Forensic Files Archives - Page 12 of 22

Betty Wilson and Peggy Lowe: Twin Tales

Two Elegant Sisters, One Murdered Ophthalmologist
(“The Wilson Murder,” Forensic Files)

Technical problem: If the photos of Betty Wilson and Peggy Lowe aren’t showing up in this post, please try viewing it here.

Forensic Files doesn’t always feature suspects who look like middle-aged belles from a Tennessee Williams drama.

But when it does, they’re twins with refined Southern accents that make you wonder what deviousness could be hidden inside.

Betty Wilson and Peggy Lowe probably conspired to kill Betty’s husband, but only one of them has to rely on the prison commissary for pomegranate iced tea today.

Jack Wilson, an ophthalmologist who had been married to Betty for 14 years, ended up dead on the lacquered floor of their brick mansion in Huntsville, Alabama, in 1992.

More to the story. At first, figuring out who murdered him and how seemed like a matter of connecting a few numbered dots.

But over the course of the separate trials, conflicting forensics experts, a hit man whose story kept changing, and the pristine reputation of one of the sisters made things go askew.

Photo of the book Forensic Files Now — Book available in stores or online!

For this week, I searched for more information about murder victim Jack Wilson, whose importance gets lost amid the intrigue surrounding his colorful wife and sister-in-law.

So let’s get started on the recap of “The Wilson Murder,” the Forensic Files episode about the case, along with information culled from internet research:

Two weddings. Betty Joy and Peggy Gay Woods were fraternal twins born in Gadsden, Alabama, on July 14, 1945. They were both popular in school.

Betty was a student council officer and performed in plays and talent shows. Peggy was a homecoming queen and considered the class beauty, according to an AP account.

They both got married immediately after high school, had children, and divorced within a few years.

The sisters seemed to do better on their second marriages. Peggy, a first grade teacher, hitched up with a Baptist deacon named Wayne Lowe and became lead singer of the church choir. He adopted her two kids and they had another one together.

Loving the life. Betty took up with Jack Wilson, a doctor she met at Huntsville’s Humana Hospital, where she worked as a nurse specializing in kidney dialysis.

After they married, the social-climbing Betty quit her job and enjoyed the perks of being an eye surgeon’s wife. She wore a Rolex watch and cruised around town in her burgundy Mercedes convertible. The couple also owned a black BMW.

On May 22, 1992, Jack Wilson was looking forward to leaving on a trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico, with Betty the next day. He hoped it would rekindle his relationship with his wife, whom he still loved and would reportedly do just about anything to please.

Shocking discovery. The doctor, 55, was generous to others as well, sometimes waiving the charges for struggling patients. “They were always treated the same, if they had $5 or $500,000,” one of his office staff members told WAFF 48 News. “He treated me like a daughter. He treated everyone who worked here as family.”

And he kept them entertained with his “unapologetically cornball sense of humor,” according to People magazine:

“He wore Christmas ties in the summer. Even the way Wilson concluded his will was meant to be funny. ‘To be used only if absolutely necessary, i.e., if I am dead,’ he wrote. ‘Try real hard to revive me if I only look dead.’”

His sister-in-law said he was fun to be with, sincere, kind, and “didn’t have a pretentious bone in his body.”

Noncommittal crime scene. Betty had just returned home from an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting when she discovered Jack’s lifeless body in a pool of blood on the hardwood bordered by two Persian rugs and pale blue wall-to-wall carpeting. A metal baseball bat was lying next to him.

Betty ran to a neighbor’s house and dialed 911. She sounded convincing enough on the call.

At the murder scene, police couldn’t find any helpful fingerprints or signs of a burglary. All of Jack’s credit cards were in his wallet and there was nothing much in the way of ransacking in the house.

The Wilsons’ four-bedroom four-bath house on Boulder Circle in Huntsville

But investigators soon learned that things weren’t exactly in order between the victim and his pretty wife. The couple slept in separate bedrooms.

Salacious revelations. Numerous sources reported that Betty had a distaste for Jack and the surgery he’d had because of his Crohn’s disease. Witnesses would later testify about the various unkind things she said to and about him. (Although, to her credit, she accepted Jack’s marriage proposal the day he told her he needed a colostomy.)

Another prospective motive for homicide: Jack’s will left the bulk of his $6.3 million estate to Betty.

There was also the matter of her extra-marital lifestyle.

A New York Daily News report would later describe her as a woman with a “thriving sex life that rarely involved her husband.” The AA meetings she attended regularly — she’d been sober for five years — made for convenient hookups.

With only gossip and speculation and minimal forensic facts, however, investigators couldn’t build a solid case against her.

Then, a police informant came forward.

None-too-reputable. The tipster said that James White, a 41-year-old handyman at the elementary school where Peggy Lowe taught, had been hired to kill Jack Wilson for $5,000.

White, described by a reporter as a “dirty man with ungroomed hair and bad teeth,” had a dishonorable discharge from the military and a record with the law.

Detectives found Betty’s revolver in an abandoned house next to White’s trailer as well as a library book of poetry signed out by Betty in White’s truck. He later said that Betty placed his cash advance in the book after Peggy negotiated his fee for the murder.

Police arrested Peggy Lowe and Betty Wilson. Peggy got out on $300,000 bail, but her sister was stuck in jail.

Hitman cooperates. The murder charges against twin sisters — with their smooth, articulate speech, tasteful wardrobes, and commercially attractive facial features — made news around the country.

The Boston Globe sent a reporter to Alabama to cover the case.

So many spectators flocked to the ensuing trials that the courthouse had to assign admission tickets to tame the chaos.

Betty and Peggy Woods Pictured in yearbook photos — Growing up, Betty and Peggy were constant companions

James White made a deal for a lighter sentence in exchange for implicating Betty and Peggy.

He said that he knew Peggy Lowe from the school in Vincent where he did some carpentry work. They had struck up a friendly relationship, speaking on the phone regularly.

Contract taken out. White found Peggy enchanting and wanted to win her favor — the eighth-grade dropout loved that she came from the right side of the tracks.

After confiding in him that she “had a friend who was in a bad marriage and whose husband mistreated her,” Peggy Lowe agreed to pay White $5,000 for a hit, with some of the money up front so that he could pay off debts and help his four children, White said, according to court papers.

White said that on the day of the murder, he hid upstairs in the Wilsons’ house until Jack Wilson came upstairs.

But White would later claim that he had already decided not to use the gun for the murder — and then realized that he didn’t want to kill him at all.

Boyfriend obligated to testify. Unfortunately, White testified, when he encountered Jack Wilson in the hallway, there was a struggle and White beat Wilson with the bat and stabbed him twice in the abdomen. Then, he said, Betty met him outside and drove him to his truck.

Police found no evidence he’d been inside Betty’s vehicle, so prosecutors took what forensics they had plus Jack’s testimony — and threw in some character assassination.

The state subpoenaed one of Betty’s lovers, an African American city official named Erroll Fitzpatrick, to testify about their relationship. Defense lawyer Buck Watson complained it was a maneuver to play upon racism.

The prosecution also presented numerous witnesses who attested to demeaning comments Betty had made about her husband.

Despite that Betty had four defense lawyers, including courtroom star Bobby Lee Cook — allegedly the inspiration for Andy Griffith’s character on Matlock — the prosecution had the edge.

Twin with the halo. After deliberating for two days, the jury convicted Betty of capital murder. She received a sentence of life without the possibility of parole.

Eight months after Betty’s trial, it was Peggy Lowe’s turn. The prosecution alleged that the poised and proper twin was a conspirator who hired killer James White.

But Peggy Lowe’s encounter with the judicial system was markedly different from her sister’s modern-day stoning.

First off, there was little leeway to assassinate Peggy’s character. She was a happily married first grade teacher known for her kindness toward people in need. Her husband was minister of music at their church.

The defense made a point of introducing the jury to Peggy’s husband, three daughters, and son, who were in the courtroom to support her.

Teflon defendant. Dozens of her fellow First Baptist Church parishioners, some carrying “Free Peggy Lowe” signs, showed up at the courthouse to support her innocence.

There was a bit of salaciousness during the trial, however. White claimed that Peggy Lowe used sex to seduce him into the murder plot.

But Peggy denied the accusation, and it seemed to bounce right off of her.

The defense trashed White — whose lawyers had given him a makeover including new teeth — maintaining that the kind-hearted Peggy Lowe met with White to help him get carpentry work at the Wilsons’ house, and also lent him money to help his four kids.

White had a long history of abusing drugs and alcohol and a criminal record that included an escape from jail. He had even attacked his own troops while serving in Vietnam and sexually abused his daughter, Peggy’s defense team told the jury.

Two-assailant theory. Oddly, at the same time, the defense made a case that White wasn’t the murderer, noting that White had never actually admitted he killed Jack Wilson.

His original story didn’t make sense either, according to a forensic specialist who testified for the defense, because the murder weapon was probably an implement like a fireplace poker, not a baseball bat.

And, the defense alleged, the homicide required two people, who probably attacked Jack Wilson in the garage, beat, stabbed, and strangled him, then wrapped his body in a tarp, carried it upstairs, dumped it on the floor, and smeared blood on the bat so it looked like the murder weapon.

The jury took less than three hours to return a not guilty verdict.

Back to the routine. ″I asked the Lord to send me a good lawyer and he did,″ a teary Peggy Lowe said after the verdict, according to an AP account.

A prosecutor grumbled that trying to convict Peggy Lowe was like “fighting God.”

After the trial, Lowe returned to her respectable life, telling a newspaper reporter she was looking forward to attending a high school football game to watch her teenage daughter, who was a cheerleader.

As for Betty, she still resides behind razor wire, in Julia Tutwiler Prison, which Mother Jones magazine once named one of the 10 worst prisons in the U.S., although the facility has since been overhauled.

In 2006, Betty snagged herself a new husband, a former Green Beret named Bill Campbell who had become fascinated by her plight after watching a 48 Hours episode about the case.

Sister act still strong. They had a traditional wedding ceremony, although the wedding cake had to be sliced before it was allowed in the prison, the Gadsden Times reported.

Alabama does not allow conjugal visits.

Betty’s twin, known as Peggy Peck after she remarried, to a University of Alabama professor, was maid of honor at Betty’s jailhouse wedding.

Today, in addition to the support of her newest husband, Betty has the comfort of knowing that the murder and its aftermath didn’t drive a wedge between her and her sister – even when they both faced the prospect of Alabama’s electric chair and police falsely told each of them that the other had blamed her.

As for convicted hitman James White, he later changed his story — saying that he had never met Betty Wilson or slept with Peggy Lowe. He recanted his claims that Lowe ensnared him in a murder-for-hire plan. He also said that he blacked out during the time of the murder.

He later changed his story back to the original.

No country club. White resides in Limestone Correctional Center in Harvest.

It’s a maximum security prison recently targeted by Alabama’s Civil Rights Division for alleged cruel and unusual punishment, including subjecting some men to bucket detail.

White is up for parole consideration on March 1, 2020.

Judging from online comments, there’s not a whole lot of sympathy out there for James White, but many viewers are bothered by the lack of forensic evidence against Betty Wilson — and believe she was railroaded.

That’s all for this week. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube or Tubi or Amazon Prime

Sandra Duyst: Death of a Horsewoman

An Insurance Salesman Exercises Bad Policies
(‘Murder She Wrote,’ Forensic Files)

Sandra Duyst is picture wearing a riding hat. — Sandra Duyst

Many online viewers have expressed amazement that Sandra Duyst stayed married to a man who tried to kill her — particularly since he did so in a way that left no other interpretation.

