Portrait of a Monster: Joran Van Der Sloot, a Murder in Peru, and the Natalee Holloway Mystery (15 page)

Of considerably more interest, Stephany’s “flower power” wallet lay on the floor, emptied of its cash and credit cards. Her black Nextel phone, which family and friends had been calling for days, lay silent on a countertop, its battery drained.

Homicide investigators conducted a cursory examination of the body, knowing a full autopsy would be performed later that day. The victim was covered in bruises and in an advanced state of putrification, bloated almost beyond recognition.

Blood that had oozed from the nose was clotted. Dark bruising circled both eye sockets. Both knees had red bruising and the multiple bruises on the feet were grotesquely greenish. Contusive wounds to the back of the second finger of the right hand and abrasions on the chin and right cheek added to the inventory of obvious injuries.

The bruising around the neck was curious. The police could not determine if the marks were produced by manual strangulation or hanging. The crime scene did not support any obvious sexual assault but swabs were collected for further testing.

While no shoe prints were found in the room, there were recoverable fingerprints everywhere, on the outside of the transparent ashtray on the nightstand, on the plastic soda bottles, three disposable cups, and on the gaming tickets from the Atlantic City Casino.

Under the supervision of Captain Marco Vargas, crime scene technicians now sprayed the room with luminol to test for blood. Luminol reveals invisible blood by chemiluminescence; it glows when it mixes with a specific reactive agent. At crime scenes, the reactive agent is the iron in the hemoglobin of human blood. After luminol is applied, even trace amounts of blood emit an eerie blue light.

The test was both shocking and revealing.

Vargas and his team sprayed the luminol brand Bluestar in the room, on the carpet and walls, and in the bathroom. When they turned off the lights, glowing traces of luminescent blood were everywhere: under the bed, on the floor by the dresser, and on the bone-colored tile of the bathroom floor.

Vargas now turned his focus to the bathroom. Not only did the sink test positive for blood, but the shower floor also glowed with the evidence.

The suspect appeared to have showered before fleeing the scene.

Based on the first collection of evidence in the investigation—the surveillance tapes, the physical evidence in Room 309, the Internet profiles of Van der Sloot—the police developed a straightforward working theory. They believed Stephany had been lured to the room, was beaten, robbed, possibly even tortured in an attempt to get the passwords to the credit cards that were missing from her wallet, before finally being strangled. Van der Sloot’s modus operandi, they concluded, was selecting his victims in casinos and/or gaming rooms where women who play these games go. Through deceit, he obtains his victims’ money. Plain and simple, this was a robbery turned homicide.

The deadline for registering for the the Latin American Poker Tour at the Atlantic City Casino was Sunday, May 30. The U.S.$2,700 entry fee could be paid in person at the gaming tables or online. It was possible that Joran needed Stephany’s credit card numbers to pay the entry fee for the tournament. Perhaps he had lured Stephany to his room with hopes he could convince her to loan him the money to register and she had refused?

Like in the U.S., under Peruvian law all individuals are presumed innocent until proven otherwise. However, the five detectives working the case knew they had their man. Now, they needed to find him.

EIGHT

MAY 30, 2005
MERIDIAN, MISSISSIPPI

From the moment the trip was presented, Natalee Holloway’s father, Dave, had been opposed to his daughter traveling to Aruba with her classmates. He had heard the pitch—everyone’s parents were allowing it; last year’s identical trip had been uneventful; Natalee, more than anyone, deserved a graduation trip. He didn’t care what the other parents thought. He did not like the idea.

He had fears about safety. He was concerned that seven chaperones for 124 teenagers were insufficient. Common knowledge held that the island’s tourism slogan, “One Happy Island,” hinted at Aruba’s drinking age, young and barely enforced. In Dave’s opinion, an 18:1 student-to-chaperone ratio, even with the utmost diligence, was inadequate.

Besides, Dave and his second wife, Robin, were old-fashioned and thought the $985 cost for a five-day jaunt was too extravagant for high schoolers. Holloway was a conservative man in his midforties with bushy brown hair combed to one side and a charming gap between his front teeth. He was a responsible and loving father.

