It is a sound that sticks in your throat. Imagine picking up a phone and hearing a man sobbing, his voice cracking with a high-pitched, desperate tremor, as he tells the dispatcher he just killed someone. He isn't bragging. He sounds like a terrified child who just broke a vase, except the "vase" is a human being. This was the reality of the Paul Michael Stephani investigation, better known to most true crime junkies and Minnesota locals as the Weepy Voiced Killer.
He didn't fit the profile of a mastermind. He wasn't a "genius" killer. Honestly, he was a deeply disturbed man who seemed to be at war with his own impulses, even if that war was largely performative to garner sympathy or deal with his own crushing guilt. Between 1980 and 1982, Stephani terrorized the Minneapolis and St. Paul area, leaving behind a trail of victims and a series of the most bizarre 911 calls in American criminal history.
The Night Everything Changed for Karen Potack
The horror started on New Year’s Eve, 1980. Karen Potack was just out to celebrate. She ended up beaten unconscious with a tire iron, left in the snow near a Burlington Northern railroad yard. What happened next is what defined this case.
A call came into the police at 3:00 a.m.
The voice on the other end was hysterical. "There is a girl hurt here," the man wailed. He gave the location but stayed on the line just long enough to sound like he was having a complete emotional breakdown. Potack survived, remarkably, but she suffered severe brain damage that changed her life forever. At the time, police didn't realize this was the start of a serial spree. They just thought it was a witness who was exceptionally distraught.
It's easy to look back now and see the pattern, but in the early 80s, DNA profiling wasn't a thing. Information sharing between precincts was slow. Stephani was able to slip back into his mundane life as a janitor and a cook, hiding in plain sight while the "Weepy Voiced Killer" moniker began to take shape in the press.
A Pattern of Unchecked Violence
In June 1981, Kimberly Compton arrived in St. Paul from Wisconsin, looking for work. She was only 18. She never made it past her first day. Stephani killed her with an ice pick near the Twin Cities' bus station.
Then came the call.
"God damn it, will you find me? I just stabbed somebody with an ice pick. I can’t stop myself. I keep killing somebody."
That specific phrase—I can’t stop myself—is what chillingly separates Stephani from many other serial killers. Most enjoy the power. Stephani seemed to experience a bizarre, post-murder "hangover" of regret that prompted him to call authorities, yet he never actually stayed at the scene to be caught. He wanted the world to know he was hurting, even as he was the one inflicting the pain.
It’s tempting to feel a shred of pity for someone who sounds that broken. Don't.
The victims who didn't survive the cries
Two more women fell victim to his rage before the end. Kathleen Greening was drowned in her own bathtub in 1982. Interestingly, there was no phone call after Greening's death. This led investigators to initially overlook her as a victim of the same man. It wasn't until Stephani's deathbed confession years later that her family finally got a definitive answer.
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Then there was Barbara Simons. She was a nurse. She met Stephani at a bar, thought he seemed harmless enough, and offered him a ride or accepted one—accounts of the initial meeting vary slightly, but the end result was a body found along the riverbank. She had been stabbed dozens of times.
The calls continued. "I'm sorry I killed that girl," the voice would sob into the receiver. By this point, the police were desperate. They had recordings of his voice, but no face to match it to. The Twin Cities were on edge. Women were terrified to walk alone, even in broad daylight, because nobody knew who this "weepy" man was. He could be your neighbor. He was.
The Denise Williams Turning Point
Every serial killer eventually hits a wall. For Paul Michael Stephani, that wall was Denise Williams.
In August 1982, Stephani picked up Williams and drove her to a secluded area. He pulled out a screwdriver. But Denise Williams wasn't going to be another name on a police report. She fought. Hard. During the struggle, she managed to crack Stephani over the head with a glass bottle.
She screamed. She clawed. She made so much noise that a passerby heard the commotion.
Stephani panicked and fled, but he was bleeding. He was hurt. And in a move that shows just how deeply his compulsion to play the victim ran, he went home and called an ambulance for himself. He claimed he had been attacked.
When the police arrived at the hospital, they didn't see a victim. They saw a man whose injuries matched the description of the struggle Denise Williams had just reported. The "Weepy Voiced Killer" was finally unmasked as a thinning, unremarkable man with a history of job hopping and a failed marriage.
The Trial and the Final Confession
Stephani was convicted of the murder of Barbara Simons and the attempted murder of Denise Williams. However, due to a lack of concrete evidence at the time, he wasn't immediately convicted of the other murders. He went to prison, and for a long time, he stayed quiet.
The silence didn't last.
In 1997, Stephani was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The doctors gave him less than a year. Maybe it was the fear of what comes next, or maybe it was one last play for the spotlight, but he decided to talk. He contacted the police and confessed to everything: Kimberly Compton, Kathleen Greening, Barbara Simons, and the attack on Karen Potack.
He confirmed what the public had suspected for nearly two decades. He was the voice on the tapes.
He died in prison in 1998. He didn't leave behind a manifesto. He didn't leave a legacy of "brilliance." He left a trail of broken families and a set of audio recordings that still serve as a grim case study for forensic psychologists today.
What we can learn from the Stephani case
Looking back at the Weepy Voiced Killer, the most important takeaway isn't the gore—it’s the psychology of the "apologetic" predator. Stephani used his perceived emotional instability as a shield.
Experts like John Douglas have often noted that killers who contact police frequently have a high need for attention and a distorted sense of their own importance. Stephani wasn't just crying for the victims; he was crying for himself because he knew what he was, and he wanted someone to tell him it wasn't his fault.
Real-world takeaways for personal safety
While the era of the 1980s serial killer feels like a distant memory, the behavioral markers remain relevant.
- Trust the "Off" Feeling: Survivors of Stephani and similar attackers often mention a "creepy" or "sad" vibe rather than an overtly aggressive one. If someone’s emotional state feels performative or mismatched to the situation, leave.
- The Power of Resistance: Denise Williams is the reason Paul Michael Stephani stopped. Fighting back, making noise, and causing physical injury to the attacker changed the dynamic from a hunt to a struggle the predator couldn't win.
- Digital Footprints vs. Analog Echoes: Today, Stephani would have been caught much sooner. Cell tower pings would have pinpointed his location during those 911 calls instantly. However, the lesson remains: attackers often return to "safe" zones or familiar neighborhoods.
- Support for Victims: The survivors of these crimes, like Karen Potack, deal with the repercussions for decades. Supporting organizations that provide long-term care for traumatic brain injury (TBI) and assault survivors is a tangible way to honor those affected by this case.
The recordings of Paul Michael Stephani are still used in training for emergency dispatchers. They serve as a reminder that the person on the other end of the line isn't always who they claim to be. Sometimes, the person crying for help is the one who caused the damage.
To understand more about the evolution of criminal profiling from this era, researching the early days of the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit provides context on how authorities eventually learned to see through the "weepy" act and identify the predator underneath.
The case of the Weepy Voiced Killer is closed, but the importance of vigilance and the study of criminal psychology continues to be our best defense against those who "can't stop" themselves.