Innocent children turned ruthless murderers...Hate-filled and deeply disturbed...They kill with cold-blooded savagery...Nothing was too good for precious Katy-- sports cars, jewelry, designer clothes. Her father, a successful South Florida businessman, could not resist any of her whims. But when he tried to curb her fast-lane lifestyle, she had him shot through the head while he slept.Behind closed doors of her suburban Chicago home, Nancy Knuckles was a sadistic disciplinarian who, for years, terrorised her four children with religious fanaticism, beatings, and psychological torture, until they finally rebelled with a vengeance. After the oldest daughter strangled mom and stuffed her in a trunk, the kids partied hard, inviting their friends over for booze and rock 'n' roll.Susan Cabot was a beautiful B-movie queen and obsessive mother. Her son Tim-- born a dwarf-- was pumped full of experimental drugs extracted from cadavers to increase his height. When the ex-film star's badly beaten body was discovered in her Hollywood home, little Timmy claimed she had been killed by men using Ninja methods-- before confessing. Killer Kids is Clifford L. Linedecker's shocking true crime book of children who turn to murder.< From grisly crime scenes to tense courtroom dramas, bestselling author Clifford Linedecker goes behind closed doors to unravel the shocking truth behind 10 of the country's most sensational cases.< Killer KidsChapter 1Mom's Beer PartyIt was party time at Nancy Knuckles' house!Her daughters and the other girls were going through Nancy's belongings in her upstairs bedroom and closets, selecting clothing and toiletries they wanted to keep for themselves.Her only son, Barton, was racing down the stairs with a gleaming new microwave in his arms. A card was Scotch-taped to the top identifying it as a present for all the kids, and a bright red ribbon lovingly tied by Nancy still encircled it."Thanks, Ma, for the microwave!" Bart whooped.But Bart was even more excited when he lifted a box from a closet and pulled out an insurance policy on his mother's life. "We're rich!" he yelled.Bart, his seventeen-year-old sister Pamela, and his fifteen-year-old sister Deborah, celebrated with their friends by breaking out beer and whiskey, putting on some rock records, and digging into additional presents their mother had been putting aside in anticipation of the approaching Christmas holiday. Both her girls found new Polaroid cameras, which they quickly loaded with film and began to use to snap pictures.One of their favorite photographs was a shot Debbie snapped of the rest of the gang forming a human pyramid in the front room. The boys were on the bottom,supporting the girls. There was Bart; Pamela's current boyfriend, Dennis Morris; and two of Bart's and Dennis's pals, Steven Wright and David Dukes. The wobbly second row was made up of Bart's girlfriend, nineteen-year-old Cindy Caruso; a fourteen-year-old girlfriend of Cindy's; and Pamela. Another fourteen-year-old girl and Cindy's two-year-old son, D.J., were at the very top.Nancy Knuckles was religious and wouldn't have approved of the boisterous soiree, with all the earsplitting rock music, dancing, boozing, and smoking. But even though she was right there in the front room, she had nothing to say about it. Her petite body, already stiffened by rigor mortis, had been folded up and stuffed in a steamer trunk that the kids had pulled into the middle of the floor.An ugly ligature of strong, braided white twine deeply embedded in her neck had left her face purple and the features frozen in agony, as if she were still gasping for breath.Only a few hours earlier, Nancy Knuckles had one hand on the front doorknob and was holding a bag of aprons in her other hand, preparing to leave the house to begin her three-to-eleven P.M. shift at the Health Oasis, a vegetarian restaurant. Her daughter Pamela had looped an efficiently formed garrote over her mother's head from behind and pulled. As Nancy felt the rope loop around her neck, she lurched around in a half-turn, and for a brief second her startled eyes locked accusingly on those of her daughter. Her lips twisted in what appeared to be a smirk, as if she were daring her daughter to kill her. Pamela responded by jerking the garrote tighter."Die, bitch, die, bitch!" she screeched.Nancy was a small woman, but killing by garrote is not easy, especially when victim and slayer are about the same size. As Nancy's body slumped to the floor, Pamela dropped to her knees beside her, continuing to pull on the braided twine digging into her mother'sneck. Nancy's body spasmed and bounced as she struggled for breath, and the teenager looked desperately Read Less