Cruel Death

by M. William Phelps

  “Anybody, whether it’s my daughter or anyone, if you know you’re facing murder charges,” Mitch Grace told me later, “you are not going to go in and give the police the information to use against you and say, ‘Drop the burglary charges.’ Wouldn’t you want to cover yourself on the charges you knew to be going against you? At that moment, I think she didn’t even begin to think she was going to be charged with murder . . . because BJ killed them.”

  In that regard, State’s Attorney Joel Todd, who had been advising the OCPD throughout the night, was more than willing to drop all the burglary charges against Erika for information about two missing people.

  “I’ll trade burglary for murder any day of the week,” Todd told me later.

  The other problem Erika and BJ faced as the light of Friday morning broke over Worcester County was that throughout the night, the OCPD had uncovered a boatload of rather hard evidence at the Rainbow condo against the now-infamous duo from Altoona, beyond what they had found inside Erika’s purse and the Jeep at the burglary scene.

  Bernal had gone in and had spoken to Erika several more times before her appointed legal defense attorney showed up. During one conversation, Bernal asked Erika why BJ had a swastika tattooed on his chest. They were worried that maybe the missing couple had been part of some white supremacist plot by BJ and Erika to kill anyone they didn’t see fit to live.

  “He loves Hitler,” Erika said. “I read him Hitler’s biography. . . . We both agree with Hitler’s beliefs.”

  “Erika, if these people are still alive, we need to find them as soon as possible.”

  “I know more than I’m telling. I had stuff missing. My pills were thrown over the balcony. They tried to steal my purse and throw it over the balcony.”

  “Every time we found out another piece of the truth,” Bernal remarked later, “Erika gave up just a little bit more of what she knew.”

  43

  Black and White

  Mitch Grace and his wife, Cookie, were just beginning their day by opening up Memory Laine for Erika and BJ, whom they knew to be on vacation in Ocean City, when their lives changed forever. As far as Mitch and Cookie knew, Erika and BJ would be back from their vacation late Saturday night after attending a reptile show somewhere in Pennsylvania.

  As Cookie went about her normal morning duties inside the store, the phone rang. Mitch was out in front smoking a cigarette.

  After a moment on the phone, Cookie looked as if the life had been sucked from her. She turned white as wool. It was Erika on the other end, letting her know that she was being held in Ocean City on burglary charges.

  Cookie screamed. Then cried.

  Mitch turned around quickly, stubbed out his cigarette on the ground below his feet, and rushed back into the store.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  Cookie dropped the phone receiver.

  Mitch went for it . . . “Hello, what is this?”

  Erika explained. Mitch bowed his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Erika was crying. She said she needed them right away.

  “Get here as soon as you can.”

  All throughout the morning as Mitch made plans to hire a private jet to fly him and Cookie down to Ocean City, he shook his head and began to think, Damn it all! That BJ finally got Erika into trouble.

  44

  Lawyer Up

  By noon, Mitch was climbing the walls, worried and unhappy with the fact that a court-appointed attorney was advising his daughter. He wanted Erika to have her own attorney. Maybe she could get out of jail on bond? What Mitch didn’t know immediately was that the OCPD had not only uncovered driver’s licenses of the two missing vacationers inside Erika’s purse, but also several pieces of jewelry that belonged to Geney and Joshua. This would make bond pretty unlikely.

  Things happened quickly after Mitch realized his daughter needed an attorney—hopefully, someone who knew his or her way around Maryland law. Mitch called a law firm in Altoona that had represented several contracting companies under various circumstances. Someone in the firm knew a guy in Baltimore. In fact, the guy Mitch spoke to in Altoona about finding a lawyer in Baltimore owned the Rainbow Condominiums in Ocean City, where Erika and BJ had been staying that week.

  Mitch’s friend back home called down to Baltimore.

  “Look, Mitch Grace is a friend of mine,” he said. “His daughter got into some trouble in Ocean City. They need a good attorney.”

