Abandoned Prayers: An Incredible True Story of Murder, Obsession, And

by Gregg Olsen

  The talk went to Ida’s death.

  Diane spoke up and said she and Chris had always thought Stutzman had murdered his wife.

  “Her neck had choke marks on it and the tongue had been bitten in half,” Slabaugh said.

  They wondered why something hadn’t been done.

  When the Swartzentrubers got home, Diana told her husband that she knew Stutzman had killed Danny, too.

  “Chris knew it too. We just knew that he did. But we didn’t know where he was. Nobody did.”

  David Yoder went to a sawmill near his home and called the Barlows when the Reader’s Digest article came out about Little Boy Blue. He and others were convinced that Danny Stutzman was the boy who had been buried in the Chester cemetery.

  Margie Barlow said she would come forward and contact the authorities. She had also read the article and wondered if it could be Danny.

  She sent a letter to Amos Gingerich.

  Dear Amos,

  David Yoder called me yesterday regarding the Reader’s Digest article “Little Boy Blue of Chester, Nebraska.” I, too, have been haunted by the story of “Little Boy Blue” ever since I read it, but have been busy with the speech team and my classes, so have not acted upon it. Also I thought maybe I was just grasping at straws and being emotional. David’s call made me realize that maybe I wasn’t the only one receiving gut level feelings about the story.

  After David’s call, Dean and I discussed the situation and decided to contact the Chester, Nebraska, Police Department directly instead of going through our police department. We feel this route will bring faster answers. I am enclosing a copy of our letter to them. I will let you know what they answer.

  A couple of details leave room for doubt. Unless Eli bought him one, Danny did not have a blue blanket sleeper. I’m not sure he had perfect teeth. I thought at one time I had to take him to the dentist, but may have been confused with my own children’s appointments. If I’m remembering correctly, Eli left with Danny December 20. He should have been in Ohio by December 23. If he followed I-80, he wouldn’t have been close to Chester, Nebraska. I checked this out in our atlas. Danny was in good health when he left us although he had had a cold and the doctor had prescribed some antibiotics which he was taking.

  But, then I wonder why Danny never wrote us . . .

  Amos Gingerich, for one, felt that Danny was dead. But he knew it hadn’t been a car wreck.

  “Sometimes we feel that maybe Danny got killed some other way,” he wrote back to the Barlows.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  December 1, 1987

  Once Gary Young and Jack Wyant had a name, the information flow became a deluge. They learned that Stutzman had two middle initials and two social security numbers. His wife had died in a fire in 1977. He had moved to Colorado in 1982 and finally on to Texas, where his roommate had been shot and dumped in a rural ditch in 1985.

  Dumped in a ditch? The scenario was familiar. And, even though the autopsies and pathologists’ reports hadn’t fixed a cause of death, the case was still a murder as far as the Nebraskan investigators were concerned.

  It had to be. Everything about the case, and the suspect, suggested foul play.

  Young requested school photos and records from the elementary school Danny had attended, after the Barlows did some digging and said they doubted they had anything with the boy’s fingerprints still on it. Later, they sent a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit, which Danny had read.

  Young spoke with Stutzman’s Mennonite neighbor Abner Petersheim again, this time seeking information on the whereabouts of Danny Stutzman’s grandparents. Lehman referred the sheriff to David Yoder, the well-traveled Amishman who had gone out to Lyman with Amos Gingerich.

  Yoder told him about the letter Stutzman had sent his in-laws with the story of the fatal car accident. He gave Young the phone number of an Englischer near the Gingerich’s Michigan farm. Later that same day, Gingerich called Young, telling him that Stutzman was supposedly in England working at a stable.

  “His parents have a letter from there,” Gingerich said.

  Holmes County, Ohio, sheriff’s investigators went to Welty Road and got a copy of the letter:

  11-15-87

  Dear Mother,

  Greetings from above, in His name. How are you all? I am fine. Much to be thankful for. I received your letter 2 weeks ago, by way of N. M. I guess that’s why it took so long. The weather is cool & foggie here this time of year, earlier it was much nicer.

