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This is Murder, She Told, true crime stories from Maine, New England, and small town USA. I'm Kristen Sevey. You can connect with the show at murdershetold.com or on Instagram at murdershetoldpodcast. This episode contains descriptions of sexual violence and assault. Please listen with care.
Joy Crafts graduated from Piscataquis County Community High School in 1954. Piscataquis is a largely rural county including Baxter State Park and the foreboding high point of Maine, Mount Katahdin. In the southern end of the county, there are a handful of towns, including Sangerville, where Joy grew up on a farm with her two parents and her three older brothers. She entered college right away.
According to relatives and former neighbors, Joy was an extremely sharp gal and had a gregarious personality. From a young girl, she had always wanted to be an English teacher. She loved reading and was a fan of Geoffrey Chaucer, the famous Middle English author of Canterbury Tales, and Ernest Hemingway, who had just won the Pulitzer Prize for his novel The Old Man and the Sea.
She was particularly close to her older brother, Barry, who was about three years her senior and also attended the University of Maine at Orono at the same time as Joy.
A college friend later said of Joy, she was an all-American country girl raised in an active family. Joy was a joiner. In college, she joined the Delta Zeta sorority. Back home in Sangreville growing up, she was a member of the Rainbow Girls, a club for high school girls that was an extension of the Masons, and the Junior Grange, an organization with a particular focus on agriculture in rural communities.
Her family wasn't religious, but Joy persuaded her cousin, Shirley, to join her at Bible camp at a Baptist church. In 1957, Joy made it into the Portland Press Herald because she had been appointed as an officer in a club called the Future Homemakers of America. According to a college sorority sister, Joy was a loyal friend, someone who might help others with their studies, or who would pick up around the sorority room when nobody else would.
She wasn't attention-seeking, and she was, quote, a very pretty, happy, and friendly person. While she was home for Christmas break, she met a boy named Drummond Early, a soldier who had enlisted in the U.S. Army one year her junior. Drummond, or Bud, as he was known to his friends, came from a well-known family in the area. His father owned a Dover-Foxcroft car dealership
During the next year, Joy and Bud kept in touch while he completed his military service in Korea. In May of 1958, Joy graduated from UML and was pictured in the PRISM yearbook. In the images, young men and women had zany parades on campus, talked late at night over sodas, filled ashtrays with crumpled butts of Lucky Strike cigarettes, and swayed together at chaperone dances. It smacked of a wholesome and simpler time.
During her four years in Orono, Joy lived at the Elms, an old Victorian house located on the banks of the Stillwater River that runs adjacent to campus. Her former roommate said that she and the other 50 or so women who lived there spent their time playing bridge, going to dances and fraternity parties, working summer jobs, and studying late at night at Folklor Library.
When Joy graduated with her bachelor's degree in 1958, she realized her childhood dream. She moved to Johnstown, New York, a small city south of the Adirondacks, to teach high school English. A former neighbor in Sangerville said, she sort of just pulled away from all of us here.
Within a couple of years, Joy's parents published a marriage notice in the Portland Press-Herald. She had accepted a proposal from Bud, and on July 9, 1960, Joy returned to Maine to get married at the Methodist Church in Dover, Foxcroft on a Saturday summer afternoon. Bud was 22 years old, and Joy was 23.
After his three years of service, including a year in Korea shortly after the war, he went to work as a salesman at a new car dealership called McDonald Ford in his hometown of Dover, Foxcroft. Bud was an avid reader and started each day with the Bangor Daily News. In the evening, he would sit down and enjoy a Zane Gray novel. Zane primarily wrote Westerns, including The Lone Star Ranger, Code of the West, and The Vanishing American.
Bud loved cutting wood, mowing grass, and being outdoors. He had a green thumb and would always do a little farming, giving away surplus produce to friends and those in need. He was especially proud of his early girl tomatoes, which he grew in honor of his sisters, who shared his last name early.