He knew, however, that in spite of his misgivings, the trip would likely take place even without his blessing. His ex-wife, Beth, had sole custody of their two children and she’d been the one to sign the consent form for the five-day Caribbean getaway.

Still, despite his trepidation, Dave gave his daughter a check for $500—half the cost of the vacation—as a gift, telling Natalee to do with it as she pleased, knowing she would probably use it to finance the trip to Aruba.

Even if she had left that May morning without his full approval, he never expected the telephone call he received on Monday, May 31. There had been a barrage of confusing and contradictory phone calls. The first call was from his son, Matt, saying that Natalee hadn’t shown up for her flight. Next came word that she had last been seen leaving a bar in the company of a Dutch tourist, described by Natalee’s friends as a nice kid. When Matt called again late in the evening saying that Natalee was okay and had only missed her flight, Dave was naturally relieved. Matt explained that she was flying in the next day. But Matt himself was misinformed; a flight for Natalee
had
been booked on Delta Airlines for the following day by an optimistic chaperone. The booking, however, was based on hope, not knowledge.

*   *   *

Natalee Holloway was born in Memphis, Tennessee, on October 21, 1986. She was the first child of David Edward Holloway and Elizabeth Ann Reynolds, college sweethearts. They met at the University of Arkansas in Little Rock where Dave earned a bachelor of science in business management and Beth completed a BS in speech pathology with a minor in special education.

After graduation, they moved together to Memphis, a thriving musical town on the banks of the Mississippi, where they married in a church in front of glowing parents and approving friends. Memphis was a lively city rich in culture and history. It was the birthplace of rock ’n’ roll and the town where Johnny Cash, Elvis, and B. B. King began their musical careers. The city was also the backdrop for several of John Grisham’s bestselling legal thrillers, including
The Firm
.

Here in Memphis, Natalee Ann was born. Dave and his young wife were elated with the arrival of their daughter, who shared her mother’s fair hair and light complexion and her father’s almond-shaped eyes and broad, inviting smile. Two years later, their son Matthew was born. Matt was a stocky, sweet-natured boy who shared his father’s facial characteristics and gentle, down-to-earth personality.

When Natalee was three and Matt was just learning to walk, the family moved to Clinton, Mississippi, a three-and-a-half-hour drive due south and a world away from the blues and barbecue of Memphis’s Beale Street. Clinton was a rural town with single-family, red brick homes that was popular with both young families and retirees. There wasn’t much excitement. The change of pace from bustling Memphis to pastoral Clinton was drastic and difficult.

Soon, Beth and Dave became acutely aware that they were no longer compatible. When Natalee was seven and Matt was five, they divorced. The custody battle was messy and protracted. Beth eventually won sole custody of the couple’s two children. Bitter feelings lingered, and the couple limited their interactions to matters concerning the children.

In 1995, Dave remarried. His new wife, Robin, was a quick-witted blonde who, like her groom, was intensely religious. Funny, gracious, and several years younger than her husband, Robin was a nurturing stepmother to Natalee and Matt. They both developed a strong affinity for this new member of the family.

After the wedding, Dave and Robin moved to Jackson, Mississippi, about thirteen miles from Clinton and a straight shot on Highway 20. But Dave didn’t like being separated from his children by even this short distance, and he and Robin moved back to Clinton the following year. Although Dave and his ex-wife rarely spoke, he played an active role in raising Natalee and Matt. He made the most of his alternate weekends and filled them with children-oriented activities. He and Natalee enjoyed a nighttime ritual of creating fantastical stories together.

In 2000, Beth remarried, as well. Her bridegroom was George Twitty, nicknamed “Jug.” Natalee was fourteen and Matt was twelve when she and the children moved to Mountain Brook, Alabama, to settle comfortably into the home of her new husband. That same year, Dave and Robin relocated to Meridian, Mississippi, a racially diverse city about twenty miles from the Alabama state line, and 150 miles from Mountain Brook. Dave worked as an insurance salesman, and Robin was preparing to make a family of her own. Two daughters, Brooke and Kaitlyn, soon made their entrance into the Holloways’ Meridian household.

