by John Coston
Ellen said her roommate had been screwed over, but that she was getting out soon because they had discovered some technicality.
When Deanne heard this she began to understand why Ellen was calling. Ellen was thinking the same thing: That she was going to get out, too, one way or another, on some narrow interpretation of the law. Maybe Ellen was trying to feel her out to see if she would be friendly or adverse, if Ellen should press an appeal to get out. Deanne didn’t know that Ellen actually had started an appeal.
At one point, Ellen’s voice began to crack. It was when they were discussing all the fun they used to have on the road. Deanne didn’t come right out and ask Ellen whether she had killed David and Steven, and Ellen never led the conversation in that direction. As far as Deanne was concerned, Ellen had to live with herself, and Deanne had no idea how she could. Deanne often wondered what went through her mind and why things turned out the way they did. She has never believed that people are born bad or born good. The circumstances in life do that. Deanne knew Ellen always believed that things would work out for her, and she was always looking for happiness that was just beyond her reach. Was it greed, or what, that finally pushed her to the point of doing what she did? From what Deanne had been told, they couldn’t find a psychiatrist who would say even that Ellen was temporarily insane when she committed the crimes. It was cold, premeditated murder for the money.
Even if Ellen had gotten away with it, Deanne knew that they would never have remained friends, and not just because her own life had moved on. Deanne also believed that if Ellen had been successful with the hair dryer in Stacy’s bathtub, she never would have killed Steven. He was such a sweetheart of a boy.
“Ellen, I know I’m gonna ask some stupid questions, but these are things I’d like to know.”
“You know you can ask me anything.”
“What do you do all day? I have no idea.”
“Data entry. Data processing,” Ellen said, and that made a lot of sense to Deanne, because she knew how good Ellen was with a computer.
“You’re not really in like a cell, are you?”
“No, it’s like a dorm.”
The conversation switched back to Sergeant Burgoon, and Ellen amazed Deanne.
“I know Joe’s working on the Major Case Squad.”
Deanne knew what Ellen was talking about, the city and county joint investigation of the abduction and killing of two young girls in St. Louis. Both girls, nine and ten years old, were found murdered within days of their disappearance, and it roused community fear that a serial killer was in its midst. Talk show hosts were entertaining calls about what kind of punishment would be fitting for the killer, or killers, when they were caught. Joe was recruited for the task force of about forty-five detectives from the city and the county that had been formed in early December. Deanne was floored that Ellen actually knew what Joe was doing, and where he worked, which was at the county’s police academy.
“I hope he gets this guy who killed these little girls,” Ellen said. “But he knows deep down in his heart that I didn’t kill those boys.”
Deanne paused, thinking about what to say. “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. I know nothing about that.”
“I made a mistake when I called Elaine. My mistake was saying to her what I said,” Ellen proceeded to say. “I know where I made my mistake.”
The conversation was coming to an end. Deanne had heard enough, and she wanted to get off the phone. When she said good-bye, she was pleasant about it, but she didn’t invite Ellen to call back.
In the hour and a half they were on the phone, Ellen never mentioned David’s name, but she did talk about Steven.
“When Steven passed …” was the opening of one sentence.
Deanne burned at that comment. Yeah, he “passed,” with a little help, she thought. Deanne remembered how sure Joe had been that Ellen was guilty, and his promise that he would get her. She also would never forget what she had said when Shirley Rogers told her they were going for the death penalty.
“I’m not opposed to that,” Deanne said. “But I would like for her to know what those two little boys felt. What was going through their minds right before they took their last breath. I just can’t believe somebody could do that.
“I think a better punishment would be for somebody to put a pillow over her face every morning for the rest of her life, and every morning she’d wonder if this would be the last morning.”
Aside from the comment that Ellen made about sparing them from a trial, she made no other mention of her daughter or her mother. By the springtime, at age sixty-nine, Catherine Booker would be dead. Among the handful of regular visitors in her waning days were Susan Emily and her daughter Terrie, and though Catherine was wheelchair-bound and experiencing difficulty breathing, it was clear to them that she would be going to her grave still believing in her daughter’s innocence.
By summertime, Paul Boehm would be on the move again. This time he and Teri were headed for Florida, meaning Stacy would be seeing even less of him. Still living in a foster home in St. Louis, she was the lone survivor. Sadly, she even missed her grandmother’s funeral. According to Teri, Stacy Ann, now a teenager, had been hospitalized for depression.
Image Gallery
Ellen Booker as a high school senior in St. Louis. (Roosevelt High School yearbook)
Ellen Boehm, the day she was arrested for the murders. (St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department)
Ellen Boehm, under arrest. (St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department)
Ellen moved to this apartment building on South Broadway in St. Louis after her husband left and she lost the house. (John Coston)
Ellen’s used the pillows from this rose-colored couch to smother her children. (St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department)
The investigative team posted a sign on a door at the Homicide Section that read ‘Boehm Task Force,’ which was intended to impress Ellen when she was questioned. (St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department)
Detectives purposely littered the conference table at right with coffee cups and ashtrays to simulate an around-the-clock investigation. (St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department)
The special investigative team received letters of commendation on Oct. 21, 1992 for exceptional performance on duty. Back row: Det. Rochelle Jones, Det. Walter Waggoner, Det. George Bender and Bill Swyers of the laboratory section. Front row: Det. Daryl Cordia, Nell Redman, laboratory section, Det. Joseph Burgoon and Det. Thomas Wilber. (St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department)
Det. Joseph Burgoon at his desk in the Homicide Section. (John Coston)
Dr. Michael Graham, Chief Medical Officer of the City of St. Louis, at his desk with autopsy reports. (John Coston)
The gravestones of Ellen Boehm’s children in Trinity Cemetery. (John Coston)
Acknowledgments
Many people in St. Louis helped in the writing of this book, but chief among them was Detective Sergeant Joseph Burgoon, who accorded me the same high degree of patience that he is known for bringing to his homicide investigations. Without Joe, it would not have been possible. Along with Sgt. Burgoon, Dr. Michael Graham, the city’s medical examiner, gave me invaluable help in delving into the medical complexities of this case, which he viewed as an extraordinary one in his experience.
I would like to thank Deanne Bond for illuminating so many dimensions of the main character of this story, and for her bravery in standing up for what’s right.
I also owe Assistant Circuit Attorney Shirley Rogers, who was forthright with me and who tolerated the intrusion despite a heavy court calendar. I also wish to thank Karen Kraft, who also took time out of her busy schedule as a public defender, and Special Agent James Wright of the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, who shared a perspective on his role in this case. Lieutenant Colonel James Hackett of the St. Louis Metropolitan Police Department made departmental resources available to me, and for that I am deeply grateful.
Paul and Teri Boehm opened their home t
o me and shared their part of this tragic story, and I thank them. I wish to thank Susan Emily her willingness to retell a painful past.
I thank Michaela Hamilton for the editing guidance that kept me on course, and Stephen Michaud, a fellow journalist, for his help in the early researching of this story. I also want to thank Jane Dystel, my agent, for her steadfast support.
About the Author
John Coston is a veteran journalist and a former news editor on the national desk at the Wall Street Journal. He has written for the Watertown Daily Times, the Hartford Courant, and the Miami Herald. Coston is the author of two true crime books, To Kill and Kill Again and Sleep, My Child, Forever.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 1995 by John Coston
Cover design by Greg Mortimer
ISBN: 978-1-5040-4130-0
This edition publishedin 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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