“I want to be executed. I have to be because I will kill again.” Those words came from Wesley Allan Dodd, January 5th, 1993, Death Row, Walla Walla State Penitentiary, Washington. This is one of the most disturbing cases in American criminal justice history, not just because of what he did, but because of what he demanded.

 Dodd didn’t fight his execution, he begged for it. He waived every appeal, he chose the most brutal method available, and he told the world exactly why. He couldn’t stop himself. Before we continue, I need to warn you. This case involves the murders of three young children. The details are deeply disturbing.

 Court reporters sought counseling after covering this trial. Jurors required psychiatric care. Several had nightmares for years. This isn’t entertainment. This is an examination of systemic failure, predatory behavior, and a question that still haunts us. What do you do with someone who admits they will kill again? If you’re committed to understanding how this happened and why it must never happen again, stay with me through this entire documentary.

 Kindly subscribe to this channel and turn on notifications. These cases need to be documented, studied, and remembered, not for the killer, but for the victims who never came home. William Neer, age 10, Cole Neer, age 11, and Lia Selleck, age 4. Remember their names, not his. Let’s begin at the end, then trace back to understand how America created, released, and finally executed one of its most dangerous predators.

January 4th, 1993, 36 hours before execution, dawn broke over Walla Walla, Washington. Snow covered the farmland surrounding the state penitentiary. Inside maximum security, one inmate was different from the other 1,600 prisoners. Wesley Allan Dodd wasn’t praying for a miracle. He was making sure nothing stopped what was coming.

 At 31 years old, Dodd had spent the last 3 years on death row, but unlike every other condemned inmate in America, he fought against his own lawyers. He refused appeals. He dismissed challenges. He fired attorneys who tried to save his life. The Washington State Supreme Court had never seen anything like it.

 “You look at that camera and tell the nine justices what you really want.” his attorney had pleaded months earlier during a hearing. Dodd’s response was clear. “I want to be executed. I want to waive all appeals, all of them.” The justices were troubled. Was this competent? Was this legal? Could the state execute someone who wanted to die? A panel of psychologists evaluated him.

 Their conclusion shocked everyone. Dodd was completely sane. He understood the finality of death. He understood his rights, and he understood himself better than anyone wanted to admit. Ronald Turco, a psychiatrist who evaluated Dodd extensively, later stated publicly, “He ought to be executed. I don’t say that lightly, but Wesley Dodd cannot be rehabilitated.

 He will kill again if given the opportunity.” Even his own therapist recommended execution, but why? Why would someone choose death? The answer lies in understanding what Wesley Allan Dodd was and what he’d done. The Washington State Clemency and Pardons Board convened in Olympia. Two religious organizations had submitted last-minute pleas for mercy.

 The Catholic Archdiocese of Seattle and a coalition of Methodist churches argued that execution, regardless of the crime, was morally wrong. They weren’t arguing Dodd’s innocence. They couldn’t. The evidence was overwhelming. Instead, they argued principle. The state shouldn’t kill, even when the condemned wants to die. The board reviewed the case files, the crime scene photographs, the diary entries, the victim statements.

The families of William and Cole Mira attended. Robert Near, the boys’ father, sat in the front row, his face lined with 3 years of grief and anger. The board deliberated for less than an hour, clemency denied unanimously. Governor Booth Gardner issued a statement that afternoon, “I have personally reviewed this case. I’ve read the documents.

 I’ve seen the evidence. I am sickened by this individual. The sentence will be carried out as ordered by the court.” The execution was now inevitable. Less than 13 hours remained. To understand January 5th, 1993, we must go back to July 3rd, 1961. Wesley Allan Dodd was born in Toppenish, Washington, a small town in Yakima County. His parents were working class.

His father held various jobs. His mother stayed home with Wesley and his siblings. By all external measures, the family appeared normal. They weren’t wealthy, but they weren’t impoverished. There was food, clothing, and shelter. But according to Dodd’s younger sister, Cathy, something fundamental was missing.

 In interviews conducted after her brother’s arrest, she described their childhood. “We weren’t beaten. We weren’t starved. We had what we needed physically, but there was no warmth, no affection. I can’t remember our parents ever hugging us or saying they loved us.” Dodd himself would later describe feeling emotionally abandoned. In psychiatric evaluations, he claimed his father was distant and critical.

 His mother was emotionally unavailable. He felt invisible. Whether this caused his deviance or simply failed to prevent it remains debated. What’s not debatable is what happened next. In 1974, Wesley Allan Dodd exposed himself to a young girl in his neighborhood. When confronted, he claimed it was a dare. His parents were notified.

