Deadly Mirage - Death in the High Desert

Episode Date: December 3, 2024

Rob Limon’s close-knit group of friends is shattered when he is shot to death at work. Did the killing have something to do with his job, or something closer to home? 

The body lay on the shop floor, the man's shaven head leaning against the front left tire of a service truck. There was a dime-sized hole in his chin and a pool of blood slowly congealing on the concrete floor. Scarlet stained the front of his shirt, which was stiffening in the dry desert air. the front of his shirt, which was stiffening in the dry desert air. A few feet away lay a bullet and a line of broken fluorescent glass, white and powdery, like a line of drugs. For more than an hour, silence hung over this scene of death and disorder, a quiet broken only by the occasional sound of a big diesel rig out on the highway.

Then shortly before 7 p.m., a man scheduled to work second shift walked in, and that silence was replaced by screams. Tell me exactly what happened. I opened the garage door and there's a light bulb busted out. Uh-huh. A kid in the office tore up and he's on the ground bleeding out of his head. Okay. Oh, my God. This is the story of what happened that afternoon in 2014 and why.

But it's also about much more. It's about long shadows cast by old sins. It starts as a Playboy Channel fantasy, but this is real life, and there are real complications. It's about the pairings of flawed souls, unholy alliances that spiraled out of control. It had everything. It had sex, religion, the seemingly perfect, beautiful family that had all these secrets. It's about faith and faithlessness, murder, and the thrill of moral escapism. God's given us a purpose and he's given us a chance

with that purpose. This murder was God's work. They spoke about that many times. They were doing God's work. In this podcast, you'll hear from people who loved that man found lying on the shop floor in August 2014. He became my best buddy, like everybody else is. You'll hear from some who wanted him dead. I had a frank disgust for him that was developing and contributing to me being very dismissive of his life, ultimately. And you'll hear from the newly minted homicide detective

whose job it was to find the killer or killers responsible. That was the first homicide that I had arrived to and was assigned as the lead detective. It's a pretty big first case. It is a big first case. I'm Josh Mankiewicz, and this is Deadly Mirage, a podcast from Dateline. Episode one, death in the high desert. Life in the Mojave Desert can be tenuous. It's remarkable, really, that anything survives in this vast, dry version of nowhere.

The sun, high and blinding. Bone-chilling nights. Days so hot, the highways seem to ripple and heave in the heat. Even at high speed, the Mojave looks formidable. Distant mountains seem to recede. Shimmering dry heat causes visions of water to appear on sandy plains in front of you. Nevertheless, thousands of people live here, many in communities scattered along the highway between Los Angeles and Las Vegas. One of those towns, about two hours east of LA, is Hellendale. It's the primary setting for much of the story you're about to hear. Hellendale is a city out in the middle of the desert. That's Michael Fleeman, a true crime writer,

whose book about this case is titled Better Off Dead. And within Hellendale is an oasis within the oasis, and that's called Silver Lakes. Sort of a bedroom community, stucco houses, golf course, two lakes, clubhouse. It's this beautiful little bedroom community out in the middle of nowhere. Yes, like a mirage, lushly green Silver Lakes is about as genuine as a plastic Christmas tree in front of a chemical yule log. Regardless, it's home sweet home to the retirees and young families who've chosen to live there. It was sort of Palm Springs light.

The big, spacious houses, families with kids running around, bikes in the streets. It looked like kind of the American dream neighborhood. Sounds kind of wholesome, doesn't it? It is. And if you go there, it's almost something out of a Disney movie. It's no wonder real estate boosters dubbed Hellendale as the happiest place in the high desert. And Silver Lakes?

Well, it might have been the happiest place in the high desert. And Silver Lakes? Well, it might have been the happiest place of all. You see, a dozen or so years ago, there was a close group of 30-somethings in Silver Lakes, and they liked to party hardy. They called themselves the Wolfpack. Maybe because whenever they got together, they howled. When the Wolfpack wasn't living it up at house parties, they hired babysitters and took the show on the road. Woo! Come run!

He knows how to perform. Yes, he does. This is why I'm paid to see it. There were boisterous takeovers of local bars. Rob, that was impressive. Thank you. And some wild adults-only weekends on the Colorado River. River. A casual observer might be excused for thinking them a group of high schoolers on spring break. Oh no, the Wolfpack all had jobs, mortgages, and kids.

