by Ann Rule
Dudenbostel said that since his client had been through such a tragic ordeal, he didn't want to go back to the day in December when he was suddenly widowed.
Ron Reynolds would remain as unapproachable as he had been for years, choosing not to give any interviews.
That door remained closed.
THERE WERE OTHERS who wouldn't talk to me. Vince Parkins, who was another classmate from Elma High and the man Katie Huttula once lived with, was seemingly impossible to locate. His brother did not deny the report that Vince had suffered arsenic poisoning while he lived with Katie, but would not officially confirm it. He gave me Vince's phone number, but when I called--several times--the rings went on endlessly.
Many secrets are transparent in small towns, but there are others that a stranger cannot unravel.
There were those in Toledo who didn't like Ronda. One woman told me that she had been to a women's group function that Ronda attended. "She wanted attention and she was too animated. She didn't seem the type who would make a good wife for a principal. I guess I just expected someone more dignified or maybe quieter."
But Ronda was her own person, and she never intended to fit the old-fashioned image of what an educator's wife should be. She'd been a cop for eight years and worked store security since. She had seen things that many of the women in Toledo could never imagine. She was vibrant and funny and ladies' teas weren't her favorite social occasions.
A few months after her marriage to Ron Reynolds, of course, Ronda had discovered that he was having an affair with his ex-wife. If she talked too loud or was a little too animated, it probably took everything she had to fake the way a bride should act. Besides, she didn't expect to be living in their new Toledo house for long. She loved the house, but as she decorated it, it didn't feel like hers.
CHRISTMAS 2009 CAME AND WENT. Barb had achieved a certain amount of relief and peace when twelve jurors agreed that Coroner Terry Wilson was wrong when he declared Ronda's death was by her own hand. Gramma Virginia was just as peaceful.
"I'd felt for the past few years that my mother was willing herself to stay alive until Ronda was vindicated," Barb Thompson said. "After the hearing, she seemed to hold on to life less tightly. She wanted to be here for me until we proved that Ronda didn't kill herself, but she was sick and tired and old. She wanted to be with Ronda. I halfway teased her that I was jealous that she would see Ronda before I did."
The paramedics knew Barb's address by heart and they were called to Virginia Ramsey's aid several times. Each time Barb wondered if she would survive--but she did. Barb had vowed she would keep her mother in her home, in her own bed, and that she would die at home. She still slept in a recliner next to her mother's bed every night.
Her mother barely ate anything; nothing tempted her.
"I know I'm going to lose her," Barb told me at one point. "She's ready to go and I can't hold on to her forever."
The torn rotator cuff in Barb's left shoulder grew steadily more painful. Still, she did her chores with her horses and around the property and didn't complain. She had a mare who was going to foal in the winter, and kept a close eye on her. If some things were just too difficult for her, Freeman would always show up to help.
TERRY WILSON had had ten days to file an appeal on the verdict that came down in his hearing. He asked for an extension--and got it. He'd already announced that he wouldn't run for his office in the next election. Barb knew his decision on whether or not to appeal was coming to the next deadline. But surely he would let sleeping dogs lie and move on.
No. At the last possible minute, Terry Wilson filed his appeal. It looked as though he would use every legal means possible to delay changing Ronda's death certificate--until his term as coroner was over.
Again, it was a nightmare.
Royce Ferguson told Barb not to worry; he would take care of it.
As always, she knew he would.
VIRGINIA RAMSEY seemed to fail more each day. She no longer cared to eat at all and even turned away from liquids. Working with her mother's doctors, Barb was able to keep her mother pain free. But on February 4, 2010, Virginia died.
For all intents and purposes, she had decided it was time for her to let go when the hearing jury came back with their unanimous decision that Terry Wilson had used tragically bad judgment in writing her precious granddaughter off as a suicide. Virginia lived only three more months after that verdict.
