by Gregg Olsen
And yet, like Josh and Alina, Mike always sided with his father, no matter what. His mother had been an outsider since he had moved into his father’s house at the age of ten. When Steve disowned Jennifer, Mike did, too.
As tenuous as relationships can be when bound by fear and paranoia, Mike and Josh appeared steadfast. In Puyallup, before Josh married Susan, the brothers even shared a bedroom. They were as close as anyone in the Powell family. When Josh needed help, it made sense that his first calls would be to his father and to Mike. Steve, though absent from work, didn’t go to help out in Utah. Mike and Alina did. Mike helped Josh in ways no one knew.
Josh knew whom he could count on. He knew who had his back. He’d changed his beneficiary to Mike in early December. Now, one day after the hearing ordering the psychosexual evaluation, Josh wrote Mike again. In a letter dated February 2, 2012, Josh named Mike the rights holder for any and all the intellectual property pertaining to his life. He specifically called it “life rights” as though he was certain there would be money to be had from a movie or TV film about his story.
And then Josh was gone. It was only later that those closest to him would realize that they hadn’t heard from him for a few days. Josh had called Mike on Friday, but his brother didn’t have time to talk. Alina didn’t see Josh on Saturday, which was unusual.
There were people who did see him, but they were strangers.
* * *
Josh Powell was just another single father doing errands on Saturday, February 4, 2012, the day before Super Bowl Sunday. Only Josh wasn’t shopping for beer or soda or Doritos. Instead, he had a checklist of errands that would culminate in a surprise he had planned for Charlie and Braden the following day.
At 11:19 A.M., he went to the Bank of America at 175th Street and Meridian and withdrew $7,000 in hundred-dollar bills, leaving $4,500 in his account. The bank’s security camera captured a haggard-looking Josh, but he had looked like that for a long time. The teller didn’t ask him why he was withdrawing that much money, but he called a bank manager over to approve the transaction.
Josh also visited his storage unit, #141 at Western Self Storage in Sumner, a few miles from Puyallup. He packed some toys and books into plastic bins, but left other items, including a comforter with a blood-like stain.
Next, he returned to Puyallup and the South Hill Fred Meyer parking lot—the location of the honk and wave that had made national news when his father and Chuck Cox got into it over Susan’s disappearance. He dropped off the toys and books at a Salvation Army donation center. One of the books had his name in it and said “Testament” on the cover. Other books were gifts to Susan from friends.
The local recycling center was the next stop. Josh arrived there in the afternoon and left a hymnal, a book on calculus, and a map of Utah. A book titled Footprints was inscribed and dated May 31, 2000.
To Susan from Brittainy Elizabeth—Sister, friend, P.A.W. [sic] for eternity. Love you, God bless you.
Another book, Inside the Strength of the Lord, a wedding gift, was signed.
To Susan and Joshua—with our love and prayers for all that’s meaningful and beautiful in your eternal walk together.
Once rid of all that he was going to discard, Josh made a purchase. He filled two five-gallon cans with gasoline.
Finally, his to-do list was done.
He’d taken care of his money, gotten rid of the past, and made sure he had ample gas, as well as his hatchet, two knives, and matches.
* * *
Chuck and Judy discussed whether they should try to stop Josh’s visit, scheduled for the next day. They were afraid that if Josh felt cornered by the conditions presented to him at the February 1 court hearing, he might kill Charlie and Braden. Chuck had warned the police for as long as Susan had been missing—more than two years by this time—that Josh might murder the boys. Josh would do anything to keep the Coxes from “winning” the custody fight.
Chuck called Forest Jacobson, Josh’s social worker—a woman with an ambiguous name—to tell her their fears, but Jacobson wasn’t worried. Chuck remembered she said “Well, he’s been really good lately.” Chuck didn’t say as much, but what went through his mind was that Josh was really good just before Susan went missing, too. When he’s “good” it means he’s up to something.
One time Judy asked Elizabeth Griffin-Hall, who was a petite woman, what she would do if Josh “lost it,” or grabbed one of the children.
“I can’t touch them. I can’t run after them, I can’t grab the kids,” she said. “All I’m supposed to do is call 911 on the phone.”
Judy didn’t like the answer and said so. “That’s terrible.”
But those were the rules and there was no getting around the rules—even when common sense dictated otherwise.
Jacobson had recently finished writing an update on Josh’s supervised visits. She wrote that observations showed that Josh had a “firm grasp on parenting skills,” and there were no safety concerns. A goal of the visitations remained family “reunification.”
* * *
On Saturday evening, Susan’s sister Denise arrived at the house. She said she had a sudden urge to see the boys. She tucked them into bed and told them good night. One of the boys hugged her and said, “I love you.”
The moment would mean the world to her in the days to come.
When Chuck got home that night, he went in to check on his grandsons. He had to get up early Sunday morning because of responsibilities at the ward, so he wouldn’t see Charlie and Braden until late the next afternoon, when they came home from Josh’s.
It was just their second night in their brand-new bedroom. The construction was done, the bunk beds were moved in, and next week the Coxes would do more decorating. Braden’s bed was covered with a quilt from the movie Cars and Charlie’s bed had a Spider-Man quilt.
