To Bonnie, my guardian angel, who gives me strength and protects me daily, and to my father, who stood by my side until his death.
To all survivors and victims who have suffered incredible loss and pain. My heart goes out to you all.
To the miracles of my life, Julian, Oliver, and Charlotte. You three make the world make sense.
And to any parent who has lost a child and somehow found the strength and courage to go on. You are heroes all.
I.J. Schecter
Acknowledgments
From I.J. Schecter
I am indebted to Karen Foster and to Bonnies siblings and extended family, for being so candid about the tragedy they have endured together, and for answering every one of my questions, even the toughest ones. Karen and her family gave me access to a world of unending pain and unfathomable resilience to make sure Bonnies story could be told properly and her memory honored in the right way. It is a great privilege to help tell this story, and I hope it allows Karen and her family some measure of catharsis while encouraging those in positions of power to ensure that our laws are designed to protect citizens and support families of victims.
My deepest gratitude also goes to Shannon Jamieson Vazquez, our keen-eyed editor at The Berkley Publishing Group, who was responsible for bringing Bonnies story to print in the first place, and who possesses both of the attributes one hopes for in an editor: a ruthless eye for detail, and a deep sensitivity to the material itself.
From Karen Foster
I first would like to thank all the people who have supported me and my family through this unspeakable tragedy; those who jumped into action to get things done, get laws changed and those who simply took time to give us a hug, drop us a note, showing us that they cared.
Thank you to all the other victims who have helped me, shared their stories and worked with me to help change our laws.
Thank you to all the lawmakers who took time to listen to my story and the stories of many other families, then made changes in our laws so fewer people would have to suffer as we did. Thanks to the governors who have supported and signed Collection of DNA on Felony Arrest bills into law. Thank you to the lawmakers who ensure our law enforcement and crime labs are sufficiently funded to do their jobs.
Thank you to all those who work in the crime labs across the United States and Canada. It is with your help and dedication that more criminals will be successfully prosecuted. You are the backboneand the new heroesof our justice system.
Thank you to those who read this book and share it with lawmakers in states without collection of DNA on arrest laws. We need to ensure all fifty states and Canada collect DNA on arrest. It will save lives and so much pain.
Thank you to Paul Miovas and Jenna Gruenstein and Timothy Hunyor for being the most understanding and kind prosecution team a family could ask for. Without your skillful prosecution this story could have turned into a bigger tragedy and injustice.
Thank you to Mel and Arlene Schecter, for bringing my story to their son I.J., and for encouraging both of us to write this book. I.J. was the perfect person to help me through such a daunting project, and turned seventeen years of hell into an amazing book. He took all my stories, rantings, news reports, and the trial scripts and made it all come together. He is truly an amazing and talented writer.
Thank you to Shannon Jamieson Vazquez, our editor, for all her talent, patience, and understanding.
Thank you to all my children, Jason, Adam, Samantha; my stepchildren, Jesse, Alex, and Sarah; and all my grandchildren. Without you, I could not have survived this tragedy. You have truly enriched my life, and I know Bonnie is so very proud of you all.
Lastly, Bonnie, you will never be forgotten. We love you dearly.
1
I wake up from the dream uneasy.
My boyfriend, Jim, is holding my shoulders and assuring me it was only a dream. There is no woman; no one went over the edge of our sailboat. Im disoriented because I seldom remember my dreams, but this one was vivid. I saw a woman wearing a shortya wet suit with short sleeves and cut-off legsfall over into the water off the side of our boat. I didnt know who she was.
Were right here, Jims telling me. Karen, its me; theres no one else here; it was just a dream. I must have dozed off, I realizeno matter how much Ive sailed, the sea air still gets to me.
Slowly, I cross over the hazy line into consciousness again, and Jims voice brings me all the way back out of the nightmare. I relax, and soon our gentle progress up the Gulf Coast of Florida lulls me back into sleep. Im glad that Im still tired enough from our travels to slip right back over that line, and am happy to drift away again.
Two days earlier, on Monday, September 26, 1994, Jim and I had boarded a red-eye flight from Anchorage, Alaska, to Tampa, Florida, Jims original stomping grounds, then chartered a thirty-seven-foot Island Packet sailboat out of St. Petersburg and started our way up Floridas western lip. The announcement two months earlier that Jims younger brother Ken was getting married on the opposite corner of the continent had given us the perfect excuse for this trip. Jim and I had been seeing each other for less than two years but living together half that time, attempting to merge two families into one: his three kids, ranging in age from eight to thirteen, and my two youngest kids, aged twelve and thirteen, in a modest hillside home in Anchorage. Jason, my twenty-year-old son, lived in his own apartment with his girlfriend, Traci; Bonnie, my eighteen-year-old daughter, had moved out to live with my ex-husband, Gary, where she could have a room of her own. The decision crushed me, but I understood it. She was a young woman who wanted her space, something in short supply in my house. Adam, my thirteen-year-old son, and Samantha, my twelve-year-old daughter, did week-on, week-off between Garys place and mine.
My relationship with Jim is far from perfect, but it works well enough. Weve gone away together a couple of times before, both times to Mexico, where he owns some property. While were gone, my kids stay with Gary, and his kids stay at his exs place.
We have a few days to enjoy St. Marks before the wedding on Saturday. On Sunday, we will sail back down the coast and then fly home to our regular lives in Anchorage, where Jim works as a firefighter and paramedic, me as a Realtor and reserve police officer, each of us navigating the strange chapter of our midforties, finding happiness in each other and trying to steer our kids along decent paths.