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True Crime Host (0:32)

Next True Crime Binge it's all a blur.

Ruth Finlay (0:35)

My Aunt Elsa called me and she just said get to the hospital. The doctor came in and told us that there's really not much more that they could do for her and that we need to go say goodbye.

True Crime Host (0:48)

This doesn't happen to people like me. A new True Crime 10 part series from the makers of Sword and scale launches March 3. Subscribe now on Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Casefile Narrator (1:16)

Our episodes deal with serious and often distressing incidents. If you feel at any time you need support, please contact your local crisis centre for suggested phone numbers, for confidential support and for a more detailed list of content warnings, please see the show notes for this episode on your app or on our website. It was getting late on Tuesday, October 15, 1946 when 16 year old Ruth Smock was startled by the sound of a screen door creaking behind her. Ruth had recently moved into a rooming house in Fort Scott, Kansas to attend a larger high school that offered more varied classes than the one in her rural Missouri hometown. Living in the city also allowed Ruth to work part time as a telephone operator for South Western Bell so she could save some money. The problem was, Ruth lived alone and she wasn't expecting any visitors that evening. A chilling realisation quickly set in. She had left the front door unlocked after returning home from the grocery store earlier. An unfamiliar man was now standing in her apartment. The man was tall, appeared to be in his 50s, and was dressed in dirty bib overalls, the kind typically worn by farmers. He greeted Ruth casually, saying hi sis, before reaching for a wall switch and turning off the light. Moving quickly, the stranger grabbed Ruth and tore at her clothes. She fought back and managed to press her thumbs into his eyes. This only enraged him further. I'll fix you so no one will look at you again, he threatened, shoving a rag against Ruth's face. Ruth felt herself growing dizzy and drowsy. Her vision blurred. The last thing she saw before her Eyes closed completely, was the man heating a flat iron on the kitchen stove. By the time Ruth regained consciousness it was 7:30 the next morning. She was sprawled on the kitchen floor, her clothes torn with cuts and scratches across her legs, neck and face. These wounds were superficial. Unlike the injuries to her thighs, both of Ruth's legs bore painful first degree burns which had been branded onto her flesh by the flat iron. Ruth stayed silent on the floor until she was sure her attacker was no longer there. She then called her parents who contacted the police. They deduced that Ruth's attacker had soaked the rag he pressed to her face with chloroform, a sweet smelling anaesthetic before burning her legs while she lay unconscious. Although a physician confirmed that Ruth hadn't been raped, police were certain the crime was sexually motivated. Ruth was brought to her parents home to recover but later moved in with a family friend as the thought of staying in her apartment overwhelmed her with such intense dread that it made her physically ill. Meanwhile the violent incident made the local newspapers as authorities worked to identify the man responsible. By 197731 years had passed since Ruth Smock was attacked. 47 year old Ruth now went by the last name Finley after marrying her high school sweetheart 49 year old edition. The Finlays lived in a modest single storey wood frame house on a dead end street in Wichita, Kansas, 150 miles west of Fort Scott. One warm June afternoon Ed was taking a break from building a patio in the backyard when he suddenly collapsed. Ruth frantically called for an ambulance and Ed was rushed to the hospital where he regained consciousness. In the emergency department it was initially thought that Ed had suffered a heart attack due to the strenuous outdoor work. But doctors kept him overnight for further tests to make an official diagnosis. In the meantime Ruth returned home alone, overwhelmed at the thought of almost losing her husband. She called the couple's two adult sons as well as other family and friends to update them on his condition. As the night wore on, Ruth anxiously waited for an update from the hospital. She kept herself occupied with the television and radio but this only made her anxiety worse. A serial killer had been targeting women in Kansas and the media was obsessed with reporting on the lurid details of his crimes which involved breaking into victims homes and committing gruesome acts of sexualised violence. Being home alone at night did little to calm Ruth's nerves. Every creak and crack she heard only heightened her unease. Then at around 10:30pm the phone rang. When Ruth answered, a male voice on the other line asked Is this Ruth Smock? From Fort Scott, Kansas. The question struck her as odd. Ruth had been married since 1950, and few people in her life knew her maiden name. The only connection she still had to her past in Fort Scott was her ongoing employment with South Western Belle, though she now worked as a secretary in the company's Wichita office. Assuming the caller was an old acquaintance, Ruth confirmed her identity. The man began asking about her past, specifically the rooming house she had lived in when she was 16. He then asked cryptically, do you still