Terrified, Jodi got to her feet and ran.
“I ran into the closet and he stopped me. He held the gun to my head and said, ‘Don’t go anywhere,’” Jodi said.
For a moment she stayed frozen in the closet. Peering into the bathroom, she saw Travis on the floor, on all fours. Blood was dripping down his arms, pooling on the floor.
The woman was holding a knife. By the blood, Jodi said she “assumed” the woman had stabbed Travis. With adrenaline pumping through her veins, Jodi ran straight down the bathroom hallway, charging the woman and knocking her off her feet.
Leaping to Travis’s side, Jodi pulled on his arm, trying to drag him to safety.
“Travis! Travis! Come on, come on, come on,” Jodi yelled.
He looked at her, pain in his eyes. “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Before Jodi could help Travis, the male attacker had reappeared in the bathroom. Waving a gun at Jodi, the man screamed, arguing with the woman.
At some point during the encounter Jodi’s fingers were cut, she said. In the interrogation room she showed Flores a scar on her left ring finger, which was crooked. She said her “CTR” ring no longer fit on her finger due to the injury.
In the bathroom, the woman approached Jodi.
“She came after me and he stopped her,” Jodi said. “She wanted to kill me and he didn’t. He said, ‘That’s not why we’re here.’”
The man grabbed Jodi’s purse and looked through her wallet. On her driver’s license was a P.O. Box for an address in Yreka. “You must be that bitch from California,” he said.
The man found Jodi’s car registration, which had the address of her grandparents’ home.
“If you ever say anything about this, we’ll do your family the same way,” he threatened, tossing her back her purse.
“He said, ‘Leave now.’ And part of me didn’t want to leave,” Jodi said. “Travis was still alive. He wasn’t moving a lot, but I could see he was still alive.”
With her purse and backpack, Jodi scrambled out of the bedroom. The last she saw of Travis he was on his hands and knees on the shower floor.
Clutching her keys, Jodi got behind the wheel of her car and sped away. She didn’t run for help. She didn’t call 911. She didn’t rush to a neighbor’s house. Jodi just left.
She said she told no one until this moment because the killers had threatened her family. Portraying herself as a martyr, Jodi said she was willing to face a lifetime in prison to protect her loved ones.
“There’s a part of me inside that thinks they’re going to come after my family,” she said. “I’m just saying I think that as long I’m here, then there’s less of a chance that my little brother is going to be hurt, or my mom, or my dad, or my sister.”
“Are you trying to say that you’re doing this to protect your family?” Flores asked. “Why would someone do this to you, or to him?”
“He said, ‘If you ever say anything about this, we’ll do my family the same way,’” she said. “I don’t care much about myself at that point.”
But Flores didn’t believe a word of this new story.
“I don’t believe you, Jodi,” Flores said. “What was the motive of these two strangers? Why would anyone do this to him? He did nothing but help people. Everyone liked him.”
Flores asked questions, attempting to debunk her story. Jodi maintained that it was the intruders that killed Travis.
“I came in here hoping you would tell me the truth and this is not the truth, Jodi. It does not make any sense,” Flores said.
“It’s all I know,” Jodi murmured.
“Nothing changes for me.”
“I didn’t think it would,” she said. “I feel responsible because I should have done more.”
“You feel responsible because you did this,” he said.
“I did not,” Jodi insisted.
“You did this and nothing you can say is going to make me believe you,” Flores said. “This is an elaborate story that does not make any sense.”
Flores pointed out the scars on her hands were common in knife attacks. Blood can be slippery—when she was killing Travis she accidentally cut her hands, he said.
“I was hoping you were going to be completely truthful with me today. Obviously that’s not the case,” Flores said. “I’ve been doing this a long time and this is the most farfetched story I’ve heard in a long time. Is that how you want to leave this?”
“I know it was obvious I was there.”
“No,” Flores said, his tone more forceful. “It is obvious that you committed a crime, that you hurt Travis.”