 No formal charges were filed. It happened again 6 months later and again. By 1976, Dodd’s behavior had escalated. He was arrested for exposing himself to children near a local park. This time, the police were involved. A juvenile court judge ordered counseling. Dodd attended exactly three sessions before quitting, there were no consequences.

Over the next 16 years, a horrifying pattern emerged. 1981, arrested for attempting to abduct a young boy, sentenced to probation and treatment, released after completing a brief outpatient program. 1982, arrested for molesting children at a public pool, sentenced to court-ordered therapy, completed 4 months, released.

 1984, arrested for molesting his own cousin, the family declined to press charges to avoid public shame, no jail time. 1987, arrested in Kitsap County for molesting multiple children at a park, prosecutors recommended a substantial prison sentence, the judge sentenced him to 120 days with credit for time served.

 Dodd was released after just 19 days, each time Dodd promised to change, each time evaluators recommended treatment instead of incarceration, each time the system believed rehabilitation was possible, each time they were catastrophically wrong. “I liked what I did,” Dodd later admitted in a police interview.

 “Every single time I entered treatment, I continued offending. I never stopped, not once.” By his own count, Wesley Allan Dodd molested or attempted to molest over 50 children between ages 13 and 28. The exact number will never be known. Sometime in early 1989, Dodd began keeping a detailed diary. He later told psychologists that the diary served two purposes, planning future crimes and reliving past ones.

 “Just writing it down was exciting,” he said. “I would read back over what I’d done and feel the same rush.” He called his crimes incidents. He numbered his victims. He recorded dates, times, and locations like a businessman logging appointments. Psychiatrists would later identify this as extreme narcissistic and sadistic personality disorder.

 Dodd didn’t feel remorse, he felt pride. He was documenting his work. By summer 1989, the diary entries revealed escalation. Dodd was no longer satisfied with molestation. He began planning abductions, extended captivity, and eventually, murder. On September 4th, 1989, fantasy became reality. September 4th, 1989, Labor Day.

 David Douglas Park, Vancouver, Washington. It was supposed to be a perfect late summer day. Families gathered for picnics. Children played on swings and slides. Teenagers rode bikes along the trails. William Neer, aged 10, and his younger brother Cole, aged 11, asked their parents if they could ride their bikes to the park.

 It was less than a mile from home. They’d been there dozens of times. Their mother, Claire Neer, agreed. “Be home before dark,” she told them. The boys pedaled toward the park around 6:30 p.m. Wesley Allan Dodd was already there. He’d been watching the park for over an hour. His diary tucked in his pocket. He was looking for a specific type of victim, young, male, isolated.

 When William and Cole arrived, Dodd saw his opportunity. He approached the brothers with a story. He told them he’d lost his young son somewhere in the wooded area of the park. Would they help him look? William and Cole were good kids, helpful, trusting. They followed Dodd into the trees. What happened next is almost unbearable to describe.

 Dodd attacked both boys with a knife. He stabbed William multiple times. When Cole tried to run, Dodd caught him and stabbed him as well. Both boys died in those woods. Dodd later told police he watched them die. Then he calmly walked out of the park, returned to his car, and drove home. That night, he wrote about it in his diary.

 He described the attacks in graphic detail. He rated his own performance. He noted what he would do differently next time. When William and Cole didn’t come home by dark, Claire Neer began calling neighbors. By 9:00 p.m. she contacted police. Officers searched the park with flashlights. At 11:47 p.m.

 they found the boys’ bikes abandoned near the edge of the woods. At 1:15 a.m. on September 5th, they found William and Cole’s bodies. The Vancouver Police Department had no physical evidence, no witnesses, no suspect. The community was terrified. Parents kept their children inside. Parks were empty. The investigation stalled and Westley Allan Dodd was already planning his next victim.

 October 29th, 1989, Richmond School Playground, Portland, Oregon. Lee Iseli was 4 years old. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a bright smile. He loved playing outside. That evening, Lee was playing near his apartment complex while his mother, Roberta Iseli, was inside with Lee’s siblings. The area was considered safe. Families lived there.

Children played there every day. Westley Allan Dodd had been watching the playground for weeks and around 6:00 p.m. Dodd approached Lee. He told the boy he had toys at his apartment nearby. Would Lee like to see them? Lee, trusting and curious, followed. Dodd drove Lee to his apartment in Vancouver, Washington, about 10 miles away.