wear your brands? Feeling uneasy about his intrusive questions, Ruth cautiously gave vague answers. This irritated the caller, who snapped, look, I know all about that night. Confused, Ruth replied, I don't know what you're talking about. The man then read out what sounded like a newspaper article branded on both thighs by a hot flatiron. Ruth Smock, 16 year old Fort Scott High School girl, was resting today at the home of her parents following an attack upon her early last night by a man police called a sex maniac. The caller continued recounting the violent assault against ruth from over 30 years earlier. While Ruth's physical wounds from that night had healed, the case had never been solved. She had pushed the terrifying experience to the back of her mind, choosing to move forward with her life. It wasn't something she discussed with anyone. Not even her sons knew about it. The caller explained that he worked for a construction company and had recently discovered a stack of old newspapers while demolishing a building in Fort Scott. He claimed he'd found embarrassing stories about three people and planned to call them all, starting with Ruth. The caller told Ruth he knew where she lived and worked and threatened to leave a copy of the article about her attack where everyone in her life could see it. However, he said he'd reconsider if Ruth sent him money. At that point, Ruth hung up the phone. The strange call left Ruth shaken. Not only did it force her to confront a part of her past she had long since buried, she feared the man trying to extort her might show up at her house to confront her in person. Yet the night passed without incident, and the next morning Ruth visited her husband in the hospital. By then, Ed's sudden collapse had been linked to an untreated injury from a car accident the previous year. Although Ruth was relieved to learn that Ed's heart was healthy, he remained in the hospital for several more days to recover. Meanwhile, Ruth nervously waited to see if the ex daughter would contact her again, but he didn't. By the time Ed returned home, life for the Finlays returned to normal. Ruth didn't tell Ed about the caller, choosing to act as though nothing had ever happened. Less than a month later, in early July, Ruth was sitting in her office at South Western Bell going through her Daily Mail, when she came across a peculiar brown envelope. Her name was written on it in childlike handwriting, but there was no address. Ruth realised the envelope must have been hand delivered, as there was no way it could have made it to her through the postal system without an address printed on it. Inside was a yellowed newspaper clipping from the Fort Scott Tribune. It was the same article detailing the 1946 attack on teenage Ruth that the anonymous caller had read to her weeks before. Startled, Ruth tore up the article and threw it in the trash. Ruth's parents had raised her to be self reliant, instilling in her the belief that emotions should be repressed and personal problems handled privately. As a result, Ruth chose not to tell Ad about the harassment. Over the following months, the man called the Finlay home six more times. As soon as Ruth recognised his voice, she hung up immediately. Occasionally, Ed answered the phone only to hear a dial tone. He assumed they were being pranked by mischievous children. Ruth kept the truth secret, along with the fact that her chronic headaches were getting worse. She just hoped the stranger would leave her alone once he realised she wasn't willing to engage with him. By August, two months had passed since the anonymous caller first contacted Ruth. She was walking the streets of downtown Wichita after finishing work for the day, waiting for Ed's shift to end so they could carpool home together. As she crossed the road at the corner of Broadway and Douglas, a male voice suddenly said, you've done a good job at work this week. You can take the weekend off. Ruth realised the comment was directed at her. It had come from a stranger who was walking alongside her. He was tall, lean and appeared to be in his late 40s, with brown eyes and black hair that was beginning to grey. He seemed innocuous, dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt and white tennis shoes. The man tried to engage Ruth in small talk, but she wasn't interested and barely acknowledged him. Undeterred, he kept pace, his questions growing more pointed. You work for the telephone company, don't you? Despite Ruth's clear disinterest, he pressed on. What do you do there? Are you an operator? Ruth remained silent as the man rambled on about his love of gambling in Las Vegas, even inviting her to join him for a trip there sometime. He then began talking about his interest in photography. Annoyed, Ruth turned her attention to the nearby shop windows, hoping the man would take the hint and leave her alone. When it became clear that he wasn't getting the message, Ruth finally said she was waiting for her husband. The man then asked, was are you still married? Fed up, Ruth said nothing. The man's friendly demeanour abruptly changed. He leaned in close and said menacingly, I like your face. I'll see you again. You can count on that. Some people's fantasies are other people's nightmares. With that, he stormed off. Ruth met up with Ed shortly afterward and told him about the unsettling encounter. Despite his wife's unease, Ed assumed the man had been flirting