Colonel Russell Williams, The 'Great White Shark' Of Sexual Predators (Exclusive Excerpt)

Russell Williams, the former commander of Canada's largest military airfield, was convicted in October of first-degree murder in the sex slayings of two Ontario women, Cpl. Marie-France Comeau, 38, and Jessica Lloyd, 27. He also pleaded guilty to 82 fetish break-and-enters and thefts, as well as two sexual assaults. Williams methodically chronicled and catalogued his crimes, shooting videos and still photos of himself in the act and amassing a huge collection of undergarments stolen from women and girls. Dozens of gruesome photos were shown during his trial. He is currently serving a life sentence in Kingston Penitentiary and can apply for unsupervised release, including day parole, after serving 22 years of his sentence. The Canadian Forces stripped him of his rank of colonel after his conviction.

Excerpted from David Gibb's "Camouflaged Killer: The Shocking Double Life of Canadian Air Force Colonel Russell Williams," Published by Berkley 2011 and distributed by Penguin Group (Canada), in bookstores Oct. 4. Also available in the U.K. This post blends excerpts from multiple chapters.

WARNING: Some content is graphic and may offend readers. Discretion is advised.

Five serene minutes passed as the large shadowy figure towered motionless, looming over the bed of his chosen prey: a pretty young blonde. He admired her petite frame as she slept peacefully, clad only in a pink camisole and pajama bottoms, and was quickly aroused by his own vivid imagery of what was about to occur. His mind raced as his heart pumped furiously.

He didn't understand his compulsion, his need to act out the fantasies that had enslaved him. He just knew that his deviant urges owned him. It was, plain and simple, something he had to do. He was merely a puppet to his perverse sexual desires.

But his choice of victim was easier to explain. She had to be attractive, and she had to live alone. Males were not part of the equation; they were a risk he'd sooner avoid.

Contemplating his next move, as he had done countless times before, he imagined his tender victim's terrified response. He'd enjoy asserting his dominance over his vulnerable prey; her forced submission and eventual surrender to his goal.

He struck her hard on the left side of her head, jolting her awake. The struggle began instantaneously.

Roy Hazelwood, the retired FBI special agent who had first developed the classification system... revealed that Williams was in fact the rarest, and most proficient and dangerous, type of sexual offender, the so-called "great white shark" of criminal deviance. Further to this conclusion, the legendary FBI profiler also provided additional insight regarding those who participate in such acts.

Sexual sadism is simplistically defined as a persistent pattern of becoming sexually aroused in response to another's suffering. It is important to note that it is not the infliction of pain that is arousing to the sadist, but the suffering of another person. The sadist uses pain (physical and psychological) as a tool to elicit the desired responses of obedience, submission, humiliation, fear, and terror. But it is the victim's suffering that is paramount to him.

I must be dreaming, she thought at first. But the pressure, the pain, and the god-awful smell were all too real to just be a mirage.

She soon realized that she was no match for the intruder's merciless strength as he continued to press her head down firmly while lying on top of her. After taking control of her hands, he covered her small face with his right palm to ensure that she wouldn't look up at him. His only fear, after all, was being identified -- and having to suffer the consequences of his sex-fueled rampage.

In the next room, the young woman's eight-week-old daughter was fast asleep in her crib. Deciding that, for her baby's sake, she mustn't aggravate him any further, the young mother decided to try a different approach.

"How did you get in?" she asked, her mind quickly scanning the doors and windows. "I locked the door."

Excerpt continues after gallery.

Insights into some of the possible roots of Russell Williams's behavior were solicited from the policing and forensic psychiatry experts previously introduced. Most shared the opinion that the origin of his overwhelming fetish for women's undergarments was rooted in his childhood and centered around his "stunningly attractive" mother.

As to Williams's contention that the underwear fetish didn't begin until his 20s or 30s (as he told police), the experts all remain unconvinced.

"If you can forgive the pun," says Dr. Michael Stone, "I don't believe there's a 'colonel' of truth to that statement."

