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Message: <blockquote data-quote="AtulaSiriwardane" data-source="post: 5640457" data-attributes="member: 120286">Young women disappear every day. They leave their husbands, their parents, their children and simply drop from sight. Police take the missing person reports, issue the required all-points bulletins and try to ease the fears of those left behind.    “She’ll come home or write you a letter or turn up somewhere. Most of them do,” is the standard response in cases where there is no indication of foul play.    <img src="http://www.truecrime.net/kemper/insidedetective.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" />A missing person case filed with the Berkley police department in the early morning hours of September  15, 1972, was typical.    Mrs. Skaidrite Rubene Koo, an employee at the University of California Library, called to report the disappearance of her daughter, 15-year-old Aiko Koo, from her home.    “She’s been kidnapped,” Mrs. Koo told the officer who drove out to her house to take the report. “I’ve had a premonition all summer that something was going to happen to change our lives. She has started hitchhiking … you know we have no car.”    Aiko was a student at the exclusive Anna Head School for Girls over in Oakland, she told the officer. She was a good student, a good daughter. She would never just leave. There was love in their family.    And Aiko was talented. She had great plans for a future in Korean ballet. Already, she was receiving invitations to perform. The last weekend of the month, Aiko and two other girls were scheduled to travel to St. Louis to perform at the World Trade Fair there. Just before Aiko left for her ballet class the previous night, they had been putting the finishing touches on the girl’s costume for that anticipated performance.    “It’s been such a busy time,” Mrs. Koo told the officer. “Normally, I would have gone with her. I always go with her to her dance classes. But I had so much to do.’    “You know, I didn’t want her to go. It wasn’t that important for her to go to that class, but when my daughter wants things she wants them very bad.    “I’m no psychic, but I was afraid for her. She was so beautiful last night. I finally told her she could go if she took the bus, if she didn’t hitch a ride.    “I know she’s been hitchhiking. You know how impatient young people are these days. I know because she got a ticket for hitchhiking. When she told me about the ticket, she joked about it. She called it her parking ticket.    “I told her I was very much against her hitchhiking. But once people hitchhike and it goes well, they can’t believe anything can go wrong. Now I think something terrible has happened. That’s why Aiko didn’t come home last night.”    Aiko Koo never performed in St. Louis. She did not come home.     Police told her mother not to give up hope; the nicest young people were running away from home these days and they rarely gave their parents notice. Chances were at least 50-50 that Aiko had joined these wandering young runaways. The best thing she could do they said, is have some flyers printed with Aiko's picture and description     Mrs Koo was certain her daughter had met foul play, but she complied. She sent circulars to police departments and communes throughout the western states, asking any information about a beautiful young Eurasian girl, graceful in dance. She received hundreds of letters of sympathy but not one word of her missing daughter,     Last Christmas, three months after Aiko’s disappearance, Mrs. Koo stopped sending the circulars. Ever since Aiko left, she had kept her daughter’s Korean dancing drums and the dancing dress she was to have worn to St.   Louis displayed on the living room wall. She took down the dress and packed it away.    "I never believed she ran away, she told an acquaintance. "Not even that night when she didn’t come home.”     The police, too, might have had hidden suspicions about the fate of Miss Koo. She wasn’t the first hitchhiker to disappear in Berkley that year.     Four months earlier, two 18-year-old Fresno State College girls—Mary Ann Peso and Anita Luchessa—bade goodbye to some friends in Berkley, saying they were going to hitchhike to Stanford University in Palo   Alto, south of San Francisco. Their friends at Stanford told police later that they never arrived.     The parents of the girls filed a missing persons report and sent photographs of their daughters to local newspapers, asking for help in locating them. The police report was filed and forgotten until a month before Miss Koo's disappearance.     In August, someone found Mary Ann Peso's skull up on rugged Loma Prieta Mountain in Santa   Cruz County. An extensive search failed to turn up the rest of her remains or a trace of her companion.     