TEEN LOVERS: Murder Along the River

by Holly Fox Vellekoop

  When she was settled, Mike asked directly. “Did Janet Adams know about you and Kenneth?”

  “Yes, she did. I’m sure of it,” Thelma said, her eyes downcast. “Two days after Shirley’s murder, Kenneth telephoned me at home here and said his wife had found out about us. He told me Janet threatened to divorce him and take him for everything she could. Kenneth broke off our relationship then and there. We still worked together at the store, but it wasn’t the same. He got over it pretty quickly. Pretended as if our affair never happened. Treated me like I was nothing to him, but a hired hand. I was heartbroken, yet relieved at the same time. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Shortly after, Janet killed herself. I’ve always thought the loss of her daughter and disillusionment over her husband’s affair may have been too much for her to bear. I still can’t think of it without pangs of guilt.”

  The air was heavy with old memories and regret and the detectives waited respectfully for the woman to compose herself.

  “Mrs. Temple,” Mike said. “Can you tell me when this picture could’ve been taken? We’d like to know the exact date, if possible.” He was anticipating her not being able to provide them with the information, but had to ask.

  “Please call me Thelma,” she replied. “It’s not so formal.” She reluctantly took another look at the photograph and said, “Yes. I can tell you exactly when this was taken.” She looked again at the picture. “You see, Kenneth rarely came to my home. He thought it was too risky, but this was a special occasion. It was my birthday and I insisted he come over.” She pointed to the edge of the photo and said, “If you look closely, you can see the edge of the wrapping from a present he brought me.”

  Sheski and Mike leaned forward to look where she was directing. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper and some ribbon at the print’s edge.

  “The date would’ve been November 12th.” She handed Mike the photograph, not wanting to look at it again.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about the Teen Lover murders, Thelma? Did Mr. Adams ever confide in you about what may have happened the night Shirley and Joey were killed?”

  “Kenneth told me nothing. Not a thing. His wife’s discovery of our relationship happened so close to the murders. The combination of the murder of Shirley and the potential loss of everything he’d worked for, changed his attitude toward me. I didn’t mean as much to him as I had thought. Like I told you. Just like that, it was over.”

  She tapped her fingers on the table for emphasis.

  “The only other thing I remember about that night was Kenneth and I were both working really late. I was doing inventory. Kenneth left for a little while, then came back. I didn’t see him come in because I was in the back of the store. I finished up then drove home. The next morning was when I heard the terrible news.”

  Something about that struck Sheski as odd.

  Before he could ask her about it, Thelma pointed to the photograph in front of her and asked again. “I still don’t understand how someone took that picture without our knowing it. Do you?”

  Sheski stood up and looked at the snapshot. He studied the position of the cook stove in an effort to determine where the culprit could’ve hidden to capture the scene on film.

  “Has the stove always been in that position?” he asked.

  “Yes, it has. It’s the only place in the house that’s suitable for it. It’s where the chimney is and the floor underneath is reinforced to hold the weight. This home belonged to my parents. I was born and raised here, and my husband and I moved in with them after our marriage. We had our family here and never changed much of anything. Then after my husband died, I had no desire to leave. I couldn’t have afforded to even if I had wanted. So I stayed on.”

  Sheski and Mike walked about setting up the angle of the picture. They focused on a window on the side of the home. The investigators took turns peering out of it at a thick tangle of lilacs and honeysuckle, mature landscaping, planted long ago.

  “This is probably where the picture was taken from,” Sheski said, pointing outside She agreed.

  Sheski positioned himself in front of the window and compared the view to the photo.

  “It was definitely taken from that window, Thelma. It’s unmistakable. Whoever the guilty party was had hidden themselves in the shrubbery outside and snapped the picture.”

  “But why? Why would anyone want a picture of Kenneth and me together?”

  “We have an idea,” Sheski replied. “But we’re not sure. What do you think?”

