Body Parts (46 page)

“As a human being, he was done. That’s why he called me,” Rodney said. “All our lives, I always helped him. We used to fight like cats and dogs, but we still loved each other, and when the chips were down, we were there for each other.”

Rodney acknowledged that Wayne no longer believes he murdered those women.

Asked why Wayne might feel that way, Rodney said, “I don’t know. He’s demented. . . . He still thinks he’s going to get out. He’s going to win some of these appeals and he’s going to get the death penalty off the table. He’s got something up his sleeve. . . . I think it’s a pipe dream, but in this day and age with the kind of attorneys you have out there, it might not be.”

But even if that happened, Rodney said, he would never trust Wayne with anybody but him. “I would not trust my brother to be alone with my children or my wife.”

Rodney said he’s had death threats because of this case. Some of his company’s clients have requested that he not participate in certain jobs. And he is still scared that someone who is angry at Wayne will try to hurt Rodney’s family.

Several years before the trial, Rodney and Gene each talked to Wayne about giving up his parental rights to Max, so that the boy could have a normal life.

“If you love your son, you need to give up your parental rights,” Rodney told him. “The best thing for your son is to let him go. You need to let your son disappear. . . . You need to do the right thing.”

“He’s my son. Why should I give up my rights?” Wayne asked, saying he wanted Max to have his tools and be aware that Wayne was his father.

But eventually, Wayne relented and signed the papers so that Elizabeth’s new husband, whom she married in April 1999, could adopt the boy, then three and a half years old.

Rodney said he hoped Wayne would never get out of prison; he’d already come to terms with the fact that Wayne was going to be executed. He just didn’t know whether he would be able to watch, even if Wayne asked him to be there.

“He’s going on a journey,” Rodney said. “We all have to answer to a higher power at the end of our world.”

AUTHOR
’
S
NOTE
AND
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Much of the information in this book came out of materials I was allowed to review after the trial, including court exhibits and documents that were submitted during discovery but never made their way into the jury’s hands. As such, I was able to read every word from the taped interviews Wayne gave to authorities in the days after he turned himself in. The materials also included a sizeable excerpt of the eight-hour interview with Wayne’s mother that Ron Forbush conducted in India, his interviews with other Ford family members, and Wayne’s military medical files.

Detectives Juan Freeman, Frank Gonzales, Mike Jones, Joe Herrera, and Gary Rhoades graciously supplied me with information and let me question them repeatedly about their investigations and interviews.

I interviewed Wayne’s father, Gene, and his brother, Rodney, for an entire day in a hotel room in Sacramento, most of which was focused on Gene. The next day, I talked with Rodney alone. Although Gene was reticent to speak with me at first, he and Rodney proved to be extremely cooperative. Gene told me that he’d even turned down an interview with the producer for Dan Rather, among many others, when the story first broke.

Ron Forbush was also reticent at first, but he later proved to be tremendously helpful. Joe Canty, who had been his best friend for decades, had initially agreed to be interviewed for this book, but, unfortunately, he died of a heart attack in June 2007 before I was able to speak with him. A month earlier, he’d been recognized by the county Board of Supervisors with the Award for Excellence for the “passion and creativity” he showed in defending Wayne, as well as for his long career as a hardworking government attorney. Ron’s help with the case history was also important because Governor Schwarzenegger appointed Steven Mapes to the bench the same month that Canty died. As a judge, Mapes apparently didn’t feel it was appropriate to talk to me for this book, Ron said.

When I initially contacted Wayne’s mother in India via e-mail, she said she would be willing to answer questions about his family history. However, after I sent her a four-page list of questions that included Gene’s perspective, she apologized but said she had to renege. She didn’t want to be part of any book in which Gene and Rodney were involved, given that their versions of events were so far apart from hers.

I wrote a letter to Wayne, asking if he would cooperate with me for this project, but he did not respond. Based on the audio clip posted on Victoria Redstall’s documentary Web site, Wayne sees her as his media liaison and believes everyone needs to go through her. When I told her I wanted to talk to him, she said she didn’t think Wayne would answer my letter.