Almost immediately, Joy became pregnant and was likely showing when she returned to her own high school in Piscataquist County to teach grammar classes to freshmen. Though she wasn't there long, one of her students, who later became a school superintendent, remembered her as a no-nonsense kind of person. He said, You worked. She had high expectations of you. In March of 1961, she gave birth to her first child, Drummond Early, named after his father and grandfather. The
The third generation Drummond became known as Dusty as he grew up. Within a year or so, she left her alma mater to teach at the high school Bud graduated from, Foxcroft Academy, though she didn't finish her first year because she was pregnant again. In April of 1963, Joy and Drummond had their second and final child, a boy who they named Scott Early.
According to her cousin, it was around this time, in her mid-20s, that Joy started showing signs of mental illness. She was diagnosed with paranoia, and things with Bud seemed to be volatile. In July of 1966, Bud Early was charged with assault and battery against his wife. The charge was later dropped by the prosecution. Though we don't know the reason for this, it's common for domestic violence victims to later recant their testimony, which
which will usually result in a prosecutor dropping the case. A year later, Bud was charged with a DUI. He was arrested by Bangor police on July 13, 1967. In that same month, Joy filed for divorce after seven years of marriage. Joy then began teaching at Dexter High School. It was also reported that she became a social worker but left the job after an elderly patient died by suicide.
In November of 1968, after a year and a half of being divorced, Joy and Bud reconciled and were married again by a notary public in Sangerville. After commuting from Dover-Foxcroft to Bangor for three years, Bud moved his family into an old farmhouse in Hudson, a town north of Bangor, and it cut his commute in half. He was working at the Pine State Volkswagen as a sales manager.
By the time they moved, Joy's brief teaching career was over, and she concentrated on raising their young sons, who were seven and nine. The best man from their wedding later recalled of the couple, they kept to themselves for the most part. An old friend of the early family said, she was kind of a loner, but he was too. Although they still didn't socialize much in Hudson, there were trail bikes and snowmobiles for the boys, and Joy spent much of her time ferrying the children to ballgames.
After the boys graduated and moved out, things began to take a turn for Joy. She stopped taking her medication and took off. She went traveling solo around the western states until she had exhausted some money that she had come into from a property sale. In August of 1984, she was committed to the Bangor Mental Health Institute, where she lived for 14 months. Dr. Roger Wilson diagnosed her in 1985 as being psychotic and suffering from paranoid delusions.
Three months into that stay, Bud and Joy divorced again, this time for good. Joy was 47 and Bud was 46, and they both still had a lot of life ahead of them. Joy's brother said that she started going by a new name around this time, Alex James. Her name change was part of the divorce decree. No one later interviewed by the Bangor Daily News had any explanation to the meaning or origin of the name Alex James.
For Bud, she was, quote, a completely separate person than that of Joy Crafts, the young woman he had courted in his early 20s. Bud later said, she had a very serious problem for many, many years, and unless you live with someone like that, it's very hard to understand. For the sake of clarity and continuity, I'm going to use the name Joy to refer to Alex. But to be clear, Joy's legal name from this point forward was Alex James.
At some point in 1985, Maine's Department of Human Services petitioned a court to take legal control over Joy because she was reportedly refusing to take her medication. When she resumed taking them a month later, the application was withdrawn. She was able to live on her own and function independently when she took her meds.
That same year, Joy's father died, and four years later in 1989, her mother died. In both of their obituaries, and in the obituaries of other family members who later died, Joy was always referred to as Joy, and not by her new name of Alex. She was quite alone and lived by herself in an apartment in Brewer. Her primary income was government disability payments.
Joy didn't have a car, so the apartment she chose for herself was close to the city. She would walk most places but would sometimes use the bus system. In February of 1992, Joy was dealt another blow. The apartment house she lived in in Brewer, at 86 Elm Street, burned down. Another tenant's oil-soaked rags spontaneously ignited. All four tenants escaped with only the clothes on their back.