  I’m keep’in busy with my work. And am working with horses, which I spend a lot of time on.

  Wish you all well, in good health & all. Would be sorry to hear other wise.

  So long for now.

  Eli

  The envelope carried a foreign stamp, but was without a postmark. The return address was 92 A North End Road, Kensington West, London W, 14, England. On the envelope Stutzman repeated the date, 11-27-87.

  Later, when Wyant gave the address to Interpol, the news that came back was of no help—there wasn’t any such address in England.

  The fact that it hadn’t been postmarked was also checked out. Postal authorities conceded some stamps slip through the system without being canceled. On the other hand, it was possible that Stutzman—or someone helping him—had put that letter in Eli H. Stutzman’s mailbox as a red herring.

  As more was uncovered about Stutzman, such a subterfuge seemed increasingly likely.

  Included inside a package from Danny Stutzman’s elementary school were his last school portrait and his report card envelopes. The envelopes were packaged for the crime lab in Lincoln. Young was disheartened—the report cards themselves were missing. They would have been an even better source of fingerprints.

  From his office in Thayer County, Young dispatched a letter to Jack Wyant.

  Take a good look at the largest photo. Compare it with the morgue photo. You will see a couple larger freckles in the same places on both photos. Also the shape of the ear is the same. I am sure we have a name for our December ’85 victim.

  Margie Barlow called Sheriff Young with further confirmation. The Barlow family was certain that the morgue photo was Danny.

  Through the La Plata County, Colorado, Sheriff’s Office, Young got hold of the man who had sold Stutzman and Palmer the ranch. Young learned that Stutzman couldn’t make the payments after he and Palmer dissolved their partnership. The man said he had foreclosed on Stutzman in November 1984, but had been ordered to pay the former Amishman $7,500. He had held off on payments until June 1987.

  June through November the man had mailed monthly checks to 400 Toronto Road, Azle, Texas. Oddly, four of the checks appeared to have been endorsed by someone other than Stutzman.

  In a letter postmarked Dallas, in September, Stutzman had written saying that money was tight and that he had needed cash earlier. The September check endorsement was one of the only two matching Stutzman’s signature.

  • • •

  Diane Swartzentruber sat straight up in bed as a sketchy report came over the 11:00 P.M. TV news.

  “They flashed across the screen that a Wayne County man was being sought in connection with his son’s death—they didn’t say his name. I got goose bumps on me. It was so weird,” she said later.

  “It’s Eli. It’s Eli,” she cried, running from the bedroom and into the kitchen, and spinning around the table. “I just know he killed his son. I know it.”

  Diane Swartzentruber wasn’t about to let Stutzman get away with anything. She had suspected him of killing his wife, of abusing his child—her mind flashed on the pornography she had found in Danny’s bedroom. She had even heard the story of the murder in Texas. She got on the phone and began calling and calling. She called everyone she thought might help.

  The next day, she called Abe Stutzman, who told her that he had read the Reader’s Digest article three times.

  “There was something about it,” he told her.

  Diane also called Eli Byler, who now farmed land near Gra
nd Rapids, Michigan, to see what he knew. The last Byler had heard, Stutzman was somewhere in Texas.

  “I thought by getting a hold of Eli Byler that I could call the police and say, ‘Look for the sucker here,’ ” she later said.

  She also called Gary Young, after picking up his name from the Digest piece. She told him that she’d call back if she found out anything more about Stutzman.

  She dialed the Wayne County Sheriff’s Office and left a message that she wanted to talk about Eli Stutzman.

  It was Tim Brown, who was working the case in conjunction with the Nebraskans, who returned her call.

  “I’m not going to talk with you. I know what you are—you’re a faggot,” she said, her voice rising through angry and tightened lips. “I want to speak with Sheriff Alexander.”

  Loran Alexander returned her call later that day. Swartzentruber was still angry, and she let the sheriff know it.

  “What’s the deal here? Brown is probably his boyfriend, and you’re letting him run the investigation? What kind of deal is this? First the coroner and now this?”

