The Bundy Murders: A Comprehensive History (16 page)

After authorities began discussing the possibility that their man might have killed in other regions of the country before arriving in the Northwest, detectives started contacting law enforcement agencies in neighboring states and beyond to see if similar coed murders had happened elsewhere. Every major city has its share of homicides, including women. Yet no state had anything like the disappearances in Washington State. The pattern of abductions, with the victims almost exclusively from what authorities describe as lowrisk environments, and a killer sophisticated enough to leave not even a trace of himself behind made Washington's cases unique. These women weren't prostitutes who were inadvertently putting themselves into harm's way, as would be seen the following decade with the Green River Killer. Nor were they on the fringes of society, but were being snatched away while conducting the normal routines of their lives. One seasoned detective from Denver, after listening patiently to his counterpart in Seattle, quipped: "You folks have a problem."' They did indeed.

Although he would continue to attend law school for the winter semester, he planned to withdraw before the end of the year. (He was referred to as the "phantom" by some who knew him because of his occasional disappearances, some lasting for days, and then, like an apparition, he was suddenly back in the classroom.) That March, the same month he killed Donna Manson, he told Liz how poorly he was doing in school, and of his intention of dropping out. Surprised at his admission, Liz tried to be positive but was at a loss for words. Bundy, like a son seeking approval from his mother after having done something to displease her, cradled his head in her lap, and only after she stroked his hair awhile and prodded him to talk about it did he tearfully open up to her: "He couldn't concentrate," Liz remembered, "but he didn't understand why."3 No surprise here: law school was stressful enough for Bundy without the hunting and killing of women, but now that he was fully engaged in either killing or planning his next murder, there was little time left for the study of his chosen profession. He had to worry about a location for abduction, where he could indulge in necrophilia, disposal of the remains, a return to the remains for further sexual satisfaction, and avoiding detection.

Once again proving his skills as an actor, Bundy whined about the ambiance of the law school and how perhaps this was the reason for his disastrous academic record during his first semester. He then suggested he might contact the University of Utah for possible readmission and Liz, perhaps for a lack of anything to add, agreed. What she didn't know was that he had reapplied to Utah back in December, but this too he kept to himself.

And it wasn't just his academic life that was suffering; his political responsibilities were taking a beating as well. As a precinct committeeman and elected delegate from the 43rd District, he failed to attend a caucus at Laurelhurst on April 23. On June 1 he missed the King County convention being held at the Seattle Center, and he was conspicuously absent from the state convention on July 5 and 6. His name was originally on the register but "the 1st alternate delegate, Helen West had to represent the 43rd pct. for him."4 Bundy's life as a rising star in the Republican Party was all but over. The young politico's mind was now set on other things.

An interesting result of Bundy's transformation (and perhaps an unexpected one too) was his inability to always control himself now that he'd become a killer, even in situations heretofore off limits to his secret self. Until now, Bundy was able to exercise complete control over his inner self whenever he was under the watchful eyes of Liz or others in his social arena, regardless of the diabolical thoughts or actions he may have been formulating behind his personable smile. The decadent inner life of Theodore Bundy was just that: an inner life that was, no matter how perverse, safely ensconced within him. He held the key to letting the murderous genie out of the bottle that was his body, and he alone would decide when and how to turn the key. He would discover, however, that once released, controlling his genie would not be easy, and it would, as time passed, make inroads into his normal world where, others began to see a part of him unlike the man they had come to know.

Larry Voshall was, like Bundy, young, conservative and an active part of the Republican political scene in Washington State. They had met sometime in 1973 and would occasionally see each other at parties, but unlike many of his peers, he apparently didn't think much of Bundy, based solely on his personal experiences in the summer of 1974.

