Beyond his emotional support, Randy's letters were stimulating. He was, apparently, in a constant state of priapism. He referred to his genitals continually, and went on for pages that sounded as if they'd come from reader write-ins to men's magazines.
"I will be stroking 'Jr.' to your photo at exactly midnight on Saturday night (A.M.) Diane, so say 'Hi' and tell me you enjoy our time together. Will you remember to touch your body for me and say my name … Just a game to play together 'cause I feel you close to me and to climax my juices in memory of our togetherness like this. You brighten my life dear friend. So thank you and join me Saturday night if you want. I will be there for you. Totally in tho'ts of you … "
Through May, June, July, 1984, they wrote to each other almost every day. Curious letters, full of earthy sexual steam and tears. Diane wrote to a number of men in prison, and Randy, of course, wrote to scores of women. Each promised absolute fidelity. He sent her pictures of himself and selected pages from magazines. She sent him pictures of herself and her paralyzed children and Bible tracts.
He wrote how he longed for children of his own. She wrote back her glowing thoughts on motherhood. Randy described his "eight-inch" penis, and Diane described her "D-cup" breasts. It seemed a long-distance coupling made somewhere other than heaven.
"Your life is in the balance for sure!!" Randy commented. "That damn jury better keep in mind 'Beyond a reasonable doubt' too! Let your attorney know and drive that home to their ears. I'm with you no matter what dear friend. So cry a happy tear to me too. I do too occasionally. Even for this grown man! (Ha.) Silly — huh? I wish you could kiss mine away. Will you on our visits? Not shy are ya? I will want to hold ya tight to me and show you that you're special people. Okay by you? A woman ought to be treated like a 'Queen' in my book — maybe I'll write about it — being accused falsely of rape and murder (Sad face drawn). Your comments, Di?"
Randy wrote that he felt "Mothers are beautiful creations — like you, Di — (Smile?)"
Diane had little to smile about. She was convicted on June 17, 1984, of murder, two counts of attempted murder in the first degree, and two counts of first degree assault in the shootings of her three children. Ten days later, she gave birth — not to "Ian Randall" as Randy had hoped, but to a baby girl: Amy Elizabeth. The child was immediately placed out for adoption.
She would not be visiting Randy; Diane would be in the women's prison facility next door to the Oregon State Penitentiary with a sentence almost as long as his.
Randy still had plans for them.
As he had once urged Shelly Janson to get in shape, he now tried to inspire Diane Downs. He wrote of his daily work-outs, and his no-carbohydrate diet. He was stepping up the number of repetitions in his sets of weight lifting, preparing to pose for a "contest" photo. He did five-hundred sit-ups and five-hundred leg lifts each day. And there were the basketball games.
"Have a lot of work to do yet but at 33 years old, I'm doing okay. Heck — I can still run and bang with the best of the riggers on the basketball court now. So I'm doin' okay … And you'll be doing okay at 35 too! I want ya to start getting active and in good shape. We both have a long haul to do. So, let's get physical and make the best of it. Ya 'Game' Di?
" … Our Warden is on vacation now, but when he returns I will discuss a way for us to visit … "
Randy explained a code that the two of them could use in future letters. It was not a code that would require a master cryptographer to decipher. Diane was to add an extra letter to each word in any paragraph in her letters after the term "Time to Close —" spelling out her secret messages to him. He would do the same.
It was code that might well have accompanied an Ovaltine premium.
But Randy Woodfield was working on a far more subtle game. Diane was a most worthy adversary, and he had to be cautious as he set her up for a tremendous fall. His letters had been so full of love and support that she apparently now trusted him completely. Diane had no way of knowing that Randy could never forgive her for doubting him. She was a female, treacherous like all females. He had come up with a plan that would not only make her look like a fool, but would probably bring him a great deal of publicity, a book contract, and a movie deal.
He had proposed marriage to Diane continually, and he soon promised her that marriage would allow them a private visit together. Not only did they have their wedding to plan for, he wrote, "I'm still serious about a book you and I could write," Randy added. "But I want to contact some Hollywood people …"
And still, both of them wrote "NO GAMES!" while the games accelerated on each side. Diane was writing to any number of men in prison, blissfully unaware that Randy was setting her up.
