“I think you’re placing blame in the wrong place,” Snider said.
Babe looked at her closely, but she was already onto another subject. “Has Tom threatened you? He has, hasn’t he? I can see it in your face.”
Debrah nodded. “I don’t know. When it’s all settled, I’m still hoping that Tom will see that I just did the right thing. I told him, ‘Don’t put me in a position where I gonna have to choose ’cause I’m gonna do what’s right.’ Now I need you to help me figure out where Cher Elder is.”
“I know where she was,” Babe said, as the detectives in the van held their breath. “I don’t know if I know where she is. Byron never saw, but if he knows it’s because someone told him. And that means my kids are in danger if Tom ever gets out. Skip told me that Byron better keep his mouth shut and do his time; he cares more for Tom than he does his own sons.”
Suddenly, Babe Rivinius looked old and desperate. She gripped Snider’s arm. “How can I protect them from Tom?”
“Well, we know of two ways,” Debrah said. “The first one’s not a possibility ’cause, you know, we can’t do that and I don’t want that to happen.”
“You mean off him?”
“Well, that’s one way.”
“It is a possibility,” Babe said.
Debrah shook her head. “It’s not a possibility. That ain’t what I mean.”
Babe nodded. “I don’t want to do that. Who am I to be judge and jury for Tom Luther? I don’t think anybody needs to get by with what the hell happened to Cher. But who am I to judge? If I thought for one minute that Byron was the kind of person who could just viciously kill another human being, I would be glad that he’s where he is. But I know he isn’t.”
“The second way is ...” Snider stumbled looking for the right words. “If we could get J.D. to tell us where the hell he took him.”
Rivinius frowned. “There was something about a restaurant, about them going into the mountains and stopping by a freakin’ restaurant.”
Richardson took note. The Marietta Restaurant was where the dogs had lost Luther’s tracks. Was that it? But Debrah and Babe had gone on to the topic of Luther’s other possible victims.
“Have you ever wondered if there are any others?” Babe asked.
“Other women? Oh yeah. Just recently there was this girl at a campground where we stayed; now there’s a picture of her in the post office that says she’s missing. There were times, lots of times, when he would be AWOL from home, and I wondered. And, you know, he knew all the porno places—the X-rated motels and stuff like that. And he had these cards with pick-up lines like ‘I’m shy,’ that he would hand to women.”
Rivinius was biting her lip now as she looked at Snider, as if trying to make up her mind about something. Then she blurted out, “I’m gonna tell you point blank. I have often thought that Tom either showed J.D. something or J.D. helped with something.
“I have wondered about it at times because of how emotionally upset he was for so long and none of it made that much sense to me. Every time I would bring it up, he would get extremely angry at me and tell me not to ask questions. And when I would say anything really to him like, you know, ‘If you know that Tom did something, you need to tell me.’ And his answer to shit like that would be, ‘Mom, you could be putting a lot of people’s lives in danger.’ And I often wondered if Tom didn’t deliberately put J.D. in that kind of a situation on purpose.
“We don’t know where it happened is the thing. All I know is that when Byron got up, he heard people out in his living room arguing. And he knows Tom was there—that he came back to the apartment. And the other unknown female was there and he thought it might have been one of Southy’s sisters.”
The women were quiet again. Then Debrah Snider spoke about something that had been troubling her for some time. “After he attacked that girl in Summit County, he went back to his girlfriend and they made love,” she said. “How could you sexually assault somebody, beat them half to death, and then go crawl in bed with your girlfriend. But he did that again in West Virginia. He assaulted that girl and came to the campground that next day and got in bed with me.”
Babe shrugged. That’s just how men used women. “Maybe that’s what turns him on. He seems to think that no matter how violent or vicious his sex gets, it’s perfectly normal.”
