Picture Perfect: The Jodi Arias Story: A Beautiful Photographer, Her Mormon Lover, and a Brutal Murder

by Hogan, Shanna

  “He was in a good place mentally and emotionally,” Aaron recalled.

  The last Friday in May, Travis also attended a session at the temple. He told several people he hoped to run into Lisa there.

  Travis’s friends would later reflect on his decision to attend the temple the last week of his life. If he had been permitted to go back to the temple, it would have meant that he had been working on repenting for his sexual indiscretions and was on the righteous path.

  * * *

  On May 26, Travis and Jodi got into a vicious argument.

  It’s unclear what exactly triggered the fight. Jodi would claim Travis became enraged when he saw a comment she had posted on another man’s photo on Facebook. Travis would later tell friends he had caught Jodi hacking into his Facebook account.

  Some would later speculate that Jodi had threatened to release the recording of the phone sex call. Others still believe that Travis had discovered something truly disturbing about Jodi—something she never wanted exposed.

  Whatever the cause, Travis exploded with a flurry of angry text messages. The fight continued late into the night through short phone calls and instant message chats. He berated Jodi, his words cutting.

  Repeatedly, he called her a “sociopath,” “evil,” and referenced all the “crazy things you have done.”

  “You are a sociopath. You only cry for yourself. You have never cared for me and you have betrayed me worse than any example I could conjure. You are sick and you have scammed me.”

  In reference to a conversation Jodi had with another man, he called her a “slut” and a “whore.”

  “If he knew what I knew about you, he’d spit in your face.”

  Travis referred to something Jodi had done to him, something so bad it destroyed him emotionally.

  “I had never, never in my life been hurt so bad by someone,” he wrote. “But why even say it because you don’t care. It doesn’t serve your evilness.”

  In one of the final messages, Travis told her that he wanted her out of his life.

  “I want you to know how I feel about you. I want you to understand how evil I think you are,” he wrote. “You are the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  * * *

  Two days later, in Yreka, Jodi’s grandfather came home and discovered the back door of his house had been kicked in, splintering the wooden doorframe.

  Carlton Allen went room to room, checking the house. At first, it didn’t appear as if anything was missing. Then in the living room he noticed the DVD player was gone. In the spare bedroom, which was cluttered with boxes, was a wood cabinet that had been transformed into a gun cabinet. Inside, Carlton discovered one of the guns was missing—a small .25 caliber pistol.

  Carlton called the police to report the burglary. An officer arrived at the house around 3:30 P.M. on May 28.

  Although there had been a rash of robberies in Yreka in the past few weeks, to the officer the incident seemed unusual. Hardly anything had been taken and many of the valuables had been passed over.

  In the spare room inside the gun cabinet were two rifles that had been left. On top of a nearby dresser were stacks of quarters, untouched.

  Half an hour after the officer arrived on the scene, Jodi returned to the house. At the time of the robbery, she explained, she had been at a Buddhist monastery near the Oregon border, where there was no cell phone reception. She told the officer that she had been at the house earlier, around 1:30 P.M.

  The officer asked Jodi to check her bedroom.

  On the dresser, Jodi claimed she had left cash—a $20 and a $10—that were now missing. Jodi searched through the green laundry basket next to her bed. Inside she found her laptop.

  “I’m lucky,” Jodi told the officer. “I had hidden my laptop under some dirty clothes.”

  Carlton also asked Jodi if she had seen the gun.

  “I don’t even know what a .25 caliber gun looks like,” Jodi said.

  “It’s real small,” Carlton said. “It looks like a toy.”

  Jodi shook her head. “I’ve never seen it.”

  * * *

  On May 28, Travis called Lisa again. She didn’t answer so he left a funny voice mail.

  Seeing Travis’s number on her cell phone screen, something got to Lisa that day. After ignoring several calls, she picked up her phone and called him back. Travis was thrilled she finally agreed to speak with him.

  At first it was uncomfortable; neither knew exactly what to say. Travis told her he missed her. Lisa explained she had been keeping her distance because she needed time to heal.

