The Book of Matt

by Stephen Jimenez

  His target wasn’t Dean, however. Aaron had heard that a mutual friend, Monty Durand, was staying at Dean’s place. Aaron claimed Durand owed him money for drugs. This wasn’t the first time Aaron said Durand had cheated him, nor was it the first time Aaron attacked him in a fit of rage. Less than three months before — around July 10 when Laramie held its annual “Jubilee Days” celebrating Wyoming statehood — Aaron had beaten Durand severely while Russell Henderson and Chasity Pasley were present. According to Chasity, the dispute was over “bunk meth” that Durand had given Kristen.

  Durand had worked with Russell at Taco Bell a few years earlier — “before Russell was into drugs,” Durand told me grudgingly before cutting an interview short in July 2004. I’d been told that Durand’s family had a good reputation in town; his grandparents had owned Laramie’s roller rink and a mini golf attraction. More important, in the six years since Matthew’s murder, Durand had changed his life for the better.

  “I just don’t want to talk about those things,” he said.

  But before he warned me to get off his property — a freshly painted, territorial-style bungalow on South 3rd Street, with a tiny front lawn — he acknowledged that, yes, Aaron McKinney had beaten him up “pretty badly,” and “yeah, it was over drugs.”

  Hours after breaking into his cousin’s home and attacking Monty Durand, Aaron went back to work on a roofing job at Bethesda Care Center, a local nursing home. Joining him on the crew with Russell was a thirty-seven-year-old engineering student named Ken Haselhuhn, a native of Rock Springs, Wyoming. Haselhuhn, who had been working alongside them at Laramie Valley Roofing for about a month, was also enrolled at WyoTech, a trade school with several campuses around the United States.

  According to Aaron — and subsequently confirmed by other sources — he had used the last of his meth before work that morning. He said he hoped to “score more at a Laramie park” later in the day.

  When Aaron first recounted his plan to buy more meth at a town park, I felt sure he was lying again. I knew by then who his key suppliers had been in the summer and early fall of 1998, so I assumed he was protecting them. But the more I spoke with sources close to Aaron, the more I realized how strung out he’d gotten while attempting to keep up with his drug debts. His regular suppliers weren’t interested in fronting more meth. What they wanted — and what they were pressing him for — was the money he already owed.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Honor Camp

  The first time I interviewed Ken Haselhuhn, he was incarcerated at the “Honor Conservation Camp,” a minimum-security detention facility in Newcastle, Wyoming. I was interested in Haselhuhn because of the mysterious role he had played as an intermediary in an alleged gun trade on the night Matthew was robbed and beaten. I was also aware that Haselhuhn had been a sequestered witness for the prosecution during Aaron’s 1999 trial.

  Ultimately, Cal Rerucha had never called Haselhuhn to testify, so it wasn’t totally clear what his testimony might have involved. But the fact that officials saw the need to protect Haselhuhn as a witness caught my attention. The only other witness they had guarded that conscientiously was Kristen Price.

  When I asked Cal why he hadn’t put Haselhuhn on the stand, he said he’d been able “to build a strong case against McKinney without him.” That seemed true enough, but I also had a hunch that questioning Haselhuhn might have opened a line of inquiry that a few police officials — if not Cal himself — hoped to avoid.

  As I sat at a picnic table in a fenced-in yard with Haselhuhn, a solidly built man then in his early forties, with wavy brown hair and a mustache, I indulged in a little amateur mind reading. It wasn’t hard to detect that beneath his courteous, helpful demeanor, Haselhuhn wanted to find out exactly what I knew about Matthew’s murder and how I’d gotten the information. I could also see he was being very careful not to tell me much of anything. But if he had nothing to hide, why was he being so cagey?

  According to the official story, Haselhuhn’s involvement on the night of the crime had been minimal. He had essentially agreed to help Aaron sell his gun, a .357 Magnum, to a friend or neighbor in exchange for cash, drugs, or both. What Haselhuhn would have gotten in return — his cut of the deal — was never specified, however. Was he just doing Aaron a favor?

  By the time I left Haselhuhn and started the four-hour drive back to Laramie, I realized I had gotten few, if any, answers to my questions. Yet almost by accident I had picked up a couple of new leads I hadn’t been looking for. Whether that had been intentional on Haselhuhn’s part or he had deliberately misled me was difficult to know.

