The Ford Heights Murders: Your Friends Came to See Me Book 1
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My fear and resistance kept overshadowing the idea of finding the evidence. While I was certain that these women and their stories were real—at least to me—I was starting to doubt myself and my medium abilities. What if this was all my imagination? What if it wasn’t! Finding this box of evidence would take the story from my imagination to a whole new place. I wasn’t sure I was ready.
I kept imagining myself having to go to trial. The police taking my uncle into custody from the nursing home. News cameras that would follow our story. The skepticism that would follow any publicity. My employer might see me as a liability and put my job in jeopardy. Each time I would fall down this rabbit hole, I would develop a full-blown panic attack. I started to regret getting involved in this whole situation.
I even wanted to cancel the breakfast I had planned with Sadie’s neighbor, the police officer. Sadie reassured me. Her neighbor really wanted to help and to learn more about the situation firsthand. I took a deep breath. I can do this. I agreed to keep the breakfast meeting
On my way to meet Sadie and her neighbor, I knew I was not alone in the car. I could feel the presence of my new “heavenly friends.” They were excited to be a part of the conversation. Truthfully, I was grateful for their company.
I was first to arrive at the restaurant. A few minutes later, my friend Sadie and her daughter, Lexie, walked in. They were accompanied by a tough-looking, tall, blond, athletic woman. I rose from the table to greet them. I hugged my friend and thanked her for coming. I extended my arm to shake the policewoman’s hand. She had a very firm grip. She looked me right in the eye and introduced herself as Jeren.
We made small talk about the weather, the drive over to the restaurant, and what sounded good on the menu. Jeren told me about her family. She had three children who shared a passion for martial arts. Jeren and her husband both loved being police officers. Jeren told a few stories about her history on the force. It felt like she was trying in earnest to make me comfortable, and it worked. I had been wondering how I would make the segue into “So….my uncle is a serial killer.”
After we finished our eggs and pancakes, I pulled a notebook from my bag. Inside were the stories I had channeled over the last few months, detailing my uncle’s horrific crimes. This seemed to be the cue we were all waiting for to start the conversation.
“Okay, start from the beginning,” Jeren said.
So I did. Jeren listened intently to the whole story. After I described the murder locations, she stopped me.
“Hold on a minute,” she said. Jeren pulled out her cell phone and typed something in. She handed me her phone and said, “A place like this?” I looked at her phone and the blood drained from my face.
“Yes, just like this,” I said. “Where is this?”
Jeren looked me straight in the eye and said, “The forest preserve in Ford Heights.” We stared at each other for several moments.
Then Jeren slapped her hand on the table and asked, “Do you have keys to this house?”
“Yes,” I stuttered, somewhat taken aback by her table slap.
“Well, let’s go there now,” she said.
Now? “Uh… uh… uh…” I was stammering. “Go there now?” I swallowed hard. I was not prepared for immediate action. “Well, I can’t today, I didn’t bring the keys with me. Let’s set a date and go in a few weeks.”
She said she was ready whenever I was. We paid the bill and said our goodbyes. After they left, I stepped into the restroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and whispered, “Oh my God. Oh my God. This is getting real!”
Amazingly, Jeren did not think I was crazy. I felt validated by her interest and boosted by her willingness to help me. This was the final confirmation I needed. I resolved to go to the house, find the evidence, and bring justice to these women.
When I got home, I told Sam matter-of-factly about the plan. I would search Fred’s mother’s house with Jeren the police officer. We would find the evidence from the murders. Sam didn’t respond right away. I was sure he was thinking that this was one of my worst ideas.
He surprised me by saying, “When are we going?”
I was stunned at his response. We looked at each other and smiled.
We decided to plan the excursion a few weeks out, early on a Saturday morning in May. The weather was cold and dreary, which made the adventure seem even creepier. Our plan was to meet at Fred’s mother’s house at 8:30. We were equipped with flashlights, brooms, a few tools, plastic bags, masks, and garbage bags.
The night before the search, I talked to Agnes, the last victim. She had been insistent in our previous conversation that I should not go to Fred’s mother’s house without talking to her again. She shared her story in greater detail this time. She confirmed the evidence was in the house. She cautioned me to watch our fingers, because Fred had set booby traps throughout the house. That sounded just like something he would do. She agreed with the other victims that we should look in the northwest corner of the basement. We would find most of the evidence in a cigar box. I knew we were looking for M’s locket, Carol’s framed photo, Julia’s African bracelet, and now Agnes’s jewelry box and glasses. It was in this conversation that she told me about the movie ticket stubs in the jewelry box. The tickets were from their date the night he murdered her.
I could barely sleep the night before our search. All kinds of thoughts were swirling around in my head, from excitement to sheer terror. I woke up excited to get things done. Sam woke up quiet. I am sure he was wondering what the heck we were going to find. Ford Heights was over an hour from our house, and we drove down there in complete silence. It was very foggy, and the expressway was totally empty.
