Nightcrawler

by Mark Gado

  NIGHTCRAWLER

  Mark Gado

  Copyright

  NIGHTCRAWLER

  Copyright © 2011 by Mark Gado

  Foreword copyright © 2011 by Marilyn Bardsley

  Cover art to the electronic edition copyright © 2011 by DarkHorse Multimedia, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  See full line of true crime eBook originals at www.crimescape.com.

  Electronic edition published 2011 by RosettaBooks LLC, New York.

  ISBN e-Pub edition: 9780795323157

  “The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.”

  —Novelist Joseph Conrad (1857–1924) in Under Western Eyes

  Contents

  Foreword by Marilyn Bardsley

  Chapter 1: The Kill

  Chapter 2: Vanished

  Chapter 3: Hookers

  Chapter 4: Kendall

  Chapter 5: Missing

  Chapter 6: Arrest

  Chapter 7: Summertime

  Chapter 8: Escape!

  Chapter 9: Inside His Mind

  Chapter 10: Gruesome

  Chapter 11: Hoarding

  Chapter 12: Arraignment

  Chapter 13: Justice

  Acknowledgements

  Photo Index/Credits

  Sources

  Foreword by Marilyn Bardsley

  NIGHTCRAWLER is a story you’ll never forget. It is about a psychopathic killer who lives with his shockingly dysfunctional parents, both of whom have respectable careers, in a house so choked with trash that the powerful odor of human decomposition goes unnoticed. It is also a fascinating portrait of a killer who thinks of himself as a nice guy, someone who is convinced his homicidal anger is justified because his victims cheated him by not fully satisfying his sexual needs.

  Former Detective Mark Gado’s 29 years with the City of New Rochelle Police Department in New York and two years as a federal agent on a Drug Enforcement Administration task force gives him a perspective on murder that few other true crime writers have. He leads you into the depths of a two-year investigation as women went missing without a trace and then into a bleak and horrifying crime scene. Gado is an excellent storyteller, bringing together the details of brutal murder, a frustrated community, and the police investigators who had the thankless job to uncover the fate of the missing women.

  Gado’s first book, Killer Priest, the true story of the only Catholic priest in American history to be executed for murder, was published by Praeger in March 2006. His second book, Death Row Women: Murder, Justice, and the New York Press, was published by Praeger in November 2007. His 2011 short true crime eBook MOM: THE KILLER is a Kindle bestseller.

  As a writer for more than 20 years, Gado has created works that have appeared on numerous websites and in many publications, including Time Warner’s truTV Crime Library. Like many of his law-enforcement colleagues, Gado joined the rescue effort at Ground Zero immediately after September 11. He is also a U.S. Army combat veteran of Vietnam, 1967-1968.

  Chapter 1: The Kill

  “What sort of person can quietly live with the knowledge that decomposing bodies lie under the floorboards of his house?”

  —Eric W. Hickey in Serial Murderers and Their Victims

  When a murderer outweighs his victim by 200 pounds, it doesn’t take much effort to kill. He was 6 feet 4 inches, a big man by any standard; there could be no doubt about that. Each of his hands was the size of a catcher’s mitt and his head was as massive as a grizzly bear. His weight fluctuated 20 or 30 pounds either way for no reason that he could ascertain. However, when a man tips the scales at 300, a few pounds more or less doesn’t really make a difference. He never cared about his weight or his appearance, which was most often unkempt and rather slovenly. In fact, he never cared much about anything except sex. It was just the way he was.

  He had seen the woman before walking alone in the downtown area because it was where he usually went to find a hooker. He had become very familiar with the collection of women who gathered there and was attracted to one slightly built, pretty woman who had not yet destroyed her body and looks with drugs like the others. She was in her early twenties, and although she had already been arrested for prostitution, she didn’t work every night like some women who needed to make as much as possible to feed their cursed addiction and still have some cash left over to actually live. Barely 100 pounds and only 5 feet 3 inches, the woman looked like a teenager. She knew the big man because she had seen him cruising down the street in the past looking for women. For that reason, she agreed to go to his house for sex, which was a peculiar arrangement because most customers wanted sex in their car. They would usually park in an isolated spot in the municipal garage, drive down by the river or hide behind the Great Western hotel, where there were lots of trees to deter unwanted eyes.

  The garbage inside his house was everywhere. It wasn’t just that it blocked her way; it was the sheer quantity of it. In some places it was 2 feet deep, crammed under the beds, tables and chairs. It consisted of soiled clothes, empty bottles and cans, broken furniture, newspapers, pizza boxes, shoes, car parts, broken televisions, car radios and remnants of forgotten meals. The smell was revolting, overpowering and a testament to the ability of people to become accustomed to anything. Everyone—including the mailman, pedestrians, school kids and utility workers—who came close to this house noticed the awful odor that permeated the air like a thick fog.

