Forensic Files Archives - Page 2 of 7

Tim Scoggin: Suck-Up and Killer

A Fortune Hunter Plays Faithful Servant to His Victims
(‘Penchant for Poison,’ Forensic Files)

Although it usually isn’t the main point of the episode, Forensic Files has taught us that you don’t always have to kill your well-to-do associates to win big.

Tim Scoggin walking to court with law officers — *Small but lethal: Tim Scoggin, middle, in custody*

Brigitte Beck, for one, inherited all the assets of a nice German couple who took her in after she first came to the U.S. (“Past Lives“). Likewise, two employees at Al Zullo’s home-improvement company became its owners when Zullo willed it to them (“Frozen Assets“) to reward their loyalty. In both cases, the benefactors died of natural causes.

Not the plan. A more common and central Forensic Files theme, however, is that of “Prints Among Thieves.” It told of how Sharon Zachary, a beloved caretaker to millionaire Robert Rogers, beat him to death in a bid to speed up her inheritance.

Such was the case with Timothy G. Scoggin, except that the petite-sized plotter used poison instead of brute force on his victims.

Like Sharon Zachary, he ended up in a prison cell instead of a Rolls Royce.

Chilling tale. For this week, I looked for background information on this outwardly virtuous man as well as the business owners he betrayed.

So let’s get going on the recap of “Penchant for Poison” along with extra information drawn from internet research:

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Leita and Olgie Nobles, both born in 1918, owned Nobles Hardware & Air Conditioning in San Angelo, Texas. Thanks to the area’s hot weather and scant rain, the store did a great business.

Sieged with symptoms. Perhaps because the pair spent so much time together at home and at work, they didn’t have a whole lot of patience for each other, according to Forensic Files. They often quarreled.

But there would be no couples counseling or divorce for the Nobleses. A violent illness took hold of Olgie and he died on March 27, 1988 at age 70.

Cause revealed. At the time, no one suspected foul play.

Leita Nobles sits on the couch with a crocheted blanket covering her — *Arsenic was no match for Leita Nobles*

Leita, meanwhile, was suffering from horrible nausea plus other discomforts and numbness in her fingers.

She received two blood transfusions at Brownwood Regional Hospital. During a subsequent stay at Shannon Medical Center, tests revealed she had consumed three times the typically fatal dose of arsenic.

Riddled with toxin. Arsenic has no color, taste, or smell, making it easy to sneak into edible substances. A bottle of Riopan Plus found in Leita’s medicine cabinet contained arsenic.

Some wondered whether Olgie poisoned Leita before his own demise, but a hair test indicated that she ingested some of the arsenic afterward.

Investigators had Olgie’s body exhumed, and tests revealed large amounts of arsenic in all of his major organs.

Lots o’ loans. Farrice L. James, Leita’s son from a previous marriage, bore no arsenic in his blood despite that he lived in the same household. But Farrice, who used a wheel chair because of a disability, was soon cleared.

That left the aforementioned Tim Scoggin, a trusted 33-year-old mortuary professional who was a dear friend to Leita and Olgie and had bought their appliance business in 1985. He had borrowed more than $30,000 from the couple and was paying them back in increments of $1,700 a month.

He had taken out other loans and, all in all, Tim was $175,000 in debt, according to the late Texas Monthly writer Gary Cartwright.

Storefront of Nobles Appliance and Air Conditioning store — *Tim Scoggin committed murder for a hardware business*

Dead on. So who was this guy? According to a 1989 Texas Monthly story, Tim Scoggin had a father who was a longtime employee of El Paso Natural Gas. (No mention of Tim’s mother turned up online.) During an interview with Gary Cartwright, Tim said he grew up middle-class in El Paso.

According to Cartwright’s 1989 Texas Monthly article:

“With little prompting Scoggin painted a picture of himself as a popular, hard-working, above-average student at Jal High School — editor of his yearbook, member of the drama club, officer on the student council — with an abundant talent for art and an outgoing personality. He sold paintings and mowed grass at the country club to buy a car. He also revealed himself to be acutely class-conscious.“

After graduation, Tim attended mortuary school in Dallas.

Finer things. He secured an apprenticeship at Waldrope-Hatfield Funeral Home in 1975. In a quest for riches, he also tried his hand at real estate and other businesses.

In his spare time, he enjoyed painting flowers on porcelain urns, and belonged to a club devoted to the art. Tim befriended a number of older women there.

In his 2002 Texas Monthly piece, Cartwright recalled Tim as a “smarmy nerd.”

Friends in high places. But at the Nobles household, he had been like a family member. He helped Leita address her thank-you notes after her hands grew weak.

She considered him above suspicion.

Her nephew, a county prosecutor named Leonard Sutton, wasn’t so sure. He kick-started an investigation into Leita’s 5-foot-4-inch auburn-haired “friend.”

It turned out that before Olgie and Leita Nobles became sick, Tim had grown close to wealthy sisters Catherine and Cordelia Norton, who lived in a mansion on a hill above Llano, Texas.

Parties galore. Catherine and Cordelia were the remaining two of five daughters born to owners of a profitable granite-mining operation. Tom W. Norton and Mary Agnes “Lady” Norton had bought the house in 1915 and moved their family in the following year.

When the daughters were growing up, the Nortons hosted many festivities at the abode, which had a wraparound porch and an observation deck.

“That’s where I learned to dance,” Lucille Patton, who had known the sisters since childhood, told the Austin American-Statesman. “It was a big meeting place for us kids. It was a whole lot of fun back then.”

Untimely deaths. None of the Norton daughters married or had children. Only one of them, Polly Norton, moved away from Llano; she lived in Washington, D.C.

Their father, known as T.W., died in 1948, followed by Lady in 1962. Three of their daughters died of cancer, according to a friend quoted in the Austin American-Statesman.

Catherine, 75, and Cordelia, 83, remained in the gigantic house.

The Nortons' light yellow mansion with a huge porch — The Civil War-era house’s original owner, F.R. Malone, went broke, and the structure later served as a tuberculosis sanatorium. The Nortons remodeled the structure and turned it into a happy home, moving there in 1916

The sisters were entrepreneurial and ambitious. Cordelia, described as the rough-mannered one, owned the Lone Star Beer distributorship and operated a ranch. “The only dress she owned was to go to a funeral,” friend T.D. “Dutch” Swenson told the Austin-American Statesmen.

Local philanthropy. Catherine, nicknamed “Girlie,” ran two retail businesses, Norton’s Flowers and Norton’s Dress Shop. (Multiple sources describe Catherine as the feminine sister, but for some reason Forensic Files used a photo that makes her look like Orville Redenbacher.)

In their adulthood, the two sisters, whose combined wealth totaled around $5 million, were not socialites and liked to keep a low profile — no more galas. But they weren’t recluses either. They went out to dinner in town and had a circle of close friends.

Catherine and Cordelia quietly donated money to causes benefitting the town of Llano, their friend Ann Lottie Wyckoff told the Dallas Morning News for a September 10, 1988 story.

L.T. Des Champs, the Nortons’ estate lawyer, said the sisters had “hearts of gold” and respected people from all walks of life — but they weren’t suckers for every opportunist with a sob story, according to the Austin American-Statesman.

A framed photo of young Tim Scoggin — *A youthful Tim Scoggin*

Presumptuous panderer. Tim managed to ingratiate himself to the Nortons after meeting Catherine through her work as a florist. He became their driver and helper at home. He prepared their food. They reportedly considered Tim — whose high-pitched voice prompted people to mistakenly call him “ma’am” over the phone — like one of the family. Sometimes he stayed overnight at their house. (It’s not clear whether the Nortons paid Tim for his services or he gave them for free under the guise of kindheartedness.)

Apparently, Tim believed the women had written him into their wills. He told people he was going to be rich, according to Charlotte Harris, the county prosecutor who appeared on Forensic Files.

In February 1988, the sisters died within a day of each other. Tim immediately called Mary Moursund, executor of the estate, and inquired about the will.

“When the will is filed for probate, you’ll get to see what you got,” Moursund replied “tersely,” according to the Austin American-Statesman.

Grocer spills it. The Nortons were cremated at 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit. But Rod McCutcheon, a toxicologist for the Texas Department of Public Safety crime lab, knew that a fire can’t completely burn away a metallic substance like arsenic.

Leita Nobles and her son, Farrice James — *Leita Nobles outlived her son, Farrice James, who died at 58 in 1995*

Tests on Catherine’s ashes were inconclusive, but McCutcheon found huge amounts of arsenic in Cordelia’s.

The owner of local supermarket Abbott’s told police he recalled selling Tim Scoggin some Cowley’s Original Rat and Mouse Poison, which contained arsenic. (Note to poisoners: Buy your toxic substances out of state.)

Convenient crucible. But even before the truth came out about the Nortons’ deaths, Tim had received some bad news. The sisters never got around to changing their wills to include him.

Tim consoled himself by forging a $30,000 check with Catherine’s name. And in an inept move reminiscent of Ron Gillette‘s and Jason Funk‘s crimes, he dated the check the day after Catherine died, according to the Dallas Morning News.

Next up, Tim concentrated on Leita and Olgie Nobles. Forensic Files didn’t mention it, but during this time, an unidentified person stole a large amount of cash from the store after the couple rushed to the scene of a fire at a trailer they owned — interesting because Tim had some arson in his past. A suspicious fire once befell a house he’d just bought (no one was charged and the insurance company paid off on Tim’s policy), according to Texas Monthly.

Bad edibles. Oh, and Tim was the manager of the Cactus Lane trailer park, where Olgie and Leita kept their ill-fated trailer.

Tim must have gone to work fast at the Nobles household, because Olgie died just five weeks after the Norton sisters. Police believed Tim poisoned the couples’ food in a bid for ownership of the appliance business without the pesky $1,700-a-month payments.

Authorities arrested Tim and charged him with murder and intention to commit murder. A judge set bail at $500,000.

A photo of Catherine, Marge, Elinor, Cordelia, and Polly Norton in their youth — *The Austin American-Statesman published this vintage photo on October 20, 1990*

Lethal concoction. At some point amid this mess, Tim filed for bankruptcy due to his financial woes over the appliance store.

