In the meantime, the FBI agents became close with Sara Smith. She was terrified of her estranged husband, but really wanted to be of assistance in the case. She had no doubt that Larry Lee was capable of harming Michelle and believed that he had. She gave the agents information that helped the FBI Lab in Quantico establish a profile of the suspect. She also agreed to call Larry Lee on the phone and record their conversation. After chatting with him a little, she casually mentioned that she’d heard about the murdered girl, Michelle, and that he was a suspect. The agents hoped he’d offer up some incriminating details, but Larry Lee didn’t reveal anything they could use. The call may have only made him more suspicious.
KPD officers were tailing Larry Lee one night when they observed him coming to the aid of a girl whose car had run into flooding up in the Fountain City neighborhood in North Knoxville. It appeared to them that Larry Lee was trying to get this girl into his car. They couldn’t let that happen, so they rolled in on him, intervened in the situation, asked if they could be of assistance. Larry Lee backed off, but he knew he’d been followed.
It was a short time later that Larry Lee, in the words of Investigator Randy York, boogied. He fled Tennessee and headed southeast to Atlanta, Georgia. Everyone involved in the investigation felt some satisfaction that they had contributed to his flight, although there had been no arrest in the case.
But a family member of Larry Lee claimed that another event had also motivated his decision to boogie: the brake line on his truck had been cut. He had reportedly discovered this as he drove down Fern Avenue and was unable to stop before crashing into a house at the bottom of the hill. Larry Lee left town just after that incident and headed for the home of his aunt, Ruby’s sister, just outside Atlanta.
Part Three
Georgia Justice
9. FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH
For eighteen-year-old Amanda Sanders, Friday, October 13, 1989, had begun as a near-perfect day in her home town of Stone Mountain, Georgia. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty had spent the morning with her best friend, Leslie, at Stone Mountain Park, where they’d posed for a photographer Amanda had met at the doctor’s office where she worked as a receptionist. The weather had been wonderfully cooperative with a high of nearly eighty degrees. The girls struck poses by a stream and in front of Stone Mountain, a dome of solid quartz and granite featuring a bas-relief sculpture of Confederate heroes Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis sitting astride their horses. The carving is the size of three football fields, the largest of its kind in the world. At its base, the girls did cartwheels and cheerleading jumps while hamming it up for the camera. “These are going to be great!” Amanda had exclaimed.
Now it was late afternoon and Amanda stood in the parking lot of the Stonemont Shopping Plaza, staring under the open hood of her sporty looking 1986 gold Mercury Topaz. She’d bought the car with her own money after graduating high school the previous June. She was still making payments on it. And it wouldn’t start.
To make matters worse, she was right outside Stone Mountain Billiards, an alcohol-free, teenage pool hall where her boyfriend worked, and they’d just had a fight. After having such a blast with Leslie at the park, she’d been looking forward to spending the evening with Steve. When she found out he’d already made other plans—plans that involved drinking at a frat party with his older brother—she’d sulked out to her car without saying goodbye. She didn’t want to go back in and ask him for help.
But she couldn’t just stand there staring at her engine, either. She’d only lifted the hood because that seemed like what you were supposed to do. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Finally, she sucked up her pride and went back inside the pool hall. Steve said he couldn’t leave the premises while customers were inside and he was the only one working. Amanda called a girlfriend to come get her, but the girlfriend wasn’t home.
Feeling totally dejected, Amanda wandered back outside to her car. As she stared at the lifeless engine, she suddenly became overwhelmed and began to cry. She’d recently moved out of her parents’ home and was sharing an apartment with a friend. She worried that now she might be facing costly car repairs, repairs she couldn’t afford. And she didn’t want to ask her parents for money. As the only daughter in a family with four sons, she knew they’d give it to her. Her parents adored her. The pictures she’d taken that morning were going to be a Christmas gift to them to add to the large photo collection of her that they displayed at the top of the stairs—dubbed the “shrine of Amanda” by her teasing and protective brothers. But she was just learning to be on her own, and she didn’t want to ask for their help.