  “We talked for about forty minutes and ended on good terms,” Lisa recalled. “I promised to try harder to make things less awkward.”

  After their conversation Travis was much less sullen.

  “He felt at peace with the whole situation because he got to talk to her,” Taylor recalled.

  For the next few days Travis returned to his positive, upbeat self. He posted on his Facebook status: “Feels Freaking Fantastic!”

  A few days later he posted a video of his alter ego, Eddie Snell, and a photo of him and Taylor riding their bikes.

  His last post was a photograph he had taken of himself. On May 29, Travis was in his master bathroom when he caught his reflection in the mirror. He was wearing a brown baseball cap and button-down shirt with oversize black jeans. Staring at his profile, Travis thought his rear end looked flat.

  He grabbed his camera and snapped a photo of the mirror, capturing his reflection. Travis posted the picture on Facebook, along with a caption.

  “I was walking past my bathroom mirror and my worst fear was realized, I was literally running my butt off,” he wrote. “I think I have a bad connection to the Heavens. I’ve been praying to lose my gut not my butt.”

  Underneath the caption he wrote the following.

  “T-Dogg’s Gluteus R.I.P. July 28, 1977 to May 29, 2008. We’ll miss you big guy.”

  It was meant to be a joke. Later, it wouldn’t seem so funny. The photo was taken in the same bathroom his body would be found days later.

  * * *

  In Yreka, meanwhile, Jodi was making plans for her road trip.

  She told Ryan Burns that she was coming to Utah on Wednesday, June 4, the day of the Prepaid Legal briefing.

  Jodi wasn’t scheduled to be part of the meeting. She told Ryan she was just passing through and wanted to see him. She told others that she was going to Salt Lake just to see Ryan.

  Then, she began making phone calls, searching for a rental car.

  She also phoned her ex-boyfriend Darryl Brewer.

  “I need a favor,” she said.

  * * *

  During the last week of May, Travis spoke to Taylor Searle and told him about a fight he had with Jodi.

  As Travis explained it, he had logged on his Facebook page and noticed some unusual activity on his account. Immediately, he knew Jodi had hacked into his page.

  During the conversation, Travis told Taylor that he had finally confronted Jodi about his slashed tires and stolen journals. She was a fraud and an evil, horrible person, he said.

  “You know, it’s over,” Travis said he told Jodi. “I never want to see you again. This is it.”

  As Travis related the conversation to him, Taylor was unnerved.

  “They had a chat where he tore her apart,” Taylor Searle recalled. “He called me and told me what he said to her. I said, ‘Aren’t you afraid she’s going to hurt you?’”

  Travis brushed it off.

  “No. She’s crazy,” Travis said, “but she’s harmless.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The car was candy apple red—metallic tinted, brightly colored. When Jodi made the car rental reservations she had requested something less flashy.

  Before making the hundred-mile trek from Yreka to the Budget car rental office in Redding, California, she had called several times to confirm a specific vehicle would be available for her.

  The red car simpl
y wasn’t suitable. She walked back into the rental car office and plopped the car keys on the desk.

  “I’d rather have something lighter in color,” she said.

  The owner, Raphael Colombo Jr., a heavyset man with gray hair and a goatee, exchanged the vehicle for a 2008 white Ford Focus.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked, as he filled out the paperwork.

  “Just around town,” Jodi said. “Nowhere big.”

  Jodi took the keys and transferred her luggage into the rental car. She got behind the wheel and headed south toward Santa Cruz.

  It was about 8 A.M. on Monday, June 2, 2008, and Jodi was on a road trip to see Ryan Burns, as well as visit her ex-boyfriends: She planned to go to Santa Cruz to spend a night with Matt McCartney and then head to Monterey to meet up with Darryl Brewer. The next day she would stop by Los Angeles to photograph Darryl’s sister’s new baby for her portfolio, before proceeding to Utah.

  The night before, Jodi had stayed up late talking to Travis. Between 1 and 4 A.M. Jodi called Travis four times, the longest conversation lasting just a few minutes. Around 3 A.M. Travis called Jodi twice, and they spoke for over an hour.

