Camouflaged Killer by David Gibb Virtual Book Publicity Tour October and November 2011

Camouflaged Killer

Join David Gibb, author of the true crime novel, Camouflaged Killer: The Shocking Double Life of Canadian Air Force Colonel Russell Williams (Berkley Books), as he virtually tours the blogosphere October 3rd – November 23rd, 2011 on his first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book!

About David Gibb

David Gibb David A. Gibb is a respected investigative consultant and journalist, who has developed a knack for uncovering the truth. He spent twenty-five years digging for answers as a private investigator – a career that involved many fascinating cases. Gibb is responsible for finding over 4,400 missing people, and has worked undercover in such challenging environments as a religious cult and a satanic organization. He’s investigated serious and complex crimes, exposed countless frauds, provided VIP security to the rich and famous, and testified as an expert witness.

Prior to becoming a writer, Gibb had also taught in the Law and Security programs at Sheridan College (Brampton and Oakville campuses in Ontario) and at Clarke College (Belleville, Ontario campus). He has been the honored recipient of an Alumni Entrepreneurial Award (2005) from his former alma mater, Seneca College.

As a freelance writer, Gibb has been published in national newspapers and magazines, and has been a regular contributor to EMC Newspapers/Shield Media in Belleville, Ontario. He is most recently the author of Camouflaged Killer: The Shocking Double Life of Colonel Russell Williams, to be published by Berkley Books (Penguin Group USA) in October 2011.

Gibb is a member of the Professional Writers Association of Canada, the Writers’ Union of Canada, and Crime Writers of Canada.

To find out more about David or his work visit http://www.camouflagedkiller.com

About Camouflaged Killer

Camouflaged Killer Chris Astor is a man in his early forties who is going through the toughest stretch of his life.
Russell Williams was a decorated air force colonel in charge of Canada’s largest military airbase. A model officer and an elite pilot, he commanded the respect and loyalty of the thousands of soldiers who served under him. He was widely regarded as an upstanding member of the community, a good boss, a caring husband and a lover of animals. Russell Williams was a man you could trust.But behind the façade of respectability, Williams was struggling with sado-sexual urges that would ultimately prove catastrophic. As he began to play out his fantasies, his crimes quickly escalated from spying on girls and young women, to stealing their underwear, to bizarre sexual assaults, which he photographed and documented in detail. Undetected by the police, his deviant behavior spiraled further out of control and he committed two violent rapes and murders, holding his victims captive and filming them as he subjected them to the most unimaginable cruelty.

Camouflaged Killer is the disturbing true account of how one of Canada’s highest-ranking military officers became the country’s most notorious criminal. David A. Gibb examines the man and the crimes and asks what can drive someone who has everything to lose to commit such brutal atrocities. He questions the police response to Williams’ twisted crime spree, and details his ultimate capture and conviction in 2011. What were the signs that this man would kill, and why did nobody see them until it was too late?

Book Excerpt

C H A P T E R 1
THE BACK OF THE MOON
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.
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 diff erent approach.
“How did you get in?” she asked, her mind quickly scanning the doors
and windows. “I locked the door.”
He remained silent.
“What time is it?” she tried. “Th e baby is sure to wake up crying at four
a. m.”
“It’s only one 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 aft erward?”
“No,” he promptly assured her.
“Promise and everything?” she pleaded soft ly, 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 fi rm and dismissive.
“Do you get bored like me? I get pretty bored looking aft er 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 confi ded to him, but she
really didn’t like Tweed. Th e 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.1
His long fi ngers 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 fl inched 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.

