Jane Doe No More (32 page)

Donna described her story in detail to Dr. Lee, capping off the narrative with the good news that there was plenty of DNA evidence left behind by her attacker, but no suspect or person of interest to match it up to. She explained to Lee how several suspects had already been ruled out through DNA testing.

“I continue on with my family and career,” Donna concluded sincerely, “but it is unsettling to know that the assailant is out there and could come back, or be attacking others. I have hope that someday he will be found through a DNA match.”

Donna had no idea, of course, that this letter truly foreshadowed the years ahead. The project of creating the website, she told Lee, was dear to her heart; it was, effectively, a way for Donna to take back her life and turn a negative into a positive. She had to act. She had to do something constructive. Donna Palomba could not sit around while the legal portion of her case—which now had nothing to do with the assault investigation—moved forward. Changing the way sexual assaults were investigated, locally if not nationally and globally, started right there in Connecticut, and she knew her letter to Dr. Lee was the beginning.

CHAPTER
TWENTY

The Evil Mayor

Events that led to a huge break in Donna’s case were set in motion back in January 1996, when Waterbury residents elected a new mayor, Philip A. Giordano. Mayor Giordano was thirty-three when he was sworn into office. Born to Italian parents in Caracas, Venezuela, having moved to the United States when he was two years old, Giordano was that seemingly genuine mix of personality and politician that won elections. Charming and good-looking, Giordano had the charisma to talk to the people of Waterbury like he was one of them, the toughness that came from being a former Marine (1981–85), and the experience of a former lawyer who had served as state representative. Although in the end all a smoke screen, Giordano came across as the real deal, an honest-to-goodness city man who knew the streets and understood the needs of Waterbury’s residents.

But almost immediately, as Giordano got comfortable behind the mayor’s desk, whispers of corruption and misconduct flowed through city political circles. This was still long before bloodhound reporters and angry residents acquired the same information.

One of the officers caught in the wake of the mess Giordano was creating was none other than Phil Post, the investigator who had sided with the Moran brothers, admitting to IA that he thought Donna had been lying. Post was fired for “allegedly offering to dispose of cocaine that turned up at Mayor Giordano’s post-inaugural celebration,” according to a report of the incident. The newly appointed police superintendent, Edward Flaherty, had recommended Post’s firing after an IA investigation and departmental hearing revealed he had violated several policies. This time the system seemed to work.

Giordano was keeping up appearances as the right man for the mayor’s job, having brought Post’s criminal behavior to the forefront himself. It was Giordano who said Post walked into his office on January 2, 1996, the day after the mayor was sworn in, and held a plastic baggie with a “golf ball–size amount of cocaine” over his desk. A man had brought the cocaine into the WPD, Post explained, when he was manning the front desk. The citizen said he had found it at the mayoral celebration the previous night and knew that it came from someone who worked for the mayor’s campaign. According to the mayor, Post told him “twice” during their impromptu meeting that next day how he could “misidentify the drugs so the evidence would be lost.” Post was, in other words, trying to show his loyalty to the mayor by covering up a crime.

By the end of 1996, Mayor Giordano had fired three high-ranking law enforcement officials, including the superintendent. It was as if the mayor was coming out of the box cleaning house, shouting to everyone around him that he would not tolerate corruption on
any
level, and would not play favorites. But looks can be deceiving. After four years of Giordano’s politics and before an almost certain reelection bid, facts would emerge proving that the mayor was perpetrating one image of himself and his office, while behind closed doors, managing another, utterly vile and sinister evil inside himself.

On a Saturday night in July 2000, a few months before the first proposed start date of the trial, Donna and John sat their kids down for a chat. Johnny was twelve; Sarah, fifteen. It was time to tell the kids what had happened. They were certain to have questions and had probably been wondering about the tension in the house and the partial conversations that didn’t make much sense to their adolescent ears.