Just then, a bushy-haired guy with a day’s growth of beard exited Eddie’s Trick Shop, a novelty store of costumes and accessories located next door to the pool hall. He’d been shopping for a Halloween mask for his son back in Knoxville. He paused and stared at the attractive, young woman crying alone in the parking lot. He tucked his red shirt into the brown pants of his Krystal restaurant uniform and stood there for a few moments surveying the scene. Then he strode in Amanda’s direction.
“Can I help?” Larry Lee asked as he approached Amanda from behind.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, startled, wiping her eyes, not aware that anyone was near. She turned to look at the young man who was not much taller than her. “My car won’t start. I think maybe it’s my clutch. My boyfriend works inside, but he can’t come out because he’s the only one on duty.”
“Maybe you need a new boyfriend,” Larry Lee joked. His thick fingers stroked his unkempt mustache. “I used to work at a parts store. Let me take a look.”
Amanda felt guarded against this stranger, but she was also worried about her car and grateful for his assistance. At his request, she handed him her keys. Larry Lee squeezed behind the steering wheel and made several fruitless attempts to turn over the engine. Suddenly, it roared to life. Amanda cast her eyes toward the sky and let out a sigh of relief; her seeming good Samaritan broke into a wide, ripple-lipped grin.
“Let’s take it around the block, make sure it’s running okay,” Larry Lee suggested. He leaned over and unlocked the passenger door for Amanda. “Make sure it’s not the clutch.”
Inside the pool hall Steve had called to a few of the guys to walk outside and take a look at Amanda’s car, but just as they exited the building, they observed the man in the red and brown uniform approaching the Topaz. At a distance, they took him to be some kind of auto mechanic. A few moments later, when they heard the car engine roar to life and then saw the man open the door for Amanda to climb in, they assumed he’d taken care of the problem. “Some guy got it started,” one of the boys informed Steve as the group shuffled back inside.
Amanda was torn by Larry Lee’s suggestion, but unsure how to resist. He was being helpful, wasn’t he? This is okay, right? Besides, he was in the driver’s seat, the car was running, and he was ready to move out. She couldn’t let him take it without her. It was her car; she had to be in it. And in the few seconds it took for those thoughts to flash like Christmas lights in her bewildered mind, she found herself in the car with Larry Lee, pulling onto busy Memorial Drive.
“So, what were you crying about?” Larry Lee asked, glancing between the road and winsome Amanda.
“Nothing. My boyfriend and I had an argument. He wants to go to a frat party with his brother, but they’ll have alcohol there, and I don’t like him to drink. Nothing really.”
“Do these seats recline?”
Amanda paused, wondering why this guy was asking such a thing. “Partially,” she finally answered. “They don’t go all the way down. The lever is by the side of the seat.” Amanda turned her head to look out her window. Larry Lee was making her uneasy.
It was rush hour on a Friday afternoon. “There’s too much traffic here,” Larry Lee complained. He said he wasn’t familiar with the roads in this town. He needed a low traffic area in a business zone to “test” the car.
“The only road I know t
hat circles back to the billiards is Village Square Drive,” Amanda said, directing him to a less crowded thoroughfare that was also dotted with shopping centers and apartment complexes.
Larry Lee navigated the Topaz behind strip malls and around dumpsters. Suddenly he pulled the car to a stop behind a row of businesses and cut the engine. Amanda nervously and instinctively opened her car door. “Sounds like it’s maladjusted,” Larry Lee announced loudly, quickly diagnosing the car’s problem just as some teenagers came walking by. He fired up the engine and shifted the car into gear. Amanda barely had time to shut her door before Larry Lee pulled away.
“Can you take me back now? Amanda asked. “Please.”
“Yeah,” Larry Lee said. “Sure.”
He crossed the street into yet another shopping area. In back of a Kroger grocery store, he swung the Topaz behind a dumpster sitting perpendicular to the building and cut the engine. Larry Lee turned toward Amanda, stared at her as he slid his right arm up the back of the passenger seat. Then he struck, whipping his arm over the seat and wrapping it firmly and tightly around Amanda’s neck. With his left hand, he unzipped the pants of his Krystal restaurant uniform.