On Friday, June 28, 1974, Larry Voshall, Susan Reade, Ted Bundy and Becky Gibbs had dinner at the home of Reed and Diane Barrick in Bellevue, Washington. As Voshall remembered it: "A raft trip had been planned the following day on Bundy's raft and we talked about it that evening. The next day we left around noon. Susan and I drove over in her car, and Bundy and Becky went in Bundy's Volkswagen." Larry and Susan stopped along the way to purchase life jackets, as Bundy only had two. The spot they chose to launch Bundy's raft (a gift from Liz) was just east of the Teanaway Bridge. They'd be navigating the Yakima River from this point to the Diversion Dam some 15 miles downstream. This particular section of the river is the most popular spot for rafters in the state, with an estimated travel time of five to six hours. It was also not very far from Ellensburg and Central Washington State College, where he had snatched and killed pretty Susan Rancourt only months before. His entrance back into this area may have acted as a catalyst, a trigger of sorts, for the darkness to begin rising again, altering his personality to the point where he felt an overwhelming need to be alone; to relive every moment he was with Susan (not only alive, but also post mortem). To do so, he would need and desire privacy. It was a time to savor; a time between predator and prey only, Bundy believed, and he considered the ground in which these acts were committed as forever sacred. Rafting down the beautiful Yakima, it was all he could do to maintain any sense of normalcy as he communed with the madness of what he'd become. Rancourt, he believed, now belonged to him in a special way, as did all of his victims.

Larry Voshall noticed the transformation: "While we were rafting to the Diversion Dam, his personality seemed to change. It was like he wasn't concerned about our safety or our enjoyment of the trip. He had tied an inner tube ... to the back of the raft with some rope he got from his car. Becky rode in the inner tube and at one point he untied the rope, holding the inner tube to the raft and this initially frightened Becky very much."' Having successfully made his date fearful, Bundy believed a little sexual degrading was in order as well. Moving his hand quickly behind her, he untied the straps of Becky's halter top, leaving her, as Voshall remembered, "very embarrassed." Such an unusual display left Larry Voshall a little mystified. "During the trip I observed Ted Bundy wasn't very friendly and this did not seem like the Ted Bundy I had heard about."6

As they disembarked at a pre-selected spot at Diversion Dam, they made their way by foot through an area of underbrush starting from just above the riverbank to the location where they had left Bundy's car for the return trip. It was here that Voshall noticed how expertly he seemed to navigate this bit of wilderness. "Ted seemed to know the area quite well."' But then, he knew many of the remote areas of western Washington quite well indeed.

An incident that would only make sense after the world was introduced to the true Theodore Bundy occurred the Sunday morning prior to their trip down the Yakima. According to Voshall, at around 10:00 A.M., Bundy stopped by Susan Reade's apartment, and found her and Larry relaxing and drinking vodka and orange juice. Voshall couldn't remember, but he believes Bundy sat down and poured himself a drink too. Shortly afterward, Bundy and Voshall left in Bundy's Volkswagen to pick up something for breakfast, but before heading to the grocery, Bundy stopped by his apartment to pick up either a checkbook or money. Waiting in the passenger seat (Voshall said Bundy was inside his place about five minutes), Voshall went to light a cigarette but fumbling through each pocket, couldn't find a match. Not thinking anything of it, he opened the glove box to look for matches or a lighter that Bundy, also a smoker, might have, and as he did so he noticed a pair of women's nylons. Feeling he'd invaded Bundy's privacy, he quickly shut the door, and when Bundy returned to the car he said nothing about it. He was perhaps pleased he hadn't been caught rifling through things in the first place.

A footnote to the raft trip: during the return home that evening, the friends stopped for dinner along the way. Being low on funds (but not wanting to admit it), Bundy said he didn't want to eat, but Becky, realizing the true nature of the problem, paid for his dinner. Once again, the female in his life had rescued him, at least in a financial sense. Such things as this, as much as his outright thievery, would be a central theme throughout his life when dealing with women. From the money Liz gave him to re-enroll at the University of Washington to the raft she purchased so he could spend the day with Becky and their friends, he was a constant user of people, ready to attach himself to any of the women he dated. It was, in fact, just the natural outworking of a sociopath.

