“No, I mean, I felt . . .” She thought about it. What did he look like? Continuing, Melissa described a “thin, bony” and “rather lightweight” man. “I think he had really short hair.... And when I grabbed at his face once, I’m pretty sure his face was kinda smooth.” She said she didn’t think he had any acne. “But he was kinda sweating, so I don’t know.... I think he had on jeans and a T-shirt, from what I could feel. . . .”

  These photos show the porch/patio sliding glass door Melissa’s attacker used to sneak into her apartment. Authorities believe he scaled the wall using a utility line. (Photos courtesy of Marion County Prosecutor’s Office)

  “Okay, so he got ahold of your underwear and he ripped them off, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, did he . . . did he . . . Can you remember anything else that he said to you?”

  This was important. Perps sometimes gave themselves away in what they said. Specific words could help investigators figure out personal things about a perp.

  “He just kept saying, ‘Shut up, bitch.’ And he only said it, like, three times—”

  “Did he say anything that he was going to do to you?”

  “No.”

  Melissa believed he was on the bed while he beat her. There weren’t any lights on in the room, she told Godan.

  “Okay . . . do you know how he got in there?” Godan wondered.

  “I’m assuming through the patio window off of my balcony, ’cause that was the only thing that was open. I, unfortunately, left that open, cracked open ... ’cause the front door was still bolted, bolted and chained, when I let the police officers in.”

  Considering what she had been through, Melissa’s memory was remarkable. She was spot-on with just about every detail she offered police so far.

  The other important item that came up as they talked through her terrifying ordeal was how Melissa’s attacker might have snuck into the apartment before Melissa got home—that’s why she didn’t hear him come into her bedroom. Perhaps he was already inside, waiting for her to fall asleep. With respect to that theory, Godan asked if Melissa heard anything inside her apartment that night when she returned home. Were there any abnormal noises? Did she have a feeling that someone had either been in her apartment or something was different?

  Melissa thought about it, but she couldn’t recall anything for the cop. She couldn’t even remember the moment he climbed on the bed or jumped on her.

  “So maybe he was standing next to me when he started hitting me?” Melissa said.

  They talked about race.

  “No,” Melissa said. “I really honestly do not [know]” if he was black or white. But then a thought came to her: “. . . I think he was trying to make his voice sound more black, but I really don’t know.”

  She was certain he was on the “younger” side.

  He never got undressed, nor did he take his pants down, Melissa said. She had scared him away before he could rape her.

  “You don’t have any idea who this guy would be?”

  “No, I really don’t.”

  CHAPTER 13

  BLOOD SPORT

  As Melissa recovered from the first of what was to be several additional operations, the investigation moved over to her apartment. There was plenty of evidence to sift through. And with that evidence came a few answers that told investigators a little bit more about the guy they were looking for.

  One of the first clues that emerged became a good possibility that Melissa’s attacker scaled a utility pole conduit running up alongside her balcony. The electrical boxes were bulky enough, sticking out of the outside apartment complex sidewall far enough, and also low enough to the ground, where Melissa’s attacker could have jumped up on one of them, grabbed hold of the conduit, and easily pulled himself up and onto Melissa’s balcony. In fact, along the pole was a bloody smudge, which gave the indication that he had possibly exited this same way.

  A blood smear on the utility pole conduit outside Melissa’s balcony indicates her attacker might have used the same pole to enter her apartment—he certainly used it to exit. The three following images display the position of the utility pole in relation to Melissa’s apartment balcony. (Photos courtesy of Marion County Prosecutor’s Office)

  Inside Melissa’s apartment investigators found a kitchen drawer open—and realized her attacker had likely used a knife he took from Melissa’s apartment to stab her. He hadn’t brought his own weapon with him.

  Upon further checking the apartment, investigators uncovered a serrated steak knife on the floor near streaks of smeared blood.

  The assault weapon!

  Investigators uncovered fingerprints and blood smears, spatter and blood droplets, all over Melissa’s apartment. The amount of blood and how ransacked the apartment appeared displayed the horror of the attack. Whoever this perp was, he had come into the apartment on a mission to cause as much harm to Melissa as possible—maybe even murder her. There was no doubt he had planned to hurt her as bad as he could. And if that was the case, the Marion County Sheriff ’s Department knew it had a crazed, bloodthirsty maniac on the loose—an assailant willing to do whatever was necessary to get inside an apartment and attack females.

  The knife Melissa’s attacker took from her kitchen drawer and used to stab her repeatedly in the face. (Photos courtesy of Marion County Prosecutor’s Office)

  The other questions that came out of this early part of the investigation at Melissa’s apartment were: How did her attacker know she was alone? How could he know that inside her apartment wasn’t a 250-pound linebacker sleeping next to Melissa? If he was simply just taking a chance, it was quite a gamble. Seasoned investigators knew that skilled serial rapists and serial attackers don’t take chances like that. They did other things in order learn about potential victims, instead.

  So, had he stalked Melissa? Had he known her every move? Had he known, for example, that her male roommate had moved out recently?

