By Shanna Hogan

Dusty evidence boxes filled with old reports and faded photos clutter the storage shelves inside evidence lockers at just about every police agency across Arizona.

They are the cold case files—confounding crimes and complex murder mysteries that have gone unsolved for years, and in many cases, for decades.

Each file tells the story of a murder victim whose life was ended by an unknown killer. Also buried along with each report are the untold stories of the victims’ loved ones, whose grief lingers as the crimes go unsolved.

In the past 20 years 9,827 Arizona residents have been the victim of a homicide or manslaughter, according to statistics from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. About 3,791, or nearly 40 percent, of those cases remain unsolved.

While cold case detectives at each police agency actively pursue new leads, with the passing of time the investigations become increasingly difficult to solve. Recent murders take precedent over old homicides; new leads become forgotten stories.

The lack of closure leaves friends and family with a yearning for answers. Following are the stories behind some of Arizona’s most notorious unsolved murders and the victims’ families still waiting for justice.
 

Jennifer Lueth and Diana Shawcroft

Murdered: August 24, 1996
Location: Desert area 100 miles north of Phoenix

The moment Deb Lueth picked up the phone she knew something dreadful had happened to her 19-year-old daughter, Jennifer. On the other end of the line was Jennifer’s roommate with some horrifying news: Jennifer Lueth and her childhood friend, Diana Shawcroft, were missing.

It was Memorial Day 1996. Three days earlier, Jennifer and Diana had left their Glendale apartment to walk to a mini-mart near the intersection of 59th Avenue and Camelback Road. They never returned.

It was the beginning of a nightmare still being lived by Bob and Deb Lueth 15 years later.

“We knew immediately when her roommate called that this was not good, that this was really, really bad,” says Deb. “Jenni never took off like that and didn’t contact us. It just wasn’t her.”

Almost immediately, a terrible thought began to creep into the back of Deb’s mind: someone had stolen her daughter.

This was exactly the sort of thing Bob and Deb had feared when Jennifer left her hometown in Colorado and moved to Glendale. Jennifer’s parents didn’t want her to go; they were terrified of her being so far away.

“You never want to see your kid go away, but she was 19 and she went down there strictly for her friend who she felt was in trouble,” says Bob. “Jennifer was the type when someone was in need, she was there to help.”

Diana’s parents were going through a difficult divorce, and Jennifer wanted to be close to support her friend. She moved into a Glendale apartment with Diana, 20, and another roommate. Jennifer got a job at Discover Card through a staffing agency, while Diana worked at a local Burger King. Although Jennifer was a thousand miles away, the Lueths spoke to their daughter nearly every day.

Then Bob and Deb got the call that would change their lives forever. They headed to Glendale to search for their daughter and for the next three months lived out of a Phoenix hotel room. They ate little and barely slept, spending their days hanging up flyers, knocking on doors and meeting with detectives.

The police investigation determined that Jennifer and Diana had arrived at the Glendale mini-mart around 7 p.m., where the cashier said they purchased cigarettes and a soda. For two hours they sat outside the store when suddenly a man pulled up in a faded ‘80s Chevy truck with tinted windows. The girls got inside the truck and were never seen alive again.

Police searched for the man and combed the surrounding desert. While the Lueths held out hope, as time passed they realized the increasing possibility that their daughter would not be found alive.

Then in August 1996, the Lueths’ worst fears were confirmed. Two men were hunting in a remote desert area 100 miles north of Phoenix, when they stumbled upon skeletal remains. Jennifer and Diana had been dumped over a ledge in southern Yavapai County, roughly 20 miles east of Interstate 17. Their badly decomposed bodies had to be identified through dental records.

“I think the worst part, truly, was when it really sank in that this is really real, she is really not coming back,” says Deb. “The only thing that has caused our survival through this was the return of our daughter’s remains. Some people never know and never find their lost loved ones.”

Fifteen years later, the search for the killer continues. Today, the mini-mart no longer exists, and the intersection where the girls were last seen alive bears little resemblance to how it appeared in 1996. For the Lueths, their daughter’s memory remains alive in their hearts, and they say they remain hopeful that Jennifer and Diana’s killer will one day be brought to justice.

“It was just so devastating for us, and we miss her so,” says Deb. “Our biggest worry is that these girls would be forgotten and nobody will continue to look for whoever did this and that person will do this to somebody else’s daughter.”
 

Antony “Tony” Maplethorpe

Murdered: August 22, 2007
Location: Central Street and Dobbins Road, Phoenix

On the morning of August 21, 2007, Tony Maplethorpe got behind the wheel of his green 2007 Jeep Wrangler and headed for Tucson. It was going to be a busy week for Tony—he and his business partner were set to open a new pizzeria, an offshoot of Mamma Mia Brick Oven Pizza in Phoenix. After years of working as a deliveryman and catering manager, Tony was finally going to be a business owner.

“He was really excited,” says Frank Grassi, Tony’s best friend and business partner. “That was our first business venture together. But he never actually got a chance to see it open.”

Tony, 33, arrived in Tucson to pick up a pizza oven, loading it on a flatbed trailer he was towing behind his Jeep. That afternoon Tony and Frank spent several hours installing the pizza oven at the eatery at 8th Street and Indian School Road in Phoenix. As they toiled away, they discussed final preparations necessary for the business. The next morning the phone lines were being installed at the restaurant, and Frank told Tony he needed to be at the eatery early. After work Tony went home and spent his final hours text messaging friends.

He was never seen alive again.

At first Frank was not concerned when Tony failed to show up the next morning at the pizzeria as planned.

“It was nothing out of the ordinary for Tony to be a little bit late. He was kind of a late sleeper, and I was trying to break him of that habit because we were going into the restaurant business,” says Frank. “But I went over to his house because I was pissed. We just had the talk the night before about how we needed to get up early, and he wasn’t there, which was strange. Later on we found out what happened.”

Shortly before noon on August 22, days before the scheduled opening of the pizzeria, Tony’s badly beaten body was discovered in an alley near Central Street and Dobbins Road in south Phoenix.

He had been bludgeoned to death, and the medical examiner listed the cause of death as “blunt force trauma.”

“It’s still so surreal that it happened,” Frank says. “He was the last person in the world that anyone would target for anything like that. He was the most fun-loving person you could ever imagine. He was the guy who was just always making sure everyone was smiling.”

Police believe Tony was possibly murdered at his Phoenix home, near 44th Street and Thomas Road, and transported to the alley where his body was found. His body may have been transported using the flatbed trailer on his Jeep which he had previously used to tow the pizza oven.

Four years after the savage murder, Tony’s friends and family say the loss is still unbearable. As a tribute to his friend, Frank re-named the pizzeria he and Tony were opening, calling it Tony’s Mamma Mia Express. Out of the pizzeria he regularly passes out fliers about the case, in an effort to help catch the killer.

“It’s more about the closure,” says Frank. “I would just like to know why.”
 

Lisa Gurrieri and Brandon Rumbaugh

Murdered: October 18, 2003
Location: Camping spot near Bumble Bee, Yavapai County

Lisa Gurrieri was 19 and very much in love. She had been dating her 20-year-old boyfriend, Brandon Rumbaugh, for just a year, but already the couple was discussing marriage.

For their one-year anniversary, Lisa wanted to spend a romantic night sleeping under the stars. She borrowed her mom’s white Ford pickup truck, and she and Brandon packed it with sleeping bags and camping supplies.

On October 18, 2003, the couple parked the truck at a remote desert camping spot near Bumble Bee, one hour north of Scottsdale. Unfolding their sleeping bags in the back of the truck bed, the couple tucked in for the night, reminiscing about their relationship.

From the moment Brandon and Lisa first locked eyes at a Scottsdale nightclub in 2002, they had been inseparable. Young and attractive, they appeared to be a perfect couple with a bright future. Brandon was an Arizona State University student and a member of the Marine Reserves who worked as a personal trainer at a Mesa gym. Lisa was a gorgeous Mesa Community College student who sang in her church choir and who dreamed of becoming a wedding planner.

“She was beautiful, both inside and out. She had a fantastic personality,” says Lisa’s mom, Paula Gurrieri. “Brandon was a great kid. He treated her like a queen. He was just wonderful to her.”

The day following the camping trip, Paula expected Brandon and Lisa to return early in the morning. But as the hours passed, Paula sensed something was wrong. She called police and within hours a search was underway.

A friend of Brandon’s, who was familiar with the area, drove to the campsite and ultimately located the truck. What he found inside was horrifying. Brandon and Lisa were dead—still lying in the back of the truck tucked in their sleeping bags. Both had suffered multiple gunshot wounds to the head.

“Even after they said they had found them, I still couldn’t believe it was them until I saw my truck, and then I knew,” says Paula. “She was just a great person. She didn’t have any enemies. She didn’t dislike anybody. She loved everybody.”

The motive for the murder remains unknown and homicide detectives remain baffled by the circumstances of the case. While there were money and valuables in the truck, nothing was taken, and neither victim had been assaulted. Police have theorized that the double murder may have been a random act of violence.

For the loved ones of Lisa and Brandon, their senseless loss is still difficult to comprehend. Sarah Clemans, one of Lisa’s best friends and former classmates, says she thinks about Lisa nearly every day.

“She was genuinely just a very good person,” says Sarah. “That’s what makes it so hard that she died such a gruesome murder, and we have no idea why, and we have no idea who this person is.”
 

Ed Forst

Murdered: June 21, 2007
Location: McDowell Road and 27th Avenue, Phoenix

At the age of 55 and president of a real-estate development company, Ed Forst’s life seemed complete. The successful father of three had recently walked one daughter down the aisle and was anticipating the birth of his second grandchild.

Then at 1:30 a.m. on June 21, 2007, Ed was driving his SUV along McDowell Road, near 27th Avenue, when he was fatally shot by unknown assailants. Ed’s vehicle careened off the road, crashing into a nearby convenience store. Two unidentified men and a woman fled the scene.

Four years later, the motive for killing remains a mystery. Theories have included a carjacking, robbery gone wrong or a random drive-by shooting.

Ed Forst’s family is offering a $100,000 reward for information leading to the arrests of the people responsible for his death.
 

Debra Sue Murray

Murdered: June 26, 1998
Location: 700 block of West Shawnee Drive, Chandler

Shortly after dawn on June 26, 1998, Debra Sue Murray left for her job at the local Jack in the Box, where she worked as a manager. As she stepped out the front door she was ambushed, shot multiple times in her upper body.

Debra, a mother of a 12-year-old son, died on her front lawn of her quaint Chandler home.

Debra’s garage had been broken into and her possessions were strewn across the driveway. Investigators, however, later determined that the garage burglary had been staged, possibly to cover-up the true motive for the murder. A fresh foot impression discovered in the front yard led investigators to suspect Debra’s husband; however, the evidence later proved inconclusive.

No one has ever been arrested in connection with Debra Sue Murray’s death, and 13 years later the case remains unsolved.
 

Gretchen White

Murdered: March 20, 1981
Location: Corona del Sol High School, 1001 E. Knox Rd., Tempe

On a rainy March morning in 1981, a groundskeeper at Corona del Sol High School discovered the body Gretchen White in the school’s parking lot.

The 23-year-old Arizona State University senior had been strangled, raped and run over by her own brown and blue Mercury vehicle.

Police believe Gretchen knew her killer, and that it may have been an ex-boyfriend. Three decades later, the identity of the murderer is still unknown.
 

Patrick Servino

Murdered: July 2, 2003
Location: 1000 block of East Carmen St., Tempe

For 30 years Patrick Servino had lived a quiet life in the upscale Tempe patio home where he raised his two children. The 54-year-old retiree had worked as an executive at Salt River Project for 25 years and was an active member of his church.

Then, on the evening of July 2, 2003, he opened his front door and was shot twice at close range. Moments later, his body was discovered by his former mother-in-law in the foyer.

In the months leading up to his murder Patrick had been receiving strange letters and an unknown suspect had painted graffiti on his house. Leads have since dried up, and today the killer remains at large.
 

Angela Brosso

Murdered: November 8, 1992
Location: Cactus Road and Interstate 17, Phoenix

It was November 8, 1992—Angela Brosso’s 22nd birthday. At about 7 p.m. that evening, the DeVry Institute of Technology graduate left the apartment she shared with her boyfriend for a bike ride. She was never seen alive again.

Angela’s headless body was discovered in a small park at 25th Avenue and Cactus Road in Phoenix. Eleven days later, her head was found in a stretch of the Arizona Canal, about two miles south of where her body had been located.

Angela’s purple 21-speed Diamondback bike was missing and has never been recovered.

The slaying remains one of the Valley’s most gruesome unsolved killings.
 

Melanie Bernas

Murdered: September 22, 1993
Location: The Black Canyon Freeway, north of Dunlap Avenue, Phoenix

Less than a year after the savage slaying of Angela Brosso, another pretty, young bicyclist was murdered.

On September 22, 1993, Melanie Bernas, a 17-year-old Arcadia High School student, disappeared while riding her bicycle along the Arizona Canal. Her body was later found floating in the canal, about two miles south of where Angela Brosso’s remains had been discovered. Melanie’s bicycle, a green SPC Hardrock Sport mountain bike, was also missing.

Although Melanie’s body had not been mutilated, police suspected the slayings were connected. Biological evidence on the bodies later linked the two murders. Although the killer’s DNA profile has been registered in a nationwide database since 1994, no match has ever been uncovered.
 

Ken Avvenire

Murdered: August 26, 1978
Location: Sunburst Hotel, 4925 N. Scottsdale Road, Scottsdale

In the summer of 1978, Brooklyn resident Ken Avvenire came to Arizona for a job interview at a Phoenix printing company. On the night of August 26, he checked into Room 207 at the Sunburst Hotel in Scottsdale.

On the following afternoon two hotel maids made a ghastly discovery. Avvenire, 25, had been stabbed in the chest 17 times with a ballpoint pen, and his head had been bashed in with a lamp.

Guests in adjoining rooms at the hotel did not report hearing any disturbance. A couple had been seen earlier that night with Ken at a Phoenix lounge, and they were also staying at the hotel. Their room was just down the hall, and a speck of blood was later found in that room.

Scottsdale homicide detective Hugh Lockerby says the police believe they know the identify of Ken Avvenire’s killer but don’t yet have enough evidence for an indictment.

COLD CASES

“People who commit these crimes will not be able to walk free in our community,” says Scottsdale homicide detective Hugh Lockerby. “They will be sought, they will be tracked down and they will be brought to justice.”

When a murder is committed, the first 72 hours following the slaying are the most critical in identifying the killer, police say. After 72 hours, the odds of solving the case decrease significantly.

After a case goes cold, it sometimes takes new evidence to reignite the investigation and to ultimately track down the killer. Often that information comes in the form of fresh leads from the public. Arizona’s Silent Witness program, which provides the public with an anonymous means of providing information pertaining to criminal investigations, has been vital to unlocking many baffling murder mysteries throughout the years.

Over the past 30 years, Silent Witness has paid out nearly $2 million in reward money to anonymous callers who provided information that led to the arrest of more than 6,000 felons.

“The Silent Witness program is paramount to our investigations,” says Lockerby. “In some cases people don’t feel free enough to call. It’s a lot more convenient to supply information to an anonymous source.”

Anyone with information on the cold cases profiled in this story or any criminal investigations in the state is urged to make an anonymous tip to Silent Witness at 480-WITNESS or www.silentwitness.org.

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It all started with a messy toddler’s bathtub. Ahwatukee mom Rebecca Finell, a mother of three and, at the time, a 29-year-old Arizona State University industrial design student, was working on a school project when she had an idea that would one day land her at the helm of an international company.

Inspired after tiring of wet bath toys strewn across a drained tub, Finell envisioned a pod-shaped device that could be mounted on the shower wall to rinse, dry and store bath toys. She set out to design such a product, envisioning it being in the shape of a kid-friendly character. The Frog Pod Bath Toy Scoop was born. It was just a simple storage organizer with the drainable scoop for collecting toys, but it would go on to become a phenomenally popular product for parents worldwide.

“I was just looking at easy ways to clean up in the bathroom,” Finell says. “It was really more of a problem-solving solution.”

But Finell’s innovations for the modern parent didn’t end with the Frog Pod. Armed with a slew of kid-friendly ideas, she sought out a business partner and together they founded Boon Inc., now an internationally successful company. Since the Frog Pod hit shelves in 2005, Boon has launched more than 50 products now available in thousands of stores in 55 countries.

While it never occurred to her that becoming a mom would spawn the idea for an invention which would ultimately develop into a successful business, Finell says most motherly inventions are indeed born from necessity.

“I was at home with two babies, and when I went to buy baby products I would just think, ‘Wow, this hasn’t changed since I was a kid,’ or ‘they don’t have a solution for this issue,’” Finell says. “I think moms sit at home and they think up all these ideas. It’s very natural.”

Finell is one of a growing number of Valley moms who have come up with an idea for a product while caring for their children. But for many so-called mompreneurs, coming up with the latest million-dollar idea is not the tough part – it’s figuring out what to do with it.

From Concept to Completion

While changing diapers and pushing strollers, moms innately recognize the need for various child-rearing innovations, says Tamara Monosoff, founder of Mom Invented, an organization with a mission of helping moms launch and market their inventions.

“If it’s a good idea and it solves a common problem that people are having, odds are other people have had that exact same idea,” she says. “The key is to take action. Taking action is what it takes to bring a product to market.”

In 2001, Monosoff, a businesswoman who had formally worked in Washington D.C. under the Clinton Administration, was raising her daughter Sophia when she was inspired to invent TP Saver, a toilet paper-saving device that prevents playful toddlers from unrolling the paper roll and clogging the toilet.

