Vonda Pelto Enters Serial Killer Cuckooland
Chapter One Excerpt from Without Remorse


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A Rude Awakening:
When Vonda first showed up at Los Angeles Men’s Central she was what must be called a “nice gal” brought up in a nice religious family; she was about dipped in three bath of bovine scatology that would change her life. Read this chilling account of her first walk on the cell block where the serial killers resided from Vonda Pelto’s Without Remorse: The Story of the Woman Who Kept Los Angeles’ Serial Killers Alive.
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Vonda Pelto when she worked at Los Angeles Men's Central Jail taking care of serial killers and criminals. A man with jailhouse pallor, from lack of sunshine, stood talking on the phone. By many accounts, he could be called handsome, with good bone structure and the kind of thick, dark, wavy hair you’d like to run your fingers through. He stood with one foot propped on the bench, half leaning onto the door frame of an office—an office I would be calling home for the next three years. The opening of the elevator doors had diverted his attention from the phone and he turned to stare at me. His green eyes sparkled as he perused my body, starting with my heels, black stockings, and up my soft black dress to my ample breasts and short red hair. He gave me a nod of approval and flashed a boyish smile.

Vonda Pelto ID Card from Los Angeles' Men's Central Jail when she worked with serial killers and criminals as would-be psychologist from 1979-82.I started to blush. It was flattering. My ego had been hurt sleeping with my first husband for over a year and not being desired by him. I craved male attention. My father was gone, working for the railroad, for long periods of time when I was little, and my brother, who was nine years older than me, left for the Navy the summer he finished high school. From then on, our house consisted of my mother and me.

The man on the phone caught my eye and we exchanged an intimate moment. I felt myself flush and my heartbeat speed up. He smiled. I smiled back. I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and relaxed a little. Why had I expected all of the inmates to look mean and surly? The tone of his voice was soft and caressing, and his laugh contagious as he replied to the person on the other end of the line.

He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen him. Maybe on the nightly news? I tapped the deputy on the shoulder as soon as we were out of earshot of the man on the phone.

“That man seems very pleasant. Who is he?”

Kenneth Bianchi-Mugshot.jpg“That’s Ken Bianchi, one of the Hillside Stranglers. Would you like to hear what that ‘pleasant guy’ did, along with his cousin Angelo Buono?”

Before I had a chance to answer, Gonzales continued. “Together, they murdered ten young women and threw their bodies out along the hillsides in L.A.” The deputy stopped abruptly and turned to face me. I stopped short to keep from bumping into him and drew in my breath.

“I remember the murder of Kristina Weckler.” His voice full of rage. “She lived in the same apartment building as Bianchi over on Garfield here in L.A. Ken was always flirting with her, trying to get her to go out with him. She kept turning him down cold.  Who knows maybe she sensed something evil about him.  Well, shit, pissed Ken off, big time!

Angelo Buono, Jr.

     Angelo Buono, Jr.

“One night he rang her doorbell, told her car had been hit in the parking lot. Said he was a reserve police officer could file a police report. Angelo Buono waited downstairs. When Ken arrived with Kristina, they forced her into Ken’s car and drove over to Angelo’s place. That’s where most of the Hillside strangling’s occurred. Then these two winners,” the deputy said with force, “took turns raping and sodomizing her. God only knows what else they made her do, probably finished off by forcing her to give them each a blowjob.”

Ken, still talking on the phone laughing and gesturing with his Free hand, turned winked at me and flashed a seductive smile.  I froze.

“After Buono and Bianchi got their rocks off, they wanted to do some experimenting. Gonzales’s anger almost palpable. “Those two assholes injected Windex into Kristina’s neck and elbow; she went into convulsions. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t die right then.” The deputy clenched his teeth, attempting to hold his anger intact. The veins in his neck stood out like ropes and pulsated with each heartbeat. I edged toward the wall and rubbed my hand on the cold cement in a feeble effort to calm myself down.

I could have been one of their victims.
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