  The sheriff calmly assured her that Tim Brown was a good cop and doing a good job.

  Headlines in Ohio newspapers dredged up more memories of Ida Stutzman and the fire. Wayne County Coroner J. T. Questel told a Canton reporter, “I didn’t really like the way it looked, though there was no evidence of anything. There was an awful lot we never did uncover.”

  Diane Swartzentruber called Questel and gave him a blast of her anger.

  “What’s with these people?” she later asked. “They believed this liar?”

  December 9, 1987

  Azle, Texas, is the kind of place where realtors take out classified ads and hit heavy and hard on the words Country Livin’. It’s the kind of place where cowboys drive pickup trucks from neat split-levels on the edge of town to jobs in Fort Worth.

  The city’s stationery features the motto: “Small enough to welcome you, large enough to serve you.” Sure, more outsiders came every week, but with them came new friends and new businesses. But if being neighborly wasn’t on a transplant’s mind, Azle would be a good place to get lost.

  No doubt Eli Stutzman thought so.

  Police Chief Ted Garber had come to Azle after twenty years in law enforcement with the department in Garland, Texas, most recently heading the SWAT team. He had arrived a no-nonsense professional with a sense of humor and a slight touch of gray to his hair. After a couple of years in Azle, he had kept his humor, but his combed-back hair had turned the color of ash.

  When he came to Azle he had had to “kick some butt” and make a few changes. First, naturally, was a good house-cleaning of the dead weight. He updated the criminal investigation division and developed an emergency response team.

  Garber listened with interest to Gary Young when he called with the story of the boy left dead on Christmas Eve. Young was looking for Eli Stutzman in connection with the possible homicide and child-abuse case. Garber could hear the obvious personal concern and emotion in Young’s voice.

  Ted Garber wanted to catch this character Stutzman.

  Some slob who dumps his kid off in a ditch is no class-C misdemeanor, no run-a-red-light kind of person, he thought. This son of a bitch needs to be caught.

  A check with his records clerk turned up two Stutzman entries—one an Eli E. Stutzman, the other, Eli C. Stutzman. There were also different dates of birth. One incident involved a burglary in October, the other a stolen vehicle in November.

  Records indicated a VCR, 20 videotapes, an answering machine, and a gold “Four Corners Rodeo” belt buckle had been stolen on October 16. Stutzman’s truck had been recovered two days after it was stolen in November.

  Garber considered simply passing the information on to an investigator, but he was sufficiently interested to pursue the case and play detective on his own.

  He went out to the rundown house at the Toronto address but found no one home. He checked with neighbors, and no one seemed to know the man. Owen Barker, Stutzman’s former landlord, did not know exactly where Stutzman had moved. Barker thought Stutzman might be in Dallas doing some construction work. There was a possibility that he was staying in the Cedar Springs area of Dallas.

  Cedar Springs. Garber knew it as a faggot hangout outside of the Metroplex. Leather and lace. Whips and chains. Eli Stutzman hung out with a crowd Garber knew little of, beyond the standard, negative stereotypes.

  He really didn’t care to know more about those kind of people anyway.

  Garber reported back to Young, telling him that Stutzman was gone and that no one knew where he was. Young didn’t let it sit; he told Garber that he and Jack Wyant were on their way to Azle. Nobody back in Thayer County wanted the story to end with another cold trail.

  Garber put the word out that he was looking for a light-blue Ford pickup with Texas plates, and a man named Eli Stutzman, known to his friends as “Junior.”

  On December 11, a warrant for Stutzman’s arrest was finally issued. Officially, the charge was felony child abuse, though the Nebraskans knew that they had to prove the abuse happened in their state in order for the charge to stick. . . .

  Knowingly or intentionally cause or permit Daniel E. Stutzman, a minor child, to be placed in a position that endangers his life or health or deprived of necessary food, clothing, shelter or care.

  The next day, Wyant and Young were in Azle, Texas, calling on Owen Barker. Barker had told Ted Garber he expected Stutzman back that weekend. He was even holding mail for him, including a letter from New Mexico.

