Jane Doe No More (43 page)

Saratoga Springs, New York, is twenty-eight square miles with about 28,000 residents. That’s small-town America in the Northeast by today’s standards, but when summer comes and horse racing fans, tourists, and summer residents flock to this gorgeous piece of real estate in west-central New York, the population swells to almost 100,000.

Coincidentally, since 2003 Sarah Palomba, Donna and John’s daughter, had been attending Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, only 2.4 miles north of where Lindsey Ferguson was running through her final year of high school. Before Sarah had made her college decision, Donna, John, and the kids visited the school and took a look around the town to make sure it was safe enough for their daughter.

We liked Saratoga. North Broadway, the road that Skidmore is on, is lined with gorgeous estates, and the town itself has an upscale yet friendly feel. Of course, the town of Saratoga is probably best known for the horse track. That whole summer before Sarah went away was difficult. I kept trying to get my mind around the fact that my baby girl had grown up and she was not going to be sleeping under our roof anymore. Sarah was valedictorian of her high school class, incredibly bright and independent, but I would often catch glimpses of the little girl inside. John and I were incredibly overprotective, so when we took Sarah up to New York, we spent a few days there. Boatloads of parents would come and go, and John and I were still there. We walked the campus, talked with security. Checked out the dorms. Finally, the campus security officer who patrolled the grounds daily came up to John and me and asked if we were going to enroll. I guess that was our signal to leave. I left Sarah with a bunch of books, some spiritual, some inspirational, and reminded her that she was never alone and that we loved her more than she would ever know. The ride home was rough. I went through a box of tissue, and anyone that knows me knows that I do not cry easily. It just so happened a bunch of our friends had their firstborn going off to college as well, so we threw ourselves a “Sip and Sob” party to have some wine and console one another.

Amid the chaos of life with Rocky Regan roaming free, some uplifting news came to Donna as she, John, and Johnny prepared to leave for a much-needed trip to Paris. On October 26, 2005, Dr. Henry Lee contacted Donna about a press conference he said he was planning for that November regarding the recent “great success” of the CODIS convicted felon database program. First instituted in 1994, Lee said, the program had been upgraded, and there had been “400 hits since that time on cold cases.” For the state of Connecticut, Donna’s case was becoming the poster child of cold case hits, demonstrating that tenacity and resolve were advantageous in helping to crack cases using CODIS.

“Would you be willing to speak at the press conference?” Lee asked Donna over the phone.

“We’ll be in Paris,” Donna said with a touch of trepidation in her voice. After all, Donna had not gone public with her story. She was still widely known only as Jane Doe. “More than that, Dr. Lee,” she added, “I have not come out in public yet—nobody knows me by name.”

“You were public during your trial when I testified,” Lee said.

“Yes, but my name has never been published.”

“Could you write a letter for me that I can read at the press conference,” Lee suggested. “I won’t use your name.”

“Yes, I can do that.”

While these developments were unfolding, and especially while trying to cope with the idea that a family friend had committed such an evil act, Sarah Palomba wanted to talk about what had happened long ago to her mother. After all these years, Donna didn’t want her daughter to have any questions left unanswered, and she felt the need to tell Sarah
everything.
Sarah was home visiting during a break from school. They sat down in the kitchen to have an early lunch before heading out shopping.

“Do you want to know the details?” Donna asked as she and Sarah finished their lunch.

“Yes,” Sarah said.

Donna talked her daughter through the assault as best as she could. As Sarah cried, Donna tried to console her. “There were some incredible people that worked hard for me.” She explained who they were. “I believe God has a plan and things happen for a reason, honey. He can turn something evil into something good—and He has helped me to heal greatly.”

She listened intently, sometimes shaking, but I was calm and strong and explained why we hadn’t told her the details before (when we had that chat when Sarah was just a teen). She said years ago she had put two and two together and knew (I was raped). She had seen a book I kept by my bed about rape and noticed mail that had come in from the Connecticut Sexual Assault Crisis Service. John had been the one to tell her it was Rocky who assaulted me and she couldn’t believe it. She liked Rocky and remembered clearly that he was a good friend of John’s. She remembered him working on our roof. She remembered Rocky coming down to the beach and staying for lunch.

They talked a little bit about the road ahead, regarding where the prosecution of John Regan was going. No one seemed to have a clear idea.

“We don’t know,” Donna said, referring to the outcome of it all.

“I’d be willing to testify if it goes to trial,” Sarah said. “If you need anything, Mom, I’ll be here.”

They stood and hugged.

“I’m very proud of you, Mom.”

On Halloween day, October 31, 2005, Lindsey Ferguson finished her cross-country training at Saratoga Springs High School, 140 miles north of Waterbury, and headed into the school building to talk with friends and make plans for the evening. It was Lindsey’s last chance to spend a high school Halloween with friends. The gang she hung out with would all be splitting up and heading off to college next year. So Lindsey and her two best friends decided to go out trick-or-treating one last time together. They agreed to meet at one friend’s house after going home to shower and change into their costumes.

Lindsey grabbed her gym bag and headed outside. It was just about dark out, the sky still showing some dusk color. Saratoga Springs High School had a large parking lot north of the track-and-field training area, with several tennis courts on the east side next to a baseball diamond. Outside the school, Lindsey and her two friends split up in different directions. The parking lot, since school had gotten out hours ago, was empty save for several of the coaches’ vehicles and those belonging to students staying after school to practice sports or participate in extracurricular activities. It was right around 5:30 p.m.

“See you tonight,” Lindsey yelled, waving to her friends.

“Okay.”

As they walked their separate ways, a teacher, Ray Harrington, headed for his car as well. One of Lindsey’s coaches, Art Kranick, stepped out the door at the same time.

Walking toward her car, Lindsey noticed a van parked directly next to her vehicle, facing the same way. There appeared to be someone sitting in the passenger’s side, closest to her driver’s door. The person looked to be waiting for someone.

Lindsey hadn’t noticed the van when she had parked earlier. There had been no other cars in the immediate area.

Still walking, Lindsey got her keys ready so she could unlock her doors quickly. As she moved closer to the van, she realized it was parked so near to her car that she would have to shimmy her way between the vehicles, almost touching the sides of each at the same time.

When she got close enough, Lindsey could make out the person sitting in the vehicle. It was a man, maybe close to fifty years old. Gray hair. Scruffy five o’clock shadow. He was staring toward the school building, not paying any attention to Lindsey.

“I didn’t think anything of it,” Lindsey said later. “I could see the person sitting there. A lot of students drive home from school with their parents. So I assumed this man was waiting for his child so they could practice driving.”

Lindsey squeezed in between the two vehicles, wiggling her way toward her car door to get in.

She unlocked the front driver’s side door, reached in while still standing outside the car, and unlocked the back driver’s side door. She pulled her upper body back out of the car, opened the back door, and threw in her bags.

As she shut the back door and moved toward the front, Lindsey heard a noise—the creak and whine of the van’s side (sliding) door opening up.

Thinking that the driver wanted to get by, Lindsey moved closer to her car door. But within a breath, she felt the man’s hands grab her.

“I had so many thoughts going through my head at that time,” Lindsey recalled later. “I initially thought,
Is this a Halloween prank? A joke?
”

Whatever she might have believed was happening, Lindsey screamed as loudly as she could out of pure instinct.