Finding Amy

by Joseph K. Loughlin

  There was pressure from the media, looking for fresh information in a story that had riveted public attention. Detectives had to be constantly alert to avoid revealing the details of their investigation or the identity of their suspect. Chief Chitwood and Lieutenant Loughlin gave frequent press conferences, responding to pressure from a community horrified at the disappearance of a lovely young girl and fearful for the safety of themselves and their daughters, fears that didn't diminish as weeks passed without a resolution.

  Detectives were also under pressure within the Portland Police Department. The case consumed a great deal of CID's resources, leading to grumbling from detectives who felt they should be more involved or should have had the case. There was a fair amount of quarterbacking from detectives who thought the investigation should be conducted differently, details assigned different priorities, different avenues followed. There were arguments about how the case should be staffed, complaints from detectives who had to pick up more work. Wounded pride, short tempers, the weary impatience of exhaustion. Subtle pressure from higher up the food chain to produce some results that could be used to calm the public.

  In our own house, things were tough. Vernon Geberth's advice on interagency cooperation is laudable. But I think, yeah, okay, Vern, sounds good but apply it to reality and the dynamics of human beings. Forget about other agencies. How about in our own unit? Our own backyard?

  1900. Thorpe lumbers in from a job. Rybeck follows. Both slam their shit down on their desks as I happen to walk by. There's so much going on I don't even know what they're working on.

  “Hey, Gary. Karl. What's up?”

  “Ahh, these fuckin'people keep dying,” Thorpe grunts. “And you might get a call about a complaint. Guy shot himself and I got into it with the landlord who, by the way, is a dink.”

  “Okay, what do I need to know about the call I'll get?”

  I already know it's inbound, owing to Gary's gruffness. He tells me. “Yesterday, I call over to the next town for them to do a note [death notification] and they screwed it all up. So get this, I'm on the phone with the mom, telling her that her son is at Hay and Peabody funeral home and those idiots didn't even tell her that her son is dead. They just handed the phone to her. So the mother goes, ‘My son is where? Where?’ So now I realize that she doesn't even know her son is dead yet. She screams and howls and drops the receiver and falls to the floor in their police station. Only me, Lieutenant. Only me. So … you're gonna get a call on that.”

  Rybeck's on the phone with a family member, trying to calm that poor person down. Tommy, Dan, and others are in a conference room discussing the St. Laurent case. The property crimes people are out on a job.

  I start telling Gary about the case on Amy St. Laurent and he starts with, “Whatever, Lieutenant,” as I hear a scream and a sob through Karl's receiver.

  “Whaddya mean, Gary?”

  “I mean, it's fucked up, that's what I mean. Danny is running around like a lunatic. Tommy is this and that. Bruce is …”

  I listen, because Gary Thorpe, despite his thorny personality, is a great investigator. The six-foot Thorpe has a heavy, athletic build, thick graying hair, and bright eyes that can also look right through you. He's got a gruff, truculent affect that says you don't want to piss him off. He's adept at crime scenes and reconstructing the days of the dead. You'd never know he loves birds and paints watercolors.

  Karl hangs up and hears us talking. “Don't get me involved in this. I have enough problems,” he states. Rybeck, who we sometimes tell kids is one of Santa's elves, is a short, stocky German with gentle eyes and great people skills who is fascinated by the Civil War.

  When I roll up at a bad crime scene and observe either one there, I'm relieved, although inevitably I'll get a complaint on the methodical Thorpe telling someone to “get the fuck out of my crime scene.”

  We go around about Gary's screwed-up notification and other things. Then I look dead at this seasoned pair. “What about the St. Laurent case?”

  Both detectives stop what they're doing and start in on me. Did those guys do this? That? Check this? How come Danny … ? These guys are good so I listen to their insights, theories, and conjecture. They have good points and I end up getting Tommy into it with us.

