Nightcrawler Page 4

  Even as Grady announced the creation of the task force in his downtown office, another development was taking place at a police department a few miles away. A young man reported that his girlfriend had left their apartment that morning and never returned.

  “I knew Catina Newmaster well,” said Detective Mannain. “I talked to her on a Thursday, I believe, and that Sunday, she went missing. We knew Tina for many years. Most of the patrol officers knew she had a drug problem and I had seen her walking the streets as well. That night I stopped to talk to her and tell her to be careful. There were six or seven girls missing. ‘No, don’t worry about me,’ she said. Tina was a tough girl. Streetwise.” Mannain didn’t know it at the time, but it would be the last time he would see her alive.

  Though she had several children, Tina still worked in the street to support herself and buy drugs. Like the other women, she had a slim build, only 5’6”, and she weighed a little more than 100 pounds. She had brown hair and tattoos on her right hip and arm. Some people told police that they last saw her in the early morning of August 26 on Main Street near a local pub. Her boyfriend reported her missing after she did not come home at the end of the day. “I was looking for her all day and night,” he later told the press.

  By then, the task force was in full swing, and when the Catina Newmaster missing persons report came in, there was a solid consensus that a killer was at work and it would take extraordinary efforts to catch him. Siegrist had tried everything he could think of to find the suspect, but nothing seemed to work. Deep down, he still believed that Francois was the best suspect, but the fact that he passed the polygraph could not be ignored. If he was a killer, where did he put the bodies? Police had searched everywhere: The river, the woods, along parkways and major roads, public parks and out-of-the-way places that seemed like a good place to dispose of a corpse. Nothing turned up. Could it be that the women were still alive and being held captive somewhere? That thought crossed his mind as well. That could explain why the bodies were never found.

  “With no bodies and no real leads,” the Albany Times Union reported, “police have been baffled. The FBI has been called in to assist. Canvasses through the surrounding woods using dogs specially trained to search for human remains have turned up nothing. Neither have helicopter searches.” Media reports again insinuated that police were not trying hard enough because the missing were prostitutes. “We had to defend ourselves constantly from these sort of baseless rumors,” Siegrist said recently. “Of course they upset the police department because we knew they weren’t true. You know, up to that time when the task force was formed, we had seven other homicides and over 30 street shootings. We had to work on those cases as well.”

  In early September, Siegrist had a phone conversation with an FBI agent. They discussed available options. The agent suggested that perhaps a police roadblock canvass set up at a major intersection of the city might turn up something new. The agent theorized that police might accidentally stop the killer and notice something inside the car or cause the suspect to panic. Although it was not the best tactic, Siegrist agreed, and set the plan up for the morning of September 2.

  Detectives had flyers printed that depicted images of the missing women and a few details of the case. They were directed to set up the canvass on Main Street near the location where Catina Newmaster was last seen and hand out the flyers to motorists as they passed through. The location was also just one block away from where Sandra French’s vehicle was found as well. Police would have a chance to look inside the cars and also have a few words with the drivers. Perhaps they would notice something suspicious or force the suspect to do something dramatic. It was a long shot, but it was better than doing nothing.

  www.crimescape.com

  Chapter 8: Escape!

  “We made our own luck that day.

  —Lt. William Siegrist, City of Poughkeepsie Police

  Linda Weber was an attractive woman of 21 when she first arrived in the city during the spring of 1998. She was raised in a small town in Virginia, where she occasionally got into trouble in high school for habitual drug use. She decided to move to New York after she became friends with another student she met in a retail store. A slim, likable woman with brown hair, Weber shared an apartment with her friend while she searched for work. The two women fell victim to the allure of crack, a new and powerful drug that swept across America like a typhoon, and soon descended into prostitution in order to make money.

  One day in early June, Weber came home to find Kendall Francois in her apartment. He had paid to have sex with her friend, but when Francois saw Linda, he wanted her instead. After some hesitation, she agreed to go with him to his house on Fulton Avenue, which was only a few blocks away. They drove over in his white Camry and slipped into the garage located in back of the dilapidated house. Francois closed the garage door behind them and then got back into the car on the passenger side.

  “We’re gonna stay in the garage,” he said. They had sex in the car and he paid her $40, the agreed-upon price.

  After that first time, Francois became friends with the two women, who would sometimes call him when they needed a ride or to go to local stores. He never seemed to mind and was always available. Though he repeatedly tried to date Linda, she would not go out with him. On one occasion, Francois loaned her $16 when she wanted to buy some cosmetics.

  On September 1, 1998, Linda was walking alone on Main Street near a Dollar Store when Francois drove by in his Toyota. She was looking to get something to eat but didn’t have enough money. When he spotted her, Francois pulled over to talk.

  “Hey Linda, where you going? What you been up to?” he said.

  “I’m trying to get something to eat,” Weber replied.

  “Come over to the house,” he said. “I got some food and we can talk.”