After successfully bringing her own invention to market, Monosoff decided to help other moms to develop their clever ideas into real inventions. She says mothers are the largest untapped entrepreneurial intelligence pool in the U.S., and over the past few years, an explosion of new and inventive products for babies and moms has hit an all-time high, fueled in large part by these successful mompreneurs.

“What ends up happening for a lot of the moms is you find yourself frustrated,” she says. “When you find yourself saying, ‘I wish someone would come up with the gadget to solve a certain problem,’ why can’t that person be you?”

While bringing any product to market is an obviously enormous undertaking involving more than just economics, many moms often make the mistake of spending thousands of dollars securing patents prior to conducting an ample amount of research to determine if there is even a ready market for their product.

“The thing that people don’t realize is that it is a lot of hard work to bring a product to market,” Monosoff says. “Bringing a product to market is risky. It costs money to do it. You don’t know for sure that people are going to buy your product, even if you get great feedback.”

It is also often difficult for momprenuers to juggle being a businesswoman and a good parent. Balancing business meetings with dirty diapers and daycare can become overwhelming.

For Rebecca Finell, launching Boon Inc. took years of hard work and sacrifices. At times, she says, she missed just being at home with her kids.

“If you really want to take it to market yourself you have to be able to drop everything and really focus or you’ll never get to the point where it’s worth it,” says Finell. “It’s a full-time job… If you’re going to do it, you have to be committed and you have to take the leap.”

Bee Careful

The idea for Richelle Nassos’ invention came to her after her son had been stung by a bee. Nine years ago 3-year-old Cody was playing in the pool when he suddenly got stung.

As tears rushed down her son’s cheek, Richelle rushed for the first-aid kit, but all the Bactine, band-aids and boo-boo kisses did little to soothe. It wasn’t just the pain that caused Cody’s tears, it was all the fear and anxiety he seemed to associate with the dreaded white emergency kit marked with the ominous red cross.

Nassos thought to herself that there had to be a better solution—a more kid-friendly approach to first aid. If she could somehow create and market an organized, readily accessible first-aid kit aesthetically appealing to kids, she was convinced it would be something parents everywhere would want to purchase.

A few years later with her husband ready for a career change, the two went into business together launching me4kidz, or Medical Emergencies for Kids.

“Making first aid fun—that was our whole concept coming into it,” Nassos says. “Not that getting hurt is ever fun, but to make that process fun for kids so you could take focus away from fear.”

Starting with a small desk in the kitchen of their Cave Creek home, the Nassos family began making colorful first-aid kits. Today, more than six years later, the products are sold in more than 4,000 retail locations in ten countries. Their first product was the Medibag, a kid-friendly first-aid kit. Two more children inspired additional products including the Medibuddy, a diaper bag-sized first-aid kit, and the Smilebuddy, an oral care kit.

At times it was challenging figuring out how to market the products and get stores to carry them, but for the Nassos family the risks were worth the rewards. While she never set out to be a mompreneur, she says motherhood and inventiveness definitely go hand-in-hand.

“I never thought of it, but that’s how some of the best inventions are made,” she says. “I don’t think us moms think, ‘Hey, we’ll come up with an invention when we have kids.’ It just seems so innate.”

Reinventing Motherhood

On May 5, 1809, inventor Mary Kies became the first woman in the United States ever to receive a patent for her new technique of weaving straw with silk and thread. A few decades later, when a fire destroyed the U.S. Patent Office, only about 20 of the 10,000 patents at that time had been granted to women.

Even now, more than two centuries later, the business of inventing is still primarily dominated by males. Of the 480,000 patent applications filed with the United States Patent Office in 2009, only about 20 percent were filed by females, according to statistics.

The face of inventing, however, appears to be undergoing a rapid change.

“It’s growing because women are seeing other women succeeding and they’re thinking, ‘Wow, if she can do it, I can do it,’” says Monosoff. “Plus I think a lot of women are looking for ways to contribute to their family income, and if you have children, you want to be able to be home because with their schedules you’re juggling everything.”

While the sluggish economy has made the business climate difficult, an increasing number of moms are becoming empowered to define their own rules for the workplace, says Cheryl Belanger, president of the Arizona-based chapter of the Entrepreneurial Moms Association.

“One of the huge benefits of a woman working at home is you do get to stay home with your children and you do get to maintain a halfway normal home for your kids and still bring in money,” she says.

While it is rewarding for mothers to work for themselves, balancing family with work involves complex financial and emotional issues as well as time-management pressures. There are no easy solutions,- and every woman must assess their own preferences and needs, says Belanger.

“You’re dealing with chicken pox, colds, the flu. You’re in the middle of working and the school calls and says your child has a fever,” she says. “Any working mother has that issue as well, but when you’re trying to have a business call and you have a screaming child in the background it can be tricky. You’re trying to maintain a professional appearance, meanwhile you have chocolate pudding smeared on your shirt.”

In the Hot Seat

After Cave Creek mom Deborah Lowe’s infant daughter was burned by a hot belt buckle while being placed in her car seat, she turned to her sewing machine.

Lowe, a registered nurse and former wound-care specialist, crafted a child’s car seat cover made of insulated fabric that could be filled with reusable ice pads in the lining. It worked perfectly and kept the car seat cool for up to ten hours at a time, even in the hot Valley summer.

After showing the cover to her friends, who all wanted one for themselves, Lowe recognized a need for the product. She went online and began researching patents, inventions, manufacturing and marketing.

“None of this is easy. I had no education, no experience, nothing,” she says. “Looking back on it, I don’t know how I did it, but I did it.”

After several years and a lot of hard work, she successfully patented Baby Bee Cool, a car seat cooler. She started selling at vendor shows and local baby stores. Eventually she found a manufacturer in China, and soon stores around the country were stocking the shelves with Baby Bee Cool. While the company remains a relatively small home-based enterprise, for Lowe that is perfectly fine. While her invention was a great way to bring in extra income to support her family, Lowe’s first and most important job remains being a mother.

“This company has never been something that I desired or really wanted to be out there pushing and doing. I wanted it to succeed, but it was never my passion,” she says. “I wanted to be at home. I wanted to be with my child. She is the priority.”

Each mother has to assess her own priorities and find balance before deciding to go into business or market an invention, says Nassos.

“I would tell any mother to really search her heart, where she’s at with her commitment to motherhood versus business-hood, because inventions are very time consuming and they cost a lot more time and money than you may ever imagine,” Nassos says. “The advice I would give would be to look at where their life is at that moment—whether its how much time they need for school and homework and housework and time for their husband. It’s a true balance. To do it right, it’s a very challenging mountain to conquer.”

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The sweltering summer sun loomed high above the desert floor as Jacob Snively and his fellow prospectors trekked across the Gila Valley, about 20 miles east of Yuma.

The rocky terrain was bordered by an ominous mountain range, dotted with jagged boulders and thick brush. Cutting through the Valley coursed the westward bend of the Gila River.

The year was 1858 and Snively, a pioneer and former colonel in the Texas Revolution, was on a historic mission—one that would ultimately change the course of history for Arizona.

About 20 miles beyond the junction of the Gila and Colorado rivers, Snively began his search, prospecting in the river bed, sifting through the soil. As the soot and water flowed out of his pan, Snively looked down to see a few gold nuggets shimmering in the sunlight. The strike would spur Arizona’s first boomtown of Gila City.

“Before you knew it, 1,200 miners rushed up to that isolated spot,” says Arizona state historian Marshall Trimble. “They found gold all over the place in the river there, and Gila City rapidly established itself as the West’s most wide-open town.”

It was the beginning of Arizona’s gold rush. Practically overnight, tens of thousands of enterprising men descended in wagonloads, transforming the dusty plains. Gold mines popped up across the state as prospectors panned in the creeks, rivers, hills and mountains. For the next century, more than 13 million ounces of gold would be discovered, making Arizona one of the leading gold-producers in the country.

More than 150 years later, there’s still gold in them there hills, and many modern-day Arizonans have caught their own case of gold fever. In the midst of the slumping economy, with gold prices soaring to historic highs, Arizona is experiencing a second gold rush of sorts. But while the chance of striking it rich is luring more and more would-be fortune finders, most are discovering that a career in prospecting rarely pans out.

Gold Fever

Phoenix resident George King loads his shovel full of gravel from the creek bed near Lynx Lake at the base of the Bradshaw Mountains, a 40-mile long mountain range outside of Prescott.

King pours the soil into a tall bucket topped with a makeshift screen. For a few minutes he sifts carefully through the rocks and gravel, studying the contents intently. Suddenly, he tosses the soil behind him and takes a labored breath.

“No luck,” he mutters quietly.

Luck has not been too kind to King for quite some time now. He was laid off from his job at a construction company 14 months ago and soon afterward watched his house get taken back in a bank foreclosure.

At the age of 44, he is broke and living in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment.

Putting a frustrating job search on hold, King turned to a more unconventional line of work when he traded his hammer for a pan and tried his hand at gold prospecting.

“I got kinda tired of sitting in front of the computer, filling out job applications and getting rejection letters all day long,” he says. “I figured I may as well be out here in the fresh air and do something I can hopefully make some money at.”

So far, however, he has yet to find his fortune. He has uncovered a few gold flakes here and there, but the value has yet to even make up for what he has invested on his gold-panning equipment.

“I haven’t hit the jackpot yet,” King says. “But I know it takes patience and a lot of time, which I have plenty of right now.”

King isn’t the only Valley resident to suddenly catch gold fever. In March 2008, when the price of gold began its historic climb—eclipsing $1,000 an ounce—an interest in prospecting was suddenly rekindled. As investors have once again sought the precious metal as a safe haven, the price of gold has continued to rise, hovering at around the $1,400 an ounce. That increase has spawned a rash of weekend gold diggers headed for the hills with pans, picks and metal detectors in tow.

“There is certainly an increased public interest in gold prospecting and mining with the economic downturn,” says Rod Fitzhugh, a Valley prospector who has spent the past 20 years panning for gold across the state. “Unfortunately, most of the increase is from people who turn to gold prospecting as a source of income.”

Panning for profit can often leave would-be wealthy prospectors in far worse financial shape than when they started, says Fitzhugh. Quality equipment is pricey, and it takes years of field experience to become a proficient miner.

“There can be money made, but it’s always a gamble, even with considerable experience. Without experience, it’s a one-way ticket to poverty,” says Fitzhugh. “Make no mistake, finding gold is hard work, and finding enough to make a modern living is nearly impossible once you factor in the real costs of doing it.”

During the gold rush of the 1800s, Arizona was home to some of America’s richest gold mines. Most of those mines, however, were either mined dry or flooded by underground streams. Modern-day prospectors are left to sift through the wreckage, and it’s difficult, dirty work. Prospectors are often lucky to find just a few gold flecks in a shovelful of dirt.

Still, for those who don’t take it too seriously, it can be an enjoyable and potentially profitable pastime, says Fredrick Horn, president of the Roadrunner Prospector’s Club.

“It’s really a hobby. I can’t say that you can make a great income doing this. Most people don’t make money from this,” Horn says. “But if you want to work every day and go out mining, you can make some money.”

With over 1,200 members and 200 gold-producing claims to its credit, the Roadrunner Prospector’s Club is the state’s largest gold prospecting club, attracting a variety of treasure seekers—from educated working professionals to the traditional cowboy miners. While most don’t strike it rich, there are at least a few stories of hunters who have uncovered nuggets worth thousands.

Gold can be found in at least 10 of Arizona’s 15 counties, mostly in the northwestern and southern parts of the state. Some prospectors work the drainage systems and hillsides in the Tonto Basin in the northwestern corner of Gila County. Others mine the stream beds in the Lynx Creek area, a few miles south of Prescott in Yavapai County. The Bradshaw Mountains, outside Prescott, is currently the heart of Arizona’s modern gold country.

“There’s a lot of gold out there,” Horn says. “It’s just spread out across the state, across thousands and thousands of acres. You just have to find it.”

Lost Fortune

It was October 25, 1891, and 83-year-old Jacob Waltz was on his death bed.

A German immigrant and part-time prospector, Waltz operated a 160-acre farm near the Salt River, in an area later to be swallowed up by the East Valley’s urban sprawl. Months prior, Arizona’s worst flood in history caused the Salt to overflow, destroying Waltz’s modest adobe home. Waltz had contracted pneumonia, and as the illness took its toll, three of his caretakers gathered by his bedside.

There, in the early morning hours of October 25, Waltz told a story that would become the legend of the Lost Dutchman’s Mine and the obsession of many a prospector for generations to come. As the legend has it, in his last few breaths, Waltz revealed the location of a mine he had discovered in the Superstition Mountains.

“There was enough gold in the mine,” Waltz told them, “to make millionaires out of 20 men.”

Beneath his bed, the caretakers discovered a wooden candle box filled with nuggets of rich gold ore—evidence, Waltz claimed, of the mine.

The trio of caretakers would spend the rest of their lives in a fruitless search for the fortune, and more than a century later the treasure remains undiscovered but the legend lives on.

“The story has kind of taken on a life of its own, and that’s what happened with the Dutchman,” says Trimble. “It’s really hard to separate truth from fiction now, especially after all these years.”

The Dutchman’s Curse

Razor-sharp rocks, twisting canyons and steep cliffs make up the unforgiving landscape of the Superstition Mountains, a wilderness area 40 miles east of Phoenix. Mountain lions and coyotes prowl the treacherous terrain, along with a slew of other potentially dangerous critters. Hidden somewhere deep within its 5,000-foot-tall shadows is the purported location of the Lost Dutchman’s gold.

The fabled fortune continues to draw treasure seekers from all over the world, occasionally resulting in fatal outcomes. Since the late 1800s dozens of treasure hunters have perished while in search of the gold.

“It’s just the lure of this place. It’s the most famous lost mine of them all,” says Trimble. “The Pima Indians had a word for these mysterious mountains, translated as ‘Superstition.’ In their lore, anyone who went into those mountains would not come out alive.”

In 1931, Adolph Ruth, a retired 78-year-old veterinarian and avid treasure hunter, began a trek through the Superstitions, carrying with him a map to the supposed location of the Dutchman’s mine. A search for his body commenced when he failed to return two weeks after having been escorted to his camp site. Months later his remains were discovered with what appeared to be two bullet holes in his skull.

Prospector James A. Cravey made a much-publicized trip into the Superstitions’ canyons by helicopter in 1947. The following February, his headless skeleton was found just yards from his camp.

Fortune hunters Stanley Hernandez and Benjamin Ferreira thought they had discovered the elusive mine during their trek into the mountains in 1959. Whether out of greed or perhaps some kind of dispute over how they would handle their newfound wealth, Hernandez killed Ferreira. Hernandez later learned that what the friends had thought was the motherload was actually pyrite, better known as Fool’s Gold.

In 1984, Walt Gassler, a prospector who had been searching for the Lost Dutchman’s mine for most of his life, was also found dead in the mountains. In a mysterious twist, a bit of gold ore was discovered in his pack, which was found to be identical to the gold located under the Dutchman’s bed.

And just last summer three Utah men, Curtis Merworth, 49, Ardean Charles, 66, and Malcolm Meeks, 41, went missing while searching for the Dutchman’s treasure. The trio, who were described by family members as “gold crazy,” had been rescued from the same area after a failed treasure hunt just one year prior.

In January, a fellow treasure hunter stumbled upon the remains of Charles and Meeks. A week later Superstition Search and Rescue located the skeletal remains of Merworth about a half mile away, resting under a tree. The medical examiner has yet to determine the cause of death, but it is widely speculated that the trio succumbed to the elements in the searing July heat.

“It’s not a park; it’s wilderness,” says Robert Barrientos, team leader of the Superstition Search and Rescue of the Superstition terrain. “There are things out there that want to eat you. There are things out there that want to bite you, sting you, prick you.”

Each year the non-profit, volunteer organization receives about 200 calls reporting lost hikers and hunters. Often those rescued turn out to be Lost Dutchman treasure seekers who have underestimated the perilous terrain.

“Most of the trails are blocked by boulders. They’re rocky, they’re covered with shale,” Barrientos says. “There are mountain lions in the area and bobcats. It can be dangerous.”

Gold Diggers

German immigrant Henry Wickenburg was a penniless farmer when he arrived in Arizona in 1862. After a year of prospecting, he wound up discovering the legendary Vulture Mine, the richest gold mine in Arizona history, where over $30 million in gold was found.

For four years Wickenburg prospected alone. Because he didn’t have the resourced to continue extracting the gold, he sold the mine and used the proceeds to purchase a ranch, now the town that bears his name.

While the Vulture Mine prospered, Henry Wickenburg, himself, did not. Flood waters destroyed his crops, and his livelihood, and legend has it that he was swindled out of his payout on the mine after the new owners claimed he didn’t have clear title on the property.

In 1905, 51 years to the day after the first ore from the Vulture Mine had been crushed, Henry Wickenburg tragically committed suicide. About 40 years later, the Vulture Mine was shuttered and today serves as a tourist attraction.

“He got ripped off, he got swindled,” says Trimble. “He never got his money and eventually committed suicide.”

The modern-day gold prospector bears little resemblance to Henry Wickenburg, Jacob Snively or any of the famed fortune hunters of the past. Today’s prospectors, however, still toil in the same mines and creeks and still possess that same pioneering spirit, says Trimble.

“There’s an attitude of the miners,” he says. “Those guys, today and yesterday, are the most optimistic people you’ll ever meet. They are just sure the rainbow’s end is just over the next hill.”

Retired Scottsdale engineer Robert Wierzal has been panning for gold in his spare time for more than 30 years. Although he has yet to find any formidable fortune, he says it’s the thrill of the hunt that keeps him searching.

