WICHITA, Kan. — The FBI man knocked on Kerri Rawson's door 10 years ago.
She looked out from her tiny apartment near Detroit. He was holding an FBI badge.
She almost didn't answer. Her father, a code compliance officer in the Wichita suburb of Park City, had taught her to be wary of strangers, and this one had sat in his car next to her trash dumpster for an hour. She'd called her husband.
But after the FBI guy knocked, she let him into her kitchen, where she'd made chocolate bundt cake. From now on, the smell of chocolate cake would make her queasy.
He asked whether she knew who BTK was.