  During one of their calls, Jodi mentioned her trip to Utah. She would later say Travis encouraged her come to Mesa and see him as well, but she declined.

  After renting the Ford, Jodi drove three hours to Lodi, a city in the northern portion of California’s Central Valley. At 4:03 P.M. she called Travis. An hour and a half later, she called Travis again.

  She drove to a nearby McDonald’s where she curled up in her backseat and slept for a few hours. When she awoke it was dark.

  At 7:32 P.M. she ate dinner at McDonald’s, and an hour later she filled her gas tank at a Valero station.

  She then drove to Santa Cruz, a city near Monterey Bay, where she met Matt McCartney and his roommate. The three went to a restaurant, where they had appetizers and passed the hours singing tunes at a karaoke bar. She spent the night at Matt and his roommate’s apartment, sleeping on the floor.

  The following morning, Jodi woke up early and went to Monterey, a city located on the southern edge of Central California’s Pacific coast.

  Around 7 A.M. on June 3, she stopped by the apartment of Darryl Brewer and his son, in Pacific Grove. Over the last year they had kept in touch by occasional phone calls. This visit, however, was the first time they had seen each other in more than a year.

  That morning Jodi joined Darryl and Jack for breakfast. Darryl made omelets; Jack then left for school. Using Darryl’s computer, Jodi checked her e-mail and MySpace page.

  Jodi reminded Darryl of her request: a few days earlier, she had called asking to borrow two gas cans.

  “What do you need them for?” Darryl had asked.

  At first, Jodi didn’t say. Eventually, she told him she needed them for a long trip she was taking.

  From the garage Darryl retrieved two red five-gallon gas cans and gave them to Jodi. While she didn’t discuss many details of her plans with Darryl, Jodi mentioned something about a trip to Mesa.

  Jodi took the gas cans, loaded them in her car, and drove off.

  At 10 A.M. she stopped at a nearby Washington Mutual in Monterey and made three bank deposits, totaling $800—juggling money between her personal and work account. Then she got back in her car and headed twenty miles east to Salinas, where she stopped at a nail salon and got a manicure.

  At 12:57 P.M. she called Travis. An hour later, at 1:51 P.M., she called him again.

  At 3:22 P.M. Jodi went to a Monterey Walmart, where she bought face wash, sunscreen, and another gas can for a total of $45.

  Late that afternoon, she got back on the road and drove another six hours toward Los Angeles. On the way, she called Darryl’s sister, but there was no answer. Despite driving the long distance, Jodi would not end up seeing her former lover’s sister, or her new baby.

  As she drove toward Los Angeles, Jodi called Ryan Burns. She told him she was about twelve hours away and would be in Utah at around 11 A.M.

  “Please be careful,” Ryan told her. “I don’t like the idea of you driving all night by yourself.”

  “If I get tired, I promise I’ll pull over and sleep,” she assured him.

  At 8:16 P.M. Jodi again called Travis. The call was short, lasting just two minutes.

  Jodi stopped just outside of Los Angeles in Pasadena. At 8:31 P.M. she made a purchase for $6.37 at a Pasadena CVS. A few minutes later, at 8:34 P.M., she called Travis once again.

  She then stopped at a local Starbucks and bought a strawberry Frappuccino.

  At 8:42 P.M. Jodi filled her gas tank. Minutes later she made two separate purchases of gas, filling the gas cans and loading them in the back of her truck.

  Jodi got back behind the wheel of the car and turned off her cell phone.

  CHAPTER 19

  On the last day of his life, Travis awoke at dawn, still weary. The night prior he had worked in his downstairs office until the early-morning hours. At 4:30 A.M. he’d finally gone to bed, sleeping for less than an hour.

  It was June 4, 2008, a Wednesday.

  Travis rose and went downstairs to get a glass of water. Zachary and Enrique were in the kitchen, preparing to leave for work.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Enrique asked.

  “I’m tired.” Travis yawned. “I only slept for like forty-five minutes last night.”

