Alisian Lakes

This episode contains graphic language and descriptions of sexual violence that some listeners may find disturbing. I remember the time it was 4.45 in the morning. I woke up to someone in my bed sticking a knife in my arm. This is a story about dozens of Florida women who were brutally attacked in the security of their own homes in the early 1980s. I think I must have been going back toward the kitchen because that's when I felt a knife at my throat. I set up in bed and he left over that my roommate's bed and landed on top of me. It's the stories of teachers and secretaries, architects and accountants, nurses, students, models, business women and more. And then he pulled me out of my bed, threatened the dad if I looked at him, he would kill me. He talked to me, kept calling me, beautiful lady, things like this. It's the story of how they were stopped, then ambushed in the dark of night. In their bedrooms, their kitchens, their bathrooms, tied up, terrorized and raped. He hit me in the face, broke my lip. I remember thinking it's me who's going to be on the news for being murdered. A story about a frantic manhunt for a callous predator who would women across the region afraid for their lives. Close your windows, close your doors that there's a rapist on the loose and he may be back. It's a story that spans four decades. It really haunted me after I retired. It was the only big case that I left open. One about how modern science can reveal what really happened in cases that have been stagnant for years. It was just what we needed to be able to piece us all together. And also, what science can tell us about what didn't actually happen. You obviously got to make sure somebody else or a beautiful cat or something. This is the story of how one of Florida's most notorious unsolved crimes, the pillowcase rapes, came to a surprising end. Those days that he was gone, you know, we're watching, was he committing another crime? Have he done those crimes in wake? An end that nobody saw coming. [Music] From the South Florida Sun Sentinel, this is Fallonius, Florida. The podcast that lead you into the dark side of the sunshine state. I'm David Schutes and this is season four in the darkness. For the next six episodes, we'll travel back to the South Florida of the 1980s. A time when the region was in the grips of a deadly crime wave. Boatloads of cocaine from South America and tens of thousands of migrants from the Caribbean were flooding into Miami, straining law enforcement to nearly a breaking point. And amidst it all, the man who became known as the pillowcase rapist was attacking women with impunity. For the first time, we'll piece together the 44 rapes that investigators believed were committed by the same man. He baffled some of Florida's best detectives. We set out to find out how and uncovered unexpected new details in this decades-old case. There's one man who knows the case of the pillowcase rapist better than perhaps anyone else. His name is Dave Simmons. For three years in the 1980s, he lived and breathed this case as a lead investigator, the man hunting the predator. Today, he's a retired self-described Mr. Mom, who lives a busy but easy-going life in Broward County. Dave's a kind-looking guy, quick to chuckle with bright blue eyes. He talks in calm, quiet tones. If you didn't know him, you might guess he's a retired doctor or maybe a teacher. And he looks surprisingly young, considering nearly 50 years ago, he was a homicide detective in Dave County, Florida, one of the largest police jurisdictions in the country. And he worked some of the department's biggest cases. Miami is his hometown. It's where he spent nearly all of his life. My family moved out from New York when I was seven years old to Miami. I grew up in just outside Miami shores, went to local schools, went to Miami Edison's senior high. He says his grades there were okay, not great. He played on Edison's football team, the Red Raiders. That was a bench warmer. That was the smallest guy on the team. And I was tackling dummy and stuff. But I'd practice every day with him once in the games. So wrestling was more Dave's sport, though he admits he wasn't going to that either. It's when he got to college that he realized what his real talents were. I didn't know what I wanted to do as a matter of fact. It wasn't until I got to Florida State University that I bumped into some friends and they were already majoring in criminology and got me interested in it. From there, I didn't know exactly what I was going to do with it. I thought I was going to law school, but then my last semester of college, I did an internship with the state attorney's office and went to court every day watching trials and listened to detectives testifying. And I thought, you know what? Let me take a break from school and join the police department and be a detective and see if I liked it and I loved it from the beginning. Simmons also had a rare and natural instinct for it. He was meticulous and patient. He's sped through the police academy. I stayed in uniform for a brief period of time. I was