The discovery of the skull on Loma Prieta Mountain was recalled by Santa Cruz County lawmen five months later when a 19-year-old coed named Cynthia Ann Schall disappeared while hitchhiking from her home in Santa Cruz to class at Cabrillo College in Aptos.     On January 10, the day after Miss Schall disappeared, a California highway patrolman made a ghastly discovery while driving on Highway 1, 19 miles south of Monterey, near Big Sur. Just a few feet off the roadway, he found two severed human arms and hands.     Seven days later, a badly mutilated human torso was found floating in a lagoon near Santa Cruz. Two days after that, a surfer at Capitola—just south of Santa Cruz—found a left hand. And, three days beyond that, someone else found a young woman's pelvis along the shore near Santa Cruz.     Pieced together like a macabre jigsaw puzzle, this was the body of Cynthia Ann Schall. Every part but her head and right hand was there. Fingerprints from the left hand matched prints taken from Miss Schall's rented room. Chest X-rays she had taken in October matched X-rays of the torso found in the lagoon. Police and a pathologist decided she had been hacked to death, then sawed into pieces with a power saw.     Coeds at Cabrillo College and the University of Santa Cruz campus just to the north started thinking twice about hitching for rides. Lawmen warned them not to. There seemed to be a homicidal butcher in the area, preying on defenseless young girls traveling by thumb.     At the University of Santa Cruz, a warning was posted:     "When possible, girls especially, stay in dorms after midnight with doors locked. If you must be out at night, walk in pairs. If you see a campus police patrol car and wave, they will give you a ride. Use the bus even if somewhat inconvenient. Your safety is of first importance. If you are leaving campus, advise someone where you are going, where you can be reached and the approximate time of your return. DON'T HITCH A RIDE, PLEASE!!!"     At age 22, Rosalind Thorpe was a sensible, careful girl. She took the bus from her apartment in downtown Santa Cruz out to the university last February 5. And she was there all day. She left when the Science Library closed at 9 P.M. and headed for the bus stop.     <img src="http://www.truecrime.net/kemper/kemp2.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" />Her arms laden with books, Rosalind stood there in an umbrella of light provided by a street light and hoped the last bus of the night had not left already for town. As she waited, a battered yellow 1969 Ford with a long, police type whip antenna pulled to the curb. There was a university staff parking sticker on the bumper. A big, friendly young man with a mustache leaned across the. seat and rolled down the passenger window and called out:     "The bus is gone. I know. I've missed it before, too. Can I give you a lift? It's pretty late."     Rosalind got in the car and they drove off.     Two blocks away, 22-year-old Alice Liu, 21, was standing beside the road, wondering how she was going to get back to town. She had stayed too late in the main campus library. A car came toward her down the road. A street lamp behind it illuminated a couple in the front seat. As the car drew nearer, she saw a university parking sticker on the bumper. What could be safer, Alice probably thought as she stuck out her thumb and smiled.     Friends reported the two young women missing the next day. Santa   Cruz police, recalling the fate of Cynthia Schall, issued an urgent "all-points."     Students at the university had no doubt about the fate of their two classmates. They formed search teams and began crisscrossing the wooded 2000-acre campus, looking for their remains. They found nothing,     Ten days later, an Alameda County road crew was out checking for storm damage in the Eden Canyon area of the county north of Santa   Cruz. Alongside a lonely road, up in a steep ravine, they made a horrifying find.     At first, at a distance, they thought that what they had come upon were discarded mannequins. Up close, they were two mutilated corpses.     Both women appeared to have been young, though the men were not certain. The bodies were headless. One seemed to be Oriental and also had had her hands hacked off. She was nude. The white woman was clad in bra and panties.     It was a week before authorities were certain that the mutilated corpses were the remains of Alice Liu and Rosalind Thorpe. The confirmation came through use of X-rays and physical descriptions provided by the Liu and Thorpe families.     Murder was the Number 1 topic of conversation in Santa   Cruz those days. District Attorney Peter Chang even commented that the once peaceful tourist community might be "the murder capital of the world right now."     