by Ann Rule
Mamie Anderson wrote about her own arthritis, visiting the cemetery to pull weeds from relatives’ graves, and of various family members who were ailing, in the hospital, poor, or, in some cases, dead.
“Gladys is doing allright. She has no income now—except for [her] Veteran’s Widow’s Pension. She will have to work 3 years before she can get S. Security.”
Ruth promptly sent checks to help out.
It did seem that having her brother Robert with her was a blessing for Ruth. Robert was her escort even to social events. Oddly, Ruth hadn’t mentioned one of the Pilots’ Association parties to Clever and Caputo. Captain Gunnar Olsborg had phoned Ruth and invited Rolf and Ruth to a retirement awards dinner to be held on August 17, 1980—a party where Rolf was to be honored. Ruth had cheerily accepted for them. But when the evening came, Rolf wasn’t there. Ruth brought her brother Robert along instead.
Robert had extended his visit at the Neslund home for some time after Rolf left, but he eventually returned to his home in Beardstown, Illinois. There was a long delay during that trip when none of his relatives heard from him. Ruth and Mamie were worried about where he was. Ruth and her son, Butch, were especially concerned about who he was talking to.
Another brother, Paul Myers, was supposed to be somewhere in the Northwest.
Finally, Robert wrote to say that he had arrived in good shape in Illinois. His letters from the Midwest were just as down-home as Mamie’s, although his spelling and grammar were not up to hers. He wrote to Ruth from Mt. Sterling after he returned home. Ruth had bought him an old log patrol boat so he could fish off Lopez Island. Robert spent a lot of time cutting it in half and rebuilding it, only to find that he could not get it licensed in Washington State, so he had loaded it onto a trailer Ruth owned and headed for Illinois.
His first letter read:
Dear Sister,
I guess you wonder why it took me so long to drive across the country, the reason was because I couldn’t drive over 30MPH. When I tried to go faster, the trailer would sway. The Boat weighs 4½ tons. The trailer and Boat Weighs 11000 lbs. The next ride for The Boat will be 7 miles to a Ramp on the river at Meredosia, Il. Then I’ll Run it to Peoria.
Robert and his son, Carl, were planning to make money in building a few boats for other fisherman so Robert could finish up his boat. He wrote that they would use ash, elm, oak, and sassafras wood. He seemed elated with his gift from Ruth, and he planned to do a lot of fishing. He wrote of having supper with their shared family, eating “high on the hog” enjoying wild duck and venison.
But Robert’s long trip home from Lopez hadn’t been without mishaps, even at thirty miles an hour. As he explained:
That Hit and Run deal was this way. There was close quarters getting out of that station. Two men took over signaling me out of the Driveway and the station attendant went back to pumping gas. After maneuvering the boat around as Directed to get clear these men signalled me to go out all clear, I left then I got about 16 or 18 miles out of Town, This County Police man stoped me and arrested me for hit&run and Damage to proprity. I felt nohing or herd nothing This Policeman built his case on the Station attendants lies, his pop machine was an old machine, and it didn’t have no dents or scratches on it and realy I don’t think it ever got knocked over.
I’m getting rested up some now IM glad you are feeling better, tell all hello for me and I think of you all by with Love
Your Bro Robert
Yes, Ruth Neslund’s health and well-being seemed very important to her family. They worried that she wasn’t well-rested and that she didn’t have enough money. Still, she seemed able to send them checks and to give them magnanimous presents like boats, cars, and checks for college tuition and living expenses.
Ray Clever had heard the rumors that Ruth had said some shocking things to her relatives around the time Rolf disappeared. That was nothing new. For a long time, neighbors had heard her yelling things at her husband like, “I’ll see you dead before you get a cent to give to those bastards!” Whenever she caught Rolf giving money to Elinor or his sons, most of her friends and neighbors knew it. For Ruth, death threats aimed at Rolf weren’t unusual. She was certainly a woman of violent mood swings and she didn’t care who heard her when she was angry.
