Table of Contents
Title Page
Introduction
Chapter 1 - Jaycee Lee Dugard—The Backyard Prisoner
Chapter 2 - Elisabeth Fritzl and the Father from Hell
Chapter 3 - Colleen Stan—The Girl in the Box
Chapter 4 - Gary Heidnik and the Basement Baby Farm
Chapter 5 - Elizabeth Smart—The Knifepoint Disciple
Chapter 6 - Sabine Dardenne, Laetitia Delhez, and the Belgian Pedophile Ring
Chapter 7 - Natascha Kampusch—The Girl in the Cellar
Chapter 8 - Katie Beers—Lost from View
Chapter 9 - Steven Stayner—The Subjugate “Son”
Chapter 10 - Charlene Lunnon and Lisa Hoodless—The Theft of Innocence
Chapter 11 - John Jamelske—The Miserly Slave Master
Chapter 12 - Shawn Hornbeck—Hidden in Plain Sight
Chapter 13 - Zalina Israilova—The Praetorian Plaything
Chapter 14 - Tina Marie Risico—Dealing with a Killer
Chapter 15 - Sharon Marshall—Identity Unknown
Chapter 16 - Lena Simakina and Katya Martynova—The Russian Demographic
Bibliography
About the Author
Copyright Page
Introduction
THIS BOOK IS FULL OF SOME of the vilest criminals imaginable. They take people, mainly young girls and boys, away from their families and subject them to unspeakable abuse and torture. The kidnappers do this for their own sexual and sadistic satisfaction, raping and tormenting at will. They do not, by and large, kill their victims. Instead, those that fall into their hands are forced to endure suffering seemingly without end.
The self-confessed monsters who commit these crimes attempt to rob their young and defenseless victims of all hope. They tell them that their parents do not want them back. No one is looking for them. No one cares. Victims are even told that their religion sanctions what is happening to them. They must suffer cruelty, neglect, maltreatment, squalor, and exploitation without complaint.
With no one to turn to, victims often become dependent on their captors for fear of something worse. Their kidnappers have at least kept them alive, though they make life a living hell. Others out there, victims are told, would be happy to torture them to death.
The perpetrators are mainly men, though some kidnappers have used female accomplices. The victims are usually young women, held naked as sex toys; they are defiled and humiliated, damaged both physically and psychologically. In many cases, they never fully recover.
Nothing can be said in defense of the offenders. No amount of psychiatric probing can explain or excuse their crimes. These are often individuals that medical science has already given up on. Morally, they are depraved.
Many kidnappers are persuaded to plead guilty on all charges brought against them to spare their victims the horror of reliving the details of their captivity, or so it is said. But the real reason they plead guilty seems to be that they don’t want the world to know the true depths of their depravity.
But even in this dark corner of human experience, there is a spark of hope. You cannot but admire the strength, resilience, resourcefulness, and sheer courage of the victims. Somehow, no matter what they have been though, the human spirit survives. Often, in the end, the victims find a way to outsmart their captors, even while feeling compassion for them. It seems, in the end, good can triumph over evil.
This book is not for the squeamish. The victims have been to the very limits of what human beings can endure. It is best read as the story of these survivors, each a tribute to guts, nerve, determination, and tenacity against all the odds. The survivors—many do not want to be considered victims—have endured the worst privations and made it through. They have been into the abyss, many literally held underground, only to fight their way back into the light of day.
Nigel Cawthorne
Bloomsbury, London
March 2012
Chapter 1
Jaycee Lee Dugard—The Backyard Prisoner
ON JUNE 10, 1991, ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD Jaycee Lee Dugard woke to hear the front door close. Her mother, Terry Probyn, had left without giving her a kiss good-bye. Jaycee lingered in bed, then hurried to get herself ready for school. She wanted to catch the school bus and not annoy her stepfather Carl Probyn by asking him for a ride.
