It was about 11:30 a.m. Maria was at home and heard a truck pull up outside her apartment. She looked through the blinds and saw that it was a truck from the glass company for which Jeff worked. Maria watched as Jeff “took a while” to get out of his truck, as if he was doing something inside the vehicle that she couldn’t see. Then he approached the porch and knocked on the door.
“Who’s there?” Maria asked.
“It’s Jeff from [he gave the name of the glass company].”
Maria opened the door. “Hi, Jeff . . . what brings you here?”
This was the second time she had seen this man within about a month. Up close and personal. What gives? It wasn’t like they had seen each other much in the recent past or talked on a consistent basis.
Jeff leaned in and kissed Maria on the lips “for much longer than a friendly hello,” Maria later explained.
Maria thought it was weird, aggressive. “I was extremely uncomfortable,” she said.
Maria and Jeff chatted briefly about everyday topics; she mentioned some pain she had in her shoulder and told Jeff she was going to physical and massage therapy. Jeff seemed to have something to share and wanted to talk, so Maria thought that inviting him inside her apartment might help. She walked over to the couch and sat down. Jeff followed.
“Would you like a cup of tea or a cold drink?” Maria asked.
“No, thank you,” Jeff said.
No sooner had Jeff declined the beverage offer than he moved toward Maria and began kissing her again, this time more aggressively.
Maria pushed him away. “That makes me uncomfortable, Jeff. Stop it. It’s not right.” Maria knew Jeff was married with kids. She had no idea what was going on. Jeff was not just coming on to her. He was being sexually forceful, overbearing. Maria was frightened.
“You don’t always have to do things that are right,” Jeff said. “So if it feels good . . . well, you just do it.”
“Massages are great,” Jeff continued, going back to the massage theme they had discussed. “They feel so good. I could almost orgasm during a massage. I haven’t had one in a while—a massage, that is.” He laughed. “I have no trouble having an orgasm.”
This made Maria even more alarmed.
“Where does it hurt?” Jeff asked. “Come on. Please let me give you a massage.”
“No, Jeff . . . this is making me very uncomfortable.” Maria wanted him to leave, but she didn’t know how to tell him without perhaps making him violently angry. There was no telling what he’d do if she demanded he leave right away.
“You know,” he said, “I have every right to pick you up and bring you in the bedroom and make love to you. You’re not the type to kiss and tell, are you, Maria?”
Maybe a bit naïve, Maria figured Jeff’s “kiss and tell” remark was a reference to him not getting caught by his wife.
“Why didn’t you answer your door yesterday when I knocked?” Jeff asked.
Maria said she never answered the door unless she was expecting someone, adding how “extremely cautious” she was because “You never know what might happen.” Her sister being raped, of course, was now at the forefront of Maria’s mind. To the outside world Donna was an anonymous Jane Doe. Nobody, with the exception of family and a few close friends, knew what had happened. The newspapers had reported the attack under the Jane Doe policy of not publicly announcing the victim’s name or address. Where was Jeff taking this? What was Jeff trying to say?
Jeff said, “Hey, I know what you mean. I own a gun and bring it with me wherever I go.”
Maria remembered Donna telling her that the man who raped her had a gun.
As the alarming conversation continued, Jeff asked about Donna and John’s house and how much they were asking for its sale. The Palombas had recently put their house on the market.
“Not sure, Jeff,” Maria answered. “But she recently installed an alarm system because of a burglary, so I assume it will go for more money.”
The mention of a burglary piqued Jeff’s interest. He asked when the burglary had occurred; he seemed to want to know details.
“About a month ago,” Maria said. Although Maria didn’t put it together right then, the questions Jeff asked seemed to fall in line with some of the particulars of Donna’s attack.
“Was anyone home?” Jeff pressed.
“Yes—Donna.”
“She must have been scared shitless.”
For the next several minutes, Jeff tried to talk Maria into giving him a massage while he “made love” (his words) to her. As he talked, the neighborhood mailman walked up to the door and slipped Maria’s mail into the door slot. The noise startled Jeff, and he jumped off the couch and said, “Who’s that?”
Maria thought Jeff looked “troubled” and asked if he was okay.
“Yes,” Jeff snapped. “Why do you ask—because I kissed you?”
Maria continued to refuse Jeff’s advances. He finally got the message and asked if he should leave.
She said yes.
Jeff thought about it for a moment. Then he stood and approached Maria.
She was frightened as Jeff walked toward her, and later explained what happened next this way: “We then stood up from the couch and he held me close—at which point I smelled mechanical oil. Not overwhelming, but enough to notice the odor.”
Oil. Donna had been certain about an oily smell.
“You can keep a secret, can’t you?” Jeff asked in a decisive, almost coyly threatening manner. “This is between you and me, right?”
Maria nodded.
They walked to the door.
“Would it be okay if I stopped by every once in a while to check on you?”
“That’s not a good idea, Jeff.”
Jeff looked at Maria. “I need to know that you won’t kiss and tell.”
