Ted Bundy: Well, where, I mean, I’m not here to try to impress you one way or another. I mean, I honestly welcome the opportunity to tell someone how I’m feeling, what I’m thinking, what I’ve done. I really am—it’s inconceivable to me that we could touch on things—
Emanuel Tanay: Suddenly, you seem to have gotten sad.
TB: In two hours—oh, well, it’s because I’m really thinking now. Ah, I don’t know if emotional is the word. I’m reflecting back on other interviews with other psychiatrists, psychologist-types, and I guess the sadness or the emotion is due to what I feel is a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am treatment that I was given. And granted, however, that the persons … spent hours with me over the course of months. But still, I felt even after all that time they took with me, I’m afraid they succumbed to their own prejudices, and/or, in a caution, you know—I guess the institutional psychiatrist says, ‘When in doubt, ah, air on the side of safety,’ which is for incarceration, you know. They say, ‘Well, we didn’t get to know this person. You may have the report.’
ET: Yes, I have.
TB: I don’t feel like I know it, and therefore he’s hiding something.
ET: Well you, don’t you think that you have kept me fairly much at bay anyway?
TB: Well, I don’t know how—I mean, we haven’t had a chance. What have I refused to talk to you about?
ET: You haven’t, you haven’t.
TB: And I’m not trying to woo you with words or gloss things over, but there’s a lot—
ET: But you see, only in the last few minutes, you have sort of changed a bit. You are more engaged.
It was my impression that he was experiencing separation anxiety in the manner of a child, as if to say, “Let’s play a little more.” Bundy’s impressive intelligence coexisted with the immaturity of a child whose ability to postpone gratification is very limited.