David Duyst attacked his wife with an ax-hammer.

But instead of blaming him, Sandra told friends and medical professionals that her cranial injuries happened as the result of a horse-related accident. As sad as the case is, there’s nothing terribly surprising about it to me.

Kids in the equation. She appears to be the victim of a profound case of resignation fueled by low self-esteem and embarrassment.

But where did the low esteem come from? For this week, I looked for some answers.

There’s no need to check on her husband’s status — as the producers noted after the show, David Duyst ended up dying in prison. But the couple left three children, so I searched for information about how Erica, Timothy, and David Duyst Jr. handled the aftermath of their mother’s death.

So let’s get started on the recap of “Murder She Wrote,” along with additional information from internet research:

Sandra Anne Bos was born on Dec. 29, 1959, in Grand Rapids, Michigan. At the age of 3, she participated in her first horse show and went on to collect numerous equestrian awards. She was also MVP of her high school volleyball team.

She and David Duyst, the son of a history teacher and a librarian, met in high school and got married after they both attended Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

The two had grown up in the area and had lots of friends, according to Beyond the Grave: The Murder of Sandra Duyst, an ID Network show produced in 2016.

The Duysts moved to a house in Alpine Township and built a stable on the property. She specialized in raising and training quarter horses and gave riding lessons.

Blame it on Dexter. David started his career as an Amway salesman, then joined his father-in-law’s insurance company, Northwestern Mutual Life. At one time, David also served as chairman of West Side Christian School, where Sandra coached girls volleyball.

Insurance salesman and murderer David Duyst wearing glasses and a mustache — David Duyst

It’s not clear exactly when trouble started brewing for the Duysts, but on Nov. 19, 1998, a severely wounded, bleeding Sandra crawled to a neighbor’s house for help, explaining that her horse Dexter had kicked her in the head while she was trying to feed him.

She would survive her injuries, but suffered from mood swings and depression afterward, according to people who knew her well.

Her personal physician, James Veldkamp, would later testify that she improved after he prescribed Paxil for her.

In 1999, she and one of her horses placed in the Top 5 at the All-American Quarter Horse Congress in Columbus, Ohio.

But on March 29, 2000, David Duyst called 911 and said his wife had committed suicide in her bedroom and was dead.

Improbable injuries. He told police that he had fallen asleep in the TV room and the sound of a gun woke him up. Sandra, 40, had shot herself with the couple’s Smith & Wesson 9-millimeter semiautomatic, he reported.

David, who admitted the couple had marital problems, told 911 that this was not Sandra’s first suicide attempt.

His story sounded credible until an autopsy showed Sandra suffered two bullet wounds. People don’t generally shoot themselves twice in the head.

Splatter revealed. David said the pistol must have double-fired, but testing of the gun disproved that theory. And two forensic medical doctors, Stephen Cohle and Vincent DiMaio, concluded that each one of her wounds was lethal enough to disable her immediately, which ruled out the possibility that she deliberately shot herself a second time.

She had no blood splatter on her arms or clothing.

Meanwhile, in another case of a murderer who didn’t watch Forensic Files often enough, David voluntarily handed over the clothes he wore on the night Sandra died.

The Duysts house with the barn and stable structure in the back — Sandra Duyst boarded horses in the stable behind her house

They looked clean enough to the naked eye, but a lab found tiny drops of high-velocity impact mist blood on David’s shirt.

Financial woes. And more incriminating news: David was having an affair with his secretary, Linda Ryan, who for some reason wanted to have the jerk all to herself.

Ryan, who kept a collection of Beanie Babies on her desk at work, admitted that she and David planned to split with their spouses so they could be together. She divorced her husband and started checking out engagement rings online, but David dragged his feet, according to Beyond the Grave.

There’s more: David and Sandra were in debt, behind on tuition for their kids’ schools.

And to complete the Forensic Files homicidal-spouse package, David had recently taken out life insurance on Sandra that would pay out $579,000, even in the event of suicide.

Mary Ellen Spring, Sandra’s sister, chimed in with another revelation. Sandra had told her that if anything happened to her, she should look for a piece of paper hidden in a china cabinet.

Far-fetched explanation. The letter written by Sandra told a different story about how Sandra got those head injuries in 1998. The couple had been arguing in the barn about money, and David struck her on the head with an ax-hammer her while she was feeding Dexter.

The document was the kind of voice from the grave that makes a prosecutor’s day for a month.

David fought the accusations, playing an answering machine recording of Sandra saying that he had pushed her “beyond” and that their marriage was over and so was her life.

He claimed that she meant the second part literally. Defense lawyer David Dodge alleged that Sandra had shot herself twice in order to frame her husband as a murderer — an act of revenge for his infidelity.

Linda Ryan, the mousy-looking secretary David Duysts started an affair with at the office — The other woman: Linda Ryan

David, 41, also contended that his wife had reason to be severely depressed at the time of her death, because he had just asked her for a divorce and told her that he “had an excellent chance of gaining custody of the children,” according to court papers.

Children faithful. His lawyer also said that the six-figure payday on Sandra’s life shouldn’t count against David: Insurance salespeople tend to take out large policies on their spouses to set a good example for their clients, Dodge contended.

The testimony of the couple’s children, who all reportedly believed in their father’s innocence, was a mixed bag that alternated between helping each side.

Erica Duyst, 13, testified that after Sandra recovered from the head injuries, she seemed depressed.

On the other hand, eldest child David Jr. and youngest Tim, 11, both said that on the day their mother died, her mood seemed fine. They also both testified that Sandra disliked guns.

But the boys also said that, after they awoke to the sound of gunshots on March 29, 2000, they heard their father’s footsteps coming from the TV room and moving to the bedroom — suggesting that Sandra was alone in the bedroom when the gun fired.

Forensic folks. Peter Duyst, the children’s grandfather, also supported David’s innocence. He had already suffered the death of his son Peter, a police officer who was electrocuted while trying to save a drowning man in 1994, according to the Grand Rapids Press.

Most of the testimony from forensic professionals helped the prosecution, however. Crime scene reconstruction expert Rod Englert said the death scene evidence was “consistent with someone firing the fatal shots while standing behind Sandra,” according to court papers.

Lovable guy? Sandra’s friend Cindy McCullough, who appeared on the episode, said that even after the horse stable incident, Sandra loved David and wanted to salvage the marriage.

As reporter Doug Guthrie wrote in the Grand Rapids Press, David Duyst did have some charm:

“Wearing a double-breasted blue blazer and looking every bit the insurance salesman he is, Duyst had jurors laughing and at ease almost immediately. Duyst exchanged smiles with his three children, who also appeared in the packed courtroom today. And he smiled as he told jurors that his eldest son — David Duyst Jr. — today is celebrating his 16th birthday. ‘He is getting his license today so watch out for the white Suburbans out there,’ Duyst said with a laugh, drawing smiles from jurors.”

But to others, his attitude didn’t sit right, especially when he unreluctantly badmouthed his late wife, alleging she had a negative attitude toward life.

Duplicate doubted. A jury found him guilty in March of 2001 and he received a sentence of life without parole plus two years for a felony firearms conviction.

In an interview with Wood TV8, juror Marie Hopkins commented that she felt David was cocky and overly relaxed on the witness stand. “No one could shoot themselves twice in the head,” she added.

The children the couple shared stayed with their maternal grandparents during the trial, but it’s not clear who took care of them long term.

An Associated Press story with the headline "Man Guilty of Killing Sleeping Wife"

Today, Tim Duyst appears to have a career in the military. Erica Duyst works in the health care industry. It’s not clear what David Duyst Jr.’s occupation is but, like the other two, he still lives in Michigan.

Their father’s obituary notes that both sons are married and that there are grandchildren in the family.

Finally, after researching Sandra Duyst’s life, I need to alter my theory that a typical case of low self-esteem made Sandra cling to the same man who struck her skull with a heavy implement.

The Grand Rapids Press reported that Ronald Baker, a pastor at the family’s church, said that “Sandra Duyst had been an assertive and confident woman before the incident, but became distant and timid after. He attributed her behavior to headaches she was suffering.”

It takes strength and initiative to exit a bad marriage, and the traumatic injuries Sandra suffered could have snuffed out her fortitude.

For all we know, Sandra at first covered up the ax attack because of embarrassment and then David Duyst begged her to forgive him — and put on a sweet, remorseful husband routine just long enough for him to figure out a way to finish the job.

Bids for freedom. He ended up serving his time at Saginaw Correctional Facility, which doesn’t sound like any country club prison. The facility is surrounded by a “buffer fence, double chain link fences, razor-ribbon wire, electronic detection systems, an armed patrol vehicle, and gun towers.”

But the convict never gave up hope. He busied himself with appeals, including the ever-popular ineffective counsel claim.

A Sign for Calvin College, alma mater of both the Duysts

He had no luck with the legal maneuvering and died after a short illness at age 58 in 2018.

(Duyst was fortunate to pass away of natural causes — a Saginaw inmate was recently found dead of blunt force trauma in his cell after his roomie allegedly beat him with a Master Lock tied to an electrical cord.)

More family woe. Lawrence and Sarah Bos paid tribute to their murdered daughter via a $3,000 scholarship for physical education or recreational majors at Calvin College.

Even more tragedy was to strike Sandra’s parents, when yet another adult daughter, the aforementioned Mary Ellen Spring, died prematurely.

You can watch the Beyond the Grave episode about Sandra Duyst’s murder on Daily Motion. It’s more of a dramatization than a documentary, but it features commentary from some of the real-life professionals involved in the case.

That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on Tubi or Amazon Prime

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Mark Hofmann: Forger and Killer

He Defrauded the Mormon Church Religiously
(“Postal Mortem,” Forensic Files)

Back in 1985, Mark Hofmann carried out financial crimes that could have landed him in jail for a few month or years.

So he tried to cover them up by committing homicides, which cost him part of his kneecap and all of his freedom.

Hofmann, a dealer in historical documents related to the Mormon faith, decided to get rid of Steve Christensen before he could expose Hofmann as a fraudster selling forgeries.

Diabolical strategy. Then, solely for the purpose of throwing off police, Hofmann murdered a second person. He used the same risky method in both homicides: packages rigged to explode.

The murders and revelations about bogus documents came at a time when the Mormon Church was facing controversy over its new president, an octogenarian named Ezra Taft Benson who had voiced opposition to civil rights and women’s rights.

Although it had nothing to do with Benson, Hofmann, who was born to a Mormon family in Salt Lake City, had become bitter toward the faith and its leaders. His father was reportedly a polygamist, which did not make his mother’s life particularly wonderful.

Hofmann, the subject of the Forensic Files episode “Postal Mortem,” was only 30 years old when he committed the homicides — and is still alive. For this week, I checked into where he is and also did more research on his forgeries.

Collector targeted. I also looked into something Forensic Files never brought up: Who was the intended victim of Hofmann’s third, botched bombing attempt?

So let’s get started on a recap of the episode along with other information drawn from internet research:

On October 15, 1985, a package left outside of Steve Christensen’s office in Salt Lake City, Utah, detonated when he picked it up.

It killed Christensen, a 31-year-old father of four who was a bishop in the Mormon Church and collected historical religious documents as a hobby.

The box, wrapped in brown paper, contained a pipe bomb with some pieces imprinted with the Tandy logo (once more, the Radio Shack brand turns up on Forensic Files). It was a motion-sensitive bomb, meaning that slow-moving mercury triggered the detonation.