He wrote to an Oregonian reporter, to two Oregon women he had met when they did research on a book about sex offenders, and to Anne Bradley Jaeger, Anchor-person of KEZI-TV, the ABC affiliate in Eugene. Randy announced that he would soon be marrying a very, very, famous woman prisoner who was being transferred to the Oregon Women's Correctional Center from the Eugene area. He wasn't free to give her name, but —
Diane Downs was the only prisoner in Eugene who was very, very, famous. When reporters questioned her about a romance with Randy Woodfield, she smiled slightly, reddened delicately, and refused to comment.
Randy had asked her to be discreet, and Diane, a woman known for her past indiscretions, followed his instructions to the letter. After all, Randy had been in the prison system for a long time — and she counted on him to plan their wedding, to protect her in the "joint" with his wisdom.
"Today I talked to … my caseworker," he wrote on July 19th, "And found out we can have a pre-marrital (sic) visit just once so ya wanna try for it soon as we can arrange it? Just let me know.
"Strange as it may seem Di — your fighting back to put me in my place, and say 'I love you too' touched me very much. I'm just amazed at how we've grown thru our letters. Ya happy to have me for a loving friend? NO GAMES is my motto too. Let's enjoy all we can together. Tomorrow may never come. Ya know my meaning? … Want you to think of me now. Smiling?
"Say Di — would your parents think about coming to your wedding? Just curious. We can have (10) people in our party. Then we only have 1 hour for the party to have pics & marry. Then guests have to leave with my counselor & yours and come back in if they are on the reg. visiting list. So — some Thur. (A.M.) we can marry at the far end (No smoking room) for privacy. The waiting list is 3-4 months now. But we will get to visit once behind (window) to talk it over some Tuesday (A.M.) at OWCC [Oregon Women's Correctional Facility] Women visit on Tuesdays only. And married couples get every Tues. (A.M.) to visit. Nice — huh?
"And you'll be surprised at what kinds of 'fun & games' we'll be able to have and enjoy. Just be open and follow my lead? We'll have some very close and private visits one day."
Diane Downs believed him. She believed Randy even more when he discussed the color scheme of their "wedding."
"Would you mind my asking you to wear the same colors as me in our ceremony?" he wrote. "You can't wear blue jeans but could tailor a blue shirt like ours. Comments? I think we'll make a very handsome couple too. Yes?
"I've written to some newspeople for responses about our story. Will you be open to an interview there or (OWCC)? Will you share your tho'ts on all this? And our own work on contacting an Agent and Writer to help us with a book and movie? Thanks.
"What kind of flowers do you like, Di? I will provide them for us — no problem. Rings we can talk more on … "
The letter was signed "Love and Kisses."
With that letter in her hand, Diane Downs admitted to newspapers, and to Anne Bradley Jaeger that yes, it was true, she was going to marry Randy Woodfield — they were in love! Yes, it was all a reality. The convicted murderess, admitted ex-mistress of a dozen or more men, blushed and ducked her head as she talked of her greatest love affair.
Just as soon as Diane Downs said she wanted to marry her pen-pal lover, Randy Woodfield pounced. He sho
ok his head and appeared mystified by Diane's statements. When reporters questioned him, Randy suggested that Mrs. Downs was more confused and upset than he had realized. No, he had no idea where she might have gotten the idea that he wanted to marry her. He was sorry, and he knew it must be embarrassing for her — but the lady was mistaken.
It was a major "Gotcha!"
He wrote to Diane on July 27th, eight days after the letter he'd sent planning their wedding, knowing certainly that she must have been fuming with frustration and disbelief. The hot letters from his cell had cooled down to ice.
"Dear Di—
"My oh my — you sure have me shaking my head and holding news conferences all day long — Why did you say anything to anyone just now? I'm really confused, Di.