We don't want you to stress though. This is a stress free zone. Of the six to seven couples that made up the core of the Wolfpack, one foursome stood out. The Bernatines and the Lamones. They were inseparable and always seemed to be at the center of the action. Kelly Bernatine first met Sabrina Lamone back in 2008, when Sabrina came into Kelly's place to get her hair done. She was super nice,

friendly, like over-the-top friendly. That's Kelly Bernatine. Later, she says, Sabrina invited Kelly and her husband Jason over for dinner. That was when the Bernatines met Sabrina's husband, Rob Lamone. The two couples hit it off immediately. He was just kind of like her, like super friendly, just really positive, way outgoing. They were both extremely outgoing and welcoming, hospitable. If you could think of a perfect friend, it was the both of them. You remember that first dinner? Yeah, I remember the first time I met Rob. He's actually kind of a scary dude.

That's Jason Bernatine. He's got tattoos all over his arm, and he's got his last name tattooed on the back of his head. So his appearance was not like his personality. No, Rob Lamone was a teddy bear. And as far as the wolf pack was concerned, he was the straw that stirred the drink. A lot of drinks. When someone had a few too many, Rob drove them home.

If someone needed help with a home project, Rob was there. He would always be fixing something, painting something, welding something, cutting the grass, helping a friend. He helped anyone he could. Above all, Rob Limone was a railroad man, through and through. Most days he worked amid a blurring rush of metal and movement at the busy Burlington, Northern, and Santa Fe rail yard in Barstow, inspecting and maintaining the railroad's rolling stock. Yeah, he was really proud of it, really proud of working for the railroad.

Maybe it was the smell or sound of trains that appealed to Rob. Maybe it was the feeling of freedom that came from working outside under the great bowl of the western sky. But whatever it was, Rob loved it. He loved it so much that he'd frequently drive an hour and a half to Tehachapi to make some extra money at the railroad shop there.

When working in Tehachapi, Rob filled in as a rapid responder, meaning it was his job to be on call and repair any of the freight trains that broke down while climbing the mountain pass west of town each day. Those were some long days. Twelve hours, seven to seven. Well, the money was good. And Rob had a family. The Bernatines remember being with Rob one Saturday night

when a call came in asking if he could cover for a friend. The Wolfpack gang was having one of their nights out. This one at a baseball game. It's just our little minor league team. And so we all went and got beers and hot dogs and sat around. And I was taking pictures of everybody. And I'm like, hey, Rob, say cheese. And he does the whole, you know, thumbs up.

It was just after that that he got the overtime. He got a phone call and said, hey, I just got overtime tomorrow in Tehachapi. And we were supposed to do fantasy football draft the next day, and he couldn't make it because he got that overtime. The next day was Sunday, August 17th. Rob Lamone rose before dawn. He dressed in the dark, kissed his sleeping wife, looked in on his two children.

Robbie was 11. Leanna was 8. Then he eased out the front door. For the next 90 minutes, Rob Limone would have been alone with his thoughts. He had an 85-mile drive from his home to Tehachapi. The night sky was clear that morning, dusted with a thousand stars.

And as the sky slowly lightened, revealing mountains rising like camel humps in the distance, Rob Limon might well have considered himself a fortunate man, lucky to have a good family and cool friends, lucky to witness another dawn in the desert. Of course, he had no way of knowing that just days past his 38th birthday, this morning would be his The first sign of trouble came at 6.48 that evening, when Sean Ware, the rapid responder who was supposed to be relieving Rob, called 911. Years later, Sean remembered that when he pulled up to the shop, something seemed as wrong as two left shoes. I found the shop completely closed up.

At this point, I was thinking something's off because he normally did not have the shop in that state when he was there. Sean says once he opened the large garage door, he saw Rob's service truck parked inside and a shattered fluorescent bulb on the floor in front of it. The door to the office was open, and the office had been ransacked. I turned back out of the office.

Directly across is a, it's kind of a kitchenette. I started walking towards the refrigerator and the truck. That's when I caught a glimpse of blood on the floor. That's kind of when I'd seen him and I kneeled down to him and was trying to talk to him and trying to get him to wake up. That wouldn't happen. Rob Lamone, a solid 6'2", 200-pounder, wasn't going to wake up ever. Rob's bald head had a huge lump on top of his skull.

Blood was crusted on one side of his face, and there was a hole in the little tuft of beard he always wore on his chin. All right, would I be able to flat on his back? Okay, very gently, as easy as you can, turn him over flat on his back. He's got a big knot on his head. Okay. Can you? Okay.

Okay. Okay. Is he flat on his back? I can't get him on his head. Okay. Can you hear me? Okay. Okay. He keeps getting flat on his back. I can't get him on his back. That's a f***ing crappy. Okay. All right. Hold it.

