by Gregg Olsen
* * *
ED RABER HAD struck the detectives as being benign and clueless. He didn’t know his wife had snuck out in the early-morning hours of June 2. He didn’t know she had a long sexual history with Eli. He didn’t know there were texts putting Barb at the murder scene. He didn’t know Barb had “confessed” to the murder—until he read it in the papers.
But did Ed know more than he let on? Joe Mullet transcribed a phone call between Barb and her husband that seemed to be about hiding a gun.
Barb: If that guy comes out Monday night, mention nothing about that thing that was in the camper.
Ed: I know.
Barb: You know why.
Ed: Yeah, I know why, you don’t have to say more.
Barb: Okay. If he says something, just tell him [it’s] the one I bought.
Ed: Yeah.
They continued the conversation in a second call.
Barb: Do they have fingerprints?
Ed: I have no idea. I touched it last when I put it in the case and put it in the other place.
Detectives concluded that “that thing” was the missing murder weapon and “the other place” was code for wherever the murder weapon had been stashed.
Barb: Both our prints are probably on there. They got to have that to prove it.
Even Ed was confused about which shotgun was the murder weapon.
Ed: Well, do you know it was the one?
Barb: Well, well, well that is what I say. They must [indecipherable] like something like that to prove it and fingerprints.
Ed: Yeah.
It seemed that the shotgun had first been hidden in a camper, then moved. Lieutenant Garrison and Detective Chuhi paid another visit to Ed Raber, this time at his place of employment. Raber stood outside and talked with them.
They informed him that they’d been taping Barb’s phone calls and were interested in two calls that mentioned a firearm and a camper. Ed told them he used to have a camper, but it was scrap now. It had been registered to Barb but owned by Eli, who used it on his hunting trips. Eli had given Ed permission to “dismantle” the camper. Ed thought the .410 had been kept in the camper but had been returned to David Weaver. Ed said he’d gutted the camper and sold it to Kidron Auction, supposedly back in 2008, long before the murder.
Ed admitted that he’d mentioned fingerprints on a gun to his wife in a phone call, but he denied any conversation about moving the gun to another location. And he had an answer to the confusion over the recorded call. Maybe, he suggested helpfully, it was a problem with the English translation of the Dutch?
Garrison and Chuhi made something clear to Ed—if they learned in the future that he had hidden or disposed of the murder weapon, he could be charged with complicity or tampering with evidence.
* * *
WHEN ANDY HYDE agreed to represent Eli Weaver, the attorney who would become known for representing errant Amish didn’t know about the only other adjudicated murders committed by members of the religious sect.
Hyde had been finishing law school and starting his career when they occurred.
In 1993, Edward Gingerich, of Rockdale Township, Pennsylvania, was convicted of killing his wife, Katie. He beat her to death, then removed all her internal organs and piled them next to her body. He was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter and mentally ill. He served five years in prison, was released, and committed suicide in 2011.
In 1995 near Mechanicsville, Maryland, a sixteen-year-old farmworker, Thomas Ballard, known for his hot temper, shot and killed twenty-eight-year-old Hannah Stoltzfus, beat her three children, then killed himself. All were Amish.
Now there was Barb Raber, raised Amish, now Conservative Mennonite, and Eli Weaver, Andy Weaver Amish, charged with killing Barbara Weaver.
During their first conversation outside his father’s house, Eli had said he could afford Andy. Now he went before a judge to say he couldn’t.
It was a small community, and probably not coincidental that the court assigned Hyde to represent Eli as a public defender rather than bring in someone else. He had, after all, already done some prep work. The defense lawyer still wonders how the court arrived at its decision—it never looked at Eli’s business and finances, just took Eli’s word for it that he needed free representation.
“He had a business; he had a house,” Hyde said. “The court never even looked at his finances; they just appointed me as public defender.”
Eli’s lawyer also met briefly with Barb Raber before she was assigned a public defender. Barb told Hyde she was innocent.
25
A Husband’s Questions
There is nothing I can do. I will leave it up to the Lord.
—ED RABER, WHO COULD NOT UNDERSTAND HIS WIFE’S ACTIONS BUT WAS CONVINCED SHE WAS INNOCENT
The Amish are famously forgiving. When a gunman shot ten girls ages six to thirteen at an Amish one-room schoolhouse in Nickel Mines, a village in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, on October 2, 2006, killing five, before committing suicide, the reaction from the Amish community stunned other Americans.
The Amish told their young people not to hate the gunman. Some Amish went to the home of the gunman’s parents’ to comfort them, and to his widow, and to offer forgiveness. About thirty Amish went to the man’s funeral.
The Amish might appear to be quick to forgive, but that doesn’t mean forgiveness comes easily or automatically. Even after forgiveness, the memory and the hurt are still alive, said Eli’s friend Samuel Miller.
Ed Raber had received his own show of kindness from Barbara Weaver’s father. He told Barb about it in a jailhouse phone call. It seemed to have left her uncharacteristically speechless.
Ed: Did you have a good night?
Barb: Nope.
Ed: [indecipherable]
Barb: It is alright. I don’t deserve to have a good night.