“What is my motive?”
“Jealousy, anger, fear, fear of being alone, angry at him for not keeping you in his life. I don’t know? That’s what I’m trying to figure out. There are so many motives with you—too many.”
Jodi sat quietly, her gaze cast downward at the table. “I wasn’t jealous of anything. I was a little envious that he was going to Cancún, but that was not the reason.”
“So you’re going to continue to tell me you didn’t do this to him,” Flores said.
“If I planned to hurt him in any way, I’m not the brightest person, but I don’t think I could stab him. I’d have to shoot him continuously until he was dead,” Jodi said. “I would never stab him. If, if I had it in my anywhere to kill him, the least I could do is make it as humane as possible, or quick, or something.”
Jodi continued to prattle on about the two intruders, until Flores interrupted her.
“If you’re going to continue with this, I don’t think I want to go any further.” Flores stood up to leave the room. “I gave you an opportunity. This was the only opportunity.”
* * *
For the next week, Jodi remained locked up in California as she fought extradition to Arizona. On July 24, she lost her dispute and was transferred to Maricopa County’s Estrella Jail in Phoenix.
* * *
In later interviews, Detective Flores questioned Bill and Sandra Arias in the case against Jodi.
Both parents told Flores about their ongoing issues with their daughter and her history of suspected mental issues. They also each spoke about the suspicions they had following the murder.
During her interview with Flores, Sandra was overwhelmed by emotion.
“How are you doing,” Flores asked. “You okay?”
“Not good. No,” Sandra said, her voice trembling.
“As good as can be expected, I guess, huh?” Flores said sympathetically.
“I feel like I’m going to puke,” she cried.
“Did you have any suspicion at all that she had anything to do with his death?” Flores asked.
Sandra admitted she had asked Jodi if she had been in Arizona, but said her daughter denied it—and claimed she had proof. After returning from her trip to Utah Jodi had acted completely normal. Dismayed, Sandra wondered out loud how anyone could commit a murder and act as if nothing was wrong.
“Why would she do something like that? She just snap or what? I don’t know … And how could she come back here and be normal?” Sandra wept. “And then when her friends called her and told her he died she totally freaked out like she knew nothing about it.”
CHAPTER 31
News of the arrest spread quickly among Travis’s family and friends. From the beginning many had been convinced Jodi was the killer.
Still, when it was confirmed that she was arrested, many were shaken. It was unbelievable that such monstrous evil lurked underneath a benign-looking facade.
Jodi had attended the funeral, wrote loving things in the guest book, even hugged Travis’s loved ones as they were grieving. Through it all she was harboring the abhorrent secret that she had taken Travis’s life.
Many felt angry and wanted justice to be swift. For others, it was a relief that the case would not go unsolved.
For weeks after Jodi’s arrest, police declined to reveal any details on the case to the public. All anyone
knew was that the investigation uncovered some sort of evidence that led to the arrest.
On September 7, for the first time, Mesa police released details of the evidence against Jodi. This included the sexually provocative photographs discovered on the digital camera. The next day the local papers ran articles, focusing primarily on the photographs of Travis as he was dying.
“The last few moments of Travis Alexander’s life—before he was shot in the head and stabbed to death—were captured on the memory card of his own digital camera,” read an article in the East Valley Tribune on September 8, 2008. “There were pictures of his ex-girlfriend, Jodi Arias, lying nude on Alexander’s bed. Then there were naked pictures of him posing in the shower. Finally, there were two pictures of a person on the floor of the bathroom, bleeding heavily.”
Across the Valley many of Travis’s friends opened up their newspapers and logged onto the Internet to read the disturbing details for the very first time. For many, the news was baffling. The Travis they knew was a devout Mormon and a virgin. Now it seemed as if he was living a second life.
Some took to his memorial Facebook page to express their shock, anger, and disbelief.
