by Rule, Ann
Dear Barb
It's time for some hard truth. If you're easily offended, you should stop reading now and hit your delete tab. If not, you may want to read on. However, please be advised that you've been fairly warned and you're probably not going to like what you're about to hear.
What was it that I was going to learn from you in our meeting that I don't already know?
I know your daughter was murdered.
I know who did it.
I know it was covered up.
I know why it was covered up.
I know who murdered her.
I know how he did it.
I know why he did it.
I know who helped him.
I know how to solve the case.
What else do I need to know?
I don't need to build a closet or break into John McCroskey's evidence room to solve the case.
I don't need to watch you cry or hear your tale of heartbreak to solve this case.
I don't need to hear you talk about "protecting the identity of anonymous witnesses" to solve this case.
I don't need someone who has never worn a badge to tell me how to solve this case.
Professionals trade their time, their education, their efforts, their experience for things of value . . . preferably money.
If you really wanted to solve this case, Barb--If you really wanted "Justice for Ronda" you'd find the money and you'd compensate me for doing my job.
The hard awful truth of the matter is that you don't really want me to do my job.
You don't really want this case solved.
All you really want is to continue on with your "drama" and keep finding new people to feel sorry for you.
I won't do that for you. I have too many dead friends to grieve for myself.
Men that died in the line of duty protecting others.
I've got enough grief of my own to last a lifetime.
$10,000 is an absurdly low fee for a murder case. Other investigators laughed at the price I quoted you.
However, I am a man of my word. Any time you "choose" to come up with the money, I'll solve this case. However, I won't play into your drama anymore.
Life is about choices, Barb. Ronda chose to marry Ron. Ronda chose to divorce Ron. Ron chose to murder Ronda. Ron got away with murder because you made a "choice" to let that happen.
No amount of crying or hand-wringing is going to bring Ronda back or put Ron in prison for his crime.
Make a choice, Barb. Get professional therapy for your grief or pay someone a fair wage to solve this crime.
Move on with your life or continue feeling sorry for yourself. The choice is yours.
Professor "Mean"* didn't know all the answers, as smug as he came across. He taught criminal justice in a 2-year college in Clark County. He knew a few things he'd picked up from listening to one of his students years before, and he had kept his ear to the ground for gossip. Mostly, he was looking for a quick $10,000. Sadly, high-profile unsolved cases attract con artists--anywhere from fake psychics to would-be preachers to so-called friends of the victim. And desperate families often do pay them, hoping they know the answers to the questions that haunt them.
Barb Thompson was not so easily intimidated, and cut off all contact with this man.
WHEN IT BECAME CLEAR that Coroner Terry Wilson was not going to change the "suicide" determination on Ronda's death certificate, Barb Thompson was ready to move ahead on a threat she'd made to Wilson. With Royce Ferguson's advice, she decided to sue him civilly for dereliction of duty and to ask for a judicial review.
They didn't want a judge in Lewis County; they hoped for a judge from another county--who would have no preconceived opinions about the way Ronda Reynolds died.
Thurston County was just north of Lewis County, Grays Harbor County to the west, and Cowlitz County to the south. Easterly, there were miles and miles of forest before Chelan County began.
Before that took place, however, Coroner Terry Wilson's attorneys filed a motion to dismiss the review, saying that the statute of limitations had run out after two years had passed. Wilson's motion was granted by Superior Court Judge Richard Hicks of Thurston County on May 4, 2007.
Royce appealed this decision to the Court of Appeals.
While Barb, Marty Hayes, Jerry Berry, and Royce Ferguson waited for the Court of Appeals' decision throughout the rest of 2007, another strong supporter came on board. Tracy Vedder, an investigative reporter from KOMO-TV, the ABC affiliate in Seattle, began to follow the long struggle of a single mom from Eastern Washington.
Vedder traveled to Barb's horse ranch and interviewed her, filming her "other life" when she wasn't pounding on courthouse doors over on "the coast."
The KOMO reporter looked over the paucity of evidence that suggested Ronda had killed herself and became an expert on this case of what might very well be long-delayed justice. She talked to those who had known Ronda in life, and their recollections of the cheerful, stubborn former state trooper didn't mesh in Vedder's mind with the picture that Ron Reynolds painted of her.
Tracy set about writing a documentary that would inform viewers in Washington state of what was happening in the quiet county that they drove through obliviously, where they stopped for an hour or so to shop at the outlet malls and dine at the Country Cousin.
Like many of us who had followed this case, Tracy was unable to let go of it.
ON JANUARY 29, 2008, the Court of Appeals overturned Judge Hicks's dismissal of the case. The court found that Wilson himself had stalled the statute of limitations because he had refused to meet with Barb Thompson as required by law. Consequently, the time period had been "tolled"--or put on indefinite hold.
Barb Thompson had waited so long. She could wait out any legal process--just as long as she was keeping her silent promise to Ronda that she would fight for her.
On September 19, 2008, Judge Hicks ruled that a judicial review would take place after all, and instructed the opposing attorneys to submit briefs on how they would want the judicial review to go forward, and also to submit records of the case for each party.