“Well, he thinks of women like that. He used to make me read porno magazines to ‘broaden my perspective.’ I can remember when we would go shopping, I would watch him watch women like he was taking their clothes off. We could hardly watch a movie together because he was always talking about how good it would be to take some actress, like Michelle Pfeiffer, to bed.
“I wanted to tell him one time, ‘What do you think Michelle Pfeiffer would think if I was to tell Michelle Pfeiffer your history. You think she’d want to go to bed with you?’ But I didn’t have the courage to do that. I knew it would be suicide.”
The two women didn’t say anything for a long time. Then Debrah spoke. “The thing that kills me is, I think it’s unfair to make Cher’s family suffer like this.”
Babe nodded. “I’ve often wanted to go over and talk to them myself,” she said. “I wanted to tell them what Byron saw, what he knows, so that they can at least be in peace understanding that the friend that their daughter was with didn’t hurt her.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
January 4, 1995—Jefferson County District Attorney’s Office
For all of Babe Rivinius’s bravado, Byron Eerebout’s attorney, Leslie Hansen, wasn’t talking about kicking anyone’s ass in court. In fact, she was pleading with Dennis Hall, Mark Minor, and Scott Richardson to make a deal.
“Byron’s willing, but he wants community corrections and he wants to serve it out of state,” Hansen said.
“What do we get?” Hall asked.
“Byron knows the location of Cher’s body,” Hansen answered. “It’s not firsthand knowledge but from another source who he will not disclose or testify against.”
“You mean he doesn’t want to testify against J.D.,” Richardson said sarcastically.
Hansen nodded but she wasn’t going to say it with the tape recorder running. Byron, she said, could identify the killer. “You already know who it is. And Byron can put the two of them, Cher and the killer, together. How they met, where they went, and what happened.”
Eerebout could also provide the original disposal site of Elder’s body, where she had been relocated to, and the identity of someone else who was involved in the homicide. “He can tell you what she was wearing, what happened to her clothes, and might even be able to find some of it,” Hansen said. “The body had been disfigured in some fashion, and Luther has something from the body he’s using to keep Byron quiet.”
“Specifics,” Richardson said. “I want more specifics.”
“Byron can tell you how she was killed. What she died from,” Hansen responded. “And give you a possible motive. Luther told him that he killed her.”
“When will he do all this?” Richardson asked. He was close. He almost had Cher, yet he didn’t feel he could let up even for a moment.
“He doesn’t have the exact location of the grave yet, but he will provide it,” Hansen said.
The two prosecutors and the detective looked at each other and nodded. “You get your deal,” Hall said, “provided Byron had no direct involvement in the murder of Cher Elder. If he did, all bets are off. We will not be limited in what we can question him about, nor will he be able to dictate what he will testify about. And finally, he will put in all in writing.”
Hansen agreed and the meeting adjourned. Richardson left muttering to himself. He didn’t trust Eerebout or his mother. I got to find Healey, he thought, I got to find him now.
Scott Richardson poured all of his efforts into locating Luther’s old friend. They had to have been tight. Hell, Luther had gotten Southy Healey out of prison by posing as his uncle. They were hanging together around the time of the murder, and then there
was that panicked meeting following the July 1993 press conference that Debrah Snider had mentioned. If Luther had talked about the killing to anyone, it would have been Southy, and Byron was hinting that Southy was involved.
The detective called every law enforcement agency in the area, asking them to notify him if Healey was located. He was contacted by Lee Hughes, a bounty hunter who said he was also looking for Healey, who had failed to appear in court to answer burglary charges. “The last time I talked to him, on the telephone,” Hughes said, “he wasn’t worried about what he called any ‘bogus burglary charges.’ But there was some other investigation that he said, ‘I don’t want them to hit me with.’ ”
Hughes noted that Healey had come forward after his arrest for the burglary a year earlier, wanting to trade information about a homicide. But they hadn’t been aware of his involvement in the Cher Elder case, and no one had believed him.
