Five minutes dragged past agonisingly without either of us saying a word,

while all the time his dangerous eyes stared into my face. It was as if some alien

creature, an insidious force even, was gently probing into my mind using long,

squirming tentacles of enquiring thought, exploring, touching, sensing with taste

and smell. Then, a secret but twisted smile started to play around Harvey’s mouth. His lips, moistened by saliva, were slightly open, but otherwise his face

was without expression.

This stone-cold serial killer was insidiously fascinating to observe at such

close quarters, for he is the wolf in sheep’s clothing, part-human, part-Antichrist

and the stuff of our children’s worst nightmares. Then he spoke for the first time.

‘Ya, know, Chris, never did I commit a crime then commit another to keep it

quiet. I committed murders to ensure that false accusations of rape would not

occur.’

The ice was broken, and my previous belief, that Harvey lives in a continual

state of denial – a world where he admits some guilt, but not total responsibility

for his brutal and heinous crimes – was confirmed.

As the interview continued, when he did admit he raped and killed a young

woman, it was, so he claimed, as the result of their provocation. He said that it

was always the victim who brought up the subject of sex when he offered them a

ride in his car.

Nowhere can this better be illustrated than in his account of a lift he gave to a

woman, a perfectly respectable 20-year-old nurse, whose car had broken down.

The truth is that he offered to fix her car, but beforehand he explained that he

needed to fetch his tools. He forced her into his car and drove her into the

country where he brutally raped and attempted to kill her by smashing into her

head with a wheel wrench.

Carignan’s account is of course something different, for he argues that she got

into his car of her own free will. His story contains a smattering of the truth and

a bucketful of lies. It is at once disturbing and disgusting, yet offers a fascinating

account from the mind of a homicidal sexual psychopath and fully-emerged

serial killer who, it is believed, may have slaughtered up to 50 women. What

follows is not for the faint-hearted:

She got in and may have been somewhat nervous, but she did not seem

afraid. During the ride we talked about another girl I used to see, one who

had left because I had not given her $30 I had been giving her each and

every week. It was not payment for anything, but a gift. The girl riding

with me said she would never exchange sex for $30 – making it seem she

believed the other woman had and that herself despised her for what the

first woman had done. I tried to enlighten her thinking, but she was

adamant in her statement that she would not have sex for $30 because

those were in her words and not that she would not have sex for money which was my thought at the time.

It was then that I got the drift; that she thought I was offering her the

same amount for sex and she was turning down the offer – but I am not

saying she wanted money to have sex at all. The way the conversation

went it could have been either, that she would not have sex for $30 or she

would not have sex for any amount of money. It was no big deal to me at

the time, so the conversation had no special meaning to me until much

later when I tried to remember everything that was talked about and how

it was said.

When we got to my friend’s place where the tools were supposed to be, I

stopped the car, turned around, and immediately drove away. My friend

had told me if his pickup, a 1973 3/4 ton Chevrolet, was not in the yard, to

not hang around because his sons did not like me. This was a surprise

because I did not know his boys. I had never met any of them. [Carignan

did not have any so-called friends.] Anyway, I drove away and stopped the

car just before driving on to the main road. I put my arm around her and,

although she hesitated, she did move over closer to me when I indicated

with arm pressure that is what I wanted. It was not a pressure that forced

her to move, not a hold that would have moved her had she declined.

Instead, it was an indication of what I would like her to do, and she

complied. I can remember my thoughts as plain as if it was yesterday:

‘She wants it!’ This is spite of the fact that I wondered why she had been

so adamant in denying she would have sex for $30, which in mind could

have been any amount at the time. I slid my arm behind her head, put a

slight, almost gentle pressure on her neck, and she bent down – not

because of the pressure but with her own strength – unbuttoned my pants,

took out my penis, and stroked it while we kissed, until I indicated with the

same kind of pressure that I wanted her to suck it. She did.

When she finished, I told her, ‘Spit that damned stuff out’, when I saw

her sitting there holding the semen in her mouth. She did – but I did hold

on to her in case she wanted to jump out and run away. I was not satisfied

that she was not going to say I had forced her to do what she had done.

She looked at me, giving me a strange smile – like I was a fool for thinking

she would run – closed the door, and I drove on.

While we were starting out I told her, ‘I want to fuck you. I know a

place we can go!’

She asked, ‘How long will we be gone? I must be back by one o’clock.’