Excerpt: 'Green River Serial Killer'

May 1, 2007 — -- It seemed like any other day for Judith Mawson Ridgway.

After her husband, Gary, a truck painter, left for work, she got up, had a cup of coffee and was cleaning out the garage when she was interrupted by two police detectives.

They had staggering news: Her husband of 14 years had been arrested. News cameras caught her stunned face just moments after she learned that Gary was accused of being the notorious Green River killer, responsible for a killing spree that terrorized Seattle for more than 20 years.

In her new book, "Green River Serial Killer," writer Pennie Morehead describes Judith's experience. The following is an excerpt.

Buried by Bricks

November 30, 2001:

At exactly 3:30 a.m. he got up from his warm bed. The master bedroomwas dark and silent on this chilly fall morning. He did not flip onany lights. Didn't need to. He moved about the room with the automatedgestures of a workingman who had been doing this ritual for 32 years.

He's going in early for two hours of overtime, his wife sleepily acknowledged,partially awake.

His routine was intimately familiar to her. She smiled to herself withoutopening her eyes, rolling over onto her other side. She thought that shewas one of the lucky ones. She had finally made it to a place in life shehad never thought possible before. She was Mrs. Gary Ridgway. She hada good husband -- a non-abusive husband -- who earned a nice living soshe could stay at home and pursue her hobbies.

This morning was no different. Gary was quietly dressing himself:climbing into his work jeans; buttoning his plaid, long-sleeve, flannelshirt down the front of his slim torso; always having his white cotton teeshirtunderneath. He crouched down, using both hands to pull white, cottoncrew socks over his feet, one at a time while balancing on the oppositefoot, and then finally guided his feet into his sturdy, steel-toe workboots. He laced them up tightly.

She knew he would not shower in the early morning. Why bother? Hewould surely get dirty at work painting trucks all day. She appreciatedthe fact that when he got to work, he would put on big, industrial coverallsto keep his own clothing from being ruined.

She stretched her legs and moved them to a spot in the bed that stillheld Gary's warmth. As she fell back to sleep, she could imagine Garyfinding the hot coffee ready downstairs that she had set up the night before.They had a fancy coffee maker now with a timer that could be set atbedtime, and somehow the machine would make the coffee at the precisetime she had set it for. She was simply amazed by this advancement incoffee- making technology. Gary's habit was to pour himself a cup of hotcoffee to begin sipping after adding a dribble of cold milk from the refrigerator.

Then he would pour all but one cup of the coffee into hisdented, several-year-old, Thermos bottle, leaving the remaining cup forhis wife to drink when she would get up later in the morning.The next step in the morning ritual would be for Gary to take two peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches, his favorite of all sandwiches, out of thefreezer. There he would find about a dozen pre-made sandwiches, allpeanut butter and jelly, of course, neatly displayed in individual plasticsandwich bags in the freezer that Judith had lovingly constructed. Oncein a while, Judith changed up the pattern and made a few ham and cheesewith lettuce sandwiches, but she didn't freeze them. That would ruin thelettuce. She would giggle to herself later, knowing that she had surprisedGary with something different. It gave her a warm, ticklish feeling in herstomach to treat her man to something special for his lunch. And whynot? He deserved it. He worked so hard to provide a comfortable lifestylefor the two of them.

Each work morning Gary packed his own gray, weathered, plasticlunchbox with two sandwiches, one orange, and a few additions his wifereferred to as "munchies." The definition of munchies was potato chipsor nuts or something else, but it definitely had to be crunchy and fun. Amunchie had to be fun.

Judith often wrote short love notes or smiling faces on scraps of paperand tucked them in the lunchbox. Once a week she placed a twenty dollarbill in the lunchbox so Gary could fill the tank of his truck withgas. He never had to ask. She always knew when it was time.

On this morning, well before it was time for the sun to rise, Gary quietlyjogged back upstairs to the dark bedroom where Judith lay sleeping,bent down, kissed her silently on the cheek, then headed back down thestairs and out the front door toward his truck with lunchbox and Thermosbottle in hand. Judith heard the lock on the front door go "click."A fewseconds later, Judith recognized the sound of Gary's red Ford Rangerstart in the driveway just below their second story bedroom window.

Gary warmed the small truck for about five minutes, tuned in his favoritecountry and western music radio station, and started out on hiscommute from the driveway of his home in Auburn, near Lake Geneva,to Kenworth Trucking in the Seattle suburb, Renton, Washington (positionedat the southern most tip of Lake Washington), where he held thetitle of Advanced Painter, Grade l. It had taken three decades for him toreach this level of achievement -- working in the elite, enviable class oftruck painters at Kenworth.

While Gary drove in the darkness toward work, humming along withthe country music on the radio, and Judith peacefully slumbered, neithercould know that this would be the last day of their morning routine.Gary would not come home again.

Judith woke up on her own between 8:30 and 9:00 a.m. feeling restedand ready to rise. There was enough filtered, gray sunlight, typical of theSeattle autumn, seeping in the room around the drapes to provide adequatelighting for her morning thanks and visual inventory of her blessedsurroundings. While Judith did not view herself as a stereotypically religiousperson, having no membership in a church, she did possess a reverencefor her Almighty God. She had asked for His help on many fearfuloccasions, and she remembered to give Him thanks for the good things inher life. Judith had reminded Gary countless times, "Remember, honey,the good Lord works in mysterious ways," a mantra she believed in withall her heart.

From her sitting position in the middle of the imitation French Provincialcanopy bed dressed with floral cotton sheets, matching cotton bedspreadand pillow shams she had picked up at a garage sale, she surveyedtheir bedroom. The room was large with plenty of open space. The furnishingswere cobbled together like a quilt made of many different scrapsof cloth that had been lovingly collected over the years. The beige carpetand white walls throughout the home gave a neutral background for thismulti-colored quilt to contrast with. Against one wall stood a dark,wooden, 1930's chest of drawers, containing Gary's clothing. On anotherwall, Judith's newer, white, French Provincial dresser, a matching part ofher bed set, stored her clothing and personal items. And, a miniature, antique,crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling of the bay window sittingarea; the chandelier's tiny size added daintiness to the overall largenessof the room.

Judith decided to leave the bed. At 5'1" she felt diminutive in thelarge master bedroom. She slid her tiny feet into slippers on the floornext to her side of the bed, then reached for her glasses on the nightstandand pushed them on her face. She walked with an obvious teetering motion,back and forth, from left to right, as she headed for the closet. Shetypically woke with stiffness in her back and hips. The many years ofchronic back pain she described to friends and family as "the needles"had affected her ambulation.