by John Glatt
A few days later, Phillip Garrido was allowed to return to 1554 Walnut Avenue and resume his life in the community.
On May 3, 1993, Alyssa turned thirteen years old, and the Garridos brought her a little kitten as a birthday present. She was delighted. Her manipulating captors used her love for pet animals as a powerful weapon to win her trust. They also told her what they had paid for the kitten, making her even more beholden to them.
Over the last two years, they had so successfully robbed Alyssa of her past that she now believed they were treating her better than her own parents ever had.
“I got [a cat] for my birthday from Phil and Nancy,” Alyssa wrote in a secret journal she had started keeping. “They did something for me that no one else would do for me, they paid $200 just so I could have my own kitten.”
Soon afterward Alyssa became pregnant with Phillip Garrido’s baby, making her even more emotionally dependant on him and Nancy. As an experienced nursing aide, Nancy was well qualified to care for her during the pregnancy, as Phillip never allowed any doctors into the secret compound.
As Phillip’s seed took root in Alyssa’s body, the Garridos finally owned her body and mind.
Although Phillip Garrido had finally freed Alyssa from the shed, where she’d been held since her abduction, he still confined her to the backyard. There she camped in all weathers in a ramshackle assortment of small tents, wooden shacks and other ad hoc structures.
Phillip kept his expensive musical instruments and recording equipment in the soundproofed shed, and he loved to plug in his bass guitar and play his songs, with Nancy and Alyssa as his appreciative audience.
The now pregnant thirteen-year-old girl was rarely allowed inside the adjacent three-bedroom house, where her jailers lived comfortably with Phillip’s aging mother.
“I always wished I could have a daughter,” Pat Franzen later said of Alyssa’s emergence. “So when Alyssa appeared one day it was amazing. I was pleased she was around.”
In late 1993, Carl and Terry Probyn appeared on the Geraldo Rivera Show. It would be the first of several appearences over the next few years, with Carl forming a friendship with the famous talk-show host.
During their interview, it became apparent that Jaycee’s disappearance was now threatening the Probyns’ marriage.
“Terry,” asked Geraldo, “I wonder what kind of stress must that put on a marriage. What can it do to you?”
“It could destroy us if we let it,” she replied. “The whole focus is to stay together and . . . work together to keep the hope alive.”
She said they also had to be strong for Jaycee’s younger sister, Shayna.
“When Jaycee comes home she’s going to need that family life,” said Terry. “She can’t afford for us to be split up.”
As if the Probyns didn’t have enough to contend with, now there were vicious rumors that they had something to do with Jaycee’s disappearance. One theory was that they had sold her into prostitution in Central America, to pay off drug debts. Another accused the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department of being in cahoots with them, ensuring the case never went anywhere.
But the vast majority of the South Lake Tahoe community had stood by Carl and Terry Probyn, sharing in their terrible heartbreak. Her abduction still haunted the town, and pink ribbons and Jaycee Dugard “missing” posters were everywhere.
On October 1, 1993, twelve-year-old Polly Klaas was abducted from her bed in Petaluma, California—190 miles from where Jaycee was taken. A strange man wielding a knife burst into her bedroom, while she was having a slumber party with two friends. He then tied up the girls, placing pillowcases over their heads, and escaped with Polly.
The terrified girls finally managed to untie themselves, waking up Polly’s mother who called the police. Over the next two months, there was a massive nationwide search for Polly, reminiscent of the one for Jaycee. Her kidnapping was covered on America’s Most Wanted and 20/20, and she became the first missing child to have a picture posted on the Internet.
On November 20, police arrested a drifter named Richard Allen Davis for a parole violation, matching his palm print to one discovered in Polly’s bedroom. He was then charged with her murder, and four days later he led police to where he had strangled the little girl and buried her in a shallow grave.
Terry and Carl Probyn followed the Polly Klaas abduction closely, as it resembled Jaycee’s. And when they read of Davis’s arrest for Polly’s murder, they were devastated, waiting by the phone to find out if he had been at large in June 1991.
Finally, investigators told the Probyns that Allen could not possibly have had anything to do with Jaycee’s abduction. Once again hope had been sucked away, leaving them no nearer to knowing what had happened to Jaycee than before.
“I’m glad Polly’s parents have a resolution,” said Terry at the time. “I wouldn’t want anyone to go through not knowing. It’s hell.”
Polly Klaas’s kidnapping and subsequent murder reopened all the old wounds for Terry, and as Christmas approached she hit rock bottom. She took her annual vacation, sending Carl and their daughter Shayna to stay with relatives in Southern California, leaving her alone at home to cry.
On December 11, 1993, Sacramento Bee columnist Anita Creamer interviewed Terry once again, to see how she was coping this holiday season.
“She still calls the sheriff’s department every week,” reported Creamer, “checking to see if they’ve got new leads. But the trail is cold, the case is old, and Terry Probyn tells me she’s about sixty percent sure Jaycee is never coming home.”
