LAS VEGAS, NV - Katie Callaway-Hall fights off the dark memories successfully most days. A brutal night of rape and torture more than 30 years ago was tough to overcome but the knowledge her attacker would offend again is what haunted her long after her ordeal with Phillip Garrido.
Callaway-Hall had sent him to prison with her testimony in 1977. She had met other women he had attacked and had the assurance from the federal parole board that she would be contacted when he was released. She wasn't.
As she worked at a roulette table in South Lake Tahoe one November day in 1988, Phillip Garrido walked up to her and simply said, "Hi Katie." Callaway-Hall said there was confusion, then, like tumblers rolling into place, recognition.
"It was clicking and clicking," she said. "Second by second as I stood there with him, the voice and the hands and everything about him suddenly came into focus."
Callaway-Hall said Garrido started quizzing her about her job, how long she had lived in Tahoe and finally sat at the table and ordered a drink.
"He looked at me and said, 'I haven't had a cocktail in 11 years Katie.' At that point I just wanted to scream," she recalled.
Garrido slipped out a side door before Callaway-Hall could alert security. He was on his first weekend pass of a stay at an Oakland halfway house.
"He was supposed to use that pass to go to Antioch and be with his wife and mother," said Callaway-Hall. "Instead he used it to hunt me down in Tahoe."
Callaway-Hall then used a roll of quarters to start making phone calls to authorities in Nevada near the federal prison where Garrido had been housed. Those calls led her to a federal parole agent in Oakland. She made an appointment to meet him and prayed he would tell her Garrido was rehabilitated and no longer a threat.
"I couldn't believe when they said yes, he's going to do it again," said Callaway-Hall. "He is a 'sick puppy,' their words, 'but we don't think he's going to come after you.' I walked out of that federal parole office in Oakland thinking, 'Oh my God. I'm scared to death. Now who do I tell? Who do I tell and what do I do?' What I did is quit my job and move."
A move to Patterson and a new career as a real estate agent didn't set her mind at ease for very long. Callaway-Hall's real estate office started getting regular calls from a woman who would probe her co-workers for personal information on Katie.
"She would ask for me then hang up when tranferred to my phone. If I wasn't there, she would ask my co-workers how long I had worked there and where I lived," Callaway-Hall said.
Callaway-Hall believes it was Garrido's wife Nancy Garrido on the other side of those calls.
"After about three years, the phone calls stopped," Callaway-Hall said. "Looking back now, that's when they got Jaycee."
Callaway-Hall said she didn't hear Garrido's name again until the news conference detailing the discovery and rescue of Jaycee Dugard.
"I kept saying to my husband, 'I knew. I knew he would do this to someone someday.' I can only describe the feeling as just missing a fatal accident and you pull over and start shaking. I didn't stop shaking for three days," she remembered.
Through the trial and sentencing of the Garridos, Callaway-Hall made it a point to be at every hearing.
"I wanted to represent every girl Garrido had ever attacked and wanted to offer any information I could to help the prosecution."
Callaway-Hall said she recently found out through a third source about notes taken during her 1988 visit to a federal parole officer that imply they did not take her concern seriously. News10 has filed a Freedom of Information Act Request for those notes but at the time of this article, the request had not been processed.
As for Dugard, Callaway-Hall said "I would love to meet her someday. I think she is a terrifically strong person and I'm glad she has good family support and got the therapy and help right away."
The Dugard case prompted Callaway-Hall to seek treatment for her trauma.
"There really was no therapeutic protocol for rape victims in the late 1970s. No one told you about the nightmares, the anxiety attacks and the depression," she said.
Therapy now is helping Callaway-Hall put her attack in perspective as she explores new ways to help reform the parole system.