Put your hand on his back or his chest and see if you can feel any air coming in and out. Now when I push on his chest a little bit, blood comes out of his mouth. At about that time, 85 miles away in Silver Lakes, Sabrina Limon was beginning to wonder why she hadn't heard from her husband. It was past 7 p.m. Rob should have been on his way home by now. This was normally a time when they would talk. On this Sunday night, nothing.

He wasn't picking up, and he wasn't responding to her texts. Always when, or close to Robert coming home, I would always talk to him and the kids wanted to talk to him. That's the voice of Sabrina Lamone. Over the next hour, she made 11 calls to her husband's phone, some merely minutes apart. All of them went to voicemail. I was wondering and it became a concern. Concerned, but not panicked. Maybe, but by 8.13, panic was setting in. She called her older sister Julie and her parents, who also lived in Silver Lakes, and told them she was worried. And then she sent another text to Rob.

Each line of it punctuated with exclamation points. Babe, I'm worried about you. Call me. Leanna wants to say goodnight. Ten minutes later, she made her last call to her husband's number. No answer. And then came a knock at the door. Out on the porch stood two officials from BNSF, the railroad Rob worked for.

Sabrina's sister, Julie Cordova, was there. When the railroad man told Sabrina, her husband had been seriously injured on the job. Something to do with his head. And when we got there, Sabrina was beside herself. There were two guys there from the railroad. And I want to say they were at the door. They weren't even inside yet. What'd she look like? What was she saying? I don't know. She fell to the ground. And she was crying. And just pacing and trying to be strong for the kids all at the same time.

And what did they tell you what happened? You know, that Rob got hurt at work. At about the time the railroad men were leaving Sabrina Limon's house in Silver Lakes, a redheaded man stepped out of the darkness and ducked under the fluttering crime scene tape into Hatchipy. That man was Kern County Senior Deputy Sheriff Randall Meyer. He didn't choose this case, it kind of chose him. Meyer was the on-call detective that night. He'd been at home in Bakersfield. When word came, there'd been a murder. I checked in with the officer who was manning the crime team tape and then stepped into the area and waited for the other detectives to arrive.

Okay. How many of you worked that scene? That evening, I believe we had four detectives to arrive. Okay. How many of you worked that scene? That evening, I believe we had four detectives at the time. After a quick briefing from first responders, the sergeant told Meyer to take the lead. That was a big moment because even though Detective Meyer had been a lawman for 17 years, he'd only been with the county's robbery homicide unit a few months. That was the first homicide that I had arrived to and was assigned as a lead detective. It's a pretty big first case. It is a big first case. The night had turned chilly by the time Detective Myers stepped into the railroad shop to take a look at the crime scene.

Everything there was just as it had been when Sean Ware arrived two hours earlier. During our walkthrough, we were able to approach the body. I noticed there was blood pooling underneath the deceased. It appeared that he had been shot twice. Cartridge casings on the ground? We did not locate any shell casings on the ground. No cartridge casings, but there was a bullet found on the cement floor. A big one, maybe a 44 or a 45. The lab techs would have to figure that out. The door to the fridge in the kitchenette area was open. Blood spatter inside the door. Bottles of water and Gatorade were on the floor.

It looked as if maybe there'd been a struggle. Over in the office area, evidence text dusted for prints and took photos. Right from the start, Meyer thought the office scene looked staged. How do you formulate that theory so quickly? It did not appear that somebody had gone through all the drawers in the business, and if they're there to do a burglary, they're going to take items of value.

There was still a computer inside the office. Fact was, there were no signs of forced entry. Robbery didn't make sense. Neither did the idea that Rob Lamone's murder was somehow work-related. Coworkers had nothing but good things to say about Rob. They told me that Rob Lamone is somebody who would help anybody out if they needed help at any point in time. Good guy. Good guy. Once everything had been photographed, measured, and dusted,

the team from the coroner's office bagged Rob Lamone's hands to protect whatever evidence might be under his fingernails, and they removed his wallet from his hip pocket. Then they wrapped him in clean white bedsheets and zipped him into a black body bag for transport to the coroner's office in Bakersfield. Inside the wallet, the detective found an ID which confirmed what he already knew. Rob Lamont, age 38, lived in Hellendale in San Bernardino County,

about 90 miles to the southwest. Home address? A house on Strawberry Lane. In the office area, the detective found a Samsung flip phone which appeared to be Rob's. The last outgoing from that phone was at 5.28. It was Rob telling a friend that he'd briefly checked out a car show that was in town earlier that afternoon. That meant Rob had been killed sometime after 5.28 and before Sean Ware discovered his

body an hour and 20 minutes later. The last text on Rob's phone came in at 8.13. It was that text from Rob's wife, the one that read, Babe, I'm worried about you. The detective figured that text was to Rob from his wife, and he knew he'd have to talk with her sooner or later. But first, he wanted to review security camera video from that afternoon. The industrial complex where Rob Limone was murdered is on the way to nowhere, shaped like a wine bottle. There's only one way in and one way out. With five security cameras stationed around the warehouse complex, Detective Meyer thought he had a decent chance at catching a glimpse of Rob's killer through at least one of those lenses. Here's the tale of the tapes. At about 4.11 that Sunday afternoon,

