Jane Doe No More

by M. William Phelps

They discussed schedules for a few moments and then the judge dismissed everyone. It was over before it ever got going.

  Rocky turned and immediately exited the courtroom in an anxious dash to get away. Donna noticed that his face was “all red.” As he left the room, Donna stood in a stance of “I’m not going away” and stared at him.

  Maureen, Donna, and John met outside the courtroom. Maureen said she wanted to introduce Donna to someone.

  “John, Donna, this is [the twenty-one-year-old coworker Rocky had attacked].” She stood calmly with her fiancé.

  Donna had had no idea the woman had been sitting in the courtroom the entire time. Donna hugged her. “What a pleasure to meet you, finally. Thank you for being so brave. And thank you for coming forward . . . my case was solved because of you! I’m so glad you were able to escape.”

  As they talked, John spoke to the young woman’s fiancé; they both agreed that “Rocky is scum.”

  “He’ll get his in prison,” the fiancé said.

  Walking away from the courthouse, John and Donna talked about how glad they were that they had decided to go. It would be a great help in the healing process.

  “We can only pray now,” Donna said to her husband, “that there won’t be any problems with that DNA evidence.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A Picture’s Worth . . .

  On Thursday, October 20, 2005, Donna called John Connelly. She probably didn’t need to remind the SA that in two days, October 22, it would be the one-year anniversary of Rocky’s arrest.

  “Yeah, I know,” Connelly said. He seemed a little frustrated himself by the snail’s pace at which the court case was moving. The court had been pondering a trial date, but nothing had been set.

  “Have you heard anything? ” Donna wondered.

  “Have you spoken to Neil recently?”

  “No.”

  “You should give him a call and tell him that you spoke to me.” There was something in Connelly’s voice; he had information he obviously wanted Neil to share with Donna.

  “They’re involved with investigating Mr. Regan,” Connelly said.

  Was this a hint? Why wasn’t he forthcoming with the information?

  “Has he been involved with something else?” Donna asked anxiously.

  “He might have been. Call Neil, Donna.”

  Indeed, Neil had something to share. An observant Wal-Mart employee, a man who worked in the film department, had recently called the WPD.

  “Rocky had been going in to get film developed,” Neil explained to Donna, “and the employee recognized him from his picture in the paper. The roll of film he brought in to be developed most recently had all sorts of women who didn’t know they were being photographed. They are all pretty women in shorts, short skirts, and tight tops.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, apparently, Regan has been averaging two rolls of film per month. They are all pictures of pretty girls who didn’t know they were being photographed.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Neil?”

  “No, Donna, sorry. Through records we’ve determined that he started going to Wal-Mart about a few months ago to have film developed. Based on the records Wal-Mart keeps, Regan has developed fifteen rolls of film, twelve of which I believe are now in our hands. I need to be careful with this and handle it right.”

  “Have you identified any of the women?” Donna asked, wondering deep down if she had been one of Rocky’s photographic targets.

  “There is one girl that they have identified that works at one of the banks in Cheshire. She’s been on two rolls. We haven’t said anything to her.” Neil explained that Donna needed to keep this conversation between them. No one could find out about this during the investigation. Then he explained that Rocky had been driving his father’s minivan lately. “And we believe he is driving the van so he can take the photos from the back of the van without anyone noticing.”

  Donna was floored by this new revelation. Rocky had never stopped his behavior, and it was possible that his behavior (and his desire to stalk women) was escalating.

  “I’m taking my time with this,” Neil said. “We want to see if Rocky’s pattern changes now that the weather is turning colder.”

  Donna thought, He’ll just hang out at a health club where girls wear less clothing!

  “Look, Donna, tell John about this, but please, no one else.”

  “Yes, yes . . . of course, Neil.”

  “We’re working to get a search warrant. I think we will have enough to arrest him on a charge of stalking or something similar.”

  This was great news to Donna.

  The van that Rocky was driving was the perfect vehicle for stalking and photographing women without their knowledge. Borrowed from Rocky’s father, the van would also become the perfect vehicle for something else Rocky had mind—something more evil that he was planning as he packed for a trip to upstate New York.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Fright Night

  Lindsey Ferguson was enjoying the fruits of her hard work during nearly four years of high school in Saratoga Springs, New York. Running was Lindsey’s love and forte. She excelled in both track and cross-country. Heading into the fall of 2005 as a senior, Lindsey was thinking about where she was going to attend college the following year. She was considering a career as a schoolteacher or in some branch of psychology, but like a lot of kids, Lindsey had not yet decided on her major. In the best shape of her life, the blond-haired, blue-eyed student-­athlete was being courted by several colleges. The University of Virginia and the University of Michigan, along with Notre Dame and several others, had tried to recruit her. She had her choice, essentially.

  Saratoga Springs, New York, is twenty-eight square miles with about 28,000 residents. That’s small-town America in the Northeast by today’s standards, but when summer comes and horse racing fans, tourists, and summer residents flock to this gorgeous piece of real estate in west-central New York, the population swells to almost 100,000.

