Sometimes victims of horrific crimes are beguiled, induced or traumatised into deliberately making wrongful identifications. This may be attributed to PTSD, manipulation, confabulation or rage. Here is one story where this nearly happened, if it hadn’t have been for a cooler head.
The Man on the Mountain
Los Angeles Times Magazine, page 11, 1st May 1988 – True Grit, One Woman’s Triumph Over the Horror of Random Violence.
On Valentine’s Day in 1984, during a hike to the Echo Mountain Inspiration Point, a woman was attacked by a man she encountered on the trail. She wished him “good morning”, he responded, and they continued on their separate ways; he jogging downhill, she hiking up toward the top to claim the reward of a bench and a stunning view of the ocean.
As she progressed up the trail, she heard someone running fast behind her, unsuspecting, she went to sidestep to let them pass, but they didn’t overtake. Instead, a man hit her, a crushing blow to the right of her skull, and as she gazed at him, she saw his hands raised above his head, holding what seemed to be a sledgehammer. She pivoted away from him, he stuck again, and she realised she couldn’t escape, he was going to kill her. Fighting back, she managed to kick him in the stomach, he stopped, almost surprised, and they made eye contact. No word was spoken between them, the attack resumed. She fell backwards.
Instinct, the desire to survive, overtook rage; she played dead, all thoughts of retaliation gone. It was at this point she was raped, and then he gone.
Her name was Carol. She was bludgeoned, raped, and left for dead at 9am on a pleasant Tuesday morning. Carol described a young man, in his early twenties, of “Native American” appearance. He was clean, upright, “graceful”, of middle weight and muscular.
The Night Stalker “spree” had not yet begun, and the man who violently assaulted her remained unapprehend.
Eighteen Months Later
It was in the Spring of 1985 that detectives first started to theorise that a string of crimes were the work of one man, a shadowy entity, dubbed The Valley Intruder, The Walk-In Killer and later, infamously, The Night Stalker. A creature from the dark, raping and killing indiscriminately, and Carol became obsessed, collecting all the newspaper clippings, keeping them alongside the composite picture of her own rapist, “feeding her rage”, as she described it.
“Every morning I’d cut, staple and stack, and focus feeling and feed my rage. I cherished the obsession and found it repellent”.
Los Angeles Times Magazine, 1st May, 1988
Carol’s brother asked her if she thought that The Night Stalker could be the man who had brutalised her that morning in 1984.
“Do you think the Night Stalker could be your man?”, my brother asked.
Lots of people were asking. They called to ask about it. “That composite picture looks a hell of a lot like him, like your composite picture”, my brother said. I kept my composite on my desk in my bedroom, next to the Polaroid of my daughter as a baby.
“Yeah”, I said. “Except it doesn’t”.
Los Angeles Times Magazine, 1st May, 1988
Blaming Ramirez?
On the day that Richard Ramirez’s mugshot was released to the public, Carol was shocked. She didn’t know that police did that, released a suspect’s face to the world before they were caught. Suddenly, before her, was the focus of her rage. Her real attacker was still out there, roaming free, but here was was another, perhaps he would do instead. Someone to take the blame.
“My God, the cops must be scared stiff. I didn’t think they released this kind of stuff.
Richard Ramirez stared at me. Richard Ramirez.
I’d make him my man”.
Los Angeles Times Magazine, 1st May, 1988
Three days later she called the detective assigned to her case and told him that she thought, perhaps, Ramirez was the man on the mountain who’d attacked her. She wanted to be included in the identification parade that was to take place on 5th September. She knew that Ramirez wasn’t the man who’d assaulted her, and yet she wanted to go to the line-up and falsely identify him. Because someone has to pay. The media said he was guilty, so did the mayor, so did the police, and clearly, so would she.
“I’d like to be part of a line-up”, I said. “What do you think?”.
“I never forget you, Carol”, he said. “Whenever anything comes in, I think of your case. But this isn’t it, it just doesn’t fit – not his height, his weight. Nothing about it. I’m sorry, Carol, I won’t forget you.”
“God, I wish it was him!”, I said. “I know”, he said.
Los Angeles Times Magazine, 1st May, 1988
Identity Charade
One cannot conceive the level of anger, loathing and hate that it must take to falsely identify an accused suspect. Especially when the victim (obviously suffering from PTSD) knows for certain that the person potentially being paraded in front of them didn’t commit the crime.
Whether the victim had begun to convince herself that Ramirez was truly the one who committed such a terrible act against her, or (as seems to be the case here) it was rage, a searing rage against all perceived violent men, to deliberately lie, or to commit perjury, makes a joke of justice.
One can envision had the lead detectives on Night Stalker task force been aware of this, they’d have happily let her take part in the line-up. So, what if her description didn’t match? Neither did the original statements of the people who were there, and who did go on to identify Ramirez, but no one was bothered about that.
As long as someone dies for it, Lady Justice is satisfied.
In this case, the investigator saw sense and acted professionally; the desire for truth overriding the need to close a case. Surely, fraudulently, erroneously, sending someone to be tried for their life would not, in the long run, facilitate healing in a victim.
The man on the mountain was never caught.
Note: The Carol in this post should not be confused with Carol Kyle.
Sources: The LA Times, 1st May 1988. The article cited was an adaptation of Carol Rossen’s book, “Counterpunch”.
Document 19, attachment 5 from the 2008 Federal Petition for Habeas Corpus – Richard Ramirez v Robert L Ayers.
Expendable For A Cause. 
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