The Butcher Baker (Part One: The Less Dead)

"Workers and drug dealers and dancers came and went, many with few ties to the state and no one to notice if they went missing..."

In the early 1980s, a quiet pattern had begun to form: women were disappearing in the region surrounding Anchorage. Many had come to Alaska in order to escape their problems or to otherwise have a fresh start in the "Last Frontier." But amidst a transient population, these women's disappearances were shrugged off, presumed to have simply gotten lost in the shuffle.

Following the discovery of a few bodies, however, investigators with the Anchorage Police Department and Alaska State Troopers started to make connections between victims. Despite being separated by time and distance, these young women had seemingly been hunted by a serial killer with ritualistic tendencies...



Part one of four

Research, writing, hosting, and production by Micheal Whelan

Learn more about this podcast at http://unresolved.me

If you would like to support this podcast, consider heading to https://www.patreon.com/unresolvedpod to become a Patron or Producer








Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/unresolved--3266604/support.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:03):
This episode contains graphic content that may not be suitable
for all ages. Listener discretion is advised. If you or
someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available,
call or text nine eight eight, or chat with someone
at nine eight eight lifeline dot org. Those outside of
the US, reach out to someone at your local crisis

(00:24):
center or hotline. Please do not suffer in silence. It
began with a discovery in the summer of nineteen eighty.
On a chilly July morning near Eclutna Lake, about an
hour outside of Anchorage, Alaska, a crew of electrical workers

(00:46):
made a gruesome find. Buried in a shallow grave beneath
power lines was the partially scavenged body of a young woman.
Animals had gotten to her remains, and only a skeleton
and a few tattered clothes and personal items were left.
No name, no identification, just a mystery. Investigators would call
her a Klutna Annie, after the area in which she

(01:09):
was found. Who was this woman? The autopsy indicated she
had been dead for several months, likely killed by a
stab wound to the back. She was small in stature,
perhaps five feet tall, and possibly in her late teens
or early twenties. When a klutnat Annie was unearthed. She
wore jeans, a knit sweater, and knee high red boots,

(01:29):
along with some jewelry, a bracelet with turquoise stones, a
shell necklace, and a Timex watch. These belongings hinted at
a life that someone somewhere might remember, but despite these clues,
the police could not match her to any missing person's report.
It was as if she never existed in the official record.
Detectives suspected she wasn't local. Maybe she had drifted up

(01:52):
to Alaska from Washington or California, drawn by the promise
of adventure or money in the booming frontier town. But
invested bigators knew at least one thing about this young woman.
She had not died by accident. A klutnat Annie was
a murder victim, and whoever killed her had gotten away
with it. In fact, police would eventually learn that she

(02:13):
was the first known victim of a prolific predator, though
in nineteen eighty that truth was only beginning to surface.
At the time, all investigators had was a cold trail
and a nameless girl in an unmarked grave. Authorities in
Anchorage had little to go on, and perhaps in another
place the mystery might have ended there. But Anchorage, Alaska
in nineteen eighty had many dark secrets hidden just beneath

(02:36):
its surface, and a klutnat Annie was only the beginning.
This is the story of the Butcher Baker, Part one,
the Less Dead. To understand what was happening, one has
to picture Anchorage at the dawn of the nineteen eighties.

(02:56):
Just a few years earlier. The construction of the eight
hundred mile translat Alaska oil pipeline had transformed this once
sleepy city almost overnight. Oil money flooded in. Jobs were plentiful,
and with them came a flood of people chasing fortune, roughnecks, drifters, adventurers,
and opportunists of all kinds. As one report later described,

(03:16):
Anchorage became a boom town of oilmen, construction workers, and
the vice economy of illegal drugs and sex. People poured
in from the lower forty eight many leaving behind their past.
It was a burgeoning town in the last Frontier, settled
by people without roots or community ties, people who, if
they disappeared, would hardly be missed. During the pipeline boom,

(03:38):
the city's nightlife exploded downtown Anchorage in the late nineteen
seventies and early nineteen eighties was a wash, with neon
lit bars, strip clubs like The Wild Cherry and the
Good Times, and a steady supply of sex workers who
catered to the worker's flush with cash. The influx also
brought out pimps, drug dealers, and con artists, all looking
to separate those well paid linkborers from their money. It

(04:01):
was a bit of a heady, anything goes atmosphere, but
also a dangerous one. One article noted years later, workers
and drug dealers and dancers came and went, many with
few ties to the state and no one to notice
if they went missing. Disappearances became commonplace, easily written off
as someone moving on to the next boomtown or returning home.