  Coincidentally, since 2003 Sarah Palomba, Donna and John’s daughter, had been attending Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, only 2.4 miles north of where Lindsey Ferguson was running through her final year of high school. Before Sarah had made her college decision, Donna, John, and the kids visited the school and took a look around the town to make sure it was safe enough for their daughter.

  We liked Saratoga. North Broadway, the road that Skidmore is on, is lined with gorgeous estates, and the town itself has an upscale yet friendly feel. Of course, the town of Saratoga is probably best known for the horse track. That whole summer before Sarah went away was difficult. I kept trying to get my mind around the fact that my baby girl had grown up and she was not going to be sleeping under our roof anymore. Sarah was valedictorian of her high school class, incredibly bright and independent, but I would often catch glimpses of the little girl inside. John and I were incredibly overprotective, so when we took Sarah up to New York, we spent a few days there. Boatloads of parents would come and go, and John and I were still there. We walked the campus, talked with security. Checked out the dorms. Finally, the campus security officer who patrolled the grounds daily came up to John and me and asked if we were going to enroll. I guess that was our signal to leave. I left Sarah with a bunch of books, some spiritual, some inspirational, and reminded her that she was never alone and that we loved her more than she would ever know. The ride home was rough. I went through a box of tissue, and anyone that knows me knows that I do not cry easily. It just so happened a bunch of our friends had their firstborn going off to college as well, so we threw ourselves a “Sip and Sob” party to have some wine and console one another.

  Amid the chaos of life with Rocky Regan roaming free, some uplifting news came to Donna as she, John, and Johnny prepared to leave for a much-nee
ded trip to Paris. On October 26, 2005, Dr. Henry Lee contacted Donna about a press conference he said he was planning for that November regarding the recent “great success” of the CODIS convicted felon database program. First instituted in 1994, Lee said, the program had been upgraded, and there had been “400 hits since that time on cold cases.” For the state of Connecticut, Donna’s case was becoming the poster child of cold case hits, demonstrating that tenacity and resolve were advantageous in helping to crack cases using CODIS.

  “Would you be willing to speak at the press conference?” Lee asked Donna over the phone.

  “We’ll be in Paris,” Donna said with a touch of trepidation in her voice. After all, Donna had not gone public with her story. She was still widely known only as Jane Doe. “More than that, Dr. Lee,” she added, “I have not come out in public yet—nobody knows me by name.”

  “You were public during your trial when I testified,” Lee said.

  “Yes, but my name has never been published.”

  “Could you write a letter for me that I can read at the press conference,” Lee suggested. “I won’t use your name.”

  “Yes, I can do that.”

  While these developments were unfolding, and especially while trying to cope with the idea that a family friend had committed such an evil act, Sarah Palomba wanted to talk about what had happened long ago to her mother. After all these years, Donna didn’t want her daughter to have any questions left unanswered, and she felt the need to tell Sarah everything. Sarah was home visiting during a break from school. They sat down in the kitchen to have an early lunch before heading out shopping.

  “Do you want to know the details?” Donna asked as she and Sarah finished their lunch.

  “Yes,” Sarah said.

  Donna talked her daughter through the assault as best as she could. As Sarah cried, Donna tried to console her. “There were some incredible people that worked hard for me.” She explained who they were. “I believe God has a plan and things happen for a reason, honey. He can turn something evil into something good—and He has helped me to heal greatly.”

  She listened intently, sometimes shaking, but I was calm and strong and explained why we hadn’t told her the details before (when we had that chat when Sarah was just a teen). She said years ago she had put two and two together and knew (I was raped). She had seen a book I kept by my bed about rape and noticed mail that had come in from the Connecticut Sexual Assault Crisis Service. John had been the one to tell her it was Rocky who assaulted me and she couldn’t believe it. She liked Rocky and remembered clearly that he was a good friend of John’s. She remembered him working on our roof. She remembered Rocky coming down to the beach and staying for lunch.

  They talked a little bit about the road ahead, regarding where the prosecution of John Regan was going. No one seemed to have a clear idea.

  “We don’t know,” Donna said, referring to the outcome of it all.

  “I’d be willing to testify if it goes to trial,” Sarah said. “If you need anything, Mom, I’ll be here.”

  They stood and hugged.

  “I’m very proud of you, Mom.”

  On Halloween day, October 31, 2005, Lindsey Ferguson finished her cross-country training at Saratoga Springs High School, 140 miles north of Waterbury, and headed into the school building to talk with friends and make plans for the evening. It was Lindsey’s last chance to spend a high school Halloween with friends. The gang she hung out with would all be splitting up and heading off to college next year. So Lindsey and her two best friends decided to go out trick-or-treating one last time together. They agreed to meet at one friend’s house after going home to shower and change into their costumes.

