by Ann Rule
* * *
On July 16, Larry Allen Mayo was charged with first-degree murder with “premeditation and malice aforethought” and kidnapping and held on two hundred thousand dollars’ bail in the federal section of the Pierce County Jail.
When Mayo went on trial in U.S. district judge Walter T. McGovern’s federal courtroom in October, his defense didn’t attempt to deny that he had killed Wendy Ann. The courtroom battle would be a battle of the psychiatrists.
Mayo’s court-appointed defense attorney, Kenneth Kanev, told the jury he would prove that Mayo was mentally irresponsible when he killed Wendy to keep her from screaming.
Assistant U.S. attorney Robert Westinghouse, for the prosecution, maintained that Mayo was quite sane at the time of the murder.
Westinghouse called his witnesses: Wendy’s stepfather, her aunt, and FBI agent John Kellison. Her family described how frantic they were when Wendy vanished so quickly, and their hopeless search for her. Wendy’s stepfather cried as he told of how helpful Larry Mayo he had been while they were building the picnic table, and of how his family had trusted Larry. They had never suspected him of being a threat. Wendy had trusted him, too. It would have been natural for her to feel she could follow him safely into his brother’s home.
FBI agent Kellison told jurors about Larry Mayo’s confession, and it was entered into evidence.
Counselor Kanev said he would produce expert witnesses to testify that Mayo put the cord around Wendy’s neck only to keep her from screaming, and that he had been “unable to realize that his act would result in her death.”
Mayo listened impassively as Dr. Adolph Whiting, a psychiatrist, described the personality of a child killer. Whiting said that Mayo was mentally ill and not responsible for what he did at the time of the murder. He confirmed that Larry Mayo had strangled Wendy because he was afraid she would scream to summon help, but also because he feared her screams “would arouse his sympathy for her.”
That made little sense and jurors as well as court watchers shook their heads, confused.
Dr. Whiting described Larry Mayo as having an immature personality, of being irresponsible and incapable of holding a job for long.
“He had engaged in a lot of antisocial acts in his past. He was lonely and under a lot of stress because he was trying to remake himself into another person.”
Dr. Whiting called Mayo’s mental illness “disassociation” and said that he did not have the capacity to willfully take a life. A hypnotic interview, he said, confirmed that Mayo had “disassociated his ability to care what he did, and the ability to realize that tightening the cord around the girl’s neck would kill her. He only meant to stop her screams.”
Whiting attributed this to Mayo’s “primitive thinking” and said he had “immature and childlike mental mechanisms in dealing with basic problems.”
A second psychiatrist, Dr. Ralph Stolzheise, testified for the defense. He said that he had attempted to hypnotize Larry Mayo in an effort to let him recall why he had killed Wendy.
“I couldn’t get a meaningful answer as to why he made his initial move to put down his cigarette and pick up the cord,” the psychiatrist concluded.
Prosecutor Westinghouse subjected Dr. Stolzheise to a grueling cross-examination. The doctor finally allowed that hypnotism is not a universally accepted tool in psychiatric diagnosis and treatment. However, the psychiatrist said, he was confident that Mayo told the truth during the critical portions of the hypnotic interview.
A psychiatrist called by the state testified that Mayo was neither disassociated nor mentally deranged at the time of the murder.
“Mayo had to elect to walk into the living room to pick up the cord, walk back to the kitchen where the girl was, place it around her neck, and strangle her,” Westinghouse told the jury. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is premeditation. That is murder in cold blood.”
Defense attorney Kanev told the jurors that if they should find Mayo sane, they should find him guilty of manslaughter because he killed Wendy “without malice aforethought.”
The plea of temporary insanity, diminished responsibility, is a common theme in murder defenses. The number of confessed murderers who later say they committed murder in a “dream” state is legend. Under the M’Naghten Rule, a killer has to be so deranged that he does not realize he is committing a crime, cannot tell right from wrong, at the exact moment of his murders.
And who can really know what the state of someone else’s mind is at any precise time?
