JonBenet: Inside the Ramsey Murder Investigation (48 page)

The very next day he retracted that firm statement, saying his lawyer chastised him for making it. Neither he nor Patsy fed her pineapple, he said, but then he asked, “What if she knew the intruder?” After thinking about it, he said, “It hit me like a ton of bricks.” JonBenét “adored” Santa Bill McReynolds, and if he had come into her room, she would have gotten out of bed and gone downstairs with him without a problem. “She may have had a secretly prearranged meeting,” he said. “Maybe he fed her pineapple.” The detectives stopped the tape and watched that section repeatedly. Only the day before, Ramsey had said such a thing was impossible. Now he laid it on Santa Bill.

McReynolds also fit the profile of knowing the family, perhaps was envious of their wealth (“he didn’t have two nickels to rub together”), and visited porno shops, Ramsey said. Whoa, I thought. Where’d he learn that? Then I remembered that Alex Hunter had callously joked about McReynolds and that the DA’s office kept few secrets from Team Ramsey. John Ramsey had obviously been thinking quite a bit about Santa Bill. He said the old man only claimed to be frail but didn’t seem that way on his television appearances and had even gone to Europe on a vacation.

(After the formal session, Deputy DA Pete Hofstrom, Deputy DA Mary Keenan, who was beginning to take a bigger role, and DA investigator Dan Schuller interviewed the Ramseys to obtain more information about McReynolds. It was as if the work we had done on the entire McReynolds family was totally disregarded. The DA’s office had a target that wasn’t named Ramsey, and the facts be damned.)

Over the three days of interviews, however, Santa Bill McReynolds was only one of many potential suspects named by Ramsey. Also high on the list were ex-friends Fleet and Priscilla White. He recalled that Fleet had both cord and duct tape and that instead of being comforting on December 26, Fleet had furiously scribbled notes. He said Priscilla was jealous of Patsy and used the ransom note term “fat cat.” And it was Fleet and Priscilla who pressured the Ramseys to appear on CNN “to defend ourselves,” Ramsey claimed. Just the opposite was true: Fleet had confronted Ramsey on the decision to appear in the media. Ramsey hedged slightly, saying that he and Patsy willingly went on the national television show because of “all the sympathy, all the outpouring of support, we wanted to thank everyone.” That sounded like two opposing reasons for the same decision.

Then he offered up a smorgasbord of suspects that included a cook at Pasta Jay’s restaurant, a “striking couple” from “back East” who had been seen in church, his secretary’s boyfriend, other church members, business associates, “pigsty” neighbors, and assorted fringe players.

The most surprising name he turned over was that of Jay Elowsky, his friend and business partner in Pasta Jay’s Restaurant, who he said possibly owned a stun gun. It was to Elowsky’s home in Boulder that the Ramseys retreated after returning from burying JonBenét in Atlanta. Elowsky defended them so staunchly that he was arrested for threatening two men he believed to be photographers intruding on the Ramseys’ privacy. Throwing Elowsky under the bus just about eliminated the Ramsey circle of friends in Boulder.

In view of the new suspects being named, Smit asked if Patsy might be involved in the murder, and John Ramsey snapped, “Preposterous, absolutely out of the question.” In his eyes, everybody was a suspect but his wife.

“There are many who think the Ramseys did it,” said Lou Smit. “I’m going to take you at your word. You’re a Christian. Will you swear to God you didn’t do this?”

“I swear to God,” Ramsey replied. “I swear to God.”

“Anyone else? Your wife? Swear to God?”

“I swear to God that what I’ve told you is the truth. We loved our children. Having lost a child … JonBenét was a gift.” He began to weep. “To lose her was more than I could bear.”

Kane threw Ramsey a curve on the religious aspect and asked him to recite his favorite Bible passage. John Ramsey could not do so. I felt Smit was being totally used.

Smit appeared to telegraph his questions, giving Ramsey plenty of information before asking for an answer, therefore allowing him plenty of time to consider what he was about to say. Smit even suggested that the cellar room had been recently swept and thus the Hi-Tec print was new. Yes, John Ramsey confirmed—indeed it had been recently swept.

