slabtown chronicle

Rose Festival Death

2007-06-04T21:40:00.000-07:00

My neighborhood in downtown Portland is packed to the gills with people, parking prices have tripled and quadrupled over night and the sidewalks are lined with folding chairs. Must be Rose Festival time again in Portland.

I’m not really a Grinch, I appreciate the parades and the fireworks and the crowds of people, as much as I can. I know this is the defining time of the year for the Rose City. The weather is great and the roses are in bloom. The U.S. Navy has ships docked along the Willamette River. All of the High Schools in town have elected a court of Rose princesses. It’s a hundred year old festival this year and it’s worth celebrating.

Washington Mutual’s Waterfront Village, the carnival that used to be known as the Fun Center, has tight security and a “family-friendly” focus this year. I wonder if anyone remembers how it got that way? Oddly, enough it started ten years ago this week. June 7, 1997, to be exact.

On that balmy Portland evening Kenneth Shanafelt, 39, of Vancouver, and his wife, Robin attended a performance of the musical Beauty and the Beast at the Civic Auditorium. The play let out at about 10pm. The night was young and the parents with three small children at home with a babysitter, decided to enjoy the Rose Festival that would still be open for another two hours.

Miraculously finding a parking space near the corner of SW Salmon and 2nd Ave, the couple walked through Waterfront Park to the Fun Center. The Oregonian described it as a romantic evening and I’m sure it was. Portland is pretty this time of year and the Willamette is always a beautiful river.

The Shanafelts walked along the river looking at the imposing Naval ships, munching Portland’s trademark fry-bread treat “Elephant Ears” and sipping lemonade. Shortly before 11:30pm, they headed back toward their car for the short drive into Washington that would take them home.

Five blocks away Daniel DeJesus, 19, and his friend George Garcia were leaving a nightclub and heading for Garcia’s car to drive home to Washington County. In front of the Hilton Hotel at SW Salmon and Broadway DeJesus and Garcia ran into a group of about eight young men who didn’t like the shirt that DeJesus was wearing, an NFL jersey with the number 13 on it.

The two groups of young men traded insults and possibly some gang signs. Soon they were throwing punches and a general melee broke out. DeJesus grabbed a .357 magnum pistol from Garcia’s pocket and began firing at their opponents. Garcia, told the Oregonian, that he heard four shots as he ran for his car and sped back to pick up his friend.

One bullet hit a bus shelter at SW Fifth and Salmon, spraying 20-year-old Mercedes Munden’s face with broken glass and injuring her severely.

Robin Shanafelt heard the gunshots as she and Kenneth approached their car. She said they sounded like firecrackers. Then Kenneth dropped to the ground. She didn’t know what happened at first, but then she saw the blood and his head wound. Two passing women helped her stop the bleeding and perform CPR, but it was too late. Kenneth Bryan Shanafelt, father of four and teacher of Truck Driving Safety was dead.

Shanafelt’s death didn’t really have anything to do with the Rose Festival or the Pepsi Fun Center, but it was such a shocking crime that it drew major attention to the festival. The next year security was tightened, but a stabbing incident in a parking lot near the Fun Center increased the pressure. [I’ll tell you about Anthony Nnoli and Andy Borlande another time.]

In 1999 they fenced in the fun center for the first time. Then came WTO, and May Day and then 9/11. And that children, is why we can’t even drive on Naito Parkway at this time of year.

Daniel DeJesus plead no contest to charges of manslaughter and was sentenced to 23 years. Prosecutors wanted to charge him with murder and were sure they could convict him, but Robin Shanfelt said that she did not see the young man as a murderer and wanted to spare her family the trauma of a trial. She urged them to accept the manslaughter plea.

Not all of Shanafelt’s family were so forgiving. Bill McGinty, Shanafelt’s step-father, told the Oregonian, “I’m 54 years old and I have never been so full of hate and anger as I am now.”

Amber Shanafelt, Kenneth’s oldest daughter who was 17 when he died, was badly traumatized by her father’s death. She suffered nightmares, panic attacks, fits of shaking and paralysis as a result of post-traumatic stress. Those are all normal symptoms and I’m sure over the last ten years they have abated, but I bet they haven’t gone away completely. I also bet that Amber’s startle reflex can be exaggerated, especially when she hears loud bangs.

None of this, of course has made Portland any safer. Random bullets still fly, lethally in May, 2005 when a 41-year old transient was killed by a gun fired at someone else a block away. That happened at SW 2nd and Yamhill , about a block from where Kenneth Shanafelt died.

I think Judge Kimberly Frankel said it best when she was sentencing DeJesus: “I can stop Mr. DeJesus by imprisoning him for a time. What I don’t understand is how to stop the next person and the next person. I’m disgusted.”

Carnival of the True Crime Blogs #77

2007-05-22T22:49:00.000-07:00

Once again it is my pleasure to present the best of the True Crime Blogs this week. I have to say that submissions were very light this week. That means more work for me, so if you’re a true crime blogger, get your submissions in. If you’re not a true crime blogger then you’re excused.

Only two of this week’s entries are about actual crimes, so I’ll start with those:

Bonnie of My Life of Crime brings us the lonely death of volunteer Police Constable Robert Lee Bailey in Lincolnville, S.C. Bailey made a traffic stop that turned into every cop’s nightmare. Missing Cop’s Body Found and Identified.

jd chandler of the slabtown chronicle brings us more of an enigma than a story in Z on the Run.

That’s it for the crime stories submitted this week. But wait, there’s more…

Harding of TO Crime seems to be taking a break from crime writing at the moment, fortunately he’s still writing and this week he brings us an interesting story about keeping the peace at a soccer game – Policing the Trenches. Personally I’m not much of a sport’s fan, but what’s up with these Canadians anyway. It’s like they’re from a different country or something.

From Britain we are proud to welcome Gracchi from Westminster Wisdom. This is a blog about politics, but with a broad scope. The submission this week deals with a pet issue of our own Laura James of Clews – True Crime Writing; Is it Worth It? OK, I know that this is a British blog from academia, but does that mean you have to use such long paragraphs, Gracchi?

That’s it for the submissions this week. Come on guys, where are you? I don’t think it’s enough, so here are jd chandler’s picks of the week:

Laura James of CLEWS is one of my favorite crime bloggers and I love the focus she has on historical crime. She seems to be focusing her writing more on book reviews and author interviews than historical crimes these days (tsk, tsk), but I have two picks from her blog:

First the post that inspired our British friend Gracchi -- Who Makes Money Off Murder?

Second a guest blog by Kevin Sullivan which is a historical true crime story and it's creepy – The Valley Drive-in Murders

From the Netherlands, Nene Adams of The Year Round brings us an interesting look at drug addiction in the Victorian Era – The Demon From the Orient: An American's Palace-joint.

Last, but not least, Steve Huff of Crimeblog.us brings us an interview with the Mother of all True Crime Writers Ann Rule -- Ann Rule on Too Late to Say Goodbye

That’s it for this week’s carnival. I had fun and I hope you did too. If you would like to find older carnivals or submit a story for the next one then go here.

Z on the Run

2007-05-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the most interesting stories start with a tiny little newspaper article that leaves more questions than answers. That happened to me last week. I ran across a five paragraph news brief in the Oregonian that left me wondering.

The headline said, Police seek man in Roommate’s slaying. It is the story of the death of 51 year-old Frank Clarence Johnson in his north Portland apartment. Johnson was killed by a blow to the head, probably during a fight with his roommate David Wayne French, 48.

Simple story. Not unusual, it seems. So why are there so many questions? Johnson was killed on May 4, but a warrant wasn’t issued for French’s arrest for nearly two weeks. The police say that French probably jumped out of a three story window as they were coming in the front door of the apartment, immediately after the killing. Why did it take them so long to issue a warrant for his arrest?

Here’s a quote from the Oregonian: “Police said that Johnson was trying to change his living situation with French.” The only thing I could think when I read this was, what are they not saying? The next paragraph tells us that David French is known to use the alias Zalia Crizta, or just the initial Z. He is 5 feet 6 inches tall, weighs 130 pounds and has long brown hair.

First thing I thought was, no wonder the Police can’t find him. I bet he could pass for a woman. Well, I didn’t learn it from the Oregonian, but French is a transgender “performer”. Here’s a good question: why didn’t I learn it from the Oregonian?

The next line raises even more questions: “Until recently, French had an Internet business and contacts across the West.” First question is what does this mean? Second question is why is the Oregonian being so cryptic? I haven’t been able to figure out the second question. All of the other media is reporting on the transgender angle, why does the Oregonian ignore it?

I can make a guess at what Z’s internet business was, but so far I haven’t found a trace of it. I’m still looking and I am hoping some of my more web savvy readers might give me a little help on that.

A man is dead. A killer is on the run. The police seem to be at a loss. Detective Molly Daul (503-823-0991) and Detective Barry Renna (503-823-0255) are asking for anyone who knows anything to call them. The Oregonian is writing the story in code. Somewhere there is an interesting story in this. I’m still working on it.

Happy Mother's Day

2007-05-14T21:43:00.000-07:00

You might have heard the big news out of Portland this weekend is the “random” hammer attack at the Beaverton Fred Meyer. Sharon Weil, 56, of Cedar Mill was struck in the head with a hammer while buying groceries. The Oregonian tells us all about her plans to prepare a Mother’s Day brunch on Sunday. Her attacker Eric Osterholme is turning out to be a real piece of work.

Osterholme, who fractured Weil’s skull in Aisle 10 of the grocery store, turns out to have a violent past. Big surprise, huh? In 2002 he cursed at a 6-year-old boy in the parking lot of his apartment complex and then judo chopped the child in the throat. The little boy had been playing nearby and approached the neighbor to say, “Hi.” He should have listened when mom told him not to talk to strangers.

Osterholme proved himself to be a selfish and mean person during his arraignment on attempted murder charges. Asked by Judge Timothy Alexander if he had seen the charges against him, Osterholme complained about the food at the Washington County jail, saying, “I’m being force-fed meals that will cause a heart attack. I’m pre-diabetic.”

I can understand his health concerns. I probably wouldn’t want to eat the food in the Washington County Jail either, but then I wouldn’t hit anyone in the head with a hammer either.

The arraignment degenerated from there as Osterholme refused to respond or even listen until he was given better food. His next hearing will be on Monday when he will probably be indicted on charges of attempted murder, first degree assault and unlawful use of a weapon. Osterholme deserves to have the book thrown at him. In the 2002 case he was convicted of harassment and fined $300. He obviously didn’t take that very seriously.

Maybe he’s crazy, but it seems to me that he might just be a very selfish and mean man who needs to be locked up to keep his neighbors safe.

According to KGW-TV Fred Meyer officials say that nothing like this has ever happened before, but that’s not exactly true. There has been at least one murder in a Fred Meyer over the past few years. Even the random attack is not unprecedented. In fact it reminds me of an attack that took place in 1946.

On August 26, 1946 22-year-old Marine veteran William Kilpock was struck in the head with a hatchet while standing on the sidewalk in front of the Orpheum Theater on SW Park Ave. His attacker, Lenny Lloyd Brown, 40, was an ex-mental patient who was convicted of attempted murder. Kilpock was quoted in the Oregonian, “War is safer than standing in a Portland street.”

