Body Dump (12 page)

One of the many honors the organization would gather was in 1977, when the Ramapo Search and Rescue Dogs Unit, based in Chester, New York, became the first of its kind to be used in a major disaster, the Johnstown floods. Since that time, the Ramapo squad had gone on to greater fame in similar rescue situations.

Siegrist knew that a search of the area around King’s cabin required these specially trained dogs, which some in law enforcement sometimes called “cadaver dogs.” That was why he called the Ramapo Search and Rescue Dogs for assistance. Headed up by Tim and Penny Sullivan, the Ramapo group promised to help.

“It was a Saturday, in June 1998, when the Ramapo dogs came up,” Siegrist recalled. “They are all volunteers.”

Which was why he couldn’t say much when some of the dog handlers and their charges came a bit late. It was understandable, though. The search was in a remote section of the county and just getting there was difficult. Once there, the party went to work. The dogs were loosed over a twenty-mile-square area. Besides densely wooded brush, they would have to scent along a nearby railroad track. There are many instances in the annals of criminal justice where killers dumped their bodies near railroad tracks; every inch of ground needed to be covered.

The dogs sniffed and howled their way through the cool June day. They followed trail after trail, dug their noses into brush and bark, around pines and oaks, evergreens and poplars. Leaves fallen from autumns past had dried out over time and crunched under the dogs’ paws, toughened by outdoor work to the consistency of sandpaper. Siegrist watched them do their work, amazed at how well the dogs handled, hopeful they’d turn up something.

They didn’t. As afternoon wore into evening, Siegrist could see that the search was hopeless. If King was their man, he had hidden the bodies pretty well. Siegrist’s thoughts drifted back to Kendall Francois.

Maybe I should bring the dogs over to his house
, Siegrist thought.

While the law would not allow a search of the Francois home without due cause, there was nothing to stop Siegrist from having a Ramapo dog sniff around the Francois home. As long as he stayed on town property—the house’s frontage—he was legally okay. Probably.

Probably. He wasn’t a lawyer, but he’d had enough experience going in and out of court over the years for hearings on suspects he had arrested that he knew something about the Fourth Amendment’s guarantee against unreasonable search and seizure and what the courts forbade a cop to do without proper cause.

Should he bring them over to Francois’s home and have them sniff around outside? If he did, would their keen noses pick up the unique odor of death?

In the end, he decided against it.

“I hadn’t wanted to ask too much of the volunteers,” Siegrist says. “They are, after all, volunteers.”

After the dogs left, Siegrist drove home to Pleasant Valley through the cool night air. Though it was hard to believe, frost was still possible in June in the Hudson Valley. Under tree-shrouded canopies, Siegrist drove into and out of little pools of light cast by a combination of sources—the full moon, the few passing headlights, a street lamp—as he passed through small towns.

“Could we have saved some lives if we did?” Siegrist would later ask himself. “If I had told them to search, would the dogs hit on it [the smell of the corpses] and what would it have meant to the case? Could we have saved more lives?”

Those questions would haunt Siegrist for years to come.

Lucy Degaudio, short, petite and twenty-nine, had known Kendall Francois for a while. She did him favors.

Kendall, as she referred to him, would give her rides when she needed them. That, of course, was a prelude to their business transactions: Degaudio pimped for him.

Francois would pull to the curb where Degaudio was standing on Main Street. He’d get out and come up to her, his heavy feet crunching on the glass that littered the street. The glass was from empty crack vials and soda bottles. Francois would offer Degaudio money for women. If she wanted the money, which she did, she would get some of her “associates” to perform sex acts for the stinking, fat man.

There wasn’t anything unusual about the practice; other guys did it. But Francois was known to be a bit rough with the women. Yet they came back for more. They continued to go with him to the house on Fulton Avenue, to inhale the stink because they needed the money to feed their drug habits.

Sometimes, when Kendall was in the mood, he wanted Degaudio. On those occasions, she would be chauffeured by the man to his house, taken up to the second-floor bedroom and would have sex with him. It was pretty disgusting, what with the guy’s girth—he was so heavy he had “bitch tits.” Coupled with the odor, it was truly disgusting, but, hey, a buck’s a buck.