Although Barb had expected it, losing her mother was a huge blow. She had taken care of Gramma for so many years. Indeed, they had taken care of each other--and Ronda and Freeman, too. There were many times when neither of them could have made it alone, but together they survived. Virginia was always the first person Barb called with news about her fight to find Ronda's killer. Now Barb felt aching emptiness. Everyone was gone: her mother was gone, her sister was gone, her daughter was gone, her first husband was dead. She had no idea where Hal Thompson was; he hadn't called her for several years.
Skeeter had been dead for almost nine years, and Don Hennings had suffered a stroke in October 2007. He was very ill, but Barbara brought him to her house to care for. She had lost him, too, in July 2008.
She still had her son, Freeman, her brother, Bill, and scores of friends, but the world turned colder without Gramma.
Her shoulder pain had increased a great deal in the weeks before her mother's death. Now Barb was free to consider having the surgery to reattach the torn ligament. True to her concern for both people and animals, she arranged to have her operation as an outpatient.
One of her mares was pregnant, and Barb wanted to be home to help her when her time came.
AS ROYCE FERGUSON prepared to answer Terry Wilson's appeal, Jerry Berry and Marty Hayes continued their search for a killer. They had won the first round of a long, long, fight--but they were far from finished.
Media publicity had grown tremendously during the prior November hearing, and a number of tips rolled in. Berry followed each one as far as he could. He tried to erase his convictions about who Ronda's killer(s) was and start fresh, looking into new scenarios.
As expected, many reports from the public consisted of theories rather than substance, but Berry and Hayes had to weed them out. During the hearing, several people had come up to me in the hallway with their opinions on who Ronda's murderer was--including one woman who was convinced that the "Mexican Mafia" was responsible.
In January 2010, Barb Thompson received a phone call from a man named Sig Korsgaard*, who told her he had some information about the morning of December 16, 1998, when Ronda was killed. Sig's wife, Karen*, had apparently seen one of the Reynolds's sons early that morning. Barb passed the information on to Jerry Berry--who immediately set out to contact the couple with the number Barb had given him. He called Korsgaard and made an appointment to talk with him and his wife that same night at eight.
It was January 9, 2010, twelve years and one week since Ronda married Ron Reynolds. Berry was encouraged to believe that the couple he was about to meet could have valuable information when he noted that they had lived very close to the house on Twin Peaks Drive.
Karen Korsgaard said she had left her house very early on December 16--sometime between 6 and 6:30 A.M. To get to the main highway, she had to pass the Reynoldses' house. She knew who lived there because her son, Tom Spencer, nicknamed "Bing," occasionally associated with Ron Reynolds's two older sons who lived there.
"As I passed their house," she said, "a car peeled out of their driveway--followed by another car. Both drivers were spinning their tires and throwing gravel up at my car. It pissed me off, frankly."
"Did you recognize those vehicles?" Berry asked.
She nodded. "One was the tan Taurus that Jonathan sometimes drove. The other was a small pickup truck, kind of dark-colored."
Karen Korsgaard had continued on to the intersection of Twin Peaks Drive and Drews Prairie Road. The two vehicles had beaten her there and were now parked at the intersection. It was still dark out; the
shortest day of the year was only five days away. But Karen recognized one of the young males of the two who were outside their vehicles. "It was Jonathan Reynolds," she said firmly. "The other might have been one of Jonathan's older brothers. Anyway, it looked as if they were arguing."
"Do you know his name?"
"I'm not sure--but I know I could identify him if I saw a picture."
Karen Korsgaard said she continued on to work, mildly curious about what was going on between the two men.
"It was unusual enough that I called my husband when I got to work and told him about it. Sig told me to call the sheriff's office and report it."
Karen did that, and the detective who answered said that he would pass that on to Jerry Berry. Of course, when the Korsgaards learned about Ronda's death later that day, what Karen had seen took on more importance.
But whoever that detective she talked to was did not relay the message. "I never saw that information," Berry said.
"No one came to talk to us, either," Sig said. "We called several times, but we finally gave up."
