By the River's Edge Key Takeaways

The chapter introduces a protagonist born intersex, assigned male at birth, who endures decades of family violence, medical confusion, and social ostracization.

The decision to undergo gender-reassignment surgery in Bangkok at age 48 is framed as both a personal liberation and a strategic reinvention.

The surgery nearly kills the patient, but the story reframes it as a successful slaying of the “monster” that haunted the former self.

The shift from “he” to “she” in the final paragraphs marks the transition from Douglas to Donna—a deliberate, permanent break from the past.

The chapter establishes the harsh reality of survival sex work in Spokane, centered on the Spokane Street Motel and the women of the Circle who looked out for each other

Yolanda Sapp's murder on February 20-21, 1990, is the central crime: shot three times in the back while face down, her body dumped four miles from where she worked

The investigation begins with Doc, Yolanda's boyfriend, who appears genuinely grief-stricken and cooperative, though the detectives note suspicious blood spatter in their room

The murder triggers profound fear among other sex workers, who see it as part of a pattern of violence against women like them, connecting it to unsolved cases in Seattle, Southern California, and Vancouver

The chapter hints at further violence with Kathy Brisbois's introduction, setting up a broader, darker story to come

The detectives approached Yolanda’s case with empathy, refusing to let her criminal history or sex work define her worth or dismiss her murder.

Yolanda’s life was a tangle of struggle and love: a mother fighting addiction and poverty, caught between violent relationships and the dream of a better future.

The investigation produced multiple leads—a station wagon driver, a drug dealer named Chico, a suspicious rental car—but every thread frayed into nothing.

Doc Thomas was the prime suspect despite his public grief, but a polygraph cleared him, leaving the case at a dead end.

Nickie Lowe’s murder closely mirrored Yolanda Sapp’s: single gunshot, partial nudity, body dumped in a public but secluded spot, reinforcing fears of a serial predator.

The prime suspect, “Al,” passed a polygraph and had an alibi, leaving the investigation without a clear direction.

The discovery of Nickie’s wallet in a dumpster with fibers possibly linking to Yolanda’s case offered a potential forensic breakthrough.

The chapter underscores the vulnerability of women working the streets and the difficulty of protecting them even when they sense danger.

The investigation shifted from conjecture to concrete links when fibers from Yolanda and Nickie matched and the carpet dumpster find gave a high probability of a common source.

Witness interviews were a minefield—some informants were desperate for attention or had grudges, others like Patrick seemed innocent but couldn't stop changing their stories.

Trudeau's Marina and Royal Upholstery became ground zero, with Bill Trudeau as a person of interest despite his denials and clean record check.

The case hinged on forensic work with the Luma-Lite and fiber analysis, but the inability to fully dissolve some fibers left the connection short of absolute proof.

A scared prostitute named Kathy Brisbois might finally provide the human testimony the physical evidence needed.

Kathy’s unsent letter reveals her genuine desire to get clean and reconnect with her children, making her later disappearance all the more tragic.

She reported two separate stalker-like encounters to police, both involving men who made threatening references to murdered women.

Her brother Dick’s failed rescue attempt underscores how close she came to escaping—and how quickly the opportunity slipped away.

Kathy’s vanishing during a routine traffic stop is both haunting and symbolic: she never could stay in the safety others tried to offer.

The discovery of a third murdered prostitute—found nude, near the river, and killed with extreme violence—forced authorities to confront the possibility of a serial killer in Spokane.

The crime scene and autopsy revealed a fierce struggle and execution-style gunshots, with evidence (green fibers) linking this death to the two prior homicides.

Detective Jim Hansen, a veteran investigator with Green River Task Force experience, brought a collaborative, respectful approach to working with sex workers and city detectives—both vital for cracking the case.

Jurisdictional friction between the sheriff’s department and city police existed at the top, but detectives on the ground prioritized cooperation. Despite the mounting similarities, no official connection had been declared, and both earlier investigations remained unsolved with no suspects.

The discovery of Kathy Brisbois’s body forced Spokane authorities to publicly acknowledge a serial killer was at work, leading to the formation of a joint task force with support from the Green River Task Force and the FBI's ViCAP.