  At the center of the case, however, the greatest pressure came from two sources within the detectives themselves. First was their deep affection for Amy St. Laurent. Danny Young kept her picture on his desk. Every morning when he woke, it was with the feeling that something might have happened in the night, something Gorman had done, that might have helped them break the case if only he'd been awake and out there. It was the same if he took any time off.

  Asked why the case mattered so much, detectives would say, “because she was such a nice girl. Because she was a real victim.” Scott Harakles explained it this way: “Every homicide investigator doesn't like to lose. That's part of who they are, but every now and then, along comes a case that you let in. The Amy St. Laurent case was like that … because of who she was, your conscience tells you that you just can't let it go. Amy St. Laurent,” Harakles said, “was the kind of girl you'd want to raise, and the men sitting around the table evaluating her case were a bunch of dads.” From the beginning of the case, Harakles said he was haunted. He had a pit in his stomach every single day. It never left him, but constantly reminded him: We have to get this done. If we can't get justice for this victim, we shouldn't be doing the job.

  Then there was Gorman—his arrogance, his deception, his freedom. The more the detectives learned about him— about his early family life, prior criminal acts, his attitude toward women, and his goal of having sex with as many women as possible—the more certain they were that they were looking at a serial sexual predator whose need to “score” depersonalized his victims, reducing them to numbers on his scorecard. Now, he had moved on to sexual homicide. Having killed once, they believed, he would eventually do it again. Even to experienced police investigators, it was a chilling prospect.

  So, they slogged through the bleak chill of November with two goals driving them—to find Amy and to build their case against Gorman.

  The search for Amy took as many forms as detectives could conceive of. Sergeants Joyce and Coffin headed up a group of detectives who searched all the hiking trails on Mount Agamenticus, near Amy's home in South Berwick. They visited every hotel and motel on Route 1 from Falmouth to Saco. Young and Harakles checked motels in other towns. Detectives drove around, trying to think like their suspect, searching pond areas and sand pits. Peering under cars in junkyards.

  State police conducted ground searches of the entire potential route of travel from exit 6 on the turnpike southbound along the pike to the Wells exit and then along Route 9 to South Berwick. Everyone walked roadsides and examined gravel pits, woods, roads, fields, abandoned houses, and anything that caught their eyes as a potential disposal site. MSP used troopers and tracking dogs and detectives on foot. Detective Lance McCleish and Sergeant Stewart did aerial surveys with the state police pilot.

  The Portland Department of Public Works searched all the storm drains—an event Gorman learned about because a friend's father worked for the city DPW, and which Gorman reported to another friend with a sneer.

  Following the trail of potential witnesses was like working in a gigantic maze and consumed hundreds of hours. Detective Mark Teceno and evidence technician Chris Stearns conducted many of the follow-up interviews with young women who had known Gorman through the Old Port bar scene. Often one witness would lead them to another, and to another, and another. Each casually dropped name, or “Oh, you should talk with so-and-so, she used to hang out with Russ,” or “I've heard that this girl knows something she isn't telling,” or “Russ said something to so-and-so, but she's afraid to talk to the police,” or “So-and-so knows more than she's telling but don't let her know that I told you” led to a name on the dryboard, a phone call, and often an interview.

  Over and over, detectives would
say: Tell me about Russ. How do you know him? Have you ever seen or experienced Gorman being violent toward women? Have you heard anything about Gorman supplying drugs or using drugs to obtain sex? If Gorman were going to take a girl somewhere for sex, where would he go? Where did he take you? Have you or anyone you know ever seen Gorman with a gun? Has he ever mentioned Amy St. Laurent or spoken about what happened that night?

  As the days ticked by without a body or a break, Lieutenant Loughlin decided to consult a psychic.1 He had heard Vicki Monroe on the radio and read a very convincing article about her in the newspaper.

  I call Vicki Monroe, a popular local psychic who has turned many nonbelievers into believers. What the hell? It can't hurt. We're at the point where we'll check anything. Everything.