“The biggest piece I ever found was about half the size of your little fingernail,” says Wierzal, a board member of the Roadrunner Prospector’s Club. “That was pretty exciting. You pan it out. You see the black sand wash away and this piece of gold remains behind. It’s pretty neat.”

Although he hasn’t hit the jackpot, for Wierzal there’s something unique about prospecting on the same land, using the same methods as Arizona’s early miners over a century ago.

“People came here originally for mining, for the chance to strike it rich,” he says. “That’s what built Arizona. That’s our history.”

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Exotic gardens and tropical palm trees punctuate the landscape of the South American seaport of Cartagena, Colombia, a popular tourist destination off the Caribbean coast. Within the city walls crumbling Spanish arches loom in the Old-World-style plazas above the restored colonial mansions. On the outskirts of the city, guitar players and street vendors stroll through the cobblestone alleyways as locals soak up the sun on the white-sand beaches at the edge of the tranquil Caribbean waters.

Each year this exotic setting attracts thousands of well-heeled American tourists seeking a serene South American getaway. But for Arizona resident Sam Baar, the city’s scenery was secondary. In November 2004, the divorced 35-year-old computer technician traveled 3,000 miles from Phoenix to Cartagena for the most unconventional of vacations—to search for a bride.

Baar’s trip was part of a “romance tour” organized by Phoenix-based A Foreign Affair, one of the largest international marriage brokering agencies in the United States. Hopeful husbands-to-be pay thousands for the company’s overseas singles vacations, which include champagne-soaked socials with hundreds of eligible foreign women in countries around the globe.

On the South American tour, Baar and the nine other American bachelors were promised the chance to meet “literally hundreds of stunning women from Cartagena,” who just so happen to be “some of the most beautiful, genuine and sincere women in the world.”

For Baar, it was more than just a vacation; it became a life-changing adventure. On the first night of the trip he met the love of his life—a beautiful 25-year-old school teacher named Lucy Alvarez. Four days later he proposed. The couple married in August 2005, shortly after Lucy had secured an American “fiancé visa.”

“We just fell in love while I was down there,” Baar says. “She had all the qualities I was looking for in a wife. It just felt right.”

Sam Baar is among a growing group of lonely, culturally adventurous men who have set their sights overseas in search for the perfect mate. In the era of Internet dating, the modern mail-order bride business has deserted post offices and found a flourishing market on the web. But while many couples, like Sam and Lucy Baar, have discovered marital bliss through overseas matchmaking services, others say a failed foreign romance can become an international disaster.

The Marriage Broker

Framed catalog covers featuring photos of scantly clad Russian and Ukrainian women blanket the walls of A Foreign Affair’s Phoenix offices. These mail-order catalogs are remnants from a different time in the international matchmaking business, when American men met their foreign brides primarily through classified-like brochures. Bachelors would then purchase the mailing address of the women they were interested in pursuing and romance them through letters.

The modern international matchmaking business is more of an Internet dating service that requires a passport and an international phone card, says John Adams, president of A Foreign Affair, which launched in 1995 as one of the pioneers in the industry.

“When we started, we used to give away postal addresses and people would actually write letters and send them in the mail,” Adams says. “That stopped a long time ago because of the Internet.”

Today interested bachelors peruse online profiles, searching by a woman’s country, profession, even zodiac sign, and write to them by email. In addition to A Foreign Affair’s membership fees — $29.95 per month — the site charges extra for international phone calls and to translate each email. Love-sick bachelors can even send gifts through the site, including flowers, candy and private English lessons.

But for those truly serious about finding a foreign bride, the most effective method is a “romance tour”— the typical cost of which runs between $1,500 and $5,000, Adams says. Traveling to various Latin, Asian and Eastern European countries, the tours include one-on-one introductions, romantic daytime getaways and nightly socials featuring a ratio of about 10 foreign women for each American bachelor.

As the online dating business has expanded—racking up more than $2 billion in revenue in 2010—so has the international matchmaking market. In the last decade, dozens of international matchmaking companies have emerged.

“The stigma is starting to go away, finally,” Adams says. “It’s become more common and accepted to go online to try and find your match. Actually, it’s a great way to do it because there’s such a large population to choose from. Instead of limiting yourself to the girl next door, now you can search the world over to find your perfect soul mate.”

Between 1999 and 2007, mail-order marriages more than doubled, according to the Tahirih Justice Center, a non-profit organization that protects immigrant women. The center estimates that each year, up to 12,000 American men find wives through for-profit international marriage brokers.

A Foreign Affair alone features 35,000 female profiles and estimates that it has 100,000 American members. Most of the company’s male clients are educated working professionals in their early 40s to late 50s, who are either divorced or have never been married.

“These aren’t guys who just can’t get a date here,” says Adams. “These guys just aren’t quite finding what they’re looking for here and want another option.”

The services have proven to be successful, Adams says. The company boasts close to 1,000 engagements per year. In fact, both John Adams and his business partner Ken Agee both met their Russian wives on one of the company’s romance tours.

“You don’t stay single very long in this business,” Agee says with a laugh. “My first trip to Russia, when the ladies found out I was American, they were following me around like I was a celebrity. You just don’t get that here in America.”

Language of Love

On their first date, David O’Dell and his Colombian bride Christina Ospino communicated through a translator. O’Dell didn’t speak Spanish, and Christina didn’t speak English. But despite the language barrier, the couple fell in love while O’Dell was on a South American romance tour organized by A Foreign Affair.

“When I went down there I was hopeful I would find a woman that I had a good connection with,” says O’Dell. “I never expected what happened.”

Just last summer O’Dell was single and searching for a mate. Recently divorced with a grown daughter in college, the 50-year-old project manager for a civil engineering company had grown weary of the American dating scene and began looking at options abroad. While his friends and family were skeptical, O’Dell says he was ready to try something “outside the box.”

“I knew everyone thought I was nuts, but I didn’t care,” he says. “I thought it was a good opportunity. I figured, why limit myself to my city, my state, my country?”

Once center stage, surrounded by 100 gorgeous Colombian women at the nightly social, however, he began to have reservations.

“It was like speed-dating on steroids. I’m a one-woman type of guy, so this was pretty overwhelming for me,” he says. “I looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Literally, I was so nervous I couldn’t think straight.”

After a whirlwind of introductions, O’Dell finally began to gain his bearings. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he got a glimpse of Christina, a 40-year-old insurance agent and mother of one.

“Our eyes met and it was like this instant connection,” O’Dell says. “I had never, ever experienced that kind of chemistry before in my entire life, and I had been married for 19 years. It was like nothing I had ever felt before.”

That night, after the social, O’Dell took Christina dancing and stayed glued to her side for the remainder of the trip. When not accompanied by their interpreter, the couple used a computer translator program to communicate. At times the language barrier was difficult, but they say they discovered alternative methods to understand each other.

When O’Dell returned to America, his relationship with Christina continued by phone and through nightly webcam chats. After three short weeks, he proposed on the webcam and she enthusiastically said ‘Si!’ In December, they were married in a small ceremony in Mesa.

“She gave up her friends, her family, her job and her way of life—all for love,” O’Dell says. “She’s a fantastic woman. I am a very lucky guy.”

As for Christina, she is slowly learning English and hopes to be proficient in a few months. Regardless, she says she is very happy with her new life and her new husband.

“He is what I always wanted in a man,” Christina said through a computer translation program.

Mail Dominance

While international matchmakers say their services are similar to domestic dating websites, critics argue that modern mail-order brides are often exploited and vulnerable to domestic abuse.

Foreign women who sign up for the services are promised a chance at economic prosperity and a better life in America. Meanwhile, many companies market them as “submissive” and “unspoiled by feminism.” Often, the women are equated to a free live-in housekeeper. One matchmaking website even calculates the savings of a foreign wife who will do all the cooking and cleaning as $150 per week.

“These websites are basically commoditizing women. We think that the risk of abuse is definitely heightened when they have these types of marketing and business practices,” says Heather Heiman, a public policy attorney for the Tahirih Justice Center. “We see websites where they’re marketing their foreign brides as ‘traditional, submissive, subservient or docile,’ and doing things such as promoting them as great investments. We’ve even seen satisfaction guaranteed clauses, which just sends the wrong message.”

Allegations of domestic abuse are common in marriages facilitated by foreign matchmakers, says Heiman. In fact, in rare cases these unions have even turned deadly.

Seattle resident Indle King was 37 when he married 18-year-old Anastasia Solovieva, whom he met through a foreign matchmaking service. Two years into their marriage, Anastasia, who was from the former Soviet Union, was found strangled and dumped in a shallow grave. In 2002, King was sentenced to 28 years in prison for her murder.

California computer genius Han Reiser chose his Russian-born bride Nina Sharanova, a beautiful 22-year-old obstetrician, through a mail-order bride catalog in 1999. After two children and a tumultuous five-year marriage, Nina filed for divorce. Shortly after, she disappeared. In 2008, Hans pled guilty to second-degree murder, after leading police to Nina’s remains, which were found buried a few miles from the couple’s former home.

Most recently, in January, Scott Huss, a 48-year-old Florida man, was found guilty in the stabbing death of his Russian-born wife Yana Huss. The couple had met in 2002 through a mail-order bride service. Yana, 31, who called police dozens of times during their four-year marriage, had filed for divorce and was preparing to start a new job as a nurse before she was killed.

These tragedies are troubling and way too common in the foreign matchmaking industry, Heiman says.

“Foreign brides are particularly vulnerable to abuse and exploitation because they are dependent on their husband for their legal status,” she says. “When they come over here, they’re isolated. They don’t have their family, friends or support network that they had in their own country. Often they just don’t even know that domestic violence is a crime.”

In 2005, after a few highly publicized murders of mail-order brides, the International Marriage Broker Regulation Act was created, requiring international matchmaking companies to conduct background checks on all of their American clients. The legislation also provides methods for women who are the victims of domestic abuse to gain U.S. citizenship.

However, some foreign brides have exploited a loophole in the law in order to secure a green card, says Phoenix immigration attorney Nicomedes Suriel. He says he’s seen numerous cases where women have been coached to make false allegations of abuse as a way to gain U.S. citizenship.

“The system is being used,” says Suriel. “It’s clear to me that someone is coaching the foreign nationals into how to manipulate the system. It’s unfortunate but it’s a reality that I’ve seen time and time again.”

John Adams admits incidents of domestic violence and false allegations of abuse do happen, but maintains these cases are rare.

“I wish that every marriage was successful and there was never, ever a case of domestic violence,” Adams says. “That, unfortunately, happens.”

Most of the foreign women who come to the United States do so with a fiancé visa, which allows just 90 days to get to the alter. In order for the wife to secure a green card, the couple must stay married for two years. Because of these deadlines, some couples marry too hastily, Suriel says.

“It’s all well and good that we have all these methods of meeting people,” says Suriel. “Just use a little common sense. Don’t rush into marriage with someone that you don’t really know because terrible things do happen.”

Return to Sender

Twenty-five-year-old Ukrainian beauty Anna Kobzar clutched a fur coat around her chest and smiled seductively in her online photograph. In her profile she described herself as 5’5, 105 pounds with blond hair and hazel eyes. Her interests included “cooking and aerobics” and she was looking for a “generous and loving man” who she could “make happy.”

The moment Scottsdale salesman Robert Williams saw Anna’s picture on an international dating website, he knew they had to meet.

“She looked totally incredible, just gorgeous,” Williams says. “I just wanted to get to know her better, see if there was a connection.”

At 44 and twice divorced, Williams says had given up on “Western women,” and in the summer of 2007, began scouring international matchmaking websites in a search for the perfect bride.

Williams purchased Anna’s email address through the website and began sending her letters. Months later, he flew to the Ukraine to meet her in person. By then, he was already sure she was “the one.” He proposed that very day. She moved to Scottsdale and they were wed.

“When we first got together it was great. It was just like any other marriage. She took care of the house while I worked and paid the bills,” Williams says. “She seemed happy; I was in love.”

Sadly, marital bliss didn’t last. Within the first six months, Williams says, Anna changed. She began staying out late and talking to other men. Eventually, Williams says, he began to realize Anna was a much different person than she had purported herself to be.

“She told me she wanted to settle down, have a family. I believed her,” Williams says. “Now I think she just saw me as a one-way ticket to America.”

The couple began to argue frequently and during one disagreement Williams says he threatened divorce. That night the police showed up at his house. He says he was falsely accused of domestic abuse and prevented from returning to his home. For weeks he lived in a motel and ultimately spent thousands in legal fees. When Anna never showed up in court, the charges were dismissed.

When he moved back into his home Williams says he discovered Anna had cleaned him out, taking nearly everything of value. They are currently engaged in divorce proceedings.

“The last thing she said to me was if I tried to leave her, she would ruin me,” he says. “She pretty much succeeded.”

Amore Abroad

As for Sam Baar, he says his 2004 vacation to Cartagena was one trip he’s definitely doesn’t regret.

When his plane first touched down in Colombia, he says he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“I like to travel and I was interested in Colombia,” Baar says. “I just thought it would be a good vacation to go down there and see some of the sights. It just sounded like a fun trip. I wasn’t expecting to get engaged or find somebody.”

As advertised by A Foreign Affair, the socials were indeed filled with hundreds of beautiful Colombian women. But Baar didn’t find a connection with any of these ladies. By then, he only had eyes for one woman—his translator, Lucy Alvarez.

A Colombian native, Lucy was living with her parents, working as an English teacher for a bilingual school, when a friend approached her about working as a translator for the night at a matchmaking social. At first, Lucy was reluctant.

“I didn’t want to go,” she says. “I told my friend I don’t believe in those things because I don’t believe a person can fall in love in one or two days.”

She eventually decided to take the job, and although she immediately caught Baar’s attention, Lucy says she wasn’t looking for a husband. She was finishing up her degree and focused on her career.

“He’s was not my type. He’s white, he’s tall, he has blue eyes. I never thought about dating someone like him,” Lucy says. “But when he looked at me and started talking to me, I can’t explain it… something just clicked.”

The couple fell in love in Cartagena and got engaged. Today, they have a 3-year-old son, Sam Jr., and this year will celebrate their sixth anniversary. Through the trip, Baar even discovered a new career as a Colombian emerald importer.

Although Lucy says it was difficult to leave her family and to adapt to many aspects of American culture, she says she is living her dream.

“For me, everything is beautiful,” she says. “Every day is like magic.”

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Wearing a flowing, strapless blue dress and stiletto heels, 27-year-old Scottsdale resident Jenni Croft steps out of a stretch limousine and struts toward a posh Malibu mansion. As she approaches the estate’s lush backyard garden, the beautiful brunette turns her glance to her boyfriend of six weeks and smiles.

Brad Womack, a successful 34-year-old Texas entrepreneur, is standing at the end of a stone path. On a pedestal next to him lies a single red rose.

Jenni is expecting an unforgettable romantic evening with the man she adores. Just the day before, he had introduced her to his family and she had, through a flurry of tears, professed her love for him. But Brad is about to reveal a secret.

Brad takes Jenni’s hands and looks deeply into her eyes. Her heart sinks when he utters the words she is not expecting to hear—she is being dumped.

“I hate to say this,” Brad says, wincing, “but I want something more that I can’t find with us.”

Jenni drops her head, her eyes welling with tears. “I want to say so many things, but I can’t get them out,” she says, sobbing.

Moments later she confesses privately, “I honestly don’t know what went wrong.”

Had Brad chosen another woman? Did he get cold feet? Or had it possibly been the cameras, producers and two-dozen other single women that got in the way?

After all, their dramatic break-up was filmed as part of the 11th season finale of the ABC reality show “The Bachelor.” According to Nielsen ratings, more than 11 million viewers tuned in for the episode.

That same afternoon, Brad went on to dump his other “girlfriend” DeAnna Pappas, making history on the show by becoming the first bachelor to reject both of his final suitors. Brad became an instant reality-show villain and is widely regarded as the show’s most hated bachelor.

Jenni, meanwhile, returned to Scottsdale and to her job as a Phoenix Suns dancer, though she says the show’s exposure left her permanently dubbed “Jenni from ‘The Bachelor.’”

“I definitely thought he was going to pick me,” Jenni says, now three years later. “I was so shocked when I found out he didn’t pick either one of us. I thought, ‘Oh my god! Are you serious? This guy’s crazy!’”

As reality shows have multiplied over the past decade, coming to dominate primetime programming, dozens of Valley residents, like Jenni Croft, have found reality stardom. But when the cameras stop rolling, coming back to reality can be quite surreal.

Unreal

Over the past decade, reality TV has become a massive pop-culture phenomenon. In 2010, the top three television programs were all reality shows, and Americans spend approximately a third of their free time watching television, 67 percent of which are reality shows.

The success of these programs has turned the Valley into an increasingly popular destination for casting agents searching for their next reality stars, says Chandler resident Mark Yawitz, founder of RealityWanted.com, a website that hooks up wannabe TV stars with shows looking for participants.

“Here in Arizona they can find good people with good stories,” he says. “The people here, the proximity to Los Angeles and the cost—all of those things are very beneficial for casting agents to find good people in Arizona.”

Television producers from nearly every major network and several cable channels have all held casting calls in the Valley. Over the years, many local residents have been featured on popular shows including FOX’s “American Idol” and “Hell’s Kitchen,” NBC’s “The Biggest Loser” and “The Apprentice” and CBS’s “Survivor” and “The Amazing Race,” among many others. But for most of these contestants, the fame is fleeting.

“Being on a reality program doesn’t mean that you are all of a sudden going to be rich and famous,” says Yawitz. “A good majority of people we never hear about in the media because they go on the program, loved it and then they went on with their lives.”