No villains, just heroes.
He watched them sleep. Braden, who looked so much like Susan, and Charlie, named for his grandfather and great-grandfather, were off somewhere in dreamland.
He stood there, feeling something. A need to capture the moment.
He put his hand on their beds and softly said good night.
With all they’d been through, Susan’s father recognized the importance of taking the time while they were there; while he could see them; while they were little kids; while they were happy; while they were sleeping … just to say good night.
45
People are saying there is not somebody here, but there’s a couple of boys, 5 and 7, he has supervised visitation …
—ELIZABETH GRIFFIN-HALL, 911 CALL, FEBRUARY 5, 2012
Sunday morning at the Coxes’ had its moments. Charlie and Braden had breakfast with Judy and their aunt Marie and her two-year-old son, Patrick, who were staying there while Marie’s husband was at basic training. The boys had teased their cousin to the point of tears and earned a time-out. But as the time approached when Griffin-Hall would pick them up, the three cousins were playing happily.
As Judy helped them get ready for the visit, Braden spoke up.
“I don’t want to go see Daddy,” he said. Both boys had said that before, but this time Braden was firmer in his resolve to stay put.
“We want to stay here with Patrick,” he said.
Judy got their jackets. “But you’ll see Patrick when you get home,” she said. “Daddy has planned something nice for you.”
“I don’t want to see Daddy,” Braden repeated.
Judy knew that they loved their dad, and she couldn’t figure out why the boys were so insistent that Sunday.
Charlie was wearing his favorite corduroy pants and a sweater. Braden had on his very favorite hoodie, which was orange, with a navy blue puffer vest.
At 11:30 A.M. Elizabeth Griffin-Hall arrived. Reluctantly, the boys put on their jackets and shoes and Judy helped them into the car. The two women spoke for a moment about Braden’s burned foot.
“The doctor said there are no restrictions,” Judy said. �
�He can play outside if he wants to.”
Then Judy told them good-bye.
“See you when you get back,” she said. “Patrick will be waiting for you, too.”
* * *
Charlie was unusually quiet in the car but began to open up during the drive.
Elizabeth Griffin-Hall drove by a house in the neighborhood that she and Charlie often laughed about. The yard was covered with flamingos, gnomes, and strange fountains. The boys were used to the manicured lawn at the Coxes, and its park-like setting. Even Josh’s yard was always maintained and mowed.
Griffin-Hall made sure to point out the house as they approached it.
“Look, Charlie, there’s the yard with all the statues,” she said.
Charlie giggled.
“Charlie, what if it was decorated for Halloween? Would you like it then?”
“Wait. Slow down, Elizabeth,” Charlie told her, and she did. She pulled over to the side of the road.
Charlie was silent, studying the yard from his car seat. Then he gave his definitive opinion.
“It would take two million, two hundred thirty-seven lights to make it good, and then it might be funny,” he finally said.
Griffin-Hall laughed about the seven-year old’s candid appraisal.
* * *
Just before his boys arrived for the visit, Josh sent a series of e-mails. Messages went to his boss at the software company that employed him; his attorney, Jeffrey Bassett; his cousin in Texas, Nathan Leach; and finally, to Pastor Tim Atkins.
The e-mails were short, and each carried the same message:
I’m sorry. Goodbye.
When his cousin received his, he feared the worst and called 911 in Washington, but when he said he didn’t know where Josh lived, Leach was told to contact the phone company to try to get an address.
Griffin-Hall pulled up at Josh’s house at 11:57 A.M. The boys jumped out of the car and ran ahead to their father, who was standing in the front doorway. He looked sheepishly at her and shrugged his shoulders. And then he shut the door. She heard him lock it. She thought it was a mistake. She heard Josh say, “Charlie, I have a big surprise for you!” She banged on the door, rang the doorbell repeatedly, and begged Josh to let her in. She walked to the garage door to see if she could open it but it was locked. Griffin-Hall realized she didn’t have her cell phone, and went back to her car to get it. Then she heard Braden scream. She called her supervisor, then quickly dialed 911. It was 12:08 P.M.
The operator who took the call was David Lovrak, an eighteen-year veteran with 911.
GH: I’m on a supervised visitation for a court-ordered visit and something really weird has happened. The kids went in the house and the biological parent, Josh Powell, will not let me in the door. What should I do?
D: What’s the address?
GH: 8119 and I think it’s 89th, I don’t know what the address is, let me get in the car. Nothing has happened like this before. I’m really shocked, and I could hear one of the kids crying, and he still won’t let me in, OK, it’s 1, just a minute I have it here, you can’t find me by GPS?
D: No.
GH: OK, it is … I still can’t find it. He’s on a very short leash with DSHS. He looked right at me and closed the door. It’s 8119 189th Street Court East, Puyallup. I’d like to pull out of the driveway because I smell gasoline, and he won’t let me in.
D: He won’t let you out of the driveway?
GH: He won’t let me in the house.
D: Whose house is it?
GH: Josh Powell.
D: You don’t live there?
GH: No, I’m contracted by the state to provide supervised visitation.