  Right away, the attorney in Baltimore recommended a guy by the name of Arcangelo Tuminelli, a well-known lawyer in Baltimore legal circles since 1979. The idea that a double murder could have taken place inside the condo would likely make BJ and Erika good candidates for the death penalty—if they were involved and ultimately convicted. When Baltimore attorneys heard the words “capital offense,” the name Tuminelli generally came up.

  Mitch got Tuminelli’s number. Tuminelli’s friends and his colleagues called him by his nickname, “Arcky.” He wore flashy sharkskin suits and played the role of high-profile defense attorney like he wrote it. The cases other attorneys would rather not touch were his specialty. Generally taking on only federal cases, Arcky once represented a man involved in a five-defendant trial where large quantities of heroin had been found—four of the five received life sentences while Arcky’s client walked out of court a free man. Yet, to Arcky, winning didn’t necessarily mean that a client walked out of his or her jail cell into freedom. For Arcky, winning could just as well mean saving a condemned human being from death row.

  Arcky showed up at his Baltimore office late on Friday afternoon. As he walked in and began checking his messages, going through his mail, Arcky’s secretary flagged him down and said, “Have you heard the news?”

  “No, what? What are you taking about?”

  “There was this Pennsylvania couple arrested for a burglary and they think maybe they might have had something to do with a missing couple from Virginia.”

  The news of Erika and BJ’s arrest had hit the wires and was being reported in the Baltimore area and locally in Ocean City. So far, there wasn’t much of a story, but reporters had put together the two cases, nonetheless.

  Arcky was intrigued. “No kidding . . .” He put his mail down.

  “Yeah, and someone is calling you about the case,” his secretary said.

  “Huh?” Surprised and intrigued at the same time, Arcky was curious.

  “His name is Mitch Grace,” she said. “He wants you to call him right away.”

  Arcky looked at the number. He was up to his neck in caseloads. He didn’t need to take on a new job. Although, something about it spoke to Arcky’s intent and instinct—he had a feeling the case was going to be big. And interesting.

  Mitch answered. He sounded confused and desperate. More of a father worried sick about his daughter than anything else, Mitch wanted to make sure his daughter was being taken care of. And he considered the idea that a public defender couldn’t do that for her.

  “Mitch and Cookie,” Arcky said later, “were terrified at the prospects Erika faced.”

  Their little girl was in a jail with hardened criminals. Women who had committed sick acts and egregious crimes. Her parents were scared for her well-being. Mitch and Cookie made it clear to Arcky right away that it had been BJ who had caused this entire mess. They were certain of it. The marriage was doomed from the moment she brought the guy home and introduced him as her husband.

  Arcky explained to Mitch that he was working on a brief for another case and it had to be filed as soon as possible. He didn’t have time to focus on Erika right at the moment. He couldn’t just drop everything and take on her case. But it did interest him, he explained, and he said he wanted to help Erika.

  Mitch talked a bit about where Erika’s case was, as far as her arrest and incarceration. Something told Arcky that Mitch was under the impression that a good lawyer was going to be able to bond Erika out of jail and get her back home.

  “When is the first hearing s
cheduled?” Arcky asked.

  “Monday morning . . . a bail review hearing, as I understand,” Mitch answered. “Can you get down there immediately?” Erika needed someone to be with her. An attorney to tell her what to do, to protect her.

  “I have to get this brief done, Mr. Grace.”

  Mitch said he understood. “OK, call me when you can get down to see her.”

  45

  A Picture’s Worth . . .

  Back at the Rainbow Condominiums, the OCPD was still digging through room 1101 in an intense search—one of which was producing results that led to more questions than answers. In plain sight, there on the coffee table, was drug residue and a rolled-up twenty-dollar bill. It wasn’t much, but it explained a lot about what was going on inside the condo. In the ashtray was a roach and marijuana. In the bedroom was a scrapbook that Erika had obviously been working on. Inside the book were photos of Erika and BJ at various locales around Ocean City. When taken into context, the photos were strange and telling. In one, BJ is standing in the parking lot of Home Depot, smiling. He’s wearing a brand-new black shirt, white pants, flip-flops. In another, Erika and BJ are both smiling, hugging each other, as the Atlantic Ocean acts as a backdrop. There were photos of BJ and Erika taken inside nightclubs and at restaurants. In several of the photos, Erika is wearing a Hooters T-shirt. In another, she’s showing off what is a tattoo of a cobra on her hip, which she had obviously just gotten done.