Sometimes when Lucy was with the man that she called Kendall, she would be fucking him and her mind would drift off to her niece Robin, whom she loved to play with. Then, after he had come and pushed her around a bit, he would take her back to Main Street and drop her off, just like the rest of the Main Street women who went with him.

August 5, 1998

It was a hot day in the Hudson Valley, perfect for dipping in the river, a backyard pool, a lake, whatever was wet and handy. For the women on Main Street, though, it was business as usual.

Lucy Degaudio was streetwalking, looking to pick up a john when she saw the white Toyota pull over to the curb. Kendall was inside. She couldn’t believe that for such a big, imposing guy, he had such a sweet-looking face.

“Oh, hi, Kendall,” said Degaudio, sticking her head through the open passenger-side window and flashing her almost perfect, white teeth.

Her teeth were a great asset. Most of the girls in her profession had not taken care of theirs. They were cracked, discolored and, in some cases, black. But hers were pearly white and she could use them.

“Hi, Lucy,” he answered in a flat tone. “Get in.”

Degaudio got in.

“We’ll go back to my house,” he said simply.

It was clear—if she wanted to get his money, she had to go back with him. That wasn’t the best scenario. It would take time. Easier to do it around the corner in a deserted lot.

Whatever. It was hot. Best to get a move on so she could finish up and get back out there. Time was money in her profession.

Francois drove slowly over to the house, making sure to obey all speed limits and traffic rules. He wasn’t going to get caught like that idiot on Long Island, the serial killer Joel Rifkin, who was finally captured after he was stopped for a moving violation.

No, sir! Kendall Francois was a lot smarter than that.

At the house, Francois pulled up the driveway between the house and stopped the car. He got out, opened the garage door, got back inside and drove the car into the space. In the garage, next to the car, was a soiled mattress. The windows were open and Lucy could smell new construction, that unique, sweetish odor of pine boards and concrete. The garage had a recently poured concrete floor.

“Let’s have some privacy,” said Francois, lowering the garage door.

For some reason, Degaudio was apprehensive.

“Why don’t you leave it open a crack, why don’tcha?”

“What do you think, I’m going to hurt you?”

She hoped not. Degaudio had a daughter and she was hoping to get the money for her birthday present by having sex with Francois. They agreed on a price of twenty dollars. They got down on all fours on the mattress like rutting dogs. Quickly, Francois mounted her. She turned onto her back.

It felt like a heavy stone had been laid across her chest; she could hardly breathe. The guy looked like he weighed over 300 pounds. If he wasn’t the biggest trick she had ever had, he was probably close to it. Looking up, she saw Francois’s contorted face as he pumped. The sweat poured down his face as he pushed, the liquid dripping onto her. She became aware of something else—her vagina was hurting.

The guy was just too damn big. He wasn’t just filling her up; he was stretching her. Her vagina hurt. To Degaudio, it seemed like the session went on for an eternity. It was actually only about twenty-five minutes, when she asked him to stop.

“Kendall, just please get off me.”

“Shut up! Shut up! My sister’s asleep,” he hissed.

Degaudio began to cry. Something was really wrong. She wanted out. Fast. And she didn’t care who heard. She screamed for him to get off her. His eyes were bulging, his breath coming in short, hard gasps.

“You fucking whore! You bitch! You cocksucker!” he screamed at her.

Why had he gotten so angry? Maybe he thought she was pushing him and he didn’t like that. Degaudio was, since prostitutes are on the clock. They got paid for their time. And this guy just wasn’t doing his business.

Francois’s anger and rage boiled up. She never saw it coming.

The punch caught her flush on the chin. Just like a boxer in the ring, her brain responded to the brute force of the blow by hitting against the side of her skull on the inside. It seemed as though she were falling into a black hole. Then, there was nothing and she blacked out.

There was no telling how long she was unconscious, but when she came to, Francois was looming above her, a tall, towering, menacing creature with a meaty paw going for her throat. Degaudio reached out with her hands and they sank into the Pillsbury Doughboy fat that covered his body. Degaudio got a good grip and, with a mighty heave born from desperation that she could never again muster in a million years, she pushed him off her.

