A Gentle Man

Bert Montoya didn’t say much; in factt he seemed to prefer talking to trees.  With his unkempt appearance and shabby clothes he was often labeled as a drunken bum.  The irony was, Bert didn’t drink.

He could often be seen shuffling along the streets of Sacramento, California mumbling to himself.  On the occasions that he did speak it was usually in Spanish, the language of his native Costa Rica but he had also been known to speak a little English.  Bert spent his nights sleeping in a large shed in Front Street, which had been allocated to the V.O.A. (Volunteers of America) to be used to house and care for other homeless men who, unlike Bert, were mostly drunken drifters.

One volunteer aid worker, Judy Moise, was particularly taken with Bert’s gentle spirit and, realizing that he had no dependency on alcohol or drugs, set out to find him alternate accommodation, somewhere that he could be cared for.  It took Judy almost a year to track down Bert’s official identification and social security number so that he could collect the benefit checks that he was entitled to.  After contacting the U.S. Embassy in San Jose, Costa Rica, she learned that Bert was born Alvaro José Rafael González Montoya on September 8, 1936 and had entered the U.S. legally in 1962 accompanied by his mother and sister.

With Bert’s identity established and his benefits in place, the next challenge for Judy was to find a suitable place for him to live, somewhere where his eccentricities would be tolerated and  his needs met.  The problem was solved when one of the other counselors suggested a boarding house on F Street that was run by a kindly widow who was experienced in the care of the homeless and was adept at dealing with the vagaries of the destitute and homeless.

On February 1, 1988, Judy and a friend arrived at 1426F Street, a blue and white, two-story Victorian house.  An elderly woman with white hair and no teeth who introduced herself as Dorothea Puente met them at the door.  After inviting them inside, the woman quickly apologized for her appearance explaining that she had ordered new dentures that weren’t quite ready.  To Judy she seemed pleasant enough and appeared to run a clean and orderly house. 

After a tour of the dwelling Puente offered them coffee and they raised the subject of Bert.  Puente was more than happy to accept him and told the women that she was more than capable of ministering to his particular needs, as she was also Hispanic having originally come from Mexico.  Two days later, Bert moved in.

Within weeks, Bert’s general condition and demeanor improved markedly.  His hair was washed and combed, his nails clean and his clothes spotless.  Under Puente’s supervision he began to take better care of himself and even resumed taking his anti-psychotic medication which made him more lucid and able to converse in whole sentences rather than his usual grunts and moans.  To Judy, Dorothea Puente seemed to have a heart of gold.  Not only had she accepted Bert into her house and cared for him, she had provided for him out of her own pocket for weeks until his social security payments had come through.  Dorothea often went out and, on occasions, she took Bert with her so no one was surprised when on Thursday, March 31, 1988, she got him dressed and took him downtown.  Their destination was the Social Security Administration building.  After waiting her turn she patiently explained to a staff member that she was there on behalf of Mr. Montoya who was mentally retarded and, as such, was incapable of handling his own finances and wished her to be made payee for his benefits.  Accepting her request as being quite reasonable, the staff member gave her a form to fill out on which she listed herself as Bert’s cousin.  Bert’s mental disability was later confirmed by his psychiatrist as being “a psychosis which makes him non-participative in society and withdrawn - needing someone to watch out for him.”  Before long, Puente’s application was approved and she became the recipient for $637 of Bert Montoya’s benefit each month, more than enough to take good care of him.

A Sweet Old Lady

Dorothea Helen Gray was born on January 9, 1929 in Redlands, San Bernardino County, California.  Her parents were both drunks and spent what little money her father earned as a cotton-picker on cheap booze.  From an early age she was abused by her parents and often had to scrounge for food.  When she was four her father died.  By the time she was six her mother was dead also and Dorothea was sent to an orphanage where she stayed until she was taken in by relatives in Fresno, California.  Robbed of a “normal” childhood, Dorothea later created one for herself, telling anyone who would listen that she was one of eighteen children who had been born and raised in Mexico.  

In 1946, she married for the first time but was widowed two years later when her husband died of a heart attack.  Alone and in desperate need of money she tried forging checks.  Eventually she was caught and sent to jail for a year but was paroled after six months.  Soon after her release she fell pregnant to a man she hardly knew and gave birth to a baby girl which she gave up for adoption.

In 1952 she married a Swede named Axel Johanson.  Her second husband prided himself on being tough and their fourteen years together were often peppered with violent brawls.  Despite the turmoil, Dorothea thrived, only because she had developed a toughness of her own. 