Natalee and Matt visited every other weekend and stayed with Dave and Robin for longer stretches during summers and on holidays. Family time was spent watching movies at home, but occasionally, for a special treat, they trekked to the local shopping mall to catch a new release on the big screen. Sunday mornings in Meridian were spent at the Poplar Drive Springs Baptist Church, and Natalee always made sure to pack her Sunday best.

When Natalee was sixteen, she got her driver’s license, and her visits to Meridian became less frequent. Like a typical teenager, being with her buddies in Alabama trumped weekends with her dad in Mississippi. Still, Dave and Robin often traveled the 150 miles to Mountain Brook to watch Natalee perform with her high school dance squad, the Dorians, during halftime at the Mountain Brook’s Spartans football games.

Natalee’s senior year was a scramble of obligations: school; volunteer work; the part-time job at the health food store; church activities; rehearsals with the dance team. Dave certainly understood, and he and his new family treasured whatever dates they were able to schedule together. Earnest wishes for more time were impossible to fulfill.

Natalee’s graduation day, one day before her trip to Aruba, was the last time the father and daughter were together. That day, Dave and Robin and their two daughters arrived at Beth’s house to pick up the tickets for the commencement ceremony. Natalee insisted that they all come inside. She wanted Brooke and Kaitlyn, ages two and seven, to meet Macy, her Shetland sheepdog, whose nails she had playfully painted with polish. She also wanted to show them her light-purple bedroom decorated with her
Wizard of Oz
memorabilia, a collection she’d been passionately amassing since eighth grade.

The invitation inside was awkward. They had not all been under the same roof in years. In hindsight, Dave, with his unshakable faith, believed that the Lord had played a role in creating this precious and indelible memory. All the family strife was unimportant. This day, May 24, 2005, was Natalee’s day, and the family was together.

Now, less than one week later, phone calls were bringing him horrible news. His daughter had simply vanished.

Dave wasted no time contacting family. Everyone wanted to leave for Aruba immediately but there were no commercial flights until morning. His ex-wife had a friend with a private plane, but he didn’t have such connections.

When Dave, his brother Phil, and his brother-in-law Michael stepped off the commercial jet at Queen Beatrix International Airport on June 1, no team of prearranged personal escorts met them. However, they managed to solicit a map of the island and directions to the nearest police station from employees at the rental car counter.

Dave had assumed that on such a small island, the disappearance of an American tourist would have been high priority for law enforcement. But the officers at the first two precincts he visited knew nothing about his missing daughter. Finally, he was directed to the Noord Police Station where he found a detective who was familiar with Natalee’s missing persons investigation.

From the moment they shook hands, Detective Dennis Jacobs, a 350-pound narcotics officer who announced he was in charge of the investigation, disturbed Dave. He did not extend condolences about Dave’s daughter or reassurances that they were on top of the case. Instead, he posed the question, “How much money do you have?”

Dave was in such disbelief he assumed he must have heard the question incorrectly. He returned to the issue and asked what was being done to find Natalee. If this man was in charge, why wasn’t he out looking with the police search team? In fact,
was
there a police search team?

The detective did not seem to be taking Natalee’s disappearance seriously. He had been the one to process the missing persons report filed by Dave’s ex-wife, but, like he had been quick to explain to her, his own theory incorporated no foul play or alarm.

“This happens all the time,” he stated matter-of-factly. “She’ll probably turn up in a few days.”

Dave couldn’t believe the callous treatment he was receiving. The detective even had the gall to suggest that Dave indulge in a cocktail from the very bar where his daughter was last seen. Everything about this police officer seemed offensively inappropriate. Dave quickly realized that he was on his own.

What Detective Jacobs hadn’t told Dave Holloway was that he and a fellow officer, Sergeant Shaniro Kelly, had spent the prior morning interviewing Joran van der Sloot, one of the three men last seen with Natalee. The interview, taken in Papiamento at 11:20
A.M.
on Tuesday, May 31, was the first of more than a dozen statements the teen made to police about his night with Natalee.

His story was similar to the tale he’d told the group of Americans from Alabama in the driveway of his home that past Monday night. But there were some new details. Joran painted Natalee as both drunk and belligerent, saying that when he and his friends, Deepak and Satish, pulled up in front of the Holiday Inn after the journey to the lighthouse, Natalee opened the car door and fell to the ground.