Killer Stories with Harvey Guillén - “The Death House Landlady” Pt. 2 - Dorothea Puente

Episode Date: August 21, 2018

Dorothea Puente ran a boarding house in Sacramento, California. She had perfected a technique of taking in tenants who were on government assistance, murdering them, and then fraudulently cash the checks. All the while, neighbors had no idea that dead bodies were being buried in her backyard.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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And now, you can try it for free at ZipRecruiter.com slash killers. That's ZipRecruiter. Meet your match on ZipRecruiter. This episode is brought to you by Shopify. Bonnie and Clyde, the Lonely Hearts Killers, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. These are infamous criminal duels. But you don't need to break any laws to find your perfect business partner because you have Shopify. It's the commerce platform that can help you with literally everything, website design, marketing, shipping, and more. So start your business today with the best partner, Shopify, and get that. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash killers. That's Shopify.com slash killers. A beloved 75-year-old man washing up, getting ready for bed, is brutally beaten and killed.

Despite an exhaustive investigation, the killer avoids arrest and then strikes again. I'm Global News crime reporter Nancy Hixed. You might listen to a lot of true crime podcasts this year, but they're not crime beat. Search for and follow the award-winning podcast Crime Beat on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, and wherever you find your favorite podcasts.

Due to the graphic nature of this woman's crimes, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes discussions of murder, assault, and violence that some people may find offensive. We advise extreme caution for children under the age of 13. A chilly wind blew through the backyard of a Sacramento, California boarding house on November 11, 1988. Two local detectives dug a hole in the eclectic landscaping. The boarding house's elderly proprietress, watch them carefully from the porch. A tip on a missing person had led them to the house. The proprietress cheerfully gave them permission to excavate, so they didn't expect to find much.

After three exploratory holes revealed nothing but dirt, they decided to try one more corner of the yard, then call it a day. About 18 inches into the fourth hole, the shovel hit resistance. Inch by inch, they finally uncovered a piece of of material wrapped around something solid. The detective jumped into the hole, grasped the object, and pulled with all his might. Finally, it broke free. As he brushed away the rotting cloth, the detectives were stunned to realize what he'd pulled

from the ground was a human leg bone, still partially covered in skin. It was only the first of many gruesome discoveries they'd make in Dorothy Applantes. backyard. Picture a murderer, a gangster, a thief. A serial killer. Did you picture a woman? We didn't think so. Society associates men with dangerous crimes. But what happens when the perpetrator is female? Every week, we examine the psychology, motivations, and atrocities of female criminals. Hi, I'm Sammy Nye. And I'm Vanessa Richardson. Today we're joined by Greg Polson, co-host of my other podcast, Serial Killers. Hello again, female criminals listeners.

I've brought together my co-hosts, Greg and Sammy, to explore the crimes of Dorothea Puente, who murdered nine tenants in the San Francisco boarding house she ran in the 1980s. This is part two of our crossover special. Today, we're continuing our deep dive into Sacramento, California's most notorious female serial killer, Dorothea Puente. This is a special ad-free episode, so on Wednesday, We'll be back with another all-new episode of female criminals. You can find female criminals, serial killers, and all of Parcast's other shows on your

favorite podcast directory. You can also find us on Facebook and Instagram at Parcast and on Twitter at Parcast Network. Dorothea Puente, who had a history of drugging and robbing seniors to support her lavish lifestyle, killed her first victim in early 1982. but it wasn't until she killed eight more people between 1985 and 1988 that she would finally be caught. Dorothea was convicted in 1993 of only three of the nine murders she was initially charged with committing. She died in prison in 2011 while serving a life sentence without possibility of parole. In our last episode, we covered Dorothea Puente's early years as the daughter of migrant farm workers in Northern California,

After both her parents died, she drifted through foster care until she turned to sex work and passing fraudulent checks to support herself. After two tumultuous marriages, some minor stints in jail, and an involuntary commitment to a mental health facility, she began working as a health care aide in Sacramento. Dorothea started a boarding house that served Sacramento's low-income population. but while she was housing her mostly elderly and infirm clientele, she was also stealing money from their government checks. Not long after one of her tenants, Ruth Monroe, died under suspicious circumstances. Dorothea was convicted of multiple counts of theft, forgery, and drugging seniors. She was sentenced to five years in prison in 1982 at the age of 53.

But that isn't the end of her story. In this episode, we'll cover Dorothea's murder spree, her history-making trial and the bizarre correspondence that put her back into the public eye in 2005. During Dorothea's time at the California Institution for Women in Frontera, she continued to do what she did best. She charmed people with mostly fabricated stories about her life. The stories she invented about herself ranged from a career as a doctor or lawyer to a secret affair with the Shah of Iran.

Dorothea's stories were entertaining and passed the time, so the other inmates rarely, if ever, challenged them. Sometime in 1984, 55-year-old Dorothea also began corresponding with a lonely widower from Oregon named Everson Gilmuth. Everson was corresponding with several female inmates around the same time he communicated with Dorothea. A lonely widower, Everson was hoping to connect romantically with one of his prison pen pals. He and Dorothea quickly developed a romantic relationship after the almost 80-year-old retiree expressed his desire to remarry. The fact that Everson received a regular pension check sealed the deal for Dorothea. Dorothea and Everson corresponded for a full year until Dorothea was granted an early release in 1985, after serving just three and a half years of her five-year prison sentence.

As a new parolee, Dorothea was required to undergo a psychics. psychological evaluation by Department of Corrections psychologist. But before we delve into Dorothea's psychology, I just want to give a brief disclaimer. Vanessa is not a licensed psychologist or psychiatrist, but she's done a lot of research for the show. Thanks, Greg. Dorothea met with the prison psychologist just once before her release. Among other things, his report noted, quote, Dorothea appears to disassociate herself from any of the crimes for which she has been arrested.

