A serial killer from N.J. evaded capture for decades. Why he’s just now confessing to more crimes.
There's a theory about how New Jersey native Richard Cottingham, known as the "Torso Killer," managed to get away with killing so many women and girls in the 1960s and '70s.
It was a different era: no cellphones, no license-plate readers and far fewer surveillance cameras. But investigators were also missing something else – the framework to recognize what they were dealing with.
Serial killers were considered rare, and the idea itself wasn't well understood.
"He was a serial killer before we really had that concept of serial killers that we have today," said Peter Vronsky, a Toronto-based forensic historian and author who speaks with Cottingham by phone nearly every day.
"We didn't have profiling. We didn't have DNA and nobody had cellphones," Vronsky said. "Guys like Cottingham could kill at will, and nobody even knew they were out there."
Modus operandi
For years, law enforcement did not connect Cottingham's murders.
Vronsky said investigators had a naïve notion that killers of multiple victims had a modus operandi, an established way of committing their crimes.
"That's not the case at all. He strangled, stabbed, battered, drowned, suffocated," Vronsky said. "He didn't have one method of killing."
Vronsky estimates he's visited Cottingham about 50 times at South Woods State Prison in Bridgeton, where the serial killer has been incarcerated for decades.
The author said he's assisted law enforcement in obtaining 11 murder confessions from Cottingham from 2010 to 2025.
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A former Bergen County resident, Cottingham, now 79, preyed on victims across North Jersey and New York City in the late 1960s and 1970s.
In 2014, Cottingham told Bergen County investigators he had killed women in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, New York, Maryland and Florida.
Cottingham became known as the "Torso Killer" after some bodies were found dismembered, with heads, breasts and limbs removed.
Authorities say he led a double life – working days for Blue Cross Blue Shield and raising a family in North Jersey.
At night, investigators say, he hunted vulnerable women and girls, often attacking and killing them in hotels, motels and other secluded places.
His crimes came to an end in 1980, when a hotel maid heard screams, interrupted an attack at a Times Square-area motel and called police.
"I wasn't stupid, until the end," Cottingham told detectives.
Cottingham was convicted of multiple murders and sentenced to life in prison. He has been incarcerated since 1981, serving sentences for five killings.
No remorse
Investigators have tied Cottingham to at least nine murders, though he has claimed responsibility for many others, perhaps 80 or more.
Cottingham told investigators in 2014 that he had trouble remembering one victim from another. For every person that he killed, he said there were 30 he let go.
"I was out there every night like an animal," he told detectives.
Vronsky said Cottingham has no idea why he killed, noting that he was able to charm his victims "into a position of vulnerability."
"If you ask him why, his response would be, 'Sometimes there just is no why,'" Vronsky said.
Vronsky suspects the murders are the result of a brain injury "as opposed to a kind of behavioral issue."
Searching old newspapers in Bergen County, Vronsky said he was able to confirm that Cottingham suffered a head injury when he was 4 years old.
"He ran into a moving car, headfirst," Vronsky said, adding he believes Cottingham suffered a frontal lobe brain injury.
Researchers in neuroscience and forensic psychology have long noted that the frontal lobes – the brain's executive control center – play a key role in judgment, impulse control and social behavior.
Damage to these areas, whether from trauma, stroke or other causes, can lead to loss of inhibition, poor decision-making and difficulties controlling aggressive impulses, according to medical research.
Some academic research has linked frontal-lobe dysfunction to violent and criminal behavior.
A review published in the Journal of Neurology, Neurosurgery & Psychiatry found that abnormalities in prefrontal brain regions were more common among violent offenders than in nonviolent controls, suggesting that impaired executive function may be one factor in serious antisocial acts.
After all these years, does Cottingham have any insight into the irreparable harm he's caused?
"He knows that for every person he killed, at least five or more lives were disrupted," Vronsky said. "But he does not have feelings of remorse. He admits that."
Cottingham instead has what Vronsky describes as "cognitive remorse." He knows what remorse is, and that he should feel it. But he doesn't.
"So, he's aware. What he's attempting to do is somehow set right in any way he can the things that he has done by confessing," Vronsky said.
Confession
Late last year, Cottingham admitted he murdered Alys Jean Eberhardt in her Fair Lawn home on Sept. 25, 1965.
Eberhardt, who suffered a skull fracture and was stabbed more than 60 times, was discovered by her father, Ross, on the living room floor of their home on Saddle River Road.
Fair Lawn Police Chief Joseph Dawicki said two detectives began visiting Cottingham in prison in the spring of 2021 to build a rapport and try to solve cold cases.
Over more than four years, detectives conducted in-person interviews with Cottingham and developed relationships with two of his confidants, including Vronsky.
In November 2025, Vronsky told investigators that Cottingham was in poor health – bedridden and suffering from a number of ailments – and wanted to confess about additional murders.
Vronsky said Cottingham has long-term diabetes, a heart condition and kidney problems.
He nearly died in October 2025, underwent surgery and decided to start talking about unsolved murders.
Fair Lawn Detectives Eric Eleshewich and Brian Rypkema interviewed Cottinger twice, the last time in December 2025.
During the final interview, Cottingham made a full verbal confession and later signed a written statement where he admitted to killing Eberhardt.
Along with his admissions, Cottingham provided corroborating details leading up to the crime, described the inside of the house, and gave detectives information about Eberhardt's murder that was not publicly known.
Vronsky said Cottingham knew the entire layout of the home, both inside and out.
"He recalled that there was no water in the swimming pool in the back of the house," Vronsky said.
The serial killer had followed Eberhardt, 18, from the Hackensack Hospital School of Nursing, where she was a student.
"He saw her at random in the parking lot. He frequented that area," Vronsky said, noting that two other victims disappeared from the same area.
Cottingham used a fake police badge to convince Eberhardt to let him in the house, saying he needed to speak with her father.
He went on to brutally murder her, stabbing her more than 60 times.
The killer was still in the house when Eberhardt's father came home through the front door, which caused Cottingham to flee through the back door, Vronsky said.
Eberhardt's brother, Lynn, told NJ Advance Media the family is grateful for the confession.
"It's nice that he finally took responsibility," Lynn Eberhardt said, recalling that he had been serving with the U.S. Coast Guard when he was told his sister was dead.
Lynn Eberhardt said he wished his father had lived long enough to learn of the killer's confession. Ross Eberhardt died in 1986.
"We were disappointed that it dragged on. But it's nice to finally have closure," Eberhardt said.
Life in prison
Like many inmates, Cottingham adapted to life on the inside, Vronsky said.
"I wouldn't say he thrived, but he lived in prison, and it wasn't exactly suffering that he was going through," Vronsky said.
"He's very affable, he's friendly, he's got a good sense of humor," Vronsky said. "All those things kept him in good stead with other inmates."
"Of course, that was how he lured so many of his victims as well," Vronsky added.
Today, Cottingham is suffering from a number of ailments that make life behind bars more difficult than before.
"He has lost all control over his own body," Vronsky said. "He can't get out of bed. He's immobilized. He is in pain. He's facing the end, and not in the best of conditions."
"I would say his punishment really has begun only recently as his health has declined," Vronsky said.
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