In court, defense attorney Steve Lupton argued that investigators ignored potential evidence that might have implicated other suspects.

District Attorney Stephen Smith contended that the illness of Leita Nobles and the deaths of Olgie Nobles and at least one of the Norton sisters had three things in common: “old age, arsenic, and Tim Scoggin, their greedy friend.”

Treasures within. In April 1989, a jury took less than four hours to find Tim guilty. He was sentenced to 20 years for his attempt to kill Leita and life for murdering Olgie plus 10 years for forging $45,000 in checks and depositing them in his own account.

A year later, he pleaded guilty to the Norton homicides and picked up concurrent 55-year sentences plus another 10 years for forgery.

An empty glass bottle embossed with a raised rat figure — *Cowley’s Original Rat and Mouse Poison is no longer manufactured, but its distinctive bottles turn up on collectibles websites*

(During Tim’s friendship with the sisters, $40,000 in gold coins and securities had disappeared from a safe in their house in 1983, but authorities lacked evidence against Tim.)

With Tim behind razor wire, in October 1990, the Norton sisters’ estate began organizing an auction of their house, its contents, and 40 acres of land, with the proceeds going toward Llano’s city park and cemetery. Items for sale included Oriental rugs, “15th century icons,” and “Italian renaissance furniture believed to be from the Vatican,” according to the Austin American-Statesman.

Hard to kill. As for the victim who survived Tim’s crimes, Leita Nobles appeared on Forensic Files in the 2006 episode amid her struggle with paralysis and pain as aftereffects of the arsenic poisoning. She used a wheelchair and wore braces on her hands to prevent her fingers from curling, according to Texas Monthly.

The tough Texan died at the age of 93 in 2012.

The man who tried to kill her resides in the Wynne Unit, a medium-security prison with no air-conditioning in Huntsville, Texas. In an interview, Tim told Gary Cartwright that jail was his first encounter with “lower class” people and that he didn’t realize how unluxurious life in the joint would be.

See ya’ in five. Any charm that Tim still possesses isn’t winning him any friends in management. The board has repeatedly denied him parole, most recently in 2020, noting his “conscious selection of victim’s vulnerability” and that he poses a “threat to public safety.”

He has another shot in 2025.

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

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Forensic Files Wants to Know: What Are Your Favorite Things?

UPDATE: TV SPECIAL WAS CANCELED! IT WAS FUN HEARING FROM YOU — THANKS MUCH TO THOSE WHO ANSWERED!

Another Forensic Files special — yes, we are blessed! — is in the works. As you probably remember, in 2021, a great TV show took a serious look at the docuseries over the years.

This time, the producers are out for fun.

Gary Lico, one of Forensic Files producers, is interested in hearing what you think is the craziest, most shocking, or off-the-charts weird alibi or clue or evidence — or person.

Please leave a reader comment at the end of this post and I’ll relay the message to the folks at Forensic Files. Or shoot Gary an email directly at gary@garylico.tv

P.S. The men in the photo brought you the original Forensic Files, from 1996 to 2011. Left to right: Michael Jordan, Vince Sherry, Gary Lico, Matt Hensel, series creator Paul Dowling.

Jason Funk: Give Us a Sign

Katie Froeschle Is Attacked on the Job
(‘Muffled Cries,’ Forensic Files)

Although it certainly wasn’t his intention, Jason Funk did just about everything possible to incriminate himself before, during, and after Katie Froeschle’s murder.

Katie Froeschle in a white sleeveless top — Katie Froeschle

The unemployed motorcycle mechanic killed the 25-year-old insurance adjuster at his residence, just after she had confirmed with a co-worker that she was at his address. In fact, she was still on a cell phone call when Jason came walking out of his house toward her car.

Zero cover-up. Next up, he left forensic evidence, including the victim’s blood, in the house and “hid” her body in a highly discoverable location.

He didn’t even get rid of the murder weapon.

But it’s another misstep in particular that cemented the 27-year-old Floridian’s ranking as the second-dumbest criminal in all 15 seasons of the original Forensic Files.

Colorado native. I’ll get to his colossal mistake in a minute, but first here’s a recap of “Muffled Cries” along with extra information drawn from internet research into the case and the victim’s young life:

Katrina Anne “Katie” Froeschle came into the world in Fort Collins, Colorado, in 1979, the only girl and eldest of three children born to Leonore Froeschle, a nurse, and Jeff Froeschle, an assistant attorney general who later went into private practice. Katie was especially close to her father. They went skiing in Steamboat Springs and scuba diving in Key West together. She also enjoyed gymnastics and softball.

The family moved to Tierra Verde, Florida, and Katie, who had long hair and attractive features, graduated from Lakewood High School in St. Petersburg and then from Florida State University in 2002. She earned degrees in finance and risk management.

Insurers deluged. Her very first job out of school, as an adjuster for Florida Farm Bureau Insurance, put her interpersonal skills as well as her business studies to use.

Katie “got all the difficult people because she could get the information she needed and soothe them,” Leonore Froeschle told the Tampa Tribune.

On November 12, 2004, Katie deserved some R&R after one of many long days. Four hurricanes had hit Florida that year, creating extensive damage and an overwhelming amount of work for insurance professionals.

The yellow two bedroom house where Jason Funk lived — Jason Funk lived in the North Tampa house with girlfriend Pamela Hintz, who ultimately turned against him

Pet gone hungry. Katie planned to meet up with some friends at a restaurant after work, but she never showed up.

Her family called her repeatedly over the weekend but heard nothing. When her best friend from work, Amy Roderick, checked on Katie’s apartment, she found it empty — and yikes, no one had fed the cat.

Police began looking for Katie’s 2003 Chevrolet Impala. They learned that she had ended her workday by visiting a house in Sulphur Springs, a working-class section of Tampa, to check on a leaky roof reported by the owner.

Potential accident. Although the area has been called a bit dicey, Katie probably didn’t feel vulnerable.

“When performing inspections for roof damage, most adjusters will cite a fall from the roof as their greatest concern, not physical attack by the home’s occupants,” according to the Property Casualty 360 Daily News.

Also, that particular inspection probably didn’t even require the adjuster to go inside the home.

Auto turns up. As mentioned, Katie needed help from a coworker to locate the house at 1503 East Mulberry Drive, then told the coworker that she had arrived and described the occupant who walked toward her car.

After Katie disappeared, Jeff and Leonore Froeschle visited the two-bedroom yellow house that Jason Matthew Funk and girlfriend Pamela Hintz had moved into just three days earlier. The couple claimed to know nothing about a damaged roof or a visit from an adjuster.

The Froeschles soon discovered their daughter’s maroon Impala in the parking lot of the Harbor Club, a restaurant about a mile from the house on East Mulberry Drive. Inside the car, they found her keys and purse with no cash.

Sad development. A witness came forward to say he saw a tall man leave the car in the lot and walk away.

The book cover of the Safety in the Field for Adjusters And Other On-Site Professionals — Jeff Froeschle remarked that if the safety manual existed earlier, it could have saved his daughter’s life

When a missing woman’s car turns up abandoned, it’s usually an indicator of a tragedy, and unfortunately, such was the case with Katie. A police officer spotted her dead body in the Hillsborough River. She was partly clothed and lay in the water directly behind Jason Funk’s house.

Katie’s family held a memorial service at the Island Chapel in Tierra Verde.

Not a typical crime. The news of the random killing rattled locals. “Everyone felt this one,” police officer Jim Simonson told the Tampa Bay Times as reported in a November 20, 2004 story, which also noted that the cashiers at an area CVS pharmacy “couldn’t stop talking about it.”

Tampa Police Department spokesperson Joe Durkin said that Sulphur Springs had “its share of crime” but that the “brutal and heinous” homicide “shocks the conscience of the community,” according to Colorado news publication Summit Daily.

Because of Katie’s half-clothed state, investigators believed someone had sexually assaulted her, although a rape kit tested inconclusive. They determined she had been in the water for about 30 hours.

Owner cleared. The medical examiner found pattern injuries in the form of round marks on her head. Someone had likely beaten her to death with an object.

(In a letter to the editor, Katie’s aunt would later criticize the Tampa Bay Times for printing ” horrific, graphic details” that “served no purpose” and “only sensationalized and humiliated the name of a beautiful and upstanding young woman.”)

Leonore spoke to Jason Funk’s landlord, who acknowledged he had made the claim about the roof. His behavior seemed a bit suspicious to Leonore — but anybody could get a little weird when questioned about a murder, and he gave an alibi that satisfied the police.

Erratic behavior. When investigators informed Jason Funk about the discovery of Katie’s body, he “was more concerned about the police distracting him from his birthday cake baking in the oven than about Froeschle,” the Tampa Bay Times reported on February 10, 2005. Jason said that he was jet-skiing at the time Katie disappeared.

“He was at turns cold, jovial, and distraught, and he said a few things only the killer could have known,” a January 27, 2005 Tampa Bay Times story reported.

Investigators discovered that someone had tried using Katie’s credit cards a number of times and succeeded at least twice.

A black and white newspaper clipping showing Jason Funk in shackles and a prison uniform in court — A Tampa Bay Times clipping shows Jason Funk in court

Put his name to the crime. A Publix store surveillance video showed a tall white male paying for groceries with Katie’s ATM card.

And here’s the part of the story that has kept Forensic Files fans scratching and shaking their heads since “Muffled Cries” first aired in 2007: The same man paid for items at a Qwick Stop with Katie Froeschle’s card and signed his own name — “Jason Funk” — on the receipt.

The reaction of the audience members at a Montel Williams Show was typical. During a segment featuring shocking crimes, they could not contain their laughter when told about the signed receipt. “This guy is just stupid,” Williams said during the 2008 episode.

Backyard inferno. Jason left plenty of other clues as well. A lab discovered that some skin cells on Katie’s steering wheel came from Jason. Apparently, it didn’t occur to him to wipe the car interior clean after he drove the Impala from his house to the restaurant.

Inside the residence, detectives found Katie’s E-ZPass unit and business card. Outside the house, investigators identified a burn pit (incinerated items, always a bad indicator, the Slover s) with Katie’s belt — she was wearing pants and a top that day. Police also believed the killer put bloodstained synthetic carpet in the flames. Neighbor Robert Rodriguez recalled the smell of “plastic burning.”

