Roth Randy - Fatal charm: the shocking true story of serial wife killer Randy Roth

Fatal Charm

The Shocking True Story of Serial Wife Killer Randy Roth

Carlton Smith

CONTENTS

THE LAKE

1 The Hottest Day of the Year

It had been the hottest day of the year, and as the long afternoon drew on toward evening, the two boys sat on the beach and peered out across the lake, arguing idly. Tyson Baumgartner, eleven, thought he could see the rubber raft; his brother Rylie, nine, was certain he couldnt. I think I see them, Tyson said. Where? said Rylie, doubting it.

The lake was Lake Sammamish, one of the Seattle areas most popular recreation spots, and on a day as hot as July 23, 1991, when the temperature was nearly one hundred, the water was filled with motorboats churning endlessly up and down, some towing skiers, others heading into or away from shore. With all the waves and the boat traffic, the low-riding, small gray inflatable was easy to overlook.

Yep, said Tyson, thats them. But I dont see Mom.

Shes probably lying in the bottom, sunbathing, Rylie said.

The two brothers watched as the raft picked its way through the boat traffic. A shirtless man in dark glasses was rowing steadily but not with any particular haste. As the tiny craft neared the roped-off swimming area, the rower turned around so he was facing the beach and began to push the raft in toward the shore with the two plastic oars. It took longer, but the rower didnt seem to mind. The boys saw that the raft was pointed toward the south end of the swimming area. They walked over to meet it as it neared the shore. Yep, it was Randy all right.

Keep your raft twenty-five yards away from the swimming area, a lifeguard boomed through a bullhorn, but the man kept on rowing. When the lifeguard called out again, the rower looked up, puzzled, as if to say, Who, me? Then the raft reached the beach, and the man in the sunglasses got out and started pulling the craft up on the sand, ignoring the two boys.

Tyson and Rylie looked down into the well of the raft and saw their mother. She was lying in about four inches of water. Her blond hair hung in wet, unruly, tangled strands across her face. Her eyes were vacant. Her face and upper torso were blue. She wasnt breathing. She lay completely still. She wasnt sunbathing.

The man in the sunglasses turned to Tyson and spoke quietly.

Go get the lifeguard, he said. Ask him for help. But dont make a commotion.

There were probably three or four hundred people on the beach that day, and so ordinary was the landing of the rubber raft only a few paid any attention. The nearest lifeguard barely gave the raft a glance as it came ashore. Now, as Michael McFaddens eyes habitually scanned the roped-off swimming area for swimmers in trouble, he gave little notice to the two boys calling up to him in his elevated seat. They wanted help with something, but McFadden wasnt sure with what, exactly.

I cant leave the chair right now, McFadden said. Go up to the lifeguard shack, they can help you there. Then, out of the corner of his eye, McFadden caught a glimpse of something strange about the raft thirty yards away.

Eighty-eight! Eighty-eight! McFadden screamed, calling the lifeguards emergency signal. He jumped down onto the sand and went into a sprint, nearly knocking over a couple of people as he ran. Another lifeguard, hearing McFaddens alarm, raised her megaphone: Clear the water! Clear the water! she shouted. The urgency of the shout froze everyone for an instant. Then there was chaos as everyone tried to get out of the water at the same time.

McFadden was nineteen years old. Lifeguarding was just a summer job, something to earn a bit to help out for college in the fall. Now as he looked down into the gray inflatable boat, he knew he was going to have to try to save a life. McFadden had never seen anyone look as bad as the woman lying motionless in the bottom of the raft. He gave little notice to the short man wearing sunglasses who was standing idly next to him.

Give me some help, McFadden said, and then together the sunglasses man and someone else, McFadden never knew who it was, helped him lift the inert weight of the blond woman out of the raft and onto the sand. The woman was in imminent danger of death, if not already dead, McFadden realized. This is it, he thought. When theyre blue like that, that means theyre cyanoticno oxygen.

What happened? McFadden asked the man with the sunglasses while he checked the victim for breathing and a pulse. He couldnt find either.

She was underwater, the man said. She swallowed some water. McFadden tilted the womans head back, checked her airway, pinched her nostrils shut and began blowing air down her throat.

How long was she under? he asked between breaths. Ten minutes, the man offered. After two breaths the woman threw up. The fluid was reddish and sticky. McFadden thought perhaps it might be blood. A crowd started gathering. Oh God, Im going to have to save this womans life, McFadden thought.

Im a paramedic, let me help, came the voice of a nearby woman. McFadden gladly gave up his place at the dying womans mouth to Patti Schultz. Schultz pinched the womans nostrils shut and took over the breathing while McFadden started vigorous compressions on the dying womans chest, trying to get her heart started again. The man with the sunglasses squatted quietly on his heels at her feet, watching their efforts impassively.

In between breaths; Schultz puffed questions. How long was she under? she asked. Breath.

The man in the sunglasses shook his head. I dont know.

Was it five minutes? Breath.

I dont know.

Was it ten? Breath.

Twenty? Breath. The man just kept shaking his head. McFadden and Schultz stripped away the top of the womans black, red and yellow bathing suit. Schultz saw that her stomach was distended; shed obviously swallowed a large amount of water. Every few seconds more water came up, so she and McFadden kept rolling the woman over onto her side to empty the fluid. Sand stuck to her face.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Schultz kept breathing and McFadden kept pushing. There was no response from the woman. Breath, push, breath, push. The man in the sunglasses watched them without expression or comment. A rescue van braked to a stop a short distance away. Uniformed paramedics ran up with resuscitation equipment. McFadden and Schultz stood back to let them in. One of the uniformed rescuers shoved a stainless steel tube down the dying womans throat and coupled it to the breathing equipment. He started an intravenous line. He administered a heart stimulant. He monitored his instruments. He thrust a defibrillator paddle under the woman, laid its mate on her chest, and gave the womans heart a jolt. Again. Again. A fourth time. Nothing. No breathing, no pulse.

As he worked, he too noticed the man in the sunglasses squatting placidly at the womans feet.

Who are you? the new paramedic asked.

Im her husband, the man told him.

2 Roth

Tyson and Rylie Baumgartner stood among the gawkers, watching people pound on their mother and roll her about on the sand as the efforts to save her life grew increasingly frantic and violent. Lifeguard Kelli Crowell saw them standing at the edge of the crowd, clearly upset. Someone was holding up beach blankets to conceal the lifesaving effort from the rubberneckers.