“Tracey had stolen one of Dr. Pitman’s prescription pads,” Ben Smith added. “That’s how she was able to obtain the steroids.”
Night after night, Tracey was followed. She met different men and either spent the night at their apartment or just a few hours and left. She’d meet men on the beach. One time, she was seen arguing with a man inside his vehicle in a beach parking lot. Then she got out and walked toward a boat, where four men waited for her, one of whom “patted [Tracey] on the butt” as she stepped onto the boat.
After getting these reports, John was “disturbed,” as any husband might be—regardless of what they had been through and how he felt. After all, this was the mother of his child. After telling Tracey what he was doing, John took Bert from Chicago and brought him to his parents’ house in Virginia. According to several documents, Tracey said it was fine.
John and Tracey had purchased a home in Chicago right across the street from her parents before John knew how bad things had gotten in Denver. Beyond that, they had very few assets. Asked about this, Tracey said in a report she had no idea John was divorcing her. From John’s point of view, he said, he told her and Anna Richter straight out that enough was enough; he was moving on. Yet, on June 26, 1992, Tracey filed for a Petition for Dissolution of Marriage, not John. She claimed “irreconcilable differences and mental cruelty.”
John moved into an apartment near Northwestern Memorial Hospital, where he was working on his plastic surgeon residency. It was over. There was no resurrecting the relationship. If one was to look at the PI reports alone, based on those, Tracey was involved in everything from promiscuous sex—and possibly prostitution—to selling steroids she obtained through fraudulent prescriptions, to stripping for groups of men. Tracey was an absolute menace. Of course, once she moved back to Chicago and found out where John now lived, she began bothering him there, tricking the guards into letting her into the building.
In Virginia, John’s parents took a call from the Chicago Police Department, which had a missing person’s report on Bert.
“He’s here with us,” John’s mother told them. “He’s not missing.”
John heard from Tracey. She was desperate. She tried to explain all of the motels and meeting men by saying she was scared for her life and someone had been following her. Yes, she had entered one motel with the idea to sleep with a man, but “I chickened out.... John, I want my marriage back.”
“Come on, Tracey.”
“Look, the gunshot was not a suicide attempt,” Tracey said after they began talking about everything that had gone on. “I was just trying to scare you.”
None of it mattered. John was not going back. Tracey had filed. It was now time for lawyers and courts to sort things out.
* * *
As an interim legal separation agreement, John and Tracey decided that joint custody and what a report called “liberal visitation for John” was in order. Bert was returned to Tracey and John would see his son two days a week.
Things could have worked out. John was willing to settle the marriage without a fight. He just wanted to move on and be a father to his son. Tracey could have the life she wanted, as long as it did not affect their child in any adverse way.
But that is not how Tracey Richter saw things: Almost from the first visit, Tracey painted John as the father that would not adhere to the rules they had settled upon in court. She said John never dropped Bert off on time. She said the last thing she wanted to do was make John mad. She said she was scared of him and what he would do.
This was, for Tracey, the beginning of a long, evil, dangerous campaign to destroy this man.
It was all lies. The only reason she attacked John was because he started to make noise about Bert and his hygiene and how he was dressed.
Then John suspected Tracey was abusing Bert. At times, he’d pick up Bert and the child would have bruises and welts. John could not sit back and say nothing. He needed to protect his son.
For that, John was then accused of sexual abuse.
It was the fall of 1992 and war had been waged. During this period, John met Lisa, the woman who would become his second wife. This pissed Tracey off royally. She could not believe she had been replaced. Lisa became her new enemy.
Bert “immediately hit it off” with Lisa, said one report. Another claimed Bert “clung to Lisa.” She played a protective role in his life, and the child adhered to it. Bert finally had some stability and he liked it.
In the early months of 1993, John took a call from a friend of Tracey’s. The woman said she was greatly concerned for Bert’s welfare.
“What do you mean?” John asked.
“The sexual escapades” in the house, the friend said. “The drugs. The pornography, and the guys she is having over.” The picture painted for John was that Tracey was bedding any man she brought home. She was viewing pornography right out in the open, where Bert could see it. Drinking. Staying out late at night, not coming home.
Over the course of the next several months, John was beside himself with concern that Tracey was hurting Bert on many levels, but the bruises and welts were especially frightening. John provided four testimonials later by people connected to him and Tracey and Bert. All agreed that Tracey was abusing her child. In addition, John tracked down one of Tracey’s old boyfriends in Denver and questioned him about their relationship. The boyfriend said Tracey had purported to be a single mother and had brought Bert each time they spent an afternoon together having sex.
On several occasions, in the presence of different sources, Bert was asked how he had acquired various bruises on his body and each time he said “his mother hit him.” What made his testimony believable was that he would point out different wounds: That one there I got on the playground, but that one there, she hit me. One comment Bert made could not have been any clearer: “Mommy beat my face and beat my butt.” John took photos. Tracey was in denial or completely refused to fess up because she turned it all around on John, saying he was the one responsible.
This went on and on. Bert showed up one night in February 1993 and he had a visible welt on his chin and lip.
