On the streets of the city, there are still addicts. Many more are now from the suburbs, the young adults who snorted OxyContin or popped Percocet or the next pharmaceutical opiate painkiller turned party drug only to find themselves addicts scrounging for cheap heroin. City narcotics detectives still arrest the dealers and the addicts, hoping at least a handful will get clean and survive. There are overdoses here, just as there are in nearly every city and town in the country, as opiate addiction is proclaimed a national crisis.
The city’s downtown is now vibrant, sporting two college satellite campuses and specialty restaurants along the cobblestoned streets. Tourists prowl those streets, photographing the historic nooks and landmarks. Along the waterfront, fishermen head out to sea as they have for centuries, braving the elements and now battling tighter federal fishing regulations.
Life in New Bedford moves on in the shadow of history.
THERE WERE FIFTEEN CHILDREN left behind when their mothers disappeared in 1988. At least two had brushes with the law, two wound up briefly in the custody of social services, and two died, one just a teenager in a car crash. The other children are now adults, most with children of their own. Some went to college. Some moved out of state. They are working, they are paying taxes, they are paying bills, paying rent, paying mortgages, paying insurance on cars and homes. They have crafted lives in the shadows of death, getting married, going on vacations, working, going to school. Some are still in New Bedford, a few are scattered along the East Coast. Some were too young to remember their mothers. Some still remember what they lost.
Two of the women reported missing in 1988 were never found: Christina Monteiro, aged nineteen, and Marilyn Cardoza Roberts, aged thirty-four.
For years, Christina’s mother, Shirley Monteiro, would stop into the state police barracks in Dartmouth to talk with Jose and pass on any information she heard that she prayed might help solve the case or, at the very least, find her missing child. She held out hope—it was a slim hope, she knew—that her daughter just left the area to get away from the drugs, that she would be back some day. She told him it was that glimmer that kept her going. She held onto it until the day she died.
A SMALL, STORE-BOUGHT ROCK PLAQUE leans against the tombstone in Cushing Cemetery in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts. “No farewell words were spoken, no time to say goodbye, you were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why,” it reads. Marilyn Roberts’ parents placed it there after her brother died of cancer, a simple reminder in the cemetery of their only daughter. They cannot bear to etch her name in stone yet. For years, Marilyn’s parents imagined she was living out of state, unaware she was being grieved. They knew, though, even in those early days of the investigation, that she would not have left them in this heart-wrenching limbo. She would have come back, she would have called, she would at the very least have sent a card to say she was alive, she was well, she was happy. They know she is not coming home.
The cemetery is a place to pay respects, to mourn, to remember. It is where, with this gray-rock plaque, her parents can remember that Marilyn lived.
THE LARGE OAK DESK that once belonged to her grandmother sits in the living room corner of the suburban Massachusetts home Chandra shares with her husband and children. The drawers are brimming with mementos of the past: photographs, letters, holiday cards, death certificates. There are the photos of a young Debra Greenlaw DeMello clutching a doll, standing next to her brother; grinning on Christmas Day as a child; smiling next to her own children. There are the letters to her family, apologizing for a past misspent and promising a future of change. On the wall is the large framed photograph of Deb in her wedding gown. It is the same portrait that hung for years in the Brockton apartment Chandra grew up in with her grandmother. Chandra brought the photograph to her own home after her grandmother died, a memory of a different time. It was her grandmother’s favorite photo. It was an image of hope.
IMAGES OF THE LIVING adorn Judy DeSantos’s third-floor New Bedford apartment walls. After living in Florida for four and a half years, she moved back to New Bedford, where her children now live. Photos of her nieces and their children, her own children, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren. Photos of the dead—her sister, her parents, her grandparents—are tucked away in albums and boxes. Out of sight but not forgotten. A tradition celebrating life has quietly evolved in the family: grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces, nephews, all with the middle name of Lee, all in memory of Nancy Lee Paiva. “You have to go on, you have to survive and keep going, but you never forget,” Judy says. “A part of my sister lives on in all of us. In all of the children and grandchildren. I see Nancy in all of them.”
