Dead And Buried: A True Story Of Serial Rape And Murder. Corey Mitchell
The man strode directly toward the front door of the duplex.It was locked. He went around back. He checked the large windows, but they were locked. He went back to the front. He looked around, wondering what to do, when he spottedher bathroom window. It was a tiny window, but he was determined to get inside. Much to his surprise and glee, it was unlocked. He quietly removed the screen and began to crawl through the window. It was an amazingly tiny window. Too tiny for his hefty frame, but he was determined. There was a reason he wanted inside so badly and he was going to get in, no matter what happened to him. He continued to squeeze through the window; however, he hurt himself in the process. Despite the pain he successfully made his way into Aundria Crawford’s duplex.
“Meeeoooo www ww!”
The loud screeching noise that emanated from the bathroomtemporarily paralyzed the man. He had no idea what caused the shrill sound.
It was Riley.
Aundria awoke from her slumber. She decided to go check on her cat. Riley had felt sick, due to a recent surgery.
The intruder stood quietly, but anxious, in her bathroom. The encounter with the damned cat had increased his heart rate substantially, and he seriously contemplated getting the hell out of there. Just as he was ready to turn around and sneak back out, the bathroom door opened.
A sleepy-eyed Aundria Crawford looked at the man standing in her bathroom. They both froze in their tracks for a split secondand then the intruder reared his arm back and punched her solidly in the mouth, splitting her lip and slamming her up against the bathroom wall. He then advanced on her and continuedthe forceful melee. He punched her, at least three or four more times in the face, until he knocked her unconscious.
The man stopped for a moment and looked down at the attractivegirl lying at his feet in the cramped bathroom. He then pulled out a rope from his back pocket, which he purposefullybrought just for this occasion, and knelt down on the floor and grabbed Aundria’s limp body. Immediately he wrapped the rope around her wrists and secured them behind her back. He also tied her feet together and wrenched them up her backside until they reached her bound wrists. He then looped the rope around her feet and her wrists so she was in a hog-tied position. He then looped the rope around her neck. He checked the rope to make sure it was secure. She was not going anywhere.
He also made sure she could not make a noise, so he grabbed a roll of silver duct tape, which he also brought for the occasion, and unfurled it across her mouth.
Still not feeling entirely confident, he bolted up Aundria’s staircase and into her bedroom. While there, he grabbed one of her pillowcases and quickly returned to the bathroom. He grabbed Aundria’s still-unconscious body and draped the pillowcaseover her head. He did not want her to see him in case she woke up.
Aundria was unconscious, hog-tied, gagged, and blindfolded.But she was still alive.
The intruder returned to her bedroom and grabbed another pillowcase. He began to survey the room and realized that he wanted to take some of this girl’s items with him. Using the pillowcase as a carrying bag, he stuffed random items inside. He took some of Aundria’s country and classic rock CDs, videotapes, and even a VCR. He also grabbed some of her clothes.
The intruder rushed outside to Branch Street and located his blue Ford Ranger pickup in front of her house. It was nestledunder several large oak trees, which served as a natural canopy over the quiet neighborhood street. The darkness createdby the trees provided a cover, so no one would see him. He tossed the pillowcase full of stolen items into the car and returned to Aundria’s brown duplex.
When he returned, he panicked.
She was conscious!
She was valiantly struggling against her numerous restraints,but the exertion only frightened her more and slowed her down. The man did not punch her again. Instead, he grabbed her in a bundle, tossed the 5’6”, 120-pound girl over his shoulder, and headed out onto Branch Street. He placed her in the back of the truck cab behind the seats and quietly shut the passenger door. Instead of getting into the truck and driving off, the man returned to the duplex.
He scurried to the bathroom and grabbed a towel. He used it to wipe off Aundria’s blood from the floor. There were only small spots, but several dispersed throughout the house. When he finished, he turned off the lights and headed out. As he was about to exit the back door, something shiny caught his eye.
Aundria’s keys.
He raced over to the dining-room table, where they lay. He grasped them in his large hand. There was something unusual attached to the keys.
A tiny black eight ball key chain. He looked at the key chain with a certain sense of bemusement.
It brought back memories. Just as quickly, he was gone.
EIGHT
March 12, 1999
Clovis, California
12:15 A.M.
“This is Gail Eberhart. I need to report that my daughter is missing.”
A San Luis Obispo Police Department dispatcher took the call. The woman caller did not sound too stressed, but concerned.The dispatcher calmly asked the woman for her daughter’s name.
“Aundria Crawford,” the woman replied. “She lives on Branch Street in San Luis Obispo, near the Greyhound bus station.”
“When was the last time you spoke with your daughter, Mrs... ?”
“Eberhart. I spoke with her this past Tuesday. But I paged her last night and I haven’t heard from her since. She always returns my beeps.”
The dispatcher could tell Eberhart was getting slightly more frantic as the conversation continued. He wanted to calm this situation down before the woman became too upset.
“Ma’am, I am going to send someone over there right away,” he assured her. “We will check it out for you right now.”
The dispatcher did not want to waste a second in tracking down the young woman. It had been four months since the disappearance of Rachel Newhouse. The last thing the police force of San Luis Obispo wanted was for word to spread that another local college girl had gone missing. He hoped he could nip this problem in the bud before it blew up into an all-outfrenzy. Besides, he assumed, she probably just took off for an early weekend and decided not to call her mother. The mom is probably just overprotective and panicky.
The dispatcher put a call out to beat patrol officer Jon Paulding, who whisked over to the small brown duplex, less than a half mile from the Jennifer Street Bridge. Officer Paulding pulled up in front of the apartment and noticed a white Ford Mustang in the driveway. He jotted down the plate numbers and made a mental note to check them out later. OfficerPaulding walked up to the front door on the right-hand side of the duplex and knocked. No one answered the door. The officer, not too concerned, wrote a note to Aundria and informed her that she should call her mother. He left it on her Mustang.
Meanwhile, back in Clovis, Gail Eberhart began to get scared. She continued calling for several more hours and still could not get a hold of Aundria. Finally, at 5:15 A.M., she called the San Luis Obispo Police Department again. The dispatcherdirected her call directly to Officer Paulding.
The police officer returned to Aundria’s duplex. This time he attempted to gain entry into Aundria’s home. Once he realizedhe could not enter through any of the doors, he asked for Eberhart’s permission to break in. She agreed without hesitation.He did not need to, however, as the dispatcher had already contacted the landlord, who would arrive soon with the keys.
Officer Paulding checked Aundria’s car again. He clasped the door handle, and to his surprise, it was unlocked. He looked in and noticed a brown leather purse, which belonged to Aundria, lying on the floorboard. He searched the purse for a set of house keys but found nothing. At the same time the landlord arrived.
Officer Paulding called for assistance and a second officer arrived at the Branch Street residence. The landlord unlocked the front door