After John and Donna finished explaining what had happened, the kids asked several questions. Sarah said she knew “something had happened” because she had seen a note once, adding, “I heard Daddy talking about it to the doctor one time, and I made noise to let him know I was there because I didn’t want to hear something I wasn’t supposed to.”

Donna wanted to cry. Her children were two more victims of the crimes committed against her.

The next night Sarah sat with Donna on the bed. She wanted to talk.

Johnny was there too. He said, “Mom, thanks for telling us what really happened. It’s important for me to know.”

Donna knew she had done the right thing.

Sarah took things a little harder. She was older. She understood more. After Johnny had left the room, Donna and Sarah discussed the incident in more detail. Donna felt Sarah deserved answers to her questions. At one point Sarah said, “Mom, I can’t stop thinking about him blindfolding you. And he had a gun? I cannot imagine.”

“Things are back to normal now,” Donna explained. “There is nothing to be worried about.”

“Were you scared after it happened?”

“Of course, honey.”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t know about it because it’s like all I think about now,” Sarah said.

Donna thought about how to respond. Then she said, “Look honey, we cannot hide from the fact that bad things happen. We have to try to learn from them and make things better. That’s what Mom and Dad are in the process of doing.”

“I asked Johnny if he was thinking about it and he said no,” Sarah explained. She had a look of worry about her. The situation was weighing heavily on the young girl. “Johnny said we were lucky . . . it happened long ago and now we have an alarm and a new house. Then he asked me if the perpetrator could have been a woman. I asked him why he thought that.”

Donna was intrigued, knowing how kids think so out of the box.

“What did he say, Sarah?”

“He said he thought maybe [a cousin of Donna and John’s was jealous] . . . and she found out he was getting married to someone else [meaning that wedding John had gone to in Colorado] . . . and she was angry and she robbed us.”

It didn’t make much sense, but from the mind of a child, it was a reason for the break-in: revenge.

“No,” Donna said.

“I won’t sleep at Granma’s anymore,” Sarah said.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s in the same neighborhood!”

“Well, you don’t have to until you feel comfortable again, honey.”

It was August 2000. Donna’s day in court kept being put off for one reason or another. Now, Donna was told, another month—but it just seemed like forever. So John and Donna decided to get away. The kids needed a vacation, as did the two of them.

We knew the trial was coming up and wanted a last getaway while we could break free. Some friends we knew were living in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina. They invited us out. Jay and Leslie are two free spirits who love nature and people and have traveled the world. They find places they want to see and explore, then find work locally at restaurants or ski slopes and truly enjoy life. Ironically, it was Jay and Leslie’s wedding that John was attending in Breckenridge, Colorado, on the day of the attack. Jay and Leslie had a small home in Kill Devil Hills with a vegetable garden and an outdoor shower. Along with some other friends, John and I rented a condo overlooking the ocean. Those friends got there first and insisted that we take the larger, master bedroom. It was a beautiful place with big windows overlooking the ocean. You could actually see dolphins jumping in the water from our condo! There were miles and miles of white sandy beaches and big waves. We spent most days sitting around, enjoying each other’s company, and cooling off by surfing the waves. We don’t have waves like that in Connecticut, so it was a real treat for all of us. Toward the end of the vacation we decided to do some sightseeing.

By now the thought of facing her accusers was intimidating, and yet comforting in so many different ways, mainly because Donna was embarking on a journey to put this part of her case behind her. It was such a strange twist of fate that she was preparing to face off against the police department (and the cops who were supposed to come to her rescue). In a just world, Donna figured by now she would be moving on with her life, her perpetrator in prison, healing being the only problem she had to deal with. But here she was, seven years after the attack, her children in their teen years, taking a vacation, and getting ready for the fight of her life.

After a fun-filled day of sightseeing toward the end of the vacation, Donna was winding down inside the beach condo she and John had rented with their friends. Donna was rinsing off in the shower. Clean off, freshen up, change clothes. Maybe then a barbecue with the others.

And suddenly, there it was—a lump on her breast.