The Evergreen StateDarren Dee O'Neall, 27, arrived virtually unnoticed in the rugged Twin Peaks backwoods of Washington State on November 3, 1986, an unseasonably warm Monday.
Known as a drifter to his family, friends and law enforcement agencies across the country, O'Neall had traveled extensively throughout the United States. As the product of an Army household, his travels had begun in his youth and continued un�til his father, Darrell, finally retired from the military and settled with Darren's mother, Christa, in Colorado Springs, Colorado. But for reasons, dark, maca�bre reasons that no one yet fully understood, Darren O'Neall continued to travel in his adult life, out of necessity in most cases in order to stay one step ahead of the law.�
Mostly, however, he made contacts in the streets because he blended in so smoothly with what he termed societys rubbish, which is how he sometimes thought of himself, and because he knew that such people would be the least likely ever to turn him in to the law.� He was gutsy and daring, which should not be construed as bravery or gallantry but instead should be understood in the vein that he would do what he had to do to get what he wanted.� In that sense, some would say, he had more nerve than a government mule.� But he was a loner for the most part, afraid to face life responsibly and on the right side of the law, and that seemed to suit him just fine.
Upon his arrival in the "Evergreen State," O'Neall promptly contacted an old high school friend who, ONeall learned, had also recently moved into the area.� While renewing their friendship, the old friend convinced O'Neall in short order that life and women were indeed good there and that he should rent an apartment and stay, too.� O'Neall, apparently believing his friend and taking him at his word decided to try out the area for a while.� After settling into a shabby duplex unit in Puyallup, a small community of 17,200 residents, he quickly obtained work as a truck driver in nearby Tacoma.
Although his propensity for carrying out senseless acts of violence was present early in his life and began to manifest itself during a period of enlistment with the U.S. Army, no one, not even O'Neall, really knew what he was capable of doing.� He was literally a ticking time bomb waiting to explode but, unfortunately, nobody knew when, where, or by what means the detonation would occur.
The Evil WithinBy January 1987 the darkness within Darren O'Neall began to surface. O'Neall's job as a trucker took him to Portland, Oregon, some 130 miles to the south, on the evening of January 17. Driving toward his destination, he spotted an attractive 14-year-old girl walking across a freeway overpass on the city's southeast side on her way to a nearby convenience store.� Driving a big rig, O'Neall's insatiable sexual urge compelled him to turn around and drive back for a second look, just in time to see her walk inside the convenience store.� With his libido now dictating his actions, he positioned his truck on the side of the street along the route she had come and waited for her to emerge from the store.
This was too good to be true, or so ONeall thought.� After all, he had just driven south from Tacoma to Portland, Oregon, the City of Roses, and he had already found himself a perfect victim.� While it was certainly bad luck for the girl, it was indeed good luck for him. Rarely was finding a victim so easy.� Fate was clearly on his side once again.� Thinking through a quickly made plan, ONeall told himself that it would all be worth it once he had the girl under his control.� He lit up a Camel filter, his favorite brand of cigarette, and drew the harsh smoke deep into his lungs as he waited for the girl to leave the store.
Five minutes passed. As he waited for her to re�turn, he became more anxious, excited, and his breathing grew heavier, more intense with each sec�ond that ticked by. Three minutes later he lit another Camel from the one he was smoking, and flicked the finished one out into the street. He continued to wait, and he took out one of the long-bladed hunting knives that he always carried with him as he began to fantasize about what he would soon be able to do with the girl. He turned the knife over and over in his hands, feeling the sharp, turned-up tip. The things he planned to do to the girl were terrible, unthinkable by most people's values - but not to his. People, to him, were objects to be used for his pleasure alone, to be discarded like garbage �when he was finished with them. He didn't care whether she had a family or what kinds of repercussions his ac�tions would have on them or the girl. Thoughts of decency were foreign to him. All he cared about was himself, what he needed, what he wanted. Even more frightening, there was a part of him that under�stood all of this.
