Crime + investigation
The 23-year-old waitress graduated from the University of California at Irvine with a degree in social sciences one year before disappearing in June 1991, according to her parents.
Courtesy of Dennis HuberDenise Huber had just watched Morrissey perform at the Great Western Forum in Inglewood, Calif., when her tire blew out on her way home during the early morning hours of June 3, 1991.
The 23-year-old waitress managed to flash her hazards and pull her Honda Accord over to the shoulder of southbound SR-73 on her way to the picturesque Newport Beach, Calif., home she shared with her parents.
What happened next was a living nightmare.
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When Dennis and Ione Huber woke up that same morning, they expected their daughter Denise to be in her bedroom, but she wasn’t.
Assuming she had spent the night at a friend’s house, the Hubers went about their days and went to work. Still, when they came home, there was no sign of Denise.
“Something was wrong,” Ione, now 83, tells A&E Crime + Investigation.
The gut feeling urged her to call Denise’s friends, including one who managed to track down her abandoned Honda on the side of the freeway.
“I broke all speed limits going to her car,” Dennis, now 87, recalls.
Police also responded to the area.
It was obvious Denise had been abducted.
“We found her shoes at the scene, and the high heels on the shoes had been dragged raw, so we knew he [the perpetrator] was dragging her,” Dave Snowden, former chief of police for the Costa Mesa Police Department, tells A&E Crime + Investigation.
The Hubers dedicated the next three years of their lives to searching for their daughter, plastering missing persons' posters all over Newport Beach and Costa Mesa, Calif., and erecting a 10-by-30-foot banner on the side of an apartment building along SR-73 where she vanished.
“My car was like a moving billboard,” Dennis recalls. “It had Denise’s posters all over.”
Nothing ever came of those efforts, and as time passed, the hope of finding Denise alive slowly began to fade.
“We tried to go on with our lives, but it was very hard,” Ione says. “She was always on our minds.”
Countless leads investigated by police culminated in disappointing dead ends, and as her case grew colder, their daughter’s absence continued to haunt them.
“Every time I saw a girl from the back with long brown hair, I'd have to go and see her face,” Dennis says.
Denise Huber and family
Denise Huber and family
On July 13, 1994, the Yavapai County Sheriff’s Office responded to a call about a possible stolen truck parked outside John Famalaro’s home in Dewey, Ariz., about 90 miles outside of Phoenix.
Famalaro, a 33-year-old self-employed house painter, wasn’t home at the time.
The responding deputy noticed a power cord ran from the house to a freezer that was “locked and sealed with masking tape” in the back of the truck, according to court documents.
Initially, authorities believed they had stumbled upon a mobile drug lab.
But, when investigators opened the freezer, they discovered Denise’s frozen body stuffed in a black trash bag. Her head was wrapped in three more trash bags secured with duct tape, according to authorities. She was in the fetal position with her hands cuffed behind her back.
Authorities believed Famalaro targeted Denise on the night of June 2, 1991, when he realized she was vulnerable and alone on the side of the freeway in the middle of the night.
“If you could’ve seen what he did to her...” Snowden says, without finishing his sentence.
Denise was identified through fingerprint technology.
An autopsy revealed she had been sexually assaulted and bludgeoned to death in the head with a claw hammer and nail remover at least 30 times.
Citing DNA evidence, investigators determined Famalaro had killed Denise at the Orange County, Calif., warehouse unit he rented for his painting business in 1991, before stuffing her body into a freezer and taking it with him when he moved to Arizona in 1994.
Even more disturbing proof was found inside Famalaro’s residence.
“He had all her bloody clothing, his bloody clothing, the murder weapons—everything—boxed up in his home,” Snowden explains. “And it was marked ‘Christmas decorations.’”
Denise’s wallet, ID, makeup and car keys were recovered in another box, as well as a bloodstained tarp.
Further evidence showed Famalaro followed the years-long police investigation by keeping “several issues of the Orange County Register that featured headlines concerning Denise's disappearance,” court records read.
He also held onto a videotaped recording of an episode of Inside Edition that featured a story about Denise’s case.
The 23-year-old trekked from Texas to Florida in 2011.
The 23-year-old trekked from Texas to Florida in 2011.
Snowden remembers the agonizing phone call he was forced to make to the Hubers to tell them Denise had been dead all along.
“It was very emotional,” he recalls. “I'm supposed to be a seasoned, hardened cop, but after three years, it was like losing a family member.”
By that time, Snowden had developed a close relationship with the Hubers.
The trio kept in touch during the investigation and would often catch up on Denise’s case over breakfast. But to hear that his daughter’s remains were finally found sent Dennis spiraling.
“I thought my world was ending that day that we got confirmation,” Dennis admits, “and then to know what she went through—it gnaws at me all the time.”
Although he pleaded not guilty, in May 1997, a jury convicted Famalaro of first-degree murder under the special circumstances that Denise was killed during a kidnapping and during the commission or attempted commission of sodomy.
The defense argued Famalaro suffered from childhood trauma and mental health issues, but Famalaro received the death penalty. Due to the state’s moratorium on executions, he has been sitting on California’s death row ever since his sentencing.
“At our age, I'm sure he'll live a lot longer than we do,” Ione says.
Still, the Hubers say they feel satisfied with the punishment imparted on their daughter’s killer.
“I'm just glad that he's locked up, and that he won't be able to do this to anybody else,” Ione adds.
Dennis and Ione have spent the past 35 years mulling over what could have been had Denise’s car never suffered a flat tire that fateful night.
“There are things that we will never see, and that is grandchildren from her,” Dennis says. “I will never have the opportunity to walk my daughter down the aisle, and that hurts every time I'm at a wedding, but that's not for me, I guess.”
Famalaro “took part of my life away,” he continues. “Denise was so special and we were so close that that part is gone, and he ripped her away from us.”
Since her death, the grieving parents have moved back to Herreid, S.D., where they laid Denise to rest not far from their home.
No matter the time that has passed, the couple agrees the heartbreak of losing their only daughter lingers.
“Time helps you heal, but you never forget it,” Ione admits.
Adds Dennis, “The good die young.”
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Tristan Balagtas is a Las Vegas-based crime writer and reporter. She previously reported for People and TV news stations in Washington and Texas. Tristan graduated from the University of Nevada Las Vegas with a bachelor's degree in journalism.
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