(04:23):
For the police and Anchorage, this transient population posed a
bit of a nightmare. People arrived and left without a trace.
Friends and acquaintances might not even know someone's real name,
let alone notice if they vanished, and there was a
pervasive misogyny and indifference toward the women working the streets
and the clubs. Many in law enforcement did not hide

(04:44):
their bias that these street girls were troublemakers or unreliable.
In this mix, a sinister pattern could hide in plain sight.
As Alaska State trooper Glen Flota later observed the emerging predator,
and Anchorage quickly learned that strippers and prostitutes were harder
to track and less likely to be missed. In other words,

(05:05):
the very boom that brought the city wealth also created
the perfect conditions for a serial killer to operate undetected.
In the months around the discovery of a Klutna Annie
in mid nineteen eighty, a quiet pattern had already begun
forming women, mostly dancers. Some sex workers were vanishing from

(05:27):
Anchorage at an alarming rate. One officer with the APD,
Detective Maxine Ferrell, began keeping an informal list of these
missing women. She sensed something was wrong. She later recalled,
dancers were going missing and they weren't coming back. By
late nineteen eighty one, Detective Ferrell had noted at least
half a dozen disappearances that looked eerily similar. These were

(05:50):
young women that worked in the clubs along Anchorage as
tenderloin district, Women like Roxanne Eastland, twenty four years old,
who vanished after leaving the budget motel on j twenty eighth,
nineteen eighty or Lisa Fattrell, forty one years old, who
never returned home after her shift at a night club
on September seventh, Or Susie Ilumna twenty three, last seen

(06:12):
at a diner parking lot in May nineteen eighty two,
lured by a man offering three hundred dollars for an
hour of company. One after another, these women simply disappeared
without a trace. There were no bodies found, at least
not at first. Anchorage police weren't quick to sound any alarm.
Given the transient nature of the victims. Officers often assumed

(06:32):
that the missing women had left town voluntarily or simply
got lost in the churn of the oil boom. There
was also a distinct lack of urgency due to who
these victims were. They were young, often marginalized women, dancers, runaways,
sex workers, and the hard truth is that their absence
did not ring the same alarm bells within the department
as a missing housewife or a tourist might have. As

(06:55):
one journalist later put it, when Anchorage's sex workers began
disappearing in the la late nineteen seventies, it went unnoticed.
This indifference was exactly what the killer counted on. He
targeted those he thought nobody would chase, and for a
while he was absolutely right. Nobody in authority connected the dots,
not yet, but the disappearances did begin to worry a

(07:17):
few on the inside. Along with Detective Maxine Ferrell at
Anchorage PD, the Alaska State Troopers were also paying attention,
especially once bodies, not just missing persons reports started to
turn up. A Klutna Annie was the first to be
found in July nineteen eighty, but just a few weeks
after that there was another. The second body belonged to

(07:40):
Joanna Messina, a twenty four year old who had come
north chasing her own Alaskan dream. Joanna's story was in
many ways typical of those drawn to the Last Frontier.
She had grown up far away, trained as a nurse,
married young, but by nineteen eighty she was restless and
yearning for something more. According to Alaska State Trooper Walter Gilmore,
who later pieced together her background, Messina had left her

(08:03):
husband in New York and wandered west, leaving her family
behind without much of a goodbye. With her trusty German shepherd,
she had hitched her way to Alaska, ostensibly to find
a job in a cannery. Joanna arrived in the port
town of Seward with little money and big hopes. Broke
and hungry, she found lodging in a run down rooming
house and kept to herself, reading books to pass the time.

(08:25):
She was proud and independent, perhaps stubbornly so to acquaintances,
Joanna acted as if the world owed her something after
the hard turns her life had taken. Her only constant
companion was her German shepherd, who rarely left her side
and fiercely protected her. But in the early summer months
of nineteen eighty, Joanna Messina vanished. She was last seen

(08:46):
around May nineteenth, reportedly going out to dinner with a
man in Seward. When she never returned, a friend reported
her missing. Given Joanna's somewhat nomadic lifestyle, authorities did not
immediately treat her case as foul play, but on July eighth,
just a couple of months later, the grim truth surfaced.
Joanna's badly decomposed body was found in a gravel pit