Credulity is stretched a great deal when a murderer almost immediately regains his sanity and cleverly covers his crime. Larry Mayo had enough stability to carry Wendy from his home, wrapped in sheets to make her look like a bundle of laundry. He had enough sanity to hide her body in a deserted area, enough to go to her home and offer to help in the search, enough to hang around her home and play the part of the sympathetic friend. If he was insane, he had it under perfect control.
Wendy never got a chance to tell what happened that night. Those who knew her feel it is doubtful that she would have willingly followed Larry Mayo into his brother’s house. It is far more likely that he used some kind of ruse or trick to make her run after him. Once he had her captive inside, she would have been helpless as she struggled to leave and go back to her family.
Only Larry Mayo knows what really happened, and his version seems fashioned to make him look as a “victim” of his own disturbed mind.
On October 8, 1976, the federal jury rejected Larry Mayo’s plea of insanity and found him guilty of murder in the first degree. They acquitted him of kidnapping, the charge that stemmed from his carrying the child into a bedroom to sexually assault her after he choked her with the drapery cord.
First-degree murder carries a maximum penalty of life imprisonment. Had he been acquitted on grounds of insanity, he would have walked out of the courtroom a free man.
Life in prison rarely means true life in prison, and that was even more true in the seventies. Even so—thirty-six years after Wendy Smith died—Larry Mayo is in prison in a state far from where he killed Wendy. Unfortunately his prison counselor has failed to respond to my requests for information about his status or parole date. He may still be serving his life sentence for Wendy’s murder, or he may have re-offended and been sent behind the walls for another crime.
The departments of prisons and parole in many states are quite willing to notify interested parties when felons come up for parole. Anyone reading this who would like to be notified on the status of someone who still frightens them should contact their state’s prison and parole department.
* * *
NO ONE KNOWS WHERE WENDY IS
* * *
Wendy Ann Smith seemed to vanish instantly in the dusk of a summer day. She was only nine years old, and she still trusted almost everyone. (Police file)
Anne Marie Burr vanished from her home in Tacoma, Washington, in 1963. Investigators who were searching for Wendy remembered her. She has never been found, and the circumstances of her disappearance were very similar to Wendy Ann’s. Tacoma is close to the U.S. Army’s Fort Lewis. (Police file)
This young man was one of the most helpful in Wendy Ann’s family’s neighborhood when search parties were formed to look for her. He was so eager to assist that he sometimes got in the way, being always underfoot. (Police file)
Acknowledgments
With every book I write, I am aware of how important it is that people involved—either directly or by unpredictable chance—share their stories and feelings with me. And I so appreciate that they do! Eighty-five percent of my time, I am writing a book and it can be lonely; writing has to be a solitary pastime. But not always an isolated one. So when I thank people who help me, they range from investigators, prosecutors, survivors and their families, my own family, friends, editors and agents, and unexpected tipsters who share important confidences.
Each book—and this is number thirty-three—is a microcosm of my life, opening and closing
as the pages begin and end. A trial is the same. There are several people I mention in every book because, God bless them, they are always there for me.
Gerry Hay, Shirley Hickman, Donna Anders, Carol Lovall, Barb Thompson, Kate Jewell, Kathleen Huget, Cindy Wilkinson, Anne Jaeger, the courageous volunteers and staff at Family and Friends of Violent Crime Victims and Missing Persons, The Jolly Matrons—friends since college—Barbara Easton, Eilene Schultz, and all the ARFs (Ann Rule Fans).
Anne Bremner, Misty Scott, Chuck and Judy Cox, Anne Cox, Mary, Denise, and Marie Cox, Pam Cox, Laurie Nielsen and Jennifer Powell Graves. Ed Troyer, Paul Pastor, Mark Lindquist, Gary Sanders, Lynette Smith, Brad Owen, Steve Gonzales, Ben Benson, Denny Wood, and Steve Downing. Mary and Doug Loehner, Cyril and Ben Wecht, and Dawna Kaufmann.
