Nightcrawler

by Mark Gado

  Where were they? What happened to them? And why?

  www.crimescape.com

  Chapter 3: Hookers

  “They can be left alone and used when needed.”

  —Jonathan Rubinstein in City Police

  Hookers live chaotic lives. They sleep all day, eat meals when they have food in front of them and work during the night like vampires. Walking through darkened streets, sometimes in the worst section of town, they offer themselves to customers who sometimes rob, abuse, and even kill them. Prostitutes usually have long rap sheets, and it is not uncommon for a working girl to have dozens of arrests in a short period of time. The crime of prostitution in most jurisdictions is only a misdemeanor and the most common jail sentence is “time served,” the period she already spent in jail when she appeared in court for a plea. Most are addicted to illegal drugs like heroin or crack. They will eventually wind up in a hospital or clinic suffering from the effects of an overdose or advanced illness from an STD such as syphilis or gonorrhea. If their drug of choice is meth, their teeth are rotted and their mouths are infected with sores and lesions. Older prostitutes will also have previous stab wounds, broken bones and other assorted injuries associated with abusive “johns.” The health hazards of being a street hooker are many, and more often than not, fatal. It is a very dangerous business.

  Prostitutes Negotiating

  Photo by Kay Chernush, U.S. State Dept.

  In a sense, police tolerate prostitutes, not only because they occasionally provide vital information about other crimes, but also because they share the same workplace as the street cop. “If they misbehave or commit crimes on the street, the cops are obliged to take action,” writes Jonathan Rubinstein in City Police, “but as long as their behavior on the street gives no cause for indignation they can be left alone and used when needed.” The patrol officer will arrest a hooker, of course, but it has to be because of a complaint or a direct violation that is committed in the presence of the officer, which he or she cannot ignore. Cops will rarely go out of their way to arrest a prostitute. In their eyes, prostitution is not seen as a “serious” crime, like robbery or burglary, which usually, but not always, involves an innocent victim. Police generally arrest hookers in “sweep”-type operations, which occur periodically when public pressures force the department to do something about the problem. These mass arrests usually happen in front of video cameras and with the cooperation of the local press who somehow always know when and where they take place.

  Contrary to public perceptions, however, prostitutes do not hate the police, despite the fact that they are sometimes arrested. They see the police as a necessary part of their lives and won’t hesitate to use them for protection from violent customers or rip-offs, which are common in their work. Prostitutes also gather and save criminal information that they know they can offer as a “get out of jail free” card when the situation arises. They know that a robbery collar is worth more than a hooker arrest, which the average cop sees as trivial and time-consuming. Many prostitutes know patrol officers by their first names; they know which ones they can trust and which ones they can’t. They will flirt with cops, talk with them freely and even brag about their police relationships with other hookers. The higher the rank of the police friend, the higher status the hooker has amongst her friends. That’s because a captain can get a prostitute out of jail faster than a patrol officer and they know it.

  The first thing a hooker will do when arrested is ask if her friendly neighborhood cop is on duty. She knows that fresh information on a crime or a wanted suspect will buy her freedom. This uneasy alliance between police and prostitutes is one of the many unspoken rules in the world of the street. The code is used by both sides to help each other and, at the same time, maintain a sense of order that, for the most part, is controlled by the cop. “Since the police control the street,” Rubinstein writes, “those who use it regularly must accept their relationships with policemen as they develop.”

  Patrol officers who work the same sector night after night come to know and even expect to see certain people on their beat in the same location at the same time. A shopkeeper will close his store at the same time each night; a cab driver will cruise the same street, and teenagers will hang around the same corner. Hookers will work exactly the same location week after week, month after month, until something dramatic happens to change it. The habit is hard to break. Prostitutes feel comfortable in certain locations for a variety of reasons. It may be close to home, near a favorite coffee shop, provide a clear view of approaching police or have easy access to a hidden location for quick sex. So when a prostitute suddenly vanishes from her spot and does not return, a cop may notice, even when no one else does.

  One of the leads that surfaced during street interviews was the story of a man who had a history of mistreating women and had assaulted a hooker during a “trick.” The year before, a prostitute agreed to go to the suspect’s house for sex, and when the man didn’t have enough money, she attempted to leave. The police report stated, “he grabbed her arm and had a knife… she refused to sign a complaint against male. Male refused to cooperate with investigation.” No arrest was ever made. The suspect was an African-American who worked locally in one of the public schools and was well-known in the downtown area for cruising through the streets at night. He was also an Army veteran and a college student, a large man, over 6 feet 4 inches and 300 pounds. His name was Kendall Francois.

  www.crimescape.com

  Chapter 4: Kendall

  “When all aspects of the killing are completed and the perpetrator has had his catharsis, he immediately feels a perverse sense of justification.”

  —Robert Keppel, PhD, in Signature Killers

  Poughkeepsie is a community of approximately 25,000 people located 70 miles north of New York City and 70 miles south of Albany. It sits virtually on the banks of the Hudson River, where boats of every size and description sail by each day until the river freezes over during the winter months. Poughkeepsie is a city with a collective inferiority complex that may have originated from living in the shadow of two much more significant cities: Albany and New York. In a historic residential section on the south side, century-old Victorian mansions recall a better age. Just a few blocks north, in a decaying downtown area, hookers, drug dealers, and other bad elements have taken control.