Although Ruth didn’t want Rolf spending money on his own sons, she had been quite generous with her family, or, rather, it was possible that she was helping certain members of her family financially to assure herself that they would keep any dangerous secrets she had within the family circle. But as solicitous as she was to Robert, she didn’t seem to care for her brother, Paul, at all.
Paul Myers was a man of the sea, too, but he never reached the pinnacles Rolf had. Paul was rumored to have been in the Merchant Marine, and he sometimes worked fishing boats headed for Alaskan waters. Once, he put together a thick bankroll, but he had entrusted Ruth with his savings when she promised to invest it for him. By 1982 he had been sending her his paychecks and his Social Security checks for some time.
As it turned out, he might as well have put all his money in a pull-tab machine in a tavern. To his dismay, Paul learned that Ruth had spent his money on some land in Whatcom County, but she put the deed in her name and in the name of Ruth’s younger son, Butch. Paul wasn’t listed at all.
Ruth could talk her way out of anything, though, and she managed to convince Paul that she would give him a car she owned to make up for the money she had weaseled away from him. She also promised to send him checks for keeping his mouth shut about her business.
In January 1982, Paul finally smelled the coffee, and, desperate, wrote a last angry letter to Ruth:
Dear Sis,
I have called you several times and I have finally come to the conclusion you have made a mistake.
Love and affection that I have for you and the Blind addiction to your needs, I believe, have given you the impression that I can be treated like a dumb sucker.
I’m not going to call you anymore or write you anymore.
You get the money together that is mine and get it to me or send me the [unclear] and I’ll come get the car. If you don’t I’m going to Seattle and I’ll show you who is a sucker.
Your Bro Paul
(P.S.) Send me any mail you have for me there.
Paul showed up on Lopez Island in February 1982, to claim the vehicle that Ruth promised him. However, when he got there, she had changed her mind. She told him the car was gone. He was convinced that Ruth and her neighbor, Winnie Kay Stafford, had colluded to hide it from him. Despite the fact that she was about fifteen years younger than Ruth, the two women were very close friends. Ruth could talk Winnie Kay into almost anything.
A man who knew them both said, “Winnie Kay can be crazy as a hoot owl sometimes. She just got sucked in by Ruth and Ruth’s money.”
The state of Winnie Kay’s mind may have only been one man’s opinion, but Ruth had a much stronger personality than she did. As one of Ruth’s “dearest friends,” she went along with Ruth and neither of them would tell Paul where the promised car was.
Stranded without a car on an island where he didn’t know anyone, Paul went to a local restaurant and lounge where he proceeded to get drunk. He met a man there, Marty Beekman,* who agreed to give Paul a ride out to Ruth’s house, where he planned to plead once more for the car she had promised him. But when he got there, it was all locked up, and no one responded to Paul’s frustrated pounding on the doors. Muttering, Paul turned to Beekman and said, “I’ve got a mind to talk to the FBI or someone about what Ruth got me into! She killed him and Bob cut him up...”
Beekman didn’t pay much attention because it sounded like an angry drunk talking. However, he later mentioned it to some of the regulars at the lounge and that information soon became yet another juicy bit of gossip to spread around Lopez. Greg Doss eventually heard about it, and he arranged for Marty Beekman to talk to the San Juan County criminal prosecutor, Charlie Silverman.
It was just one more ins
tance of the alleged facts of a brutal murder being passed around, and the backward case was now becoming circular. As Ruth Neslund continued to reclaim her life and planned happily for her next business endeavor, the investigators were as disheartened as a Californian would be by the clammy fog that sometimes envelops Lopez Island, blotting out the vistas of the sea and pastures.
There seemed no way through to any clarity or truth in their search for Rolf Neslund.
Had Ruth Neslund killed her husband and masterminded a gruesome plan to scatter his body?
Or was she only the innocent victim of a whisper campaign to destroy her reputation?
Ten
Ray Clever would not give up on solving the case and indicting the killer. He kept making lists, checking out his theories, and trying to find physical evidence that would validate the scuttlebutt. Sheriff Sheffer backed him, saying, “Go for it, Ray. I don’t think you’re gonna solve it—but go as far as you can.”