  In passing, Travis mentioned a conference call he was hosting later that day. When both roommates left the house a short time later, Travis crawled back into bed and drifted off to sleep. He woke up again at noon and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand.

  There was a text message from Chris Hughes, who was already in Cancún with his wife. The Hughes had arrived a few days early for the trip and were expecting Travis in six days. Travis replied to the text about a purchase Chris made in Mexico, “Did you buy me one?” Five minutes later, Travis checked his voice mail.

  Turning on his side in the bed, Travis dozed back to sleep—awaking for the last time at 1 P.M.

  As the afternoon crept by, Travis divided his time between the bedroom, his home office, and downstairs in the living room. He fed Napoleon and did some housework. To prepare to clean the floors, he moved the barstools off the tile and stacked them on the couch. But before he could finish the floors, something distracted Travis. He went into his home office, where he would remain for the next hour.

  At 3 P.M. Enrique arrived home from work. As he was grabbing something to eat from the kitchen, he heard voices coming from the den. It sounded like Travis was talking to someone—Enrique assumed it was the conference call. An hour later, Enrique left the house for the night.

  At 4:19 P.M. Travis checked his e-mail on his laptop in the den. An hour later he went back upstairs. At 5:22 P.M. he took a shower in his master bathroom.

  Exactly what happened next would remain shrouded in mystery for years to come. Evidence would later be collected, examined, and dissected for clues, painting a horrifying picture of Travis’s final moments on earth.

  Eight minutes after stepping into the shower, Travis was slaughtered inside his master bathroom. He was shot in the face, his throat was slit, and he was stabbed more than two dozen times. At the edge of the bathroom hallway Travis gasped his last breath, collapsing on the carpet. His corpse was dragged along the tile floor and stuffed in the shower stall, where he was washed clean of blood.

  His body was left to rot. Five days would pass before anyone would notice the smell.

  * * *

  For more than twenty-four hours Jodi Arias’s cell phone had been turned off, her whereabouts unknown.

  Then just before midnight on June 4, as she was driving her rented Ford Focus along Interstate 93, about twenty-seven miles south of the Nevada border, she switched back on her phone.

  At around 11:45 P.M. she called Travis, but he didn’t answer. A few minutes later she called again and left a message.

  “Hey, what’s going on? It’s almos
t midnight, right about the time you’re starting to gear up,” she said. “Um, my phone died so I wasn’t getting back to anybody, um, and what else? Oh, and I drove a hundred miles in the wrong direction, over a hundred miles—thank you very much. So yeah, remember New Mexico? It was a lot like that.… I’ll tell you about that later. Also, we were talking about when your travels would be up my way.… We could do Shakespeare, Crater Lake, and the coast, if you can make it. If not, we’ll just do the coast and Crater Lake. Anyway, let me know and we’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”

  Late that night, Jodi had also phoned Ryan Burns.

  Ryan was at a Cheesecake Factory with friends when he saw Jodi’s name appear on his cell phone screen.

  “Jodi?” Ryan asked, answering the phone.

  “Hey,” she replied.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Where have you been?”

  After Jodi failed to arrive in Salt Lake City that morning as expected, Ryan had grown concerned. He called several times but each call went straight to voice mail.

  “I’ve been worried about you,” Ryan said.

  Jodi apologized. “I took the wrong freeway.”

  Jodi told Ryan that while en route to Salt Lake City, she had gotten lost and drove a hundred miles in the wrong direction. As she drove, her phone battery had died and she was unable to locate the charger. Exhausted, she said she had pulled over to the side of the road and slept for a while. When she awoke she had found the charger under the passenger seat.

  “I can’t believe I slept so long,” she said.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” Ryan said.

  On the phone, Ryan helped Jodi navigate a course to Salt Lake City.

  “I just passed a sign that said I’m a hundred miles from Vegas,” she said.

  After hanging up, Jodi stopped by an In-N-Out Burger in Reno, Nevada, and got dinner. Five minutes later she filled her gas tank at a Tesoro station and got back on the road, headed toward Utah.

  She was still more than twelve hours away from Salt Lake City.