She dressed quickly in pink stretch pants and her favorite kitty shirt, though she could not find the ring she wanted to wear, which she had bought at the craft fair the day before. Although she felt a little queasy, she did not want to ask to take the day off school in case it provoked an argument with her stepdad. Instead, she scarfed some oatmeal. Luckily, Carl was outside. He often scolded her for her table manners. She decided that when she became a parent, she would not be so mean to her children.
Jaycee made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for her lunch and packed an apple and a box of juice. Then she went to say good-bye to her baby sister, Shayna, but she was not awake yet. She had to make do with saying good-bye to her cat, a black Manx named Monkey who was outside on the deck. He had been separated from his mother at young age and loved to snuggle up to Jaycee’s fuzzy blanket. It was as if he thought she was his mom. Jaycee did not like leaving him outside because her mom’s cat, Bridget, had been eaten by wild animals after they had moved to South Lake Tahoe the previous September.
The family had left Anaheim after their apartment had been broken into. Although at the age of ten, Jaycee had already been considered old enough to walk to school by herself, one time when she had been walking home a group of guys in a car shouted at her and gestured for her to come over, and she ran away and hid. Since the move to Tahoe, she felt safe.
On her way to catch the school bus, she was often accompanied by a neighbor’s dog named Ninja. But the dog was nowhere to be seen that morning, so Jaycee started walking up Washoan Boulevard toward the bus stop on her own.
Back at the house, Carl Probyn watched his stepdaughter walk up the hill. He noticed a gray sedan with a couple in it drive past the girl. Then it did a U-turn and came back. The driver rolled down his window as if to ask the girl for directions, then he leaned out of the door and grabbed her. Jaycee screamed and tried to get away, but she heard a cracking sound. She had been paralyzed with a stun gun and was dragged into the back of the car. A blanket was thrown over her. Someone sat on her, and the car took off.
Carl had just seen his stepdaughter be abducted in broad daylight, but she was too far away for him to stop it. He jumped on his bike and cycled after the car. There was no way he could keep up, and the car had lost him before he could get the license number. He returned home and called the police. When they arrived, he gave them a description of the car and the couple in it. By then they were long gone.
Some way out of town, the car stopped. The woman who had been sitting on top of Jaycee got out and moved into the front of the car. Jaycee had been stifling under the blanket and had peed herself due to the effects of the stun gun. The man who had grabbed her offered her a drink. She was thirsty and took it.
Suddenly, the man was laughing. He said he could not believe that they’d gotten away with it. Jaycee was scared.
The next thing she remembered was the car stopping. The man said they were home. He threw the blanket back over Jaycee’s head and warned her to keep quiet; otherwise, she would disturb his very aggressive dogs. Inside, he zapped her with his stun gun again. Then he took her to the bathroom and made her take her clothes off. He stripped off as well and asked whether she had ever seen a naked man before. Jaycee said she hadn’t and was very afraid.
He made her touch him, then forced her to take a shower with him while he shaved what little hair she had in her armpits and around her pubic r
egion. She cried. He offered to comfort her, but she did not want that. She said that, while her family did not have much money, they would pay to get her back. Then he wrapped her in a towel and, putting her back under a blanket, led her out into the back garden. When he took the blanket off, she found herself in a small room with carpet under her feet. There were blankets and egg crates he said she could use as a bed. As Jaycee stood shaking with fatigue from her ordeal, the man said he would come back later. He handcuffed her and warned her to keep quiet, and he locked the door behind him as he left. Jaycee cried herself to sleep. She was still crying when she woke up the following morning. She worried whether she would be in trouble at school and whether her parents were out looking for her.
When the sun came up it was hot in the room where she was being held. Eventually her abductor arrived with some food and drink, and he took the handcuffs off so she could eat. He also brought a bucket that she could use as a toilet. But before he left, he put the handcuffs back on again. She managed to pull a towel that was covering the window down with her teeth, but all she could see outside was a tree.
