Dark Dreams: Sexual Violence, Homicide And The Criminal Mind (25 page)

The friends listened to music, played computer games, and watched television together. According to Strobel, around midnight they moved the gathering to his room. Around one, Hesterberg and Nygard left. Byers, who by now had finished the wine, was visibly drunk.

He and Strobel started playing low-stakes blackjack. Byers lost about three dollars over the next hour. Near two, he suddenly offered to bet his truck against a penny. Scott Strobel wanted nothing to do with the bet.

“I was very reluctant,” he testified. “In his condition, he would have given me the keys, and I didn’t want to take them.” Instead, Strobel asked Byers to leave, explaining that he needed to get some schoolwork done. Byers rose, said, “Good night,” and departed.

“He was real passive,” Strobel explained in court. “He was drunk when he left. He was staggering slightly.”

Scott Strobel assumed his friend was headed for bed.

Instead, Brett Byers headed for the parking lot to move his truck from a restricted area so that he wouldn’t get a ticket. As he later recounted to Dr. William D. Stratford, the pickup fishtailed as he hit the gas and swung into a black truck parked nearby.

This incident sent Brett Byers over the edge.

As Dr. Stratford would testify, he grabbed his sawed-off Marlin out of the pickup, walked over to the black truck with it, and smashed the driver’s side window. From there Byers headed on foot for Langford Hall. On the way, he used the shotgun to break out the passenger window on a white truck. Then he entered the dormitory, walked down to room 130, and murdered Brian Boeder and James Clevenger.

I don’t believe there was any practical way this double murder could have been anticipated or prevented.

In my report and testimony, I classified the crime as a revenge murder, as defined in the
Crime Classification Manual
to which I was a contributing author. Revengemotivated murderers kill in retaliation for a wrong, real or imagined, committed against themselves or someone close to them. This killer may stalk an intended victim for years or may act out spontaneously, as I believe Brett Byers did.

Here is a list of factors commonly seen in revenge killings, taken directly from the manual and compared against the facts of the Boeder-Clevenger slayings.

Ken Baker, an old friend and partner in the Academy Group, testified that in his opinion the untrained eye could not have detected behavioral indicators that Brett Byers was about to commit a homicide. No one claimed that they had. Also in Ken’s opinion, Byers himself did not know he was going to commit murder until minutes before he did so.

I testified that I did not believe these murders would have been prevented by more stringent security measures unless they included armed guards and metal detectors at all dormitory entrances twenty-four hours a day. Even that would have been no guarantee of safety.

Brett Byers was a legitimate resident of Langford Hall dormitory with authorized access to the building. Had the doors been locked or “card accessed” that night, Byers would still have gotten inside. If the building had security guards, they would have admitted him. Because the murder weapon was compact, he could have easily hidden it within a container or otherwise gotten it past security. As for metal detectors, Byers had a first-floor room. He could have tossed the shotgun through his window, just as he talked of flipping his homemade bomb through a window.

If weapons were not allowed on campus (they were), he still could have concealed the weapon in his truck, as was the case.

Psychological testing might have identified Byers’s potential for endangering others; but with no history of committing violence, tests alone would not have been sufficient to deny him enrollment at MSU and probably would be unconstitutional anyway.

The survivors’ lawsuits were argued in front of a jury in Helena for seven full days in June 1995. After ten hours of deliberation, the jurors voted unanimously that Montana State University bore no responsibility in the murders.

Afterward, one of the plaintiffs’ attorneys approached me outside the courtroom, offered his hand, and said that although the verdict was a disappointment, he believed that Ken and I had given honest testimony and that he respected our point of view.

I deeply appreciated the gesture and told him so.

Christine Burgerhof was a secretive young woman. Her parents believed their married daughter was a receptionist at a local school for the deaf. But when Christine was brutally murdered in early April 1996, their pain at her sudden, violent death was compounded by the surprise discovery that twenty-four-year-old Christine had been working in a massage parlor.

