Washed It!

One night a few years back, a California communications executive named Deborah Bowker was worried about her husband, who was sick and hospitalized. An old friend told her she shouldn’t be alone, that she should come over and stay the night.

The guest bedroom at the friend’s house was used most often by grandchildren, and contained two tiny beds. That night, Bowker was crying herself to sleep in one of them when the door cracked open. Without a word, Carly Fiorina padded across the room and crawled into the other bed.

Bowker and Fiorina have been close friends since they went to MIT together, and little changed for 20 years — until Fiorina decided to run for the U.S. Senate, with Bowker as her chief of staff.

That fretful night doesn’t seem like a big deal now. Bowker’s husband recovered, and Fiorina might not even remember it, Bowker said with a laugh. Bowker said she hadn’t told the story before and wasn’t sure why she was telling it now — except that she hardly recognizes Fiorina in the image that’s been created through the veneer of politics.

Those closest to Fiorina, 56, describe her as loyal and fun-loving, witty and bright. But they are well aware of the other image — of a pompous diva, aligned with the most strident factions of her Republican Party, pampered by a golden parachute after being fired from her high-profile job.

Fiorina the candidate hasn’t always helped matters. Her tone on the stump can be caustic. At one point in her dogged campaign against the Democratic incumbent, Sen. Barbara Boxer, an open microphone caught her belittling Boxer’s hair as “so yesterday.”

In a sneering attempt to connect with a “tea party” crowd near Fresno recently, she referred to San Francisco — the center of the metropolitan area where she spent nearly half of her life, the city just up the road from her 5,400-square-foot Los Altos Hills estate — as “that faraway world.”

And her critics tend to roll their eyes when Fiorina — who was raised on opera and French lessons, was the daughter of a powerful judge and has a sterling academic pedigree — pitches herself as a kind of Horatio Alger. Her journey, she said at one recent campaign event, was “only possible in the United States of America.”

Getting to know the person friends call “the real Carly,” meanwhile, can be a confounding task. Stung by several episodes in her life, including the unraveling of her first marriage and the brouhaha surrounding her firing from Hewlett-Packard, where she was chief executive, president and chairman, she is private and guarded.

Fiorina’s work ethic is legendary, and her discipline is one reason Boxer — a lioness of the left seeking her fourth Senate term — is in arguably the toughest race of her career. But Fiorina can be so on-message that she comes across as a machine.

During a recent heat wave, Fiorina met with business leaders in a sweltering City of Industry warehouse. A visitor joked that the record heat might cause her to rethink her position on global warming. Fiorina was not amused, launching instantly into her talking points about climate change — contending that she reserved the right to “challenge the science.”

On the campaign trail, it can be difficult to envision the Fiorina who could often be found dancing with the interns and the secretaries at the end of corporate parties, long after the other executives were gone. Or the woman who, on a recent boat trip, suddenly disappeared; she had jumped off the stern and hauled herself onto a tiny raft with her step-granddaughters.

Friends say she’s a fair cook and has a nice touch on the piano. She was raised Episcopalian but is not a regular churchgoer. She does Jane Fonda-style aerobics, whether she’s home or on the road.

She reads policy briefs on her iPad but reads books the old-fashioned way. She’s a voracious shopper, said one friend of 20 years, and gave one Hong Kong jeweler enough business that he put her picture in the window. She has at her disposal a household net worth estimated as high as $121 million and yachts on both coasts, and will be one of the wealthiest members of Congress if she wins.

She and her husband, Frank Fiorina, a former AT&T executive with blue-collar roots in Pittsburgh, have been married for 25 years. It is a second marriage for both; she calls him a “hunk” with some frequency.

Last fall, she threw him a sock-hop-themed 60th birthday party, tracking down friends he hadn’t seen in 30 years. Fiorina was stylish as ever, said an old friend, Kathy Fitzgerald, in a black dress and textured stockings — and, since she was being treated for breast cancer, bald.

Cara Carleton Sneed was born in Austin, Texas. Her mother, a talented oil painter, was a refugee from a troubled childhood in Ohio. Her father, Joseph Tyree Sneed III, was a University of Texas law professor whose ambition in academia meant that she was perpetually “the new kid,” she wrote in her autobiography, as the family moved repeatedly.

In 1969, while teenagers across America experimented with a new counterculture, Fiorina was in Ghana, where her father was teaching students about the country’s new constitution.

Fiorina’s father soon joined the Stanford law faculty, and she graduated from Stanford with a degree in philosophy and medieval history — which, she jokes, rendered her unemployable. She bounced from job to job, working as a typist, a temp, a receptionist. In 1980, she signed on as a management trainee with AT&T.

Fiorina presents a sharp contrast in images

The new Assembly speaker’s promise was unequivocal: Decisions about how billions upon billions of California taxpayer dollars are spent would no longer be made in private meetings or in the middle of the night.

“The budget will not be written behind closed doors,” Speaker John P

The woman identified as the leader of a small religious group was being held for questioning after a 22-hour search sparked by fears of a suicide pact, officials said.

