Pauline Bruno was terrified of the ax man. Like most residents of New Orleans, the 18-year-old had spent weeks reading the morbid newspaper accounts of his attacks. Each home invasion was remarkably similar: The assailant would use a chisel to pry out a door panel, unlock the entrance, and then find the master bedroom. Using an ax—one that usually belonged to his victims—he’d hack and swipe at couples who were sound asleep in the early morning hours. He would take nothing and leave only one clue behind: the bloodied hatchet, caked with gore and strands of hair.
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