  “I have no clue. Unless someone had intentions of blackmailing one or both of us. But I never saw that picture before and Kenneth never brought anything about blackmail to my attention. He never talked about anything about us after the murders. He only discussed store business with me.”

  “Well, as I said, we have an idea, but we don’t know for sure.” He looked at his watch. “We must be going soon. We have an appointment to meet with Mr. Adams in about 15 minutes.”

  The woman’s face showed no change of expression.

  “I haven’t seen him in years,” she said. Turning her attention to her visitors she remarked. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Despite my regretful place in the history of their family and the details of your investigation, I do want the murder to be solved. I liked those two kids a great deal. Please, come back if you have any further questions to ask. And if I think of anything else to tell you, I’ll be sure to give you a phone call. When something like that happens to someone, their loved ones should be able to know what happened to them.” Her thoughts wandered to her son Dwight and his drowning.

  Thelma walked them to the door as the detectives went out. Her nervous hands closed the door behind them and reached for the empty shot glass on the windowsill. She opened the dry sink cabinet and pulled out a bottle. I need another.

  Sheski and Mike decided to go directly to Kenneth’s apartment instead of going back to the station to process the interview with Mrs. Temple.

  “What do you make of her claim that Janet Adams knew about her husband’s affair?” Mike asked his partner.

  “I believe her, but I’m not sure what effect that may have had on Mrs. Adams’ mental and emotional state. It sure couldn’t have helped. She lost her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend to a murderer, blamed herself and then discovered her husband was an adulterer. That’s a lot of misery and grief in a short period of time. I’m curious how Janet found out about it. I think we need to ask Kenneth those questions.”

  Sheski rang the doorbell of Kenneth’s apartment three or four times before hearing noises inside. The door was pulled briskly open, presenting a scene for which they were not prepared.

  “May I help you?” a sturdy voice inquired.

  They got their first view of the subject of their appointment.

  Sheski and Mike stared at the muscled, very fit body of Kenneth Adams. Although his hair was now gray, abs and pecs defined themselves through a red cotton golf shirt. He was attired in khaki slacks and expensive walking shoes. His face was barely lined. He was the same good-looking man in the photograph with Thelma Temple. A much older version, but very well-preserved.

  “Kenneth Adams?” Sheski questioned.

  “Yes. Please call me Kenneth. And you are …”

  “State Police Lieutenants, Thomas Sheski and Michael James,” Sheski replied, still shocked by the well-groomed youthful-looking senior. They were surprised at the contrast between Thelma and Kenneth. Mother nature had been kinder to him.

  “Come in,” Kenneth said. He stepped to the side, sweeping his hand toward a furniture grouping just inside the door. “Even though I was expecting you, I’m still surprised at your call.”

  He motioned for them to sit down and seated himself.

  Sheski and Mike looked around at the apartment. Exercise equipment faced the television. The walls held oil paintings and one family picture, the photograph of a very pretty woman, a handsome man, and two c
hildren. Sheski guessed them to be Kenneth’s daughter Linda, and her family. There were no photos of Shirley or her mother.

  Seated opposite his guests, Kenneth appeared to be healthy and in control. His voice was steady. “Now, what’s this about reopening Shirley’s murder case?”

  “Kenneth, it’s true what you were told. We’ve received new evidence in the Teen Lovers murder and have reopened the file. We’re interviewing the principal figures involved in the hopes of finding the murderers. Even though it was a long time ago, our new witness presented some compelling evidence.”

  Kenneth stood up. “Teen Lovers!” he spat. “I’ve always hated that. Shirley is brutally murdered and they sensationalize it with that name. Disgusting. And what’s this about new evidence? What evidence? Don’t you think it’s a little late for this? Why would anyone care after all these years? No one cared enough about it then. Why now? Who’d even be alive for you to interview, besides me?”