Investigators theorized that a motorcycle muffler with a circular mounting bracket they had recovered from the house was the source of Katie’s pattern injuries. Jason had beaten her to death with the car part, they believed. His Nike sneakers had Katie’s blood on them and so did walls and miniblinds inside the house. A bank envelope belonging to Katie carried Jason’s fingerprints.

Not dodgy looking. But police didn’t have to wait for the test results before arresting Jason. They had taken him into custody immediately on a drug charge after finding 19 marijuana plants growing inside the house.

So who was this dim-witted brute?

Well, his background is a little mysterious, but some information turned up on Jason Funk. He was born on November 13, 1977 and grew up to stand 6-foot-3-inches tall. A photo of Jason “reveals a clean-cut, handsome young man, whose appearance would be impressive to most landlords,” according to Property Casualty 360 Daily News, which notes that in high-vacancy markets, many landlords “do not pull credit reports (much less run criminal background checks).”

A closeup of Katie Froeschle — Katie Froeschle thought about becoming a lawyer someday

Why she went inside. It turned out that, years before the murder, Jason had gotten himself into legal trouble owing to domestic violence and drug use.

Investigators theorized that on the day Katie died, Jason was the man who came out of the house as she drove up. (His girlfriend was at work.)

“There are any number of possible scenarios that might explain why the adjuster entered a property that seemed to require only an exterior roof inspection,” Property Casualty 360 Daily News conjectured in an October 5, 2009 story. “Perhaps she asked to use the bathroom after an unexpected long drive; maybe Funk invited her in for a drink of water; or perhaps Katie found significant roof damage and wanted to check interior ceilings for water stains.”

Still water. Forensic Files suggested that perhaps Jason made a pass at Katie, then got mad when she rebuffed him, and struck her repeatedly with the motorcycle muffler, killing her and spraying the wall with blood.

Then, not noticing that the water had no current (because of a dam), Jason threw her body into the Hillsborough River behind his house — and there it stayed, awaiting discovery.

Jason burned Katie’s clothes and the bloodstained carpet and stole her cash and credit cards. He had recently lost his job and needed money for groceries and the $850-a-month rent on the house.

Caught on audio. Then, Jason meticulously cleaned the muffler alleged to be the murder weapon; the metal sparkled, but the circular cutout enabled police to link it to Katie’s injuries.

Pamela Hintz cooperated with the police and secretly recorded some of her conversations with Jason:

“‘Honey, they can have me driving her car, spending her money, using her cell phone, doing everything else, but they don’t have me doing anything to her,’ he told Hintz. At other times, he became threatening, telling Hintz if she hung up, he would put her ‘in the river,'” the Tampa Bay Times reported.

The waterway where police found Katie Froeschle’s body is part of Hillsborough River State Park

Full confession. Despite the mounting evidence, Jason did have at least one defender. “It’s not in character for Jason to do anyone wrong like that,” said Scott Bitman, owner of Cycle Masters and Jason’s former boss.

But Jason himself seemed to come to his senses when confronted with the forensics and possibility of the death penalty.

Wearing shackles and an orange prison uniform in court, he admitted to inviting Katie into his house, attempting to rape her, and beating her to death with the motorcycle muffler.

Source of sadness. He also pleaded guilty to a charge of cultivation of marijuana.

Represented by a public defender, Jason declined to make a statement to the victim’s family.

Katie’s parents, her brother Samuel, and Amy Roderick chose to address the court about their loss. Amy mentioned that Katie only saw the good in people, and Samuel spoke of how he and his sister would stay up all night talking — but now he cries himself to sleep. Leonore called Katie her best friend.

Jeff Froeschle had an especially difficult time mourning his daughter

Quite the revisionist. Their words brought Judge Denise Pomponio to tears, the Tampa Bay Times reported. She gave Jason a sentence of life without parole for the murder plus a total of 60 years for attempted sexual battery and other offenses against Katie plus having the contraband houseplants.

But during his Forensic Files interview, Jason Funk said that he was innocent and took responsibility for the murder only to avoid the death penalty.

So where is this Isaac Newton of a man today?

FSU award. Jason resides in the Wakulla Correctional Institution in Crawfordville. Also known as #168693 and listed with the Sexual Offender Predator System, he’s under close custody, meaning that armed personnel must supervise him at all times. The Florida DOC website notes that he weighs 236 pounds and has no chance of release.

To honor the woman Jason murdered, the Froeschles established the Katrina Anne “Katie” Froeschle Memorial Scholarship Fund for FSU students interested in risk management, insurance, real estate, and business law.

Katie’s former employer, Florida Farm Bureau Insurance, donated $50,000.

In 2011, with Katie’s tragic murder in mind, the American Association of Public Insurance Adjusters published Safety in the Field for Adjusters And Other On-Site Professionals. “If this manual can save one life, it’s worth it,” a press release quoted Jeff Froeschle as saying.

Jason Funk in a prison mugshot, which shows he still has a headful of hair — Jason Funk in a 2022 mugshot

Weighty memorial. Over the years, Jeff has kept close tabs on Jason’s whereabouts as Florida moved him around to various prisons, according to a Tampa Bay Times story, which noted that Jeff served as a board member of the Life Center of the Suncoast, a Tampa facility offering grief counseling to families of murder victims.

Sadly, the Froeschles ended their 28-year marriage not long after the murder. Jeff said he worried that the union deteriorated because he talked about Katie too much.

His devotion continued, however.

Have some punch. Jeff collected 934 photos of his lost daughter and set them to music for a presentation for the scholarship fund — but he told the Tampa Bay Times that after viewing it twice, he found it too heartbreaking to watch again.

The article also notes that Jeff tried to work through his feelings by boxing with a heavy bag and sometimes he would “pretend the bag was Funk’s face.”

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

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Dr. Debora Green: Tennis and Madness

Q&A With Ann Slegman Isenberg
(‘The Ultimate Betrayal,’ Forensic Files)

Whatever problems were plaguing Dr. Debora Green — depression, her husband’s cheating — no one foresaw what happened on Oct. 24, 1995.

Debora, an oncologist who had stepped away from her career to care for the three kids she shared with cardiologist Michael Farrar, deliberately set fire to the family’s mansion in Prairie Village, an upscale neighborhood in Kansas City.

She and 10-year-old Kate escaped unhurt from the house. Kelly, 6, died of smoke inhalation and Tim, 13, sustained fatal burns. Debora wanted to kill the kids to punish her husband, prosecutors later contended.

By the time of the tragedy, Michael, who was living with his girlfriend, was ill from ricin, a toxin that Debora allegedly sneaked into his food.

Debora pleaded no contest to a variety of charges in 1996 and is serving her sentence at the Topeka Correctional Facility. Today, she’s 71 years old. Her first parole consideration date is in 2035.

For this week’s post, I talked to Ann Slegman Isenberg, a retired writer and editor who knew Debora before and after her transition from good-natured stay-at-home mom to universally condemned child killer. Excerpts of our conversation follow:

How did you meet Debora Green? I started taking a “three and a pro” tennis class at a little club near my house. I played singles and wanted to learn doubles tennis. Debora was no longer working as an oncologist and was also learning tennis, so we got to know each other.

Was Debora likeable? She literally had a genius IQ, so she was so quick and as funny a person as can be, kind of the life-of-the-party type of person.

Did you meet her husband, Michael Farrar? My husband and I socialized with her and her husband once at a tennis get-together. He was nothing to look at, kind of a drip, but was well-thought-of in his field.

Did you meet their kids? They went to private school and my kids went to public school. Some of Debora’s kids would come around at the tennis club, and I think they really did have a good relationship with their mother. Kelly was darling with a poof of blond hair.

Who says you don’t make nice friends in prison? Debora Green has participated in the KSDS Pooches and Pals program, whereby inmates train and care for assistance dogs

How did you first hear about the fire? My sitter came over that morning and said there was a fire on Canterbury Circle and I thought, please don’t be Debora. I called and her phone was busy, so I thought she was chatting on the phone and everything was OK. Then, when I took my son to the barber and saw on the news the fire was at her house, I thought, “Oh no, they’re going to think Debora did that because of that other fire.” [A year earlier, a fire broke out at a previous house owned by Debora and Michael.] I took flowers and left them at Mike’s doorstep. Debora was staying with friends, I think.

Were you surprised about the substance abuse claims? Debora did call me and it was obvious she was intoxicated — but she showed no signs of drug abuse before. As Ann Rule wrote, the night of the fire, she had taken a lot of Prozac and vodka. So she might have just been out of her mind.

Did you stay in touch when she was in custody? Debora reached out to me quite a bit. I visited her at the Olathe jail. When she went to prison in Topeka, I visited her there. She was always proclaiming her innocence. She wrote me a letter and asked whether I would perjure myself — and say that Tim said, “Sometimes I get so upset with my dad I want to burn the house.” I think I sent it to our lawyer, who sent it to the defense. And pretty quickly afterward, she pleaded no contest.

How did the people at the tennis club react to the murders? Debora had seemed so fun and sensible. So there was the whole thing of appearance vs. reality. I think a lot of us had to go to therapy over this.♠

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

Editor’s note: Michael Farrar died on August 23, 2023, at the age of 68. Media outlets have yet to disclose his cause of death.

P.S. Read Part I, an informed recap and epilogue of the “Ultimate Betrayal” episode
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Robert Buell: A City Planner Goes off the Rails

A Shirt-and-Tie Guy Lives a Dual Existence
(‘Material Evidence,’ Forensic Files)

My favorite Forensic Files episodes tend to involve criminals no one suspected, people who seemed to live within society’s conventions.

Krista Lea Harrison

Enter one Robert Anthony Buell, the subject of “Material Evidence.” He was a municipal employee with a college education, a manicured lawn, and colleagues and friends who respected him.

Unfortunately, he also had a secret life as a serial sex criminal and murderer.

Local newspaper on story. For this week, I did some research on the reactions that locals had upon hearing that the homicidal maniac in the van looked not like a monster but rather like one of them.

