Perfect Murder, Perfect Town Read online

  PERFECT MURDER PERFECT TOWN

  Lawrence Schiller

  To KATHY, MY FRIEND AND WIFE,

  for the four loving years

  we’ve shared together

  AN APPRECIATION

  To Charlie Brennan, my skillful

  colleague in interview and research,

  for the year we labored side by side in

  Boulder, feeling as devoted as family

  “Evils that befall the world are not nearly so often

  caused by bad men as they are by good men who are

  silent when an opinion must be voiced.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This work attempts to take the story of the murder investigation of JonBenét Ramsey out of the context of the newspaper reports and sound bites that have formed the nation’s opinion of the case and place it into a more complete context.

  This book is based on the memories of those interviewed, my own observations, reports, transcripts, and other documents I obtained during my research.

  The passages that appear in the first person have been edited. Words, phrases, and even segments of the interviews on which the passages are based were removed and sentences rearranged to present the material in continuity. It was not done to make accounts more meaningful or to improve on what interview subjects said but to avoid duplication and confusing references and to make the transition from speech to print more fluent.

  Lawrence Schiller

  January 1999

  CONTENTS

  Epigraph

  Author’s Note

  Christmas Greeting

  PART ONE A Death in Paradise

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  PART TWO The Hatfields and the McCoys

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  PART THREE Stories within Stories

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  PART FOUR Destruction Derby

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Character List

  Acknowledgments

  Appendix A

  Appendix B

  Appendix C

  Permissions

  Searchable Terms

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Dear Friends and Family,

  It’s been another busy year at the Ramsey household. Can’t believe it’s almost over and time to start again!

  Melinda has graduated from the Medical College of Georgia and is working in Pediatrics ICU at Kennestone Hospital in Atlanta. John Andrew (2nd) is a Sophomore at the University of Colorado.

  Burke is a busy fourth grader where he really shines in math and spelling. He played flag football this fall and is currently on a basketball binge! His little league team was #1. He’s lost just about all of his baby teeth, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing the orthodontist in 1997!

  JonBenét is enjoying her first year in “real school.” Kindergarten in the Core Knowledge program is fast paced and five full days a week. She has already been moved ahead to first grade math. She continues to enjoy participating in talent and modeling pageants. She was named “America’s Royale Tiny Miss” last summer and is Colorado’s Little Miss Christmas. Her teacher says she is so outgoing that she will never have trouble delivering an oral book report!

  John is always on the go traveling hither and yon. Access recently celebrated its one-billion $$ mark in sales, so he’s pretty happy! He and his crew were underway in the Port Huron to Mackinac Island yacht race in July, but had to pull out midway due to lack of wind. (Can you believe that?) But, his real love is the new “old looking” boat, Grand Season, which he spent months designing.

  I spend most of my “free time” working in the school and doing volunteer work. The Charlevoix house was on the home tour in July and will likely appear in one of the Better Homes and Garden publications in 1997. On a recent trip to NYC, my friend and I appeared amid the throng of fans on the TODAY show. Al Roker and Bryant actually talked to us and we were on camera for a few fleeting moments!

  We are all enjoying continued good health and look forward to seeing you in 1997! One final note…thank you to all my “friends” and my dear husband for surprising me with the biggest, most outrageous 40th birthday bash I’ve ever had! We’ll be spending my actual birthday on the Disney Big Red Boat over the new year!

  Merry Christmas and much love,

  The Ramseys

  ACCESS CELEBRATES $1 BILLION MARK

  A billion bucks. That’s enough to make anybody celebrate.

  So when Boulder-based computer distributor Access Graphics Inc. passed the $1 billion mark in 1996 revenues, it tossed a luncheon party at the Hotel Boulderado on Friday.

  John Ramsey, president of Access Graphics, thanked about 300 employees at the gathering and told them it couldn’t have happened without them.

  Reaching the billion-dollar mark has come relatively quickly for Access, which was formed in 1989 from the merger of three companies: CAD Distributors Inc. of Boulder; CAD Sources Inc. of Piscataway, N.J.; and Advanced Products Group of Roswell, Ga.

  —Tom Locke, business writer

  Daily Camera, December 21, 1996

  PART ONE

  A Death in Paradise

  “Do roses know their thorns can hurt?” JonBenét asked me that one morning. I was the landscaper at the Ramseys’ home during the last two years of her life, and it was the kind of question I’d learned to expect from her.

  I remember how intelligent JonBenét was. That’s why I never talked to her as if she were just a little kid. I spoke to her pretty much as I would to an adult, the way I’m talking to you now. We would discuss evolution, the natural mutations that occur in plants, animals, even people.

