10/16/2012 11:38 am ET Updated Dec 16, 2012

Predator: The Kill

This is the last of a three-part series from the newly published Predator: The Life and Crimes of Serial Killer Clifford Olson, by award-winning Canadian journalist Peter Worthington. Olson died in prison a year ago, on September 30, 2011.The details of Olson's murders have never made public -- until now. [A percentage of the proceeds from the book will go to Childfind.] Read Part One here and Part Two here.


The vodka bottle was nearly empty. Olson drained it and threw the bottle from the car window. Terri's glasses were on the front seat. He picked them up and fondled them as he drove. They certainly were thick. He thought what a nuisance it would be to have to wear glasses. But Terri did look pretty good in them. Oh well. He chucked them out the window as well. In the side mirror he saw them bounce and shatter.

Arriving in Hope, B.C., he pulled up in the parking lot behind the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce. It was nearly deserted. It was early afternoon, and the streets were empty. And hot. Without the car's air-conditioning, it was like an oven. He opened the back door and climbed in with the sleeping girl. He tried to wake her.

"Hey, wake up kid," he said.

She didn't stir.

He nudged her, put his hand on her hip and shook. Nothing. Bolder, he ran his hand over her breasts and down her stomach and over her rump. She still didn't move. He reached forward and unzipped her jeans, and slipped his hand inside her panties. Still no reaction.

Quickly he looked out the car window. The parking lot was empty. Almost frantically, he pulled down the girl's tight jeans and panties. He undid his own pants and pulled them down to his knees. Without wasting time, he sodomized her, roughly, urgently. It was over in seconds. He withdrew, looked around, and the world was silent. It was as if nothing had happened.

He pulled up his own pants, and pulled Terri's jeans back on.

She still hadn't moved and seemed in a deep sleep. He drove the car a couple of blocks to the Royal Bank, parked on the street and went inside to cash some travelers' checks. Ten minutes later he was back out. Terri was in the same position. He drove to Highway 401 and headed back towards Vancouver. Terri still hadn't moved. He began to worry. Suppose he ran into a police spot check? A drunk and drugged teenager in the back seat would be difficult to explain. Maybe he could dump her out?

Some 50 miles down the highway, he noticed a hydro sub-station off to the side. A dirt road led up into the mountains. Sure there would be a deserted cabin up the road, he turned. A short distance along he saw a clear spot of grass, surrounded by bushes. A small creek was nearby, with power transmission lines overhead.

He parked the car and took a blanket out of the trunk and placed it on the grassy spot. He put Terri's purse in the trunk. He then drove the car off the road, out of sight by a small gravel pit.
He tried to wake the girl.

"C'mon Terri, wake up," he said. "We're here, sweetheart, wake up." She moaned, but didn't move.

He pulled her from the car, draped her arm over his shoulder, and carried/dragged her the few yards to the blanket. He laid her on it, face down. She didn't move. He went back and put his watch and wallet in the trunk. He locked the car and returned to Terri Lynn.

He stood over her inert body, staring down, relishing her youth. The air was still, it was as if they were alone in the world. To him, all young people were beautiful. But this one, at this moment, was special. He reached down, rolled her over and undid her jeans. There was now an intensity to his movements. He became impatient. Quickly he stripped her, first pulling off her tight-fitting jeans by the ankles, then removing her socks and panties again. This time he took off her blouse and rolled her on her stomach and undid her brassiere. She was well developed. He rolled her on her back again. She lay there naked and unconscious. She hadn't stirred.

Then he undressed himself. Without any preliminaries, he knelt before her and spread her legs over his shoulders and raped her unconscious body. When he had finished, he began kissing her all over, feeling the softness of her, the smoothness of her skin. He felt she belonged to him, and her silence was acquiescence. Then he rolled Terri on to her stomach and proceeded to sodomize the girl again. Afterwards, he looked around, and saw that all was quiet, except for his own animal noises.

"That was a gorgeous fuck," he thought to himself, and reached in the pocket of the carpenter's apron and took out a six-inch Philip's screwdriver. Then he took the 21-ounce hammer, and looked at them both. He regarded Terri, lying face-down, spread-eagled on the blanket.