Still, a few local reality-show contestants have managed to turn stardom into their actual realities.

After losing 112 pounds and winning the fifth season of the weight-loss competition “The Biggest Loser,” Mesa resident Ali Vincent became the featured spokesperson for the fitness chain 24 Hour Fitness. As the show’s first female “biggest loser,” she not only took home the $250,000 grand prize, she has also made a career of touring the country and speaking about her philosophy and experience.

Twenty-one-year-old Glendale resident Jordin Sparks rose to fame as the winner of the sixth season of “American Idol.” Her subsequent 2007 debut album went platinum, selling over 2 million copies worldwide, and in 2009 she was even nominated for a Grammy.

In 2008, Arizona State University graduate and Scottsdale resident Ryan Bader won the eighth season of Spike TV’s UFC competition “The Ultimate Fighter.” For knocking out his competition in round one, he won a six-figure UFC contract and is currently ranked the No. 6 light heavyweight in the world.

But it’s not just reality-show winners who have found success; even a reality-show loser can become an instant celebrity. For William Hung, less than five minutes on television transformed him into a pop-culture icon.

“I want to make music my living,” Hung, a geeky buck-tooth Hong Kong immigrant told the judges while auditioning for the third season of “American Idol” in September 2003.

The 23-year-old college student then started to sing in a broken Asian accent and clumsily dance to the Ricky Martin hit “She Bangs.” As the judges tried to restrain their laughter, British music executive Simon Cowell remarked, “You can’t sing, you can’t dance, so what do you want me to say?”

Hung meekly replied, “Um, I already gave my best, and I have no regrets at all.”

When the episode aired in January 2004, Hung rapidly gained a cult following and wound up with a record deal. He has since starred in a number of commercials, TV shows and low-budget movies. Today, he actually tours the country singing and dancing.

“I want to continue to do the show business as much as I can, but basically I will just take it as it goes,” Hung told The Times after a recent Valley performance. “With this business, it’s unpredictable.”

Rags to Reality

Last summer, 24-year-old ASU college student Hayden Moss was working as a landscaper, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. The shaggy-haired, darkly-tanned Tempe resident had always planned on playing baseball, but after a severe knee injury ended that dream, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.

As chance would have it, he was approached by a casting agent who asked if he would be interested in starring on a reality show. Moss auditioned and earlier this year was cast for the 12th season of CBS’s “Big Brother.”

For 83 days, from July to September, he was isolated in a house with a group of strangers while cameras monitored his every move.

“Being in the house was tough, actually,” Moss says. “I was completely cut off from the outside world. No Internet, no radio, no telephone. Nothing. Not even a newspaper. I had no idea what was going on.”

Throughout the season, Moss strategized, formed alliances and ultimately won the game, taking home the $500,000 grand prize. He says it has completely transformed his life. These days he travels the country speaking at events and signing autographs. He says he’s recognized practically everywhere he goes, including on a recent trip to the Bahamas. Moss now has an agent and plans to pursue a career in television.

“It was surreal going from being a poor college kid to having money in the bank,” Moss says. “I’ve had opportunities come out of it that have just been amazing.”

Still, instant fame can be bizarre at times, he says. When people learn you have half a million in the bank, suddenly you are in high demand.

“Everybody comes out of the woodwork—old friends, old girlfriends, people that I’ve never talked to,” he says. “People watched me on TV three nights a week for three months straight. My face was out there, everybody knew. You hear from a lot of people you don’t want to hear from.”

Although the response has been almost entirely positive, there is at least one downside.

“I was pretty straight-laced and honest on the show, but I still have people that hate me and bash me and even bash my family,” Moss says. “Basically I’m under a microscope a little bit now. I’m not like Brad Pitt or George Clooney, but I definitely need to be more careful with what I do.”

Harsh Reality

While reality fame has been a positive experience for Moss and many others, the quest for stardom can sometimes become unhealthy.

“It is an addiction,” says Dr. James Huysman, a psychologist and founder of Aftercare TV, a counseling program that provides support to former reality-show contestants. “I think the guests who go on these shows certainly have a high need for self affirmation by having the cameras focus on them.”

Television exposure, however, can often come at the cost of notoriety, he says.

“There are very few people who are ever going to get picked to be in a reality show, but people see this as a way to get your celebrity status,” Huysman says. “Notoriety has now taken the place of celebrity.”

Several of Arizona’s former reality stars have experienced a dark side to the fame.

In 2005 when Bryan and Nichol Okvath’s family was featured on an episode of ABC’s “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition,” it seemed like a dream come true. Their nine-year-old daughter Kassandra was battling cancer. To assist the family, the show’s producers transformed their modest Gilbert home into a 5,000-square-foot, million-dollar mansion that even included a full-size backyard carousel. The mortgage was paid off, allowing the Okvaths and their eight children to own the home outright.

But the newfound fortune soon became a nightmare for the family. The house was expensive to maintain, and when the bills began to pile up, the Okvaths took out a $405,000 adjustable-rate mortgage on the property. Soon the payments became too much to handle and the house fell into foreclosure. The Okvaths are now reportedly headed for divorce.

“It’s been frustrating,” Nichol Okvath told The Arizona Republic in 2009. “When the cameras go off, it’s just a different… Everybody thinks everything’s happily ever after.”

The Okvaths did not respond to interview requests from The Times.

For Bryan and Jenny Masche, of the We TV network show “Raising Sextuplets,” reality fame began with a miracle blessing. The Lake Havasu couple gave birth to America’s 13th set of surviving sextuplets, born at Banner Good Samaritan Medical Center in Phoenix on June 11, 2007.

Shortly after the sextuplet’s first birthday, the Masches signed a one-year contract with the network to document the raising of their brood. The family was promoted as more positive reality role models than Jon and Kate Gosselin, and when The Times interviewed them in late 2008, a few months before the show’s premier, they appeared quite wholesome.

“If there’s any way I can encourage other mothers out there and maybe make them laugh at how crazy having six babies can be, that’s what I want to do,” Jenny told The Times.

Sadly, in September, the couple’s six-year marriage imploded after Bryan was arrested for domestic abuse related to an incident in which he allegedly yelled obscenities and threatened his family. He later pled guilty to misdemeanor counts of threatening, intimidating and disorderly conduct. In October, Jenny filed for legal separation.

In a recent interview, Bryan admitted the reality show “added stress” to their relationship, but maintained it “was not the sole reason for their split.”

“I think the pressure and pace of both our lives just got too much and we stopped putting each other first as a lot of married people do,” Bryan told RadarOnline.com.

As reality has proliferated, emotional stability has not always been a casting requirement, says Dr. Huysman.

One Valley man even committed suicide after having been featured on a reality show. On October 12, 2007, Phoenix resident Nathan Clutter, 26, jumped to his death from a cellular tower within weeks of wrapping up production on the canceled FOX show “Paradise Hotel 2.” Clutter, a sales manager, had reportedly battled depression and a bi-polar disorder.

Clutter is just one of at least 12 former contestants worldwide who have reportedly committed suicide since 1997.

“I think the people who are chosen for these shows are chosen for eccentric issues and possibly also have mental-health challenges. It makes for more ratings and better reality,” says Huysman. “Reality is anything but really reality.”

Cancelled

For Phoenix resident Cris Rankin, the reality-show cameras focused on a very difficult period in her family’s life.

In 2006, she was cast on the CBS docu-soap “Tuesday Night Book Club,” a show that followed the lives of Rankin and six other Scottsdale women who met weekly under the premise of discussing books, but instead chatted about sex, marital woes and wife-swapping. Each woman was type-cast as a particular character including “The Trophy Wife,” “The Party Girl” and “The Divorced Mom.”

Because Rankin’s husband was struggling with substance-abuse issues, she was labeled “The Loyal Wife.” While in the beginning she was reluctant to make her martial problems public, ultimately she says she hoped it might do some good.

“My husband was battling back from a very big problem,” Rankin told The Times. “I felt that if this was happening to my family, it could happen to a lot of good people out there.”

For nine weeks cameras followed the women, placing them in various staged situations to escalate the drama.

When the show debuted in June 2006, reaction was overwhelmingly negative. The show was widely criticized for being sleazy, stupid and phony. One review called it “Tuesday with Morons.” Scottsdale officials worried publicly that the show would ruin the city’s reputation.

“The media really bashed it,” Rankin says. “A lot of the girls got pretty slammed in the paper and were embarrassed.”

But the spotlight didn’t last. The ratings were poor and the show was cancelled after just two episodes.

Normal life slowly resumed for Rankin, and for the next three years her marriage survived. Still, even a “Loyal Wife” can only take so much, and Rankin says that after her husband suffered a relapse, she decided to a call it quits. The divorce was finalized last month.

As for the show, she says it’s bizarre to imagine how life would be if “Tuesday Night Book Club” had become a phenomenon like Bravo’s “Real Housewives.”

“I don’t think the show was that bad. It was kind of fun,” she says. “It just didn’t really have enough time to get off the ground.”

The Dating Game

Despite pouring her heart out only to be dumped in front of millions of viewers, Jenni Croft says “The Bachelor” was an amazing reality-show experience.

Throughout the show’s six-week season, Jenni’s sweet, effervescent personality endeared her to fans and seemed to make quite an impression on bachelor Brad Womack. She was his first show kiss, and they even discussed the possibility of a long-distance relationship. While some of the other contestants questioned her sincerity, Jenni swore that she was there for love.

Later, she admitted that she got a little caught up in the game.

“After being there and spending time, the competitive side of you comes out,” Jenni says. “When there are lots of other girls there, you just automatically start feeling that way.”

Brad’s decision to reject both she and his other final suitor created an overwhelming media stir and reaction from fans. Three years later, she says she still hears about the show.

“I get recognized all the time. At least once a day someone will say, ‘Are you Jenni from ‘The Bachelor?’” she says. “It’s kind of fun. Everyone says, ‘You’re my favorite. You’re so awesome.’ So that really makes me feel good.”

While she didn’t find love on the show, Jenni did eventually get her own happily ever after. After leaving the Phoenix Suns, she took a job at a dentist office where she met the man of her dreams—Scottsdale dentist John Badolato. They were wed in October, and today she says she is quite content with her new reality.

“It’s been wonderful. He loves me so much and I can tell it,” Jenni says. “I’m very, very, very lucky.”

As for “The Bachelor,” Jenni will make at least one more appearance. For the 14th season of the show, which will begin airing this month, Brad is returning to continue his search for love. Jenni can currently be seen on the commercials confronting him.

“I was very embarrassed,” she says, glancing at a nervous-looking Brad. “You know I felt I went into this thing with an open heart. I think I was just confused about why would he even do that?”

While she will forever be linked to Brad in reality-TV history, she says there are definitely no hard feelings.

“He was a villain for a little while, but I think people will change their mind,” she says. “Now he’s getting his chance to rebuild his name and show people he’s a good guy with good intentions. I’m sure it will probably work out for him.”

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It was August 27, 2004 when 40-year-old Merrian Carver stepped aboard the Celebrity Cruises’ Mercury for what was to be a seven-day Alaskan adventure.

It should have been a dream vacation—sailing through Alaska’s white-capped mountains and massive glacial fields. Instead, it would be the last trip of Merrian’s life.

On the first night of the cruise, the petite, redheaded former investment banker and mother of one checked into her stateroom alone and unpacked her luggage. Two days into the voyage she disappeared without a trace.

For the remainder of the cruise, while other passengers gambled at the casinos and partied at the bars aboard the luxury cruise ship, there was no sign of Merrian. Each day the steward checked her room, replaced the chocolate on her pillow and noted that nothing in the room had been disturbed. Yet, according to Carver’s family, when the steward alerted his supervisor to her disappearance, his concerns were ignored. At the end of the cruise, when the ship docked in Vancouver, British Columbia, Merrian’s belongings—including her clothes, purse, credit cards and gold wristwatch—were donated to charity.

It would be weeks before Merrian’s family would learn of her unexplained disappearance or the fact that she had even boarded the Mercury. Instead of reporting her missing to authorities or her family, her loved ones say the cruise line proceeded as though she had never existed. To this day, her fate remains a mystery.

Merrian Carver is just one of at least 148 people who have vanished under mysterious circumstances aboard cruise ships in the past ten years. In many of those cases, it is unknown whether the missing passengers fell accidentally overboard, committed suicide or if there was foul play. Alarmingly, rarely were those disappearances even investigated.

For Merrian’s father, Phoenix resident Kendall Carver, that’s unacceptable.

“There is a major problem with this industry in terms of accountability of crimes,” says Carver, a 74-year-old retired insurance executive and founder of the International Cruise Victims Association. “Cover-up is a standard operating procedure on cruise ships. They destroy the evidence, they get the crew member off the ship, and that’s just the way they operate. And that’s exactly what happened to us… We found out that’s how most everyone is treated.”

Since Merrian’s unexplained disappearance, Carver has battled the cruise lines to change procedures and improve safety measures. His agonizing six-year crusade to discover what happened to his daughter has transformed the cruise industry and exposed a disturbing element of crime aboard cruise ships.

Gone Overboard

“Even though the cruise industry has been around for a very long time, the modern cruise vacation is a relatively new phenomenon,” says cruise critic Brian David Bruns, a former cruise employee and author of the book “Cruise Confidential.” “People think a cruise is like a hotel, but that is not the case. When you step onto that ship, you are on foreign soil. And I think that’s where a lot of the problems begin.”

As cruising has become more popular and affordable, with newer ships built to hold what amounts to a small city’s population, reports of missing passengers are becoming more frequent. In 2009, at least 25 passengers went missing from cruise ships, and 17 have vanished so far this year.

It is difficult to gauge the actual number of deaths and missing since for years cruise lines have not been required to report crimes that have taken place on international waters to any one central authority.

In cases where a passenger has vanished mysteriously on what was meant to be a fantasy getaway, their loved ones are often left with heart-wrenching, unsolved puzzles.

On May 12, 2005 Hue Pham and his wife, Hue Tran, boarded Carnival’s Destiny for a Caribbean cruise. The two were never heard from again. After an unsuccessful on-board search, the ship retraced its path; however, their bodies were never found.

Mindy Jordan and her boyfriend boarded the Norwegian Dawn in New York City on the morning of May 11, 2008 – Mother’s Day – for a seven-day cruise to Bermuda. That same evening, Jordan fell overboard from the balcony in her room. Her boyfriend claimed her death was an accident. Her family, however, says Jordan’s relationship with her boyfriend was abusive, and they have always suspected foul play.

On July 5, 2005, eight days into George and Jennifer Smith’s dream honeymoon cruise aboard the Royal Caribbean ship Brilliance of the Seas, George vanished. Passengers two floors below the Smiths’ cabin woke up that morning and noticed a metal overhang above a lifeboat covered with blood. It is presumed George went overboard, although his body was never recovered. His family believes, quite simply, that George was murdered.

All of those cases remain unsolved.

While the $40-billion cruise industry maintains passenger safety is a top priority, critics have long condemned cruise lines for ignoring crimes that occur on the ships.

“For years these crimes would frequently go unreported,” says maritime lawyer Charles Lipcon.

When there is suspicion of foul play in a cruise ship disappearance, cases are rarely prosecuted. There are no independent authorities onboard cruise ships, the bodies of victims are rarely recovered and many times a jurisdiction is difficult to determine, hindering successful investigations, Lipcon says.

“When these incidents happen at sea, it’s not a stable crime scene,” he says. “Many times with the criminal investigations the countries will pass it off like a hot potato. It creates a lot of challenges.”

But it’s not just deaths and disappearances that are a problem on cruise ships. From 2000 to 2005, the FBI opened 305 investigations into cruise ship crimes including sexual assaults, battery and robberies. Royal Caribbean alone, which carries around 25 percent of cruise passengers, recorded more than 100 complaints of sexual assault and sexual battery between 2003 and 2005.

Some of the statistics actually reveal that a sexual assault is more likely to occur on a cruise ship than on land, says Ross Klein, a professor at Memorial University Newfoundland, who has researched crimes on cruises for years.

“A cruise ship is unique. If you’re victimized on a cruise ship, there is nowhere to go that’s not part of that ship,” says Klein, who grew up in Scottsdale. “The biggest thing is people go on cruise ships assuming it’s a safe environment, as they should; they want to enjoy their vacation. What I found in contrast was people were being victimized… And the cruise lines weren’t doing anything about it.”

Mystery at Sea

It was weeks after Merrian Carver boarded the cruise ship Mercury that Ken Carver received a disturbing phone call.

“Do you know where my mommy is?” Merrian’s 13-year-old daughter anxiously asked her grandfather.

She had not spoken to her mother in weeks. Merrian and her husband had divorced, and their daughter lived with her father in England. Ken Carver knew that since the divorce, Merrian spoke with her daughter at last once a day. Hanging up the phone, he knew something terrible must have happened to his daughter.

After days of unreturned phone calls to Merrian, Ken filed a missing-person report. Eventually, financial records obtained by police would provide the only solid lead—Merrian had flown from Seattle to Boston for an Alaskan cruise.

But after Carver contacted Celebity Cruises, he had more questions than answers.

“It was the third week that she had been missing when we contacted the cruise line. After a couple of days, they called back and said that she had been onboard but they couldn’t say whether or not she got off the ship in Vancouver,” Carver says. “Three weeks had passed, and there had been no review or report concerning Merrian.”

Carver was shocked. The cruise line had told no one Merrian was missing—not the police, not his family. Retired and living in Phoenix, Carver launched his own investigation—hiring a private-detective agency. Eventually, he would spend more than $75,000 in an attempt to learn what had happened to his daughter.

