Episode Transcript
[00:00:00] Speaker A: Hey, everyone from what's cracking land, this is Jim Phoenix, and today is something we've been working on for a while. I can't believe it. We got the Amazon bestseller in serial killers, like, ever, ever.
And even that at the end of the interview. Yeah, we got an exclusive reading. So without any further ado, hit this.
Hey, everyone, Jim Phoenix here. And boy, am I excited for this next guest because I can say their name, I hope. Cross fingers. Who knows? Rhiannon de Virk. Did I say it?
[00:00:36] Speaker B: Yes.
[00:00:36] Speaker A: Yes. Oh, it's half my battle right there. I am done. I'm gonna retire early today.
We have a very special privilege because this is something near dear my heart. It's. That's almost a pun. Serial killers who killed predominantly men or boys, actually. Right? Was it men or boys?
[00:00:56] Speaker B: A bit of both.
[00:00:56] Speaker C: Yeah.
[00:00:57] Speaker A: He didn't discriminate. And this is not near dear my heart, a necrophiliac, if I am real me correctly. So we've got none other than the author of, and I'll say it right now, the Amazon bestseller, Boy underwater, Dennis Nilsen story. The story of a serial killer.
[00:01:18] Speaker B: Yay.
[00:01:18] Speaker A: And that's the perfect thing. Oh, my God.
I have to say, I love stuff like this. This is, you know, I grew up with the. The Jeffrey Dahmers. Not literally, that'd be weird. But the gacys. This is my. This is my upbringing, you know, like, a lot of. A lot of them lived in the United States, believe it or not. Yeah, yeah. And you get the one that was not the US. So how did you find out about him? What was the. What was the call to write this book?
[00:01:49] Speaker B: I've always been interested in true crime. My dad was interested in it. And, you know, that kind of. Hey, what's this book on my dad's shelf that I probably shouldn't read at this age? Let's look at that, you know, and start to learn about serial killers.
I also had. So we lived quite near to Soham. So the soham girls, when they were murdered, sadly, they were actually quite close to my age. So that really was quite a formative experience in terms of. It's like, okay, I need to know about this topic. How do I keep myself safe? Because this could happen to me, because this has happened to someone near my age, close to my area. Okay.
So, yeah, I think I have a fascination from there of just, like, what have people done to survive serial killers? That's really fascinating to me. What about the people that didn't have survive or escape, you know, what happened with them, you know, things like Ted Bundy introducing himself as a cop or saying, I need help with my car. I'm like, right, okay, put that one in the bank. We avoid anyone who says that, right?
[00:02:56] Speaker A: And that was the error. I was thinking about this today with cell phones, we don't really have that anymore. Or as much. People would break down and you would drive by and you like, oh man, we have to stop. I remember my dad always having this stuff like we have to stop. Like, okay, but that was it. He could just killed everyone.
The guy, not my dad. Well, maybe both. At this point, who knows? But what were the tips that you. Cause this was near and dear to personal to you. What were the tips that you learned? What not to do?
Don't stop for anyone, ever. Yeah, especially in dark roads. What are the tips you have?
[00:03:31] Speaker B: Don't let someone into your house, especially as a woman living on your own or just being alone in the house. Maybe everybody else is out of. You know what I had a couple of years ago, I had a policeman came to my door and he said, oh, we had a report of a noise disturbance in the area. Can I just come in and check that everything's fine? And I let him in and within 3 seconds of letting him in, I was going, what are you doing? This could be a fake police officer that's here to kill you. He wasn't, thankfully. He was real. And he was left because he realized he got the address wrong. But next time, next time he's not coming in.
[00:04:05] Speaker A: There's no more police in this house. Next time. You sound like all my neighbors now. Oh, for different reasons though. But, but that's exactly it. We see things like, oh, I should have done that.
[00:04:14] Speaker C: Right.
[00:04:16] Speaker A: It's the edit out, but you know better. And you making a list of how to stay safe. And does that list change as the technology for serial killing changes, you know, I mean, it's like they have different poise now. It's like doxing. And I guess that serial killer is just being an a hole, but.
[00:04:34] Speaker C: Yeah.
[00:04:34] Speaker B: Or, and also you have to be really aware now I think, of when you, you're nothing because we have certain safeties, like you say, we have our mobile phones. Well, when you're in an area where you don't have signal, maybe like you're in a campground or something, you have to be extra aware of that, I think because we forget that these safety blankets aren't always around anymore.