  I explain who I am and she has heard of the case. I say, “Tell me where Amy is, Vicki.”

  Vicki tells me that something happened in a car with Amy. This is what we believe and at this point there is nothing in the press. She gives me the first name Jeff or Jay. Amy is telling her that she is underneath something but cannot say where. It is near water. There were other guys around and in the car but “J” is responsible. She tells me that the suspect has an enraged personality and a criminal record, which I suppose is pretty obvious.

  She also thinks that Amy was given drugs and she would not normally go with a stranger. This we also believe was true, as does Amy's mother, Diane. Vicki tells me that Amy is definitely deceased and keeps saying it was violent and that she is under something. Vicki tells me that we're looking in the wrong direction and we should look north. Vicki wants to talk to Diane, as well.

  We receive a lot of calls from psychics, and although we never discuss or reveal anything in an investigation, some of their thoughts may trigger events or thoughts in us. Dan told me he had had calls from another woman named Marie Roberts of Westbrook. Marie drew a map of where she believed Amy was but could not say exactly where the body was.2 These individuals are passionate about what they do and sincerely believe in their abilities. I do not dismiss the possibilities of another developed sense or sixth sense.

  I agreed to meet one psychic near my home on a sunny November Saturday. This woman had had a vivid dream of Amy calling to her from her burial spot. It frightened this woman, the hideous image that she saw of Amy buried in the sand around a river in Yarmouth. She was very convincing. We often worked through weekends anyhow, so we met and drove off to the woods of Yarmouth.

  We walked through fields, woods, down to the river for several hours. One vivid memory I have is of this woman hugging a tree and telling me she feels Amy's presence and message but Amy cannot place exactly where she is. A few feet away, I'm wrapped around another tree, pleading with the spirit world and this woman, “Okay, okay. Just tell me where she is! Tell us where you are, Amy.” Silently praying to God.

  On the way back to Portland, empty handed, I heard Danny Young over the police radio calling for a patrol car to meet with an officer. Danny just couldn't stop.

  Illustrations

  Missing person poster given to police personnel searching for Amy St. Laurent. Similar fliers were posted in store windows throughout Portland and southern Maine.

  Photo: Stewart Smith Photographers

  Video monitor photograph of detectives Danny Young and Mark Teceno interviewing Jeffrey Russell Gorman

  Portland Police public record

  Amy St. Laurent

  Stewart Smith Photographers

  Maine Warden Service overhead team. From left, Glenn Annis, Sergeant Joel Wilkinson, Kevin Adam, and Lieutenant Patrick Dorian

  Portland Press Herald

  Amy St. Laurent’s mother, Diane Jenkins, and Lieutenant Joseph Loughlin speak with the press on the day of the search.

  Portland Press Herald

  Detective Danny Young uses a trowel to dig a test hole at the site MASAR searchers and cadaver dogs identified as a possible grave site.

  Portland Police public record

  Detectives walking down the rubble-choked road off Route 22 in Westbrook

  Portland Police public record

  Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Margaret Greenwald and Detective Danny Young hold up the wooden form for poured concrete removed from Amy St. Laurent’s grave.

  Portland Police public record

  Portland Police Detective Sergeant Bruce Coffin with state police divers as they prepare to search Portland Harbor for the murder weapon

  Portland Police public record

  A strategy meeting in the conference room 109. Clockwise from front left: Detective Lieutenant Brian McDonough, evidence technician Chris Stearns, Detective Herbert Leighton, Detective Sergeant Bruce Coffin, AAG Fern LaRochelle, Detective Sergeant Tom Joyce, Deputy AG Bill Stokes, Detective Danny Young, Detective Scott Harakles, Sergeant Matt Stewart

  Portland Police public record

  Gorman in Cumberland County Superior Court after being arraigned on probation violations

  Portland Press Herald

  Aerial photograph showing Route 22, the tote road, and the black ponds. Dot indicates where the body was found.