 What happened over the next several hours represents some of the most disturbing evidence ever presented in a Washington State courtroom. Dodd tortured Lee Iseli. He photographed him. He documented everything in his diary. Early the next morning, Dodd murdered Lee. He placed the child’s body in a homemade sleeping bag and drove to a remote area near Vancouver Lake.

 He disposed of Lee’s body in thick brush, believing it wouldn’t be found. Then he went to work. He clocked in at his security job at 6:00 a.m. as if nothing had happened. Roberta Iseli reported her son missing within an hour. Portland police immediately launched a search. They distributed flyers.

 They canvassed the neighborhood. On November 1st, 2 days after Lee disappeared, a man walking his dog near Vancouver Lake noticed a disturbing smell. He called police. Officers found Lee Iseli’s body. They also found something else, a homemade briefcase containing ropes, duct tape, and Polaroid photographs.

 The photographs were of Lee, taken before he died. Detective C. W. Jensen of the Vancouver Police Department took over the case. He immediately connected Lee’s murder to the Near brothers killings. The methodology was different, but the victim profile was identical. Jensen now knew they were hunting a serial child killer, but they still had no suspect.

November 13th, 1989, the Liberty Theater, Camas, Washington. Honey, I Shrunk the Kids was playing Monday evening. Families packed the theater. Wesley Allan Dodd bought a ticket, but he wasn’t there to watch the movie. Earlier that day, Dodd had written in his diary, “5:25 p.m. Now going to Camas.

 Will check out local parks before movie.” He’d already selected his next victim, a 6-year-old boy he’d seen with his family. Midway through the film, Dodd followed the boy into the restroom. His plan was simple, subdue the child, carry him out a side exit, and drive him to his apartment. But this time, everything went wrong. The boy resisted.

He screamed loudly. Theater employees heard the commotion. William Ray Graves, an off-duty Camas police officer working security, responded immediately. Dodd panicked. He released the boy and ran out of the theater, Graves chased him. So did several bystanders. Three blocks from the theater, they tackled Dodd to the ground.

 When Camas police arrived, they searched Dodd. In his pockets, rope, duct tape, a knife, and a small notebook. The notebook was his diary. The 5:25 p.m. m entry was his last. Detective C. W. Jensen was notified immediately. When he learned about the diary, he drove to Camas. What he read shocked him. The diary contained detailed descriptions of the Near brothers murders.

 It contained descriptions of Lee Iseli’s abduction, torture, and murder. It contained lists of potential victims. It contained photographs. Jensen confronted Dodd in the interrogation room, and Dodd confessed to everything. He didn’t minimize. He didn’t make excuses. He described the murders in graphic, methodical detail. When asked why, his answer was chilling.

“I liked it. I enjoyed it, and I wanted to do it again.” Psychologists would later describe Dodd as a textbook sexual sadist with extreme narcissistic traits. He craved control, power, and attention. The confession gave him all three. June 1990, Clark County Superior Court, Vancouver, Washington.

 Wesley Allan Dodd’s trial began on June 5th, 1990. Prosecutor Roger Bennett faced an unusual situation. The evidence was overwhelming. Dodd had confessed. He wasn’t claiming insanity. He wasn’t disputing the facts. The defense, led by public defenders Lee Dane and Roger Hunko, had virtually no case to argue.

 Their only strategy was to portray Dodd as mentally ill and argue against the death penalty. But, the evidence was too strong, and Dodd himself undermined their efforts. Prosecutor Bennett introduced Dodd’s diary as evidence. He read selected passages aloud to the jury. Several jurors visibly reacted. One woman covered her mouth. Two men looked away.

The diary revealed a level of premeditation, sadism, and narcissism that stunned even experienced court personnel. Court reporters later told media outlets they requested counseling after transcribing the diary entries. Forensic experts testified about the Polaroid photographs found near Lee Iseli’s body.

 They confirmed the images were of Lee, taken shortly before his death. When the photographs were shown to the jury, Roberta Iseli, Lee’s mother, left the courtroom sobbing. Robert Near, father of William and Cole, remained seated, his jaw clenched. Against his attorney’s advice, Dodd chose to testify. He showed no emotion. He answered questions calmly, almost clinically.

 When asked if he felt remorse, he said, “No, not really.” When asked if he would kill again if released, he said, “Yes, I would. I know I would.” The courtroom was silent. On July 15th, 1990, after less than 5 hours of deliberation, the jury returned. Guilty on all counts, three counts of aggravated first-degree murder, one count of attempted kidnapping.