A few days later, Richardson located Healey’s three sisters, one of whom said she had met Luther once but had no other information to offer. Another said she knew Mortho, Byron Eerebout, and Luther, and that she had heard of the Cher Elder case, but that was about as much information as she had.
Myra Healey, however, not only knew all the players involved, she recalled a meeting with Luther in Longmont that had particularly upset her brother. If was after the Elder case was on the television, she said. She and her boyfriend at the time, Bob Ramierez, had accompanied Healey to the meeting. When they left Longmont, Myra said, her brother was really angry with Luther.
It was music to Richardson’s ears, a rift between friends. In the end, it wasn’t hard to find Healey. On January 9, Richardson was called by the Adams County Sheriff’s Department north of Denver. They had just arrested Dennis “Southy” Healey for brandishing a gun at a couple he claimed owed him money for drugs.
Now that he knew where Healey was, Richardson took his time going to see him. He knew that Southy was a junkie. He wanted him to be feeling the effects of withdrawal and hurting. So he waited until 4 A.M. to call the jail and asked that Healey be awakened and taken to an interview room.
Boy, am I gettin’ tired of jails, Richardson thought when he arrived. Nothing but a bunch of dopers, convicts, or liars. But he was well aware of the old saying: few murders are committed in heaven with angels for witnesses. He’d take what he could get.
Healey was in the interview room when he walked in. As Richardson suspected, the young man looked badly in need of a fix. He sat hunched over in a chair and kept rubbing the back of his neck beneath his long, scraggly red hair, as if there was a pain there that wouldn’t go away. His arms were covered with prison tattoos and needle tracks. His blue eyes were dull and suffering.
Richardson introduced himself and pulled a chair over next to Healey. “You have any idea why I’m here?” he asked, sitting down.
“No,” Southy mumbled, his head down so that Richardson could not see his face.
“None? Well, we need to talk bad,” Richardson said, leaning closer to the nervous junkie. “I’m talkin’ bad. And it has nothin’ to do with what you’re in jail for now. Okay?”
Healey looked quickly at him out of the corner of his eye before looking away again. “Yeah.”
Richardson read Healey his Miranda rights, which he waived. “We need to talk about some old stuff here, bud,” Richardson began. “And we need to spend some time because the way this stuff’s goin’, this may be your one shot. I’m here on Thomas Luther, Byron Eerebout, and Cher Elder.”
Southy’s head sank lower at the mention of each name. Richardson continued, “It’s two years since it happened. There’s a lot of things that have changed in two years. I have waited this long to even contact you ’cause I wanted all the ducks in a row. You know where Luther is now?”
“I think he’s in West Virginia,” Healey said. He had a thick Boston accent.
“Yeah,” Richardson nodded. “Luther’s got big problems, big problems. He grabbed a girl, took her out, raped her, and he’s charged with a bunch of crimes. He’s lookin’ at some hard time.”
Healey nodded. He said that he had seen Byron in the Jefferson County Jail, who told him that Luther had been charged with rape and assault.
Richardson turned his head to the side to try to catch Southy’s eyes. “You’re the next to the last person before everything comes to a head on this case,” he said quietly. “Luther knows it. Everybody knows it. In the last two years, I have done nothin’ but work this case. This case is ten four-inch binders of nothin’ but evidence accumulated for two years—every day, every single day. And I’ve been watching you—we got videotapes, taped conversations, everything.”
The detective paused to let that sink in. He could tell what Healey was thinking: Holy shit! They’ve been following me for two years! Which is exactly what he wanted him to believe, even if it wasn’t true.
“We’ve been to West Virginia, Missouri, Canon City. You understand that?”
Healey nodded.
“Now it’s over for everybody. People are deciding they don’t want no part of it ‘cause we’re talkin’ first degree murder. And it’s one thing to be partially involved, and it’s another thing to be hands on, so to speak.”
