ON A SWELTERING DALLAS morning in August 1990, Ed got up early and went to work before the sun was up. At his office he began pecking away at his computer. At about six-thirty he called his wife to see if she was awake. He told her things were going well. Then he walked out of his office, got in his car, and began driving.
“I get undressed as I drive,” he later wrote in a detailed journal that was part of his therapy. “Once I’m naked, I pull into an alley, pop the trunk, and lock up my clothes. I get back in the car and drive on. I pull up behind an apartment complex where