The truck driver who told police he was just a harmless long-haul hauler had a secret compartment behind his cab, a torture chamber outfitted with chains, handcuffs, needles, and restraints, and when authorities finally pried open that door in the pre-dawn darkness of April 1, 1990, they found a naked woman chained to the wall, screaming for her life. That moment ended the road career of Robert Benjamin Rhoades, a man the FBI now believes may be one of the most prolific serial killers in American history, a predator who prowled the nation’s highways for more than 15 years and who is suspected in the murders of up to 50 women.
The Arizona Highway Patrol officer who approached the idling rig just outside Casa Grande had only intended to check on a stranded motorist. The truck’s hazard lights were blinking in the pitch black of the early morning, and the officer thought nothing more than to ensure the driver was safe. But as he stepped onto the runner and peered through the cabin window, he was met with a sight that would haunt him: a woman, completely naked, shackled to the interior wall of the sleeper area, her eyes wide with terror as she screamed for help.
The officer drew his weapon, ordered the driver out, and placed Robert Ben Rhoades under arrest without incident.
The woman, identified only as Katie Ford to protect her identity, told investigators she had been held captive in the truck for days, subjected to unimaginable 𝓪𝓫𝓾𝓼𝓮 at the hands of the man who called himself Dusty. She told police that during her ordeal, Rhoades bragged that he had been doing this for 15 years. At the time, authorities had no idea how true that statement was.
Rhoades dismissed his captive as a “lot lizard,” a truck stop 𝒔𝒆𝒙 worker, claiming their encounter was consensual and simply went too far. But the evidence told a different story.
When investigators searched the truck, they found a camera hidden in the back of the cabin. Inside was a roll of film that would crack the case wide open. The developed photographs showed women in varying states of distress, dozens of them, images so disturbing that most have never been released to the public.
Those photographs would eventually be matched to missing persons cases and unidentified bodies across the United States, turning a local kidnapping case into a nationwide manhunt for answers. Among those photos was the image of a young girl with short-cropped hair, a picture that would become infamous: Regina Kay Walters.
Regina Walters was just 14 years old when she vanished from Pasadena, Texas, a working-class suburb southeast of Houston. She was the youngest of three children, a girl who dreamed of escaping the industrial haze of her hometown and seeing the world. Her family had been shattered years earlier when her older sister Diana died by suicide at just 12 years old, leaving behind a tape recording that ended with the words “I hate you forever.”
Regina wanted out, and she thought she had found her ticket in 18-year-old Ricky Jones, a quiet, soft-spoken young man who was equally desperate to leave.
On February 3, 1990, Regina and Ricky packed their bags and slipped away into the night. Ricky was on probation for theft, so leaving Texas was a violation of his terms, but the young couple didn’t care. They were in love, and they were going to start a new life together somewhere, anywhere, far from Pasadena.
They had no car, so they walked to the highway and stuck out their thumbs. A truck driver pulled over, a middle-aged man with glasses and neatly pressed clothes who introduced himself as Dusty. He seemed harmless, clean-cut, even fatherly.
They climbed in, grateful for the ride.
They had no idea they had just climbed into a mobile torture chamber. Rhoades drove for about four hours north from Pasadena before pulling over. He ordered the young couple out of the truck at gunpoint, marched them into a remote area, and shot Ricky Jones in the head.
Ricky’s body was found in May 1990 outside of Harlton, Texas, but he remained unidentified for more than two years. Rhoades kept Regina alive, holding her captive for over a month, the longest he would keep any victim. He cut her hair short, just as he had done to others, a twisted trophy of his control.
Regina was spotted by other truckers in Chicago during her captivity, though no one knew who she was. Some witnesses later said they thought she was a boy because her hair had been cut so short. She was seen standing outside the truck alone, but she did not run.
The psychological grip Rhoades had on his victims was so complete that even when given the chance to escape, they were paralyzed by fear of what he would do if they were caught. Eventually, Rhoades took Regina to an abandoned barn outside Greenville, Illinois, where he murdered her and left her body in the loft.
Before killing her, Rhoades took photographs of Regina in the barn, images that would later become some of the most haunting evidence in the case. Then he began calling her parents. Jerry Walters, Regina’s father, had an unlisted phone number, so when a stranger called asking for him by name, he was immediately alarmed.
The man on the other end said he knew where Regina was. Jerry’s heart leapt. Then the man said, “I cut her hair.
She’s got short hair now. I left her in a barn loft.” Jerry asked if his daughter was still alive.
The line went dead.
The calls continued for weeks, sometimes traced to Oklahoma City, sometimes to Illinois, sometimes to locations just blocks from the Walters family home. The caller would shout nonsense, try to arrange meetings at convenience stores, and make sexually explicit comments. Police equipped both of Regina’s parents with recording devices, but the caller was elusive, never staying on the line long enough to be traced.