Although he was not yet versed in the legality of what he was about to do, by definition he was going to interfere with a person's personal liberty and com�mit the crime of kidnapping in the first degree with the sole purpose of causing physical and psycholog�ical injury to his chosen victim. He was going to confine her secretly so that he could terrorize her without being disturbed, ultimately for his sexual pleasure and the delight he would enjoy of having her under his power, under his total control. He knew what he was doing, and he knew right from wrong. But he didn't care. He was evil.
Finally, there she was, coming out of the store. She was carrying an open bottle of soda pop in one hand and a small sack of candy and other treats in the other. There was no time to lose. The man moved quickly into action. He climbed out of the cab of his big rig, the half-burned Camel hanging from his lips, and moved toward the truck's sleeping compartment door, pretending that he was attending to some kind of a problem with his rig. Such tactics had worked for him before. There was no reason for him to believe they wouldn't work this time.
When the girl was alongside the truck, the hairy man, without any warning, pulled on the outside handle of the sleeping compartment door and swung it open, then stepped onto the sidewalk in front of her and effectively blocked her path, all in one swift action. It was imperative that he move quickly. He couldn't risk anyone seeing him kidnap the girl.
Extremes of Sexual ViolencePuzzled and somewhat startled at first, the girl stopped in her tracks and looked up quizzically at the man. Not wanting the girl to scream and cause a scene before he could get her under his control, the man attempted a halfhearted smile as he leered at her with Charlie Manson eyes. Quick as a snake he reached out and grabbed her by the front of her ny�lon jacket. Terrified, the girl stiffened and froze, un�able to scream or fight back. The man lifted her off the sidewalk and pushed her forcefully into the truck's sleeping compartment. He leaped inside after her and pulled the door shut behind him, brandish�ing the hunting knife for the girl to see. He also told her that he had a gun, but she didn't actually see the .357 Ruger he was carrying.
"If you scream or try to get away, I'll kill you," said the man, brimming with a matter-of-fact, arrogant confidence. The girl, wild-eyed with fear, couldn't take her eyes off the knife. The knife was having the ef�fect that he wanted it to have, and he seemed aroused by her wild display of fear. Although terrified, she kept quiet and involuntarily allowed the man to stuff a gag inside her mouth and to bind her hands and feet. Squirming from discomfort and crying uncontrollably, her young mind instinctively told her that it would be futile, and possibly very dangerous, to resist. When he was certain that the bindings were tautly in place and was confident that she couldn't get away or cause him any trouble, the man exited the sleeping compartment and climbed back into the driver's seat. Certain that he had drawn no attention from passersby he calmly started the engine and pulled unobtrusively away from the curb. He crossed the overpass, then took the freeway on-ramp that headed him south into rural Clackamas County, his predetermined destination. He wanted his privacy, and he knew that he would get it there.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled off onto a dark, tree-shrouded unpaved road and parked in an area not unlike that being frequented by serial killer Dayton Leroy Rogers (see Blood Lust:� Portrait of a Serial Sex Killer), also known as the Molalla Forest Killer.� ONeall wasnt aware of Rogers, who had not been apprehended yet and wouldnt be for several more months.� But no one would bother him there, of that ONeall was certain. With steady hands he reached into a sack on the floor�board and pulled out a lukewarm can of Black Label beer, next to the last can of a six-pack that he had purchased just before leaving Washington State. He lit another Camel, climbed out of the truck, and lis�tened intently. All he could hear was the wind-driven rain pelting the metal of the cab's roof. He was alone with the girl in a silent forest, and though her tears flowed like the rain coming down outside and he could hear her whimpering in the compartment be�hind him, he made not a sound. He was feeling good, strong, and in control. After several minutes of savoring the moment, he climbed inside the sleeping compartment and sat down next to the frightened, whimpering girl, a mere child who was only now beginning to learn about life's darkest side.