Reyna Marisol Chicas, 32, who has been identified by family members as the leader of the group, initially gave authorities a different name when approached by Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputies in a park east of Palmdale, authorities said.

Sheriff’s Department spokesman Steve Whitmore called Chicas “disingenuous” about her identity.

The other 12 members of the group, including Chicas’ children, voluntarily agreed to be transferred to the Palmdale sheriff’s station, Whitmore said.

The group was found around noon at Jackie Robinson Park, east of Palmdale, sitting on blankets laid out on a lush green lawn in the shade of a pine tree. A resident who had seen news reports on the missing group spotted them at the park and called the Sheriff’s Department about 11:30 a.m.

When deputies arrived at the park, Chicas was playing with some of the children on the swings, while the others sat on blankets praying, said Capt. Mike Parker. “They seemed shocked,” Parker said. “They said we are Christians, and we would never harm ourselves.”

When deputies told them that notes and gathered personal belongings they left behind had made relatives suspect otherwise, they reponded by saying, “It’s sinful to have [worldly possessions] when you’re praying because they bring evil,” Parker said.

The group had spent the night at the home of Chicas’ friend, he said.

Parker said the department devoted “a huge amount of time” to the manhunt.

“Could these people benefit from better communication with their family? Certainly.” Parker said.

Family members reported the group missing at about 2 p.m. Saturday, after finding they had left behind farewell notes, mortgage statements, cash and cellphones in a purse. The group was known for previous forays into desert and mountain areas, apparently related to belief in an imminent biblical “rapture,” when believers would be transported to heaven.

Whitmore promised extensive follow-up on the case, saying the county Department of Children and Family Services would be involved.

The letters left by the group have been reviewed again, and they read like “a will and testament,” he said.

They were addressed to parents and other loved ones and included phrases like “Please take care of, Don’t worry, Here’s some cash,” he said.

Two of the letters written by two 14-year-olds were identical, which Whitmore said may indicate they were coached.

Ricardo Giron, a former neighbor of Chicas’, said he was relieved, and not very surprised, to hear the group was safe.

“She’s always very careful with her kids,” he said. “I couldn’t believe she would hurt them.”

Chicas used to baby-sit Giron’s children, and their families vacationed together, he said. However, she had recently severed social ties with him as she grew increasingly religious and began spending more time at church, he added.

No criminal charges were pending against Chicas, Whitmore said, but she will be subject to psychological evaluation before she is released.

Whitmore said the Sheriff’s Department response, which included helicopters and volunteers on horseback, was warranted given the presence of children in the group.
Religious group’s alleged leader held after search linked to mass-suicide fears ends

The young man, wearing an orange prison jumpsuit and shackled at the waist, was poised on the witness stand, politely addressing attorneys as “sir” and “ma’am” as he matter-of-factly described the night he and other gang members took turns stabbing a suspected snitch 80 times in a cramped, cluttered garage.

“He didn’t scream or nothing,” testified Jose Covarrubias, now 24, describing how he plunged a folding blade hard into 21-year-old Christopher Ash’s stomach four or five times as he lay dying on his back.

The testimony of the 204th Street gang member with a youthful face and buzz cut, also known as “Chano” or “Criminal,” is at the center of a case on which a Los Angeles jury will resume deliberations Wednesday. Covarrubias’ testimony in the high-profile hate crime trial, should the jury choose to believe it, ties the gang to Ash’s death and to the slaying of a black 14-year-old girl, which authorities say was motivated by the Latino gang’s racial hatred.

Covarrubias, who took the stand last month in exchange for a lighter sentence and escaping the death penalty, offered the jury a firsthand look into the inner workings of a powerful Latino street gang prosecutors said used fear and intimidation to reign over the sliver of Los Angeles known as the Harbor Gateway.

Part of that reign, Covarrubias’ testimony showed, was an unsparing willingness to turn on the gang’s own members when the occasion arose.

Gang members suspected Ash of talking to police about the killing of Cheryl Green two weeks earlier. His body was found on the side of a road in Carson. Autopsy photos showed numerous gashes in his stomach.

Cheryl was shot and killed in December 2006 while hanging out with friends in broad daylight because of her skin color, prosecutors allege. Jonathan Fajardo, 22, has admitted to the shooting in a police interview; his defense attorney disputes that the killing was motivated by race.

“Basically, we’re against all black people,” Covarrubias said of the gang.

Fajardo faces the death penalty if convicted of Cheryl’s and Ash’s killings. A second defendant, Daniel Aguilar, 23, is charged with Ash’s murder for luring him to the garage and partaking in the beating and clean-up.

Because of his cooperation, Covarrubias will be allowed to plead to voluntary manslaughter and receive a 22-year prison term.

When police served a search warrant on Ash’s apartment in the days after Green’s death, the gang grew suspicious, Covarrubias said in his two-day testimony.

A week later, older gang members grilled the younger ones about whether anyone was snitching. Covarrubias testified that he, Aguilar and Ash were all under suspicion. Some mentioned that Ash may be keeping a journal about the gang’s activities, and his fate was quickly sealed. It was agreed that Aguilar, Ash’s best friend, would take him to the garage, Covarrubias testified.