Maria finally got Jeff out of the apartment and closed the door behind him. Then she called Donna and explained what had just happened.
“Do you hear what you’re saying, Maria?” Donna said right away, immediately considering Jeff a prime suspect. It all seemed to fit: the gun, Jeff’s sexual aggressiveness, the smell of oil, the comment about the burglary, and one very important factor that Donna considered as Maria continued her account of Jeff’s visit: the newspaper article Jeff had referred to before Donna’s attack. Perhaps Jeff had seen the article and become infatuated with her. Donna felt certain that the article had given Jeff the idea to break in and rape Donna. Somehow Jeff must have found out when John was going away and planned the entire assault.
* Jeff Martinez is a pseudonym.
CHAPTER SIX
Remain Silent
Donna and Maria decided to relay the information about Jeff Martinez to Lieutenant Moran and the WPD. This was explosive. Donna and Maria believed with little doubt that Jeff was—if nothing else—a prime suspect, someone who needed to be checked out. Donna did not want to tell John or her father about Jeff. Not right now. “They knew who he was and would have gone right after him,” she explained later. Still, Jeff needed to be investigated. Did he have an alibi for that night? Could he be forced to give up a sample of his DNA? So many questions ran through Donna’s mind that she began to experience major bouts of anxiety.
By now, after doing a bit of research, Donna had learned that 80 percent of rape victims are assaulted by somebody they know. She had also learned that many rape victims fear not being believed, or think they’ll be blamed for the assault, and that because of these concerns, a large percentage of rapes are never reported. Donna, however, was not going to fall into a hole and go away. She was determined to see this through.
Donna again experienced that sense of something going on behind the scenes. When she called the WPD on October 14, 1993, and asked for Lieutenant Moran, the dispatcher on the oth
er end of the line asked who was calling. Donna gave her name and explained who she was. Then she waited for a period of time (“longer than necessary”) before Moran came on the line. It seemed odd to Donna. Then again, was she being overly paranoid? It was a constant balancing act for Donna: Were her anxieties about the WPD a consequence of the rape? Or were they legitimate worries? She didn’t know. She had nothing to gauge her feelings against.
Donna’s instincts were spot on, as she would only later find out. Moran had taken the extra time to get to the phone so he could set up to record the conversation.
“Lieutenant Moran, it’s Donna Palomba.” Donna and Maria were certain the WPD would be ecstatic to have this new information about Jeff Martinez. “I have something I need to talk to you about that happened to my sister . . . she’ll be here too . . . I was hoping you could come down to my office today.” Donna was certain Moran picked up on the urgency in her voice.
After a beat of silence, Moran said, “No. It’s best that you come down here.”
Donna was baffled. The last thing she wanted was to be seen by her attacker walking into the WPD—and Moran knew this. If she believed Jeff was her attacker, Donna had to think he was now following her and Maria, watching their every move. Maybe he was planning at that very moment to assault Maria. Even if Jeff wasn’t her attacker, Donna was still certain that whoever the perpetrator was, he was keeping an eye on her, making sure she did not go to the police. Donna had explained her extreme nervousness to Moran on more than one occasion.
Nonetheless, Moran convinced Donna to come down to the WPD the next morning. He didn’t seem interested at all in what Maria had to say, but did not discourage Donna from bringing her sister along.
At ten o’clock in the morning the following day, October 15, Donna and Maria arrived at the WPD. Donna still hadn’t told John about Jeff or that she and Maria were heading to the WPD to talk to Moran. She saw no reason to alarm John, who she feared would track down Jeff and maybe choose violence over letting the police handle the situation.
This was not the first time that Donna and the WPD had worked together to catch a suspect. In mid-1992 the WPD had investigated a man who had been caught calling Donna’s house and saying sexually explicit things to her over the phone. He later told police he had found Donna’s phone number written in pen on the back of a porn magazine. Subsequently, he would phone the house and ask Donna what she was wearing. She would hang up before he had a chance to describe any sexually explicit acts. It disgusted Donna. She was terrified every time the phone rang. The WPD became involved, put a trace on her phone, and nabbed the guy. He was a security guard at a company across the street from Donna’s office. The WPD had looked at the man during the previous month as a possible rape suspect, although Donna had not been given the details of how or why they had excluded him.
Now this visit, which Donna believed to be a pivotal moment in the investigation, with Lieutenant Moran, the man in charge of her case, would ultimately change Donna’s life and the entire course of the investigation.
Moran came out of his office and said hello to Donna and Maria, who had come, as Donna understood it, to allow Maria to give a statement about what had happened with Jeff Martinez. They felt this could be the break in the case everyone had been waiting for. A bona fide suspect had literally walked into Maria’s apartment.
“I’d like to speak with you privately, Donna,” Moran said. He was uninterested, Donna felt as she stood and faced him, in what Maria had to say.
