Body Parts (16 page)

When she said she had to go to the bathroom, he put on a pair of latex gloves, and took out a Baby Wipes container. He handed her one of the wipes and had her urinate into the container, which had the condom in it from earlier that night.

Later, it was difficult for her to remember what happened in what order, but that didn’t really matter. She knew she had been raped, vaginally and anally, forced into unconsciousness, and brought back repeatedly. It was more terrifying than words could describe.

When Wayne had finally had enough, he allowed her to get dressed. He seemed strangely calm by then—calm enough for them to have what seemed like a normal conversation. He almost seemed like a regular guy, even after everything he had put her through.

She asked why he was doing all this and he pulled out a photo of his ex-wife and son.

“He said his ex-wife took off with his son and he was trying to get revenge,” she said later. “And he broke down and he cried right in front of me. And he . . . gave me a pretty strong human-being hug.”

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” he told her, saying he’d chosen her over her girlfriends because she was smaller and would be easier to control.

“Because you gave me a shoulder to cry on, I’m going to let you go.”

He pulled her jacket hood over her head, and tied it nice and snug.

“It’s pretty cold out there,” he said. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

He stopped the truck at the side of the freeway, walked her down the hillside a bit, and then hog-tied her, pulling one of his neckties around her neck. He went through her purse, removed $400 in cash, and gave some of it back to her—she later couldn’t remember whether it was a $20 bill or her original $100 fee for sex—so that she could get home.

“Once I set you down, don’t be trying to get out of them [the ropes] real fast,” he said. “I don’t want you to get up off the side of the hill and see my license plates.”

Ironically, he tied the rope so loosely around her hands that Rachel had already gotten them free by the time she was out of the truck. She waited until she heard him pull away before she removed the rope from her ankles and scrambled partway up the hill. When she saw it was safe, she climbed the rest of the way up to the freeway.

A trucker saw her, pulled over, and drove her to the next freeway exit, where she called her pimp and then dialed 911. She made the calls from a pay phone outside a market in Cloverdale, which is at least twenty miles up Highway 101 from the Friedman Brothers parking lot.

When a Cloverdale police officer arrived at the market, Rachel was still clutching the rope and necktie.

Once the officer realized that the rape had occurred in the Sonoma County sheriff’s jurisdiction, he turned her over to a deputy, who took her to Sutter Hospital. While she was waiting to be examined, sheriff’s Detective Dennis O’Leary, from the domestic violence and sexual assault unit, interviewed her.

Joan Kazmar, the nurse who examined Rachel, later said that out of 175 rape victims she’d seen in her career, Rachel was the most severely injured of them all.

Rachel cried but was cooperative throughout the four-hour examination, which started at 5:45
A.M.
She cried and held her face in her hands as she recounted the night’s events to Kazmar, who took a vaginal swab that later matched Wayne’s DNA.

The nurse made note of Rachel’s injuries, which included bruises on her face, right breast and neck, where she also had tenderness and swelling; a cut on her lip; swelling on the side of her face; linear red marks and swelling on her wrists; rope burns on her ankles; abrasions to her outer labia; and a burn mark on the inner labia. She noted that Rachel was too sore to let Kazmar complete a rectal exam. She also complained of wrist pain and was unable to move her bruised thumb because it hurt too much.

About a week later, Rachel gave a description of her rapist to a sketch artist. A couple of months later, after Wayne turned himself in, she identified him from a photo lineup.

Authorities later dubbed Rachel as “Sonoma County Doe,” because she wanted to remain anonymous during his court proceedings. However, she agreed to let her real name and photo be used in this book.

In early September, Valerie Rondi was hitchhiking on Broadway in Eureka.

Wayne pulled up in his grandmother’s Neon sedan and introduced himself as Adam. “Do you date?” he asked.

“Sometimes. Why, do you want to date me?”

Wayne said yes and Valerie told him it would cost $60. They went to his grandmother’s place, where he said he was house-sitting, and had sex in Wayne’s room. He asked her to pinch his nipples as hard as she could, but it still wasn’t hard enough for him.