Joy started over again and found another apartment just up the road at 449 South Main Street. This would be the final stop on Joy's journey. Neighbors of Joy said that she was unfailingly polite, but often withdrawn or nervous. One neighbor said, though she was not a total recluse, she kept to herself most of the time. Often, Joy would leave the lights in her apartment on all night, perhaps a sign of her vigilance.
The neighbor who knew Joy best, an elderly woman named Gertrude, tried to engage her in conversation and ply her with a slice of pie. But even she knew little of Joy's history. Despite her reticence, none of her neighbors had any ill will toward her, and Gertrude called her an awfully good neighbor.
She had no pets, no old friends to visit her, no music emanating through her walls and floors. The few people who saw inside her apartment found none of the books that she once loved as a young woman. The former landlord said she was all by herself and she liked it that way.
On the morning of Friday, June 16th, 1995, Joy went about her ordinary schedule. She rose early and walked to nearby Tozer's Market. Mary Jo Tozer said that she was there waiting for the store to be opened, and that she bought bottled water, a newspaper, a pack of generic cigarettes, and maybe a coffee or a donut. She then went to the laundromat where she gave the morning attendant a few small pieces of candy as they chatted and drank coffee for about an hour.
When her clothes were ready, she brought them back home. It's not clear what else she did that day, but at 4:30 p.m., Joy was seen by a neighbor leaving her apartment building wearing a typical outfit of hers: blue and white striped slacks, a black top, a green nylon jacket, and white sneakers. She was carrying a multicolored cloth bag that she used as a purse.
At 6 p.m., she was seen in the vicinity of the Bangor Mall, which was the last time Joy was seen alive. The next morning at 6.45 a.m. on Saturday, June 17th, a man went to a storage unit in a run-down industrial area called Ammo Industrial Park and discovered Joy's body about 10 feet from the road in the grass. The 58-year-old woman was nude and obviously dead. He called the police immediately.
The area was a four-mile drive from her Brewer apartment, across the Penobscot River on the Bangor side, and technically in the town of Hamden. Ammo Industrial Park is an area that was formerly part of Dow Air Force Base. It is flat and sprawling. The asphalt pavement is ridden with cracks and potholes. Rusted-out storage buildings creak in the wind, and weedy patches of grass proliferate. When it was part of the Air Force Base, the area was called the Old Ammo Dump.
That Saturday afternoon, Joy's body was taken to Augusta to the state medical examiner's office for autopsy. The cause of death was determined to be a knife wound to the throat, but it wasn't her only injury. She had been raped, strangled, stabbed, beaten in the head and chest, and her throat was slit.
Police called it overkill, a term used to describe the actions of someone who continues to assault their victim even after they died. Swabs from a rape kit were taken and sent to the FBI DNA laboratory. Police went to her neighbors and questioned them, but no one had seen anything suspicious. Whoever took Joy did so while she was out and about in town, likely on foot.
neighbors were bewildered by the crime because Joy was so cautious and nervous around other people. Mary Jo Tozier said, She wouldn't have gotten in the car with me, and I've known her for a couple of years. Several people who knew Joy said that they would see her waiting for a city bus and offer her a ride, but she never accepted.
That evening, the local news reported on the murder and asked the public for help. Her license said she was 5'5 and weighed 155 pounds, had brown eyes with glasses and graying hair. The police said that they'd gotten about half a dozen calls by Sunday afternoon.
One tip came in that said that she was seen alive at 7.30 p.m. on Friday near Dunkin' Donuts on Main Street in Bangor. The man who discovered her body had been in Ammo Industrial Park the night before, and he said that the area where her body was found was clear at 8 p.m. The window of time that police focused on was 8 p.m. Friday night and 6.45 a.m. Saturday morning.
On Sunday, Detective Sergeant Barry Schumann with the Maine State Police told the Bangor Daily News that there were no suspects in the case and he had no idea what the motive was. The following day, police searched two motels and dumpsters near the Ammo Park on Odlin Road, just over the Bangor City line, probably on the theory that the perpetrator was a visitor and staying nearby where the body was found.