Barb Thompson's team was gaining ground, although sometimes it seemed as though it was only inches when they wanted miles. As one of the worst winters Washington had seen approached, Barb had to drive across two mountain passes on many six-hundred-mile round-trips so she could attend all the legal proceedings that she devoutly hoped would lead to--at the very least--a change on Ronda's death certificate that would, once and for all, eliminate "suicide." Gramma Virginia's health was failing and Barb worried about leaving her. She also had many prize horses and other animals to take care of. This meant she had to make arrangements for someone to come in and do all the chores she usually did. Many times when Barb was on the "other side of the mountains," she got phone calls saying her mother had been rushed to the hospital. She was pulled in so many directions.
But Ronda's Gramma always urged Barb to keep fighting, and somehow they managed. Barb felt that her mother was hanging on to life until she saw Ronda vindicated. And that probably had an element of truth.
On December 5, 2008, there was yet another hearing on Coroner Terry Wilson's motion to dismiss, this time on constitutional grounds. Judge Hicks denied it.
Barb and her three "musketeers" were so elated with this decision that they set out enthusiastically to walk from the courthouse to their hotel. This was the biggest legal battle they had won! But Barb was wearing high heels when she was used to cowboy boots, and the distance stretched longer and longer. Finally, she handed her shoes to Royce Ferguson and put on a thick pair of "lumberjack" socks. She drew a lot of stares as she strolled along in stocking feet, but she didn't care.
Royce grabbed his camera and caught that carefree moment.
It had been ten years--less eleven days--since Ronda had told her mother that Ron Reynolds was leaving her and returning to his ex-wife Katie. Ten years--minus a week--since Ronda was shot to death. Windows all along the street where they
walked were decorated for Christmas, just as they were in 1998. Every Christmas since then had been bittersweet because Ronda wasn't there to celebrate with her family, or with David Bell, who hadn't remarried or dated anyone seriously in the decade Ronda had been gone. It was sometimes so hard for Barb to think of what might have been, but she usually could keep those thoughts to herself.
And yet, somehow this was the first Christmas since then that she could feel a sense of hope. Maybe the new year would bring about what they had hoped for for so long.
On January 9, 2009, there was a hearing on a new motion from Coroner Wilson's attorneys asking for an appellate court review on Judge Hicks's denial on December 5.
Hicks denied this motion, too.
On May 19, 2009, there was a short hearing to consider yet another motion from Terry Wilson's legal team. They wanted the coroner to be dismissed from the action. Judge Richard Hicks also denied this motion. He said he would not dismiss Wilson from the actions brought by Royce Ferguson, but it was up to Wilson if he wanted to attend the hearing seeking to have "suicide" removed from Ronda's death certificate. He could stay away if he chose to.
At the same time Judge Hicks responded to a request from Ron Reynolds and quashed a subpoena requiring Reynolds to give a deposition in the case. Reynolds's position was that he would become a suspect in Ronda's death if the verdict in the upcoming hearing found that Ronda's death had been "homicide."
Ron Reynolds was still the elementary school principal, and he had many people who supported him, and more current and former students who recalled him as a kind man who smiled and talked with them when they met on the streets of Toledo. There were also those, though, who treated him like a pariah and refused to sit next to him at school sports events.
But he had become something of a recluse--at least as far as the media was concerned. Any attempt to talk with Reynolds was intercepted by Ray Dudenbostel, his family's attorney in Elma, who continued to represent him. Dudenbostel usually replied to requests for interviews with Ron by saying his client had suffered enough loss when Ronda died, and didn't want to relive that time in his life.
THE MAY 2009 HEARING was the first time Barb Thompson and I had a chance to talk for hours in person, although we had corresponded for years by phone, mail, and email, and met briefly at book signings. If I had expected to meet a grieving, morose woman, I was certainly surprised. I liked her immediately and we must have talked for five hours or more.
We bonded further as I walked out of my house with her, saying goodbye as she prepared to leave for the long drive back to Spokane. Just at that moment, my rambunctious Bernese Mountain Dog, Yogi, knocked me down my steps, through a railing, and I landed on my head on a brick wall. Barb picked me up, wiped the blood off my face, and ran to get ice to stop the swelling in my right eye. She insisted on staying with me until another friend arrived.
I ended up with the biggest black eye I've ever seen, which lasted for weeks, but also knew that Barb Thompson and I would be friends for the rest of our lives.
RON REYNOLDS AVOIDED ME and every other media person who sought to talk with him, but he didn't shun social events. His former classmates from the Class of 1969 at Elma High School were startled when he and his fourth wife appeared at the class's fortieth reunion in August 2009. With all the rumors that had circulated about Ron when Ronda died, they didn't expect him to show up. But he was there, very convivial, if soft-spoken, seemingly glad to see the people he'd gone to school with, all of them in their late fifties now.
