The Bundy Murders: A Comprehensive History (27 page)

Spring was approaching, and he looked forward to all the opportunities that time of year had to offer.

6

SPRINGTIME DOESN'T
ALWAYS MEAN NEW LIFE

On Thursday, April 3, 1975, Bundy pulled into a Chevron station in Salt Lake City and purchased gas using his Chevron credit card. He had managed to rack up an enormous bill with the company over the previous year or so, and this debt would continue to grow as his consumption of fuel far exceeded his ability to pay for it. But the rising cost of what he was doing didn't concern him, for he had other, more pleasant things to consider.

He would be leaving in the morning for Colorado, and before heading out, he'd take along with him everything he would need for the trip. One item he couldn't forget was a shovel. It was time to say a final good-bye to one of his victims, and seek out another while he was at it. Besides, he believed Colorado would be a welcome break from the confinement of classes and the constant need to adjust the mask of sanity for those at the rooming house and everywhere else he was forced to interact socially. On the road he could be himself, where his conversations were reduced to pleasantries exchanged with a waitress, a gas station attendant, or perhaps someone from whom he might need to ask directions. Life among strangers (or among the dead, for that matter) was always easier for him than dealing with the living whom he knew.

On Friday, April 4, Bundy was back in Golden, Colorado, a small community west of Denver. He was purchasing gas again, just as he had less than three weeks earlier, and he would fill up again at a familiar spot in Silverthorne the next day. His reason for being here was to visit the remains of Julie Cunningham, who was by now, like all dead things in the wild, experiencing a thawing decay. But because he always viewed the scenes of his work, both the locations where the murders occurred and those where the bodies were eventually placed, as being sacred and because he continued to possess a strong connection to the remains, it would have been impossible for Ted Bundy to simply roll up to the desolate area, quickly grab the shovel, and make quick work of it. Far more likely is that his excitement continued to build with each mile, and by the time he pulled up to within feet of the corpse (in whatever form it remained), he'd be in a mental and emotional state so far removed from the rest of society that it almost certainly would have required him to seek a sexual release from the tension. For such people, the union between killer and victim is mystical, surpassing in importance the bonds they share with the living.

He also had to have a palpable sense of regret once the last bit of dirt was thrown over his victim forever. Her destroyer was saying good-bye for the last time, and a sense of loss filled him as he brushed the debris from his pants, threw the shovel in the trunk and climbed back into his car. He was alone again, but he would carry this victim, as he would all of his victims, within himself for the rest of his life. They were now a part of him in a most unique way, and this was something which couldn't be taken from him, no matter what the future held. The immediate future, at least for Theodore Bundy, meant another young and beautiful woman who would soon succumb to his deviant desires.

Grand Junction, Colorado, located in the western part of the state and less than thirty miles from Utah, had a population of 20,000 in 1970. Nearly 200 miles from the capital city of Denver, it is but one of the many smaller communities which hug Interstate 70 as it zigzags horizontally throughout the state. The town takes its name from the confluence of the Colorado and Gunnison rivers, and has always been considered a good place to live and raise a family. But like so many other unlikely places before that Sunday, April 6, 1975, Grand Junction would not escape intact as Theodore Bundy drove slowly and with a singular determination through the town. It wasn't long before he caught a glimpse of a pretty young woman riding her yellow bicycle in the southern end of the city. Just a short time earlier, Bundy charged $3.16 against his Chevron credit card at a gas station in Grand Junction; a decision which might have brought a smile to his face, considering he was now eyeing what he believed was a suitable victim, and he wouldn't want to stop for fuel in the middle of an abduction. Things were going so smoothly once again.

The woman Bundy was paying such close attention to was twenty-fouryear-old Denise Oliverson. A sleek woman standing 54' and weighing 105 pounds, Denise had long brown hair parted in the middle. It was obvious she was heading for a bridge which would take her across the Colorado River into another populated area of the city, so Bundy knew that whatever he was going to do, he'd have to do it quickly.

It is unknown what was going through the mind of Denise Oliverson moments before Bundy stopped his VW and quickly jumped out of his car, but we do know perhaps some of what she must have been pondering. Having had an argument with her boyfriend, she decided to ride her bike to her parents' house across the river in the northern part of the city, close to Lincoln Park. It was turning warm again, so a bike ride may have been just what she needed to alleviate some of her stress. At any other time she'd have been absolutely right. Those who saw her last said she was wearing an Indian print blouse, a pair of Levi's, and sandals.

It is also unknown exactly how Bundy took control of her. Unable to use one of his tried-and-true ruses, Bundy either stopped his car just ahead of her, jumped out and immediately attacked her, knocking her unconscious, or he may have driven a bit farther ahead, stopped, gotten out of his car, began fumbling with something as if he was checking a tire, and struck her with the crowbar as she passed him. Either method was very risky, as it was a nice afternoon and any pair of eyes from any direction could have seen them. Even a quick glance around didn't guarantee him an escape without pursuit, but again, Bundy was apparently impervious to such fears, and unfortunately he would be proven right once again.

However he abducted Denise, once she was inside his VW he spirited her onto 1-70 heading west, and before he reached the Utah line he stopped the car, killed her, performed whatever acts of necrophilia he was at that moment craving, and dumped her body in the Colorado River. It was a quick kill for him, and it was absolutely certain he would never return to the scene for any further sexual activity with the deceased. After ridding himself of the evidence of clothes and other personal effects, he continued on 1-70 into southern Utah, and then headed in a northeasterly direction for home.