  But then, as one of the detectives was looking at the photographs, there it was: a photo of Joshua Ford and Geney Crutchley. Joshua is holding a Seacrets cup, both he and Geney are smiling. There was even a photograph of Erika laughing, eating shrimp. Around her neck is a cross and a man’s ring. More interesting, in another photo, Erika is playing miniature golf: she’s kissing what is a large model of a green cobra. Then there was a snapshot of Erika standing side by side with a Hooters waitress, smiling and pulling the girl closer to her.

  All of the photos, it was soon determined, had been taken after Geney and Joshua had been reported missing. It was as if after meeting Joshua and Geney, Erika and BJ had officially started their vacation. Here they were, in one photo after another, living it up, smiling, laughing, drinking, eating, playing golf, lying on the beach.

  Having the time of their lives.

  Back at Worcester County Jail, detectives kept up the pressure on BJ, but he just wouldn’t talk. True to his SEAL training, BJ said he wasn’t going to say anything, except to his lawyer.

  When pressed, however, BJ smiled and echoed one sentence, over and over: “If you want to know what happened [to Geney and Joshua], you need to ask my wife.”

  Meanwhile, Erika had confided in Detective Bernal that Geney and Joshua were murdered. She said the murders had taken place on the beach after an argument. BJ accused them of stealing their belongings.

  Bernal was intrigued. “Really? Where did this happen?”

  “BJ did it on the beach,” she said.

  With all of the evidence pointing to the bathroom, and the fact that Erika’s body language spoke clearly to what the truth was, Bernal shook his head and allowed her to talk, but he knew damn well that she was lying through her bleached-white teeth.

  46

  Let’s Make a Deal

  The OCPD had Erika and BJ nailed on the burglary. Literally caught in the act. Erika was now saying, however, that it was BJ who had masterminded the entire Hooters burglary.

  “OK,” Bernal said, “what about Crutchley and Ford?”

  Erika quieted down. She was obviously distressed and emotionally unstable. She hadn’t slept much over the past twenty-four hours. Her dad had told her that an attorney was going to be in to see her as soon as he could get away from another case.

  Hold tight. Don’t say anything else.

  OCPD detective Brett Case was beginning to show up with Bernal during the times when Bernal started to put a bit of pressure on Erika. They knew Erika would crack. It was just a matter of time.

  “BJ killed them,” she said at some point that afternoon. “I helped him dispose of their bodies.” She was crying hysterically. Erika was down below one hundred pounds, arguably borderline anorexic. Although, in a letter to a friend in the coming weeks, Erika would talk about how everyone thought she was anorexic, but she said her weight had nothing to do with her eating habits—that it was based more on her drug and drinking addictions. In any event, there was nothing left to Erika, essentially. Her face was skeletal and gaunt. Her cheekbones cut sharply. Her ribs were visible. Her once beautiful, kinky hair was matted and falling out. “I was downstairs,” she explained, when “it” happened, implying that she in no way witnessed the murders.

  But didn’t “it” happen outside on the beach?

  Erika was changing her story again.

  Either way, she was not around when BJ killed them, she insisted.

  “Do you mind showing us, then, where you helped him dispose of the bodies?”

  Erika nodded yes, adding, “I will.” She seemed unsure, however, and made it clear that in exchange for this information, she wanted to be certain she wasn’t going to be prosecuted for the Hooters burglary.

  Joel Todd allowed Case and Bernal to go back in and tell her, sure, they’d drop those burglary charges if she brought them to the bodies.