So let’s get going on the recap for “Material Evidence,” along with information from online sources, including the Akron Beacon Journal, which did great reporting on the case:

On July 17, 1982, Krista Lea Harrison and Roy Wilson were collecting cans at a softball field in Marshallville Village Park in Ohio. Krista’s older sister, Dawn, had given her permission to ride her 10-speed bike to the park instead of doing dishes at home.

On high alert. Suddenly, a man grabbed Krista, 11, and forced her into a reddish-brown van with bubble-shaped back windows.

Roy, 12, who had just stepped away for a moment when the assailant drove up, described him as a white male of medium height, 25 to 35 years old with a prominent nose, dark hair, and a mustache.

The crime unnerved the town of Marshallville, population 750 to 900. “The park became a ghost town,” recalled Mayor Robert Brooker on Forensic Files. “There was tremendous apprehension that this could happen again.” Residents started locking their doors. A column in the Akron Beacon Journal advised parents to tell their kids that “no reasonable adult drives around seeking to give rides to children.”

A black and white image of a young Robert Buell — Robert Anthony Buell in his youth

Awful discovery. The FBI helped local authorities as they mobilized volunteers and tracker dogs, a helicopter, and even a psychic in their efforts to find the blue-eyed tawny-haired girl who loved softball. Local groups raised a $13,500 reward for information leading to the man’s capture. The feds outfitted the Harrisons’ phone with a recording device in case a kidnapper called.

“We want to be able to hold her in our arms and tell her how much we love her,” Krista’s dad, Gerald Harrison, said in a plea to the unknown man who kidnapped the youngest of his four children.

But no ransom calls came.

Six days after Krista’s abduction, some turtle trappers found the girl’s decomposing body 30 miles outside of Marshallville in a field in Holmes County. Someone had partially wrapped her in a plastic bag and left a large bloodstained cardboard box at the scene. Not far away, police found a pair of discarded men’s jeans and a plaid shirt.

Terrifying tale. Someone had strangled and sexually assaulted Krista. Forensic experts found the same type of synthetic trilobal orange fibers in her hair that had turned up eight months earlier at the murder scene of another child, Tina Harmon, in a neighboring town, but a young migrant farm worker named Herman Ray Rucker was in prison for that homicide. (Rucker eventually won a new trial and was acquitted).

A photo of fall foliage with the Marshallville water tower in the background — Marshallville created a memorial to Krista Harrison with geraniums and a plaque with her picture in the park where she showed off her talent for softball

Investigators determined that the L-shaped cardboard box at Krista’s murder scene came from a new leather van seat ordered from Sears.

Police got a huge break when a 28-year-old local woman came forward with a horrifying story. While she was painting the floor of the Petroco Gas Station where she worked as a manager, a man holding a pistol appeared and told her, “You are coming with me unless you want your head blown off,” according to court papers. He took her to his house and shaved her head, battered her, raped her, and tortured her with electric wires. He tied and handcuffed her to the bed. The next morning, in what sounds like a scene from a James Bond movie, the sadistic man turned up the stereo so no one could hear her scream and left for the office. It gave her an opportunity to loosen the ropes and force her hand through a handcuff. The victim put on a robe and ran outside for help. She was purple with bruises.

Outdoorsy guy. The man she identified as the attacker was the quintessential “somebody no one expected” — Robert Anthony Buell. He worked as a loan and grant specialist for the Akron Planning Department. His house at 3319 Symphony Lane in Clinton had an automatic garage door opener and a neatly trimmed yard with freshly planted chrysanthemums. The divorced father of one had reportedly been talking marriage with his longtime girlfriend, a lawyer at an Ohio bank; she had a 13-year-old daughter and an 8-year-old son. Robert took camping trips with both the kids and attended the girl’s softball games.

Robert Buell wearing an orange prisoner uniform — It’s a good thing Robert Buell liked orange

His arrest shocked neighbors and colleagues who knew him as a friendly, conscientious man who enjoyed hiking, scuba diving, and skiing — and was loved by local kids, the Akron Beacon Journal reported. His inner circle didn’t believe the accusations.

“Friends tended to dismiss the [gas station manager’s rape] charge as if it were an empty slur uttered the morning after by a woman Buell brought home one night,” according to the ABJ.

String of attacks. Nonetheless, the police thoroughly searched his vehicle and his house, placing sheets over the windows to discourage prying eyes.

Inside, they found jeans of the same size and style as the ones left near Krista Harrison’s murder scene. Robert owned a reddish-brown 1978 Dodge van. It didn’t have round windows as the witness to Krista’s abduction had reported, but Robert’s helpful nephew, Ralph Ross Jr., told investigators that Robert had recently replaced them with rectangular ones. The bright orange carpet in Robert’s van and his home matched the fibers in Krista’s hair. And Robert had ordered Sears van seats that came in boxes like the one found at the murder scene.

Family strife. Authorities would eventually name Robert as a suspect in the murder of Deborah Kaye Smith, 10, of Massillon, as well as a number of sexual assaults on women and girls in Doylestown, Akron, Barberton, Lodi, and Jeromesville. There was evidence that his string of crimes started as early as 1975, when he abducted Terry DeLapa (luckily, she escaped after 20 minutes), according to an account that DeLapa, now an executive at a materials company, gave to Rubber and Plastics News in 2015.

The gas station manager who Robert Buell raped and beat — After raping and beating the gas station manager (above) with his fists and a belt, Robert Buell tied her up and went to sleep for the night

So where did this man come from and did his early life give hints at the horror and loss he would create?

Robert Anthony Buell was born in Cincinnati on Sept. 10, 1940, the son of Jacqueline Buell, a waitress, and Carter Buell, a chef. His parents went through a horrible divorce, according to the ABJ. Jacqueline described her husband as a drunken troublemaker. Carter complained that he returned home from the army to find his wife shacked up with a bartender. They fought over custody of the children, with Carter alleging that Jacqueline whipped and beat Robert so severely that a broom handle once broke over his back.

Robert, understandably, was described as a nervous child.

Finance positions. Still, he had a normal social life, dating girls and going out with friends. He followed a stable, successful career path, which included serving in the Navy as an electronics technician and receiving an honorable discharge. He studied business at the University of Akron, and held jobs as a cashier and loan officer at a couple of banks and as a credit manager at W.T. Grant.

When Robert married and became a father, he didn’t allow his parents to see their granddaughter for many years — presumably to spare her their dysfunction. Robert and his wife, a bookkeeper from Steubenville, stayed together for 18 years before divorcing.

A shot of a road in the Clinton, Ohio — Robert Buell lived in the Summit County town of Clinton, a bedroom community of Akron, Ohio

After Robert’s arrest and indictment on charges of Krista’s aggravated murder, kidnapping, and felonious sexual penetration in November 1983, some neighbors started telling stories suggesting that he wasn’t all that squeaky clean after all.

Exes supportive. They said that, after his wife and daughter moved out, Robert tried to rebrand himself. He grew his hair longer and wore a cowboy hat, sunglasses, and an unbuttoned shirt like Richard Gere in American Gigolo. He also started riding a motorcycle, hanging around with younger people, and blasting music, according to the ABJ.

Still, there was no evidence that Robert had mistreated his wife and daughter or his girlfriend and her children. In fact, after his arrest, his ex-wife and girlfriend raised funds for his defense.

They must have wanted their money back when Robert, 43, pleaded no contest to the savage attack on the gas station manager.

Not So Hot in Cleveland. But he denied any crimes against children.

Authorities moved Robert Buell’s trial to Cleveland because of extensive pre-trial publicity.

He declined to take the stand in his own defense, and his lawyers didn’t impress the court much.

On April 4, 1984, a jury of six women and six men convicted Robert Anthony Buell of aggravated murder and rape for the attack on Krista Harrison.

Sorry, buddy. In a separate sentencing action, the jury voted in favor of a death sentence, which in that era meant the electric chair. Additionally, he received life plus up to 185 years for other charges related to his various sex crimes and abductions over the years.

A mug shot of Robert Buell — Buell spent his final few hours listening to classical music in his cell. For his last meal, he reportedly ate one pitted black olive.

He made many attempts to escape the death chamber. In 1996, a court halted his execution just 17 minutes before its scheduled time.

But a federal judge later “called his pleas for a stay ‘a rehash of the same arguments’ only ‘dressed in a brand-new outfit,'” the Akron Beacon Journal reported.

No chair. As a new execution date in 2002 grew near, Krista’s mother, Shirley Harrison, said that Robert Buell deserved to die the way Krista did. But she also noted that “we have been advised not to read [Krista’s] autopsy report,” according to a BG Falcon Media story.

Robert insisted he had nothing to do with the murder and that the real killer was still out there.

By this time, Ohio had started using lethal injections of sodium pentothal, potassium chloride, and the muscle relaxant Pavulon for executions.

On Sept. 24, 2002, at the “death house” of the Southern Ohio Correctional Facility, Robert Anthony Buell took the needle, joining the small club of Forensic Files killers (including Jason Massey and Walter Leroy Moody) whose death sentences have been carried out as of this writing.

That’s all for this week. If you enjoyed this post, please subscribe and share on social media. — RR

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Ralph Marcus: Obsession and Fraud

A Swindler With a Grudge Kills a Teen
(‘Oily in the Morning,’ Forensic Files)

Aside from great hair, Ralph Albert Marcus didn’t have a whole lot going for him.

He made a living through scams. And he spent more than two decades fixated on a woman named Patty Howard who made it clear she had zero romantic interest in him.

Patty Howard with her children when they were small — Patty Howard with Jaime and Nick

At age 42, Ralph set in motion what he probably thought would be his greatest coup: collecting $850,000 from life insurance on Patty’s son, Nick, and getting revenge by taking him away from her forever.

As a comment on YouTube said, “Marcus is not a POS. He’s the whole thing.”

For this post, I looked into Ralph Marcus’ criminal history and searched for an explanation as to why in the world Nick Howard — a teenager with no dependents — had such an expensive life insurance policy.

Fender unbenders. So let’s get going on the recap of “Oily in the Morning,” the Forensic Files episode about Nick Howard’s murder, along with extra information culled from the internet.

Nicholas Andrew Howard was born on March 9, 1978 to Daniel and Lillian “Patty” Howard. The Howards, who lived outside of Sacramento, California and ran an auto body shop, were a close bunch. Nick’s sister, Jaime, told Forensic Files that Nick was her best friend. After Nick, 18, got his diploma, he continued to live at home, and worked in the family business.