But as he tried to uncover what had led to her disappearance, Carver says he faced road blocks put up by the cruise line at just about every turn. His investigators were denied access to the ship’s surveillance video and limited as to the time they could spend onboard investigating.

At first, according to Carver, Celebrity’s parent company, Royal Caribbean International, claimed no camera footage existed. As the pressure mounted, the cruise line claimed Merrian had committed suicide by jumping from the balcony. To this day, however, no evidence has ever been presented proving what actually happened.

“If there was a video upfront that shows Merrian going overboard, that’s the end of the story,” Carver says. “We just wanted to know what happened.”

Eventually, Carver located the steward who had checked Merrian’s room each day on the cruise and who had originally reported her disappearance.

“Finally we got to that steward,” he says, his voice lowering to a whisper, “and he told us that he had reported her missing daily. His supervisor told him to forget it—just do your job.”

For Carver, it was appalling. He became determined to do something about Merrian’s loss.

Family Tragedies

Over the past 20 years, the cruise industry has experienced tremendous growth—with an average increase in passengers of about seven percent each year since 1990.

In 2009, more than 13 million people embarked a cruise, and about 10 million of those passengers were Americans, according to data from Cruise Line International Association. That’s up from about 6.3 million cruise passengers in 1999 and 3.7 million in 1990.

Cruise line officials say cruising is one of the safest means of travel. Of those millions of passengers who travel safely, only a minute fraction end up being victims of a crime or actually go missing.

“We’re talking about millions of people a year,” says Phoenix resident Paul Motter, a former cruise employee and founder of the website cruisemates.com, a cruise travel site. “It’s a very wholesome experience for the vast majority of people going on cruises.”

In those rare cases where a passenger disappears, Motter says there is usually a plausible explanation.

“Ninety-nine percent of the time it’s a suicide,” he theorizes. “Suicide becomes much more common when there is an available means to commit suicide. Being on a cruise ship, all you have to do is look down onto the water.”

In many missing-passenger cases, Professor Ross Klein says it is possible to surmise that it was an accidental fall overboard, often from excessive use of alcohol or a possible suicide. However, many other cases remain unexplained.

“You have those kinds of incidents, and they’re tragic, but at least we have a sense of what led to that happening,” Klein says. “Unfortunately, there are those other cases where it’s hard to come up with an explanation.”

While unexplained incidents are relatively rare, especially when the millions of cruise passengers are taken into account, more needs to be done to prevent those losses, Klein says.

“If you talk to the folks in the industry they’ll say they really care about these people but the number of cases is trivial,” Klein says. “But for me, that’s not good enough. These are personal tragedies.”

One of those personal tragedies is the devastating death of Richard Liffridge aboard the Star Princess.

In celebration of his 72nd birthday, Liffridge and his wife, Victoria, boarded the ship at Port Everglades, Florida on March 23, 2006, to embark on what was the first cruise of his life. Four days into the voyage in the early morning hours, a fire broke out.

The fire was severe, spreading rapidly through passenger decks nine through twelve. Over 100 cabins were destroyed by the flames, including Richard Liffridge’s. Thick black smoke enveloped his room, and as he desperately tried to crawl to safety he was overcome by the smoke and died.

Liffridge’s daughter, Lynnette Hudson, was listed as her father’s emergency contact but says she received no call from the cruise line. Instead, almost immediately, a Princess Cruise representative held a press conference and announced Liffridge’s death as the result of a heart attack, prior to receiving autopsy results.

“They just kept trying to dissociate his death with the actual fire on the cruise,” Hudson says. “The way they told the story was they had a terrible fire on the ship and one passenger died of a heart attack—like it was two separate events.”

An autopsy would later show that Liffridge had indeed died of smoke inhalation, a direct result of the fire. After his death, Hudson had difficultly getting Liffridge’s body transported back to the U.S., and she says no one from the cruise line has ever apologized to the family.

“What’s troubling for me and my family is that nobody has ever taken any accountability for what happened to my father,” Hudson says. “If there was ever an innocent victim, it was him. He was sleeping…. It’s just a shame, it’s just a shame.”

Remembering Merrian

Years after the disappearance of Merrian Carver, her father still breaks down when discussing her loss. Not knowing what happened to his daughter broke his heart. How he was treated by the cruise industry left him outraged.

If Merrian committed suicide, he says he could learn to accept it. However, he says the manner in which her disappearance was handled by the cruise line permanently destroyed any clues, leaving him with a tragic mystery. Royal Caribbean later acknowledged that procedures were violated and disciplined employees, including firing the manager who reportedly instructed the steward to ignore Merrian’s disappearance.

As Carver began to learn more about the cruise industry, he says he discovered numerous cases of crimes going unreported or being covered up. He decided to fight for change.

In 2006, Carver, Hudson and several other victims’ family members banded together and formed the non-profit International Cruise Victims Association, with the sole intent of improving cruise safety.

The organization is now in more than 20 countries. Carver has since gone onto testify in front of Congress four times and was instrumental in getting recent legislation passed that changed the operating procedures aboard cruise lines.

That legislation, which was signed into law in July by President Barack Obama, forces new security measures, safety standards and crime-reporting requirements on all cruise ships operating out of U.S. ports.

While it doesn’t solve every problem, it’s a start, says Carver. And if it prevents even one death aboard a cruise ship, he says that gives him some consolation.

Earlier this year, as a tribute to Merrian, her family had a bronze statue created of her holding a butterfly and a book with her favorite poem. It sits outside Paradise Valley’s Methodist Church, a few miles from the Carver’s Phoenix home.

“This all began with Merrian,” Carver says wistfully. “But it has become a much larger issue. We can’t bring her back, but if her loss can prevent one more tragedy, then at least that’s something.”

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The heavy steel door of a secured cell inside Phoenix’s Fourth Avenue Jail slowly creaks open, and I get my first glimpse of inmate #P209966, Mark Goudeau. The accused Baseline serial killer is flanked by imposing armed guards in matching beige corrections officer uniforms. Each guard grasps Goudeau by the back of the arm, guiding him into the small cell on the fourth floor of the jail where I have been waiting.

Wrists cuffed, legs shackled, Goudeau shuffles uneasily around the plastic table which takes up most of the width of the cramped space, used for private client-attorney meetings and media interviews.

Unlike images I’ve seen of Goudeau in mug shots, he doesn’t appear forbidding. He looks deflated. The dull black-and-white striped prison garb he’s wearing hangs loosely over a worn light-pink thermal. His dark complexion has taken on an almost yellowish-grey pallor from years of being locked away in solitary confinement.

Goudeau carefully maneuvers into the plastic chair across from me and waits patiently as one of the guards secures his shackles to the floor. We are sitting just a few feet apart. I introduce myself, and he leans forward, as much as the chains will allow, to shake my hand.

The guards exit the cell, and with a low thud that reverberates off the concrete walls, the steel door is locked behind them. I am now alone with Mark Goudeau, the man authorities believe to be one of the most notorious serial killers in the state’s history.

For four years Goudeau has been behind bars awaiting trial for the murder of nine people. During that time, he has never once spoken publicly—not to the police, not to the media.

Now, just months before his scheduled trial, he has agreed to speak with me one-on-one in an exclusive interview. Granting unprecedented access over the next three hours, with no attorney present, Goudeau revealed—for the first time—details of his life, his time behind bars, the charges against him and why he believes he will be vindicated.

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For a moment, our meeting cell is hushed as Goudeau shuffles through a thick manila folder of police reports and court documents. I break the silence by speaking of his wife, Wendy, with whom I have been communicating for several years about the case.

At the mention of Wendy’s name, Goudeau drops his head, his eyes welling with tears.

“I’m so sick by the whole thing,” Goudeau says, his face flushed. “I still can’t shake it. I’m in shock. I’m still in shock… I still can’t believe this is happening.”

Authorities say all the physical, ballistic and DNA evidence prove Mark Goudeau is the Baseline Killer. Since his arrest in 2006, however, Goudeau has maintained his innocence in court. He tells me now plainly he is an innocent man. He maintains he has been wrongfully accused of horrific crimes and says the toll it has taken on his family has been devastating.

“I’m not the guy. I am not no serial killer. I am not no killer period. I am not no rapist,” he says firmly. “I’ve got six sisters. I’ve got a wife. Just the thought of something like that makes me sick to my stomach. I did not commit those crimes. I had nothing to do with it.”

Throughout the interview, Goudeau is candidly emotional, often sobbing. In his upcoming murder trial, the prosecution is seeking the death penalty. While his life is at stake, Goudeau is most visibly distraught when he speaks of Wendy, who has faithfully stood by his side.

“I never had anyone who cared about me as deeply as Wendy,” Goudeau says, voice cracking. “My wife would say I’m the toughest person in the world… but I’m not.”

The last time he saw Wendy outside of a prison cell or a courtroom was more than four years ago. It was September 6, 2006, Goudeau’s 42nd birthday and the day of his arrest. The morning began like any other. He left home before sunrise and headed to his job at a Phoenix construction site.

That night, Mark and Wendy had plans to celebrate. She had wrapped birthday presents and skipped her night class so they could go out for a nice dinner. At about 5 p.m., Wendy was on the phone with her sister when she heard the loud sound of helicopters outside. Glancing out her back window she saw a man dressed in black, aiming a rifle in her direction.

She says her first thought was that there must be a criminal on the loose in the neighborhood.

Then came a knock on the front door. She peered through the peephole and saw several uniformed officers. Outside police cars lined the block in all directions. Immediately, Wendy recognized the red truck parked in the middle of the street, boxed in by police cruisers.

Her heart sank. It was Mark’s truck. Down the street, Goudeau was handcuffed and being read his rights.

“I kept asking, ‘What’s going on? What’s he being arrested for? What are the charges?’ No one would talk to me,” Wendy recalls. “Finally, one of the detectives said, ‘Rape.’”

Wendy didn’t believe it; she still doesn’t. Not until the following morning on the news would she learn that the rape charges were connected to the Baseline Killer investigation.

When Goudeau was confronted with the charges, he says he was equally stunned and refused to speak to police. Now, reflecting on the moment, he still acts astonished.

“It was like, ‘What do you mean? Is this really happening?’” he says, shaking his head. “I was sitting there thinking, I know this is a dream. I know I’m going to wake up.”

It was no dream. Mark Goudeau was under arrest for two counts of sexual assault. And he was about to be accused of serial murder.

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For a year prior to Mark Goudeau’s arrest, the Valley had lived in fear of a serial murderer dubbed the Baseline Killer. The murders were savage; the crimes had no discernable pattern or motive.

The Baseline Killer’s 11-month crime spree began in August 2005 with a series of robberies and sexual assaults inflicted upon young women, occurring mostly along Baseline Road in South Phoenix. By September, the murders had begun.

The homicide victims, eight females and one male, were abducted from bus stops, restaurants and carwashes. Sophia Nunez was found dead in her bathtub from a gunshot wound to her face. The badly decomposed remains of Kristin Gibbons were discovered behind a storage shed, hidden under a pile of debris. Phoenix mothers Romelia Vargas and Mirna Palma-Roman were found shot to death inside their lunch truck in West Phoenix. All the victims had been shot in the head.

Police tied the murders together using ballistics. Shell casings found at the crime scenes were determined to have been fired by the same gun. The suspect was described as often wearing disguises such as a Halloween mask or a dreadlock wig. In some instances, he was said to have been impersonating a homeless man or wandering drug addict.

Initially, police were confounded by the violent nature of the killer’s crimes and seemingly random pattern. As the attacks became more brazen, pressure on Phoenix police intensified. Billboards went up across the Valley depicting a composite sketch of a dark-skinned man with a soft mustache and dreadlocks, wearing a fisherman’s hat. A team of veteran detectives assembled a special taskforce, spending thousands of hours patrolling and following up on tips in an effort to capture the elusive killer.

By the summer of 2006, frustration and fear gripped the city. It was a particularly tense time in the Valley. Not only was the Baseline Killer’s number of victims mounting, but two “serial shooters” had also murdered several victims in random drive-by shootings.

Then on July 14, 2006, a tip was received on the Phoenix police’s Silent Witness hotline referring to Mark Goudeau and suggesting that he resembled one of the composite sketches of the suspect. It was the first time Goudeau’s name had come up in the investigation.

When he was questioned by police six days later, Goudeau says he cooperated fully.

“I had nothing to hide,” he says. “I told them they could take my I.D., fingerprints, whatever they want.”

By that point in the investigation, hundreds of African-American men resembling the sketch had been added to the growing list of potential suspects. Goudeau was an ex-convict on parole who lived near several of the crime scenes. He says he wasn’t surprised when he was contacted by police.

Nine of the 23 Baseline Killer attacks occurred within three miles of the Central Phoenix home Goudeau and his wife shared. One of the victims, 37-year-old Carmen Miranda, was killed just around the corner from their residence.

“The only reason they targeted me is because they could put me in that area,” Goudeau says. “That’s how it all came about.”

The Goudeaus’ home was searched, but nothing incriminating was discovered. Still, because of his criminal past and the proximity of his home to the Baseline Killer’s crimes, he was placed under surveillance.

For the next several weeks, unbeknownst to him, police monitored his every move—following him to work, his weekly appointments with his parole officer and on errands with his wife. During that time, no criminal behavior was reported.

One month later, Phoenix police made the decision to gather evidence from numerous crimes collected throughout the investigation and send it to the Department of Public Safety’s forensic lab for DNA testing. Among that evidence were two swabs taken from one of the first sexual assaults attributed to the Baseline Killer.

On September 20, 2005, two sisters had been walking in the park near 31st Avenue and Baseline when they were attacked and sexually assaulted by a man brandishing a gun. After the rape, saliva believed to be from the assailant was found on one of the victims. As part of the investigation, evidence swabs were taken for DNA testing.

The Phoenix crime lab had been unable to obtain a DNA profile and for nearly a year, the swabs sat in an evidence locker. Although severely degraded, DPS retested the swabs and were able to obtain a profile. In September 2006, DPS forensic technician Lorraine Heath compared it to the DNA of dozens of potential suspects police had considered during the investigation. Among the names on that list was Mark Goudeau’s.

Heath obtained what she considered a “match” to Goudeau and, based on that evidence, police arrested him for the sexual assaults.

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“I can’t even describe how it felt,” Goudeau says, recalling the day of his arrest.

In an instant, Mark Goudeau’s life irrevocably changed. Suddenly, the world saw him as a monster, a heinous serial killer.

He says the charges were astounding. While, admittedly, he had a criminal past, he says he had changed. At 42, he was married and had a steady job as a construction worker.

“I couldn’t have been in a better place,” he says. “I felt like everything was great. I had a beautiful wife, a beautiful house, a beautiful car.”

Born and raised in Phoenix, Mark was one of the youngest of 13 children. His mother was a maid; his father, a lot attendant for car dealers on Camelback Road.

Goudeau attended high school at Corona del Sol in Tempe, where he excelled in sports and played football.

Trouble began for Goudeau in his early 20s. He was arrested on minor charges including driving while intoxicated and trespassing. At the age of 24, Mark met Wendy Carr at a Phoenix nightclub. They began a serious relationship and soon moved in together.

In 1989, he was arrested on charges of sexual assault and battery. The sexual assault charges were never forensically substantiated and eventually dismissed, according to police reports.

The charges were disturbing. Goudeau was accused of beating a woman with a shotgun and chasing two witnesses at the scene. Goudeau contends he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and did not commit the assault. It was his first serious offense and he hoped to receive probation. A year later, however, he was arrested again on charges of robbing a Phoenix grocery store at gunpoint. This time the punishment would be severe. Goudeau took a plea bargain and was sentenced to 21 years behind bars.

He began serving his sentence in 1991. Through it all Wendy stood by him, and that same year, the two were married in prison.

“Wendy was being faithful to me, visiting every weekend. That meant something to me,” Goudeau says. “I decided to change my path and that’s what I did.”

In prison, Goudeau took advantage of education and rehabilitation programs. He says he stayed away from drugs and prison gangs. According to Arizona Department of Corrections records, Goudeau received no disciplinary infractions while in prison. For the final five years of his sentence, he worked outside the prison, earning minimum wage.

“I didn’t have the best past, but I totally changed,” he says. “Being put in that environment, it really woke me up. I realized I wasn’t in the place I wanted to be at. I had to do something.”

In August 2004, after serving 13 years, Goudeau was released.

Several friends and relatives wrote letters on his behalf. “Mark’s transformation from a young, sad boy to a mature, remorseful, ambitious and introspective man has been inspiring,” one family member wrote. “Although Mark could have fallen into the abyss of bitterness and anger, he has chosen to see the positive side of life and the many possibilities it offers.”

Upon his release, Goudeau, then 39, found a job as a construction worker, where he often worked 10-hour days. Typically leaving the house before sunrise, he says most nights he was in bed by 8 p.m. During his first month on the job, he was awarded “employee of the month.”

For the next two years, Goudeau continued to work and spend time with his family, including his nieces and nephews with whom he was close. During his incarceration, Goudeau says his relationship with Wendy matured, despite the prison barriers, adding that after his release, their marriage had never been stronger. They spent all their free time together—on weekends hiking, riding bikes and going to the movies.

Today he says those days with Wendy seem like a lifetime ago. After being behind bars for so long, he says his two years of freedom feel like they went by in an instant.

“When I was in prison, I got to know God firsthand,” Goudeau says wistfully. “When all this stuff happened, I lost my faith. I was mad… The whole thing really shook my belief, for awhile.”

---

On September 7, 2006, the morning following Mark Goudeau’s arrest, Phoenix police held a press conference announcing they had made an arrest for one of the crimes associated with the Baseline Killer.