Laura, Rebecca, Miya, Amari, and Matt Harris. Leslie and Glenn Scott, Andy Rule and Lindsey Galand, Mike, Marie, Holland, and Grey Michael Rule, Bruce, Machel, Olivia, Tyra and Logan Sherles, and Pat and new baby girl Cara Jean Kelly.
When I wrote my last book, I had Waters & Wood construction crews demolishing and rebuilding over my head and under my feet, but as long as they didn’t cut off my power, I wrote. That was true of this book, too. Some talented and hardy folks built me another wing, sloshing through wind and rain to do it, and it gives me much more room to breathe—and write. In no particular order to an outstanding group effort: Mark T. Brooks, Ray Delduca, Mike Hughes, Debby Royce, Mike Aromin, Jeff Keehr, Lee Barnhart, Tim Haisch, Mark Kerkoff, Bobbie Fritcher, Ty Pendergraft, Jamie Carter, Francisco Diaz, Brian Franchini, Amy Olsen, Dave Mehl, Kristi Roberson, Eric Hamilton, Don Wilde, Michele Healy, Joy Mitchell, Tim Miller, John Edwards, Dave Myers, Kyle Carbary, Jose Perez, Christopher Timpson, Kevyn Boudreau, Jeff Cundiff, Esteban Flores, and project manager/problem solver—always—Bryce Salzman.
I am a lucky woman indeed to have the backup of my lifetime agents, Joan and Joe Foley, and my publishing team at Pocket Books and Free Press, who have nudged me patiently to the finish line of thirty-three books! I have learned so much from all of them: Louise Burke and Martha Levin, my truly supportive publishers; Mitchell Ivers, my brilliant and tactful editor, and his assistant, Natasha Simons, who always comes through when we’re on deadline; and my attorney Felice Javit. Production manager Hector Rodriguez Jr., production editor Christine Masters, managing editor Sally Franklin, copyeditor Tom Pitoniak, proofreaders Polly Watson and Annette Szlachta, art director Lisa Litwack, and book designer Kyle Kabel.
Seattle is a long way from New York City but it feels as though my friends at Simon & Schuster are just the next block over.
And, finally, my writing pets: Willow, the Bernese mountain dog, and Toonces, K.C., and Poppy, the very intelligent cats. They all gather around me when I work, and they’re good company but somewhat intrusive as they step on the keyboard of my computer.
Free Press Proudly Presents
Practice to Deceive
Ann Rule
Coming in hardcover October 2013
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Practice to Deceive . . .
Chapter One
This story of murder has as many facets as an intricately cut diamond, far too many to be believable. Certainly it could not pass as fiction; it would come across as contrived. As fact—which it is—it is a murky sea of reality and involving myriad characters that seem larger than life. And they are infinitely different from one another in personalities, lifestyles, and possible motivations. I wonder if their machinations can be reconstructed here in any orderly fashion.
Where do I jump in and build a foundation of sentences and paragraphs strong enough to bear the weight of everything that must be told? There are no locks that my writer’s keys will open easily, just as there are few threads that might be woven into a pattern that makes sense.
The denouement of this case took a decade. Even now, there may be shadowy corners where secrets still hide. All along, we knew that someone had died a violent death in one of the most tranquil spots imaginable. But why was this particular human being singled out for death? That question was much more difficult to answer.
In the sixties, a group of authors joined together to write a book. It was a rather silly book in which each writer penned a chapter and new additions didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the story line that came before. The provocative cover drew potential book buyers, and Naked Came the Stranger was a bizarre bestseller.
Some years later, a dozen or so Seattle bestselling authors started a writers’ social group called the Bitch and Moan Society. It was a setting to air out our disappointments, complaints, and anxieties about our profession. Eventually, we decided to write a book similar to Naked Came the Stranger, in which we took turns writing. Our manuscript, Deadly Obsession, Possession, and Depression Revisited, was packed with implausible plots and wacky characters. A reader could start at the beginning, the end, or the middle and none of it fit together, which isn’t surprising because we wrote in so many different genres: romance, horror, military espionage, teenage love stories, humor, and historical sagas. We never intended to publish it, which is just as well.
And we always agreed to “put the action on an island!”
