Meet Harry Fisher

The Beginning

My name is Harry Fisher; I was fortunate enough to grow up in a large house across the River Lune from the Lancaster city centre. It was a five-bedroom Edwardian property which allowed me a room of my own growing up. Built around 1910, its spacious and airy interior has high ceilings with none of the ostentatious facades of earlier homes, just bold red brick and large windows set in gardens that awarded privacy and quiet surroundings. It still stands today in pretty much the same state as when it was built. It was a quiet home life that I shared with my parents and older brother Frank. As we had our own rooms and differing interests, we got on but were never close. The house was clean and well-kept but lacked character and any real identity.

My mother was a withdrawn alcoholic who showed intermittent moments of affection within a sea of indifference towards her family. She remained mostly in her own room, detached from her husband and us kids. A live-in housekeeper tended to our meals, as Father was always too busy to spend time with us. Other than access to his office, which was full of files and work stuff that we had no interest in, we had the run of the place. John Fisher was a huge, imposing man who had an amazing talent for building businesses, and he had transformed a small haulage company into a global operator. He was absent from the home for many weeks at a time, travelling the world, engrossed in his work, and seeking out opportunities to make money and contacts to enhance his business. I still live in the house with my springer spaniel Derick, and my live-in housekeeper Joanna Nelson (the daughter of my housekeeper during my youth) looks after him when I’m working. Frank took the business, as I wasn’t interested in it. I kept the house and agreed a settlement that was more than generous, and Frank carried on growing John Fisher’s empire.

As a child in my parents’ absence, I found solace in books, especially macabre and sinister writers such as Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft. Death and mutilation have always been a fascination to me and were undoubtedly an influence in determining my future. I had my own TV and video player that I watched at all times of the day and night; the more graphic the content, the better. Television horror films were enough to begin with, but I wanted more brutal, explicit content, and I soon discovered non-fiction. This was my real epiphany moment that would shape my life forever. The very fact that the programmes were based on real events was what made them much more compelling. The Boston Strangler, based on Albert DeSalvo, and In Cold Blood were favourites of mine. I craved the notoriety of the killers who eluded the police for years.

Documentaries about murderers, serial killers especially, had me engrossed. I was fascinated by the likes of Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, and David Berkowitz, whose crimes appalled the world yet somehow awakened something inside me. These killers all had one thing in common, though: they were all caught. The one name everyone thinks of when serial killers are discussed is Jack the Ripper, purely because his identity was never discovered. Who was he? Why did he stop? Did he kill others? These unanswered questions made him a phenomenon whose actions transcend those of any other serial killer throughout history. I was ten when I first thought about taking someone else’s life, but I knew I would have to be cunning and creative if I was to become another legend like Jack.

Lancaster

Lancaster was once a bustling harbour town with origins dating back to the Roman era. At its height in the eighteenth century, it was one of the busiest ports in England, importing cargo such as sugar, mahogany, and tobacco. Strong shipping ties with the American colonies brought wealth and prosperity to the area. Georgian architecture can still be seen along St George's Quay, although many of the buildings have been stripped of their original identity and transformed into housing and local government offices.

Lancaster was also synonymous with the slave trade. Thousands of men, women, and children were bought and sold after being shipped down the River Lune. The slaves were thought of purely as a commodity, and many local businessmen became rich and influential because of this fact. Lancaster became unable to cope with the increasing trade, and the river became too silted up to accommodate the ships as they became larger and heavier. The port became redundant as a result, and any later imports had to be shifted down the coast to Glasson Dock.

In 1985, there were still signs of the activity seen in the past, but the area was run-down and unloved. It was here that my life changed forever and my experimentation in human liquidation began. At this point in my life, I had never really enjoyed getting drunk and not being in control, but I have always been fascinated by observing others in differing states of consciousness induced by alcohol. Food consumption, metabolism, lifestyle, age, and anatomy all influence reactions to drink. Mix this with the fight-or-flight mechanics and an individual’s level of aggression, and anything can happen.