THE SCENTS of cooking bacalhau and carne de vinhoa d’alho waft in the summer night air as people nudge through the tight crowd. On one stage, a band is playing “Sweet Caroline”; on another stage the band Grupo Folclorico Madeirense performs traditional Portuguese dances. It is the Feast of the Blessed Sacrament, a century-old tradition in New Bedford, reenacting a feast day celebrated in the Catholic parish of Estreito da Calheta on the southwest coast of Madeira island roughly four hundred miles off the coast of Morocco. One story about its origins says four immigrants from the island began the “festa” back in 1915 after a hazardous ocean trip to the United States. At its heart, this four-day festival is a religious celebration honoring the Blessed Sacrament. In its soul, it is the rousing cheer of a region overcoming adversity, whooping for joy at another day lived, another year survived.
On this first evening of the festival decades after the highway murders, the old-timers sit in lawn chairs near one of the main stages to watch the traditional dances. Rabbit, codfish, goat, pork butts, and marinated tuna are sizzling on the grills at the food stands. And there is the traditional Madeira wine, that sweet drink that goes down a bit too easily. There are the children begging parents to win giant stuffed bears at kiosks. There are grinning teenaged boys with stiff-brimmed baseball hats passing teenaged girls, some with shorts too short and met by the clucks of the old. There is the smell of cigarettes mixed with the scent of cooking meats and the sounds of music jumbled with caws of laughter. It is the place where new meets old and traditions grow stronger for another year.
Ric Oliveira, the founder of the group Magik Squirrel, is on stage with his five-member rock band while men with straw hats emblazoned with the word “Madeira” stroll by. Ric and his band sing to the crowd about Madeira wine, the blues, and life.
“Whether you are a city, region, or a country, don’t let anyone tell you what you can’t do,” Ric tells the applauding crowd.
Then the band begins to play Ric’s original song, “No Limits.”
“They will hold you down if they can’t take your dreams,” he sings.
“I won’t forget, won’t forget what he said.
“He said there may be a sky but there are no limits to you. There may be a sky but there are no limits to you.”
Three days later, thousands line the streets in the North End of New Bedford for the Sunday parade marking the end of the Feast of the Blessed Sacrament. Some people watch from the porches of the two- and three-family homes; others sit on blankets on the street curbs or on folding chairs just off the sidewalk line. They cheer as the Feast Committee members and children holding the light-blue banner saying Future of the Feast pass. As people atop floats toss candy to the children. As the Clydesdale horses pull an orange wagon for Hallamore Crane Services. As the man following the horses in a golf cart shovels up the droppings. As the Dartmouth high school marching band plays. As the dancers leap. As the politicians prance. As the Sons of St. Patrick playing bagpipes stroll. As the local chapter of Vietnam Veterans of America and World War II veterans march by and some, usually fellow veterans, salute.
The people on the street applaud and cheer for more than an hour, just as they do every year. There is promise today, as they stand along the streets, and gratitude.
There is life.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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br /> SOME STORIES HAUNT YOU. They burrow into your soul, peering out at odd moments in your life. Sometimes they return as you drive along the highway. Sometimes when you pass a wooded spot or a neighborhood corner. Sometimes it happens when you catch the scent of waterfront air. Sometimes it just happens. What happened in New Bedford, Massachusetts, in 1988 is one of those stories that has haunted me for decades. It is a story people should never forget.
My interest in drug addiction, and the struggles faced by drug-addicted women in particular, started in 1985 when I was working on a story and interviewed a woman named Doreen on the streets of New Bedford. It was in the dead of summer, and her cotton shirt was neatly pressed, a sharp crease along the long sleeves. She was telling me about how two acquaintances arrested that week had been treated. “Just because we’re drug addicts, just because we’re on the street, that doesn’t mean we aren’t people,” she said. “We’re human.” Since that day, I have met a series of women who battled and ultimately overcame both the streets and their addiction to heroin. Some eventually died of AIDS-related illnesses, some are living quiet lives appreciating every day. I have learned much from them.
