Backstory: Glenn Flothe Needs to Find Cindy

The lost part of Cindy Paulson needed someone to find her. She’d told Robert Hansen she wanted to go home to her mother. Even when she did, it seldom lasted long. There were other “caretakers” in her life, though she was hardpressed to depend on them. Always it came down to her coming back to what she knew. Or thought she knew.


On September 27, 1983, affiant interviewed Cindy Paulson, who informed him that:

Paulson, who on the date of the incident was 17 years of age, was working as a prostitute in Anchorage (June 1983).

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Cindy Paulson

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Source: Affidavit for Search Warrant of Robert Hansen’s Property, Sgt. Glenn Flothe, Alaska State Troopers


“Word had it that a vice cop named Gentile was the man Flothe should talk to [about Cindy Paulson]. The sergeant found him in the heart of the city’s red light district: a collection of seedy taverns, pawnshops and topless bars sandwiched between the Alaska Railroad right-of-way and the “respectable” hotels up on Fifth Avenue. It was a zone where a person could buy drugs, proposition women, and get stinking drunk.

“So, you want me to help you find this girl, huh?” Gentile asked as they walked. “What’d you say her name was?”

“Paulson. Cindy Paulson.” They stepped around a group of native men drunkenly arguing about which bar to go to next. Flothe could already tell that Gentile knew this world; he moved through it with elan…

“Two days later, Gentile called Flothe back. “I found Cindy,” he said. “She’s in a massage parlor right here in town. She’s back.”

“Great.”

“Not only that,” Gentile said. “I even know her. You know her as Cindy Paulson, right? And I know her as Stacy Lee Regan. Small world, ain’t it?”

“You think she’ll let me talk to her?”

“She better. She owes me a favor.”

“The first meeting was in one of those hotels where the plaster is cracked and rust-stained from leaking steam radiators. It looked like big pools of tea were on the ceiling, and the hallways smelled of drugs and stale semen. It was the kind of place where the desk clerk raised a momentary eyebrow and then forgot about you.

“Gentile arranged for a room and the three had coffee. Gentile did most of the talking.”

Excerpt From: Walter Gilmour & Leland E. Hale. “Butcher, Baker.”


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