Blood Lust: Portrait of a Serial Sex Killer (8 page)

"As soon as he passed me, I jumped into my
truck," said Bergio. "I backed out and proceeded up to McLoughlin
Boulevard." He had even pulled off the road, he added, and wrote
the number down while it was still fresh in his memory.

Even if the number was correct, Turner
decided, there was still a lot of legwork to be done. Turner knew
from prior experience that it was going to be a long, long day.

While Turner and Strovink remained at the
crime scene, Lieutenant Detloff sent Deputy Mike Helmstadt and
Reserve Deputy Ed Schroeder to the Canby address. Their
instructions were to take no action at that time, but to only
determine whether or not the suspect's blue Nissan pickup was
parked there and report back. When they arrived at 10518 South
Heinz Road, a darkened mobile home, they noted that the vehicle
they sought was not there, or at least it wasn't parked where they
could see it. Not wanting to unduly disturb anyone prematurely or
make their presence known to the suspect if he was hiding somewhere
in the vicinity, the deputies pulled into the driveway as quietly
as possible, their lights off.

Suddenly, and without warning, Helmstadt and
Schroeder heard shots fired, apparently from a location across the
road. Both took cover behind their car, and they listened and
watched as additional shots were fired. Keeping as low as possible,
Helmstadt reached inside his car and broadcast that it appeared
they were being shot at and asked for backup. Moments later
everything was quiet, and they could see that lights had come on
inside the mobile home.

Soon a woman came to the door and called out
to them. She identified herself as Sherry Rogers and,
apologetically, explained that there had been a misunderstanding.
Seeing that the deputies had their own weapons drawn, she tried to
assure them that they weren't being shot at. She said that the
shots they had heard had only been fired into the air by her
father, Roy Miller, who lived just down the road, on the other
side. He had seen the deputies' cars in the driveway area, she
said, but in the darkness had not been able to tell that they were
sheriff's office vehicles. He had mistaken the deputies for
prowlers, she said, and called her on the telephone to tell her
about it. But when she peeked out of a window, she recognized the
cars as patrol vehicles and cautioned her father not to fire any
more shots.

Visibly shaken but grateful that the shots
had only been fired into the air, Helmstadt and Schroeder
reholstered their own weapons. At least they hadn't been shot at,
and that seemed to serve as a consolation of sorts. But due to the
nature of their visit, they weren't going to take any chances. They
obtained Roy Miller's telephone number from his daughter and, using
their radios, were patched through by their dispatcher. As they
talked with Mr. Miller and realized that he seemed sincere and was
apologetic about what he'd done, the traumatized deputies began to
calm down a bit. Someone else, however, would have to take over for
them to keep objectivity in the investigation and to allow them
time to recover their nerves.

A short time later Deputies Larry Beckwith
and Kevin Layng, assigned to the patrol division's south county
area, were detailed to assist at the suspect's address in Canby.
They arrived at the mobile home at 4:56 A.M. and relieved Helmstadt
and Schroeder, who were still unnerved over what they felt had been
a potentially life-threatening situation. With everything now calm
and apparently safe, Beckwith and Layng determined that the
light-blue pickup was not on the premises, nor was it at the
relative's home on the other side of the road.

After checking in with their dispatcher,
Beckwith and Layng approached the mobile home and knocked on the
front door. Mrs. Rogers, still sleepy and bleary-eyed, eventually
came to the door again, her youthful and attractive face reflecting
a look of helplessness and wonderment at why more deputies from the
sheriff's department had come to her home at such an ungodly hour
of the morning. She knew that something very serious must have
happened, but she didn't know what. Following depart mental
procedure, Beckwith and Layng weren't going to provide her many
clues. Looking at them quizzically, she apologized again for her
father's actions and repeated her explanation about why he had
fired off his gun. When Beckwith told her that they weren't there
about her father but were instead looking for a 1985 Nissan pickup
registered at her address, she haltingly invited the deputies
inside.

