deal, John’s entire family believed that he’d been wrongfully prosecuted and inadequately represented by his attorney.
During John’s time in prison, he had a psychotic break and was sent to a state mental facility. At the time, he told Cathy about some of the paranoid, homicidal and delusional thoughts that were going through his mind. But this time was different. This time, he’d been shielding her from the worst of it. This time, he didn’t tell her about the compulsions that had been driving his recent behavior, so she had no clue that he was following through on his violent urges during those walks around the lake.
Although Cathy felt somewhat relieved to get John’s call that night, she turned around and headed home, too anxious to finish her usual ninety-minute run. After taking a shower, she and her husband decided to wait on dinner until John got back. But as the minutes ticked by, Cathy was too upset to eat. When he still hadn’t shown up by seven-thirty, she turned to her husband and broke into tears.
“This is killing me,” she said. “I can’t take this.”
Where is he? she wondered. What is he doing out there?
Chapter 2
About five miles east of Cathy’s condo, in the cloistered community of Poway, Kelly and Brent King were just as, if not more, worried about their seventeen-year-old daughter, Chelsea. The pretty strawberry blonde, with blue eyes and a warm smile, had gone for a run on those very same trails that afternoon, and she hadn’t come home for dinner either.
Poway, an affluent, white, family-oriented suburb of San Diego, called itself “The City in the Country” with good reason. Here, where the mountainous surroundings provided a protective psychological barrier of seclusion, residents had the illusory feel of living in a gated community where the bad guys from the big city didn’t have the punch code to get in.
Even the landscape felt safe. Tall eucalyptus and pine trees lined the main thoroughfares; the lush, leafy medians were planted with yellow and orange daisies; and the homes, pockets of which sold for more than $1 million, sat on generous parcels set back from the roadway, with a benevolent backdrop of rolling green hills, peppered with beige boulders.
Deemed one of the best places to retire by U.S. News, Poway was the kind of tight-knit community where the Rotary Club, churches, temples and the PTA ruled the roost, and where urban crimes, such as murder and rape, were so rare they barely registered on the demographic pie charts used to characterize the quiet lifestyle of its nearly fifty thousand residents.
Chelsea King was born in San Diego County on July 1, 1992. During the C-section delivery, the doctor didn’t remove the entire placenta, forcing Kelly to undergo a D&C and causing her to develop Asherman’s syndrome, which can cause intrauterine scarring. A lawsuit the Kings filed in March 1995 cited potential infertility problems for Kelly, and $30,000 in projected costs of surrogacy for future pregnancies. Although the court record didn’t reflect the specific outcome, the lawsuit was apparently dismissed within a year. This early private trauma must have made Chelsea even more dear to Brent and Kelly.
Brent loved to feed his baby girl and change her diapers. As she got older, he sang to her: “I am stuck on Chelsea, like Chelsea’s stuck on me,” to which she sang back, “I am stuck on Daddy, like Daddy’s stuck on me,” eliciting a hug and a laugh between them.
As Brent changed jobs in the banking industry, the family moved to the San Francisco Bay Area and then Naperville, Illinois, where they stayed for ten years. They returned to Poway in 2007, when property records show that the Kings bought a house on a one-acre lot on Butterfield Trail.
Chelsea entered Poway High School as a freshman, discussing heady topics with her father such as the power of words, critical thinking and the presence of God in nature. They laughed together about God’s sense of humor in making the platypus, and agreed that a tree, which gave far more than it took, was one of his most perfect creations.
In March 2010, Chelsea was a popular senior with a 4.2 grade point average, whose Advanced Placement courses outnumbered her regular classes. She served as a peer counselor, played on the volleyball team, and ran cross-country. She also enjoyed writing poetry, including a poem called “My Great Balancing Act,” an homage to Dr. Seuss that would prove prophetic: “Today is my day, my mountain is waiting, and I’m on my way.”
An environmentalist at heart, Chelsea was also a vegetarian, known to bring her lunch in a green recycling bag, determined to make a difference.
“She was all about making the world a better place, so for her it was like an animal shouldn’t have to die for me to eat,” one of her teachers said.
In the fifth grade, she’d decided to take up the French horn, refusing to be deterred by her music instructor’s caution about how difficult the instrument was to learn.
“You sure you want to try that one, Chelsea?” the teacher asked.
“Yeah, the more challenging, the better for me,” she replied.
Chelsea proved her determination by practicing until she was good enough to audition and win a coveted spot in the San Diego Youth Symphony for its 2009 to 2010 season, performing, no less, with its two most advanced ensembles. She was one of three French horn players in the Symphony Orchestra, which included about 150 students. She was also one of two horn players in the Philharmonia, a chamber orchestra of about eighty students.
Although Chelsea still slept with a stuffed creature she’d taken to bed since she was a child, she was also a sophisticated thinker who inspired others with her achievements, posting quotes on her bathroom wall: “They can because they think they can,” from Virgil, and “The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams,” by Eleanor Roosevelt.
Admired and respected by her peers, this five-feet-five-inch, 120-pound achiever was the female role model the other girls wanted to emulate, and the adults could see her promise and potential as well. She was the kind of daughter parents dreamed of having—a fact that was never overlooked by her own, who cherished her.
“We are blessed,” they would tell each other at least once a week.
Chelsea had a strong spirit, a love for life and her family, and a strong mind all her own. Inseparable from her thirteen-year-old brother, Tyler, the two were best friends, looking out for one another, and rarely, if ever, fighting the way many siblings did. She made sure he did his homework, didn’t stay up too late or play too much PlayStation. He, in turn, wanted to know her friends, and ensure that the boyfriend passed muster.
Given her grades and all her extracurricular activities, this bright and well-rounded teenager was viewed as such a strong candidate by the eleven colleges to which she applied that, ultimately, they all accepted her.
Chelsea usually went for a jog after school in Poway, but on February 25 she decided to run on the trails at the Rancho Bernardo Community Park, apparently scouting out the area for an environmental cleanup project she and her friends had planned for that Saturday. It was not for class credit or recognition, but rather to increase awareness.
Driving from Poway into neighboring Rancho Bernardo, the environs changed, but only subtly. It still looked lush, green and open, and it was still largely a family-oriented white community, but the area, known as “RB” to the locals, was home to more strip malls, senior communities and franchise restaurants. It felt a bit more urban.
As the nation’s eighth largest city, San Diego was a metropolis where 1.2 million people lived across 324 square miles