very lucky. There was an opening in homicide. And although as very young at the time I was only 24, I submitted a transfer request and saw that interview and was lucky enough to be selected. So I was the youngest one in homicide at the time. Most of the guys were in their 30s and 40s. It was 1974 and Simmons at age 24 was already a homicide detective. He absorbed everything, learning the job inside and out. And in just three years, he was promoted to sergeant. He was in no nonsense cop and fit the part in his impeccable suits and ties and polished shoes. My nickname at the office was spiffy. I don't know who hung that on me, but they used to kid me because I came to work dressed up every day in a new suit and tie in different colors and different styles. I enjoyed dressing up for the job. So they teased me about it and that was my nickname. But teasing aside, spiffy was respected and effective investigator. He worked on many of the department's biggest cases. And within just a few years of becoming a detective, had already put some of Florida's most infamous criminals behind bars. Their stories are chilling. David Leroy Washington. He was a former choir boy who went on a brutal 10-day killingsbury in 1976. Four little old ladies were watching a presidential debate on television and this summer breaks in their house and ties them all up and ends up shooting them all in the back of the head and stabbing them all, going down the line and stabbing them all. I went out to that scene and said, "Oh my god, whoever did this had to be high on LSD or something, couldn't possibly be normal." Washington also murdered a university of Miami student who would put a car out in the newspaper. He and his brother abducted the university student brought him back to his house, tied him, spread he go to bed and terrorized him. He ended up stabbing the poor kid, university student to death while he was reciting the Lord's Prayer out loud. Blood is spurting up up to the ceiling as he's using a butcher knife on him. And he went to the home of David Pridgin, a minister he'd befriended two days earlier and the visit turned deadly. He robbed him and didn't like the fact that he was homosexual, attacked him and killed him and wrote blood all over the walls to make it look like a maniac had done his murder. Washington was executed by the state of Florida in 1984. Simmons also brought in Roy Allen Stewart. He killed a 77 78 year old sonny school teacher from Perine, bitter breast, raped her and then fled to South Carolina where we picked him up. Stewart was executed in 1994. At Robert Frederick Carr, a notorious kidnapper, rapist, and child killer that Simmons nabbed in only his second year as a detective. There's a rare videotape of the confession car made to Simmons that gives us a window into the dark world the young detective was working in. This convinced Carr to admit to his horrifying crimes and videotape the stunning confession. It's the first such recording of a police interrogation of a Capitol murder suspect in the state of Florida. "My name is Detective Simmons, the day of County Public Safety Department homicide section. This is Detective Charles Satcheukach, also the day of County Public Safety Department homicide section. And so would you identify yourself? "I'm named Robert Frederick Carr." It's on an old VHS tape, so the sound quality is too poor to use. But in it, Carr details his four unthinkable murders, including the killings of two 11-year-old boys he kidnapped in 1972 as they waited for a bus at a Miami Beach shopping center. He terrorized and raped him in his car over several days, strangled him to death, and buried their bodies in shallow graves in Mississippi and Louisiana. Simmons and his team brought Carr on a grueling days-long search for graves across the southeast US and eventually found all of his buried victims. The work Detective Simmons did on the case helped convict Carr and send him to prison, where he died in the summer of 2007. Over his nine years in homicide, Simmons continued putting away dangerous killers. For him, the streets of Miami were anything but a tropical paradise. "Those were pretty heavy times. It was really exciting. It was fast-moving. There was shootouts and shopping centers and broad daylight shootouts on I-95 on a pulmonary expressway. It was wild. So we were quite busy. You get a who-done homicide and you're working the first 72 hours non-stop. And then you come home, shave, shower, and go back after a couple hours of sleep and start again." But it was in the fall of 1983 when Simmons would face his most mystifying case yet. That year, Dave Simmons made a move from homicide to the sex crimes unit, during an era when rapes in Miami read an all-time high. The Miami Herald reported the city saw a 30% increase in rapes over the previous year. But one case in particular stood out from the rest. It was contained in a thick file and growing almost by the week. "1983, I transferred there as a detective sergeant and when I arrived there, I learned that there was a serial rapist that was being investigated by our office