I feel safer knowing that “customer service remains [Fred Meyer’s] number one concern,” according to spokesperson Melinda Merrill. Fortunately Sharon Weil, a partner in a well-know property management firm with a reputation as a good cook, is recovering well. Her mother is still looking forward to having “a fabulous strawberry French toast brunch” with her daughter soon.

What Happened to Matthew Cantrell?

2007-04-30T20:15:00.000-07:00

It’s been over a year since Matthew Cantrell was found dead, floating in the Willamette River. Before that was an agonizing month of searching for the 25-year old Portland newcomer. That month, Matthew’s father Tim drove in from Casper, WY to search for his son. Tim spent two weeks putting up fliers and talking to people who might know something about what happened to his son.

Tim Cantrell found out that his son, who had recently moved to Portland from Eugene, had worked a shift at the Delta Park Shari’s restaurant and then taken the MAX to downtown Portland. Matthew bought a gift for his girlfriend in Pioneer Courthouse Square and then stopped in at the H2O Martini Bar.

Matthew told the bartender at H2O that he would be back, before returning to the room he rented from a friend on N. Winchell St. Matthew had been in Portland for two weeks, planning to work and earn money to complete his education at the University of Oregon. Portland seemed like a big city to the young man and he wanted to go out exploring downtown.

About 10pm he called a friend from a payphone on N. Lombard St. He asked his friend to go downtown for a drink. His friend declined and that was the last anyone heard from Matthew until his body was found by a tugboat operator in the Willamette near NW Front and Kittridge more than a month later.

Tim Cantrell stayed in Portland as long as he could. The night before he had to leave someone broke into his pickup truck and stole his missing son’s snowboard. Portland has been very hard on the Cantrell family.

A year later Portland Crimestoppers is offering a $1,000 reward for information on this death, which police say is suspicious. No one believes that Matthew killed himself, but police said there were no signs of trauma on the body and they refuse to release the cause of death.

It’s a classic tale: the “clean-cut, All American boy” lonely and curious in a new city went out to explore and found more than he bargained for. Some one knows what happened to Matthew Cantrell.

No, I'm Not Okay

2007-04-23T22:55:00.000-07:00

No-one really knows what happened to Fouad Kaady, 27, a Lebanese-American resident of Gresham, OR before he was shot to death by a Clackamas County Sheriff’s Deputy and a Sandy Police Officer on September 8, 2005. What we do know is that he is dead and the circumstances of his death raise serious questions about how police handle confrontations with injured and angry people.

The Clackamas County Shooting Review Board found that Deputy Dave Willard, one of the officers who fired shots at the naked, bleeding young man, had “acted within existing rules and regulations and according to current training.” If this is true, there should probably be some changes made to current training and existing rules and regulations.

Kaady’s death has become such a polarizing political issue that it is difficult to separate fact from opinion. The Sandy Post, a local paper in the Portland suburb, won an award for its reporting on this case and their website provides the clearest information. From their reporting of the police files released in October, 2005 it is clear that police acted in fear and created as much danger for the community as Kaady did. It is also clear that the officers distorted the facts in their version of the story.

Officers say that they feared the young man, who was bleeding severely from injuries and burns suffered during a car accident, “possessed chemically enhanced strength.” They are trying to imply that Kaady was under the influence of hard narcotics. There is no evidence of this at all. The evidence that might be able to prove the officers’ allegations, a Toxicolgy report, has not been released.

Most of Kaady’s friends said that he never used drugs, other than tobacco. There is some evidence that he may have been smoking marijuana earlier in the day, but it seems more likely that Kaady was under severe emotional stress, aggravated by a serious head injury and repeated Tasering by the officers.

Why did the officers Taser Kaady, a naked, injured man with a severe head wound and second and third degree burns over much of his body? Because he refused to lie down on his burned skin and they were afraid to touch him because he was covered with blood.

How did 27-year-old Foaud Kaady end up injured and burned and then shot to death by the police? That’s a harder story to tell.

Foaud Kaady was a graduate of Gresham High School and was well known around Gresham and Sandy. He was a painter and always willing to lend a helping hand to his neighbors. He had recently become a licensed real estate agent and was reportedly excited about joining his mother in the real estate business. The day of his death Kaady had planned to pick his mother up at the airport after a trip.

Friends said that Kaady had not been acting like himself for days, or even weeks, before his death, but no-one knew exactly what had happened. Sarah Maness, who knew Kaady for two years, said that he had been depressed and angry for a few weeks. “He’s been pissed at everything,” she told the Sandy Post.

Kaady’s father said that Kaady had recently broken up with his girlfriend. Other family members agree that he was under financial pressure, stressed about his break-up and some other unnamed problem. Other family members argued that he was not depressed and that he was very happy with his life.

Whatever Kaady’s state of mind, his actions on September 8, 2005 were odd. At 6:30am Kaady was spotted driving erratically in the parking lot of Mount Hood Community College. He was doing “donuts” and “burn-outs” in his pickup truck, some people do that for fun and the lot was probably empty at 6:30, but when a campus security officer approached Kaady acted strangely.

Security Officer Jefferson Potts said that as he approached the vehicle, Kaady accelerated the pickup and hopped over a three-foot embankment and onto Stark Street, bottoming out on the pavement. It is unclear how close Potts got to the vehicle, but he reported that it had a “strong smell of marijuana.”

Kaady was next seen at his father’s home wearing a suit. Rashid Kaady said that his son’s behavior was not unusual in any way.

At about 9:45am Kaady stopped at his usual drive through tobacco shop on Stark St. and bought two packs of cigarettes. Rudd McGarity, a clerk at Hilton Haven who had sold tobacco to Kaady before, told the Sandy Post that Kaady was not acting like himself. He over paid for his purchase, with change out of a big jar, and would not let the clerk return the extra change.

McGarity said that Kaady looked “frazzled” and he asked the young man if he was OK. Kaady replied, “No, I’m not okay.” McGarity said that Kaady looked “like he had the worst news of his life and had to go deal with it.”

Early that afternoon Kaady was seen parked in his pickup truck in the lot at Rick’s Custom Fencing on Stark about ten blocks from the tobacco shop. Kaady had run out of gas. Employees at Rick’s said the young man was acting “weird.” He “fooled around” in his truck for about ten minutes and then took off running in nothing but a pair of shorts.

Kaady’s sister said that wearing only shorts was Kaady’s “trademark” and that he ran to his father’s house to get a gas can for his truck. She said he returned to Rick’s in his mother’s car with a can of gas, but found that his pickup had been towed. Here’s where things really get weird.

According to the Sandy Post Kaady’s car was not towed from the lot at Rick’s until Saturday September 10, two days after Kaady was killed. For some reason Kaady drove in his mother’s car toward Sandy, a neighboring community.

Kaady’ sister says that a spark from Kaady’s cigarette ignited the gasoline can as he drove and Kaady crashed his car into two other cars while trying to put out the flames. The Buick LeSabre that Kaady was driving crashed into the vehicle of Tiffany Stanko, forcing her off the road.

Kaady then hit the car of Greg Elwell of Boring. Elwell, believing that the driver of the LeSabre was unconscious tried to slow both vehicles with his brakes, but then the LeSabre pulled away and the driver game him a “thumbs up” sign as he passed. Elwell said that Kaady was driving “completely crazy.”

Kaady’s body was severely burned on his upper torso, face and into his scalp, but the Oregon State Police Arson Investigating Team said there was no evidence that the fire started inside the vehicle. They said they found no evidence of a gas can inside the car.

Finally Kaady crashed the LeSabre into the woods, starting several fires in the dry brush. Read the story of this accident at the Sandy Post, you won’t believe it.

Kaady reportedly fought off would-be rescuers and wandered away from the accident before being confronted by the police on SE 362nd Ave. During the confrontation with the injured and distraught young man, Deputy Willard left a shotgun unattended on the hood of his vehicle. Later he said that he feared that Kaady would go for the shotgun and that’s why he fired three shots into the young man’s chest.

Willard also said that Kaady threatened to kill him and Police Officer William Bergin, who fired five shots at the young man. None of the witnesses on the scene heard death threats, but most agreed that Kaady “went crazy” after being Tasered three times and climbed onto the police car. None of them saw him go for the shotgun or lunge at the officers, as they both claimed at different times.

Witnesses on the scene said that Kaady was “docile” and sitting on the ground when the police arrived. He would not lie down at their command and so they Tasered him. Willard reported that Kaady was “kind of catatonic” when he arrived, but that he was afraid to approach him because of the blood that covered most of his badly burned body.

If this is the way Clackamas County Sheriff’s Deputies are trained to deal with accident victims then we need to rethink that training. Regardless of Kaady’s erratic behavior I wonder how threatening he would have been if he wasn’t walking naked, after losing his shorts in the accident, and if he didn’t look like an Arab.

Kaady’s family has filed a wrongful death suit against Clackamas County and the officers involved. Portland’s flamboyant attorney Gerry Spence is representing the family so there should be a good story to tell there eventually.

No Remorse

2007-04-09T21:15:00.000-07:00

Beatrice Ward, 81, became Oregon’s second oldest prisoner last week when she was sentenced to 18 months for criminally negligent homicide in the death of Robert Carr, 89. Ward and Carr were described by a neighbor as a “loving couple,” but Carr’s family says that he was bruised on at least three occasions after fights with Ward.

Robert Carr was an ex-jockey and at 5’7" and 140 pounds he was about the same size as his girlfriend. They had been seeing each other for more than a decade. Friends say they saw each other nearly every day and often went for walks together in the neighborhood.

Last September Carr had had enough and he stopped seeing his abusive girlfriend. Beatrice Ward was not willing to take “no” for an answer. On September 13, Ward, angry that he did not come over, went to Carr’s house. She saw him drive away and followed him to a nearby Target store at Jantzen Beach.

In the parking lot Beatrice Ward charged Robert Carr and began hitting him and screaming at him. The older man fell to the pavement and received a fatal head injury.

Ward’s attorney, Scott Raivio, said that considering her advanced age and lack of a criminal record that a jail sentence was excessive. Deputy District Attorney Greg Moawad told the Oregonian, “There is no joy in sending an 81-year old woman to prison…. But I am confident that prison is the right outcome.”

Lynn Reinecker, daughter of the World War II veteran Carr said, “I hope through all of this she learns you can’t push people around.” Ward doesn’t seem to have learned any lessons, though. She was sullen and silent throughout the trial. After sentencing while she was being escorted out of the courtroom past Carr’s son and daughter all she would say is, “I’ve got my handcuffs.”

Reinecker, weeping had only one question, “What could he have said or done that he had to pay with his life.” It doesn’t look like she’ll get an answer. Beatrice Ward starts her short sentence this week.

A Quick Update and a Request for Help

2007-04-02T22:26:00.000-07:00

Things are finally starting to move in the legal proceedings concerning the death of Gary George last year. Bobby Donald Barnes, AKA Michael Tucker, a registered sex offender, is charged with murder in George’s death. The circumstances around his arrest are troubling. He was arrested the same day as the murder, before the police discovered George’s body. He was several blocks away from the murder site and he was being held on a parole violation when George’s murder was discovered.

Barnes is charged with two counts of aggravated murder and felon in possession of a hand-gun. Oddly enough, George was beaten to death, according to reports and no gun was used in his death. Maybe he took the gun from George?