It was Saturday the 19th of January, or more accurately the early hours of Sunday morning after a night in a local nightclub watching others unravel, that I decided to walk home down the quay. The river had seen a week of heavy rain, and the water level was far higher than normal; I never noticed the man sitting on the quayside as I approached him. He was slumped on the wall across from the old Pye building and quite obviously under the influence of either drugs or booze, or both. Aware that nobody else was around, I spoke to him but received no reply. When I was next to him, an idea formed that both surprised me and excited me at the same time. We were hidden from view by a stone bridge that leads up to Lancaster Castle. It was a freezing winter morning as I glanced around for a second time to ensure we were definitely alone. I reached across to the man, and a slight push was all it took to send him into the fast-flowing river. He grunted but made no attempt to save himself. The water welcomed him in its frozen arms, and within a couple of seconds, he had vanished as though he had never existed, consumed by the tide, leaving me alone, feeling alive in a way I had never experienced before. As I carried on walking down the quay and climbed the steps to Carlisle Bridge, I expected to hear sirens and the shouts of police as they arrested me, but nothing happened. When I arrived home, I felt strangely calm and soon fell into a deep sleep. The following morning, I vividly remember feeling comfortable with my actions of the previous night and convinced that it was the beginning of an interesting new chapter in my life.

There was no mention of a missing person on the news the following day. Perhaps there was a family frantically ringing round neighbours and friends for information on his whereabouts, a girlfriend getting annoyed because her lover hadn’t arrived for a date, or work being pissed because they trusted him and they felt let down. I imagined a ripple effect had been set in motion that would be felt by hundreds. This did not happen, and two days later, on the Monday morning, a local news channel announced that a body had washed up on Heysham beach. A tragic death by drowning of a drug addict. If anyone had any information about the 25-year-old or his movements in the last 72 hours, could they contact local police immediately? Police were not treating the death as suspicious at this time. Without any evidence of foul play, the police had no reason to believe the drowned junkie’s death was anything other than an accident. The past week had been exciting, and I had experienced a rush of adrenaline that was now disappearing. In the process of killing one addict, little did I know, but I was well on the way to becoming one myself.

One slight nudge had taken a life, and no investigation would be undertaken. There would be no way of discovering where he went in the water, and the icy cold conditions would ensure that the time of death would be impossible to pinpoint. Just another young man succumbing to the ravages of drugs. I was relieved that my impetuous action appeared not to have come with any consequences; however, I was strangely disturbed by this too. A realisation was dawning on me that I needed a police investigation to gain the recognition that is bestowed upon a killer. This gave me an idea that would require a lot of time and planning to perfect. I had to replicate the rush I had experienced on the quay, but next time I would have to leave proof that a murderer was active; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy my achievements.

As impetuous and unprepared as I was, this one act convinced me to study the art of murder in-depth and devise a foolproof way to evade capture. I remembered back to my hero Jack and how I plotted to emulate his notoriety, feeling now was my time to shine. Most murder victims must face a period of recognition when they realise their fate, and I wanted to experience this moment like only a killer can. Adrenaline, excitement, and desire had to be tempered by calculated risk, hours of observation, and meticulous preparation. It wasn’t obvious at the onset of my journey, but something other than that of the murder victims’ demise would satiate my appetite even more and provide me with the ability to totally manipulate another person’s life.

Communication

Speaking my mind without ambiguity has always been easy for me. Words are only a problem if they are misleading or complicated by emotions on behalf of people trying not to offend. If a person is a cunt, I tell them, regardless of how the information is received. I am providing an opportunity for them to evolve and change, which allows others to perceive them in a more tolerable fashion. I see this as doing them a service that they should appreciate. A great many people around the world profess to “want people to say what they mean,” to “not sugar-coat it,” or to “call a spade a spade.” Until you do, then they do not like it at all. For someone extremely literal, this is both frustrating and irrational.

For me to have any chance to carry out my plans without detection, it would be imperative for me to learn how to socially interact more efficiently with others. I am a polyglot, fluent in many languages, with an IQ of around 140; however, these strengths alone would not help me to form relationships with others. To become more amenable to people, I decided to observe others and amend my actions accordingly. This was the reason I chose to experiment with employment.