While Ruth seemed unfazed by the gossip, the San Juan County Sheriff’s Office, and the inquiries of the county’s criminal prosecutor, Ray Clever was determined to find her brother Paul. He figured that Ruth’s angry and disappointed brother might just be the witness who would tell Clever the truth, and he set out to find him. This proved to be a complex endeavor. Even today, Clever won’t go into detail about those who helped him locate Ruth’s brother—a policeman’s prerogative—but he did manage to locate Paul.
It sounded as though Paul Myers might be the weakest link in the chain of family members who surrounded Ruth. Paul was something of a nomad. He and Ruth were definitely reported to be at odds, according to her friends and neighbors. Ruth kept shutting doors in Paul’s face, counting on his continued loyalty to her, no matter how she outfoxed him in business deals.
By 1982, Ruth was trying to put the tiresome investigation into Rolf’s disappearance behind her as she prepared to launch a very high-end bed-and-breakfast lodging for tourists visiting Lopez Island. As she pointed out, she was all alone now in her big house with extra bedrooms and wonderful views of the water. She was a good cook, specializing in baked goods and her homemade sausage, and she had always enjoyed entertaining. She would call her home The Alec Bay Inn, stressing the beautiful vistas. There would be virtually no start-up costs, and she looked forward to meeting new people and having some company. She calculated that she could clear $150 to $200 a night for each room.
Paul heard about her plans and figured Ruth owed him a share of her future business income. He didn’t have a steady job or a house or any money in the bank. Since she had burned him on the car deal, he planned to convince Ruth that she needed a man around the place to help with chores and for protection. He would go into partnership with her on the bed-and-breakfast. Their brother Robert wasn’t in very good health, and Paul argued that he himself was the obvious choice. Ruth shook her head. She didn’t need a partner.
Turned down for that, Paul asked her for a loan. It was the least she could do, but she was even less enthusiastic. And she didn’t want Paul to think he could stay at her house; she needed all her space for her guests.
Without Ruth’s help, Paul Myers was reduced to driving a “junker” from spot to spot on Lopez, sleeping in the old truck. Sometimes, Ruth allowed him to come visit, but he knew he took a distant second place to Robert. Paul felt that Robert literally “worshipped” Ruth, did whatever she asked, and was a quiet man who caused her no trouble. He was also quite deaf. That was the kind of man Ruth preferred to have around.
She had no patience with anyone who rejected her plans or who failed to do what she told them to. Within a week or so, Paul Myers was no longer seen around Lopez.
Paul Myers was still among the living, however.
It took awhile, but Ray Clever finally located Paul living in Scappoose, Oregon, a small town near the Columbia River in the far northwestern chunk of the state. A Scappoose police patrolman knew Paul and said he was living on the property of one of their reserve officers.
Clever talked to Paul’s friend, who said he had met Paul a year earlier on the beach at Garibaldi on Tillamook Bay some sixty-five miles from Scappoose. “We became friends,” the police reserve officer said, “and I told him he could put his trailer up on my property.”
After returning from Lopez Island in February 1982, Paul had appeared jumpy and nervous, his friend said. “He seemed to have some idea that he might be an accessory to murder. He kept saying his sister had ‘sucked him in.’”
That certainly sounded promising for the investigation. At 6:30 A.M., Clever approached the front door of the house where Paul was reportedly staying. He quickly spotted Myers. He could hardly miss him. He was a male version of his sister, short and round all over, just like Ruth.
Clever showed Paul his identification, and said he wanted to ask him some questions.
Paul Myers looked at Clever a little apprehensively and then blurted, “Uh, oh—I know who you are and why you’re here . . .”
“Let’s talk,” Clever answered.
Surprisingly, Paul Myers seemed relieved to talk about his sister. He related how Ruth had tricked him out of his money and a car. He was mad and disappointed when she refused to let him share her bed-and-breakfast venture.
But that was the least of it. “I’m scared to death of her,” Paul admitted. “I really think she planned to kill me.”
Paul said he owned some property down in Garibaldi and that Ruth kept insisting that he meet her and one of her women friends—Wanda Post—down there. He’d been very reluctant to do that.
