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Los Angeles Times
31-07-2025
- Los Angeles Times
Homicidal cousins and the Hillside Stranglers case: A trial that nearly did not happen
Angelo Buono was the elder of the killers. He was wiry and foul-mouthed, a swaggering 44-year-old high school dropout who ran a solo auto-upholstery business out of his Glendale garage. A sometime pimp, he fancied himself a ladies' man. He flew an Italian flag at his yellow house. His cousin, Kenneth Bianchi, was the more outwardly polished of their cruel partnership. Detectives would call him 'Slick Ken.' He was 27, an aspiring cop with a Hollywood apartment and a glib patter that reminded people of a used-car salesman. He had a closetful of bogus diplomas and liked to pose as a sex therapist. To lure girls and young women back to Buono's house, the cousins posed as vice officers and flashed fake badges. They raped, tortured and killed their victims between October 1977 and February 1978, and left them to be found in ways that seemed designed to taunt police and maximize public terror. Their targets included runaways and aspiring actresses. Some were waiting at bus stops. Some were working as prostitutes. Some were college students. The bodies, with cord marks on their necks and limbs, had been stripped of clothing and dumped — sometimes posed — on hillsides around Los Angeles County. The killings made the news, but did not elicit widespread panic until November 1977. That's when four victims were found during a one-week stretch, including two Highland Park girls, ages 12 and 14, who were last seen at the Eagle Rock Plaza. An Eagle Rock woman wrote in The Times that the killer 'has made us all wretched' with fear, and reported a conversation between a grocery store customer and a clerk: 'Where is everybody?' 'At home watching TV, to see if they know the girl who just got killed.' It's hard to trace the origins of the name, but it became official late that year, as the LAPD launched the Hillside Strangler Task Force. By early 1978, with at least ten known victims, the staff had grown to 162 cops, including Glendale officers and sheriff's deputies, with a 24-hour tip hotline. 'Inside Parker Center we were in disarray, choking on tips, leads, and clues,' Daryl Gates, the former LAPD chief, wrote in his memoir 'Chief.' 'We had, in time, more than 10,000 clues, 4,800 parolees to check out, and 120,000 fingerprint cards to run for comparison.' The LAPD had use of a relatively new weapon, a computer into which clues were inputted. But it was haphazardly managed, and investigators scattered among the agencies were not reliably sharing information with one another. 'There was really no coordination whatsoever,' Frank Salerno, one of the top sheriff's detectives on the case, told The Times in a recent interview. 'Investigation by committee doesn't work.' Since there was widespread suspicion the strangler might be a cop, the LAPD ordered its officers not to chase female suspects. 'If a woman runs from you, we said, don't chase her,' Gates would write. 'Understand that she may be panicking, thinking that you're him.' Some detectives thought the bodies had been carried to the dump sites by multiple people, since the scenes lacked drag marks. Serial killers almost always worked alone, but there might be 'one homicidal maniac or several,' The Times reported. An LAPD commander said, 'There may be as many as 4 or 5 sets of stranglers.' With panic pervasive and pressure to close the case mounting, the LAPD arrested a Beverly Hills handyman in connection with the murders — a jailhouse snitch had implicated him — but were forced to release him three days later, accompanied by a humiliating public apology from Gates. The L.A. killings inexplicably stopped in spring 1978; nearly a year passed without more bodies. Detectives rotated back to their old assignments. Reflecting on his reaction, Salerno said: 'Why did it stop, if there were two? Were both of them in custody? Did one kill the other? Who knows?' In mid-January 1979, the phone rang at the Sheriff's Department with a call from police in Bellingham, Wash., where 27-year-old Kenneth Bianchi was in custody for the rape and strangling of two local college students. He had been working as a rent-a-cop. The address on his driver's license was 1950 Tamarind Ave. in Hollywood. Alert L.A. detectives remembered that a Strangler victim, 18-year-old escort Kimberly Martin, had been abducted from that location. Another of Bianchi's former addresses, in Glendale, was an apartment complex where a second victim, a 20-year-old art student named Kristina Weckler, had lived. A third victim had lived across the street. Bianchi's name, it turned out, had surfaced multiple times during the investigation. At one point, he had even agreed to take a polygraph test. But no one had followed up. 