As Missing Woman’s Family Waits, Mystery Deepens

Before she vanished some 3,000 miles from home and became a face on a flier in the nation’s capital, Chandra Ann Levy learned the best about people growing up in this California suburb, surrounded by almond and walnut groves and sprawling houses with horses out back.

Golden Estate Acres sits in the middle of the state’s farm belt, a long way--in miles and mind’s eye--from the streets of Washington, where the 24-year-old Levy, a USC graduate student, disappeared May 1 after packing her bags to fly home.

In the three weeks since they last heard from their daughter, Robert Levy, a prominent cancer doctor, and his wife, Susan, a Neighborhood Watch organizer, have marked their vigil with a growing sense of foreboding. On Friday evening, even as they feared the worst, neighbors walked the shaded streets of Levy’s subdivision and tied yellow ribbons to mailboxes and light posts.

“Waiting without knowing,” said neighbor Marge Novakovich. “There is nothing worse.”

The mystery of the 5-foot-3, 110-pound student with a mop of thick black curly hair has echoed not only here but across the nation. Her disappearance, after spending six months of study and internship in Washington, is the stuff of East Coast tabloids and national TV talk shows.

That the Levy case, one of hundreds of missing-person cases nationwide, has had such resonance is due, in no small part, to the fact that she had become a good friend of U.S. Rep. Gary Condit (D-Ceres). At least, that is the way Condit, 53, a powerful force in the San Joaquin Valley and a close advisor to Gov. Gray Davis, described their relationship.

But at least one close friend of Levy, a fellow USC graduate student who worked for Condit at the time, said if a good friendship blossomed between the congressman and the intern during her months in Washington, it was kept well-hidden.

“I never saw or heard anything, and we talked and visited all the time,” said Jennifer Baker, 25. She worked in Condit’s office through December but remained in contact with Levy through the spring semester.

Levy told friends she had a new boyfriend, a possibly influential man whose identity she was keeping a secret. Baker recalled her saying he worked for the FBI. But in e-mail to other friends, Levy said she lied about him working for the FBI to protect him and expressed joy that “my man will be coming back here when Congress starts up again.”

Region Is Known as ‘Condit Country’

This flat stretch of Highway 99 between Merced and Ripon is known as “Condit Country” for its maverick streak and transplanted Oklahoma twangs. Last week, Condit, the son of a Dust Bowl preacher, dug into his own campaign coffers for $10,000 to give to the reward fund for information on Levy’s disappearance. He then fell silent about the exact nature of his relationship with Levy, letting his wife and staff speak for him.

Levy had just finished a six-month internship as part of her final year of a USC master’s program in government studies. She planned to fly back to Modesto and drive to Los Angeles for commencement. Her packed bags, as well as cash, credit cards and jewelry, were left in her Dupont Circle apartment. Washington police have searched the apartment without finding a hint of foul play.

Trying to understand the ties between the missing student and the congressman, detectives have interviewed Condit and his neighbors in Washington about any visits between the two. Carolyn Condit, who lives with the couple’s two grown children on the outskirts of Modesto, insisted that her husband’s relationship with Levy was nothing more than a friendship borne of their local ties.

But by all accounts, it was a relationship shaped not in Modesto or across the Tuolumne River in Ceres, the small farm town that gave rise to Condit’s political machine 30 years ago. Instead, Levy walked into Condit’s Washington offices out of the blue one morning last October with Baker, her girlfriend.

They chatted with Condit’s staff, and the next thing they knew, the congressman was taking the star-struck pair to the House gallery to watch him vote, Baker recalled. They sat in the gallery. Then the three of them walked back to the office with the politically conservative Democrat explaining the legislative process.

“He was very nice and accessible,” Baker said. “And we had our photo taken with him.”

Baker talked Condit into letting her help out as an intern. Levy already had an internship at the U.S. Bureau of Prisons. Baker, also a San Joaquin Valley resident, then said goodbye to the congressman, promising to return the next Monday to begin work. Levy lingered behind in Condit’s office, Baker said.

