Finding Amy

by Joseph K. Loughlin

  Approximately eighteen months before Amy St. Laurent's disappearance, he had come to Maine to join his mother, Tammy Westbrook, and her boyfriend, Rick Deveau, who had moved to Scarborough with her teenaged daughter and Westbrook and Deveau's two young children to live in a house belonging to Deveau's mother. In Maine, Gorman held numerous menial jobs.

  In September of 2000, he was working at Bill Dodge's auto dealership, cleaning and prepping used cars for resale, when he approached a fellow worker asking if the man wanted to buy some high-end car stereo equipment he'd stolen from a customer's car that had been left for service. His coworker reported Gorman's offer to the employer, the employer went to the police, and once again Gorman was convicted of theft.

  At the time Amy St. Laurent disappeared, he was still on probation for that crime. He was later arrested for leaving the scene of an accident. Shortly before police interviewed him in connection with Amy St. Laurent's disappearance, he was arrested for operating after his license had been suspended and illegally attaching license plates and sentenced to twelve days in jail. The process was under way to suspend or revoke his driver's license.

  Gorman's unstable temper quickly showed itself in Maine, where he was often involved in fights. A witness described Gorman at a party suddenly punching someone in the head and finding it amusing. In any group he was the loudmouth. The cocky, confident one. He was an adept manipulator and a first-class moocher, highly skilled at getting other people to provide him with housing, rides, and drinks.

  Despite his criminal record and his unstable personality, Gorman was a kind of hero to many of his slacker friends and acquaintances in the Old Port because of his incredible facility for picking up and bedding women. “Quality women,” in the words of one friend. At the time he crossed paths with Amy St. Laurent, Gorman, who prided himself on keeping score, bragged that he had slept with over ninety women even though, for much of the time, he had had one or another steady girlfriend.

  Often he would go to the Old Port with his friend Ryan Campbell. The two would pick up girls, take them to Campbell's apartment in his parents’ house, and have sex with them. On the night Gorman met Amy St. Laurent, however, Campbell was away on an overnight cruise on the Scotia Prince, the ferry from Portland to Nova Scotia, with his family. Although there was some suggestion that Campbell's friends came and went rather freely at his parents’ house, Campbell's father, who had not gone on the trip, might have been home, making it difficult for Gorman to take a woman there for sex.

  Gorman was so successful, sexually speaking, that some of his friends told detectives they believed he was using drugs as well as alcohol to ensure his luck with the ladies. Gorman was reported to be a big dealer in the popular club drug Ecstasy, which he sometimes exchanged for sexual favors. But there also appeared to be girls who had no memory of what had happened when they were with Gorman. Amy St. Laurent's behavior in leaving with Gorman was sufficiently uncharacteristic that detectives joined his friends in speculating that a date rape drug such as GHB (gamma hydroxybutyric acid), Rohypnol (flunitrazepam), or Ketamine (ketamine hydrochloride) might have been used.

  As Gorman's story crumbled under police scrutiny and the details of his character began to be known, Danny Young determined that it was important for them to search Gorman's car. He reasoned that it was highly probable that some part of the crime against Amy St. Laurent had occurred in the car—a controlled environment where Gorman could be sure of having his victim confined. If something had happened in the car, evidence might still be recovered that would give them information about what had happened and possibly bring them a step closer to an arrest.

  Even though they knew that Gorman had cleaned his car (behavior that only confirmed their suspicions something might be found there), they also knew that evidence could be tenacious and might still be discovered using forensic investigative techniques. A good evidence technician—and Chris Stearns and Kevin MacDonald were very good—might still find something.1 There might also be dirt, debris, or vegetation stuck to the underside of the car that might lead them to her body. Since Gorman had refused to consent to a search of the car, such a search could be conducted only if a judge could be persuaded to grant them a warrant.