Healey slumped even farther into his chair. He looked at the floor and away from Richardson, which angered the detective. “Do me a favor,” he demanded. “Sit up so we can look at each other while we talk. I want you to concentrate on me for a minute and not the floor. I’m not used to talkin’ to men like that.”
Like a puppet on a string, Southy Healey jerked himself upright and looked at Richardson. Fear was in his eyes, as well as the pain of his addiction. But he was listening.
Richardson nodded and continued, “What’s happening is people are pointin’ fingers and they don’t wanna point fingers at themselves, period. And I’m not lying to you. Now you’ve got to talk to me, and we’ve got to be straight with each other tonight. This is your shot, period.
“I’ve seen your history. You’ve been in trouble more than you’ve been out of trouble. But I don’t care about none of that. I don’t care about burglaries or dope or thefts. I care about one thing—I care about Cher Elder.
“You got to come clean or everybody’s going down. We’re talkin’ first degree murder and were talkin’ death penalty. I don’t think you’re the kind of guy that wants to go down for a first degree murder.”
“What do you know about what happened?” Healey asked cautiously.
Richardson shook his head. “I’m not gonna tell you my theory. Because what I need from you is your side of what happened. And if I tell you my theory, then it’s gonna alter your theory.” Actually, theory was all Richardson had; if it was wrong, Southy would know and see through his bluff.
“I’ll tell ya this,” Richardson volunteered. “I know she was killed that night, without a doubt. Everybody knows it. And my theory is, you got sucked in like a couple other people got sucked into this. And I’ll tell ya why I’m here—you’re important to me. I’m not gonna deny you’re important to me. But people who don’t cooperate go down, period.”
Healey shrugged. “Well, see I know for a fact there is nothin’ you can get me for. I met Byron and J.D. maybe a couple of times at the most. They’re not my people. I don’t work for them, they don’t work for me.”
“You ever meet Cher Elder?”
Healey shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Were you ever over at Byron’s apartment with your sister?”
“No.”
“You ever take a girlfriend over there? Now think, early in the morning.”
Healey shook his head more emphatically. “No.”
Richardson cut to the chase. “What can you provide me, Dennis?”
A crafty look came into Healey’s eyes. “I don’t know. What can you provide me?”
“I can’t make promises,” Richardson said. “But I’m tellin’ ya, you’re gonna find that your information, as long as you stay
honest with me, that your information on Elder is gonna be a lot more important to you than you realize. What have you been told, that’s what I need to know.”
Finally there was something from Healey. “Luther said she was gonna testify.”
“Cher?”
“Yeah.”
“But who would be scared of her?”
“I don’t know,” Healey said and shrugged. “Maybe Mortho. I heard that from someone else.”
“Who?”
“Maybe Byron. J.D.”
“Before or after she was killed?”
“I don’t know that she was killed.”
Richardson rolled his eyes and sat back. “I’m not gonna tell you who, but somebody is puttin’ you with dumpin’ Cher’s car in a grocery store parking lot.” It was a stretch. No one had told him that. But whether it was true or not, it might shake Healey. Get his lips movin’, he thought. “See, you got a lot more to gain here than you got to lose.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Why should I believe you?” Richardson asked leaning close again. “I ask you questions I know you have the answers to and you sit there.”
“I ain’t done nothin’ I need to be fuckin’ worried about.”
“Then why are people sayin’ you were in the apartment the next morning if you have nothin’ to worry about?”
“They’re tryin’ to fuckin’ protect themselves is why they’re sayin’ it.” Healey was gettin’ angry. Not defensive, just angry, which Richardson took as a sign that he really might not have anything to worry about. Maybe this guy even has a conscience, he thought, and that gave him an idea.
“Let me tell you this first of all, Cher Elder wasn’t no snitch for anybody,” Richardson said. “She was a twenty-year-old girl that got caught up in the wrong crowd. Do you have any kids?”
“Nope.”
“Can you imagine what it would be like? What if something like this happened to one of your sisters?”
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