The victims were connected through shared locations and relationships—Kathy, Yolanda, and Nickie knew each other, and their deaths followed the same brutal pattern.

Fear gripped the East Sprague Avenue area, with prostitutes changing their habits and a tip from a nervous woman named Gloria Harris pointing to a tan-and-brown station wagon as a possible suspect vehicle.

The chapter humanizes Kathy through her daughter Kaishea’s eyes, revealing a childhood marked by addiction and neglect but also a deep love that survived all the hurt, and a final glimmer of hope shattered by her mother’s murder.

Despite six hundred leads and extensive polygraph testing, the task force came up empty—no solid suspect emerged from the initial investigation.

FBI profiling offered psychological insight but no immediate breakthrough; the killer was described as a non-psychotic white male with a mission to eliminate “undesirables.”

The task force dissolved due to other priorities, but Hansen and Peterson kept the case alive with a renewed two-man investigation in 1991.

Theories shifted from prostitution to drug debts as a possible motive, but no evidence confirmed it.

The case went cold by 1992, remaining open but dormant until Hansen’s later involvement with the HITS team kept hope alive.

After years of stagnation, the 1997 murders of Jennifer Joseph and Heather Hernandez reignited the investigation into Spokane’s serial prostitute killings.

Robert Lee Yates Jr., a seemingly ordinary family man and army pilot, became the prime suspect after his white Corvette was linked to Joseph’s murder.

DNA evidence tied Yates to at least twelve victims, and he pleaded guilty to thirteen murders to avoid the death penalty, receiving a 408-year sentence.

The Circle murders—Yolanda Sapp, Nickie Lowe, and Kathy Brisbois—remained unsolved; Yates was conclusively ruled out, meaning a separate serial killer still eluded justice.

Persistence pays off in cold cases: Mariah Low's careful, methodical work over three years finally yielded a DNA match—even when the lab's backlog and degraded evidence made progress painfully slow.

Respect builds trust: Jim Dresback learned that treating sex workers with dignity was essential to getting information, even when it meant correcting his own language.

Cold cases can hold shocking twists: After twenty-two years of hunting a male serial killer, investigators discovered the suspect had transitioned and was living as a woman in a federal prison.

The victims' families were left in the dark: Kaishea Rain Kegley received no updates from police for years, learning about the suspect only through a chance phone call—underscoring how cold cases can leave families stranded without answers.

The Spokane sex-worker murders were linked to Douglas Perry, whose DNA matched a female inmate named Donna Perry.

Perry’s long criminal record featured violence, firearms obsession, and direct contact with prostitutes.

Perry underwent gender-reassignment surgery while on parole in 2000, possibly with federal funding.

The case raises fundamental legal questions about criminal liability after a sex change and whether Douglas and Donna are the same person under the law.

Donna Perry’s 2012 arrest for firearm possession by a felon gave prosecutors a legal basis to treat her as the same person as Douglas Perry, opening the door for murder charges.

DNA and fingerprint evidence directly linked Donna to the murders of Kathy Brisbois and Nickie Lowe, respectively.

The search of Perry’s home revealed a cache of weapons, ammunition, and possible trophies (the small pink panties), as well as signs of hoarding and mental instability.

Interviews with the Massengale brothers provided background on Perry’s mental illness, gun obsession, and association with a missing prostitute named Clairann Gallaway.

Federal prosecutors blocked the task force from interviewing Perry until after her weapons case was resolved, delaying progress.

The Omak police chief’s refusal to let detectives speak with a key witness added an odd, unexplained obstacle to the investigation.

The Perry family was marked by mental illness, isolation, and violence—Ruth’s untreated paranoia and possible role in her husband’s death set the stage.

Douglas Perry grew up as a bullied loner, obsessed with guns, and increasingly violent toward animals and neighbors.

Ruth actively weaponized her son’s paranoia, turning him into her “private army” to defend the orchard from imagined threats.

Early signs of sociopathy—animal cruelty, threatening behavior, and a growing arsenal of military weapons—foreshadowed the brutal crimes that would surface decades later.

Douglas Perry’s obsession with firearms was documented from a young age, culminating in a 1994 standoff that yielded an arsenal of weapons and thousands of rounds.