On January 4, 1994, Carl Probyn took his daughter Shayna to the California state capitol of Sacramento, for a rally demanding that lawmakers pass new legislation to protect innocent children from criminals. There he met Polly Klaas’s father Marc and David Collins, whose ten-year-old son Kevin had been snatched off a San Francisco street in February 1984.
And from now on they would all keep in touch, working together in the fight to protect other children from being attacked by heartless predators.
In August 1994, fourteen-year-old Alyssa gave birth to Phillip Garrido’s baby daughter. Nancy delivered the baby in the filthy soundproofed shed prison, without any painkillers or medical equipment.
Phillip was overjoyed to be a father at forty-three, naming the child Angel. And for a brief time, as Alyssa recovered from the painful birth, he stopped raping her.
A few days after Angel’s birth, Phillip Garrido decided to take Alyssa as his second wife. In a bizarre wedding ceremony in the garden, Garrido put on his best clothes to perform the ceremony, insisting Nancy attend as witness.
He then picked up his guitar and sang a new song he’d specially composed for the occasion, before making Alyssa promise to always love him, fulfilling God’s desire for them to always be together.
Finding herself a mother at just fourteen, Alyssa rose to the task at hand. She now had a young baby to take care of, and the responsibilities of motherhood in captivity empowered her. Nancy, who had been unable to bear children of her own, would now compete with Alyssa for Angel’s love and attention.
Although her education had been cut short in the fifth grade, Alyssa was a highly intelligent girl and eager to learn. She persuaded Phillip Garrido to bring her books about cats and other animals into the compound, as he refused to let her read anything else.
That December, Nancy, now thirty-nine, found a new full-time job at Contra Costa ARC, as a nursing and physical therapy aide for the disabled. And she came with excellent job references, dating back to 1981, the year she married Phillip Garrido.
“She was a good employee,” said Barbara Maizie who hired her, “and she was well-liked by the people she worked with.”
The soft-spoken nurse came with a valid California nurse aide license and an impressive history of working in nursing homes. Before hiring her, the nonprofit agency ran a routine state background check, including a criminal records check, all of which came back clean.
Jaycee Lee Dugard’s classmates and teachers at Meyers Elementary School would never forget her. One year, the school planted a little memorial garden in Jaycee’s honor by the multipurpose room. And at the center was a plaque reading: “Some people come into our lives, and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same.”
On each anniversary of her abduction, the whole school would gather in the memorial garden for a sad vigil of pink ribbons and candlelights. But as the years went by, few thought they would ever see their classmate again.
26
“THE POWER OF ADVERTISING”
In the summer of 1995—four long years after dragging her into his dark abyss—Phillip Garrido finally brought Alyssa out into the real world. After Angel’s birth and their marriage, he now allowed Alyssa to occasionally leave her backyard prison during the day to clean his house. But she always had to go back afterward, to sleep in a tent with her baby daughter.
Although he had granted her limited freedom, the fifteen-year-old remained in a secure mental prison, created by her jailer. After sharing her first sexual experiences with him and bearing his child, Alyssa now loved Phillip in some twisted way.
But even though Phillip had managed to wash her brain clean, he could never reach the furthest corners of her mind, where she still vividly remembered her old life and her family.
Her captor also had an ulterior motive for allowing her slightly greater freedom. For Garrido had decided to start a printing business from one of the sheds in his garden, and he wished to exploit Alyssa’s natural talent for graphic design, which she had inherited from her mother.
So he bought a cheap printing press, setting it up in one of the squalid tents in his back garden. Then he bought an old computer and a book of instructions, which he gave to Alyssa to learn. Eventually his printing business would occupy three small tents in the backyard, for printing, paper and stenciling.
Naming his new enterprise “Printing For Less,” he appointed Alyssa design director. Her first project was to design an ambitious four-color sales brochure, with a comprehensive price list, well undercutting all competitors.
“The Power Of Advertising Is Now Affordable” was his newly adopted slogan.
He also had Alyssa run up a batch of Printing For Less business cards, with a seductive photograph of a young blonde model from one of his favorite girlie magazines.
“Printing For Less—Affordable Advertising,” boasted the erratically capitalized brochure, “Will take the hassle out of all your printing needs. No One Beats our Quality, Services Or Prices! Just Schedule An Appointment And Start Your Layout.”
Phillip Garrido started driving his red 1988 VW van around Antioch and the neighboring towns of Pittsburg, Concord, Walnut Creek and Oakley, pitching for business. And with his with zero overheads and literal slave labor, he could offer the lowest prices in town for personalized stationery, even throwing in free incentive gifts like notepads.
Local businessman Marc Lister, who ran a full-service glass company, had first met Phillip Garrido a few years earlier after selling him some new windows for his van.
“He had just got out of prison,” said Lister. “And this guy would never give his phone number.”
Over the next few years, Garrido telephoned Lister periodically for glass, coming into his store to have it fitted into his various vehicles.
Then one day in 1995, he arrived proudly announcing his new printing business.
“He solicited myself and my business,” Lister recalled, “as well as several businesses in the area to do their printing work and business cards. He did a good job for me and I was more than happy to introduce him to my friends in the automotive industry.”