We took the exit off the highway and headed toward Fred’s mother’s house. This was the same route we had taken dozens of times over the last three years to visit Fred at the nursing home. Since there was no traffic, we were running about thirty minutes early. We were sitting at a stop light in Grantwood, about ten minutes away from Fred’s mother’s house. I suddenly realized this was where Agnes had told me she worked as a young woman. We were right on the corner of Main Street.
I said to Sam, “Just for the heck of it, let’s turn on Main Street and look for that jewelry store where Agnes told me she worked.” Sam turned the corner and then slammed on the brakes.
There, on the left-hand side of the street, was a jewelry store. The sign read, “Family owned since the 1900s.” Sam and I looked at each other in disbelief. He told me that I needed to get out and take a picture of the storefront. I jumped out of the car and walked across the street. I stepped up to the store window and peered inside. To my amazement, the jewelry shop was exactly as Agnes had described it, unchanged since she had worked there so long ago: black and white floor tiles, framed black-and-white pictures on the walls, and large display cases made of wood and glass. I felt like everything was moving in slow motion. It was uncanny. I took several pictures and raced back to the car to tell Sam what I had seen.
Sam and I drove the last ten minutes to Fred’s mother’s house and waited for the rest of our crew. Since the house had been vacant for almost twenty years, we did not want to draw attention to ourselves. We decided to park on a nearby side street. I was prepared with the power of attorney paperwork and a good alibi if someone approached us. I would say that Fred had to sell the house, and that we’d brought our realtor and contractor to see what work needed to be done.
I could feel myself getting both excited and more nervous. Jeren pulled up with Sadie and Lexie in a large, black SUV. My cavalry had arrived! We had not talked much since our breakfast. My friends all jumped out, ready for our mission. Sadie had brooms and crystals for protection. Lexie brought a camera. Sam came prepared with flashlights, gloves, masks, and a few tools. I was impressed.
Back when we had formulated this plan over breakfast, Jeren had joked she would be “packing.” I assumed she meant she’d be carrying a gun. I was right. I wasn’t sure if this made me feel better or worse.
Nervous and cold, we went to the side door and said a group prayer. We set our intention to get in, find the evidence, and get out. I called in the four women’s spirits for reinforcement and guidance.
Agnes told me sternly, “Don’t make a day of it. It’s better to get in and get out. Don’t waste any time.”
Before we entered the house, Sadie poured salt around the doorway. She said she wanted to prevent any evil inside the house from escaping. I stifled a nervous giggle and agreed that it was better to be safe than sorry. I did wonder what she meant about evil.
I put the key in the side door, but it didn’t work. I tried again. No good. I had the wrong key! I felt my face get hot with embarrassment. Here we were, after all this time, finally ready to go in, and I had brought the wrong key. I had been so careful with the keys. I had labeled them. I had even given Fred’s estranged niece a set of keys, and I knew this was one of them. We decided to try a different door. We all walked around to the front. The key did not work on that door either.
We went back to the side door to try it again. I felt so stupid. Here I was with a whole crew who believed in me, and I couldn’t get us inside. Jeren jiggled the door, scrunched up her brow, and said she would kick it in.
I was taken aback. “Can you do that?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “Why do you think I wore these boots?” She turned around with a big smile on her face, braced herself against Sam, and kicked in the door. We were all quite impressed.
As soon as her foot landed on solid ground, she yelled out, “Police!” This startled all of us. She shrugged her shoulders and said, “Just in case someone is inside.” We all exchanged nervous glances.
We walked in very cautiously. The basement stairs were just inside the back door, and we all headed toward them. The stairs were creaky, and some of the boards were loose. It was dark. Only the smallest amount of daylight shone through the basement windows. I was trying to figure out which was the northwest corner. But that wasn’t the only hurdle. The whole basement was filled with boxes, bags, and garbage, stacked almost to the ceiling. To walk anywhere, we would have to wade through waist-high piles of junk.
I got my bearings and pointed to the northwest corner. Sadie and I started there, hoping to find the cigar box and get the hell out of this creepy, old house. We dug our way to the corner and started going through the piles. The rest of the crew opted to divide and conquer. They moved around the basement in pairs, one holding the flashlight, and the other digging through the boxes, bags, and garbage. After two hours, we had searched the entire basement. But we didn’t find anything. We used the broom handles to push up the ceiling tiles, but nothing was hidden there. Many of the boxes were labeled, but unfortunately none was labeled “evidence.”
After we finished in the basement, we made our way upstairs. Surprisingly, it looked like no one had taken up residence in the house. We saw no evidence of squatters. The house was small. The rooms were full of stuff, almost stacked to the ceiling. Jeren called it “organized hoarding.” She told us she had seen much worse. We had not. We were overwhelmed with the disarray and discussed how we should proceed.
We waded through the boxes, piles of papers, and mounds of randomness that filled each room. Mismatched furniture lined the walls, some of the pieces antiques. The closets were full of Fred’s mother’s clothes and purses. But there were no shoes, which we all thought was strange.