Whenever her abductor came to see her, he tried to make her smile and win her trust. She resisted at first. But soon she began to look forward to seeing him, as his company was the only human contact she got. All the time her heart was breaking. To pass the time, she made up a story about a boy who would come from the stars, take her by the hand and fly around the world with her—though he would eventually return her to her prison. Even in her imagination there was no escape.
Within hours of Jaycee’s abduction, the media descended on South Lake Tahoe. Over the following days, dozens of volunteers searched the area. Tens of thousands of fliers and posters were mailed to businesses across the United States, to no avail. At one stage, Carl Probyn was considered a suspect, though he was eventually ruled out. Meanwhile the Probyns’ marriage fell apart.
About a week after the kidnapping, Jaycee’s abductor again came with some food and a milkshake. But this time, when he undid her handcuffs, he fastened them again behind her back. Then he took off his clothes and raped her. Afterward she was bleeding. He brought her a washcloth and a bucket of warm water to wash herself. Jaycee was in shock. She knew something terrible had happened to her, though she did not really realize what it was. She had not heard the word rape and did not know what it meant.
This was the first of many times he would rape her. She learned to distance herself from the experience and think about something else until he had finished.
At first she did not even know his name, but gradually she got to know that it was Phillip, though she did not know how she knew. She even admitted to enjoying his company, when he was not using her for sex.
He installed an air-conditioning unit to keep her cool that summer. But she had to wash from a bucket. Unable to have a shower, she found she was attracting ants. With her hands cuffed, it was impossible to flick them away. They made her skin itch and even got in her mouth.
After a while, he left off the cuffs, saying he trusted her. But she still had to cope with the boredom and longed to go outside, or even brush her teeth. She tried the door. It was firmly locked. Some days he would come with a guitar and play for her, saying that one day he was going to be famous. He showed her his mixing desk and brought her a small black-and-white TV. It had few channels, but at least it provided the sound of the human voice and gave her some way to relieve the boredom. Then he bought her a cat for companionship.
Unable to go out, the cat peed everywhere, so he took it away again. The room was no place for a cat, he said, though it seems it was good enough for a little girl. If she didn’t cry, he said, one day she may be able to see the cat again.
Jaycee wondered, in passing, whether Phillip was her real father, whom she did not know. He said he wasn’t. She began to wonder why her biological father had never bothered to see her. This made her feel even lonelier. As always, she took refuge in sleep. When she dreamt, at least, she could be at home with her mother and sister.
Phillip mentioned that the woman with him when he abducted her was his wife, Nancy. He then told the eleven-year-old that he had a “problem” with sex. She was there to help him with it. Apparently, his sexual problem was that he hurt other people. She was there so that he would not hurt anyone else. Jaycee even found herself feeling sympathetic, though she was well aware that he was hurting her.
Eventually, he brought her some clothes—underwear and a pink jump suit. She hated having to take them off for sex. Then one night he took her into a larger room with a couch, a desk, a small fridge, a TV, and a partition dividing it into two. Quickly she realized that there was a price to be paid for her new surroundings. He said that he was going to take drugs and he explained all the terrible things that she was going to have to do to fulfill his depraved fantasies. She began to cry, but he was not to be denied. He threatened her with the stun gun. Then, he took a cocktail of drugs and plunged her into a nightmare of sexual abuse. She was used in every way imaginable.
Phillip Garrido, then forty, was a registered sex offender. Born in 1951 in Antioch, California, he was brought up in Brentwood. By the time he graduated from Liberty High School in 1969, he had grown his hair long and played in a psychedelic rock band. His high school sweetheart was Christine Perreira, a popular girl and the daughter of a prominent local family. The story circulated that he had raped a girl, but Christine believed Garrido when he said that the girl was lying.
During his teens, Garrido had a motorcycle accident which, his father said, changed him. Within a month of graduating, he was arrested for the possession of cannabis and LSD. In 1972, he gave a fourteen-year-old girl drugs and took her to a motel where he raped her. He was arrested, but when his victim refused to testify, the charges were dropped.
