked, though well aware of the answer.

Daphne pinned him to the wall, grabbed his shirt collar, and kissed him. He simultaneously felt the warmth of her against his entire body, and could feel her heart beating against his chest. Within seconds their clothes were lying around his desk, and the files were spilled across the floor. She skillfully swung him up onto the desk so he was lying on his back, and then pounced on top of him like a lioness. The ease of the motion was part instinct and part experience.

During their lustful interplay, she periodically ran her fingers along his neck, causing shivers throughout his body. At first he grabbed her wrists, blocking her from getting a strong grip. But she seemed energized from the challenge, each time becoming more forceful.

He found himself letting her go progressively further toward cutting off his breathing, which made her excited and brought him more satisfaction than he ever would have anticipated. For a moment, he no longer cared whether she tightened her grip.

By the time his survival instincts re-engaged, he was completely defenseless. His face was red hot as he became light headed. His vision faded as his body experienced a soothing release.

Daphne had no intention of killing Henry. He provided her with a new emotion – one that she could never have with her victims. Was it love? Regardless, she wanted more from this relationship than killing could provide.

She released her grip. In the moments that it took for Henry to regain full consciousness, she was already dressed and walking out the door.

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This is post #55 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).

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Response to "If She Did It"

The response to the first chapters of my new book, If She Did It, have been nothing shy of exhilirating. I am pleased to see the splendid judgment portrayed by you, my faithful followers. I am looking forward to the upcoming book tour.

The First Kill

If She Did It, by Horace P. Krouch
Chapter 2: The First Kill

The blonde waiter was sitting nude in the armchair and living room. “Daphne Blain’s” stockings bound his ankles to the chair legs. His hands were secured behind him to the back of the chair. Their clothing was strewn across the room.

They were both still perspiring. His energy was spent, but Daphne was getting even more energized by the thought of fulfilling her fantasy. All of the sex to this point was really foreplay for what was to follow She brushed aside a wisp of auburn hair and watched him quietly, wondering whether he would have the strength to fight back when she attacked. She studied his hands and feet, which were so tightly bound that the veins were bulging.

Daphne could barely control herself. She was trying to savor the moment. Her first kill. Her true passion. The feeling was indescribable. Her eyes were wide with excitement, filling the room with their malachite glow.

Daphne tip-toed behind his chair to grab her satin stockings. So delicate. So light. So seemingly harmless. So perfect for murder. She wrapped her hands at each end and applied a little tension. They would serve their purpose. A feeling of power surged within her. She sensed it flowing through every muscle in her body. She had suppressed the yearning for so long. This was what she needed. This was what she was meant to do. It would only take a few moments. She would be in complete control. She would take revenge for all of the insurrection of her entire life. The thought of being in complete power over another individual was exhilarating. She was ready

With a rapid swipe of both hands she swung the stockings around the waiter’s neck and pulled so tightly that she nearly toppled the chair. His eyes shot open. Every muscle in his body contracted simultaneously as he attempted to free himself from the bondage. His head lurched from side to side in an attempt to free the stockings from his throat, but she had the position of power. He had no chance.

She was smiling fiercely and even let out a laugh as he gasped for air. The feeling was even better than she imagined.

The waiter’s face turned shades of purple as he struggled to suck air in. Eyes filled with horror implored her to stop, but nothing could stop her now.

She took a unique delight from every second of the struggle. If she waivered for a moment, he might escape. She wanted to enjoy the moment for longer, maybe even give him a gasp or two of air to prolong his fight, but that seemed too risky. His arms fell limp at his side. She continued to hold tension while lamenting the absence of his resistance

After a few more moments the deed was done. The waiter was dead.

Watching her own nude form in the mirror, she walked over to the kitchen and found some grapes for a snack. She was still hyperventilating, less from the physical effort than from the excitement. From this point forward, her heart would race whenever she remembered the feeling of having completely dominated the waiter.

She kissed his forehead, got dressed, and slipped out the door, unseen.