This is a work of nonfiction written in a narrative style. All direct quotes in the book are taken from court records, news accounts, or police reports, were based on the direct recollection of one or more parties to the conversation, or were heard directly by me. In cases where the exact words were in question, but not the spirit of the conversation, quotation marks are not used.
I am forever grateful to all of the families of the victims who were so patient with me and other reporters during the worst moments of their lives at the height of the murder investigation in New Bedford. Their grace during that period should serve as an inspiration to us all. The families of Nancy Paiva, Debra Greenlaw DeMello, and Marilyn Roberts were especially gracious as they relived that painful time years later for this book.
This project would not have been possible without the continued support of my husband, Kevin Kalunian—who was there when this story first broke and has encouraged me every day to write this book—and my son, Christian Kalunian.
Heartfelt thanks to Maryann Dill, Jose Gonsalves, and Richard Ferreira for patiently taking me back in time to relive the investigation. The hours they spent making sure I understood the intricacies of the investigation were invaluable, and the work they, and others, put into the case was extraordinary. My deep appreciation to Robert St. Jean for both his honest appraisal and the hours spent sharing his insights of that time.
Also, thanks to William Delaney, Kevin Butler, Lorraine Levy, and Alan Alves, as well as retired New Bedford detective Gardner Greany—who also investigated earlier New Bedford homicides—for sharing their experiences. The behind-the-scenes help by Robert Jones and Curt Brown, a former Fall River Herald News reporter now at the Standard-Times of New Bedford, helped get this project off the ground. The assistance from the staff at the Standard-Times, past and present, including the current editor-in-chief, Beth Perdue, is greatly appreciated. Special thanks to Jim Nelson, manager of the New Bedford Port Authority; Joe Thomas, local historian extraordinaire; James Sylvia and Ronald Cabral for their insights into the drug culture of the 1970s and ’80s; Richard Lauria for sharing his expertise on fingerprinting in the 1980s; Kenneth Martin for patiently detailing field forensics; and Andy Rebmann for making sure I thoroughly understood search work. Also, Bruce Machado, Paul Boudreau, Louis J. Pacheco; New Bedford lt. Steven Vicente, head of the New Bedford detective division; Claudia Sampson, one of the best undercover female detectives around; Dick Phillips, retired Dartmouth police officer; David Wordell; Paul Fitzgerald, whose amazing memory for detail was greatly appreciated; Christopher Dextradeur for sharing memories of his late father; also Paul Buckley, Lance Garth, Paul Walsh, Kari Pina Barcellos, Nelson Ostiguy, and the many police officers in southeastern Massachusetts—to all my gratitude. Thanks also to retired Connecticut trooper Kevin Rodino, who helped in the search. Thank you to Natalie White for her early reading and suggestions; Cannon Labrie for his detailed editing and patience; and my colleagues at Stonehill College, especially Maria Curtin, who offered support for this project.
It all would not have happened, of course, without my editor at University Press of New England, Stephen Hull, who had faith in the project, and my dear friend Elaine McArdle, whose referrals and unwavering encouragement led me to this wonderful publishing house.
There are many people I have likely forgotten and, to them, please accept my apologies.
NOTES
PROLOGUE
1.The description of what an individual experiences while being strangled is based on reports, studies, and presentations by Dean Hawley, Candace Heisler, Dinesh Rao, and Kelsey McKay.
1MISSING
1.Dextradeur 1988.
2.Greany, Baron, et al. 1986.
3.Vosburg 1987.
4.J. D. Thomas et al. 2013, 29.
5.whalingmuseum.org, n.d.
6.J. D. Thomas et al. 2013, 198.
7.Ibid., 56.
8.J. Thomas 2016.
9.Oliveira 2007.
10.Fishermen’s Memorial Service program 2016.
11.Dextradeur 1988.
12.DeSantos 2015a.
13.Ibid.
14.DeSantos 2015b.
15.Ibid.
16.DeSantos 2015c.
17.DeSantos, n.d.(a)
18.DeSantos 2015c.
19.DeSantos 2015b.
2BODIES
1.Alves 2015.
2.Ibid.
3.Delaney 2015.
4.Wordell 2015.