  A fingerprint and several blood smears attest to the absolute horror Melissa went through, as well as the clumsiness of the attacker, who left behind key pieces of evidence. (Photos courtesy of Marion County Prosecutor’s Office)

  CHAPTER 14

  HOME

  There was no way Melissa could go back to her apartment. The horror of what she left behind would be too much to endure, especially so soon after the attack.

  “When I finally left the hospital after four days, I went to my grandmother’s in Anderson, Indiana,” Melissa recalled. “I thought that would be my safe haven. But my grandmother really didn’t grasp how afraid I was to be alone, especially at night. She, unfortunately, was [not completely healthy herself] and would sometimes leave the house and leave the keys in the front door.”

  Melissa found comfort in television. She still “refused” to fall asleep and would generally drift off during the daytime, taking extended naps when she felt safe.

  “I decided to watch a lot of TV, but couldn’t stomach watching anything dramatic.”

  Thus, Melissa turned to Comedy Central, which was on twenty-four hours a day.

  I also decided to go back to work after about a week. The doctor recommended against it, but I couldn’t stand just sitting there doing nothing. So I went back to work. And, of course, every customer I faced usually had a barrage of questions for me because of the massive bruising, swelling, and stitches. I would explain the situation every time. I had no problem talking about it. Again, it was surprising that I was talking, but somehow I was. I had learned to talk without moving my jaw, kind of enunciating my words.

  After a few weeks of working and answering what became countless questions from customers and friends regarding what had happened, Melissa realized she couldn’t stay in Indiana. She needed to get the hell out; that scene was weighing heavily on her. She’d have to go somewhere else to recover and truly pick up her life again. Part of this was, obviously, an unconscious desire to get away from the memories of where her attack had taken place and the fear of this guy still walking the streets, roaming around. Melissa did not have a good picture of what he looked like, so he actually could be stalking her still and she would never know.

  For all intents and purposes, he could be a customer. Or a coworker? Maybe the guy at the local drugstore she saw from time to time? Perhaps the guy standing next to her at the supermarket? The mailman? The clerk at the dry cleaner’s counter? A former boyfriend? A former roommate?

  Mr. Anybody.

  “I wanted to go home,” Melissa said.

  Originally from Florida, she decided to head south and stay with her father, at least for a while. Her parents had Melissa later in life. Her brother had been eighteen, her sister sixteen, and both her parents in their forties when Melissa came along.

  “So at this point they are already in their sixties and my grandmother is almost ninety,” Melissa explained. “I went. But my dad became even more overprotective than usual under the circumstances, which made it hard to go to the beach or mall.” These were two normal things Melissa looked forward to doing while back home in the Sunshine State.

  As Melissa figured out her place in Florida, under the watchful eye of her father, something was happening back in Indiana that would change everything eventually.

  CHAPTER 15

  LUCKY TO BE ALIVE

  Becky Buttram had been with the MCSD for over a dozen years by the time Melissa’s case came in. For Buttram, the case was personal. She’d been involved with the sex crimes division of the department for years and had seen the worst of the worst with regard to sex crimes. Yet, with Melissa’s case, it was such a rare thing to happen in this part of Indianapolis. Buttram was understandably concerned about the possible serial nature to it all. Someone who was that brazen to go in through a sliding glass door, not knowing what was beyond the door—if he didn’t know, that is—meant the guy had definitely done it before and was going to do it again. There was no doubt about this in Buttram’s mind. And it scared the detective.

  When Becky Buttram walked into Melissa’s apartment a few days after the crime, she was overwhelmed by the amount of blood inside the place.

  “I thought, ‘She’s lucky to be alive,’ ” the detective said later. “There was so much evidence left over there inside her apartment. I think because Melissa said to him, ‘Excuse me, I’m bleeding very badly,’ that [it] startled him. He didn’t expect that. It scared him.”

  Buttram ran a laser light around the apartment with a colleague to see if they could find any additional evidence, but nothing turned up. It was okay. They didn’t really need it, anyway. They had so much blood, fingerprints, and a few palm prints. There was enough to get started.

  “We believe Melissa actually hit him and caused him to bleed, so we believed we had his blood.”

  Problem was, that sort of evidence was only as good as something to match it up to.

  One of the other immediate observations Becky Buttram made as she walked around the apartment was how certain she now was that the crime had not been a random act of violence. He didn’t just begin to break into females’ homes and slash them up; and it was pretty clear to Buttram that he knew Melissa. He didn’t choose her on that night. There was no way.

  Another thought had occurred to Buttram as she stood looking at all the blood and mess that the scuffle had produced: I hope to God it doesn’t happen again.

  “Melissa’s attack was potentially going to be a homicide,” Buttram said later.

  The possibility of it happening again worried Buttram the most. In fact, the detective became so concerned after seeing Melissa’s crime scene and reviewing her case that at night she would drive the apartment complex and others nearby, hoping to spot a suspicious character.

  She never did.

  He hid himself well—at least then.

  Because, at that moment, just as Becky Buttram suspected and knew in her gut, the man who had attacked Melissa was planning several more home invasions.