with her and had reacted poorly to her rejection. Privately, Ruth couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that he might have been the same man who'd been trying to blackmail her. But as the months passed, the troubling calls stopped, and the man in the city didn't reappear. Nearly a year later, in July 1978, Ruth was walking the streets of Wichita during her lunch break when a hand suddenly shot out from an alleyway and gripped her wrist tightly. She turned to find the man who had accosted her 11 months earlier. Frightened, she broke free and sprinted across the street as the man yelled, ruth, get back here, you stupid bitch, and talk to me. Ruth darted into a nearby department store, rushed into an elevator, and frantically pressed the button for the fifth floor. When the doors reopened, she hurried out and concealed herself among the shop displays, hoping the man wouldn't find her. As time passed, Ruth's nerves began to settle. Eventually, she left the store and made her way to a payphone. She called her husband, telling him to come and get her right away. When Ed arrived, Ruth finally broke down and told him everything about the harassment she'd endured over the past year. Ed was shocked and upset to learn what his wife had been dealing with in silence. He drove her to the police station to file a report. But the officer the Finlays spoke to never followed up with them, leaving the couple uncertain as to whether their case had been investigated or brushed aside. Months later, Ruth was at home when the mail arrived. An envelope addressed to her in large black block letters caught her attention. Inside was a single sheet of lined paper. It featured the same childlike handwriting that had been on the envelope she received the previous year that had contained the newspaper article about her 1946 attack. Scrawled at the top of the page was the line, fuck you. Fuck the police. Fuck the telephone company. The rest of the letter's contents were a Rambling mess filled with poor spelling, grammar and punctuation. Yet scattered throughout were several complex words that seemed oddly out of place. In essence, the writer demanded money from Ruth and threatened to hurt her if she didn't comply. Ruth showed the letter to her husband and they took it to the Wichita Police Department headquarters. Ruth was certain that she had no connection to her harasser. She was well liked, with no known enemies and couldn't think of a single person who would target her so maliciously. The Finlays were introduced to the seasoned detectives of the Major Crimes Division. Ruth and Ed were surprised that their case had been escalated to such an elite unit. They would soon learn the troubling reason why. Wichita had spent the last three years gripped by fear it had never felt before. The city's first known serial killer had claimed the lives of seven victims, including four members of the same family. The killer had adopted the moniker BTK Strangler, which was short for bind, torture, kill, a reflection of his sadistic method of attack. His crimes made headlines and were a hot topic among locals who lived in a state of perpetual terror, uncertainty and suspicion. By late 1978, police had no substantial leads on who the BTK strangler was, only vague witness descriptions and a series of graphic taunting letters that he'd sent to authorities and media outlets. In them, the BTK Strangler detailed his crimes and sometimes included disturbing, cryptic poems. Most were handwritten in distinct, blocky handwriting. When Wichita's Major Crimes Division learned of Ruth Findlay's case, they noted troubling similarities to BTK's movie. But there were enough differences to prevent an unequivocal connection. Since Ruth didn't appear to be in immediate life threatening danger, her case was relegated to the bottom of the pile of leads the division was sorting through in the larger investigation. A week later, Ruth received another letter filled with similar writing errors to the previous one. This long winded note demanded that Ruth leave $100 under a seat in Ed's pickup, TR park it in a location where the cash could be collected. The author made it clear that they knew Ruth had enlisted the help of her husband, her colleagues at South Western Bell, and even the police. I can tell if anybody is watching me. Don't be a dumb bitch again and blow this. I will have to see you soon if you do. The letter ended with a poem. Wherever you go on water or land you still got to pay or I'll tell about your brand. I am smart and know things to do. You talk to people I despise like police lieutenant and telly spies. Ruth took the letter to the police and soon more arrived, each more erratic, illegible and profane than the last. The writing featured near incomprehensible abbreviations and was sometimes panned upside down, backwards, or scribbled in circles at the corners of the page. The police struggled to make sense of them. Ruth took it upon herself to type out the content of each letter in an effort to clarify and decode them. Though poorly written, the letters contained sophisticated words like prolegomonous, consentaneous, and jactitan, suggesting that the author was more intelligent than they were letting on. Ruth had to look up these words in the dictionary to understand their meaning. She also discovered that some of the letter's elaborate terms, like sanchez and psychosthenia were entirely made up. The