by a number of different detectives. And it was getting to the point where our office was inundated with cases. And there had been handled by different detectives who whoever was up to the next case would go out on the case." That's no way to catch a serial criminal who's on the loose. So Simmons quickly went to his boss and made a proposal. "I said if you want, I can take the case over and take it to the midnight shift, which is when he's hitting now, he's starting hitting late evening and now he's shifted into the early morning hours. I can adjust my hours to the midnight shift and hand him the every case from now on myself if you want. And I'll bring my team of the best years with me. And she thought that was a good idea. So that's how I became involved in the case." It was the beginning of Simmons' year's long hunt for the pillowcase rapist. By the time he took over the case, there were already 15 known attacks in the file. They dated back two years to 1981 when the suspect was known as the Elysian Lakes rapist. It's two years before Detective Dave Simmons would take over the rape investigation, September 6, 1981. In a western suburb of Dave County, there's a complex of plain looking apartment buildings along northwest 79th Avenue, just west of the Palmetto Expressway. Their only remarkable feature is the sheer size of the complex, a maze of 14 buildings spread over six square blocks. They're called the Elysian Lakes apartments. It's not long after midnight, and on the second floor of one of the three-story buildings, Mary Beth Wright is watching a movie before bed. She's a flight attendant for Eastern Airlines, and it just arrived at Miami International on a flight from New Orleans. When she transferred from Chicago two years earlier, she moved into Elysian Lakes because it's a short drive to the airport, 15 minutes on a good day. And that's about the only thing she liked about her short assignment in Miami. For one thing, it was too hot and steamy for Mary Beth, who spent most of her life outside Tulsa, Oklahoma, and later Chicago. On that September night in 1981, she's still unsettled by something that had happened weeks earlier. Her boyfriend of about four months was visiting from New York, and they were startled when they looked out her apartment window to the building across the way. When my boyfriend, who's now my husband, was down there one week, there was somebody staring at me from an empty apartment, a cross for me. There was a guy that was just in the empty apartment you could see with empty. And he was staring at us. I don't remember anything you look like. I just thought it was in that weird that he's staring at me. The chilling encounter was brief, and she didn't see the man again. On the night of September 6th, Mary Beth is home by herself. Her boyfriend, who also works for Eastern Airlines, is back at his home base in New York City, and her roommate is out for the night. I had a flight that night. I came in around one in the morning, and what was funny was I had my suitcase with me, and I left it right in the doorway, and I thought, "Well, if the Robert comes in, he'll trip over at you." And it was the thing to remember, really funny, because I was watching three days of the condor before I went to bed. She watches the Robert Redford classic for a while, then falls asleep. But not long after, a noise jolt her awake. There's barking. It's her neighbor's dog on the first floor. Then she hears a potted plant fall over on her balcony. And I felt something, you know, that sense of something there. Mary Beth sits up in bed and looks over at the doorway. And for just a brief moment, sees a shadowy figure of a man before he leaps at her. Everything happened in an instant for Mary Beth right in the early morning hours of September 6, 1981. The stranger at her bedroom door gave her no time to react, or even to see what he looked like. Once earlier, he'd climbed up under her second floor balcony and was at her sliding glass door. It didn't lock very securely, so Mary Beth's dad had wedged a broom handle in it to prevent anyone from opening it from the outside. But the intruder had a butcher knife, and he slid the blade through the door to push the broom handle away. Now, he was lunging at Mary Beth. And I set up in bed and he left over that my roommate's bed and landed on top of me and immediately put a pillow face over my head. Yeah, you know, proceeded to rape me. And he said, "If you call the PSD, I'll know and I'll get you." And I said, "What's the PSD?" And he said, "The Public Safety Department." He talked to me, kept calling me, "Beautiful lady, things like this." And I didn't see him, but I knew he wasn't tall. He was short. And just from your vision of what you could see, and he had me tied up. He tied my hands behind my back. And he told her something that sent chills down Mary Beth's spine. Immediately, she recalled seeing the stranger who was staring into her windows. He said, "I know your roommate, your boyfriend aren't home. That's why I came." And that's why I think he was the one that was in the other apartment