After about two weeks, the calls abruptly stopped. For investigators, the calls were a cruel mystery, possibly a prankster. But the caller was Rhoades, and he had gotten Jerry’s unlisted number from Regina’s own diary, which he had taken from her before killing her.
Rhoades was born in November 1945 in Council Bluffs, Iowa, a city across the Missouri River from Omaha. His father, Ben Rhoades, was a decorated Army veteran and a firefighter, a respected man in the community. But behind closed doors, Ben was violently abusive.
When Robert was 18, his father was arrested for sexually assaulting a 12-year-old girl. After posting bail, he was arrested again for the same crime. Before he could face trial, Ben Rhoades shot himself in the head.
The suicide of his hero, who was revealed to be a monster, broke something inside Robert.
Rhoades joined the Marines, following in his father’s footsteps, but was dishonorably discharged after three years when he was caught red-handed during a robbery. He bounced from job to job, married and divorced multiple times, and drifted through life with a growing appetite for violence. He discovered BDSM in Houston in the 1970s but rejected the consensual nature of the lifestyle.
He wanted to inflict pain, not negotiate it. His third wife, Deborah Davis, described him as charming and intelligent but also cunning and abusive. He forced her into the swinger lifestyle and once brought a man home claiming he was a “𝒔𝒆𝒙 slave” for her.
By the late 1980s, Rhoades had found his true calling as a long-haul truck driver. The open road gave him access to victims and the perfect cover to disappear. He would pick up hitchhikers and 𝒔𝒆𝒙 workers at truck stops, charm them with his clean appearance and easy conversation, then turn on them when they reached a desolate stretch of highway.
His victims included Patricia “Candi” Walsh, 24, and her husband Douglas Zasowski, 26, newlyweds from Seattle who were hitchhiking to a religious workshop in Georgia in November 1989. Rhoades shot Douglas in the head in the woods, then kept Candi for over a week before executing her in Utah.
Another victim was 18-year-old Shanna Holtz, from California, who was looking for a ride to Fort Smith, Arkansas. Rhoades told her he was heading to Texas, close enough, and she climbed in. He immediately shackled her spread-eagle in the back of the cabin.
He kept her for two weeks, torturing her repeatedly, turning up the radio to drown out her screams. He inserted a horse bridle into her mouth to silence her. He cut her hair short.
But one time, he failed to secure the handcuffs tightly enough, and Shanna escaped, running naked and screaming toward the highway, flagging down a passing car.
Shanna was taken to police and gave a detailed description of her captor, the truck, and the company he worked for. Police identified Rhoades and brought him in for a lineup. Shanna looked at each man and said he wasn’t there.
She lied. She was terrified that if she identified him and he ever got out, he would 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁 her. Police knew Rhoades was the man, but without her identification, they had to let him go.
They noted every detail about him, certain they would hear from him again. They were right.
After his arrest in Arizona for Katie Ford’s kidnapping, Rhoades took a plea deal and received six years in prison. But the photographs found in his truck were being matched to missing persons cases across the country. In September 1990, a farmer outside Greenville, Illinois, was preparing to have an old barn burned down.
He went inside to check for anything left behind and climbed to the loft. In the corner, he found a nearly skeletal figure. It was Regina Walters.
Dental records matched. The investigation into Rhoades expanded, and he was indicted for Regina’s murder as he approached parole eligibility.
His trucking logs placed him in the same locations as the phone calls made to Regina’s parents. Knowing the evidence against him was overwhelming, Rhoades took a plea deal in 1992, accepting a life sentence in exchange for avoiding the death penalty. In the early 2000s, a detective matched bullet fragments found in the bodies of Candi Walsh and Douglas Zasowski to bullets found in Rhoades’s cabin.
He was charged with their murders and again took a plea deal, receiving two additional life sentences. He has never been charged with Ricky Jones’s murder, though investigators believe Rhoades killed him. There simply was not enough evidence to prove it.
The FBI believes Rhoades may have killed up to 50 women during his years on the road, and his truck logs place him in areas with up to 50 unsolved murders between 1987 and 1990 alone. He told Katie Ford he had been killing since the mid-1970s. At his peak, the FBI says, he was killing up to three women a month.
He is considered the quintessential highway serial killer, a predator who exploited the seams along the edges of society, striking at victims who would not be missed, then disappearing into the endless traffic of the American interstate system.
The case has cast a long shadow over the trucking industry and law enforcement. The FBI has created a Highway Serial Killings Initiative to tackle the problem, and former FBI agent Frank Figliuzzi recently released a book titled “Long Haul: Hunting the Highway Serial Killers,” in which he states the FBI has a list of 850 unsolved murders believed to have been committed by truckers. The suspects currently number around 450.
Robert Ben Rhoades remains in prison, serving multiple life sentences, one of the most prolific and terrifying killers in American history, a monster who turned the open road into a hunting ground.
