The Stranger Beside Me (6 page)

On the long drive from the University District to the south end, we talked about what had happened in the intervening months since we'd seen each other. Ted had spent the summer working as an intern in psychiatric counseling at Harborview, the huge county hospital complex. As a policewoman in the 1950s, I had taken a number of mentally deranged subjects--220s in police lingo--to the fifth floor of Harborview and knew the facilities there well. But Ted talked little about his summer job. He was far more enthusiastic about his activities during the governer's campaign in the fall of 1972.

He had been hired by the Committee to Re-Elect Dan Evans, Washington's Republican Governor. Former Governor Albert Rosellini had made a comeback try, and it had been Ted's assignment to travel around the state and monitor

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Rosellini's speeches, taping them for analysis by Evans's team.

"I just mingled with the crowds and nobody knew who I was," he explained. He'd enjoyed the masquerade, sometimes wearing a false moustache, sometimes looking like the college student he'd been only a short time before, and he'd been amused at the way Rosellini modified his speeches easily for the wheat farmers of eastern Washington and the apple growers of Wenatchee. Rosellini was a consummate politician, the opposite of the up-front, All-American Evans.

All this was heady stuff for Ted, to be on the inside of a statewide campaign, to report to Governor Evans himself and his top aides with the tapes of Rosellini's speeches.

On September 2d, Ted-driving Governor Evans and other dignitaries in the lead limousine-had been the first man to traverse the North Cascades Highway that winds through spectacular scenery at the northern boundaries of Washington State.

"They thought that President Nixon was going to show up," Ted recalled.

"And they had secret service men checking everybody out. His brother came instead, but I didn't care. I got to lead 15,000 people in a sixty-four-mile parade across the mountains." The Evans campaign for re-election had been successful, and now Ted was in good standing with the administration in power. At the time of the Christmas party, he was employed by the City of Seattle's Crime Prevention Advisory Commission and was reviewing the state's new hitchhiking law, a law which made thumbing a ride legal again.

"Put me down as being absolutely against hitchhiking," I said. "I've written too many stories about female homicide victims who met their killers while they were hitchhiking."

Although Ted still looked forward to law school, he had his sights on the position as director of the Crime Prevention Advisory Commission, was among the final candidates, and felt optimistic about getting the job.

We went our separate ways at the party; I danced with Ted once or twice and noticed that he seemed to be having a good time, talking with several women. He seemed to be completely entranced with a young woman who belonged to Seattle's Junior League, a Crisis Clinic volunteer whom neither of us had happened to meet before. Since some shifts

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never coincided, it wasn't unusual that volunteers' paths didn't cross. The woman was married to a young lawyer with a "future," a man who is now one of Seattle's most successful attorneys.

Ted didn't talk to her; in fact, he seemed in awe of her, but he pointed her out to me and asked about her. She was a beautiful woman with long dark hair, straight and parted in the middle, and dressed in a way that spoke of money and taste. She wore a black, long-sleeved blouse, a straight white silk evening skirt, solid gold chains, and earrings. I doubt that she was even aware of Ted's fascination with her, but I caught him staring at her several times during the evening. With the others at the party, he was expansive, relaxed, and usually the center of conversation.

Since I was the driver, Ted drank a good deal during the evening, and he was quite intoxicated when we left at 2:00 A.M. He was a friendly, relaxed drunk, and he settled into the passenger seat and rambled on and on about the woman at the party who had impressed him so much.

"She's just what I've always wanted. She's perfect-but she didn't even notice me..."

And then he fell sound asleep.

When I delivered Ted back to the Rogers's that night, he was almost comatose, and it took me ten minutes of shaking him and shouting to wake him up. I walked him to the door and said goodnight, smiling as he bumbled in the door and disappeared.

A week later, I received a Christmas card from Ted. The block print read, "O. Henry wrote the 'Gift of the Magi,' a story of two lovers who sacrificed for each other their greatest treasures. She cut her long hair to buy her lover a watch chain. He sold his watch to buy her combs for her hair. In acts that might seem foolish these two people found the spirit of the Magi."

It was my favorite Christmas story. How had he known?

Inside, Ted ^printed his own wishes: "The New Year should be a good one for a talented, delightful, newly liberated woman. THank you for the party. Love, ted."

I was touched by the gesture. It was typical of Ted Bundy; he knew I needed the emotional support of those sentiments.

Seemingly, there wasn't a thing in the world I could do for him. He wasn't interested in me romantically, I was just

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about as poor as he was, hardly influential. He sent that card simply because we were friends.

When I look at that card today and compare it with the signatures on the dozens of letters I would receive later, I am struck with the difference. Never again would he sign with the jaunty flourish he did then.

Ted didn't get the job as director of the Crime Prevention Advisory Commission and he resigned in January, 1973. I saw him again on a rainy day in March. An old friend whom I'd known since my days on the police department, Joyce Johnson-a detective for eleven years in the Sex Crimes Unit-and I emerged from the police-jail elevator in the Public Safety Building on our way to lunch, and there was Ted. Bearded now, he looked so different that I didn't recognize him at first. He called my name and grabbed my hand. I introduced him to Joyce, and he told me enthusiastically that he was working for King County Law and Justice Planning Office.

"I'm doing a study on rape victims," he explained. "If you could get me some back copies of the stories you've done on rape cases, it would help my research."

I promised to go through my files and cull some of the accounts-many of them written about cases in which Joyce Johnson had been the principal detective-and get them to him. But, somehow, I never got around to it, and I eventually forgot that he'd wanted them.

Ted had applied, for the second time, to the University of Utah's Law School, largely at Meg's urging. Her father was a wealthy physician, her siblings professionals in Utah, and she hoped that she and Ted would eventually end up in the Mormon state.

