Dennis Rader was born March 9, 1945. He served in the US Air Force, graduated from Wichita State University with a degree in criminal justice, worked for ADT home security, became a compliance officer for the suburb of Park City, was president of the congregation at Christ Lutheran Church, led Cub Scout troops, coached youth activities, and had a wife and two children. He was a neighbour. A churchgoer. A civil servant. Between 1974 and 1991 he murdered 10 people in the Wichita area: four members of the Otero family on January 15, 1974 — Joseph, Julie, their son Joseph Jr., and their daughter Josephine, who was 11 years old and found hanged in the basement. Then Kathryn Bright, 21. Shirley Vian, 24. Nancy Fox, 25. Vicki Wegerle, 28. Dolores Davis, 62. And Marine Hedge — his own neighbour. He named himself. He wrote to newspapers and police describing his crimes in letters he signed BTK — for Bind, Torture, Kill. He even suggested the nickname himself in a letter to a local TV station in 1974, complaining they had not given him enough coverage. He sent cereal boxes containing crime scene photographs, victim souvenirs, and drawings to media and police. In 1979 he went silent. Nobody was arrested. The case went cold. For 25 years — Dennis Rader lived his ordinary life. Church president. Compliance officer. Scout leader. Father. Husband. Neighbour. In 2004 he could not stay quiet any longer. He began sending packages again. Cereal boxes. More photographs. More letters. More taunting. Then in January 2005 he sent a note inside a cereal box with a specific question: if he were to send a floppy disk, could it be traced? Police ran a classified advertisement in The Wichita Eagle. The ad said: it would be safe to use a disk. They were lying. On February 16, 2005, Rader sent a purple Memorex floppy disk to Fox affiliate KSAS-TV in Wichita. Enclosed with it: a gold necklace belonging to a victim, a letter, and a photocopy of the cover of a novel about a killer who bound and gagged victims. Police analysed the floppy disk and found metadata from a deleted Microsoft Word document still stored on it. The document had been created at Christ Lutheran Church. It had last been modified by a user named: Dennis. Police checked the church website. The president of the congregation was listed as Dennis Rader. Surveillance confirmed his vehicle matched one seen near a previous victim's home. Police obtained a warrant and used DNA from his daughter's medical records to match a sample found under victim Vicki Wegerle's fingernails. It matched. On February 25, 2005, police pulled Rader over near his home in Park City. When asked if he knew why he had been stopped, Rader replied calmly: "Oh, I have suspicions." At the station he confessed almost immediately. Over 30 hours of interviews he described each of the 10 murders with what investigators described as chilling precision. He showed no remorse — only pride in how methodically he had planned each killing. He pleaded guilty in June 2005 and recounted each murder in open court in a flat, emotionless tone. His pastor, Michael Clark, who had used Rader's floppy disk on the church computer a month before the arrest, told his congregation: "The world changed that very moment." He asked officers to repeat the news three times. He could not believe it. Inside Rader's home after his arrest: thousands of photographs, trophies from victims, and detailed journals of every murder. THREE DETAILS THAT DEFINE THE CASE: 1. He named himself. He invented BTK. He complained to media that they were not giving him enough coverage. 2. He was undone by metadata on a floppy disk — a deleted document he did not know was still technically stored. 3. When pulled over, he said "Oh, I have suspicions." — calm, composed, as if he had been waiting for it.