[00:04:52] Speaker A: No, that's true. A camp area or just the state of Wisconsin in the United States. There's entire states. There's no signal whatsoever. I'm like, how did you guys. My mom had dial up until this month. I'm like, how did you guys do this? Why? Why?
We take that for granted. We take all our connectivity for granted until the minute we move, you know, we lose it. Boom. And the world becomes vastly bigger and very, very scary. We can't just, like, lean on our phones no more. That's. That's good. Always have a backup. Do you have, like, a escape bag or do you have, like, a.
[00:05:27] Speaker B: I have. I usually have, like, an ongoing plan of, like.
And not just serial killers, you know, zombie apocalypse. Like, anything.
But we just moved last year to this house, and it has a giant glass, you know, like, double doors with glass windows to the side in the living room. And I'm like, well, that's it. We're going to die.
Too late.
[00:05:51] Speaker A: Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I know exactly how that kind of, like, fits in your mind because it's like, I have to board this up. What do I. What? Just, like. Is there a bar in your door I can put here? Instead of. That's exactly. It was like, the.
We were doing some safety drills a couple days ago, and, like, everyone's like, oh, this is a good. Like, no, this is a bad room. This is, like. This is a glass wall, guys. You're all dead. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry to tell you there's no way to help you here. Good luck.
That was my official recommendation. Like, and next room where people probably won't die. I don't know. Okay, so we have these things, and we have these things since childhood, and it informs us as an adulthood. So how'd you get from learning about it to writing about it? Because that's the gap.
[00:06:35] Speaker B: So, yeah, so I've been a writer for a long time as well, actually, pretty much from around the same time, I would say.
But I was writing other things. Right. I'm a ghost writer, so I write for other people. And I started thinking, oh, that's what it means.
[00:06:50] Speaker A: I thought you were dead.
[00:06:51] Speaker B: It's not like I'm a ghost.
[00:06:52] Speaker A: Oh, my God. I was like, oh, yeah, that's a totally different show. I didn't know that. Yeah, I was getting my pazuzu out. Like, yeah. So you write, were you? Right for. I used to be ghostwriter, too.
You write for other people without putting your name on it.
[00:07:11] Speaker B: Exactly. So I thought, I want to do that. I want to put my name on something and I can't remember who it was now, but there was a serial killer that died around the time that I was thinking about this.
Ian Brady, maybe. I don't know.
[00:07:25] Speaker C: I can't remember.
[00:07:27] Speaker B: And I went on Amazon that day, and the top ten best selling books were all books about this guy that had just died. And I thought, hang on, I think I see a publicity opportunity here. Okay, who's still alive in prison? Let's get researching.
Turned out Dennis Nielsen was at that time.
[00:07:47] Speaker A: Right. No, that's brilliant. That's absolutely. It's kind of like, not quite right. What? You know? Cause that would imply that you're the serial killer, but write what you're passionate about. Actually, I think that's what it is, the more of it. And if what you're passionate about just happens to be also ranking, why not?
[00:08:05] Speaker C: Yeah, exactly.
[00:08:07] Speaker B: Yeah.
[00:08:07] Speaker C: Perfect storm.
[00:08:08] Speaker A: Wait, wait, wait, wait. Stop the music. Stop the music. That's right. We're haunted MTL. And that means we get exclusives. And one of the cool exclusives we're bringing to you, is she gonna read from her book? That's right. We've got Rihanna doing a book read right now. Hit it, boy.
[00:08:28] Speaker C: Underwater, Dennis. The story of a serial killer by Rhiannon de Verk. Chapter two, the crippling loneliness gets darker and darker as the year goes on. Worst of all is Christmas time. Des sits with bleep and Dee Dee and tries to imagine a life where this wasn't how it always had to be. A life where he could actually have settled down with someone and found some semblance of domestic bliss.
He isnt stupid. He knows that Twinkle was only with him for the security of it all. There wasnt any romance between them, certainly not a good fuck. When they talked, it was Des yelling and twinkle cowering or taking it on the chin placidly. There had never been any reason for him to stay for long.
There have been a few others since Twinkl left, but they all left one way or another. It seems as though no one can stand to be around him for long.
Now Des is about to ring in 1979 alone. He hates it. He cant stand it. The loneliness is like an oppressive force now crushing him with a long and unbearable pain. He is even starting to feel a little detached, going through life as if it is a series of motions only no one is even paying attention to him anymore.