The case against Barnes is set for motions in Judge Jean Kerr Maurer’s court on April 23 and 24th. This hearing is supposed to include a deposition from a witness named Strazi. Here’s where I need some help. I am not able to be in court on those days and I could really use some information that will be available there. I need to know who this witness Strazi is and what he or she has to say. I need to know what the motions that day involve and what decisions get made. I also need to know who is representing Bobby Barnes, and if possible how to get in touch with them.

I am asking for one of my readers in Portland to attend the hearing on those days and report to me. Is anyone available and up to it?

Another interesting development is coming up a few days before these court hearings. Treva Richardson is scheduled for release from jail on April 19. She is the ex-girlfriend of Gary George and the ex-wife of David Hughes. It was her fight with George over a car and a dog that lead to the violent confrontation between David Hughes and Gary George just a few days before George’s death. This confrontation led to Hughes' shooting by Portland Police in November.

Treva if you are reading, please get in touch. I would love to hear your side of the story. You can email me at jdchandler2002@yahoo.com.

That’s all there is for now.

Here's a list of my posts on this case (all links are in the above text).

Unanswered Questions May 14, 2006

Updates June 11, 2006

Something Weird is Going on Here December 12, 2006

Too Many Questions Still Unanswered March 5, 2007

Carnival of the True Crime Blogs #70...Uh, I Mean 69.

2007-03-27T23:14:00.000-07:00

By Installments:

Installment #1: Denial

No problem. Carnival of the True Crime Blogs. I can handle that. It’ll be fun. I haven’t done it in a while. Just means I have to post to my blog on Monday. I can handle that.

Monday. Work from 7:30am to 6pm. Usually I get a few minutes to see what’s good on the blogs. That’ll give me a head start on the carnival. What’s everyone talking about at work? The guy who shot the high school kid, because his wife, a teacher was having an affair with him, what? Their names are really Eric and Erin??

Power blogger Anne-Marie Nichols has the scoop at Teacher Smackdown, exposing teachers who betray the public trust, one student at a time: Eric McLean Appears on the TODAY Show. Why haven’t I heard of this lady before?

Installment #2: Avoidance

Monday. Is it 5:30 already? If I miss the 5:57 bus it will be really late by the time I get home. Well, I just have to take care of a few last minute calls. Maybe I can check out another blog before my bus. What’s Harding up to this week? He’s always good for a read. Not only short, but powerful. Go read it: Longing for Justice of the Gods.

Installment #3: More Avoidance

Monday night. Drag back into my wonderful apartment. Boy I’m happy that I moved into this place. I have windows now and the park is just coming into bloom. Good to have something to eat, you know I’m not sure I had lunch today. Every had one of those days? Well I would sure love to work on my movies that I am now featuring at live video. I do enjoy working on my Old Time Radio Collection which is now featured on my podcast. My novel is gathering dust in the corner. I’ve barely even broken 70,000 words.

No, I’ve got to post to Slabtown tonight. Tomorrow night's the Carnival. Wait, what’s this DVD. The Swimming Pool with Charlotte Rampling. I’ve never seen that. By the way, it’s great if you haven’t seen it. One of those movies that you think you get, but the last shot leaves you in doubt. Maybe I’ll have to see that one again.

Thank God! The first submission to the carnival has arrived. It’s a ripping yarn from Great Britain. Aren’t we international this week? True Crime Blog UK is doing a great job across the pond. This week a tale of savagery Hyenas in Human Form.

Installment #4: Pain

Monday night late. Well, I have to post to Slabtown tonight, but what will I write? Haven’t heard of any interesting recent crimes. The whole Dave Hughes/Gary George case is still bubbling, but I don’t want to beat a dead horse. I’d love to dip into the files and write up a juicy old crime, but it’s almost midnight. I’ve got to be back at work at 8:30. There was something in yesterday’s paper, though… Forgotten Man Remembered.

Installment #5: Embarrassment

Tuesday morning, back at work. A cup of coffee and fifteen minutes before my first appointment. What’s going on at the True Crime Bloggers Group? OH, no! I got the number wrong for the blog carnival. How did I get Carnival #70? Harding can prove it’s #69. Love those graphics, Harding.

Home, only two more entries in by deadline. Did I confuse everyone too much? It must be early dementia, if it gets worse please let my Doctor know. Maybe they’re all mad at me and they’re boycotting the Carnival this week because I’m the host.

Sorry everybody. Here is the cream from the contributors last week who didn’t submit this week.

Trench is providing continuing thorough coverage of the Platte Canyon High School shooting.

Lilo continues to cover the crimes of pedophiles and child abusers. I know why she gets so angry, but sometimes it’s hard to read about. This one breaks my heart: Three Years.

Trish blogs about missing and murdered children usually. She strays slightly from her turf this week with the story of Holden Gothia. You won’t believe this one.

Imahologram continues the horrifying story of Chloe Davis. Nice sneaky historical work, Ima.

Bonny at My Life of Crime brings us a sad update out of Georgia. Christopher Barrios

A week at the Carnival would not be complete with a visit Home, Sweet Home. This week Sweet brings us a brutal tale of a children’s slumber party, isn’t that nice?

Installment #6: Exhaustion

JD Chandler’s Picks of the Week. You guys is drafted.

Laura James Clews

The Year ‘Round

Crime Scene Blog

Crime Rant

Huff’s Crime Blog (Now with History!)

We're running a little late, so good night everybody. See you next week.

A Forgotten Man Remembered

2007-03-26T22:20:00.000-07:00

Robert “R.J.” Anheier, 63, collapsed and died on the sidewalk a few blocks from his home in downtown Portland back in January. Assuming he was homeless, State officials made a half-hearted attempt to identify his next of kin. They contacted someone in California who had the same last name. Although the Californian denied being related to RJ, the Medical Examiner’s office felt they had fulfilled their legal obligation.

RJ was declared “unclaimed” and scheduled for cremation. State law says that unclaimed bodies must first be offered to Oregon Health Sciences University for research before they can be disposed of. OHSU paid $37.50 for RJ’s body.

Little did the Medical Examiner know, because he didn’t go to the address that was in RJ’s wallet, Anheier had an apartment about four blocks from where he died. At the apartment they would have found the name of RJ’s best friend, in Aloha (a Portland suburb) and his sister in Florida. Anheier had lived at the Biltmore in Northwest Portland for eight years. He was a well-known figure in the neighborhood and worked as a waiter at the nearby Sisters of the Road Café.

Diane Anheier, of Florida, didn’t know her brother very well. They had seen each other only once, since he left home as a teenager. Two years ago, RJ, tracked down his sister and visited her. She found out about his death last week and had his dissected body retrieved from the Medical School. They are having a memorial Friday in Old Town for RJ.

Sad story. Not really a crime, though, because nobody broke any laws. Maybe some laws need to change. I read this story yesterday and I hadn’t really intended to write about it here. When I looked a little deeper, I knew that this story belongs in Slabtown. Robert “RJ” Anheier was a victim of murder.

No. No one killed RJ, but he was a victim of murder none the less. RJ Anheier’s father was murdered in Buffalo, New York in 1951, when RJ was seven. RJ’s life illustrates clearly how violent death echoes in the life of its survivors. None of us are ever the same after a loved one is murdered.

RJ’s life was affected in an extreme way. RJ was still grieving for his father when his mother remarried. According to the Oregonian, his stepfather beat him regularly and RJ ran away the first time when he was 10. At the age of 18 he left home for good and started the life of a hobo.

Traveling by freight train RJ traveled the country living the best he could. In 1981 Anheier befriended a young homeless man in Saint Louis. Anheier was an experienced “professional” hobo at the age of 42. Matthew Barrett was a teenager new to life on the street. RJ taught the young man to survive as a hobo and the two became fast friends.

“We didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, but we had a lot to leave behind,” Barrett told the Oregonian. The two hobos traveled the country for nearly a decade, finally landing in Portland in 1994. Barrett was the first to get off the street. Because of ill health he was able to get an apartment in Old Town. Anheier remained on the street until he was able to get an apartment at the Biltmore in 1999. The Biltmore is an old hotel that has been remodeled for low income housing.

Anheier paid his rent by waiting tables at Sisters of the Road, a non-profit restaurant in Old Town designed to be the one safe place in Portland for anyone. He also eked out his living by collecting cans and bottles and sold Street Roots, an alternative newspaper. He earned extra money holding places in line for people who wanted to buy concert tickets at the popular nightclubs in Old Town.

“RJ spent his life trying to find his place in the world,” Matthew Barrett told the Oregonian, “He had found that place. He had people who loved him. Yet people assumed he didn’t.” I just hope I don’t look like I’m homeless when I die.

Sin of the Father

2007-03-13T19:49:00.000-07:00

Asia Bell was 23 when she died in a volley of gunfire that blinded her 26-year old husband, Tyrone James, on the front porch of her house in North Portland. The shooting took place on November 20, 2002 three days after the fatal shooting of Demingo “Bingo” Lee Gonzales in front of an “after-hours” club on NE Lombard and 22nd.

Police have believed since Bell’s shooting that there were witnesses who could come forward and identify the killer. Nearly five years after the shooting, Portland Police Bureau’s Cold Case Unit made four arrests this weekend. The suspects, Alexander Daniel Klein, 28, Deprince Romey Hale, 29, Sonja Hutchins and Rico Gonzales, are considered to be members or associates of the Rolling 60 Crips, just like Demingo Gonzales.

Klein and Rico Gonzales are brothers of Demingo Gonzales. While Rico has not been charged in the killings yet, he is being held on federal drug distribution charges and police believe they will soon have evidence that he was part of a murder conspiracy.

Asia Bell, the mother of four small children, was not affiliated with any gang. She and her husband Tyrone were health care workers trying to build a better life for themselves and get away from the violence that swirled around their family. They had recently bought there first home on North Mississippi Ave. It was the house that brought about Asia’s death.

Police now believe that the shooting that killed Bell was in retaliation for the shooting of Demingo Gonzales. Gonzales’ murder, which seems to still be unsolved, may have been over a dog fight and trouble between the Rolling 60s Crips and an older set known as the Hoover Crips.

Asia Bell’s father, who remains mysteriously unnamed in the Oregonian’s reporting, raised pit bulls in Washington and had a cousin who was a member of the Hoover Crips. Bell’s father supplied dogs for an illegal dogfight organized between the Hoover Crips and the Rolling 60s. A meeting to organize the dog fight took place at the Bell’s house. Asia was most likely not at the meeting and was probably not even aware of it.

The dogfight broke up over allegations of cheating and foul play. This started a feud between the Rolling 60s and the Hoovers. A few days later Demingo Gonzales was shot down in front of the after hours club.

Three nights later as Asia Bell, her husband Tyrone and a guest celebrated Tyrone’s birthday on the front porch of their home. Two men walked by the house and sprayed at least 17 shots at the small gathering. Bell was killed immediately. Tyrone was blinded and their friend was slightly wounded.

Police believe the gunmen, allegedly Alexander Klein and Deprince Hale, targeted the home because the meeting with the Hoover Crips took place there. In the most real sense Asia Bell was an innocent bystander.

Asia Bell’s family has been a focus of violence and drug addiction for at least three generations (see my earlier post It’s a Family Affair). Her mother Perlia Bell, has become an outspoken activist against the violence of North Portland and she is credited by Portland Police for keeping her daughter’s case alive and helping them finally solve it.

Bell and Tyrone James are both active in Families Affected By Violence, a community organizing group. They have been outspoken against the G-code (for Gangsta) that keeps most witnesses of gang murders silent. While they can hardly be celebrating the latest development, they must at least be feeling that there is a chance for justice.