He was quickly accepted, although he had been rejected in a previous application to the University of Utah in 1972, despite his degree from the University of Washington "With Distinction." Ted's gradepoint average from the University was 3.51, a GPA that any student might have aspired to, but his legal aptitude test scores had not been high enough to meet Utah's standards for entry.

In 1973, he bombarded the admissions department at Utah with letters of recommendation from professors and from Governor Dan Evans. Not content with the restrictions of a standard application form, he had résumés printed up listing his accomplishments since graduation from the University of

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Washington, and wrote a six-page personal statement on his philosophies on law.

It made an impressive packet

Under postgraduate employment, Ted listed:

Criminal Corrections Consultant: January, 1973. Currently retained by the King County Office of Law and Justice Planning to identify recidivism rates for offenders who have been found guilty of misdemeanors and gross misdemeanors in the twelve county District Courts. The purpose of the study is to determine the nature and number of offenses committed subsequent to a conviction in District Court.

Crime Commission Assistant Director: October, 1972 to January, 1973. As assistant to the Director of the Seattle Crime Prevention Commission, suggested and did the preliminary investigation for the Commission's investigations into assaults against women, and "white collar" (economic) crime. Wrote press releases, speeches, and newspaper articles for the Commission. Participated extensively in the planning of the Commission's activities for 1973.

Psychiatric Counselor: June, 1972 to September, 1972. Carried a full case-load of twelve clients during a fourmonth internship in Harborview Hospital's Outpatient Clinic. Held periodic sessions with clients; entered progress reports in hospital charts, continually re-evaluated psychiatric diagnoses, and referred clients to physicians for medical and psychotherapeutic medication evaluations. Participated in numerous training sessions conducted by staff psychiatrists. Ted went on:

I apply to law school because my professional and cornmunity activities demand daily a knowledge of the law I do not ha'tie. Whether I am studying the behavior of criminal offenders, examining bills before the legislature, advocating "court reform, or contemplating the creation of my own corporation, I immediately become conscious of my limited understanding of the law. My life style requires that I obtain a knowledge of the law and the ability to practice legal skills. I intend to be my own man. It's that simple.

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I could go on at great length to explain that the practice of law is a life-long goal, or that I do not have great expectations that a law degree is a guaranty of wealth and prestige. The important factor, however, is that law fulfills a functional need which my daily routine has forced me to recognize.

I apply to law school because this institution will give me the tools to become a more effective actor in the social role I have denned for myself.

T.R.B.

Ted's personal statement was most erudite and filled with quotes from experts ranging from Freud to the President's Committee on Law Enforcement, and the Administration of Justice Report. He began with a discussion of violence: "You begin with the relation between might and right, and this is the assuredly proper starting point for our inquiry. But, for the term 'might,' I would substitute a tougher and more telling word: 'violence.' In right and violence, we have today an obvious antimony."

He had not softened his position against riots, student insurrections, and anarchy. The law was right; the rest was violence. Ted stated his current involvement in a series of studies of jury trials.

"Using computer-coded data collected on 11,000 felony cases by the Washington State Criminal Justice Evaluation Project, I am writing programs designed to isolate what I hope to be tentative answers ... to questions regarding the management of felony cases." He talked of a study he had undertaken to equate the racial composition of a jury with its effect on the defendant.

Ted's thoroughly impressive application to the University of Utah Law School in early 1973 worked, and overshadowed his mediocre Law School Aptitude Test scores. But, oddly, he chose not to enter their law school in the fall of 1973, and the reason given to the Dean of Admissions was a curious lie.

He wrote "with sincere regret" a week before classes were to begin, that he had been injured severely in an automobile accident and was hospitalized. He explained that he had hoped that he would be physically strong enough to attend the fall quarter, but found he was not able to, apologizing for

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waiting so long to let the University know and saying he hoped that they could find someone to fill his place.

In truth, Ted had been in an extremely minor accident, spraining his ankle, had not been hospitalized, and was in perfect condition. He had, however, wrecked Meg's car. Why he chose not to go to Utah in 1973 remains a mystery.

There were discrepancies too in his almost flamboyant dossier. Both the study on rape that he told me he was writing and the racial significance in jury composition study were only ideas; he had not actively begun work on either.

Ted did begin law school in the fall of 1973-at the University of Puget Sound in his home town, Tacoma. He attended night classes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, riding from the Rogers's rooming house to U.P.S., twenty-six miles south, in a car pool with three other students. After the night classes, he often stopped for a few beers with his car pool members at the Creekwater Tavern.

Ted may have elected to remain in Washington because he had been awarded a plum political job in April, 1973-as assistant to Ross Davis, chairman of the Washington State Republican Party. His $1,000 a month salary was more money than he'd ever made. The "perks" that came with the job were something that a man who had struggled for money and recognition most of his life could revel in: the use of a Select Credit Card issued to the Republican Party, attendance at meetings with the "big boys," and occasional use of a flashy car. There was statewide travel, with all expenses paid.

Davis and his wife thought highly of Ted. He ate dinner with their family at least once a week, and often babysat for their children. Davis recalls Ted as "smart, aggressive,-exceptionally so, and a believer in the system."

Despite his work for the Republican Party, Ted managed to keep up a good gradepoint average in his night law classes at U.P.S. He continued to live at Freda and Ernst Rogers's home in the University District in Seattle. Ernst's health was no better, and,|when he had free time, Ted helped to keep the house in rerair.

There had been great upheavals in Ted's life during 1973, but I had seen him only once during that year-the brief meeting in the Public Safety Building in March. It was that kind of friendship where you touch base with someone rarely, you are pleased to see each other, and they are, at least on the surface, the same people you have always known. 40