Praise for Losing Jon
Losing Jon takes you on a journey for truth that will have you questioning everything from start to finish. Broken trust with the police that have sworn to protect you, the unimaginable grief of a mother, and the strength of a community that wants answers. David Parrish provides a daring examination of a tragedy that changed a community forever.
Gregg Olsen, #1 New York Times bestselling author
The twists read like a page-turning thriller, but Losing Jon is all fact. This is true crime at the highest level. Scary, heartbreaking, and completely insightful. See why the best stories are sometimes the real stories.
Brad Meltzer, #1 New York Times bestselling author
As both an author and lover of true crime, I found Davids book really captivating. He writes from an interesting perspective as the former little league coach of a young man whose life is forever changed after what can only be described as a brief teenage run-in with the law in Columbia, Maryland. David is ultimately drawn into the mix when he learns of the teens death, ruled a suicide by local police yet clearly anything but. I particularly enjoyed Davids folksy writing style, and I found myself thoroughly drawn in by the picture he paints of this small, close-knit community located just one hour from Washington, D.C. Losing Jon is a true page-turner, filled with almost too-unbelievable-to-be-true details of one communitys fight to find justice for one of its own. Although the story takes place years ago, the issues raised, particularly when it comes to questions of police brutality and cover-ups, are very much relevant today.
Lisa Pulitzer, New York Times bestselling author
CITADEL PRESS BOOKS are published by
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Copyright 2020 David Key Parrish
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
CITADEL PRESS and the Citadel logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-8065-4046-7
First Citadel trade paperback printing: May 2020
Electronic edition:
ISBN-13: 978-0-8065-4047-4 (e-book)
ISBN-10: 0-8065-4047-8 (e-book)
Chapter One
K IDS DONT THINK . Thats just the way it is. A kid who is partying thinks the whole world is partying.
They werent really kids anymore. All were college students but one, mostly freshmen and sophomores, but they were still kids to me. Some attended college locally and others were home for winter break. There were fifteen of themeight girls and seven guys. They had grown up together and were all friends or familiar acquaintances.
The tallest in the group, a kid named Chris, was six-foot-two, blond, and a good first baseman on recreational-league baseball teams I had coached against. Jon and Mickey Bowie were identical twins with sandy hair, dark eyebrows, and a frequent glint of devilment in their eyes. They had often played on teams I coached from the time they were eleven until they graduated from high school.
As a group, they had talked for weeks about renting a motel room. Most were under the legal drinking age in Maryland, and those who drank wouldnt have to drive or worry about getting hassled by their parents or the police. Cramming fifteen young people in a motel room without disturbing other guests wouldnt be easy, but kids dont think.
At 11:39 p.m. on Friday, January 5, 1990, a young woman who was the night clerk at the Red Roof Inn on Route 1 just outside of Columbia, Maryland, placed a call to the Howard County Police Department.
Howard County Police. May I help you?
The night clerk identified herself and explained, A guest just called and said there was a party or something going on in one of the rooms. Im the only person on duty right now, and I didnt want to go out there.
Well, I mean, are there narcotics involved? I mean, what
I have no idea.
Is it a bad party? A good party?
He just said there was a bunch of noise.
She gave him the address and phone number.
You know, its good to be able to describe to me whats going on because I dont like to send police into situations
Noise complaint.
Okay, Ill send somebody over.
Several police officers were eating chicken at a chain restaurant practically across Route 1 from the motel, and two of them responded almost immediately. Soon, a half dozen additional police cars would arrive at the motel, followed by one or two patrol cars from the state police barracks a mile up the road.
Things were about to get ugly.
* * *
I was coaching a team of ten- and eleven-year-olds the first year that my son Dan, who was ten, and the Bowie twins, who were eleven, played on the same team. The Bowies were the kind of kids that other kids wanted to be like. They enjoyed themselves, were good at what they did, and when the game was over they did something else. Jon was the closest to a genuine free spirit Id ever encountered. Mickey usually had less to say and was fierier, more physical. Although their personalities differed, I still got them confused even after Id known them for years. In later years, Mickey told me that sometimes he and Jon switched positions for the fun of it, and Mickey played catcher and Jon shortstop. I never caught them at it.
During that first summer I also met their mother, Sandra. She was a single divorced parent and went by her maiden name, which I kept forgetting and like most people I referred to her as Sandra Bowie. Her family and mine werent what you would call regular friendswe didnt keep up with each others lives, and we didnt socializebut something about Sandra and her sons reminded me of family. Sometimes when our sons were younger, Sandra would drop Jon and Mick off at our house for a sleepover and sometimes I would drop my sons Mike and Dan off at her apartment.