Jane Doe No More

I wish to share with you a series of events that have greatly impacted my life from September 1993 through 2006. The events will take you through the horror of a violent crime, a flawed and corrupt system, brilliant detective work and the power of DNA. Most importantly, it is a story of hope and perseverance, and bears witness to the fact that good will ultimately triumph over evil.

I arrived home with my children Friday evening, September 10, 1993, after taking them to a children's concert at a local school and out for pizza. My husband John had gone to Colorado for a friend's wedding and left a message on the answering machine saying that he loved and missed us. It was the first time in 12 years of marriage that he'd had been away from home.

In the early morning hours of that Saturday, a masked intruder broke into my home while my children - ages 5 and 7 - lay sleeping in their beds. I awoke to footsteps, looked up to see a shadowy figure entering my bedroom and had no time to react. Before I could do anything, the intruder jumped me. A struggle ensued. I fought and screamed. He quickly covered my mouth. I bit his gloved hand. He wrenched my arm behind my back and warned that if I didn't cooperate I would get hurt. He took great precaution to conceal his identity by disguising his voice and putting a pillowcase over my head. He then proceeded to wrap nylons around my eyes and mouth and tied my hands behind my back. Helpless and acutely aware that my children were in the next room, I told myself not to scream. As the attack continued, the assailant used a knife to cut my clothing, sexually assaulted me, and threatened to kill me if I called the police. Trying to stay alive, I kept telling him that I couldn't identify him, that I would never tell anyone, that this was just between him and me, that he was really a good person and that he hadn't hurt me. Then I felt the cylinder of a gun through the pillowcase on my mouth. It was as if my head were on fire and I saw my life flash before me. I had thoughts of my children finding me in the morning. He took the gun from my mouth and placed it to my temple. As I waited for him to pull the trigger I thought aloud 'Dear God, please absolve me of all my sins."

Flipping me over again, he stuck the gun in my back and said "If you call the pigs I'll come back and kill you." It was the first moment that I thought I might live. I continued to assure him that this was between him and me, and I wouldn't tell a soul. I heard him walk down the wood stairs and close the front door behind him. Then, silence. I momentarily lay there in complete shock - incredibly grateful to be alive - then wriggled free from the ties that bound my hands and ran hurriedly into each of the children's rooms. Amazingly both were sleeping soundly. I knelt down and sobbed.

Then I felt the cylinder of a gun through the pillowcase on my mouth. It was as if my head were on fire and I saw my life flash before me.

I ran back to my bedroom and picked up the phone. It was dead. I went downstairs to try another phone. It too was dead. I knew then he had cut the phone lines. I made a decision to flee for help. I threw on a bathrobe and slippers, grabbed a single house key from the kitchen, secured the house and ran to a neighbor down the street. My neighbor Cliff took one look at me and knew that something was terribly wrong. I began to relay what had happened and told him my children were up at the house alone. He immediately dialed 911. As the operator began asking Cliff questions, I took the phone. Cliff instinctively grabbed an ax from the basement and signaled to me that he was heading to my house to guard the children until the police arrived. The 911 call lasted quite some time. In fact, I was still on the phone with 911 when an officer arrived at the door and asked if I had a key to my house. I gave it to him, and began following behind. He told me that I must stay back, forcing me to remain at my neighbor's house. I was alone and each minute felt like an eternity. Unable to stand being away from my children any longer, I grabbed a kitchen knife from my neighbor's drawer and darted back up to my house in the dark.

The crime scene was already being trampled on. All kinds of people - arriving officers, relatives, neighbors - were going up and down the stairs, walking in and out of rooms. Windows and doors were opened and closed repeatedly trying to determine how the assailant gained entry. Forensics had not been called in. No fingerprints or photographs were taken. Heeding the words of the officer on the 911 call, I had not removed the nylons that had been bound around my wrists and neck. My right eye was throbbing and tearing incessantly and a female officer encouraged me to go to the hospital. There in the emergency room, medical personnel gathered evidence from my body using a sex crimes kit. It was quickly determined that the rapist had left DNA evidence. The scratched cornea on my right eye was covered and patched, the lacerations on my wrists were noted, and I was given a large dose of antibiotics. The police who had followed us to the hospital told me to go to the station in a day or so for a written statement.

I did just that. John and I met with a detective who would be handling the case and I gave every detail I could think of. Holding on to the blessing that I was alive and my children were untouched, I was determined to emotionally and physically heal quickly. About a month after the incident, my sister encountered a friend we knew as teenagers, who began acting strangely and aggressively towards her. After hearing this, I determined that we should notify the lieutenant who was in charge of my case about my sister's encounter. When I called the lieutenant and asked if we could meet with him at my business office, he insisted that we come to the station. I was afraid of my assailant's threat to kill me, but I agreed to a meeting on Friday morning, October 15, 1993.