  So when she asked me about thorns, I told her, “They’re a rose’s shield. They allow roses to survive. They keep away animals who might eat them.”

  She would follow me all over the yard, finding something to do wherever I was working. I was happy to talk with her, and would answer her questions about anything and everything. All the topics you’d call natural science seemed to interest her.

  “What is a year?”

  “That’s the length of time it takes for the earth to make one trip all around the sun.”

  “So I’ve been around the sun five times?”

  “Right. And you’ve almost finished your sixth trip.”

  I added that I’d completed the journey twenty-seven times. That stopped her. So many trips, she exclaimed. Then she became lost in thought.

  That same week in September, the needles were falling off the pine tree and the sap had started to drip. “Why does a tree do that?” she asked. I wasn’t certain I knew exactly, but I tried to explain—scientifically. “The sun helps pull the sap up fro
m the trunk to the leaves.” Then I compared the sap to human blood, said the sap carries nourishment to the whole tree. Anyone could see she was excited to learn about these things.

  The neighborhood kids would come by from time to time. JonBenét seemed to socialize with them just fine. Her brother, Burke, was three years older. He almost never said a word to me. Just played by himself in the backyard, completely occupied with his own projects. Next to the sandbox and swing, in the pea gravel area, he dug a system of canals. Then he put a hose on top of the slide. The water poured down and spread perfectly throughout the elaborate waterway.

  “Someday you’re going to be an engineer?” I asked him. “No,” he said. Just a single word—no.

  He always seemed to play alone.

  Just then Patsy called from inside, “It’s time to start your homework.” I remember thinking, There’s a mother who really cares about her children.

  “Burke, come in and start your homework.”

  “OK, just a minute, Mom.” It was like an old-fashioned TV show—Leave It to Beaver or Father Knows Best.

  While I kept the gardens well-defined and tidy, as pristine as a golf course, JonBenét had her own projects. She would attach an exercise device to her ankle, and then, as it rotated several inches off the ground parallel to it, she would hop with the other leg over the cord as it swung by. She’d keep this up for long periods on the back patio. And she was very good at it. It was kind of a cool thing—demanded good reflexes and coordination. I even thought of getting one for myself.

  I figured her legwork was for the pageants. I could see the muscles becoming defined in her calves. I’d made a similar assumption when I saw her practicing the violin. I knew the competitions took a lot of preparation, but I never once saw her in makeup or costumes, never spotted her wearing anything but jumpers or jeans, or shorts and T-shirts.

  I’d heard she was Little Miss Colorado, and I asked her if she was excited about winning the title.

  “I really don’t care about it,” she said. It didn’t seem to be a very big deal to her, or if it was, she certainly didn’t let on. She seemed more interested in trips around the sun or the lifeblood of trees.

  In early December of ’96, I was raking the blanket of leaves under a maple, getting the property ready for winter.

  “Don’t pick the leaves up, please,” JonBenét begged me. “Leave them for me to play with.”

  Well, I’m thinking, no way. My job is to pick them up, and that’s what I’m going to do.

  “Last year my dad and I did that.”

  And then she said quietly; “I really miss him. I wish he was around more.”

  “Where does he go?”

  “I don’t know. But sometimes he goes away for a long time.”

  “You really miss him?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I really miss him a lot.”

  Then she started to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  I didn’t know what to say—didn’t know enough about the situation, didn’t want to intrude or play counselor. It wasn’t my place. I changed the subject and started to rake up the leaves.

  A moment later, I saw JonBenét was scooping up the leaves from the top of the barrel and hurling them over her head into the wind. “Hey! Stop that!” I yelled.

  “No, I want to play in ’em.” She was being kind of bratty. She had a bit of smart aleck in her.

  I grabbed the barrel and started running toward the compost pile. She chased after me, not about to give up her fun. I set the barrel down, and she dumped all the leaves out. That made me angry—almost. But before long I made a game out of it—it was fun for both of us.

  That evening I left a big pile of leaves out front by the gutter for her to play with.

  That was probably the last time I spoke to JonBenét. Six weeks later I took the morning paper from my front steps and saw it. I don’t even remember now what the headlines said.

  I wanted to go over to the Ramseys’. Later that day, I did drive by. It was crazy—media, police, yellow tape going all around the house. Just totally crazy. I didn’t even try to go in. I kept driving.