  Mike took the lead, speaking slowly and with care. He looked up at the distressed man. “Kenneth, we know this is a great shock to you. I’m sure that revisiting those memories will be difficult, but we have to do it to help us find the killer or killers. Getting justice for Shirley and Joey must still be important to you even though it’s been a long time.”

  Kenneth sat down again. “What do you have in mind?”

  Sheski began the questioning in typical fashion. He asked Kenneth where he was at the time of the murders, whom he was with, and when he first heard about his daughter’s death. Sheski recorded and took careful notes of the answers, documenting Kenneth’s demeanor. Notations were made of how Kenneth’s eyes were focused on one policeman, then the other, and back again. His arms were on the chair’s arms, white knuckles grasping for support. Occasionally, cheek muscles tightened and twitched as concise responses were forthcoming from pursed lips. The witness was showing signs of strain already, and the worst was yet to come.

  Sheski took the leap. “Kenneth, I have some pictures that have come into our possession which I must show you.” Sheski reached into a folder he’d been carrying.

  Kenneth’s hands began to shake.

  Sheski pulled out the photographs and placed them, face-down, on his lap. He kept one hand on them.

  “I must warn you - these are going to be shocking to see, but it’s necessary we ask you about them.” He picked up the one of Kenneth and Thelma first, and handed it to Mr. Adams.

  Kenneth accepted the picture from the investigator’s hands, not taking his eyes off Sheski.

  Sheski didn’t rush the moment, recognizing this could be tough for any man to face.

  Kenneth finally dropped his eyes to the item in his hands and slowly brought it up to look at it.

  There was something in Kenneth’s eyes, a subtle change which told Sheski this man had seen the photo before. It was a split second change, but a change nonetheless.

  “Where did you get this?” Kenneth muttered, all the while studying the couple in the picture.

  “You’ve seen it before, haven’t you?” Sheski said.

  Kenneth’s mind was searching frantically for the right response. What to say? What will explain a dreary November afternoon so long ago, when a fresh young punk confronted me with pictures, making demands for his accomplice. Demands I did not intend to meet.

  Sheski said, “Mr. Adams, I believe this might be the right time for us to tell you that you have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. If you waive your right to an attorney, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I understand. And,” he said surprisingly firm and clear, “I have nothing to say so you can shove the Miranda.” All the while he was sneaking glances at the other photograph in Sheski’s hands.

  “We’ve already spoken to the woman in the picture with you there and she’s told us a great deal.” Sheski was taking a chance. “We interviewed her a short while ago.”

  “Thelma? You’ve talked with Thelma?” He laughed. “And what did that old bat say? Her mind’s not that good, you know. She’s an old lady and it’s been a long time since the murders. She wasn’t that smart when she was young and she hasn’t improved with age. No judge is going to accept the testimony of that old alcoholic.”

  He saw the look on their faces. “Oh, I see you didn’t know about her, did you? A full-blown alcoholic. Has been for years. A falling down drunk, really.”

  Sheski was surprised. The shaking hands and her leaning away from us and getting up from the table frequently. Maybe so we couldn’t smell the alcohol on her.

  “She’s got liquor hidden all over that place,” Kenneth said. “Ever since the drowning of her son Dwight, she’s been a raving alcoholic. Never believed her son’s death was an accident. That old lady is a graduate of more than one drug and alcohol addictions program.” He was becoming bolder and more confident now. “Only none of them took. She drinks like a fish. Looks terrible, too. Did you get a good look at that house of hers? The paint’s peeling off and it could use some modernizing. I bet she still has that old cook stove, doesn’t she? I don’t know when she had her lawn mowed last. She can’t afford to keep the house up and have her booze too.” He crossed his arms and looked smug. The next move was theirs.

  “Mr. Adams, are you willing to talk with us about this case?” Mike asked.

  The older man got effortlessly to his feet. He appeared to be thinking it over while walking back and fort. He stopped pacing. He’d made up his mind.