  Poughkeepsie, NY

  Photo by Dough Kerr

  Kendall Francois was born in Poughkeepsie on July 26, 1971, the son of McKinley and Paulette Francois. McKinley worked in a nearby factory and Paulette was a nurse in a psychiatric hospital. Kendall Francois also has two sisters, Kierstyn and Raquelle and one younger brother, Aubrey, who did not live in the same home. As a boy, Francois was not much of a student at school. He was a low achiever and an average learner who made some friends within his circle, despite his obvious weight problem and the persistent taunting from classmates. “He was the kind of kid, whenever he did speak up, the other kids made fun of him,” one friend later said. “Most of the time, he just wouldn’t bother with those kids.” By the time he reached high school at age 14, Francois was taller and bigger than any of the other students. He was 6 feet 3 inches tall and weighed over 250 pounds. “He had a weight problem and was very self-conscious,” one neighbor later told reporters. “The kids would yell out to him, ‘How now, brown cow!’ and he used to get upset” (Fisher-Hertz). Because constant teasing forced the young boy to withdraw into himself, he was perceived as a loner by the others. Probably during this time, Francois began to develop feelings of shame and insecurity, which were likely related to his persistent weight issues.

  Kendall Francois

  High School yearbook

  His mother, Paulette, once said that although Francois had no psychological issues that she knew of, he was a “mama’s boy.” She described him as a homebody and a person who would rather stay cooped up in his room playing video games and watching wrestling matches than be out with friends or girls. She said that Fran
cois was a laid-back sort of man who didn’t let much bother him. When she compared him to his younger brother, Aubrey, it was very obvious that Francois was not the same. Aubrey was a “go-getter,” in his mother’s words, and showed lots of ambition, while Kendall Francois stood in the shadows in awe of his younger sibling.

  With his intimidating appearance, Francois won a spot on the wrestling and the football teams at Arlington High School during his first year. He became a formidable presence on the football field though his personal accomplishments were few. His years at the school were unremarkable, with much smaller and faster athletes surpassing him in every category. Probably due to his massive size, the teasing had stopped. No one would dare insult Francois to his face because no one wanted to provoke his anger.

  A few years after graduation, Francois enlisted in the U.S. Army. He completed basic training at Fort Sill in Oklahoma, the first time he had left New York State, and was later assigned to a base in Hawaii where he repaired and maintained two-way radios. He seemed happy in the Army. It provided some structure in his life and a sense of purpose, which he had never experienced before. His Army years ended badly when, because of his weight problem, he was asked to leave the service. “I was supposed to weigh 204 pounds and I never did,” he said. “So I had to get measured for body fat count and one month, the third month I was there, I didn’t make it. But I made it every other time but that one month I got flagged” (Boyko). It must have been another psychic wound inflicted on Francois in a long series of insults that always seemed to focus on his physical appearance.

  In 1992, he received an honorable discharge and was back home in Poughkeepsie. He enrolled in the local community college, where he was considered an average student. “He participated in class,” said one instructor, “had a good relationship with me and the other students and seemed to really get something out of class” (Fisher-Hertz). Over the three years he attended the college, he had a 2.97 G.P.A and hoped to be a teacher one day. In the meantime, he bounced around several different jobs, all in or near his hometown. Francois earned very little money, but because he lived in an upstairs bedroom in a house owned by his parents, he didn’t need much.

  The Francois home was a two story wooden-frame structure that was typical of all the other homes on the quiet residential street. It was a few minutes walk from prestigious Vassar College, a learning institution that has a reputation of academic elitism. The Francois home was an old house, built some 80 years before, and did not age as well as others in the same neighborhood. It had a rather drab, uninspiring appearance that was not helped by the pale green siding that did nothing to promote its curb appeal. Six broken concrete steps led to a faded aluminum storm door, the entrance point to the home. A sun porch, which contained nine identical windows in a row, was effectively hidden from view by the large amount of vegetation overgrowth in front of the house. On the ground level floor, there was a kitchen, a living room, a bedroom and a bathroom. The second floor, where Kendall Francois lived, consisted of a bathroom and three other small rooms. Above that level was only an attic, which was accessible through a small door located in the hallway.

  When Wendy disappeared, Kendall Francois was employed as a hall monitor at Arlington Middle School, located outside the city on busy State Road 44. He patrolled the hallways each day to keep order and directed stray students back to their classes. “He had a clean record,” school superintendent Donald Rothman later told the press, “without incident or anything else.” He was an intimidating presence, towering over everyone in the school, including the teachers, and it usually took only a few words to dispatch a student on his way. Though Francois had a somewhat gentle demeanor and never seemed to get angry, no one would dare defy him. One former student later told the press that Francois was “pretty normal. He hit on the girls a little bit but… he never bothered us.”

