The suspect sat motionless in his cell for days, staring at a fixed point on the wall. He refused food, water, and the services of a court-appointed attorney. It was as if he had truly turned to stone.
Experienced psychologists could make no headway. They ran into a wall of total withdrawal and hostile silence. But Savelly knew that every wall had a weak point.
He waited until the prisoner was on the edge of physical exhaustion. Then he entered the cell alone and sat down across from him. Without a word, he laid out color crime-scene photographs of the dismembered victims.
“They really got under your skin, didn’t they, Andrew?” he asked quietly. “They laughed at you. Looked down on you. Thought they were untouchable and you were nothing.”
That was the moment Kravitz finally cracked. He began to speak in a hoarse, flat, emotionless voice. It was not remorse. It was a manifesto.
For hours he talked about justice and destiny. He insisted he was not a murderer but a cleaner, a man removing greedy predators from a sick society. He described each killing with nauseating precision.
He felt no regret at all. The only thing that truly upset him was the failed attempt on the dentist. Even veteran officers felt chilled listening to him.
They understood they were not dealing with an impulsive brute but with a cold, convinced ideologue. A thorough search of his hideout produced overwhelming evidence. Under rotting floorboards, detectives found a hidden compartment containing the tools of his trade.
There lay the heavy cleaver, still bearing traces of dried blood from his victims. Nearby were spare lengths of cord, rubber gloves, and heavy canvas sacks. But the most disturbing discovery was his collection of trophies…