He explicitly threatened counselors by referencing the Fairchild Air Force Base shooting spree, revealing both his knowledge of mass violence and his grievance with mental health providers.

Perry publicly identified as a transsexual woman trapped in a man’s body six years before his gender-reassignment surgery—a crucial piece of his psychological profile.

His link to the Spokane prostitution stroll, through both his own sex work and his relationship with Clairann Gallaway, was noted in 1994 but never connected to the unsolved murders.

The detective’s question lingers: Could a missed opportunity from that earlier investigation have delayed justice for the 1990 victims?

The legal effort to secure government funding for Perry's transition began in late 1998 with a motion filed by federal public defenders Gerald Smith and Judy Clarke.

The motion framed gender dysphoria as a serious psychosis requiring treatment, citing precedent and comparing to Minnesota's Medicaid coverage for sex-change operations.

Judge Quackenbush denied nearly all funding requests in February 1999, citing limited resources—just $10,000 for mental health services across an entire federal district.

Despite the denial, Perry managed to undergo gender reassignment surgery in Thailand in 2000; the source of funding remains unknown to investigators.

The case highlights a pivotal moment when transgender rights and public funding collided in the criminal justice system, with policies far more restrictive than today.

Clairann Gallaway’s golden-girl childhood masked a family history of schizophrenia and borderline personality, which she inherited.

Her mental illness manifested early in motherhood: she rejected her daughter and experienced fugue states, leading to a downward spiral into drugs and prostitution.

Douglas Perry considered Clairann his only true love and advocate, but their relationship was marked by his controlling obsession and her refusal to leave the streets.

Clairann’s arrests on the days two bodies were found suggest her incarceration may have given Douglas the freedom to kill—or that her presence on the Stroll was somehow a trigger.

The detectives' strategic patience paid off; allowing Donna to stew in her own anxiety led her to voluntarily waive her Miranda rights.

Donna's request to borrow a pistol to end her life was a calculated attempt to gauge the detectives' sympathy or manipulate the situation—either way, it didn't work.

The FBI specialist's advice about pronoun use proved wise, but the detectives' biggest challenge was navigating the legal minefield of Donna's repeated requests for an attorney.

The revelation of DNA and fingerprint evidence connected Donna to multiple murders from the early 1990s, finally putting a face—and a name—to a cold case that had haunted Spokane for over twenty years.

Donna admits to picking up prostitutes, having a relationship with Clairann Gallaway, and owning an International Scout—the same type of vehicle witnesses linked to victims.

She repeatedly denies recognizing any of the murder victims, claiming she only dated white women and didn’t frequent the Stroll often.

Her phrasing (“let them out,” “I hope not”) and her admission of paranoia about guns suggest a self-awareness that clashes with her denials.

The interview reveals a deep unease in Donna: she’s scared of what she might have done, but she’s also working hard to control the story.

The chapter underscores how a single move from a small town to a city could have altered the course of many lives—including those of the victims.

Donna’s emotional state oscillated wildly between panic, anger, and despair, but she never admitted guilt.

She expressed a desire to die by her own hand, rejecting the idea of the death penalty as a loss of control.

Burbridge hinted at more than three victims, but Donna offered a conspiracy theory about being framed.

The detectives pressed the connection between Douglas and Donna, but she maintained they were separate.

The photograph of Clairann Gallaway unsettled Donna, who couldn’t reconcile the victim’s transformation with her memory.

Donna’s grief over her cats—more visceral than any remorse for the victims—underscored her fractured emotional landscape.

Despite the tears and threats of suicide, she held firm: “I have never killed anybody, damn it. No, never.”

Donna Perry’s interview produced statements that acknowledged Douglas as the killer and Donna as the one who stopped him, but they fell short of a confession.

Public appeals brought forward witnesses who confirmed Douglas’s odd behavior and connections to the Stroll, but no direct ties to the murders.

Physical searches of Perry’s old home and vehicles failed to produce blood evidence; the only promising lead was a .22 cartridge that couldn’t be linked to the crimes.

Clairann Gallaway’s mental health crisis prevented police from interviewing her, leaving a central piece of the puzzle missing.