The following year, Garrido had a falling out with some local drug dealers and fled to South Lake Tahoe. Christine went with him. They married. She supported them as a blackjack dealer in a casino while he struggled to make a career as a musician playing bass guitar.
For years he took LSD every day, up to ten hits a day. This made his sexual urges irresistible, he said. He turned violent with Christine, beating her when she refused to go along with his plans to have sex with multiple partners. When another man flirted with Christine, Garrido tried to stab her in the eye with a safety pin. She tried to run away, but he drove after her, grabbed her, and threw her in the car.
In the fall of 1976, he stalked a woman and made meticulous plans to kidnap her. He rented a mini storage locker and set up a small apartment at the back. The entrance was hung with a maze of thick carpet to deaden any sound. On November 26, he dropped four tabs of acid and tried to abduct the woman he had been stalking. But he only managed to get the handcuffs around one of her wrists. She fought him off, leapt from the car and eventually persuaded him to unlock the handcuffs, setting her free.
Garrido drove to the casino where Christine worked. Outside, he approached another blackjack dealer, twenty-five-year-old Katherine Callaway. Pointing at a Mercedes-Benz parked there, he said he could not get his car to start and asked her for a ride. When she stopped where he said he lived, which was across the state line in Nevada, she found they were at an empty lot. Before she knew what was happening, he smashed her head into the steering wheel and handcuffed her.
“If you do everything I say, you won’t get hurt,” he said. “I’m serious.”
Then he tied her head to her knees, covered her with a coat, and drove off.
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ve got it all planned.”
On the way, he told her about his sexual fantasies and preached about Jesus.
When they arrived at his lockup, he bundled her inside. Behind some heavy plastic sheeting, there was a mattress with a “red, old satin, holey, old sheet,” she said. There were red, blue, and yellow stage lights set up around the mattress, a movie projector, and a stack of pornographic magazines, along with marijuana, hashish, and some c
heap wine. There was also an old kerosene can that Garrido indicated she could use as a toilet.
He insisted that she drink some wine and smoke some hash. Then for five and a half hours, he raped her repeatedly. Katherine kept track of the time from the radio Garrido had left switched on. Soon after 2:38 a.m., someone began banging on the door. Garrido went out and returned saying that it was “just the guy next door.”
Not long after that, there was another bang on the door.
“I think it is the heat,” Garrido said. “Are you going to be good?”
Outside was Reno cop Clifford Conrad. He began questioning Garrido. Then Katherine came running out naked and bruised, crying, “Help me!”
In court, Garrido said, “I had this fantasy that was driving me to do this, inside of me, something that was making me want to do it without—no way to stop it.”
He blamed the LSD, saying it increased his sexual powers. It came out that his libido was so high that he would masturbate in drive-in theaters, restaurants, bars, public restrooms, and outside the windows of people’s homes. More disturbingly, he would watch girls aged from seven to ten outside elementary schools and expose himself to them, or sit in his car and masturbate at the sight of them.
Garrido was sentenced to fifty years and sent to the federal penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas. Christine seized the opportunity to divorce him. He used his time in jail to study psychology and theology. As he was clearly unhinged, he was offered a transfer to a mental health facility, but he elected to stay in Leavenworth to complete his religious training. He became a Jehovah’s Witness, and prison psychologist J. B. Kielbauch saw Garrido’s renewed religious zeal as an indication that he would be unlikely to commit further crimes. So after just eleven years, Garrido was paroled.
But Garrido was the same pervert that he was when he went to jail. Just three years after he was released, he kidnapped Jaycee Dugard. This time, he inflicted his depravity on an eleven-year-old girl. The horrors she went through are indescribable, but as part of her therapy, she detailed them in her book A Stolen Life. When the first night of drug-fueled depravity was over, she was bleeding again. This time she was having her first period.
Against Their Will Page 1