  “I have nothing to say until I talk with Attorney Smithson. Imagine you trying to dig into this case now. It should be left alone. And leave me alone, too. Let those two kids rest in peace. Now get out of here. We’re done.”

  The detectives stood up and headed to the door.

  “Mr. Adams, we’ll be expecting you and your attorney at our office soon. We’ll be in touch.” He reached over and took the photograph back from Kenneth’s hand.

  “Before you go, I want to see the other picture you have there.” Kenneth said, pointing to the envelope Sheski was holding. “Now.”

  Mike stepped in. “I think that’ll wait until you talk to us officially. You’ll understand why when you see it.”

  “You heard me. I want to see it now,” Kenneth said louder.

  Sheski reconsidered, but decided against it. He kept the folder in his hands and placed some distance between himself and the older man. “When you’re willing to talk with us, we’ll show it to you. Someone will be calling you later today to set up a time for you and your attorney to be at our office.”

  “We’ll review and discuss both pictures then,” Mike said.

  Kenneth slammed the door behind the detectives.

  In the car, Mike opened the discussion. “What do you think he’s hiding? Why wouldn’t he want us to finally find his daughter’s killer and bring some justice to this case?”

  “I don’t know, but I aim to find out,” Sheski said.

  “Call Debbie and see if we can go see the Sams,” Mike said.

  Sheski made the call. “Debbie. Did you hear anything from the Sams?”

  “Sure did. Boy are they a piece of work.” She laughed. “Samantha was on one phone line and Samuel on the other. They spoke interchangeably, each answering for the other and by the time we were done, I didn’t know who said what. Anyway, I got this much out of them. You two can go over there and meet with them this afternoon.”

  “Thanks, Debbie. Oh, I almost forgot. I need you to check our calendar and then contact Kenneth Adams. Tell him to be at our office tomorrow afternoon with his attorney.”

  “Will do. Oh yes, I almost forgot, Andy Wallace called to tell you the unfortunate news that both of Joey Beck’s parents are now deceased. They were involved in a nasty car accident less than a year after Joey’s murder. Sorry.”

  The State Police regretted the loss of two more potentia
l witnesses. The interview pool was narrowing.

  Sheski and Mike were getting hungry and needed to fuel up with something good to eat before their afternoon meeting with Samantha and Samuel West.

  After lunch, the ride to the Sams’ home on West Market Street was a short one. It was a large, two-story structure with an iron fence delineating their small, neatly manicured front lawn from the sidewalk. The well-kept front porch had a flagstone pad with no roof. A bay window provided the owners with a great view of their neighbors.

  Directly across the street, the Adams’ home stood as if nothing horrible had happened to the family living there in 1954.

  Before going to the Sams’ home, Mike and Sheski studied the house where Shirley Adams had spent her brief life. It was a sturdy, good-looking building. At the time of the murders it had been the domicile of a prosperous shopkeeper and his family.

  As they approached the step up onto the Sams’ porch, both men could see figures seated inside at the bay window.

  Smiling elderly faces, leaning close together, peered out from behind window panes. They waved in sync when they saw their guests approaching.

  Seeing the two watching them, the policemen grinned at each other.

  Mike rang the doorbell.

  “Hello,” one of the Sams said.

  “Hello,” said the other.

  Samantha and Samuel West beamed at them from beside the white door.

  “Hello to you two,” Sheski replied.

  The men introduced themselves and displayed their badges.

  Big smiles glowed from the duo. “I’m Samantha,” one said. “And, I’m Samuel,” said the other. “We’re glad to meet you. Please come in.”

  The elderly couple opened the door wider and indicated their visitors should follow them into the parlor. Hardwood floors were polished to an oaken sheen. A beige and pink oriental carpet provided floor space for the matching leather couches that faced each other. Between them, a butler’s table kept the couches company.

  It was then Sheski noticed the Sams were wearing matching beige shirts and black slacks.