The following podcast contains explicit descriptions of violence, including sexual violence, that some listeners may find upsetting. Continue at your own risk. Vera Kendrick was something of a mascot to the surfers of Domino Beach. Homeless by choice, the nineteen year old bohemian spent most of her days selling handmade jewelry and candles on the boardwalk, and most of her nights sleeping in a tent on the sandy shores of the Pacific Ocean.
Vera was a ray of light, a true free spirit who perfectly personified the idyllic little town she had adopted as her home. She was found raped, beaten, and strangled to death just after dawn on the morning of Friday, September eighteenth, nineteen ninety two. My name is Courtney Barnes, and that's a passage from chapter one of my book All Fall Down, The Story of the Domino Beach Murders.
When it was published in nineteen ninety nine, I made the rounds on all the talk shows and recounted the grizzly details of the year's long murder Spray to Maury and Ricky and Sally Jesse and all the rest It was an exciting time for me, but to tell you the truth, I was glad when interest died down and the public fascination moved on to whatever the next horrible thing was. It's tough when you're defined by tragedy and violence, but that's what it was like for not just me,
but everyone who lived through it. We're all scarred from it, and even though they're emotional scars, there's still the kind everyone can see. And the same thing is true for the place where it all happened.
Admit it.
If we were playing that word association game and I said Domino Beach, the first words out of your mouth would be serial killer. But it wasn't always like that. Once upon time, Domino Beach was just a sleepy little California coastal town about halfway between Los Angeles and San Diego. And I certainly never intended to end up there, and I also never intended to return there thirty years later to revisit one of the worst killing sprees in the
history of southern California. This is the Murder Years, Episode one, Paully. When I graduated from UCLA with a bachelor's degree in journalism in May of nineteen ninety two. It was right on the heels of the Rodney King riots, which cost the city fifty three lives a billion dollars in damages, and honestly, it's soul. I was appropriately naive and idealistic about entering the newsworkforce at a time when my hometown and the whole country for that matter, was in such turmoil.
I was determined to land a job at a big time newspaper or magazine, work my way to the top with my unique and powerful prose, and win a pulletzer by the time I was twenty five. But as it turned out, I couldn't even score so much as an unpaid internship anywhere in La. The closest I could get was about seventy miles south in a little town I'd
barely even heard of called Domino Beach. I applied for and got an internship at a small newspaper called The so Cal Journal, which had a modest readership mainly through Del Soul County and parts of Orange and Riverside. It wasn't even close to what I wanted, but beggars can't be choosers. It felt like I was slumming it like my career was starting off on the wrong floor. But when I first arrived in town in early June, I got to admit I just fell in love with the place.
There was something about the warm, welcoming vibe of Domino Beach that made me feel like a local almost right away. Things moved at a much slower pace than up in La where I'd spent most of my entire life, but it didn't take long to feel like the Domino Beachers were the ones who were doing this whole life thing right, and the rest of us who were running around chasing
the almighty dollar, were just a bunch of suckers. The city itself had a population of about twenty five thousand, with another forty or so scattered throughout the rest of Delsoul County. The downtown area covered eight square blocks and was filled with bars, charming restaurants and cafes, cute little clothing boutiques, surf and skate shops, record stores, and more bars.
On the south end, there's a boardwalk where you could ride rickety roller coasters, or you could try your luck at knocking over milk bottles with baseballs, and all along the White Sandy beaches were well kept houses and condos. About half of them were rentals, and the other half were occupied by rich business people who worked in San Diego or Orange County. But what Domino Beach was known for more than anything else before the murders, of course,
was the waves. Now I never tried my hand at surfing, but it was easy to see why it was so popular there. The local surfers swore the waves swelled earlier and built up more slowly, so you could ride them longer than anywhere else on the planet. They considered their beach to be the best kept secret on the California coast, and they were very protective of it. If you wanted to surf those waves, you had to get in good
with the locals first. In September nineteen ninety two, I was twenty one years old, just two years older than Vera Kendrick, who would be nineteen forever. After my ten week internship at the so Cal Journal ended, during which I gained great experience getting coffee, replacing printer ink, and waking up at four in the morning to throw papers out the window of my nineteen eighty five Honda Cord, I was offered an actual paying job as a copy editor.
It wasn't much, but I decided it was worth continuing to live in Paradise a little longer while I worked on getting a bigger job at a bigger paper in a bigger city. It was sheer luck, if you can call it that, that I was the one to cover Via Kendrick's murder. The So Call Journal was a tiny operation with very few full time reporters. One of them
was Glenn Sherman, who covered crime and politics. He was out of town at a campaign event for Bill Clinton, who would officially put an end to the Reagan Bush era in just two months time. Lauren Redman, the So Cal Journal's editor in chief, called and woke me up at six thirty am and told me I was going out on my first assignment and I better not fuck it up.
