I recently received a call from the last known victim of Hulbert. At the time of her attack, she had her two very small children in the car with her when Hulbert approached her in a mall parking lot. He told her that one of her tires was flat—his ruse—before pulling a gun and shoving it into her face, demanding she get back into the car.
He pressed the weapon into her side, trying to force her to move over to the passenger seat. She calmly told him she couldn’t because the child seat was permanently attached. (It wasn’t, but this quick thinking likely saved her life.)
In a remarkable act of self-preservation, she pretended to faint. Hulbert would have had to physically remove her from the vehicle and then deal with removing her children—an effort that likely felt too risky. The delay caused him to flee. Her brave and resourceful actions saved her from being raped, and possibly murdered.
She and her young son both later identified Hulbert from a photo lineup and a composite sketch done by another victim, Banderas. Investigators also found Hulbert’s fingerprints on the interior of her vehicle. She bravely testified in court and, while there, met the parents of Hulbert’s victim from West Covina.
When we spoke, she shared something chilling—she hadn’t known that Hulbert had died by suicide in prison. She had lived for decades fearing he might one day return. The trauma stayed with her. Even now, she won’t walk to her car alone at night from a grocery store unless a store manager watches her from the entrance until she’s safely inside her vehicle.
Her story is a powerful reminder of how long-lasting the effects of violent crime can be—and of the courage it takes to survive and speak out.
Lee DeVore True Crime 