The Ford Heights Murders: Your Friends Came to See Me Book 1

by DL Benning

  The holidays were over, but unfortunately, winter was not. Since late November, I had been obsessing about what my next steps should be, and reluctantly came up with three options. One: Do nothing, which did not feel right to me. Two: Write the book and trust things would work out best for everyone involved and for the highest good. Three: Keep thinking about it and continue driving myself crazy and probably my husband, Sam, too.

  So, after much overthinking, I made the decision to follow Nina’s instructions and fulfill my soul agreement. I began writing the book about my uncle’s secret life that unfolded through my medium gift. I would like to say I just sat down by a cozy fireplace with a cup of Earl Grey tea and wrote this incredible story in a few weeks. That the story just came to me. That the words flowed effortlessly from my head to my hand. That my hand kept writing and would not stop. Hardly the truth. I started and stopped a ridiculous number of times.

  I had already wasted half my adult life worrying in general. Now I was consumed with worry about what might happen because of this situation with Fred. I worried about being rejected by family and friends. Worried about my reputation. Like, when did that ever matter to me before? And worried that maybe I was making up the whole story. I even worried that somehow, I might be held accountable for withholding evidence. I created all kinds of “what if” stories in my head. My “what if” stories had been paralyzing me for years. Finally, I just said to myself, What if I just did it and trusted the universe and myself? I could have argued the point, but I didn’t.

  In that moment, I decided I would be brave and write the book. I would start that day, before I changed my mind again. I went to my office and pulled out a basket from my bookshelf. The basket was filled with empty journals and spiral notebooks that I had been collecting for years. I found two mint green notebooks that were exactly alike. I picked those because I knew I would have enough information to fill them both. Even as I heard that thought in my head, I questioned it. Will I?

  Since I was a blogger and not a published author, I also fought with my inner critic about my capabilities as a writer. My self-doubt was paralyzing at times. What if I sounded stupid? What if nobody read the book? What if I couldn’t finish writing it?

  Finally, my inner voice got to a place that wasn’t filled with doubt. This voice that showed up, which I called my inner wisdom, always sounded confident and reassuring. It said: What if by telling the women’s stories I would be honoring them? I would honor their lives, provide closure for their families, and embrace the truth. Hmm, I thought, What if…? With this flash of insight, I got unstuck and started writing again.

  My research relied on internet searches. I spent hours Googling cold cases in the 1950s in the Ford Heights area. Unfortunately, online records before the 1970s were impossible to find.

  Occasionally the local news would report on thirty- to forty-year-old cold cases being solved through DNA evidence. I was always looking for a sign that I was on the right track, so seeing the reactions of the victims’ families and communities provided motivation. Every time my doubt showed up, I would remind myself that these murdered women deserved justice. They mattered. Their lives had been cut short by a sick, angry man: my uncle.

  I kept confiding in Sadie at work. I would send legal questions through Sadie to ask her police officer neighbor, and she would relay the answers back to me. The officer was curious about the information I was getting and how I was getting it. She was open to talking with me directly.

  A few weeks into my ask-the-neighbor phase, we agreed to meet for breakfast to talk in person. With the breakfast scheduled, I felt a little more at ease. I would at least get some more information on how cold cases work and what my liabilities would be. Plus, I could gain an informed ally. It sounded good to me.

  As I considered my next steps, I felt strongly that I wanted to know more about the women Fred had murdered. I wanted to hear their stories firsthand, not just about how they died. Who were they? What were they like? What were their dreams? I decided to interview each of them using my medium gift. I shared my plan with Sam. He was quiet, which always triggered my anxiety. I could not imagine what was going on in his head.

  He looked at me and said without hesitation, “I think you should go for it.”

  While I knew I didn’t need his permission, I liked that he was on board. His life was going to be affected too. More importantly, I felt he was validating the situation—and me—as real. His vote of confidence mattered more to me than I realized. This was going to be a new experience for me. Never having done this type of spiritual reading, I was in uncharted territory.

  The following Sunday, I set a chair across from my desk, hoping the women would come through and talk with me. I performed my medium recital of prayer, declaring my intention and setting a divine circle of protection. I invited the women to connect with me for an interview. And they did, right away!

  M was first. She introduced me to the other women. They gathered in a half circle, right in front of me. I kept blinking my eyes. Physically, I could see nothing except an empty chair. But when I closed my eyes, I saw four women. All seemed eager to speak with me. It was all so natural, as if I had done this every day of my life.

  I started with M. I interviewed her for a few hours. She told me about her life, her hopes, her dreams, how she met Fred, and how he killed her. I took notes and asked lots of questions. The conversation flowed more easily than I could have hoped.

  I took my time connecting with each of the women, giving myself breaks in between. Within a month, I had interviewed three of them. Each interview lasted several hours. I recorded notes in my mint green notebooks. They were filling up fast. I was glad I had two of them!

  During the interview process, a male spirit came through from the Other Side. He said his name was Detective Roman. He introduced himself as the Head of Detectives during the time of these murders. He came through very clearly. He told me that, while he knew Fred committed the murders, he had been unable to prove it. I asked if I could interview him, and he agreed.

