Free The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule Page B

evening, and went to her room in the basement-a room separated from Lynda's by only a thin plywood wall-at a quarter to one. Lynda's light was out, and all was quiet.
    At 5:30 A.M., Barbara heard Lynda's alarm radio go off as usual, and she went back to sleep. At 6:00 her own alarm sounded and she was somewhat surprised to hear the insistent buzzing of Lynda's alarm still sounding. The phone rang--Lynda's employer at the ski report company inquiring why Lynda hadn't arrived at work. Barbara went to Lynda's room and switched on the light; the room was immaculate, the bed perfectly made without a wrinkle. This was a bit unusual as Lynda's habit was to make her bed after she returned from classes, but Barbara wasn't particularly concerned. She turned off the alarm, and assumed that Lynda was already on her way to work.
    Lynda Ann Healy was not on her way to work, or to school. She was gone without a struggle, and without a trace.
    The green ten-speed bike that Lynda routinely used for transportation was still in the basement, but her roommates
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    noted something alarming. The side door which led into the basement was unlocked. They never left it unlocked. Indeed, the door was very difficult-almost impossible-to unlock from the outside, so they always opened it from the inside when they wanted to push their bikes out and then locked it from the inside again going around the house to reach their bikes. The single window with its transparent curtain next to the concrete interior steps had long since been painted shut. The girls who lived in the shared home met on campus that afternoon and compared notes. Each assumed that one of the others had seen Lynda at classes during the day, yet none had. When her family arrived that evening for the dinner she'd planned, they were frightened; Lynda was the last person in the world who would fail to show up for work, class, and, most particularly, for a supper where she'd invited her family. They called the Seattle Police and reported her as a missing person. Detectives Wayne Dorman and Ted Fonis of the Homicide Unit arrived to talk to Lynda's worried parents and housemates. They were led to her neat room in the basement. It was a happy-looking room, painted a sunny yellow, its walls festooned with posters and photographs-many of Lynda and friends skiing, several of the retarded youngsters from the experimental school, Camelot House, where the missing girl volunteered her time. Lynda's bed was next to the plywood wall; Barbara's was just on the other side.
    The detectives pulled the spread back. The caseless pillow was stained crimson with dried blood, and a great splotch had soaked through the sheets into the mattress. Whoever had shed that blood would have had to have been seriously injured, perhaps unconscious-but there was not enough blood present to indicate that the victim had bled to death. Lorna and Marti pointed out to the investigators that the bed had been made differently than Lynda would have done it. "She always pulled the sheet up over the pillow, and now it's tucked underneath." Lynda had had a pink satin pillowcase on her bed. It was gone; its mate was in her dresser drawer. Her nightgown was located in the back of the closet, the neck area stiffened with dried blood. A reasonable supposition was that someone had entered

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    Lynda's room as she lay sleeping, beaten her into unconsciousness before she could cry out, and carried her away.
    Her roommates looked through her closet and found the only clothing missing were the jeans, blouse, and boots she'd worn the night before.
    "And her backpack is gone," Marti said. "It's red with gray straps. She usually kept books in it, and maybe her yellow ski cap and gloves . . . and yes, she had a whole bunch of tickets to the Youth Symphony and some checks for tickets in there."
    Lynda's nightgown had been stained with blood which surely indicated she'd worn it when she was attacked. The