“It probably would offend a lot of people… but it was a man who was begging, and pleading, and praying I guess.
The thread that tied the murders together was that they were methodical and heartless. Listen: Why are we all so obsessed with True Crime? Is it the gore? Or the simple attraction of a good story? We deep dive, on Mamamia Out Loud. But on occasion, he would dabble in knives, explosives, tire irons, fire, poison, asphyxiation, and even bare-handed beatings "just for the exercise". Most often, he says, he used guns or cyanide. Years later, he would let them thaw out, and dispose of their remains in nearby rivers and parks.īut it was The Iceman's ever-changing methods for murder that meant he went undetected by law enforcement agencies for decades. After claiming their lives he would chill their bodies in an industrial-sized freezer. Towering over most at 195cm, The Iceman earned his menacing nickname for his method of freezing his victims to mask their time of death. He passed the test with flying colours the stranger was motionless and bleeding out onto the pavement, and he had a full-time job. Only then, they told him, you'll be hired. His application to work for the mob required the completion of one, simple task: Walk out onto the sidewalk and shoot the next man who walks past in the head.
Once behind bars, The Iceman claimed that, between 19, he killed over 100 men on the job. Really, his days and nights were spent carrying out the dirty work of the American Mafia as a hired hit man. Richard Kuklinski's career as a "businessman" was a guise. The man Barbara knew and loved - her Richard - was notorious in dark and dodgy circles by another moniker entirely: "The Iceman." That morning's interrupted breakfast date was the culmination of an 18-month-long undercover investigation into her husband.ĭespite her disbelief, the moment Barbara heard those words, the little things - the things she ignored for decades - all started to make sense. “Richard’s a murderer,” detectives told her simply. Still, on that December morning, when Barbara’s rather ordinary life evaporated into blaring sirens and screams, she never would have guessed what her husband’s job actually entailed. You only knew what he wanted you to know.” It was just understood that that’s the way it was. If he got up at two in the morning, or during dinner and put on his shoes and walked out the door, you said ‘bye’, you didn’t say ‘where are you going’ or ‘why are you going?’. While the details of his work were never shared – Richard strictly kept the office and family separate, never introducing a colleague to his wife – Barbara knew not to ask questions. His career as a businessman had seen them transition from a life of endless bills and struggle to one of middle-class affluence. Another decade would pass before Barbara would tell journalists her husband broke her nose on several occasions. Richard’s volatile temper was something Barbara referred to as “Jekyll and Hyde” when he wasn’t a doting dad, he transformed into a cold and hard man. The lives the pair led with their three children – daughters Merrick and Christin and son Dwayne – were gentle and quiet, except in the moments the patriarch was challenged.
My children were never in trouble – we were perfect… I mean, we had what seemed to be the perfect life, they were wonderful times.” He came back as soon as he could, he wanted to be home all the time, he wanted to be with us all the time,” she would explain to the Conversations With A Killer documentary crew five years later. “If he never had to leave the house he would have loved it. The couple was on their way to breakfast the cafe they frequented every week. It was the week before Christmas in 1986, and their sleepy street in Dumont, New Jersey, had erupted with foreign noise. It was a flurry of inexplicable, unrelenting chaos. Barbara Kuklinski had been happily married to her husband Richard for 26 years when policemen spilled out of unmarked police cars, threw open her car’s doors, and thrust guns at her husband’s head.
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