“What happened?” his father asked.
“Mommy hit me . . . hit me hard. Hit my face.”
Meanwhile, Tracey was calling John and asking him questions about Bert’s anus being discolored, accusing him in an untoward and rather graphic nature of the most vile sexual abuse imaginable.
By June 1993, Tracey and John had given depositions in their custody fight and divorce. It was beyond ugly. Soon child services were called in as Tracey brought Bert to a doctor for a sexual abuse examination—the first of many medical exams the child would undergo at the behest of his mother’s accusations. Tracey claimed to have Bert on tape explaining what was being done to him by his father.
Interestingly, when Bert was first questioned about all this, he would always look at Tracey before answering a question. Then Bert was given a test “to identify colors or distinguish a truth from a lie,” and he couldn’t do it. Bert had trouble demonstrating what happened to him with any consistency while using two dolls. Neither the social services representative nor the district attorney involved felt Bert was a credible witness and no charges were ever filed against John Pitman.
Damage had been done, however; the doctor involved recommended that Tracey be granted sole custody. John got his own second opinion. Those doctors did not find any evidence whatsoever of sexual abuse. Then John took a polygraph and passed it. The guy had never touched his son.
In May 1996, a judgment for Dissolution of Marriage was granted. They were divorced. In that document, John was absolved of any possible connection to abusing Bert: The Court finds no credible evidence of any abuse or sexual abuse, by a preponderance of the evidence of the minor child . . . by Respondent, John M. Pitman, III.
John was granted “joint parenting,” though Bert would live with Tracey.
Tracey Richter, a woman John Pitman believed had been hitting his son (among so
many other criminal behaviors she was involved in), now had total control over Bert and would maintain that control for years to come—until, that is, John Pitman decided he wasn’t going to take it anymore and lined up a team to get full custody of his son.
42
ON THE DAY DUSTIN WEHDE was murdered, December 13, 2001, Michael Roberts and one of his employees were out of state, traveling for an “emergency business meeting” that put them in Denver and Minneapolis. Tracey was at home, alone with the kids. Michael had been gone nearly a week. Tracey knew, however, he would be home after midnight on the thirteenth, or early on the fourteenth.
It was three months and two days after the deadliest terrorist attack in contemporary American history, the World Trade Center plane bombings. The country was still on edge, reeling from such a devastating loss that exposed how vulnerable and perhaps close we were to the absolute carnage and bloodshed going on in the Mideast. Where would terrorists strike next? How many “sleeper cells” were planning an attack right now? The media was still covering the attacks 24/7. The entire world, truly, felt violated, especially Americans, now driving around with flags draped from their car windows and truck beds; “red, white, and blue” was pumping through their veins. People were kind to one another. There was an unspoken connection, a brotherhood, between every single American, no matter race, creed, or social status.
During the interview that Tracey gave to SCSO lieutenant Dennis Cessford hours after the events that led to Dustin Wehde’s death, she claimed to have “cleaned the house,” along with “some other routine chores” for most of that morning and early afternoon. With Tracey’s track record of lies, however, it becomes hard to accept even these basic facts. Nevertheless, she was at home, alone with two kids (Bert was in school much of the day).
Tracey said she spoke to her mother, Anna, and planned on meeting up with Anna for coffee later in Storm Lake. This would be one of many contradictions Tracey would inject into the narrative account of the events that led to premeditated violence and bloodshed inside her home.
Just down the street at her Linden Lane residence, Mona had some work to finish up in her office and also felt like doing some Christmas shopping in Sioux City. Before she left, Mona spoke to her daughter, who didn’t feel good that morning. Brett, Dustin’s father, was one of those hardworking, blue-collar guys that came home from the plant for lunch every day. Dustin had an orthodontist’s appointment at one o’clock.
Mona called home at about 11:30 a.m. as she finished up her work and before she headed to Sioux City. She wanted to make sure Dustin was awake and getting ready for his appointment. She also wanted to see how her daughter, who wound up staying home from school, was feeling.
“Dad’s not home from work for lunch yet,” Mona’s daughter said. “I’m feeling better, Mom.”
“Is your brother up?”
“Yeah. He’s been up. He showered and got ready and looked nice. I think he left, though.”
Mona asked her daughter—because she did not believe Dustin to be punctual—to check and make sure she was correct. She asked her to see if Dustin’s keys and car were gone. Dustin kept his keys in the same spot on the wall whenever he was home; if his keys were there, Dustin was still home.
“Yup, both gone,” she said.
“Great,” Mona answered, explaining to her daughter that she was going to Sioux City. After hanging up, Mona did a few things around the office, got into her car, hopped onto the interstate, and headed west on the 20.
* * *
Back at West South Avenue, according to Tracey’s recollection to Cessford, the rest of the day and early evening unfolded without complication. Two neighbors stopped by to feed the dog and cat, but Tracey told them she had already done it and so they left.
After that, Tracey claimed, Dustin stopped by. She gave no time. “Afternoon” was all she told Cessford, before adding she “wasn’t sure of the time.” It had to be well after 2:00 p.m., however, because Dustin had that appointment at one o’clock.