“You’re hurting me!” Amanda cried out as she gasped for breath. Her hands instinctively wrapped around her captor’s wrist and arm and she dug her nails into his skin.
“Shut up or I will hurt you!” he barked back. “Unzip your pants!”
“No!” she shrieked.
Larry Lee tightened his grip on her throat and pressed the heel of his left hand against her forehead. Amanda couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. Pure terror consumed her as tears spilled down her cheeks. “See how easy it is?” her captor hissed, a crazed look in his eyes. “I can break your neck in three seconds, and I will if you don’t do what I say.” His chokehold loosened just enough that Amanda could suck in a few quick breaths. She reluctantly tugged down the zipper of the shorts she’d worn during the photo shoot. As Larry Lee’s hand tightened around her neck again, he forced her head down toward his lap.
Yet Amanda wasn’t going down without a fight. In her heightened state she’d already surmised that he didn’t have a weapon, aside from his hands and brute strength. And so what if he did? If her choices were submit or die, die might be winning out. She believed this man was going to kill her, so she decided she had no choice but to fight. And maybe, if she could find a way to escape, she could get someone’s attention. It was still daylight in downtown Stone Mountain.
As Larry Lee pushed her head closer to his exposed genitalia, Amanda tried to wedge her hands in front of her face. She managed another quick breath and let out a soul-piercing scream. Larry Lee’s grip slipped momentarily and she began kicking, flailing, fighting this pudgy bastard who’d approached her as a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“Shut up!” Larry Lee barked, recovering his grip, tightening, trying to maintain control of what was, for him, a rapidly deteriorating situation, a daylight abduction going terribly wrong.
Unable to breathe, Amanda stilled her kicking, but kept her feet pressed against the window. “Put your feet down,” he ordered, “before someone sees you!” She slid her feet down by the arm rest, pushing the toes of her shoes just under the door handle. She stayed still and quiet.
Larry Lee started the car again but kept Amanda’s head in a lock-grip over his lap. He drove out of the shopping area and onto a semi-residential side street. He didn’t seem to know where he was or where he was going. He just steered the car with his left hand while the right one leapt back and forth between the gear shift and Amanda’s bruised neck. He even coerced her into helping him shift gears from her awkward angle by maintaining his squeeze on her throat.
Barely able to breathe, Amanda remained still. As they drove, Larry Lee loosened his hold. When Amanda felt his grip had loosened enough for her to break free, she pushed her toes against the door handle and kicked the door open with her feet. Her legs dangled down onto the street, dragging her favorite shoes over the blacktop before they were ripped free.
“Shut that door!” Larry Lee snapped and swerved the car toward a light pole, threatening to slam the door into it if she didn’t do as he said. When Amanda refused to comply, he reached across her and pulled the door shut himself. Then Larry Lee repositioned his right hand, pressing in even harder against his victim’s throat.
No longer able to breathe, Amanda lost consciousness. Her body went suddenly limp.
After only a few seconds, Amanda slowly regained her cognitive powers, but remained completely still. She could hear Larry Lee mumbling to himself, “I just wanted five minutes… I didn’t want to hurt her… I just wanted five minutes… I didn’t want to hurt her.”
He turned onto busy Rockbridge Street and began slowing for a red light when suddenly and unexpectedly Amanda bolted up, arms flailing, legs kicking, voice screaming in his face. Her sudden retaliation didn’t free her from the car, but it caught the attention of a driver in front of them, a man in a vintage Dodge truck.
At first glance in his rearview mirror, Michael Decker, associate professor at the Atlanta College of Art, thought he saw two young people in a “sports car” sitting very close, so close that it appeared the girl might be sitting on the guy’s lap. He turned his attention back to his four-year-old daughter, who sat in the passenger seat beside him. But something made him glance in the mirror again. And that second look revealed a different and altogether unnerving scene: the girl was screaming and slapping her hand against the front windshield.