It appears at this time that although she does not evidence any symptoms of psychosis, that is, hearing voices or having delusions of grandeur, that she is, in fact, schizophrenic. End quote. Schizophrenia often includes what are considered psychotic or positive symptoms, like hallucinations and delusions. But conversely, according to a study published by Harvard Medical School, about 25% of patients with schizophrenia have deficit syndrome. defined by severe and persistent negative symptoms. Negative symptoms include poor judgment, fear of social stigma, and flat affectations,

all of which Dorothea displayed throughout her life. Although Dorothea didn't experience psychosis, the negative symptoms she exhibited made her psychologist believe she was schizophrenic. During another court-ordered evaluation several years earlier, Dorothea was diagnosed as possibly having residual schizophrenia. meaning she had previously suffered a schizophrenic episode, but was in remission. According to a study published by Cambridge University on behalf of the Royal College of Psychiatrists, remission from schizophrenia can be achieved in 20 to 60 percent of people with the disorder.

They concluded that individuals who achieve remission from schizophrenia have better subjective well-being and better functional outcomes than those who do not. The fact that Dorothea showed only minor symptoms of schizophrenia, may explain why no one ever followed up on her treatment plan, despite the psychologist's recommendation that she be monitored after release. Dorothea's final prison discharge papers noted that, quote, her prognosis for success in the community looks good if she does not work with people who are dependent on her for their welfare, end quote.

The terms of her parole prohibited her from being a social security payee, working with elderly or vulnerable people, or ever running a board and care facility again. Upon her release from a prison halfway house in August 1985, 56-year-old Dorothea moved back into the second floor at 1426 F Street in Sacramento. Ricardo O'Dor Rica, who owned the house and lived on the first floor with his wife and children, was overjoyed to have the family's adoptive grandmother back in the house. Dorothea didn't waste any time in renting out her space for borders once again, in blatant violation of her parole. Within a few days of Dorothea's release, her pen pal turned fiancé, Everson Gilmuth,

arrived from Oregon in his red pickup truck with everything he owned in an airstream trailer behind it. Everson had a history of heart problems, and when he didn't check in with his sister Reba within a few weeks, she was worried enough to call the Sacramento police. Around September 17, 1985, the police finally stopped by. Everson told the officers that he was fine. When they left, he called Reba, furious that she had sent the police. He told her he was fine. It was the last time Reba ever heard her brother's voice.

We don't know if Everson shared his history of hospitalizations for heart problems and phlebitis, a vein inflammation condition, with Dorothea, but we know that she had previously exploited the health problems of people in her. care to cover the fact that she was slowly poisoning them and stealing their money. As someone with both health problems and a modest but steady income from his pension, Everson fit the profile of the seniors Dorothea typically victimized. Although Dorothea was dutifully meeting with her parole officer as required, the officer didn't realize she was violating the terms of her parole by taking in borders again less than two months after her release from prison. For some reason,

No one ever visited Dorothea's house to follow up. Dorothea also continued to have contact with Dr. Thomas Dutie, her court-appointed psychiatrist from an earlier incarceration. But we don't know if she was taking medication for her diagnosed schizophrenia. Given how quickly she ignored her parole requirements, it seems unlikely that Dorothea was medicated. A joint study by Simon Fraser University, UC Berkeley, and University of Oxford found that unmedicated patients with schizophrenia

are significantly more likely to become repeat offenders. Dorothy's consistent delusions of fame and her belief that she had exceptional skills point to unmanaged schizophrenia. Her alcohol abuse would also have exacerbated her symptoms. Probably unmedicated and drinking heavily, the conditions were ripe for Dorothy at a return to crime after Everson Gilmuth moved in with her. On October 14th, Everson's sister Reba received a letter from her. Dorothea. In it, Dorothea said that Everson was doing fine. He had sold some of his handmade

wood carvings and he, quote, doesn't want you to have the police out again, end quote. A few weeks later, on November 2nd, Reba got a mailgram that was supposedly from Everson, saying his wedding to Dorothea was off. He was packing his things and heading south. Thinking she'd hear from him once he settled in, Reba got on with her life. What she didn't know was that Everson was actually still living with Dorothea at the F Street House. In mid-December, just before the Oderica family was leaving to spend Christmas in Mexico, Ricardo Odericka chatted with Everson, who was doing some wood carving in the yard. Everson looked run down, and Ricardo inquired about his heart condition.

Everson assured him he was fine. The Oterica's left for Mexico. It was the last time Everson would ever be seen alive. Within a few days of the Odurika's departure, Dorothea murdered her former fiancé, either by acute poisoning with some kind of sedative or by suffocation after she'd sedated him with a drug slipped in his drink. She dragged Everson's dead body to an upstairs bedroom and locked the door.

Now she just had to figure out how to get the body out of the house before the smell of decay set in. Sometime around Christmas, a man named Jesus Meza stopped by the house on F Street to see his girlfriend, Brenda Trujillo, who rented space in the basement level. Dorothea told Meza that she needed his help and led him to the upstairs living room,

which was by then permeated with a terrible stench. Dorothea told him, A man has died of a heart attack. She asked Meza to help get rid of the body. Appalled, Meza refused. Before he could hurry out of the house, Dorothea cryptically said, don't tell the police.

Whether Meza believed Dorothea's heart attack story or not, he agreed to stay silent. Around this time, Dorothea made a deal with Ismail Flores, a handyman she previously hired to do some work around the house. In lieu of payment for his handyman work, Dorothea offered to sell him ever since truck at a reduced price. She said it belonged to her boyfriend, who was away in Los Angeles. Flores purchased the truck for $800. Just after Christmas, Dorothea hired Flores. to build her a six-foot-by-three-foot wooden storage box to store some old things in. Flores agreed.