Phillip Garrido’s new business soon prospered, helped by referrals by word of mouth. And he told his new clients that all the design and printing was being done by his talented daughter Alyssa.
“[Everyone] started using him for their fliers, pamphlets and business cards,” recalled Lister. “He was cheap, reliable and there was never any graphical errors or misspelled words.”
One afternoon in late 1995, a shabbily-dressed Phillip Garrido turned up at the East County Glass and Window company in Pittsburg, asking to see the owner.
“He just walked in with some fliers,” said company president Tim Allen. “He described his business and what type of services he offered . . . any kind of printing we would need, he could take care of us. He was very polite. Very courteous.”
Allen did not buy anything that day, but three months later he decided to give Printing For Less a try, placing a small order for some business cards.
“It was acceptable,” he recalled. “The price was good and the service was excellent.”
Tim Allen viewed Garrido as a “self-employed entrepreneur,” admiring his professionalism and efficiency. The printer would always arrive on time to pick up the materials, returning a few days later with the finished order to collect his check.
And East County Glass and Window company was soon using him for all its printing supplies, including envelopes, letterhead, coupons and business cards.
“Everybody here thought he was a little bit strange,” said Allen, “but it’s not illegal to be strange. He acted a little bit different, but he didn’t act dangerous or anything.”
A few days later, Garrido walked into a nail salon in Antioch with his brochures and a book of his sample business cards.
“He was talking to the owners of businesses in the area,” recalled local businesswoman Janice Gomes, who was having a manicure and knew Garrido from high school. “He said his wife had just had a baby and they were starting a new business.”
Gomes asked for one of his cards, and was impressed by his polite, low-key approach.
“He seemed very friendly,” she said, “very open and wasn’t pushy. ‘Oh, don’t make a decision now. If you find that you are interested, give me a call.’ ”
A few months later, Gomes called the number on his business card, leaving a message on his answering machine for him to call back.
“You always got a recording,” she said. “At least for the first few years. Later on you were able to get someone on the phone.”
Then Gomes ordered some plain business cards, which were half the price of the company she had been using. And when they came back she was highly impressed by the results.
”So I told everyone about him,” she said, “and they told their friends. He’s very competitive, so over the years quite a few people were using Phillip’s services.”
In the winter of 1995, Terry and Carl Probyn took part in a six-minute video on missing children. Produced by Doug Broomfield of the Veeple Video Company, the short film used actors to re-create the abduction, as part of a special project to track down missing children.
In a highly emotional interview, Jaycee’s tormented mother was filmed in her daughter’s bedroom, clutching her favorite stuffed bunny.
“A piece of me is missing,” Terry said tearfully. “A piece of my heart feels like it’s been ripped. And I don’t feel like a complete person.”
Lead detective Jim Wilson was also interviewed about the current state of the investigation, saying he had become personally involved in the case.
“It’s just hard to deal with,” he said. “We’re still actively investigating leads and reevaluating. I mean we’re in a phase now where we’re going back and we’re reevaluating everything we did.”
Trish Williams of Child Quest International, who had been involved from the beginning, said her organization had received more than ten thousand Jaycee Dugard sightings.
“Unfortunately, in your stranger abduction,” said Williams, “rarely do you have a good ending.”
A few months after the short film was made, Carl and Terry
Probyn split up. They had been in counseling for months with their daughter Shayna, but all the stress and pain of Jaycee’s disappearance had finally proved too much.
So Carl moved out and got his own place, although they remained friends and never officially filed for divorce.
“This broke our marriage up,” Carl explained later. “We had a great marriage. My wife and I have never sat down and talked about it. It’s too painful. My wife’s personality is the same as Jaycee’s—she’s mellow, she’s easy-going. I mean we never argued.”
Phillip Garrido doted on his aging mother, who was now being looked after by Nancy. And Pat Franzen, who had always spoiled her favorite son, apparently had no idea that Alyssa had been kidnapped and been forced to bear her granddaughter Angel.
“That was her world,” said Pat’s longtime friend and neighbor Helen Boyer. “He really catered to her—he and Nancy both.”
The gray-haired seventy-four-year-old pensioner was frequently seen driving her son’s old gray two-door sedan around Antioch. Now long retired from her maintenance job for the local school authority, Pat loved puttering in her back garden. And her pride and joy were the grapes she was growing by the far wall of the back garden, near the white-roofed shed where Alyssa and her daughter Angel lived.
One day she asked Dale and Polly White, whose garden backed directly onto hers, to cut down a paradise tree growing through a shared fence, as it was interfering with her vines.
“Well, actually the tree started on her side of the fence and came through our side,” observed Polly White. “So my husband said he’d cut it down. He told me he didn’t know why she asked him to cut it down, as it was growing on her side. I said, ‘Well, perhaps she doesn’t have anybody else to cut it down.’ ”
Mike and Glenda Shelton rented the house next door to the Garridos from 1996 to 1998, sharing a driveway with them. They both thought Phillip “weird” and “defensive,” as he refused to allow anyone near the gate to his backyard.