  Here Young ran up against the hard reality of his case. In a normal suspicious-death case, you have a body. Police get a call. Go to the scene. Determine from the information at the scene whether the event looks like a homicide or is suspicious enough to warrant further scrutiny. If so, they proceed to investigate with a medical examiner. But the Portland police had no evidence that a crime had been committed other than their strong suspicions based on their knowledge of criminal behavior and the fact that there was no other reasonable explanation for Amy St. Laurent's disappearance.

  In Maine, all homicides are prosecuted by the attorney general's office. Young had already been in contact with Deputy Attorney General William (Bill) Stokes with questions about the progress of the case. It was usual for prosecuting attorneys to be involved from the very earliest stages of a homicide; indeed, prosecuting attorneys often began their involvement in cases at the crime scene. Now Young asked Stokes about the possibility of getting a warrant to search Gorman's car.

  The response Young got wasn't encouraging. Bill Stokes informed him that he knew of no prior case in the state of Maine where a judge had granted a search warrant when there was no body or other evidence of a crime. Stokes then told Young he had nothing to lose by trying.

  So Danny Young tried. Young had written at least fifty affidavits in his career and was well schooled in how to write one that wouldn't get flipped and lose them their evidence at trial. Now he gathered together the facts he and other detectives had amassed from their interviews and drafted a twenty-page affidavit, which he submitted to Stokes for review. Following his summary of the facts then known, Young stated:

  As previously set forth in this affidavit I believe there are reasonable grounds that probable cause exists that Amy St. Laurent is deceased and the victim of a homicide. The last time Amy St. Laurent is accounted for, based on Jeffrey Gorman's own statements … is in the vehicle of Jeffrey Gorman. There is no evidence at this time that anyone sees Amy St. Laurent after she is in Gorman's vehicle2 … [I]n my training and experience as a homicide detective with the Portland Police Department, I believe that any evidence in the crime of homicide can be readily destroyed or lost if a substantial amount of time elapses between the time of the event and the crime scene search … [I]n homicides such as this, often forcibly removed hairs, blood, fibers, bloody clothing or material, semen and other body fluids are found even after the scene has been cleaned.

  A week after Amy St. Laurent disappeared, on Saturday, October 27, at 3:00 p.m., a state court judge, persuaded by Young's compelling affidavit, signed a search warrant authorizing the seizure of Gorman's 1991 red Pontiac Grand Am for the purpose of conducting a search of the vehicle. Gorman's car, which was found parked in the Old Port, was towed to police headquarters at 109 Middle Street, where evidence technicians Chris Stearns and Kevin MacDonald would spend twenty-five hours processing the vehicle.

  The garage door at 109, a mechanical monster, chugs and screeches, then buckles and moves up slowly. My eyes are burning as the light slashes slowly across the cement floor of the underground garage. Only two calls overnight on different scenes. Not bad compared to some nights.

  Still, I'm light-headed and rubbing my eyes as the monster rolls up. A kind of friendly monster today, I think, moving inside, but I don't know why. Some days, this same machine would greet me in the morning and churn my stomach for what lay ahead. Others, it couldn't move fast enough.

  The light shoots across the cement. To my right, I see the parked cars of the command staff. The chief is in already. My pager spits my symphony music, summoning me to morning staff meeting as I move my Taurus into my slot. But wait … something's different there in the back … a car.

  Gorman's car.

  Shit! They got the search warrant!
I'm banging my steering wheel like a happy drummer. We got him. We got his fucking car! More happy drumming. My pager bleeps as the monster screeches to a halt. I pound the steering wheel with my fist, hard. We got you now, you bastard! I slide into my slot and pop out of the car in my excitement. My anger.

  I see the “Stearnman,” the evidence technician, move around the car, slowly, mechanically flashing his pictures, the light bouncing into my bloodshot eyes. “Stearny” moves around the car like a spider eyeing its trapped prey.

  “We got the freaking car. That's great. That's great!”

  Stearny looks tired as he photographs. Just the beginning of a long, long day. There will be so much forensic work for him.3 Gorman's had it, I think. My pager beeps. The loudspeaker calls my name to report. Lieutenant Loughlin, call 8533. Lieutenant Loughlin, 8533. It's Penny Diaz, my assistant, and this sounds urgent.