Sleep is good company, but not enough for the only company. Its new years Eve, for Christs sake. Time to get out of here and find some fun.
He heads out. But everywhere is quiet. People are finding fun in their own homes, gathering together with family and friends. Hes had enough of this. Then at last it looks like the Cricklewood arms is livelier than all of the rest. Not his usual kind of haunt. Full of irish republicans for the most part, but itll do any port in a storm.
Des settles in at the bar. He tries not to think about getting passed over for a promotion yet again, or how his union activity doesnt seem to be making any difference. He tries not to think about the cold, empty flat. He tries not to think about the puppies buried in the garden or the family back home in Scotland who he hasnt spoken to in years.
He tries not to think about anything and looks at the boy leaning up against the bar a short distance away, pint of guinness in hand. Des walks over to the smaller boy, casting a gaze over his curly brown hair, his young features, the gentle innocence of him.
Des, he says by way of introduction, holding out a hand.
The boy goes to shake it instinctively. He has rough hands, despite his age. Des pegs him as a teen, though. Hes in here drinking, sure enough. Must be at least 18 then.
Stephen, the boy says, and now the two of them have a reason to go on talking.
It turns out the boy is southern Irish, down in the city for some exploration, talking about things like hes a man when he clearly isnt. Des likes that about him, the cocksureness of it combined with a shyness hidden behind the exterior, a shyness that he might be caught out. They knock back drink after drink at the bar together until it finally comes closing time, closing time on new years.
Not worth thinking about. Going home alone. If he drank himself to death alone tonight, Des knows with a certainty if he drank himself to death alone tonight, Des knows with a certainty no one would find his body until he was stinking and rotten and attracting flies. Probably only then because people in the other flats would complain of the smell. So he invites young Steve back with him, and they go for another drink in the flat. Some rum, some vodka, some more beer.
What do they talk about? Des barely knows the answer himself once they leave the pub. But all of it is revolutionary. All of it would set the world on fire if someone else heard it. They talk about the working class and the government and the trade unions and the workforce. The boy nods his head a lot more. The drunker he gets.
Eventually. Theyre both so drunk they cant even do that. Des suggests they go to sleep, and the boy nods again. They both undress, fumbling with drunk, awkward hands. The boy not even sober enough to feel bashful as he kicks his trousers over into the corner of the room.
Des thinks, looking at him, that maybe the boy isnt quite 18 after all.
They get under the covers, shivering a little when cold skin touches by accident, settling their spinning heads against pillows that will be spinning a lot more in the morning when Stephen is asleep. Des wakes up and looks at him and that feeling of loneliness descends again. It is a crushing despair. He is all alone. And in the morning, what then? This boy will leave, probably at the first chance he gets. Hell just be another ship passing in the night. Another mail floating away from him. No desire to stay.
Suddenly Des is desperate for him to stay. He is driven almost to tears by it. He wants it more than anything he can think of right then. He cant spend another night alone. Not like this. Not at New Year's. This is a time for fresh starts. Not for sinking back into that same old black pit, alone again.
If only there was a way to make him stay.
He pulls the blanket down over both of them, around halfway so he can admire Stephens body and his own. The fire has been on all night, so the small flat is warm enough. Idly, he sits and traces shapes and lines over the skin of Stephens back, admiring how smooth and unmarked it is. He stays that way for hours, basking in it, enjoying every part of Stephen that he can see.
Then it is the morning.
Stephen will be going soon.
Des feels his heart pounding suddenly and arousal stirring. It brings a quick heat that makes him sweat, staring at this unconscious young body, feeling his own body respond. They didnt do anything last night. This body, though, it calls to him.
He glances over at the floor and sees his tie lying there, pulled on top of his other clothes. He stares at it for a little while, sweating, nervous feeling, an excited energy which has never been so strong before. He reaches out and pulls the tie over.
Stephen has to stay for the new year. He has to. Whether he wants to or not. Des wont be alone again.
He slips the tie over Stephen's neck, straddles him and pulls it hard. Stephen wakes up almost immediately, confused, still half drunk and half asleep.
What the. He gets out, but Des pulls tighter and cuts him off. Stephen struggles and they roll together off the bed and onto the floor. But Des has the upper hand. Steven uses his feet desperately to push, trying to move his body further away. But Des is like a dog with a rat. Now he knows he only has to hang on the longest, nothing more. The coffee table goes over the glasses from last night. The ashtray goes an almighty mess and clatter and Stevens head is up against the wall and he has nowhere left to go. He struggles and struggles for a half minute more, getting weaker all the time. Finally he goes limp and Des figures it is done.