On Tuesday, Joy's obituary was published in the Bangor Daily News under her legal name, Alex James. Barry Schuman told the press, "'It does appear that this was a random attack, and that makes the investigation more complicated.'" That afternoon, state police got a tip that somebody was camping in the area nearby, so they searched Ammo Industrial Park with a helicopter, looking for signs of a campsite. But by 9 p.m., they called the shopper off after not having found anything.
State police told the press that investigators from Bangor, Brewer, Hamden, and six state police detectives were all working on the case. The next month, in July of 1995, Joy's ex-husband, Bud, was interviewed. He was living in Bangor at the time, not far from where Joy had lived, and no doubt police looked at him as a person of interest.
In an excellent article by reporter John Ripley for the Bangor Daily News, Bud reflected on his life with Joy. He spoke frankly about their second and final divorce and her becoming Alex James. He said, referring to the differences between Joy Early and Alex James, that woman was not my wife.
He said he had no regrets about their separation. Every so often, Bud would see her around town, but he never stopped to talk, fearing that it might drudge up old problems. John Ripley walked readers through her life and revealed that one of her brothers also struggled with similar mental health issues.
After that article, news on Joy's death dried up. The only other mention of Joy was in November of 1995, when a 35-year-old man turned himself into police for killing two women. The victims were located in Lewiston, about two hours away from Bangor. But even though he was a violent criminal and a convicted rapist, he was ruled out as a perpetrator in Joy's death. Joy's killer was still out there, and he was violently assaulting other women.
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Douglas Littlefield was 24 years old at the time of Joy's death, and for the previous year, he'd been making the newspaper in the brief court news sections and developing a rap sheet.
In May of 1994, he was convicted of assault. A year later, in April of 1995, he was convicted of theft. A month after that, in May, he was convicted of operating a vehicle after suspension. And at the end of May of 1995, he was convicted of a second assault.
The following survivors' accounts are graphic in nature, but they are important. Without these brave women coming forward to tell their stories, a serial predator may never have been caught.
In the middle of a cold November night in 1995, a 30-year-old woman who I'll call Mary heard a knock on the door of her apartment on Union Street in Bangor. Thinking it was the married couple next door, she turned the locks to greet them. But to her surprise, a stocky man in his mid-20s forced his way inside her apartment and viciously took control.
Mary fought back, and as she struggled, he punched her in the mouth so hard that she lost several teeth. She later told the Bangor Daily News, "...he threw me on my bed, and I was too weak and bloody to resist. He raped me, even as I screamed for help."
The man threatened to come back and kill her if she told anybody. But Mary courageously and defiantly ran two miles in her nightgown and bare feet to the police department at 1.30 in the morning in November. Mary had no health insurance at the time and couldn't afford to fix her teeth. During the three years it took for her to save up for dentures, she said that she was teased about her gap-toothed smile.
The lack of compassion in Mary's life made me sad. I can't imagine making fun of somebody for this, especially knowing what caused it. But even if I wasn't aware of the situation, you never know what people are going through. Mary needed kindness.
Less than a month later, on December 5th of 1995, Douglas Littlefield attacked another woman. She lived in the Bradford Commons apartment complex near Husson University in Bangor. It's a large, dense property with numerous two- and three-story buildings separated by parking lots. She was older. The Bangor Daily News described her as elderly. Al referred to her as Jane.
Sometime between 1.30 and 3.30 a.m., Jane was walking near the laundry room when Douglas came up on her, catching her off guard, and struck her in the face. He dragged her to his car and drove away. He raped her and threw her out of the moving vehicle on Pushaw Road, a rural road north of Bangor. Jane then walked back to her apartment or a nearby home and called police.
A detective with the Bangor police said that Jane was so traumatized by the incident, it was hard to interview her. Initially, they weren't even sure if she'd been sexually assaulted or not. She was taken to the hospital and treated for injuries. A few days later, a follow-up story was published in the Bangor Daily News, and they released information about the suspect. Jane must have been able to provide a more detailed account to the police.