Henry and Donna Negvesky were thunderstruck. They told investigators they could not believe that Bob, Christine’s husband of nearly two years, would allow his wife to work in such a place. But that was just the beginning.

The discovery that Christine was a prostitute was the first of many surprises this case held for her family, the investigators, and me.

Christine’s body was discovered in the late morning of Saturday, April 6, 1996, in a Scranton, Pennsylvania, warehouse district parking lot. She had been positioned on her back at the rear of the facility, between an FBZ Company tractor-trailer and a red Dumpster. Her head was turned left and faced the trash container; her feet pointed toward the rear of the truck.

She was naked except for her gold hoop earrings and the gold wristwatch on her left arm. Both arms were placed at her sides, palms down, and her legs were slightly parted. Her auburn hair had been carefully fanned out over the pitted asphalt.

Whoever had killed Christine had done so in a burst of fury.

At the autopsy, Dr. Gary Ross, a forensic pathologist, noted multiple assault marks around the victim’s neck. Her face had suffered a severe battering as well. Her left eye was black and blue, and her cheeks were swollen. She had suffered numerous abrasions and contusions on her body.

Dr. Ross listed the cause of death as asphyxia due to manual and ligature strangulation. However, he found no apparent defensive wounds. Christine was having her menstrual period, but her tampon was undisturbed. She had several superficial tears around her anus, but lab tests revealed no trace of seminal fluid anywhere.

So far, there was little to go on.

The investigation quickly led detectives to the place where Christine worked. The Reflex Center was a four-room enterprise on State Street in the little town of Clark Summit, about five miles from the parking lot where Burgerhof’s killer had deposited her body. Within twenty-four hours of her murder, coworkers and clients were telling police what they could about Christine and her chosen profession.

The employees said that a basic massage at the Reflex Center cost fifty dollars. For another forty dollars the girls took off their tops and would masturbate the customer. For an additional sixty dollars they would take off all their clothes and allow the client to fondle them.

Christine was among the more popular of the Reflex Center’s regular workers, and records showed that in the month prior to her murder, she had serviced thirty-six customers. She also made house calls and sometimes worked in nearby Wilkes-Barre, where her customers knew her as Crystal. The work was lucrative. Christine made approximately one hundred thousand dollars in the two years she worked at the Reflex Center.

Ron,
^*
one of her steady customers, never learned her last name, but described her as “shy, timid, not a slut.” He said he became friends with Christine, and sometimes she would come by his house for their sessions. Ron said she had rebuffed his attempts at kindling a romance between them, and that they never engaged in intercourse. As far as investigators could determine, Christine restricted full sexual contact to just two of her paying companions, and neither was a suspect in her homicide.

Susan, a coworker, said Christine didn’t smoke or drink, that she was a very cautious and evasive person, and was sometimes difficult to get along with. Susan said Christine played “head games” and described her as being “paranoid.” Another of Christine’s coworkers reported that Christine was jealous of her and was intentionally trying to get her fat by leaving cookies and chocolates lying around the Reflex Center.

According to Susan, Christine claimed she was being stalked in the weeks just prior to her murder. Someone was leaving flowers for her at the shop, at her home, and on her Jeep Grand Wagoneer, she said. Since Christine brought some of the flowers into the shop and displayed them there, Susan suspected the story was one of Christine’s odd fabrications. Christine became angry when Susan told her this.

On Friday, April 5, the night of her murder, the victim was working alone at the Reflex Center. She was reported to be wearing a purple, short-sleeved sweatshirt and blue jeans over black fishnet tights. She received at least one identified client, who told police that Christine was alive and well when he left her at 11:45
P.M.

Christine’s husband said that he awoke at 4:45
A.M.
and discovered that his wife had not returned home. She customarily got in around midnight unless she was with a client, such as Ron, who sometimes took her out for a meal after work. At eight, Bob Burgerhof drove to the Reflex Center, where he found Christine’s empty Jeep parked in the covered area behind the building. The door to the paneled massage parlor was open, and Burgerhof could see that the bathroom light was on.