If Levy formed a friendship with Condit that day--or even over the next several months--it was well-hidden from Baker, even as she worked for Condit and spoke constantly with Levy.

“As far as I knew, that was the first and last time Chandra ever met him,” Baker said. “She came over to meet me at his office once or twice a week so we could go out for lunch, but I never saw them together again. If there was a relationship, she never told me about it.”

Condit has built a kind of political dukedom here that would seem more a piece of the Midwest or South, a web of alliances that reach into every sector of life, from such big agricultural giants as Gallo to home builders to the Modesto Police Department, where his brother, Burl, works as a sergeant. The relationships are deep and long-lasting--often forged of common Oklahoma roots and small-town parades and hoedowns that draw 3,400 friends and constituents for barbecues.

Almost everything political here--whether about farm water or Little League--is run through Condit’s office. Townsfolk don’t like talking about the rumors coming from Washington. The owner of a popular restaurant drew her forefinger to her lips in a gesture of silence when asked what Condit’s ties to Levy might spell for his political future. He had seemed set on a run for statewide office.

Past the big arching highway sign that announces, “Modesto: Water, Wealth, Contentment, Health,” Condit’s local office has been scrambling all week to fend off reporters wanting Condit to explain his relationship with Levy. “Chandra is a great person and a good friend,” he said in a press release 10 days ago.

On Friday, Condit’s chief of staff, Michael Lynch, stood on one side of the office counter, trying to keep his irritation in check.

“What does ‘good friend’ exactly mean?” a reporter asked.

“Someone you talk to or communicate and get along with,” Lynch replied.

“How did Levy manage to become such a good friend in a matter of months, and not tell her own friends about it?”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Lynch said, “but the context of their friendship is not something I’m going to get into. I’m not going to discuss semantics with you.”

Condit was back in Washington, but his face was everywhere inside his office. An entire wall behind his empty chair had been turned into a gallery of 8-by-12-inch portraits of the congressman posing by himself. There was Condit in blue jeans and tennis shoes; Condit in bolo tie and Stetson hat; Condit standing in cowboy leathers in front of a horse; Condit atop the big Ceres water tower.

He wore the same toothy grin. Besides being crowned the California delegation’s most conservative Democrat, locals recall him being chosen as one of the “hunks of Congress” and his perfect hair voted the best among his colleagues.

Jeff Benziger, the editor of the weekly Courier in Condit’s hometown of Ceres, said Condit always finds a way to pose for newspaper photographs to show his more fetching side.

“He’s a politician well aware of the image he wants to show,” Benziger said. “He’s used to being in total control, and this has to be driving him crazy. People speculating about his ties to a young woman whose disappearance is national news.”

Neighbors Describe Levy as Shy, Intelligent

Levy was a shy, intellectual girl, the daughter of a caring father and a mother with a New Age bent who, though raised Jewish, believes in Jesus and once traveled to India for spiritual answers, according to those who watched Levy grow up in Golden Estate Acres, a dozen miles north of Ceres.

Neighbors and acquaintances say Chandra Levy became a confident woman with an interest in journalism, law and government. Her sense of humor is dry, if not sarcastic, and her parents’ wealth didn’t seem to affect her. If she had a serious boyfriend back home, they didn’t know it.

On Friday evening, neighbor Barbara Bolton said she had to do something, so she chose to hang yellow ribbons. At the Levys’ home up the block, an empty horse trailer and a BMW with a USC vanity plate sat parked out front. The couple was set to return that night from an exhausting media blitz in Washington.

“Dr. Levy saved my life seven years ago,” said Bolton, a breast cancer survivor. “I told him, ‘I only wish I could somehow take care of you.’ ”

Before her daughter’s disappearance, Susan Levy had spent a lot of time working with residents and sheriff’s deputies organizing the Neighborhood Watch. She also serves as the community’s conscience.

“If there’s an earthquake in some remote part of the world, Susan is knocking on your door for blankets and money to send,” said Janet Neal, another neighbor. “For this to happen to someone like that, it makes no sense.”