'Our computer software could not collate all the information fed into it, and Bianchi's name was spelled differently each time,' Gates would write, lamenting that he had lacked the time and authority to supervise the case with more granular intensity. 'It continues to haunt me today that I didn't personally go over every detail.' One of Bianchi's former neighbors remembered him as 'a friendly, well-mannered, nice young man.' When reporters learned his cousin Buono was his suspected accomplice, they drove to Glendale but found him a surly subject. 'You guys blowed up the story too goddam much,' Buono said. 'Goodbye and get off my property.' A few months later, still free but under tight surveillance, he was ready to share a few bitter thoughts. 'The only thing I have to say is I haven't did nothing,' Buono told reporters. 'They won't find nothing 'cause I ain't did nothing.' He complained that the attention had dried up referrals to his auto upholstery business. 'The phone don't ring any more. Nobody comes in. As a businessman, I'm dead.' As for his younger cousin? He didn't even know him that well, he insisted. He had let him stay with him briefly as a favor to his aunt, and the association had meant nothing but grief. 'We didn't have nothing in common,' he said. 'Now I wouldn't do no more favors for anybody, even the Pope.' Up in Washington state, Bianchi had confessed to some of the L.A. murders and implicated his cousin as his partner. There was a bizarre catch, however. Bianchi did so under hypnosis, and convinced more than one psychiatrist that he suffered from multiple personality disorder. To take Bianchi's schtick seriously was to believe an alter ego named 'Steve Walker' had done the crimes, the basis for an insanity defense. 'We're looking at this going, 'Good God, hopefully nobody's believing this crap,'' Peter Finnigan, one of the sheriff's detectives on the case, told The Times recently. Finnigan said he and his partners soon discovered that Steve Walker was the name of a real psychologist whose credentials Bianchi had stolen to pass himself off as one. Bianchi had duped the psychologist into sending him his school transcripts by placing an ad in the L.A. Times pretending to seek an associate for a fake therapy practice. Detectives went hunting for the Help Wanted ad, hunkered over the microfiche machine at the newspaper's downtown office. 'We spent almost two weeks in your damn basement,' Finnigan told The Times. They found the ad and exposed Bianchi's ruse. 'Basically his multiple personality defense is destroyed,' Finnigan said. 'Because your primary multiple personality isn't yours, it's a real person.' In no time, Bianchi pleaded guilty to the two Washington murders and five of the L.A. murders. He agreed to testify against his cousin. (In a case with no shortage of weirdness, a woman who said she loved Bianchi, Veronica Compton, tried to strangle a cocktail waitress to make it appear the real Strangler was still loose; she went to prison for it.) At various times, more than a dozen L.A. murders were attributed to the Stranglers, some mistakenly. Los Angeles prosecutors prepared to try Buono for ten of them. But their star witness was increasingly capricious. Sometimes, Bianchi insisted he and Buono had taken turns strangling victims; other times, he claimed not to have been present at all, or to have watched Buono do it. It amounted to the 'self-immolation of his own credibility,' said Assistant Dist. Atty. Roger Kelly. He told the press it would be unethical to rely on a witness he considered a liar, bluntly conceding: 'The case is in trouble.' And so it was no surprise when he announced in July 1981 that his office, under Dist. Atty. John Van De Kamp, was dropping the murder charges against Buono. The office would pursue pimping charges, but even if convicted, at most Buono would get a few years. Cops were furious. 'Kelly was one of these guys who wanted eyewitnesses,' Finnigan recalled — an area in which the case was flimsy. 'He didn't like circumstantial evidence. He felt there were too many loose ends.' Gates, in his memoir, derided Kelly as a weak-kneed prosecutor who feared damage to his reputation if he lost on such a large stage, an attorney who preferred 'pat cases, sure things, with all the T's crossed and the I's dotted,' he wrote. 'Sometimes a prosecutor has to take a chance.' It was Superior Court Judge Ronald George who saved the case. He spent more than an hour reading aloud a scathing 36-page ruling, ordering the district attorney's office to 'vigorously and effectively resume' the prosecution, or else he'd give it to the attorney general's office. While Bianchi's account was a 'morass of contradictions,' there was nevertheless a great deal of evidence to corroborate his claims, which he said prosecutors had unaccountably 'glossed over.' For example, there was the account of Catherine Lorre, daughter of the late actor Peter Lorre, who said the cousins had posed as vice cops while trying to abduct her in Hollywood in 1977. And there were polyester fibers on two of the victims matching material found in Buono's shop. Prosecutors were stunned by George's ruling, and the defense flabbergasted. 