Jane's attacker was described as a white man with short, dark brown hair in his late 20s or early 30s, between 5'6 and 5'8, with a stocky build and around 150 pounds. No description of the car was given. Unfortunately, Jane's attacker fit the description of many young men in Bangor. Accompanying the article was a composite sketch of the suspect. You can see that sketch and more at MurderSheTold.com.
In the next year, Douglas made the court news in the newspaper a couple more times. In November of 1996, he got a DUI conviction, and the next day he was convicted of a violation of privacy and fined. He had escaped justice for a year in both Mary and Jane's attacks.
On November 21, 1996, Douglas beat 67-year-old John McCloud so badly he could barely open his eyes during an interview with police a few days later, repeatedly bashing John's face into the pavement on State Street in a drunken rage. A friend of Douglas, another man in his early 20s, was also involved. But John couldn't ID Douglas, and he remained free.
Less than two months later, Douglas committed the crime that would be his undoing. A 61-year-old woman, who I'll call Beverly, lived on Holyoke Street in Brewer, just a few doors down from his own home. Beverly was a grandmother and a nurse. She was generous with her neighbors and had a big heart. She'd even helped out Douglas and his girlfriend with a cup of sugar or a box of mac and cheese from time to time.
Another neighbor said, she's just like your Grammy. She's real nice, and you just want to hug her.
Around 10 p.m. on January 12, 1997, Douglas knocked on her door. She recognized his voice. He had even been in her apartment once before when she allowed him to use her phone. When she opened the door, she saw Douglas standing there in just gloves and underwear. She tried to slam the door on him, but he forced his way in where he began beating her and choking her.
After raping her in her bedroom, Beverly and Douglas ended up in the kitchen in a fight, and she began throwing and breaking dishes, trying to get somebody's attention. Douglas threatened her, shouting that he was going to kill her, but Beverly gouged his face with her fingernails and rings before grabbing a hold of a knife and scaring him away. He threatened to come back and kill her if she told police. Beverly called them anyway.
When police arrived, they found Beverly with blood on her face and bathrobe. Her lip was swollen and bloody, and her eyes were bruised. She directed them to Douglas' apartment, and police found him there just a block away. He was drunk and very angry, and there were scratches on his face and hands.
According to the affidavit later written by a Brewer detective, Douglas' mother arrived at the scene and told her son, I hope you go away for a long time. Police arrested him and took him to Penobscot County Jail. The next day, 25-year-old Douglas Littlefield appeared before a judge and was charged with a felony-level gross sexual assault.
Even after the attack, Beverly still lived in her home on Holyoke, but according to a neighbor, she wasn't the same person she used to be. They said, just look at her, it makes you want to cry.
The spokesperson for the Maine State Police, Steve McCausland, later told the press that they immediately took note of the similarities between Beverly's attack and Joy's murder. They took a blood sample of Douglas to test against the physical evidence in Joy's case. In the first article printed in the Bangor Daily News about the crime against Beverly, it was revealed that the landlord of Douglas' building had evicted him. This affected his girlfriend and their son, too. They all lived together.
The press asked around about Douglas. He was a big guy, husky and baby-faced, and worked as a mover for Parker Bailey & Sons Movers and Brewer. The neighborhood he lived in was quiet, middle class, with a lot of kids as well as older people.
Neighbors told the press that people were friendly and when the kids were out playing, someone would always bring cookies down. One neighbor said that Douglas was creepy and that he never spoke and was real strange. Another woman said that they didn't have a phone. Strangest of all, they said that his girlfriend and son never left the apartment. She would never visit and have coffee. Neighborhood children weren't allowed to play with the boy. She recalled just one time the boy was out.
But as soon as Douglas pulled into the driveway, the girlfriend quickly grabbed her son and took him inside. The landlord notified all the tenants about the violent sexual assault in case he was released from jail. And once the neighbors learned of the terrible crime against Beverly, the mood changed. One woman said, Now we're all jumpy, always checking the locks, listening for unusual sounds, and not so ready to help a neighbor out.