Salt Lake Temple took 40 years to build. It was finished in 1893 — Mark Hofmann’s final bomb exploded in the shadow of Salt Lake Temple

Second victim. Two hours after Christensen’s murder, a 51-year-old woman named Kathy Webb Sheets died after picking up a package wrapped in brown paper that was left in her driveway. The box, addressed to her husband, J. Gary Sheets, contained a pipe bomb with a mercury switch and Tandy parts.

J. Gary Sheets and Steve Christensen were both officers in CFA Financial Services, an investment company that lost millions of dollars of clients’ money. Perhaps a former customer was holding a grudge. After the bombing, CFA employees received police protection.

Then, on Oct. 16, 1985, a third explosion occurred, and it blew the case wide open.

Bomber not a loner. The impact of the bomb sent the victim to LDS Hospital with bruises and burns, damaged eardrums, and a severely wounded knee, but he would survive. His name was Mark Hofmann. He served as a historical researcher for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Hofmann was a happily married father of three small children with another one on the way. He delighted in traveling around the world to collect rare copies of children’s books, but he made a living as a seller of historical documents.

He told police he opened the door to his blue sports car, and a bomb that some anonymous evil-doer must have placed inside dropped to the floor and detonated.

But investigators found forensic evidence in the car that contradicted the scenario Hofmann reported. They believed that the bomb went off by accident in his hands — explaining why it blasted off some of his fingertips — as he was placing it on the front seat.

Hot date. Meanwhile, witnesses at the other bombing locations recalled seeing a man in an Olympus High letter jacket carrying a package.

Bombing victims Kathy Sheets and Steve Christensen — Victims Kathy Sheets and Steve Christensen

Police found out that, around the time of Christensen’s death, Hofmann had an appointment with Mormon church officials to discuss a six-figure sale of the McLellin Papers — an account of an early Mormon Church member who broke with founder Joseph Smith. (Hofmann’s McLellin documents were fake, and it’s not clear whether any real such papers existed.)

Investigators theorized that Christensen had figured out Hofmann was selling false antiquarian documents, including the “White Salamander Letter,” which Christensen bought for $40,000 and donated to the church. (Christensen’s intentions may have been to “catch and kill” the story — the document, supposedly written by convert Martin Harris in 1830, cast Joseph Smith in a questionable light.)

Hofmann allegedly wanted to get rid of Christensen before he had a chance to raise doubts about his other wares. The con man had reportedly already made $1.5 million off his forgeries during his career and couldn’t afford to ruin a good thing.

Hot plate. Another theory said that Hofmann committed the murders as a way to divert church officials’ attention long enough for him to pull some forged papers together for a sale.

In Hofmann’s apartment, the police found a printing plate used to make counterfeit documents. He owned a letter jacket like the one the witnesses described.

As for the question of who the intended victim of the third bomb was, police suspected it was someone connected with Hofmann’s forged documents — an innocent individual who knew too much, possibly a collector named Brent Ashworth (more on him in a minute).

Dorie Olds, ex-wife of forger Mark Hofmann — Dorie Olds circa 2010

Menace with a pen. Hofmann ended up pleading guilty to multiple counts of theft by deception and two counts of second-degree murder. He got life in prison.

With Hofmann safely locked away, the church took inventory and compiled a list of 10 Mormonism-related forgeries sold by Hofmann.

Although Hofmann’s animus toward the church allegedly played a role in his crimes, Hofmann didn’t prey upon Mormons alone. He penned convincing signatures of mainstream historical figures including George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Mark Twain, John Brown, and Button Gwynette, according to the AP.

He followed a 17th-century recipe for ink to create what he hawked as an original copy of the Oath of a Freeman, a Massachusetts Bay Colony document dating back to 1638.

Hofmann reportedly had no trouble making eye contact while telling lies during sales transactions with clients. The esoteric nature of the business also helped.

“Large portions of the trade of antiquarian documents operate in secrecy,” rare-book dealer Jennifer Larson told the Associated Press in a story dated Oct. 26, 1995. “It is the very aspect of the trade that allowed a forger like Hofmann to succeed.”

From sell to cell. Hoffman took precautions at times. Sometimes he would have friends or associates sell the documents in his place.

A fragment of a forged historical document sold by Mark Hofmann — Fragment of a forged document sold by Mark Hofmann

He admitted as much as part of his deal with prosecutors to recount his scams — but he would divulge only the forgeries he’d been formally charged with selling.

After an unsuccessful suicide attempt (sleeping pills) by Hofmann in 1998, prison guards found hidden in his mattress a list of 129 additional fraudulent documents he had possessed at one time.

According to specialist George Throckmorton, who appeared on Forensic Files, all documents known to be sold by Hofmann were fake.

Prose and poetry. The aforementioned Brent Ashworth, a lawyer and collector from Provo, paid $400,000 to $500,000 to buy historical Mormon documents from Hofmann. “I was stupid,” Ashworth told the AP in 1995. “I fell right into it. I was a pawn, but I was one of many.”

Ashworth was correct, and Hofmann’s forgeries continued to float around, even after his incarceration. In 1997, a library in Amherst, Massachusetts, forked over $21,000 for what was presented as a newly discovered poem written in Emily Dickinson’s hand — only to find out it was a fake created by Hofmann, according to a Guardian story that refers to Hofmann as “America’s greatest literary forger.”

Today, Mark Hofmann is better-known as inmate No 41235 in the Central Utah Correctional Facility. At one point after his jailing, his lawyers claimed that Hofmann had bombed his own car intentionally, as a suicide attempt because he was overwhelmed with guilt.

Mark Hofmann as a high school student and in a mug shot — Mark Hofmann, seen in a yearbook photo and a recent mug shot, began scamming at age 14, when he learned to alter old coins

Wife survives. That contention didn’t win Hofmann any leniency. He’s been moved to minimum security, but he has no possibility of parole as his sentence stands today.

His crimes also weighed heavily on his wife, Dorie Olds, although she had no role in them. After her husband’s arrest, reporters and TV cameras dogged her, and some of her fellow churchgoers shunned her, according to an interview she gave to the Salt Lake Tribune.

Olds went on to appear in “An Explosive Love,” a 2010 episode of the ID network’s Who the (Bleep) Did I Marry?

She said that the Mormon community eventually opened its arms to her again and she remains devoted to her faith.

The Mormon Church, too, got a reprieve from bad publicity. Ezra Taft Benson remained president until his death in 1994 and is credited with increasing membership by 2.8 million for a total of 8.7 million followers, according to the Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Update: You can read about the 2021 documentary Murder Among the Mormons and watch it on Netflix.

That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube or Tubi or Amazon Prime

Diane King: An Anchor Silenced

A Newscaster Becomes the Story
(“News at 11,” Forensic Files)

Bradford J. King had a halfway decent career as a part-time professor, but he didn’t harbor aspirations of rising much higher.

He didn’t have to. He had a wife in a high-paying profession. Diane King was a morning anchor at station WUHQ-TV in Battle Creek, Michigan.

For Brad, her salary meant a comfortable life and sharing in her perks, including a company-paid rafting trip and occasional meet-and-greets with B-list celebs like Ted Nugent.

Party’s over. Brad’s uncluttered work schedule also allowed him plenty of free time to socialize outside the marriage.

That little arrangement threatened to come undone, however, because Diane, 34, wanted to quit her job and stay at home with the couple’s 3-month-old daughter, Kateri, and 3-year-old son, Marler.

Like so many other Forensic Files bad guys, Brad, 44, decided on murder and insurance fraud instead of divorce and starting over — and believed he could outfox the law.

For this week, I looked into where Brad is today and what happened to the children. But first, here’s a recap of “News at 11,” the Forensic Files episode about the case, along with additional information drawn from internet research:

Native American heritage. Diane Marler was born in Detroit on April 4, 1956, one of five children. She later took her stepfather’s last name, Newton. She served in the army’s signal corps and earned a bachelor’s degree in communications from Wayne State University.

A member of the Mohawk Nation, Diane wanted to one day make documentaries about Native American people, according to a newspaper account. She also thought about capitalizing on her striking features with modeling work.

In 1984, she married Bradford King, a divorced father of a teenage daughter named Alissa.

Brad had first declared his love for Diane at an EST meeting in Colorado. At their subsequent wedding, she pledged herself “to having this marriage be magical and fun,” according to the book The Eye of the Beholder: The Almost Perfect Murder of Anchorwoman Diane Newton King by Lowell Cauffiel.

The couple eventually moved from Denver to a rented house with a rustic barn on Division Street in Marshall, Michigan.

In addition to her job at WUHQ-TV in nearby Battle Creek, Diane helped out at a local soup kitchen and did volunteer work with disadvantaged children.

Laboring in academia. Brad had been a police officer in Pontiac, Michigan, from 1969 to 1983. After that, his job history gets a little patchy. At some point, he earned a degree in criminal justice and then taught college classes on the subject.

He was dismissed from an instructor job at Western Michigan University because he was “unable to meet his class on two occasions,” according to a Battle Creek Enquirer story from Feb. 1, 1992.

Although media accounts vary on Brad’s job status around the time of the murder, one source reported that he was entirely unemployed by the winter of 1991.

Diane’s career in broadcast journalism was sturdy thanks to her diligence in researching stories and her telegenic voice and appearance.

Bad hombre. Michael Moran, a colleague from Diane’s previous job at station KJCT in Grand Junction, Colorado, would later describe her as at times “abrasive and pushy” and “domineering,” according to a Battle Creek Enquirer story following the murder.

Maybe Diane was a bit difficult, but it’s also possible that a man with those same qualities would be described as a go-getter with a commanding presence.

Marshall, Michigan, is known for its small-town charm

Whatever the case, her work was well-regarded in the industry and community.

Precautions failed. Unfortunately, an anonymous fan admired her so much that he began leaving disturbing messages for her. She eventually received the kind of letter usually seen only on 1970s detective shows — with lettering cut from magazines and then pasted on paper. “You’ll be sorry you didn’t have lunch with me,” it read.

That threat rattled Diane’s nerves, so WUHQ-TV beefed up security around the station. Brad installed extra lighting at home.

But the worst case scenario came true on February 9, 1991, when emergency services received a hysterical-spouse call from Brad, who said he’d found Diane dead in the family’s driveway.

Diane had two bullet wounds, a fatal one to her heart and another in the pelvic area.

Brad said he’d heard shots earlier while he was taking a walk in the woods but figured they came from hunters.

Ginormous story. For the village of Marshall, known for its antiques shops and annual Victorian house tour, it was the first murder in recent memory.

“The cold-blooded killing of a woman in a glamorous, high-profile occupation was a shocking anomaly in this community of 6,800,” the LA Times reported on March, 29, 1992.

Sniper’s lair: Police theorized Brad King fired the first shot from the loft in the barn

It was “Marshall’s crime of the century,” according to Suburban Secrets, a series produced by Court TV and Sirens Media that covered the case in a 2008 episode.

Police began a slow but steady investigation.

Shell game. It was noted that Brad’s anguish over his wife’s death quickly gave way to stoicism, according to Suburban Secrets.

Brad explained that, as a former law officer, he was accustomed to talking about crimes while keeping his emotions in check, according to detective Jim Stadtfeld, who appeared on Suburban Secrets.

At the Kings’ property, police found a shell casing in the loft of the barn, about 70 feet from the driveway.