The money my father left me when I was fourteen allowed me to live comfortably without the need for work, and I could have relaxed and grown old and fat, enjoying a life of excess, but that would not help me achieve my goals. Choosing to work in differing professions and at differing ends of the class divide handed me an insight into others’ behaviour. This experience aided me to create relationships with colleagues and interact in their activities. In the same way that some people leave relationships with lovers when they get too involved, I left jobs for similar reasons, not wanting to create ties that are difficult for me to deal with. Factories, retail, and manual roles were interesting but failed to hold my attention for any length of time. Then I met Wilhelm, an exchange student from Hamburg, when I was doing quality control for a clothing company. I translated for him and his employers, and purely by accident, the perfect career became apparent to me.

Due to my father, the Fisher name carried more than a little prestige that garnered much influence. John Fisher had created distribution networks across most of Europe and had contacts in Africa and North America. He was known for his charity work and had no history of sleaze or corruption that would accompany unwanted publicity. Frank had taken on Father’s role when he died and was proving himself an adequate successor. With Frank’s assistance, I was able to tap into these resources and procure translation work all over the world. I soon gained an immaculate reputation for my skills and standards of confidentiality, and I could pick and choose wherever I wanted to work. By the age of 25, I was able to converse in business and in social circles with people in over ten different languages. It was at this moment that I felt ready to educate myself in my real passion.

Education

Retrospectively, I realised that I had been extremely fortunate that my first murder had not been considered suspicious. A new weapon in the police’s arsenal had been unveiled in 1988, going to change criminal investigations forever. Alec Jeffreys had revealed Deoxyribonucleic Acid, or, as we know it now, DNA fingerprinting. The first case that used the technology centred around the rape and murder of two schoolgirls. A mentally ill teenager who confessed to one of the crimes was also exonerated due to DNA evidence, and Colin Pitchfork was found responsible for the crimes. This would have major implications for thousands of murderers, rapists and paedophiles who had up to then evaded identification. This also meant that I had to consider my approach to murder seriously.

Dr Edmond Locard is considered the father of forensic science and formulated the theory that ‘Every contact leaves a trace’. This had never been more pertinent than after the introduction of DNA testing almost 100 years later. Thousands of cases were set to be proven in laboratories, making it the most significant breakthrough in criminal investigations since fingerprint classification was pioneered by Francis Galton decades earlier. One test could prove categorically that an individual had been present at a crime scene. The test could be carried out using blood, saliva, waste products or any other body fluid or tissue to gain a result. Before this, a blood type could narrow down a suspect pool but could never pinpoint a specific person.

There was also the emergence of criminal profiling by psychologists, based on the examination of past offenders. Even though all this new technology was being heralded as a massive advantage for police, an idea was slowly taking shape in my head. If I could commit murder and evade police scrutiny in an age of DNA and criminal profiling, I could be mentioned in the same conversations as my hero Jack. Billions of pounds, dollars and countless other currencies had been invested in these breakthroughs and Authorities around the world had to make them appear infallible. This was the detail that I was going to try to exploit.

When police investigate any crime, they must follow a tried-and-tested process to solve it. During a murder inquiry, the order is as follows: secure the crime scene; recover all possible evidence for analysis; interview witnesses; identify the victim and cause of death; find a possible motive; then find suspects starting with close friends and family. After that, ascertain who had an opportunity and who had an alibi, right through to potentially pressing charges, arrest, trial and prosecution, all whilst gathering evidence to bolster their case. As a result, I had to make a list of rules I could not deviate from if I was to evade capture. Number 1, no person that I could be associated with could become a potential target. Number 2: keep witnesses to a minimum; preferably, ensure there are none. Number 3, never include another person in my murders or trust anyone with my intentions or past crimes. Number 4, keep no incriminating evidence on my own property. All quite simple ideals, but experience would prove they are incredibly difficult to put into practice.

Murder investigations are driven by a rationale that all perpetrators have a reason for their crimes and follow a certain pattern, referred to as a Modus Operandi (Latin for mode of operation). I wanted to experiment with all manner of death and introduce differing levels of torture and weapons as I saw fit. If I could lead investigators to believe that different offenders committed my crimes, I could distract them from the truth and evade capture. It would be essential to plan and execute my experiments in line with forensic techniques to mislead and manipulate subsequent police investigations.