Liz Kendall also had an eventful trip while rafting with the man she loved. Unfortunately for her, however, she happened to be alone when the monster began to emerge. Although he had threatened her before. During one of their arguments about his perpetual thievery, Bundy, momentarily believing Liz might reveal his little secret to a third party, blurted out, "If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll break your fucking neck!"' But all of that was some time ago. And while the thought of what he said that day would linger with her for years, he never harmed her, nor did he ever threaten her like that again. Deep down, Liz Kendall believed he would not hurt her.

On Saturday, July 6, 1974, a beautiful summer day in Washington State, Liz and Bundy decided to go rafting down the Yakima, just as they had done many times before. The only surprises awaiting them should have been of a trivial nature. Just being together on such a pleasant day should have brought the best out in him, and for a while it did. But he was changing rapidly now, in ways Liz never imagined. Liz had noticed certain aspects of this. His sexual desires toward her took an unexpected turn towards the first of the year. Suddenly, it seemed, he wanted to have anal sex, but Liz, having absolutely no desire to submit herself to such an act, refused. Perhaps by way of compensation, however, she did allow him to tie her up while they made love, but she soon put a stop to this too. She didn't feel it was natural, and whatever was going on in his head was not going on in hers. It wouldn't be long before his need for sex from her had all but disappeared; a fact that caused Liz to both wonder and worry about other women in his life.

They eventually found a nice spot to stop and have lunch, and steered the raft towards a small island. So far, things had been good between them, but now Bundy, who had been daydreaming quite a bit, was growing even less talkative, and for the most part, the couple ate in silence, washing down each mouthful with a cool sip of beer. It didn't bother Liz that they weren't saying much; just being together in such a natural setting was good enough for her. Her thoughts were in the right place. His were not. Murder had gotten into his blood, and it was now all he thought about. His secret life was more than just a fantasy now, and he yearned to fulfill his darkest of needs in grander ways than before. Indeed, he would go the next day to Lake Sammamish, on what many consider his dry run in anticipation of the massive get-together at Lake Sam the following Sunday, July 14. Liz, who was well aware of the missing women, felt safe with him, but as they gathered up their things to continue their trip down the Yakima, Janice Ott and Denise Naslund had but eight more days to live.

For the next hour, his moodiness would continue. But the beast was hard to contain now, and without warning, it was about to manifest that other side of him Liz knew nothing about. It would be the harbinger of both fear and doubt as to who this man really was. She knew so much about him before this day; and afterward, she would be left to wonder how much of what she actually believed was real. Although Liz Kendall couldn't have known it, it was the beginning of a very slow end to their relationship. After today, nothing would really be the same.

As they resumed their trip down the Yakima River, everything appeared normal to Liz. However, before an hour of quiet sailing had passed, Liz found herself gasping for air in the cold waters of the Yakima, after he suddenly and without warning pushed her out of the raft. "His face had gone blank," she remembered. "I had the sense that he wasn't seeing me ... I could find no expression on his face."9 The killer was now with her.

Perhaps barely able to rein the beast back inside, Bundy played down the incident as if it were nothing. Liz, however, accused him of ruining everything, flatly telling him she didn't think what he did was funny, but Bundy maintained it was nothing at all." After a brief argument, the couple fell into silence on the drive home. Although always quick with the denial, what did Bundy think of his little outburst? Did he internally promise to never let that part of himself out again, except against those he planned to murder? As for Liz, it was just another odd occurrence in the man she had been with for almost five years. A man she still believed would make a good husband for her and a good stepfather for Tina. It was a commitment, she believed, that was still within her reach.

Despite the frightening incident along the Yakima, he and Liz would talk by phone throughout the week, and, in fact, would have dinner together on Wednesday evening, when, she believed, things seemed back to normal; at least, what could be considered normal for a relationship such as theirs. The following Saturday night, Liz called him at his folks' house in Tacoma and asked him if he wanted to do something the following day. But he said no, that he had other things to do. When she asked what things, he became evasive and answered, "Just things, Liz.""