  Detective Roman was very eager to help me. He told me he had spent two decades trying to solve these cases. He confirmed many of the details that had been given to me by the women. He told me that when I was ready to talk with the police, I should speak only to Captain Simon. He was the current Chief of Police, and he knew of these cases. Detective Roman was very specific that I should only talk to Captain Simon and no one else. I wondered why he was so insistent on this, so I asked him.

  “Captain Simon is a good law man,” he said. “I trust him and know that he will handle this case with great integrity. You must be cautious who you trust. People are always looking to make themselves famous. He was a young beat cop when I met him, and he knew how much these cases being solved meant to me. You try not to take it personally, but kid, it does get personal.”

  The detective gave me a list of what to take to Captain Simon: my notes, the DNA swab with Fred’s saliva on it, and any evidence I found in Fred’s mother’s home.

  This was very motivating to me. The book was writing itself! Sam would pass by the office from time to time to see what was happening. Most of the time, I didn’t even notice him until he walked away.

  The first time I interviewed one of the women, he saw me and asked what I was doing. I told him I was talking to M. He said, “Okay good, honey,” and walked away. At the end of each day, I would summarize the interviews with him. The day I talked to Detective Roman, I was very excited to share the experience with my husband.

  My husband is a practical guy. I knew he believed something was happening to me, but he was still not one hundred percent sure what that “something” was. He patiently listened as I recounted the whole interview with Detective Roman and then went to run his errands.

  A few hours later, Sam returned and said, “He exists.”

  “Who exists?” I asked.

  “The current captain of the police department in Ford Heights is Captain Simon.”

>   We looked at each other with a bit of shock. I got goosebumps everywhere. The hair on my arms and head were standing straight up, which always means a confirmation of the truth for me.

  During the interviews, each woman told me that Fred had kept a souvenir of theirs after he murdered them. They told me these souvenirs were in a box in the northwest corner of his mother’s basement. They wanted me to go to the house and retrieve their mementos. I made a list of trinkets we were looking for: M’s locket, a framed picture of Carol in her nursing uniform, and Julia’s African bracelet.

  I was bursting with excitement and information. The breakfast meeting with Sadie and her cop neighbor could not come quickly enough!

  —Chapter 4—

  A Woman Named M

  Summers in Illinois were long, hot, and humid. Growing up in a small town, there was never much going on, requiring kids to make their own fun. The Swanson sisters were no exception. There were four of them: Emily Margaret, Theresa Ann, Betty Jean, and Mary Alice. The sisters were all exactly two years apart in age. While they had plenty of household chores, they always made time for fun. They loved playing with their dolls, reading, and writing short stories. Being a child in the 1940s required a lot of imagination.

  Emily, who was nicknamed M, was the oldest Swanson sister. She loved to perform and would recruit her sisters into acting out the short stories they had written. M would generally play the leading lady, which her sisters rarely protested. They loved and admired her and gladly played along.

  M and her family lived in Ford Heights, a south suburb of Chicago. She was born into a traditional American family in the late 1930s. Her father was a middle manager at the Thrall Car Manufacturing Company. He was a quiet, soft-spoken man who wore a dark suit and hat to work every day. M did not know much about his job—he rarely talked about it. She did notice he always had a lot of paperwork to review after dinner in his study.

  Her mother was a pretty woman. She had ivory skin and short, wavy, red hair that she pinned back on one side. She was a traditional homemaker. M’s mother wore small-print, cotton dresses and an apron every day. Mrs. Swanson loved cooking for her family. As she cooked, the radio played big band songs. M would watch her mother happily humming along to the music. M loved to watch her work in the kitchen—her mother always seemed so happy. M thought, One day, I am going to be just like her.

  Every workday, Mr. Swanson would pull into the driveway at 5:35 p.m. He would grab his briefcase from the back seat and walk up to the house. Mrs. Swanson would greet him at the door with her apron over her dress and a smile on her face, welcoming him home. He would kiss her on the cheek as he stepped into the house.

  Suppertime ran like clockwork, as did most things in the Swanson house. M and her sisters helped their mother with dinner by setting the table. At dinner time, the radio was switched over to classical music, her father’s favorite.

  Each evening, M’s mother would strike a chime to signal that dinner was served. Dinners at the Swanson house were never very exciting. Her mother followed a weekly menu that never changed, typically creamed meat or fish with vegetables or potatoes. It was tasty, M said, but usually smelled bad.

  Her father always sat at the table first, then M and her sisters, and finally her mother. Dinner time was typically quiet, not a lot of chatter. There was some polite conversation here and there about the happenings of day, the news headlines, and what needed to be done after dinner. Giggling and being silly were not allowed at the Swanson table. Meals were never hostile or uncomfortable, just quiet.

  M enjoyed her childhood. She had two wonderful parents who were good providers and loved their daughters. M loved her sisters and considered them her best friends. As the oldest Swanson girl, she took great pride and responsibility in being a good role model to them.