Approximately three hours later, he called the owner of the Reflex Center and told her about Christine’s absence and the fact that the door to the business was open. The owner suggested that he notify the police, which he did.

What the police found at the Reflex Center was interesting and also contradictory. There was no sign of a forced entry or struggle, yet the business safe had been forcibly and clumsily pried from a shelf in the closet—screwdrivers and a hammer had been used—and sat upside down on the massage table. Portions of the wood shelving were still attached to the bottom of the safe. Someone appeared to have used coat hangers and the screwdrivers to extract client records from the safe. These slips, along with a Caller ID terminal and all known cash, were missing from the scene.

One of the witnesses detectives sought out in the first few days of their investigation was Catherine Biasotto, the victim’s former college roommate. Biasotto told investigators that she’d met Christine Negvesky in the spring of 1991, when they both were junior class pledges at College Misericordia, a small coed Catholic liberal arts school in Dallas, Pennsylvania, not far from Scranton.

Biasotto, during a tearful interview, said that Christine was a distant person who distrusted most people. She didn’t have many friends, male or female; and Biasotto said she believed the only steady male in Christine’s life was Bob Burgerhof, whom she married in 1994. Cathy Biasotto had been the maid of honor at the wedding.

Biasotto remembered that her roommate received occasional visits from “an old man with gray hair,” as she described him. Christine told Cathy that he was her former boss “at some mental health place in Wilkes-Barre.” Biasotto recalled, “The guy liked Christine, and I used to ask her why he would come to visit her when she was getting married in July. Christine would say that she felt sorry for him because he was going through a bad divorce.” Biasotto said the man’s visits made her uncomfortable, and she used to leave the room whenever he showed up. When the Burgerhofs were married in July 1994, this special male friend of Christine’s gave them an expensive wedding present.

In the midst of her interview, Biasotto suddenly volunteered that most of what she had heard about Christine’s murder and its aftermath had come from Christopher DiStefano. She described the twenty-seven-year-old DiStefano as a friend both to herself and to Christine, whom he had once dated. According to Biasotto, who at the time of the murder was living in Virginia, DiStefano told her that the killer knew Christine and had been stalking her for the past few weeks.

The police already were familiar with the name. DiStefano had been actively shadowing the murder case. He was first questioned at Clarks Summit Police Headquarters on the night of April 6. Case records showed that the next morning, Sunday, DiStefano drove his white 1990 Geo Storm past the parking lot where Christine’s body had been discovered. Patrolman Michael Carachilo, on duty at the crime scene, waved him over and asked DiStefano his business.

The intense, dark-haired young man answered that he knew the victim and that he felt he should see the site where she had been found. Carachilo said that wouldn’t be possible and asked for identification. DiStefano produced a laminated private investigator’s license. When the officer asked to see his driver’s license, DiStefano obliged. Carachilo recorded his name, and then the young man slowly drove his Geo through the parking lot, stopped, turned around, and left.

Investigators grew increasingly interested in DiStefano. They interviewed Ryan Ofcharsky, his roommate at East Stroudsburg University of Pennsylvania, about sixty miles from Scranton, where Christine’s onetime boyfriend was taking education classes in order to earn a teaching certificate.

According to Ofcharsky, DiStefano was an introvert who was either unable or unwilling to carry on a conversation. “I got sick of listening to myself speak,” Ofcharsky told them. “He just absorbed everything and never really gave me any feedback.”

On Monday following the murder, Ofcharsky discovered that DiStefano had decorated his walls with more than twenty-five photographs of himself and a girl in various poses. Both were dressed in formal attire.

“This was a bit strange,” said the roommate. “But since he was a bit strange himself, I just figured he’d gotten back with his old girlfriend and needed me to know.”