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This is post #52 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).

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Rumors About Conrad Murray Case

Many of you have seen my television appearances regarding the death of Michael Jackson. The case against Conrad Murray, Jackson's physician, will likely gain substantial media attention. The high profile nature of the case has led many experts to speculate that I will be part of the defense team representing Murray. While I have not specifically declined the case, I would like to take this opportunity to dismiss rumors that I have been retained for Conrad's defense. Stay tuned, my faithful followers, for more information on this subject and more television appearances as the facts in the case unravel.

Finding the First Victim

In response to my faithful followers on this website and my fans around the world, I have acquiesced and written my first novel, titled If She Did It. With the most profound gratitude, I dedicate the book to my Yale Law School professors for providing me with the knowledge to represent the otherwise defenseless minions in our legal system.

After extensive bidding by several publishers, the book underwent an editorial massacre with the intent of reducing my sophisticated English prose to sixth grade banter, but the publishers reassure me that this will help make the story intellectually available to the masses. I am now permitted to post the first two chapters as blogs on this website as we prepare to release the full text print version worldwide.


If She Did It, by Horace P. Krouch
Chapter 1: Finding the First Victim

You never forget your first kill.

“Daphne Blain” would only be in town for one night.

She was too beautiful to raise any suspicion, and she was dressed to kill. Her business suit from a long day of meetings was folded and laid neatly in the back seat of her car. (She needed the spare trunk space for later.) Now she was in a black blouse and a red skirt that rode just high enough up her thighs to attract the interest of every man in the bar. She wore black satin stockings, unaware that they would become her trademark. The heels supporting her black shoes were just long enough to accentuate the tone in her legs and just short and flat enough to provide good mobility.

She walked through the bar, glancing from side to side as though looking to meet someone that she knew. The men in the room, and several of the women, gazed in her direction after she passed by and then locked their eyes on her figure. Those who were bolder or had less self-control were sure to get a good look at the front of her as well. Only one or two had the confidence to attract the attention of her mesmerizing malachite eyes.

She already knew what she wanted. She felt an unrelenting restlessness throughout the day. And urge that would not be denied. She needed to find a man that she could control. Someone who wanted to share the rapture. But that wasn't enough. Tonight she would not be satisfied until she killed her newly acquainted lover. Only this would quiet the yearning.

Walking around the room, she could tell that this was going to be even easier than planned. Although she had always fantasized about killing a stranger that she picked up, and had on occasion even visualized the act to the brink of hallucinating, she had never acted on the impulse. Society would prevent her from acting on the impulse. But to hell with society. And to hell with anyone who wanted to come between her and her fantasy. As she looked around the room with all of the potential victims staring at her, yearning for her, she knew it would be easy. She could have anyone in the room. It was just a matter of choosing.

But which one would it be? It definitely had to be someone who was alone. There were enough to choose from. Could it be the one in his early 30s in a gray suit at the corner of the bar? She certainly had his attention. What about the muscular guy at the front table? He would probably put up a fight. More so than some of the others. Probably too much of a fight for her first victim. Maybe the one with a knapsack toward the center of the bar watching all the girls go by. He looked like someone whose absence might not be noticed for a while.

Any of these men would be fun to sleep with and even more fun to kill, but when she spotted the right one, the choice was obvious. It would be the waiter with the blond crew cut. He was looking at her now, smiling. Yes, the waiter was already wondering if he could have his way with her tonight. Perhaps up to a point, but then the tables would be turned against him. She smiled at the thought. He smiled back.

Daphne walked up to an empty table where the waiter was standing with a tray of glasses. She lightly tossed her head to raise a wisp of auburn hair dangling near her eyes and asked if the table was taken.

“Not yet," he said. “Will anyone be joining you?"

“I’m not sure yet," she said.

“Well let me know how that goes,” he said, smiling.

She moistened her lips with her tongue. "I’ll make sure to do that.”

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This is post #50 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).

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