Apparently, the experience was over faster than Wayne would have liked.

“Since I just gave you all that money, the least you could do is sit here with me and talk for a while,” he said.

Valerie agreed to stay for a bit, while they talked about his childhood and how he raised himself because his parents could’ve cared less about him. He told her about his ex-wife, how she wouldn’t let him see her son, and that he drove a truck for a living.

“That must be fun, getting to travel all around,” Valerie said.

“It is, but it gets awfully lonely.”

He asked if she wanted to see his truck, which was parked out front. As he let her sit in the driver’s seat and start up the motor, Valerie noticed that the interior was immaculate.

“He said his truck was the nicest one they had and the reason he got to drive it was because his boss knew from his other boss [at Readimix] how neat and clean he kept all the trucks they let him use,” she said later.

Wayne asked if she wanted to go on a road trip with him to Santa Rosa. After he promised to get her back the next day, she agreed. Valerie was a heroin addict and would get sick if she didn’t get her daily fix; she had only one bag with her.

They set off the next morning, and as they were driving, Wayne talked some more about his second ex-wife and son. He said he’d met his first ex-wife while singing in bars, claiming she was the actress who played the character of Felicia on the soap opera
General Hospital.

“He said they had open sex, because it’s what made her happy,” Valerie said later. “It didn’t do much for him, but he played along.”

That night, they stopped at a truck stop in Ukiah, where Wayne attempted to get into his sleeper’s lower bunk with her. She told Wayne not to get any ideas about having sex for free, but Wayne tried, anyway, and got snippy when she told him to stop. Wayne eventually left her alone and climbed into the top bunk, where she could hear him masturbating.

The next day, they made chitchat as they drove to a lumberyard in Santa Rosa. Wayne left the truck for a few minutes and came back, saying the dispatcher had sent him to the wrong place. Turned out, he was supposed to have dropped the load in Escondido, so that’s where they had to go next.

“Where’s Escondido?” she asked.

“A little past L.A.,” he said. (Escondido is in northern San Diego County, a couple of hours south of Los Angeles.)

“L.A.!” she said. “We can’t go there. You promised we’d be back to Eureka today! I don’t have any more stuff and I’m already sick. I can’t go all the way to L.A.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re going to get your stuff at one of the stops along the way, I promise.”

Valerie tried to get him to take her to a bus station, but he pleaded with her to stay. “No, don’t go,” he said. “I’ll find your stuff. Please? I really do like your company.”

They drove all day and night until they reached a truck stop that was so big it seemed like a small city. Valerie went to take a shower and buy herself something to eat. When she got back, he was already in the lower bunk. He asked her again for sex.

By this time, Valerie was going through withdrawal and refused to do anything with him. Wayne offered to pay her, but Valerie held her ground.

That’s when Wayne started yelling at her. “Do you know how it feels, begging a prostitute to have sex with you, for money no less, and having her say no? It feels f***ed. It doesn’t make me feel worth a shit. You should be offering to give it to me for free just for bringing your ass along.”

Valerie started to speak, but Wayne interrupted. “Shut the f*** up!” he screamed.

Scared into silence, she thought she’d better be careful this far from home. So she climbed into the top bunk and heard Wayne masturbating again before he went to sleep.

The next morning, Valerie apologized. She was worried that Wayne was never going to take her home, so she figured she’d better do whatever he wanted.

They stopped at a store down the road, where Wayne bought two 12-packs of beer.

“Do you want me to put them in the icebox?” she asked.

“No, I’ll do it.”

Between Gilroy and the Grapevine, a long steep stretch along Interstate 5 between Los Angeles and Bakersfield, Wayne drank eighteen beers and Valerie drank most of three before he put the remaining three in the fridge.

Wayne suggested that he drop her off in San Clemente so she could find herself some heroin, but Valerie said no. She didn’t want to be dumped in a strange town, sick as a dog, without enough money to take a bus home.

After dropping off the load in Escondido, Wayne announced he had to drive farther south to Chula Vista, a city just north of the Mexican border.