Keeping the knife where she could see it, he carefully removed her restraints. He drew back his hand at one point, as if he was going to slap her hard across the face with the palm of his hand. The display was to show her that he meant business. But for some reason he didn't strike the girl. Perhaps it was the way she had flinched sharply in anticipation of the pain that the slap would have caused, or perhaps it was because she had promptly nodded in affirmation that she would do just as she was told, everything that he instructed her to do as long as he promised not to kill her. But the only promise he made to her was that if she didn't obey, she would suffer dearly for it. She believed him, and slowly followed his in�structions by removing all her clothing.
The girl slowly unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off. She next unfastened her jeans and, from a sitting position, slipped them down. She looked at him for a mo�ment, as if waiting or hoping that he would change his mind.
"Go on, get the rest of those off," he commanded as he showed her the knife again. "What the fuck are you waitin' for?"
She unfastened her bra in the back and, attempting to cover her breasts with one arm, she removed the bra the rest of the way with the other. She then slipped her panties off and kneeled on the floor.� He pushed her onto her back, but she remained rigid.
He ran his large, rough hands across her breasts, and took the hunting knife and ran its tip slowly and ever so lightly across her stomach. With careful, deliberate movements he continued dragging the knife in a downward motion, across her abdomen and pelvic area to, finally, between her thighs. He felt good, all-powerful. He wriggled out of his own pants He forced himself on top of the girl and entered her forcefully. . His breath stank of beer and cigarettes, and he panted as he continued to rape her.
His manhood was important to him, even if he really wasn't the man he wanted everyone to think that he was. He had to maintain the image. It was all an extension of his fantasy, which he believed he had to keep alive to get along in the world.
The girl didn't want to take any chances of angering him by protesting his demands that she perform oral sex on him and so she continued the deviant act until he backed away on his own. She didn't know what he might do with the knife.
He would continue to rape her over the next two hours. At one point, when it appeared that he would not be able to attain another erection, the man grabbed the now empty soda pop bottle that the girl had been carrying when he kidnapped her and placed it angrily be�tween her legs.
"Bet you know what I'm doing to do with this, don't you?" he laughed. The girl remained silent, and only stared at him with wild, frightened eyes.
He carefully, but forcefully, worked the bottle's neck into her vagina.
When ONeall realized that he was finished with the girl, he also knew that he had the problem of deciding what to do with her. He had kidnapped, repeatedly raped, and sexually penetrated the body of a juvenile female with a foreign object, among other crimes. If he let her go, he knew that she would likely be able to identify him at some point. He thought and talked of killing her, but she cried and pleaded with him to let her go.
"I promise I won't tell anyone what happened if you'll just let me go," she cried. "Please don't kill me!"
"I could sell you to pimps in California," he said after several minutes of silence, an evil gleam in his eyes. He seemed lost, deep in thought for several more minutes before finally breaking the quietude. After taunting her by telling her all of the horrible things that he could do to her, he demanded that she promise, again, not to tell anyone about what had happened to her. After threatening to find her if she did, ONeall miraculously agreed to let her go. He allowed her to dress, drove her back to the city, and dropped her off at a location where she could easily find her way home.
When the girl arrived home, she discovered that her parents were still up, frantic with worry. They had already called the police, but, they had been told, there wasn't much that they could do until more time had passed. She hadn't been missing long enough to qualify as a missing person. Trembling un�controllably, she tearfully recounted to her parents the horror she had been subjected to over the past few hours. They reported the crimes that had been committed against their daughter to the Portland Police Bureau, and the girl was taken to a local hospital for examination. A standard rape kit, which includes a comb, swabs and evidence containers, was used to collect the evidence.
Following the medical examination, Portland Police Bureau Detective Bill Carter interviewed the girl at length. She described her attacker as a white male, approximately 25 to30 years of age, nearly six feet tall, and about 160 pounds. She said that he had a thick mustache and beard, and somewhat crooked teeth. However, despite the investigation that was initiated as case number 87-12-37738 that evening, it would be nearly six months before the girl would positively identify her attacker as one Darren Dee O'Neall.
