But this time, Doan was the one demanding to file a report.
He said he met the two women at the downtown Akron Hilton. They asked him for a ride to a less expensive hotel. He took them to the Days Inn in Fairlawn, according to the police report.
Somehow, Doan ended up in their room, where the women tried to blackmail him: Hand over four thousand dollars, or they'd claim they were raped. He said he'd take them to an ATM. Instead, he delivered them to police.
Yet Moneypenny soon uncovered the fiction in Doan's tale. Earlier that day, Doan phoned an escort service, requesting two dates. He met Taryn Chojnowski and Teresa Richard at the Days Inn bar.
He told the women he was a doctor and offered them four thousand dollars for a private dance.The women agreed. Doan got a room.
Afterward, Doan said he had to go to the ATM at Akron General Hospital -where he claimed to work-to get their money. He drove toward Market Street, passing numerous cash machines on the way. Chojnowski and Richard never seemed suspicious.
When they got to the hospital, the women waited in the car as Doan disappeared into the building.
When he returned, he claimed the ATM wasn't working; he'd pay them later.Then he drove the women back to the Days Inn.
At the front desk, the three argued over payment. Chojnowski and Richard threatened to say that Doan had raped them if they didn't get their money. The hotel clerk told them to settle it with Fairlawn police.
Doan's claims of extortion and the dancers' accusations of rape were dismissed as nothing more than a failure-to-pay case. "The girls he preys on aren't exactly in a legal line of work," Moneypenny says. "I'd say he's safe."
That was the end of it, as far as Fairlawn police were concerned. For Doan, however, it was the beginning of something big. He seemed to realize that his rich-doctor shtick worked on women- and that his claims of extortion got him off with cops.
All Doan had to do was con women in shady occupations into having sex with him, then skip out on the bill. Even if they cried rape, their backgrounds would discredit their allegations. And he was right.
In 2000, Doan went for a late-night snack at the Eat 'n Park on Cuyahoga Falls Avenue. There he noticed eighteen-year-old Colleen Imes.
"By the state's standards, she was an adult, but really, she was still a kid," says Summit County Detective Patrick Hunt. "She was so petite, she couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds wet."
Imes was just Doan's type-tiny and troubled. He approached her with a polite bow and offered to buy her food. Imes agreed.
Doan claimed to be a Dr. Chang. He said he worked at Akron City Hospital.
She told him that she was a dancer at Lisa's Cabaret, a strip joint on Exchange Street. She'd had a troubled childhood, she revealed, and recently moved out of her mom's place.
Doan made her an offer she couldn't refuse, she later told police: He'd pay her six thousand dollars to be his date to various professional dinners and events. No sex, just companionship, he promised. Imes accepted.
Maybe it was his rotten teeth or his too-good-to-be-true offer, but something told Imes to be leery. She had three friends follow her on their first date.
Imes met Doan for drinks before he drove her to Steve's Motel, a by-the-hour roadhouse in Green.
As Imes sat on the bed watching TV, Doan excused himself to go to the restroom. When he returned, his pants were down to his ankles, his penis erect. Imes told him to pull his pants up.
At first, Doan complied, saying it was just a joke. But within minutes, he pushed her onto the bed and raped her, she said.
Imes would've done better to flee at first chance. Instead, she stayed by Doan's side, pressing him for payment.
He drove her to the Fifth Third Bank on Tallmadge Road. But when he couldn't get cash from the ATM, Imes's friends surrounded him. Doan called 911 and claimed he was being robbed.
When police arrived, Imes cried rape. Detective Hunt investigated, but prosecutors ultimately told him to drop the case. Imes died in a car crash less than a year later.
"It was the saddest sight," he said. "She was a cute girl with the lowest self-esteem. She was just desperate. He picked a perfect victim."
It's the same way Summit County Detective Mike Coghenour speaks of Amanda Stamps. She was twenty-one, "ninety pounds soaking wet," he says, a troubled single mother into drugs and dangerous men.
In 2002, Stamps said, a friend set her up with Doan on a blind date. He was a doctor, she was told, willing to pay as much as six thousand dollars for a nonsexual escort.
Stamps met Doan for dinner. After a few drinks, Stamps claims she slipped into unconsciousness. She believed Doan slipped her a roofie.
She briefly awoke to find herself in a motel room with Doan on top of her. When she finally regained consciousness, Stamps was in Doan's car in the parking lot of Akron General, waiting for her money.
Once again, Doan said the ATM wasn't working. Stamps headed to St. Thomas Hospital for a rape exam.
By the time Coghenour got the case, the Summit County Sheriff's Department was becoming all too familiar with Doan- "aka Dr. Chang, aka Dr. Kitano." But once again, there were problems. "Like the rest of the cases, she waited around for her money, which looked bad," Coghenour says. "It looked like she was trying to turn a trick. It threw a wrench right in her story."
No charges were filed. Shortly after the case was closed, Stamps died of a heroin overdose.
Angela Smith curls up on a loveseat in her Tallmadge condo. Surrounded by photos of her husband and children, Smith clutches the same black-and-white mug shot of Doan that Renee held weeks earlier. She's thirty years old, but her light brown pony-tail and button nose make her appear barely legal.
She lets out an ironic chuckle."He told me I was unique," Smith says.
She met Doan in March at Club 1245, a strip joint just blocks from her home. Smith sat at the bar with her ex-boyfriend, Maurice. They were waiting for their friend, a dancer, to get off work.
As she smoked and sipped beer, Doan approached Maurice and asked if he was with Smith.When he said no, Doan gave Maurice his phone number to pass along.
As Doan left the bar, he bowed in Smith's direction. Later that day, Smith called Doan to ask what he wanted. "He laid it on thick," she says.
He said he was a Japanese neurosurgeon at Akron General. He gave her a name, not Doan, but something Smith couldn't pronounce. She decided to call him "Wu."
Smith had had hip-replacement surgery a few years earlier at Akron General. She asked Doan if he knew her surgeon,
Dr. Weiner. "Dr. Weiner! I just bought a house next door to Dr. Weiner!" he said.
Doan finally asked Smith if she'd accept six thousand dollars to be his date. "You've got the wrong idea," she said."I'm not a stripper, and I don't have sex for money."
"No, no! I don't pay for sex," he said. "Only for companionship."
He explained that eighteen-hour days at the hospital made it hard for him to meet women. He was worried that his colleagues thought he was gay, because he always came to hospital functions alone. He'd pay her six thousand dollars to accompany him. "He knew I had two kids and I could use the money," she says."He said I could use the six thousand dollars to buy a computer for my son."
Smith accepted.The next morning, Doan called."Can you meet me?" he asked.
Smith met Doan at a gas station. He said he'd just been paged and had to go to work, and asked Smith to follow him to the hospital. He went into the building, while Smith waited in her car.
When he came out, he said he found someone to cover for him. "Would you like to go to dinner?" he asked. "We take my car."
Smith got into Doan's blue Honda. In the back seat were medical books and a lab coat. He began talking about medicine, using terminology Smith had never heard. "I totally believed he was a doctor. I had no reason not to," she says. "He like studies this shit, just so he can go out and do this."