  The detective was right: He was not going to stop. The question was: Would he escalate to murder, now that he knew Melissa was alive and talking?

  CHAPTER 16

  ANDREW

  There was another monster knocking on Melissa’s door as she stayed with family in Florida. This one started off as a tropical depression along the coast of Africa around August 14, 1992, and turned into one of the most devastating hurricanes on record: Andrew. By the time Andrew hit the Florida coast near South Florida during the week of August 20, with winds well over 175 miles per hour, he was a Category 5 monstrous storm capable of wreaking havoc anywhere he decided to spin. When Andrew was finished, he had caused $26.5 billion worth of destruction and dozens of deaths.

  With forecasts of Andrew preparing to hit the Florida coastline near Melissa’s home, her father said, “You need to leave.”

  The man, like any father, was scared for his daughter, who had been through so much already. Melissa did not need to confront a hurricane, on top of everything she had been through already. Of course, she couldn’t explain to anyone and make them understand, but after that bloody ordeal inside her apartment, standing firm and fighting a hurricane seemed like child’s play to Melissa. She had endured hell. She’d met the Devil, face-to-face. A hurricane was nothing.

  As Andrew started to blow in, Melissa’s dad explained that she had to leave now or stay an extra couple of weeks after the storm left.

  “I wanted to stay the extra weeks, but Dad put me on a plane the next day and sent me back.”

  On the day the hurricane blew through Florida, Melissa was home, back at her grandmother’s. The phone rang. The call was for Melissa. It was some detective.

  Becky Buttram, actually. The cop had some news to share.

  CHAPTER 17

  EVOLUTION

  To Detective Becky Buttram’s great disappointment, just as she was actively looking into Melissa’s attack and thinking the MCSD was getting somewhere, the case ran cold as a river stone. Weeks went by. Nothing happened. Not another attack. Not a hit on any of the DNA or fingerprints. Not a witness coming forward to say she’d seen some sleazebag staring in through her window.

  Nothing.

  As it happened, Melissa’s attacker’s fingerprints were not on file in Marion County. A thorough, more comprehensive check of records didn’t provide any match, which meant the guy had not been arrested in Marion County. Various neighboring counties back then didn’t necessarily swap info or trade off with other counties on possible suspects and perps. There was a national database, but nothing like it is today, where law enforcement agencies from around the country input new arrests and any fingerprint/DNA evidence they wind up with on a daily basis. You could arrest a guy in Massachusetts and, after putting his prints through the system, find out he’s wanted in Texas. Because this system wasn’t yet refined during the period of Melissa’s attack, a major break in her case was lost. The technology just wasn’t in play yet.

  “We find out later that he had done similar crimes up north,” Detective Buttram said of Melissa’s attacker. North of Indianapolis, that is. “Basically breaking into apartments. . .” It had occurred sometime before Melissa’s attack.

  This attacker was evolving, obviously. Back when he’d started, he’d break into a woman’s home, stand and stare at her as she slept. He might rub her arm or thigh, but that was it. He never took it to the next level.

  Later, when the detective looked at what the same guy did up north and then compared it to Melissa’s attack, Buttram believed he was leading up to killing a future victim. Banking on what he had done to Melissa, Buttram affirmed that the guy’s behavior was “escalating.” He was taking more and more chances.

  Melissa was on the mend when Buttram first spoke to her. Even still, Melissa looked terrible. The law officer could only imagine how much pain the poor woman had endured. She had seen the photos of Melissa right after her attack. It was one of those moments in this cop’s career, she later said, she would never forget.

  “Melissa was the tiniest, sweetest little thing you ever met,” Buttram recalled. “I thought what in the world would prompt someone to do what was done to her? She had never bothered anybody. She just wasn’t that type. She was kind of a hockey groupie,” the detective added with a chuckle. “She was just . . . a very nice person.”

  Melissa did not have much to add to what she had already told Detective Godan back in the hospital within those immediate hours after her attack. Becky Buttram had gone through that interview and read it closely. She had gone out to the scene. She had thought about the crime while staying up late at night, trying to figure out if they had missed anything.

  For the cop, nothing added up. A random attack that had been so brutal? That was scary in and of itself. Melissa couldn’t have known her attacker or she probably would have recognized him or figured out who he was by his voice, even though he tried disguising it.

  All Becky Buttram could do at this point was wait. See what happened next.

  Would he attack again?

  CHAPTER 18

  OUT FROM THE SHADOWS

  On August 10, 1992, a sixteen-year-old girl was sleeping comfortably in her bed in the middle of the night, probably dreaming innocently of some boy she’d met at school. Her room inside the apartment where she lived (close to Melissa’s residence) was set up so that her bed was near a window on the first floor. As she slept, the youngster was awakened by a man reaching in—he cut the window screen with a knife—and stroking her leg.

  The girl, startled awake, screamed as she woke up and realized what was going on; her father came rushing into the room. By then, the guy had taken off. The girl’s father called police, and his daughter gave officers a detailed description of the entire incident, including identifying marks of the suspect, as best as she could recall.