'I've been practicing law for 15 years and I've never seen anything like this happen before,' said Gerald Chaleff, one of Buono's attorneys. It was a decision the judge was proud of, later telling a reporter: 'Ten bodies don't just get swept under the carpet!' In a recent interview, the retired judge — who went on to serve as chief justice of the California Supreme Court for 14 years — told The Times: 'Normally, like most judges, I would not second-guess a prosecutor's evaluation of his or her own case.' But 'I felt I had not only a right, but a duty' to do so. The attorney general's office prosecuted Buono, which became the longest murder trial in American history — a record that still holds. From jury selection in November 1981 to nine guilty verdicts in November 1983, it ran for 729 days, with 392 witnesses and 1,807 exhibits. Bianchi testified for months, and although his testimony was riddled with contradictions, he supplied details only one of the killers would have known — like the use of cleaning fluid to inject one of the victims. Sentenced to life, Buono died in prison in 2002, at age 67. For prosecutors who had tried to scuttle a winnable case against a serial killer, the notoriety was unkind. Kelly, a downtown veteran, was transferred against his will to the Compton branch. His former boss, Van De Kamp, carried a political albatross. 'It was an error,' he acknowledged, admitting he had wrongly assessed the strength of the evidence. But Democrat and Republican rivals cudgeled him with it during his failed run for governor in 1990. Bianchi, now 74, remains locked up and was recently denied parole. Finnigan, the retired detective, attended the virtual hearing and perceived no difference in the 'pathological lying sociopath' he began studying in 1979. 'He's exactly the same,' Finnigan said. 'His mannerisms and his speech patterns, exactly. He's double slick.'
Hindustan Times
13-07-2025
- Hindustan Times
Who is Kenneth Bianchi? Dreaded Hillside Strangler, 74, denied parole for the 8th time
Kenneth Bianchi, one of the two men behind the horrific 'Hillside Strangler' killings, has once again been denied parole. The decision came this week, meaning Bianchi will stay locked up in a California prison, where he's been serving a life sentence since 1983. Kenneth Bianchi was part of a killing spree that gripped Los Angeles in the late 1970s(@WillSutton78/ X) This is the eighth time he han been refused parole. His first denial came in 1985, and another in 2010. Who is Kenneth Bianchi? Now 74, Bianchi was part of a killing spree that gripped Los Angeles in the late 1970s. Over four months from late 1977 to early 1978, ten women were abducted and murdered. Bianchi later admitted to killing two more women in Washington. He committed those last murders on his own. Bianchi didn't act alone in most of the Los Angeles cases. He carried out the crimes with his cousin, Angelo Buono Jr. The victims were girls and young women between the ages of 12 and 28. They were strangled and left along remote hillsides around the city. That's how the killers got the name 'Hillside Stranglers.' Police arrested Bianchi in Washington state in January 1979. Buono wasn't caught until that October. To avoid a harsher sentence, Bianchi agreed to testify against his cousin. That deal gave him the chance to seek parole one day. Both men were given life sentences, however Buono died in prison in 2002. Also Read: Idaho murders: Who is Murphy? Here's what happened to Kaylee Goncalves' dog after she was killed Kenneth Bianchi held in a prison in Washington state At one point, Bianchi changed his name to Anthony D'Amato, something he did about two years ago. He's currently held in a prison in Washington state. Authorities say Bianchi and Buono posed as police officers to get their victims to cooperate. They would find young women waiting at bus stops or walking near their apartments, flash fake badges, and then take them away. Also Read: Idaho murders: Who were Ethan, Xana, Kaylee and Madison? Remembering the victims Murders caused panic across Los Angeles Once they had them, the cousins would rape, torture, and strangle them before dumping their bodies in remote areas. The murders caused panic across Los Angeles. Women were afraid to go out at night. Police worked for months to figure out who was behind the killings. Bianchi's plea deal was the only thing that kept him from getting the death penalty. His cooperation helped prosecutors convict Buono. But despite the deal, parole has never been granted. Families of the victims have continued to speak out each time Bianchi goes before the board. And each time, the result has been the same: he stays behind bars.