Investigators wondered why a Doberman pinscher who they believed was in the barn at the time of the shooting, didn’t raise a fuss about an intruder. (Media accounts vary as to whether the dog belonged to the Kings or was “borrowed” from a relative.)

Let’s paws here. The Doberman couldn’t answer any questions for investigators, but the police found another one to help with forensics: Travis the tracker.

The German shepherd followed a scent from the loft through the woods, and then to a .22-caliber Remington Scoremaster rifle discarded in a creek bed. Brad owned the same type of gun, and boot prints that matched his own were found nearby.

Travis then traced the killer’s path back to the spot where Diane died in the driveway.

While investigators were still working on the case, Brad scooped up his two younger children and moved to Colorado, saying he was tired of facing police questioning, the AP reported.

The threesome didn’t get much time to relax. In early 1992, Michigan authorities arrested Brad, charged him with murder, and set bail at $750,000.

He raised the money but ended up stuck in jail because he didn’t meet other conditions for release.

Twin rifles. At the trial, prosecutors contended that Brad had expected Diane to be alone in the car on the day of the murder. The couple had planned on leaving Kateri and Marler with their grandparents for the night. But one of the kids got sick, so she brought them both home.

The prosecution also alleged that Brad was lying about having sold his Scoremaster rifle in 1984. The police found seven witnesses who said they’d seen the gun in Brad’s possession in the intervening years.

Diane Marler Newton and Brad King in their respective high school days

Oddly, there was a second Scoremaster to the story. A neighbor said he found one in his attic when he moved to Division Street, but ballistics tests determined it didn’t fire the fatal bullets.

Much ado about nothing. Investigators believed Brad planted the rifle there to deflect suspicion away from himself.

And they suspected Brad sent the threatening note to Diane — and had used cutout letters because she could have identified his handwriting. In fact, the authorities wondered whether the whole stalker saga was a hoax staged by Brad.

The defense suggested that a burglar killed Diane — there was a broken window at the house. But the glass fragments were on the wrong side. Thieves generally break in, not out.

And damning intelligence about Brad’s character started rolling in.

Promiscuous man. Cauffiel, who appeared on Forensic Files, said that Brad, 44, enjoyed hanging around with college kids at a fraternity house and liked doing shots of tequila at Waldo’s, a bar where students drank.

Two students told police that they were having affairs with Brad shortly before the murder, the AP reported on Jan. 6, 1993. One of the liaisons, Anne Hill, 34, said Brad felt cut off from the family’s finances, the Battle Creek Enquirer reported on Nov. 13, 1992. Diane had reportedly frozen their checking account.

Police learned that Brad had set up a date with one of his girlfriends the day after the murder, according to Suburban Secrets.

One of Diane’s sisters, Denise Verrier, said that Diane wanted a divorce — apparently the magic and fun were waning — and Brad was “enraged” by the notion of getting a full-time job and paying child support.

False sense of security. Media accounts didn’t mention the total amount of life insurance payouts Brad had to gain by his wife’s death, but Cauffiel’s book pointed to a $54,000 policy from WUHQ-TV.

In 2011, an online commenter identifying herself as a co-worker of Diane’s said she recalled Brad’s going to the manager’s office to ask when he would get the money.

Prosecutor Jon Sahli contended that on the day of the murder, Brad left a light on inside the house so Diane would think he was home. (Because of the alleged stalker, Diane had been afraid to exit the car without anyone around to protect her.)

Brad waited in the loft, then shot Diane after she pulled into the driveway and emerged from the car, investigators believed.

Kids left at crime scene. Next, he walked over to Diane’s body and shot her at close range — before he realized the kids were in the car — Sahli alleged.

Investigators believed he then returned to the woods and did a quick 180 back to the house to “discover” Diane’s body. He couldn’t wait around for someone else to find it because the kids were strapped in the car on a wintery Michigan day (although Brad reportedly left them in the vehicle while waiting for emergency services).

Cauffiel believed that Brad, with his law enforcement experience, figured he could outwit the police via the fatal attraction-style messages and the decoy gun.

He also portrayed himself as a victim. His lawyer, John Sims, characterized the whole case as “the power of the state arrayed against Bradford King,” the Battle Creek Enquirer reported.

Sorry, no buttoneering. But Judge Conrad Sindt granted many concessions to the defense. He banned one of Diane’s BFF’s from testifying that Diane suspected Brad of having an affair while she was pregnant with Kateri and that he had lost interest in her sexually — it was hearsay, the judge ruled.

Sindt also forbade Diane’s friends and family from wearing buttons with her picture in the courtroom, and ordered her brother Allen Marler to stay away from Brad, who felt “stalked” by him; Marler denied the allegation.

In another win for the defense, Julie Cook, a college student Brad allegedly had an affair with, wasn’t allowed to testify.

But in the end, the jury had heard enough evidence to convict Brad King of first-degree murder. The Detroit Free Press reported that Brad “grabbed the table and appeared pale” when hearing the verdict.

Denise Verrier read a victim impact statement about her nightmares of her sister in the “cold gravel driveway — all alone with only the sound of her crying children to be heard.”

Forensic Files fellas. On Jan. 6, 1993, Brad received life in prison with no possibility of parole.

Today, Brad King occupies a cell in Thumb Correctional Facility in Lapeer, Michigan, the same prison occupied by another Forensic Files wife killer, Michael Fletcher.

The Kings’ small children lived with grandparents during the courtroom proceedings.

Now young adults, both Kateri King and Marler King still live in Michigan.

She works as a nurse assistant and medical technician, and he has a career as a detailing designer in the automotive industry.

Appearance-wise, the kids take after their mother.

And one more update, KJCT-TV ended up firing Michael Moran for publicly trashing Diane King after her she died. He works as a lecturer at Colorado Mesa University today.

Sample the book. In addition to Forensic Files and Suburban Secrets, A&E series City Confidential covered the case in an episode titled “Bad News in Battle Creek.”

You can read generous excerpts of Eye of the Beholder online and scroll through the book’s photos.

That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube of Amazon Prime

Earl Morris: Rug-Wearing Killer

An Accountant Murders His Wife and Burns His Boat
(‘Sex, Lies, and DNA,’ Forensic Files)

Ruby Morris survived childhood trauma and fell into the arms of someone who seemed like a great catch.

She met Gaylynn Earl Morris, known as Earl, at a Memphis bar in 1959, and he adopted Ruby’s little son, Randy, when they married.

Happy home. After moving to Arizona, Ruby and Earl built an accounting business successful enough to land them in Cave Creek, a Phoenix suburb where school kids score above average on college admissions tests and zoning rules prevent Walmarts and Burger Kings from sullying the landscape.

By 1989, in addition to their sprawling house on five acres, the couple had acquired a cabin cruiser docked in San Diego and a motor home.

They had also added two daughters to their family.

Dawna, 28, was an aspiring country and western singer who used the name Dawna Kay Wells professionally. Her dad was managing her career. Cyndi, 23, worked as a waitress and lived near her parents.

Their son, Randy, 32, had a wife and three kids by then and worked in the service industry.

House of cards. The Morrises looked happy and well-adjusted on the surface, but in reality, the family was a volcano waiting to erupt.

Things started to rumble on June 3, 1989, when Ruby, 47, didn’t show up for a shopping trip she had planned with Cyndi — and Earl was nowhere in sight either.

He soon materialized, but the kids never saw their mother again.

Like lava, lurid stuff started spewing out. The case soon included a burning pleasure boat, an affair with an in-law, and DNA evidence that revealed the existence of an additional bad guy — someone almost as bad as the killer.

Missing mom and dad. “Sex, Lies, and DNA,” the Forensic Files episode about the case, dates back to the 1997 season so, for this week, I looked around for information about where wife-killer Earl Morris is today and what happened to the children.

So let’s get started on the recap along with additional information drawn from internet research:

The Morris house in Cave Creek, Arizona — The house the Morrises shared on East Sierra Vista Drive in Cave Creek, Arizona

On June 4, 1989, Cyndi Morris summoned police to her parents’ house when she couldn’t find her mother or father.

Suspect scene. Ruby’s yellow 1984 Cadillac was still in the driveway.

Her purse and a gun the Morrises kept in their house had disappeared, but there was no sign of a struggle or anything else valuable missing.

As soon as he heard his mother was missing, Randy jumped on an all-terrain vehicle and desperately searched for her in the desert, according to an Arizona Republic column by E.J. Montini from March 21, 1990. Cyndi went out on foot and looked for her mother in the hills around her parents’ house.

Dawna distributed leaflets asking for help finding Ruby and offering a $1,000 reward.

Blood evidence. Meanwhile, word got to Earl, 48, that his wife was missing, and he headed home from a Los Angeles trip related to Dawna’s music career. He said his car had broken down on the way back from LA and he hitchhiked the rest of the distance back to Arizona.

Police didn’t see any blood in the house, so they sprayed luminal.

The carpet and headboard in Ruby and Earl’s bedroom lit up like Times Square at night.

To find out whether the blood came from Ruby, a lab studied samples from each family member. The report confirmed it was Ruby’s blood.

Ill-fitting genes. There was more bad news. Randy, whose parents had never told him he was half-adopted, learned for the first time that not only was Earl not his biological dad but also that his real father was a sex criminal. DNA revealed that Ruby had been the victim of incest — raped and impregnated at age 14 by her own father.

After giving birth to Randy, Ruby passed him off as her little brother until she married Earl. He brought up the little boy as his own, according to Earl’s defense lawyer, as reported by the Arizona Republic on January 23, 1992.

And there was another jolt for the family: Cyndi’s DNA proved that Earl wasn’t her real father either.

What a mess.

Sordid doings. Meanwhile, detectives searched Earl’s El Camino and found more of Ruby’s blood, enough to conclude that she’d been injured too greatly to survive.

With a confirmed murder case on their hands, police dug deeper into the family’s life and found that Earl had been having an affair with Ruby’s sister, Peggy Williams Hinton.

There had reportedly been an ugly incident at an airport where Ruby confronted her husband and Peggy. Ruby threatened to reveal that Earl had been skimming money from the accounting business. She demanded a divorce and a hefty portion of the marital assets.

Fake alibi. The couple’s fortune totaled $1 million to $2.1 million, according to various media accounts.

By the October following Ruby’s disappearance, Earl had stopped talking to police without a lawyer present.

Investigators soon discovered that Earl hadn’t actually been on a trip to Los Angeles, as he claimed, around the time Ruby died. He had gone to San Diego, where his boat was docked, and returned to Phoenix via an airline. He used the pseudonym G. Norris on the ticket, but the flight crew picked his photo out of a lineup and “one of the flight attendants remembered him distinctly because of the poor quality of his toupee” (not sure how Peter Thomas read that part without snickering).

San Diego surprise. Dawna, the musical daughter who once “idolized” her father, ended up helping the police find evidence to convict him, according to a People story from May 11, 1992.

She headed to San Diego, where news crews had recently spotted a burning cabin cruiser more than 10 miles from shore. After asking around, Dawna learned that Earl had rented a speedboat on June 4, 1989.

The authorities theorized that Earl shot Ruby to death in the couple’s bedroom, loaded her body into his El Camino, then headed to San Diego, where he transferred the body to the Hi Lo, the family’s cabin cruiser, and set it on fire to destroy the evidence. (It worked — no one ever found Ruby’s body or recovered the boat). Then he fled the fire scene in the rented boat and flew back to Phoenix.

Earl Morris's boat, the Hi Lo, burning miles from shore — The boat sank in water more than 2,000 feet deep. Finding and extracting it would have cost too much.