A narrow and winding gravel- covered road leads into the tiny community.
Comprising several dozen rural homes, mostly cottages converted to year-round
use, Cosy Cove is nestled on the shore of a picturesque, heart- shaped
bay. Hidden amongst soaring evergreens, it’s the kind of place one normally
passes while out on a country drive without ever realizing that it’s just steps

1. 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, and that name is also used throughout
this book.

away from the main thoroughfare. Were it not for the ramshackle hand-painted
wooden sign that read “Cozy Cove” (craft ed by a now- deceased
resident who had mistakenly used the American spelling of the word cosy),
even those from neighboring townships would be challenged to find it. Nicknamed
“Geritol Lane” by sarcastic youths of days past, its demographics have
changed in recent years. While there are still many retired residents, today
it is also home to an eclectic blend of blue- collar workers and well-to-do
cottagers. Nearby Tweed, the village hub, boasts a teeming population of
1, 564— a number that includes those who live in this isolated hinterland just
to the east of town.
Separated from the twenty- one homes along Cosy Cove Lane by a dirt
footpath that passes through a small wooded area at the end of the road, the
other residences in the neighborhood— including the home rented by Jane
and her boyfriend— are collectively referred to by locals as “the back of the
moon.” Nobody really understands why.
Jane had moved to the quiet street with her boyfriend and infant daughter
just a month before the horrific late- night home invasion occurred.
Recently separated from the baby’s father, she agreed to move to the area of
her new boyfriend’s childhood home, where they would be close to his friends
and family. It was a safe and friendly community, he had assured her. Aside
from the highly publicized and well- spun Elvis sighting twenty years earlier,
sweet nothing ever happened in Tweed, much less in tranquil Cosy Cove. The
recent opening of a retirement home was one of the biggest news items of the
past year in the sleepy town. Most residents here felt safe enough to leave their
doors unlocked at night, and alarm systems weren’t even on their radar.
Jane was cautious, however. A former bakery worker from the city, the
stay-at-home mom found herself lonely and bored during the week, when
her boyfriend left town to work on the road with a utilities company. When
she was alone with the baby, the days seemed to stretch endlessly. Jane did
not associate much with her neighbors, instead focusing her attention
squarely on the center of her universe: her newborn baby, and the pride of
new motherhood that accompanied the child.
After all, unlike most people on her street, Jane remained an outsider.
A territorial sense of ownership exists in these small communities; one that
is difficult to explain in less than abstract ways. But any city slicker who
leaves the skyscrapers for a simpler life is soon aware of the unspoken cold-
ness offered to those whose family names have not adorned local mailboxes
for at least a couple of generations. Newcomers are inherently distrusted, and
to many, their new community can seem impermeable on the best of days.
Jane was still such a stranger— and it had nothing to do with her personality
or living arrangements. It was simply her lack of tenure.
And so Jane took care of herself. She locked her doors, and routinely
checked them before peeking in on her daughter and retiring to her bedroom
at night.
But she did not lock her windows; an oversight which would prove to
have some dire consequences, since only a flimsy window screen prevented
access to her home and its intrinsically prized possessions.
On the night of her assault, Jane had returned from a visit with her
mother around 9:30 p. m. After tucking the baby in her crib and tidying up,
she retired to her bedroom about an hour and a half later. Unbeknownst to
her, she had earlier caught the eye of a man as he boated past her house on
Stoco Lake. A dangerous man, who would soon be paying her a most unwelcome
visit.
And only an aluminum- framed window screen stood in his way.

Here’s What the Critics Have to Say:

“David Gibb’s Camouflaged Killer is both a depiction and study of one of the darkest figures of contemporary crime, Colonel Russell Williams. Gibb manages with enormous skill to capture the stealth of this murderous rapist as against the upstanding life he led—as a commander of Canadian forces, as a husband, as a boss, as a pilot, as a host to dignitaries, including royalty. It is a testament to Williams’ skill as a deceiver that no one knew what lurked beneath the responsible, even sympathetic exterior, and it is a testament to David Gibb’s skill as a writer and storyteller that we have both sides before us, in all their chilling detail.”

— Joe Kertes, multiple award-winning author

Camouflaged Killer Virtual Book Publicity Tour Schedule

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TOUR STOPS ANNOUNCED SHORTLY

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David Gibb’s CAMOUFLAGED KILLER VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘11 will officially begin on October 3rd and ends on November 23rd.  Please contact Tracee Gleichner at tgleichner(at)gmail.com if you are interested in hosting and/or reviewing his book. Thank you!

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