[Confusion about who Griffin-Hall is ensues, then gets cleared up]
GH: He’s the husband of Susan Powell, this is a high-profile case. I was one step in back of them.
D: So they went in the house and locked you out?
GH: Yes, he shut the door in my face.
D: What is your name?
GH: My name is Elizabeth Griffin-Hall.
D: And what’s your phone number?
[Griffin-Hall gives number.]
D: What agency are you with?
GH: Foster Care Resource Network, and the kids have been in there by now approximately 10 minutes, and he knows it’s a supervised visit. Braden is 5 and Charlie is 7.
D: And the dad’s last name?
GH: Powell.
D: Two L’s at the end of Powell?
GH: Yes.
D: And his first name?
GH: His first name is Josh.
D: Is he alone, or was anyone with him?
GH: I don’t know, I couldn’t get in the house.
D: Are you in a vehicle now or on foot?
GH: I’m in a 2010 Prius with the doors locked. He won’t let me in. I rang the doorbell and everything. I begged him to let me in.
D: Elizabeth, please listen to my questions. What color is the Toyota Prius?
GH: Gray, dark gray.
D: And the license number?
GH: I don’t know, I can look. [Gets out of the car and tells him the license plate.]
D: OK, we’ll have someone look for you there.
GH: Do you know how long it will be?
D: They have to respond to emergencies, life-threatening situations first.
GH: This could be life-threatening. He was in court on Wednesday and he didn’t get his kids back and this is really … I’m afraid for their lives.
D: Has he threatened the lives of the children previously?
GH: I have no idea.
D: OK, we’ll have the first available deputy contact you.
* * *
Elizabeth Griffin-Hall was beside herself. The call had eaten up seven precious minutes. She smelled gasoline, so she got back into her car to back it out of the driveway and away from the house. She heard some pops from the house, a loud whoosh, and then a boom. She felt her Prius rock on its wheels.
At 12:16 the house exploded and people in the neighborhood flooded 911 with calls. One caller described seeing the roof “fly off.” Another described a “loud, huge boom,” “crap flying all over the place” and “dark smoke.” Another caller said he thought it was a meth house that had blown up. A neighbor approached the house to see if he could enter it, but the windows began exploding outward and others warned him that it was too hot to enter.
Griffin-Hall called 911 a second time. This time a different dispatcher asked her if anyone was in the house and she explained again that a man and two children were inside. She was put on hold while the dispatcher called the fire department. And then she had to explain again to the dispatcher how Josh had closed the door on her.
D: Do you know if there’s anyone in the house?
GH: Yes, there was a man and two children. I just dropped off the children and he wouldn’t let me in the door.
D: Stay on the line with me. I’m going to get the fire department. Hang on. Don’t hang up. Stay on the phone here with me, ma’am. Fire, this is Rose. I’m transferring the lady who has the exact address.
GH: I can hear the fire trucks, but they’re not here yet. It’s 8119 …
D: We have an engine there.
GH: People are saying there is not somebody here, but there’s a couple of boys, 5 and 7, he has supervised visitation and he blew up the house and the kids.
D: The kids and the father were in the house?
GH: Yes, he slammed the door in my face so I kept knocking. I thought it was a mistake, I kept knocking and then I called 911.
D: You saw him go back in the house?
GH: He didn’t ever leave the house, he just opened the door, the kids were one step ahead of me, they are 5 and 7, they were one step ahead of me and he slammed the door in my face.
D: Do you think he might have done this intentionally?
GH: Yes.
By then, Griffin-Hall was reduced to tears.
* * *
Over in Country Hollow, Alina Powell
had received four e-mails from her brother that morning. She considered them a little “weird” but didn’t think much about them until they started to detail what she should do with the money Josh had withdrawn from the bank, which bills needed to be paid, and how to cancel the utilities.
Next, she got a disturbing voice mail from Josh.
“This is Josh. I’m calling to say good-bye. I am not able to live without my sons and I’m not able to go on anymore. I’m sorry to everyone I’ve hurt. Good-bye.”
At 12:21 P.M., Alina, now hysterical, called 911. She told dispatchers that she didn’t know Josh’s new address.
“The only way I can do it is to drive over there, but I’m terrified to drive over there. I’m not afraid of him, he’d never hurt me, I’m afraid [of what I’ll find].”
* * *
Graham Fire and Rescue arrived at 12:22 P.M. The house was burning so hot there was little that firefighters could do.
The first sheriff’s deputies arrived at the house eight minutes later. They interviewed Griffin-Hall, and she explained that this was no accident; Josh had obviously planned in advance to kill his children that day. It was personal to Griffin-Hall. She wasn’t just doing a job over the several months she had supervised the visits.
“Those were my babies!” she said.
A chaplain was sent to the scene. It was about 1:30 P.M. before firefighters entered the house and found the bodies.
Three different detectives questioned Griffin-Hall, moving her from police car to police car for the interviews. Once the media began arriving, the detectives tried to keep her out of view. They tried to protect her from seeing the bodies, too, but she watched as first Charlie, and then Braden, were carried out in white sheets in the arms of the same detective they had run to the night Steve Powell was arrested. She did not see Josh’s body removed from the house.