“This Is My Story”
Cindy Paulson and I first met on May 25, 2023. We were introduced by the wonderful folks at Arrow Media, who were then producing a Mind of A Monster podcast on serial killer Robert Hansen. I was overjoyed to work with Arrow again. They’re total pros, with whom I’d first worked in 2019, for an Investigation Discovery streaming feature, also about Robert Hansen. Their intro pitch went something like this:
Arrow: Cindy Paulson wants to write a book. We thought you'd be perfect for that. Are you interested?
Leland: Of course. I'm working on another book [Kill Brother, Kill Sister] but I'm definitely interested.
Arrow: Ok, I'll put you two in touch.
Leland: Yes, please. (Followed by thoughts of "how am I going to write two books at the same time?")
My first meeting with Cindy was a sketchy Zoom connection — sketchy because Cindy was new to the technology and I wasn’t much better. Since that time we’ve had… 100’s of Zooms. No topic is off-limits. No side trip overly mundane. At this point, we probably know too much about each other. And so it goes… And, no, we’ve never met “in person.” We will. Of course. Most certainly we will.
The Subtleties
But here’s the thing… I have reams of original documents from the Alaska State Troopers, the Alaska Court System and even the State of Iowa [1]. Plus recordings. And taped interviews. That said, few of the fine details make it into the dry reality of official documents. The first revelation: Cindy’s memory of those events is both detailed and crystal clear, even going on forty years later. Of course. Those events are burned into her brain. (I’m remembering what Sgt. Glenn Flothe once said about Cindy: “She’s the best witness I’ve ever had.”)
Cindy speaks of her initial interview at the Anchorage Police Department. Of her escape from Robert Hansen. How she heard voices — the other girls — telling her to “run, run, run.”
So there’s that. This is the stuff that writers and chroniclers live for.
The second revelation(s) are her more familial memories… Of growing up in a medium-sized agricultural town periodically populated by transients and fruit pickers. Of her anomalous family background. A mother that’s not her mother. A sister that’s not her sister. There’s this and much, much more. Cindy takes us there. Takes us inside those rooms, where the whispers are sometimes too loud.
And, yes, for those of you with more salacious ears, she also addresses her slow then sudden entry into what professionals call “the life.” The older woman who introduced her to the men she met in taverns, the one who supervised her first official “tricks.” Her graduation to pimps and johns, with big city Saudi princes standing in stark contrast to back alley liaisons. At key points, Cadillacs and farm tractors blur into each other. And then she’s suddenly in Alaska, oblivious to the looming danger named Robert C. Hansen.
Sample Episodes
- Episode One: In A Dark Room: Cindy Paulson starts her story, raw and unfiltered. We meet her just after she escapes serial killer Robert Hansen’s basement and wanders into the skeptical arms of the Anchorage Police.
- Episode Two: Face to Face: After reading the transcript of Cindy Paulson’s interview with the Anchorage Police Department (APD), Alaska State Trooper Sgt. Glenn Flothe knew he had to find her. Between tears, Cindy finally tells him everything he needs to know. Cindy reveals a key point: if she want with Hansen, she was going to die.
- Episode Three: My Name Is Cindy: Forty years on, Cindy recognizes her critical role in bringing Robert Hansen to justice. As Cindy herself notes, she was put on earth for a purpose: to help put an end to the killing. “After me,” she notes, “no more women had to die.”
We have eight episodes ready to go, with more to come. Cindy makes one promise: she will not sugarcoat anything.
[1] Where a young Robert Hansen was jailed for burning down a school bus barn.
A Note From The Author
Yes, I finished and published Kill Brother, Kill Sister. It’s available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other fine bookstores (paperback and ebook).