Back in the Kansas City interrogation room, Sappington had begun to talk — and talk and talk. He offered a detailed and emotional recounting of his crimes. He spoke of how he had drank blood and eaten flesh.
As Sappington's story unfolded, another question arose. What had prevented Sappington from talking in the first place? The answer his inquisitor, Lt. Davenport, believed stemmed from his religious upbringing.
Simply put, "It was shame," Davenport said.
Curiously though, Sappington's god-fearing instruction had no effect on the nature of the voices he heard or how he responded to them. Typically, those suffering from the sorts of delusions Sappington endured attach to them some supernatural significance. They are commands from God or Satan, or both.
Yet Sappington never offered a rationalization — aside from fear of punishment the voices vowed were in store if he didn't act on their commands — as to why he followed their instructions. If anything, it is that logical gap in Sappington's madness which makes his case so unusual.
As controlling as the voices were, telling Sappington when to kill and what to do afterwards, they never selected the victims. That was left to Sappington. And Sappington's methodology was chance.
"The really scary thing is that the victims could have been anybody," Davenport said. "He talked to me about going out on the street...and looking at people, asking the voices in his head 'What about him? What about her?' These people never knew that it could have been them, they could have been killed and eaten."