This woman interviewed her own murderer

This woman interviewed her own murderer

Recorded interview was found on the body of journalist Carys Bruce, revealing that she had questioned the man who killed her, minutes before her death.

By Ryan Stevenson


Young journalist Carys Bruce was on the rise and she knew it – she stated so in some of her last words.


Tragically, Bruce was murdered approximately a month and a half ago, chief of police Gary Dawson has revealed. Her body was found just five days ago, weeks after her death. According to Chief Dawson, she was found with thirty stab wounds centred mainly around her stomach area.


Chief Dawson has also revealed that a tape recorder, believed to have belonged to Bruce, was found on her body by police. Upon investigation, it was found that Bruce convinced her murderer, who remains unknown and at large, to allow her to interview him before he killed her.


SuperBuzz has gained access to the interview recording, and can release it here.


Carys Bruce was twenty-eight years old at the time of her death – in her time as a journalist; she was a regular writer for the Independent, Cosmopolitan and Women’s Health. She also dabbled in poetry, and has work featured in Edward Callaghan’s A Quiet Storm: a Collection of Dreamy Poems. In July of this year, she announced via twitter that she had begun writing her first novel. Details of the novel, including the name of it, were not released to the public.


Bruce’s death devastated family, friends and fans of her work, but she will be remembered by her loving parents, her older brother and those closest to her.


VIDEO: YouTube: Carys Bruce interviews her own Murderer

Disclaimer: this may be shocking and disturbing to some listeners.


The Transcript


(The recorder is turned on and faint crackling can be heard throughout the recording.


A deep breath is inhaled and then sighed out, and Carys begins. It is clear that she is trying to keep her wits about her, but her voice falters.


The voice that answers her is the murderer, who will be referred to as M for the purpose of this transcript.)


CB: Good… *she clears her throat* Good evening, I am Carys Bruce and although I don’t want to die tonight, at this point it seems inevitable.


Eh…earlier today I heard a crash in my flat, and was struck by a man who seemed vaguely familiar – a man I knew I had seen only in passing. Before I could question him, or work out in my mind who he was, what he was doing breaking into my home…Uh, I was struck. Knocked unconscious…


When I woke up, I was here, in this dark little room. I don’t know where exactly it is, but it’s dimly lit, there is a table and two chairs. I am sat in one of them, and across the table is the intruder. The man who wants to murder me.


…I’ve always been a writer…ever since I was a little kid, I wrote for the magazine, in every school I had been in, up until university. I started writing for smaller magazines, then the Independent, and Cosmopolitan. I…I, uh, started writing a book not long ago. It’s hard work but I’m… I was…I was proud of what I had.


I suppose…I’ve always wanted to be famous. I want to be remembered. And what’s more memorable, than interviewing one’s own murderer?


So my murderer, thankfully, has allowed me to do so…Understandably, he doesn’t want any of his personal details, like his name, age, or appearance, revealed.


Let’s get on with this then. First of all, I’d like to thank you again for doing this.


(M’s voice is deep and raspy; he seems calm and collected, if not a little rushed.)


M: (he sighs.) It’s no problem.


(Silence hangs in the air for a few beats.)


CB: So! Am I your first victim?


M: No.


(Another beat.)


CB: How many other people have you…killed?


M: Three. But I’m not telling you anything about them.


CB: I suppose that’s fair. You wouldn’t want anyone to link these murders together. It would increase your chances of authorities linking the cases together…you might get caught. You seem careful; almost expert. When was your first kill?


M: (A chair creaks – perhaps he leaned back) about five years ago…yeah, five years ago.


CB: Well you must have been young; you seem young now, perhaps in your early twe-


M: Careful.


(Another beat.)


CB: Why did you pick me?


(Another beat.)


M: (He lets out a deep sigh.) You’re very pretty…very talented. You said you saw me in passing. I worked in the office for one of the magazines you wrote for a few months ago. I won’t say which one. I’m very attracted to you.


CB: So, your other victims, were they women too? Were you attracted to them?


M: (He snaps.) Careful.


CB: ….Do you have a routine?


M: I stalk. I learn the routine of my prey. You were difficult. You’re a journalist, so no day was ever the same for you. You were with different people every day; waking up at different times; coming home whenever you felt like it. But I noticed something. You called your dad every day. Every day at four in the afternoon. You kept your conversations private, and went home if you could. Today, you weren’t working too far from home. When you left the set for the interview you were doing today, I took the shortcut back to your house. Before you picked up the phone, I broke in.


CB: …You take this very seriously…That’s for sure… that’s definitely for sure… (She mumbles something indistinguishable)


M: We should get on with this.


CB: I’m not done.


M: Ask away, then.


CB: …How many victims are there, in total?


M: You already asked that.


CB: Uh, yeah…yeah, you’re right…uh. How…uh…What was your first kill like?


M: You’re stalling.


(Another beat.)


M: You can’t think of any more questions.


CB:  I can, just give me a minute.

M: There’s no point in dragging this out. No one’s going to save you.


CB: …Is there anything I can do to stop this? Let me go, I’ll delete this tape. I won’t say a word. It’ll be like this never happened.


M: No.


CB: Please, is there anything? I don’t want to die. My dad…you’ve heard the calls…I’m all he has.


(The sound of the recorder scraping across the table. M’s voice is louder; closer to the recorder.)


M: No.



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