Revised script. Earl was indicted in March 1990.

The prosecution, led by Maricopa County Deputy Attorney William Clayton, contended that the couple had argued about his affair and his alleged shady business practices — and then Earl killed her. Blood spatter patterns on the headboard proved that Earl shot Ruby twice in the head, the prosecution contended.

At the trial in 1992, Earl Morris changed his story. He acknowledged transporting Ruby’s body to San Diego by propping it up in the passenger seat of his vehicle, but claimed that he had found Ruby dead from suicide (Cynthia McDonnell) in their Arizona house. He covered it up because he feared police would mistakenly blame him for her death (Brad Jackson), he said.

Killer takes the stand. Defense lawyer Tom Henze suggested that horrible memories of sexual abuse in her youth and financial worries — Henze contended the couple had spent a fortune promoting Dawna’s singing career — pushed Ruby to the edge and she shot herself.

Earl Morris, who remained free on $548,000 bond during the trial, held himself together in the courtroom. As the Phoenix New Times reported on February 26, 1992:

“A former Marine pilot, the six-foot-tall Morris dresses neatly, has good posture and a sense of timing. His taste in some areas is questionable. His jet-black toupee, for example, is much too obvious … On the witness stand, Morris often hesitates briefly before answering … It never fails to bring the jurors into a forward lean, awaiting his answers.”

Spectators might have enjoyed hearing Earl Morris tell his side of the story, but that didn’t mean they bought it.

Macabre trip. Meanwhile, newspapers around the U.S. ran the AP story about the man who drove 300 miles from Arizona to California with his late wife riding shotgun with a baseball cap pulled over her eyes.

After a six-week trial, the jury found Earl guilty of murder.

Judge Brown gave him a minimum of 25 years and fined him $205,500 for court and investigative costs.

Peggy Williams Hinton who allegedly had an affair with her sister Ruby's husband, Gaylynn Earl Morris — Peggy Williams Hinton

“There’s really no winners or losers in a situation like this,” Dawna Kay Wells said, as reported by the AP. “I’m relieved that it’s finally done. We’ve gotten through this.”

Slight pay cut. Today, Earl Morris occupies a cell in the Stiner Unit of the Arizona State Prison Complex in Lewis.

The once-prosperous accountant appears to have worked hard during his long incarceration, occupying such positions as food service worker and painter, with pay ranging from 20 cents to 50 cents an hour.

The Arizona Department of Corrections notes that Earl has committed no infractions while behind razor wire.

Not daddy’s girl. Nonetheless, he was denied parole in July 2018.

He has outlived Peggy Hinton, the sister-in-law who went to her grave denying that she ever had an affair with him. She was buried next to Ruby in Bellevernon Cemetery in Friendship, Tennessee, 2003.

As far as the children, Cyndi Morris appears to be married and still living in Cave Creek. Randy Morris has also remained in Arizona.

Randy told columnist E.J. Montini that Earl Morris had never cared much about him and Cyndi because they weren’t pursuing high-paying professions — Dawna was their dad’s favorite.

But Dawna remained faithful to her mother. She appeared on the Maury Povich show to talk about the murder case in 1992 and also gave the People interview. (You can see the accompanying People magazine pictures in a pdf.)

Grandparent a sex criminal. No recent information about Dawna or her career turned up on the internet. She has probably changed her name (or maybe Dawna Kay Wells was just a pseudonym used in the media).

Gaylynn Earl Morris in a recent prison mugshot — Gaylynn Earl Morris in a recent mug shot

In addition to watching as their father was made to pay for Ruby’s death, the children saw charges brought against their grandfather, Clyde B. Williams, for raping Ruby, according to Forensic Files.

It’s not clear whether or not he was convicted and served jail time.

But it was a little bit more justice for Ruby Charlene Williams Morris, who despite being saddled with a disloyal sister, depraved father, and sleazy husband, achieved success as an entrepreneur and brought up three nice children who loved her.

That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube or Tubi or Amazon Prime

P.S. The story became the basis of a 1997 made-for TV movie called “Deep Family Secrets.” It got mediocre IMDB reviews, but you can watch it on YouTube and form your own opinion.

Mike Garvin: Camera-Friendly Killer

A Cheating Husband Is Oblivious to Electronics
“One for the Road” (Forensic Files)

Mike Garvin is memorable for something he forgot or maybe was unaware of in the first place — a little piece of modern-day technology known as the security camera.

The video clips that contradicted the Florida real estate agent’s account of his wife’s disappearance helped authorities win a murder conviction against him. They also made it fun to watch “One for the Road,” the Forensic Files episode about the case.

Gone girl. For this week, I checked into where the killer is today and also looked for details about homicide victim Shirley Garvin’s life.

So let’s get started on the recap of “One for the Road,” along with additional information drawn from internet research:

In January 2003, Michael Jay Garvin reported that his wife, Shirley, had vanished from their hotel room in Key West, Florida.

Life of the party. Shirley Garvin, 55, was born in Washington, D.C., the only child of Robert and Cecilia Fleming.

She met Michael Garvin when they both lived in Virginia Beach, and their 14-year marriage looked happy enough from the outside. Mike had no record of domestic violence or other prior criminal behavior, according to an AP account.

None of the newspaper coverage about the murder mentioned an occupation for Shirley, but she was described as a socialite and probably didn’t have to worry too much about money. Her parents, who died in 2000 and 2001, had left her around $900,000, according to Missing Persons Unit, a Court TV series that produced an episode about her murder.

Shirley and Mike lived on the 9000 block of Whittington Drive in Jacksonville, Florida, and both enjoyed serving on the board of the Mandarin Community Club, where Shirley was the “driving force” behind organizing parties and other get-togethers, according to a Florida Times-Union account.

Emergency search operation. Mike Garvin told police that he thought his wife went out for a walk and he had gotten worried when she didn’t return.

Shirley often wore a Rolex watch and other expensive jewelry that could have made her a target for thieves looking to prey on tourists. She also had high blood pressure and became disoriented without her medication, her concerned husband told police.

Local and state law enforcement sprang into action, searching every corner of the Quality Inn — where no one remembered seeing Shirley — and then mobilizing tracker dogs on the ground and a helicopter over the Atlantic Ocean in an effort to find her.

On the beach a mile from the hotel, a citizen found a pair of sandals that looked like ones Shirley owned, so perhaps she’d accidentally drowned.

Trouble in paradise. The authorities considered suicide as a possibility, too. Maybe she just walked into the sea.

The Quality Inn in Key West has since closed

But her friends told investigators she wasn’t depressed — quite the opposite, she was a live wire. But she’d grown disenchanted with Mike and was thinking about breaking up.

Detectives tracked down security footage from a rest-stop convenience store along the 500-mile route from Jacksonville to Key West. It showed Mike Garvin entering and exiting the Pilot Foodmart without Shirley in tow.

A woman who doesn’t hit the restroom during a long road trip? Definitely suspicious.

PC problem. Mike’s account of stopping at a local eatery to pick up two meals for the couple to eat back at their hotel room fell apart, too. A bartender said Mike only bought one sandwich, and a receipt proved it. As YouTube commenters summed it up:

Corey Hodges All that money and you stay at a Quality Inn. RedGibsonsRock What can you expect from a guy who’s too cheap to buy a second meal for the sake of his alibi?

The authorities, who seized Mike’s computer, found out that he not only had a girlfriend on the side but was also trolling for other date mates on Match.com during the time police were searching for Shirley. (The tech-illiterate Mike didn’t know homicide rule No. 1 — destroy the hard drive.)

And the cameras implicated him again when authorities found tollbooth footage that showed him driving alone in a white Jaguar during the time he was supposed to be heading toward Key West with Shirley in the passenger seat.

No explaining this away. In hopes of finding more evidence, the authorities did something that ultimately guaranteed Garvin would be saying goodbye to romantic trysts with mysterious women and hello to uncomfortable encounters with male career criminals: They secretly attached a GPS device to his car.

The GPS — which at the time was relatively new technology, so we can’t blame Mike for being blindsided by it — tracked him to a remote site on Jacksonville’s Hecksher Drive, where authorities later found Shirley’s body wrapped in plastic in a very shallow grave, according to a Florida Times-Union story. She had died from two bullet wounds to the head from a .22 caliber pistol, probably fired while she was asleep.

Police found traces of her blood at the couple’s home.

Over-extended husband. At that point, police already had a solid case that Mike Garvin had made the trip to Key West alone, as a cover story. But the incriminating evidence kept rolling in.

Shirley’s close friends — the gals she met for ladies night every week — told investigators that she hadn’t mentioned anything to them about a trip to Key West.

Mike’s finances gave him a motive for the crime. He was $80,000 in debt and had bounced checks, according to Forensic Files and Missing Persons Unit.

Most of the couple’s assets were in Shirley’s name. And, as mentioned, she was thinking about divorce. What did the popular, fun-loving Shirley need with a promiscuous spendthrift of a husband?

Police arrested Mike Garvin and charged him with first-degree murder.

He took a long hard look at the pile of evidence against him and did something rarely seen on Forensic Files.

Instead of changing his original story, he pleaded guilty.

Friends’ perspective. Defense lawyer Mark Miller said his client wished to “spare his family” of a potentially “high profile trial,” according to an AP account from Aug. 27, 2004.

Judge Karen Cole listened to victim impact statements before the sentencing.

“She tried and tried and he murdered her,” said Shirley’s cousin, Ellen Fleming, according to a Florida Times-Union account from Sept. 1, 2004. “Why could he not be man enough to just walk away?”

It also came out that Shirley had helped finance Mike’s daughter’s college education.

“Shirley was a good wife,” said friend Wilma McLaren, as reported by the Florida Times-Union. “She created a beautiful home for her and Mike. She did not deserve this horrible ending.”

Slammer city. Judge Cole gave him life without the possibility of parole on a charge of second-degree murder.

Up until recently, Garvin was better known as No. 126380 in the South Unit of the South Florida Reception Center (a rather friendly-sounding name for a state prison) in Doral, about 10 miles from the Orlando International Airport.

He didn’t have a chance to fly the coop — the Florida Department of Corrections kept him in “close custody,” making him ineligible for work camps outside a secure perimeter.

As of March 2020, Florida no longer listed him as a prisoner, and a Forensic Files Now reader (thanks, Marcus) wrote in to say he died after serving 17 years.

Murderer Mike Garvin in a 2019 mugshot — Mike Garvin in a 2019 mug shot

Mystery remains. Forensic Files mentioned that, before Shirley, Mike had a wife who had died by hanging herself.

Media accounts didn’t reveal her name or any other information about her.

Garvin had her body cremated, so police couldn’t go back and look for forensic evidence of foul play.

It’s lucky the Florida authorities did such a good job of building a case against him for Shirley’s murder and put him in a place where security cameras — and bulked-up inmates with neck tattoos — discouraged him from harming anyone else.

That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube or Amazon Prime

Paul Camiolo’s Trial By Fire

A Survivor Needs Rescuing
(“Up in Smoke,” Forensic Files)

The story of the house fire that made Paul Camiolo into an adult orphan is a horrible tragedy, but it’s free of evil or scandalous behavior.

Paul Camiolo, whose parents died in an accidental fire — Paul Camiolo

“Up in Smoke” doesn’t offer up a wife having an affair with a young janitor or a funeral director who took out five life insurance policies on the kid who washes the limousines. The closest thing to a bad guy is an anonymous flooring contractor who was probably just being a little bit cheap.