author remained fascinated by Ruth's past and frequently mentioned wanting to see her brands, a reference to the burns she had sustained in her teens. She passed her research on to the police, who were grateful for her help but still didn't treat the situation with urgency. At the same time, the troubling phone calls resumed. If Ruth answered, the man simply said Ruth before hanging up. If Ed answered, the caller immediately hung up. One day Ed decided to stay on the line and wait to see what happened. Several minutes of silence passed before Ed was startled by a whistling sound blowing down the line. Who is this? He demanded. An unfamiliar voice finally spoke up. This is the damnedest thing. I was walking by this phone here at the post office downtown and it's just hanging off the hook. Who are you? It was a bust. Whoever had made the call had fled the area. By October 1978, the call stopped. The Finlays were relieved, thinking the man had finally given up and moved on, marking the end of their 16 month ordeal. Foreign Casefile will be back shortly. 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Go to Robinhood.com boost over eight times the national average savings account interest rate Claim is based on data from the fdic as of November 18, 2024 Robinhood Financial LLC Member SIPC Gold membership is offered by Robinhood Gold LLC. Thank you for listening to this episode's ads. By supporting our sponsors, you support Casefile to continue to deliver quality content it was cold and wet in Wichita on the afternoon of Tuesday, November 21, 1978, when Ruth Finlay stepped out on her lunch break to run a few errands. After picking up a birthday card for a friend, she crossed North Market street and was struck by an unnerving feeling that she was being followed. She turned around, but no one was there. Ruth continued on her way when all of a sudden an old blue green 1964 Chevrolet Bel Air pulled up to the curb, blocking her path. A man jumped out of the vehicle and demanded, have you got my money? It was the man Ruth had encountered twice before, this time wearing a denim jacket over a sweater and black framed glasses. He demanded that Ruth get into his car, but she froze in fear, unable to move or speak. The man kicked Ruth hard in the shin, causing her to double over in pain. He then forced her into the back seat of the Bel Air and climbed in beside her. A second man sat behind the wheel. He hit the accelerator and the car shot forward. The car had seen better Days. The tattered back seat was cluttered with junk that Ruth assumed had come from a farm. Gas cans, chunks of concrete, chains and rags. The left rear window was taped with plastic, the passenger door was bashed in, and the dashboard was patched with white tape. As they drove along, the two men talked incessantly, taking long swigs from a bottle wrapped in brown paper that they passed between them. Ruth strained to catch as much of their conversation as she could. She deduced that the driver was called Buddy, but she didn't catch the name of the man who'd grabbed her. The man soon turned his attention back to Ruth and demanded she give him her purse. Ruth handed it over, and the man rummaged through it before announcing gleefully, we've struck it rich. But his mood soured when he found a business card for one of the detectives working on her case. He showed it to Buddy, and the two men exchanged a volley of angry profanities. Without warning, the man struck Ruth in the side of the face with a chunk of concrete, barking, you damn stupid bitch. Ruth sat back, dazed and silent, while Buddy drove aimlessly through the city. She occasionally caught glimpses of her captor wielding a switchblade. Thoughts of escape crossed her mind, but the door handle next to her was broken, and she wasn't sure she'd survive if she jumped from the speeding car. Her purse had been returned, and inside it was a can of Mace, but she couldn't figure out how to retrieve it without the man noticing. At one point, Ruth overheard Buddy ominously say, wait until dark. Her anxiety spiked. When he pulled into the parking lot of the Twin Lakes Shopping Centre, the other man muttered, we'll get rid of her, but not here. Meanwhile, back at South Western Bell, Ruth's colleagues noticed that she hadn't returned from lunch. Calls were made to Ed Findlay and then to the police, but without anyone knowing Ruth's exact location, her situation grew dire. Hours passed and the sun set as Ruth's captors continued driving her around town. All the while, Ruth despaired over what might be in store for her. At one point, the man in the backseat sneered, do you like beer? We'll get some beer and have a party. I'll be real nice to you. By the fourth hour of her ordeal, Ruth finally found the courage to speak up, telling the men that she needed to use the restroom. They laughed at her, so Ruth forced herself to gag, explaining that she would throw up if she didn't get to a toilet. Although they seemed dubious, Buddy pulled up at a small park near West 21st street and Salina, close to the Little Arkansas River. To prevent Ruth from fleeing, the men ordered that she hand over her coat and shoes. Ruth's captor got out of the car and dragged her by the arm into the park, remarking, I'll watch you and you'll watch me. Doesn't that sound like fun? As they walked, Ruth discreetly tucked her hand into her purse, gripping the can of mace. When they reached a small lake, the