  —Brian Scott

  1

  On Thursday morning, December 26, 1996, at about 7:30 A.M., Pete Hofstrom, head of the felony division of the Boulder County district attorney’s office, called Bill Wise, the first assistant district attorney, at home. The moment Wise heard Hofstrom’s voice, he knew something serious had happened. Nothing else would warrant a call at that hour. Hofstrom said they had a report of a child kidnapping. The mother had called 911 at 5:52 A.M. There was a ransom note, which threatened that the child would be killed if the police were brought in.

  Hofstrom told Wise he had asked the police when the FBI would be arriving, only to be told they hadn’t even been called. Hofstrom had told the cops to notify the Bureau. Bill Wise could hear the frustration in his colleague’s voice when he added that the police had asked him to join them at the crime scene. Hofstrom had to point out to them that in a kidnapping, the protocol was to set up a command post away from the victim’s home, in case the perpetrators were monitoring the residence.

  But the damage had already been done. The officer had told Hofstrom that marked police cars were parked in front of the home of John Ramsey, at 755 15th Street.

  Earlier, Rick French, the first police officer to respond to the mother’s 911 call, had immediately searched the house for the child and for any sign of forced entry, but he found nothing. Then he read the ransom note:

  Mr. Ramsey,

  Listen carefully! We are a group of individuals that represent a small foreign faction. We respect your bussiness [sic] but not the country that it serves. At this time we have your daughter in our possession. She is safe and unharmed and if you want her to see 1997, you must follow our instructions to the letter.

  You will withdraw $118,000.00 from your account. $100,000 will be in $100 bills and the remaining $18,000 in $20 bills. Make sure that you bring an adequate size attache to the bank. When you get home you will put the money in a brown paper bag. I will call you between 8 and 10 am tomorrow to instruct you on delivery. The delivery will be exhausting so I advise you to be rested. If we monitor you getting the money early, we might call you early to arrange an earlier delivery of the money and hence a earlier delivery [the word delivery was written, then crossed out] pick-up of your daughter.

  Any deviation of my instructions will result in the immediate execution of your daughter. You will also be denied her remains for proper burial. The two gentlemen watching over your daughter do not particularly like you so I advise you not to provoke them. Speaking to anyone about your situation, such as Police, F.B.I., etc., will result in your daughter being beheaded. If we catch you talking to a stray dog, she dies. If you alert bank authorities, she dies. If the money is in any way marked or tampered with, she dies. You will be scanned for electronic devices and if any are found, she dies. You can try to deceive us but be warned that we are familiar with Law enforcement countermeasures and tactics. You stand a 99% chance of killing your daughter if you try to out smart us. Follow our instructions and you stand a 100% chance of getting her back. You and your family are under constant scrutiny as well as the authorities. Don’t try to grow a brain John. You are not the only fat cat around so don’t think that killing will be difficult. Don’t underestimate us John. Use that good southern common sense of yours. It is up to you now John!

  Victory!

  S.B.T.C.

  By the time the second police officer got to the house, friends of the family, whom the child’s parents had called, began to arrive. Meanwhile, four detectives were paged and assigned to the investigation, and three additional patrol officers were sent to the house. Even before the first detective arrived at the crime scene, police officers, family friends, and a victim advocate who had responded to an officer’s page were wandering through the house trying to make sense of what had happened.*

  At police headquarters, Sgt. Bob Whitson was the on-
duty supervisor. In an emergency, Detective Sgt. Larry Mason was to be called at home to serve as acting commander. Mason’s boss, John Eller, head of the detective division, was at home, officially on vacation. There was less than a skeleton crew working.

  That morning, Detective Jane Harmer, who’d attended a seminar taught by the FBI’s Child Abduction Serial Killer Unit, was also on vacation. Sgt. Whitson knew that Harmer had a copy of the Bureau’s manual on procedures to follow in a kidnapping case, but he had no idea where she kept it. More than a year after the Boulder PD had sent Detective Harmer to the seminar, the department had not officially adopted the FBI protocol. They saw no need to make the agency’s recommendations part of their own procedures. Sgt. Whitson knew that county sheriff’s Lt. James Smith had also attended the FBI seminar. He phoned Smith, and half an hour later, the Boulder police had the FBI manual.

  Hearing reports about the kidnapping ended Commander Eller’s vacation. He wasn’t happy about it; he had a house full of family and friends from back home in Florida. He was also annoyed to find out that nobody of substantial rank was on duty. In his irritation, the commander completely forgot he had approved Detective Mason to be on call at home.

  Judging by what Eller heard from officers at the scene, the Ramseys appeared to be part of Boulder’s elite. “Credible millionaires” was a phrase one officer used. Obviously, Eller felt, these were people you had to treat with respect, not people you wanted to offend.