In many ways, Practice to Deceive has challenged me to cover a murderous plot with players as diverse as our mythical Deadly Obsession etc.
And, ironically, this true story also took place on an island.
PRACTICE TO
DECEIVE
Whidbey Island, Washington, is one of the largest islands in America, a vacation spot for some, home to sixty thousand residents, and a duty station for naval personnel. Ferries and the Deception Pass Bridge allow visitors and residents alike access to the idyllic body of land that floats between Puget Sound, Possession Sound, Skagit Bay, and the Saratoga Passage west of Washington State’s shores.
Whidbey is a study in contrasts. The sprawling Naval Air Station Whidbey Island is in the town of Oak Harbor at the northern tip of the thirty-five-mile-long island. It is the premier naval aviation installation in the Pacific Northwest and the home of all electronic attack squadrons flying the EA-6B Prowler and the EA-18G Growler. It is also home to four P-3 Orion Maritime Patrol Aviation squadrons and two Fleet Air Reconnaissance squadrons that fly the EP-3E Aries.
Farther south, there are smaller towns: Coupeville—the Island County seat—Keystone, Greenbank, Langley, Freeland, and Clinton. Although supermarkets and a few malls have opened in the last several years, much of Whidbey Island is composed of bucolic pastures, evergreen forests, small towns, and a good number of lavish waterfront estates built by people from the mainland.
From some locations, there are views of Seattle rising out of a fog-smudged mist, but mostly Whidbey Island is a place to get away from the stresses of city life.
A number of high school graduates move off-island as they search for a quicker-paced world, but they almost always come back for reunions and holidays to catch up with family and old friends.
There isn’t a lot of crime on Whidbey; bank robbers prefer spots where they don’t have to wait for a ferry to make a clean getaway. There are, of course, some sex crimes, and a murder from time to time. Whidbey isn’t Utopia, but it comes closer than most places.
There are also gossip-active chains of communication, common to any small town, and illicit liaisons seldom remain secret for long.
During the Christmas holidays in 2003, the chains were buzzing. One about-to-be-divorced man came back to Whidbey Island and moved in with his estranged wife and children. Their reunion, if not passionate, was at least amicable during the time he was there.
The woman who was divorcing him seemed to be an average young woman who owned a beauty shop. She and their children were also the beneficiaries of high-dollar-amount insurance policies.
And then there was a charismatic man who had grown up on Whidbey. He returned for the Christmas festivities with his mistress, leaving his legal wife on the other side of the country. Apparently there were no har
d feelings; the two women became friends. He was a talented—if racy—musician who once headed a band called Buck Naked and the Exhibitionists, and he kept his long hair pulled back in a ponytail long after the trend went out of fashion.
Authors often call mistresses “beautiful,” but the guitar player’s statuesque companion truly was. She resembled actress Maureen O’Hara combined with former Miss America Bess Myerson. Tall and with flaming red hair, she was Ms. Washington in 2000 and a leading contestant in an international pageant held in Las Vegas. She was divorced from a millionaire thoroughbred trainer whose horse had recently won the Kentucky Derby.
And his father was involved in a shocking political scandal in Alaska, a series of events that brought down a much-revered, longtime senator.
The beauty queen’s life had been scarred by a number of tragedies and mysterious deaths, but she had always been able to bounce back and keep going.
There was a man in Florida who knew too much, and a retired cop in another state who sometimes wondered if “Buck Naked” was telling him the truth or weaving a fascinating lie.
At three o’clock on a stormy afternoon two days after Christmas, one of them would be dead. It was a murder so unexpected that Whidbey Island residents were frightened, wondering who might be next.
* * *
Wahl Road, less than ten miles from the small town of Freeland, is a mishmash of homes. Some are old cabins with few luxuries, and there are newer cabins, upscale houses, and even a few lodges worth a million dollars or more. Most of them are getaway retreats for people who live in Seattle or Everett, Washington—or even Vancouver, British Columbia. Since many of the places are vacant during the winter months, neighbors who are full-time residents keep an eye out for strangers or any sign of suspicious activity.