Decker realized she was trying to get someone’s attention.
He twisted around for a clearer look out his rear window and saw that the driver had a chokehold on the girl’s neck. She was screaming for help. “He’s going to kill me!” Decker thought he heard her yell.
The traffic light turned green. The cars in line in front of the professor began to move forward. He glanced at his daughter, then back at the mirror, and shifted his truck into park. He threw open his door and stepped outside to confront the other driver.
The other driver just stared back at him, wide-eyed, panicked. He looked to see if he could swing around the approaching Decker, but that lane was blocked by heavy oncoming traffic. So he veered the gold Topaz around the professor’s truck on the passenger side, careened over the curb and across a residential lawn before fleeing down another street.
Michael Decker knew something seriously amiss was afoot. He had to act. He jumped back into his truck, secured his daughter’s seat belt, and gave chase.
Larry Lee’s eyes darted back and forth between the curvy road he was speeding along and the rearview mirror where he could see Decker’s truck racing to keep up. He released his grip on Amanda.
“Do you know who’s following us?” Larry Lee said, clearly panicked. Amanda rolled down the window, taking advantage of her regained freedom to suck the cooling air into her wounded windpipe. “I don’t know who that is,” she gasped. “Take me back now, or I’m going to jump out of the car!”
“I am taking you back,” Larry Lee yelled. “But I can’t if we’re being followed!”
As they reached the rear entrance to Stone Mont Plaza, Decker saw that the area was devoid of other vehicles and pulled back. With his daughter beside him, he couldn’t risk a direct confrontation here. He swung around to the front of the plaza and stopped in front of the first business he came to: Stone Mountain Billiards. He had no way of knowing that the kidnapping and assault he’d just witnessed had begun at this very spot. He quickly unbelted his daughter, lifted her off the seat and raced inside.
“Someone needs to call the police!” he yelled as he burst through the door. He told the manager—Steve, Amanda’s boyfriend—about the assault he had just witnessed. He described the young blonde-haired girl in a gold Topaz and said they were, at that very moment, approaching the plaza from the other side.
“That’s my girlfriend’s car!” Steve yelled. He rushed into the office to make the call. From a window he saw Am
anda’s car being maneuvered toward the side entrance of the parking lot.
“The truck’s gone,” Amanda said. Larry Lee slowed down but passed through a stop sign and into Stonemont Plaza. Amanda reached over and pressed a button on the car’s steering column, bringing the car to a lurching halt. While Larry Lee was momentarily dazed, she grabbed the keys, flung her self out of the vehicle, and raced toward the pool hall. At the same time, Larry Lee threw open the driver’s door and bolted for his black AMC Pacer.
Just as Amanda reached the pool hall entrance, several teenagers came bursting out, armed with pool sticks. Larry Lee could see the worked-up faces racing toward him across the parking lot. He threw up his hands to cover his face and yelled into the air, “I didn’t touch her! I didn’t touch her! I don’t know what she’s talking about.” Then he jumped into his car, fired it up and threw it into reverse.
He was backing up as the guys with pool sticks began beating on the slanted rear of the hatchback. Larry Lee slammed the car into gear and gunned out of Stone Mont Plaza. Steve watched from the office window and jotted down the Pacer’s tag number on a box of Marlboro Lights just as the telephone rang. It was the police calling back; they were on their way.
As Larry Lee fled the scene, the guys with the pool sticks hurried back into the billiard hall to check on Amanda. Operating on pure adrenalin, she’d made it into the game room before collapsing on the floor. She was hysterical, crying, in shock. Steve, Decker, and the pool hall’s teen patrons couldn’t believe her war-torn condition: shoes missing, pants unzipped, shirt askew, hair tussled, face red and makeup smeared. Her swollen neck bore blood-red stripes from the near-fatal choking. Forty-five minutes had passed since Amanda’s kidnapper had coaxed her into taking her car for that “test drive.”
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