The Goudeaus’ modest, 1,000-square-foot home was searched, but no evidence was initially discovered linking him to any of the Baseline Killer crimes. Two additional searches turned up no physical evidence. It wasn’t until the fourth search that police discovered evidence linking Goudeau to any of the Baseline Killer victims.

On that fourth search, a plastic bag of jewelry was found in the bedroom closet, tucked inside a shoe. Inside the bag was a ring that police say belonged to one of the first victims, Tina Washington, 39, who was murdered in December 2005 while waiting for a bus. No DNA or fingerprints were discovered on the jewelry or the bag.

In October 2006, a month after the arrest, the crime lab also determined that trace amounts of blood found on a ski mask and shoe belonging to Goudeau were a match to victims Kristen Gibbons, 26, and George Chou, 23.

Disguises, including the infamous wig and fisherman hat witnesses had described, were never discovered. The murder weapon, a .380 caliber pistol, has also never been found.

“Where’s the dang gun?” Goudeau asks during our interview. “There’s nothing in this case that links me or ties me to any of this.”

What about the blood, DNA and the ring? The evidence seemed difficult to dismiss, I tell Goudeau.

“How did that stuff get in your home?” I ask.

“I have no idea,” Goudeau says. He points out that all the evidence was discovered after he was already in police custody. After his arrest, Goudeau believes there was immense pressure on the police to connect him to the other crimes. In jail he says he has come to believe that evidence may have been planted in order for police to prove their case against him.

“I feel like everybody in the police department and the county attorney’s office are against me because what’s at stake,” he says.

The other murder victim linked to Goudeau through DNA is Sophia Nunez, a 37-year-old Phoenix mother who was found shot to death in her bathtub by her eight-year-old son in April, 2006.

All other DNA evidence in cases attributed to the Baseline Killer is either inconclusive or rules out Mark Goudeau as a suspect, according to police reports. Fingerprints found at the crime scenes also exclude Goudeau.

None of the victims has ever positively identified Goudeau in photo lineups. The Baseline Killer was often described by witnesses as being between 5’6” and 5’9”, and weighing less than 170 pounds. At the time of his arrest, Goudeau, who is close to 6 feet tall, weighed over 200 pounds.

“Did you know any of the victims?” I ask Goudeau.

He says he knew victim Sophia Nunez from high school and admits that they reconnected in 2005 after his release.

“That was the only victim that I knew,” he says.

After Goudeau’s arrest, several of Nunez’s family members told police that Nunez had met Goudeau at the Arizona Mills Mall in Tempe, and that Goudeau had been to her house to fix a security screen door. Goudeau denies ever being at Nunez’s home.

“I never did do any work for her,” he says.

Cell phone records show that Goudeau and Nunez exchanged several phone calls between March and October 2005. Goudeau admits they were friends but says they fell out of contact months prior to her murder.

“Was your relationship ever romantic?” I ask.

“No, no no,” Goudeau shakes his head. “Nothing like that.”

---

While the prosecution contends the evidence against Goudeau is strong in all of the nine murders with which he has been charged, not all those who worked on the case agree. In several of the cases the evidence is far from overwhelming, says a former Phoenix police detective who worked on the Baseline Killer case.

“There really isn’t that much. There’s no eyewitnesses, there’s no confession, no fingerprints and the physical evidence is disputed,” says the detective who spoke to The Times on condition of anonymity. “There really are a lot of holes in this case.”

For months after Goudeau’s arrest, police continued to investigate leads and obtained DNA samples from dozens of additional potential suspects, including many of Goudeau’s seven brothers.

Then, in December 2006, Mark Goudeau was formally charged with all of the Baseline Killer crimes– 74 criminal charges in all– including 15 sexual assaults, 11 kidnappings and nine murders.

Since his arrest, Goudeau’s family, including his older sister Jean Belt, have continued to support him.

“To this day I still don’t believe it,” Jean says. “There’s nothing in this world that can make me feel like he’s capable of doing anything like that. It’s just crazy.”

As for Wendy Goudeau, she says she has no doubt her husband is an innocent man. When the killer was on the loose, Wendy says Mark was protective of her, and did not want her taking walks around the neighborhood for fear that she could be attacked. Never once, Wendy maintains, did she see any indication that Goudeau was living some sort of double life.

“I would have seen a change in Mark. I would have seen something,” Wendy says. “There were no violent outbursts, no attitude, no strange disappearances, no odd or changed behavior, nothing. We’re talking about a crazy person on a serious crime spree. I would have noticed something had it been Mark.”

Not everyone connected to the police investigation was convinced Goudeau was the murderer.

“It was all circumstantial until the blood and the ring was discovered,” says the former Phoenix police detective. “There were several detectives on the task force, including supervisors, who felt he was not the murderer, that maybe there were two people—one rapist, one murderer.”

Questions were also raised about how the ring—the one piece of physical evidence linking Goudeau to the victims—had been overlooked during the previous searches of the his residence.

In 2009, the Phoenix Law Enforcement Association sent a letter to the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office concerning a shocking complaint made by a high-ranking Phoenix police supervisor about the handling of “potentially exonerating evidence that may have had exculpatory value to Mark Goudeau.”

“This supervisor communicated to PLEA that there would be no surprise on their part if other Violent Crimes Bureau managers engaged in planting evidence,” the letter reads.

Allegations of planted evidence have never been substantiated, and Phoenix police declined to comment for this story.

“It will all come out at trial,” said Phoenix police Sgt. Tommy Thompson.

Throughout the Baseline Killer investigation, many potential suspects emerged. The 20,000 pages of police reports primarily concern other suspects and make very little mention of Goudeau.

Before arresting Goudeau, police followed up on more than 8,000 leads. The only solid forensic evidence points to Mark Goudeau, former Phoenix police spokesman Sgt. Andy Hill told The Times in 2009.

“There were many, many people that had a criminal history or that had information, or that lived in the area, or the general area that would cause us to look at somebody,” said Hill, who retired from the Phoenix Police Department in May. “But there was only one suspect (Goudeau) identified in the case.”

---

In July 2007, Mark Goudeau was tried for one of the crimes attributed to the Baseline Killer – the 2005 sexual assault of the two sisters. The remaining 74 counts, including the nine murders, would later be heard separately.

The sexual assault trial, at times contentious, lasted nearly eight weeks.

Neither victim identified Goudeau as their attacker outside of court. In multiple photo lineups one of the sisters actually misidentified four different men.

The case hinged primarily on the DNA, which had been obtained from the left breast of one of the victims. The defense would argue that the DNA was inconclusive. During the investigation, DPS was able to retrieve only trace amounts of male DNA from the evidence swab. DPS forensic technician Lorraine Heath identified that DNA as a match to Goudeau, though it was later determined to be consistent with only three out of 13 genetic markers, prompting Judge Andrew Klein to ban the term “match” from being used in court.

On the stand, Heath testified that Goudeau was almost undoubtedly the source of the male DNA.

“Mark Goudeau’s DNA is on this left breast,” Heath testified, adding that it is 360 trillion times more likely that the DNA is Goudeau’s “than if it was an unrelated African-American man.”

Defense attorney Corwin Townsend stated Heath’s calculations were grossly exaggerated. Under cross-examination, Heath acknowledged that Goudeau’s DNA was consistent with only three of 13 genetic markers. Thousands of other men could have contributed to the DNA, Townsend argued. The defense wanted the evidence tested by independent experts but the DNA had already been consumed.

In jail, I ask Goudeau about the DNA.

“They don’t got my DNA,” he says. “It was inconclusive DNA.”

He continues to deny that he committed the attacks.

“I’ve never seen those two girls in my life,” he says.

In September 2007, one year after Goudeau’s arrest, the jury delivered their verdict: guilty on all counts. Goudeau was devastated. He says he truly expected the jury would find him not guilty.

“I was looking forward to trial. I was hoping the truth would come out because I wanted to get out of this situation,” he says. “I just knew they were going to find me not guilty. I just knew.”

At the sentencing, both victims asked for the maximum punishment—70 to 285 years. Judge Klein delivered aggravated sentences totaling 438 years.

“It’s clear that you can’t function in a civilized society,” Klein told Goudeau at the sentencing.

Goudeau says he was numb.

“It just felt empty,” he says. “I felt ashamed of who I were for no reason to hear a jury say ‘guilty’ for a crime like that.”

---

Mark Goudeau has appealed the conviction. The sentence of more than 400 years in prison essentially means he will die behind bars. And if convicted in his upcoming murder trial, he knows he will likely be sentenced to death.

“I am fighting for my life,” he says.

By this point, Goudeau says he was well aware that most people had already made up their minds that he was a serial killer.

“The whole world is against me,” he says. “It’s just me and my wife and my attorneys.”

Then, last year, a controversial report surfaced identifying another potential suspect in the Baseline Killer case. The report focused on Terry Wayne Smith, a 38-year-old convicted felon with a long rap sheet for armed robbery and aggravated assault in both California and Arizona. Smith, who had served time in a Tucson prison with one of Goudeau’s brothers, had been paroled just months prior to the first sexual assault attributed to the Baseline Killer.

In 2006, Officer Rusty Stuart, a 20-year veteran of the Phoenix Police Department, began an investigation into Smith as part of his duties in the Career Criminal Transient Program.

During the Baseline Killer crime spree, Stuart learned Terry Wayne Smith had exhibited abnormal criminal behavior and had been interrogated by police at 14 separate locations, each in the area of crime scenes that had been attributed to the Baseline Killer.

Eleven hours after police believe the Baseline Killer shot and killed two women inside their lunch truck in West Phoenix, Smith was interrogated at a bus stop on Baseline Road, where he was reportedly bragging to witnesses about how many people he had murdered. A few miles from where four other victims were discovered in South Phoenix, Smith was interrogated by police on three separate occasions for following women around in parking lots and inside a hardware store. According to police reports, twice within 48 hours of being released from jail, a murder in the Baseline Killer case was committed within blocks from where Smith was living.

“It is certainly unclear whether Terry Smith had any involvement in any of the cases attributed to the Baseline Killer,” Stuart wrote in his report. “However, he definitely has strong connections to the suspect identified as being involved by the homicide task force and strong evidence of criminal activity in each area the suspects have struck.”

Stuart also learned through interviews that Terry Wayne Smith had bragged to his family about the number of people he had killed, and on more than one occasion, had come home with blood all over his clothes. During one interview, Stuart claimed Smith’s mother even hinted that she thought her son could be the Baseline Killer.

In a peculiar twist, shortly after Goudeau’s arrest, Terry Wayne Smith was also arrested on unrelated charges.

Based on his investigation, Stuart was concerned that Smith may have been involved in some of the crimes attributed to the Baseline Killer, or possibly an accomplice of Goudeau’s.

Mark Goudeau contends that he has never met Terry Wayne Smith.

“I heard about Terry Wayne Smith in the beginning of 2008,” he says. “Someone came forward and said look into this. And that’s the first time I heard his name.”

In October 2006, Officer Rusty Stuart wrote a 166-page document concerning Terry Wayne Smith and provided it to Alex Femenia, the lead detective on the Baseline Killer task force. Femenia condensed and summarized the findings of Stuart’s report into just a few pages, filing it along with tens of thousands of pages of police reports.

Dave Kothe, of the Phoenix Law Enforcement Association, says the findings outlined in Stuart’s investigation were largely dismissed by Femenia and the task force who believed the correct suspect was already in custody. Two years after Goudeau’s arrest, the Phoenix Law Enforcement Association obtained Stuart’s entire report and provided it to prosecutors. It would take another year, and extensive legal wrangling, before Goudeau’s defense would finally obtain the report in 2009.

Goudeau says he believes the report was covered up in an effort by police to protect their case against him.

“I know there is a reason why all this was being covered up because they realized they had the wrong person,” Goudeau says.

Terry Wayne Smith, who was sent to prison shortly after Goudeau’s arrest, is currently serving a four-year prison sentence and will be eligible for parole in 2012. He vehemently denies any involvement in the Baseline Killer crimes and is not considered a suspect in the case. In a letter to The Times, Terry Wayne Smith wrote that the allegations in the report were “obviously false,” and were concocted by “Phoenix police officer Rusty Stuart, a cop with a personal vendetta.” In 2009 Phoenix police met with Smith at the state prison in Buckeye and swabbed him for DNA. It was determined that his DNA was not a match to any evidence in the Baseline Killer case, according to police reports.

In 2009, former Phoenix police Sgt. Andy Hill told The Times that Stuart’s information was investigated and subsequently dismissed. The report was never concealed and all information was provided to the county attorney’s office, he said.

“There was no Terry Wayne Smith report. There was a supplement written about that person as one of many, many investigative leads,” said Hill. “His information was taken and that information was investigated by the lead investigator (Detective Alex Femenia) on the case. In the official report he was looked at as one of many, many suspects, but ruled out.”

Goudeau’s defense attorney Randall Craig says the Terry Wayne Smith report will factor heavily in the upcoming murder trial.

“It is extremely important to our case,” he says.

Last year Craig filed papers claiming the report is “rife with exculpatory information pertaining to Mark Goudeau’s defense.”

Due to the pending trial, Mike Scerbo, a spokesman for the County Attorney’s Office, declined to comment on the Smith report or the Goudeau case.

Mark Goudeau’s murder trial is currently scheduled for January 2011. Over the past four years it has been rescheduled more than six times. The delays have been frustrating for the victim’s families. At an August court hearing, several victims’ family members spoke about the agony they have endured while awaiting justice.

“We want some kind of closure. This has been going on for too long,” said Gilbert Martinez, former boyfriend of murder victim Sophia Nunez. “We want someone to get in trouble for this. We just want this chapter of our lives to be over.”

---

Inside the shadowy jail cell, the air is stale. After three hours the concrete walls appear looming, as if the room is slowly shrinking.

Earlier this afternoon I was being escorted through a maze of jail corridors and metal detectors. In the steel elevator, on the way to the fourth floor, one of the corrections officers turned to me and asked, “Goudeau—has he ever been interviewed before?”

“No,” I replied. “This is the first.”

Over the past four years, Goudeau says he has received countless interview requests from CNN, Fox News, the Associated Press and nearly every local television station and newspaper. He has consistently turned them all down, agreeing to speak to me alone, only after reading previous stories I had written concerning inconsistencies in the case.

Behind bars, Goudeau says he has become somewhat of a DNA expert, spending hours every day studying the thousands of pages of police reports to assist with his own defense. He says he’s been able to find startling discrepancies on every single case. Over the course of our interview, he brought several of these to my attention. Time will tell whether the discrepancies are enough to convince a jury of reasonable doubt in his upcoming murder trial.

With the outcome of the first trial, Goudeau says he is petrified.

“I’m so beat up that I don’t know what to believe or what to expect,” he says. “I have no faith in my judicial system anymore.”

Meanwhile, Wendy remains his most ardent supporter. She attends every court hearing and visits him weekly in jail, where they communicate solely through a video monitor.

Toward the end of our interview, I flag down a guard to unlock the steel cell door. But before I leave, I ask Goudeau one more question: “Do you have hope that you will get out one day?”

Goudeau pauses. If he were ever able to get out of jail he would not only need to beat nine murder charges but also successfully appeal his sexual assault convictions. Still, he says he has to believe that one day he will be a free man.

“I am going to get out because the world will know before long that I had nothing to do with this,” Goudeau says. “I will still tell you that it feels like I’m in a nightmare. It feels like I’m going to wake up one day and this all will be done. And that’s the day I’m waiting for, for this all to be done.”

Read the full story

By Shanna Hogan

The story of the murder of motivational speaker Travis Alexander, and the beautiful, young suspect who will stand trial for the crime.
 
As 20-year-old Dallin Forrest climbed the stairs of Travis Alexander’s five-bedroom Mesa home, he was filled with a sinking sense of dread.

It had been days since anyone had heard from Travis, and during that time he hadn’t responded to numerous emails, text messages or phone calls. Even more unsettling, Travis’ car was parked in his garage, and his wallet, credit cards, laptop and cell phone were still in his office downstairs. Yet, there was no sign of Travis himself.

It was June 9, 2008, and Forrest, along with two of Travis’ friends, had arrived at the house around 10 p.m. to search for the 30-year-old entrepreneur and motivational speaker. When no one answered the front door, they used the keyless entry code on the garage to make their way inside the house and eventually toward Travis’ upstairs bedroom.

As Forrest approached the top of the stairs, he could hear music blaring from an adjacent bedroom. He knocked on the door and found Travis’ roommate, Zachary Billings.

“Have you seen Travis?” he asked.

Billings shook his head. “I think he’s out of town.”

Travis was scheduled to depart the following morning for a cruise to Cancun, but the girl who was supposed to accompany him had been trying desperately to reach him for more than a week to no avail. After explaining their cause for concern, Billings retrieved a key and unlocked Travis’ bedroom door.

As the double doors were cast open, a foul order pervaded the air. Later, it would seem strange that no one had noticed the smell earlier.

Cautiously, Billings peered into the bedroom and headed slowly toward the master bathroom, with Forrest following closely behind.

Suddenly, a large dark spot on the floor caught Forrest’s attention. On the carpet was a dark pool of a thick, tacky substance he immediately recognized as blood. Forrest’s heart began to race. He continued hesitantly toward the bathroom, following the trail of dryed blood.

“Oh my god,” Billings gasped as he turned and rushed out of the room.

Forrest shrunk back in horror when he too noticed the figure slumped over in the shower.

“I saw him curled up, you know, in the shower on the ground,” Forrest later told police. “I turned. I turned right back around.”

Backpedaling out of the master bedroom, he ushered the others back outside the house.

“He’s not alive,” Forrest said, his voice trembling. “Call 911.”