Ed: Uh, Barb, her dad called me.
Barb: Oh yeah? Why?
Ed: He just said they were thinking about us, praying for us.
Barb: [Barbara’s] dad?
Ed: Yeah.
Barb: The one who died.
Ed: Yeah.
Barb: Her dad.
Ed: Uh-huh.
Barb: Oh.
Ed: Why?
Barb: What else did he say?
Ed: He was really nice.
Barb: What else did he say?
Ed: He just said that he wanted to say that you had been up at Eli’s way too much and that he should have called me earlier and uh, they too feel Eli knows what happened but [inaudible].
Barb: I was not up there that often the whole last year, Eddie.
Ed: Yeah.
Barb: Does he feel it was me?
Ed: I don’t think so …
Barb: Alright, whatever. What else did he say about me?
Ed: Nothing that I know, just up there too often.
Barb: Did you tell him I was not up there that much the last whole year?
Ed: Yeah, I told him; he knew.
Not unexpectedly, Barb’s moods ranged from confident, to defiant, to fearful. Her husband was more matter-of-fact because he thought she was innocent. He also had a faith that was greater than hers.
Barb: I don’t know what I am, Eddie.
Ed: Why?
Barb: You have no clue how I feel.
Ed: Why?
Barb: You don’t have the fear of sitting in here for the rest of your life.
Ed: Well, if you did not do anything wrong, then …
Barb: Well, sorry I called you.
Ed: No, it is fine. I am glad you called. I have committed it to the Lord and He will do the right thing. There are enough people praying that I feel it will turn good. I mean, if they don’t have more than them texts, then I don’t think they can do anything unless you did it.
Barb: [crying]
Ed: But I can’t see you did it. You were home all the time.
Barb: [crying] Okay.
Ed: I love you; we believe you, okay?
Barb: Okay.
Ed: Go sleep. Get a good night of sleep, that’s an order, okay? I have to get up at 2:30 to go to work so I am going to bed.
Over the course of his wife’s incarceration, Ed began to wise up. A lot of what she was saying didn’t match what the detectives were telling him.
Ed: Honey, they just said what kind of gun was used. They did not say what or whose.
Barb: Did they put it on me?
Ed: No.
Barb: That I did the shooting.
Ed: Yes, they said you did, but did not say where the gun is at.
Barb: Alright.
The more Ed heard from friends and family, or read in the news, the more questions he had. Like why hadn’t Barb gone to the police when Eli began planning his wife’s murder? He asked her in a phone call.
Barb: Because David called me about it.
Ed: Huh?
Barb: David called me about it and I said hey, I don’t want to be bothered about it. I said I can’t do anything and I’m tired of this shit.
Ed: But you should have gone right away to the authorities.
Barb: I know. I was going for help, but it was not through them.
Ed: But you should have called the cops.
Barb: I know, I know.
Ed: Then this would have never happened.
Ed was developing a spine, but he could still be shocked by how little he knew about his wife.
Barb: I just want out to be with my kids before school starts and stuff.
Ed: Yeah, maybe you can just talk to your attorney Monday morning.
Barb: They better not let him out before me or I am going to get mad. So much stuff he has against him.
Ed: I hope he don’t get out, period.
Barb: I don’t know.
Ed: Now listen, if you both get out, just don’t go behind [my back] and have contact.
Barb: I won’t.
Ed: Does he still owe you money?
Barb: Yeah.
Ed: How much?
Barb: About $5,000.
Ed: What?
Barb: About $5,000.
Ed: Why so much?
Barb: Telephone bill [to] way back who knows when.
Ed: I thought he was paying.
Barb: Yeah, a little at a time. He would tell me he has no money. He would just give me 50 bucks or so.
Ed: My goodness.
Barb: He was giving over $1,500 a month to the one woman for the baby.
Ed: Well, where do you have your figures?
Barb: I got them all written down.
Ed: Where at?
Barb: Somewhere in the desk, I think. No, it might be in one of the storage tubs. I don’t know. I would have to look when I get home. There is nothing I can do now, Eddie.
Ed: Yeah, I know, but we will go to his preachers or something.
Barb: Just relax and get me out of here. Did you borrow money or what or don’t you know what is going on?
Ed: I don’t know what is going on. They will find out tonight or Sunday. I am going to call the attorney Sunday.
Ed hoped members of their church might help with attorney fees. In one conversation he told Barb he had to raise $35,000 in a couple of days in order to hire an attorney. He couldn’t get the money, and an assistant public defender was assigned to represent her.
26
Too Much Information
I am going to be pissed off if I sat in here for nothing. They are gonna make up for what I lost, trust me.
—BARB RABER, CONFIDENT THAT SHE WOULD NOT GO TO TRIAL
Even before his wife’s arrest, Ed’s Conservative Mennonite congregation was trying to help the family. The church did not try to help with Barb’s bail or attorney costs, or to make up for that huge phone bill of Eli’s. Rather, a member of the church, George, was asked to befriend Ed and look out for him. George helped Ed get his family’s finances in order.
George had known Barb for many years, since her Amish childhood. Like other family friends, he didn’t have much good to say about her. Her reputation for lying went way back.