"I'm the co-owner of the truck," she said,
obviously frightened. "I'm on the registration with my husband,
Dayton."

In response to Beckwith's questions, Mrs.
Rogers said that Dayton had worked all day and that the pickup was
at his place of business in nearby Woodburn. She knew this, she
said, because she had called her husband there after her father had
called her when he saw the cars in the driveway. The business was
known as Small Engine Repair Unlimited, located at 11635 Pacific
Court N.E. She told the lawmen that Dayton had come home at about
8:30 P.M. to eat dinner. Half an hour or so later, he left after
saying that he was going back to the shop to catch up on some work.
She said that Dayton often worked late hours.

"Was he driving the blue Nissan pickup when
he left?" asked Layng.

"Yes."

"How was he dressed?"

"He was wearing blue jeans. What's this all
about, anyway?" She was worried and wanted to know why the
sheriff's department was so interested in hers and Dayton's
truck.

Beckwith and Layng looked at each other
briefly without answering her question, and they left the residence
momentarily so they could confer with each other privately and
relay their information to Lieutenant Detloff. When they returned,
Mrs. Rogers told them that she had just called her husband again
while the deputies were outside. She said that Dayton, however,
wasn't worried about the police because he didn't have anything to
hide.

While Beckwith and Layng wrote down the
information, the telephone rang. As Mrs. Rogers spoke, the deputies
discerned that she was talking with her husband again. After a few
moments, she indicated to Beckwith that Dayton wanted to talk to
him. Beckwith took the phone.

Why was the sheriff's office interested in
his pickup? Dayton wanted to know. Beckwith politely offered that
the vehicle in question had been described as leaving the scene of
a very serious incident, and that his department had been assigned
to check it out to determine if Dayton's pickup was in fact the
same one. Beckwith said that a witness had provided the sheriff's
department with a license plate number of a vehicle involved in the
incident, and they subsequently learned that the number was
registered to Dayton's pickup.

Dayton promptly stated that he had been at
his shop all night, but added that he would be happy to help the
police in any way that he could. While they were on the telephone,
Beckwith felt that it was significant that Dayton did not express
any curiosity regarding the nature of the serious incident.
Likewise, he never expressed much resistance to the fact that
detectives believed that he and/or his pickup had been involved.
Beckwith informed Dayton that investigators would be on their way
to Woodburn to talk to him soon and that he could then ask them
more questions.

Upon learning that Beckwith and Layng had
determined the location of their suspect, Turner and Lieutenant
Detloff promptly left the Denny's crime scene in the capable hands
of criminologist Deputy John Gilliland and headed for the
municipality of Woodburn.

Chapter 3

It was 5:35 A.M. when Detective Turner and
Lieutenant Detloff arrived at 11635 Pacific Court N.E. in Woodburn,
in neighboring Marion County. The lights were on inside the
single-story building, a shop-type structure that was light brown,
almost beige in color, situated on the northwest corner of the
intersection of Pacific Court and Highway 99E. Displayed on the
east wall of the building was a sign that read, SMALL ENGINE REPAIR
UNLIMITED. A light blue Nissan pickup, bearing Oregon license plate
CYW 194, was parked directly in front of the business.

Turner walked to the front of the Nissan. He
placed his hand in front of the grill and felt heat emanating from
the radiator. As they approached the front door, Turner quietly
pointed to a droplet of blood on the sidewalk near the building's
entrance. Detloff made a note to construct an A-frame over it from
a sheet of his yellow legal pad as soon as opportunity allowed, to
serve as a protective covering until the blood could be properly
collected.

There were two sliding, garage-type overhead
doors on either side of the entry door, and Turner peered through
the glass of one of them. He saw a single occupant inside,
approximately five feet nine inches tall, brown collar-length hair,
wearing blue coveralls. Turner made a mental note of the blue
coveralls. The man was standing in front of a vise attached to a
workbench, apparently tightening the vise down onto a bolt. He was
dressed differently from the suspect described by witnesses at the
crime scene. But he would have had plenty of time to change his
clothing between the time he fled the crime scene and the time the
detectives arrived at his shop, decided Turner. Turner knocked on
the front door.