  I can't believe we got the car. Danny believed, but it was an incredible long shot. The monster slams shut and the garage is silent. I talk to Stearns as he works. This guy Gorman is done! I think of his arrogance, his almost laughable post-offense behavior. Right out of a criminal psychology textbook. Is he organized or disorganized? Impulsive or methodical?

  I recall that organized are usually psychopathic, with disorganized usually being psychotic individuals. Organized offenders are more apt to plan, use vehicles, display power and control, commit sex acts on the victim, use restraint. Yeah, Gorman's smooth—we've been told that over and over—but you're not that smooth, are ya, Gorman? So yeah, Tommy and Dan and I will bat this around, but I think organized.

  But where's the girl?

  I go back to my behavioral science from my FBI studies at Quantico. To identify and incarcerate, use the three-prong approach:

  —do not underestimate your adversary

  —know how he thinks and feels about the world

  —study his behavior

  Study his behavior. Danny will do this over and over. Constantly reevaluating what he knows about Gorman as he interviews those who knew him. And Gorman's out there laying a nice foundation, isn't he?

  Getting the warrant was both exciting and satisfying to the detectives working the case; however, they also knew that it could be weeks or even months before any results became available from the state crime lab. Meanwhile, Amy St. Laurent was still missing. While Stearns and MacDonald worked on the car, state and Portland police continued to gather information about Gorman.

  A quality not always appreciated about police investigators is their extraordinary patience and persistence. Patience in the face of resistance and lies. Patience when faced with almost unremitting frustration and legal hurdles. A patient willingness to stick to the routines, to follow the stories through as many witnesses or interviews as it takes, listening carefully to the facts, then checking and rechecking those facts, proceeding legally and prudently however frustrated they feel or however exhausted they get.

  Once the first week of the St. Laurent case had passed, the detectives’ race-against-the-clock approach gave way to steady, unremitting endurance. There was no longer much likelihood that the missing woman might only be injured, or a hostage, and that speed was essential if there was a hope of rescue. Nor did it appear that Amy's body or the crime scene were going to be in some obvious or clearly visible place. Recognizing that the event had already occurred and there was nothing they could do to stop it, they settled in for the long haul, focusing on building a strong case, making sure they got the guy before he did it again.

  Their knowledge of human nature would play an important role. A trained detective knows how to spot a liar. Liars don't simply lie with their words or with their faces. They lie with their mannerisms, the nature of their responses, displays of nervousness and anger, the contortions of their bodies—folded arms, jiggling feet, leaning toward or away from the interviewer, shrugs of their shoulders. They lie with obfuscation, excess detail, and belligerent denial. Sometimes with stone-cold expressions that fool even seasoned detectives.

  When Detective Young and the other investigators began to reinterview key people, they were looking as much at behavior—at how the witnesses spoke and moved and behaved—as they were at what was said. Gorman began his second interview attempting to focus attention away from himself with his tale of a man in a yellow suit and a raincoat acting suspiciously in the Old Port that the police really ought to take a look at. He tried to be friendly and engaging. He expressed concern about leaving Amy alone in the Old Port so late at night. He had a detailed timeline of his evening, complete with the names of his alibi witnesses and how long it had taken him to drive from the Old Port to the Brighton Avenue apartment, but refused to take a polygraph, give a DNA sample, and allow a search of his car. The detectives located witnesses who confirmed that, following that Tuesday interview, he cleaned his car and researched polygraphs.

  As if those weren't enough flags for experienced detectives, he also engaged in the kind of post-offense behavior4 typical of a guilty person. He cleaned the rubbish-filled car he had only a week before declared wasn't worth cleaning.5 He tried to deflect attention from himself and show concern for the victim by calling her family (after calling the police department for a contact number). He called Young with a supposed sighting of Amy St. Laurent. When his car was impounded, he made outraged calls, demanding to know when he was going to get it back. And when the car was returned with fabric samples removed where luminol had indicated presumptive bloodstains, he called Young and furiously demanded compensation for the damage.