(09:08):
near the Snow River just outside of Seward. Wild Life
had scavenged her remains, making the cause of death difficult
to determine. At the scene, investigators did note an odd detail.
Though there was no sign of Joanna's missing dog, Locals
who knew her remarked with surprise that no one could
imagine her going anywhere without her beloved German shepherd. Walter

(09:28):
Gilmore later wrote most of the people who had known
her dog wondered how anyone would be able to kill
her while the dog was in the vicinity. No dog
was ever found near her body. However, that chilling detail
suggested that whoever had killed Joanna likely disposed of her
dog as well, perhaps to eliminate the only witness or
protector that she had. It would be years before the

(09:48):
full story of Joanna Messina's death came to light. Later on,
her killer admitted what had happened. He had taken Joanna
and her dog to a remote spot by the river
under the pretense of a casual encounter. When he tried
to force herself on her, Joanna fought back, anti bludgeoned her,
and then shot her twice, shooting her dog once with
a twenty two caliber handgun. He dumped Joanna's body in

(10:10):
the gravel pit, tossed her belongings into the woods and
sank the gun into the river. In one cruel stroke,
Joanna's quest for a new life in Alaska ended, her
body left for the bears, and her loyal dog gone
without a trace. At the time of Joanna's murder in
nineteen eighty police did not immediately connect it with a
Klutna Annie's case. The two crime scenes were over one

(10:31):
hundred and twenty miles apart, one near Anchorage, the other
near Seward, and different police agencies were involved. APD handled
to Klutna Annie. Alaska State troopers on the Keen Eye
Peninsula dealt with Joanna's death, but one person had taken
note of the similarities, Glenn Flota, a young investigator with
the Alaska State Troopers who had a keen eye for patterns.

(10:53):
By nineteen eighty two, Flota had become part of a
team quietly investigating what they now suspected were serial killing.
The first was a Clutton to Annie, the second was
Joanna Messina, and soon there would be a third. Anchorage's

(11:17):
red light district in the early nineteen eighties was a
realm of neon lights, smoky bars, and young women trying
to make a living. By dancing or through sex work.
Cherry Morrow was one of those women. At twenty three,
Cherry was described by friends as kind and hard working.
A topless dancer at the Wild, Cherry who dreamed of
something better. In November nineteen eighty one, she thought that

(11:39):
she might have found an opportunity. She excitedly told the
close girlfriend that she had a photoshoot lined up with
a man who approached her at the club. He claimed
to be a photographer, willing to pay three hundred dollars
for a few hours taking nude pictures. The plan was
to meet him the next day, November seventeenth, at noon,
at a diner called Alice's two ten Cafe in downtown Anchorage.

(12:00):
It sounded a little odd, but three hundred dollars, especially
in nineteen eighty one, was hard to pass up. Cherry's
boyfriend certainly did not object. He was used to her
dancing gigs and the unusual offers that sometimes came her way.
So on the night of November sixteenth, Cherry stayed over
at her girlfriend's house preparing for the meeting the next day.
She left for the meeting on the seventeenth, hopeful and

(12:22):
perhaps a bit nervous. That was sadly the last time
any of Sherry's friends saw her alive. When she did
not return or contact anyone, her boyfriend reported her missing
on November twenty third, nearly a week later. In the
context of early nineteen eighty's Anchorage, Cherry Morrow's disappearance initially
drew little more than a routine missing person's investigation, but again,

(12:45):
Detective Maxine Ferrell at APD took note, here was yet
another dancer gone. Cherry's case had a concrete lead, the
mysterious photographer at Alice's tow Ten cafe, Yet that lead
was as good as a ghost. No one knew the
man's name or or where he planned to take her.
Months passed with no sign of Sherry. Winter gave way
to spring, and spring to summer of nineteen eighty two.

(13:08):
Cherry's friends feared the worst, but without a body or
a witness, police had no proof that a crime had
even occurred. Maybe Sherry had just left. That belief changed
on September twelfth, nineteen eighty two, nearly an entire year later.
On that day, by pure chance, two off duty Anchorage
police officers were out on a river boat trip near
the Kinnick River, about twenty five miles north of Anchorage.

(13:31):
They navigated to a gravel sand bar on the river's
north shore, a spot so remote it was accessible only
by boat, off road vehicle, or small plane. As these
off duty cops made camp for the night, one of
them stumbled upon what looked like a shallow grave in
the first light of dawn. The next day, they investigated
and realized it indeed was a grave site with human remains.