  At six feet three inches and three hundred pounds, Owen Barker was an immense man with gray eyes and blond hair who worked as a comptroller for a Fort Worth company. Wyant and Young sat in the man’s crowded and dumpy house on Toronto Road.

  Cats were everywhere.

  Wyant took the lead in the interrogation. Barker said he had met Stutzman when they became pen pals through The Advocate. They had met for the first time in person when Stutzman and Danny had come down for a horse show in Fort Worth.

  Barker was unsure whether it was February 1978 or 1979.

  Stutzman and his boy had stayed in Azle for three or four days, and left when Stutzman got off the phone with news that his grandfather was ill and that he would have to leave right away.

  “When did you next hear from Eli?” Wyant asked.

  Barker again was uncertain, but thought it had been February 1986 when Stutzman called asking if Barker still remembered him and could he come visit.

  Barker had told him to come on down.

  Stutzman had arrived driving a gray Gremlin with New Mexico plates. He said that his car had broken down and that he had borrowed the Gremlin. Stutzman claimed that Danny was still in the care of the Barlows, in Wyoming.

  “Why isn’t your son with you?” Barker had asked.

  “Danny’s fair-skinned and blond and the other kids—Mexicans and Indians—tease him.”

  “Why didn’t you bring him down here?” Barker recalled asking Stutzman.

  “He likes it in Wyoming with the Barlows and their children. I’m going to get him later, when I’m settled in,” Stutzman said.

  In mid-June 1986, Barker and some friends made plans for a vacation to Guadalupe. Barker said he pressed Stutzman to have Danny come down to join them on the trip.

  “It was around Father’s Day,” he recalled.

  Barker stated that he went outside for five minutes or so after he talked to Stutzman about bringing the boy; when he returned, Stutzman was on the phone.

  “I’ve got Danny here,” Stutzman said, handing the phone to Barker.

  “Danny, this is Owen. You looking forward to coming down here to go to Guadalupe?”

  The answer from a child was, “Fine.”

  “I hope you’ll enjoy Texas,” Barker said.

  “Okay,” said the boy.

  “Are you sure it was Danny Stutzman?” Wyant asked.

  “I hadn’t talked with Danny since 1979. But it
sounded like a 9-year-old boy,” Barker said.

  Neither Wyant nor Young knew what to make of Barker’s statement. He couldn’t have been talking to Danny Stutzman, who had died six months before. But who was the little boy pretending to be Stutzman’s son? What kind of person would put someone up to something like that?

  But there was more.

  Barker said that the day before Danny was to fly down to Texas, Stutzman called. “Danny was involved in a traffic accident on his way to the airport,” he said. “He’s in the hospital. You go on the trip without me, I’m driving up to Salt Lake City.”

  “Later, Eli called me and said he was at the hospital and it had taken him sixteen hours to get there,” Barker told the Nebraskans.

  Stutzman told Barker that Danny was conscious, though he had suffered head injuries.

  Barker said he went ahead on the four-day trip. When he returned to his house on June 24, he was surprised to find Eli Stutzman inside.

  “How’s Danny?”

  “He died,” Stutzman said.

  “You’re kidding!”

  Stutzman got mad and left. Still Barker wondered how it, everything, including a funeral, could have happened so fast.

  Barker gave the investigators a couple of addresses that might help them find Stutzman. One was a bar called Cowboy City, the other a place in south Dallas—Stutzman had moved there on November 30. That was about the date Little Boy Blue’s identity was being talked about all over Wayne County, Ohio.

  An interview with the other family planning the trip to Guadalupe backed up Barker’s story. So did phone records. No calls had been made to Wyoming during the time when Stutzman said Danny had died in the car wreck.

  It left the Nebraskans to wonder who had helped Stutzman bluff Owen Barker with “Danny’s” call?

  Young and Wyant drove around the Metroplex looking for Stutzman. The addresses Barker had given turned up nothing. The trip was a waste.

  “We decided it was a fruitless venture . . . money not well spent and all this bullshit; we decided to come back,” Wyant later recalled.