And the crucial forensics in the episode aren’t your typical gruesome Forensic Files evidence — no bone fragments or blood splatter. You can watch the show while you’re eating. It even has some fun facts.

For this week, I looked for an epilogue for Paul Camiolo, who Forensic Files portrays as a devoted son transformed into the No. 1 suspect for a double homicide that never happened.

Although I agree with the conclusion that he was innocent, online research yielded some information not mentioned in “Up in Smoke” that makes it easier to understand why the authorities believed in his guilt at first.

Multigenerational home. So let’s get started on the recap, along with additional facts drawn from the Web:

Software technician Paul Camiolo lived with his parents, Rosalie and Ed Camiolo, in a Colonial-style house in Upper Moreland, Pennsylvania.

Rosalie, 57, worked in the computer industry, and Ed, 81, was a retired government employee.

She had suffered a number of strokes along with other health woes, and he had one leg that was shorter than the other because of childhood bout with polio, according to a Philadelphia Inquirer account. He had also recently battled cancer.

The medical problems limited the couple’s mobility, so Paul, their only child, helped with tasks like shopping.

Horrific scene. In the wee hours of September 18, 1996, Paul called emergency services to report a fire in the living room.

Willow Grove volunteer firefighters arrived to find him getting dressed on the front lawn. He told them that his parents escaped through the backdoor.

Rosalie and Edward Camiolo had a May-December marriage, but it was apparently a happy one — Rosalie and Edward Camiolo’s May-December marriage was apparently a happy one

They discovered Rosalie severely burned on the back porch and Edward in cardiac arrest inside the house.

He died that night. She succumbed to her injuries 10 weeks later.

Wavering story. Paul, who was around 30 years old at the time, explained that his mother was a chain-smoker and had probably set the couch on fire accidentally. He threw a pitcher of water on the flames, but instead of smothering them, it fed them, he said.

According to Forensic Files, Paul said that he told his parents to go out the back door, then phoned for help and left via the front door.

What the show didn’t mention was that Paul allegedly gave shifting accounts about whether he was asleep or awake when the fire broke out and changed his story about the logistics of his attempts to save his parents, according to the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Worrisome labwork. Former Assistant District Attorney Timothy Woodward, who appeared on Forensic Files, pointed out that Paul was the beneficiary of his parents’ six-figure life insurance payouts. Woodward wondered whether Camiolo was tired of caring for his mom and dad.

Tests on the flooring near the couch showed traces of gasoline. The authorities built a case around their theory that Paul used the accelerant to start a fire while his parents were upstairs, then escaped and left them to die.

Montgomery County, Pa., where Paul Camiolo and his parents lived

In January 1999, Paul was charged with first degree murder, arson, and insurance fraud and held without bail in the Montgomery County jail.

Excruciating aftermath. Thus Paul Camiolo traveled from a literal burning hell to a figurative one of public infamy. As the Philadelphia Inquirer reported on January 21, 1999:

“Paul Camiolo wanted money, Montgomery County authorities say, and he didn’t want to pay the health-care costs of his sick parents…Camiolo took care of both problems…[He] inherited more than $400,000 and moved to Bucks County.”

The article noted that he purchased a house for $77,000 in the town of Holland, Pennsylvania, after his parents died.

Fortunately for Paul, his extended family — including nephew Vince Camiolo, who appeared on Forensic Files — believed in his innocence. More than a dozen of his relatives showed up to support him at his preliminary hearing, according to the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Loving kin. Vince Camiolo noted that his uncle Paul was “unusual,” but that didn’t make him guilty. Relatives attested to the fact that Paul was happy to transport his parents to family picnics and the annual Polenta Night at the Sons of Italy, according to a Philadelphia Inquirer story from March 30, 1999.

Bill Burns, who was Paul’s boss at Shopman Inc., a software business in Ivyland, called the charges against him “outrageous” and spoke of his patient, empathetic approach to helping customers. He said that Paul had never once complained about his parents.

Burns continued to pay Paul his salary while he was in jail and vowed to keep his job open for him until his release, according to the Philadelphia Inquirer piece.

Investing in quality. Paul had another supporter in Steve Avato, one of the volunteer firefighters who had responded to the blaze. Avato also worked as a special agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms — and he doubted that the traces of gasoline found on the floor added up to arson.

During his Forensic Files appearance, Avato also noted he didn’t find it suspicious that Paul escaped via the front door — instead of the backdoor, with his parents — because people tend to flee fires through the door they normally use to exit.

Camiolo enlisted Thomas S. Cometa and William Ruzzo to defend him and paid $65,000 to hire “five respected fire experts,” according to a Times Leader report from 2000.

Heavy hitters weigh in. One of the experts, Richard Roby, PhD., built a replica of the house. After some testing, he determined that an intentionally set fire would have spread faster than the one in the Camiolo’s house that night in 1996.

In custody, Paul Camiolo faces reporters

Here’s where the interesting trivia comes in. John Lentini, another of the fire investigators hired by the defense, said that in the 1970s — when the house was built — some flooring contractors thinned out varnish with gasoline because it cost less than higher-quality agents.

That explained why the lab found traces of gasoline on the floor but not the rug.

Flare up. Also, tests had pegged the gasoline as leaded, a type of fuel not sold in Pennsylvania in more than a decade at the time of the fire. How could Paul have used leaded gasoline as an accelerant when there was no place to buy it?

And the most useful fact: Polyurethane, a material used in the Camiolo’s couch, burns more fiercely when it comes into contact with water. (One more reason to keep a fire extinguisher handy. Actually, I need to go to the hardware store.)

The episode contains a great quote from Lentini, who called arson investigation a “profession largely controlled and dominated by hacks. They make complicated decisions about chemistry and physics and they never took chemistry and physics.”

In other words, they weren’t bad guys — just wrong guys, whose overconfidence ended up saddling an innocent fire survivor’s life with an awful stigma.

180-degree turn. The defense theorized that Rosalie accidentally dropped a match on the polyurethane sofa. Like a grease fire, the flames on the polyurethane responded to water by getting bigger, lending credence to Paul Camiolo’s statement to investigators.

The prosecution did its own test with polyurethane and got similar results.

The Montgomery County attorney general’s office — which had announced in March 1999 that it was seeking the death penalty — reversed itself, dropped the charges against Paul Camiolo, and set him free in the fall of that year after 11 months of confinement.

He returned to his software job at Shopman Inc.

A new legal fight. In July 2000, Camiolo filed a lawsuit against the Upper Moreland police, fire investigators, and State Farm insurance for false imprisonment, intentional infliction of emotional distress, bad faith, and even some RICO offenses. He asked for $150,000 in damages.

Three years later, a federal appeals court ruled that Camiolo couldn’t sue the authorities or the insurance company (which had settled with him for $240,000 in 1998). The decision, dated June 30, 2003, noted that there was no scheme “to defraud or to deprive Camiolo of something by trick or deceit.”

Although he didn’t win any money as a result of his legal ordeal, on January 14, 2007, Paul got the satisfaction of having the Philadelphia Inquirer — the same newspaper that ran numerous articles about him as a murder suspect — include him in a feature story about the havoc that shaky arson investigations can wreak.

“Where do you go to get your name back?” Paul told the paper. “The mere accusation is so disgusting.”

Conflict of interest? He also got to vent in a Tribune Review story that questioned the practice of insurance companies paying law enforcement to conduct arson investigations.

The Camiolos’ gravestone reveals they had a second son, who died at 21

“It’s sad,” Paul told the Tribune Review, “that there are cases all throughout this country where insurance companies function as police in a district attorney’s case.”

He got additional support from John Lentini, who dedicated the reference book Scientific Protocols for Fire Investigation to Paul Camiolo and others “for whom a second look at their fire made all the difference.”

And the court of public appears to have migrated over to Paul’s corner, as numerous online comments indicate.

So where is Paul today?

According to an internet posting dated 2016, he has moved to Argentina.

It’s not clear why he relocated to South America, but his presence on social media affirms that he still has the support of the large extended family of Camiolos, who knew firsthand of his kindness to his parents and always believed in his innocence.

That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR

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David Copenhefer: A Bookstore Owner Kills

Sally Weiner’s Kidnapper Hid a Scary Chapter
(“The Stake-Out,” Forensic Files)

Before launching into the recap, I wanted to mention that forensicfilesnow.com is on Instagram. It’s my first foray into posting on that particular platform, so if anyone has any suggestions, I’m all ears (or eyes).

wedding of Sally Elaine Stough and Harry Weiner — Sally and Harry Weiner

This week’s episode takes us back to a time before social media, when most people weren’t even tech-savvy enough to know that the stuff they erased from their computer hard drives could land them behind razor wire.

Sally Weiner’s kidnapping, the subject of “The Stake-Out” on Forensic Files, took place in 1988.

Bad blood. David Carl Copenhefer harbored a massive grudge against Sally’s husband, Harry Weiner. He abducted Sally in a bid to extract money from Harry.

Like virtually all kidnapping-for-ransom plans, it backfired.

But Copenhefer was incorrigible. While he was awaiting trial, he came up with a new scheme.

In fact, researching Copenhefer was kind of like cleaning out the garage — there’s that last box buried way in the back with some disgusting old forgotten project inside.

In this case, the unpleasant discovery was something that happened in Copenhefer’s young adulthood, years before the Weiner case shook up a little town in the hinterlands of Pennsylvania.

Small-town folks. More on that and epilogues for the principles are coming up, so let’s get started on the recap of “The Stake Out,” along with other information drawn from internet research:

Sally Elaine Stough graduated from Strong Vincent High School in Erie, Pennsylvania, in 1969. She married Harry Weiner, and they had two children.

The Weiners lived in Corry, a town of 6,500. Harry was the branch manager of a Pennbank in the Corry Plaza, the same shopping area where David and Patricia Copenhefer operated Corry Cards and Books.

Why, that’s wonderful. The Copenhefers and Weiners belonged to the First Presbyterian Church of Corry, although the Weiners later switched to the Corry Missionary Alliance, according to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Both couples had also participated in Marriage Encounter weekends.

But media accounts vary as to whether the Weiners and Copenhefers were close friends or just acquaintances.

One day in June of 1988, Sally, 37, got a call from a man identifying himself as an aide to U.S. Rep. Tom Ridge. Her husband, Harry, who was a civic leader in addition to a bank manager, had been chosen as Corry’s man of the year, the caller said.

Reconstructed ransom note from murderer David. C. Copenhefer — Reconstructed ransom note

Big anticlimax. After asking her not to divulge the great news to anyone, the caller made an appointment for Sally to meet him so they could secretly plan the surprise award ceremony in Harry’s honor.

Harry Weiner never saw his wife again.

He got a phone call with an audio recording of Sally asking him to follow the instructions in a bag under his car — otherwise, a kidnapper would cut off Sally’s hands.

Calling in the pros. A note said to fill the bag with “90 percent of the money stored at his bank,” pick up walkie talkies at Radio Shack, and deliver the cash at a secret location, according to a Pittsburgh Post-Gazette story from March 18, 1989.

Weiner immediately went to the authorities.

He already knew about the “man of the year” meeting — Sally, bless her, hadn’t been able to keep it a secret from him.

No payoff. The police and FBI arranged for a sharpshooter to hide in the backseat of Harry’s car and for agents to conceal themselves in the woods for the big meeting.

It would have been exciting to watch the confrontation unfold, but the bad guy never showed up.

David Copenhefer pictured circa-1999 during the time of his trial for the kidnapping and murder of Sally Weiner — David Copenhefer, looking like Ted Bundy in these circa-1999 shots, was motivated by greed.