(13:53):
They reported their find to the Alaska State Troopers post
in Palmer, the jurisdiction covering that Wilderness area. Troopers arrived
and carefully exhumed the site. There, lying in a crude
grave on the Kinnick River bank, they found the body
of a young woman. She was fully clothed jeans, sweater jacket. Oddly,
there were no bullet holes in her clothing, yet the

(14:14):
remains revealed bullet wounds in her back. Clutched around her
were small items later identified as cheap jewelry. The scene
yielded a critical piece of evidence, spent shell casings from
a rifle. Ballistics would soon reveal that they were from
a two twenty three caliber Ruger Many fourteen hunting rifle,
a powerful firearm far more potent than any handgun. Dental

(14:37):
records would later confirm what detective Ferrell had already suspected.
The body was Sherry Morrow, missing for nearly an entire year.
The autopsy determined that Sherry had been shot three times
in the back. Given the lack of holes in her clothing,
investigators theorized a horrifying detail Cherry had likely been naked
when shot, then re dressed before burial, suggested a killer

(15:00):
that was oddly ritualistic, perhaps someone who took the time
to cover his atrocities after the fact. For law enforcement,
the discovery of Sherry Morro's body was a bit of
a turning point. The pattern that Detective Maxine Ferrell worried
about was now confirmed. In the most brutal way anchorage,
it seemed had a serial killer on its hands. The
unsolved disappearances were no longer being treated as likely runaways

(15:24):
or one offs. They were undoubtedly part of a connected
series of murders. Alaska State troopers with jurisdiction over the
Kinnick River area took lead on this homicide investigation, and
Detective Glenn Flota dove in with resolve. He began to
see the connections between at Klutna, Annie, Joanna Messina, and
Cherry Morrow, and suspected that they were all the work

(15:44):
of one offender. By late nineteen eighty two, Floda was
openly telling his colleagues that Anchorage had a serial predator.
He believed that all three women had been murdered by
the same perpetrator, and he was now determined to catch
him more after the break. Even as investigators finally recognized

(16:06):
the serial nature of this threat, the killer wasn't finished.
In the spring of nineteen eighty three, another young woman
went missing under strikingly familiar circumstances. Paula Golding was thirty
years old, an aspiring model and dancer who, like many others,
had come to Anchorage looking for opportunity. In late April,
Paula confided to a friend that she had been offered

(16:28):
three hundred dollars for a photo shoot by a man
who said he was a professional photographer, the same ruse
that had lured Sherry Morrow. On April twenty fifth, Paula
agreed to meet this photographer. After that she was never
heard from again. Friends reported Paula missing, but as with
the others, the case languished without leads. Unbeknownst to them,

(16:48):
Paula had suffered a fate chillingly similar to Sherry Morrows.
It would later be revealed that the man who took
Paula had flown her in a small plane to a
secluded stretch of wilderness by the Kinnick River. When he
tried to assault her, Paula fought back and managed to
break free for a moment, a burst of courage that
might have cost her her life. The killer raised a

(17:09):
Ruger Many fourteen rifle and shot Paula in the back
as she fled, inflicting a mortal wound. Like Sherry, Paula
was apparently not clothed when she was shot. Her killer
likely dressed her afterward before hastily burying her in a
shallow grave by the river bank. Through the frantic spring
and early summer of nineteen eighty three, Trooper Floda and

(17:29):
his teen continued to quietly compile evidence on the existing cases.
They now had three victims' bodies, a cludon that Annie,
Joanna Messina, and Sherry Morrow, along with several others that
had been reported missing. Alaska Stage troopers reached out to
the FBI's Behavioral Science Unit for a criminal profile of
the likely perpetrator. Famed profiler John Douglas analyzed the details

(17:51):
of the known murders and offered a portrait of the killer.
He believed that the offender would be an experienced hunter,
comfortable in the Alaskan back country where the bodies were found.
He would likely have low self esteem and a history
of being rejected by women, which might fuel the need
to dominate and degrade his victims. Douglas also suggested that
the killer probably kept souvenirs trophies from his victims, like jewelry,

(18:14):
as a way to relive the crime. And intriguingly, John
Douglas added one more detail to his profile. He believed
that the assailant might have a stutter. This was an
unusually specific trait, but it stemmed from the idea that
someone with a speech impediment and low self esteem could
harbor deep resentments, possibly triggered by humiliations in his past.