At the end of a night out on Feb. 5, 1997, Nick went to Tony’s Place, a restaurant in Walnut Grove, to pick up a forgotten driver’s license. He left a phone message to tell his family that he had some car trouble but was heading home.

Nick never arrived.

Patty called the sheriff’s department the next morning. Her husband went out to search for Nick, driving up and down River Road, the route Nick would have taken from the restaurant.

Ralph Marcus wearing glasses with aviator frames — Ralph Marcus ‘discovered’ tire tracks from the ‘accident’ — in hopes of clearing the path to an insurance jackpot

Car discovered. River Road had no shortage of perilous stretches. It runs parallel to the Sacramento River, with a 30-foot drop from the road to the water, and no guardrails. (Just a few days ago a driver crashed into the river and died.)

Ralph Marcus, who joined the search effort along with his friend Jake Stanton, flagged down a police car to tell officers he’d found tire tracks leading from the road to the riverbank.

California Highway Patrol and Yolo County officers converged at the scene and called in divers. Two days after Nick’s disappearance, they found his empty Mazda 626 at the bottom of the river. The engine had been running when the vehicle hit the water.

Not ready to give up. Investigators discovered Nick’s neatly crumpled glasses inside the car but no other sign of Nick.

The interior of the vehicle had stains from motor oil, probably from an empty bottle of Valvoline found in the car.

Meanwhile, Patty Howard still hoped what everyone hopes when a loved one goes missing after an accident — that he’s a John Doe, confused but still alive, at a hospital.

Police suspected that Nick had staged the accident and then gone into hiding.

Slumber through an accident? But on Feb. 25, 1997, a male body surfaced near Clarksburg downstream from the track marks. Investigators had to use dental records to identify it as belonging to Nick Howard; his corpse had started to decompose. An examination suggested that someone had beaten and strangled Nick and thrown him into the river while he was still breathing. He died of drowning.

Authorities classified the death as a murder.

One of the investigators noted on Forensic Files that if Nick fell asleep along the road, he would have probably been jolted awake by the rocky descent toward the water.

A view of the Sacramento River — The Sacramento River view from River Road in Walnut Grove

Lively interview. Besides, the car had gone off the road at a 45-degree angle, too sharp a path for a vehicle whose driver had fallen asleep.

The case got all the more fishy when investigators discovered Nick had a $500,000 life insurance policy that offered $850,000 if his death happened by way of an accident.

Homicide Detective Larry Cecchettini, one of the more vigorous speakers on this particular Forensic Files episode, noted the oddity of a young person having this much insurance coverage.

Suspicious paperwork. It turned out that Nick had taken out the policy on himself after lying to the agent — he said that he planned to get married and take over his parents’ business, according to court papers from 2001. He paid the premiums, which cost him about one fourth of his monthly income, Cecchettini told The New Detectives on the “Betrayed” episode.

The Howards discovered that the policy listed not them but rather Ralph Marcus as the beneficiary. (According to The New Detectives and court papers from 2001, the change never officially went through because Nick neglected to supply some required information — but Ralph probably didn’t know that until after Nick died.)

Ralph had a long history with the Howard family, particularly with Patty.

Unrequited feelings. In 1973, Ralph, then 17, met Patty, 14. He immediately started hitting on her and made some unwanted advances after pinning her down — he claimed he just wanted to show her some wrestling holds. The incident sounded like borderline, or maybe full-fledged, sexual assault.

Jaime Howard as a young adult — Jaime Howard during her appearance on Forensic Files

Patty friend-zoned him, but he continued to hover around her.

Even after she married Dan Howard, Ralph’s preoccupation with Patty persisted. In an October 1986 letter to Patty’s sister, Ralph said that the emptiness he felt without Patty “would be like for you if your children were taken away forever,” according to court papers.

Connection with son. Ralph continued to hang around Patty and her family until 1993 — when he made a bizarre request to have a baby with Patty.

She finally told him to get lost forever.

But Nick stayed in touch with Ralph, who lived in Orangevale. Starting when Nick was 16, Ralph would sometimes hire him to work on landscaping jobs, according to 2001 court papers.

Bad-news guy. Ralph acted like Nick’s godfather, according to Forensic Files. He whisked Nick away on adventures in Reno and Tahoe. They stayed in hotels and went to casinos. What teenage boy could resist those enticements?

Many YouTube commenters criticized Patty for allowing Ralph to have any contact with her or her family after experiencing his aggression in high school. But remember, that was in 1973, before anyone talked about date rape or acquaintance rape or forcible kissing. Back then, behavior like Ralph’s was often filed in the “he can be a jerk sometimes” bin.

Patty Howard's husband, Dan — Nick’s father, Dan Howard

If there was a loser bin, he definitely belonged in that one, too. Although Ralph liked flashy things, he could never hold a job for long. He told people he made a living as a gambler. He resided rent free with his mother and stepfather for years and did sporadic contracting work. But he needed money for a new home — the bank was set to take ownership of his mother’s house because of a reverse mortgage.

Litany of offenses. A background check on Ralph revealed bankruptcy, drug running, and insurance fraud. In one case in the 1970s, Ralph allegedly set his own house on fire and stayed in the burning structure until he almost died.

Court papers would note Ralph’s “past success, working with one or more confederates, in obtaining cash from insurance companies by means of contrived fires, faked auto theft, faked burglary, and property damage from faked auto accidents.”

He acted surprised to hear that Nick had named him as insurance beneficiary. Ralph said he knew nothing about any fraud scheme. But some of Ralph’s acquaintances who later came forward told police that Ralph knew about the beneficiary switch and offered varying reasons for the change. He told one associate that Nick didn’t trust his own parents and wanted Ralph to administer the money to his family in a prudent way.

Far-fetched scheme. After Nick’s death, Ralph said that he would turn over any insurance money to the Howard family, but he later backpedaled.

Meanwhile, an unidentified associate of Nick’s told police he heard Nick brag about a plan to fake his death for $1 million in insurance money, and Ralph Marcus would collect the payout so Ralph and Nick could use it for high living.

In addition to various statements from people who knew Ralph or Nick, the forensic evidence was growing.

Mouthing off. Tests on the Mazda showed that a Valvoline oil bottle cap was holding the throttle open. It was used so the vehicle could be operated without a driver, investigators believed. A Valvoline oil bottle found in Ralph Marcus’s garage bore the same lot number as the one in the sunken car.

A newspaper clipping of Nick Howard wearing a baseball cap and glasses — In all available photos of Nick Howard as a teenager, he’s wearing a hat

Experiments with a Styrofoam model of Nick’s head suggested that the accident wouldn’t cause the severe crushing of glasses. (The glasses shown on Forensic Files looked neatly crushed rather than mangled.)

It came out later that Ralph told friend Gayle Schlenker that Nick’s car was going around 85 miles an hour when it hit the water. How would he know?

Big-talking teen. Jake Stanton would later tell police that, at the crash site, Ralph found a stray glove that matched the one found on Nick’s body — and put it back in the water rather than turning it over to police. Ralph later claimed that the glove was tangled in fishing line and slipped from his hands.

Investigators theorized that Nick and Ralph transpired to commit insurance fraud, then run away together and live the glamorous life on the payout. Nick had told his sister and his buddy Jason Smalling that he was “worth more dead than alive” and that Ralph could take his insurance money and multiply it. Jaime and Jason both expressed skepticism, but it didn’t discourage Nick — and they probably thought he would never really do such a thing anyway.

Furthermore, Nick told his friend Susan Von Niessen about a plan to fake his own death, hide in Mexico, and then return to the U.S. to collect on his life insurance. But Susan told him that insurance companies don’t pay off until the policy holder has been missing for seven years. That information rattled Nick, according to court papers from November 2001.

Not so cocky now. On July 11, 1997, detectives from the Yolo County sheriff’s office arrested Ralph and charged him with murder with the special circumstance of committing the homicide for financial gain, which could bring the death penalty.

A view of the Sacremento River from the water — The Sacramento River is also a tourist attraction featuring wine-tasting cruises

Ralph pleaded not guilty. His court appearance was a far cry from the image of bravado to which he aspired: Ralph “sat silently, attached by each wrist to other inmates in a line of prisoners wearing identical blue jail pajamas,” the Sacramento Bee reported on July 25, 1997. “He fidgeted and cast brief, nervous glances toward the row of spectators — the family and friends of his alleged victim.”

Public defender James Eger represented Ralph early on, and later J. Toney took over as part of a contractual relationship with the county.

Tall tale. The trial kicked off on Oct. 5, 1999.

Investigators theorized that Ralph clung to Nick because the rest of the Howards didn’t want him hanging around.

Ralph plotted the insurance caper from the beginning, they conjectured. Nick was probably acting on Ralph’s suggestion when he took out the insurance policy.

Brutal assault. It came out that, possibly as part of an effort to stage the accident, Nick had called his buddy Samuel Tyler to say that he was driving home along River Road and was tired after staying awake about 32 hours — and that he had some trouble with the car’s distributor cap but had fixed it.

On the night of Feb. 5, he and Ralph met at a dock on the Sacramento River to create the accident scene, prosecutors believed, but Nick tried to back out of the plan, so Ralph killed him — or maybe Ralph had planned the murder from the beginning either out of greed or for revenge against Patty, the prosecution believed. He beat and strangled Nick until he passed out, threw him in the water, crunched the glasses, and put them in the car and accidentally spilled the Valvoline oil while taking the cap off. Then he used the bottle cap in the carburetor so he could send the unoccupied Mazda into the Sacramento River, prosecutors alleged.

Later, Ralph informed police that he “discovered” the tire tracks where the car ran off the road — he wanted the authorities to find the vehicle and the body so he could collect on the insurance.

At the trial, two of Ralph’s former associates who received immunity testified about scams Ralph had taken part in.

Pickup game. Harold Thompson said that in the 1970s, Ralph had shown up at his door with singed hair, saying that his house had burned down because of an electrical fire and that he had secretly removed expensive items from his house and claimed that the blaze destroyed them.