Ron looked very different from the way they remembered him. He had once been thin--but forty years later, he appeared to have put on about a hundred pounds. Of course, he wasn't the only one who had changed. Almost everyone was heavier, many of the men were bald, and the girls had become women with gray hair or the slightly false color that even the most expensive dyes leave. But if they hadn't read Ron's name tag, he would have been almost impossible to recognize.
He didn't seem at all concerned about the pretrial hearing that was set for only a month away, or the hearing itself scheduled for November 3. And no one mentioned it.
At least no one mentioned it to Ron. They gathered in private groups and talked about it. And after the reunion, his fellow students compared notes on what they knew about Ron, his four wives, and his five sons. The gossip bubbled just below the surface, but never quite turned into outright accusations.
With the progress Barb Thompson had made over eleven years, it would be only a matter of time now for people to come forward.
The Elma Class of '69 counted the weeks until the judicial hearing would take place in November.
Initially, Judge Richard Hicks had planned to listen to the hearing testimony and make the decision on his own. But he changed his mind and asked that a twelve-person jury be selected, over which he would have the final say.
The addition of a jury made this legal platform seem far more like a trial than a hearing.
One wondered how much clout this jury would have, given that they would be selected from the citizens of Lewis County. In initial trips there, I had found that everyone I talked to seemed to know about the Ronda Reynolds case. Some had firm opinions--on one side or the other. Picking a jury might be difficult, but a large jury pool appeared at the Lewis County Law and Justice Center on Monday, November 2, 2009.
It might take all day to select jurors.
THE FIRST WEEK OF NOVEMBER 2009 was bitterly cold in Chehalis, and the rain-filled wind whipped around the corners of the Law and Justice Center as those lucky enough to find a parking spot ducked their heads and leaned into the gusts.
John McCroskey was no longer the sheriff--although he remained a sure source for quotes on Ronda Reynolds's case for the media. By 2009, Steve Mansfield was the sheriff, and he had inherited the troubled Ronda Reynolds probe.
On November 2, the fourth-floor courtroom assigned to Judge Hicks was filled with potential jurors, and there was precious little space on the six rows of long oak benches for anyone else. Coroners from other counties had arrived early and sat in the last row, curious to hear the evidence for and against Coroner Wilson. About half of the media corps had to wait in the hallway.
At 10:48 A.M., Judge Hicks strode in and took his place on the bench. He looked like a judge from central casting with his thick head of graying hair, mustache, and beard. Reading glasses hung from strands around his neck. He was a tall man with wide shoulders.
There was no question at all that Hicks was in total control of this courtroom.
John Justice, an Olympia attorney hired by the Lewis County District Attorney's Office, would represent Terry Wilson. He looked very young, undoubtedly younger than he really was. He had a crew cut and was dressed impeccably. Both Wilson and Carmen Brunton were seated at the defense table. Marty Hayes and Royce Ferguson flanked Barb Thompson at their table. The jury members who were selected sat off to their left in an alcove section of the courtroom, where several areas of the gallery could not see them.
Most of the potential jurors had heard of Ronda Reynolds's death, but they stated they had not formed firm opinions one way or the other. One tall man who appeared to be in his fifties kept warning the judge and the opposing lawyers that he would not be a juror anyone wanted. He was argumentative--almost cocky--as he described his occupation; he was employed by city government. One got the impression that he knew a secret and was enjoying his jousting during voir dire.
Finally dismissed, he looked across the courtroom at Terry Wilson and called out "Good luck, Terry!" as he walked from the room.
True, he probably would not have made a good, impartial juror.
The jury was selected by 2:30 that first afternoon. In the end, there were eight women and four men in the jury box, who looked to be in their early twenties to their seventies. Judge Hicks declared a ten-minute recess.
The courtroom had no windows, although it was well lit. The carpet was gray with multicolored speckles. I have attended over a hundred trials,
and during delays and tedious arguments on obscure legal points, I tend to count carpet speckles or ceiling tiles. But most of the time, I take notes so furiously that my hand cramps up.
The hearing finally began at 2:40 that first day. Judge Hicks introduced John Justice and Royce Ferguson, and reminded jurors to listen carefully, "Memory beats notes," he said. "You don't have to take notes--that may interfere with listening."
He explained that this was a civil hearing. After a witness testified, the jurors (and the judge) could ask questions. In a criminal trial, jurors must agree on a verdict reached beyond a reasonable doubt. In a civil trial, they need only agree that the preponderance of the evidence says the defendant is guilty or innocent.
He warned the jurors not to talk to one another about the case until both sides of the case had been presented and the time came for them to deliberate.
"When it's over, and you've come back with your verdict," Judge Hicks said, "you can talk about anything you want."
"Mr. Ferguson." Judge Hicks indicated with a nod to Barb Thompson's attorney that he could begin.
Terry Wilson sat stolidly in his chair at the defense table, apparently unconcerned that Ferguson's back and his charts were turned away from him. Carmen Brunton rarely shifted in her chair or changed expression. Sitting behind her husband, Donna Wilson was the image of "the woman behind her man." Tall, blond, and brightly dressed, she was a friendly, gracious woman. It was obvious this was an ordeal for her, but she was trying to appear okay with the hearing.