  But the things he’d conveyed seemed to fit neatly — perhaps too neatly — with other pieces of the puzzle.

  In passing, Haselhuhn let me know that Aaron had definitely fallen behind in payments to his main drug supplier. I didn’t have the gumption to ask how he knew this; I just took it at face value, afraid that he would find me pushy and stop talking. But I had a pretty good idea who that supplier was, without any help from Haselhuhn.

  Haselhuhn also agreed with my theory that Aaron’s real purpose in trading the gun — if he had intended to trade it at all, which was still a big “if” in my mind — was to get more meth, not to sell the gun for cash. I’d come to that conclusion long before, after Bill McKinney mentioned that he had been interested in buying his son’s gun and that he’d offered him two payments of $150, “but Aaron didn’t want to do it.” Bill had made the offer the weekend before the crime, out of a concern that “Aaron wasn’t legally allowed to carry firearms after the KFC felony.”

  According to Haselhuhn, “Aaron said the gun had belonged to his grandfather,” which I knew to be a lie. Was it Aaron’s lie or something Haselhuhn had made up for my benefit? In actual fact Aaron had gotten the gun from his friend Ryan Bopp in a trade for meth a few days before he showed the gun to Haselhuhn. (Bopp and Haselhuhn were also acquainted with each other.)

  “I had run out of meth myself,” Bopp recalled. “I didn’t have any. I called Aaron and he said, yeah, I have some. Well I had this gun. I was out of money. So I traded it to him. And he gave me a gram. I did a little bit with him before I left. And I just went on my way.”

  Bopp’s wife, Katie, who accompanied him to Aaron’s apartment, and Kristen Price were both present during the exchange of the .357 Magnum for a gram of meth.

  During my drive back to Laramie I began to think that the most helpful fragment I’d picked up from Haselhuhn had nothing to do with drugs or with the gun, at least not directly. It had to do with Doc O’Connor. Haselhuhn said he knew Doc fairly well and that Doc had revealed to him, soon after the murder, that “Aaron took a trip in one of the limos with Matt.” Haselhuhn went on to say that Kristen, Aaron’s girlfriend, “also knew about it.”

  While I didn’t want to push Haselhuhn on how he had come to know so much, I had heard similar things from Matthew’s friend Ted Henson. Along with his allegations about Doc, Ted had insisted Kristen “knows a lot more than she’s let on.”

  Matthew Shepard and his father, Dennis Shepard. Source: ABC News

  Matthew Shepard and his former boyfriend, Lewis Macenze, while they were students at Catawba College in Salisbury, North Carolina. Courtesy of Lewis Macenze

  This photo of Matthew Shepard, taken at the Shepards’ home in Saudi Arabia, was published around the world following the October 1998 attack. Source: ABC News

  The fence on the outskirts of Laramie where Matthew was beaten and left to die. Source: ABC News

  Aaron McKinney as a boy. Courtesy of Bill McKinney

  Aaron McKinney with his mother, Denise McKinney, who died from a botched surgery when Aaron was fifteen. Courtesy of Bill McKinney

  Russell Henderson receiving his Eagle Scout badge from former Wyoming governor Mike Sullivan. Courtesy of Lucy Thompson

  Russell Henderson and his grandfather, Bill Thompson. Courtesy of Lucy Thompson

  Russell Henderson and his former girlfriend, Chasity Pasley, attending a
prom. Courtesy of Lucy Thompson

  Russell Henderson’s grandmother, Lucy Thompson. Source: ABC News

  Aaron McKinney and Kristen Price in Doc O’Connor’s limousine. Courtesy of Kristen Price

  Aaron McKinney, Kristen Price, and their newborn son, summer 1998. Courtesy of Kristen Price

  Aaron McKinney at a hearing in the Albany County Courthouse, October 1998. AP Photo/Ed Andrieski

  Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson at their arraignment, October 1998. AP Photo/Ed Andrieski

  Ryan Bopp, a friend of Aaron McKinney, at a time when they were both hardcore users of methamphetamine, 1998. Courtesy of Ryan Bopp