He didn't know he was actually crafting a makeshift coffin for Everson Gilmuth's dead body. When Flores finished the box later that day, Dorothea told him to leave it for her with the lid off and come back three days later to help her put it in storage. As December came to an end, Flores and Dorothea drove north on the garden highway along the Sacramento River, The man-sized box Flores had made was loaded in the back. As Flores navigated the truck through a rural area, Dorothea abruptly told him to stop.

She said she'd changed her mind about storage. They could just dump the box by the river. Flores didn't protest. They wrestled Everson's handmade coffin as close as possible to the river and left it there. As they headed back to F Street, Dorothea believed she'd cleanly erased Everson Gilmuth, forever. But on New Year's Day, 1986, not long before Dorothea's 57th birthday, ever since a decomposing body was discovered. There was already too much deterioration to the corpse for examiners to determine a cause of death. With no identification, the body was processed as a John Doe,

and stored in the Sutter County Sheriff's Office until they could figure out who he was. Meanwhile, Dorothea settled back in at the F Street House, single again, She'd gotten rid of Everson, but since nobody knew he was dead, she was still able to collect his pension checks. Confident she'd gotten away with murder, Dorothea began accepting more new tenants into the F-Street House. She would take almost anyone in, especially if they received some form of government assistance. It wasn't long before Dorothea had perfected her technique, murdering her tenants while their assistance checks kept coming in. Meanwhile, her neighbors had no idea they were living next door to a graveyard, and it was filling up fast. Our story will continue in a moment after a brief message.

And now back to the story. Throughout 1986, 57-year-old Dorothy Appente was taking in tenants in her boarding house in violation of her parole. She had space to take in eight people, and each makeshift room in the basement had a bed and its own TV. Dorothy cooked all their meals and did their laundry. For some of her tenants, it was the nicest place they'd lived in years. So they put up with it when she'd occasionally scream at them or sometimes even slap or punch. What mattered to Dorothea was that she controlled their government checks, sometimes making herself their payee without their knowledge,

sometimes just intercepting their checks from the mailbox. In a few instances, she required tenants who were prone to drinking away their money to let her manage all of their finances. For someone who struggled with alcohol use disorder herself, Dorothea ironically had no patients for drunks. A study in the journal Alcohol Research and Health found that when a patient with schizophrenia has co-occurring disorders, the most common second diagnosis is alcohol use disorder.

We don't know if Dorothea was taking psychiatric medication at this point, but people with schizophrenia often self-medicate with alcohol. According to the alcohol research and health study, this can actually exacerbate rather than relieve symptoms. Dorothea certainly fit the study's conclusion that schizophrenia patients with alcohol use disorder are more likely to have social, legal, and medical problems compared with other people who only have schizophrenia. Self-medication with alcohol may also explain why Dorothea became more abusive toward her tenants over the next few years. Around spring, 1986, 78-year-old Leona Carpenter moved into F Street.

Leona had a history of poor health that included hypertension, alcoholism, syphilis, and anemia. Her poor health may be why she granted Dorothea power of attorney over her money without hesitation. Leona was grateful for Dorothea's care and never questioned how Dorothea was managing her money, so she managed to live peacefully in the house for quite some time. The next year, in early 1987, Carol Durning moved into a basement room at the F Street boarding house.

Durning was in her 30s, but she and 58-year-old Dorothea became friends and sometimes went drinking together. Durning was impressed with how diligently Dorothea took care of her tenants, even cleaning or feeding them if necessary. Things didn't start to appear strange until 80-year-old Betty Palmer moved into the house, around the same time as Carol Durning. In his book about the case, The Bone Garden, author and former district attorney William P. Wood describes Palmer as a, quote, spry eccentric woman who formed imaginary romantic attachments to her doctors. But not long after moving into F Street, the once Spry Betty fell quickly ill. Carol Durning saw Dorothea give Betty some pills more than once, but Dorothea offered no explanation. All Carol knew was that Betty often laid on the couch,

moaning, sometimes for hours at a time. Although it seemed like she should be in a hospital, Dorothea wouldn't hear of it. Approximately one month after she moved in, Betty Palmer suddenly disappeared. Once again, Dorothea was responsible. We don't know whether the two had a falling out or if Dorothea just got tired of Betty being around, but Dorothea either drugged Betty to death or sedated and smothered her. Because she planned to bury Betty in the front yard, she chopped off Betty's head and hands to obscure her identity in case she was ever found. Then Dorothea wrapped Betty's mutilated nightgown-clad body in a makeshift shroud, buried her, and covered the grave with cement.

Betty's missing head and hands were never found. Dorothea's neighbors had gotten used to her late-night gardening, so they didn't think twice about her doing a yard project in the middle of the night. Sometimes tenant Mervyn John McCauley helped with the landscaping, so it's possible he did some of the digging or cement work, unaware that Dorothea was actually burying bodies in the yard. McCauley was good friends with Dorothea, so he trusted her and never questioned her behavior. When tenant Carol Durning asked Dorothea where Betty Palmer had gone, Dorothea shrugged and said Betty's daughter had picked her up. But a little while later, Betty's daughter came by looking for her, when they were. the tenants confronted Dorothea about the discrepancy, she said she'd put Betty in a nursing

home but didn't want Betty's daughter to know. With her first two murders of Ruth Monroe and Everson Gilmuth, Dorothea had already laid a foundation of lies with their families before they disappeared. The fact that Dorothea told conflicting stories about where Betty went indicates that it may have been a more impulsive killing. According to a Moroccan study at the University of Hassan II Casablanca, quote, impulsivity has been repeatedly identified as a major problem in schizophrenia,

