He killed and he liked it, no...not just liked it, he loved it. He relished the act. The most precious of moments, that between life and death, gave him an extasy far beyond any flesh-ladened pleasure. No, this was something else entirely. Sometninhg...better. Strangulation was his favorite, or some other slow, dripping death. He liked to see his partners faces.  They weren't victims, oh no, partners. He liked to see at first, just the sheer amazement, the first realization that this man, the man they trusted, the man they thought was "...such a nice guy".  (They had all siad it at one point or another.)  They just couldn't believe he was capable of, well, anything really. Then the horror of death creeping in. It's a beautiful thing, he knows, seeing someone living the last moments of thier life, to know that you can make these momwnts last for hours, minutes, or days even.  The strong ones would last for days.  They fought back, they held on to that last laughable  hope.

He Killed and He Liked It