Free Michael Benson's True Crime Bundle by Michael Benson Page A

Stanko carried out his game plan. The sign said: WELCOME TO AUGUSTA , GEORGIA: HOME OF THE MASTERS . He visited a series of local bars, drinking and mingling with golf fans.
    At the first bar, he expressed an interest in going to the tournament and watching Tiger smack it around. Forget about it, he was told. There was no point in going anywhere near the golf course because the event was sold out, and sneaking on was about as easy as robbing Fort Knox.
    One of the bars Stanko visited was Rhinehart’s Oyster Bar on Washington Road. A seafood restaurant, there was nothing fancy about it. Rhinehart’s ambience was “beyond casual.” The restaurant’s logo/spokesman, “Buford Pickens,” wore overalls.
    Maybe Stanko pretended to drink more than he did, to maintain a maximum manipulative advantage over his newfound drinking buddies. Or, perhaps because of his adrenaline level, he was partially immune to the effects of alcohol.
    It was at Rhinehart’s that Stanko met a woman named Dana Laurie Putnam. She thought she noticed him first, but soon they made fervent eye contact and . . . sparks!
    Her hair was black, like Laura Ling’s. But this woman’s hair was curly and had been shaped in an upswept fashion at the beauty parlor. This, accompanied by a kind, pleasant face, and a gracefully long neck, made her look both elegant and cute as the dickens at the same time.
    Pleased to meetchu . She explained her name was pronounced Dan-uh, not Day-nuh, as was sometimes the case. She fell in at his side and remained there for the rest of the night. He said his name was Stephen with a P-H . Stephen Christopher—like the medal. They became fast friends. She said she was just a few days past her thirtieth birthday, and she and her friends were celebrating.
    Stanko said he wasn’t out looking for bimbos. He’d been there, done that. He was looking for a woman he could respect —respect and admire . Truth was, everyone who knew Putnam respected and admired her; but coming from this guy, it sounded special.
    As was true of all of the women Stanko was attracted to, Putnam had brains. She worked at the Southeastern Natural Sciences Academy—an environmentalist working to save the Earth a little bit at a time through education, research, and general consciousness-raising.
    As had been the case in Columbia, the party was mobile. They moved from Rhinehart’s to Surrey Tavern, located at the Surrey Center, a fifty-two-store shopping mall on the north side of Highland Avenue at Wheeler Road in Augusta. Again, Stanko bought a lot of drinks.
    As Dana later recalled, “He pulled out a roll of money and asked me to dance.”
    Stanko dropped his “came to see the golf” ploy. He told Putnam that he was a restaurateur visiting her lovely city on business.
    “What sort of restaurants?” Dana asked.
    “Chain restaurant franchises,” he replied. “Hooters and Checkers.”
    “Where do you live?”
    He said he lived in Myrtle Beach but was planning a move to Georgia.
    “Oh, whereabouts?”
    “Here, in Augusta. I love it here. I’ve even taken out a post office box until I find a place to stay.”
    They had a long talk, during which he told more lies. He said that he gave “shag lessons” (referring to the dance, but perhaps aware of the double entendre) and in the summertime worked as a lifeguard. And he kept spending money, buying round after round of drinks. Putnam thought Stanko was blotto drunk, and told him he was too drunk to drive.
    “What’ll I do?” he asked.
    “I’ll drive you home. You can sleep on my couch,” she said trustfully, and that was what happened. Putnam wasn’t completely trusting, however. When she went to bed, she locked her bedroom door.

SUNDAY
    Dana Putnam woke up on Sunday morning, and her new friend was gone. She thought perhaps that was that. But he called. He had walked to get his truck, which he’d abandoned near the previous night’s last bar.
    Relieved that she herself had not been abandoned,