Harry might have missed a second note, with additional instructions that Copenhefer had dropped near the scene, according to Forensic Files.

Also, as investigators later learned, a local journalist with a police scanner had inadvertently leaked news of the police’s involvement to Copenhefer, which spooked him.

Tragic development. Nevertheless, Copenhefer persisted. Harry received other notes, including one with a directive to look for him near an abandoned church a few miles from town, but a face-to-face meeting never happened at all.

In the meantime, Sally’s body turned up. Someone had shot her in the back of the head and thrown her into a farmer’s field. According to Forensic Files, the killer used a Glaser bullet, which made it impossible to determine the caliber of the murder weapon.

The Weiners had no known enemies, but police were able to zero in on a suspect fairly quickly.

Type of crime. Investigators found out that Harry Weiner had recently turned down the Copenhefers’ application for a $25,000 loan they needed to expand the bookstore and open a Rax fast-food franchise.

Next, a sharp-eyed police officer noticed that a sign posted on the door of the Copenhefers’ bookstore had a border design and typeface similar to those used in the ransom notes.

From there, the evidence slowly crept in. Tire tracks near Sally Weiner’s body matched those on Copenhefer’s van.

Investigators found a rough draft of one of the ransom notes in Copenhefer’s trash. Inside his house, they discovered Glaser ammunition and metal filing-cabinet rods that matched a rod the kidnapper had tied a ransom note to.

FBI bytes back. Next, they carted away Copenhefer’s PCs which, viewers may recall, looked like items from a $5 table at a yard sale today. But they were state-of-the-art back when computers were called word processors.

Although helpful programs to recover deleted files didn’t exist in 1988, the FBI managed to resurrect a draft of another ransom note and a to-do list that suggested Copenhefer planned to kill Harry after he got the ransom money.

Corry Plaza, shopping area in Corry, Pa. — Corry Plaza, site of Pennbank and Copenhefers’ store

Investigators theorized that David Copenhefer hatched the kidnapping plan while stewing about the loan refusal.

Loyal spouse. When Sally went to the designated locale to discuss the bogus awards ceremony, Copenhefer showed up, overpowered her, forced her to record the demand message to Harry, and then killed her, investigators contended.

Copenhefer denied everything.

His wife, Patricia, stood by him, saying the charges were “180 degrees off the mark” and her husband was a “kind and generous man” who did “a lot of things anonymously to help other people,” according to a Pittsburgh Post-Gazette story from June 22, 1988.

She also said that her husband was either with her or their 9-year-old son, Paul, in Erie at the time the crimes occurred.

Diabolical. The defense lawyer contended there was no link between the notes and the murder — and emphasized that David Copenhefer had no prior criminal record.

But Copenhefer more than made up for that while in Erie County Prison awaiting trial. He and fellow inmates Walter Koehler and Daniel Verosko came up with a plan to kill three people: Harry Weiner, Erie FBI agent Kim Kelly, and Verosko’s wife.

Fortunately, those murders never happened and Verosko agreed to testify about the plot when David Copenhefer went on trial.

Wacky story. David Copenhefer took the stand in his own defense — and got creative.

He explained that he handled some of the ransom notes and followed some of the instructions because he wanted to help Harry Weiner. Patricia Copenhefer testified that her husband had spoken of the case but only because he viewed it as an interesting “puzzle,” according to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.

Nonetheless, a jury convicted David Copenhefer of first-degree murder in March of 1989, and he received the death penalty.

Wife in on it. Sadly for the Copenhefers’ son, Patricia Copenhefer ended up getting her hands dirty, too.

In October 1988, she was arrested for sending “coded messages” via classified ads and greeting cards to intimidate Verosko out of testifying at her husband’s trial.

Patricia’s messages to Verosko sounded more like desperation than intimidation, but a jury found her guilty of a misdemeanor charge related to the notes.

Pottsville Republican Oct. 18, 1988 Patricia Cophefer — *Pottsville Republican* clip about Patricia Copenhefer

After she asked for mercy because of her little boy, Erie County common pleas Judge Shad Connelly gave her one to two years in prison and a $500 fine, and ordered her to pay prosecution costs, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reported in November 1989.

Secret past. Epilogues about those parties are coming up in a minute, but first I need to share the bombshell from the reel-to-reel tape era.

The Weiner case was not the first time David Copenhefer had been charged with a homicide.

On January 9, 1971, a Copenhefer associate turned up dead in Kettering, Ohio.

John L. Calkins and Copenhefer had allegedly planned to open a computer-repair business together. Copenhefer was managing the gubernatorial campaign for Roger Cloud, who he hoped would award him state tech-maintenance contracts, according to the Dayton Daily News. (Cloud lost the election.)

Gory murder. A few days before the murder, Copenhefer had taken out $550,000 in life insurance on Calkins — who was only 24 years old — and named himself the beneficiary of $400,000 of the payouts, according to the Dayton Daily News, which covered the ensuing murder trial extensively.

Prosecutors believed that Copenhefer, also 24 at the time, tried to kill Calkins by running him over with his car on Mud Run Road, then discovered he was still alive and shot him nine times, nearly severing his head.

At least one witness reportedly spotted Copenhefer’s blood-stained Opel GT near the crime scene, but others said they heard gunshots at times that contradicted the chronology the prosecution laid out.

After a 22-day trial, the longest in Greene County history, a jury found Copenhefer not guilty in August 1971.

Doubly loyal. Apparently, prosecutors couldn’t use this against Copenhefer during the Weiner murder trial because an acquittal doesn’t count as incriminating evidence. So, technically, Copenhefer did have the “clean record” he liked to emphasize.

Patricia and David Copenhefer were already married at the time of Calkins’ murder, according to the Dayton Daily News, although it’s not clear whether any of the couple’s friends from church or customers at the bookstore in Corry knew about his history.

As to why Patricia stood by David during not one but two murder trials, newspaper accounts describe him as coming from a prominent, well-to-do family in his native Ohio, so maybe she thought he deserved a supersized benefit of the doubt.

Copenhefer’s mother, Doris, who underwrote the cost of her son’s defense in the Calkins’ trial, was chairperson of the Miami County Republican Party and ran for a seat in the Ohio House of Representatives in 1972. His father, Carl, who died before either murder, had founded the Copenhefer Meat Co.

Sentence ends abruptly. So, skipping ahead to the age of edge-to-edge smartphone screens and gluten-free bagels, where are all the parties today?

After many unsuccessful swings at appeals, including claims that investigators invaded his privacy, Copenhefer’s legal counsel persuaded a district court judge to throw out his death penalty sentence.

But in 2012, a circuit court trio of judges voted 2-1 to reinstate it.

It mattered little, however, because Copenhefer soon died of natural causes at the age of 65 while on death row.

Patricia Copenhefer lives in Ohio today. It’s not clear what her marital status is now, but she remarried at least once after parting with David. Her former mother-in-law, Doris Copenhefer, died in 1983.

Furry Friends Friday in Corry, Penn., in October 2018 — Corry, Pa., population 6,500, during a Furry Friends Friday in October 2018

Son rises. Harry Weiner stayed in Pennsylvania but left his bank job shortly after the trial and became an assistant director for the Christian Coalition, according to his LinkedIn profile. He later worked in management for Burton Funeral Home and Crematory in Erie, Pa., and today is semi-retired.

The two kids he shared with Sally Weiner have had their privacy guarded over the years, and no information surfaced about them.

But some intelligence turned up about the Copenhefers’ son: Paul went into the business of saving lives via a long career in the paramedical field.

That’s all for this week. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube or Amazon Prime

The Bellamy Brothers: Bank-Robbing Lawmen

They Made Heists a Family Affair
(“Cloak of Deceit,” Forensic Files)

A wave of North Carolina bank robberies got so big in the 1990s that the New York Times took notice.

The average haul was $11,722 per job, oftentimes the criminals were too high on drugs or too impulsive to take the necessary precautions, and authorities usually were able to catch them quickly, according to the NYT story by the late financial journalist David J. Morrow.

Bank robbers Claude, Alvin, and Larry Bellamy — Claude, Alvin, and Larry Bellamy

The Bellamy brothers, who created their own Carolinas bank-robbery spree during the same time period, accrued a much better record.

Elusive threesome. They averaged around $75,000 per job, carefully concealed their identities, got in and out of the banks in no more than five minutes, and didn’t leave any forensic evidence.

It took nine years and the FBI, but the law finally caught up with the masked brothers and put them behind razor wire.

For this week, I checked to see where the Bellamys are today and looked for any clues as to what made three gainfully employed middle-aged men suddenly turn into felons.

Trusty formula. But first, here’s a recap of “Cloak of Deceit,” the Forensic Files episode about the Bellamys, along with extra information drawn from internet research:

Beginning in 1991, a trio of robbers began hitting banks in and around Calabash, North Carolina, and Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

In each robbery, two armed masked men would corral customers and employees, demand cash, and escape via a waiting car driven by a third accomplice.

Hot cars. After one robbery of $175,000, a good Samaritan wrote down the license plate number and chased the vehicle, but the robbers confronted him with a gun, and he fled.

The license plate number didn’t help because the getaway car was stolen and later abandoned. The mystery men never seemed to use their own vehicles.

Calabash, North Carolina, sign — Bank robberies stirred up a tiny North Carolina town

Although the assailants never shot or killed any of the bank employees, one of them held a gun to a worker’s head and threatened to pull the trigger if she couldn’t remember the safe’s combination.

And Sandra Campbell, a teller at First Atlantic Bank, would later testify that one of the men had grabbed her by the throat, dragged her across the floor, and kicked her repeatedly, according to court papers.

Prospective giveaway. The band of brothers accumulated a total of $600,000 to $700,000 in the course of eight bank jobs. The threesome enjoyed holding up one particular branch of the North Carolina National Bank in Calabash so much that they did it three times, in 1991, 1992, and 1996.

Meanwhile, investigators struggled to identify the thieves. The fact that one of the robbers used a Weaver stance, commonly adopted by law officers when pointing their guns, made them wonder whether he was one of their own, according to Myrtle Beach Police Chief Warren Gall’s Forensic Files interview.

The authorities’ big break came in 1998.

Another good Samaritan, this one at Branch Banking and Trust in Calabash — where the brothers got away with $63,000 — scribbled down a getaway car’s license number and tried unsuccessfully to chase it.

Surveillance video of a Bellamy brothers bank robbery — Bad way to become a film star

Police traced the speeding 1997 Nissan pickup to a local landscaper.

Face to face at last. His name was Alvin Bellamy, age 41, and he had two strikes against him. First, in his wallet, he had $117 all in crisp new fives and ones, suspicious because $12,000 consisting of only fives and ones had been nabbed in a recent bank robbery, according to court papers.

And second, Alvin, who worked for Coastal Landscape and Maintenance, had two brothers in law enforcement.

Claude Wendell Bellamy, 44, was a former patrolman first class who worked for the Horry County Police Dept. in South Carolina for 12 years.

James Larry Bellamy, known as Larry, 48, was none other than a lieutenant with the Myrtle Beach Police Department who specialized in investigating crime scenes, including robbery sites. Larry had a good reputation and, at first, Police Chief Gall refused to believe he was involved, according to Gall’s Forensic Files interview.

Family of 14. The fact that the three Bellamys were modest probably made it harder for those who knew them to entertain the notion that they robbed banks. They “didn’t flash a lot of cash, buy fancy cars, or live in a rich neighborhood,” according to a Sun News article from August 18, 1999.