Good job Cold Case Squad! Since being formed nearly three years ago the detectives of the Cold Case Unit have solved several old killings. Investigators said that they had made Asia Bell’s murder a priority since last summer and it took cooperation from more than 50 officers in several police divisions to bring about the arrests this weekend. Keep up the good work there are only about 270 unsolved cold cases to go.

Too Many Questions Still Unanswered

2007-03-05T23:49:00.000-08:00

David Earl Hughes was shot to death by the police in November of 2006 in southwest Portland. Hughes pled no contest to burglary, possession of an illegal firearm and arson and was scheduled to be sentenced on November 7. Out on bail in the days before his sentencing, Hughes told his neighbors that he would run rather than face up to five years in prison. He said he would rather die.

2006 was a year with several high-profile police shootings in Portland and the surrounding area. Several times this year we have had major press coverage and public review hearings on police shootings. In the case of David Hughes we had two Oregonian articles and mostly silence from official sources.

The charges that Hughes was to be sentenced on stemmed from an argument involving his ex-wife Treva Richardson and Gary George. The argument involved a car and a dog. Some new information that has come to light makes the argument even more bizarre – the car that Treva and George were fighting over belonged to David Hughes.

According to an old friend of David’s, who spoke with him shortly after the confrontation in March 2006, Treva had been out of David’s life for several years, but somehow they met up again at a vulnerable time for David. He had recently been divorced and then his mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Drug abuse seems to be the main thread running through this whole story. David had been a drug user before marrying his second wife in the 1980s. After getting clean from drugs David continued to abuse alcohol. During their separation Treva had become addicted to methamphetamine and both of their children had become addicts as well. David and Mary Hughes saw David’s son through rehab in 2002.

Treva also seems to have gotten herself into a dangerous situation. She was now living in a “biker compound” on NE 42nd. This was the house of Gary George. The Oregonian says that Treva was George’s girlfriend.

Treva allegedly stole the car from David. Gary George put his own name on the title and David stole it back. The only other crime that David was accused of was a forgery charge, for putting his name back onto the title of his own car. This started the fight over the car.

David began using methamphetamine and isolated himself into a small group of drug addicts that called themselves the “happy family.” One rumor says that David had suffered a heart attack and was diagnosed with congestive heart-failure. The rumor is that he decided at that point he would live his life as he wanted to, regardless of who he hurt.

David’s ex-wife says that he was always fascinated by weapons. One rumor is that he began buying drugs and weapons from the Russian mafia in Vancouver. I’m pretty sure that the Russian mafia has a presence in both Vancouver and Portland, I’m not so sure that David was involved with them. I think there was a dangerous crime organization that was much more convenient.

This brings us back to Gary George. Who was he? And who killed him?

I guess we have an answer to the second question. Bobby Donald Barnes is in jail charged with aggravated murder and associated crimes. Barnes, a registered sex offender on parole for prostitution and rape, was arrested on April 24, 2006 on a warrant for a parole violation. He was picked up at a house in northeast Portland a couple of miles from George’s home.

While Barnes was in custody detectives were called to George’s home. They found Gary George in a pool of blood, beaten to death. Guns, a laptop computer and knives were stolen from the home. Two unnamed people claim to have driven Barnes to George’s house before the killing. Police also say they have DNA evidence linking Barnes to the killing. If they have all this evidence, why has Barnes not been convicted?

Because he hasn’t been brought to trial. Chief Deputy District Attorney Norm Frink says it is “unclear if there will be a trial.” He said that in December. Since then he hasn’t said anything. The only way I know about the information in the last paragraph is from a tiny little story in the Oregonian that I managed to find because I have become obsessed with this case.

So that’s what the police want us to think is the answer to who killed Gary George. Maybe they’re right. The only way we’ll know is when a jury decides. Until then, let’s see what we can do with the first question: Who was Gary George?

His family is quiet. One relative, a niece I think, was married on the same day Gary died. She has her grief to deal with and she is not saying anything about her uncle or his activities. The detectives told her that Gary was killed because of a “drug deal gone bad.” I was almost ready to believe that, until I found the story in the wrap-up of Portland murders in 2006. The police give a whole list of things stolen from George’s home, but drugs are not mentioned.

Some people think David Hughes was getting drugs and weapons from Gary, but David Hughes apparently believed that Gary George was a cop. Could Gary George have been working undercover?

I don’t know the answer to that and maybe I don’t really want to know. There are some suspicious circumstances though. Gary George had a minor record, a charge of 4th degree assault that was dropped in 1998. George was armed and he was not shy about defending himself, evidenced by the confrontation between Gary, David and Treva in March. Eight times between 1998 and 2005 police were called to Gary’s house because he had been the victim of some kind of crime.

After the confrontation in March, David and Treva were able to drive only two or three blocks before being apprehended by the police. Gary lived in an industrial district that is pretty empty day or night. His house was the only residence within blocks. Gary George got very fast and efficient police response in a pretty isolated area.

This certainly isn’t evidence that Gary George was an undercover cop. David Hughes had become very paranoid from isolation and drug use, so what he believed is highly questionable. Yet a cloud of mystery still hangs over the whole story. Things are not happening in the usual way and everyone is very reluctant to talk about it. Too many questions are still unanswered.

His Hands Were Cold As Ice

2007-02-27T19:29:00.001-08:00

It was a cold January evening in 1958 when Julia Anetta Voris, walking home along Columbia St near the south Park Blocks, felt cold hands on her neck. A man had stepped out of the shadows of a parking garage and he now had her by the neck.

Years later she told Margie Boule of the Portland Oregonian that she should have screamed for help. Instead she got angry and said, “Get your damn cold hands off my neck.” It probably saved her life. Her attacker, Ernest Taylor, was surprised by her reaction and he backed off.

“What’s the matter with you? Do you need money?” Voris demanded. The startled and ashamed man stammered that he did need money. Voris acted annoyed as she shuffled through her purse. “I can’t seem to find a $10 bill and I’m not going to give you more than that,” she snapped. Inside she was scared to death.

Finally she found a ten and thrust it at Taylor, he stuffed it in his pocket. All at once it hit her. She realized how scared she was and her knees went weak. “Get a hold of me. I’m going to fall,” she said.

Ernest Taylor, the confused attacker, caught Julia Voris as she fell. “What do I do?” he said.

“Help me walk, we’ll go have coffee.” She was afraid that if she left he would follow and pounce on her again.

They walked to an all-night “greasy spoon” on First Ave where the frightened woman bought two cups of coffee. The light and the coffee, being close to other people, strengthened her and she felt angry at her attacker again.

“That’s a foolish thing to do, you know, grabbing people in the dark.” Her attacker looked sheepish, but he didn’t say anything. Then he did start talking…About architecture in Portland.

He knew all the old churches in the neighborhood and knew the architectural styles. Portland has some great examples of 19th and 20th century architecture. He seemed nice, really nice. Ernie Taylor was known as a “movie star handsome” man.

When they finished their coffee he was concerned about her. “I should walk you home. It’s not safe walking alone after dark.”

“That’s awfully funny coming from you,” she said. But she couldn’t see any alternative. If she didn’t let him walk with her, he would follow. She agreed to let him walk her home.

“I can’t turn my back on this man,” she thought, “He could sneak up on me anywhere.” As they passed a dark alley, Taylor said, “Come in here. I want to talk with you.”

“No,” she said, “I’m not afraid of you, but I am afraid of the dark.” She said her husband would be off work now and was probably driving around looking for her.

“Give me your address and I’ll mail you back the ten dollars,” he said smiling. With a shiver of fear she scribbled her address on a scrap of paper. Taylor put it in his shirt pocket and disappeared into the night.

Julia Voris felt a fear that would never leave her as she ran to her home on Market St. Portland’s beautiful south Park Blocks would never be the same for her.

That was Friday night. On Monday morning Bessie Hammonds, 36, wasn’t so lucky. Hammonds was the manager of an apartment building at 1905 SW Park, where the gym now stands on PSU campus.

Bessie and her common-law husband, Alvin Martin, lived in the basement apartment. Bessie rented and cleaned apartments and collected rent. Alvin did the handyman work. He also worked mornings at a downtown hotel. Bessie and Alvin were known as a hard working couple and were often seen together walking in the Park Blocks.

Monday, January 20, 1958 was a freezing day. Alvin hurried through the Park toward home. He hoped that Bessie would have a hot lunch ready when he got there. Instead he found her dead on the floor of their apartment. She was still wearing her bathrobe, but part of it had been torn away and tied tightly around her neck.

Alma Stanfield, a tenant in the building, lived right above Hammond’s apartment. Just weeks before, she had moved from the third floor to the first floor because she was tired of carrying her groceries and her little girls up so many stairs. She had always felt safe in the building and was shocked to find police all over when she returned from work that evening.

News of her landlady’s death frightened Alma Stanfield. Years later she said, “We were all so shocked when it happened. No one suspected Mr. Taylor. He was so handsome.” Mr. Taylor was Ernie Taylor, who had moved into Stanfield’s old apartment on the third floor. After the killing he was nowhere to be found and the police suspected him right away.

“I remember Bessie Hammonds told me she wondered about Mr. Taylor,” Alma said. “He had come in to rent the place, and he had no credit, no car, and he paid with a $100 bill. That was all he had.”

On the floor near Bessie Hammond’s body police found a pocket that the victim had apparently torn from the shirt of her killer. Inside was a scrap of paper with the name and address of Julia Voris scrawled on it.

Voris told the police the story of her frightening encounter. A few days later, Taylor was picked up by police in Boise, ID and returned to Portland on Voris’ identification. Taylor confessed the killing and acted out his crime for the police at the murder scene.

Taylor was diagnosed as a schizophrenic and found not guilty by reason of insanity. Since that time Oregon’s law has changed and this verdict is now “guilty, but insane.” Taylor was committed to the Oregon State Hospital in Salem to be held indefinitely.

One day in 1962, Taylor walked away from the State Hospital. His disappearance was not reported for several days and Taylor was no where to be found. He wandered to Idaho, Denver and San Diego, working as a short order cook, before marrying and settling down in Sacramento under the name of Ernest Allen.

Back in Portland the women who lived on the Park Blocks were still frightened of the handsome young man who stalked women. Julia Voris, who was never told of Taylor’s escape thought it was a nightmare when she saw him on the streets of Portland one day. “We just looked at each other, and then I hurried on. I didn't want to even believe he was loose. It still scares me.”

Litka Rubin, a sruvivor of a Nazi concentration camp who lived in Hammond’s building said, “Like those Nazis who killed so many people, you look at them, you don't see a killer. Killers don't look like killers. People don't see the inside. I was very, very frightened when the murder happened.”

Taylor lived a quiet life with his wife in California. Neighbors often saw the couple walking in a local park and Taylor was well known in the neighborhood as the “grandfatherly” type. In 1991 he filed for social security benefits and his true identity was discovered.

Ernest Taylor returned to Portland in October, 1991 and was held in the Multnomah County jail for nearly a year. Finally it was determined that he had regained his sanity and was no longer a danger. A deal was reached where Taylor submitted to supervision by a California psychiatrist and was allowed to return to Sacramento to live out his life.

Not much was known about these kinds of crimes in the fifties. Today we know that it is rare for a sexual psycopath to recover spontaneously. We also know that killers who get away with murder tend to kill again.

