TEN
Captain Bart Topham knew he only had one chance to keep the citizens of San Luis Obispo calm. After the third college coed disappearance in nearly three years, he needed to put a lid on this case immediately, before he had vigilante groups forming and citizens packing up their trucks and moving out. He called a press conference on March 15 to let everyone know that the police were on top of this latest missing-person case.
Captain Topham wanted to make one point explicitly clear: “There is no evidence of a connection between this missing-personcase and any other at this time,” referring, of course, to the Kristin Smart 1996 disappearance and the Rachel Newhousedisappearance just four months earlier. The last thing the captain wanted was for the people of San Luis Obispo to be afraid to walk out in the streets at night for fear of a serial killer.
The townsfolk did not believe Topham and they were scared.
“It’s too weird for this to happen three times,” stated nineteen-year-old Cuesta College student Jodi Simonson. “It makes me nervous.”
Some of the students tried to move on with their lives. Mandy Daniels, a twenty-year-old Cuesta College student, stated, “I take good precautions, but I also try not to let it alter my life.”
Ralph Wessel, a resident of the nearby town of Cayucos, did not believe Topham for one second. “I think it’s the same person,” he stated with supreme confidence. “I know the policedon’t think there’s a connection, but it’s probably a serial killer after the same type of student.”
Adrielle Ray, another Cuesta College student, also had littlefaith in the captain’s assurances. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes a number of these before police realize a pattern, like four or five.”
Some of the residents were tired of the terror. Some expresseda strong desire to move out of their little oasis because of the crimes. Erica Ruiz seriously contemplated packing up her stuff and moving out. “It scared me because it’s so close to home,” she recalled. “This definitely is encouragingme to move. I’m thinking about it even more.”
Her husband, Benjie, weighed in on the latest disappearance:“I’ve been here twenty-two years and never seen anything like this. Tourism could drop because of this, and there might be a drop of students who come to Cal Poly.”
Captain Topham knew it was going to be rough. He could sense that the people of his community were changing. The humble little area, hidden off the 101 Freeway, engulfed in the grassy, mountainous protective arms of the Nine Sisters volcanoes, was no longer a safe haven.
“I think things are changing, and we’ve just been incrediblylucky for a long time,” observed Topham.
Now he hoped he could be lucky in tracking down another missing college student. He hoped he was lucky, not for his sake or even the sake of his town, but because of concern for one person—Aundria Crawford.
The prospects for finding her were not positive. Despite extensive searches for four months, the authorities in San Luis Obispo had never located Rachel Newhouse. Her uncle Peter Morreale had reached a point of resignation upon the news of Aundria’s disappearance. He was no longer optimisticthat the police would find Rachel: “After four months it doesn’t look real good that she’s alive.”
The spring of 1999 had gotten off to a rotten start, even beforeAundria’s mysterious disappearance. On February 16 a mother, Carole Sund, her daughter, Juli, and foreign exchange student Silvina Pelosso disappeared from the Cedar Lodge in El Portal, California, near the basin of the Yosemite National Park. The three women were celebrating Juli’s participation in the American Spirit Association cheerleading competition and had decided to take a side trip to the famed park of naturalwonders before returning to their home in Eureka, California. The last time anyone saw the three women, they had just eaten at the Cedar Lodge Restaurant at 7:35
P.M.
No one had seen or heard from them since.
Carole’s husband, Jens Sund, and her parents, Francis and Carol Carrington, relocated to El Portal in an attempt to locatetheir daughter, granddaughter, and charge. They scoured high and low in the mountains and valleys outside and insidethe park. They checked gullies in case Carole’s red Pontiac Grand Prix rental car may have plunged over the side. They checked old mines. The kidnappers may have tossed their bodies into deep chasms off the roads of the mountainousarea. They interviewed several former convicts who populated the outskirts of the park in secluded trailer homes, but they found nothing.
The combination of Rachel Newhouse’s disappearance and the three missing women from Yosemite had everyone on edge in Central California. Emotions were even tauter in San Luis Obispo after Aundria Crawford’s disappearance.Captain Topham organized two neighborhood searches on Friday, March 12, and a more thorough search the following day. By Monday, March 15, the police called the searches off. Captain Topham had to concede that AundriaCrawford had more likely than not been abducted. The break-in at her apartment, the blood on the floor, the missingitems, and the Mustang in the driveway all pointed to her disappearance as a kidnapping.
Police Chief Jim Gardiner informed the media that the Aundria Crawford investigation would include possible kidnapping and maybe murder.
“We’re hoping that’s not the case,” he cautiously intoned.
Captain Topham continued his stubborn refusal to acknowledgethat the Crawford and Newhouse disappearances had any correlation. More and more people were getting tired of his stance, but he insisted that the cases were too disparate.
“The specifics of all three [including the Smart case] are all different,” Topham stressed. He spoke of how both Kristin and Rachel disappeared after they drank alcohol. He mentionedit appeared as if Aundria had been abducted from her residence. Furthermore, he pointed out that Aundria did not drink.
“She doesn’t drink. She’s not a partyer.”
Emotions increased after that statement.
Instead of focusing on Captain Topham’s backhanded slam of his niece, Peter Morreale spoke of the striking similarities between Rachel and Aundria.
“It’s remarkable that she was the same size and build as Rachel.” Morreale was convinced that a serial killer had gottenboth Rachel and Aundria. Both girls were college students in San Luis Obispo. Both were intelligent and outgoing people.Both were 5’6” tall. Both girls weighed exactly 120 pounds. Both girls had blond hair. The similarities were too obvious to ignore.
Morreale also expressed his concern for Aundria Crawford’sfamily and hoped they could still stand after the shock and dismay that go hand in glove with news of a loved one’s disappearance. “Obviously, her family is going through livinghell. We can relate to that.”
