Showing posts with label true crime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label true crime. Show all posts

Sunday, October 2, 2022

Review: Catching Killers on Netflix

 

Investigators of the Green River Killer murders.
By Claire Booth

There is a lot of junk out there when it comes to true crime TV shows—sensationalized, melodramatic, populated with extraneous experts. And don’t get me started on the cheesy reenactments. So on the rare occasion I find something that’s quality, I’m delighted.

Netflix has one I just found. Catching Killers. It’s a ho-hum title, but the show is very good. Each episode takes a serial murder case and interviews the investigators who caught the killer. Archival footage is used to great effect, and the interviews are spare and often brutal in their emotional honesty. These investigators often went through hell and even years later, it shows.

The series starts with a big one, and one coincidentally one that has always had a big impact on me—The Green River Killer. Gary Ridgeway was convicted of murdering 48 women in the Seattle area, although he eventually placed his own count at 71 victims. He had been one of several suspects over the years, but authorities could never pin anything down. Their interviews for the Netflix show lay bare how helpless they felt as young women continued to be found dead and the public continued to justifiably panic.

In the late ’90s, I worked for a newspaper in the area south of Seattle; my office was steps away from the Green River. Although no murders had been attributed to the Green River Killer for many years, the case still haunted the area that I covered as a reporter. About a year and a half after I moved out of state, authorities finally had the technology to test years-old hair and saliva samples. It matched DNA evidence from the crimes and Ridgeway was arrested in Renton, one of the cities I covered when I worked there. I won’t lie—I always wished I’d still been working there to cover the story, but mostly I’m just glad they caught the guy.

Other cases featured on the show include BTK, the Phoenix Serial Shooter, and Aileen Wuornos. But the episodes are not about the killers. They’re about how investigators solved the cases and the toll it took on them. It’s a high quality take on often rehashed crimes, and I recommend it. 


 

 

 

Sunday, June 16, 2019

A Group of Crime Writers Walks Into a Bar . . .


Earlier this week, a group of people who make things up for a living decided to try sticking to the facts instead.
Eileen Rendahl, me, Mick West, Holly West, Ann-Marie L'Etoile and James L'Etoile holding our prizes for winning the true crime pub quiz--books!
A local pub was hosting its regular quiz night, but for the first time, the trivia had a true crime theme. How could a bunch of mystery writers pass this up? Eileen Rendahl and DSDer Holly West are huge true crime readers and podcast fans, including of the juggernaut My Favorite Murder show. James L’Etoile brought his considerable knowledge of serial killers, and I pulled from the hodge-podge of random details rattling around my brain. Our group was rounded out by civilians (aka non-mystery writers) Mick West and Ann-Marie L’Etoile. Individually, we all had huge gaps in our knowledge. Collectively, we were awesome.
We arrived early in order to properly hydrate.
We had perfect scores for the first two rounds, and on the third round only missed the real title of the Unabomber Manifesto (“Industrial Society and Its Future”).

We were feeling pretty good about ourselves until the fourth and last round, when “the wheels came off,” as L’Etoile put it. We only answered two of nine correctly. (For example, what well-known true crime writer co-authored And The Sea Will Tell in 1991? The answer was Vincent Bugliosi—we said Joseph Wambaugh.) We were growing increasingly more worried by the table next to us, which was full of librarians. Terrifying, knowledgeable librarians. Had they aced the fourth round while we were busy trying to figure out which area on the Mendocino Coast was the location of several different sensational crimes? (Geography did not turn out to be one of our strong points.)
In the end, we managed to eke out a victory, which we noted with some subdued, adult-like applause. Nope, that’s fiction. We really whooped and hollered like little kids. And then the librarians came over to introduce themselves. They were, as most librarians are, delightful people who were also funny and charming—but still terrifyingly knowledgeable about crime (there’s a novel in there somewhere, I know there is).