“I just wanted to say that I feel completely sick to my stomach after reading the news article,” wrote a friend. “This changes the whole picture to me of what I thought the relationship between Jodi and Travis was, and of his worthiness to the gospel.”
Others doubted the validity of the stories. They questioned the media’s interpretation of the evidence and whether Travis was actually “posing” for the pictures.
“The article makes me feel sick to my stomach as well. But, just don’t let that change your opinion of who Travis was,” commented another. “For all we know, he was probably unaware she was even in the house.”
As the days passed, however, the facts became difficult to ignore. More news outlets reported details of the evidence. Travis’s family and many of his close friends were informed by the police directly about the photos.
The photos didn’t lie. Travis had broken his promises to God. But despite his indiscretions, no one believed he deserved to be brutally murdered. Judging him in death would cause nothing but further pain. As the anger and disbelief subsided, most came to the conclusion they would not let this information influence their opinion of the man they knew.
“Regardless of any of the information that has been brought to light, the fact still remains that Travis changed lives—and was a friend to many, many people,” wrote a loved one. “God is taking care of him, and things beyond our knowledge are being sorted out.”
While the sexual photographs were difficult for his loved ones to comprehend, Lisa Andrews found them impossible to grasp. The idea that Travis had been sleeping with Jodi ran so contrary to the man she knew. For a while, she refused to believe it was possible.
“The media tells us what they want us to believe. But their facts are not always accurate and their stories are often biased or skewed. It’s hard to know if they can ever really be trusted,” Lisa wrote on her blog in the summer of 2008. “I know one thing is for sure: Heavenly Father knows all things. And He spares us from the pain and grief that we cannot handle.”
Later, the facts would be impossible for Lisa to ignore.
* * *
Jodi Arias’s case was assigned to one of Arizona’s top prosecutors, Deputy Maricopa County Attorney Juan Martinez.
Short in stature, Martinez was in his mid-fifties with a dark complexion, graying hair, and round-framed grasses. His dogged demeanor and confident swagger were belied by the quiet gray suits and muted ties he typically wore in court.
The seventh of eight children born to illiterate Mexican farmers, Martinez and his family migrated to California when he was six. As a child, he resolved to learn English, which he primarily taught himself.
After earning an undergraduate degree, he managed a drug store. In 1984, he graduated from Arizona State University with a degree in law. For a few years he did some defense work, before joining the Maricopa County Attorney’s Office in 1988. For the previous seventeen years of his career, he had focused solely on prosecuting murder cases.
With an aggressive courtroom demeanor, Martinez was meticulous in preparation and presentation. He was legendary for his no-nonsense tactics and his combative, sometimes theatrical style.
Widely despised by defense attorneys, Martinez rarely entered into plea bargains. And while other prosecutors in his office worked in teams, Martinez always went solo—handling his trials alone. During his career, he had prosecuted more than three hundred cases, and had an extremely high conviction rate.
His office inside the Maricopa County Courthouse was adorned with framed news clippings from his many wins—including one of Arizona’s only female death row inmates, Wendi Andriano.
In the early-morning hours of October 8, 2000, Wendi had bludgeoned her terminally ill husband to death inside their apartment in the Phoenix suburb of Ahwatukee. Police found thirty-three-year-old Joe Andriano, who had been diagnosed with cancer, beaten with a barstool and stabbed in the neck.
The subsequent autopsy revealed that he had sustained twenty-three blows to the skull and had traces of poison in his system. Despite his weakened state, Wendi told the police her husband was physically and psychologically abusive and that she killed him to save her own life.
In 2004, Martinez prosecuted Wendi, who pleaded self-defense. At the trial, she testified in her own defense for nine days on the stand, where she claimed to be a battered wife.
Martinez not only secured a first-degree conviction, but also a death sentence. Since her conviction, Wendi had been awaiting execution alongside just two other female death row inmates: Debra Jean Milke, who was convicted of murdering her five-year-old son, and Shawna Forde, ringleader of a group that killed a man and his nine-year-old daughter during a home-invasion robbery.