Washington state law required a separate penalty phase for death penalty cases. Prosecutor Bennett argued that Dodd represented a continuing threat, that rehabilitation was impossible, that he would kill again. The defense argued that execution was cruel and unusual punishment, that Dodd’s mental illness, though not legally insane, warranted life imprisonment instead.

 The jury deliberated for 2 days. On August 15th, 1990, they recommended death. Judge Robert Harris formally sentenced Wesley Allen Dodd to death by execution. Then came the unexpected part. Dodd was given a choice under Washington law, lethal injection or hanging. Without hesitation, Dodd chose hanging. “I don’t think I deserve a neat, clean, painless death,” he told the court. “Hang me.

” His attorneys were stunned. They filed appeals anyway, as required by law. Dodd fired them. He filed motions to dismiss his own appeals. He wrote directly to the Washington State Supreme Court, “I want to be executed. I waive all appeals. I am guilty. I cannot be fixed. I will kill again. Execute me.” The court had never seen anything like it.

January 4th, 1993, 4:00 p.m., final meal. Dodd was asked if he wanted anything special. “Whatever everyone else is having,” he said. The meal: broiled salmon, scalloped potatoes, mixed vegetables, coleslaw. Records indicate he ate. No one documented how much. 6:00 p.m. Outside the Walla Walla State Penitentiary, crowds began gathering.

Media trucks filled the parking lot, satellite dishes pointed skyward. A chain-link fence separated two groups. On one side, death penalty opponents holding candles, singing hymns, praying for clemency. On the other side, death penalty supporters, outnumbering opponents four to one, chanting, “Justice for the children.

” Some lit fireworks, others held signs. It felt less like justice and more like a spectacle. 8:00 p.m. Dodd met with his attorney, Darrell Lee, for the final time. They finalized his will. Originally, Dodd had written a spiteful will leaving his ashes to a pen pal, deliberately excluding his family. In his final hours, he changed his mind.

 He left his ashes to his sister, Kathy, with a request for a private memorial. His mother and sister had written him letters days earlier. “I still love you. I always will,” his mother wrote. “I’ll remember the good times.” Kathy wrote, “You’ll always be my brother.” Dodd never responded to either letter.

 10:00 p.m. The media lottery began. 12 witness slots, over 60 journalists applied, numbers were drawn. Those selected were led through security, searched, and escorted to the witness viewing room. 11:45 p.m. Final preparations. Dodd was weighed and measured. Height: 5 ft 9 in, weight: 139 lb. The rope length was calculated, 7 ft 1 in.

 The rope had been prepared weeks earlier. Boiled, stretched, waxed, and oiled to ensure a quick, clean drop. 11:50 p.m. Five anti-death penalty protesters broke from the main group. They attempted to scale a fence near a guard tower. All five were arrested and spent the night in Walla Walla County Jail. January 5th, 1993, 12:01 a.m.

 Wesley Allan Dodd was led into the execution chamber. The witness screen rose. He stepped onto the trapdoor and approached the microphone for his final statement. The sound system malfunctioned. His words were barely audible. Later, corrections officials reconstructed his statement. I was once asked if there was any way sex offenders could be stopped. I said, “No.

 I was wrong. I was wrong when I said there was no hope, no peace. There is hope. There is peace. I found both in the Lord Jesus Christ. Look to the Lord and you will find peace.” Robert Near, father of William and Cole, shook his head in visible disgust. The hood was placed over Dodd’s head.

 His wrists and ankles were strapped. The noose was positioned behind his left ear. The executioner pulled the lever with a heavy metallic crack. The trapdoor opened. Wesley Allan Dodd dropped 7 ft. No struggle. No sound. At 12:09 a.m. he was pronounced dead. Wesley Allan Dodd’s execution was the first hanging in the United States in 28 years.

 It remains Washington State’s last execution to date. His case led to significant changes in Washington law. The state now has stricter sentencing guidelines for repeat sex offenders. The three strikes law was partially influenced by Dodd’s history of release and re-offense. But those changes came too late for William Near, Cole Near, and Lee Iseli.

This case isn’t just about one monster. It’s about systemic failure. It’s about a justice system that released a predator again and again despite clear warnings. Dodd told them he couldn’t stop. He told them he would kill again. They didn’t listen. If this case impacted you, consider supporting organizations that advocate for children’s safety and stronger sentencing for violent predators.

Subscribe to this channel for more in-depth true crime analysis. Turn on notifications so you never miss a case, and most importantly, remember the victims, not the killer. William Neer, age 10, Cole Neer, age 11, and Liaselli, age 4. Say their names, let it live on, and thank you for watching. I will see you in the next.