Jeff Cantrell testified that Ralph had helped him out by destroying Jeff’s ski boat so Jeff could collect on insurance. Ralph also defrauded his own insurance company by claiming someone stole his Toyota pickup truck, Jeff said.

Nick Howard's grave stone. — Patty Howard said her son loved her too much to disappear

Glen Harms, an inmate from Yolo County Jail, testified that Ralph told him that Nick was his adopted son and that Ralph himself had paid for the insurance policy.

Dubious claims. After his court appearance, Harms claimed that Ralph looked at him and mouthed, “You’re dead.”

Another witness testified that Ralph had lured Nick Howard into a credit card fraud scheme.

And Farmers Insurance representative Jim Dyer said he suspected that a 1996 claim from Ralph — that someone burglarized a shed outside his home — was phony. But Ralph went to the Insurance Commission to complain, so Farmers reluctantly paid Ralph $58,000 on his claim.

Defense’s turn. Ralph’s lawyer, J. Toney, was undeterred and hit the prosecution back hard.

The defense presented three forensic pathologists who denied the strangulation evidence and said Nick had simply drowned and that his facial injuries came from the crash. Tony argued that Nick was fatigued the night of his disappearance and could have easily drifted off behind the wheel.

And Ralph was an honest citizen who made his living as a gambler, the defense contended.

Brother speaks up. Next up, Ralph Marcus himself took the stand. He claimed to have witnessed Nick put a bottle cap in his vehicle’s carburetor on an occasion before the accident.

Ralph also said he was shocked to find out Nick had made him the beneficiary of his life insurance policy, but he kept it as a secret from the Howards as not to upset them. Oh, and he never mentioned the insurance to police because he didn’t think the change was valid.

His brother, Ron Marcus, would later testify that Ralph said that Nick named him beneficiary because he was mad at his parents.

Right where he belongs. Ralph denied past acts of fraud. He also said that he quit working to care for his mother.

The jury was unmoved. On Jan. 13, 2000, Ralph was convicted of first-degree murder and given life without the possibility of parole. He lost a 2011 appeal attempt.

Today, Ralph Albert Marcus, 67, is in Mule Creek State Prison in Ione, California, where he’s better known as #P66056, and still has no chance of parole, according to the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation.

“Marcus got his wish,” wrote YouTube commenter Lowhandlagum. “He doesn’t have to work anymore.”

That’s all for this week. If you enjoyed this post, please share on social media. Until next time, cheers – RR

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Shari Smith: Taken at 17

A Background Check on Egomaniacal Killer Larry Gene Bell
(‘Last Will,’ Forensic Files)

A kidnapper who taunts an abducted child’s parents is usually the stuff of fictional police dramas.

Sharon Faye ‘Shari’ Smith

Unfortunately, Larry Gene Bell did it in real life.

In 1985, he kidnapped Shari Smith and assailed her mother and father with a heartbreaking letter and disturbing phone calls.

“Last Will,” the Forensic Files episode about the case, does a good job of helping the audience get to know Shari and her parents, but leaves us with a lot of questions about Larry Gene Bell.

Local news outlets. Where did this rather goofy-looking killer come from? Were there any early warning signs or did he suddenly become unhinged? For this post, I looked into his background.

So let’s get going on the recap of “Last Will” along with extra information from internet resources, including coverage from South Carolina newspapers The State (Columbia), The Rock Hill Herald, and The Columbia Record.

In 1985, Sharon “Shari” Faye Smith was a 17-year-old senior preparing for her class trip, a cruise to the Bahamas. She would also be singing the national anthem at her upcoming graduation from Lexington High.

Odd delay. But Hilda and Bob Smith would never get a chance to drape a graduation robe over their daughter’s shoulders and secure a mortarboard atop her 1980s state-of-the-art hair, curly and shoulder length with bangs blown skyward.

On May 31, 1985, on her way home, Shari stopped at her family’s mailbox at 5700 Platt Springs Road in Lexington, South Carolina. From his home-office window, her father, Bob Smith, saw Shari’s car at the end of the driveway.

But she never made it the 700 feet to the house.

Menace on the line. Bob, a pastor at Lexington Baptist Church, found the blue Chevette with Shari’s black shoes and her purse on the seat. Hilda, a Sunday school teacher, recalled her husband saying, “Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Shari’s car is at the end of the driveway running and she’s not in it.”

Lexington County Sheriff James R. Metts organized a huge search effort that included air and land resources and a 24-hour command center set up in a tractor trailer near the house.

Larry Gene Bell wearing a reddish beard and smiling — Larry Gene Bell

Two days after the disappearance of the blond blue-eyed teenager, an anonymous phone caller who asked for Hilda Smith told her that he had Shari in his possession. To verify his claim, he described the black and yellow bathing suit she had on under her clothes the day she disappeared.

Envelope seized. He said he would release Shari, and in the meantime the two of them were eating and watching TV.

The kidnapper said he sent the Smiths a letter that would arrive shortly. But investigators couldn’t wait. They made the postmaster open up the USPS office early and intercepted the envelope.

The missive was in Shari’s handwriting, dated June 1, 1985 and headed “Last Will & Testament.” In the letter, Shari tells her family not to let the abduction ruin their lives.

Parents’ pain. Even though the circumstances under which she wrote the note must have been terrifying, she managed a bit of light-heartedness: “I love you all so damn much,” she wrote. “Sorry, Dad, I had to cuss for once. Jesus forgave me.”

On a subsequent call to the house, the kidnapper tormented the family by saying that he and Shari were now “one soul.”

“Do not kill my daughter, please,” Hilda pleaded.

Strange motivation. Forensic Files didn’t mention it, but Shari had diabetes insipidus, a rare form of the disease that requires massive hydration and prescription drugs. Her medicine was found in her purse in her empty car, but the caller assured Hilda that Shari was drinking plenty of water, according to tapes available on Oxygen.com. He also suggested the family arrange to have an ambulance at the house for when Shari came home.

The caller didn’t ask for money.

“I’ve never had a case like this before where the offender doesn’t make it clear what he wants,” FBI profiler John Douglas recalled in a 2022 interview. “Does he want ransom? Is it sexually motivated? He doesn’t just want to commit this crime, but he also wants to toy with the victims’ families, give them false hope that their child is still alive.”

Slips through their fingers. Clearly, the abductor particularly enjoyed playing out his power trips on women; he always asked for Hilda when he called and would later involve Shari’s older sister, Dawn.

Police traced at least one of the calls to a phone outside Eckerd’s in the Lexington Town Square Shopping Center, but the mystery man was gone by the time they arrived.

Exterior of the large house where the Smiths lived — The Smiths’ four-bedroom 2.5-bath house in the Red Bank section of Lexington

In his next call, he directed Hilda to take 378 West to an out-of-the-way structure with a backyard.

Up to his devices. On June 5, 1985, investigators found Shari Smith’s body there. They believed she died about two hours after she wrote the letter on June 1 and that the killer waited to reveal the location so that decomposition would obscure forensic evidence.

Investigators found traces of duct tape on her face, suggesting the killer suffocated her. They concluded that Shari had died of either suffocation or dehydration, according to court papers available on Murderpedia. Accounts vary as to whether or not the autopsy proved she had been sexually assaulted, but he ultimately would be charged with rape.

Profiler John Douglas predicted the murderer would be a white male in his 30s with a failed marriage and sex crimes in his past. They believed he used a device to disguise his voice on the phone calls and knew something about electronics.

Next victim. Meanwhile, the menacing killer continued his verbal assault. He called collect on the night of Shari’s funeral to describe how he killed her.

A few weeks later, he called the Smiths to discuss Debra May Helmick —a 9-year-old with no connection to the Smiths — who had been abducted outside her family’s mobile home on Percival Road in Richland County. A neighbor had run outside when she heard Debra screaming for help, but the kidnapper and the little girl with the long blond hair were gone.

Shari Smith in a school photo — On the day Shari Smith died, she had met her mother to buy traveler’s checks

It’s not clear why the mystery man contacted the Smiths instead of the Helmicks about Debra. Perhaps he simply liked talking to Hilda — she had a soft, feminine way about her.

Panic and caution. As mentioned, Dawn Smith, Hilda and Bob’s older daughter, agreed to help investigators by also speaking to Larry on the phone about Debra. Larry gave directions to a grassy area where officers found the little girl’s dead body.

Meanwhile, a police artist worked up a sketch of a possible suspect, a bearded man seen in the area.

The community stayed on high alert for the killer on the loose. Innocent bearded men were facing scrutiny because of the police drawing. Other local men were taking pains to shield the women in their lives, according to The State.

Devious callers. Police fielded dozens of calls on a tip hotline. A number of citizens suspected a local meter reader, but those leads never went anywhere.

And yikes, the authorities ended up arresting four people for making false claims or trying to extort money from the Smiths.

Then, investigators got a huge break once a laboratory thoroughly examined the note that Shari wrote while in captivity. Indentations on the paper showed an intact phone number probably written on the sheet of tablet paper above the one Shari used.

Kibitzing killer. The phone number ultimately led the police to a South Carolina couple, Ellis and Sharon Sheppard. Some of the calls to the Smiths had come from their home phone. A roll of 22-cent USPS commemorative mallard duck stamps in the Sheppards’ drawer matched the one from the “last will” envelope. Some of what looked like Sherry’s blond hairs were found in the Sheppards’ bathroom.

Fortunately, the Sheppards had proof they were out of town during the entire episode. After listening to recordings of the killer’s calls to the Smiths, Ellis identified the voice as belonging to Larry Gene Bell. Larry worked as an electrician on construction sites and had done some wiring work for Ellis. Larry had also been housesitting for them.

The Sheppards recalled that when Larry picked them up at the airport, he talked a lot about Shari Smith’s abduction.

Breakthrough in case. Finally, the police had a solid suspect.

“We were all extremely elated,” recalled Assistant Deputy Lewis McCarty during his appearance on “Cat and Mouse,” an episode of FBI Files. “We could not show any emotion. But we knew we had our man.”

The goodbye letter Shari wrote to her family — Shari Smith’s letter included messages to her boyfriend, Richard, and her grandmother.

On June 27, 1985, police stopped Larry Gene Bell on his way to work. True to the predictions, they soon discovered that he had a history of making obscene phone calls and much worse.