end quote. Lack of medication only exacerbates it. Dorothea had already demonstrated a short, often violent temper and an out-of-control shopping habit, both clear signs that she lacked impulse control. Betty's murder may have been the most violent sign of her impulsivity yet. With Betty's murder, 58-year-old Dorothea firmly established herself as a serial killer. According to the FBI, serial murder is defined as, quote,

the unlawful killing of two or more victims by the same offender in separate events, unquote. When classifying this type of crime, it's the cooling off period between victims that defines a serial murderer. Five years elapsed between Ruth Monroe's murder and Everson Gilmuss. But Dorothea killed Betty Palm. less than six months after disposing of Everson's body. Dorothea's lack of impulse control, maybe why the rate at which she killed her borders began to increase. But Dorothea didn't murder every tenant who moved into the F Street House.

It appears that she killed the people who became inconvenient, either because they required too much medical care or because their families came around too often asking questions. Dorothea knew that any scrutiny of her tenant's finances could cause the whole scheme. to collapse. Unfortunately, Tenet James Gallup was the next person who found out what happened when people questioned Dorothea. Gallup lived at the boarding house around the same time as Betty Palmer and Carol Durning. A chronic drinker, Gallup met Dorothea at the local bar. The 63-year-old Gallup was sickly and had trouble seeing. Dorothea suggested he move into

F Street and she'd take care of him. According to Carol Durning, when Gallup moved in, Dorothea told him that because he didn't handle his money well, Gallup could only stay at the boarding house if he let her handle his finances. But Gallup refused to sign over his SSI benefits and Dorothea flew into a rage. Not long after he moved in, Gallup had brain surgery. While he recovered, he laid on the couch, mostly drinking and sleeping. At one point, Durning saw Dorning saw Dorothea wait Gallup and give him medication. Gallup asked if he hadn't already taken his pills. Dorothea said he hadn't and watched as he swallowed all of them. In April 1987, Gallup showed up at a local bar. The bartender noted that he seemed reasonably

well in light of his brain surgery. It was the last time Gallup was publicly seen. Two weeks later, when Dorothea dropped in, the same bartender asked about Gallup. Agitated, Dorothea told her he left in the middle of the night. Dorothea had in fact already killed him and buried him in the yard. The next month, in May 1987, a pharmacy two blocks away from the F Street house, filled a prescription for Dalman, a sleep aide, in James Gallup's name. Dorothea may have picked it up herself. About two months later, Dorothea suddenly phoned one of James Gallup's doctors

and informed him that Gallup would no longer need his services because he was moving to Los Angeles. When the doctor hung up from the strange phone call, he reviewed Gallup's records, and discovered something even more odd. According to Gallup's medical file, the doctor who prescribed the Delmaine back in May had not prescribed any refills. Dorothea had apparently forged the prescription so she could continue to refill Gallup's medicine

even after he was dead. Dorothea herself had also been prescribed Dalmaine by Dr. Dutie, her court-appointed psychiatrist. In addition to Dr. Dutti, Dorothea sometimes used two other doctors to get prescriptions for Dr. Dutti, Dalmain in her name. Between her own prescriptions and gallops, she was able to amass very large quantities of the drug in a short amount of time. Dalman is a benzodiazepine derivative that's often

prescribed as a sleep aid. However, it can be physically addictive and because it stays in the bloodstream for days after ingestion, there's a high danger of overdose, especially among the elderly. Combining Dalmain with alcohol, which as a chronic drinker, James Gallup was likely doing, makes it even more dangerous. The symptoms of a Dalman overdose, slurred speech, impaired balance, and respiratory depression, mimic intoxication from alcohol. If Gallup was drinking and taking pills at the same time, it would be easy for tenants to dismiss the overdose symptoms as drunkenness. We don't have exact dates of when many of Dorothea's tenants moved into F Street between 19 in 1988, or exactly when her victims were murdered.

But we've reconstructed timelines based on court records where possible. We do know that on October 2nd, 1987, 64-year-old Vera Martin moved in. Vera suffered from tuberculosis, hardening of the arteries, and gallstones. While Dorothea didn't mind dispensing tenants' medications, she got impatient if they needed more care beyond that. In Vera Martin's case, Dorothea may have found her health issues too numerous to manage, or Vera may have complained about them too often. In any case, within a week of moving in, Vera joined the ranks of tenants who suddenly banished.

Ben Fink, who was in his late 50s and walked with a cane, also lived in the house during this time. His brother, Robert, visited him there several times in 1987. According to his brother, Ben was a binge drinker with no major health issue. and didn't like to take medication because of how it could interact with alcohol. In January 1988, Ben Fink got extremely drunk and belligerent at the house, which irritated Dorothea. She dragged him away and announced she was going to take Ben upstairs and make him well. The next day, Dorothea told her tenants Ben had left in the middle of the night. But a few days later, a terrible stench began to emanate from the room where she had taken Ben.

One tenant described it as the smell of death. Dorothea eventually buried Ben in the backyard alongside the others. In February 1988, Burt Montoya moved into a basement room at F Street. Unlike most of the other residents, Bert had no crime record, no major health issues aside from tuberculosis that was being treated, and did not suffer from drug or alcohol abuse. He did, however, have an intellectual disability and also suffered from hallucination, when he went off his psychiatric medication, which he did frequently.