Donna Perry was sentenced to just over two years for firearm possession—a lesser charge that did not resolve the murder investigation.

Charlotte Schell became an unintentional confidante; Donna Perry repeatedly tested how much she could safely reveal.

Donna divided her life into a violent “before” (surgery) and a controlled “after,” but the old impulses still surfaced.

The threat against Somali neighbors was not just anger—it was a calculated admission that prison was an acceptable trade‑off.

Charlotte’s report to authorities, especially to Detective Dresback, added crucial corroboration to the emerging picture of Donna Perry’s dangerous past and present.

The gun-storage lead involving Glen Beach went nowhere, but it did reinforce the detectives’ understanding of Perry’s control over the Massengale brothers.

DNA from Kathy Brisbois’s vaginal smear matched Perry, confirming a sexual encounter and explaining Perry’s earlier suspicious question about vaginal samples.

Yolanda Sapp’s vaginal smear also matched Perry, contradicting his claim of never being with Black prostitutes.

A DNA stain on the floral blanket near Yolanda’s body matched Douglas Perry, with a statistical rarity of 1 in 3,300—strong circumstantial evidence.

By early 2013, Dresback had forensic proof linking both Donna and Douglas Perry to all three murders, closing a decades-old investigative gap.

Prison can be a stage for the deeply disturbed; Chero’s instinct to help nearly backfired.

Donna Perry’s claims blur the line between mental illness and cold-blooded confession.

Human connection—even a simple smile—can be a dangerous invitation in a place like Carswell.

Chero’s empathy turns into a dangerous entanglement; she begins secretly journaling Donna’s confessions.

Donna’s methodical descriptions of murders—weapons, targets, techniques—reveal a practiced, unrepentant killer.

The “friendship” transforms into a possessive obsession, with Donna proposing marriage and threatening anyone who gets close.

Chero’s fear outweighs her sense of duty or curiosity; she reaches out to her mother for validation and possibly help.

The chapter underscores how isolation in prison can create coercive, high-stakes relationships where one wrong move could be deadly.

Chero Everson, a federal inmate, becomes the crucial link to Donna Perry’s confessions, including the targeting of prostitutes, shooting deaths, and a claimed kill count between ten and thirty.

Donna’s behavior toward Chero is possessive and obsessive, revealing a sociopath who needs constant attention and validation.

Chero’s journal serves as real-time corroboration of Donna’s statements, but after Chero’s release, she disappears, putting the entire case at risk.

The detectives face the paradox of a witness who wants to do right but is terrified—and then unreachable.

The murders were driven by Douglas Perry's obsessive, possessive love for one prostitute, Clairann Gallaway

Clairann was in jail during two of the three murders, making her unavailable but also unaware of the killings

Dresback believed Perry also targeted women for "wasting" their ability to bear children—something Donna Perry could not do

Douglas Perry's paranoid personality disorder prevented him from feeling empathy for his victims

After 23 years, murder charges were finally filed in January 2014, though Donna Perry remained in Texas custody at the time

Donna’s chatter is laced with self-awareness (“I’m screwed”) and a disturbing calm about her circumstances, as if she has already accepted her fate.

Her comment about learning to control herself “too late” hints at a deliberate effort at self-restraint, perhaps during the murders.

The reference to Robert Yates suggests Donna is comparing possible legal outcomes and gathering information for her own defense or sentencing strategy.

Her preference for a mental hospital over prison underscores her awareness of the insanity defense or the role of mental illness in her case.

The prosecution faced unprecedented challenges: a cold case, scant forensic evidence, a mentally ill defendant, and the public’s confusion over a killer who changed gender.

Sharon Hedlund’s meticulous style sometimes clashed with detectives, but the team stayed focused on building a case through DNA, prints, and depositions of aging witnesses.

Perry’s competency evaluation revealed a pattern of malingering, but the experts agreed she was fit for trial.

The media’s framing of Perry’s words risked creating false expectations, but the legal process pressed on toward a trial that would test the limits of how society understands identity and responsibility.

The defense’s attempt to have the public defender’s office removed over a conflict of interest failed, but the office later withdrew due to an ethics violation by its investigators.