Dual identities? At the police station, officers set up a “confession” room with items that belonged to Shari Smith and Debra Helmick as well as evidence of his guilt such as photos of his fingerprints. They also pretended to sympathize with him to gain his trust. (It worked for the Chris Watts case — not a Forensic Files episode but among my true-crime favorites). They even brought in Hilda and Dawn Smith. Larry cried, but he didn’t confess.

Interrogators had tried to persuade Larry that he had dissociative identity disorder in the hopes that he’d spill his story. The suspect said that “the bad Larry Gene Bell” committed the crime, but he didn’t reveal anything else.

Criminals like Larry “make it seem dreamlike. They did a crime, but they don’t remember doing it,” John Douglas said during an interview with A&E. “It’s like two sides to their personality. They have a good side and the bad side.”

Born in the Deep South. So who was this sadistic killer?

Larry Gene Bell came into the world on Oct. 30, 1949, in Ralph, Alabama.

He played baseball at Eau Claire High School. But apparently participating in a team sport didn’t act as a conduit to popularity, or at least to a group of friends, as it usually does.

Bad breakup. Larry’s parents later referred to him as a loner.

Although it didn’t cite a source, the Daily News would later report that young Larry sometimes fell into “psychotic trances” and, as a teenager, sexually abused some of his female relatives.

Shari's car left in front of the Smiths' mailbox — Shari Smith stopped at the mailbox most days

As an adult, he worked for Eastern Airlines in Charlotte for a time. True to the profiler’s theory, Larry had married and gone through a bitter divorce. He lost custody of a son.

Criminal history. It’s not clear whether it started before or after his failed marriage but, by the time he reached the age of 26, Larry had begun a history of “assault and battery of a high and aggravated nature,” according to The State.

In one instance, he used a knife during a failed attempt to abduct 19-year-old Dale Sauls Howell behind a Super Duper after telling her, “Let’s go to Charlotte and party.” Another time, he flashed a start gun in an attempt to grab a female University of South Carolina student. He committed a third, similar crime, but served time for only one of the attacks. He spent three years in the Central Correctional Institute, and Judge Owens T. Cobb urged him to get psychiatric help.

He didn’t follow through on all the counseling recommended over the years, but he did spend some time at a VA hospital, where a psychiatrist concluded he had schizoid personality disorder, a condition marked by limited social interaction and minimal emotional engagement.

Vengeful public. At the time of his arrest in 1985, he was living with his parents— whom a local newspaper described as a respected couple — in their house on a cul-de-sac on Old Orchard Road in Lake Murray. Larry’s brother was a lawyer.

Unless you count Bells’ admission that Larry kept to himself in his youth, no one offered any hints to explain the genesis of his depravity. Neighbors described Larry as kind and helpful, according to The State.

Those who knew Shari Smith, however, didn’t feel too charitable toward Larry. One suggested tying him to a stake in a field and letting “people to do him what he did to those girls.”

Stalked and attacked. Larry went on trial in 1986. He showed up in court wearing a forest green prison uniform with his auburn hair cut close to his head.

Larry Gene Bell in police custody — Larry Gene Bell in custody

“Larry was just — well, our Larry,” his mother testified. “We accepted him the way any family would accept a child. They say all children are different.”

Prosecutors made a case that Larry had spotted Shari outside a drugstore, then followed her home in his Buick and grabbed her when she stopped at the mailbox. He took her to the Sheppards’ house, where she wrote the note. Then he tied her to the bed, raped her, and suffocated her with tape.

Larry acknowledged that the voice on the taped phone calls with the Smiths belonged to him.

“At different points while the tapes were played,” the Columbia Record reported, “Bell shook with laughter, cried silently, watched the courtroom clock, and cracked his knuckles.”

Nutty prisoner. As if Larry hadn’t already freaked out the courtroom with his previous antics, while he was testifying, he did such things as turning to the jurors, cackling, and referring to his defense lawyer as his “professional teddy bear” who “takes care of me.”

During Larry’s evenings at the Berkeley County Jail, he paced, talked to himself, and sang “Amazing Grace” to the tune of “Silent Night,” according to The State.

So was Larry a lunatic who couldn’t control his own actions? A psychiatrist testified that she believed Larry’s antics were all an act — he wasn’t crazy at all, just a sadistic sociopath looking to escape severe punishment.

Show’s over. The fact that he never asked his victims’ families for ransom suggested that what he really craved was the thrill of frightening them, giving them false hope, crushing them, and then further tormenting them.

In 1975, Larry Gene Bell tried to abduct Dale Sauls Howell, seen here in a Rock Hill Herald clipping

After deliberating for 47 minutes, the jury found Larry guilty of kidnapping and first-degree murder. He was sentenced to die. (In a separate trial, he would receive the same sentence for killing Debra May Helmick.)

With the trial ended, “it was a little like the circus leaving town,” according to The State. The crowds of spectators disappeared, leaving Route 17 no longer jammed, and the “supply of short bottle Classic Cokes at the county courthouse didn’t run out for a change,” wrote reporter Margaret N. O’Shea.

And more disturbing behavior. Larry made numerous post-conviction salvos, including an appeal to the South Carolina Supreme Court in 1987, a post-conviction relief request in 1991, and an appeal to a U.S. district court in 1995.

His lawyers claimed he was schizophrenic, thought he was Jesus Christ, and was too mentally ill to face capital punishment. His behavior in prison included defiling himself with feces and drinking his own urine, according to UPI.

Still, all of Larry’s legal efforts failed.

Dustup with protestors. He turned down the option of dying via lethal injection and asked for electrocution instead. John Douglas said that he suspected Larry was playing tough guy by choosing the drama of the electric chair.

“Now, maybe I can get a rest,” said Donnie Helmick, Debra Helmick’s father. “Kill the son of a bitch.”

Donnie tangled with some of the anti-capital punishment demonstrators gathered outside the prison on Oct. 4, 1996 – the day when Larry Gene Bell became the second-to-last person killed in South Carolina’s electric chair.

Early victim’s memories. “We are relieved that the sentence has been carried out,” said Rick Cartrette, Shari’s uncle, as reported by UPI, “but just because it has been carried out, don’t forget Shari or Debra.”

A recent picture of Shari's sister, Dawn Smith Jordan — Shari’s older sister, seen here in an image from her website, is known as Dawn Smith Jordan today. Dawn became Miss South Carolina of 1986 and is now an inspirational speaker

Also present that day was Dale Sauls Howell, one of the women Larry attempted to abduct in the 1970s. She would later tell The Rock Hill Herald that he held a knife to her stomach before her screams elicited help. After the attack, she started sleeping with a baseball bat next to her in bed. Now, she was able to watch the hearse carry away Larry Gene Bell’s body.

He would never again torment his victims or their loved ones.

Tomes on the case. Forensic photographer Rita Y. Shuler, who worked on the murder case, interviewed Dale and other victims for Murder in the Midlands: Larry Gene Bell and the 28 Days of Terror that Shook South Carolina (The History Press, 2007).

Shari’s mother also wrote a book, The Rose of Shari by Hilda Cartrette Smith, which was published in 2001 and got good Amazon reviews, but is hard to find for sale online. (Hilda, who Forensic Files viewers will remember for maintaining a calm demeanor under duress, died in 2003 at the age of 61.)

The murder also inspired the CBS movie Nightmare in Columbia County, which tells the story from Dawn’s perspective. The 1991 effort got 5.6 out of 10 stars on imdb.com — but has miraculously landed on Netflix under the name Victim of Beauty, so you can check it out and form your own opinion if you like.

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

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Collier Boyle Today: Moving Past Murder

John and Noreen Boyle’s Son Reveals More of His Story
(‘Foundation of Lies,’ Forensic Files)

When Noreen Boyle suddenly disappeared from her home in Mansfield, Ohio, her husband, John “Jack” Boyle, told friends and family that she simply had gone off on a jaunt. No big deal.

Collier Landry Boyle wearing a black t-shirt — Collier Landry

But their 11-year-old son, Collier Boyle, immediately went into overdrive.

He sensed something terrible had happened. Collier pushed for an investigation that ultimately led to the discovery of Noreen’s body buried beneath the concrete floor of a new home in Erie, Pennsylvania that Jack hoped to share with his pregnant mistress.

In 1990, Collier served as the star witness for the prosecution at the sensational murder trial. A jury convicted Jack Boyle, M.D., a popular doctor with a huge practice, and he’s lived behind razor wire ever since.

His son, now known as Collier Landry, grew up to become a freelance cinematographer out of Los Angeles and pitched the idea for the documentary A Murder in Mansfield, which first aired on the ID Network in 2018.

In 2021, Collier started a podcast series. He aims to make Moving Past Murder not just a vehicle for storytelling but also therapy and outreach for listeners.

Collier recently answered some of my questions about his work and life. Edited excerpts of our conversation appear below:

Forensic Files and the ID documentary told the story of your mother’s homicide. Where does the podcast fit in? It’s a true-crime podcast from someone who knows about murder. My message is that you can come through extraordinary things and be a functional person. I’ve stared at the nadir and survived. My mother gave me resiliency. I don’t want her death to be in vain.

What was your mother like? My mom was a kind, giving, wonderful person who often put the needs of others before her own. Every year for Christmas, I would have to donate half my toys to other children because I was fortunate and I should share with others who need it.

She disappeared on New Year’s Eve 1990. How did your father explain that to you? He said she took a little vacation. I knew my mother would never leave my sister and me.

What did you do first? I stored notes with her phone numbers in a Garfield. I was secretly calling her friends to find out where she was. That’s how everyone knew she was gone. People were devastated. She was the light of people’s lives and they were shocked this could happen to her.

Noreen Boyle in a pink Polo shirt with the sea in the background — Noreen Boyle was sweet but ‘didn’t suffer fools,’ according to her son

How did the disappearance transition from a missing-person case to a murder investigation? A Mansfield police officer named Dave Messmore saw the case cross his desk over a holiday when there wasn’t a lot going on. I told him, “She’s dead.” Dave didn’t care if my dad was a doctor — he was going to investigate him like any suspect.