Garibaldi was a popular spot for both Oregonians and tourists, as it was situated right on the Pacific Ocean near the famous Twin Rocks, a towering natural rock formation that was a familiar image on postcards. There were only a thousand people living in Garabaldi, and there were miles of rugged coastline where Pacific Ocean waves crashed endlessly onto the rocky beach. Their roar would easily drown out a voice calling for help—or a shot ringing out.
“She wanted me down there on a trip along the Oregon coast,” he said, “and I never thought I was going to come back alive, so I didn’t go.”
What Paul Myers told Ray Clever that early morning in Scappoose, Oregon, would become the basis of an affidavit filed to request another search warrant for the red house on Alec Bay Road. Paul’s was, indeed, a harrowing story, but one that had to stay under wraps for some time. After Paul gave Clever a statement, Clever arranged to fly him back to Friday Harbor where he could give testimony to the court of inquiry looking into Rolf Neslund’s disappearance. Superior Court Judge Richard Pitt listened to what he had to say and read the affidavit that Ray Clever and Charlie Silverman presented, asking for a second, more massive, search of the Neslunds’ property.
Judge Pitt granted the investigators another search warrant. To the disappointment of the press and public, it was sealed and whatever juicy details might be included would be kept secret. Sheffer explained that it “has to be confidential because it involves so many people.”
And indeed it did.
The first search warrant had listed a restricted number of items the detectives could look for; this one was far more sweeping.
On March 2, 1982, Senior Deputy Joe Caputo, Ray Clever, Greg Doss, Perry Mortensen, and Criminalist Don Phillips knocked on Ruth Neslund’s door. They had been authorized to search her five-thousand-square-foot house and the almost eight acres of land around it, and they were going to look for anything they might find that would give even a hint about where Rolf was.
Winnie Kay Stafford and Ruth were present when the second search began at 11:02 A.M. The disgruntled women left two and a half hours later, but Ruth came back the next day to pick up her blood-pressure cuff and a hot water bottle, complaining to everyone within earshot that it was terrible that an ill woman should be treated so badly, forced out of her own home while cops pawed through her belongings.
She snarled at Ray Clever, “There are about fifty people who would like to come in here and
squeeze your head!”
A few minutes later, she phoned the searchers and demanded that they turn off the outside lights, even though it was she who had absentmindedly left them on in the daytime.
Ruth’s attorneys called the search “preposterous.” Neither they nor their client had seen the affidavit listing what the searchers were looking for. “We think there’s no basis for it. We have no problem with them taking a look at what’s there, because maybe that will shut them up once and for all.”
Still, her lawyers were scornful about how the investigators were carrying out their search. “They’re just going along on their merry way.”
Ruth, he said, was taking the search “very hard. It not only creates a physical hardship by her being displaced from her home—but serious emotional trauma as well.”
Furthermore, even though she had no formal charges levied against her, Mitch Cogdill said Ruth was being tried by “innuendo” and hinted darkly that there might be a civil suit against the Sheriff’s Office forthcoming because the deputies and criminalists had “appropriated her property, damaged her property, and made obvious charges against her.”
The baffling case was gaining more publicity all the time, and now residents of Seattle and the rest of the state were watching the search on the evening news. KOMO-TV sent a helicopter to fly over the house on Alec Bay Road, and photographers filmed the bare earth that appeared here and there in the pastureland where a backhoe had scraped the ground looking for, perhaps, a grave.
KOMO news anchors also revealed the matter of the meat-grinder. Ruth had owned one, but she sold it in mid-1981 to a couple who owned a meat-packing plant on Lopez. Jean Plummer, a Lopez butcher who lived on Port Stanley Road, turned over the items she bought from Ruth: (1) meat-grinder, (1) grinding auger, and (4) grinding and cutting attachments.
Fortunately, the Plummers had never used the meat-grinder, possibly deterred by the rumors. Joe Caputo picked it up from them, but when the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab ran tests on it, no speck or stain of human blood was present in the mechanism.