The Bundy Murders: A Comprehensive History (24 page)

Knowing her coworkers would be back any minute, Liz chose to end the conversation. At that time the detective told her the only way to put her fears to rest would be to pursue this further. Liz then suggested he call the police in Salt Lake City; perhaps, she said, they've made an arrest in the case of the murdered girls, which would let him off the hook in her mind. Hergesheimer agreed to do that but he also wanted her phone number. Again she resisted, telling him she would call him back. Before letting her off the phone, however, Hergesheimer managed to pry from her at least her first name. He also convinced her to call him back, which she did two hours later (he had requested she call him in one hour, but at least she reestablished contact). At that time, after she told him her boyfriend's name, he mentioned they'd been given Bundy's name the previous summer, when a University of Washington professor called and mentioned him. The professor called him a "weird guy" who drives a Volkswagen and needs to be investigated. Liz was absolutely baffled to hear this.

Later that afternoon she met Hergesheimer in person in the parking lot of a restaurant both she and Bundy used to frequent. Sitting in his car, they discussed why she felt Bundy was a suspect, but again, the detective was reserved, not appearing excited by anything she told him. It wasn't that he didn't consider the possibility of Bundy being a murderer, but a law student without a past arrest record just didn't fit the profile of a sadistic killer of young women. Even so, Liz's information about the crutches should have been an eyebrow-raiser when considering the other criteria of the "Ted" murders: he drove a VW Beetle, he spoke at times with an odd inflection in his voice, and his move to Utah coincided with the homicides now occurring there.

Over the next few weeks, however, the King County Police were no closer to viewing Theodore Robert Bundy as a hotter, more likely suspect than anyone else. Yet having received information on him from three separate people on three different occasions, coupled with the fact that he owned a Volkswagen and his name was Ted, did place him on a special list of the top 100 suspects. That list, which would require an extensive investigation until each person was either ruled in or out as a suspect, could be whittled down in about a year, they believed.

For Liz, however, the next few weeks would be torturous mentally, as she learned of the murder of Laura Ann Aime, the attempted abduction of Carol DaRonch at the mall in Murray, and the disappearance of young Debbie Kent from her high school play. Always willing to seek out facts which would exonerate the man she loved, she began checking the dates and times of his calls to her; calls that could be frequent and at odd hours of the night.

Methodically going over the Utah newspapers her library carried, Liz noticed that Melissa Smith went missing on October 18. That, she believed, was reassuring, as Bundy went hunting the next day with her father. It was her dad's birthday, and anyone who was out killing a girl would not, in her mind, resume a normal life the next day. It just couldn't be done. Not being a sociopath, it was all beyond Liz Kendall's imagination. But her Bundy, an absolute master of compartmentalization, could kill, commit repeated acts of necrophilia and resume a normal work schedule and proper social interaction, all in a matter of hours.

Devouring the papers, she read about the man driving the VW who failed in his attempt to kidnap the woman at the Fashion Place Mall, only to snatch the teenager from Viewmont High School in nearby Bountiful. She instantly remembered he had called her that very night at 11:00 P.M., something inves tigators would take special notice of in the near future. But to Liz, this had to mean someone else was responsible for these horrible things, for how could he abduct Debbie Kent around 10 on the night of November 8 when he was telephoning her at 11 (which would make it midnight in Utah)?

Which begs the obvious question: Why did he make that rather untimely call? Was it a desire to cover his tracks in case of a future investigation? There is that possibility, however remote. Much more likely, I believe, is that Ted Bundy's contact with Liz after the murder (or in this case, during the murder) was his way of stepping back from the crevasse of complete insanity. It was a clear attempt to connect with the only real anchor to the normal world he possessed. And even though he acted out many of the interactions he had with Liz, it was a strong connection to the world of the sane, and he knew it.