Sunday, February 17, 2019

True Crime: The San Francisco Dog Mauling Case


A name from the past surfaced last week. If you lived anywhere near San Francisco in 2001, you recognize it.
Marjorie Knoller.
She and her husband, Robert Noel, owned two dogs that got loose in their apartment building hallway and attacked and killed a neighbor. Knoller was walking the dogs at the time. She was ultimately convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to 15 years to life. Last week, she was denied parole and will remain in a California prison for at least three more years.
That’s the short version. The long version proves the cliché that truth is stranger than fiction. I covered the story from the day after the attack all the way through the trial, and it contained one jaw-dropping fact after another.
The dogs were Presa Canarios, an obscure breed that’s a huge, mastiff-type dog with a potentially stubborn and territorial temperament. Knoller and Noel, lawyers with a small joint practice representing mostly prison inmates, kept the dogs in their tiny San Francisco apartment. Noel wasn’t there the night Knoller took the pair up to the roof to go to the bathroom. When she came back down, her neighbor had just gotten home with a load of groceries.
Diane Alexis Whipple was the lacrosse coach at St. Mary’s College across the Bay. She lived down the hall with her partner Sharon Smith. The dogs lunged, dragging Knoller down the hallway by their leashes, she would later say. Within minutes, Whipple was dead from a bite to the neck. An elderly neighbor would testify to hearing the 33-year-old Whipple battle for her life as she hid in terror behind her own front door.
It turned out that Presa Canarios were highly valued in the prison world (“territorial” temperament plus 140 pounds of solid muscle equals bad-ass scary), and these two dogs were owned—through layers of intermediaries—by an Aryan Brotherhood member serving time at the hardest prison in the state. Knoller and Noel were caring for the dogs as a favor because the man, Paul “Cornfed” Schneider, was their legal client.
But wait, there’s more.
We found out that Knoller and Noel adopted Schneider* (then 38 years old) soon after the fatal mauling. Cornfed, in state prison for crimes including stabbing a defense attorney multiple times with a homemade shiv, was a man of “character and integrity,” Noel said by way of explaining the adoption.
The couple started on a publicity blitz, giving interviews and appearing on national morning talk shows. Two weeks after Whipple’s killing, they went on “Good Morning America,” where Knoller said she bore no responsibility for the attack. “She could have just slammed the door shut. I would have,” she said.
They fought the city’s attempts to destroy the female dog, Hera.** (Bane, the male and acknowledged deliverer of the fatal bite, was put down the night of the attack.) They insisted she was docile. Knoller maintained that witnesses who came forward to describe frightening encounters with the dogs in the weeks before the mauling were lying to get attention.
All of this resulted in a huge groundswell of hatred among San Franciscans. I am not exaggerating this. This case was all anyone there was talking about in the first few months of 2001. I wasn’t in a bar or restaurant (I was in the newsroom, writing a story) when news came that the couple had been indicted for murder, but I have to imagine that more than a few watering holes broke out in cheers.
This kind of sentiment made finding twelve unbiased jurors practically impossible. Judge James Warren*** had little choice but to move the trial away. The state court system chose Los Angeles as the new location because its facilities could handle the massive media presence the trial would attract.
And it did. There was a first-come, first-serve line for seats every day. Bay Area media, thank goodness, had permanent seats, so we didn’t have to queue up early. Since we were all working late filing stories, that was a huge help. And I had the added layer of a commute. Everyone else stayed near the downtown courthouse. My newspaper judged that too expensive and put me up out near the Burbank airport. That meant I had to get up early enough to ensure I made it through traffic (which is never bad in LA, right?) and to court on time. Because even though we had those special seating arrangements, there was no pass for being late. Tardy arrivals didn’t get in until the judge called a recess.
The trial lasted more than a month in early 2002. I’d fly down on a Sunday night and back on a Thursday night (court typically wasn’t in session on Fridays). Some Fridays, I’d go back into the newsroom and write a weekend wrap-up. And boy, was there enough material.
There was the prosecutor showing the jury Bane’s mammoth skull. Knoller’s defense attorney throwing herself on the floor and weeping to show how her client said she tried to shield Whipple from Bane’s attack. The judge trying repeatedly to reign in her courtroom theatrics. The second-chair prosecutor with the movie star looks who shot to prominence as a result of the trial and her marriage to an equally glamorous San Francisco supervisor months before.**** And the regular press conferences where both sides’ attorneys would try to spin the day’s proceedings in their favor.
This last one resulted in one of my favorite professional moments, where a fellow newspaper reporter found one of the few chairs in the room and was standing on it to get a better view of the press conference over the crowd of people and TV cameras. I was standing next to him wondering where I could get my own chair, when a cameraman said, “Hey, buddy, do you mind? Your ass is in my live shot.”
After weeks of trial, the jury came back with a verdict of second-degree murder for Knoller and convictions for both of them on charges of involuntary manslaughter and “keeping a mischievous animal that killed a person.” Yes, that is an actual law.
There were a variety of appeals. Noel was sentenced to four years in prison and paroled in 2003. He died last year. Knoller will come up for appeal again in 2022.
Diane Alexis Whipple would have turned 51 years old last month.
*Cornfed was convicted in federal court in 2003 for taking part in a drug smuggling operation from inside California’s Pelican Bay State Prison and for participating in a 1995 armed robbery that resulted in the murder of a sheriff’s deputy.
**After a full-blown hearing triggered by Knoller and Noel’s refusal to give permission for Hera to be put down, a judicial officer ordered her destroyed. The two were also banned from owning any dogs for a three-year period. It was the first time an SF animal control officer had ever levied that penalty. It ended up being the least of the couple’s worries.
***Warren is a grandson of former US Chief Justice Earl Warren.
****That prosecutor, Kimberly Guilfoyle, married Gavin Newsom in 2001. The two divorced in the mid-aughts, in the middle of Newsom’s tenure as SF mayor. Guilfoyle then joined Fox News as a legal analyst. She is currently dating Donald Trump, Jr. Newsom, a Democrat, was sworn in as California’s new governor last month.