Korsgaard told Berry that someone--who didn't want to be named--had revealed that there had been a party at the Reynolds house the night before Ronda died. "My source told me that he hadn't even seen Ron Reynolds there--it was just the boys and some friends. Jonathan Reynolds told my source that 'Ronda's in her room, pouting.' "
If true, this was startling information. Ron had told detectives that he and Ronda went to bed about 10 P.M., and that he'd spent the night trying to talk her out of suicide until, exhausted, he'd fallen asleep in the early morning hours.
Was it possible that Ronda had been alone in her house except for some rowdy teenagers who were partying?
It might have been.
On January 31, Berry arrived for another scheduled interview at the Korsgaards' home. He showed Karen a "laydown" of three photos of students who had graduated from a local high school in 1998. In a few seconds, Karen pointed to #3.
"That's Micah Reynolds," Berry said. "Have you seen him before?"
"Many times. He doesn't live there, but he visits often. I know it was him fighting with Jonathan at the intersection the morning Ronda died."
Now the Korsgaards said that the person who had told them about the party was Karen's own son, Bing Spencer.
"He was going to call you last week," his stepfather said, "but he got arrested. He's in the Lewis County Jail."
Bing Spencer had told Karen that there were other youths at the 1998 pre-Christmas party on December 15-16. He was quite sure that Adam Skolnik* and, possibly, his brother, Ace, were.
Both were teenagers at the time of Ronda's murder but were now in their early thirties--as Bing Spencer was.
Jerry Berry searched the Department of Licensing to see if he could find what kind of car Micah Reynolds drove. One of the vehicles that turned up was a 1991 Dodge Dakota pickup.
Berry checked to see what colors the Dakota came in in 1991, and found one had been a "Dark Spectrum Blue," which closely matched the dark pickup Karen Korsgaard had seen.
Jerry Berry had developed tenuous bonds with the current Lewis County sheriff, Steve Mansfield, who had taken over from Bob McCroskey in 2005.
"He told me that he'd been taking all the heat, and he was going to bring me on board as an advisor so if we didn't find a killer, I'd have to take some of the blame," Berry said with a laugh.
Jerry Berry wasn't exactly Mr. Popularity with the detective division, but that wasn't who he was trying to be. If there was a chance they could all work together and get enough evidence to arrest someone for Ronda's murder, he would be more than content.
On February 3, 2010, Berry contacted Bing Spencer in the Lewis County Jail. They met for the first time with a glass panel between them in an attorney-client visiting area.
Spencer quickly explained why he and the other guests at Jonathan's party had somewhat fuzzy memories. They had been smoking "dope"--marijuana.
However, Bing Spencer claimed to have had fairly good recall of the night of December 15-16. He said that Adam Skolnik was his best friend--and they were sharing a place near his parents' home in a small trailer. They had gone to the Reynolds house at about 8 P.M. Ron was there at the time, but he'd left because he had a meeting or a function that he had to attend. "I never saw him again that night."
"When did you see Ronda?"
"Around ten P.M. She stepped out of her bedroom and told us all to quiet down--that we were getting too loud."
Spencer admitted that he was the one who supplied marijuana to the Reynolds brothers.
"Do you know if there was someone there who drove an old pickup?" Berry asked.
"There was a piece-of-shit pickup truck there, but I don't know who it belonged to," Spencer answered. "Jonathan's older brother was there but I don't remember his name."
"Was everyone at the party doing drugs?"
"All but Adam. He only drank whiskey."
"What brand?"
"Black Velvet or Jack Daniels. I believe that he and I brought a bottle of Black Velvet to the party."
Berry tensed. Maybe the empty bottle of Black Velvet hadn't come from the Reynoldses' liquor cabinet at all.
"Sometime between midnight and two A.M., the Reynolds brothers told us to leave and then come back in an hour or an hour and a half after things had quieted down."
And Bing Spencer believed that everyone had complied. He explained to Jerry Berry that his memory wasn't that clear--but that he'd kept a journal for ten years, often jotting down things about that night.
