Denise Wallace - Daddy’s Little Secret: A Daughter’s Quest To Solve Her Father’s Brutal Murde

Introduction

Somewhere in my closet there is a sketch of my father, and I do not know where it came from. My oldest daughter Marissas high school sweetheart was an artist. Perhaps he sketched the drawing of my dad from an old photograph; I never asked who drew it. Instead, I just pushed it toward the back of the closet to gather dust.

A decade went by before I came across the sketch again one day while rummaging through the closet. As soon as I realized that it was a drawing of my father, I quickly turned away. Who was this man? I loved him so much, yet it occurred to me that I had no idea who he really was. Why couldnt I look at his face?

I realized that I could not keep pushing my father out of my mind. What else was I not dealing with in my life if I could not even look at a picture? I decided then and there that I was going to dig up my fathers past and learn who he really was. Then I would write a book about him, and about how he died his murder. I would order the court transcripts from the trial, but only after I had exhausted all of my memories of my father first. He had a larger-than-life personality, and I wanted people to know the father I knew. Only then would I seek to uncover the father I did not know.

In other words, I was going to face my fears. I was also going to assert myself as a now-single woman living in LA and go out and get a job in the film industry. I would wind up working for a picture car company, where I would find the vehicles needed for films and television shows. The job would be far from glamorous and the warehouse would be dirty. But I was my fathers daughter, and a little dirt was not going to hurt me.

And finally, I would live as my true self. Gone would be the clothes charged at Orange County boutiques and the membership at the Balboa Bay Club in Newport Beach. I would now wear Chuck Taylor sneakers and jeans and spend my days basking in the creative energy of Los Angeles. It would draw me in like sports fans cheering for their favorite player at a home game. I would write on my laptop at The Bourgeois Pig, the Hollywood hangout for writers on Franklin Avenue. Afterward, I would browse the books at the Daily Planet next door, which featured writers like Jack Kerouac and artists like Andy Warhol. Many would die as paupers, I knew, but their books would live on to tell their tales. And who could ask for more than that?

This true crime book is unlike most others, and I say that as a huge fan of true crime. I am well aware that there are exceptional writers out there who are capable of making you feel dirty, as if you have done the killers deeds yourself. Writers such as the legendary Ann Rule, who penned the dark story Lust Killer about a necrophiliac and murderer named Jerry Brudos. In her book, Rule describes Brudos as feeling exhilarated as he played with the dead body of his young female victim as if she were a rag doll. Then there is the author and TV host Aphrodite Jones, who makes you feel as if you are inside the skin of the victim. In her true crime book FBI Killer , Jones writes about Susan Daniels Smith curling her hair to look pretty for the man who already knows he is going to kill her.

But what I am going to do is take you places that you do not go in other true crime books: places like the backseat of the detectives car, the courtroom conference room with the prosecutor, and the journey of the victims lifebecause I was there . Much of the stories and dialogue in Daddys Little Secret come from memories I have from growing up with my father, who often took me along with him when he went to visit his multitude of friends. This eclectic group included both males and females who were either gay or straight, alcoholic or recovering, affluent or poor. My dad fit into all walks of life, yet there was a separate path that he took when others were not looking. A dark path that was evil and unbeknownst to me. This book is going to go down that path.

As the author and daughter of the victim, I have tried to retrace my fathers steps in a cathartic attempt to heal from the pain of losing the man I loved so much but did not really know. A man who had layers of secrets involving his sexuality and late-night deeds. Deeds that did not all take place behind the closed door of his bedroom.

It was Detective Boland and Detective Venetucci who first brought some of those deeds to light for me. With great sensitivity, they relayed the news to me that my father had led an alternative lifestyle. Though they attempted to shield me from some of the more sordid details, I was eventually bludgeoned with them as I read through the transcripts from the trial of my fathers killer.

There were also numerous police reports and interviews that were conducted by the detectives. I was present for some of them that took place on my ride-along with Detectives Boland and Venetucci. Others I researched later. And then there were the private conversations that I engaged in with the prosecutor, Marc Shiner. Near the end of the trial I confessed a secret of my fathers to him that I had never told anyone, a secret that I had pushed back into the far recesses of my mind.

I also met many of the employees of the Ritz Carlton Palm Beach that had worked along with my father. I saw their smiles when my father engaged them in conversation and heard their tales recanted by my dad many times. Any errors of fact are unintentional, some names have been changed to protect privacy, and some conversations have been reconstructed to ensure your ease of reading.

Several newspaper articles from the Sun Sentinel are also included in the book, although I turned down a request for an interview by a reporter that approached me at my fathers funeral. At the time I could not bring myself to talk about how I felt about his killer. Since then my feelings have changed, and I have chosen to explain them here in this book.

It is my hope that you will be entertained by the story of my father. He was a complex and fascinating man who had his share of both good and bad traits. Perhaps more than his share, which always makes for a great character in both literature and film. There will never be another like him.

Chapter 1

The Banging

The banging was coming from Wes Wallaces apartment next door. Rose Mancini had heard it before on a couple of other nights. She and her husband were in bed, but unlike Frank, this night she lay awake. They were both in their sixties, and lately she had discovered she needed less sleep. A glance at the clock on her nightstand told her it was well past three in the morning.