Okay, check check check.
Oh yeah, I remember you showing up at the beach that morning, green as they come, and twice as hungry.
That's Damon Stokes, sheriff of Delsall County at the time of the Domino Beach murders.
Tell you the truth. You looked so young to me. I thought you were with the high school paper.
Not quite okay, So what do you remember about the crime scene?
Ah, well, it was a long time ago, courtey. I mean we're talking more than thirty years ago, you know, so I know.
But whatever you can remember is fine, right.
All right? Well, well, Barrick Kendrick's body was found about fifty yards or so north of Surface Point, which was one of the locals favorite spots. You know, there were some pretty big rocks along the shoreline there, which made it one of the few places on the beach where he'd get a little privacy during low tide. The kids wuld go back there. They smoke the joints, get a little frisky with each other, and that sort of thing,
you know. I speculated, based on the bruises around her neck, that the cause of death was strangulation, and the corner later.
Confirmed that the coroner's report would also reveal that Vera had been raped and beaten prior to her death. In nineteen ninety two, DNA testing was still a relatively young forensic science, but even if things had been as sophisticated as they are today, it's doubtful it would have been much help identifying her killer.
There was no semen found, no blood or skin under her fingernails, and any hair or prints that might have been left behind were washed away. The morning tide would should also banged the body around on the rocks a little before we got there.
When I arrived at the beach that morning, the first thing I did was duck under the yellow crime scene tape the sheriff had put up around the rocks so I could get a good look at Vera's body. I immediately regretted it, and not just because it was a stupid and unprofessional thing to do. It was the first time I'd ever seen a dead body with my own two eyes. She was completely naked, and her skin, although pretty tanned from all the time she spent out in
the sun, was pale and a little bluish. Her long, curly auburn hair was plastered to her face, and I could just barely make out one green eye peering through the wet strands, vacantly fixed on the blue, cloudless sky above us. Like Sheriff's Stokes said, there were dark purple bruises around her neck, with two heavy black marks a
little bigger than your thumbs over her windpipe. She had cuts and abrasions all over her arms and legs, which were sticking out at odd, unnatural and uncomfortable looking angles. I never met Vera, but she looked like a hundred girls I did know, like someone who might have been a friend of mine. In a way, she kind of looked like me. Seeing her like that made me feel very fragile and vulnerable. I didn't even realize i'd snapped a few pictures before one of my deputies grabbed me
by the arm and escorted me away. The pictures I took weren't suitable for print in the journal, not that I ever submitted them anyway, but I held on to them for some reason. I've still got them. I haven't looked at them in years, but for a while i'd pulled them out every so often to remind myself just how quickly and cruelly death can come for any of us.
You had a lot of nerve coming into that crime scene that day. I could have arrested you.
Know, I know, thanks for not doing that.
Kind of had my plate full. Besides, from the look on your face, I could tell you learned your lesson.
When I was back on the other side of the tape, I tried to shake off that eerie, ichy feeling and do the job I was sent there to do. I started talking to people in the small crowd that had gathered and learned the body had been discovered by two surfers just after dawn on. One of them was twenty four year old Connor Langford.
It was one of the worst fucking days of my life back then, and it's still ranks pretty high up there. I mean that we knew Vera.
You know, Connor was one of the most well known and well liked residents of Domino Beach. To some, he was Domino Beach. He was the quintessential surfer dude, tanned in tone, with shaggy blond hair and leading man looks. If it sounds like I had a little crush on him, it's because I did, so did everyone. But the morning he found Vera Kendrick's body was the first time he and I had actually ever spoken.
Me and Brody Hannigan. Brody and I were in a band together. He was the drummer and I did guitar and lead vocals. At that time, we were calling ourselves slapping bow Zones. Really liked it because that was what some people called playing dominoes and thought it was a way to make us the unoffvisual hometown band, you know, but it always made me think of jerking off.
Okay, then, so when you found Vera's body.
Right, all right, I get distracted easily. We were first to the beach that morning. We got there before the waves got riped, so we were just shooting the shit. When the sun started coming up, I saw what I thought was some trash over by the rocks. Sometimes the high school kids would party over there and leave their beer bottles and cigarette butts and shit all over the place, and we'd clean up after them. But when we got over there, we saw, well, we saw Vera.
And you recognized her right away.
Oh yeah, Vera was one of us. She didn't surf, but she was at the beach almost every morning. I mean she usually slept that right, and she came to all all our parties on how with us all the time. Yeah, we knew it was her right away.
Okay, go on, But anyway.
This was before everyone had a cell phone, right, So I told Brody to take my van drive to the boardwalk and call the cops while I stayed with the body. Yeah, so it wasn't long after he left the other surface started showing up.
You know.
Some of them told me I should take off, that they'd guard the body and wait for the cops.
But I said no, Why did they think you should leave?