There is at least one unsolved strangling of a middle aged woman in Portland in 1958. Early in January Dorothy Balfour was found strangled to death with a piece of her clothing in her bedroom behind the gas station she ran at 815 SE Division. Police never identified her killer. Are there others, before 1958 or after 1962?

Thanks to Margie Boule of the Portland Oregonian for the quotations. Her column was instrumental in the development of this case and the main source of my information.

EXCLUSIVE: A Survivor's Story

2007-02-19T18:18:00.000-08:00

Part One: A Romance

Jennifer Lindbo was a teenager when she met her future husband Joe Meling. He graduated from High School a year ahead of her. He was charming and independent. He had a job and a customized muscle car. Jennifer had been brought up in small towns in Montana and Idaho. Vancouver, WA must have looked like the big city compared to Kellogg, ID.

Joe swept Jennifer off her feet. After their first date he brought her a long stemmed rose and paid a visit to her parents. Jennifer was impressed, because boys she had dated in Idaho had been afraid of her father, The Pastor. After that it was a whirlwind romance; movies, parties, pizza and video games, church and shopping together.

There had been nothing like it back in Kellogg and Jennifer loved it. She thought Joe loved her and she knew that she loved him. Joe taught her to drive his car, to burn rubber and to “slap shift.” Now, almost thirty years later, she describes Joe at that time as “responsible, polite, charismatic and romantic.” She doesn’t say it, but it is clear that she found Joe Meling very exciting.

Jennifer had been brought up to see the value in everyone. She was raised to honor adults and to let men make the decisions, like most girls raised in the sixties. Jennifer had been planning and saving for college as long as she could remember. Every summer she had picked huckleberries and worked at a local lunch counter, putting the money away to pay for college.

Joe didn’t want Jennifer to go to college. He wanted her to stay in Vancouver and work. She was tempted by the fun life they were living, but she had a firm goal to finish school. It caused tension between them, but after she graduated High School Jennifer started college in Tacoma. Joe gave Jennifer an engagement ring before she left.

College was fun. She liked living in a co-ed dorm in the city. She liked being around all the cute boys and the independence that comes with college life. Joe tried several times to convince Jennifer to quit college and come back to Vancouver. His behavior became very controlling as he tried to keep track of where she was by phone.

In her sophomore year it became clear that Jennifer was not going to quit college and Joe threw a tantrum. In a stormy scene near the Portland Zoo, Joe threw Jennifer’s engagement ring out the car window and then sped down the twisting hilly streets so fast that Jennifer became frightened.

Jennifer was shaken by the incident at the zoo, but relieved to have the pressure off. The cute 19 year old could have fun at school without having to report to her fiancée on the phone. She thought it was peculiar when Joe married another blonde, blue-eyed pastor’s daughter very soon after the break up. She was just glad that he would no longer be trying to get her to quit school.

Jennifer loved Joe and believed that Joe loved her, but she had come to realize that he wanted to control her. She was surprised, but somehow it seemed inevitable when Joe’s marriage failed and he returned to Jennifer.

Joe Meling was a charming and intelligent man. He knew how to sweep a girl off her feet. He was a gifted artist with “an impeccable eye for detail.” He convinced Jennifer that she was the one that he had always loved, his love for Jennifer was the reason his marriage had failed and that they were meant to be together.

She didn’t know it then, but 27 years later, Jennifer says that it is clear why Joe came back to her. She was a prize that he was determined to win. She was part of getting what he “deserved” from life; money and power. She doesn’t think that he clearly knew how to get what he wanted from her until later. “Later, he would see my life itself as a paycheck,” she says.

By the time Jennifer and Joe married in 1986, Jennifer was teaching school in Tumwater, WA. She loved working with the kids and she is a natural teacher. While working as a teacher she always held down several part time jobs. She worked two jobs every day, teaching school and then working a shift at the local department store. At least three nights a week she would work for the city recreation department, leading a drama club, teaching calligraphy or supervising the gym.

Jennifer was brought up to be a hard worker and saw nothing unusual in her brimming schedule. Joe on the other hand went from one marketing scheme to another. First it was Amway, then water purification. He tracked down people with uncollected refunds and payments. Jennifer says he would move from one job to another always looking for a bigger paycheck.

Joe had a grandiose vision of himself and what he deserved. He believed that the best was not too good for him. He liked expensive clothes and shoes. He was proud of his customized car and he spent a lot of money keeping it in good condition. He had to have the best stereo and exercise equipment available. He told Jennifer she should only have the best too, but the money was always spent on him.

Jennifer was brought up in a religious, family-oriented environment. Social life was based on the church. Her marriage was sacred and she took her role as a wife very seriously. She believed in obeying her husband, but it hurt that she earned all the money and he spent it.

One of Joe Meling’s artistic outlets was makeup. He idolized the Universal Monsters, the Famous Monsters of Filmland. He loved to make people up with grotesque wounds. He enjoyed getting the attention as the creator of monsters.

After four years of marriage Joe was still dependent on Jennifer for money. She insisted that he get a “real” job, so he had started working for Prudential insurance as a life insurance agent. Joe Meling was the type of salesman who believed that the hard work of sales is only for the “bottom feeders.” He would only go after the big deals that were worth his time.

The old saying goes, “Sales is the lowest paid easy job and the highest paid hard job.” Since Joe couldn’t be bothered with the “little” deals that are the bread and butter of any salesman, he had an easy sales job. He was also spending even more money than usual. Jennifer didn’t know it then, but he had become addicted to strip clubs. He traveled to Tacoma for his work and blew a lot of money in strip clubs along the way.

Resentment was taking a toll on the marriage by 1990. Joe said derisive things about her to friends and to her face. She was tired from working so hard and resentful over having little to show for her work. Joe expected Jennifer to be there for him, the way he wanted her to whenever he wanted her. Jennifer’s resentment came out in angry outbursts at Joe, sometimes in front of his friends.

One night after working a 14 hour day, Jennifer came home exhausted. All she wanted was to change out of her work clothes and relax. Joe wanted help with something and he wanted it now. Jennifer snapped at him and they started yelling at each other. He grabbed her arm and twisted it, pushing her up against the kitchen cabinets.

Jennifer called the police that night, but she was so embarrassed by the whole thing that she didn’t press charges. Joe was apologetic and charming as usual. Jennifer did not believe in divorce, but that night it became a real possibility.

Divorce was not an easy decision for Jennifer. She believed that she was married and that was that. The frustration of her marriage had become so much that she had begun to contemplate the unthinkable. She knew that her duty was to stay with her husband, though.

She was still living with Joe in Tumwater on February 2, 1991. Joe complained of her snoring at night and insisted that she take a decongestant before going to bed. Jennifer refused, because she was not stuffy when she went to bed. Her snoring was really caused by a different problem and it wouldn’t start until she was deeply asleep.

Finally Joe brought her time released Sudafed, saying that it might stop the snoring. Jennifer agreed to try it, even though it was in large capsules. She didn’t like the capsules because they could be easily tampered with. She and Joe had even discussed the Tylenol killings in Chicago. She never thought it could happen in her own home.

Coming Soon -- Part Two: That Night

I want to express my appreciation to Jennifer Lindbo for sharing this painful story. Fortunately she is an English teacher and she has provided invaluable aid in the writing of this piece.

Sudafed Killings

2007-01-23T19:55:00.000-08:00

Sixteen years ago a series of killings shook the Olympia, Wa. area. While Olympia is a hundred miles north of Portland, I am writing about this case because Jennifer Lindbo, the only survivor of the poisonings now lives in the Portland area and she has talked with me about her experience. The 16th anniversary of this crime is coming up on February 2nd and the Discovery Health channel will be featuring Jennifer’s mysterious coma on their program Mystery ER.

Jennifer Lindbo, 28, knew there was something wrong as soon as she swallowed the Sudafed 12-hour capsule. She felt sick to her stomach. As she walked down the hall to her bedroom she felt dizzy and thought, “I’m really sick.”

By the time she reached the bedroom she was trying to call to her husband, Joe, but she couldn’t get enough breath behind her words and she couldn’t tell if he heard her or not. She sat on the bed, curling herself around her stomach that was in severe pain.

Jennifer collapsed on the floor beside her bed. It would be several years before she remembered what happened after that. She had ingested a huge dose of sodium cyanide. She would be in a coma for nearly two days.

Jennifer’s illness was a mystery to the doctors at Black Hills Medical Center in Olympia, WA. Dr. T. Hian Pouw, Jennifer’s doctor, told the Seattle Times that cyanide poisoning was the furthest thing from his mind, when he saw the deathly ill woman. He first thought she had gone into diabetic shock, but was puzzled by the high level of acid in her blood. That was when he first thought of cyanide.

Very few people have ever survived the dose of sodium cyanide that Jennifer Lindbo swallowed on February 2, 1991. Later that month two other people were not so lucky. On February 11 Kathleen Daneker, 40, died after taking a Sudafed 12-hour capsule that contained sodium cyanide. On February 18 Stanley McWhorter, 44, of Lacey also died after taking cyanide laced Sudafed.

It was the second deadly product tampering in Washington State, after Stella Nickell poisoned her husband Bruce and a stranger, Sue Snow, with cyanide-laced Excedrin in 1986.

After the deaths of Daneker and McWhorter and the poisoning of Jennifer Lindbo were linked, the makers of Sudafed, Burroughs Wellcome, initiated a nation-wide recall of Sudafed capsules. The recall didn’t happen for two weeks after Jennifer was poisoned, and nearly a week after Burroughs Wellcome was informed of the product tampering. The delay in recalling their product left the pharmaceutical company liable to a wrongful death law suit that was settled out of court.

Suspicion quickly fell on Joe Meling, Jennifer’s husband. Emergency Medical Technicians who responded to the 911 call after Jennifer’s poisoning were suspicious of him because his actions and words seemed rehearsed. Doctors and nurses at the hospital were suspicious because Meling acted aloof and avoided going near his wife. Jennifer’s parents were shocked and suspicious because he refused to touch her and resisted going into the room where she lay.

Joe Meling was an intelligent, manipulative man who was never able to establish himself successfully in a career in sales. At the time of Jennifer’s poisoning he was a sales agent for Prudential Insurance. He had never been successful in sales, because he was only interested in going after very large sales; he couldn’t be bothered with what he considered to be “small” sales. He didn’t get the large sales either.

Tumwater Police became suspicious of Joe Meling after he told them that he had made no changes to his family’s insurance; then they found he had doubled the coverage on his wife’s life to $700,000 in January, less than a month before her poisoning.

Joe Meling also told the police that his marriage was happy and that he and Jennifer had no marital problems. The Tumwater police already knew better, six weeks before the poisoning they had responded to a 911 call at the Melings’ home. Jennifer called the police because Joe had grabbed her arm and pushed her against the kitchen cabinets. Obviously all was not well in the Meling home.

Shortly after the poisoning police searched the Melings’ apartment trying to find evidence of what had caused her illness. Instead they found camera equipment that Meling had reported missing and collected insurance on after a 1988 burglary.

At the end of February test results on McWhorter’s blood proved that she had died from cyanide. Investigators found that the blister pack of Sudafed in McWhorter’s home had the same lot number as the Sudafed in Meling’s home. Neither blister pack number matched the numbers on the Sudafed boxes.

It would be 2 ½ years before the Sudafed killer would be convicted.

