door with an arrest warrant and cart her off to jail as the local media followed close behind. Moreover, during those ten days, Donna had repeatedly called the WPD and asked for Captain Moran and Phil Post, but had not received a return call.
Finally, on October 29, Donna got Post on the telephone—this after she had called and left him yet another message.
“Have you listened to the tape?” Donna asked.
“No,” Post said. “I have not.”
Why not? Donna thought. But instead of verbalizing this thought, she asked a simple question: “What is going on with the case?”
“I can tell you that you have nothing to worry about with Jeff Martinez,” Post said. “We have 99 percent ruled him out. He agreed to take a lie detector and fluid [blood] test.”
“What? Ruled out . . .? But how could you do that so quickly?” They had just told her that DNA testing took weeks, if not months.
“I assure you, Mrs. Palomba, Jeff Martinez did not attack you.”
“Has he taken those tests?”
“No, not yet. Look, he acts a little strange, but you have nothing to worry about with Jeff.”
What are they doing?
“The captain,” Post said before hanging up, “will have some information for you on Monday or Tuesday next week.”
Donna waited. The captain never called on either of those days. On November 5, Donna left Captain Moran a message to call her back as soon as he could. It was one of several messages Donna had left for the captain over the past three days. Why was she getting the runaround? What purpose did not returning calls serve?
“You must be very intuitive,” Captain Moran said as the conversation began. “I was going to call you today.” He seemed condescending, flippant.
“ What is going on with my case, Captain?”
“We’ve interviewed people you know and people you don’t know,” Moran said. “Basically, Mrs. Palomba, the case is at a standstill.”
Donna could not believe this. Standstill? How could it be at a standstill if the blood work from Jeff Martinez, for one, had not been collected yet?
“Captain, what do you mean?” Donna asked.
“This brings us back to your children.”
“The children were asleep, Captain. I saw them. The officers at my house there afterward witnessed the children sound asleep. They never woke up.”
“It is totally up to you and your husband. If you don’t want us to interview them, that’s fine. I’ll wait to hear back from you on that.”
Donna was thinking about what the WPD had done to her. Now Moran expected her and John to consider putting their children in the same hands. What could a five- and seven-year-old, sound asleep through the entire ordeal, tell them?
“What about Jeff?” Donna asked.
“Oh, the glass guy,” Moran said sarcastically, almost with a laugh. “I don’t have the specifics, but I can tell you that he has been thoroughly investigated and ruled out.”
“Have you listened to the tape?”
“No.”
That was all Donna needed to hear. “Okay, fine . . .” she said and hung up.
Donna drove to her church and sat with the pastor of her parish. She needed advice about what to do. After hearing her out, the priest said, “You need to hire yourself a lawyer.”
She then sought the advice of the principal from her children’s Catholic school, who told her the same thing. Every family member she and John turned to advised them to obtain legal counsel so they at least had an advocate working on their side. Right now, they had no one.
Donna didn’t know it, but something else was happening behind the scenes at the WPD. According to a report filed by Lieutenant Douglas Moran on October 21, 1993, that tape of the interrogation he had conducted with Donna on October 15 did not exist.
“On this date,” Lieutenant Moran wrote, “it was discovered that . . . [the] tape recordings of interviews . . . with Donna Palomba . . . had not been recorded as first thought due to a switch on the tape recorder having been set in the
Finally, on October 29, Donna got Post on the telephone—this after she had called and left him yet another message.
“Have you listened to the tape?” Donna asked.
“No,” Post said. “I have not.”
Why not? Donna thought. But instead of verbalizing this thought, she asked a simple question: “What is going on with the case?”
“I can tell you that you have nothing to worry about with Jeff Martinez,” Post said. “We have 99 percent ruled him out. He agreed to take a lie detector and fluid [blood] test.”
“What? Ruled out . . .? But how could you do that so quickly?” They had just told her that DNA testing took weeks, if not months.
“I assure you, Mrs. Palomba, Jeff Martinez did not attack you.”
“Has he taken those tests?”
“No, not yet. Look, he acts a little strange, but you have nothing to worry about with Jeff.”
What are they doing?
“The captain,” Post said before hanging up, “will have some information for you on Monday or Tuesday next week.”
Donna waited. The captain never called on either of those days. On November 5, Donna left Captain Moran a message to call her back as soon as he could. It was one of several messages Donna had left for the captain over the past three days. Why was she getting the runaround? What purpose did not returning calls serve?
“You must be very intuitive,” Captain Moran said as the conversation began. “I was going to call you today.” He seemed condescending, flippant.
“ What is going on with my case, Captain?”
“We’ve interviewed people you know and people you don’t know,” Moran said. “Basically, Mrs. Palomba, the case is at a standstill.”
Donna could not believe this. Standstill? How could it be at a standstill if the blood work from Jeff Martinez, for one, had not been collected yet?
“Captain, what do you mean?” Donna asked.
“This brings us back to your children.”
“The children were asleep, Captain. I saw them. The officers at my house there afterward witnessed the children sound asleep. They never woke up.”
“It is totally up to you and your husband. If you don’t want us to interview them, that’s fine. I’ll wait to hear back from you on that.”
Donna was thinking about what the WPD had done to her. Now Moran expected her and John to consider putting their children in the same hands. What could a five- and seven-year-old, sound asleep through the entire ordeal, tell them?
“What about Jeff?” Donna asked.
“Oh, the glass guy,” Moran said sarcastically, almost with a laugh. “I don’t have the specifics, but I can tell you that he has been thoroughly investigated and ruled out.”
“Have you listened to the tape?”
“No.”
That was all Donna needed to hear. “Okay, fine . . .” she said and hung up.
Donna drove to her church and sat with the pastor of her parish. She needed advice about what to do. After hearing her out, the priest said, “You need to hire yourself a lawyer.”
She then sought the advice of the principal from her children’s Catholic school, who told her the same thing. Every family member she and John turned to advised them to obtain legal counsel so they at least had an advocate working on their side. Right now, they had no one.
Donna didn’t know it, but something else was happening behind the scenes at the WPD. According to a report filed by Lieutenant Douglas Moran on October 21, 1993, that tape of the interrogation he had conducted with Donna on October 15 did not exist.
“On this date,” Lieutenant Moran wrote, “it was discovered that . . . [the] tape recordings of interviews . . . with Donna Palomba . . . had not been recorded as first thought due to a switch on the tape recorder having been set in the
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