He wasn't just talking about the horrible attacks on young women hitchhikers. There already had been 16 murders in the area since the start of the year. His office just had charged a young religious zealot and LSD user from Santa Cruz-25-year-old Herbert Mullin—with ten of those murders {Chalk Up Another for Mr. Kill-Crazy, June INSIDE DETECTIVE, 1973).     When brought to trial, Mullin would be the second man Chang had prosecuted for mass murder in two years. He was the district attorney who sent John Linley Frazier, a drug-crazed ecology freak, to prison for the October, 1970, murders of prominent eye doctor Victor Ohta, his wife, two small sons and a private secretary. Frazier killed them and dumped them in the swimming pool of Ohta's expensive and remote hilltop house because he felt their luxurious existence damaged the natural wonders of the area. (A Swimming Pool Full of Corpses, February FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE, 1971).     What concerned Chang most—with Mullin in jail—was that this time he seemed to have not one, but two mass killers on his hands. There was no way Mullin could he connected with the murders of the hitchhiking coeds. There still was a psychotic killer on the loose and any young woman with her thumb out, standing at the side of the road, was a potential victim.     The horror was underscored two weeks later, when a hiker near Devil's Slide in Pacifica, up the coast in San   Mateo County, found the skulls of two young women. Tests showed they had been chopped from the necks of Rosalind Thorpe and Alice Liu.     Everywhere in Santa Cruz, people looked a little more closely at their neighbors. The person responsible for this butchery must be living a very bizarre double life, they thought. Where could someone so thoroughly mutilate and dismember those young women without being seen? How could one be so sick as to even contemplate such crimes without giving some hint of dangerous instability to family, friends or neighbors?     One center for conversation about the murders was the gun shop in Santa Cruz where dealer Harry Ellis was selling handguns as fast as he did in the days when they were looking for the person who killed the Ohtas.     "I've never owned a gun before, but I'm frightened," a pretty office worker told Ellis as she slipped the snub-nosed .38 into her purse. "From now on, I'm keeping this handy at all times."     A tall husky man with a mustache stood near the counter and joined in the conversation. Ellis recognized him as "Big Ed," a gun freak who was in his shop quite often, sometimes to look, sometimes to buy, sometimes just looking for someone to talk to—about guns, mostly. They'd talked of the killings before.     "The guy who’s doing this to those girls must be sick. He needs help," said Ellis.     "Sure does," said "Big Ed."     Another locale for intense speculation about the killer was the Jury Room, a bar frequented by off-duty Santa Cruz police officers and others from City Hall across the street.     "Big Ed" Kemper often joined in those conversations and he was welcome. He was a friend of many of the officers in the tavern. He idolized them, wanted to be a policeman himself. He would be, he told everyone, if he wasn't too big. He stood 6 feet, 9 inches tall and weighed 280 pounds. He was a security guard, instead, he said, and he had the gun and handcuffs to prove it.     Everyone thought of Big Ed as a pretty good guy. He got a little rowdy sometimes. Generally, though, the straight shots of tequila he downed seemed to have little effect on him. He played the role of a friendly giant—picking up smaller friends and setting them down on bar stools.     After the arrest of Mullin, there were no more murders. Memories faded. On the Santa Cruz campus, it once seemed as if no one could complete a sentence without mentioning the killings. Everybody joined the anti-hitchhiking campaign. Campus police passed out handbills reading "Everybody Needs a Body (Save Yours)." By mid-April of this year, though, hardly anyone was talking about the killings. Hitchhiking was starting to pick up again. Those who did recall the attacks on the coeds wondered if it hadn't been that guy Mullin after all.     Then, at 4 A.M. on Tuesday, April 24, the telephone rang at the dispatch desk of the Santa Cruz police department: A man's deep excited voice came over the wire:     "I killed my mother and her friend. And I killed those college girls. I killed six of them and I can show you where I hid the pieces of their bodies."  </blockquote>

Verification: Nawa warak dahaya keeyada? (Namaya wadi kireema dahaya)

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