Kendall came right back for more.

“Help, help!” she screamed. “Someone help me!”

“You stupid, little, fucking whore! Keep your big mouth shut, you cunt!”

“Help, help, get me out of here!”

Degaudio was still pushing at him, struggling, when suddenly, the big man went limp. Francois had quickly figured out that this one was not going easily and that if he continued, her screaming would attract the kind of attention he could not afford, not if he expected to remain free to continue. He had already had one run-in with the law this year. He was not about to make it two.

Francois took a few steps and jerked the garage door open. Sunlight flooded the confined space. To Degaudio, it was literally a ray of hope. If she survived, she knew she was being redeemed from the brink. Then, she did a stupid thing.

She told Francois she needed a lift back.

The man had just tried to kill her and she was hustling a lift from him because she didn’t want to walk home. He could still hurt her, even in the car. But she was exhausted and didn’t feel like walking. She didn’t figure he’d hurt her in broad daylight.

The car door was opened and she got in. Francois slammed it behind her so hard, it felt like it could come right off its hinges. Francois got in behind the wheel, slammed his door just as hard and then pulled out. He stopped long enough to close the garage door, got back in, backed out and headed down toward Vassar.

At the corner, he took the left and headed back to Main Street. She wanted to go to her apartment, which Francois had been to before for “business” purposes. Instead, Francois decided to drop her down on Main Street where he’d found her. He figured the bitch could find her own way home. And that was what he did. Wordlessly, she got out and walked home.

About six hours later, she got a call at home.

“This is Kendall,” he said.

“Yes?” she replied apprehensively.

“If you don’t keep your mouth shut, you’re going to be the victim of a crime,” he told her.

The next day, which was Monday, Francois called again.

“I’m busy, Kendall.”

Not more than fifteen minutes later, Francois was outside her window. Degaudio’s secondfloor apartment was in an old building on Main Street.

“Lucy, Lucy,” he called up.

Degaudio went to her window. She was surprised, and not a little apprehensive, when she saw Francois on the sidewalk calling up to her.

“Come on down and go shopping with me,” Francois called, trying hard to be polite and easygoing. “I need a woman’s touch,” he continued, smiling. “It’s for my mom. I want to get her an antique table.”

Degaudio didn’t have to think twice.

“I’m busy, Kendall. I told you that on the phone,” she shouted down.

She noticed his eyes. They were faraway, distant, as though he were a different person. He seemed unsure of himself, wanting to do something, but not sure how to go about it. He tried pleading again, but to no avail.

Degaudio had felt sore ever since she had gotten home the day before. Her chin where he’d punched her ached. Her vagina felt like someone had tried to tear it up.

Francois knew that his powers of persuasion were not enough to overcome the woman’s resistance. He got back into his car and drove away. Degaudio closed the window and retreated into her apartment. Soon after, Lucy Degaudio went back to her life on the street, smoking crack when she got depressed to take the edge off. She went back to anonymous men with money who paid for her crack, which she bought from her dealers.

Degaudio would later wonder why she had not let the police know of her encounter with Francois. Maybe she thought she wouldn’t be believed. Maybe she didn’t want to be known as a “rat,” though why anyone would want to protect Francois was unfathomable, unless she thought that by coming forward, she would be arrested for prostitution. Common sense would have told her that the police didn’t care about her; it was the man responsible for the missing women that they wanted.

Ultimately, she didn’t come forward because it had been so traumatic. The man had come this close to killing her. She could just as easily have awakened in heaven or someplace else, instead of this world after Francois had knocked her out. She had almost died.

For weeks after their encounter, Degaudio had nightmares about Francois. In them, he came back to finish the job. Who knew what would happen if she spoke out against him?

Suppose the cops couldn’t make a case against him for assaulting her? He could come after her. Who would protect her? She was a prostitute, after all. Who cared about her? Certainly not the public, who treated her like dirt. The cops? They tolerated her only because they had to. They would just as soon sweep her off the street like some common criminal.