But what is truly mind-boggling about his decision to reach out to Liz at that particular time was that Debbie Kent had been in his hands less than one hour. Still breathing but unquestionably unconscious, Debbie was either in his car with a blanket thrown over her, or he'd quickly carried her up to his room by way of the fire escape. That way he could be free to perform anything he wanted to for as long as he wanted to before disposing of the body. But wherever Debbie was as he spoke briefly with Liz (who had been awakened, and promptly told him to call her tomorrow), he would use the rest of the night to perform that which satiated his ever-increasing need for possessing his victims before committing the actual murder.

Liz would go home to spend Christmas with Bundy and her family that year. Just being around him again made her doubt the fears that constantly drove her when she was alone. Listening to his jokes, watching him move about the room, seeing the man who got along well with her parents and showed such love and concern for Tina was a living testimony to how normal he was. Such a man could not be the bloodthirsty murderer of the women of Washington State and now these unfortunate souls in Utah. It simply couldn't be true. And it was during these times of vacillation that Liz would suffer the greatest guilt. It must have seemed like a horrible persecution and betrayal against the man she loved and was going to marry; a man who not only was becoming a lawyer, but who'd expressed interest in running for governor of Washington. These calls to the authorities, she believed, might very well come back to haunt them.

But absent from Bundy, Liz would question and ponder so many things that seemed to make sense and kept pointing to his guilt. Something yet indefinable screamed yes, he is a killer. He's the one they're looking for, and I need to help them catch him. Yet the finality of such a decision disturbed her greatly. To believe that the man you've been with for over five years, someone you've virtually entrusted with your life and the life of your daughter, is in truth a veritable monster was practically beyond her comprehension.

5

A LETHAL COLORADO WINTER

Theodore Bundy made two decisions at the beginning of 1975. First, he would begin attending classes on a more regular basis for the second semester. As a student of law, he'd been shirking his duties, and he knew it. And secondly, he would need to find a new killing ground, for the Beehive State was just too risky. The period between October 18 and November 8 had been a heady time for him. He had created a reign of terror the likes of which Utah had never seen, and he'd fed the darkness within, leaving him feeling satisfied and looking forward to the coming year. A new year would mean new victims, and those victims, he determined, could be found in the unsuspecting environment of Colorado ski resorts. Here he would blend in easily among those who are used to seeing a strange face, in an atmosphere away from Utah lawmen on the hunt. Here he would find fresh prey.

One facet of his January activities that year which could have made a difference in the coming months was his applying for the job of administrative assistant to County Commissioner Ralph McClure, a Salt Lake City Democrat. McClure really liked Bundy. "I almost hired him," McClure said. "He had experience in Washington politics, excellent credentials and was an accomplished speech writer."' Would getting this job have altered or even eliminated some of Bundy's future Colorado murders? We will never know.

Michigan is a long way from Utah, Colorado, and the Northwest, and hardly more than a ripple of news about the murders had reached the rest of the country by January 1975. So it is certain that as Dr. Raymond Gadowski, his children, and the very pretty Caryn Campbell arrived at the Wildwood Inn in Snowmass, Colorado (only a stone's throw from Aspen), the threat of violent death had not even entered their minds. Perhaps nothing more than a bruised arm or leg from a tumble on the slope was anticipated, and if so, probably laughed about as the standard fear among skiers. But a fiend, especially an injured one, or one playing a policeman, hiding behind a handsome face and a disarming smile, would never be seen as a danger to Caryn, or most other women for that matter. Being a nurse, Caryn would be inclined to assist someone, if asked, and if everything looked on the up and up. It would, in her mind, be the correct thing to do.

To understand what transpired here, and how Caryn Campbell became an unlikely victim, it's important to know the layout of the Wildwood Inn, for it was here that Bundy was hunting, and not at the connecting village with its myriad of shops and restaurants, or the slopes, both of which have a constant stream of humanity both day and night. Like a lion in the jungle peering out from behind various forms of cover, waiting for the weakest and most susceptible to pass before him, so Ted Bundy would familiarize himself with this particular place and would then pounce upon what he felt was the most accessible and desirable of victims. He would plan and he would wait.