watching. The attack went on for about 10 minutes by Mary Beth's estimate, maybe even less. As her attacker left her bedroom, he stumbled over the luggage she'd left near her front door and fled into the night. Now still tied, Mary Beth was able to get to her phone. "Instead of calling the police, I called my boyfriend, who's around my husband, and he called the police for me, and he called my girlfriend who worked for National Airlines at the time who was in the same apartment complex. And she came over." Her friend and tied her and the police arrived minutes later. By 9 a.m., Mary Beth was at the hospital. and her boyfriend was on a plane from JFK to Miami. Later in the day, they returned together to her apartment. - I think the worst part was coming home to the apartment and seeing all the black fingerprints up everywhere. That really freaked me out. You know, just seeing that made it real. - Mary Beth couldn't stay at a lesion lakes for long. Within two weeks, Eastern Airlines granted an emergency transfer to Atlanta. And she flew out of Miami, hoping to leave the traumatizing ordeal behind forever. Except that's not how it would go. Not even a month had passed since Mary Beth had been raped at the lesion lakes apartments. It was October 4, 1981. And she came across a news report from the Miami Herald under the headline "Series of Rape's Angers Residence." Mary Beth was stunned. The article said that over the previous four months, police had investigated the rapes of four of her lesion lakes neighbors by the same man, that same figure that appeared in her bedroom door. Management that her knew it, and they kept it quiet. (music) Mary Beth's first call was to her boyfriend. His name is Art Kelvo. - When I found out that they were suppressing information, not sharing with their residents, I was curious. I couldn't believe that an organization would hold back information on that that actually put people's lives at risk because of greed. - I'm coming in at all hours of the night from trips. I would have probably, I don't know what I would have done. I would have done a lot different. I would have, you know, watched out more. I wouldn't have taken night trips. I would have moved. Everything. (music) The first attack at the lesion lakes apartments happened in the early morning hours of May 1, 1981. Like in Mary Beth's attack four months later, the rapist entered through the sliding glass door off the balcony. A sleep in the bedroom was a 24-year-old secretary who lived alone. He crept into her bedroom and she awoke to a pillowcase being tied over her head. He told her, "Be a good girl and you won't get hurt." Before the month was over, two more women would be raped at a lesion lakes in the same way. Meanwhile, around the community, building management was posting their casual bulletins with social news, recipes, and reminders about parking rules. A fifth resident was attacked and raped just after Mary Beth's transfer to Atlanta. The 39-year-old single woman woke up to a figure standing over her bed and holding a knife. He told her to shut up, covered her head with a pillowcase, and held a knife to her throat as he raped her. After the rape, he continued his threats, warning her not to move for several minutes so he could get away. Like the others, the fifth victim called the police, sending squad cars once again to a lesion lakes. When residents began asking questions about the repeated police presence, they were told it was nothing to worry about, just a domestic disturbance. But this time, the last woman who was attacked also called a reporter. The management at the time kept it hushed about what was going on until the last victim created a stink called the Mimehero and said nothing has been publicized. We didn't know that there was five rapes that occurred in here before mine and I'm bound to determine to notify everybody to make them aware. Close your windows, close your doors. There's a rapist on the loose and he may be back. The word was out about the lesion lakes serial rapist. I contacted the management, I said why didn't you tell us this? They told her they didn't want to cause hysteria among the residents. And that's the same answer they gave to the Miami Herald when reporter Edna Bucannon asked them to explain their silence. Their response was printed in Bucannon's October 4th article. It says if there's a problem, usually try to solve it rather than create more problems by publicizing it. People have a tendency to become paranoid. Mary Beth sued the company that owned lesion lakes and dozens of other properties across 25 states. For Lasso claimed, the building's management intentionally chose not to inform residents of the prior attacks, quote, "for its own economic self-interest." The Lasso took nearly two years to conclude, but eventually the property company settled. I got like $12,000, nothing, not much, but you know, I just wanted them to pay. About a year after the settlement, Mary Beth married Art Calvo in Oklahoma and the couple moved to New York to raise their family. I have to tell you, it's very lucky because my husband