Rob Limone could be seen headed west, leaving the complex. Presumably on his way to check out that car show he texted his friend about. At 4.15, the same camera picked up a motorcycle rider headed east in the direction of the railroad shop. At 5.11, Rob Lamone's truck returns. On video, you can see Rob returning to the warehouse where he was killed. Yes, sir. Is he alone? Yes, he was alone in the vehicle. And everything looks normal? Yes. Then at 5.21, 10 minutes after Rob was seen headed back to the shop, At 5.21, 10 minutes after Rob was seen headed back to the shop, a hunched figure is seen walking in the same direction before passing out of sight. 18 minutes later, at 5.39, the same figure is seen limping away from the direction of the railroad shop.

The images were grainy and blurry and too far away to see anything identifiable. That said, they were absolutely intriguing. We did show it to several people who worked there and they were unable to identify the person. So no one who worked there could come up with a good reason why there would be this limping guy on the property. Given that the last outgoing text on Rob's phone was at 528, the detective thought there was a good chance that limping man could be the killer. So now here's the thing. Remember that motorcyclist, the one that was headed toward the railroad shop at 515? Well, a security camera caught a glimpse of that motorcyclist leaving the complex a half hour later. Had there been two different people in the area of the railroad shop when Rob Limone was murdered? Or were the limping man and the motorcycle man the same man? The same man?

Detective Meyer couldn't be sure. It did appear to be an older motorcycle, a street bike type. And the rider's wearing a helmet. Yes, wearing a helmet. But appears to be a man? Appeared to be a man. The bike appeared to be a smaller motorcycle. You could tell his legs and knees were high up on the gas tank of the motorcycle. It was about 1.30 in the morning when Detective

Meyer, who was still at the scene, finally finished looking at the security videos and found a quiet place to call Rob Lamone's widow. Hello? Hi, this is Detective Meyer with the Kern County Sheriff's Office. Hi, Detective, what happened to my husband? By then, Sabrina had heard through the railroad grapevine that Rob was dead.

No one had told her he'd been murdered. Well, right now, Sabrina, we're at the very preliminary stages of this whole investigation, and we don't have a lot of information right now. That's it. We just don't, we don't know. She sounded pretty upset. I could hear some voices in the background. Maybe some friends were over at the residence to console her. She was crying, asked what happened to her husband, and I basically told her we didn't have a lot of answers. But you said it was a homicide. We didn't actually tell her it was a homicide at the time. I told her he was deceased.

That seemed to be enough for one night. The detective knew the widow would have many more questions once he said the word murder. And he wanted to have answers. So no, words like murder and homicide would have to wait. This was not the night for that. At 9.30 Wednesday morning, three days after Rob Lamone was shot to death, his remains arrived at a Bakersfield lab for autopsy.

Dr. Robert Whitmore, a forensic pathologist under contract to the Kern County Coroner's Office, unzipped the body bag and unwrapped the three white sheets that had been used to enshroud Rob's body on Sunday night in the hatchery. As evidence texts snapped photos, Dr. Whitmore and his team removed the clothes Rob Limone had worn to work that day. With dictaphone in hand, the doctor began describing the body before him. Orange safety shirt, black tank top, gray pants and boxers, To phone in hand, the doctor began describing the body before him. Orange safety shirt, black tank top, gray pants and boxers, black belt, socks and shoes.

For the next two and a half hours, the wounds on Rob Limone's body were examined. The clinical facts were clear. Rob Limone had been shot twice with a large caliber weapon, once in the chest, once in the face. Either wound would have been fatal. The chest wound was most likely the first shot fired and the most deadly. The bullet's path was at an extreme upward angle. Abrasions around the entrance suggested it had probably been fired at point-blank range during a struggle. This was a somewhat unusual gunshot wound. That's the voice of Dr. Whitmore. The bullet enters the front of the chest at an upward angle and from right to left.