“Her mother talked a lot about how Barb lied as a child,” George said. When she lied as an adult, it hurt her marriage to Ed. “Their relationship was not the best. Ed believed her, including what was not true. She’d be ever so nice, then change. And she left those boys alone all the time.” Her lies would do her in.
Barb’s admission to sheriff’s deputies that she had shot Barbara was catching up with her. She’d never admitted to her husband that she’d “confessed.” It’s not in writing or recorded, only in detective’s notes from when they first questioned her at the justice center the day of her arrest.
But now it had made the news. Ed was trying desperately to understand how Barb could have confessed to detectives yet worked hard to convince him she was innocent.
Barb: Eddie, I never said it was me.
Ed: I know, but you said about the texts.
Barb: Eddie, they already had them.
Ed: Huh?
Barb: They already had them.
Ed: Yeah, but where [did they get it] that you admitted it?
Barb: That is where they are just hanging these text messages together. That is how they do. They ask other questions that has [sic] absolutely nothing to do with it and make a story from it.
Barb made excuses, trying to explain her theory, but she may have been right—the detectives had stumbled on an easy scenario. Barb had pulled the trigger.
Barb: Once I spend 15 to 18 days here, then I can request with Rev. Anderson for family counseling. Then my whole family can come. We can spend two hours with each other.
Ed: Oh, yeah.
Barb: If I am here for that long. It pissed me off that they went and said I admitted it, to put it in the newspaper like that.
Ed: Yeah.
Barb: Someone told me if you want to deal with the Wayne County cops or the detectives never ask for the two I had.
Some days Ed was the positive one, although Barb had a way of defeating his temporary upbeat outlook.
Ed: I don’t think I have to worry.
Barb: You don’t have to worry what?
Ed: You don’t have to worry then that they got a case.
Barb: Well, I don’t know, Eddie.
Ed: Honey, they have nothing. The attorney said they can’t do anything with them texts; they have to have evidence.
Barb: I am gonna get pissed off if I sat here 15 days.
Ed: Yeah, like I said, let the Lord repay.
Barb: I finally told them here I am, what do you want from me if I say I did it, if I say yes, I did it, I would be lying to myself and God and they …
Ed: We are not even supposed to say anything like that.
Barb: Yeah, Eddie, and they took the yes I did it.
Ed: What?
Barb: I told them if I would say yes, I did it, I would be lying to myself and God and they just took the yes, I did it.
Ed: Aah. Did they record that?
Barb: No.
Ed: Huh?
Barb: Not that I know of, no. And even a couple times I text him and said uh, I am scared, I am so scared.
For Ed, anything Barb had to say about Eli was TMI—too much information.
Barb: It is like I told him, you can’t kill someone and get away with it. It is not going to work. I had told him that. Then they said, well, I am the only one he talked to about that and I am the only one that he ever text so much and blah, blah, blah. Then I said I am not the only one. I said I knew he texted other people and I know he talked on the phone with some others, either on the phone or he went to their house. I am not the only one.
Ed: You should have recorded him.
Barb: But I am the only one that text him last before this happened. Well, how was I supposed to know this was going to happen?
The more conversations they had, the more nuggets of information Barb revealed.
Barb: Do you know why he wanted it done right away?
Ed: Why?
/>
Barb: Because communion was coming up and one of his boys caught him in the shop with one of his English girlfriends.
Ed: Doing what?
Barb: His little boys caught him in the shop screwing one of his girlfriends.
Ed: Are you serious?
Barb: And they ran and told her [Barbara] and she was going to go to the preachers.
Ed: Oh, are you serious?
Barb: Uh-huh.
Ed: How did you find that out?
Barb: He told me the night before that is why. He said the bitch must go down.
Ed: Uh-huh.
Barb: Now it’s here on one of his papers that [a woman] was there. Three English women said they met him on the Internet then came to his shop. All three of them say they did it in his shop.
Ed: Oh, yeah?
Some days Barb’s mood swung to delusional. One day she had it in for a mental health counselor and told Ed about it.
Barb: She said there is someone up here on this floor that told one of the employees that I pulled the trigger. And I looked at her and said you are lying to my face and I don’t like it because I have not talked up here, so why would they go say something like that? Then she was done pretty quickly. Whatever. I would like to know tomorrow if they got more evidence or what he thinks if they are going to sentence me, which I don’t figure they will. Is he positively sure he can get me out of here? Ask him [her attorney] that and then ask him if he thinks I can’t get dismissed between now and my trial. Then I want house arrest.
The truth—Ed kept reminding Barb—would set her free. And it would console him. As Ed spoke to Barb’s friends, he began to have doubts about his wife. One friend in particular, a woman named Heidi, lit a fire under Ed. It took everything he had to confront his wife about it.
Ed: May I ask you something?
Barb: Yeah.
Ed: What did you ever tell Heidi about me?
Barb: Heidi?
Ed: Yeah, did you tell her I slept on the couch?
Barb: I don’t know. Why? I can’t really remember.
Ed: Well, she just, there [are] some things that came out that you were saying about Eli that he was frisky and things. You talked more about Eli than me.