As it turned out, the photos were of Christopher and Christine, taken at his 1990 college senior dance. Killers often construct “memorials” to their victims and DiStefano actually asked Ofcharsky, “Did you see my memorial? That was the girl who got killed.” He told Ofcharsky of his encounter with Officer Carachilo and said he knew that he was a suspect in the homicide.

Usually there are a large number of potential suspects when a prostitute is murdered—all her customers to begin with. But almost from the beginning of the Burgerhof case, Christopher DiStefano made himself a prime suspect by deliberately attracting attention in several ways. Injecting himself into the investigation was just one of them.

When I was called in as a prosecution consultant two years later, I learned that DiStefano’s notable preoffense and postoffense behaviors further implicated him. Sexually deviant criminals usually display some, but not all, of the behaviors that profilers look for in particular types of crimes. But DiStefano came as close as any subject I have ever seen to having all of the behaviors that we look for. His actions and abnormal interests rang so many bells that he seemed to have come straight out of a profiler’s textbook.

He was very intelligent, deeply troubled, and, as we’ll see, a classic narcissist. Estimates of his IQ ranged as high as 170. He attended Scranton Preparatory School, where DiStefano graduated in 1986 in the top fifth of his class. His younger brother, Mike, a Clarks Summit police officer at the time of the Burgerhof murder, reported that Chris had trouble communicating with people, and that he had been harassed and bullied in high school.

Mike DiStefano also reported that Chris kept a detailed daily diary. This, as I would discover, was an extraordinary document.

At the University of Scranton, where he majored in electrical engineering, DiStefano’s grade point average was 3.48. At Penn State, where he earned a masters in physics, he was a 3.38 student.

According to Mike, Chris spent a lot of time on the Internet, where he researched police-related subjects and established cyber friendships.

One of these was with a young woman in Pittsburgh named Stephanie. In 1994, DiStefano moved to Pittsburgh in order to be close to her. The relationship didn’t work out. He called home in tears. Chris suffered panic attacks and other emotional problems. A Pittsburgh psychiatrist said he suffered from depression and placed him on Paxil, an antidepressant medication.

On April 9, 1996, four days after Christine Burgerhof’s murder, he visited the dead woman’s mother. He wrote Cathy Biasotto an E-mail about the visit, saying, “How cold it would have been of me not to call/visit and show support and sympathy! My mom really pissed me off earlier when I told her that I was going to visit the Negveskys and she said that wasn’t a good idea since I may be a suspect and all and it wouldn’t look good.”

On the tenth, he E-mailed Biasotto once again. “I was at Chris’s mom’s house… for about four hours last night,” he wrote. “I think they liked my visit.”

Donna Negvesky would testify at trial that her daughter’s former boyfriend seemed “calm” and “calculating” to her during his extended visit. DiStefano handed her a sympathy card but made no move to embrace the stricken woman. “There was no compassion, no sympathy,” Christine’s mother told the court.

Early Wednesday afternoon, April 10, Pennsylvania State Police trooper Joseph G. Pacifico telephoned DiStefano at his ESU dormitory.

Pacifico asked if DiStefano would drive over to the state police facility in Dunmore, near Scranton, that evening for an interview. The suspect agreed to do so and arrived for his appointment at 7:08
P.M.
, according to Pacifico’s notes. Appearing polite and cooperative, DiStefano even brought along an album full of photographs of himself and the victim.

When Pacifico asked for some background on their relationship, DiStefano offered to write it all out in chronological order, an obsessive-compulsive trait. His meticulous record keeping accounted for his wonderful ability to recount his relationship in meticulous step-by-step fashion.

Christine Negvesky attended public high school, then enrolled at Keystone Junior College before transferring to Misericordia, where she earned an undergraduate degree in psychology in 1993. DiStefano told Trooper Pacifico that he had met her in early 1988 (he was then nineteen and she was sixteen, at a roller-skating rink in the Scranton suburb of Taylor, where Negvesky lived with her family. As he told the story, Christine was the first to pursue a relationship. After skating a “couples only” skate or two, they left separately and she called him the next day.