by Becky Durfee
The police counter by saying they are taking these cases very seriously, but prostitute murders offer extraordinary challenges. “These women routinely venture to isolated areas with strangers,” says Officer Kevin Levito of the Trenton Police Department. “They don’t tell anyone where they’re going or who they’re going with. Unfortunately this lifestyle makes them easy targets for predators.
“Many of the prostitutes have problems with addiction, adding another dimension of difficulty to the case,” Levito added. “They will often go on binges, disappearing for days at a time without raising any suspicion. In fact, none of these women had been reported missing before their bodies were found. This makes it difficult to pinpoint exactly when or where the crimes took place. For most people, disappearances are reported quickly and it is much easier to determine who was last with the victim or where the victim had been prior to the attack.”
Toxicology screens revealed high levels of drugs in all three women’s systems.
Jenny rubbed her eyes. “We’re going to get nowhere with this.”
Holding up his hand, Zack replied, “Now, don’t be so sure. We might find something.”
“Orlowski told me he’s nocturnal by nature. For a while he didn’t have a job, and the job he did eventually get was at a convenience store, working nights. That means he could have come and gone at all hours of the night, and his brother-in-law or step-brother or whoever the hell he was living with wouldn’t have paid any attention. If the cops can’t even pinpoint when the attacks took place, I don’t think we have any chance at all of placing Orlowski with any of these women.” Jenny let out a frustrated sigh.
“Let’s not give up quite yet. Let’s keep digging and see what we find, shall we?” He looked at Jenny with raised eyebrows and patted her leg. “Shall we?”
Grateful for Zack’s ability to keep her grounded, she nodded with a slight smile. “Okay. Let’s keep going. What else does the article say?”
Zack skimmed the article and paraphrased as he went. “They had a suspect after the second murder. Apparently the other prostitutes in the area had pinpointed a guy that had always been creepy to them. He used to spend a lot of time driving past them, looking at them, before he’d decide on which one he’d like to ‘hire.’ The guy’s name was Robert Slocum. He was later cleared when his DNA didn’t match any at the scene.”
Zack and Jenny looked at each other. “DNA?” Jenny remarked with awe. “There was DNA?”
“Apparently.” Zack’s optimistic look quickly faded. “Wait a minute. They said it didn’t match any of the DNA at the scene, not just the DNA at the scene.”
“You think there was DNA from more than one person?”
“Well, these were prostitutes.”
Jenny curled her lip at the thought. “Well, this guy got cleared because his DNA wasn’t present. But what if it was? I realize that wouldn’t make him guilty, necessarily, but it would at least establish that he’d been in contact with her, right?”
“Intimate contact, actually.”
“And it would prompt the investigators to do a little more digging, right?”
“I would think.”
Jenny chewed on her fingernail as she thought some more, verbalizing each idea that popped into her head. “Maybe some of that DNA was Orlowski’s. Although, he managed to not leave any DNA at his other crime scenes. He used condoms, and he put gloves on Morgan. This whole thing could really backfire. If they do get a sample of Orlowski’s DNA and it doesn’t match what was left at the scene, he might get cleared like this other guy did. Then they wouldn’t look at him anymore.”
“I hate to break this to you,” Zack said, “but there’s a chance Orlowski didn’t even do it.”
“You’re right. He may not have.” Jenny tapped her foot as an outlet for her increasingly pent-up energy. “But these cases are kind of similar to the three we know of, don’t you think? And the time is right.”
“Oh, yeah. I still think it’s quite possible he’s guilty; I just don’t want us to jump the gun, that’s all. Our goal is not to pin Orlowski with every murder we can; our goal is to find the truth, whatever it is.”
“Well, either way, DNA would be helpful with that, wouldn’t it?”
“Absolutely.”
Jenny thought some more. “I can get a sample of his DNA.”
Zack gave her a bewildered look.