Moments later Travis’ normally quiet house would erupt into turmoil, as police and paramedics flooded the scene. Travis Alexander had been shot in the face, stabbed multiple times and his throat had been slit from ear to ear. The fatal wound, the medical examiner would later determine, was a single stab directly to the heart.

It was a vicious murder with an unlikely victim and, as police would soon discover, a disturbingly unusual suspect.

A Tragic Loss

It would take months for many of Travis’ close friends to fully comprehend the senseless loss. It was an unspeakable tragedy. Travis was only 30 years old and so full of life—so driven, so accomplished.

Tall, broad-shouldered with bright green eyes and dark hair, Travis was a handsome, young entrepreneur who appeared to have the world at his feet—a lifetime away from his impoverished beginnings. Growing up in the slums of Riverside, California, his childhood had been rough. Travis was one of seven children born to parents who were addicted to crystal meth. For years, the family lived in a tent. At other times home was a dilapidated camper in his aunt’s backyard. Often, the children went to bed hungry.

Eventually, Travis and his siblings were taken in by their grandmother, Norma, who introduced them to the Mormon community. For Travis, his faith became his salvation. He was devoted to the church and strictly adhered to Mormon values.

Despite his difficult and humble beginnings, Travis was determined to do great things with his life.

“Travis was so disciplined. Such a great guy, just larger than life,” says Chris Hughes, a success coach and one of Travis’ closest friends. “He was charming, hilarious and super-outgoing. He had a huge heart and he loved helping people.”

In 2001, Hughes hired Travis onto his sales team at Pre-Paid Legal Services Inc., a company that sells legal-service insurance. Using the story of his own childhood struggles as a motivational tool, Travis excelled at the company and was quickly met with financial success. By his mid-twenties he owned an upscale five-bedroom home and was driving a BMW.

“He was just incredible,” says Hughes. “He was a phenomenal worker, totally focused. One of the top guys I ever had in my company out of 40,000 people.”

As a public speaker, Travis had a gift for inspiring. He preached “limitless thinking” and encouraged others to achieve their dreams. In his own life, Travis was positive and ambitious, swallowing life in big gulps.

“I love my life,” Travis wrote on his blog in 2008. “Why I have been so blessed, is hard for me to understand. I have fantastic visionary friends. A supportive family. Most importantly the Gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Travis had many goals. He wanted to be independently wealthy and travel the world, and he fancied the possibility of eventually getting involved in politics. Near the end of his life, his main aspiration was to get married and to have a family.

“He was all about, ‘How do I change the world? How do I become my best self? How do I influence people around me?’” says Taylor Searle, one of Travis’ closest friends. “He was always focused on achieving. He had these daily affirmations, which listed exactly what he wanted to accomplish in life. He would read them every day.”

On his blog, he had written some of his affirmations for the year 2008, in a post dated April 16, 2008.

“This year will be the best year of my life,” Travis wrote. “This is the year that will eclipse all others. I will earn more, learn more, travel more, serve more, love more, give more and be more than all the other years of my life combined.”

Instead, the year would end in an unimaginable tragedy.

Cold Blooded

For five days Travis lay dead in his master bathroom shower before his remains were finally discovered. By the time police and paramedics arrived on the scene on June 9, 2008, his body was severely decomposed—his once handsome face unrecognizable.

The murder was beyond brutal. Detectives would later theorize that Travis survived the gunshot wound to his face and fought off his killer, before receiving the laceration to his throat and the fatal stab wound to his heart. Due to the savage nature of the crime, detectives believed they were searching for a cold-blooded killer who likely came to the house with the intent to kill.

Blood spatter throughout the master bedroom seemed to indicate that there had been a struggle. Dried blood covered the walls, bathroom mirror and sink, and had pooled in large, thick puddles on the carpet throughout the hallway and the bathroom.

“The large amount of blood throughout the bathroom and bedroom areas indicated to me there was either a struggle or the victim was attempting to flee his attacker,” lead homicide Detective Esteban Flores wrote in the police report. “He had numerous injuries and trauma to his body, which indicated he had attempted to defend himself.”

Forensic investigators combed the scene, collecting and bagging a houseful of evidence. Blood, fingerprints, hair and multiple fibers of clothing were found throughout the master bedroom. A .25 caliber bullet casing was located on the tile floor near the bathroom sink, across from the shower. There was no gun inside the house, and nothing appeared to have been taken, ruling out robbery as a motive.

Except for the evidence of mayhem in the master bedroom, the rest of the house looked relatively undisturbed. As Detective Flores was exiting the home, he noticed a smearing of blood on the washing machine located in the laundry room downstairs. It seemed to be an unusual place to find blood, since nearly all of the other evidence had been confined to the upstairs.

As investigators sifted through the contents of the machine, they discovered a shocking piece of evidence—one that would blow the case wide open.

A Toxic Relationship

Taylor Searle was on the phone with Travis’ friends on June 9, 2008, as his body was discovered in the shower. When he heard that one of his best friends was dead, Searle went numb.

He immediately jumped in his car and sped toward Travis’ house. He had something urgent police needed to see. Searle believed Travis had known his killer. In fact, he says he had warned Travis about her just a week prior to his death.

“When he showed up dead, I was on my laptop saying to the cops, ‘This is the girl who did it,’” he says. “I knew it was her right away.”

A year and a half prior to his death, Travis was at a Pre-Paid Legal sales conference in Las Vegas when he first met a beguiling, 28-year-old blonde named Jodi Arias. He was instantly taken by her personality and good looks.

Jodi, an aspiring photographer, was working as a representative for Pre-Paid Legal while launching her photography business. Although she lived in Palm Desert, California, about 400 miles away from Travis’ home in Mesa, they began dating.

For months they communicated through phone calls, email and text messages, and met for romantic rendezvous at Chris and Sky Hughes’ house, a midway point in their long-distance relationship. As their romance blossomed, they took trips together to the Grand Canyon, Sedona and New Mexico. All the while, Jodi was with her camera, snapping hundreds of photos.

But friends say the relationship seemed to mean more to Jodi than it did to Travis. While he was attracted to her, he did not see a future with Jodi and had been dating several other girls throughout their relationship.

According to friends, Jodi wanted to marry Travis and tried desperately to get him to commit, even joining the Mormon Church to grow closer to him.

“She was very good at manipulating people… She was like a chameleon,” says Chris Hughes. “She knew he wanted to marry a Mormon and get married in the Temple. She felt like she had a better shot at Travis if she joined the church. So she gets baptized.”

Several friends say they witnessed incidents where Jodi appeared alarmingly possessive. When they were together she would cling to his side, never letting him out of her sight. Friends have claimed she eavesdropped on his private conversations and read email and text messages without his permission.

Jodi later told police that during one incident, while going through his cell phone she discovered romantic text messages from other girls. Their relationship soon ended, and although Travis tried to distance himself from her, she continued to attempt to insert herself in his life.

Shortly after their breakup, Jodi made the surprising decision to pack up her belongings and move to Mesa, just miles from Travis’ neighborhood. According to those familiar with their relationship, that’s when her infatuation with Travis appeared to grow into an obsession.

“She drove him crazy, she would stalk him,” says Searle. “He swore that she broke into his house and stole his journals. He had a journal with all his writing and it just disappeared and he swore that she took it.”

In late 2007, Travis began dating another girl seriously. Late one night in December of that year while at his new girlfriend’s house, Travis discovered his tires had been slashed. He replaced the tires only to have them slashed again on the following night. Shortly after those incidents, Travis’ new girlfriend received a hostile email from a “John Doe.” The email, which was wrought with heavy religious undertones, refereed to her relationship with Travis.

It read in part: “If you let him stay in your bed one more time or even sleep under the same roof as him, you will be giving the appearance of evil… You are a daughter of God, and you have been a shameful example. Be thou clean, sin no more.”

The girl later told police she believed the email had been sent by Jodi.

There were several other similar incidents leading up to about a week prior to his death, when Travis caught Jodi hacking into his Facebook account, according to the police report. By this point, Travis had had enough and told her he wanted her out of his life.

“They had a chat where he tore her apart,” Searle says. “He called me the next morning and read to me what he said to her. I said, ‘Aren’t you afraid she’s going to hurt you?”

A week later, Travis Alexander was dead.

Hard Evidence

Days after Travis was murdered, nearly a thousand people crowded the pews of a Mormon church in Mesa to say goodbye to their dear friend. Amid the sea of heartbroken faces, one person seemed to stand out. Near the front of the church, sat a woman—at times she appeared to be crying, at others, witnesses were said to have noticed a mischievous grin come across her face. The woman was Jodi Arias.

Just a day after Travis’ body was discovered Jodi transformed her MySpace page into an apparent shrine for Travis—writing poems dedicated to his memory and posting pictures of the two of them together.

To Travis’ friends, it all seemed very strange. By the day of the memorial service, word had spread about her bizarre behavior and dozens of people had come forward to relay stories to the police of incidents involving Jodi.

Meanwhile, when detectives first questioned Jodi, she claimed to have not seen Travis in months.

According to police, the evidence disproved her story.

Inside the washing machine detectives discovered, along with several of Travis’ religious undergarments, a new digital camera. Although the camera had been run through the wash and the memory card had been wiped clean, forensic investigators were able to recover photos from the camera taken on June 4, 2008—the last day Travis was seen alive. The pictures were mainly of Travis and Jodi in sexually provocative poses. But most disturbing were the last three photos retrieved from the memory card, taken just minutes after the sexual pictures, which showed Travis as he was being murdered.

“The deleted pictures were of Travis naked in the shower, just before his death,” Detective Flores wrote in the report. “One photo was of a male lying on his back with large amounts of blood around his neck and shoulders. The amount is consistent with the type of neck wound Travis sustained.”

In addition to the damming photos, all the physical evidence—fingerprints, blood, hair—pointed to Jodi Arias. In fact, the bloody palm print on the wall was later determined to be a combination of Travis’ blood mixed with Jodi’s, which investigators say not only connects her to the crime scene but to the crime itself.

On July 15, 2008, Jodi was arrested at her grandparents’ home in Yreka, California and charged with first-degree murder.

After her arrest, Jodi changed her story.

She admitted to police that on the day of Travis’ murder, she was headed on a road trip to Utah when she decided to stop and see Travis in Mesa. That evening, after engaging in some sort of sexual encounter, she said two people burst into Travis’ house, killed him and attempted to kill her. She claimed to have narrowly escaped but never reported the crime. A year later, Jodi again changed her story, now reportedly claiming to have killed Travis in self defense.

The Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department didn’t respond to numerous requests for an inmate interview with Jodi Arias.

Meanwhile, Jodi remains behind bars without bail. The trial, which was originally scheduled to begin in August, was recently postponed until 2011. Due to the heinous nature of the crime, the state is seeking the death penalty.

Remembering Travis

It has been more than two years since Travis was found dead, and for many of his friends, it still seems surreal. Those who loved Travis continue to promote his legacy.

“We only live once. We don’t get another shot if we screw it up. Why not live life to the fullest?” Travis wrote on his blog a few months before his death. “It is my prayer that we live all the days of our lives… Then you can live an abundant fulfilling life without regret. A life that most are afraid to even dream about. I know that such a life exists—that it is intended for all of us.”

Travis’ loved ones take comfort in his memory living on in the peoples’ lives that he touched. Still, for Taylor Searle and many of Travis’ other friends and family, it remains a heart-wrenching thought to consider that he won’t have the opportunity to fulfill many of his life goals.

“He really wanted to be a force in the world for good. He had that dream, he believed it and I thought he really could have accomplished it,” Searle says. “Now he’s gone. When I think of things from a divine perspective, like if he was put on this earth for a reason, then that totally sucks that the world just got robbed of such a great person.”

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Five decades after Lt. William Weber went missing in action during WWII, Ken Moore uncovered his uncle’s true fate. Now he’s on a mission to bring each and every fallen American solider home.
 
By Shanna Hogan

It was November, 20, 1943, two years into WWII, and the U.S. had just begun its campaign across the Central Pacific toward Japan.

Just before dawn, a U.S. fleet of warships advanced on Tarawa Atoll, a string of coral islets located about 2,500 miles southwest of Hawaii.

The American force was the largest yet assembled for a single operation. Dozens of battleships, cruisers and destroyers carried the Second Marine Division and part of the 37th Infantry Division, a total of about 35,000 soldiers. Their mission: to seize the Tarawa Atoll and secure a gateway for the Americans through the Central Pacific.

It was expected to be an easy victory. It would turn out to be one of the bloodiest battles in American history.

On the largest three-mile islet, 4,700 heavily armed Japanese troops were entrenched in fortified concrete bunkers. Massive artillery pieces on rotating turrets lined the beaches.

As the U.S. assault ships made their way toward the beach, they were forced into an abrupt halt. The Marines had made the deadly mistake of making their approach during low tide and were caught up on the coral reefs, about 500 yards from shore.

Wading through waist-deep water over piercing, razor-sharp coral, hundreds of soldiers were cut down by merciless enemy gunfire. Those who made it ashore huddled in the sand, flanked by the sea on one side and the Japanese on the other.

For two days the fierce battle continued on land and from the water. When it was over, the beach was littered with the bodies of U.S. and Japanese soldiers. Only 17 enemy fighters survived. The U.S. was victorious, but had taken a heavy hit.

“It was an incredible massacre—one of the largest losses of lives in American history in a single day,” says Ken Moore, a Scottsdale resident and founder of M.I.A Charities Inc., a M.I.A. recovery organization. “I call Tarawa the tip of the iceberg. It is a prime example of how those who died in combat fighting for our freedoms have been neglected. No war, no time, no battle was as gross and destructive as the Battle of Tarawa.”

Nearly 1,200 American soldiers lost their lives during the three-day battle. The remains of 522 of them are still buried under the garbage-strewn sands in mass graves.

Today, 67 years after the Battle of Tarawa, Ken Moore and his group of volunteer M.I.A.-recovery specialists are on a mission to finally bring the remains of the fallen soldiers home.

Finding Uncle Billy

Ken Moore’s mission on Tarawa actually began long after WWII had ended.

It was 1970 and Moore, 23 at the time, was only concerned about the whereabouts of one M.I.A.— Lt. William “Billy” Weber, the uncle he had never met.

Moore had grown up hearing stories about his uncle. He knew he was a high-school state-champion basketball player and a gifted woodworker known as a kind and decent man. During WWII, Billy had gone off to war and never came home. Moore’s mother, Pauline, knew nothing about what had happened to her youngest brother except that he was listed as “missing in action.”

Some of the family thought he had been a tank commander, while others insisted he had died as a foot solider. Due to a lack of information provided by the military, no one knew for sure.

As a first-year graduate student at Georgetown University, Moore was working on a master’s degree in political economics. His mother was about to celebrate her 65th birthday, and he decided to use his education as a researcher to provide her with a documented history of what had happened to her brother.

Skipping class, he hitchhiked from his rented condo in Virginia to Alabama’s Maxwell Air Force Base, where he spent the next three days poring over documents. He had no idea at the time that he was about to unlock a 30-year mystery.

While thumbing through the papers, Moore discovered a missing air crew report dated March 25, 1945, for a B-29 aircraft nicknamed “The Life of Riley.” The pilot: Lt. William Weber.

“All of a sudden it was, ‘Oh, my God! I found the missing air crew report for ‘The Life of Riley’. There’s my uncle!’” Moore recalls. “He wasn’t a foot solider in Italy. He wasn’t driving a tank. He was a hot shot bomber pilot flying the B-29 out of Tinian. Nobody knew that.”

At the time of his disappearance, Billy had been stationed on Tinian, a tiny tropical island in the Pacific, according to the report. On March 24, 1945, Billy took off in “The Life of Riley” and never returned to base. No one in the Pacific saw the plane go down, and no one found any evidence of a crash. Between 1945 and 1949, the military conducted five official searches for the missing aircraft and its crew. All came up empty.

The report was invaluable. For the first time, Moore’s family knew what had happened to Billy. But for Moore, there were still many unanswered questions. He later found a second report, tucked inside a booklet of official Air Force documents. The reports varied widely as to the number of crew listed aboard “The Life of Riley.”

More than ever, he was determined to find out what actually happened on Billy’s last flight.

For the next three decades, Moore would dedicate nearly every waking hour, and spend close to a million dollars, in an attempt to uncover the facts behind the death of his uncle.

The Life of Riley

By 1990, between getting married, having children and beginning an investment-banking career, Ken Moore had compiled an impressive collection of data on World War II, particularly surrounding the events that had unfolded in and around Tinian Island.

After the Freedom of Information Act was passed, he was able to determine that there had been radio contact with “The Life of Riley” on the evening of March 24, 1945. In part, the crew reported an “engine on fire.”

At the time of the report, the craft was an estimated 28 miles southeast of Guguan Island, which is located within a string of islands 1,600 miles off the coast of Japan.

Moore kept digging. After tracking down information from his uncle’s widow, members of the military and islanders who had lived near the area during World War II, Moore was able to pinpoint nearly 300 potential crash sites.

Over time a picture began to emerge of what had happened to “The Life of Riley.”

On March 24, 1945, the aircraft and its nine-member crew departed on a top-secret solo flight. Their destination: Pagan Island to drop more than 20,000 pounds of bombs on an isolated Imperial Japanese stronghold.

Moore theorized that they completed their top-secret mission, but in the process were hit by enemy fire. As the plane headed back to Tinian, the crew radioed in a mayday call reporting an engine on fire.

Still 184 miles away from the base, the decision was made for “The Life of Riley” to double back to attempt a landing on or near Alamagan Island, a lush tropical paradise just 32 miles from Pagan Island. Moore was able to narrow the crash site to the island’s lagoon, an ideal place to ditch a plane with such an expansive wingspan.