Fortunately for the public, Douglas was unable to make bail, and on February 4th, three weeks after he'd been arrested, he was indicted for a second crime, the brutal assault on John McCloud. He was also officially indicted for the crimes against Beverly.
It was on March 5, 1997, that the state police got the break they needed in Joy's case. A supervisor from the FBI's DNA lab called the crime lab to let them know that they'd found a match between Douglas and the semen recovered from Joy's body. He was still in jail at this point, and detectives interviewed him that evening. The following day, they charged him with Joy's murder.
The day after that, reporters saw Douglas approaching the district courthouse in the blinding snow. He wore an orange jumpsuit and untied work boots. His ankles were shackled. While waiting in the court's benches, he told the detective, I called my mother. They are all supporting me. The judge read the charges against him and he made no plea, likely waiting to get an attorney. The judge ordered him held without bail until trial.
Steve McCausland broke the good news to the press about the DNA match and revealed that over the past 20 months since Joy's murder, police had sent samples from seven men to the FBI lab, hoping for a match. The other men had histories of sexual assault and were geographically close by.
The press revealed that Douglas, at the time of Joy's murder, had lived just a few houses away from her on South Main Street, just a quarter mile up the street on the same side of the road. It wasn't until after Joy's killing that he moved to Beverly's neighborhood on Holyoke Street. Joy's ex-husband responded to the news, saying, This gives it some closure, but it doesn't really change things.
Three months later, a grand jury indicted Douglas for his other crimes against Jane and Mary. Again, the physical evidence had connected him, and the press reported that Douglas had admitted to police that he was responsible. The prosecutor, Deputy District Attorney Michael Roberts, said,
All of the cases I know of involve a significant degree of violence. It appears that in each case, the violence is connected to his desire to prevent the victim from identifying him. Also in each case, he took measures so that the women would not look at him. He's a big man, and he used a degree of violence well beyond what was necessary to compel the act of sexual assault.
One week later, Douglas pled not guilty to the new charges. That brought the total of five incidents and five victims. There were four rape charges, one aggravated assault charge, a kidnapping charge, and the most serious charge, murder.
Right as this criminal proceeding was unfolding, Maine was entering a new era of criminal forensics. Up to this point, all of Maine's DNA testing was sent out to the FBI lab. But in June of 1997, the Maine State Police opened up their own DNA lab and hired two DNA analysts. A year and a half prior, in January of 1996,
Maine state law was amended to mandate that anyone convicted of a serious crime would be required to submit a DNA sample to law enforcement. In Maine and around the country, DNA was heralded as the most significant advancement in criminal forensics since fingerprints, and Douglas' apprehension was a shining example.
In December of 1997, nine months after Douglas had been charged, he changed his plea to not guilty by reason of insanity on at least one of the charges. His attorney had hired a psychiatric evaluation by an expert, and they had blown through the initial $6,000 that was previously approved.
They asked for an additional $8,100, and the judge balked at the request and said she would research similar cases before determining how much additional money she'd approve for the defense's expert witness. It's unclear how this was resolved, but there were a few significant changes in 1998. Douglas got a new defense attorney. He ended up dropping the insanity defense, and he asked his attorney to seek a plea bargain agreement from the state.
There were two different prosecuting entities. The Attorney General's Office had jurisdiction over Joy's murder and rape charges, and the Penobscot County District Attorney's Office had jurisdiction over all of the remaining charges from Brewer and Bangor.
all of the charges would be tried together, and he was scheduled to go to trial in February of 1999. If he were convicted of all charges and the judge sentenced him to the maximum for each charge, he would serve life in prison plus 160 years. His defense attorney wanted the AG's office to take life in prison off the table in exchange for his guilty plea.
After some negotiation, Douglas appeared in court on January 13, 1999, and took the deal, which eliminated the need for a trial. He pled guilty to the rape and murder of Joy. He also pled guilty to the three other rape charges, one kidnapping charge, and an aggravated assault.