“Oh, God, no,” Jenny replied with disgust. “Not like that. Are you crazy? I mean with a straw from Billy’s. I think he likes to go there before work, so he’s not drinking beer from a bottle—he’s drinking soda or water through a straw. If I can snag the straw after he leaves and submit it to someone, do you think they can get a DNA profile?”
“From what I’ve seen on TV, I think the answer to that is yes. But would they be willing to do that? Does he have to be an official suspect first? Or can someone from the street just walk into the police department and say, I think this straw contains the DNA of a prostitute killer.”
“I think we should talk to the people at the Trenton Police Department. Maybe they’ll be able to answer that for us.”
“You want to take a field trip?” Zack asked.
“I was actually thinking a phone call,” Jenny replied with a smile.
Zack bit his lip. “Oh yeah. That’s what I meant.”
Jenny patted Zack on his shoulder. “At first I considered making a field trip, too, but then I decided against it. I just think it would be way too hard to get anything up there. With the Connecticut cases, there were places to look: the dollar store parking lot, the route from Allison’s house to the convenience store. If we go to Trenton, where would we look? We have no idea where these women were when they got abducted. I think it would take us a really long time to find anything, and it’s time we just don’t have.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Zack replied. “Hey, but if Orlowski gets arrested and is safely behind bars, would you be interested in going up there? You know, try to see if he was involved in those killings and get their families some answers?”
“Absolutely.” Jenny smiled at Zack. Repositioning herself to write more, Jenny added, “Okay, what other information can you find?”
With further research, Zack and Jenny were able to determine that the first killing happened two Novembers earlier, which was about eleven months after Orlowski’s arrival in New Jersey. Jenny surmised that he was probably beginning to feel better by then, and he may have been able to physically carry out the murder. The victim was Paris Carter, who had been last seen on November tenth and whose body was found five days later behind a warehouse by an employee who noticed a foul smell. She was partially dressed and had been strangled, showing very little by way of defensive wounds. She had extremely high levels of heroin in her system, potentially explaining why she failed to fight back.
She would have been a very easy target.
Paris was 28 years old, originating from a middle class family in the suburbs just outside of Philadelphia. She got pregnant when she was very young—in her teens—and at first she and the baby’s father tried to make a life together. They got married and settled into an apartment, but soon Paris found that the life of a stay-at-home mom was not nearly as exciting as the life her friends were enjoying. On the weekends she began to go out and party, soon finding herself using recreational drugs. Once she discovered the lure of heroin, she couldn’t resist it.
Over time, her partying became a nightly occurrence; she would head out the door as soon as her husband got home from his job with a cable company. Some nights she would not return, leaving her husband scrambling to find someone to watch their baby in the morning so he could go to work. Fed up, her husband filed for divorce and full custody of their daughter, which went uncontested by Paris. He took the child back to his home state of Wisconsin so he could be closer to his family, leaving Paris with no place to stay.
Paris moved to Trenton to stay with a cousin, who quickly discovered Paris’s troubles with addiction. T
he cousin tried unsuccessfully to get her some help; however, she didn’t want to be helped. As a result, the cousin simply gave Paris a key to the apartment, making sure she had a place to stay at night if she needed it, and watched helplessly as Paris spiraled completely out of control.
At the time of the murder, Paris hadn’t slept at her cousin’s place in six months.
The second victim, Angela Velasquez, had been a cheerleader at her suburban high school before she started dating the wrong boy. He had introduced her to crack cocaine, and soon it consumed her. Her downward spiral ultimately ended with her living as a prostitute, barely eating, turning tricks so she could afford her next fix.
This all ended for her in mid-April, five months after Paris’s murder. The exact date of Angela’s disappearance was uncertain; she’d had no routines. Her last known sighting was April twenty-first. Three days later her body was found along the side of some railroad tracks across the Pennsylvania border. She, too, was partially dressed and strangled. She, too, had high amounts of drugs in her system. However, she was only twenty years old.