(18:35):
The profile gave Glenn Flota a clear direction. He began
cross referencing those traits against a list of potential suspects,
men in the Anchorage area that had hunting experience that
possibly had a plane, since remote sites were often accessible
only by aircraft, and any history of violence or sexual assault.
As you can imagine, at the time, this wasn't a

(18:56):
very long list, but one name jumped out almost immediately,
Robert or Bob Hanson. Robert Hanson was, on the surface,
the kind of ordinary citizen that drew little suspicion. He

(19:16):
was forty four years old in nineteen eighty three, a
self employed baker who owned a little bakery shop in
downtown Anchorage. Hanson was a wiry, unassuming man who wore
thick glasses and spoke in a quiet voice. In fact,
he had a lifelong stutter and acne scarred skin that
had made him painfully shy since boyhood. To those that
knew him casually, Bob Hanson was a mild mannered family man,

(19:39):
married with two children, and a respected small business owner.
Cops from the neighborhood would often stop into Hanson's bakery
for coffee and donuts, exchanging pleasantries with the friendly owner
behind the counter. As Prosecutor Frank Rothschild later noted, the
cops went there for coffee and donuts all the time.
No one imagined that this meek baker could be the

(20:00):
monster stalking Anchorage, but Glenn Floda knew that Hanson ticked
many of the profiler's boxes. Hanson was an avid hunter
known for stalking sheep and bear in the Alaskan wilderness
and boasting of trophy kills. He even owned his own
small airplane, a Supercub that he kept at Merrill Field,
which gave him the ability to fly into the remote
bush at will. And Hansen did have a criminal record

(20:23):
that hinted at violence beneath the surface. Back in nineteen
seventy one, he had been arrested twice, once for abducting
a housewife at gunpoint and again for raping a sex worker,
though through plea deals he managed to avoid significant jail
time for both. To Glen Flodah, Hanson was a glaring
red flag and an otherwise small pool of suspects. Still,

(20:44):
Anchorage PD wasn't entirely convinced at first. Hanson had what
appeared to be a solid alibi for at least one
incident under investigation, and he had a loyal friend willing
to vouch for him. In one case, Hanson shrugged off
suspicion by claiming a woman accusing him was just angry
he would not pay her extortion demands, and a friend
of his named John Heading backed up his story. This

(21:06):
good guy image, combined with the lack of direct evidence,
kept Hanson afloat as a free man. By the summer
of nineteen eighty three, Floda had Robert Hanson in his sights,
but he needed proof, something that could break the case open.
As fate would later have it, that proof would not
come from forensic analysis or a stroke of investigative genius,

(21:26):
but from a brave seventeen year old who crossed paths
with Robert Hanson one terrifying night. The name she's known
by is Cindy Paulson, and her courage would finally expose
the killer lurking in Anchorage. Cindy Paulson was just seventeen

(21:55):
years old, but she had already lived a very hard life.
She was working the streets of Anchoring in June nineteen
eighty three, a tall, blue eyed teenager who danced in
clubs and sometimes turned tricks to get by. In the
early pre dawn hours of June thirteenth, nineteen eighty three,
Cindy stood under the orange glow of a street light
on Fourth Avenue, looking for a client. That's when a balding,

(22:17):
bespectacled man in a car pulled up to her. He
seemed a bit awkward, but harmless enough. He offered Cindy
two hundred dollars for oral sex, a generous sum for
what would probably be a quick encounter. Needing the money,
Cindy agreed and got into the passenger seat of the car.
From the moment she shut the car door behind her,
Cindy sensed something was off. The man's demeanor shifted. The

(22:39):
friendly veneer dropped. He did not drive toward the typical
spots in downtown where such transactions might occur. Instead, he
headed toward a more isolated part of town. Before Cindy
could protest, the stranger reached under his seat and produced
a handgun, swiftly gripping her by the wrist. She later recalled,
Andy had cuffed one of my hands and I was
trying to get loose in and he pulled out a

(23:00):
gun in a snap, a steel handcuff locked around her wrist.
She thrashed and struggled, heart pounding, but within seconds her
other wrist was manacled too. She later remembered, I fought,
but not a lot because I knew he would do something.
Cindy was trapped. The man drove on, telling her to
shut up and stay down. With one hand on the

(23:21):
wheel and the other holding his gun to her side.
He made it clear that any attempt to escape would
be met with violence. Through the haze of panic, Cindy
caught a few details of the car. It was a
tan sedan. It was messy inside. She noticed maps and
aviation manuals strewn about on the back seat, and an
odd sweet smell, perhaps remnants of baked goods. The realization

(23:42):
was dawning on her that she might have heard of
this man or others like him. Anchorage's underground had whispered
rumors for months now about a guy who preyed on dancers.
Now Here, she was leaving the nightmare first hand. In
the darkness, the abductor drove Cindy to a modest home
on Muldoon, an East Anchorage neighborho Inside, the nightmare escalated.