Motions to sever the three murder counts were denied; the judge ruled the evidence was strong and intertwined enough to justify a single trial.

Perry’s statements to police, a fellow inmate, and detectives on a flight were all ruled voluntary and admissible—her claims about medication not withstanding.

The SODDI defense naming Michael Lee Haney and Gregory Ross was rejected as wildly speculative, barring any suggestion of alternative suspects.

The long wait for justice echoed in Linda Rose’s own unresolved family disappearance, underscoring the emotional weight of the upcoming trial.

The trial hinges on two irreconcilable narratives: the prosecution sees a killer who changed genders to evade justice; the defense sees a woman unfairly linked to crimes through circumstantial evidence and community association.

Victim impact testimony powerfully humanizes Yolanda Sapp, Nickie Lowe, and Kathy Brisbois—each was a mother or aunt with dreams of reuniting with family, starting a business, or regaining custody.

The defense’s strategy avoids cross-examining victims’ families, focusing instead on challenging the reliability of decades-old DNA and fingerprint evidence.

The Tylenol prop illustrates the core question: in a thirty-year-old case with tangled evidence and a defendant who once existed as another person, can the jury reach beyond reasonable doubt?

Donna Perry’s demeanor—passive, silent, head down—leaves observers uncertain whether she is a helpless woman or a master manipulator, echoing Norman Bates in the final scene of Psycho.

Gorden Lucas’s testimony humanized the gritty reality of life on Spokane’s streets, showing a relationship built on survival and love, not just crime.

Lucas’s criminal past and eventual reform underscored the long, messy aftermath of Nickie Lowe’s murder, including his own desire for vigilante justice.

Physical evidence—fingerprints on a tube of lubricating jelly—directly tied Donna Perry to one of the victims.

The fear that gripped the women before their deaths suggests they sensed a threat they couldn’t articulate.

Yolanda Sapp’s family wrestles with a double tragedy: the loss of a mother and the public erasure of her full, complex identity.

Mariah Low’s DNA testimony, revealing the cold hit linking Donna Perry to the murder of Kathy Brisbois, stands as the most damning evidence for the prosecution.

The accidental destruction of critical evidence from the Yolanda Sapp case in 1999 creates a vulnerability in the state’s case, but does not derail the investigation entirely.

Retired Detective Jim Hansen’s testimony highlights a central tension of the trial: the challenge of convincing a jury that the person on trial is the same killer from decades earlier, despite a gender transition he views as a deliberate evasion.

The jury learned directly that Perry earned money for firearms by working as a prostitute in female attire, and that he underwent sex reassignment surgery in 2000.

A sex worker’s chilling testimony painted Perry as a predator who lured vulnerable women into a house full of weapons and gave the jury an emotional anchor for the danger he posed.

Ballistics evidence connected the bullets from two victims but could not definitively link them to any specific gun in Perry’s possession, leaving room for defense arguments.

The Massengale brothers emerged as key background figures, with their reluctance to say “prostitute” raising suspicions among investigators.

Throughout, the prosecution methodically built a mosaic of Perry’s life—guns, violence, gender identity, and a pattern of intimidation on the streets of Spokane.

Social worker Danielle Arndt’s report captured Perry’s dismissive attitude toward victims but was undermined by a quotation‑mark error that Whitaker exploited.

Burbridge and Whitaker sparred over the ethics of interrogation versus interview, with Burbridge insisting he confronts lies when he has evidence—not because he presumes guilt.

Dresback’s final testimony set the stage for the video, revealing Perry’s central claim: that her sex‑change operation “stopped the violence cold,” framing Donna as the cure for Douglas’s murderous impulses.

Dr. Howard’s testimony presented each victim’s injuries in clinical detail, emphasizing the brutality without emotional language.

Yolanda Sapp suffered three through-and-through gunshot wounds from a small-caliber weapon.

Nickie Lowe was shot once, then dragged after her shirt was pulled up; a bullet was recovered from her spine.

Kathy Brisbois endured at least eight blunt-force head blows and three gunshot wounds, two of which were fired from less than an inch away.

All three women had Caesarean scars; Yolanda also had a tubal ligation.

Defense chose not to cross-examine the medical examiner, a telling silence.