"I told you I was holding all the 'Aces' and was going to sell a story of some kind to a mag. & newspaper & T.V. — but now everyone thinks we're getting married and it's caused a lot of unnecessary problems … Hadn't I told you about my inquirey (sic) letter to (KEZI & The Oregonian Paper)? You were to just sit tight and be 'mum' and refer them to me. It may have taken a while to find a mag. or newspaper willing to pay for all this publicity — but it could have been done … But now I had to say our visit to meet was just misunderstood about 'marriage plans.'
" … I'm not playing games, just covering my tracks right now. Let's try again. I hope & pray this publicity doesn't affect your sentencing. Write me & and ask all you wish. I care Di — Randy."
It was, for all intents and purposes, the end of the great romance. Randy had rejected Diane over all the wire services, and had had a day full of press conferences doing it. She would never really forgive him.
(Diane Downs served almost three years of her life sentence at the Oregon Women's Correctional Center in Salem, but there were no private visits with Randy Woodfield. On July 11, 1987, she escaped from prison, and was re-captured eleven days later. She is now imprisoned at the Clinton Correctional Institute for Women in New Jersey.)
Randy Woodfield received his Associate Degree through the prison educational system in June, 1987. He glowered at photographers and warned them convincingly that he did not want to have his picture taken. They moved on to other, more willing graduates.
* * *
Captain Dave Bishop is now Chief of Police in Newberg, Oregon. He teaches Criminal Justice classes at the college level, and often conducts seminars on the Woodfield case for other law enforcement personnel.
Detective Dave Kominek is now a Sergeant with the Keizer, Oregon, Police Department. He has investigated a number of difficult homicide cases since 1981, but none as challenging as the I-5 killing spree. His name and expertise are familiar to Northwest lawmen — forever connected to Randy Woodfield. His initiative in establishing a network of detectives working similar unsolved cases was a model for solving serial murder/rape cases in future
Beth Wilmot left Oregon and the tragic memories behind her after her testimony was no longer needed, and moved to a faraway state. Even so, she had a recurring nightmare that haunted her dreams. "I would dream about Randy — see him standing in the room, wearing the jacket with the hood, pointing the gun at me. It would seem as though he was really there … and then I'd wake up — and he wasn't there at all."
The nightmare came less and less frequently. By 1983, Beth could go months without dreaming about the man with the gun.
"And then," she says, her voice incredulous as she tells it. "I was attacked again! I wasn't doing anything but minding my own business. I left work in broad daylight — I was wearing my uniform that I wore at the cleaners where I worked. It was just a plain smock and slacks, nothing enticing or sexy. I wasn't wearing makeup. And I walk like a boy. I'm skinny, and I walk like a boy, and you know I'm always aware of what's going on around me, but this day I just wanted to get home and take my shoes off."
Beth noticed a large man standing across the street, and, although she didn't pause to look closely, she was afraid that he was exposing himself.
"I just walked faster, and then all of a sudden he ran after me and he jumped me. He knocked me flat on my face, and started tearing at my clothes. He weighed about two hundred fifty pounds, more than twice what I weigh, and I couldn't move. I started screaming and people kept driving by as though it was perfectly normal for some guy to be lying on top of a woman who was screaming her lungs out. Finally, a family stopped and they scared him away. I just felt like, you know, why me? Why me again?"
But Beth Wilmot reported the assault to the police in the city where she lives now, and her attacker was arrested and convicted.
She believes the bad days are behind her now; Beth is married and has a baby. She works at a job she loves. She keeps in touch with Shari Hull's family and with Dave Kominek and his wife, Gail.
"When do you think they'll give him a parole hearing?" she asks, wondering about Woodfield. Told he might possibly become eligible for parole by 1998 — if Judge Brown's fifty-year minimum sentence is ignored, she is outraged, but adamant.
"I'll be there. I'll only be thirty-nine then. I'll be there if I'm one hundred. I'm going to be around for a long, long time and they'd better let me know if they start thinking about letting him out. 'Cause I'll be there to tell them again what he did to us. It doesn't matter where I live, I'll come back to Oregon and tell them."
She means it.