man released his hold on Ruth so that he could urinate first. As he unzipped his pants, Ruth grabbed the mace and sprayed it at him. The man collapsed in a coughing fit, giving Ruth the opportunity to flee. Barefoot, she darted across the muddy ground, slid down an embankment and crouched behind a large bush. She heard the man yell, you'll freeze if we leave you here. Come and get your shoes and your coat and we won't bother you anymore. Ruth remained silent, her body shivering and her feet numb from the cold. She stayed hidden in the dark until the man stopped shouting and she sensed he had gone. Ruth crept out from behind the bush and climbed back up the small rise, scanning the area for the Bel Air. It was nowhere to be seen. She quickly left the park and ran to a liquor store across the road, yelling, someone's after me. The store clerk immediately called the police, who arrived to collect Ruth and take her to the station where she was reunited with her husband, Ed. Ruth learned that her abductors had stolen her $315 paycheck, a $100 US savings bond and a few other random items, including some stationery. Police examined the park where Ruth had been taken. They found her shoes and coat near the embankment she had fled down, along with footprints showing her escape route. However, the assailants had left behind no other clues. A localised check on every model of Chevrolet that matched Ruth's description was conducted, with each vehicle tracked down and ruled out. Detectives also revisited the 1946 attack on Ruth, travelling to Fort Scott to search for Leeds. In the meantime, Ruth continued to receive long, rambling letters from her tormentor. In one, he enclosed the stationery that was stolen from her purse, confirming that the letter writer and the abductor were one and the same. In another letter, he accused Ruth of deliberately confusing him. He claimed to have mistaken Ruth's sister Jean for her, a common mistake, as the two sisters looked alike. Jean was rattled when she learned that the man had been mistakenly stalking her as well. Ruth tried to reassure her, saying, he doesn't want you. He wants me. Ruth was in A state of despair. Her headaches were now a daily occurrence and accompanied by crippling abdominal pain. Things worsened when the man began leaving letters about Ruth throughout Wichita and writing to the local papers. This thrust Ruth into the spotlight and made the otherwise private and reserved woman the subject of local gossip. The man claimed he was a poet, though people didn't know it. This, along with his habit for penning violent and sexual rhymes, led to him being referred to as the Poet. Sometimes his poems were long and elaborate, other times they were short and simple, resembling children's rhymes. In his writings, he called Ruth a whore, an accusation that seemed completely unfounded. Detectives spoke at length with Ruth and concluded that she was a kind, upstanding, church going woman who was fiercely devoted to her husband. This wasn't a case of a married woman living a secret double life. They could tell Ruth's fear was genuine and that she truly had no idea who the poet was or why she was being targeted. Despite this, the poet continued to imply a personal connection between them, writing, you know in your fucked up mind you are going to die. You don't know when, but you do know why. In a letter to local newspaper the Eagle Beacon, the poet gloated about his anonymity. Good or evil, my secret shall not be known. I unnoticed go my way. I may just prosper for one day. He also scolded the publication for mentioning both him and the BTK Strangler in the same article, warning them not to confuse the executioners again. I am not dangerous, he claimed, just to those who are too dumb to do what they are told. He even sent a letter to a detective overseeing Ruth's case, accusing him of protecting a quote, whore from death. In an effort to generate more leads, the detective appeared on a live radio talk show and described Ruth's ordeal in detail. During the broadcast, Ruth listened closely to each incoming call to the radio station. But none of the callers sounded like her stalker. Each night while Ruth slept, Ed kept watch over the house, hiding in the bushes, armed with a 12 gauge shotgun and a revolver. The Finlays continued to receive letters sporadically into 1979, sometimes as many as two at a time. They tried to maintain a sense of normalcy in their lives, even preparing for their annual trip to a ranch resort in western Colorado on Monday, August 13th. While Ruth was packing for the trip, she realised she needed a new pair of jeans. Putting her fears aside, she drove to Town East Mall and bought what she needed. By the time she finished shopping, it was late and the sun was setting. As she walked back to her car, Ruth was struck by the unsettling sensation that someone was following her. However, each time she turned around, the parking lot seemed deserted with no one in sight. Nervous, Ruth hurried toward her car when a familiar voice called out. Hey, Ruth, I didn't know you were going to make this so easy. Ruth broke into a sprint. She reached her car and jammed a key into the door, but it wouldn't open. She had used the wrong key. A gloved hand appeared from behind her and grabbed her wrist. It was the same man who had abducted her the year before. He pushed Ruth's head against the car and ordered her to get in, tossing a brown