In 1960 she was arrested in a brothel.  She claimed she was just visiting a friend but was given ninety days in Sacramento County Jail.  Following her release she hit the streets and was picked up shortly after for vagrancy and given a further ninety days. 

Although still married to Johanson, he was not prepared to support her so she attempted to fend for herself.  As time wore on she became involved in various illegal activities that gradually became more serious and would probably have landed her in jail for a longer term had she not found work as a nurse’s aid, caring for the disabled and elderly in private homes.  Soon after she began managing boarding houses. 

In 1966, she divorced Johansen and married Robert Puente in Mexico City.  The marriage was doomed from the start as Roberto, who was nineteen years younger than Dorothea, had trouble staying faithful to his new wife.  Just before the end of the marriage two years later, Dorothea embarked on the biggest project of her career when she took control of a three-story, sixteen-bedroom care home at 2100F street.  Built at the turn of the century, the house became a thriving business where Puente provided the best of care to the homeless and destitute.  Although ruling her domain with a firm hand, Dorothea proved to be the consummate hostess, often throwing open her doors at Easter and Christmas to lavishly entertain, not only the poor and homeless, but also the social workers of the district whose endorsement would ensure her success.

While giving the outward appearance of providing the best of care to her charges, Dorothea was also involved in some mysterious activities.  With the assistance of a man known only as Chief, a homeless drunk she had “adopted” and appointed as her handyman, Puente made many unusual changes around the house.  She had Chief digging in the basement and carting away soil and rubbish in a wheelbarrow.  Later it was covered with a concrete floor.  Later still, a garage in the backyard was pulled down followed by more digging before another concrete “patio” slab took its place.  Not long after, Chief disappeared without a trace.

Doing Time

In 1976, Puente married for the third time but again her choice of partner was less than desirable.  Pedro Montalvo was a worthless lay about who became physically abusive when fuelled by alcohol, which was often.  Unable to control him, she turned her attention to the care of her tenants and, although she provided them with the most basic of care, they were content.  

Within months, Montalvo was gone and Puente consoled herself by spending time in bars looking for male company.  She preferred older men, preferably those who were receiving benefits.  They, in turn, were attracted to her snappy clothes and warm, caring manner.   Her system was simple; she would win her victims over with her charms, steal their benefit checks and cash them by forging their signatures.  The plan worked well for a while but eventually she was caught and charged with thirty-four counts of treasury fraud.  Instead of curtailing her plans, her arrest was just a brief interruption as she continued to ply her trade while still on probation. 

It was at this point that strange things began to occur at her boarding house.  In April 1982, a new tenant arrived.  Ruth Monroe was sixty-one when she moved in and was instantly overwhelmed by Puente's caring nature.  Seventeen days later she was dead from an overdose of Codeine and Tylenol.  Puente explained to the detectives investigating her death that Ruth had been deeply depressed over her terminally ill husband.  The police accepted her story and determined Ruth had taken her own life.

Weeks later they were back, following up on allegations that Puente had been drugging men she met in bars and robbing them.  One of the complainants was a seventy-four-year-old pensioner named Malcolm McKenzie.  He told police that he had met Puente at a local bar called the Zebra Club.  They had several drinks together after which he invited her back to his apartment.  Soon after they arrived, however, he became dizzy and, although conscious, was unable to move.  He could only sit and watch as Puente searched the house for valuables, taking his rare penny collection and a diamond ring that she forcefully removed from his finger.

On August 18, 1982, Puente went before the courts and was convicted on three charges of theft and sentenced to five years imprisonment.  In a surprising decision, however, Judge Roger Warren refused to take into account other similar charges that had been made against her, a decision which almost certainly saved her from a much longer jail term. 

Dorothea Puente was no stranger to prison and quickly adapted herself to the regimen of Sacramento County.  She was a talker who constantly regaled the other inmates with stories of her exploits and achievements.  On one occasion she broke the unspoken rule of life inside by telling a guard who was responsible for an attack on a fellow prisoner, an error of judgment that earned her a savage beating.  As a result of the attack, she was transferred to protective custody.  While in her new accommodation, she received a letter that was to change the direction of her life.

It was sent by a seventy-seven-year-old retiree named Everson Gillmouth who made a habit of writing letters to women in prison.  Given Puente's name, he began corresponding with her on a regular basis from his home in Oregon.  She responded in kind and an intimate relationship soon developed.  For Puente, Everson Gillmouth was more than kind words and heart felt emotions, he was her ticket out of the cloistered world that she had built for herself.  She wanted money and respectability and he had both.  Everson, on the other hand, had become completely besotted by Dorothea to the point that, when she was released in September 1985 after just three years in prison, he was there to meet her in his red 1980 Ford pickup. 

