The Snow Killings
The Snow Killings
Inside the Oakland County Child Killer Investigation
Marney Rich Keenan
Jefferson, North Carolina
Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Names: Keenan, Marney Rich, 1954– author.
Title: The snow killings : inside the Oakland County child killer investigation / Marney Rich Keenan.
Description: Jefferson, North Carolina : Exposit, 2020 | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020023281 | ISBN 9781476684000 (paperback : acid free paper) ♾ ISBN 9781476642048 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Serial murders—Michigan—Oakland County—Case studies. | Kidnapping—Michigan—Oakland County—Case studies. | Children—Crimes against—Michigan—Oakland County—Case studies.
Classification: LCC HV6533.M5 K44 2020 | DDC 364.152/320977438—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020023281
British Library cataloguing data are available
ISBN (print) 978-1-4766-8400-0
ISBN (ebook) 978-1-4766-4204-8
© 2020 Marney Rich Keenan. All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Front cover: The body of Kristine Mihelich, the third victim, being removed from a snow bank in the residential community of Franklin Village on January 21, 1977 (Alan Kamuda/Detroit Free Press)
Printed in the United States of America
Exposit is an imprint of McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers
Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640
www.expositbooks.com
For Mark, Jill, Kristine and Tim
What John knew and Lloyd could not know was that such deliberate savagery was a thing beyond setting right, beyond the reach of justice, vengeance, forgiveness, or healing. The only right response was despair. One could only embrace the sadness and turn away.
—Mark Bowden, The Last Stone (2019, Atlantic Monthly Press)
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
1
“The clock was ticking”
2
The Body of a Young Boy
3
A Sinister Confluence of Events
4
The Snow Killings
5
The Sick Underbelly of the Beast
6
Offered Ten Years, He Chose Three Life Sentences
7
A One in a Million Conversation
8
“This should have been solved thirty-two years ago”
9
Suicide or Hit?
10
A Request for Witness Protection
11
“We don’t let the tail wag the dog”
12
Brother Paul’s Children’s Mission
13
Busch Is Front Page News
14
A Cover-Up and a Red Herring
15
No New Evidence
16
Obstructing the Investigation
17
Sloan, Crosbie and Comrades
18
Finally Righting the Ship
19
Cooper Goes Rogue
20
Trying to Make All the Pieces Fit
21
Last Resorts
22
No Such Thing as Closure
Bibliography
Index of Terms
Acknowledgments
This book could not have been written without Det. Sgt. Cory Williams, who entrusted me with his life’s work very early on, and who believed me when I told him I was in it for the long haul.
I am also indebted to Barry King for his perpetual open door, his mastery of the facts and astute analysis of the case, from his blue plaid wing back chair by the bay window; and because through him I witnessed firsthand the epitome of steadfast honor and devotion in his pursuit of justice for his youngest child.
Since 2009, Catherine King Broad, Timothy King’s sister and an attorney, has been more than generous with her own extensive records and analysis on the case—often at great personal cost. Thanks also go to her brother, Chris, for his forthrightness and guidance.
I am grateful for the time and interviews granted to me by all the victims’ loved ones: Mike Stebbins, Karol and Gerald Self, Tom and Marla Robinson, Deborah Jarvis, Erica McAvoy, Tom Ascroft, Barry and Janice King, Liz Kerr, Cathy Broad, and Chris and Mark King.
I am also grateful to my daughters for their constant cheerleading, their patience when Mom had to accept yet another collect call from a state prison, and for getting me back in the game when sidelined by rejections and setbacks and when I’d simply had enough of this often wrenching and maddening subject material. Thank you for shoring me up and for being the adults in the room when I needed it. I love you so much it hurts.
I am repeatedly reminded of my good fortune to have learned from a group of phenomenal journalists while at the Detroit News: in particular, my editor, Judy Diebolt for her special blend of wit, grace and Detroit grit; Rita Holt and Felecia Henderson for their patience and for lassoing me back into to my own lane; and Marty Fischhoff for showing me the ropes.
Were it not for my oldest brother Chris’ years of moral support, brainstorming sessions at the whiteboard, thoughtful editing, meticulous proof-reading and endearing salutation, “Carry on,” I might have given up on this project. His love of the dash, sharpened red pencils and admonishments to trust my own voice, are valued beyond measure. I am also forever grateful to my brothers, Rob (thanks for being proud of me), Paul (the check is in the mail, honest), and Peter (I know you are watching over me). My deep appreciation to Jessica Johnson Rich for developing a really outstanding website for me.
I am especially indebted to my friends, extended family and supporters who are no doubt relieved they no longer have to ask how this behemoth of a manuscript is faring. They include: Mary and Tim Binder, Sandra Matthews, Michelle Andonian and Maureen DesRoches. Special thanks to Barb Acho, James E. Stewart, my agent Tom Flannery, and my editor on this project, Dylan Lightfoot.
