Portrait of a Monster: Joran Van Der Sloot, a Murder in Peru, and the Natalee Holloway Mystery by Lisa Pulitzer, Cole Thompson Page B
Authors: Lisa Pulitzer, Cole Thompson
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straight-A student who had just graduated in the top tenth percentile of her class. It was no small feat when the average GPA of her class was 3.875.
Natalee had been selected for early acceptance to the University of Alabama’s School of Medicine and awarded an eight-year academic scholarship that would cover not only her undergraduate work, but all four years of medical school, as well. She knew how to manage her time, and was conscientiously punctual.
She worked part-time after school at an organic market, Harvest Glen, in Birmingham. The mother of one of Natalee’s friends owned the store and also employed autistic adults. Over the months, Natalee had developed a special friendship with some of the employees and took them for outings on her days off. She also volunteered at a local cancer center, and was diligent about her Bible study classes. Once, when she knew she was going to miss an afternoon session at the church, she showed up early in the morning to let the pastor know that she would not be attending that day. Although most teens would have simply called, at best, Natalee took great pride in being responsible and accountable. She was not the type of person who would selfishly disappear and leave others to worry.
Natalee’s mother was becoming more and more frustrated. Nobody was taking her daughter’s disappearance seriously. She couldn’t even file a missing person’s report for at least another hour.
Not wanting to waste additional time, Eric Williams, the DEA agent, suggested the group drive into town to Carlos’n Charlie’s, the bar where the teen was last seen. They located the nightclub on a downtown side street, not far from the harbor. Stepping out of the van into the sticky night air, Beth gazed at the lights reflecting on the water and her worries intensified. How easy it would have been for someone to pull Natalee onto a boat and vanish.
The rowdy, crowded bar yielded no new information. Beth shared Natalee’s picture with patrons but no one remembered seeing her. Hundreds of female tourists passed through the establishment every week, a bouncer told her, and without a photograph of Joran the group had little more than a first name and some very vague descriptions.
At this point, Charles Croes’s name came into the conversation. Croes owned a cell phone rental company, and perhaps with his help, the team would be able to acquire functioning cell phones in case they needed to split up to search the island. Despite the late hour, they managed to reach him, and he accommodated their request. He agreed to meet them in the parking lot of a Valero gas station.
Waiting in the backseat of the van, Beth was still shaken by what she had just seen at Carlos’n Charlie’s. The place had been a madhouse. She saw scantily clad drunken teens grinding against each other on the dance floor. The music was deafening and the smell of marijuana wafted through the air. Imagining Natalee in this place made her feel sick.
The arrival of Charles Croes in his beat-up car puttering into the harshly lit halo of the Valero gas station was a welcome moment. Beth and her friend Jodi climbed into his car. Beth was anxious that no more time be squandered. The two vehicles started back to the Holiday Inn to activate the cell phones. There wasn’t a minute to spare. Even though she had been told she would have to wait until morning to look at casino footage, Beth was unwilling to tolerate any further delays. She was sure Joran had her daughter and she was going to find him and get her back.
Striding up to the reception desk, Beth demanded to speak with the person in charge. She made it clear that she wasn’t going anywhere until someone showed her the tapes. Her persistence paid off and soon she and Jug were escorted upstairs to review the video.
With the footage on the screen, Beth phoned Thomas in Alabama. “Okay, we are looking at the blackjack tables,” she told the teen. “Can you describe this Joran? Where
Natalee had been selected for early acceptance to the University of Alabama’s School of Medicine and awarded an eight-year academic scholarship that would cover not only her undergraduate work, but all four years of medical school, as well. She knew how to manage her time, and was conscientiously punctual.
She worked part-time after school at an organic market, Harvest Glen, in Birmingham. The mother of one of Natalee’s friends owned the store and also employed autistic adults. Over the months, Natalee had developed a special friendship with some of the employees and took them for outings on her days off. She also volunteered at a local cancer center, and was diligent about her Bible study classes. Once, when she knew she was going to miss an afternoon session at the church, she showed up early in the morning to let the pastor know that she would not be attending that day. Although most teens would have simply called, at best, Natalee took great pride in being responsible and accountable. She was not the type of person who would selfishly disappear and leave others to worry.
Natalee’s mother was becoming more and more frustrated. Nobody was taking her daughter’s disappearance seriously. She couldn’t even file a missing person’s report for at least another hour.
Not wanting to waste additional time, Eric Williams, the DEA agent, suggested the group drive into town to Carlos’n Charlie’s, the bar where the teen was last seen. They located the nightclub on a downtown side street, not far from the harbor. Stepping out of the van into the sticky night air, Beth gazed at the lights reflecting on the water and her worries intensified. How easy it would have been for someone to pull Natalee onto a boat and vanish.
The rowdy, crowded bar yielded no new information. Beth shared Natalee’s picture with patrons but no one remembered seeing her. Hundreds of female tourists passed through the establishment every week, a bouncer told her, and without a photograph of Joran the group had little more than a first name and some very vague descriptions.
At this point, Charles Croes’s name came into the conversation. Croes owned a cell phone rental company, and perhaps with his help, the team would be able to acquire functioning cell phones in case they needed to split up to search the island. Despite the late hour, they managed to reach him, and he accommodated their request. He agreed to meet them in the parking lot of a Valero gas station.
Waiting in the backseat of the van, Beth was still shaken by what she had just seen at Carlos’n Charlie’s. The place had been a madhouse. She saw scantily clad drunken teens grinding against each other on the dance floor. The music was deafening and the smell of marijuana wafted through the air. Imagining Natalee in this place made her feel sick.
The arrival of Charles Croes in his beat-up car puttering into the harshly lit halo of the Valero gas station was a welcome moment. Beth and her friend Jodi climbed into his car. Beth was anxious that no more time be squandered. The two vehicles started back to the Holiday Inn to activate the cell phones. There wasn’t a minute to spare. Even though she had been told she would have to wait until morning to look at casino footage, Beth was unwilling to tolerate any further delays. She was sure Joran had her daughter and she was going to find him and get her back.
Striding up to the reception desk, Beth demanded to speak with the person in charge. She made it clear that she wasn’t going anywhere until someone showed her the tapes. Her persistence paid off and soon she and Jug were escorted upstairs to review the video.
With the footage on the screen, Beth phoned Thomas in Alabama. “Okay, we are looking at the blackjack tables,” she told the teen. “Can you describe this Joran? Where
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