Table of Contents
PRAISE FOR
A SLAYING IN THE SUBURBS
Much more than true crime or another update of An American Tragedy. Its an unflinching look inside a marriage and what led to murder.
Creative Loafing
An eventful tale of deceit, jealousy, and the ultimate betrayal... [A] good job of filling in the details, fleshing out the scenes, and adding depth by re-creating key conversations of the players.
True Crime Books Examiner
Berkley titles by Steve Miller
A SLAYING IN THE SUBURBS (with Andrea Billups)
GIRL, WANTED
To my parents,
Boyd and Julie Millerthey taught me
that words are good friends
AUTHORS NOTE
The research for this book was completed with the utmost attention to the truth. Interviews were conducted in cars, in restaurants and bars, in my home office, and in the offices and homes of many of the subjects of this book. Sometimes, someone would call me as I walked down the street, wherever I found myself over the course of a yearHouston, New York, Chicago, Detroitand I would pull out my pen and go to work on the spot. Some folks dont like to talk, and when they return my call, I take it when and where it happens.
To clarify some of the reporting in this book, a quote attribution that reads says means that I, the author, did that interview. The attribution said means the quote or statement was derived from other sources, including news accounts, tapes, and letters. Names that have been changed to protect the subjects are noted with an asterisk. This is a practice I am generally reluctant to do, but I understand that, in some cases, not doing so would endanger the well-being of a person, or, in the case of a child, bring to him or her an undeserved circumstantial notoriety.
Then there are those who made this all happen.
Thanks to Ryan Harmon, an Indiana State Police investigator who worked as hard chasing the subject of this story as I did telling it. He is a rare combination of learned and curious cop and a genuine human being. Thanks to The Berkley Publishing Group for making this my second true crime book for them, and to Shannon Jamieson Vazquez, Eloise Kinney, and Faith Black. In no order, the best of the rest include former Marion County prosecutor Larry Sells, Bonnie Prosser, Kathy Cronley, and Captain Mark Rice, of the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department; Jenna Griffiths and Jon Leiberman from Americas Most Wanted; and a number of others who agreed to speak with me on and off the record.
This book was done with the help of a legal reporting fellowship I received from the Carnegie School of Legal Reporting at Syracuse University. As a college dropout and skeptic of higher education, I am nonetheless proud to be part of that great academic program, which has proven to impart sound learning for fledgling journalists. Thanks to Sabrina Lochner, whose help was provided by the fellowship, for her assistance. Thanks also to Christian Fuller, a rare combination of friend, lawyer, and agent.
And most of all, thanks to Andrea Billups, whose unwavering support completed this book.
PROLOGUE
Sarah Pender is an affable prisoner, until she speaks. Sitting handcuffed in a Plexiglas booth in an Indiana state penitentiary, wearing her prison scrubs and no makeup, she slides sometimes in her acrylic chair as she speaks and listens. Despite her loquacious nature, she is a very good listener, given to long looks and pensive expressions that convey a pondering of every thought she hears.
But when she talks, it becomes apparent that Sarah Pender is not an average person. She is grammatically correct to a faultsomething also notable in her letters, with punctuation that would please any language scholar. And Sarah is also a confident woman who, although she is tethered and unable to walk among us, has no trouble feeling she is your equal.
She often responds to questions with a quizzical look, as if to say, I cant believe you dont know the answer to that. It is a formidable power play, blatantly condescending, but likely done out of instinct and with no malicious intent.
But there it is.
She was open to meeting with me as soon as I started researching this book, writing me a letter on July 29, 2009, in response to my query and opening with I wondered when you were going to contact me.
She had already heard about the book, which was good. It meant that the interview process had started. And its nice to have some word of mouth around the prison, even if its source is unknown.
Who do you plan on contacting regarding my life? she asked in that same first letter. At this time, I dont support that. Just for the record.
As if she had any say whatsoever. Sarah, as usual, somehow believed she had control of this situation and the power to determine how she was portrayed.
Everyone has a different angle on me, and Im not into people bothering my family and associates with dumb bullshit.
What she wasnt aware of was what I already knew: her whereabouts during the 136 days of her escape from Rockville Correctional Facility, where she had been serving her eighth year of a one-hundred-and-ten-year sentence for her role in the murder of her two twentysomething roomates in October 2000.
This is something, as I would learn over the next few months, she guarded zealously. It was the subject of her own book, some people told me, which she was at work on when we began meeting in the fall of 2009. The proceeds of that book would allow her to pursue another appeal. At least, that was the plan, her friends said.
My first meeting with Sarah Pender took place at the Indiana Womens Prison, which was in late 2009 located just north of downtown Indianapolis. It was a fine October afternoon, sunny with a firm breeze that told you the quiet of winter was closer than the festivities of summer. The process of getting on Sarahs visitor list was simple and quicka one-page application, a copy of my drivers license, the approval of Sarah, and I was a certified visitor.
Once I got through security, which consisted of a metal detector, a check of my shoes and socks for hidden contraband, and a light pat down, I was instructed to wait in a short hallway with a few chairs fastened to a bench. The seat placed me in front of a window that afforded a view of what can only be described as a campus, with girls walking alone or in pairs, clad in prison uniforms of varying colors.
If you were to remove the contexta prison with a fence to the outside guarded with weaponsyou could imagine this was any womens college. From the inner courtyard, a look at the fencing was out of view, obstructed by redbrick buildings. It was a beautiful campus, in fact.
I was beckoned into the visitation room by a guard. Sarah was ready.
Prisons, both federal and state, generally have two kinds of inmate visitation. A contact visit is one in which the two parties can shake hands, lightly embrace, or otherwise touch. Most prisoners are allowed these, and there is little security risk in a room that is well supervised by guards and monitored via video camera. Then there is the booth visit, in which the visitor sits on one side of a glassed-in booth and the inmate on the other, and the two speak via greasy plastic phone receivers on each respective side of the glass.