The person for whom there are no adequate words of thanks in any language is my husband, Chris Keenan. He could probably recite every fact and date in this book verbatim. He has been my parachute, my rock, my patient and steady sage advisor. The reason I say all the time “I don’t know what I’d do without you” is because he gives me so many reasons to say it.
Prologue
On a crisp November evening in 2010, the Village Club in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan—a half-century-old philanthropic and social club of ladies-only members—started filling with well-dressed men and women. Most attendees, if not all, were from the surrounding communities in Oakland County, consistently ranked among the top most affluent counties in the country.1
Barry King stood by the podium, dressed in a suit and tie, greeting his guests. If he was nervous, it did not show. At 79, with a lifetime spent as a business attorney, he was accustomed to presenting evidence before groups of people—methodically, point by point, the momentum building to a crescendo. Tonight, however, was different. Never had the cause been so personal. Never had he been so intensely and publicly on the at
tack.
As an esteemed member of the bar, Barry King had trusted law enforcement. Now, it appeared he had been strung along for years, lied to and manipulated. He was all but convinced of a concerted cover-up. At best, police were hiding their own incompetence, at worst, malfeasance.
Whatever the scenario, he believed this to be true: police held in their custody the monster involved in the abduction, torture and murder of his son, and three other children, during a 13-month reign of terror in Oakland County 34 years earlier. During that period, while panic enveloped a whole community, they had this demon and had let him go. In the decades since, the suspect had never again surfaced in the “ongoing” police investigation into the most notorious, unsolved serial child murder case in the country.
It was overwhelming to think of all that lost time, all that evidence gone to dust. That the suspect lived within a five-mile radius of all four victims and had been convicted of rape with a minor four times over was a slap in the face. There was the glaring evidence at the scene of his so-called suicide, the family money that bought silence and lies into perpetuity. To fully and continually grasp that all of this had been either buried or destroyed was to inflict trauma upon tragedy, like the repeated lancing of a wound.
In unsolved murder cases, it is said a limbo marks the lives of the victims’ families and friends: the known breaks your heart, the unknown your peace.2 For Barry King, the perversion of justice, hidden by badges and uniforms, propelled him.
At an age when most would be content to putter in the garage or work on a golf handicap, King rose every morning at six a.m., poured a cup of coffee and padded downstairs to the basement to fire up his ancient computer and work on the case. Gracious in demeanor, yet firm and authoritative, he talked to anyone who would listen. First, at a neighborhood gathering at his home. Then, at a presentation at the Birmingham Senior Men’s Club. And now at a sit-down dinner with $29 and up entrees, all footed by King.
Tonight, he wanted to explain how it came to be that he and his family had been stonewalled by both the Michigan State Police and the Oakland County Prosecutor’s Office, the very agencies entrusted by the public to shed light on the facts, prosecute the criminals, and deliver justice. King had sued both agencies under the Freedom of Information Act. In response, the prosecutor and attorney general had pulled out all the stops, filing specious appeals, lengthy motions for reconsideration, and interlocutory appeals—anything to delay opening up their records. Through it all, the stalling just emphasized the question: what were they hiding?
While the assembly mingled and waitresses took cocktail orders, offering olive-and-blue-cheese canapés on white doilies, several guests picked up the six-page timelines prepared for the talk. They took their seats, glasses of wine in one hand, chronicles of madness in the other. You could see it in their faces. Despite the well-appointed French Provincial décor, in a room more commonly used for art history classes like “Crystal Palace Exhibition, London 1851,” or the more daring “Facebook 101,” this was not a social event. There was no sense of gaiety in the room.
Most of the guests well remembered the 13-month span in 1976 and 1977 when four children from Oakland County, ranging in age from 10 to 13, were abducted in plain sight, held captive from four days to 19 days, their bodies not hidden but dumped in the open—in a roadside ditch, near an expressway ramp, in parking lots—as if to taunt investigators. They remembered with clarity the year the playgrounds emptied; how picking up their kids from school, lest they walk home alone, created traffic jams. How even playing in the backyard required parental supervision. They lived through the dread of opening the morning paper to yet another elementary school class photo of a smiling child, the boldfaced headline: MISSING. The gut-punch when a small body had been found.
The most acute horror stemmed from the knowledge that each child was kept alive for the duration of their captivity. Mark Stebbins, Jill Robinson, Kristine Mihelich and Tim King, Barry’s son, were all killed within hours of their bodies being found. Until a body turned up, the unthinkable was happening. The time warp to the present seemed a hellish eternity.