Coming Soon: A Slabtown Chronicle Exclusive: A Survivor’s Story

Ha Ha Crimes

2007-01-15T20:38:00.000-08:00

It’s been a bloody New Year so far. On January 1st, just two hours after midnight, Jermaine Davis, 23, became the first murder victim of the year. One week later Davonte Lightfoot, 14, was shot to death at the corner of North Albina Ave and Killingsworth.

Rev. Robert Richardson, of Emmanuel Community Services, who presided at Davis’ funeral, told the Oregonian these are not hate crimes; they are Ha Ha Crimes. “Ha ha, I dare you to do it.”

Richardson is a high profile activist in northeast Portland who works with several programs to reach out to criminals and convicts and help them transform their lives. Both victims had criminal records and their past crimes may or may not have had anything to do with their deaths.

Davis, a father of twins, worked at Portland International Airport and had been arrested in March 2006 for possession and delivery of a controlled substance. His father, David Moaning told the Portland Mercury, “He was just a good kid, and a father of two twins himself. He was the type of person whose heart went out to everyone, he always thought of others before himself.”

Davis had just finished ringing in the New Year and was presumably on his way home when he encountered a 4-door Sedan with several white or Hispanic men and women riding in it. There was some kind of exchange between Davis and the car’s occupants and then shots rang out.

Police are offering a reward of $1,000 for information that leads them to a thin, pale, white man, aged between 20 and 25, with dark brown spiked hair and a moustache, who is a suspect in Davis’ death.

Davonte Lightfoot, 14, was a freshman at Benson High school, who had been flirting with a dangerous life on the street for some time. Arrested earlier in 2006, near the same corner where he was shot, for carrying a .22 pistol, Davonte was on juvenile probation at the time of his death.

Although he had a record, his teachers at Benson told the Oregonian that Davonte was a respectful, humble kid. He wanted to be a rapper, but he did not glorify gang life. Whether he glorified it or not, he felt the draw of gang life. The corner where he was shot is well known for drug dealers, prostitutes and sudden death.

Police are looking for a black male around 20 years old, thin and between 5 feet 5 inches and 5 feet 9 inches tall. They believe he was wearing a three-quarter length grey jacket. The shooting took place at 4:30 in the afternoon and their were several witnesses. Police have not been getting a lot of cooperation from witnesses in the neighborhood. People in that neighborhood have good reasons to be afraid.

Rev. Richardson told the Portland Mercury that he began his organization, Emmanuel Community Services in 1988, “When Los Angeles had moved across the street. Shootings were at an all-time high. One hundred and seven shots were fired within a week," he recalls. "Our pastor decided we'd rather do more than funerals."

Almost twenty years later Richardson is doing more than just funerals, but he’s still doing the funerals too.

Portland Murder: Year End Wrap Up

2007-01-09T21:24:00.000-08:00

The statistics are in for 2006 and the number of murders in Portland held steady, with violent crime in general down by 15%. This bucks a national trend with violent crime in most major cities rising this year. Portland had 27 murders in 2006 compared to 26 in 2005 and 28 in 2004. This is less than half of the record year for Portland murders, 1987 when there were 70.

An interesting development this year is that there were no murders in Portland in 2006 that were considered to be gang related, but more than a third were related to domestic violence.

One case of domestic murder illustrates last year’s trend;

On May 3, 2006, Claudia Rhone was stabbed to death by her ex-boyfriend Gilberto Pedroso, 63. Rhone had taken out a restraining order against Pedroso in 2004, because of physical abuse. By 2006 the restraining order had lapsed, but Pedroso’s probation for harassment charges banned him from contacting Rhone.

On May 3 Pedroso showed up at Rhone’s apartment with a butcher knife and made threatening gestures outside her window. Police arrived quickly, but Pedroso was nowhere to be found. At 7:22pm one of Rhone’s neighbors called police because Pedroso had returned.

Police again arrived quickly, but Pedroso had once again disappeared. At 10:53pm Rhone called 911 and dispatchers could hear her screaming. Then the phone went dead. When police arrived they found Rhone stabbed over a dozen times with the tip of a butcher knife lodged in her skull.

Pedroso was arrested a short time later. According to the Oregonian, he told officers, “I don’t like that she was always calling the police on me.” He also said that he suspected that another man was sleeping in the bed he had bought for her.

This case will be part of a Multnomah County domestic fatality review, under a new state law, with the goal of identifying county policies that might be able to prevent future murders of this kind. Chiquita Rollins, a Multnomah County domestic violence coordinator told the Oregonian, “If there’s [sic] official response changes that can be made, we want to be making them.”

One domestic violence related killing, hardly a murder, stood out in Portland; the self defense killing of Edward Dalton Haffey by Susan Kuhnhausen. What was originally thought to be a burglary turned out to be a bumbling killer hired by Kuhnhausen’s ex-husband. No charges were brought against Susan Kuhnhausen, but her husband, Michael Kuhnhausen Sr. faces charges of attempted murder and conspiracy.

In a development right after Christmas Angela Kuhnhausen paid $100,000 of her father’s million dollar bail and he came within a whisker of release, under electronic monitoring. He had intended to stay with his son while he waited for his trial, until his son’s landlord heard about it. The landlord refused to allow Kuhnhausen to stay with his son. Kuhnhausen’s daughter, Angela, offered to let her dad stay with her, but since she is a prosecution witness the judge said no.

Kuhnhausen is sitting in jail now waiting for his trail to start. The only thing he will say is, ‘I didn’t do it.”

Two killers, Shawn Womack, 21, and Cevelino Capuia, 20, did their best to run up Portland’s murder rate. These two young men killed two men in Portland to steal their cars. Before Womack was arrested he also killed Capuia’s girlfriend Marissa Manwarren.

Sgt. George Burke, who supervises Portland’s homicide detectives, told the Oregonian, “If we hadn’t stopped them, I’d hate to think of the damage that could’ve been done.” Personally I hate to think of the damage that was done.

Portland police solved 92% of the murders here last year. Unsolved killings still linger, including the murder of Douglas Adamson who’s dismembered body parts were found floating in the Columbia River. Police now believe this murder may have occurred in Washington.

Another case that lingers is the killing of Gary George who was found beaten to death in his northeast Portland home. Police have Bobby Barnes in custody for this killing but recent developments leave more questions than answers. The district attorney’s office has clammed up on this one and there is no word of the status in this case, except that Bobby Barnes did it.

2007 has started with a bang. The first murder of the year occurred at 2:10am on January 1st . Jermaine Nyron Davis, 23, was gunned down on SW 4th avenue just as the bars closed. Davis had a record for manufacture and delivery of drugs. His shooting has caused a stir among Portland bloggers, but so far the police have not arrested a suspect.

And so it goes.

Carnival 54 Where Are You?

2006-12-12T20:59:00.000-08:00

The Carnival of the True Crime Blogs endures. This week, as usual, we bring you the best in True Crime blogging. Without further ado, here are the picks of the week:

I haven’t seen Laura Young’s blog before, but I’m glad to welcome her to the carnival this week. The Dragon Slayer’s Guide to Life doesn’t specialize in True Crime, it looks like she focuses on tales of courage, this week her guest blogger Jason gives us a cop’s eye view on the most dangerous kind of call, the domestic disturbance: War Story.

Wyatt Earp is a police detective from Philadelphia. His blog Support Your Local Gunfighter brings us another cop’s eye view of the street. This one kind of reminds me of the old Adam-12 show, one of my favorites: Locked, Loaded and … Zilch.

Laura James of CLEWS says she’s been slacking lately. I know how you feel, Laura. This week she offers us a tale from Old New York about the disappearance of a young girl and How the Feminine Sherlock Holmes Solved the Disappearance of Ruth Cruger. If that’s slacking, Laura, keep it up.

Home Sweet Home is a blog of domestic crime. This week Sweet brings us an all too common story about “eternal” love in Love Is Not Always Eternal.

Trench Reynolds is one of the hardest working Crime Bloggers out there. His blog The Trenchcoat Chronicles is one of the oldest True Crime Blogs and it focuses on violence at school. This week Trench brings us an update on a brutal case out of Pennsylvania Patrick Armstrong Pleads Guilty to Manslaughter.

HOTT stands for Hot On The Trail. It is a blog focusing on unsolved cases, is actively involved in investigations and provides resources for victims and their families. This week The Carnival brings you two entries from HOTT

Where is Coreen Weise? Gives us the sad story of a missing 15-year-old. The other question is Did she jump?

IRS & SSA As Missing Persons Locator Tools: When & How informs us of an important resource in the search for missing people.

My Life of Crime is a fairly new member of our True Crime Blog community. This week Bonnie offers more on the horrible case of the microwaved baby Paris Talley.

Lilo of Lost in Lima Ohio likes to deal with tough issues. This week is no different. She offers us Fireman Wants His Job Back.

The Crime Scene Blog is one of my favorites, not only for its crisp writing, but also for the sensibility Stephen McCaskill brings to his work. This week he offers We Have the Baseline Killer. Is Phoenix’s nightmare over? At least one of Stephen’s readers thinks it’s not.

Harding of T.O. Crime did not offer a submission to the carnival this week, but I won’t let him get away with that. Harding brings us cold tales from the north and my week is complete without a visit to his site. This week I choose T.O. Crimes article The Pig Farmer on Trial.

Last but not least slabtown chronicle looks into the mysterious death of David Hughes in Something Weird is Going On Here.

Well, that’s it for this week’s Carnival of the True Crime Blogs. If you would like to find out more about the carnival or submit an article for an upcoming edition please go here.

Something Weird is Going on Here

2006-12-12T19:35:00.000-08:00

By the time David Earl Hughes checked into the Hospitality Inn on SW Capitol Highway in November 2006, his life had spiraled far out of control. According to some evidence on the internet, Hughes life had been going that way for the last two years.

A reader of the Portland Tribune, who identified himself as “a Neighbor”, speaks of how Hughes’ neighbors and the police had tried to save him from the dangerous people who had been hanging out at his Northeast Portland house. The neighbor claims that Hughes’ drug addiction had caused personality changes in Hughes and that he had started hanging out with a dangerous group of car thieves and strippers.

In two years Hughes had gone from being a “normal” neighbor to being a wanted fugitive. His legal troubles began in March when Hughes accompanied his 1st ex-wife, Treva Richardson, to the home of Gary George on NE 42nd in Portland. Richardson had recently ended a relationship with George and was fighting with him over custody of a dog.

Hughes and Richardson were armed when they confronted George at his home. They threatened George’s life if he didn’t return the dog. They broke the window of George’s home. Hughes poured gasoline in through the broken window and threatened to burn the house down.

“I’m going to burn your house,” Hughes said, according to court documents, “You really screwed up, Gary.” Hughes fired his shotgun and George returned fire. Hughes and Richardson fled the scene but were arrested a few blocks away with an illegal sawed-off shotgun.

Hughes was charged with attempted murder, but that charge was dropped when he plead guilty to first degree burglary with a firearm, possession of a short barrel shotgun and arson. He was scheduled to appear in court for sentencing on Tuesday November 7, 2006. Instead Hughes disappeared.

Hughes is reported to have told friends and neighbors that he would run or die rather than go to jail. Portland Police and U.S. marshals spent a week searching for Hughes in the Portland area. They visited the Hospitality Inn on SW Capitol Highway more than once looking for him. On Sunday November 12, they arrived at the motel about 10am and found Hughes.

