Hometown Killer. Carol J. Rothgeb
to the victims’ family members: thank you. . . .
FOREWORD
The events of processing the crime scene behind 17 Penn Street are just as vivid to me today as they were then—over ten years ago. All the people involved in the case worked extremely hard to bring it to a successful closure. It was the most intensive and emotional case that I worked on during my career with the Springfield Police Division.
It began as a typical August day in Ohio—sunny, hot, and humid. I was floating in our swimming pool, seeking relief from the afternoon heat. I was enjoying my vacation and anticipating another few days home with my family.
What transpired next would shock the community and produce the largest criminal investigation in the history of the Springfield Police Division. That lazy Sunday afternoon was suddenly shattered by a single phone call. The evening-shift supervisor abruptly canceled my vacation: “We have a mess out here.”
My unit, Crime Scene/Evidence Collection, was needed to process the scene.
I did not realize just how bad it would be until I arrived at the scene and saw it for myself. It was bad—real bad.
Captain David Walters informed me that two female bodies had been found on a small area of land adjacent to a small pond. They were, possibly, those of Phree Morrow and Martha Leach, two young girls who had gone missing the day before.
The missing girls happened to be the same age as my daughter, Heather, and I began to think, How am I going to handle this?
As the coroner’s investigator and I waded across the pond and approached the bodies, thoughts raced through my mind about the victims, their families, and my own daughter: What were the victims doing to get themselves in this situation and how were they murdered? The anguish and grief the family members must be feeling now—and of the days to come. The safety of my own daughter and of the other children of the community.
I put those thoughts behind me and began to process the scene—carefully, methodically, and with dignity for the victims.
As I was photographing the scene, I thought, How can one person lure, control, and murder two girls? How did one person manage to spend so much time concealing their bodies? And yet, not be seen? How did one person dispose of all the evidence?
It would take years of relentless investigation by the Crimes Against Persons Unit before I got my answers.
The hardest thing I had to deal with was removing the young girls’ bodies from their positions, placing them in body bags, and carrying them through the pond to waiting officers. The vision of those girls is etched in my mind forever. What could these girls have done to be brutally murdered this way?
No parent should have to go through this ordeal. The scene was hard on all the officers who were there—but especially those who had children.
In all, over 450 items of evidence—and possible evidence—were collected. To this day, all the items collected are in the custody of the Springfield Police Department or the Clark County Common Pleas Court.
Over time—through other criminal investigations and the exhaustive work of the Crimes Against Persons Unit—the perpetrators of these murders were apprehended and charged. I cannot speak highly enough of the dedication these officers had in resolving this case and bringing those involved to justice.
I think about the girls’ murders from time to time—and how it changed my life. As my daughter was growing up, I kept an “extra eye out” for her safety and well-being. Today she is a grown woman and a young mother and I still have contact with her on a daily basis to check on her. I am sure other parents in this community have done the same—since the incident.
Whenever I drive by Penn Street, I have vivid memories of that day in August 1992—the scene, the girls, and all the lives that have been forever changed by the cruel actions of others.
Sergeant Michael J. Haytas (retired),
Springfield Police Division,
Crime Scene/Evidence Collection Unit
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The following story is true. I have tried to do my very best to tell it exactly the way it happened. My sources include written and taped statements, interoffice communications (police), inquests, newspaper accounts, tip sheets, property receipts, diagrams and narrative (crime scene), arrest reports, and letters.
I conducted personal interviews and was present in the courtroom for most of the arraignments, hearings, and trials.
When there were conflicting statements or time frames, I studied them closely and chose the most logical.
Most of the time real names are used, but at times I felt the need to use fictitious ones. There will be an asterisk beside the fictitious names the first time the name is used.
My goal has been to write this rather complicated and very controversial story as factually as humanly possible. I also endeavored to tell it in a straightforward manner that would be clear to the reader. To meet those goals is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream.
When I read In Cold Blood at the age of nineteen, a seed was planted. Over the years I have read dozens of true-crime books and somewhere, in the back of my mind, the seed was growing. I knew that I wanted to write a book “someday.” Finally I came to believe that I could write a book—if I wanted to badly enough—and “someday” finally came.
Carol J. Rothgeb
Prologue
With clothes half torn from her body, the thin, pale woman ran for her life. She ran toward the highway—toward the sounds of cars and trucks—toward the hope that someone would save her. She stumbled and ran though the brush with blood and tears mixing together, streaming down her face and neck. She ran, with her head throbbing and her heart pounding, away from the terror. Was he following her? Was he right behind her? If he caught her, he would finish what he had started. She had fought him wildly and managed to escape his deadly grip, but she was bleeding profusely and she could feel herself growing weaker by the moment. She didn’t have the strength to fight him a second time. She had to make it to the highway—or die.
Motorists traveling east on the interstate were shocked to see the bleeding, beaten woman emerge from the brush along the side of the road and collapse. Many of them pulled over and ran to the hysterical woman. One man didn’t even bother to get out of his car. He got off at the next exit ramp, found the nearest phone, and dialed 911.
Within minutes the grateful motorists, who were trying desperately to stop the bleeding on the woman’s face, could hear the wail of sirens in the distance. They assured her that help was on the way.
Part 1
The Murders
1
She didn’t struggle. . . . She acquiesces . . . but Phree,
I think, fought him a little bit. . . . But I think Martha
was just . . . she didn’t have a chance. . . . She just gave
up. . . .
—Captain Steve Moody1
The bodies were almost completely hidden beneath the skids and the brush, but the boys could see patches of clothing and flesh as they circled around to the far side of the pile. After wading through the knee-deep water, and climbing ashore on the other side of the pond, they were met with the gruesome sight that would forever be burned into their memories.
As they inched closer through the thick brush, hoping against hope that some of their friends were playing a very cruel joke, they could see the blood-soaked hair of what appeared to be the body of a young girl, facedown. Next to her, their arms almost touching, was the body of another young girl. A huge rock was completely