5.DeSantos 2015a.
6.Ibid.
7.Muntzel 1988a.
8.Delaney 2015.
9.G. Greany 1989.
10.Boyle 1989n.
11.Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1989g, 92.
12.Ibid. 1989f, 163.
13.Ibid. 1989c, 6.
14.Ferreira 1988.
15.Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1989i, 49.
16.Ibid., 50.
17.Boyle 1988a.
18.St. Jean 2016a.
19.St. Jean 2016b.
20.Boyle 1988a.
3SEARCHING
1.J. Levin 1982.
2.St. Jean 2016b.
3.Fitzgerald 2016.
4.Phillips 2016.
5.Fitzgerald 2016.
6.Gonsalves 2015c.
7.Rebmann 2015.
8.St. Jean 2016b.
9.Rebmann 2015.
10.Rebmann, David, and Sorg 2000.
11.Ibid.
12.Rebmann 2015.
13.Ibid.
14.Butler 2016; Rebmann 2015.
15.Martin 2016.
16.Commonwealth v. Jose Cintron 2003.
17.Lauria 2016.
18.Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1989a, 19.
19.Boyle 1988b.
20.Cunha 1989.
21.Machado 2016.
22.Sylvia 2016; Machado 2016.
23.Cardoza and Cardoza 2016.
24.Sylvia 2016.
25.Morgado 1989.
26.Ibid.
27.Boyle 1988c.
4THE STREETS
1.Gonsalves 2015a.
2.Gonsalves and Dill, 2016
3.Ibid.
4.Ibid.
5.Personal observation by Maureen Boyle 1987–88.
6.Gold 1989.
7.Urbon 2016.
8.Prostitute 1988.
9.Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1989e.
10.Ibid., 184–88.
11.St. Jean 2016b.
12.St. Jean 2016a.
13.Dill 2015b.
14.Martin 2016.
15.St. Jean 2016a.
16.Ibid.
17.Ibid.
18.Machado 2016.
19.Boudreau n.d.(b).
20.Boudreau 2015.
21.Ibid.
22.Machado 2016.
23.Gonsalves 2015a.
24.Paiva 2015b.
25.Paiva, 2015a.
26
.DeSantos 2015c.
27.C. Dextradeur 2015.
28.Ferreira, 2016.
29.Paiva 2015b.
30.Spinner 2016.
31.Dill 2015c.
32.Gonsalves 2015b.
33.Costa-Crowell 1988.
34.Dill 2015c.
35.W. Perry 2016.
36.Kolata 1987.
37.Brockton Enterprise 1975.
38.Boyle 1988f.
39.Hardin 2016.
40.C. Gregory 2016.
41.S. Perry 2016.
5THE INVESTIGATION EXPANDS
1.Muntzel 1988a.
2.Ferreira 2015.
3.White 1988
4.Boyle 1989d.
5.W. Perry 2016; C. Gregory 2016.
6.Boyle 1989c.
7.Gonsalves 2016.
8.Boyle 1989e.
9.Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1989g, 96.
10.Ibid., 129.
11.Ibid. 1989b, 95–96.
12.Gonsalves and Dill 2016.
6IN THE CROSSHAIRS
1.St. Jean 2016a.
2.Ibid.
3.Boyle 1989b.
4.Ibid. 1989f.
5.Ibid. 1989a.
6.Ellement 1989.
7.Ressler, Burgess, and Douglas 1988, 113.
8.Ibid., 15.
9.Ibid., 122.
10.Pacheco 2016.
11.McCabe 2016.
12.Pacheco 2016.
13.Boyle 1989g.
14.Massachusetts State Police 1989a.
15.Butler and Greany 1989.
16.Starkey 1990, 25.
17.Ibid., 27.
18.Ibid., 24.
19.Butler 1989a.
20.Starkey 1990, 24.
21.Ibid., 25.
22.Ibid., 13.
23.Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1989g, 92.
24.Starkey 1990, 29.
25.Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1989e, 29.
26.St. Jean. 2016a.
27.Boyle 1989h.
28.Commonwealth of Massachusetts 1989b, 192.
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