In the meantime, she would begin to despise and distrust nearly all men because of what happened to her on the night of January 17, 1987, and would grow up harboring such feelings despite extensive therapy. And, like so many others who had become victims of violent crime, she would become afraid of the dark.
ONeall eventually would be charged with two counts of first-degree kidnapping, three counts of first-degree rape, sexual penetration with a foreign object, three counts of third-degree rape, and single counts of first-degree sodomy, third-degree sodomy, and sexual abuse, but not before returning to Washington State and murdering Robin Smith, and likely other victims.
two months after the attack on the young Oregon girl, in March 1987,
O'Neall met attractive Mary Barnes at Baldy's Tavern in Puyallup, where
Barnes worked part-time as a barmaid.� Baldys soon became one of ONealls
favorite haunts, and he began going there almost daily.� Attracted to
O'Neall's ruggedness, the two instantly hit it off and Barnes soon moved
into O'Neall's apartment.� Barnes satisfied him sexually at first, but
after a couple of weeks he began to fantasize about the perfect woman he
wanted for himself, a woman he hoped he could take back into the woods
and live out the rest of his life with.� It was just a fantasy, of
course, one of many that he got from reading Louis LAmours western
Early on Saturday morning, March 28, shortly past midnight, O'Neall began eyeing a beautiful young woman from across the bar.� Soon afterward his fantasy state took hold, and he immediately felt certain that he had found the perfect woman hed been looking for in Robin Smith, 22, at Baldy's Tavern.� He found Smith, at 5-foot-3, 115 pounds with blue eyes and blond hair, very attractive.� But there was a problem, one that ONeall became starkly aware of almost immediately.� Robin was with her fiance, Larron Crowston, 23, however, and did not actually meet O'Neall until later that morning at his apartment.� O'Neall, it turned out, had decided early that he had to find a way to separate Smith from Crowston, and shortly before the tavern closed that morning he persuaded Barnes to announce to the tavern patrons that everyone was invited to his place for an "after hours" party.� A small crowd, including Smith and Crowston, accompanied O'Neall and Barnes to their apartment, where the drinking continued non-stop into the morning.
At 5 a.m. Crowston suddenly left the party, citing a previously planned fishing trip with friends that he had committed himself to, but there was the question of how Robin would get home.� Robin didnt want to leave the party yet, but Crowston could not wait any longer or he would miss the fishing boat.� After being assured by O'Neall and Barnes that they would see to it that Robin got home safely, Crowston kissed his fianc�e goodbye.� He didnt know it, but it would be the last time he ever saw Robin.
****Robin Pamela Smith was born in New Britain, Connecticut, on April 4, 1965, to Edna and Stuart Smith. A tiny baby, not much larger than a child's doll, Robin weighed a mere four pounds, four ounces. Her mother described her as a good baby, which, in any mother's language, translates into a quiet baby, and the placidity that followed her into adolescence and adulthood would be but one of several traits for which she would be remembered. Somewhat prissy as a little girl, she borrowed her sisters' clothes all the time, and these, too, were characteristics that she would carry with her into young adulthood.
|On the surface Robin, in her youngest years, was not always perceived as a friendly child, as often happens to people who are shy.� People often mistake shyness for coldness or aloofness, when it is usually nothing of the sort. Deep down, Robin was really a very warm and loving young girl who was devoted to her family and friends. Although beheld by some in her later teenage years as a happy-go-lucky girl, those closest to Robin knew her as being quieter and more reserved than many young girls her age. The shyness, say members of her family, never really left her, and it always took some doing for anyone even to get to know her. She consistently moved slowly with new acquaintances, especially males, perhaps because of the pain that she had watched her mother go through during the trauma of divorce. It was only after Robin had become comfortable with someone that she would open up and talk to them, and even then only rarely would she reveal her innermost feelings and secrets to anyone outside her immediate family.|
Fear of the DarkLike many kids, Robin grew up being afraid of the dark. At first it seemed natural enough to her parents, as if it was only a childhood phase that she was going through. But as time went on she began to dwell upon her fears, and often had disturbing thoughts that something terrible was going to happen to her.� Family members be�lieved that might have been one of the reasons why she kept to herself. She had friends, but she was always very selective about the people with whom she chose to associate, and she always remained close to her family.