I wanted Maria to relay to the WPD exactly what had happened with Jeff. That was the reason why we showed up. Moran was such a cold guy that it was hard to read him. I didn’t know what to think as he stated that he only wanted to speak with me. I had purposely not told John or my father about any of this because there were times when my father would just drive around looking for my attacker . . . as if he could ever locate him. John and my dad would have gone crazy. I had no idea this meeting was going to transform this case into something I could have never imagined possible—the time I needed John by my side, I didn’t have him. And maybe Moran picked up on that, I don’t know.
I walked into the elevator with Lieutenant Moran, and I felt so uncomfortable. He seemed agitated; I tried to make small talk with him to no avail.
As they approached the door leading to what was one of the WPD’s interrogation rooms, Moran hesitated. They stopped. Moran turned to Donna and said, “When I investigate something, I just want you to know, I stop at nothing.”
“That’s great! I’m really glad,” Donna replied. “I really want you to get to the bottom of this.”
Moran had Donna sit directly opposite and in front of him, like a suspect. He folded his arms over his chest. Moran had what Donna viewed as a look of complete arrogance. He definitely had something to share, but was withholding it for some reason—the cat with the canary in its mouth.
There was a tape recorder sitting between them on the small desk. Moran leaned over and pressed Play and Record. He did not ask Donna if he could record the conversation.
This action confused Donna. She wondered why Moran would need to record a conversation with her. Maybe it was standard procedure?
If that wasn’t enough, what Moran did next threw Donna into utter disbelief.
The lieutenant pulled out a folded piece of white paper. Clearing his voice first, he began: “You have the right to remain silent . . .” and concluded by reading Donna the Miranda rights warning.
“What are you doing?” Donna asked. “Detective Cote never did anything like this.”
“This is the way I am handling the case,” Moran said.
Donna ignored the comment and began her story about Jeff. As she talked through what had happened to Maria, detail by detail, Moran looked around the room as if he could not have cared one bit about what she was telling him.
“He rolled his eyes at me,” Donna said later, “and at what I was telling him.”
Donna quickly decided that Moran was “disinterested” in her story about Jeff, and that Moran had his own agenda for what was—Donna would realize in the coming days—a well-planned interrogation.
After finishing her story about Jeff, Donna took a breath and sat back, hoping to get some sort of response from Moran. Maybe the whole Miranda rights reading was a test to see if she would just drop the whole case and all the associated police work.
“A lot more information is now known about your case,” Moran said. He stared at Donna. “The suspect you have talked about here is, in fact, not a suspect, Mrs. Palomba. I have a suspect!”
“Great,” she said with sense of relief. “You have a suspect?”
“Yes, I do.”
Donna nearly cried. This was it. They had found someone. Finally.
“Can you tell me who it is?” she asked.
“No.”
“Is it a family member?” Donna thought it might be someone close to her if Moran felt he couldn’t tell her.
Moran didn’t answer.
“Am I in danger . . . is it someone I come in contact with that I should be aware of?” Donna was growing increasingly concerned. She couldn’t walk out of there not knowing if her attacker was someone in her life. It seemed incredible that Moran would hold back such a potentially lifesaving piece of information.
The lieutenant looked at Donna with skepticism; she felt the disdain he had for her, a complete lack of empathy for her situation. It was surreal. She was a rape victim, and yet the police officer designated to arrest her assailant was turning the tables—and for what reason?
After a period of silence, Moran said, “Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Can you please, Lieutenant Moran, give me some more information about what was found out?” Donna was desperate, pleading.
“Why don’t you tell me!” Moran snapped angrily.
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�What?” Donna had no idea what he was talking about.
Before she could respond further, Moran broke into a story. “Today is a sad day, Mrs. Palomba. You know why? I have to go to court this afternoon . . . and there’s this woman who did nothing wrong in her past but just happened to tell a white lie, and consequently she is losing her kids to the Department of Child and Youth Services and she is going to be convicted and go to jail.”
Donna didn’t pick up immediately on Moran’s incredibly arrogant way of sending her a message. He was intimidating her, trying to scare her into telling what he presumed to be the truth of what had happened.
“That’s too bad,” Donna said. “And really sad. But it is unfortunate she lied in the first place.”
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Mrs. Palomba?” Moran asked. He stared at her again.
“Like what?”
“Like what really happened that night.”
“I’ve told you everything I can remember.”
“I have proof that you purposely lied to us—countless interviews and photographs.”
Donna, growing increasingly distressed by Moran’s constant badgering, raised her right hand, as if testifying: “I swear to God the statement I gave was how I remembered it happening. If there were certain details that got mixed up it was because it was a traumatic situation and I may have gotten mixed up.” She was asking for a little slack here. A man had broken into her home and raped her. Where was the sympathy?
“Oh, it’s not the details that I am talking about here. Mrs. Palomba, you are a prominent person. You have a husband, two beautiful children, a business . . . please don’t throw all that away.”
“You’re scaring me,” Donna said, now in tears. “What are you talking about, Lieutenant?”
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