Also in attendance was her old friend, Ricardo Odorica, the owner of a boarding house at 1426F street where she took a room for just $200 a month.  Following her release, the relationship with Everson developed rapidly and they were soon making wedding plans.  She found him undemanding as a lover and more than willing to do her bidding.  He opened a bank account in both their names and soon after she offered Odorica $600 a month to rent the whole house.  Her dream of running her own boarding house had become a reality.

The Box in the River

In November 1985, Dorothea Puente hired a local handyman, Ismael Florez, to put up some wood paneling in her house.  It was a good deal.  For just $800 and the paneling job, Ismael had bought a red 1980 Ford pickup from her in good condition.  Puente told him the truck had belonged to her boyfriend in Los Angeles who no longer had a need for it.  Ismael was more than happy with the exchange so when Puente asked him to do one last job he was happy to oblige. 

She needed a box built, she told him, to store books and other items.  It had to be 6 feet long, 3 feet wide and 2 feet deep.  If he ever wondered about its strange dimensions, he never said a word and followed her instructions to the letter.  The following day when he returned, the box had been filled, moved to an upstairs room and nailed shut.  She needed just one last favor, to have it transported to a storage depot.  Again he obliged and, with the help of a neighbor, loaded it onto his pickup.

When he left for the depot, Puente went with him for the ride.  On the way to the depot, she abruptly changed her mind and had Ismael stop just off the Garden Highway in Sutter County and dump the box by the river bank.  He questioned her decision but she quickly explained that the contents were mainly junk and should have been dumped anyway.  He accepted her explanation and they returned home where they shared a few beers.

On New Year's day, 1986, two fishermen found the foul smelling box that was now half-submerged in the river.  They informed the local police who attended the scene and pried open the box.  Inside they found the remains of Everson Gillmouth.  He was dressed in his underwear, wrapped in a white bed sheet and bound with black electrician's tape.  The body showed no signs of wounding and was decomposed beyond the point of recognition.  The only distinguishing feature was a wristwatch with a metallic band that still clung to the corpses left wrist.

With no identifiable characteristics to go on, the police soon added another "John Doe" to their list of unsolved homicides where it was to remain unidentified for three years.  With Gillmouth gone, Dorothea continued to collect his pension and wrote letters to his family, explaining away his absence and lack of contact as being due to ill health.

Undaunted, Puente expanded her operation and took on forty new tenants who were mostly drunks and drug addicts.  She was earning good money but she was also squandering most of it on her lavish lifestyle and went back to cruising bars looking for new customers.  With her house full of paying guests she devised a plan whereby she collected all the mail and opened it before the tenants saw it.  She would then give them each a small amount to spend which normally lasted as far as the nearest bar.  Drunk and out of control they would then be picked up by the police, who were usually acting on an anonymous tip, and locked up for thirty days, during which time Puente would pocket their benefit money.   

In the following months more mysterious disappearances were reported.  On August 19, Betty Palmer, a seventy-seven-year-old resident of Puente's boarding house never returned from a doctor's appointment.  Several weeks later, Puente was in possession of an ID in Betty's name but it bore her own picture which she used to collect Betty's benefits.  In February the next year, another tenant, Leona Carpenter was discharged from hospital and placed in Puente's care, she was seventy-eight.  Puente made her up a bed on the couch as a temporary measure but two weeks later she went missing and was never heard from again.

James Gallop was sixty-two and was last seen in July, 1987 when he was treated by his doctor after months in hospital following an operation to remove a brain tumor.  He told the doctor that he was moving into a boarding house at 1426F street. 

The following October, sixty-two-year-old Vera Martin moved into the boarding house and was never seen again.

Bert Montoya arrived the following February and, soon after Puente took charge of his affairs, he too disappeared.  When the other tenants asked about him they were told that he had left for Mexico to visit his family.

Suspicion

Prior to Bert Montoya's disappearance, Dorothea Puente had already begun to arouse suspicion but not with the police.  Following complaints that she had been running an illegal board-and-care facility, a Department of Social Services inspector arrived at the house to inspect the facility.  Although the inspector was aware that she had previously been convicted for misuse of her clients benefits, she was able to lie her way out of trouble.  A field report, later compiled by the same inspector, declared the complaints unfounded.

Puente was able to continue unmolested for a while longer until Peggy Nickerson, a social worker who had sent many clients to Puente's home, became suspicious when she tried to visit some of the people that she had sent there.  Puente told her that they had moved away.  Initially, she believed the stories because most of the people in question were transients and had a history of wandering off and returning to their old ways.  In the absence of any evidence to support her suspicions, Nickerson stopped sending people to the house, just in case.