An old-timer known as Raccoon, one of the gang’s leaders, allegedly pulled Covarrubias aside.

“He just told me if I was either with — with them or against them, if I was down for it. And I told him, ‘Yeah,’ ” he testified. “I had no other choice.”

After he stabbed Ash, Covarrubias said, he was overcome by the blood and smell and threw up, dropping the knife. Another gang member grabbed the knife and continued stabbing, he said

As Ash lay still on the floor, Aguilar, who had been watching, kicked him in the legs, Covarrubias said.

The body was rolled up in a blanket and tarp, then loaded onto the back of a van. Everyone worked quietly and methodically, helping with the cleanup, at first hosing down the garage, then turning to paint thinner to scrub the floor when bloody water started running down the sidewalk.

In cross-examination, defense attorneys pointed to what they said were inconsistencies between Covarrubias’ testimony and earlier statements to the police. He admitted under defense questioning that he was under the influence of methamphetamine the night of the killing.

Aguilar’s defense attorney, Antonio Bestard, attacked Covarrubias’ credibility, pointing out that he had been dating Ash’s sister at the time of his killing.

“You participated in the murder of your girlfriend’s brother, right?” Bestard questioned. “And right after that, you would go and then crawl into bed with her, right?”

A violent death retold

Reporting from Seoul and Zamboanga City, Philippines — In a desperate act to regain his job, a disgruntled ex-police officer on Monday hijacked a busload of Hong Kong tourists in Manila, prompting a 12-hour drama that ended with seven captives and the suspect being killed, authorities said.

Much of the episode played out in the pouring rain as authorities surrounded the bus, a maneuver that snarled traffic.

In the end, the gunman, former police Capt. Rolando Mendoza, was killed by a sniper shot to the head and body near the front door of the bus where he staked out a last-stand battle with 30 police commandos, who moved in with tear gas and flash bombs. He injured one sniper before his death, police said.

“The hostage-taker was killed. He chose to shoot it out with our men,” police Col. Nelson Yabut told reporters. “On our first assault, Capt. Mendoza was sprawled in the middle of the aisle and shot one of our operatives. On our second assault we killed him.”

Police said they stormed the vehicle when Mendoza opened fire on the hostages. Several captives were seen crawling out the back door of the bus during the gunfight.

As the standoff came to an end, police vehicles and ambulances converged on the tourist bus. Seven hostages were confirmed dead, one hostage was hospitalized in critical condition, and five others were unharmed. The condition of two other hostages was unknown late Monday.

The standoff began earlier in the day when Mendoza, a 55-year-old dismissed police officer, seized the bus armed with a M16 rifle, demanding to be reinstated on the force.

Mendoza was among five officers charged with robbery and extortion after a Manila hotel chef filed a complaint alleging the policemen falsely accused him of using drugs to extort money, according to 2008 newspaper reports.

The gunman released nine hostages in the afternoon, denying the allegations against him. In a live interview with a local radio station, Mendoza threatened to kill the remaining 15 captives unless he got his job back.

“I can see there are many SWAT teams arriving, they are all around,” Mendoza said in Tagalog. “I know they will kill me, I’m telling them to leave because anytime I will do the same here.”

As night closed in, negotiators lost hope of a peaceful conclusion to the standoff. Finally, police said, commandoes stormed the bus after they saw Mendoza open fire on the hostages as the bus driver jumped out a window, fleeing in panic.

Earlier in the night, policemen arrested a brother of the hostage-taker, Gregorio Mendoza. He had reportedly been dispatched to convince the suspect to surrender but was later accused of instigating his brother, according to Director Leocadio Santiago, chief of police forces in the National Capital Region.

The arrest of Mendoza’s older brother may have prompted the gunman to shoot the hostages, police say. Moments after the brother’s arrest, several shots rang inside the bus.

“His problem was he was unjustly removed from service. There was no due process, no hearing, no complaint,” Gregorio Mendoza told reporters as he was surrounded by police.

A handwritten message was left stuck to the bus door. “Big mistake to correct,” it read, “a big wrong decision.”

Later, Hong Kong Chief Executive Donald Tsang criticized Philippine authorities for mishandling of the siege, whose violent last moments were broadcast on live television.

john.glionna@latimes.com

Times staff writer Glionna reported from Seoul and special correspondent Jacinto from Zamboanga City.
7 hostages killed in Manila bus hijacking

Authorities said eight people were killed and 10 injured when a driver racing in the California 200 desert race in Lucerne Valley lost control of his off-roader, which went airborne and landed on top of spectators. The driver, who was uninjured, and seven of the eight people killed were identified Sunday by officials.

The driver “got airborne and, when he landed, rolled over straight into the spectators,” said Officer Joaquin Zubieta of the California Highway Patrol, the agency investigating the deadly crash. “People didn’t have much of a chance … to get out of the way.”

Six spectators died at the scene. Nine others were airlifted to local hospitals, two of whom died later in the evening, Zubieta said. Of those hurt, five sustained major injuries and five had minor injuries, officials said. Brett M. Sloppy, of San Marcos, was the driver of the truck, according to Zubieta.