That morning Hughes sent text messages that some are seeing as his suicide note. At 7:00am Hughes sent to his daughter, “they are here I love you clear my name.” An hour later he sent “to murdock and hoe god bless you” this message was evidently for two North Portland police officers. A few minutes later he sent “I forgive whoever gets me tell them I wish them well.”

After sending the messages Hughes called KGW TV and told them that he was wanted on a weapons charge, “but had never been in any real trouble with the police.” He told TV reporters that the police were going to kill him.

Hughes reportedly called the front desk a little after 10am to say that police were looking for him and someone was pounding on his door. While motel employees were calling the police they saw Hughes jumping from the window of his room with his luggage.

After jumping from the window Hughes found himself in an alley surrounded by high chain link fences. Police had soon cut off Hughes’ escape. Hughes refused to give up and yelled at the police to shoot him. Hughes reached into his jacket. Police fired a “less than lethal” bean-bag round at Hughes, but the chain link fence blocked it. Hughes continued to yell at officers to shoot him and reached for his waist-band as if he were going for a weapon.

Three police officers opened fire at Hughes and he was hit several times. He died on the way to the hospital and police found no weapons on him. This is the fourth police shooting in this city in just a few months. Unlike the other shootings there has been almost no attention paid to the death of David Hughes.

Could it be because of the investigation into the murder of Gary George? George, the man Hughes had threatened in the March assault, was found beaten to death in his home a few weeks after the confrontation with Hughes and Richardson. Police discounted Hughes as a suspect in the murder and have charged Bobby Donald Barnes with the murder.

Barnes, who has a long criminal record for prostitution and rape and who is a registered sex offender, is awaiting trial on charges of aggravated murder and “associated crimes.” Chief Deputy District Attorney Norman Frink said, in an email, that it is “unclear if there will be a trial.” More on Barnes in a later post.

Every time I read or hear something about this case, it leaves me with an uneasy feeling. More is going on here than meets the eye. This case nags at me. I am aware that some of my readers are acquainted with the people involved. If you are I would like to hear from you. Please contact me through the comments on this page (I will keep your contact information confidential) or email me at jdchandler2002@yahoo.com and please let me know how to get in touch.

Coming Attractions

2006-12-04T21:15:00.000-08:00

National Novel Writing Month is now over and I completed 50,000 words of my second novel during the month. The problem is that only finishes about half of the story, so I have a lot more to write. I am missing my crime blogging, though and want to get back to it. there is a lot going on in Portland and I will be writing about it here soon. If anyone is interested my first novel is here.

Balance is the issue, because I also am enjoying fiction writing and I plan to finish the novel I started (go ahead and check it out). Here are the things I am planning for Slabtown in the upcoming weeks:

Something Weird is Going on Here -- The murder of Gary Douglas George in April 2006 left a lot of unanswered questions. In June Portland Police arrested Bobby Donald Barnes for the murder. Barnes, a registered predatory sex-offender, has disappeared from the news so I am looking into what is happening with him. A few weeks ago there was a very puzzling development when David Hughes was shot to death by police in what is being called a "suicide by cop." Hughes is the boyfriend of George's ex-wife who assaulted George and threatened to burn down his house shortly before George was killed. I will have more to say about this very odd case soon.

His Hands Were Cold as Ice -- This is about a strangler who stalked Portland in the 1950s and a woman who survived an encounter with him.

Missing Families -- The recent disappearance and (Thank God) rescue of the Kim family reminds us of another family that was not so lucky. In 1958 Ken Martin took his family down the Columbia Gorge to cut a Christmas tree. The family was never seen again. This case is one of Portland's most enduring mysteries.

The Akin Case -- My research into this famous unsolved murder continues and I will have a follow up to my two previous posts soon. Akins Murder Was Never Solved and The Port Commision

Sudafed Murder -- In 1992 there was a series of killings in the Olympia, Wa. area involving Sudafed that had been poisoned with cyanide. One victim survived and Joe Meling is in Federal Prison for the crime. I will take an in depth look at this case and I will present exclusive information.

See you again soon and thanks for reading.

Send in the Clowns: An Alternative True Crime Carnival

2006-11-14T22:16:00.000-08:00

Sometime between being assigned the next edition of the Carnival of the True Crime blogs and the deadline, the whole world changed. What happened to the True Crime Blogroll? Where is the Carnival of the true Crime Blogs? Lilo’s email let me know about a new group forming here but it doesn’t say what happened. She does answer an interesting question on child abuse though: The Answer is No

They say you can’t keep a good blog down, and there are some good blogs out there, so here are jd chandler’s picks of the week:

Corporate crime is pervasive and it can kill. Imahologram at Postcards From Hell gives us one example here in the states. You think it’s any different in Iraq or Afghanistan? Exclusive: Nextel Puts Law Enforcement Lives at Risk

Stephen McCaskill at Crime Scene Blog sheds some light on the community changes. He also announces another crime blog group forming. In crime Stephen gives a nice update on the Serial Sniper Case: Malvo Gets another Life Sentence

Laura James, Esquire at CLEWS gets two listings this week because I like them both: Old Clipping of the Week tells of a Cold Case from the Old Days. Her True Crime Book News, with Fiction Flavoring is inimitable Laura. Who would have thought Henry James liked blood and guts?

The mysterious Shadowraiths brings a fascinating and scholarly look at how our current system of dealing with juvenile sex offenders might be creating the adult sexual predators that plague us. Lock-a-by Baby

Trench of MyCrimeSpace and other blogs brings a story about a frightening trend in DeathRowSpace. Now that’s really a place for fiends.

Home Sweet Home focuses on what some people call “cozy” domestic crime. This week it’s the story of a very messy divorce He Needed Help. Isn’t that cozy?

Toronto is a cold city this time of year. Our friend Harding of T.O. Crime tells stories that chill any time of the year. This week is no exception: Sex Slave Keepers Sentenced in the Peg.

Nene Adams at the Year Round writes in the plush style of the magazines she uses for her research and in doing so transports us to another age. An age of innocence and privilege… An age of Meaningless Massacre.

Steve Huff, of course, keeps it coming with Crimeblog.us This week it’s a weird story about Phillip Daggett, a survivor of a hate crime in Massachusettes who seems to attract strange situations. I’m sure there’s a crime in there somewhere too, I’m just not sure who the criminal is: Phillip Daggett’s Taco Run.

As most of you know I'm in the middle of a big fiction writing project but slabtown chronicle lives. This week it’s a longer piece about a brutal crime from 1949, I call it Cold Blooded.

That wraps it up for this week’s carnival. Our community is changing, but I hope we will be able to continue this valuable forum in some way. The Carnival must go on!

Cold Blooded

2006-11-13T21:10:00.000-08:00

Thelma Taylor was born in the house where she still lived in August 1949, the summer before her sophomore year at Roosevelt High School. On the last day of her life she was up early. There was an extra spring of excitement in her step that morning, because the workmen were almost finished with adding a room to her family’s small house. She would finally have her own room.

As she walked through the pre-dawn she might have been thinking of the strange lights that had flashed across the sky earlier in the week. Some people said it was a meteor, but there were others who said they were “flying saucers” from another planet. The northwest had been abuzz over UFO sightings for nearly two years since the sightings at Mount Rainier. Maybe she glanced at the sky from time to time as she walked toward her friend Janet’s house on N. Tayler.

At 5 a.m. a truck would pick up Janet and Thelma and several other kids from her class and carry them to the green bean fields near Hillsboro where they worked summer jobs picking beans. She carried her lunch in a green metal lunch box with a thermos inside.

Maybe she thought of the upcoming weekend. Tomorrow was Saturday and she probably enjoyed going to the movies or out for a soda with friends. Did she swoon over the latest Frank Sinatra record or did she prefer the mellower sound of Bing Crosby? We may never know, but these were the burning questions of teens at the end of the forties. According to her mother, Thelma had not shown any interest in boys yet, but maybe she was starting to have her first ideas in this direction.

It was 4:15 when the strange car pulled to the curb. The door swung open and the driver offered Thelma a ride. She didn’t need a ride, it was only a few blocks more and she had plenty of time, but the driver was kind of cute. He looked a little like the actor John Ireland. For whatever reason, Thelma got into the car.

He seemed nice and he had dreamy dark eyes. He had that dark brooding look that Thelma thought of as wild and dangerous. Wild and dangerous seemed interesting and exciting to the young, sheltered girl. She had never known real danger, but soon she would.

You could just make out the lightening of the sky before the sun’s rising on another beautiful Portland summer day as the car carrying Thelma Taylor passed her turn. Did she start to be afraid?

“That’s my turn, Mr.”

“Call me Morris.” His smile seemed sincere.

“That was my turn, Morris. Two blocks back now.”

“I want to show you something first.”

Morris stepped on the gas and the car, a post-War sedan picked up speed.

“But I’ve got to meet the truck. I can’t be late for work.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be late.”

The car was approaching the entrance to the St Johns Bridge.

“No. Let me out. I’m not crossing the bridge with you.”

Thelma was angry, her voice wasn’t showing any fear, yet.

Where did it come from? Before she knew it Morris had a seven inch knife in his hand. Its blade was pressing into the denim of her jeans over her thigh.

“I think you’ll go wherever I want you to. What do you think of that?”

“Yes, sir.” Now her voice showed fear. Now she really knew what fear was.

The man driving the car was Leland Morris, 22, recently released from the Rocky Butte jail. He had slept the night in the stolen car and decided to take a drive before the sun came up. He was on the prowl for what he could get and he had got himself a young girl.

Morris had a criminal record that went back to the age of 13 for car theft, burglary, assaulting and robbing women and a few men. At the age of 16 he raped a 29-year old woman in Pier Park, then he stole a car and abducted her, holding her prisoner all day and raping her several times. That wasn’t his first rape either.

The police in Portland knew Morris. In 1945 he led them on a wild car chase that ended with his car in a Victory garden. When police pulled him from the wreck they found he was carrying a seven-inch hunting knife, just like the one that was now pressing into the thigh of 15-year old Thelma Taylor.

Since his release from the Rocky Butte jail two weeks before, Morris had been living in the bushes along the river and prowling unlocked cars in the surrounding neighborhoods. Now he crossed to the east side of the St Johns Bridge looking for a secluded spot he knew by the river.

Thelma’s heart was pounding as the car pulled to the side of the road. She measured her chances for running. She was afraid to even be on this side of the river. Her mother had told her never to go near the railroad tracks and there they were. The sun was starting to rise now and she could hear the birds waking up, but still there was no one around to call for help and she saw nowhere to run.

Morris opened the door on her side and pointed the knife right at her face.

“Get out of the car and walk into the bushes right there.” He pointed with the knife and she allowed herself to breath. “If you make any noise or try to run I will cut your throat. I won’t even mind doing it.”

She walked into the bushes and he was right behind. He guided her to a clearing right on the bank of the river. The railroad track was just up the hill and the other side of the river was Cathedral Park.

He made her sit on a fallen tree. She clutched her green lunch box. She looked at her captor with eyes full of fear.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Whatever I want.” Now Thelma knew what was really dangerous.

Somehow her innocence touched him. Suddenly he didn’t want to rape her. Having her in his power was enough. Now he didn’t know what to do.

They sat like that for hours. He hardly said anything. Eventually she couldn’t help talking. It helped with the anxiety she felt, so she chattered about anything and nothing.

She thought maybe if she could get through to him he would take her home and not hurt her. Every once in a while she would say something that made him smile and then he seemed nice again, but it didn’t last. Mostly he brooded.