But Bert's gentle, good nature and willingness to pitch in with maintenance work endeared him to the staff at the detox center where he had been sleeping prior to moving into F Street. Bert captivated a social worker at the center named Judy Moyes. Judy had been disturbed that Bert, who wasn't an alcoholic, was spending his nights on a vinyl mat, surrounded by drunk men with nowhere else to go. She was determined to find him a better place to live. Judy got Bert signed up for benefits and referred him to Dorothea Puente's spotless boarding house.

Dorothea assured Judy that she'd take care of Bert and make sure he was taking his meds every day. Judy noticed that Bert seemed to like Dorothea, who spoke his native Spanish with him. So she left Bert at F Street, promising to check in on him regularly. Bert settled into the house routine quickly. At 32, he was physically strong and gladly helped Dorothea with projects around the house.

Dorothea got him to take his meds and was even able to clear up his persistent scalp condition. Unbeknownst to Bert's social worker, Judy, Dorothea listed herself as Bert's cousin on his social security records in March 1988, shortly after he moved in. After that, his $500 a month check went directly to Dorothea. Once she was controlling his money, Dorothea seemed to develop a fondness for Bert, and they got along well. Meanwhile, Dorothea decided 80-year-old tenant Leona Carpenter's time at the house was up. Leona was already very ill when she moved into the house back in 1986. We don't know whether she took a turn for the worse and Dorothea didn't want to care for her, or whether she started requiring more doctor's visits than Dorothea wanted to manage.

but in the spring of 1988, Leona Carpenter, like many tenants before her, was buried in Dorothea's backyard. A few months later, in late summer 1988, another tenant, Dorothy Miller, suddenly disappeared. Dorothea explained to the other tenants that Miller had been arrested, and Dorothea wasn't going to put up with it anymore, so she threw her out. But Dorothea wouldn't lose any rent money. She had listed her friend and landlord Ricardo Odorica as Miller, Social Security payee the year before. Dorothea often paid her rent with tenants' social security checks, which after she forged their signatures,

Oderica could cash at his bank. We don't know if Oderica was a knowing accomplice to Dorothea's scheme, or if he simply never questioned how she was still receiving signed checks from former tenants who were long gone. In just over a year, six of Dorothea Puente's tenants had suddenly disappeared, And no matter how many or how few tenants Dorothea was collecting rent from at one time, her spending habits never changed. Nobody ever questioned how she was able to order thousands of dollars in merchandise

from clothes and shoes to a TV and sewing machine when her monthly social security check was only $600. But if they had looked into it, they would have discovered that Fingerhut, the mail order catalog Dorothea frequently ordered from, accepted any kind of government check as payment, even if the checks weren't in Dorothea's name. The tenants who never complained about or didn't notice their missing income got a long fine with Dorothea.

She often placated them by buying them gifts of shoes, clothes, or alcohol, so they wouldn't need cash to buy things for themselves. For Bert Montoya, she set up an allowance at the local bar, where he would have an occasional beer or burrito. But Dorothea had begun to lose patience with, Burt. Every two weeks, someone from the health department stopped by to check on his tuberculosis. Eventually, Dorothea called his health department caseworker and screamed at her to stop visiting Burt. After threatening to send Burt back to sleeping in the detox center,

Dorothea hung up. By then, Dorothea may have already decided that he had to go. In early August, 1988, Burt showed up at the bar where Dorothea had set up an account for him. Around 11.30 a.m., Bert had his usual beer and a burrito, then suddenly passed out. The people who carried him back to F Street said it was as if Bert had suddenly been drugged. On August 16th, Bert reappeared at the detox center, where he had stayed before moving into Dorothea's boarding house. Distraught, he told the concerned staff that he didn't want to stay at F Street anymore, but he couldn't articulate much beyond how unhappy he was. Because it had been so difficult to find a place for Bert outside the detox center,

the staff finally convinced him to return to the boarding house. Around 10.30 in the morning on September 2nd, he called the main branch of the Sacramento Post Office. Stuttering and nervous, Burt told the woman who answered the phone his name, while Dorothea screamed in the background, I'll put his ass on the damn street. As the postal worker tried to hear him over the screaming,

Burt managed to sputter, quote, She's got my social security check. I can't give you my phone number. I live at 1426 F Street, end quote. The postal worker tried to give him information, but Dorothea wouldn't give him a pen to write anything down. Defeated, Bert hung up. Burt called back twice more that afternoon,

insisting that the postal worker do something about his social security check. She assured him she would do what she could. It was the last time anyone ever heard from Bert Montoya. In mid-September, Bert's social worker Judy Moyes stopped by to check on him. Dorothea flatly informed her that Bert had gone to Mexico to visit his family. Judy knew how unlikely it was that Bert could make a trip across town by himself, let alone go all the way to Mexico. But Dorothea assured her Bert would be back a few days later.

When Judy checked in again at the end of the month, Dorothy happily told her that things were going so well for Bert in Mexico, he was staying longer. Suspicious, Judy insisted Dorothea have Bert call her. Dorothy said she would. When no call came, Judy tried another tactic. On November 1, 1988, Judy Moyes and her colleague, Beth Valentine, confronted Dorothea at her F Street home. They told her that if they didn't hear from Bert by November 7th, they were going to report him to the police as missing. Dorothea started to cry.

She told them she'd leave Saturday to go get him and they could come back Saturday afternoon and see Bert. Satisfied for the moment, Judy and Beth left F Street. But when the phone rang on November 7th, Bert wasn't on the other end. It was an unidentified man claiming to be Bert's brother-in-law. He said he had picked Bert up in Sacramento and was taking him back with him to Utah.