Another family expressed dismay over the disappearance of Aundria Crawford. Denise Smart, mother of Kristin Smart, who disappeared almost three years earlier, stated, “I’m sure everyone there is shocked. It’s hard to believe this happened in one small city, but it could have happened anywhere.”
ELEVEN
March 16, 1999
Pismo Beach Athletic Club, Pismo Beach, California
Morning
David Zaragoza jumped on his favorite Lifecycle exercise machine as he did every weekday. He picked up the
San Luis Obispo Tribune
and scanned the cover of the front section. Staring back at him was the winsome face of the missing Cuesta College student, Aundria Crawford. As Zaragoza pumped away on the Lifecycle, he read the story of how Captain Topham suspected a break-in at her apartment, only ten blocks from downtown San Luis Obispo. Topham also mentioned that he believed Aundria might have been abducted.While Zaragoza’s sweat beaded into his eyes, one person’s face popped into his head. Bizarre stories swirled around in his brain. Something bothered him, but he could not pinpoint it.
Twenty minutes later, gleaming with sweat, Zaragoza dismountedfrom the exercise machine. He grabbed a towel, wiped his forehead, and took a swig from his water bottle. The routine did not relax him as it usually did. Instead, he was irritable. The Aundria Crawford story nagged at him incessantlyand left him unfocused.
He took another swig from his water bottle. Suddenly he realized what was bothering him. He grabbed his gear and newspaper and bolted out the door.
David Zaragoza was a parole officer in San Luis Obispo County. The thirty-seven-year-old family man grew up in Northern California. His father ran a farm, where Zaragoza worked as a kid, but David had bigger dreams for himself. He attended Cal Poly in the early 1980s. He kept his interests in the family line, but he wanted to run a plethora of farms. He was eager to achieve this goal when he signed up for courses and received his degree in agricultural business. Upon graduationZaragoza found the job market to be almost nonexistent, so he applied for a job in the California penal system. He assumed he might find a job in the field of corrections.
Zaragoza began his run with the California penal system in January 1989. He started out as a state prison guard for three years before he received a promotion to correctional counselor at California Men’s Colony East in San Luis Obispo.
By April 1992 he advanced yet again to the position of paroleagent, but he went back to being a prison counselor from November 1992 to November 1993. He then returned to his parole position in San Luis Obispo.
By 1999 David Zaragoza was a seasoned parole officer and his specialty was sex offenders. And there were plenty of them in his region.
San Luis Obispo, despite its beauty and small-town mentality,is located in a potentially volatile portion of the state of California. It is located within 140 miles of eleven security prisons. One of the most notorious facilities in the country, the California Men’s Colony (CMC), is located within one mile of Cuesta College and five miles from Cal Poly. CMC has housed numerous high-profile criminals within its walls, including the serial-killing duo of Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris, who met there in the late 1970s and, upon their release,terrorized Southern California by kidnapping, torturing, and murdering teenage girls.
Some of the other ten prisons include the California State prison—Corcoran. It is home to notorious 1960s cult figure Charles Manson, the leader of the Manson Family, which killed at least seven Los Angelinos in 1969 including eight-and-a-half-monthpregnant B-movie actress Sharon Tate; Robert Kennedy’s assassin Sirhan B. Sirhan; and Juan Corona, a migrant farm worker who killed and buried twenty-fivepeople in Yuba City, California.
The other prisons nearby include the Valley State Prison for Women in Chowchilla, the Central California Women’s Facility, the Substance Abuse Treatment Facility and State Prison located in Corcoran, the North Kern State Prison, the Wasco State Prison, the California Correctional Institution in Tehachapi, the Correctional Training Facility of Soledad, the Salinas Valley State Prison, the Pleasant Valley State Prison, and Avenal State Prison.
In addition to the multitude of correctional facilities, San Luis Obispo County also houses one of the state of California’slargest mental hospitals for criminals, Atascadero State Hospital. Before he went to prison, the aforementioned serial killer Roy Norris spent five years there after he raped and assaultedtwo women in San Diego. Atascadero doctors declared him “no further harm to others.” Three months later, he raped a young woman from Redondo Beach. Norris ended up in CMC, where he met Lawrence Bittaker.
One of the misnomers of California is that it is a mecca for violent crime, especially rape. While it is true that the total numbers of rapes are high, the percentage of violent, forcible rapes of individuals is one of the better percentages in the United States. According to the U.S. Crime Index Rates, in the year 2000, there were 90,186 reported forcible rapes in the country. Of that total, 9,785 occurred in the state of California.That same year the state’s population reached almost 34 million; therefore, the rate of occurrence of a forcible rape in California in 2000 was 28.9 out of every 100,000 people. This placed California as the thirty-first best state in the Union. The nationwide average recorded that year stood at 32 per 100,000 people.
Despite these surprising numbers, the individuals who committed these crimes are some of the most notorious in our country.
David Zaragoza’s parole beat included some of these notoriouscriminal sex offenders. At the time of Aundria Crawford’s disappearance, his roster consisted of more than one hundred of California’s most reviled offenders.
As he chewed over the Crawford information, one parolee’s name sprang to mind: Rex Krebs.
Krebs, a prison parolee, lived deep in the woods of Davis Canyon, near Avila Beach, just south of San Luis Obispo. Zaragoza had been assigned the Krebs case back in 1997 after he was released from Soledad State Prison. Krebs had been incarcerated for rape charges in two cases that occurred ten years earlier in nearby Arroyo Grande and Oceano. Zaragoza remembered that the Krebs attacks involved break-insof women’s residences. There was a ring of familiarity to his modus operandi.
Zaragoza decided to pay Krebs a visit.