From there, the bullet ripped through neck muscle, severed the jugular vein, and entered the brain. That was it. The quick and brutal factsal Facts of Death. Now it was time for Detective Meyer to go see Rob Lamone's widow and learn more about his life. On Friday, August 22nd, five days after Rob Lamone's murder, Detective Randall Meyer and a partner hit the road. It was a two-hour drive to Hallandale, east on Highway 58, up through the Tehachapi Mountain Pass and a phalanx of windmills, and then across the sun-punished plains of the high desert. There would have been a lot to talk about on that ride.

The crime scene, the limping man, the motorcyclist seen riding in that industrial park on the day Rob Limone died. Everyone who'd worked with Rob had liked him. Nice guy, they all said. Family man. What about his wife, Sabrina Limon? What would she say? Once they hit Hellendale, the two detectives wound their way towards Silver Lakes and the Limon home on Strawberry Lane. They found the front door, tucked away on the left, just past the garage.

Inside, the front living room was full of friends and neighbors murmuring softly. Sabrina Limon was a tall, thin blonde. She greeted them. She looked pale and drawn, but composed. The detectives flashed their badges and asked if there was some private place where they could speak. Sabrina led them to a back bedroom. She was very composed, actually. I think a couple times during the interview, she did get upset and began to cry, but she seemed to be handling it pretty well. All right. What picture of Rob Limone emerged from his wife? His wife said he's

a great person, would help anybody if they ever needed help with anything. Did she mention anybody that might have a problem with her husband? No, she said that everybody loved Rob. By then, Sabrina knew her husband had been murdered. So the detective asked the question all good detectives ask when speaking with someone whose partner has just died suddenly in a particularly violent or mysterious way. You guys ever have any problems or anything or any issues with infidelity or anything like that? No. We like to party. Nothing would harm the kids or anything like that, but we like going to the river and like drinking. At any point in time, did you ever think that maybe Rob may have had a girlfriend or anything?

Never. How about yourself? Have you ever had a boyfriend or anything like that? No. No? Okay. Then the detectives asked about Rob. They'd found pictures of topless women on his phone.

Selfies shot on a boat. Not unusual. Cops find plenty of stuff like that on people's phones. Even so, they had to ask. We're not sure if maybe those are just photos from the internet or if they're personal photos. That's why we're asking. So there are some of you on there? Okay, all right.

We're trying to limit the fact that if maybe he had a girlfriend, if her husband or boyfriend found out and was trying to harm him. If I saw him, they might be some of my girlfriends. Did you guys have an open relationship then? No. Just maybe out partying at the river? Partying at the river. Okay. I'm like, I'm ziplining him.

Okay. The detectives thanked Sabrina Limon for her time. On their way out the door, Detective Meyer handed out a few business cards, and the two detectives left town. Both felt the Limon marriage deserved a closer look. This had not seemed the right time or place to press that issue. Rob's memorial service was less than 24 hours away. We come in here hurt. We come in here grieving. And we come in here angry. and we come in here confused. And those are all normal feelings.

Hundreds of mourners packed the sanctuary and an overflow room of the Grace Bible Church that Saturday. How blessed are we to have known Rob Lamone? Rob became my best friend. And the amazing thing about Rob is I know there's at least 10 guys in this room that would also call Rob as their best friend. People say they love their friends, but Rob showed how much he valued them. Rob's widow, Sabrina, had been too upset to plan the service or to speak. So Kelly Bernatine, one of her closest friends, did that. When I met Sabrina, I thought that she was too sweet to be true.

When I met Rob, I couldn't believe that she came with a match. There were two of a kind, and he became my best buddy. Like everybody else's. When a video played which showed pictures of Rob's life from childhood to fatherhood, there was not a dry eye in the sanctuary. Those were the images of Rob Lamone his friends remembered. It was a life now reduced to memory, both bittersweet and sad. Little did anyone suspect that in the weeks and months to come,

one of those in that room that day would become a murder suspect. Coming up this season on Deadly Mirage, boiling passion in the desert heat. Wife swappers, husband swappers, they would get drunk, they would party, they would take off their clothes, and then anything goes. He was like nobody I'd ever met before.

That was probably the most cold-blooded killer I've come across, and I've been doing murder trials for a number of years. Deadly Mirage is a production of Dateline and NBC News. Tim Beecham is the producer. Brian Drew, Kelly Laudeen, and Marshall Hausfeld are audio editors. Carson Cummins is associate producer. Adam Gorfain is co-executive producer. Paul Ryan is executive producer. And Liz Cole is senior executive producer. From NBC News Audio, sound mixing by Katie Lau.

Bryson Barnes is head of audio production.