DNA was recovered from under her fingernails; pubic hairs from three different individuals were found on her body. No seminal fluid was found during vaginal swabs, which wasn’t surprising; men generally didn’t employ the services of a prostitute without protecting themselves. The DNA from her fingernails had been run through the national criminal database, but no matches were found. Until they could find a suspect to compare it to, the DNA sample was useless.
Renee Podgewaite, the last of the three victims, had a different story than the other two women. Her father had been absent from the start; her mother was incarcerated when she was just a toddler. She’d traveled through the foster care system for most of her life, never able to find a permanent home. Dissatisfied with the way her life was unfolding, she ran away at age fifteen, determined to make a life of her own.
Uneducated and underage, she had very few options. Prostitution and drug trafficking were her only means of making money. For seventeen years she worked the streets, sleeping where she could, turning tricks to support her various addictions.
Renee was last seen on November twenty-fourth. Her lifeless body was found the following day by a man walking his dog along the bank of the Delaware River. She was wearing gloves, and no DNA was found at the scene.
Nobody came forward to claim her body or provide her with a funeral. Members of the Trenton police force contributed enough money to afford her a service and a modest headstone.
Jenny surveyed the notes she had taken. “Gloves,” she noted. “That’s probably the best link we have to Orlowski. Maybe he started making his victims wear gloves after…” Jenny flipped through her notes, “Angela Velasquez got the DNA under her fingernails. Maybe she scratched the shit out of him and he wanted to keep it from happening again.”
“That would be great if she did, wouldn’t it? For more reasons than one.”
“I’d like to talk to someone in the police department to see if we can request that DNA analysis of Orlowski.”
“We should probably call Fazzino and Johnson anyway and let them know what we found out,” Zack said. “Maybe we could ask one of them while we have them on the phone.”
“Sounds good. Why don’t we call Johnson first?” Jenny smiled. “Actually, why don’t you call Johnson first? He kind of scares me.”
“Great,” Zack said in a lackluster tone. “I get to be the informant again.”
“But you’re so good at it,” Jenny replied with a smirk.
“Easy, wiseass,” Zack joked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Johnson’s number and put the phone on speaker.
“Johnson.”
“Hi, Officer Johnson. It’s, uh, me again, calling with some information about Orlowski.”
“Okay, what have you got?”
Zack took a deep breath. “Well, we discovered that he used to live in New Jersey. He spent two years there in between the time he lived in Connecticut and the time he moved here. While he was in New Jersey, three prostitutes were murdered not far from where he lived.” Zack waited for a response that didn’t come. “In Trenton.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Zack replied. “And one of the victims had DNA under her fingernails, but it didn’t match anybody in the criminal database. I might be wrong, but I wouldn’t think Orlowski’s DNA would be in the criminal database.”
“Probably not.”
Zack’s discomfort from Johnson’s minimalistic answers was becoming apparent. “We were thinking that maybe if we got a sample of Orlowski’s DNA, we could do a comparison. You know, maybe connect him to the crime?”
“We?”
Zack appeared confused for a moment, then said, “Oh, yeah. We. I am working with a partner.”
“Okay, well, here’s the problem. Just because a hooker has a guy’s DNA under her fingernails, that doesn’t mean the guy’s a murderer. Any defense attorney worth a damn is going to argue that the guy did have sex with her, but she was very much alive and well when he left her. And honestly, any defense attorney representing a cop is going to go so far as to claim the sex was consensual…off the clock. He wouldn’t even admit that his client used a hooker because that alone would be grounds for dismissal from his job.”
“We’d actually thought of that,” Zack muttered softly. “But it would at least tie him to the victim…wouldn’t it?”
“It would, but I’m not sure it’d be enough to issue an arrest warrant. The case against him would still be largely circumstantial. Truthfully, even I’m not convinced he did it myself. I’m just open to the idea to make sure all of our bases are covered.”
Zack made a face. “I understand.” A long silence ensued. “So should we still try and get his DNA sample? I-I-I’ve seen on TV that if you get the DNA from a public place, then it’s not illegal search and seizure. My partner sometimes has dinner with Orlowski and can get you a straw that he’s used if you want.”