I interviewed Lanett White’s daughter at the courthouse, where Lanett’s parents agreed to be interviewed later. However, through a series of e-mails, Bill Jr., Lanett’s brother, subsequently told me his parents wouldn’t talk or let me publish Lanett’s photo without payment. After I told him I was planning to read through her criminal record to try to understand what made her get into Wayne’s truck, he cut off communication altogether. I tried reaching the other victims’ families through the Victims Services Office, but no luck. So, instead, I based the victims’ chapters on court and police records, testimony, and summaries of Dave Mazurek’s pretrial interviews with the parents. Mazurek was extremely helpful and cooperative, answering questions about the case for hours.

The chapters about Wayne’s relationships with his ex-wives and girlfriend Wadad were based on interviews that Detective Freeman conducted. Wayne’s most recent ex-wife, Elizabeth, who has long since remarried, politely declined my interview request, understandably choosing to put this behind her.

Whenever possible, I drew from official sources, such as interview transcripts or court records, to write the dialogue. Scenes that include dialogue that was reconstructed and approximated by people I interviewed were cross-checked with other people involved in those conversations when I could reach them. Dialogue drawn from the voluminous transcripts of the trial or interviews with Wayne and witnesses had to be edited for storytelling purposes, but most of that was done by deletion. Nothing was added or created or exaggerated. Wayne often spoke in sentence fragments that didn’t make sense and the detectives jumped around during their interviews, but I was careful to maintain the flow of the conversation and not take anything out of context.

Any errors that may have occurred along the way are purely accidental and unintentional.

On a purely personal note, I found the researching and writing of this book to be fascinating yet grueling as my past came back to haunt me. I learned only after marrying my late husband that he was an alcoholic, had a Borderline Personality Disorder, and, as the first of two adopted sons, felt emotionally abandoned by his adoptive mother and disconnected from his father.

I sensed when I met him that he had dark secrets, but I didn’t know the extent of them until it was too late. Although he’d told me about some of his past exploits, I was shocked after his death to find two locked briefcases containing documents he wanted to keep secret from me, as well as a stack of old photos of mostly unattractive women in what looked like hotel rooms.

He was very bright and could be sweet, generous, and loving when he was sober. But he, too, suffered from depression, often cried, and told me many lies. When he drank, he was a completely different person—verbally abusive, threatening, and, once, even violent. Toward the end, it was very difficult to watch him disintegrate and, ultimately, he committed suicide. I bring this up only because I feel it gave me some personal insight into Wayne Adam Ford’s psyche.

I want to thank all the people I’ve mentioned above for their help, time, and trust, and for sharing their files with me as I gathered the information, photos, and permissions I needed to tell this important story.

I’d also like to express my appreciation to the following folks for their assistance:

John McCutchen for his photographic contributions.

For the research and/or photo help, Blondie Freeman and Vonda Kay Jones; Melva Paris, Brenda Godsey, and Gary Philp, of the Humboldt County Sheriff’s Department; Ramon Denby and the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department; Ron Fleshman, of the Ocean Grove Lodge; Rachel Holt; Judge Michael Smith, Jerry McBurney, Stacie Franco, Kim Rezendes, Cyndi Gomez, Robert McDaniel, Evi Roberson, and Theresa Wolfe, from the San Bernardino County court system; David Whitney, Diana Soren, and Michael McDowell, from the prosecution team; Bob Pottberg, Nancy Reichard, Lynne Sarty, from Humboldt; Jennie McCue, of Saddleback College; Mark Fol-ghum, of the Tacoma Police Department; John F. Berry, from the Riverside
Press-Enterprise;
Michael Miller, from the state water department; juror Darlena Murray; Denise Cattern, from Chino; and Richard Dieter and Krista McKim, from the Death Penalty Information Center.

Mike Shohl and Michaela Hamilton, from Kensington, for their continued support and enthusiasm for my work.

My agent, Gary Heidt, for his efforts to keep me sane and fed.

My readers, Alexa Capeloto and Mark Sauer.

And Carole Scott, Samuel Autman, Bob Koven, Jon Sidener, and Writing Women for your support, encouragement, and help getting me through the dark places to which this book took me.