He stands up and lets go of the tie. He can feel himself trembling, the exertion and the tension taking away his core. Its all he can do to get his breathing under control. But then he hears a noise and realizes that Steven is breathing again. Too raspy. Short, hard breaths, the breaths of someone trying to fight back to life. Well that wont do at all.
But what next? The tie didnt work. Des thinks for a moment and goes to the kitchen, then pulls out a bucket.
Des thinks for a moment and goes to the kitchen, then pulls out a bucket and fills it with water. That ought to do the job. Returning to Stephen, Des picks him up and drapes his limp body over a dining chair. The bucket of water close by now its just an easy bit of work to move his head into the bucket and hold it there under the water.
Water splashes up and over the carpet. There is d.
Water splashes up and over the carpet, but there is no more struggle, no more movement. Just a few bubbles and it is done.
It is done.
Des looks at him for a moment. His still form, his head still under the water.
This body is his now. This body has to stay.
He lifts the body up and sets it comfortably in the chair, the head lolling back. Water drips from the coals of hair down onto the carpet.
Des stares for a while, trying to get his thoughts in order. He wants to think clearly about what he has done, but it is hard to get a grasp on things.
I strangled him nearly to death. I put his head in water deliberately. I drowned him. I killed him. He is dead, he thinks.
He is still shaking, even harder now. He has killed someone. He has taken this boy's life and turned him into a body. Only he thinks about Stephens family, his mother and father, his siblings, perhaps his friends. He thinks about the police. He thinks about prison and how many years you get for murder. He thinks about what you do with dead bodies and how to get rid of evidence. He thinks about the deaths he saw while he was in the army and how nobody cared at all if you killed someone there. He thinks about the death in his family, his dead grandfather. He thinks about masturbating in front of the mirror and pretending to be dead himself. He thinks about the old man and the powerless youth. He thinks about going to prison for a very long time. He thinks about the mess they have made in the room. He thinks about the coffee table and the glasses and the bucket of water and the water on the carpet. He thinks about the noise. He thinks about the sun rising soon. He thinks about being carted out in handcuffs. He thinks about going to work. He thinks about Stephens family. He thinks about the body.
Finally he gets up and does something. He makes a cup of coffee and drinks it, smokes a cigarette, then another. He decides that he will continue to smoke until the shaking stops.
He clears up the mess, the glasses and the coffee table, working around the body of the dead. Youth bleep wanders in from the garden and starts to sniff around. He cant have that.
Fuck off bleep, he says, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and pushing her away from the body. She complies head down, aware that she has displeased her master.
Des takes the tie from the youths neck and then sits down and looks at him for a long time. He does not move again.
Even if someone had come in he would not have flinched for a single moment. He is contemplating this body, staring at it until he knows what to do.
Something comes to him and he goes to run a bath. With it nearly full. He stops the water and grabs a towel. The towel is for covering the window, which does not have curtains he doesnt want anyone to be able to see.
He kneels down in front of the body and gently pulls it forward over his right shoulder until he is able to lift it. He grasps the thighs of the body to hold it in place and carries it into the bathroom. He slides it carefully into the water and washes it all over with washing up liquid as if completing a secret ritual. The body is limp and floppy and moves strangely, making it hard to keep it steady.
When it is clean, he picks up the slippery body again, pulling him by the wrists. After other techniques fail, he sits it on the seat of the lavatory and wipes it dry with a towel. Now it is perfect.
Des carries the body over his shoulder, back into the main room and lays it on the bed. Des carries the body over his shoulder, back into the main room and lays it on the bed.
He tidies himself up, smoothing away the evidence of their struggle and of the messy bath, and then takes a closer look.
The body has a slightly pinkish tinge to the face. The features are a little puffed up and the lips are blue. The eyes and mouth are both partly open.
Running his fingers over it, Des discovers that the body is still warm to the touch, as if alive. There is a wet mark on the pillow from the water left in the hair.
Des pulls the covers up to his chin as if to tuck him in for the night and sits down to stare at him again.
He is waiting for the knock on the door for the police to come.
He sits and stares at the body so that at least he will have a lasting memory to hold on to when they come and take him to prison.