The Inn consists of three connecting buildings which form a "U" shape, with the inside of this "U" being totally open to the elements and having a heated pool in the center on the ground floor. This being the case, all guests rooms inside this U face each other (as well as the pool), and are accessed by outdoor walkways only. In the warmer months you can stand all day long on these walkways, and (except for the occasional row of ski lockers or a service closet which might block the view of a doorway from a particular angle) never lose sight of anyone traveling the walkways, entering an elevator, or climbing or descending the stairs. But this is not the case when the snows come and the temperature dips to zero and below. The deep cold of a Colorado winter will continually pull massive amounts of steam off the surface of this very popular heated outdoor pool; the fog becomes a curtain, where voices can often be heard somewhere in the mists, but faces remain unseen. As we shall see, this and other factors would work in Bundy's favor to help him capture what is believed to be his first victim in Colorado.

The trip itself should have been a memorable one for the Gadowski party. Not quite engaged to be married, but at least talking about it, Raymond, thirty-one, and Caryn, twenty-four, had been living together for close to a year, and had come to Snowmass to attend a medical convention. Accompanying them for at least some of the activities was Dr. Albert Brinkman (a pseudonym), who was also a former boyfriend of Caryn's. Had everything gone as planned, it would have looked something like this: Raymond would attend the daily conferences while Caryn would be skiing with the kids or doing other fun things. Nights would find them out on the slopes or around the fireplace in the lodge, perhaps milling about the shops in the village, or taking part in some of the planned social functions for the doctors and their families. However, after they arrived on Saturday, January 11, their fun-filled get-away would end almost as quickly as it had begun.

Early the next morning, Raymond made a half-hearted attempt to participate in the first conference of the series, but after only an hour, cut out to join Caryn and the kids for breakfast and time on the slopes. For dinner, Caryn, Ray, the children, and Dr. Brinkman decided to eat at the Stew Pot restaurant in Snowmass Village. It had been very cold all day, and after sunset, the temperature dropped to minus thirty-three degrees. Wanting to keep her hands in her pockets for the short walk to the eatery, Caryn left her purse containing her identification and her key to room 210 in the room. She knew Ray had his, so it didn't matter. Because she'd been having a bout of stomach cramps, Caryn drank only milk with her stew, but finished neither. Leaving the restaurant, they stopped in a drugstore to peruse the magazine section, and this was the only stop they made on their way back to the Wildwood Inn. Apparently Brinkman had a Playboy to keep him company on the trip, and as he and Caryn were joking about it, Caryn offered to switch with him what she insisted was a much better magazine, her current issue of Viva. With a laugh, Brinkman agreed to the offer.

Inside the lobby now, Caryn, obviously wanting to stay by the fire, asked Ray to retrieve her magazine, which was on the top shelf of the closet in their room. But whether he was tired from skiing or something was irritating him, Gadowski refused to go, and handed Caryn the key to their room. According to some reports, they may have had additional words, but it was clear the doctor was not getting out of his chair. Walking away (Brinkman had already left the lobby to pick up the magazine from his room), she crossed the lobby and entered the elevator for the ride to the second floor.

When the doors opened on the second floor, numerous people she knew from the medical conference were waiting to board, including a nurse from the same hospital where Caryn worked. When this person was later interviewed by a detective, she said as the doors opened and Caryn stepped off, they greeted one another and Caryn turned to the right for what should have been a very short walk to her room. According to court records, "They observed Caryn Campbell, with whom they were familiar, exit the elevator on the second floor of the Wildwood Inn. Miss Campbell told the Yoders that she was going to her room to get a magazine and that she would return immediately to the lobby."2 These were the last people to see Caryn Campbell alive; the last, that is, except for her abductor, who was even then concealing himself. As soon as the Yoders were out of the way, he made his move.