(24:02):
Cindy was changed by the neck in a basement den,
Tortured and sexually assaulted for hours. The man treated her
like property. At one point he tied a rope around
her neck and secured it to a post next to
a grimy old sofa. Exhausted and terrified, Cindy tried to
humanize herself to him. She told him her name, lying
that she had a young child at home, Hoping to

(24:23):
gain pity, begging him to let her go, She promised
not to tell anyone what had happened, pleading, all I
want to do is go home. Her captor barely reacted,
except a starle that if she cooperated, she wouldn't get hurt.
Those words echoed the same false promise he had given
others before, a promise he almost never kept after he
had his fill of violence, The man finally allowed Cindy

(24:45):
a brief respite. He left her shackled by the neck
to the coffee table while he went to sleep on
the nearby couch, as if this were all in a
knight's work. Cindy lay there awake, trembling and studying everything
around her. She knew details could save her if she
ever got out all. She noted the mounted hunting trophies
on the wall, impressive animal heads labeled with engraved plaques.

(25:07):
From one of them, she learned her captor's name. He
had told her earlier that his name was dawn, but
etched on a trophy was the name Robert Hanson. She
filed it away in her mind. She also noticed that
there were heavy metal bars on the basement windows and
even a bullet hole in the linoleum floor, eerie markers
that this was not the first time violence had ever

(25:27):
occurred here. Near dawn, Robert Hanson stirred awake. Perhaps emboldened
by Cindy's seeming compliance and his own fatigue, he decided
to move on to the final phase of his horrific ritual.
He came to Cindy and unlocked the chain from the
table keeping her coffed, then dragged the petrified girl back
out to his car. Hansen told Cindy that they were

(25:48):
going to his remote cabin for a little trip. Cindy
later recounted he said that he had a plane over
at Meryllfield and that we would go there. Then he
would take me to his cabin and bring me back.
But Cindy knew in her gut what he really meant,
later recalling, I knew that I wasn't going to come back.
She believed he intended to fly her out into the
wilderness and kill her where no one would ever find her.

(26:14):
At approximately five am on June thirteenth, Robert Hanson drove
Cindy Paulson, still handcuffed and shivering, to Meryl Field, the
small municipal airport in Anchorage. The sky was early morning
gray as they arrived at the quiet airfield, Hanson's private plane,
a blue and white Piper Supercub, sat waiting on the tarmac.
He parked his car near his hangar and turned to

(26:36):
his captive with a low, dangerous tone. Hansen told Cindy
to stay put in the car while he prepped the plane,
or else he would not hesitate to shoot her, and
then he stepped out and walked a short distance away,
busying himself with fueling and loading the aircraft for takeoff.
Cindy Paulson sat in the back seat, her heart hammering
against her chest. Her hands were cuffed in front of her,

(26:58):
but she was amazingly marak wilessly alone for the first
time since this entire ordeal began. Adrenaline surged as she
realized this might be her only chance. Through the windshield,
she could see Hanson's back turned as he tended to
his plane. Summoning every ounce of courage, Cindy decided to run.
She briefly scooted over, plunged into the driver's seat, and

(27:19):
fumbled for the door handle. In one burst, she shoved
the door open and bolted barefoot and terrified into the
chilly anchorage morning. Hanson heard the commotion and spun around
to see his victims sprinting away. He shouted in rage
and started to give chase, but Cindy, driven by pure terror,
had a head start. She raced toward the lights of

(27:40):
sixth Avenue, chains jangling from her wrist. Hanson halted, calculating
that an out and out pursuit might draw unwonted attention.
He watched, infurious Cindy flagged down a passing pickup truck
and clambered into the arms of a stunned Good Samaritan.
In that moment, the predator lost control of his prey,
and a seventeen year old girl achieved what no one

(28:00):
else had. She escaped the butcher Baker. To be continued
on the next episode of Unresolved