paper shopping bag through the partially open rear window. We'll go to a nice little place where it says keep out, he said. Ruth pushed the man away and tried to run, but within seconds, he pulled an 8 inch boning knife from his pocket and stabbed her twice in the back and once in the side. Fuelled by adrenaline and desperation, Ruth scrambled into her car. The man reached through the open driver's side window, but she managed to wind it up quickly, trapping his hand for a moment before he withdrew. Ruth started the engine and sped off, the boning knife still lodged in her side. Blood soaked into the car seat as she fought back tears. Her body wracked with pain, she pulled into a gas station and called the police from a payphone. They urged her to stay put, but terrified that the man might be following her, Ruth got back into her car and drove home. By the time she arrived, her vision blurred and she was on the verge of passing out. Ed rushed to Ruth the moment she pulled up. He gently moved her into the passenger seat and drove to the hospital while Ruth drifted in and out of consciousness. The doctors concluded that Ruth had been incredibly lucky. If the knife had been a fraction of an inch deeper, her kidney would have been punctured and she would have died. The paper bag her attacker threw into her backseat painted a harrowing image of his intentions. It contained clothesline rope, white tape, a red bandanna, and a half empty bottle of wine. After a successful surgery and nine days of recovery under 24 hour police protection, Ruth was cleared to return home. Before she arrived, the police thoroughly examined every inch of the Finlays house and deemed it safe. Not long after Ruth was released from hospital, a detective arrived at the Finlays door. Visibly shaken, he explained that he'd received a call from the hospital where Ruth had been treated. A man had shown up asking specifically for her. A nurse believed he might have been Ruth's assailant. But by the time authorities arrived, he'd already left. Fearing for her safety, police quietly moved Ruth to a safe location. In the days that followed, they kept the Finlays house under constant surveillance. But the man didn't appear. News of Ruth's stabbing made headlines across Wichita, with composite sketches of the offender widely circulated and a $3,000 reward offered for information leading to his capture. At one point, the Poet case generated more tips than the higher profile BTK Strangler investigation. Detectives began looking into individuals with criminal backgrounds that matched the Poet's behaviour. They showed Ruth photos of potential suspects, but she ruled each of them out. At one stage, the investigation turned toward the Finlays themselves. Ed was questioned thoroughly, but he assured the police that he would never hurt his wife. The FBI compared his handwriting with that of the Poet and determined it wasn't a match. Additionally, a medical report ruled out the possibility that Ruth could have inflicted the stab wounds to herself at such an angle and with such force. An independent doctor reached the same conclusion. For a while, Ruth was closely monitored by eight plainclothes police officers as she went about her daily activities outside the home. On some occasions, a detective hid out of sight in the back of her car, armed with a shotgun. Others patrolled the city in unmarked police cars or went undercover, spending weeks lurking through Wichita keeping an eye out for the Poet. But he managed to elude them. In an attempt to lure him out, Ed Finlay posted a coded message in the classified section of the Eagle Beacon. The ad read, poet, tell me what I owe you. It was signed with Ruth's initials, rsf. To Ed's surprise, the Poet seemingly responded to rsf. The price of my service to stay alive can now be settled at 5. The cryptic nature of the message left Ed and the police baffled. The Poet continued to communicate to them through the newspaper, though his messages offered no new or helpful information. As time wore on, Ruth's fear gave way to profound depression. She felt utterly helpless, resigned to the belief that the Poet would eventually get her. The sense of dread grew when the Finlays found another letter from the Poet wedged in the slats of their front porch, marking the first time he'd personally delivered a letter to their home. At night, they began hearing strange noises coming from their garage, leading them to believe someone was lurking there. Then, on Christmas Eve of 1979, their phone lines were cut. Ruth agreed to undergo hypnosis in an attempt to uncover any suppressed memories of her abduction and stabbing. In the first session, she quickly slipped into a trance and recounted the events in vivid detail, even shouting, I want out of the car as she relived the abduction. However, no new insights emerged from this first session. During her second session a few days later, Ruth recalled that her attacker had mentioned something about a bridge over a river near the airfield east of town. Detectives followed this fresh lead and eventually located a bridge matching Ruth's description, but they couldn't determine its relevance to the case. Later, the poet sent the police written instructions to meet him at the bridge, but he never showed up. In another letter, he referred to a box full of things the police would love to find, allegedly near a rocky stream. Officers spent eight hours