The state's prosecutor outlined the case against Douglas and recounted the horrific details of Joy's death. He entered photographic evidence into the record in lieu of detailing the extensive injuries. The judge accepted the pleas and ordered a psychiatric evaluation of Douglas before she would rule on sentencing.
After the hearing, Douglas' attorney said that he felt remorse for his actions and wanted to expedite the case to spare the victims the trauma of a public trial. Five months later, on June 5, 1999, Douglas returned to Superior Court to get his sentence.
He was dressed in a white and blue striped cotton shirt and a pair of jeans. Reporters remarked of his broad shoulders and stocky build that he looked more like a college football player than a rapist and a murderer. When the judge asked him if he had anything to say, he replied, "'No, Your Honor.'" His attorney said, "'Douglas still wants to know why these acts occurred himself. He can only attribute it to a drunken state of mind, but Hope's counseling in jail will bring answers.'"
Douglas' family didn't attend the hearing. He reportedly told them to stay home to spare any more pain. His attorney said, he just really wants this to be over with and serve his time. The survivors were given the floor to speak to the judge and to speak to Douglas directly, but only one of them took that opportunity.
The 30-year-old woman, Mary, who it was revealed at sentencing was disabled, recounted what he had done to her and then said, I see him every night in my dreams. Please see that he never sees the light of day again. Joy's family was present but didn't wish to speak.
The state planned to stress that the victims were always vulnerable, always alone, often older women, and done under the cover of darkness. Douglas Littlefield was a predator. The judge sentenced him to 70 years for the murder and 25 for the other crimes, a total of 95 years, slightly less than what the prosecution recommended, and the time was to be served consecutively.
With allowances for reduction in the sentence under the state's good time law, Douglas will likely serve 67 years. It's unlikely that he'll ever be free. His defense attorney told the press, All I could do was argue that maybe he should have some hope, some light at the end of the tunnel. This is effectively a life sentence for him. He said that though he may appeal the sentence, Douglas hadn't asked him to do so.
It's still not clear exactly what happened that Friday night when Joy was taken. I imagine her having a summer evening stroll in the fading sunlight, when a car pulled up and parked down the road from her. A man emerged busying himself, but once she got closer and he looked at her, she knew something terrible was about to happen. He forced her into his vehicle and took her to a desolate industrial park where she was subjected to his drunken rage, and she was killed.
Joy was just 58 years old and had many years ahead of her. She was doing well and living independently. She was a creature of habit. She was quiet, polite, and cautious, and her life was taken in an inexplicable act of violence.
The only solace was that her killer was brought to justice because of the courage of a survivor. Though Douglas was convicted of numerous rapes and violent crimes, I can't help but think there are other victims out there, other crimes that were unreported. His girlfriend and young son, did they suffer his wrath too?
Today, Douglas is inmate number 34746 in the Maine State Prison in Warren. He hasn't left jail since he was apprehended on January 12th, 1997. It has been 25 years since he was last free, and according to the Department of Corrections, his earliest possible release will be September of 2068, and he'll be 97 years old.
I hope that every night when the latch on his steel door clicks into place, it reminds him of what he took. If you or someone you know has experienced sexual violence or assault, help is available 24/7. Visit rainn.org or call their confidential helpline at 800-656-HOPE or chat 24/7 with someone who can help you. Your life is important and you matter.
I want to thank you so much for listening. I am so grateful that you chose to tune in and I couldn't be here without you. Thank you. If you would like to support the show, there's a link in the show notes with options. Another way to support is telling a friend, sharing on social media, or leaving a review. A detailed list of sources and photos can be found at MurderSheTold.com. This episode was co-written and researched by Byron Willis. If
If you have a story that needs to be told or a correction, I would love to hear from you. My only hope is that I've kept the memories of your loved ones alive. I'm Kristen Sevey, and this is Murder, She Told. Thank you for listening. Is your vehicle stopping like it should? Does it squeal or grind when you brake? Don't miss out on summer brake deals at O'Reilly Auto Parts. O-O-Auto Parts.