  Lindsey grabbed her gym bag and headed outside. It was just about dark out, the sky still showing some dusk color. Saratoga Springs High School had a large parking lot north of the track-and-field training area, with several tennis courts on the east side next to a baseball diamond. Outside the school, Lindsey and her two friends split up in different directions. The parking lot, since school had gotten out hours ago, was empty save for several of the coaches’ vehicles and those belonging to students staying after school to practice sports or participate in extracurricular activities. It was right around 5:30 p.m.

  “See you tonight,” Lindsey yelled, waving to her friends.

  “Okay.”

  As they walked their separate ways, a teacher, Ray Harrington, headed for his car as well. One of Lindsey’s coaches, Art Kranick, stepped out the door at the same time.

  Walking toward her car, Lindsey noticed a van parked directly next to her vehicle, facing the same way. There appeared to be someone sitting in the passenger’s side, closest to her driver’s door. The person looked to be waiting for someone.

  Lindsey hadn’t noticed the van when she had parked earlier. There had been no other cars in the immediate area.

  Still walking, Lindsey got her keys ready so she could unlock her doors quickly. As she moved closer to the van, she realized it was parked so near to her car that she would have to shimmy her way between the vehicles, almost touching the sides of each at the same time.

  When she got close enough, Lindsey could make out the person sitting in the vehicle. It was a man, maybe close to fifty years old. Gray hair. Scruffy five o’clock shadow. He was staring toward the school building, not paying any attention to Lindsey.

  “I didn’t think anything of it,” Lindsey said later. “I could see the person sitting there. A lot of students drive home from school with their parents. So I assumed this man was waiting for his child so they could practice driving.”

  Lindsey squeezed in between the two vehicles, wiggling her way toward her car door to get in.

  She unlocked the front driver’s side door, reached in while still standing outside the car, and unlocked the back driver’s side door. She pulled her upper body back out of the car, opened the back door, and threw in her bags.

  As she shut the back door and moved toward the front, Lindsey heard a noise—the creak and whine of the van’s side (sliding) door opening up.

  Thinking that the driver wanted to get by, Lindsey moved closer to her car door. But within a breath, she felt the man’s hands grab her.

  “I had so many thoughts going through my head at that time,” Lindsey recalled later. “I initially thought, Is this a Halloween prank? A joke? ”

  Whatever she might have believed was happening, Lindsey screamed as loudly as she could out of pure instinct.

  That scream alerted Ray Harrington and Art Kranick, both of whom had just reached their vehicles. It was such a deep, guttural cry for help, so naturally terrifying, that both men knew it was no prank.

  “In fact,” Harrington later said, “something was badly wrong.”

  Lindsey began to fight, squirming and trying desperately to get out of the man’s hold. He had one arm around her shoulder, the other arm around her waist, and was aggressively trying to pull Lindsey into his van. At the same time, he was trying to cover her mouth and grab at her breasts.

  Lindsey, because she was bigger and stronger than most kids her age, having worked out and run all her life, was able to wiggle out of his grasp. She fell into the driver’s seat of her car, butt first.

  Now she was in the perfect position to use her powerful legs as a defense.

  The man, disturbed by Lindsey’s sudden break from his grasp, lunged after her. Smartly, Lindsey used her feet to kick him away—as she continued to scream for help.

  For now, Lindsey had won the battle with what had turned out to be a real monster emerging from the dusk of Halloween night.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Festering Anger

  The months following chief of police Neil O’Leary’s revelation that John Regan had snuck into the Palombas home and sexually assaulted Donna, she later
explained, were filled with “anxiety, stress, and an immense sense of fear that he would come after me, my husband, or one of my children. Moreover, I also worried that John would go after Rocky and do something we would all regret. John was so angry with his former friend.”

  Seeing Regan inside the courtroom during the pretrial hearing had convinced John that hurting Rocky probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. But that feeling of vindication seeing him begin to answer for his crimes in a court of law did not last long.

  As the weeks passed after the pretrial proceedings, Donna had never seen her husband so distressed and consumed with anger.

  I no longer had to wonder who had raped me, but at the same time, I dreaded what would happen if Regan decided to come after me. Meanwhile, my daughter was away at college in that quaint upstate town of Saratoga Springs, New York. Our belief was that she had been far enough away from the mess back home and thus free from any of the concerns we faced back in the Waterbury region with Regan free on bond. Even better, she’d headed off to Paris to study abroad during the fall 2005. During that entire time while Regan awaited trial (it had been just about a year since the DNA had hit on Regan), he continued to proclaim his innocence. Neighbors reported seeing him tossing a football with his kids. He attended local sporting events and dined out at local restaurants with his family. He was going about his life as if he was an innocent man being wrongly accused.

  For the past year, Donna and John had gone over it so many times. There was irrefutable DNA evidence against Rocky that he had committed one rape and charges pending that he had attacked a coworker. Yet, in Donna’s opinion, because the Regan family “had money, he had been released on that $350,000 cash bond and allowed to roam free.”

  As the rage in John ebbed and flowed, Donna prayed “every night and every morning” that he would not take matters into his own hands, but wondered sometimes what he was thinking.