digging along a dry riverbed near the airfield, but found nothing. The psychologist who had hypnotised Ruth, suggested that the poet might have received psychological treatment or spent time in a state institution. He described the attacker as withdrawn, seclusive, secretive and suspicious. After reviewing the poet's letters, the psychologist confirmed that the author was highly intelligent. A prominent psycholinguist created a psychological profile of the poet, describing him as severely psychotic, schizophrenic, pathologically paranoid, and a loner with a deep sense of persecution. Although he acknowledged that the poet and the BTK strangler shared a highly similar style and pathology, he didn't believe they were the same person. While the investigation kept stalling, the letters to Ruth continued to arrive. One read, you'll not go directly to your tomb. Your mind must give thought. There will be gloom, your face. No more will anyone meet at home, day or night, or in the street. Your mind is beaten dark, forevermore hidden, all because of what you did. This game is fun to plan and plot, but can you stop me? No, you cannot. The poet remained active into 1980, and a new officer in command was assigned to oversee the case. The poet mocked him in a letter writing, there once was a captain who had an asshole for a heart. The Finlays house gate was rigged with an alarm and the police hid a surveillance camera in a birdhouse in the backyard. The wires snaked through a garden hose leading to a monitor on the Finlays dining table, producing a live feed. Police officers worked round the clock to monitor the feed 24 7, but eventually the poet managed to inconspicuously cut the garden hose. In January, Ruth received a call at work. I have a surprise for you in the lobby, the poet said before abruptly hanging up. Ruth immediately contacted the police, who arrived to find a 12 inch butcher knife wrapped in a red bandanna in the lobby's phone. Booth. Two witnesses reported seeing a man matching the poet's description near the booth, but he had left by the time authorities arrived. Two days later, Ruth received another chilling poem. Shut your eyes and think of the 12 inch blade. Will you remember the hole it made? Dream of me and obey my commands. Think of me with a knife in my hands. In February, the poet sent Ruth a strip of red bandanna tied with twine, accompanied by a letter that red here's to you, tender valentine. Red with blood and tied with twine. Nothing too much for a valentine. Gone from here by whim of mind. By this point, the Finlays entire life was consumed by the poet. Much of their day was spent examining their home for letters, attempting to decode his latest ramblings, speaking with the police and worrying about his next move. They barely slept. With Ed reaching for his gun at every creak in the night, the poet went to great lengths to upend every facet of Ruth's life. He sent a letter to a local florist instructing them to deliver a single black flower to her. He wrote to Ruth's bank demanding the transfer of all her funds. He contacted the Kansas Department of Motor Vehicles, falsely claiming that Ruth had been driving recklessly and urging them to revoke her driver's licence. Utility providers received letters requesting that the Finlay household's gas and electricity be shut off. A locksmith was asked to create a new set of keys for their home, while a construction company was instructed to dump a mound of dirt in their driveway. A towing company was told to collect the Finlays vehicles and the health department was falsely informed that Ruth was spreading venereal diseases. The most chilling correspondence was sent to a local mortuary warning them that Ruth would soon be in need of their services. Detectives compared the poet's handwriting to samples from a wide range of sources, but no match was found. The letters underwent extensive analysis, focusing on word choice, phrasing and writing patterns. But these efforts also yielded no results. Chemical testing for fingerprints or saliva on the envelopes came up inconclusive. At one stage, the police received a call from someone claiming to be Buddy, one of the men who had abducted ruth back in November 1978. The man promised to call back, but never followed through. Numerous hoaxes and mentally ill individuals also claimed to be the Poet, further complicating the investigation. In early June 1980, the first letter from the Poet arrived that wasn't postmarked from Wichita but From Oklahoma City, 160 miles to the south. Around the same time, police received an Anonymous tip saying that a man resembling the poet was living in a trailer west of the city, having been fired from his job seven months earlier. Detectives looked into his psychological profile, which appeared to match the Poet's. Hopeful that they finally had a promising lead, they organised for Ruth Finlay to view the man in a police line up. She determined that he was not her stalker. Over a month and a half later, the Poet escalated once more, leaving a bottle of urine on the Finlay's front porch. This was just one of many disturbing items he had placed on the couple's property during his reign of terror. Among the other objects were an ice pick, firecrackers, cigarettes, hair, matches and trash. On several occasions, the Finlays discovered ingredients for Molotov cocktails. Eggs were thrown at their house, broken glass was scattered on their front