Perhaps more of a homebody type than many of her peers, Robin tried hard to be a typical teenager during her high school years. Like most teenagers, she wanted acceptance from kids her own age and sometimes bowed to pressure, such as taking up the habit of smoking cigarettes. But she never did anything to cause her parents any real problems or grief. Even though she made good grades in school, she didn't particularly like school, and as time went on it became tough for her mother to get her out of bed in the morning. But even that, aside from occasionally showing up late for school, never really became a problem for anyone. If she had a problem that she couldn't solve herself or if something bothered her, she would always go to her mother with her troubles, just as all of Edna's kids would. Of course, she had the usual fights with her three brothers and two sisters, and there was a certain amount of sibling rivalry among all of them, just as there is in any large family, but when it came down to the nitty-gritty they were always there for one another just as their mother had always taught them to be.
Despite the love and positive reinforcement that Robin received at home, she did not grow up being overly confident. She often worried about her looks and became self-conscious, which, again, was typical for a teenage girl. She was pretty, but she didn't really think of herself as being very pretty. She had had a hernia on her navel when she was a baby, not a "normal belly button," which, even though surgically repaired when she was an infant, transformed into a rather small line with an indentation as she grew up. Although it wasn't particularly noticeable and didn't mar her attractiveness, she didn't want people to see it. For reasons that no one really understood, she developed an almost unnatural fear of having her body exposed, perhaps because of her herniated navel. She even dreaded going to the doctor out of fear that she would be asked to disrobe for an examination, and would see a doctor only when it became absolutely necessary.
There was also a certain dark or grim side to Robin. Besides being afraid of the dark, which might have stemmed from her fondness for a country and western song, "Jeannie Is Afraid of the Dark," that she listened to constantly as a child, Robin withdrew into her own little shell when her mother divorced her second husband, Robin's father, Stuart, in 1978. As if being withdrawn wasn't a serious enough problem for her to cope with, she began having recurring nightmares of being held captive in a crowded, dark place, nightmares that her mother now believes, in retrospect, were a chilling foreshadowing of what was to come.
Within a year or so, as she began to accept her parents' divorce, Robin started coming out of the protective shell that she had constructed around herself. By then she had become close friends with two other girls, Julie and Trish, and the trio was inseparable. Together almost constantly, everybody soon began calling them the Three Musketeers.
Then, in 1982, Trish suddenly announced to Robin and Julie that she was moving to California. She was going to stay with a friend there and find a job, she told her friends. Robin, then 16, was deeply saddened to see her friend leave, but she nonetheless wished Trish luck and issued her a stern warning not to get drawn into the nether world of drugs or prostitution. Trish promised her friends that she wouldn't, and assured them that she would behave herself and that she would stay in touch. Following a tearful going-away party, Trish departed her friends' lives.
A Murdered FriendTwo months later, however, Trish called Robin. Robin, of course, was ecstatic to hear from her. But there was something about the fact that Trish had called that troubled her. Robin asked her what was wrong, not really expecting Trish to tell her but nonetheless hoping that she would. Everything was fine, said Trish. She had a job, she was happy, and she said she liked living in California. But she somehow didn't sound normal to Robin, and Robin continued to sense that something was wrong.
"Are you sure that you're not on drugs or involved in prostitution?" Robin asked. "If you are, I'll kick your butt because I don't want you doing things like that. Come home if things are going wrong for you.� Still Trish insisted that everything was fine.