Lou was full of unorthodox tactics, such as dropping in idle thoughts like “maybe the intruder took Patsy’s bike.” Patsy’s bike? What did that have to do with anything? His interview, of course, was predicated on the idea that the Ramseys were innocent, and his bias was obvious.

Smit slowly leafed through notebooks filled with evidence pictures, asking Ramsey if he noticed anything different, unusual, or out of place. The common theme was that plenty of things were strange. A box of tissues did not belong there, a pillow missing here, dust and dirt disturbed elsewhere. To Ramsey it looked as though the Tupperware container in JonBenét’s bedroom had something in it (the same thing Lou Smit believed). Ramsey’s testimony seemed very well rehearsed. Ramsey almost seemed to know the answers before the questions were asked. A cigar box was out of place, as was his golf bag. He pointed out marks on a keyhole and noted that an Easter basket had been moved.

When Smit showed Ramsey a photo of the unidentified boot print in the cellar, Ramsey’s private investigator was allowed to lean over and draw the pattern. When the detectives reviewed the videotape, Gosage threw a can of Skoal tobacco at the television screen and stormed from the room, cursing that a year’s worth of work had just been handed to a prime suspect and his lawyer. Importantly, Ramsey said the “dirty” flashlight found at the scene did not belong to the family. We knew that he owned one just like it.

Smit also seemed to lose control of the interview at times and let John Ramsey question him. Ramsey asked about the stun gun, and Smit went on the videotaped record by saying that yes, he thought a stun gun had been used. It was a terrible mistake because a defense attorney would be able to show the jury that a district attorney’s own investigator believed an alternate theory of the crime.

I thought I had heard it all, but Ramsey outdid himself by saying that JonBenét herself had launched the beauty pageant career and “was more insistent about it than Patsy.” She had seen a newspaper advertisement, he said, and told her parents she wanted to do that. I felt it would be quite unusual for a four-year-old girl to be paging through a newspaper and reading the ads.

As a point of business, Smit asked for Ramsey’s consent to obtain a complete set of credit card and phone records, which we had been unable to get because the DA wouldn’t issue a search warrant. Even Ramsey was surprised the police didn’t have them, but his lawyer said there were still issues about maintaining an “island of privacy.” In other words, don’t expect them anytime soon.

In another interview room, retired Denver homicide detective Captain Tom Haney, who was more of a street fighter than Lou Smit, was simultaneously interviewing Patsy Ramsey. He spent long hours ever so slowly pushing her into corners, pinning her down on specifics, and getting her to commit to details.

Deputy DA Trip DeMuth and Patsy’s lawyer, Pat Burke, were almost invisible. Just as she had done with me, Patsy went one-on-one with Haney without hesitation. Dressed in a dark blazer, dark slacks, a scarf, and earrings, with a tissue in her hand, she would sometimes close her eyes and retreat into herself before giving her answers. She began very politely, although she was rather vague on general topics during the first two days, denying involvement and saying, “I just did my best.”

Unlike her husband, Patsy saw very little out of place as she went through the photographs. She confirmed that Burke was asleep, contrary to what we knew from the 911 call enhancement, and said she had never checked on her son, although Ramsey had said she did. I thought it would have been extremely odd for a mother not to check on her other child in such a situation.

She insisted that JonBenét was taken straight to bed, and she was unable to provide any information about the bowl of pineapple, although she identified the bowl as theirs.

By the third day Haney had figured out how to push her buttons. “She’s not a very good actress,” he observed. He needied her by saying that the $100,000 reward they had posted was not really very much compared with the family’s total wealth. It was about the price of a new boat, he noted.

As her patience became exhausted, she grew animated and aggressive on that third day, and Haney bored in. Instead of the teary victim, I saw an agitated and curt woman. I saw the southern belle vanish and a steel magnolia emerge. During the breaks she stood outside chain-smoking.

If Haney asked about her growing up or her family, she would dismiss it by demanding to know what such information had to do with the killing of her daughter. “We’re wasting time,” she told him.

When he brought up the prior vaginal abuse, she demanded to see the evidence. Haney pressed. “It’s a fact,” he said. “I want to see it,” she replied. “I’m shocked. I am very distressed.” Her voice, however, remained calm at that point. “Does this surprise you?” he asked. “Extremely,” she said “Who could have done it?” Haney asked. She had no idea.