  Case and Bernal got a car ready. Bernal wanted a female officer to ride with him and Erika. He didn’t want any trouble with Erika. Case would follow.

  Within the hour, they were on their way.

  Erika sat in front and directed Bernal where to drive. She again kept asking, “Do you like me? Am I pretty?”

  “Erika, we need to focus on this.”

  “Am I a bad person?”

  “Where are we going, Erika?”

  When they arrived at the second location, a Dumpster in back of strip mall near the condo, Erika appeared to be uncomfortable. This happened after going back and forth with Erika for some time, even once bringing her back to the station because she was talking in so many different circles. Erika finally told Bernal she would take him to the right Dumpsters. And here they were. Bernal was even inside the Dumpster himself, pushing garbage around.

  But still, nothing.

  Pissed off, he went back to his car, where Erika was waiting with another officer.

  “What’s going on? You gonna tell us the truth here, or what?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “What is it?” Bernal asked.

  “This is it! He cut them into six pieces and put them into bags,” she yelled.

  Bernal was astonished. Speechless at first.

  “Can you please repeat what you just said?”

  She repeated herself. Then, “Do you think I’m a bad person? I don’t know why BJ did this. I’m pretty sure this is the Dumpster. . . . I was pretty drunk. I don’t know.”

  Bernal and Case went over to the Dumpster and opened it up. The Dumpster had garbage inside it.

  They next drove into Delaware.

  At one point, they stood in back of a small strip mall near several Dumpsters. Erika was looking across the street at a Food Lion parking lot.

  “Why are you looking over there?” Bernal asked.

  “No reason.”

  “Was it here?” Bernal asked, frustrated. He was referring to where they were standing.

  “No . . . I don’t think so . . . I don’t know . . . ,” Erika said.

  Bernal drove Erika back to the OCPD. As they worked their way down Route 1, Bernal knew that Erika wasn’t being totally truthful with them.

  “Listen, Erika, we aren’t playing the same game here. We know the bodies weren’t dumped there. Now, come on, where are they? When are you gonna start telling us the truth?”

  “I’ll show you. They’re farther down into Delaware. I don’t know, I was sleeping.”

  They drove.

  “I played college basketball,” Erika said as they turned around and went on their way back to Delaware again. “Everybody loved me
. I love BJ so much. Do you like me, Detective?”

  “I have no reason not to, Erika, but we need to find these bodies.”

  Here she is looking at double murder, Bernal thought, and she cares about what I think.

  Just then, Bernal’s cell phone rang. It was Detective Richard Moreck. He had something. “It definitely happened in the bathroom of the condo,” he said. “We’ve confirmed that.”

  Bernal hung up and continued driving. After a minute, he said to Erika, “You know, all you’ve done is ask me if I like you and how pretty you are and talk about your college basketball days. I want to know, what do you think of yourself?”

  “Oh, me? I’m a great person. Everybody likes me.”

  “Do you always try to do the right thing?”

  “Yes. Always.”

  “Then let me ask you, when in the hell are you going to stop lying to me? Do you think that I actually believe that this happened out on the beach? Do you think I know or don’t know that this happened in the condo? I’m curious what you think.”

  “OK, OK, OK . . . it happened inside the condo, in the bathroom,” Erika finally admitted.

  “Are you sure you threw the bodies in Dumpsters? I don’t want to be led on some wild-goose chase here. Are you sure your husband didn’t just toss them into a ditch somewhere?”

  Erika turned red. Seething through her teeth, she lashed out at Bernal. “How fucking dare you! My husband would never. He would never throw a body in a fucking ditch. That’s how they found my friend Krista.”

  “Krista who?” Bernal asked.

  “Krista Ruggles.”

  Bernal’s heart skipped a beat. He had not worked the case, but had heard enough about it to know the details. Krista was a friend of Erika’s who had been murdered in Ocean City. It was still an open case. But Erika’s reaction told Bernal that Erika was definitely involved in Geney and Joshua’s murders. He had hit a nerve.