It turned out that my father had been accused of molesting my uncle’s daughters and the Maryland police were about to arrest him for that crime, but the girls couldn’t go through the trauma again. The police in Maryland believed he killed my mom.

What happened to you after they finally arrested your dad? My entire family abandoned me. My father’s side didn’t want anything to do with me. And my mother’s side didn’t either because I look like my father. I went into foster care before I was finally adopted.

Your sister, Elizabeth, was just a toddler when this happened. Where did she go? When my sister and I were playing together in a foster home, they would take her away and say we weren’t bonded so they could adopt her out. I haven’t been able to find her.

Can your listeners relate to your history with your father? The manipulations by my father are incredible. He’s written around 500 letters to me from prison. I read the letters on the podcast and people say, “This is just like my abusive father and husband.”

You’ve said you can relate to the emotional side of sheltering in place during the Covid-19 crisis. How so? When I was 12 years old, for six months, I was basically not allowed to talk to anyone because I was preparing to testify.

So I get it with the pandemic. There are kids in abusive homes for whom school is their only relief. Now they’re stuck at home.

Have you ever found yourself attracted to someone who shares your dad’s traits? I got involved with a woman and then realized she was narcissistic and a horrible person. And when I broke up with her, she wanted to destroy me. I’m glad we ended it before the pandemic because if I’d been stuck with her in the same place, I think I would have offed myself. True narcissism is so insidious.♠

You can hear the Moving Past Murder podcast, including an episode in which Collier interviewed me about my blog, on Spotify or Audible or YouTube or Apple Podcasts.

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

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Gerald Mason: A Rapist and Killer Self-Reforms

He Got Away With It — But Only for 46 Years
(“Marked for Life,” Forensic Files)

“Marked for Life” is one of just a handful of Forensic Files episodes involving a respected retiree harboring a horrible secret from his own ancient history.

Gerald Mason as an old man — Gerald Mason as a young man

Howard Elkins, for example, a long-married former factory owner, committed suicide a day after police showed up at his house in 1999 bearing evidence that he killed his pregnant girlfriend in 1967.

The Blowback. Gerald Mason, the subject of this week’s post, caused an even greater tragedy and eluded the law for longer. During one night in 1957, he terrorized and robbed four teenagers, sexually assaulted one of them, and shot two police officers to death. Investigators didn’t identify and track him down until 2003.

But instead of taking his own life, he admitted to his crimes and went to prison.

In cases like Mason’s — in which most of those involved have either died or stopped talking to the media — I like to look into the reactions that friends and neighbors had upon first learning about the past of the once upright-seeming man who lived peacefully among them.

Happy days. I also searched for more information about what Mason did between the time he vanished into a prosaic life and the day the law exposed him as a rapist and double murderer.

So let’s get going on the recap of “Marked for Life” along with extra information from internet research:

The episode starts out with black & white footage of Eisenhower-era police cars, beachgoers in swimsuits that didn’t require Brazilian waxing, and several scenes from Leave It to Beaver. It sets the stage for what Forensic Files calls a simpler, more innocent time (although it was probably pretty much like today except the ugly things stayed beneath the surface).

An El Segundo street scene with palm trees — El Segundo lies in Los Angeles County just 10 minutes from the dimly lit murder scene

Fateful foursome. As if the producers weren’t already going above and beyond with the great retro clips, they found and interviewed one of the teenage robbery victims, Robert E. Dewar, a man well into his AARP years by the time the episode first aired in 2005.

On July 22, 1957, Robert and his buddy and their dates were parked at a lover’s lane on Van Ness Avenue in Hawthorne, near El Segundo, California. When Robert rolled down a window, a man pointing a firearm at him suddenly appeared. The gunman took their money and jewelry and made all of them undress, bound them, raped one of the girls inside the car, and then stole their 1949 Ford sedan.

Parting shot. About an hour and half later, two police officers — who had no idea that Mason had committed violent felonies earlier that night — stopped him for going through a red light on Rosecrans Avenue and Sepulveda Boulevard, and prepared to give him a ticket. Mason should have just taken the summons and gone on his way. Instead, he pulled out his gun and shot the officers three times each. Richard Phillips, 28, radioed for an ambulance, but he died before it got there, as did partner Milton Curtis, 25.

Milton Curtis with his wife and son and daughter — Rookie police officer Milton Curtis with the family he left behind

Ballistic evidence at the scene suggested that Phillips, known for his marksmanship, had shot the attacker once before he fled.

But the mystery man had vanished after ditching the stolen vehicle.

Police found skirts belonging to the female victims inside the car.

Random finds. Robert Dewar described the assailant as soft spoken and uneducated with a Southern accent. Charlie Porter, a police officer who had driven past the scene where Phillips and Curtis had just stopped Gerald Mason, described him as about 6 feet tall, having short hair, and appearing arrogant (apparently a law officer can spot that from a distance), according to the 48 Hours episode “The Ghosts of El Segundo.”

Investigators lifted a thumbprint from the stolen car’s steering wheel but found no matches in their files.

Progress on the case stalled.

Richard Phillips' wife and three young children — A newspaper clipping showing Richard Phillips’ survivors

Three years later, Manhattan Beach homeowner Doug Tuley turned over two watches and a .22 caliber handgun he found while digging up weeds on his property. The timepieces belonged to the robbed teenagers. The attacker had apparently dropped the items while fleeing after abandoning the stolen car on that night in 1957.

Lots of legwork. Police traced the gun’s serial number to a Sears in Shreveport, Louisiana, which recorded the buyer’s name as “G.D. Wilson.” The gun, the least expensive one the store carried, cost $29.95.

Investigators discovered that a “George D. Wilson” had rented a room in a YMCA near the Sears store, but he’d given a fake address in Florida.

Police spent years checking up on every George D. Wilson they could find, but none panned out.

The case even made a 1958 issue of True Detective magazine, which appealed to the public for help catching the so-called Lover’s Lane Bandit (although “bandit” sounds like a rather light suggestion of his crimes). But that and other media efforts never yielded a viable suspect.

Confronted by his past. Then, in 2002, a woman told El Segundo police that her late uncle had bragged about killing two police officers. It turned out to be a dead end, but it kick-started interest in the case again. Investigators used the newly available Automated Fingerprint Identification System, also known as AFIS, to run the fingerprint from the teenagers’ stolen car. Up popped the name of Gerald Fiten Mason, a prosperous retiree who lived in South Carolina.

His handwriting matched the signatures on the YMCA and Sears records.

Police, who surveilled him for weeks and observed him playing golf with friends and enjoying other innocent diversions, finally knocked on his door on Jan. 26, 2003. Depending on which media account you read, his response was utter disbelief, denial, annoyance, or cockiness.

“His jaw dropped to his knees,” officer Dan McElderry told the The Times of Shreveport Louisiana.

Successful entrepreneur. Yet a different publication said Mason’s attitude was basically, “Why are ya’ bugging me for that now?” Another article described Mason as acting as though he didn’t understand why they suspected him. But he immediately spoke of getting a lawyer once the lawmen materialized at his house, one source said.

A high school yearbook photo of Robert E. Dewar — Robert E. Dewar around the time Gerald Mason attacked him and his friends

Gerald Fiten Mason had made a small fortune by buying, selling, and operating gas stations and convenience stores, according to The Times of Shreveport. He was living quietly in Columbia, the same South Carolina city where he was born on Jan. 31, 1934. He had served a year in jail for burglary in 1956 but had no other criminal record whatsoever.

The army veteran was ensconced in a “comfortable suburban tract” with his wife, Betty Claire Blackmon Mason, the New York Times reported. The couple had two daughters and three grandchildren.

Loyal to Dad. A neighbor told the NY Times that the law must have the wrong man — why would a fugitive live out in the open as he had done for years in South Carolina?

A friend told CBS that the revelations were “flabbergasting.”

Jerri Mason Whittaker, daughter of the accused killer and rapist, would later tell People magazine that she “could not have had a better father.”

Richard Phillips in his police uniform — Richard Phillips

According to an LA Times account, Mason “was a genial fellow who checked up on neighboring widows and was always willing to lend them a hand with a man’s traditional chores: painting a mailbox or fixing an electrical glitch.”

Reunion of sorts. Dayton Sisson, who had lived next-door to Mason for 30 years, told the media that the two of them helped each other out when one needed to cut down invasive trees or renovate his garage. “If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have no garage like this,” Sisson told the Associated Press.

Mason went bowling regularly and was an “above average player.”

After his arrest, he was detained at a Columbia facility but ultimately returned to Los Angeles County to face a judge.

“Officers that hadn’t been around for 20 years came in walking on canes,” Assistant District Attorney Darren Levine told CBS.

Back bears evidence. Also in attendance was Howard Speaks, the investigator who had lifted the fingerprint off the steering wheel of the stolen car back in 1957.

In March 2003, Gerald Mason, who had a bullet-shaped wound in his back thanks to the dying Richard Phillip’s accuracy, pleaded guilty to two counts of murder. It’s not clear why he didn’t face any charges for rape.

Gerald Mason cries in court in 2003 — Gerald Mason in court

He teared up while apologizing for his actions, saying they didn’t “fit in his life” and he didn’t know why he did it. Mason would later characterize the crime spree as a baffling anomaly. (But he certainly prepared for it like a pro, with surgical tape, a flashlight, and a gun. And a handy pseudonym.)

Deprived youngster? Mason said he had the gun only for safety while hitchhiking and that he ended up in the lover’s lane while drifting.

He said he didn’t remember why he raped the girl.

He also tried playing the unhappy childhood card, alleging that he had never had a normal family life (although he had two brothers who attended his hearing in South Carolina, according to the LA Times).

Sorry, fella. The families of his victims didn’t feel a whole lot of sympathy for the guy.

“Your cowardly act shattered our lives forever,” said Carolyn Phillips, the daughter of Richard Phillips. “You caused our mother to become a widow with three babies to raise alone.”

The court honored Mason’s request to serve his sentence in South Carolina so he could be closer to his wife and children.

Mason lost a 2009 bid for parole.

On Jan 22, 2017, he died of natural causes in prison, never having quite explained how he rehabbed himself into a law-abiding neighbor and family man in the 46 years since he’d left trauma and tragedy in his wake.

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

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