Dustin rang the bell at the front door, Tracey claimed. Totally contradicting what Mona Wehde would later say about the conversation she had with Tracey the previous day, Tracey said Dustin stopped by to ask if she had any work for him, saying, “I need money. I spoke to Michael about this recently.”
Michael had been gone a week. Why would Dustin, who knew Michael worked next door (Dustin even parked his white car in the business lot), go to the Roberts home to look for him?
“Michael must have told him he could make copies at the office,” Tracey explained to Cessford, giving a reason why Dustin showed up. Six days after the murder, in an interview with the Storm Lake Times, Tracey said Dustin had come to the door “a few times,” over a few months, asking for odd jobs, such as mowing the lawn (in December, mind you). She also told reporter Art Cullen in that same interview she was expecting Michael that night and she had put lamb curry on the stove for dinner because he liked the dish and she wanted “supper” to be “waiting” for Michael when he walked in.
After Dustin supposedly asked about work, Tracey said she “politely told Dustin” that he should come back when Michael was around. “He’ll be back on Friday,” Tracey explained to Dustin (being sure to relay this information to Cessford in detail). She even added how “strange” she considered Dustin coming to the front door of the house was, “because no one uses that door.”
* * *
Next, as she spoke to Dustin, Tracey said a good friend, Marie Friedman, pulled into the driveway. A student teacher, Marie lived in Storm Lake. Her husband, Raymond, who worked for Michael, was that same employee Michael had brought with him to Denver and Minneapolis.
“I was to go . . . directly to the Robertses’ residence,” Marie later said in court, “to spend the afternoon and the night with Tracey.” It was a plan. Marie was certain about this. She had even brought an overnight bag with her. She said it was about 4:00 p.m. when she arrived at Tracey’s on that day. What immediately struck Marie when she pulled in was another vehicle parked in the lot: an older white car, she remembered (similar to Dustin’s). Marie parked next door, in the office driveway.
After grabbing her overnight bag and a tray of cookies from the backseat, Marie walked to the side door of the Roberts house and rang the bell. This was the door everyone went to. No one ever used the front door. Marie never reported seeing anyone at the front door talking to Tracey.
Marie rang that side door’s bell repeatedly, knocked several times, but no one answered. It was as if nobody was home.
Marie knew where the Robertses kept a spare key, so she found it and opened the door to let herself in. She figured she’d drop off the cookies she had made the previous night for the kids, leave a note, and be on her way. She assumed Tracey was not at home and the sleepover was off.
“I proceeded to open the door . . . [and] Tracey met me at the door.”
It was as if Tracey had appeared out of nowhere.
“Oh, sorry. I was at the front door.... Dustin is here,” Tracey explained. Then said this: “He keeps stopping by.”
“Okay . . .”
Tracey asked Marie to take a seat. “Would you like some tea?”
“Sure.”
Marie said she made it clear as they sat and chatted that she planned on spending the night. But Tracey said, “I have to go to Storm Lake and pick up Bert.”
“Aren’t I supposed to be spending the night?” Marie wondered. They had talked about this earlier that week. Marie’s husband was expecting her to be at the Roberts house when he came home with Michael.
“No, I have to go to Storm Lake. Plans have changed, Marie. I have to get Bert. You won’t be spending the night anymore.”
To the Storm Lake Times, Tracey said she told Marie she had to give Cassie a bath and that “Marie was supposed to return later.”
The truth is absolute. Minor details are what catch liars—not the seemingly important aspects of a narrative: times, dates, and locations. If one is tell
ing the truth, it becomes a consistent, continuous chain of events, with certain links missing. Facts regarding minor details may be blurry, but the idea of someone staying the night and the reason that person wound up not staying the night are two of those facts that would never change.
Tracey mentioned nothing about what she had told Dustin. But she and Marie spent about forty-five minutes talking in the kitchen and then Tracey walked Marie out that same side door she had entered through. When Marie left, she did not recall seeing the same white car in the driveway.
* * *
To Cessford, Tracey said she had known Dustin through Michael, who, along with Bert, “would know him better as they had taken him paintballing. . . .” Other than that, Tracey said, she only saw Dustin when he stopped by—at “strange times”—to ask for work.
Cessford asked Tracey if she left the house that day at all. She mentioned how she went out to the store for milk before Marie got there and left the kids home alone because one of them was “napping” and the other was “watching TV,” but had “locked the door” when she left. She asked Cessford if she was going to “get into trouble for that.” Cessford reassured Tracey he was interested in bigger things than leaving the kids at home.
Dustin left just after Marie showed up, Tracey claimed. She was glad when Marie arrived because Dustin was one of those people, Tracey told Cessford, “that was hard to get rid of.”
Then she offered this statement to Cessford: “I was hoping that Marie would spend the night, since her husband was with Michael.”
Tracey mentioned nothing about having to go get Bert. In her statement to Cessford, she claimed she couldn’t recall if Bert came home while Marie was there or before Marie arrived. When Marie left, Tracey said she told Bert to go next door to the office for a while.
“I need to wrap some Christmas presents.”
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