  Ted Henson, a longtime friend and lover of Matthew Shepard. Courtesy of Ted Henson

  Ben Fritzen — former Detective, Laramie Police Department, and current Lieutenant, Albany County Sheriff’s Office. Courtesy of Ben Fritzen

  Dave O’Malley — former Laramie Police Commander and current Albany County Sheriff. Source: ABC News

  Dennis Shepard talking to the press at his son’s funeral, with Judy Shepard at his side. St. Mark’s Church, Casper, Wyoming, October 16, 1998. Source: ABC News

  Protesters associated with the Reverend Fred Phelps at Matthew Shepard’s funeral. Source: ABC News

  Doc O’Connor as a young man. Courtesy of Doc O’Connor

  Doc O’Connor, 2004. Source: ABC News

  Wyatt Skaggs and Jane Eakin — Russell Henderson’s defense attorneys. AP Photo/David Zalvbowski

  Jason Tanegman (left) and Dion Custis (right) — two members of Aaron McKinney’s defense team — with investigator Frank Rowe. AP Photo/Ed Andrieski

  Cindy Dixon — Russell Henderson’s mother — was found frozen to death in a remote canyon on January 3, 1999, while Russell was awaiting trial for Matthew Shepard’s murder. Dixon’s killer, who pled guilty to manslaughter and admitted raping her, served four years. Courtesy of Lucy Thompson

  Cal Rerucha outside the Albany County Courthouse with Judy and Dennis Shepard, after Russell Henderson was sentenced to two life terms, April 1999. Getty Images/Kevin Moloney

  Aaron McKinney at the Albany County Courthouse on the day he was sentenced, November 1999. AP Photo/Ed Andrieski

  Aaron and his father, Bill McKinney, during a prison visit. Courtesy of D. Harper

  Russell Henderson at Nevada’s High Desert State Prison, 2004. Courtesy of John Sharaf

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The Library

  On Tuesday, October 6, 1998, Tina stayed at home all day with a cold. Something seemed to be going around. Her husband, Phil, had caught a cold on Saturday, Matthew had one on Monday, now it was her turn.

  Several times during the day Tina tried to reach Matthew by phone but wasn’t having any luck. Phil, who frequently gave Matthew rides around town, would later say he was surprised when “Matt never called on Tuesday.”

  But one person who did hear from Matthew that afternoon was Doc.

  “Matt called me from the Library [bar] at 3:15 PM,” Doc told me curtly.

  Doc said he knew where Matthew was “because the Library’s number showed up on my caller ID.”

  It was unusual for Doc to be so perfunctory, but on this particular subject he was sticking to just the facts.

  According to what Doc told a reporter for Vanity Fair, Matthew had been thinking of hiring a limo that night to go someplace with friends but he hadn’t said where he wanted to go. Doc explained to Matthew that he had a trustees’ meeting at the Eagles club that evening. Since he didn’t expect the meeting to get out late, he asked Matthew to call him back later.

  Several of Matthew’s friends would later say he always carried his cell phone with him, so his call to Doc from a landline at the Library was out of the ordinary.

  During my review of the police reports and court files I’d also noticed that there was virtually no mention of Matthew’s cell phone. If police had, indeed, checked his phone records — which would be more or less routine in a homicide investigation, especially a case in which the suspects were facing the possibility of the death penalty — they had not included that information in their reports.

  Apparently Matthew had changed phone numbers often, which a former member of the Denver circle said was a protective measure common among their friends. Nonetheless, an examination of Matthew’s cell phone records and a few landlines he had used might have yielded crucial evidence about the individuals he had been in touch with in the days leading up to the attack. Had this been an oversight on the part of investigators or was the information intentionally kept out of the public record?

  Patrons who were at the Library bar that evening would later tell police that Matthew had been there until 6 or 6:30 PM. Police reports also noted that Matthew had called his friend Walt Boulden at about 6:30 PM to cancel plans they had tentatively made to celebrate Walt’s forty-sixth birthday. When Walt asked where he was, Matt said he was at a bar.

  “We were gonna go to a movie together,” Walt later told a reporter. “And he called and he had gotten behind in his French and he had to go to classes the next day, so he was gonna study. And so we made plans to get together later in the week and go to the movies.”

