On September 16, 2020, Veronica Hensley, a 28-year-old marathon runner and physical therapist, laced up her pink Hoka shoes for a routine jog on Napa’s CH/NH trail. Her blonde ponytail swaying, she was a familiar sight in the sun-soaked hills, a beacon of discipline and joy. But that morning, she didn’t return. Her silver sedan sat untouched at the trailhead, a water bottle and sunglasses frozen in time. For two years, her boyfriend David Chen, her sister Jessica, and a tireless community searched 50 square miles of rugged terrain, chasing a pink shoelace and dead-end leads. Hope faded, the case went cold—until October 2022, when a truffle-hunting pig named Rosie unearthed a plastic bag that cracked open a nightmare.
The air was thick with Napa’s golden autumn when Michael Petro, a retired chef, and his wife Sarah took Rosie, their Kunekune pig, to a private oak grove miles from any trail. Rosie’s frantic digging, expecting a truffle, instead revealed a grimy plastic bag: inside, Veronica’s pink-and-white sports bra, black running shorts, a used condom, a Durex wrapper, and a tampon—a grotesque snapshot of violence. Sarah, recalling news reports, snapped photos, preserving the scene. The Napa County Sheriff’s Office descended, cordoning off the grove as forensic teams rushed the bag to Sacramento’s crime lab. The clothes matched Veronica’s; the condom yielded a clean male DNA profile.
That DNA hit in CODIS, naming Mark Jennings, a 45-year-old landscaper with a 2010 indecent exposure conviction. A loner with a beat-up truck, Jennings blended into Napa’s backdrop, his landscaping job a perfect cover to roam trailheads. Surveillance caught him slowing near parks, eyeing female joggers with a predator’s gaze. A pre-dawn SWAT raid on his modest rental uncovered a digital horror: hundreds of telephoto photos of unaware women, dozens of Veronica in the weeks before her death. His confession, delivered in a flat monotone, chilled detectives: he’d stalked her, memorized her runs, ambushed her on a remote trail, and strangled her when she fought back. “She was asking for it,” he said, blaming her beauty and “short clothes.” He buried her clothes separately from her body, a calculated split to thwart searches.
Guided by a plea deal, Jennings led police to Veronica’s remains under bay trees, miles from the bag. The excavation brought closure but opened a darker truth: his computer held photos linking to other missing women—a sea turtle keychain from a 2017 Sonoma case, a silver hoop earring from a 2016 vanishing. Jennings wasn’t a one-time killer; he was a serial predator, hunting Northern California’s trails for years. Sentenced to multiple life terms without parole, he’ll die in prison, but for Veronica’s family, it’s no solace—just an end to the unbearable unknown.
The case shook Napa. Trails once cherished turned menacing; joggers glanced over shoulders. Community pressure spurred action: ranger patrols increased, brush was cleared, and solar-powered call boxes sprouted at trailheads, including CH/NH. Veronica’s running club and family dedicated a memorial bench at the trail’s start, a quiet tribute to her vibrant spirit. Jessica’s “Find Veronica Hensley” Facebook page, with its last photo of her smiling at the CH/NH sign, became a space for remembrance, not closure.
The resolution hinged on chance: Rosie’s nose, Michael’s choice of grove, Sarah’s quick thinking. Without them, Jennings might still stalk, his victims’ stories decaying in the dirt. Veronica’s case, sparked by a pig’s instinct, reminds us that justice sometimes leans on the improbable—and that the wilderness, for all its beauty, hides shadows that demand our vigilance. Her bench stands as a beacon, urging runners to reclaim the trails, but with eyes wide open.