Don’t miss Caitlin Rother’s
masterful true-crime thriller

LOST
GIRLS

Available from Pinnacle

Here’s a compelling excerpt . . .

C
HAPTER
1

John Gardner’s mother was worried. The bipolar mood swings, erratic behavior and suicidal impulses that had periodically plagued her thirty-year-old son since he was a child were not only back but worse than she’d ever seen them.

When Cathy Osborn left her condo for her psychiatric nursing job the morning of February 25, 2010, John was asleep on the futon in her home office, where he stayed when he visited. Cathy called his cell phone and texted him numerous times throughout the day to see how he was doing, but she got no response. When he didn’t answer his phone, something was usually up.

That evening after work, John was still missing in action, so she decided to combine her usual run with a search for her wayward son, an unemployed electrician and unmarried father of twin sons. Having completed fifteen full marathons, as well as fifteen half marathons, Cathy routinely jogged five to seven miles around Lake Hodges in nearby Rancho Bernardo Community Park. But she was so worried about John and his well-being that she didn’t really feel like doing the full route.

She jogged about a mile through the neighborhood, turned at the white railing off Duenda Road, and started down the narrow path that widened as it left the residential area and fed into the vast, beautiful open space of the San Dieguito River Valley. Depending on the time of day, sometimes she couldn’t see another soul for miles in any direction. It was so peaceful out there, far away from the stresses of the city. So isolated. So still. And so deadly quiet.

But her nerves were on edge that evening as she ran along the sandy trail at dusk. She jerked to an abrupt halt, startled to see a snake off to the right. Once she realized it had no head and posed no danger, she continued heading toward the slate blue of the lake up ahead, hoping to find John in one of his usual haunts. He’d told her that he liked to sit on the benchlike boulders that were positioned along the trails, posted with informational placards about the Kumeyaay Indians and the natural wildlife habitat. Knowing his two favorites overlooked a waterfall and the lake, she kept her eyes peeled for discarded beer cans and cigarette butts. But she saw no sign of him.

This is the wrong spot, or he’s been here and he’s just not drinking beer or smoking cigarettes
, she thought.

Cathy had spent nearly three decades managing her son’s medical and psychological treatment, ferrying him to countless doctors and therapists who had prescribed more than a dozen medications. Starting at age four, John had begun with Ritalin for his attention-deficit/ hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). As he grew older, his behavioral problems became more complicated. As a teenager, he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but he had experienced so many side effects to the drugs that he’d stopped taking them in high school. He had been on and off them ever since. Mostly off.

John also had a history of psychiatric hospitalizations, and by now, Cathy was very familiar with the danger signs that he was reaching a crisis point. In the last couple of months, he had totaled two cars, running one into a pole and the other into a cement barrier. So on February 8, she had driven him to the walk-in psychiatric clinic at the county hospital in Riverside, where both of them hoped he would be admitted as an inpatient. But even after John told the psychiatrist he might qualify as a “5150”—someone who is in danger of hurting himself or others—the doctor said he didn’t think such treatment was necessary. He simply gave John some more pills and sent him on his way. Five days later, John went on a suicidal binge of methamphetamine and other illicit drugs, which landed him in the emergency room.

All of this made for a complicatedly close relationship between John and his mother. Things had escalated recently after he’d started using methamphetamine and increasing his drinking. The crazier he acted, the crazier Cathy’s own emotional roller coaster became. If she didn’t watch over him, she feared he would go right back to the same druggie friends he partied with during his nearly fatal binge, a pattern she’d seen over the past eighteen months. Or worse yet, he’d be successful and actually kill himself.

John had been “living” at his grandmother Linda Osborn’s house in Riverside County since January, going back and forth to his mom’s condo in Rancho Bernardo, a San Diego suburb, an hour south. But because Linda had also been admitted to the same hospital as John, Cathy decided on February 19 to take him home with her for a few days. Clearly, he was in no state of mind to be left to his own devices at his grandmother’s, or in the care of his aunt Cynthia, who had her own emotional problems.