To explore his theory, in 1998 Moore took his first trip to the Pacific. For four months, he and two friends hiked through the mountains and jungles of Tinian and surrounding islands.

A year later, he returned for the second time, with the intent of exploring Alamagan’s lagoon. Hiring a group of professional divers, boatsmen and adventurers, Moore assembled a team of 10 men to search for the plane.

On April 29, 1999, Moore’s team finally dropped anchor just outside the lagoon. About 300 yards off the Alamagan Island, they made an amazing discovery. Submerged under 70 feet of water was a B-29—“The Life of Riley.” There were no bodies onboard.

It was then that Moore finally learned what had happened to his uncle. Billy and the crew hadn’t perished in the crash as the military had concluded. Instead, the crew had ditched the plane and likely survived.

Years later, Moore learned through Russian documents that not only had his uncle Billy survived, but that he likely hadn’t died until 1991, after serving about 45 years as a prisoner in a Soviet labor camp. For Moore, it was unfathomable that the military’s efforts to recover the crew had failed.

As the significance of this discovery sunk in, Moore began to consider the thousands of other M.I.A. soldiers who had never been found and whose families were never able to get any sense of closure.

“When a son or daughter goes missing in action the families have to live their entire lives questioning, ‘How does this piece together?’” Moore says. “To this day, the military still does this. They declare a person dead, and the families are left with this vacancy.”

Moore’s Marauders

There are approximately 92,000 military personnel who went missing in action from wars throughout the 20th century. Those men and women may have been killed, wounded, become a prisoner of war or deserted. If deceased, neither their remains nor grave can be positively identified.

In WWII alone, there are approximately 78,000 soldiers listed as missing in action. The U.S. maintains that approximately 35,000 of them are still recoverable.

A task force within the United States Department of Defense known as the Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command is in charge of recovering and accounting for missing military personnel. However, it’s a huge job and of the thousands missing, they recover and identify less than 100 each year.

“The government can’t do everything,” says Dr. Karen Burns, a forensic anthropologist and university professor who volunteers with Moore’s Marauders. “And sometimes, even when the government is trying to do everything, families don’t know how to get access to what they are doing. So independent researchers, independent scientists are extremely useful.”

After learning of his uncle’s fate, Ken Moore expanded his efforts to help recover other missing soldiers, particularly from WWII. Over the past decade, Moore’s Marauders, as they’ve come to be known, have evolved into a global organization of nearly 400 volunteer members, comprised of retired military personnel, forensic anthropologists, forensic pathologists, scientists and scholars who donate their time to finding or at least determining the fate of the thousands missing in action.

“The Marauders are like Marines. There’s no problems; there’s only challenges,” says Colonel Jim Lucas, a retired Marine and board member for Moore’s Marauders. “That’s basically how Ken deals with things. He’s one motivated, dedicated patriot.”

Moore’s Marauders is a non-profit, all-volunteer organization that receives no government funding. Families of missing military personal can hire their services for just one dollar. Each day Moore says he receives between one and 40 email inquires from families of missing military personnel on his website, www.mooresmarauders.org.

His teams travel the world scouring the jungles, mountains and waters of foreign countries for the remains of military servicemen. Using global positioning systems to locate crash sites and graves, as well as DNA-assisted identification, they have successfully learned the fate of nearly 200 American soldiers and thousands of former foes.

“We work for the family,” Moore says. “And we will go anywhere in the world, anytime, any place, and we will bring them home.”

Semper Fi- Always Faithful

“As an old Marine, one of the first things they tell you going through Marine boot camp is that you never leave anyone behind,” says Colonel Lucas. “Tarawa is one of the areas where we left a lot behind. Those types of things are a heavy burden on Marines past, present and future.”

Because of the large number of fatalities on Tarawa, hundreds of servicemen were buried on the island. Of the thousands killed during the battle, 655 have been accounted for, including 186 who were buried at sea as their bodies drifted into the ocean. Subsequent recovery efforts have located an additional 90 men whose bodies have been recovered but not identified.

More than 500 remain unaccounted for.

Today, the Tarawa Atoll is heavily populated, with many buildings and houses having been built over gravesites.

Over the years there have been several reported accidental findings of soldier remains on the island. While laying a new waterline, construction crews discovered the remains of three men, two of whom were later identified. In 1999, while widening a road, a tree was unearthed. Among its roots were the remains and identification tag of a solider who had been listed as M.I.A.

Last year, after decades of public scrutiny, Congress passed an amendment to recover the remains of the M.I.A.s on Tarawa. That’s what spurred Moore and his Marauders to get involved.

“America’s missing servicemen are a major social issue that has not been identified or recognized for what it is,” Moore says. “Our government is not doing what it should, what it could. That’s part of the tragedy. Something does need to be done.”

This summer Moore’s Marauders will travel to Tarawa to conduct interviews and pinpoint burial sites. If allowed by the government, the Marauder’s scientists, equipped with the latest in ground penetrating radar, will immediately follow. Currently, two of the Marauders are on Tarawa doing preliminary recon.

“What we’re finding there right now is awful. There are 522 Navy and Marines on Tarawa. It will take them many years, if not a decade, to bring home a large portion of those,” Moore says. “If the American people do not get involved, the government will just declare the whole island is a grave and walk away from it. And that would be a terrible thing.”

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Thick incense smoke clouds the grimy television-repair shop, the last storefront still open on this rundown neighborhood block. Junked televisions and broken VHS players sit stacked on shelves, blanketed in a heavy layer of dust. A dingy section of artificial grass serving as a rug covers the cracks in the cement floor. Inside the crowded back storage room, across from a cheap plastic computer desk, a twin mattress lies upright against the back wall.

This is the home and office of self-professed Guru Wiley Brooks, a spiritual teacher with an unusual temple and an even stranger philosophy.

“Believe it or not, of all the space on the planet, this is a very special vortex,” Wiley says. “This is why nobody knows what’s happening, because they certainly don’t expect a guy living in the back of a TV shop to be anyone important.”

Wiley drops his lanky frame onto the desk chair and squints intently behind his wire-rimmed glasses to focus on the computer screen. As he talks, he navigates through his website—www.breatharian.com—to illustrate the specifics of his diet, the basis of his New-Age breatharian philosophy.

“This whole process, including how I live, is the only thing that’s kept me going all these years,” he explains in a deadpan tone. “People cannot imagine how powerful this is.”

At over six-feet tall and around 125 pounds, Wiley is a spry 74-year-old with sparse white hair and dark skin, which looks thinly stretched across his sunken cheeks.

His appearance seems to run counter to his all junk-food diet. For the past five years he has dined exclusively on McDonald’s Double Quarter Pounders with cheese, fries and Diet Coke. Nothing else, ever. He claims the diet is the reason for his long, healthy life.

Sound crazy? That’s what Wiley thought too, at first. That was, until he discovered the secret of the burgers.

McGuru

Meet Wiley Brooks: spiritual teacher, inter-dimensional traveler and founder of the Scottsdale-based Breatharian Institute of America.

Never heard of it? You’re not alone.

Breatharianism is a rather obscure philosophy in which believers claim food and water are unnecessary and that humans can live solely on air and sunlight. By permanently abstaining from food or drink, followers purport to have expanded their consciousness to the point where they can absorb all the nutrients their bodies need through breathing. According to experts, a side effect of this method also typically involves death due to starvation, but more on that later.

Wiley Brook’s personal brand of breatharianism is quite different.

A former vegetarian, Wiley calls himself one of the first “black hippies.” Throughout the 1960s and ‘70s, he experimented with various New-Age fads including fasting and other undisclosed popularities. In the late ‘70s, he first made national news by claiming he did not need to eat or drink and that he slept just one hour a night.

Over time, he said he learned that the longer he went without eating, the stronger he became. In 1981, he demonstrated his “superhuman strength” by lifting 1,100 pounds, nearly ten times his body weight, on the television show “That’s Incredible!” In the ‘80s he also appeared on the “Tomorrow Show with Tom Snyder,” preaching his breatharian philosophy.

Unfortunately, Wiley’s credibility took a blow in 1983 when he was spotted at a Santa Cruz 7-Eleven munching on a Slurpee, hot dog and Twinkies. After that, his philosophy of breatharianism changed. Wiley claimed that being surrounded by the “junk culture” of our three-dimensional world had required him to occasionally consume junk food to create balance. Breatharians contend that the air and sunlight they consume must be pure, which is why sometimes they cannot get the proper nutrition from polluted environments and must occasionally eat.

Of course if he “lived in a cave,” Wiley would have no need to eat, he says. But in order to stay connected to our world, he was forced to adopt an alternative of the breatharian philosophy that includes an all junk-food diet.

“For years I’ve been doing this, and the people who knew about me for years thought I was a fake or a liar because I said I didn’t eat and they saw that I was eating,” he says. “The confusion over the years for the world has been that people think that breatharians in their natural environment can live on breath alone—which is absolutely a fact. When I came here, I came as a person that didn’t eat either. Then I found out, as I evolved in life, that I had to eat.”

In the 1980s, Wiley established the Breatharian Institute of America in Scottsdale because he says the Valley is a holy place. “Everywhere on the planet there are vortexes. There are energy consciousnesses,” he says. “Phoenix is a very good area to be in. It’s one of the main places of energy.”

For the past five years, Wiley has lived his life as if he was starring in an extended mini-series of the Supersize Me movie. Each day he eats only McDonald’s Double Quarter Pounder burgers with cheese and Diet Coke, which he calls the “elixir of light.” He claims his special fast-food diet, and meditation, has made him an immortal.

“You’ll notice with my diet what I highly recommend is no fruits and vegetables. Don’t eat anything but the McDonald’s Double Quarter Pounder with cheese and the Diet Coke,” Wiley says. “No water of any kind. No fruits and vegetables of any kind. No food of any kind from anywhere. You can take the french fries with the meal, but only with the meal. It’s that one package. It’s a consciousness package.”

Wiley says he discovered all of this because he happens to be able to travel to the “source of all creation in the world,” where apparently the higher beings are fans of the Happy Meal. And believe him, he was as shocked as anyone when he learned he could only eat burgers and fries.

“The last thing in the world that I would have thought of would have been burgers and Diet Coke, and that’s why the rest of the world is going to be in shock about this, and they are already,” Wiley says. “The consciousness is still being held down because everybody thinks that by eating fruits and vegetables and going natural and doing all the stuff that they think is good for them is doing exactly the opposite.”

Just Breathe

Although he may certainly be the most colorful character associated with breatharianism, Wiley Brooks is not the first or only person to purport to possess the supernatural power to sustain without food or water. Among religious fakirs, godmen and yogis of India, breatharianism is a relatively common claim. Most, however, have ultimately been exposed as frauds.

One of the most well-known breatharians is Guru Jasmuheen from Australia. Born Ellen Greve, Jasmuheen, the former financial advisor and author of the book “Living on Light,” claims to go for months at a time without eating, sustaining solely on sunlight. She says the breatharian lifestyle will reverse the aging process and leave followers immortal.

In 1999, however, Jasmuheen’s claims were debunked when the Australian television show “60 Minutes” challenged her to demonstrate her methods for one week. Just four days into the study, the test was stopped when doctors monitoring her condition found Jasmuheen to be displaying symptoms of acute dehydration, stress and high blood pressure. Doctors concluded the experiment would ultimately prove fatal and cameras were turned off.

Jasmuheen challenged the results of the program, saying, “Look, 6,000 people have done this around the world without any problem.”

But while she claims thousands of followers, none have been able to verify living an extended period of time without food.

There are dozens of purported breatharians scattered around the world; most of them live in India, Poland and European countries. Wiley Brooks is the most prominent American breatharian. But of those who have attempted to follow a breatharian lifestyle, there have been numerous documented cases where people have suffered dire and sometimes fatal consequences, says Rick Ross, an expert on cults and founder of a research institute on cult organizations.

“If you don’t nourish your body for a long enough period of time, a doctor will tell you, you can walk away with organ damage,” Ross says. “There have been some tragedies associated with the breatharian group.”

Several breatharians have suffered death by starvation. In 1998, Lani Morris, a 53-year-old mother of nine from Melbourne, Australia, collapsed and died after going ten days without food or water as part of a 21-day initiation into breatharianism. Another breatharian follower, Timo Degen, a 31-year-old kindergarten teacher from Munich, Germany, fell into a coma and died after going 19 days without food.

In 1999, a 49-year-old Scotland resident Verity Linn died while adhering to a 21-day spiritual cleansing course advocated by Guru Jasmuheen. Linn’s body was found in a tent with nothing but a sleeping bag, her clothing and one of Jasmuheen’s books. After her death, Linn was awarded the Darwin Award, a tongue-in-cheek honor given to people who do a “service to humanity by removing themselves from the gene pool,” as a result of foolish or stupid actions.

As bizarre as the breatharian philosophy may seem, Ross says there is a cult mentality that drives followers.

“This is really quite serious. We’re talking about a group that has the potential for taking lives,” he says. “This group may seem eccentric and bizarre, but the most prominent feature of it is the health hazards that it represents.”

While breatharianism has remained largely on the fringe of even the most obscure New-Age philosophies, earlier this year it reemerged in the news when Indian military scientists began conducting tests on Prahlad Jani, an 83-year-old purported Indian holy man who claimed to have sustained for 65 years without food or water. Jani, who practices a special type of yoga and meditation, claims to have been blessed by a goddess at a young age, which gave him special powers.

During the study the yogi was sealed in a ward for fifteen days under constant surveillance by a team of 35 military medical staff until May 6, 2010, and reportedly did not eat, drink or go to the toilet once during that time. The doctors also claimed to have found that he was “more healthy than someone half his age.”

“We still do not know how he survives,” neurologist Sudhir Shah said at the end of the experiment. “It is still a mystery what kind of phenomenon this is.”

Doctors admitted they expected to observe notable loss of muscle mass, significant dehydration, weight loss and fatigue. Some even believed organ failure might occur—yet the mystic remained perfectly healthy.

“If Jani does not derive energy from food and water, he must be doing that from energy sources around him, sunlight being one,” Shah said. “As medical practitioners, we cannot shut our eyes to possibilities, to a source of energy other than calories.”

To become a true breatharian is a complex, life-altering process, says Jericho Sunfire, a breatharian personal fitness trainer in London. For the past 16 years, Sunfire, a former rugby player, has gone from being a fruitarian, to liquidarian, to waterian, and finally breatharian. He claims to have gone the past year and a half without eating.

“True breatharianism is food free and water, liquid free but people that have achieved this on a consistent basis are few and far between,” he says. “It’s a personal and often spiritual process with many lessons and tests or what I like to call initiations to pass before you can progress.”

The $10,000 Menu

In the back office of the television-repair shop, Wiley carefully spins a gold pendulum while meditating the five holy words.

“Jot Niranjan. Omkar. Rarankar. Sohang. Sat Nam,” he repeats in deep meditation.

For thirty years Wiley has been meditating on these words, which he says he learned during a visit to the fifth dimension.

Wiley says the meditation is vital to surviving the impending apocalypse. He claims that no one will survive beyond 2012, the legendary end date of the Mayan calendar, unless the world heeds his warnings.

“The most important thing the world has to know, and must know real soon, is that we are running out of time on this planet,” Wiley says. “It’s real serious—it has to do with several billion people’s lives.”

Fortunately, for humanity’s sake, Wiley holds the answers to the planet’s survival. And he will teach it to any prospective breatharians for the bargain price of $10,000. A payment plan is offered for his “empowered ascension workshops,” and clients must pay through a bank wire transfer. Wiley’s Bank of America account and routing numbers are also listed on his website. No refunds.

He used to charge $1 million for the services, but when he didn’t have many takers and since we’re approaching the impending apocalypse, the price of immortality has been significantly discounted. Wiley contends it is a fair price for his services.

“You go to a lawyer, you go to a doctor, especially if you’re facing problems in your life, you want to get the best lawyer or doctor you can get and you pay for it, no problem!” Wiley exclaims. “But for some reason, if they learn to live forever and be the happiest person in the universe, they think it should be free!”

Ironic, huh?

“That’s third-dimensional logic for you,” Wiley chuckles.

Sadly, as a doomsday cult leader, Wiley hasn’t had much financial success. Over the years he has only taught about 20 people how to ascend to the fifth dimension, although he declined to say how profitable that has been.

“You think I’m staying here because I have a lot of clients?” he says as he glances around the tiny television-repair shop.

Fortunately, with the whole “destruction of the planet” thing hanging over the world’s head, Wiley has a plan to save the world, and fill his wallet.

“Since we have a limited time, if I get a couple of people to where I am, then we can contain the whole planet,” he says. “The composite power of these people will be enough to hold the Earth in place a little past the date so that other people can gradually catch up… but that takes money.”

So Wiley is willing to use his gifts to teach a few wealthy clients the secrets of immortality. He plans to use those profits to build a compound in New Mexico, where he can conduct mass initiations and convert the entire planet to his junk-food diet.

In addition, he has been doing his part to fend off the apocalypse by traveling around the country “anchoring light energy.” How does he accomplish this task?

“You know what animals do when they mark their territory?” Wiley smirks. “I have to do it.”

Seriously. He literally goes around urinating on everything.

“The energy passes through me and moves into the world. I do that all over the place,” Wiley says matter-of-factly. “I’ve been all over the place, on the buses with my backpack—everywhere. I mean, all the shopping malls, parks, everywhere in Phoenix.”

Shockingly, he says higher powers, and sharp bladder pains, told him this was the only method to heal the planet and prevent natural disasters.

“It’s so ridiculous in a way. It was a big shock to me,” Wiley says. “Just imagine, people would never believe that anybody who has the knowledge I have is pissing all over the place. You know? How do you tell that to someone?”

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