More than four million people lived in the metro Detroit tri-county area in 1976.3 Media coverage saturated the state; fear and anxiety reigned. No one had escaped news coverage of the largest serial murder in Michigan history, variously referred to as “The Michigan Snow Killings,” because it snowed on the days the children’s bodies were found, or the “Babysitter” killings, because the children had been fed in captivity, their bodies bathed. Despite the largest manhunt in history at the time—headed by the Oakland County Child Killer Task Force—the predator who lived among them was never found.4 Years turned into decades. Time dulled their shock and horror. Their own kids grew up. Now, they carried photos of grandkids in their wallets.
But for the King family, life as they knew it—four kids in a three-bedroom bungalow on Yorkshire Road during the height of the automotive industry boom—came to an abrupt halt on March 16, 1977. Tim, then 11, was Barry and his wife Marion’s youngest son. Early evening, he’d borrowed 30 cents from his older sister, Cathy, and gone up to the local drugstore to buy a candy bar.
Tim was missing for six days before his still-warm body was found by the side of a residential street, his skateboard tossed beside him as an afterthought. By sheer force of will, Marion became a warrior; every day became an obstacle course. Still, she soldiered on: “I’ve got three other kids to raise.” Marion wanted no part of the investigation. She also didn’t want any media attention. She passed away September 24, 2004, at 73, officially of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, unofficially of a broken heart.
All along, Barry King abided by his wife’s stoicism. Sporadic updates from law enforcement, though devoid of any serious leads, led him to believe police were doing all they could. The case was just too cold.
All that changed in 2006, when a serendipitous conversation between two men at a convention in Las Vegas blew the case wide open. The King family handed this most promising lead to date to the only cop they felt they could trust, a young detective from a neighboring suburb in Wayne County. Hope skyrocketed as the detective unearthed a staggering amount of circumstantial evidence. But just as quickly, hope fell to the ground, the detective now muzzled by an ugly political turf war as the few remaining accomplices in the case burrowed deeper underground.
It was that code of silence that pushed Barry King to the brink: how long is long enough to be denied the truth about the murder of your child?
As the guests began to take their seats, Tim’s brother, Chris King, who lives close by in Huntington Woods, conferred with his father. He made sure the microphone was working and placed a glass of water at the podium. While all the King children are involved in the case—Cathy King Broad lives in Boise and Mark King lives in Austin—Chris is the most hands-on, if for no other reason than proximity. A writer and media executive, he is his father’s point guard, accompanying him at almost every briefing, for which his father is deeply indebted. “He knows what I’m thinking before I even say it,” Barry has said. But all the Kings are committed to uncovering the truth.
That morning, after asking his kids how best to field difficult personal questions from the audience, Barry received the following email from Cathy:
Dad: Been thinking about your call yesterday about possible questions at the talk tonight. Chris is right about women looking at topics in a more global fashion rather than simply analytically. However, another “truism” is that they tend to ask questions carefully in order to avoid being rude or cruel.
I think any questions about our family and how everyone managed—questions that are personal in nature—are fair questions. People just want to put it into context, find something remotely relatable. They naturally have questions about where people like us end up and how someone could live with the unthinkable. It’s just human nature and with women in general, as opposed to say reporters (pe
ople who want to use the info to enhance or sell their story), they do not ask these questions with any ill-intent.
That doesn’t mean there won’t be some in-artful or weird questions, or that all women “get it,” but it also doesn’t mean that any long answers are required. You can just be brutally honest, but very brief.
“It was every bit as horrible as you might imagine.”
“To this day, it is something I struggle to put into words.”
“It was surreal and terrifying, and worst of all, none of us could do anything to help Tim.”
Whatever. It doesn’t have to be anything detailed, but the answer needs to “humanize” the entire thing. Tragedies do not occur in a vacuum and as much as the cops would like it to be a “just the (objectively, 100% provable) facts, ma’am,” that’s not the way the real world works.
The real answer is you put one foot in front of the other after you are done crawling on your hands and knees and it sucks so bad you wouldn’t wish it even on Larry Wasser, James Feinberg, Jane Burgess, Jessica Cooper, or any of the morons at the MSP (Michigan State Police).
But that has to stay unspoken. Nobody else really can “get it” anyway. Bottom line: It was more horrible than you can even imagine and doesn’t serve anyone well to contemplate this for very long. It is a life-long burden, but it is nothing compared to what those kids went through. Tim, Kristine, Jill and Mark would be in their mid–40’s today. We all missed out on a hell of a lot. Any other questions?!
Good luck tonight. It is a totally worthwhile endeavor and reaching out to the community can’t hurt. I know you will do a great job explaining to other concerned people the issues that are raised when an investigation is handled this way. Although none of the audience will really believe it, something like this could happen to them and they are just plain lucky it probably won’t.
Barry King took the microphone and began. “I’d like to thank you all for coming. And if you would please take your seats, I’d like to explain to you the course of events that has led us to the unfortunate and unacceptable position we find ourselves in today.”
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