Burl Barer - Murder in the Family

Other WildBlue Press Books By Burl Barer

True Crime

MAN OVERBOARD: The Counterfeit Resurrection of Phil Champagne

http://wbp.bz/mo

A TASTE FOR MURDER (co-authored with Frank Girardot Jr.)

http://wbp.bz/atasteformurder

Fiction

HEADLOCK: A Jeff Reynolds Mystery

http://wbp.bz/headlock

There existeth in man a faculty which deterreth him from, and guardeth him against, whatever is unworthy and unseemly, and which is known as his sense of shame. This, however, is confined to but a few; all have not possessed and do not possess it.

Bahaullah, Epistle to the Son of the Wolf

CHAPTER 1

For Paul and Cheryl Chapman, the nightmare began 8 a.m. Sunday, March 15, 1987. Their bedside telephones incessant ringing roused them from slumber; Paul fumbled for the receiver. On the other end of the line was Mama Summerville of Gwennies Restaurant, a popular Anchorage diner where Cheryl Chapman and her sister, Nancy Newman, worked as waitresses. Paul handed his wife the phone.

Summerville apologized for waking them, but she was seriously concerned. Nancy was two hours late for work, and her car was still parked in the same spot as it was the previous Friday evening. Panic immediately seized Cheryl Chapman her sister, the married mother of two young girls, would never go without her car for two days, and she was never, ever, late for work.

The couple leapt from bed, quickly dressed, grabbed a Pepsi from the refrigerator, and took off for Nancy Newmans apartment. Cheryl remembered to take her cigarettes, Benson & Hedges Ultra Light Menthols; Paul left his Viceroys on the nightstand. As her husband piloted their little red Datsun pickup over Anchorages frosty boulevards to Newmans Eide Street apartment, Cheryls apprehension increased at every intersection. Her sisters husband, John, was in California; Nancy and the kids were alone. By the time the Datsun pulled into the apartment complexs parking lot, Cheryl Chapman was a nervous wreck.

Paul parked directly outside the doorway leading to a common hallway. The two raced inside and didnt bother knocking on Newmans door. Cheryl had keys to her sisters apartment, but was shaking so hard that Paul had to take them from her trembling fingers to unlock the door. Cheryl called out her sisters name, but all was silent. She went into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and looked around the room. Everything appeared perfectly normal, except for a large, empty cookie canister in the middle of the table-the canister in which Nancy kept her tip change. While Cheryl waited anxiously in the kitchen, her husband cautiously entered the apartments dark hallway. Slowly, one by one, he pushed open the bedroom doors.

Behind the first door was eight-year-old Melissa Newman, victim of unspeakable cruelty. In the second room was her mother, Nancy Newman, half naked and lifeless on the bed. The third room contained the bloody remains of three-year-old Angie, her throat slit from ear to ear.

Paul was momentarily paralyzed and disoriented; waves of nausea and shock crashed over him. It was as if his entire world tilted precariously on its axis, then spun off into a black hole of horror. Fighting to maintain his composure, Paul turned away and headed back toward the kitchen. His wife saw him coming, and the look on his face told her something was terribly wrong.

Dont go down the hall, he said, theyre all dead. Cheryl screamed, knocked over a chair, and tried forcing herself past him. He grabbed her, held her tight, and pushed his hysterical wife back through the living room and out the front door. On the way, he grabbed the Newmans telephone. Stretching the long phone cord out the door, Paul Chapman dialed 911.

Officer Wayne Vance of the Anchorage Police Department was immediately dispatched to the Eide Street address. Upon arrival, he saw the distraught and anguished Cheryl Chapman weeping uncontrollably and wandering aimlessly in the parking lot. Her husband, clutching the telephone, guarded the apartments front door. Vance called for backup and got out of his patrol car.

Drop the phone, yelled Vance. Chapman threw it down and walked toward the flashing police lights. Vance quickly moved past him, entered the apartment, and checked the living room and kitchen to make sure no one was hiding inside. Discovering the same scenes of death and devastation as Chapman, Vance quickly exited the apartment. Within moments, the sirens of fire trucks and ambulances added their shrill screams to those of Cheryl Chapman.

The arriving paramedics demanded immediate entry, but Officer Vance held firm. Anchorage police policy dictated that if the first respondent observes unmistakable evidence of death, he or she is empowered to keep out anyone to protect the purity of the crime scene.

Officer Paul Schwartz, called in as backup, focused his professional concentration on the emotionally distraught Chapmans. He put them both in his patrol cars backseat, but Paul Chapman was too shaken up, crying, and nauseous to handle confinement. He wanted fresh air, room to move, and a cigarette. His were at home on the nightstand; Cheryl had left hers on Nancys kitchen table. Officer Schwartz gave Chapman his Kools. Between them, the Chapmans smoked half a pack.

Detective Gregg Baker of the robbery division, the only detective working Sunday morning, also heard Vances call for backup. Being mobile, he responded quickly. The second detective on-scene was Ken Spadafora of Anchorages elite Homicide Response Team. Once inside, he saw what he would later describe as a nightmare at the end of the hallway. Each room was worse than the previous one. Shocked and repulsed, he sealed the apartment and returned outside to await the arrival of his superior, Sergeant Mike Grimes. Spadafora told Baker what he witnessed inside. Ill get this guy, he insisted, I swear, honest to God, Ill never give up.

The Chapmans tearfully explained to police how they happened to find the bodies, beginning with their quiet Sunday morning being cut short by the call from Mama Summerville. They would tell their story again and again, each time prompted for every possible detail.

When Detective Sergeant Mike Grimes, head of the Homicide Response Team, arrived at the scene, he, too, experienced the triple homicides emotional impact. His own daughter, like Melissa Newman, had red hair and glasses. She looked so much like my little girl, he later recalled, that my heart just broke. I knew how devastating this could be to the other cops, too. Usually, when a homicide detective in Anchorage deals with murder, youre dealing with one scumbag who got to the gun before the other scumbagwe call it NHI No Humans Involved. But this was different. This was a close, loving familygood people.

When the balance of his team arrived, Grimes did his best to prepare them. I understand the effect this scene is going to have on you, and if you feel you cant deal with it, let me know now.