Finally, on November 7, following a visit to the house, Judy Moise filed a missing persons report with the police, stating that she did not accept Puente's story about Bert having gone to Mexico.  He was not the type to run away, she told them.   The police accepted her complaint and went to the house to question Puente and look around.  While they were there, a male resident passed a note to one of the officers which described how Puente had told him to lie.  Four days later the police returned with a warrant to search the house and dig up the garden.

Over the following days seven bodies, including Bert Montoya's, were unearthed.  One body, that of Betty Palmer, was missing the head, hands and lower legs.  At the same time, the police began an investigation into the disappearances of Everson Gillmouth and Ruth Monroe.  Gillmouth was later identified from his hospital x-rays but no cause of death was determined. 

Post mortem examination of the seven bodies found in the yard revealed large concentrations of the drug flurazepam or Dalmane, as it is commercially known.  Police later found dozens of prescriptions for the drug among Puente's personal papers.  As the investigation progressed, detectives discovered that Puente had cashed over sixty benefit checks belonging to the deceased - after their deaths.  With sufficient evidence and a strong motive in place the police made moves to arrest Puente for murder only to realize that they had let her slip away while they had been searching the garden. 

Sometime between Friday November 11 and Monday November 14 Dorothea Puente had packed a bag and simply walked away.  She was nowhere to be found.  Amidst great embarrassment the police launched a state-wide search and enlisted the help of the FBI to track her down.  Airports, bus depots and railway stations were checked without result.  She was later found to have laid a false trail by booking a flight to L.A. in her own name and never taking the flight.  As a result the police discounted Los Angeles as a possible destination, another decision that would come to cause them added embarrassment.

Caught

While the police struggled to right their wrongs and appease a disbelieving public, Dorothea Puente was safely ensconced in room 31 of the Royal Viking Hotel - in downtown Los Angeles.  Having booked in under the name of Dorothea Johanson, she kept a low profile and stayed in her room watching TV, only venturing out for meals. 

Several days after her arrival, however, she became restless and took a cab to a bar, just two miles from her hotel.  Wearing makeup and dressed in her best clothes, Puente looked out of place in the seedy bar, but she soon came to the attention of one of its patrons, a sad and lonely man named Charles Willgues.   The pair soon struck up a conversation during which Puente introduced herself as Donna Johanson. 

The conversation continued and "Donna" weaved her usual magic to the point that, when she complained that her shoe heels were worn down from walking around town, Willgues took them to a repair shop across the street from the bar to have them repaired.  With Puente taking the lead, talk soon led to Willgues financial situation.  Learning that he was receiving sickness benefits, she offered to show him how to increase the amount he received each month by filling out additional forms to capitalize on his condition.  While impressed by her knowledge of such things he began to wonder how she came to know so much about it.

After a few drinks Dorothea suggested that they get together and share a Thanksgiving dinner.  The idea sounded appealing to Charles but for some reason he began to feel uncomfortable, particularly when she suggested that they should move in together.   

They talked for hours until Charles was able to excuse himself with the promise of taking her shopping the next day.  He returned to his apartment but was unable to relax as something continually gnawed at his brain.  It was only when he switched on the television that he realized where his bad feeling had originated.  "Donna" was the woman he had seen on the television that morning, the woman who was wanted in Sacramento on suspicion of multiple murder.

Reluctant to call the police he called the CBS news service instead and spoke to the assignment editor, Gene Silver.  Silver, a veteran newsman, listened patiently to Willgues story before suggesting that he watch a news broadcast to see if the woman he met was actually Puente.  Charles did so but was no wiser, as the broadcast failed to show any photos.  Smelling a breaking story, Silver then suggested that he bring over a news photo of Puente so that Charles could be sure.

Some time later, Charles sat staring at the image that Silver had supplied but was still unsure.  Eventually, aided by Silver's gentle prodding, Charles agreed that the woman he met in the bar could very well be Dorothea Puente.  Armed with his new found knowledge, Silver then returned to his office, summoned a camera crew and rang the police.  With everything in place, the police, accompanied by Silver and his news crew, arrived at the Royal Viking at 10:20pm and knocked on the door of room 31.  Puente answered the door, momentarily blinded by the glare of the TV camera lights and was promptly asked for some form of identification.  With nowhere to run, Puente took her driver's license from her handbag and handed it to the detectives.   If there had been any doubt as to her identity it quickly dissolved when the police read the name on the license - Dorothea Montalvo, the address - 1426F street, Sacramento.