When Moyes demanded to speak to Bert, the man said that Bert was safe. Sick. Later that day, Moyes received a letter from the same man, postmarked Reno, Nevada. It also said Bert was staying in Utah. There was no doubt in Judy's mind that Dorothea had conscripted someone to mail the postcard and to impersonate Bert's non-existent brother-in-law. Judy finally called the police and reported Bert missing. A patrol officer stopped by Dorothea's house and she repeated the story that Bert had gone to live with family in Utah. One of her tenants, John Sharp, confirmed that he had seen Bert leave with a man in a pickup truck on Saturday.

After a cursory look around, the patrol officer prepared to leave. But before he got out the door, John Sharp nervously slipped him a note that said, She's making me lie for her. The officer referred the case to the detectives unit. On November 11th, Judy and Beth met Detective John Cabrera in his office to discuss Bert's case. They were joined by Carbera's partner, Terry Brown, and Dorothea's federal parole agent, Jim Wilson. After reviewing Dorothea's parole file, Wilson noted that Dorothea had met with parole officers in their office 21 times and had invited parole agents to inspect F Street 14 times since her 1985 release from prison. In that time, there was not one report that she was running a boarding house in violation of her parole.

Somehow, Dorothea had successfully deceived everyone who was supposed to be keeping her on the straight and narrow. Judy and Beth pleaded with the detectives to go to F Street and investigate more thoroughly. Finally, Cabrera and Brown agreed. They headed to F. Street with Jim Wilson. Judy and Beth followed and hid down the street. When Dorothea answered the door, Cabrera explained that they were looking for Burt. They asked if they could look around the house and maybe speak to the tenants. Dorothea agreed and invited them inside.

After they declined her offer of coffee or a snack, parole agent Wilson advised Dorothea that her parole would be revoked for taking in tenants. She nodded and told him she knew that taking in tenants was wrong. After noting that Dorothea had written on her calendar that Bert had gone to Mexico in early November, Cabrera asked her about him. First, Dorothea said she hadn't seen him since September,

then quickly changed your story, and said she had picked bird up in Mexico on November 4th. As they looked around, the detectives discovered dozens upon dozens of prescription pill bottles in the kitchen and living room, along with many bottles of alcohol. Cabrera, Wilson, and Brown spoke with the six tenants living at the house, including John Sharp and Carol Durning, and didn't hear anything suspicious. Just to be thorough, Cabrera finally asked Dorothea if he could poke around in the backyard and maybe do some digging. Dorothea agreed, as long as they were mindful of the new landscaping.

The detectives retrieved their tools and got to work. After digging in several different spots around the yard, the men were growing tired and more convinced that the grandmotherly woman watching them from the porch was only guilty of violating the terms of her parole. But then, Detective Kerbera hit on something unexpected, a decaying leg bone buried near the fence. As the three men realized what they'd uncovered, they turned to Dorothea. She stood on the porch, wide-eyed, her hands covering her mouth, apparently in shock. The men quickly realized that the remains they found were too badly decomposed to be Bert Montoya's. After the rest of the body was unearthed, they determined that the corpse they'd found was that of a small elderly woman with gray hair.

Dorothea's yard was now a crime scene. They began planning for a more substantial dig the next day. In the meantime, Cabrera took Dorothea to the station to question her. During the 45-minute videotaped interview, Dorothea was alternately hostile, nervous, and charming. She played up the fragile old lady persona she started cultivating in her early 50s, telling Cabrera, quote, I've got nothing to hide.

I'm an old lady trying to get off of parole and get my life back to. on track." Cabrera repeatedly insisted Dorothea was lying about what happened to Burt and finally asked that she take a lie detector test. Dorothea demurred saying she was too nervous, but she told him she would absolutely take one on Monday. Since the body in Dorothea's backyard hadn't yet been identified and a cause of death hadn't been determined, there wasn't enough evidence yet to arrest Dorothea for the murder.

So a frustrated Cabrera called it a day, and Dorothea returned home. A crowd of news units and observers began to gather outside 1426 F Street early the next morning, as police officers excavated Dorothea's backyard. Around 9 a.m., Dorothea approached Detective Cabrera outside the house. She was impeccably groomed. Her makeup done and hairstyled. She also had $3,000 in cash. hash hidden inside her purse.

Dorothea told Cabrera that the crowd and noise were bothering her nerves. She asked if she could go to the nearby Clarion Hotel to get a cup of coffee. Cabrera granted her request. Clutching her purse, she took his arm and he guided her all the way to the hotel himself. When they arrived, he saw her meet her friend and tenant, Mervyn John McCauley. The two disappeared into the hotel together. A few minutes after Cabrera left, Dorothea and McCauley, took a cab to Tini's Lounge in West Sacramento.

After drinking four vodkas with grapefruit juice and ranting about how badly she was being wronged, Dorothea put McCauley in a cab back home. She got into a second cab and headed for Stockton, about four hours away from Sacramento. Meanwhile, 20 minutes after Detective Cabrera arrived back at F Street, he heard a shout in the backyard. A second body had been uncovered. There was now enough reason to arrest Dorothea, and he had just let her leave the scene. He sprinted to the hotel to retrieve her. When he got there, he realized Dorothea was gone.

It had only been 30 minutes since he left her at the hotel, but with a 30-minute head start, Dorothea could be on her way anywhere. We'll return to our story in just a moment from the Parcast Network. Now, our story continues. On November 12, 1988, boarding house landlady Dorothea Puente fled Sacramento, after police discovered two bodies buried in her backyard while searching for missing man, Bert Montoya. Neither of the bodies was Burt's, so detectives continued to dig. While they were searching her backyard, Dorothea fled Sacramento with $3,000 in cash.