Fox News
09-07-2025
- Fox News
Notorious 'Hillside Strangler' seeks freedom after decades behind bars despite expert warnings
One of the notorious "Hillside Stranglers" was recently considered for potential parole in Washington state, with many asking how someone convicted of such heinous crimes could be considered for release. "When people hear that Kenneth Bianchi, one of the men known as the Hillside Stranglers, is up for parole again, it brings back fear and sadness for the families of the victims," retired FBI special agent Jason Pack tells Fox News Digital. "These families lost daughters, sisters, and friends in some of the most brutal and cold-hearted crimes this country has seen. For them, this hearing isn't just a legal step. It forces them to relive painful memories they've carried for decades." Anthony D'Amato, formerly known as Kenneth Bianchi, is one of the infamous "Hillside Stranglers," responsible for a series of murders involving women and girls during the late 1970s, including two killings in Washington. D'Amato and his cousin, Angelo Buono, were also convicted of murdering five individuals in Southern California. Buono passed away in a California prison in 2002. Acting alone, D'Amato also killed two women in the Bellingham area. Though suspected of additional killings, he was never convicted of those crimes. D'Amato then legally changed his name from Bianchi in 2023. "As a retired FBI agent who spent years working violent crime and studying the behavior of offenders like Bianchi, I can tell you that this kind of danger does not simply go away with age," Pack said. "His crimes were carefully planned. He picked out his victims, gained their trust, and then attacked and killed them. Even after his arrest, Bianchi worked hard to avoid responsibility. He faked mental illness, claimed to have multiple personalities, and tried to manipulate doctors and the justice system," Pack pointed out. Pack said the fact that D'Amato changed his name could be seen as another attempt to distance himself from his past and confuse the process. "Some people watching at home may wonder why he's even getting a parole hearing. The reason is simple: under the law, certain types of sentences require parole reviews at scheduled times. This does not mean he is likely to be released. The parole board will consider many things: how serious his crimes were, how he has behaved in prison, whether he has shown real remorse, and what risk he would pose if ever released," Pack explained. "In Bianchi's case, the pattern of lies, manipulation and lack of accountability should weigh heavily against him." Pack added that even though Bianchi is now 74 years old, "age does not erase the mindset that led him to kill." "The thinking, manipulation and risk factors that made him dangerous in the past remain present today. People like him can still manipulate others, even from behind bars," Pack said. Even if paroled in Washington, California has active murder charges pending, Pack explained, working to ease concerns for those who are worried about public safety if he is paroled. "It's important to know that even if Washington state were to grant him parole, which I think is unlikely, California has multiple life sentences waiting for him. He would not be released into the community. He would be immediately transferred to California to serve those sentences," Pack said. Realistically, Pack said Bianchi could remain incarcerated well into old age – likely until death. Despite disturbing headlines, parole does not guarantee release, Pack said, adding that Bianchi still faces serious legal roadblocks. "At the end of the day, the families of the victims deserve peace. The community deserves to feel safe. And the justice system has a responsibility to make sure a man who caused so much harm remains where he belongs – behind bars," Pack said. After committing a series of violent crimes, including the sexual assault and murder of women in the Los Angeles area, D'Amato was employed as a security guard in Bellingham in January 1979. During his time there, he persuaded two Western Washington University students, Karen Mandic and Diane Wilder, to accompany him to a residence, where he subsequently strangled them. These murders prompted law enforcement to link D'Amato to approximately 10 similar cases in California. To avoid a death sentence, D'Amato pleaded guilty in Washington and received two consecutive life sentences without parole. During his incarceration, D'Amato has made repeated legal attempts to overturn his Washington convictions, arguing, among other things, that his confession was obtained under hypnosis. He has consistently proclaimed his innocence. Pack said that during the time of Bianchi's conviction, California law allowed for periodic parole hearings, even for convicted murderers. That law remains applicable to those sentenced under it. D'Amato's parole requests have been denied on multiple occasions in recent years in both Washington state and California. D'Amato, now 74 and incarcerated at Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla, was originally scheduled for a parole hearing in May 2025, which was later delayed. The board is expected to publish its decision by July 23. Stepheny Price is a writer for Fox News Digital and Fox Business. She covers topics including missing persons, homicides, national crime cases, illegal immigration, and more. Story tips and ideas can be sent to