  She could have gagged but the promise of money and her need for the high of narcotics drove her onward. It might have provided her with a kind of false courage and a sense of resignation to do what she had to do. In his room, there was barely enough space to navigate to the bed. The big man took her hand and guided her to the mattress, which was covered with soiled clothes and leftover fast food.

  “Here?” she asked.

  “Yeah, here,” the man barked.

  “Strip,” he said.

  “Money first,” she said. Her response triggered an immediate rage inside him. He was easily agitated and quick to become violent, but also careful not to let people see that side of him—at least no one that he let live.

  “Take off your clothes!” he demanded.

  His eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles clenched. The woman, accustomed to a rip-off, would have been determined not to get beat out of cash again. Some guys just wanted sex and then later simply refused to pay. They knew a hooker wasn’t about to report it to the police. This woman wasn’t afraid to stand her ground; she wanted her money.

  “No way,” she said. “Not until I see some goddamn cash!”

  “You fucking bitch!” he shouted.

  With one swipe of his right arm, he grabbed the collar of her flimsy blouse and ripped it from her body. Her bra went with it. Quicker than she might have believed possible, his monstrous hands were around her throat. She fell backwards onto the bed where her head pressed into a Kentucky Fried Chicken take-out tray. The big man collapsed on top of her and she felt his massive size for the first time. He was impossible to budge; he was like a sack of concrete. She may have instinctively grabbed his wrists to try to pull his hands off her throat as his thumbs embedded deep into her neck, cutting off her breath. Her eyes may have bulged out of their sockets and her lungs probably strained for air, but she most likely could not have screamed. He pressed harder while she kicked and writhed under him like a trapped animal.

  “Bitch!” he whispered while he let his full weight, almost three times as much as hers, press
ed down onto her body. She would have tried to yell for help, but it would not have done much good. Her body convulsed as she began to lose consciousness. As the big man saw her fading, he choked her even harder, pressing his fingers deeper into her neck. He knew that he had to be quiet because just one floor below his bedroom, his mother, father and sister were watching television.

  Within a minute, he saw her brown eyes roll back into her head and felt her tiny body go limp. He knew better than to stop. He held his hands on her throat like a vise for several minutes until he was sure. When he finally eased up, he slapped her face gently to see if there was a reaction. He touched her cheek with his forefinger and moved her head back and forth like a rag doll. There was nothing. Through the closed door, he could hear the faint sounds of the TV downstairs. There was no way he could get the body to the car without his parents seeing him.

  He picked up the woman, removed the rest of her clothes and threw the items into a corner with the rest of the trash. He was able to carry her with one arm around her waist. He took her into his bathroom and laid her gently into the bathtub. Turning on both the hot and cold faucets, he flipped her onto her stomach and submerged her face into the water. He held it there for several minutes until he was sure she was dead. After draining the tub, he rinsed off the body and dried it with one of his T-shirts. Holding her up with just one hand, he slipped a large black plastic bag over her body. One was not enough to cover her, so he used several more, until she was completely wrapped much like a bag of trash.

  He tossed the bundle over his shoulder and carried her up the staircase into the attic, where a light bulb that dangled from a single wire provided a dim light. The big man crawled into the confined space, which was barely 4 feet high, dragging the lifeless body behind him. When he reached the furthest portion of the attic, he pulled the carcass in front of him and then positioned it with his feet into a dark corner of the room. From only a few inches away, it could barely be seen. Just to be sure, he took one last look before he turned off the light. He couldn’t see it at all. In his mind, he felt he had done a good job.

  And there was lots of room up there, too.

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  Chapter 2: Vanished

  “If one person disappears, it could be anything. If two disappear in the same circle of friends, there is surely something wrong. If three vanish, then it almost has to be homicide.”

  —City of Poughkeepsie Police Lt. William Siegrist

  Wendy Meyers led a troubled life. She had been arrested on several occasions and had an ongoing drug addiction that she had tried to kick several times. Though Wendy had been born in nearby Westchester County, fate had taken her to the City of Poughkeepsie, New York, where she took to working the streets to make money for drugs and to support her only son who lived down South with his father. Wendy was a slightly built woman who stood just over 5 feet tall. She had long brunette hair and an attractive, symmetrical face, which did not reveal her true age. In 1996, the year that she went missing, she was 30 years old and trying to get back into rehab.

  Wendy lived on the opposite side of the Hudson River in a run-down motel located in the small and picturesque town of Highland. The room was clean, manageable, and, most importantly, it was cheap. She lived there with her boyfriend, who reported her missing to the local police after two days had passed without her coming home or calling on the phone. At first, police suspected that he had something to do with Wendy’s disappearance, but a brief investigation indicated that he was not involved at all.