  Gorman also changed his appearance. He abandoned the spiky, streaked blond locks in favor of a shaved head. A good strategy, one of his friends noted, to prevent the police from getting hair samples. When friends commented on the change, he asserted that he routinely shaved his head every few years, although one witness noted that when she had offered to style his hair, he had told her no one touched his hair. He got more tattoos and body piercings, trying to distance himself from the Old Port pretty boy with his new, tough look. He grew a goatee.

  According to criminal psychology textbooks, offenders engage in various post-offense behaviors for a variety of reasons. The obvious one is disguise—to make themselves as unlike the person witnesses might associate with the crime as possible. Offenders also change their physical appearance because they are disgusted with themselves for what they've done and don't want to associate the self that committed the crime with their new self. Still others change their appearance and behavior because, as a result of committing the crime, they've just crossed a big hurdle and are now a changed, and different, person.

  Police began tailing Gorman and monitoring his behavior, hoping he might say or do something that would give them a break. On Halloween, a big scene in the Old Port with a party at the Mariners’ Church and noisy crowds and costumes giving a Mardi Gras feel to the evening, Detective Mark Teceno, Sergeant Jeff Davis, and Officer Tommy O'Connor followed Gorman. The three, dressed in civilian clothes, took turns following Gorman, who was dressed as a pimp, as he made his way from bar to bar, sometimes sitting only a table away as he drank with his friends. They hoped the fact that it was Halloween might spook or lure Gorman into leading them to Amy.

  Certain that at some point Gorman would be compelled to visit Amy's body, Danny Young would have put twentyfour-hour-a-day surveillance on Gorman if the department's budget would have allowed it. As it was, the police did as much surveillance as their energy and budget allowed, doing surveillance on Gorman's friends as well.

  It was hard for everyone to watch their suspect going on with the normal routines of his life—drinking and clubbing, playing pool, and hanging out with his friends— knowing that Amy St. Laurent would never do any of those things again. Hard to watch him putting on his smooth, cool-guy act, trying to pick up girls, knowing that those girls were seriously at risk. Harder still to watch teenage girls and young women responding to his smooth and charming manner, knowing that his slick exterior hid a violent nat
ure.

  At the same time, the detectives were working with Gorman's friends and acquaintances, looking for breaks in their stories about Gorman's alibi. As they interviewed, they asked the same questions. What has he said about Amy St. Laurent? Whom did he hang around with? Who knew him better than you? Who's told you things they won't tell us? And always, whomever they spoke to, they asked about places young men might take girls, couples might go parking, places Gorman might have gone with Amy.

  Detectives were also looking for Gorman to begin to talk. Typically, except for the coldest sociopaths, it is difficult for suspects to avoid talking to someone about their crimes, especially serious, guilt-inducing crimes. Such talking is even more likely when the perpetrators are young. The detectives hoped that eventually Gorman would crack under the weight of his conscience and steady police scrutiny and say something incriminating. Even more, they hoped that he'd get drunk, cocky, or careless and tell someone where he'd hidden Amy.

  Detectives therefore kept pressure not only on Gorman but on his friends. One thing that's surprising to a layperson about a case like this is how readily friends will support a suspect's alibi and how slowly and unwillingly they divulge what they know about his character. The police are less surprised. They are used to people's reluctance to provide information. Sergeant Joyce summed it up in one cynical sentence: “Don't expect much; then you won't be disappointed.” Police also know it takes time for people to get over their belief in a friend and to accept the possibility that someone they know might be a murderer.

  There is also, particularly among adolescent and young adult males, a kind of “pack mentality” at work. No one wants to be the one who breaks the bond and becomes the snitch. In addition, although everyone wants the police to come when there's trouble, most people are relatively unfamiliar with them—the police are those blue lights in your rearview mirror that ruin your day—and are reluctant to initiate contact. This kind of reluctance was especially true for some of the teenage girls and young adult women acquainted with Gorman, some of whom had valuable information. Months after Amy St. Laurent disappeared, police would still be finding new witnesses and collecting new information.