He crouched forward and put the screwdriver on the crown of her head. For a second he rested it there, looked at the screwdriver, looked at her, looked at the hammer, as if to see if anything would happen. All was serene. Then slowly, deliberately, he raised the hammer, held it poised above the screwdriver. In one motion he drove the hammer at the screwdriver which instantly and seemingly without resistance, plunged into the skull, up to the hilt.

He was surprised it went in so easily and deeply. Terri still hadn't moved. The man felt a thrill of achievement. He'd exercised his power, his control. He had nothing but good and warm feelings for the girl. He tried to pull out the screwdriver. It wouldn't come. He wriggled the handle back and forth. It was stuck. Suddenly the handle broke off, the blade imbedded in Terri's skull.

Irritated, he put his fingers on Terri's skull, and felt the tip of metal protruding. He got the claw hammer, managed to get a grip on the protruding part, and pried it back and forth until it came out. He was surprised there was so little blood. He was also surprised at how easily the deed had been done. He was even more surprised that Terri was still alive, still breathing deep, regular breaths. Her pulse felt normal.

"Terri, how are you?" he asked, nervously and a little fearfully. He was curious. "How do you feel? Can you hear me?"

There was no answer. Suddenly he was overcome with lust again. He began sodomizing the girl again, not caring whether she was dead or alive. This time she began reaching back, as if to push him off. She seemed to be reviving. He could hardly believe it. How could she be alive and apparently coming to, after six inches of steel had been driven into her skull?

This time when he withdrew from her, he got dressed. He reached down and took off her gold earrings, the gold chain she was wearing, and a ring. He considered sodomizing her again, but thought better of it. He had better get out of here before someone came.

He dragged Terri over to the shallow creek and placed her face-down in the water. He stood on her back shoulders to keep her head under the water. He slipped, and fell into the foot-deep water. Cursing, he put his foot on the back of Terri's neck, and held her head under while a stream of air came to the surface from her face. Then the bubbles stopped. He kept his foot on her neck for a few moments more, then got off. The body remained motionless.

He gathered branches and bits of wood and threw them on the body. He knew that Hydro workers would discover the body eventually, but to casual passers-by, it would be unnoticed. He wrapped Terri's clothing and the hammer and broken screwdriver in the blanket, and put them in the car. Then he checked the area to see if he'd left anything. He drove away.

At the bottom of side road he stopped and cut up Terri's shoes with his knife, and threw them away. He cut up her brassiere. As he drove he threw various items away at different spots -- the screwdriver handle to one side, the blade half a mile later on the other side. He took a side road that led to the river. There he hurled the hammer as far out into the water as he could. He cut up the rest of Terri Lynn's clothes and chucked them in the fast-moving river.

He took the contents of her purse and tossed the cosmetics in, too, then tore up her I.D. and burned it. She had seven dollars and some change. He put the money in his pocket.
He saw a big tree with an opening at the bottom, and here he put Terri's jewelry -- earrings, chain and ring. He then removed his T-shirt, washed it, and used it to wipe off the inside of the car. No fingerprints. He got a change of clothes from the trunk, including underwear shoes and socks, and put them on. The old clothes he cut up with his knife and threw into the river. First he removed the labels.

This job done, he opened a beer, took a long swig, and started the drive back to Coquitlam. On the way he felt curiously relaxed and at peace with himself. Yet he wondered. "What's wrong with me? Why am I doing this? I didn't have to kill her." It wasn't only sex. He got the sex anyway, even though it was better knowing that this was the last act of the girl's life. He liked having secret power over life and death. No doubt about that. Still, he was mildly puzzled why he did it. From the moment he first picked up Terri Lynn that morning, he knew he was going to kill her. It added excitement to sex. And he knew he would kill again.

No point worrying about it now. Perhaps he should take his wife out to dinner-- she deserved a night on the town. They both did. Cheer themselves up, get out of the rut.
These thoughts didn't last long. As he approached Coquitlam, he spotted a self-car wash, and drove in to clean the car more thoroughly. Then he went home. Before going to bed, he put the blanket in the apartment washing machine.

That night, Clifford Olson slept deeply, peacefully, without a care in the world. Terri Lynn Carson was his 10th murder victim.

Serial Killer Clifford Olson