Detective John Cabrera, who had initially allowed her to leave the scene, was determined to find her and bring her to justice. Within 24 hours, Dorothea's photo was on the front page of newspapers nationwide. Every story criticized the Sacramento Police Department for allowing her to escape so easily. Meanwhile, police did thorough searches in Stockton, Garden Grove, and Glendale, California. The governor of California personally asked Mexican authorities to assist in the search, believing she may have fled south of the border. By November 14th, a total of seven bodies had been unearthed in the yard at F Street.

Six were uncovered in the backyard, and one, Betty Palmer, was found in the front. Some of the bodies had been buried for at least a year, others for several months. Newscasters reported that Dorothea's was a rare case because she was a female serial killer. They believe she was even more rare because she killed for profit, not out of passion, contradicting the widespread belief that women mainly killed for emotional reasons. Reporters spent hours trying to find out what had set Dorothea off. The coverage was accurate in that only 6.4% of serial killers in the 1980s were women, according to Radford University's serial killer database.

But the reporters also made some inaccurate assumptions. According to a Washington Post article, female serial killers rarely kill out of passion. Instead, they kill for some kind of gain, financial or material. Evolutionary psychologist Marissa Harrison explained, quote, female serial killers gather and male serial killers hunt. It reflects kind of ancestral tendencies, end quote. The Penn State study used as the basis for the article found that most female serial killers work in caretaking professions,

like Dorothea's health care and boarding house work. The study also found that two-thirds of female serial killers were described as having some level of attractiveness, which they used to their advantage to avoid suspicion. Dorothea may have been trying to maintain this advantage when she had both bariatric surgery and a facelift before the age of 60. Dorothea's cosmetic procedures may also indicate that she suffered from body dysmorphic disorder. BDD is characterized by a preoccupation with perceived physical defects. that others can't see. People with the disorder often perceive themselves as fat or ugly,

even in the face of evidence to the contrary. The Anxiety and Depression Association of America states that BDD can occur based on, quote, genetic predisposition, neurobiological factors like malfunctioning serotonin, and traumatic life experiences, end quote. Dorothy's abusive childhood coupled with decreased serotonin levels, resulting from her schizophrenia, made her a prime candidate to develop the disorder.

Whatever Dorothea personally believed about her appearance, she had no problem using her looks to manipulate men into helping her when she needed it. But this skill would shortly lead to her downfall. While police were frantically searching for Dorothea, she was comfortably hiding out in a Los Angeles hotel room. But, bored, and running out of money, Dorothea ventured out to a local bar after three days, looking for a victim so she could get more cash. On November 16, 1988, four days after the 59-year-old had fled Sacramento,

Dorothea struck up a conversation with Charles Wilgus, who was drinking next to her at the Monte Carlo Bar. She seemed familiar to Wilgus, but he couldn't quite place her. She introduced herself as Donna, did some flirting, and then steered the conversation to Wilgus's finance. She discovered he received Social Security. Her mark now in sight, she suggested that they move in together for the company and cost savings. Uncomfortable, Wilgus dodged the sudden suggestion, but agreed to meet her again the next day. Later that night, Wilgus was watching the news when his new friend's face appeared on his TV screen, identified as a serial killer on the run named Dorothea Puente.

Wilgis picked up the phone and called the news station, who in turn called the police. When LAPD officers knocked on Dorothea's hotel room door at 11 p.m. that night, Dorothea agreed to go with them without an argument. She knew her time was up. They cuffed her and took her to the Rampart Division Station, then called Sacramento PD to come get her before they'd be required to arraign her in L.A. Detective Cabrera couldn't arrange a flight in time to avoid jurisdiction problems, but Sacramento News Station, KCR, offered a chartered flight in exchange for access to Dorothea on the plane, including pictures.

Cabrera had no choice but to agree. And so in the middle of the night, Dorothea was headed back to Sacramento on a Learjet surrounded by reporters. One of the things she emphatically told the reporters was, quote, I used to be a good person. The next morning on November 17th, Dorothea, appeared at her arraignment in Sacramento. Her defense was assigned to public defenders Peter Vlaughton and Kevin Climo. Prosecutor Tim Frawley would try the case for the state. As Dorothea sat in jail awaiting her hearing, the coroner's office worked feverishly to identify

the seven bodies on Earthed at F Street, while prosecutor Frawley tried to connect Dorothea's missing fiancé, Everson Gilmeth, to the John Doe they'd found near the river years earlier. Meanwhile, Dorothea's lawyers tried to temper the growing media circus, condemning Sacramento PD for her high-profile return, and for allowing journalists unfettered access to her on the flight. With Dorothea's hearings set for April 1990, Dorothy's lawyers demanded copies of the autopsy reports of the seven victims. Prosecutor Frawley realized then that the defense is going to claim Dorothea's victims had died of natural causes, and she had buried them in the yard, not because she'd killed them, but because she knew she'd be in trouble for violating her parole by having borders.

Frawley poured over toxicology reports, building his evidence that Dorothea had poisoned her borders. Toxicologists were able to determine that they all had one common drug in their systems, Dalmaine, the same drug they had found stockpiled in Dorothea's house. He also discovered that between 1985 and 1988, Dorothy had filled prescriptions for over a thousand Dalman pills. Although his case was largely circumstantial,

Frawley believed that, based on Dorothea's prior convictions for drugging the elderly, he might be able to convince a jury to convict her. The Sutter County Sheriff was finally able to determine that the John Doe found by the river was, in fact, Everson Gilmuth. And in mid-1989, prosecutor Fraulee added Everson Gilmuth and also Ruth Monroe, to the list of victims Dorothea would be tried for murdering. There would be nine counts of murder total. In spring 1990, Dorothea entered not guilty pleas to all nine counts.