Return to Justice

Within hours, Puente was whisked away to the airport where she was placed on a Lear jet, chartered for the purpose by KCRA-TV and The Sacramento Bee, and returned to Sacramento.  During the journey, she told a reporter - "I cashed checks yes, but I never killed anyone - I used to be a good person once."

She was later booked into Sacramento County Jail where her property was found to include an envelope containing $3,042.55.  Later the same morning she was led into court where she met with her two court appointed attorneys - Peter Vlautin and Kevin Clymo.

Seven minutes later she was arraigned without bail on one count of murder, that of Bert Montoya.   While Puente languished in jail, the police continued the long and grueling process of identifying remains and processing evidence.  Finally, after months of preparation, the prosecution was ready and the pre-trial hearings began on April 25 1990.  Media and members of the public alike, converged on the Sacramento courthouse to take part in one of the most intriguing trials in the state's history.

Standing before Judge Gail H. Ohanesian, the prosecution team launched their case, intent on portraying Dorothea Puente as a greedy, manipulating and cold-blooded killer whose sole reason for opening her boarding house was to do away with her clients as a means of claiming their rightful benefits as her own.   In response the defense countered with the assertion that the trial had become a media event and as such was a threat to Puente's right to a fair trial.  They also asked for a change of venue based on the same premise.  Two days of legal arguments followed during which time Judge Ohanesian sat listening patiently as both sides presented their cases.

Finally, having heard enough, the judge gave her ruling.  She could find no evidence that, although unique in its coverage and ensuing public interest, the trial did not violate Puente's constitutional rights to a fair trial and would go ahead as planned.

Over the following days, the prosecution presented a long list of witnesses who provided damning evidence to support their case. 

In response, the defense set out to prove that their client was a victim of circumstance and proceeded to imply that the so-called "victims" had all died from natural causes and Puente, afraid that she may be held responsible because they died in her care, buried them in her garden.  To support their case they called upon a battery of supportive witnesses who attested to Puente's charitable nature and good works.  This was followed by a string of psychologists who had spent countless hours interviewing Puente in her cell.  They gave evidence about her troubled childhood and lack of love and understanding which, they believed, contributed to her obvious levels of stress, which in turn affected her judgment.

The defense countered and gave evidence that Puente had never been anything other than sane during any period of her life and proceeded to press home their case that Dorothea Puente was motivated by just one thing - greed.

On June 19, 1990, Judge Ohanesian gave her ruling, Dorothea Puente would stand trial on nine counts of murder.  Months of delays followed until on February 9, 1993 the trial opened before Judge Michael J. Virga.  Again the prosecution presented their case and the defense countered with theirs, each sticking to their original assertions. Over the following months the trial dragged on through one delay after another until finally, on July 15, 1993, having heard 153 witnesses present 3,500 pages of evidence,  the jury retired to consider their verdict, further pressured by the knowledge that the prosecution was seeking the death penalty.

Days passed with no word as the jury went over and over the evidence until, on the afternoon of August 2, a note was passed to the judge.  "We the jury, are deadlocked on all nine counts - we would like further instructions."

The following day, after fending off a defense motion for a mistrial, Judge Virga's advice was simple and direct - go back and try again.  He then proceeded to tell them how to achieve a decision and sent them back to deliberate further.  On the afternoon of August 26 the jury had reached a verdict.  Before a packed courtroom the court clerk read the verdicts.  Guilty of the crime of murder in the second degree of Leona Carpenter... Guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree of Dorothy Miller...  Guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree of Ben Fink.  Also added was an allegation under special circumstances that found Dorothea Puente had committed multiple murder.

Hearing the verdict, Judge Virga moved to declare a mistrial on the six other counts.  Sadly, justice was indeed blind to most of the victims, including Alvaro Jose Rafael Gonzalez "Bert" Montoya. 

Sentencing followed and more arguments concerning Puente's fate were bandied around the court room.  On December 11, 1993 Judge Virga handed down his sentence.  Dorothea Puente was to be committed to life in prison without the possibility of parole.  On hearing the verdict, a surprisingly buoyant Puente declared to her lawyers - "I didn't kill anyone."

Bibliography

This story was compiled using the following points of reference:

Disturbed Ground - by Carla Norton - Avon Books, New York, New York.

Deadlier Than the Male - Stories of Female Serial Killers - by Terry Manners - Pan Books, London.

Murder Most Rare - The Female Serial Killer - by Michael D. Kelleher and C.L. Kelleher.

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