  Linda got into the car and together they drove over to Fulton Avenue. On the way, he asked her about having sex again, but she refused after telling him that she was just hungry. Francois again pulled the car into his garage, but Linda was nervous.

  “Aren’t we going inside?” she asked.

  “Do you have my money you owe me?” he said.

  Linda said she didn’t have any cash right then but would have it soon. She could see that Francois’ demeanor had changed. He was becoming visibly angry.

  “Well, you’re gonna pay for it now!” he shouted at her.

  Francois immediately reached across the front seat and grabbed her throat with his huge hands. Linda tried to push him away, but it was useless. He pressed his thumbs into her windpipe while she resisted with all the strength she had. She couldn’t breathe and felt her life slipping away.

  “All I was thinking was, ‘I’m gonna die,’” she said later. “He had a grip like… I never felt nothing like it and I never been so close to death!”

  Francois climbed over the console and got on top of her. Linda fought back bravely and eventually collapsed behind the driver’s seat with her back on the floor of the car. Just then, Francois suddenly released her and seemed to change his mind. He removed her clothes, placed them on the concrete floor of the garage and forced her to have sex with him. Linda was too dazed and weak to resist. After he tired of her, he gave her the clothes back and ordered her to get dressed.

  “Don’t be mad,” Francois said. He told her he loved her and was only trying to get her off the streets and away from drugs. Linda, too terrified to say anything that might upset him, said she understood and everything would be fine. After she dressed, she asked him to drive her to get cigarettes. They drove a few blocks to a gas station, where she got out of the car and went inside.

  “I’ll be right back,” Linda told him.

  As soon as she entered the store, she told the attendant that a man just raped her and tried to kill her. The clerk immediately called the police, but Francois, suspecting that something was wrong, drove off. As he did, he passed an unmarked police car traveling in the opposite direction. Inside the car were
Detectives Skip Mannain and Bob McCready from the task force. They recognized the driver instantly. Their cars passed within feet of each other, and when they did, Mannain impetuously yelled out to Francois.

  “Hey Kendall! We’re gonna get you one day!”

  McCready watched in the rear view mirror as the white Toyota disappeared down the street. As they pulled into the gas station to get some coffee, the clerk recognized the two detectives and realized they didn’t know what had just happened.

  “Hey, that girl who just left here,” he pointed down the street. “She told me that she just got raped!”

  “What?” said Mannain.

  “Yeah. She came in here and told me that this guy tried to kill her,” he said. “So I called the cops.”

  The two officers saw her walking away. They jumped into the car and went after her. When they caught up to her, she did not want to talk and tried to leave. “I immediately noticed red marks, like fingerprints, on her throat,” said Mannain. “She was very scared at first, so we tried to keep her calm. After a few minutes, she told us what happened. She said, ‘That black Ken! He tried to kill me!’ We scooped her up and brought her in.”

  As they questioned her further about the incident, the frightened woman began to relax. She explained how Francois had almost killed her less than an hour before she went to the gas station. She easily identified Francois and picked his photograph out of police mug books. Mannain and McCready could hardly contain their enthusiasm. Because the crime occurred at the Francois home, the Town of Poughkeepsie Police had to be the lead investigative agency on the case. After Weber provided police with a signed statement, two police officers were dispatched to locate and arrest Kendall Francois.

  “We sat on the house for hours waiting for him to come out,” said Mannain. “Weber described him as wearing an orange shirt and brown pants. When Francois finally came out of the house, we saw that he had changed his clothes, which was good for us. Now we could do a warrant to search for the clothes he wore during the assault.”

  They asked him to come into the police station for questioning and like the previous encounter, he quickly agreed without asking why. Police drove over to headquarters in silence. When they arrived, Francois was led into a private room, where he appeared unfazed and self-confident. He might have been thinking that he would soon be going home, just as he did the last time when he took the polygraph test he somehow defeated. This time, however, it would be different. Much different.

  www.crimescape.com

  Chapter 9: Inside His Mind

  “Killing people is harder than I thought.”

  —Kendall Francois, September 1, 1998

  By the time Francois and the two officers arrived at police headquarters, Lt. Bill Siegrist had been notified. He anticipated a long night. Lingering suspicions reverberated in his thoughts as he obsessively went over each detail of the investigation and how it related to Francois. “Although other suspects came and went, Francois remained at the top of the list,” he said. “And in homicide, when a suspect gets better as you go along, he’s usually the man.”

  State Police Investigator Arthur Boyko read Miranda warnings to the big man, who agreed to talk about what happened earlier with Linda Weber. “He’s very cool and composed,” Mannain pointed out. “Calm. Like he had nothing to worry about. I told him we were going to get a search warrant for his home.” Francois told police he picked her up at Main Street and she agreed to have sex with him. He said that he had been with her before and had used prostitutes habitually over the years. He explained he got into an argument with Linda over money and he lost his temper. He admitted choking her, but managed to regain his composure because he didn’t want to hurt her any further. Afterward, he dropped her off at a Sunoco gas station a few blocks from his house. As far as he was concerned, everything was fine and he didn’t understand why she involved the police. The two officers then left the room to conference, leaving Francois alone for a few minutes. When they came back in, his demeanor had changed, Mannain said.