After a while it started to get warm as the sun reflected off the river. She had Kool-Aid in her Thermos and she asked if it would be all right if she had a drink. He just waved the knife at her and didn’t say anything.

It took courage to open the lunch box, but he didn’t do anything about it. She decided she should eat her lunch. She offered to share the food with him, but again he just waved the knife at her.

They sat like that all day. She couldn’t believe how bored she felt; even though she knew her life was in danger. If he would only let her get up and move around.

Morris suddenly moved to the girl and put his hands on her, touching her body. Thelma tried to scream loud enough for her mother to hear on the other side of the river. The noise seemed to panic Morris. He dropped the knife and slapped his hand over her mouth. He held her. Tight.

Thelma went limp and Morris realized that she wasn’t able to breath. He took his hand off her mouth. Air rattled into her throat. She wasn’t screaming any more.

“Please, don’t touch me, Morris,” she pleaded, trying to get him to see that she was a real person, “Don’t hurt me.”

He punched her in the face. A red cloud obscured his vision. There was nothing for him but the hitting. He wasn’t sure how many times he hit her, but when the red cleared she was unconscious. Shadows were deepening all around them. He didn’t want her anymore, but he didn’t know what to do with her.

It was dark by the time she woke up. Morris regarded Thelma with cold eyes. There was a little blood crusted around her nostrils and she had a black eye, but she was quiet.

He knelt beside the shivering girl and put his hand on her breast. Her body jerked away from his touch as if it were red hot. When he began to unbutton her shirt she started to cry, quietly. Tears rolled down her cheeks. As his hard fingers reached her bare flesh, Thelma felt her skin crawl.

Morris was disgusted with the crying. He felt as if the girl in his arms had suddenly turned into a corpse and pushed her away.

“I don’t want you anyway. Nobody wants you.”

That wasn’t quite true, because it was probably around this time that her parents began their frantic search for Thelma. When she didn’t return from the bean fields with the other kids they got worried. By nightfall, when Thelma was nowhere to be found, they were desperate.

On the dusty bare ground by the side of the Willamette, Thelma Taylor cried for the normal world she was afraid she would never see again. After a while she fell asleep.

Leland Morris sat in the dark watching her. He felt himself split, part of him wanted to rape the girl, to feel her scream in pain and fear. Another part of him knew it was wrong. That second part felt scared and puny against the beast that raged inside.

How long did he wrestle with himself there beside the river and the sleeping girl? Eventually his eyes grew heavy and he fell into sleep.

When he next opened his eyes the sun was up and the girl was gone. He grabbed his knife and started back toward the road. He couldn’t believe his luck when he caught up with her. She hadn’t got very far yet.

“Come back here.” The girl jumped at the sound of his voice and started to run, Morris was taller and faster on his feet. Soon she felt the knife against her throat and his arm around her shoulders. A whimper escaped her lips as he pushed her back into the bushes, back toward the river.

She could smell blackberries in the air as they struggled through the overgrown bushes. It would be fun to go berry picking, she thought. Her whimper turned to a giggle as she thought how silly it was to think of berry picking now. Maybe she was getting delirious.

She stumbled over a piece of iron rebar on the ground. The area where they were staying was littered with odd and ends that Morris had picked up in his wandering. If she could only get her hands on that bar…

Morris pushed her hard in the middle of her back and she stumbled forward. She felt a sharp pain in her wrist as she kept herself from falling on her face. Morris picked up the piece of rebar and spanked her hard across the butt.

“Get up. I want you to sit back down on that tree and don’t move. I’ve got to make up my mind.”

Hysteria rose inside Thelma like the dark water that would rise in the Willamette only a few weeks later. The Willamette destroyed the town of Vanport, the hysteria destroyed Thelma’s sanity. She felt as if her body was being jabbed with pins and needles everywhere. It took every ounce of self control she could muster to sit still.

Leland Morris looked at her with frozen eyes. He saw nothing but a problem that had to be solved. The 15-year old girl sitting on a fallen tree trying desperately to stay sane had become a job of unpleasant work that had to be done. The girl had to die.

A screech of metal wheels on steel rails announced that a switch engine was coming down the railroad tracks. The screech startled Thelma and a scream escaped her lips. The sound of her own voice and the freeing rush of air through her throat cleared the girl’s mind. She realized there might be someone close enough to hear. She screamed again, louder.

The sound that cleared Thelma’s mind had an opposite effect on Morris. He felt a tearing sensation through his brain. Thelma’s shrieks tore into his ears. He had to stop the sound. He couldn’t get caught again. Before he knew what he was doing he was swinging the rebar and hitting the small girl in the face. He hit her again.

She fell backwards into a sitting position on the ground, but she was still screaming and now she was trying to get up. He raised the bar above his head and brought it down with full force on her forehead. That stopped the screaming.

Morris was in control of the situation. Everything was all right, now he just had to stay cool. The metal bar felt heavy. He looked at it and it was thick with blood and other things. He threw it toward the river as if he would throw it all the way to the other side. It landed just a few feet out in about three feet of water.

He fell to his knees beside Thelma’s body. She seemed very small and helpless, he had never had anyone so thoroughly in his power and he liked it. He felt an erection growing in his pants. His hand found his hunting knife on the ground nearby. There was a sexual thrill as he slid the blade into the flesh of her stomach and pushed it deep inside.

Again and again he plunged the knife into her body, feeling the sexual thrill he got from possessing a woman with each thrust. He rolled her onto her back and tore at the button of her jeans. He wanted her now, more than ever.

The cold touch of her skin brought Morris back to reality. The girl was dead. He was disgusted with himself and was disgusted with what he was about to do. A deep shame washed over the killer’s soul. He knew what he was and he knew that he could not let himself get caught.

He half lifted and half rolled the surprisingly heavy dead girl over a log which partially hid the body from view. He scanned the river bank for something to cover her with.

The sun was blazing on the Willamette nearby. It was another startlingly beautiful day. Morris picked up the knife that he had dropped and shuddered a bit at the sticky feel of the blood on its handle. He gagged at the thought of what he had done with the knife. He flung it toward the water and it landed near the rebar.

Someone had cut some branches from a tree nearby and then sawed them into logs, only a little longer than convenient fire logs. Some of the logs still had leafy branches that had turned brown in the heat. He dragged a few of these logs over and laid them over Thelma Taylor’s body.

Did Leland Morris feel remorse for what he had done? He said he did. He said his conscience was bothering him for days after the crime.

On Thursday, nearly a week later, he was driving another stolen car when he was stopped by police. How surprised would a veteran cop be to find Leland Morris at the wheel of a stolen car? Not very, but what he said next was a surprise.

“I want to talk to a homicide detective.”

“What about?”

“A murder I did.”

Leland Morris was executed in the gas chamber at the Oregon State Prison in Salem on January 9, 1953.

To My Readers

2006-11-02T22:36:00.000-08:00

I hope you have noticed that I haven't posted here in a few weeks. If you have then you will be happy to know that I will continue the slabtown chronicle soon. Writing opportunities have grown while I have been writing this and I thought I should share a little of what has been happening with you, my valued readers.

Keep your fingers crossed. I just completed a short piece that I hope will soon be appearing in a print anthology. I won't jinx it anymore.

My latest project came by way of a challenge from my friend Ken Goldstein, who also happens to be a very talented writer. Use the link above to read his stuff. Ken challenged me to write a novel (okay 50,000 words is really novella length, but its a start) in just 30 days from November 1st to november 30th as part of National Write a Novel Month. You can see what my project is here.

I will try to post here at least a couple of times in November, but most of my writing will be going into this project for at least the next 30 days. Happy reading and I will see you all again real soon.

Torso Murders

2006-10-15T19:26:00.000-07:00

If the police have any leads into the killing of Douglas Adamson, whose torso was found floating in the Columbia inside a gym bag in September, they’re not talking. Adamson’s limbs were found later, also floating in the river. His head and one leg are still missing.

Last information available is that the police were still trying to verify Adamson’s where-abouts on September 7, which presumably is the day he died. So far there seems to be no motive or suspect in the killing of the southeast Portland auto mechanic and son of a former Estacada police officer.

“You definitely don't see this too often . . . which is a good thing,” said Detective Bryan Steed, the lead investigator of Adamason’s murder. Steed is right. The last time something like this happened was in the spring of 1946. My mentions of this earlier murder has stirred up some interest, so I thought I should tell you what is known now.

On the evening of Friday April 12, 1946 three people walking on the bank of the Willamette river near the Wisdom Island Moorage in Milwaukie discovered a burlap package floating in the river. H.C. Foster of Portland and James and Mary Rader of Milwaukie first thought the package might be a bag of drowned kittens.

They fished the package to shore and were shocked to find that it contained the torso of a white woman. The body had been sawed off at the neck, elbows and hips and was wrapped in brown pants, a dark blue sweater, long underwear and a grayish-black tweed topcoat. Over the clothing the body was wrapped in burlap and tied with tape, rope and telephone wire.

The sleeves of the sweater and the topcoat were missing and burns in the underwear led the police to speculate that the woman may have been tortured. There was no obvious sign of violence against the body, other than dismemberment.

The discovery of the torse led workmen on a tugboat working upstream from the Willamette Locks to investigate a floating package that had been sited a couple of weeks earlier. Inside they found the woman’s arms and one thigh.

Oregon State Police and Clackamas County Deputies believed that the body came from either Milwaukie or Lake Oswego, or that it had been thrown from the Oak Grove Bridge. They investigated sites on the river where footprints and scraps of burlap made them think that the packages may have been thrown into the river from more than one spot.

On July 27 another thigh was found floating in the Clackamas River below the McLoughlin Bridge. By this time public interest had waned and few people noticed the grisly discovery.

The Torso Murder Case received another spate of headlines in October, 1946, when the head was found on October 13. It was wrapped in newspaper and green cloth, weighted with 21 pounds of window sash weights and had apparently been thrown from the Oak Grove Bridge.

The newspapers proved to be from the Oregonian dated October 14, 1944 with another page dated September 16, but with no year. The woman was in her fifties, about 5 foot 8 inches tall and 140 pounds. She had medium brown hair, mostly gray and a partial dental plate with extensive dental work.

Police thought that the dental work would lead to identification, since her hands and feet were still missing. They were pursuing several leads on missing women, but did not release an identity for the victim.

That’s where the trail has gone cold. So far I have found no other mention of this murder in the Oregonian or any where else. No identity for the victim. No suspects. No motive. No leads. The coldest a case can get after 60 years.

I’m writng this now in hope of stimulating a new search into this case. Something more must be known about it. At least one local reporter has shown some interest in this case and I’m hoping we’ll have some news soon. I’ll keep you posted.

Images Are Back?

2006-10-04T22:29:00.000-07:00

Maybe I can post images here again.

So I am celebrating by posting these shots of

King Tower.

On February 2, 1965 William A. Howell, 51, an ex-employee of the defunct Portland Register was found dead in his apartment under mysterious circumstances.

The fact that he was found lying face up and his skull had been fractured by two seperate blows, made the coroner rule that accidental death was unlikely.

The police had no clues as to the killer and seemed to have no leads to follow. The killing made headlines for two or three days and then faded away in news of Vietnam, civil rights marches and new crimes.

This killing has always haunted me and I like the look of the building.

At least I can use pictures again. Now I have to figure out how to put them where I want them.