In the kitchen hung a twenty-year-old wall calendar, still showing October. The wallpaper and paint were peeling away in strips. The ceiling was leaking, and a few of the windows were broken. One of the shades was pushed away from the window, as if someone had come in through the window at one time. Oddly, there were no cobwebs. The house was damp, dark, and smelled moldy. There was no life in the house at all. Only a sense of sadness.
As I moved from room to room, I would call on the women to guide us on the right path. They directed my attention to a large pile of random stuff in the middle of the living room. Sadie and I waded over to the pile. We sifted through it, finding Fred’s Air Force hat at the bottom, buried under old clothes and towels.
I was getting discouraged. I was sure the evidence was there. Why couldn’t we find it? The team scoured all the rooms on the main floor—every pile, every cupboard, every nook and cranny. As we searched the house, Lexie snapped photographs to chronicle our efforts.
It felt odd to be rummaging through someone else’s belongings. I remembered my Aunt Mary’s incessant complaining about this house. It always bothered her that Fred was so close to his mother. There was no love lost between the two women.
I stepped into the dining room and channeled Agnes. She told me to go up. I didn’t know what she meant. It was a one-story house. I walked into the kitchen to tell the team about the message from Agnes. As I said this, Jeren’s attention went to the refrigerator, which had been pushed up against the wall.
“Hey, what’s behind the refrigerator?” Jeren yelled.
“Not sure,” I replied.
Jeren pushed the refrigerator away from the wall to reveal a small door. The door had once been painted white, but the paint was chipped and peeling from decades of neglect. We pushed the refrigerator far enough out for us to slip behind it. Jeren opened the door as much as she could. We had found a stairway!
“Let’s go!” she said.
I was cowardly and told them to go first. They ran up the stairs. Jeren called down for me to follow. When I reached the top of the staircase, I stopped in my tracks. The attic was so different from the rest of the house. It had been Fred’s bedroom, and it seemed to be frozen in time. There was absolutely no clutter. The room gave the impression of having been recently lived in. But I knew for a fact Fred had had not walked the perimeter of the house for months, let alone gone inside.
The room held a bed, an open closet with clothes still hanging on the rod, a military trunk, a dresser, some albums, and lots of newspapers in tidy stacks. We walked cautiously, unsure how secure the floor might be, and heeding Agnes’s warning about possible booby traps.
“It’s here, I know it!” I said out loud.
Jeren cautioned, “Watch where you’re walking! This floor could cave in any minute.”
We carefully explored every inch of that attic. We knocked on the walls to see if they were hollow. We checked the pockets of the Air Force uniforms that hung in the open closet. We found nothing. Jeren said we needed to think like a killer. She was sure Fred would come up here to look over his mementos, his morbid collection of prizes. The thought of his rituals sent a shiver down my spine.
This whole attic had a very unsettling vibe. I found it easy to imagine a younger version of my uncle up here, looking through his prized possessions every night. The room stood in drastic contrast to the rest of the house. There was organization and order to it, like someone was still living there.
We were all cold and cranky, disappointed that we could not find the evidence. We left the house and firmly pulled the side door shut. Finally, we gave the backyard another sweep.
We went to lunch to warm up and talk about our experience. We all felt very strongly that the evidence was in the house. How had we missed it?
Jeren wondered aloud if Fred might have moved his treasures to a more trustworthy location. Sam remembered seeing a receipt for a storage unit in some of our papers at home, which jogged my memory. My aunt had mentioned the storage unit to me a few years ago. She told me Fred was sorting out his mother’s house and had rented a storage unit. The receipt Sam had found was alre
ady four years old. Sam guessed that the unit and its contents had probably been sold for nonpayment.
It was a quiet ride home. We were tired, dirty, and discouraged. I tried to fight off the feeling that I was stupid for creating unnecessary drama in our lives.
The following Monday morning, I woke up to a very strange and angry energy. It was Fred’s mother.
“What did you take from my house?” she demanded. “Take it back!”
“Take what back?” I replied.
“You know.”
“You need to leave. We took nothing,” I told her. “You are not welcome here.” She left, but I was shaken. I went downstairs to tell Sam what happened.
He was quiet at first, then said, “Well, you didn’t take anything…”
I was shocked. “What did you take?”
He explained that he had snagged an old Brownie camera to give to Lexie because she said she liked it. I panicked and started yelling at him, asking if he was crazy. Then a thought occurred to me. What if there were pictures on that camera? I had to talk to Sadie. Maybe the camera would lead us to the evidence.
For the next ten hours, I practically held my breath waiting for Sadie to return my call. Unfortunately, there was no film in the camera. Another dead end.
After dinner that night, Sam said to me, “Let’s find that storage unit. I think Fred moved the evidence. Now I have a feeling—it has to be there.”
I went downstairs to find my aunt’s stack of financial papers. I was sure I had put the contract to the side. It had seemed unusual to me at the time that they would have a storage unit. Fred was so frugal. I wondered why he would spend money for a storage unit when they already owned two houses. My aunt had brought it up a few months before she died. She said Fred was going through his mother’s things and needed more space.