But when he indicated that we might have trace evidence linking her to the death of her daughter, Patsy became indignant. “Totally impossible. Go retest it,” she ordered, with a sharp edge to her voice. “I don’t care what you have. I don’t give a flying flip. Go back to the drawing board.”

She pointed a finger straight at her questioner. “We have to start working together to find out who the hell did it! My life has been hell … This child was the most precious thing in my life. Quit screwing around asking me this stuff and let’s find the person who did this.”

Haney said they were not ready to show her evidence and challenged her further. “Pal, you don’t want to go there,” she warned, adding that she was a good Christian woman who did not lie. She pushed back against the couch and exhaled in disgust. “Criminy,” she exclaimed.

Haney continued to be inhospitable and probed about whether the death could have been an accident resulting from bed-wetting. Patsy held up a hand, like a stop sign. “You’re going down the wrong path, buddy!”

Later she said, “If John Ramsey were involved, honey, we wouldn’t be sitting here. I’d have knocked his block off. Read my lips! This was not done by a family member. Didn’t happen. Period. End of statement.”

Still Haney came on, polite but insistent, inquiring about any family secrets, and she tired of him. “Cut to the chase,” she barked.

“Oh, no,” Haney responded smoothly. “That would spoil the ride.”

“Then spoil my ride,” Patsy said, her eyes riveting him. She didn’t give an inch.

It was a spellbinding exchange. Tom Haney, with his no-nonsense style and three days in which to ask his questions, had found something I felt had to be there somewhere not too far below that polished beauty queen surface. Patsy Ramsey had, for a few moments, lifted her mask. Beneath it, I saw cold rage.

Each night at seven o’clock, District Attorney Hunter and his staff met with us for an hour to review the day’s questioning. The police were mere onlookers, for our advice wasn’t really sought. Hunter, sleeves rolled up and tie loose, was more like a bystander, and a curtain of tension hung in the room.

I was listening to the rhythm behind the words and didn’t particularly like the result. No decision had yet been made on calling a grand jury, and it was clear that there was still a strong contingent in the DA’s office who were obviously not for it, not even for the truncated version designed by Pete Hofstrom. I guess they didn’t see what I just saw. Incredibly, they were leaning toward a brand-new investigation, starting with Santa Bill!

Lou Smit, so emotional that he shed tears, was immovable in declaring John Ramsey innocent of any wrongdoing. Hofstrom, after telling us about how he himself had married the same woman twice and idolized her when she became seriously ill, added that he realized John Ramsey felt the same way about Patsy. We pointed out that Ramsey’s claim that he had supported Patsy throughout her cancer ordeal seemed at odds with some of his actions. While she flew to Maryland for treatment a dozen times, he had only been with her for two or three trips, and sometimes Patsy even went alone.

Prosecutor Mike Kane, whom we respected, said in summary that John Ramsey would be very believable to a jury. Either he is innocent, or he is blindly loyal in protecting Patsy, refusing to give up on a single point, he said. Kane said he had found a number of points that could be used effectively in a prosecution of the Ramseys, but Santa Bill alone might pose reasonable doubt. When Kane spoke, Hunter stared at him almost with a look of infatuation.

Alex Hunter said that he thought Patsy Ramsey was involved. That was more than offset by comments from his staff. Deputy DA Mary Keenan said the body language of John and Patsy Ramsey wasn’t suggestive of deception and that men were not in a position to judge Patsy’s demeanor. Dan Schuller, the new DA investigator, told us he had once been married to a southern woman named Patsy. “That’s how people act in the South,” he said. Being from Arkansas myself, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

When I left the final briefing, I knew that it was over for me. The inmates had taken over the asylum, and lunacy reigned. An aggressive grand jury prosecution targeting the Ramseys was not going to happen, the defense lawyers had manipulated the process to death, justice had been derailed, the DA’s investigators thought the Ramseys were innocent, and the posse was saddling up to gallop off after suspects who had already been cleared.

I could no longer accept things the way they were, and I could not change them. Boulder was Boulder, and I was tired of tilting at the DA’s windmills. That left only one path open for me—to resign from the police department. I had been talking with an old friend, another ex-cop from Boulder, Todd Sears, about starting a carpentry business, and that night I decided to trade my badge for a hammer.