When he drove his weather-beaten Volkswagen Beetle in whatever state or region he chose to prowl, those who passed him on the road would have seen nothing remarkable about the man or his vehicle. To say that in such a setting he looked average is actually an understatement. But in truth, he was either the most brilliant and sadistic murderer ever, or perhaps the most miraculously lucky. For despite the fact that he had become the terror of four western states, the law enforcement community, regardless of its valiant and tiring efforts, was no closer to catching him than it was after the disappearance of Lynda Ann Healy. He was quickly approaching a status heretofore unseen in the history of murder. And Theodore Robert Bundy was enjoying every minute of it.

The body of Denise Oliverson has never been recovered.

Despite his busy schedule of law school, social activity and murder, Bundy remembered to send flowers that April to Liz, who was turning thirty. It was a thoughtful gesture, but one that did little to remove the doubt and confusion as to who and what was the real Ted Bundy.

Not being able to steal everything he needed, Bundy sought out the job of custodian of Balliff Hall at the university. He would manage to hold onto this position until early or mid-summer, when he was finally terminated for "missing work and showing up drunk on one occasion."' Bundy, who was never as dedicated to working as he was to killing young coeds, was probably relieved to be free of the commitment.

Next door in Colorado, Mike Fisher had been toiling for weeks following up leads in the murder of Caryn Campbell. When a suspect looked promising in Detroit, he caught a flight, keeping his proverbial fingers crossed. Stepping off the plane, it must have been exceedingly cold, as he would later remark, "I didn't know there was a place colder than Aspen in February."' After interviewing a man in what had at first looked like a possible break in the case, Fisher quickly determined this wasn't the killer of Caryn Campbell. Before flying out, however, the Colorado investigator again interviewed doctors Gadowski and Brinkman. Both agreed to take a polygraph test, and both passed. This didn't surprise Fisher, but having it out of the way meant he could close the book on these two men. And, Fisher noted, Gadowski's nine-yearold son was able to substantiate everything his father and Brinkman had said. At least the relentless detective was able to fly home feeling like something had been accomplished, even if Caryn's murderer was still evading justice.

Another bubble would burst after he traveled to Oregon to interview and polygraph another incarcerated suspect. When this one fell apart, the investigator headed for home, still empty handed, but not empty of determination. The hunt for Campbell's killer would go on. Indeed, his level of determination would only increase, now that he began to see a pattern of murdered and missing women that was emerging in the state with the vanishings of Julie Cunningham and Denise Oliverson. It was a pattern he had watched develop next door in Utah, and so, in mid-April, he telephoned Detective Jerry Thompson of the Salt Lake County Sheriff's Office to compare notes on their individual murders. Immediately, similarities were noted. After this initial contact, Fisher and some of his people drove to Salt Lake to meet Jerry Thompson and his partner Ben Forbes, taking photos and information with them on the murders in Colorado. Thompson, who had taken over the Melissa Smith case from his good friend Louis Smith and who was also responsible for the Nancy Wilcox investigation now that she wasn't classed as a runaway, freely shared with Fisher everything he had, including his belief about the connection between the attack on Carol DaRonch and the almost immediate abduction of Debbie Kent. When the detectives began looking closely at the Utah and Colorado murders, it was apparent to all present that a single, mobile killer was most likely responsible. It was an assumption that couldn't be carved into stone. But it was a theory that had a great deal of circumstantial weight behind it, based on the available evidence, and only time would prove them right. Both Fisher and Thompson were astute lawmen who weren't afraid of sharing information, and understood that such cooperation could prove beneficial in catching an elusive killer such as they were after.

On Monday, May 5, 1975, Ted Bundy was in the mood for a hunt of his own. Leaving Salt Lake City, Bundy headed north on 1-15 towards Idaho. It was a straight shot up the interstate to Pocatello, and at only 165 miles, it would feel like a sprint to this very seasoned road killer. He wouldn't be using his credit card this time (something the authorities would later use so effectively against him), as he had a full tank of gas and expected be able to make the round trip without having to stop for more.

Heading north, Bundy was filled with excited expectations of what was in store for the woman or women that would be foolish enough to follow him to their death. He couldn't have known that in fourteen years, he'd be explaining the reason for this particular trip just a short time before his own death.

Russell Reneau, who in 1989 was chief investigator for the Idaho Attorney General's Office, sat down with Bundy only two days before he was executed to hear some last-minute confessions about the two murders he committed in the state. It was a last-ditch effort by the killer to prolong his life after running out of appeals, and it would ultimately fail. However, these confessions do provide answers (at least in some cases) for law enforcement and members of the victims' families, which may be comforting for the bereaved, especially if the bodies are never located. But they are also a window into the thinking patterns of the sociopath, and it is clear from the transcripts that Theodore Bundy had great difficulty talking about some of these things.

Believing there could have been a normal reason for Bundy's travel to Pocatello, Reneau asks him a question which caused the killer a moment of embarrassment. The following exchange is taken directly from the transcript:

RENEAU: Do you recall why you were in Pocatello at that particular time?

BUNDY: Yes.

RENEAU: Can you tell me?

BUNDY: Oh yes. Oh, excuse me. Aw ... madness, what can I say. It was basically to do what was done.3

Madness, yes! And an extreme madness, which he relished, and which he'd use to the fullest at every opportunity.

As Bundy entered the Pocatello city limits, he almost immediately caught sight of Idaho State University rising up on his left, situated just off 1-15. A little over a mile ahead sat the Holiday Inn, which was also off 1-15 and to his right, where he would secure a room, making sure it was on the first floor and in the rear of the building. How he handled that conversation with the clerk is unknown, but he signed the register using a fictitious name and oddly provided his actual license tag number for the record.