Former FBI profiler Peter M. Klismet Jr. agreed. "When he was six to eight, the fetish probably began in earnest," he says. "And because his parents were divorced when he was quite young and he lived with his mother, the source of the fetish was, in all probability, seeing his mother clad in such items around their home. To a young, impressionable boy, this could have been one of the most sexually stimulating things he could ever have dreamed of."

Stone took it a step further. "Many boys of five or six try to walk a few steps in their mom's high heels to see what it's like or get a moment's experience as to what it's like to be a girl," he says.

"Obviously only a tiny minority go beyond that and persist in that kind of preoccupation, emerging in adolescence as transvestites or foot-fetishists.

"But given that Williams's mom was 'stunning' and also cold and distant, maybe that contributed to a deep-seated hatred of women and to his developing a fixation of that sort -- whereby he wondered what it'd be like to be a woman, and/or tried to be his own mom."

Klismet believes, however, that Williams may have become fixated on more than just his mother's shoes or clothing. "It would also be safe to say that Williams had developed what is commonly known as an Oedipus complex, namely that he saw his mother as a sexually stimulating person, and what she may have worn around the home fueled those passions even more," he said.

"Williams would probably have had fantasies of engaging in sex with his mother, probably from the point of puberty on into his early 20s and beyond. However, since those desires were clearly aberrant, and the likelihood of attaining that goal was unlikely, he was able to repress those desires."

Or perhaps he simply redirected them to other women.

He remained silent.

"What time is it?" she tried. "The baby is sure to wake up crying at 4 a.m."

"It's only 1 a.m. Don't worry." Carefully he tucked a chain that she had torn from around his neck while struggling into his pants pocket.

"Are you going to kill me afterward?"

"No," he promptly assured her.

"Promise and everything?" she pleaded softly, using one of her familiar phrases. "I'll do whatever you want, just please don't hurt me or the baby." She wiggled and reached down with her hands, trying to lower her pajama bottoms.

But he quickly slapped her hands away; compliance would be strictly on his terms. He expected her to follow his orders; this was his fantasy, not hers, to direct.

"We can just talk, if you like," she said. "You really don't seem like a bad person. Not like the type of person who would do something like this." She struggled, trying to elicit some sort of human response from the intruder.

"Do you work?"

"No." His tone was firm and dismissive.

"Do you get bored like me? I get pretty bored looking after the baby around here all day. You must live around here, right?" But her questions were ignored.

"Roll over onto your tummy," he commanded as he climbed on top of her buttocks. Pressing down on her back, he struck her hard on her head three times while warning her to be quiet.

"And don't ever try to look at my face," he told her.

He's purposefully deepening his voice, she thought. Maybe the intruder was somebody she knew.

"Where's 'Dad'?" he asked, his voice returning to a calmer demeanor.

"How do you know there's a dad?" she replied cheekily. "I could be a single mother."

He ignored her attempt to turn the question back on him. Predators don't answer to their prey, and he certainly wasn't about to cede such control to somebody half his size.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked, calmly reasserting himself as her inquisitor. She strained to lift her chin from the mattress. "Just a month," she said.

Her boyfriend's family was from the area, she confided to him, but she really didn't like Tweed.

The town was too small, and everyone considered her an outsider.

"I hardly know anyone around here."

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Allison," she replied untruthfully, hoping he would not know that her name was actually Jane.*

His long fingers gently brushed against her temples, weaving their way into the strands of her long blond hair before dropping down to caress her slender shoulders. She flinched in response, abruptly ending his fleeting tenderness.

"I need to control you better."

Grabbing some nearby baby blankets and pillowcases, he demanded she put her arms behind her back.

Jane realized that she was about to surrender any chance of escape. She knew instinctively that she mustn't allow that to happen.

"I won't let you tie me up!" she said firmly.

But her assertiveness was merely a facade; her stomach was in knots.

She knew that she was at his mercy and not in any position to call the shots.

And so did he.

* Jane is a pseudonym, as the name of this victim has been protected by court order. Throughout the criminal proceedings, she was referred to only as Jane Doe.

With a file from The Canadian Press