steps and the lock on their gate was damaged. Ed was horrified when he found a bag containing Fe. The situation reached a horrifying peak in December 1980. The finlays were watching television in their basement one Sunday night when they were startled by the sound of glass smashing. Rushing upstairs, they found that the Christmas wreath on their front door had been set alight, the flames cracking the glass in the door. Ed quickly put out the blaze, then grabbed a pair of garden shears and sprinted down the road, intent on confronting the Poet. But he never caught up with him. Afterwards, the Poet sent the couple a chilling poem written in the style of the famous Christmas classic, Twas the Night Before Christmas. The verses ominously warned of Ruth's impending death. Twas the night before Christmas. And all through the house Ruth wasn't stirring. You're as quiet as a mouse. Your stocking was tight around your neck with care. I hoped the lieutenant would not soon be there. Fearing an attack, a detective spent Christmas Eve at the Finlays home as they hosted a family get together. During the night, the Finlays phone lines were cut for a second time without anyone hearing a thing. Another holiday themed poem alluded to Ruth's seedy past of sexual impropriety. Once upon the night so dreary Premonitions of disaster keep you weary. The whore bore her guilt in her bed of slime from selling her arse and not charging a dime Slept with strangers in evil bed. Enraged demon hunters saw blood was red. All bitches should keep their names and faces secret Defenceless instincts released with demonic sluts Threats, blurred vision and suffering in accuser's cage Umbilical cord connected by seed in a rage. In January 1981, the Finlays phone Lines were cut for a third time, however, after the poet's previous attack, South Western Bell had buried the replacement lines underground and installed dummy wires to prevent further sabotage. It was only those dummy wires that were severed. In February, investigators set a trap for the poet by fitting Ruth with a bulletproof vest and letting her walk around downtown Wichita accompanied by an undercover detective. The poet never appeared, but he wrote a letter after, which read, I saw her Friday, but she was with some other female. This confirmed to detectives that the poet was observing Ruth in real time. In March, the poet threatened to kill Ruth on St. Patrick's Day. On April Fool's Day, he threw pieces of concrete at the Finlays house. By this point, police had investigated over 300 individuals, amassing 14 large binders of information. Weeks were spent surveilling potential leads, examining criminal histories, and executing search warrants. Yet all their efforts proved futile. Despite the significant time and resources invested, the police were left with nothing but the growing pile of anonymous letters. Ruth Finlay kept all of the poet's letters stored in a notebook, telling the press, I wonder how long it takes him to write this crap. He doesn't do a bad job of writing poetry. Some of them are kind of funny. However, she admitted that the contents of some of the letters made her stomach ache, particularly the one sent at Christmas, which frightened her the most. Ed Finlay said of the poet, I don't think he's crazy or insane. I'm sure he's a coward. He knows what he's doing, what the risks are. As time dragged on and the poet remained unidentified, Ruth's mental and emotional health spiralled. She confided in her sister that she felt as though she were coming out of her body, though she struggled to articulate what that meant. Ruth often spent hours staring blankly out of the windows of her home, disconnected from the world around her. The constant anxiety and fear left her body aching with persistent cramps and pains, which she believed were physical manifestations of the overwhelming stress she was under. Ruth was also plagued by vivid nightmares. In one, she reached the top of a stairwell with the poet close behind her, only to find that the door at the top wouldn't open, allowing him to grab her. In another, she was surrounded by police but couldn't get their attention. As the poet closed in. Panicking, Ruth ran into the street only to be struck by a bus. There were also moments where Ruth's sense of reality seemed to slip. She could be going about her daily routine when she'd suddenly feel as though the world was spinning out of control. After one of these dizzying episodes, she woke up on the bathroom floor, disoriented and confused. Privately, Ruth had reached a breaking point and was planning to take her own Life. On Wednesday, October 1, 1981, just over four years after Ruth Finley's ordeal began, her husband Ed arrived at the Wichita Police Department headquarters with another letter from the poet. This one contained a poem resembling Shirley Locke's, a piece penned by the still unidentified BTK strangler in 1978. Ed intended to simply hand the letter over for the police's records and return to work, but instead he was escorted into an interview room, confused and taken off guard. Ed was immediately read his rights. He was then questioned about his relationship with Ruth, from their first meeting to the recent attacks. After he answered their questions, the detectives delivered a shocking statement. We know who the poet is, Ed. Foreign Casefile will be back shortly. Thank you for supporting us by listening to this episode's sponsors.