As long as Randy Woodfield is in prison, there is a danger. He may escape. He may be in the Oregon State Penitentiary so long that the public forgets about his dangerousness, allowing him to convince some parole board in the future that he is a changed man. He has done it before; he might do it again.
In the meantime, Woodfield continues his correspondence with women. Hundreds of letters going out, slick with loving promises, seductive, conniving, and obscene. And the money comes in — a dollar, two dollars, more. Locked in prison, Randy Woodfield still "rapes" women.
If Woodfield is to be tried in Shasta County, California, he would face more than loss of freedom; he would face death.
Shasta County district-Attorney Steve Carlton had an agonizing decision to make in the late summer of 1983. Randy had run out of appeals in Oregon; California could extradite him for trial in the murders of Donna Eckard, thirty-seven, and her fourteen-year-old daughter, Janell, if they chose. And, if Randy was convicted, he might well go to the gas chamber.
The decision was complicated by the fact that Randy had his Life-plus-165 year sentence in Oregon, and that a pending California Supreme Court decision might cripple Carlton's case. In 1982, the California Court concluded that statements obtained from a person under hypnosis could not be used as testimony in a trial. The court was presently deciding whether that initial decision would apply retroactively to other cases.
Dave Kominek had hypnotized Beth Wilmot to help her remember details about the man who had shot her in Salem. Beth's testimony would be crucial in Shasta County because ballistics tests showed that the bullets that killed Donna Eckard and Janell Jarvis were fired from the same .32 caliber pistol used to shoot Beth and Shari Hull. If the California Supreme Court should outlaw testimony elicited by hypnosis retroactively, Beth would not be able to testify in the Shasta County cases: two murders, and eight sex offenses.
"The overriding factor, and the only reason to bring Woodfield down here, is to execute him," said Carlton. "(I) must consider the prospects of being successful in that ultimate goal and the cost factor in attempting to achieve it.
"This is a monstrous case, we estimated that we're looking at probably one hundred fifty witnesses, and most of them are out-of-state witnesses (from Oregon.)"
Carlton felt that a trial for Randy Woodfield would last about six months, and that it was possible that it would have to be moved to another county because of extensive pretrial publicity. The cost to Shasta County, not a wealthy county, would be several million dollars.
There were so may "ifs." Even if Woodfield should be tried in California, and found guilty, Carlton doubted that he
would be executed. The last legal execution in California had occurred in 1967. If the death penalty were handed down, Randy would be housed in San Quentin. California would pay for his upkeep, and Oregon would save thousands of dollars a year.
There was another option — an option that still exists. Carlton said that he could simply take no immediate action. In theory, because there is no statute of limitation on murder, Woodfield could be prosecuted many years down the road. However, with the passage of years, the likelihood of his facing a jury in California would grow dimmer.
Local attorneys tended to agree with Steve Carlton that it would be folly to try Woodfield in Shasta County. Shasta County Public Defender Frank O'Connor, a former deputy district attorney, said, "I wouldn't do it, period. He's never going to get out of prison, and it's a very expensive case."
Oregon State Assistant Attorney General Scott McAlister said he would be "mildly surprised" if Carlton should decide to prosecute Randy. "If I were in Carlton's position, I probably would not do it. But I'd like to encourage you (Shasta County) to do it anyway."
Shasta County Supervisor Don Maddox said he would support Carlton whatever he decided, but he admitted concern. "The thought of the fiscal impact of such a trial will undoubtedly keep me awake many nights. It could conceivably be devastating on top of other financial setbacks we are attempting to overcome … "
D. A. Steve Carlton met with family members of those who had been attacked or killed. What a dilemma it was. How do you tell a man whose wife and stepdaughter have been savaged by a trolling monster that there isn't enough money in the county to seek justice?
In essence, Randy Woodfield would be getting what so many detectives had feared — so many crimes for the price of a few if he never had to face a California trial.
On a Wednesday in September, 1983, Steve Carlton faced the press at a conference in the county courthouse in Redding. He would not be extraditing Randall Woodfield to stand trial for the murders of Donna Eckard and Janell Jarvis.