By this point, Valerie was freaking out.

“Why are you lying to me?” she asked.

Wayne said he wasn’t lying; he couldn’t help where his dispatcher sent him.

“You never told me this was going to be a weeklong trip,” she said. “Can’t you see that I’m sick? You have to take me back north. Please!”

“Quit whining and shut up,” he snapped.

After Chula Vista, he said, they’d start heading north again to drop the new load in Fremont. Then he’d take her home.

“Thank you,” Valerie said, crying now.

By nightfall, they were driving north, but they were still nowhere near home, so Wayne pulled into another truck stop for the night.

This time, Valerie let Wayne do what he wanted. He’d bought more beer, and after drinking all day, he was drunk. It didn’t seem to bother him that she was crying, afraid, and sick.

He told her to take off her shirt, so she did. She lay there while he had sex with her, following his orders to pinch his nipples. By the time they finished, Wayne was out cold.

The next day, Valerie was vomiting and could hardly sit up. When they finally got to Fremont, Valerie saw another Edeline truck in the lot where they’d stopped. Wayne got out and announced another change of plans when he came back. They were going to Nevada.

Valerie cried and begged him to take her to the nearest bus station so she could get home. Wayne continued his verbal abuse, but finally agreed to talk the other Edeline driver into taking her back to Fortuna, the next major city south of Eureka. Valerie ended up having to pay the driver’s girlfriend to take her home.

A few days later, Wayne called and asked if she made it okay.

Valerie hung up on him.

CHAPTER 12

L
ANETT
D
EYON
W
HITE

Locals of the San Joaquin Valley say they can smell the change in weather come September, when the mornings and evenings are cool, but the afternoon temperatures still get up in the 90s. The air smells fresh, cleaner than the summer when it’s filled with dust from the fields. Some say the autumn morning dew must cleanse away the mustiness.

The afternoon sky was a clear blue on September 25, 1998, when three men in a red Chevy truck, towing a cattle trailer, pulled over to change a plug wire in a gravel turnout along Highway 12, near Lodi.

They stopped on a two-lane road just west of Interstate 5, surrounded by vineyards, and raised the Chevy’s hood. The men soon found more than they bargained for—a woman’s naked body floating in an irrigation ditch parallel to the road.

One of them scooted over to the industrial building across the street and asked someone to call 911, but by the time the Delta Fire Department arrived, he and his buddies had taken off.

Once the sheriff’s deputies got there, they told the firefighters to back out their engine the same way they’d entered the turnout so as not to disturb the death scene any further. With that, a deputy and a sergeant cordoned off the area with yellow tape so the homicide team could begin its work.

San Joaquin County, which spans approximately 1,400 square miles, is known as the nation’s “salad bowl” and is home to many people who work in Stockton or the Bay Area, but can’t afford to buy a home there.

Every year the valley sees a number of dead prostitutes, transported by their killers from San Francisco or Livermore and dumped in the waterways or on one of the islands within the Sacramento–San Joaquin River Delta.

So, at first, news that a woman’s body had been found in a ditch didn’t seem all that unusual to Detectives Joe Herrera and Mike Jones, or their sergeant, David Levesey.

After Levesey got the call around 12:30
P.M.
, he directed Herrera, Jones, and two of their colleagues—Antonio Cruz and Bruce Wuest—to meet him at the crime scene in their unmarked vehicles. Their office, housed in a building in French Camp, was only half an hour away by freeway.

Herrera, who’d grown up in nearby Stockton, just south of the state capital in Sacramento, knew the area surrounding the death scene well. It was right near the two giant silos that were once part of the old Stagi & Scriven sunflower seed plant, which now housed a company called Ehlers Elevators, Inc.

Heading west on Highway 12, the detectives stopped at the gravel turnout, which measured about forty feet from the road to the muddy bank of the ditch. The body was floating in shallow water near a large walnut tree—its trunk so big that a man spreading his arms could reach only halfway around.

Levesey told Jones to take the lead, named Wuest as the second, and told Cruz and Herrera to process the crime scene for evidence.