  Portland Police public record

  Gorman and his attorney, Clifford Strike, listen as he is sentenced for the murder of Amy St. Laurent.

  Portland Press Herald

  Dennis St. Laurent, Julie St. Laurent, and Diane Jenkins speak with the press after Jeffrey “Russ” Gorman is sentenced to sixty years in prison.

  Portland Press Herald

  The memorial bench in Ft. Williams Park in Cape Elizabeth

  Courtesy of Chief Deputy Joseph K. Loughlin

  Chapter Nine

  Because criminals are devious, the police are constantly creating their own equally resourceful—and legal— strategies for tripping criminals up. Sergeant Joyce put it this way: a good investigator needs to know where the line is, legally, and then walk right up to that line.

  The detectives working on the St. Laurent case would think of many ways to get Gorman to lead them to Amy's body. At one point, in mid-November, they sat down in their “war room” to put together a complicated joint surveillance operation. Their plan was to attach a tracking device, a “birddog,” to Gorman's car, then let him know that a body had been discovered, hoping that he would be spooked into checking his hiding place and lead them to the body. Attaching such a device would be legal so long as the car was parked in a public place.

  Like any well-planned operation, their plan had several alternatives, depending on Gorman's whereabouts. As part of the operation, they had recruited two attractive female state troopers, Detective Angela Blodgett and Trooper Cory Pike. Dressed in plain clothes, the two women were going to stop at Pizza Time while Gorman was at work, order a pizza, and, while they waited, discuss the news that a body had been found so they could observe Gorman's reaction.

  Scott Harakles's job was to guard the rear door in case Gorman came out while Lance McCleish was putting the birddog on Gorman's car, which was usually parked behind the building. If Gorman got through the door, they joked, he might just have to get mugged. “I was really looking forward to that,” Harakles joked. After all their planning, on the day of the operation, with all the vehicles in place to follow him, Gorman didn't show up for work. He had quit his job.

  By that time, the police had many cars rolling, including a unit by Gorman's mother's house and one by the Game Room. Eventually, word came in that Gorman's car was parked at the Game Room, and plan B began. Blodgett and Pike went into the Game Room and hung around, hoping to meet up with Gorman, while other detectives rolled into the lot to put the device on Gorman's car.

  Sergeant Bruce Coffin described the event: “It was a crazy night. We were doing everything we could think of to find Amy. Our challenge was to find Gorman's car in a public place and then attach the device securely in a place that wouldn't interfere with the signal. We waited until his car was parked at a pool hall in Westbrook, the Game Room. I was in one car with Sergeant Matt Stewart and there w
ere two other troopers, Scott Harakles and Lance McCleish, in a second car.

  “We all pulled into the lot, putting our cars between Gorman's car and the group of guys standing outside the pool hall smoking so they couldn't see what we were doing. Then we all got out and stood around, making like a bunch of good ole boys who'd been drinking, lots of noise and handshaking, backslapping, while McCleish crept out of the car, crawled under Gorman's car, and installed the device.”

  It was a very tense scene. Once the device was in place, they all got back into their cars and drove away, waiting at designated places for word that Gorman had returned to his car and was rolling. Nothing seemed to go as planned. Although his car was in the lot, Gorman never did go to the Game Room that night, so they were unable to drop the rumor about the body. Eventually, he returned to his car and drove to his mother's house.

  With as many as six cars parked at strategic places up and down his street, the detectives revised the plan to get word to him by having a friend call Gorman at home and tell him that a body had been found. Later that evening, as they did surveillance on Gorman's house, Matt Despins called Gorman to say he'd heard that a body had been found. Sergeant Coffin was outside in the cold, walking up and down the road, keeping an eye on the place, waiting for Gorman's car to leave. Everyone had expected movement, but Gorman didn't budge. Finally, late into the night, they called the operation off.