  The Swanson girls were all excellent students and participated in most school and church activities. They loved spending time together. Dance classes were their favorite. Twice a week, they would walk to the local dance studio for lessons. Tap and ballet were most popular then. Because of their age differences, they were in different classes. M’s class was the last one of the afternoon. Most days she would watch her sisters practice while she waited. Sometimes her thoughts would drift to dreams of dancing modern dance solos at New York City’s Carnegie Hall. As the sisters walked home, they would share what they learned in their classes. Often, they would take turns performing their new moves all the way home.

  Every spring, the grade school hosted a dance recital. M loved to dance and was quite talented. Her Carnegie Hall solo was always playing in her head. M would be nervous before every recital, and this year was no exception. An eleven-year-old M stood backstage, peeking out from behind the red velvet curtain to see who was in the audience. She was trying to spot her family in the crowd, especially her father. She loved to perform for him, and he loved her passion and grace when she danced. Upon seeing him enter the auditorium, she would take a relaxing breath and find her place in the dance line.

  M’s blond hair formed two braids that crossed on top of her head. She wore a white, beaded costume that her mother had sewn and pale pink dance shoes. She always felt beautiful in her dance costumes. She was very nervous as she watched from Stage Right while the other dancers performed. As the music faded, she knew it would soon be her turn.

  This year, she was dancing with two other girls, rather than her typical solo performance. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer as their names were announced. The dancers took the stage and immediately start twirling and dancing to the music. Her parents and sisters were beaming with pride, and the girls received a standing ovation from the audience. The trio was later awarded the best performance of the evening.

  After the show, M’s family was excitedly waiting for her outside. Her father extended a small box with a lavender satin ribbon. She opened it to reveal a beautiful oval locket. She knew she would love and treasure it her whole life. The inscription read, “My Darling M.”

  Aside from dance, M was focused on her studies and made sure they were her priority. M finished grade school and high school with top honors. She also enjoyed spending time with her family.

  After high school graduation, M enrolled in a secretarial course. She soon graduated with a secretarial certificate. She always knew she would work in a law office. She replied to an ad in the newspaper for an open position at a law office in Ford Heights. M got the job.

  She loved dressing up every day and going to work. She made friends easily around the office. People couldn’t help but like her. She was helpful, liked learning, and made things happen with ease. She fit in perfectly.

  She enjoyed her position and planned to gain enough experience there to land a coveted spot in one of the big law firms in downtown Chicago. She heard there were offices that held a hundred lawyers. She could hardly even imagine it. The bus fare alone would probably cost $2.75 each week. But if she worked for a big enough firm, she would be able to afford it. This became her new dream.

  In the months that followed, M loved her job even more. There were three lawyers and three other secretaries in her office. She learned to navigate the switchboard, the mail office, and the stenographic machine. The environment was fast paced, so the secretaries were only allowed to socialize at lunch.

  M had learned a lot of new things. Her responsibilities included dictation, making coffee, and cleaning up after meetings. Sometimes she got to fill in as the office receptionist. M was skilled at shorthand and could type faster than any of the other secretaries. She also knew how to change the ribbons on the typewriter. The office had lots of businessmen in and out during the day for meetings, filling ash trays and emptying coffee pots.

  M was excited about her new career. She soon decided it was time to move out on her own. After a careful search, she chose a room at a local boarding house. She would be living with five other girls and the owner, a widow who needed reliable income and help with household chores. Renters lived two to a
room. The landlady was nice, but quiet and stayed to herself. While she enjoyed the girls’ company, she kept her distance.

  Meals were provided at the boarding house, and there was a designated schedule posted for household chores. The girls all became fast friends. They would stay up late to talk about their hopes and dreams. They shared clothes, shoes, and stories night after night. M was very well liked, and she acclimated to her new life with ease. After all, she was used to a house full of women and a structured household routine.

  The roommates were all single but dated from time to time. Life was much different back then. A woman waited for a suitor to “come calling” to ask her out on a date. Every day, the girls were in and out of each other’s bedrooms, talking about their day and any plans they had. M wanted to go to the local dance club and invited her roommates to come with her.

  The clubs then were very different from the clubs today. Dance band styles varied from big band to rock-and-roll. Patrons could smoke cigarettes, but no alcohol was allowed inside. The girls had a great time at the dance hall. They agreed to save their money so they could go back once a month.

  M loved to dress up. She would button up her red-and-white floral dress, tie a white scarf over her hair, and slip into red high heels with ankle straps. It took her months to save enough money to buy this outfit. She had straight hair that she would try to curl, but it never lasted. She wished she’d inherited her mother’s wavy, red hair. M would put on bright red lipstick and smack her lips. She’d smile into the mirror, fixing her hair one last time. The finishing touch was fastening her locket, the gift from her father. It still meant a lot to her.

  M and her roommates would take the bus to see local shows. They loved the independence of living away from home. M especially enjoyed seeing plays and ballets. She loved dancing and learning new dance steps. She was a natural dancer and a quick study. She would then teach the girls in the boarding house all the latest dances. They would play the radio and dance until nine o’clock, and not a minute after. The boarding house lights went out at 9:30 on weeknights. The owner was very strict about this.