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“Nice to see you,” he said as he continued holding on to my hand. I could feel his index finger gently caress the inside of my wrist.

As I opened my mouth to say something, he turned and began walking away. After looking back furtively at the locked door, I fell into step behind him.

The visiting area consisted of one large room, sealed off from the guards by steel bars. A small walkway led from there to several smaller rooms designed for privacy. Some rooms were furnished with a table and chairs; others were so tiny there was space for only two chairs. One larger room was designed for an inmate to speak through a partition to visitors on the other side.

I wondered why Gacy and I weren’t meeting in the partitioned room as I’d been told to expect. There was even a video camera there to monitor everything. Before I could ask, Gacy gestured toward me impatiently.

“Come on, Jason,” he prodded, “this way.” Then he led me to the end of the hall, farthest away from the corridor where the guards were supposedly stationed.

He seemed to have arranged the room according to his exact specifications. The space was tiny, even claustrophobic, and he’d placed two chairs side by side so it would be impossible for me to put myself beyond his grasp.

The only other furnishings in the room were a radiator and a piece of wood that looked like it could function as a desktop if we both balanced it on our knees. Gacy’s “log-book”—the one the FBI agent had wanted me to gain access to—lay on the floor. Actually, it wasn’t a book per se, but a massive red file folder labeled “Top Secret Case Files.” I’d shortly learn what its contents included: autopsy results for each victim, a copy of all of Gacy’s appeals to the Supreme Court, and full documentation supporting Gacy’s theory that he’d been framed for the thirty-three murders.

As I took the seat Gacy offered me, I noticed that directly across from our room was a small janitorial room that smelled of cleaning supplies. I could see a mop in there, some rusty chains, a bucket, and a chair. The chair was the only item that looked as if it hadn’t been there for a hundred years. In fact, it appeared to have been deliberately placed there. As I finished getting my bearings, the other thing I couldn’t help but notice was that we were seated out of the range of the video camera that was supposed to monitor our conversation.

“How did the guards treat you?” Gacy asked as he took the seat next to me. “Were they okay?”

“Yeah, they were fine,” I answered.

“I saw out the window,” Gacy said, “it looks like it might be a nice day out today. Probably not as nice as Vegas, though, huh?”

I tried to muster some enthusiasm for this conversation about the weather but I was still trying to figure out why the security camera wasn’t pointed our way. It looked like it might have been deliberately readjusted.

This whole scene was incredible! Whereas I’d expected security to be incredibly tight for my visit, I was now confronted with the reality that I’d be completely on my own. There was no glass partition separating us. There were no guards standing around monitoring the conversation. For some reason, they’d immediately run off, as if they were giving Gacy privacy to do whatever he liked. In fact, as it would become clear, that’s exactly what they were doing.

Over the many years Gacy had spent in the guards’ company, he’d convinced them he was a model prisoner. Further, as a man of financial means, he was in a position to do them favors. Throughout the time I was in Menard, I noticed how close Gacy seemed to be with the guards. He had nicknames for them. He exchanged jokes with them. At one point, he didn’t like what they’d brought him for lunch, so he just sent it back and asked for something else. Incredibly, the guards scurried off to fetch his requested meal, as if they were waiters at a four-star restaurant.

Somehow Gacy had arranged for us to be completely alone during our talk. I assume he told the guards he had a “piece of ass” coming to take care of him.