Because of my dad? They knew he wouldn't want me mixed up in something like that.
Greg Langford, Connor's father was a Domino Beach City councilman, but everyone in town knew he was more than that. Deborah Charles was the city's mayor, but at the age of eighty five, that was pretty much in name only. She may have won election after election, but it was the council that really ran things, and it was Greg Langford who ran the council. Connor and his father couldn't have been more different if they tried, and Connor did try.
The councilman was a died in the wool Reagan Republican with political ambitions on a national scale. Connor, on the other hand, had no ambition outside of surfing, getting high and playing in his band. The only time he had ever even left Domino Beach was for one semester at uc San Diego, where he got straight a's just to prove he could do it, then promptly dropped out.
It wasn't like I could do anything to be more of a disappointment to my dad.
You know, is that what you wanted to upset your father? And is that why you sent Brody to call the police while you waited with the body? It was your van Brody left in, wasn't it.
Yeah?
And I don't know if I thought about it like that. I felt I felt responssible in a way. I guess like I was the one who should be watching over her. She was my friend, you know.
Well, well, actually you were more than friends, weren't you.
Not really? No, I mean, if what you're getting at is that I slept with her a couple of times, yeah, I did, But you didn't know Vera. Sometimes she just wanted to sleep in a bed, you know, if you gave her one, sometimes she'd repay the favor. It wasn't a big deal, and I never messed around with her when Maya and I were together.
Of course I knew Connor and Vera slept together. It wasn't like a secret or anything.
Maya Morales was Connor's on again, off again girlfriend since high school, and they were dating at the time of Vera's murder.
She was all into that free love shit, and she was cute and fun, and Connor like cute fun girls. Look, it wasn't my business why or who Connor did when we weren't together.
Did you go to the beach that morning?
No? But Connor came over after I was twenty two. He was still living at home, waiting tables and bartending at the Blue Parrot and trying to save up for college, which never happened.
But whatever.
Anyway, I'd worked late the night before, so I was still asleep when he came by a little after eight. I think my mom woke me up, and he and I went out on the back porch and he told me all about it. He was shook, and he wouldn't admit it, but I think he was afraid to go home because he knew his father would be up his ass.
He still lived with his parents.
Of course he did. It's not like he could afford to pay rent anywhere. He didn't have a job, But it wasn't like he was living under the same roof with them. After he dropped out of school, he pretty much turned the pool cabana into an apartment. But you know what, even though he had all that privacy, whenever we were having sex. He wanted me to be loud, you know, so they could hear us up in the house.
He loved messing with his dad.
Who was racist as fucked by the way, guy was terrified of one day ending up with a half brown grand baby. Can you imagine him trying to explain that one to his constituents.
So what did Conor say about Vera that day?
I don't know, nothing, really, He just didn't want to talk. He just wanted he just wanted me to hold him mostly. Look, it was really sad, all right. Vera was very sweet and innocent. But it's not like what happened to her was some kind of a huge shock or anything. No, no, and stop pretending you don't know why girl lived in a tent on the beach a tent and not blaming the victim or any bullshit like that, But come on, do you sleep at night with.
Your door unlocked? No?
No?
And why not in case.
In case someone tries to break in steal your shit? Fuck you up? How you lock a damn tent?
Well, there's no evidence to suggest that she was pulled out of her tent or that one is.
She didn't take any precautions. If you want to live to get as old as you and I are now, you've got to keep your guard up. I don't think she was intentionally reckless, just naive. She was, like you know, a very trusting soul, an inherently good person who thought everyone was the same way. She had to learn the hard way how wrong she was.
So there's one thing I haven't mentioned yet about the crime scene with something I noticed right away but didn't give a second thought to until I spoke to Connor. Written on the rocks in black spray paint, within yards of where Vera's body was found, were the words Polly wants a Cracker.
Yeah.
I didn't think much of it either, not at first, But when I was sitting there by myself with Vera's body, waiting on the police, I realized I was singing the song in my head over and over again.
The song Connor was singing to himself was Polly by Nirvana. Polly Wants a Cracker are the opening lyrics.
It's a pretty fucked up song. I listened to that album one hundred times and never really thought about what it meant.
Connor's right, it's a pretty fucked up song. I learned all about it when I got back to the journal offices and called the freelance music critic we hired to review new albums and talk about local concerts. After talking to him, it became pretty clear to me that what the police thought was random graffiti might have actually been some kind of message left by Vera's murderer.
You know, you could have shared that information with us before writing about it in my paper, But I guess you got your scoop.
Yeah.