"You still have it?" Berry asked.
"My ex-wife does. I've got no way to get possession of it now. For all I know, she threw it away. I always felt like Jonathan and one of his brothers had something to do with Ronda's death, but I've been afraid to talk about it, and, besides, I didn't know who to talk to."
Jerry Berry kept his face calm, hiding the rush of hope that surged through him. As he walked to his car after the interview with Bing Spencer, some things fell into place in his mind. The heavy odor of incense the morning that Ronda's body was found could easily have been used to hide the smell of marijuana.
And when the Reynolds boys asked everyone to leave the house around midnight and come back in an hour or so, they would have had ample time to rape and/or kill Ronda.
The private detective had heard from many sources how much Jonathan hated Ronda. Maybe her complaining about the noise they were making had been the last straw for a mind muddled with marijuana.
Now, Berry revisited a man who had told him in 2009 that Katie Huttula said to him, "My son Jonathan killed his stepmother in Toledo."
The informant--Joey Martin*--also a doper, had been riding in a car with Katie and another man when she blurted that out.
"Do you recall the other guy's name?" Berry asked.
"Yeah . . . I stopped my car on the freeway, and we ran to his house," Joey said. "He'll remember what she said. Write down his name. It's Sam Berdelli*."
"Will you sign a statement about what you've just told me?" Berry asked.
"Yeah, sure."
For a detective looking for vital and solid evidence, drug addicts are not the most believable witnesses. They are vulnerable on the witness stand, and both opposing attorneys and jurors frown on them.
But to Jerry Berry, the jagged stories falling into place made an awful kind of sense.
LEWIS COUNTY DETECTIVE Bruce Kimsey met Jerry Berry as he entered the Law and Justice Center. Kimsey told him he had just talked with Bing Spencer, and that he was trying to get him on a "contract," which probably meant that Spencer wanted to become a paid informant.
"He told me about the Reynolds thing," Kimsey said. "Probably the same thing he told you."
Berry wasn't quite ready to go to the sheriff's detectives with all the information he was gleaning from Spencer. He only nodded and wished Kimsey good luck.
Bing Spencer admitted to Berry that he had talked to Kimsey, and he had no idea why the sh
eriff's detective had asked him about the Reynolds case.
"I'm trying to get a contract to work with Kimsey and give up names and places with drug dealing."
Spencer was obviously not above playing both ends against the middle. He was looking out for himself, and for all Berry knew, he was being deceitful about the party on Twin Peaks Drive.
"Did you remember anything else about that?" Berry asked.
"I do--but I don't want to say at this time."
Berry waited a few minutes, but he wasn't going to play games with Bing Spencer.
"I'll keep in touch," Berry said as he picked up his files and walked out.
BERRY WAITED, but it wasn't until February 17 that he had a voice message from Sig Korsgaard. The jail chaplain had passed on a message from Bing: he wanted to talk with Berry again.
"I've got to go to Olympia," Berry said. "I'll contact him at the jail on my way through Chehalis."
Once more, they met in the awkward confines of a glass booth where they were visible to others.
"What do you want to tell me?" Berry asked, after they had exchanged greetings.
"I can tell you the whole story," Spencer said. "It wasn't the Reynolds boys who did it."
"Who pulled the trigger?"
Bing Spencer dropped his head and started to cry. He tilted his head toward a section of cells.
"Was it Adam?"
Bing nodded.
"How do you know?"
"Adam came home to change his clothes. He had some blood on the front of his shirt. It was a white Oregon State U tank top. When Adam took it off, I threw it in with my dirty clothes. I might still have it somewhere."
Weeping again, Bing Spencer said that this secret had been on his chest and in his head for twelve years. He'd dreaded snitching about his best friend.
"And it's killing me."
As anxious as Berry was to hear everything Spencer had to say, he wanted to finish this version of the night of December 15-16 in a spot where there was a modicum of privacy.