  Besides his oversize build, students took notice of something else regarding his appearance. It wasn’t only his size that amazed the students; it was also his rather pungent body odor. The man had a smell that could be perceived from even several feet away. Everyone noticed. Teachers remarked about it among themselves, and students joked about it but never in his presence, of course. To do so might provoke his fury, and no one wanted to see Francois angry. The surreptitious jokes continued among students. They laughed about it, made faces when Francois wasn’t looking and even devised a name for him, which they used whenever they spoke of the reclusive hall monitor.

  They called him “Stinky.”

  www.crimescape.com

  Chapter 5: Missing

  “Some killers have said that to take a human life makes them feel like God.”

  —Dr. Katherine Ramsland in The Forensic Psychology of Criminal Minds

  After months of investigation, police were no closer to solving the mystery of the missing women than they were at the beginning of the year. Detective Karl “Skip” Mannain of the City of Poughkeepsie Police Department was assigned to the case at the beginning, when the fate of the women was totally unknown and no one really knew what to think. Mannain, an ex-Marine born and raised in Poughkeepsie, had many street-level contacts in the city and throughout the county as well. A slim, physically fit veteran of 12 years with the department, he enjoyed being a cop in his hometown and working for Siegrist, whom he knew for many years before he put on the uniform. “Bill is a great cop,” he said recently. “Hard-working, honest, conscientious. You couldn’t ask for a better boss.”

  As Mannain delved into the enigma of the missing women, he found little to go on. However, the police could always do something more. They had conducted dozens of foot searches, questioned hundreds of people and systematically went through a list of suspects over and over again. The FBI had been brought into the case and the New York State Police also provided assistance and manpower. Detectives followed up all reports of unidentified female bodies found in the Northeast, and all were eventually eliminated as being connected to the case. The leads continued to pour in over the hot line and investigators tracked down each and every scrap of information. Still, progress was slow.

  In September 1997, during interviews with prostitutes, the name of Kendall Francois surfaced again. They told police that he was a frequent customer and was often seen cruising the streets at all hours of the night looking for women. Everyone knew who he was and many of the women had sex with him. On one occasion, police were summoned to Francois’ home when a neighbor reported that he heard a woman screaming for help. When police arrived, they found Francois and a known prostitute, who said that he attacked her. Francois denied it and said that she stole money from him. She did not want to press charges and left the scene. No charges were filed.

  Police later decided to ask Francois to come into the police station for an interview. He agreed, and when he was questioned, he told police that he frequently used hookers at his home. “I think I have a sex addiction,” he said. “Sometimes I just ride around and look. I’ve taken some home during the day when my parents aren’t around, too.” He told police about different locations around the city where he had sex with hookers and which ones he preferred. The woman that was screaming at his house, he said, was confused. “She just misunderstood me. I like rough sex.” Police then asked him to take a polygraph test so they could eliminate him as a suspect. Francois refused after explaining that his brother got into trouble once when he took a lie-detector test. He was free to leave.

  In October, Dutchess County Social Services reported to the police department that one of their clients, Michelle Eason, failed to show up for a meeting and did not notify their office. When the case worker tried to find Eason, she could not be located and her family did not know where she was. The case worker became concerned for her safety and reported her missing. Eason was described as 5’2” and 115 pounds with brown hair. Unlike the other missing women, Eason was an African American. “When I first learned about Eason,” said Siegrist, “I thought she wasn’t part of the story. But I have m
ixed feelings about her. I keep changing my mind on whether she was involved in this case or not.”

  Only a month later, Thomas Healy showed up at the Poughkeepsie Police Department and reported that he hadn’t heard from his daughter, Mary Giaccone, 29, for months and feared that she was missing. He told police that he last spoke with Mary when she was being held at the Dutchess County Jail in 1996. Healy lived in nearby Beacon, but said his daughter lived somewhere in Poughkeepsie. He described Mary as 5’4” and 110 pounds, brown hair—exactly the same build as the other missing women.

  Police immediately inquired around the downtown area and located people who knew Mary. They told investigators she had not been seen since the spring of 1997 and said they had no idea where she could have gone. Police were able to place the date of her last sighting in February. Like the other women, Mary Giaccone had a drug habit that had kept her on the streets and gotten her into trouble. While checking into her disappearance, detectives discovered that Francois still patronized local prostitutes and sometimes got tough with them. Though records indicated that Francois had contacts with the police in the past, there were no recently filed complaints against him. But Lt. Siegrist wasn’t satisfied. He decided to place Francois under surveillance.

  For two weeks, rotating shifts of detectives followed Francois from his home to his job at a local school, as he shopped at stores, and when he cruised through city streets. He often drove around aimlessly, but committed no crimes. “One night we tailed him for hours,” said Mannain. “He drove in large circles around downtown. He was careful to use his blinkers when he turned and stopped at all the lights and signs, at first. But slowly, the circles became smaller and smaller until he finally just drove around one block where the hookers worked. He didn’t stop at lights anymore and didn’t use his directionals. No more signaling at all. He almost appeared like he was in a frenzy. Like a feeding frenzy.” Francois didn’t do anything illegal. He simply just drove all over town, stopped to talk to women and then moved on.