The trio came from a family of 12 siblings born to Lucille and Clifton Bellamy Sr. in Little River, South Carolina. The Sun News story noted Clifton Sr.’s occupation as “successful farmer.”

Clifton Sr. also taught Sunday school, was a deacon at the St. Joseph Missionary Baptist Church, and served on the board of cable company HTC Inc., according to his Sun News obituary from 2008. He and Lucille were married for 59 years.

The Bellamys were well-respected in town and one of their children, Margie B. Livingston, was and still is a South Carolina judge-magistrate. In a statement to the Sun News, Livingston said:

"No family has control of what other family members may encounter or make decisions about today. [The family is] experiencing shock, disbelief, disappointment and concern. [Our parents] have taught strong moral values to each of the 12 of us, and lived by them in county and community."

Additional bad seed. So what made Alvin, Claude, and Larry Bellamy suddenly turn into Ma Barker’s boys? A case of profound mid-life crisis? Or maybe, as hard as their parents tried, some of those kids had an innate wayward streak.

Margie Livingston is a longtime magistrate in Horry County

Forensic Files didn’t mention it, but while Alvin, Claude, and Larry were perfecting post-robbery escape routes, a fourth Bellamy brother was already sitting in jail for a way more serious offense.

Clifton Bellamy Jr., a 36-year-old married North Myrtle Beach police officer, killed girlfriend Patricia Adams with a hammer and a pointed instrument on October 1, 1986. Adams worked at the Surf Golf and Beach Club’s snack bar and was pregnant. She and Clifton Bellamy had been fighting about child support, according to court papers.

Vanishing loot. Alvin, Claude, and Larry’s motivations were less clear. Police never figured out why they wanted the money badly enough to risk ruining their own lives and mortifying their parents. Authorities also never found out where the brothers stashed or spent the stolen cash.

But the prosecution had plenty of other evidence to work with, and the three Bellamys were arrested in 2000 and charged with bank robbery, assault with a dangerous weapon, and other related crimes.

Bank security footage showed a checkered jacket and leather holster used during a robbery that were later discovered in possession of the Bellamys. One bank used high-resolution cameras that allowed police to identify Claude’s browline and nose via an excessively large eye opening in his mask, according to court papers.

Rich case. Also to the Bellamys’ detriment, Alvin had changed his story a number of times under FBI questioning.

More bad publicity for the brothers: The FBI was investigating a group of unidentified men who had tried to stop a witness from testifying against the Bellamys by threatening to “cut his eyes out and kill his family.”

The intimidation didn’t work.

After two weeks and 70 witnesses, a jury convicted the brothers on February 22, 2000.

Little brother Alvin received 15 years. Larry and Claude got harsher sentences — 50 years each in a federal penitentiary — because they betrayed their badges.

Where are they now? So far, the only one who has gotten out on two feet is Alvin, who left USP Atlanta on July 3, 2008.

Claude died while incarcerated at the age of 61 in 2016. His daughter, Nissa Bellamy, described her dad as “the strongest man I know,” in a comment left at an obituary site for him. Ironically, the 300-pound Claude was regarded as the violent member of the trio, according to Forensic Files.

The third bank robber, Larry Bellamy, is 67 and resides in FCI McDowell in Welch, West Virginia, along with 1,300 prisoners mostly in medium security.

Courts rejected Larry’s appeal attempts in 2009 and 2011, and he is scheduled for release in 2042 at age 90.

Clifton Bellamy Jr., the aforementioned killer in the family, is serving his life sentence for homicide in Kershaw Correctional Institution, which lists him as having no escape attempts or disciplinary problems.

He has a shot at parole in 2020.

Two-thirds turned out fine. The Bellamys’ mother, Lucille, died in 2015 at the age of 81. Her obituary didn’t include any biographical information about her, but raising 12 kids probably took up the better part of her bandwidth.

Creating eight law-abiding children is not a bad record.

That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube or Amazon Prime

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Janice Dodson: Husband Hunter

A Gold Digger Preys on a Lonely Guy
(“Muddy Waters,” Forensic Files)

Janice Dodson sneaked into a hunter’s camp, stole one of his guns, and shot her husband to death with it, then slipped away unseen.

It was a crafty plot to collect nearly half a million dollars in insurance payouts while deflecting suspicion away from herself.

But once it looked as though her plan was working, she knocked off the grieving-widow act way too soon.

Relentless greed. According to “Muddy Waters,” the Forensic Files episode about the Bruce Dodson homicide, on the day after the murder, Janice took Bruce’s name off the couple’s mailbox, got rid of his things, and (worst of all) had his dog put to sleep.

In addition to being a murderer, framer, and fraudster, Janice Dodson had serious trouble delaying gratification and was an enemy to dogs everywhere.

For this week, I looked around for an update on her.

But first, here’s a recap of the episode, along with extra information drawn from internet research as well as the mass-market paperback Dead Center by Frank J. Daniels, the lawyer who prosecuted her:

At long last love. John Bruce Dodson, known as Bruce, worked as a medical technologist at Delta Memorial County Hospital in Delta, Colorado. He was also a Navy veteran and a University of Maryland graduate.

The longtime bachelor was crazy about his new wife, Janice Dodson, a divorced registered nurse he met at work. Janice, who pronounces her name “juhn-eese,” liked to hunt game and wanted to interest him in the sport, too.

In fact, she was such an avid outdoorswoman that she wore a headdress shaped like a hunting hat, covered in lace and tulle, for her wedding.

I’ve seen a lot of regrettable bridal hat-veils, but Janice Dodson’s get-up deserved an “I object” more than any of them.

Bruce and Janice Dodson at their wedding. The front view, right, gives the full effect of the bride’s get-up

An actress, too. But back to the crime that’s actually illegal: On October 15, 1995, a hunter and Texas lawman identified as Doug Kyle on Forensic Files (the book gave his name as Brent Branchwater) found Janice leaning over the body of her 48-year-old husband. Bruce Dodson was bleeding from gunshot wounds, and his heartbroken spouse was screaming hysterically in shock and despair.

Janice made a good show of being loving. She placed Bruce’s vest and her sweatshirt over the body, wiped the dirt from his face, and straightened his glasses, Daniels details in his book.

At some point during the drama, she fainted convincingly enough that a helicopter was summoned to fly her to the hospital, according to book.

Different game. She told police that she went out looking for Bruce when he didn’t return to their hunting camp near Brushy Ridge Trail on western Colorado’s Uncompahgre Plateau. She found him wounded on the ground.

They had been hunting separately; she was looking for elk and he was hoping for a deer.

Medical examiner Tom Canfield, who already knew the victim from his work at the hospital, determined he had three bullet wounds, too many to call it a hunting accident.

Uncompahgre Plateau in Colorado — Colorado’s Uncompahgre National Forest

Police found a 308-caliber Nosling shell casing near the murder scene.

Former spouse suspected. Janice’s ex-husband, J.C. Lee, had been camping nearby the Dodsons. He told police his 308-caliber rifle and some of his Nosling shells were stolen from his tent the night before Bruce’s shooting.

Police learned that J.C. Lee and Janice Dodson had ended their 25-year marriage when he started dating their daughter’s best friend.

Police wondered whether Lee resented that Janice had moved on with another man.

Counting her money. Citing the unreliability of polygraph tests, Lee refused to take one, but he had a solid alibi. His girlfriend and a coworker vouched for the fact that he was hunting with them at the time of the murder.

Investigators soon turned their attention to the grieving widow from Cedaredge, Colorado. It turned out that she had purchased three insurance policies totaling $464,000 on her husband shortly before his death.

She may have wanted the money to pay off debts that piled up during her divorce, according to a Montrose Daily Press story dated November 23, 1998.

Mired in trouble. Investigators also discovered that while she was supposed to be visiting relatives in Texas to mourn Bruce’s death, Janice was actually gambling at a Louisiana casino called the Players Club.

No word on whether she won or lost on her wagers that night, but investigators started having good luck with the forensics.

Michael Dodson, left, and Janice and Bruce Dodson, far right — Michael Dodson, left, appeared on *Forensic Files*. Janice and Bruce Dodson are at far right

A NecroSearch International volunteer who helped search for the missing gun noticed an artificial pond lined with bentonite clay in the area where J.C. Lee had been camping.

Lurking in the distance. The mud that stained Janice’s clothing the day of the murder matched the bentonite clay from the pond — which placed her in Lee’s camp, where the gun first disappeared.

Investigators believed that she waded through the mud to sneak into Lee’s campsite and pilfer his Remington 308-caliber rifle and some of his ammunition.

The next day, she went hunting alone.

Investigators theorized that Janice found a hiding place and shot at Bruce at long range with the stolen gun. After the first bullet grazed Bruce, he thought a hunter had mistaken him for a deer, so he took off his orange hunting vest and waved it in the air, they believed.

Diabolique. Then Janice put two more bullets in him and disposed of the stolen gun, which the police never found.

Prosecutors suspect that Janice had planned to kill Bruce Dodson from the very start of their relationship — and conveniently pin the murder on her ex-husband, J.C Lee (the book gives his name as Mark Gordon Morgan).

It took three years to string the case together with ballistic evidence. In the meantime, Janice Dodson forgot about Bruce and started over. (As if throwing out his possessions weren’t enough of an insult, she allegedly dumped his ashes on the side of the road.)

Liquidating like crazy. She relocated to Nocogdoches, Texas, and married Bartlett M. Hall in Las Vegas on November 27, 1996. He took out $100,000 in life insurance to make sure his bride would be taken care of should anything happen to him, according to Forensic Files.

Fortunately, by the time the police arrested Janice in October 1998, no unlucky accidents had befallen Hall.

Maybe she still had enough money left over from pillaging Bruce Dodson’s assets. She had sucked the money from his IRAs, sold his horse, Glory, and put one of his two properties up for sale — he owned them before they met, but she persuaded him to put her name on the titles during their three-month marriage.

Her take. A jury found Janice Dodson guilty of first-degree murder after deliberating for three and a half days. On March 20, 2000, she received a sentence of life without the possibility of parole.

The crime website Murderpedia has reproduced some hard-to-find stories about the case, including an ABC article with the following statement Janice Dodson made to Prime Time interviewer Chris Cuomo after the trial:

I still do [love Bruce Dodson],” Janice said. “The only way I can live with this, is that I have the peace of knowing I didn’t do it, and the prayer in my heart that some day the truth will win out.”

In a 2002, a three-judge Colorado Court of Appeals panel rejected her lawyers’ claim that Janice’s jury didn’t receive clear instructions.

Behind razor wire. Today, Janice is inmate #104430 at the Denver Women’s Correctional Facility in Mesa County. Her profile still lists her sentence as life without parole.

It also notes that she stands 5-foot-8-inches and weighs in at 150 pounds — trim by prison standards. Facilities tend to serve heavy foods that bulk up the inmates.

The prison participates in programs allowing inmates to help train troubled and neglected dogs to become service animals for army veterans, but it’s doubtful that any animal would trust the likes of her.

The insurance jackpot she hoped to collect ended up going to Bruce Dodson’s brother, Michael C. Dodson, and sister, Martha E. Asberry.

Their mother, Ruth E. Dodson, lived until 2002, long enough to see her ex-daughter-in-law put away for good, where she can’t hurt anyone else’s son.

That’s all for this post. Until next time, cheers. — RR

Watch the Forensic Files episode on YouTube or Amazon Prime

Category: Forensic Files

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