In an atypical twist, during Jodi Arias’s trial, Debra Milke’s death penalty and conviction would be overturned on appeal, leaving just two women on Arizona’s death row in 2013.
* * *
As her case crept through Arizona’s justice system, Jodi would rotate through numerous public defenders. But her ultimate lead trial attorney, and Juan Martinez’s courtroom foe, would be Laurence Kirk Nurmi, who went by Kirk.
Nurmi was tall and rotund, with a head of gray buzzed hair, a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard and mustache, and square-framed glasses. He carried himself with a touch of brassy arrogance, accessorizing his ill-fitting suits with brightly colored ties and matching socks.
A graduate of University of Wyoming, Nurmi began practicing law in Arizona in 2001. Originally working as a pubic defender, Nurmi would eventually open a private practice where he would earn a reputation for defending some of the state’s sleaziest accused criminals. Specializing in sex crimes, he primarily defended those accused of sexual assault and child molestation. His Web site boasted his high record of not-guilty verdicts in these cases.
“At the Law Office of L. Kirk Nurmi we understand that you do not have to commit a sexual offense to be accused of being a sex offender,” his Web site reads. “We understand that innocent people can be accused of sex crimes such as sexual assault, sex conduct with a minor or sexual exploitation of a minor, or any sex offense with very little evidence. We also understand that being accused of committing such a crime is devastating and daunting.… Our results speak for themselves.”
Also assigned to assist in Jodi’s representation was Victoria Washington, a heavyset African American woman in her forties, with short black hair and glasses.
A graduate of Arizona State University, Washington began practicing in Arizona in 1997. She worked for the Maricopa County Office of the Public Defender as a death penalty–qualified attorney.
* * *
On September 11, 2008, Jodi stood with a public defender by her side as she was arraigned on charges of first-degree murder. She wore black-and-white horizontal stripes with her book
ing number stenciled across the back. Her hands were in front of her, restrained with pink cuffs.
“How do you plead?” the judge asked.
“Not guilty,” Jodi said softly.
Because of the heinous nature of the crime, the judge set her bail at $2 million, an amount her family could not afford. Until the trial, Jodi would remain behind bars.
In secure lockdown at the Estrella Jail, Jodi Arias was housed with another inmate in an eight-by-twelve square-foot cell twenty-three hours a day. There, she was fed twice a day. There was no organized recreation. She could mail letters, but would be unable to receive any in return. Jailhouse correspondence was only permitted by postcard. Visitors would only be able to speak to her through a steel cage.
In the days following her arrest, Jodi was in a deep depression. She would later testify that she was suicidal and had plans to end her life. She began her plan by slowly stocking up on Advil from the jail store—which she believed would prevent her blood from clotting. One night she asked for extra laundry, packing it around her body so she would not bleed on the bunk mate below her. Digging the small blade out of a shaving razor, she prepared to slit her wrists. As she considered her final moments of life, Jodi accidentally nicked her finger.
“It just stung so bad. I just sat there and I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” Jodi said.
As the weeks passed, Jodi’s mood would periodically alternate from despondent to upbeat and defiant.
Meanwhile, her reputation still seemed her most immediate concern. The idea that people would think of her as a murderer was inconceivable.
After her arrest, Jodi wrote an eighteen-page letter addressed to Travis’s grandmother. In it, she explained in detail the story of the two mysterious intruders who she claimed killed Travis. At the end of the letter, Jodi wrote that she did something she was not proud of.
“I kept my eye on the front door as I backed out. Awful I know. I didn’t look as I backed out. I probably never should have been driving in that state. It wasn’t heightened awareness, it was blind confusion. The front door never opened.”
Picture Perfect: The Jodi Arias Story: A Beautiful Photographer, Her Mormon Lover, and a Brutal Murder Page 26
