Jane Doe No More (8 page)

Donna mentioned gloves made of a “thick type material . . . not leather or rubber.” As she talked about the more physical moments of the crime, tears came to her eyes, but she remained strong. One of the important factors about this statement was that Donna’s story never wavered or changed. Certain words she chose to use might have differed, but the substance of her account of what had happened stayed the same. Moreover, she gave explicit details regarding what the man smelled like, what he wore, what he said, the type of accent she believed he had, and the fact that she believed he had a gun, which he placed to her mouth and temple.

She concluded the statement by saying that her intruder took a “sterling silver puffed heart on a silver chain . . . that had a noticeable dent on one side of the heart . . . He also took $250 in cash, a full strand of pinky-tinted pearls, and a stone necklace of different colors . . .”

To Donna it felt like a weight had been lifted. She had openly talked about the rape itself, the threats made against her life, her attacker leaving as stealthily as he had appeared. John sat nearby, his arm around his wife, helping her get through it all. Donna was able to articulate the night and not lose total control of her emotions, a major step.

Cote explained that he had purposely misspelled several words as he typed out the report so Donna could circle the words and place her initials near each one. It was a way, Cote said, for the WPD to verify that the statement she had given was under her own free will and exactly what she had wanted to say. By Donna correcting the words and then initialing next to each misspelling, it showed on the document that she was in control of what was being written.

Donna considered the request strange, but she did it. Leaving the WPD, Donna and John had a sense that the case was moving forward.

I was feeling like they were continuing on the case, and they were doing whatever they could to solve it. Detective Cote seemed sincere. Even though John and I believed that Cote didn’t come across as the sharpest knife in the drawer, we hoped—and certainly believed then—that he “got it.”

Later that same day, Cote and a colleague showed up at Donna and John’s Leffingwell Avenue home to have a look around. A one-paragraph report of that visit (three days after the crime occurred) offered what they found: “The scene of a past burglary and larceny and sexual assault. There was no sign of forced entry. [We] processed the scene for latent fingerprints and no identifiable prints were lifted.”

The following day Cote and his colleague were back at Donna’s house. They met a phone company field supervisor there to look around the outside structure. After locating the telephone line junction box “near ground level,” they first photographed the box. In his report Cote documented what he found, writing: “This junction box was a result of the telephone line being cut by the intruder prior to entering the building.” Then Cote and his team removed the junction box from the side of the house “in an effort to compare the cut marks with a cutting tool should it be recovered at a later date . . .” The entire structure was “entered as evidence . . .”

This activity was another indication to Donna that the case was getting the attention it deserved, not to mention moving forward. The WPD was working on it—collecting evidence and taking statements. A good sign. Donna felt they were getting somewhere. The fact that they dusted the house for fingerprints three days after the crime seemed strange to John and Donna, but maybe the police knew something they did not.

The initial theory, now being checked out by the WPD, was that a security company employee monitoring homes in the area, or a phone company employee who knew the neighborhood, was responsible. It made sense. The man would have known the layout of the houses in the community, where the phone lines were located, and how to cut the lines. The phone company performed a test for Cote on-site, demonstrating how hard it was to cut the phone line. You’d need a special tool, strong enough to get through a tough outer coating of wire that was manufactured to withstand New England weather.

Furthermore, the more Donna thought about it, the more she suspected that her attacker might have snuck into the house
before
she arrived home from her night out with the kids. Maybe he had hidden inside somewhere until everyone was in bed. Whatever the case, the man who attacked Donna must have known her routine, or even personal aspects of her life. Donna Palomba had been chosen as a target; she was not attacked at random, which could only mean one thing.

Donna knew her attacker.

CHAPTER
FIVE

Life Goes On . . . But Only for a Moment

Donna Palomba’s greatest desire was to go to sleep one night soon with the consoling feeling that the man who had raped her was behind bars. But weeks after the attack, as she began the process of taking back her life, she realized that wouldn’t be the case.

Donna was a successful marketing executive at a small advertising agency that she and two partners had started in 1987. The agency, GP&P, named for Nick Gugliotti (her cousin), Tom Peterson (a friend), and Donna, was the result of a dream and years of hard work. 

We had a handful of employees—a couple designers, receptionist, bookkeeper. We were truly like a family. I worked four days a week so I could be home with the kids on Tuesdays, and since I was working part-time and having babies when we formed the agency, I was a minority owner but always hoped one day to be an equal partner (which eventually happened). I remember when Johnny (our son) was born. The agency was young. I felt needed at the office. I came back to work two weeks after Johnny was born and turned my office into a nursery. I took him with me so I could nurse him and be with him.

Now, after her attack, Donna would get counseling. There would be times of tremendous emotional struggle. But this assault was not going to defeat Donna Palomba. Part of the healing process, Donna knew, was getting back into the swing of everyday life right away and leaning on her Catholic faith. She had turned to her religion before in times of celebration and desperation. She knew her love and faith in God could carry her through what would be the toughest period of her life, and it was that inherent trust in God, Donna was convinced, that had been driving her since the very moment her world had been turned upside down.

It was amazing to me when I looked back on it later, that on the night of my attack, this immense feeling of gratitude had come over me. I never felt,
Why me? Why did this have to happen?
From the first moment after the attack, I was overcome with a sense of gratefulness like I had never experienced. I was elated to be alive. He put a gun to my mouth and then to my temple. I absolutely believed that I was going to be killed. I did not think I would survive. And my children . . . my goodness, they slept through the entire episode. After I had a moment to stop and realize, okay, my children are fine  . . . even as I stood there in my neighbor’s kitchen, I knew I would be okay with what happened. The attack would not define who I am. I felt like a survivor, not a victim. This belief, along with my strong faith, would carry me through the worst days of my life, which would lie ahead. I had literally cried out to God that night in my bedroom, asking Him to absolve me of all my sins—because I believed my days in this world were over. Maybe that’s why I was able to overcome this with so much gratitude. A family member said something about a week after the crime that I heard about, and it bothered me: “Donna will never be the same . . .” It was the total opposite of how I was feeling. I did not like that someone thought I would not be able to recover. I did not feel guilt. I did not feel shame. I felt free. I felt . . . thankful.