Two days later, while watching television, Robin saw a news report about a girl who had been murdered at an apartment complex down on the Sea-Tac Strip, a busy boulevard of hotels, motels, and restau�rants so named because of its close proximity to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. Some of the establishments were classy, but for every classy hotel or motel there were two that were seedy.� Hookers, young and over-the-hill alike, commonly walked the Strip at all hours of the day and night, looking to turn a trick and make a few bucks for their next fix of heroin, speed, or whatever. Some of the girls worked independently, and others had pimps. But it didn't matter. They were always there, rain or shine, and many of them often fell victim to a sex criminal of one kind or another while working in the world's oldest profession. Most were either released or escaped with only minimal physical harm after having been forced to engage in any number of acts of sexual fetishism, some violent. But one such sex criminal, however, showed them no mercy.� He would eventually be dubbed the Green River Killer, a vicious psychopathic murderer who wanted more out of the prostitutes, much more, than they were willing to sell to him. The Strip would become the focal point of the police, from where so many of that serial killer's street-walking victims were plucked off the boulevard and driven to their violent, horrible deaths.
Naturally, when the girl was found dead at the apartment complex, most people never thought much about it at the time. By then the murders attributed to the Green River Killer had become more or less commonplace, and the public at first just chalked up the murder of this latest young female as another of the elusive serial killer's victims, just another prostitute who had met an unpleasant end. But the police knew right away that the girl wasn't a Green River Killer victim. Although the girl was indeed quickly labeled a hooker by the police, her murder simply did not fit that serial killer's modus operandi, his method of operation. And when Robin saw the news reports of the murdered girl, her thoughts turned to Trish. But she soon convinced herself that the girl couldn't have been Trish. She was in California.
The police couldn't immediately identify the young girl. The news reports said that she had been raped and murdered in an upstairs apartment unit, stabbed to death, and her nude body had been tossed off one of the balconies. Soon, however, the police had a photo taken of the dead girl, just of her face, and had it published under the Crime Stoppers heading in the local newspapers. One of the victim's former classmates recognized her, and positively identified her for the police. It was Trish, all right, and when Robin learned that one of her closest friends had been brutally raped and murdered, it was almost more than she could take.
Robin literally came unglued, as did her friend Julie, the sister of close family friend Jim Chaney.� Despite warnings from her family and friends, Robin went down to the apartment complex where the murder occurred and started knocking on doors, asking questions of the tenants in an attempt to find out who had done such a horrible thing to her girlfriend. Fearing that Robin might roust the killer out during one of her irrational outbursts, Edna called a police friend and asked him to speak to her. Although Robin at first resisted the police officer's efforts to talk some sense into her, he eventually was able to convince her to let the police do their job. Even after the case was eventually cleared, Robin and Julie would find it difficult to return their lives to normal.
Following Trish's murder, Robin's nightmares resumed and actually intensified. No longer did she merely dream that something horrible was going to happen to her. Her dreams became more specific than that and intensified to the point where she frequently dreamed of dying at the hands of another, horribly, just like Trish. Although everyone tried to console her and attempted to pump positive thoughts into her mind, the nightmares only grew worse. Concerned for her safety after Trish's murder, and seeing how adversely the murder had affected her, Robin's brothers and sisters began cautioning her about the many dangers lurking on the city's streets. If anyone ever tried to rape her, they told her, just give it up if it otherwise meant losing her life. But Robin always remained steadfast.
"Never. Over my dead body I'll fight. I'll go down with a fight," she told them. Although she never fully got over Trish's brutal and untimely death, she tried hard to get on with her life. It wasn't easy, but the fact that she and Julie were there for each other to lean on helped them both to eventually accept what had happened to Trish.
