Murder In The Heartland. M. William Phelps
seem very thorough. Like you can tell this story and put aside the rumor and speculation.”
“I can’t pay you,” I said. “I never pay sources.”
“I don’t want money. I only want the truth.”
Thus began my quest. Through Carl Boman and my own garrulous way of reaching out to people, I’ve been introduced to scores of sources for this book. Mr. Boman’s children, all of whom have spoken to me in one form or another, are incredibly tough kids. They have been through a lot and lost more than most might assume; they are victims, too. Not that Bobbie Jo Stinnett and her immediate family haven’t lost the most. But I’ve learned in the years of writing true-crime books, along with a tragedy of similar scope in my own family, the pain involved in the aftermath of murder—that is, if it is to be weighed on a scale of emotion—is equal, no matter which side you’re on.
People suffer.
No pain is greater than any other.
Fundamentally, this is a story of loss, life, and being able to move forward in the face of an immeasurable tragedy. The accused killer’s children still love their mother. But more than that, as Mr. Boman said to me once, “This is a tragic death that should have never happened—and that’s one of the main reasons why I want to get this story out. The whole story. Everything that led up to this senseless murder needs to be told as a cautionary tale so people understand how mentally ill people who don’t get professional help are potential time bombs. In this country, we need to take the issue of mental health more seriously.”
While writing this book, I was amazed by the candor and honesty of some, while appalled by the lies of others. Especially flattering was that Sheriff Ben Espey, the law enforcement hero of this book, opened up and told me his story.
In the end, I found a story of two towns, two mothers, several children, one “miracle” child, an ex-husband left to clean up twenty years of family dysfunction, a sheriff determined to find a missing child, and a telling look into the heart of America.
I’ve written a number of true-crime books now and have seen and described the most depraved people in society. I thought I had become hardened by all the murder in my professional life, and nothing could break me. But this story turned me inside out. To understand why this crime happened is one thing; yet to sit and digest this material for as long as I did made me realize that people truly are capable of just about anything, especially when driven by desperation.
This, then, is not your typical, straightforward true-crime account: body, investigation, background of victim and perpetrator, trial, verdict, sentence. Some of those elements will appear, certainly. But this story encompasses two families, many victims, and two towns coming to terms with a senseless, incredibly hideous murder. Here, I give you the entire story as it played out from day one—but also, most important, the all-inclusive backstory of the alleged perpetrator, which explains why she did what she did and how she, her immediate family, and the two towns are coping with the aftermath today.
—M. WILLIAM PHELPS
Vernon, CT
PROLOGUE
Desperation
On December 13, 2004, Lisa Montgomery e-mailed her ex-husband, Carl Boman, about picking up their children. Carl and Lisa had been divorced (a second time) for five years. They lived hundreds of miles apart, in different states. Weekend visitations had become a tangled mess of changed times and dates, failed promises, and heated arguments—all brought on, Carl insisted, by his ex-wife.
“You can pick the kids up at 7am on Christmas morning,” wrote Lisa.
She wanted the children home by eight o’clock on Christmas night, she then demanded. On top of that, Lisa didn’t want her mother, Judy Shaughnessy, to see the children. She was adamant: “They are not to go out to [her] house.”
Carl Boman had never intended to stop by his ex-mother-in-law’s. The stipulation was, he said, just one more way for Lisa to wield some sort of control over the situation, as she, reluctantly, handed the kids over to him.
Throughout the e-mail, Lisa ranted and raved about the children’s wants and needs, what Carl could and could not do. Looking at the e-mail later that night, it occurred to Carl that Lisa was doing the same thing she had done for the past ten years: manipulating and controlling the situation. In his opinion, all she had ever done was “spread hate and lies,” said Carl, “and cause problems by making up stories.” About him. Her current husband. The kids. Her mothers. Sisters.
Even herself.
Lately, she had been fabricating a story about her being pregnant. She had been telling people she was carrying twins, but had lost one child the previous month. The second child, she claimed, was healthy and due on December 13. To prove it, she had an ultrasound photograph and a nursery set up in her house. She’d gone to doctor appointments. Bought the child clothing and toys.
What Lisa didn’t know then, however, was two days before receiving her e-mail, Carl had filed for permanent custody of the children. Lisa would be summoned into court on January 15, 2005, where her lies—“every single one of them”—would then be exposed. There had been four other instances in recent years when Lisa claimed to be pregnant, yet she had not produced a child. There was always an excuse, followed by another set of lies. Carl had known her for twenty years. They’d had four children together. There was no way she could be pregnant; medically speaking, it was impossible. Carl was there the day she’d had her tubal ligation surgery. They’d talked about it beforehand, and both had agreed it was the best thing for the family.
“She was actually relieved after the procedure,” he said. “We didn’t want any more children.”
In court, Carl was going to prove Lisa was a fraud. He was planning on providing evidence of how she had perjured herself recently during a custody hearing over her nephew. During the hearing, Lisa said she’d given birth to a baby in her doctor’s office, but it was stillborn. Because it had died, she told the court, she donated it to science.
The story was a total invention. Carl was going to produce an affidavit detailing the truth. In turn, he was sure the court would award him permanent custody of their children. Lisa’s new husband, mother, sisters, the children, not to mention the town where she lived, would soon know she had been lying about being pregnant all along. Those five pregnancies—including the current tale of losing one of her twins—existed only in her mind.
“There was no way out of it for Lisa,” said Carl. “She was being backed into a corner.”
“I think she was in desperation,” added Lisa’s mother, Judy, “to get a baby one way or another—she ran out of options.”
What nobody knew, as Carl sat there absorbing Lisa’s latest e-mail tirade, shaking his head in disgust, was that she was making plans of her own.
When Lisa found out a day later Carl had filed an injunction seeking permanent custody of two of their four children, she had one of the kids call him.
“Mom wants to know what you have planned, Dad,” his son asked while she sat by the phone, staring at him.
“How are you, son?” Carl asked. His children mattered more than anything to Carl at that point. His son had just turned fifteen.
With Lisa by his side, Carl’s son continued speaking for her. “She says she’s considering allowing me to live with you but wants to know if you’re taking me out of school.” Then, after a moment of whispering in the background, “She’s very upset, you know, that you filed those papers with the court.”
“Put her on the phone.”
“You have no chance of getting the kids,” said Lisa as soon as she put the receiver to her mouth. “I’m going to prove you are the liar, Carl.”
…impulses may be from below,
not from above…
but