I let the cops find that out the next morning, along with the rest of the city when they read my first ever published article on the front page of the so CAW Journal. I like to read directly from it now so that you'll get all the details I had at that point. Homicide victim found at Surfer's Point by Courtney Barnes. The body of nineteen year old Vera Kendrick was discovered early yesterday morning near the section of
the beach nicknamed Surfer's Point. Del Sol County Sheriff Damon Stokes has confirmed that her death is being investigated as a homicide, although official cause of death has yet to be released, pending an autopsy. Sheriff Stokes believes it is relatively safe to conclude she died from strangulation based on visible wounds around her neck. Preliminary examination of the body by del Sol County Coroner Victoria Watts suggests Kendrick was
beaten and sexually assaulted during the attack. There are no suspects at this time. Miss Kendrick, originally from Denver, Colorado, lived a rather unconventional lifestyle. After leaving home at the age of sixteen, she hitchhiked around the country, finally landing in Domino Beach in early nineteen ninety one. Here she befriended many in the surfing community and brightened the days of many a tourist with her handmade jewelry and warm heart. She was known for seeing the good in everyone and
greeting everyone she met with a smile. Her body was found by surfers Connor Langford and Brodie Hannigan, both of whom preferred not to be quoted in this article due to having personal relationships with the deceased. One of the more disturbing details of the crime scene was a message spray painted near where Vera's body was found. Polly wants a cracker. This is an apparent reference to the song Polly by the grunge band Nirvana off their smash hit
nineteen ninety one album never Mind. The song was inspired by the real life story of a fourteen year old girl from Tacoma, Washington, who was abducted, raped, and tortured by forty nine year old Gerald Friend in nineteen eighty seven. Making the song even more disturbing is the fact that it is written from the point of view of the rapist.
What Vera's killer is trying to say by leaving this lyric behind is unclear, but it is worth noting that Polly from the song managed to escape, and as a result, her abductor is currently serving two consecutive seventy five year sentences, while Vera Kendrick sadly did not manage to escape. We can only hope that Sheriff Stokes will ensure that her attacker meets the same fate as Gerald Friend. Okay, not the best article, but give me a break. Twenty one years old.
Let me tell you how much I appreciated you call him me out at the end of that piece.
Yeah, I guess I was trying to give you a little extra motivation.
As if I needed it. But to you, I was just some old ass authority figure who didn't know what the hell he was doing. I mean the arrogance of youth.
Huh, something like that.
But as it turned out, I had called out the wrong man.
I guess you know why you weren't a signed any follow up articles about Vera's murder.
Not at the time, No, I thought that piece would get me a promotion, that i'd be an official reporter from then on, but I got put back on copy editing.
Yeah. Well, this is the kind of thing that happened when you said something my dad didn't want to hear.
Vera's murder did not receive the attention it deserved. It was almost shocking how quickly it was swept under the rug. An investigation was performed, but very quietly, at the urging of Counselman Langford. Maybe if the police had been allowed to do their job as they saw fit, Vera's murder would have been the last. But it wasn't the last. Over the next few years, more would follow, too many more.
You know what, I don't get, why the hell are you doing this? I mean, it's been thirty years. Is it because your book isn't selling anymore.
No, that's not it at all.
Then why why are you rehashing these details? Why are you going around reopening all these old wounds?
Why force myself and you and everyone else to relive the most traumatic time.
Of our lives.
Well, yeah, Look, I have my reasons, okay, and I'm not ready to discuss them right now, but I promise, when the time is right, I will.
Tell you.
Whatever.
Okay. So Maya is asking a good question, and she deserves it answer, but it would just open a whole can of worms that I am not ready to deal with.
What I am not telling her is I've been presented with some, let's just say, some new information that indicates that, after all this time, there's a chance, a chance that the wrong person may have been convicted of these murders, murders I personally profited off of, made my name off of, and the person sitting in jail right now, the person who is found guilty in a court of law by a jury of their peers, I help put them there. Look, best case scenario, this podcast will serve as a way
to clear my conscience. I am going to reanalyze every aspect of the Domino Beach murders of the nineteen nineties, and hopefully, hopefully come to the conclusion that we had
it right all along and my fears are unfounded. But if what I now suspect proves to be true, that an innocent person has been sitting in prison for decades while the real killer walks free, I swear I will do everything I can to fix it, to repair the damage I helped cause, to deliver justice for the victims and their families, and maybe maybe learn to live with myself. The Murder Years is a production of AYR Media and
iHeartMedia Executive producer Elisa Rosen for AYR Media. Written by Tim Huddleston, directed by Alisa Rosen, Editing and sound designed by Tristan Bankston, Consulting producer Jean chandil coordinator Olive Goldberg, Audio engineering and mastering by Justin Longerbeam studio engineer Josh Hook. Original music by Nathan Bankston. Original concept developed in partnership with Anne Margaret Johns and Greg Spring. Executive producer for iHeartMedia.
Maya Howard.
Performances for this episode by Erica Leniac as Courtney Barnes, Tom Virtue as Sheriff Damon Stokes, Alex Salem, As Connor Langford, melon faxis as maya morales,