The Iceman Read Free

me. I had been working on the book for a year and had completed a first draft when I finally got word from his wife that he would sit for an interview. On January 16, 1992, I spent five and a half hours with him, just the two of us locked in the “lawyer’s room” at Trenton State Prison, no barrier between us, no guards in sight. Before letting me in, prison officials had me sign a release stating that I had no official business there and thatif Kuklinski took me captive, no extraordinary measures would be taken to save me. I was on my own.
    When we finally met face-to-face, he was jovial and even told me a joke to break the ice. But when we shook hands, I was very aware that the hand I was holding might have killed up to 100 people. As we entered the room, he immediately took a seat at the table with his back to the door. I realized later that this was a deliberate maneuver. He wanted to watch my eyes to see how often I looked for the guard through the small window in the door. I think he wanted to gauge my fear.
    He told me little of substance in the first two hours. He kept his sunglasses on and evaded my questions. Finally I told him we weren’t getting anywhere and started to pack up, putting away my tape recorder. That’s when he started to talk. Perhaps the tape recorder spooked him. After all he had been burned by ATF Special Agent Dominick Polifrone’s hidden tape recorder. But as he talked, I started scribbling on a legal pad, and the more he talked the quicker I scribbled. I have a feeling he got a kick out of having some control over me.
    I had brought along the letters and newspaper clippings he’d sent and asked for clarification. He talked about many murders, some that he hadn’t put in his letters, but I noticed that some of his descriptions were quick and cursory. When I pressed him for details, he’d just shrug.
    But with other murders, he was expansive. When he told me how he had murdered pharmacist Paul Hoffman, he gave me all the particulars. I suspect he made Hoffman’s murder his most complete story out of spite. He knew the police wanted to recover Hoffman’s body because his widow was desperate to give her husband a proper burial. He told me every little detail about that murder except where the body was. He said he didn’t know.
    Some of his descriptions were so vivid I instinctively believed he had committed the crime. But the sketchier the description, the more I doubted. Some of his stories stood up to close scrutiny. Others remain mysteries … or just fiction.
    One afternoon, months after my visit to the prison, Kuklinski called me at home. He asked how the book was coming along and said if Ineeded more murders to “spice it up,” he might be able to come up with a few.
    I just shook my head. “Richard,” I said, “I have a feeling if I listen to you long enough, you’ll tell me you shot President Lincoln.”
    He chuckled. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
    But despite his boasts and lies, Kuklinski was the real deal. He was without question one of the most prolific and deceptive killers ever encountered by American law enforcement. His story is unique, and my goal in writing this book was to present him without hype or enhancement. The reality of this man’s life is horrible enough.
    I was fortunate to have met many people in law enforcement who generously gave me their time and insights about Kuklinski. Several of those people became good friends, and I’m grateful to know these courageous professionals who stopped Kuklinski and undoubtedly saved the lives of people who would have become his victims.
    The Iceman: The True Story of a Cold-Blooded Killer
is a portrait of a life gone wrong, the one cell out of a million that becomes cancerous and grows to kill. Kuklinski’s wife once pointed out that plenty of people grow up poor and abused in the projects—what gave Richard the “right” to become a killer? There’s no good answer for that. He certainly seemed to