“Well, if you bring me a straw with DNA on it, how do I know for sure it’s Orlowski’s?”
Zack didn’t reply.
“I’ll tell you what,” Johnson continued. “The next time your partner has dinner with Orlowski, make sure it’s in a public place. Let me know he’s there. Maybe I’ll just have to swing by and get a bite...you know, run into him by accident.”
Zack and Jenny both let out silent sighs of relief. “Okay, we’ll do that. Thank you Officer Johnson.”
“Yup.” Without another word, Johnson hung up the phone. Zack did the same.
Jenny looked squarely at Zack. “He definitely scares me.”
“Yeah, he’s not the most personable guy I’ve ever dealt with, that’s for sure.”
“Well, at least he’s on board with the idea of collecting Orlowski’s DNA. That’s about all we can ask for, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Zack replied. “Okay, time to call Fazzino. This time it’s your turn.”
“I don’t mind calling Fazzino,” Jenny confessed. “He’s not scary.” Jenny retrieved her cell phone out of her purse and dialed Officer Fazzino’s number.
“Well, hello, Jenny Watkins. How are you today?”
“Doing well, Officer Fazzino. How are you?”
“Great. And, please, call me Danny.”
“Okay, Danny.” Jenny made a face as she said the name. “Well, I’m calling because I have some new information for you.”
“Excellent. What is it?”
“Well, we think the Hawkins house belongs to Orlowski’s mother and step-father.”
“Is that so?” Fazzino asked.
“Yes, sir. And he may have actually been staying there at the time Lashonda was killed. He had just separated from his wife then.”
“Huh,” Fazzino said. “What do you know?’
Jenny also told him about the Lyme disease. “That’s right,” Fazzino remarked. “I do remember him being really sick right before he resigned. I didn’t know it was Lyme
, though. I figured he had the flu or mono or something.”
“No, sir. It was Lyme disease.”
“That’s good to know,” Fazzino replied. “Although I’m not sure that helps us with our investigation.”
Jenny scratched her head. “I guess it doesn’t, does it?”
“So do you have any other developments?”
Jenny mentioned the prostitutes in Trenton, disclosing that she was working with Officer Johnson to get a DNA sample. Fazzino agreed with Johnson’s assessment that while a DNA match would be helpful, it wouldn’t be the smoking gun they were looking for.
“But that’s about it,” Jenny concluded. “That’s all I have for you.”
“Well, it turns out I have a little information for you,” Fazzino said proudly.
“Really?” Butterflies began to dance around Jenny’s stomach.
“Yup. We always keep our cruisers marked with identification numbers on the rear quarter panel. We also keep a log of which officer has each cruiser on any given night. And guess what number cruiser Orlowski had the night Lashonda disappeared?”
Jenny felt her blood run cold. “Three-thirty-seven?”
“Bingo. While it certainly isn’t anything concrete, it just adds more credibility to the argument that Orlowski’s our guy. There’s absolutely no way you could have known that without some divine intervention.”
Jenny lowered her eyes. “I guess Lashonda made a note of that when she got out of the car. She sure did everything she could to protect herself, poor thing.”
“And it may have paid off,” Fazzino said happily, although Jenny failed to see it that way.
“Well, this is some good information,” Fazzino concluded. “I’ll see what I can do at the Hawkins house.”
“Great. Thanks for looking into that.”
“No,” Fazzino replied. “Thank you.”
Jenny curled up on her air mattress with her phone in her hand. She felt a sadness she just couldn’t shake as she searched the Internet for more information about the three New Jersey victims. She wanted to know about them—who they were before they became bodies at dumpsites. She didn’t imagine that their disappearances received even a fraction of the attention that the other girls’ did. She didn’t envision long lines at their funeral services. The last victim wouldn’t have even had a funeral service if it hadn’t been for the kindness of the police officers involved. That notion, above all else, bothered Jenny the most.
