In June 2002, 15-year-old Cara Robinson was watering flowers outside a friend’s house in Lexington, South Carolina. A green Pontiac Firebird pulled into the driveway. The driver, a 38-year-old Navy veteran named Richard Evonitz, stepped out holding magazines and asked if her parents were home.
When she said no, he pulled a gun, pressed it to her neck, and forced her into the back seat. He shoved her into a plastic storage container, snapped the lid shut, and drove away.
Cara had no way of knowing that the man who just abducted her had already killed before. She only knew she had to survive.
From the moment she was taken, Cara shifted into survival mode. She memorized the songs on the radio and the turns the car made. She repeated a mantra in her head: stay calm, gather information, escape.
Evonitz drove her to his small apartment about ten miles away. His 19-year-old wife and his mother were at Walt Disney World for the week. He was off work.
No one was looking for him.
Back at the friend’s house, Cara’s disappearance was noticed quickly. Her friend realized she had vanished from the yard without a sound. Cara’s parents called police immediately, desperate for help.
But instead of launching a search, officers wrote the case off and listed her as a runaway.
Inside the apartment, Cara knew she had to play it smart. She figured that going along with him might be her only chance to live. So she talked to him.
She helped clean his messy apartment. She asked questions and noticed everything: the Navy memorabilia, the magnets on the fridge with the names of his doctor and dentist, the layout of the rooms, the pets, the cages, the locks on the doors, and the way out.
Evonitz kept her close and tried to control every move. He shackled her to the bed with furry handcuffs he had reinforced with wire. He tied her ankle to the bed frame with rope.
He even made her watch the evening news to see if the world knew she was missing. He had no idea his plan was starting to crack.
Hours passed. The night dragged on. Eventually, Evonitz fell asleep beside her, snoring.
Cara knew it was now or never. Slowly and carefully, she used her tongue and teeth to loosen the D-ring on the headboard. Bit by bit, she freed her hands.
Then she untied the rope from her ankle. Her heart pounding, she slipped out of bed, barefoot and silent. She moved through the apartment, unlocked the door, and ran.
Outside, she spotted two men in a parking lot. She begged for help. They didn’t hesitate.
They got her in the car and drove her straight to the police. Cara Robinson had done what no one else could: she escaped the monster and helped bring him down.
But Evonitz was already on the move. He grabbed his gun, his most twisted pornography, and whatever evidence he could. He emptied his bank account, filled a Viagra prescription, and stopped at Walmart to buy a TV and VCR so he could watch his porn.
Then he hit the road, heading south to Florida, thinking he was one step ahead.
Two days later, he called his sister and told her something chilling: he had committed more crimes than he could even remember. He asked her to meet him at an IHOP. Instead of meeting him, she called police.
Cops closed in fast. Evonitz led them on a wild chase, reaching 120 miles per hour, driving with no headlights and going the wrong way. When they finally cornered him, he took his own life.
On the surface, Evonitz seemed like the kind of guy no one would suspect. A quiet salesman, a husband, a brother, the loyal son next door. Neighbors said he was polite and kept to himself.
Women he worked with called him creepy, but nothing made anyone think serial killer. He knew how to hide in plain sight.
Behind closed doors, his world was a different story. His life revolved around control, obsession, and a porn addiction so extreme it shocked investigators. When police searched his apartment, they found hundreds of tapes.
He had made his own highlight reels, splicing together favorite moments and loop tapes that played the same twisted scenes over and over.
One of those tapes sent chills through the FBI. It was a recording of a spring break concert on TV. A teenage girl in a swimsuit walked across the stage and introduced herself at the microphone.
Evonitz was fixated. He looped that moment again and again. Agents tracked her down just to make sure she was still breathing.
She was.
Evonitz’s story began in Columbia, South Carolina, where he was born and raised. After high school, he joined the Navy. On paper, he looked like a success.
He earned medals, got promoted, and left with an honorable discharge. But at home, the cracks were always there. He grew up with a father who drank too much and tore him down, and a mother who smothered him and covered for him.
Both parents were openly cheating on each other. It was the perfect storm of dysfunction.
By 13, he was making obscene phone calls. By 15, he was breaking into houses. At 16, the FBI says he was molesting his own sister.
But his record showed just one conviction: in 1988 in Florida, he exposed himself to a teenage girl and her toddler sister. He confessed and told police he couldn’t help himself. When the urge hit, he said, he would drive around looking for a young, short brunette girl.
After that, nothing. No arrests, no charges. No one knew what he really was until Cara Robinson escaped and exposed a serial killer.
Inside his apartment, investigators found a hidden lock box. It became the key to solving three of Virginia’s most haunting cold cases. Inside were newspaper clippings, handwritten notes, underwear, and other evidence pointing to Sophia Silva and the Lisk sisters.
Sophia, just 16, vanished in 1996 while doing homework on her porch. When her sister came out, all she found was a grape soda and Sophia’s notebook. Weeks later, her naked body turned up in a creek.
Less than a year later, Kristen and Katie Lisk, ages 15 and 12, disappeared right out of their front yard after school. A massive search led nowhere until five days later, when their bodies were found in the river. For years, police chased thousands of leads until the cases went cold.
Evonitz’s lock box held the answers. Forensics told the rest of the story. Hairs from his apartment, fibers from his fuzzy blue handcuffs, and carpet fibers all matched what was found on the murdered girls.
Then came the shocker: Kristen Lisk’s palm print was found inside Evonitz’s trunk, still there years after she disappeared.
Cara’s story was just beginning. After escaping a serial killer, she worked alongside law enforcement, helping on cases and supporting victims while finishing school. She later became a police officer, handling everything from school safety to some of the toughest investigations.
Today, she is a mom, a motivational speaker, and the voice behind the Survivors Guide to True Crime podcast. Her story inspired a Lifetime movie, The Girl Who Escaped.
She is the only known survivor of Richard Evonitz. But the question remains whether there are other victims out there, crimes Evonitz took to his grave. What is certain is that a teenage girl who refused to panic, who paid attention, and who waited for the right moment, brought down a killer and gave three families the answers they had waited years to hear.