"Who is it?" came the voice from inside.

"Sheriff's office."

"Come on in."

Turner tried the doorknob, but it was locked
from the inside.

"Is it locked?"

"Yes, it is," responded Turner dryly.

"Just a minute."

Turner moved to one of the overhead doors and
watched the lone occupant walk toward the front door. When the man
opened it, Turner showed him his photo identification.

"Are you Dayton Rogers?"

"Yes." The slightly built man invited the two
detectives inside. Turner noted that Dayton, aside from the blue
coveralls he was wearing, basically fit the description of the
suspect seen fleeing the crime scene. He also immediately detected
an odor of alcohol on Dayton's breath and saw that his eyes were
bloodshot. As they followed the suspect, Turner and Detloff
carefully observed the building's layout. They also looked for
obvious clues, such as additional droplets of blood or bloodstained
clothes.

The interior consisted of a vast room with
workbenches to the left, several storage bins to the right, and a
reception counter directly in front of the entrance door. In a
large area directly behind the counter there were lawn mowers,
chain saws, mechanical weed cutters, Rototillers, and various other
types of electrical and gas-operated machinery lined up in a long
row side by side in varying states of disrepair. A wood stove sat
in front of the counter, apparently used for heating the building
during the winter months.

In the work area to the rear, tools hung on
the wall in a very sequential order. The workbenches were clear of
all tools that weren't being used or worked on. For a repair shop,
it struck Turner as somewhat unusual that the building was so
clean—immaculate, in fact— and that it was so very well
maintained.

Turner observed two doors along the north
wall. As he followed Dayton, he noticed that one of the doors led
into an area which appeared to be the business office. It, too,
seemed very orderly, everything in its place. The other room, next
to the business office, was equipped with a countertop and a sink,
and on the countertop was a Mr. Coffee machine, which was just
beginning the brewing cycle. As Turner followed Dayton to the
center of the area behind the front counter, he observed while
standing amid all the machinery that Dayton's right hand had
several bandages on it.

When he turned to face the detectives, Turner
informed Dayton that they were there because his pickup had been
described as leaving the scene of a "very serious incident." Rather
than go into detail, Turner left it at that, purposely withholding
information known only to the perpetrator and the police. Instead,
he unobtrusively focused his attention on every movement, every
action and reaction of his suspect to see if he would inadvertently
give anything away.

"I've been here all night working," said
Dayton calmly. He was almost too composed, reckoned Turner. It
seemed unusual, just as it had with Deputy Beckwith, that Dayton
didn't press him for details about the crime he was
investigating.

"Have you loaned your truck to anyone
tonight?"

"No. The truck has been right here all night,
too."

Turner stood approximately two to three feet
from Dayton and again recognized the strong odor of alcohol that
came from Dayton's breath. When he mentioned it and asked Dayton to
account for his whereabouts the previous several hours, Dayton
coolly explained that he had been at his shop all night drinking
bourbon and strawberry mixer. Turner noted that Dayton's pupils
were dilated, but his speech was not slurred and he spoke and
walked without difficulty. Turner concluded to himself that Dayton
had been drinking but was clearly not drunk.

"Mind if I check your truck?" asked
Turner.

"No, go ahead."

Turner went outside and opened the hood of
the pickup. He placed his right hand on top of the engine's valve
cover, but quickly took it away. It was still hot, too hot to
touch. Dayton, or at least somebody, had recently run the engine
hard, decided Turner. Very hard. The detective went back inside the
shop.

"Been here all night, huh? Haven't gone out
all night, have you? So why is the engine so hot?"

"I forgot. I let it run for a while."

"Why did you let it run for a while?"

Dayton said that he had gone to a nearby
Safeway store earlier that morning to get a cup of coffee. Turner,
however, quickly pointed out the pot of coffee that was brewing
inside his shop.