However, although her seven-week preliminary hearing took place that April, her actual trial wouldn't take place for three more years. As a flight risk, she was denied bail and remained in jail until trial. In summer of 1992, the DA's own. office attempted to put together a plea bargain to avoid the cost of a trial, offering 63-year-old Dorothea a guarantee of life in prison without parole. She'd avoid facing the death penalty. But Dorothea rejected the plea bargain. Dorothy's trial finally began in February 1993, five years after her arrest. She was 64 years old. One of her attorneys speculated that the trial would take up to a year

and require hundreds of witnesses. People scoffed, but his estimate proved to be fairly accurate. In the end, Dorothea's trial would cost the city over half a million dollars. Over the course of the trial, the prosecution carefully laid out each beat of every victim's murder, starting with Ruth Monroe in 1982, and ending with Bert Montoya in 1988. As the prosecution suspected, the cornerstone of the defense was, that Dorothea hadn't killed anyone. She had merely buried her tenants after they died of natural causes. She was guilty of violating parole, but nothing else. The prosecution brought up the evidence

of Dalmain in the victim's bodies and the fact that Dorothea had been hoarding that same drug. To establish motive, they detailed the thousands of dollars Dorothea stole and how she spent it. In the courtroom, Dorothea sat quietly, showing no emotion. But once she returned to her cell each night, night, she preached to anyone who would listen that the press was getting her all wrong and that she was being railroaded by the prosecution. As she complained to the other inmates about how unfairly she was being treated, she corrected the lies she said were being told about her. In the process, she actually confessed to some of the murders. The prosecution quickly put those inmates on the stand. When both sides finally rested, the jury began its deliberations on July 15, 1993.

The longer the jury was out, the more each side became convinced they would either hang or vote to acquit. But in the jury room, 11 of the jurors had already decided to convict. It was the 12th juror, Jesus, that caused the deliberations to make headlines. Sanchez caused turmoil in the jury room when he repeatedly insisted they should send the case back to the judge and, quote, let someone else decide. He wouldn't explain why. The Sacramento judge hearing this case will make an announcement in a formal session this morning. There is no indication as to what that might be. This jury has been beset by flu, pneumonia, and they were deadlocked on all nine counts back on August 2nd.

Wednesday, in their 23rd day of deliberations, they broke the record for murder trial deliberations held by the L.A. Nightstocker jury. Finally, on August 26, 1993, the jury was able to convince Hesu Sanchez to convince, convict Dorothea on three counts. After that, he flatly told them, quote, you're not getting anymore, end quote. After six weeks of deliberations, the jurors were tired of arguing. The jury foreman sent word that they'd reached a verdict. The jury found Dorothea guilty of murder in the first degree in the cases of Dorothy Miller and Benjamin Fink and murder in the second degree in the case of Leona Carpenter. Because Jesus Sanchez refused to deliberate any more,

the judge declared a mistrial in the six remaining cases. For her three convictions, Dorothea would face either life without parole or the death penalty. Dorothea didn't move a muscle as the verdicts were read, but her lawyer, Peter Vlatten, spoke with the press about her reaction afterward. We're very disappointed. Dorothea pointing has taken the verdict very hard.

We've talked to her after court, and you can see her expressions in court. Very distraught. The penalty phase began on September 21st, 1993. While the defense pleaded for Dorothea's life, the prosecution argued that she deserved the harshest sentence available to the jury, death via gas chamber. After a few weeks of additional testimony, the jury was left to consider Dorothea's fate,

life or death. On October 13th, the jury returned with the announcement that they were deadlocked over the death penalty. The judge was therefore required to make a ruling. Five years after the first body was discovered in Dorothea Puente's backyard, her sentence was finally delivered. Life in prison without the possibility of parole and more than $20,000 in fines is the sentence handed down to Dorcia Puente. Dorothea would spend the rest of her life in the Central California Women's Men's Men's Men's. facility in Chachilla. Although Dorothea's trial was extremely high profile, her case quickly faded from the front page as she settled into prison life at Chachilla. She made friends with some

fellow inmates and began corresponding with people who contacted her, mostly thrill seekers who were drawn to inmates who committed gruesome crimes. Dorothea briefly reappeared in the public eye around 2004 when one of her pen pals, Shane Bugby, suggested that since she often wrote to him about how much she enjoyed cooking, they should publish a book of her recipes. Dorothea agreed and Bugby published Cooking with a Serial Killer, a slim volume containing simple recipes that's still available to order online. In 2009, Sacktown Magazine published an extensive interview with Dorothea. Journalist Martin Kuse visited Dorothea at Chowchilla and corresponded with her over the course of several months. As their final interview drew to a close,

Coos asked Dorothea what she wanted when death came for her. Dorothea told him she wanted to, quote, die peacefully in her sleep without being sick or disabled, end quote. Coos then asked her what it was like to be known as a murderer. After a moment, Dorothea made her last public statement, saying, quote, I don't give a crap what anyone thinks, end quote. Dorothea Puente died in prison on March 27, 2011, at the age of 82. After robbing and brutally murdering nine people who trusted her with their care,

she got the peaceful death she'd wished for two years earlier. She remains Sacramento's most notorious female serial killer. Thanks again for tuning in to the special crossover for female criminals, and serial killers. You can find serial killers, female criminals, and all of Parcass podcasts on Apple Podcasts, Stitcher, Google Play, CastBox, tune-in, or your favorite podcast directory. Many of you have asked how to help the podcasts, and if you enjoy them, the best way to help is to leave a five-star review.

We'll see you next time. Have a killer week. Female criminals and serial killers were created by Max Cutler, our are a production of Cutler Media and are part of the Parcast Network. They're produced by Max and Ron Cutler, sound design by Ron Shapiro, with production assistance by Paul Mahler, additional production assistance by Maggie Admeyer and Carly Madden.

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