  “I want to talk to a top prosecutor,” he abruptly told the detectives. “I’d like to look at the photos of the missing prostitutes, too.”

  Though police were surprised, they called an assistant district attorney and retrieved photographs of the missing women. By 5:30 PM, Assistant District Attorney Marjorie Smith, a prosecutor from the town court, arrived at headquarters. While Investigator Boyko engaged Francois in conversation, Mannain brought in a series of photos that were downloaded from the Internet. When the images were put in front of him, Francois separated a number of photos and placed them in a pile on the desk. In the stack were photos of Wendy Meyers, Gina Barone, Catherine Marsh and Sandra French.

  “I killed them,” he blurted out suddenly. “I did it.”

  When he studied other photos, he said he wasn’t sure he killed any of them. Smith asked him where the bodies were, and Francois replied that he would get to that soon, but added that the bodies were in two separate places. He said that he used prostitutes all the time and some of them had ripped him off, which made him very upset. It had been nearly two years since he had first started killing, he claimed, and told Smith the first woman he murdered was Wendy Meyers.

  Kendall Francois

  Mug Shot

  Francois said that he had picked her up on Main Street for sex that day and took her to his house. He couldn’t remember if it was day or night. They had “tricked” before, he told Smith, meaning they had sex for money. The previous encounter ended, according to Francois, when she stole money from him. “He asked for a pen and paper,” said Mannain. “Then he drew several diagrams of his house for us and explained which body was where.” He also drew a diagram of the second floor of his home which depicted three rooms he labeled “old room,” “mother’s room,” and just “room.” He pointed out that the “old room” was his, and it was also where he took Wendy for sex.

  “What happened after you, or while, you were having sex with her, if anything?” asked Smith.

  “She decided she had enough, because she had to go to probation. And, I don’t know, I guess I got mad about it and I started choking her.”

  “Why’d you get mad?”

  “Because she had ripped me off before and I didn’t want to get ripped off again.”

  “When you got mad at her, what did you do?”

  “I choked her. I put my hands around her neck. We were on my bed. Laying across it.”

  “What was she doing, Kendall?”

  “Fighting, kicking.”

  “How long would you say you had your hands around her neck?”

  “Five, six, seven, eight minutes. Originally she was fighting and then slowly she started to stop.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “I took her into the bathroom. Filled the bathtub up with water and put her face down in the tub.”

  “How long did you keep her there?”

  “I’m not sure. Minutes.”

  “Did she ever move when you put her in there?”

  “Ummmm. Slightly. Reflex maybe.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I took her out and carried her upstairs to the attic. Laid her down and covered her up with stuff in the attic. A blanket.”

  “Why did you want to kill her?”

  “I didn’t originally, but once it had gone to that point, I figured there was no turning back and didn’t feel like going to jail just then.”

  “Where is she now, Kendall.”

  “She’s still in the attic.”

  As Smith and Boyko went through the photographs, Francois picked up each photo and tried to remember what happened to each woman. When he came to the Gina Barone photo, he said that he had been with her on several occasions before and that she had ripped him off as well. He picked her up one night downtown and drove to a nearby parking lot.

  “Um, I offered her money for sex,” he said. “She agreed. But she wanted to go to a parking lot behind this building that g
oes directly off the arterial. We went into the back seat in the red Subaru. I paid her and we started having sex. I don’t know, she started to make a bitch. Getting rude and nasty. She was acting like she was, like she was paying me. I was kind of upset because I didn’t like her anyway.”

  “Okay,” said Smith. “What happened next?”

  “I started choking her.”

  “How long did you choke her?”

  “Two to three minutes.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I continued having sex with her while she was passed out.”

  “What happened? Was she passed out all the while you were having sex at that point?”

  “No. She woke up again. I choked her again for about six minutes.”

  “What did you do then, Kendall?”

  He said that he drove over to his house while the body was in the back seat. When he arrived at the house, he moved the corpse to the trunk of his car and left it there for a day. Then he took the body out of the car and dumped it inside his garage under a mattress.

  “How long did she stay under the mattress?” asked Smith.

  “Two or three months. During the winter.”

  Francois went on to describe how he murdered the other women, often getting confused about which one came before the other and exactly when they died. When asked about one of the last women he killed, he said he had no bad feelings toward her; it was just something that happened.

  “What happened after you were done having sex with her?”

  “She stood up and I was behind her. And I grabbed her from behind and put her in a choke hold.”

  “Why’d you do that? What was going on in your mind at that point?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Um, just happened.”

  “How long would you say you had your arm around her neck?”

  “Ah, 30, 40 seconds.”

  “And what happened to make you stop?”

  “She went limp and fell to the ground.”