  City of Poughkeepsie

  Photo Courtesy of Tom Martin

  On the day she disappeared, Wendy left the motel, said goodbye to her boyfriend and caught a ride to the city, which is less than a 20-minute drive from Highland. Investigators later presumed that her destination was the downtown area, where she was known to hang around with a group of prostitutes who chose the area of Cannon Street as their work venue. Patrol officers were well aware of the problem and made frequent passes along Main Street and down Market Street, where the famous Bardovan Theater was located, and through the many parking lots that serve the city’s business center. Despite their efforts, however, the prostitutes, along with a violent and persistent drug trade, resisted any police measures to stop it. Though she never intended for it to happen and her hopes and dreams certainly never included such a scenario, Wendy Meyers became immersed in that culture.

  A routine report of an adult gone missing usually does not inspire great interest among investigators. They know the overwhelming majority of such cases are eventually resolved when the subject shows up at home or calls relatives to tell them that everything is okay. Most times, a person disappears following an argument with a family member or a spouse, and returns home after a cool-down period. It is not unusual for police to file away cases of this nature “until further information is developed.” Wendy never returned to the motel, did not call her family and was never heard from again.

  Less than two months after the disappearance of Wendy Meyers, another woman went missing. Gina Barone, 29, was frequently observed by patrol officers in the city’s hub where drug activity was at its highest and many known criminals congregated. Like Wendy, Gina was slightly built, 5 feet 1 inch and only 100 pounds, with brown hair and one child at home. In late November 1996, she was seen arguing with her boyfriend on a downtown street. They separated that same day and Gina was never seen again. By early December, her mother became worried enough to report her missing to the police department. After the police interviewed her boyfriend and were satisfied that he had done no harm to Gina, there were no other leads to follow. “She came from a good family and a good background,” said one police detective. “But she had her problems. After she missed her own birthday with her family, they became very concerned and reported her missing.”

  In January 1997, another woman vanished off the downtown streets. Kathleen Hurley, 47, left her apartment one morning and never came back. A few days later, after her family did not hear from her, her brother reported her missing. He described her as 5 feet 6 inches tall and 130 pounds. Very little was known about Kathleen’s last few days and investigators were unable to determine any reason why she should leave so abruptly and without contacting her family. Detectives investigated the disappearances, but were unable to locate the women. They simply seemed to vanish without a trace.

  Poughkeepsie City Police Dept.

  Courtesy of Author

  “It was a real mystery,” said Lt. William Siegrist of the City of Poughkeepsie Police Department. “Like the other girls who went missing, Kathleen had the same body type and appearance. It had to be more than a coincidence.” Siegrist, promoted to Chief of Detectives in 1997, was responsible for the investigation of missing persons reports, homicides, robberies and all other major crimes in the city. A quiet, unassuming man with an encyclopedic knowledge of the city and its people, Siegrist came up through the ranks of the police department, working as a crime scene technician, detective sergeant, Chief of Patrol and finally Detective Lieutenant.

  Poughkeepsie is a small city where everyone tends to know almost everyone else. They go to the same schools, sometimes work for the same employers, and see each other frequently in bars, stores and restaurants. “I knew Wendy and Gina because our paths had crossed before,” Siegrist said recently. It was not unusual for cops to know the people they arrest personally. In fact, for many of the cops who were born and raised in the city, it is somewhat inevitable.

  On March 7, 1997, Marquerite Marsh reported her daughter Catherine missing. Mrs. Marsh told police she hadn’t seen or heard from her daughter since November when they spoke on the phone. Catherine was born in upstate New York, attended the State University of New York, and had two children. She had an ongoing drug problem, which became severe at times, though she had entered rehab in efforts to fight her addiction. The missing persons report describes her as 5 feet 4 inches tall and 105 pounds, with brown eyes and brown hair. Mrs. Marsh said Catherine
was staying with friends somewhere in the downtown section of Poughkeepsie. Police efforts to find the women intensified after Catherine’s disappearance. Slowly, the community began to hear rumors about missing women that no one could find.

  By April, the local press had finally latched onto the story. The Poughkeepsie Beat, a small newspaper in Dutchess County, published a story with the headline “Four Women Missing.” The article detailed how the police were investigating the incidents and the problems in finding them. “A detective runs down a lot of dead ends in a case,” Siegrist said to the press. “In this case there’s been one dead end after another.” Despite the obstacles, police were already investigating the disappearances with the suspicion that homicide was a possibility. Siegrist called for a meeting with other local police departments to discuss and share information. Siegrist decided that the case should be publicized as much as possible in order to generate new leads. The New York State Police and the FBI also joined in the investigation. Helicopters searched river and forest areas around the city for bodies, while specially trained cadaver dogs patrolled remote locations for human remains.

  Detectives interviewed known prostitutes for any pertinent information. Customers who treated hookers violently were considered prime suspects, and detectives developed several names. Each suspect had to be investigated and either eliminated as a possibility or become a person of interest. Police kept several suspects under surveillance for short periods to monitor their activities. Nothing seemed to work. False sightings of the missing women further complicated their efforts. Each event had to be verified, and each one turned out to be false. “It’s very difficult tracking down these women,” one detective told the press. “They don’t have jobs or known addresses. Two of the women don’t communicate with their families on a regular basis and they don’t have grass roots in the community.”