Robin is Missing
returning from his fishing trip, Larron discovered that Robin had not
returned home.� He and Robins mother, Edna, became exceedingly worried
about her well being after being unable to locate anyone who knew where
she was.� Fearing for Robin's safety, Larron and Edna reported Robin
missing to the Pierce County Sheriff's Office.|
to Barnes, O'Neall often carried a knife on his belt and another hidden
in his boot.� She also said that O'Neall claimed to have knowledge of
survivalist skills obtained from his prior enlistment in the Army
Rangers and Green Berets, but the detectives were unable to find any
evidence that he was ever a member of either of the elite military
groups, only that he had been an enlistee in the regular army.� Barnes
told the investigators that O'Neall dressed primarily in western wear,
including cowboy hats, boots, and jeans.� In addition to having worked
as a bartender and a laminator in a cabinet-making shop, the detectives
learned that O'Neall exhibited considerable talent in woodworking
skills.� Barnes corroborated information from other sources that ONeall
was also known to frequently change his appearance through hair growth
and cutting, adding and removing a mustache and beard, and sometimes
wearing wire-rimmed glasses.|
Later on the day that Robin failed to return home, O'Neall showed up at a friends home at 1:30 p.m. driving a 1972 Chrysler New Yorker with Montana license plates.� He explained that he was going away for awhile, but did not indicate where he was going or for how long he would be gone.� O'Neall asked to borrow some money from his friend for a truck that he claimed he wanted to buy, and dropped off one of his dogs for his friend to watch for him during his absence.� ONealls friend accompanied him to the car, which was backed into a driveway across the street, and noticed while they were talking that something was kicking hard against the back seat from inside the trunk.� When his friend asked him what was inside the trunk, O'Neall explained that he was having difficulty with his other dog and had locked it inside the trunk as a form of punishment.
"I told him, 'That's sick.� You don't put a dog in the trunk,'" the friend explained later when he talked to the police.� "Then I walked away without writing him the check, and he drove off."
night at a nearby hospital emergency room, a man requested treatment for
facial cuts and scrapes.� The man fit O'Neall's description:� a
teardrop mark on his cheek and the word "J-U-N-E" tattooed across his
knuckles.� The following morning a man walked into the Safeway grocery
store in Enumclaw, Washington, a man believed to be O'Neall.� He
purchased pastry, cigarettes, and Black Label beer.|
Two hours later a flagman noticed someone in a car second in a line of cars in the Greenwater area near Mount Rainier waiting to get past roadwork. Unlike the others, the man did not have skis, even though he was headed toward the mountain.� Also unlike the others, the man drove on by, pulled off the road, waited for twenty minutes, then returned the way he had come.� The investigators eventually believed that the man seen by the flagman was none other than Darren O'Neall.� It was at that time, they eventually theorized after no sign of Robin was ever found, that he pulled off the highway onto a rugged logging road and disposed of Robin Smith's body.
Robin's relatives, friends, and acquaintances soon told the investigators that it was completely out of character for Robin to just leave with O'Neall, especially since she was engaged to Crowston, and a missing person report was finally filed when deputies followed up on the initial reports called in by Edna and Larron.� In those reports Robin was described as wearing blue jeans, a pink-and-white shirt, purple coat and white tennis shoes. She had a quarter-inch scar above her left eye.� Similarly, an APB was issued for O'Neall, in which he was described as 5 feet 11 inches, 170 pounds, medium build, blond hair, blue eyes, and a light complexion.� It also described a vertical scar on his right cheek, a six-inch surgical scar on his abdomen, a small, barely visible five-point-tip star tattoo below his left eye, and the name "J-U-N-E" tattooed on the knuckles of his left hand.� Though there was no sign of O'Neall or Robin, Robin's family and fiance did not give up the hope that she was still alive.
|Another day passed, and on
Monday, March 30, 1987, the dark yellow Chrysler O'Neall was known to
drive was found abandoned at a rest stop 15 miles north of Everett,
Washington, north of Seattle, along the northbound lanes of Interstate
5.� Though the car was the clue that almost got away, it was eventually
linked to O'Neall and investigators opened the trunk.� Inside the
detectives found the blood-soaked jacket that belonged to Robin Smith,
two teeth, a bone fragment, and a heavily blood stained interior.� The
cops suspected that Robin had been beaten severely with a hammer or some
other heavy instrument while held captive in the trunk of ONealls car.�
No longer did the detectives hold out much hope that Robin was still
alive.� Nonetheless, Edna continued to grasp a thin thread of hope and
refused to believe that the worst had happened.|