Memory loss from stroke made Bruce Massengale a shaky witness; he recalled buying a gun once but couldn't account for multiple purchases in his name.

Mark Massengale similarly couldn't remember buying the Ruger 10/22 found at Perry's home, offering no help to the prosecution.

Clairann Gallaway is remembered as troubled, frequently arrested, and bailed out by Perry—painting a picture of control and dependence.

Chero Everson's terror is visceral and real; she must overcome profound fear to testify, knowing Donna's acquittal could mean her own death.

Chero Everson’s testimony introduced the jury to a startling narrative: Donna Perry as a self-confessed serial killer who used gender transition as a tactical disguise.

She consistently used male pronouns, insisting that Donna “became a woman” only to slip under law enforcement’s radar as a harmless elderly woman.

The defense, through Bryan Whitaker, attempted to undermine Chero by highlighting the absurdity of believing she was being recruited as an assassin. Chero responded that her only “skill set” was being a good listener—and having mental illness.

The testimony gave the jury a direct window into the defendant’s alleged mindset: no remorse, comparisons to a fictional cannibalistic killer, and a willingness to kill with everything from a firearm to a filed-down saw blade.

Donna Perry’s own words—from the flight from Texas and from years‑old conversations—reveal a person who understood her history of violence and expressed little remorse.

The prosecution’s forensic psychologist concluded she was malingering, feigning mental illness and cognitive deficits to avoid prison, and that she did not have a serious psychotic disorder.

Charlotte Schell’s testimony about “gelding a horse,” shooting neighbors, and prison being “not that bad” makes Donna’s state of mind before the murders starkly clear.

The chapter leaves no doubt: the defense’s hope of an insanity or diminished‑capacity verdict faces powerful counter‑evidence from experts and from Donna’s own recorded statements.

The DNA evidence linking Donna Perry to Kathy Brisbois’s murder was presented with staggering statistical certainty—1 in 790 sextillion—and the scientist testified without hesitation.

Additional DNA connections to Yolanda’s blanket and the panties in Perry’s closet strengthened the state’s case, even if some associations were weaker.

Defense attempts to undermine the lab’s credibility through contamination reports had limited impact; the lead scientist maintained that quality incidents were rare.

The fate of the 1994 Ruger 10/22 rifle remained a mystery, but a newer rifle was ruled out as the murder weapon.

The defense rested without calling any witnesses, staking everything on the jury finding reasonable doubt in the prosecution’s case.

The prosecution successfully humanized the victims, arguing that their identities as prostitutes shouldn't diminish the value of their lives

Physical evidence—DNA, fingerprints, and ballistic matches—proved more compelling than Perry's denials

The defense's alternative theories about community involvement and Clairann Gallaway as a DNA carrier failed to create reasonable doubt

The jury reached guilty verdicts on all three counts of first-degree murder within two days of deliberation

The verdict offered some measure of closure for the victims' families, particularly Kathy Brisbois's daughter Kaishea, who could finally speak for her mother

The sentencing hearing became a platform for survivors to voice decades of pain, with many refusing to acknowledge Donna Perry's gender identity and instead focusing on the harm she caused.

The impact on families was profound and lasting: daughters grew up without memories of their mothers, siblings lost their joy, and the ripple effects destroyed relationships and left permanent scars.

Judge Price's lengthy statement humanized the victims and condemned the murders as acts of pure cruelty, offering a rare glimpse into a judge's personal reflection on the case.

The final sentence—three consecutive life terms without parole—was mandated by law, but the judge made clear it was the only fitting outcome for a killer who murdered for sport.

Donna Perry remains isolated in prison, refusing contact and showing no remorse; her manipulative behavior (forged letter) continued behind bars.

Key figures in the case have died or retired: Chero Everson and Clairann Gallaway passed away; the detectives now enjoy quiet lives with family.

The author handled the transgender aspect with care, emphasizing that gender identity was not the motive for the murders.

Perry’s legal defense—that transitioning made her a different person not responsible for Douglas’s crimes—fails on multiple fronts: punishment, aggression reduction, and personhood continuity.

The case remains philosophically intriguing but ultimately driven by the same petty motivations that fueled Douglas Perry’s killings.