from the city and Cullen was the perfect spot. The strange part was he didn’t seem very eager about it, just determined.
Susan went on the Internet to learn more about where they were spending their weekend. The first few search results were from the City of Cullen, the Washington State Tourist Bureau, and
Susan found another link on the Google listing for
Missing Bellingham Woman Assumed Dead – Bellingham Herald October 7, 2008…Local police discovered Matusik’s abandoned car on Timberlake Drive in Cullen… www.bellinghamherald/news/100408–22k
It wasn’t what Susan had hoped to find in her search for information about Cullen; nevertheless, she clicked on the link to the article.
Beneath the headline, there was a photo of the missing woman, a twenty-seven-year-old bank clerk named Wendy Matusik. The snapshot must have been taken at a party, because someone—cropped out of the picture—had their arm around the chubby, pretty-faced, curly-haired blonde. From her bright smile, she looked like she was having a great time.
Susan read the long, detailed article with interviews that profiled the missing woman and examined her last known hours. The author of the piece obviously wanted to bolster the public interest in Wendy—and keep the search for her going. The first reference to Cullen caught Susan’s eye in the second paragraph:
The journalist had interviewed the store clerk, who said that Wendy had bought a Diet Coke, an eight-ounce bag of Lay’s barbecue-flavored potato chips, and a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.
Wendy’s best friend, a Seattle resident, Margarita Donavan, had also been interviewed for the article. She mentioned that Wendy had a tabby named Chowder. She was a crossword puzzle fiend and had recently joined Weight Watchers. She wanted to lose fifteen pounds in time for her friend’s wedding. Margarita was getting married in October, and Wendy was to have been her maid of honor.
That Friday afternoon she’d planned to meet Margarita at Angel of the Winds Casino in Arlington. Wendy was throwing an early, unofficial bachelorette party for her pal. The other two bridesmaids had agreed to join them at the casino hotel the following day.
She’d left a voice mail for Margarita that afternoon, and her friend had saved it:
That was the last Margarita Donavan ever heard from her friend.
At ten o’clock that night, during a routine patrol, Cullen’s sheriff, Stuart Fischer, noticed the abandoned car on the shoulder by Timberlake Drive. The sheriff said his headlights caught sight of a raccoon lazily stepping out of the vehicle’s driver’s side. The door had been left open—and the interior light was still on, but dimming, due to the drain on the car’s battery.
Sheriff Fischer found a Diet Coke in the dashboard’s cup holder—along with a map and an open bag of potato chips on the front passenger seat. The raccoon had eaten all but a few chips, still scattered on the seat and the car floor.
The sheriff said he didn’t find a purse or any car keys. But in the trunk, authorities later found a small suitcase. The article pointed out that among the clothes in the overnight bag was a black cardigan with a colorful spade, heart, club, and diamond design. According to Margarita Donavan, Wendy always wore the cardigan when she gambled. It was her lucky sweater.
Susan had gotten a memory jolt reading the last three paragraphs of the story. And those memories were from a very scary time:
According to Cullen’s Sheriff Fischer, “It’s been ten years since we’ve had a missing persons case like this one.”
On September 3, 1998, a Bellevue resident, Stella Syms, 38, was abducted from her summer home in Cullen, while vacationing there with her 8-year-old son. Syms’ body was discovered 36 hours later in some woods near her home. She had been strangled. Syms is believed to be the seventh known victim in the Mama’s Boy murders that plagued the Seattle area from November 1997 through October 2000. The vicious serial killer is believed to have strangled at least 13 women, all mothers who left behind sons. Mama’s Boy was never captured, and his identity remains a mystery.
“They keep searching the area over and over for clues to Wendy’s disappearance,” said longtime Cullen resident, the Rev. George Camper of First Episcopal Church. “These are the same woods, streams, and ravines the police were combing ten years ago for Stella Syms. It’s hard not to remember the Mama’s Boy slaying. But no one wants to say it out loud. No one even wants to think something similar has happened….”
Hands tight on the steering wheel, Susan watched the winding road ahead. She remembered Mama’s Boy, too, and shuddered. He’d killed most of his victims that first year, 1998, when Susan had been a new mom. In fact, her son, Michael, was the same age as the baby boy left behind when the fourth victim was abducted in Volunteer Park. That literally hit too close to home for Susan, Walt, and Michael. They lived five blocks away from the park.
Susan had read
By the end of 1998, he’d killed eight women. He’d broken into the homes of two of them. Walt installed a home security system and fit dead-bolt locks on both the front and back doors of their duplex. He insisted she buy a cell phone and got her a small canister of industrial-strength pepper spray. Susan wasn’t the only one taking precautions. Seattle mothers armed themselves with handguns, switchblades, or knitting needles. Police encouraged women to have whistles or alarms on their key chains whenever they stepped out with their sons. Playground dates became group excursions. Police beefed up security at playgrounds throughout the area— ironically, more for the safety of the mothers than their children. Whenever Susan needed to go somewhere with little Michael, she called her neighbor, who was also a new mom, and they went out as a team.
It should have been an idyllic time for Susan, with her first baby. In so many ways, it was. She felt lucky to work at home with the part-time consulting-nurse job. Walt was a great dad, very doting. He was an engineer for Boeing, and every afternoon, when he returned home from work, he’d look after Michael so she could have a run, go to the store, or just steal some alone time. Susan remembered many an afternoon, handing the screaming baby to Walt before he even made it through the front door.