was absolutely wonderful. I think if it hadn't been that way, it would have been totally different experience. We tried to get things back to normal, quote, and quote. It wasn't always easy. I remember some times of solitude where you just didn't want to talk about it or you just went through the things. We have always been the type that we give a great deal of comfort to each other. I think that's what helped both of us through it. It obviously changed her life in terms of taking caution, being aware of what can happen, and I think it's still today. You know, it took away my safety. I, and I still to this day, I don't walk out parking lots by myself. I always have somebody walk with me. I don't take all of it because that sends a safety back again. I always tried to be a presence for her during that time, whatever it took, God was willing to do. Whether it was driving to it, land up for the move and things like that. So always willing and still willing to this day to do anything for her. She's a special, special person. Back in Miami in 1981, damage control efforts were in full swing. With scared and angry residents moving out of Elysian Lakes, management quietly changed the name of the complex. Elysian Lakes became Tahoe Springs. An investigator who'd spent months trying to keep a lid on the attacks also had problems with the publicity. They worried that it would force the attacker to move on to another neighborhood. It turns out they were right about that part. One day during the height of news coverage of the attacks, the phone rang in the manager's office at the apartment complex. The caller claimed to be the Elysian Lakes rapist, and investigators believed it was. He was angry and defined, and vowed that news coverage would not stop him. After that call, the attacks did stop at Elysian Lakes, but alarming reports started coming in from other parts of the county. Many started hitting and coconut grove, carol gables, south Miami, around University of Miami, and it was getting to the point where our office was interdated with cases. They carried all the hallmarks of the Elysian Lakes attacker, including his preferred method of concealing his identity. The frustrating hunt for the man the media dubbed the pillowcase rapist rolls into 1982, then 1983, and the attacks keep coming. On the next episode of Fallonius, Florida, word is spreading about a serial rapist on the loose in Miami, but a fifth grade teacher named Alene Lear hasn't heard about it. On a cool night just before Thanksgiving, 1983, she leaves her window open, and the pillowcase rapist sneaks in. He pulled me out of my bed, threatened that if I looked at him, he would kill me. But this attack was different. I get out of the shower and I look at my mirror and I could see that he had written a message and that was it. I knew he had been there again. The rapist behavior takes a dangerous and brazen turn and still to come later this season. She woke up with a shadow of a man standing near her bed. He stuffed socks and nylon stockings down her mouth to keep her quiet. I've been told the case of the pillowcase rapist has been causing shouting matches here at the Metroidade Police Department. She had been decapitated or head placed back on her body. When they searched his car they found a mask and a pillowcase with blood stains on it. And he was able to lose detection for all these decades. Somebody like him just doesn't stop cold turkey. This guy, this is next level creep. Why the fuck would I want to reach somebody? He had excavated a little room underneath the floor of his house. Who on earth is he? Who knew that we lived next to the devil? Thank you for listening to this episode of Fologna's Florida. Please support the show by leaving a review on Apple podcasts and following us on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. You can listen to more episodes on the Wondering Plus app online at floniesblordid.com or wherever you listen to podcasts. This season was reported written and produced by me, David Schutz, editing by Robin Webb and Gretchen Dave Bryant. Sound Design and Production by Sean Pitts. Sound Design by Carbell Multimedia with illustrations by John DeLuca. Soundtrack by DeWolf Music. Sound clips courtesy of the Miami-Dade Police Department and the Wolfson Archives at Miami-Dade College. Special thanks to retired detective Sergeant Dave Simmons for his assistance without reporting. This show was a production of the still Florida Sun Sentinel, a division of Tribune Publishing. Fologna's Florida was created by Lisa Arthur and Juan Artego. Marketing is hard. But I'll tell you a little secret. It doesn't have to be. Let me point something out. You're listening to a podcast right now and it's great. You love the host. You seek it out and download it. You listen to it while driving, working out, cooking, even going to the bathroom. Podcasts are a pretty close companion. And this is a podcast ad. Did I get your attention? You can reach great listeners like yourself with podcast advertising from Lib Sin ads. 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