  But in fact Matthew was still planning to take one of Doc’s limos out that night. Where he intended to go, or with whom, has never been clarified.

  “This conversation [with Boulden] was over SHEPARD’s cell phone,” a police report stated, “which was identified by the number of 761-2673.”

  At about the same time Matthew was leaving the Library, Aaron and Russell had just gotten off work. According to police reports, media accounts, interviews, and other records, Aaron and Russell, still in their work clothes, drove to 809 Beaufort Street, the home of Ken Haselhuhn, their co-worker.

  The alleged purpose of the visit was that Aaron wanted to show Haselhuhn his .357 Magnum, which he was carrying in a black case, in the hope that Haselhuhn knew someone with whom he could trade the gun for drugs. Some reports suggested that Haselhuhn was a gun collector and that he might’ve been contemplating buying the gun himself. Haselhuhn would later say he had spoken to some neighbors downstairs, but when they heard a gun was involved they wanted nothing to do with the trade.

  Five months after the murder, Priscilla Moree, a respected criminal investigator who was hired by Russell Henderson’s defense attorney, interviewed Haselhuhn. She wrote in her report:

  Ken told the police that McKinney and Henderson had wanted to sell the gun for $300 or trade it for crack or meth … McKinney and Henderson came back to Ken’s house later that evening, again asking him if he could help them get rid of the gun … [Then] they again came back to his house later on. He doesn’t remember the time that was, but says it was late … [he] was in his bathrobe getting ready for bed.

  But there was more going on that night than a possible gun trade.

  By the time Aaron arrived at Haselhuhn’s home, he had already come up with a robbery plan, which he had not yet disclosed to Russell. Part of his plan, Aaron said, was to rob Haselhuhn; the business of trading or selling the gun was just a pretext. However, Russell and Haselhuhn did not learn what Aaron had in mind until later.

  Earlier that day, while the three men were working together at Bethesda Care Center, Aaron had convinced Haselhuhn to broker a deal for him: He wanted three hundred dollars’ worth of meth in exchange for the gun. All three men confirmed to me that Haselhuhn had promised to introduce Aaron and Russell to a friend that evening.

  According to Aaron, Haselhuhn boasted to him, “My guy has six ounces of meth, I’ll get an eight ball for you.”

  An eight ball is one-eighth of an ounce. Coincidentally, the six-ounce quantity Aaron planned to rob was also the exact amount that was regularly delivered to Laramie by members of the Denver family. As payment, the two members who made the delivery each received two eight balls, or a quarter of an ounce.

  Since Aaron owed his suppliers money and had run out of excuses, the prospect of getting his hands on the whole six
ounces was irresistible. If he robbed Haselhuhn’s friend, he could satisfy his meth craving and also pay off his debts.

  “I was going to rob Ken and the dealer,” Aaron told me. “I was carrying two bullets in my back pocket — one for Ken, one for the other guy. I wasn’t planning to shoot them, just force them to hand over the meth.”

  Shortly after six thirty that evening, Haselhuhn used a pay phone near his apartment complex to call his dealer friend, whom he wouldn’t identify by name to Aaron and Russell. Afterward, Haselhuhn got into Bill McKinney’s truck with the two men and drove with them to the home of a dealer friend, who lived across the street from Washington Park. All three men said that friend was not at home, though Haselhuhn later told defense investigator Moree that only the dealer’s wife was at home when he went to the door. They decided they’d try him again later.

  According to Haselhuhn, he had asked Aaron to wait in the truck while he went to the door alone. He claimed he “didn’t trust McKinney” and felt something wasn’t quite right.

  “I told him I wasn’t taking him up to the guy’s front door like that,” Haselhuhn stated.

  I would later discover that the three men also stopped at another dealer’s home — someone with whom Aaron had done business for a couple of years and to whom he owed money. Yet the dealer’s name never came up during the murder investigation, at least not in the official records unsealed after the trials were over.

  Aaron demanded that I not identify the dealer by name.

  “Why would I do that to him?” he snapped at me on the phone.

  During a later interview with Aaron in person, when I told him my life had been threatened by one of his former cohorts, I expected him to ask, Who? or Which one? Instead he shrugged with indifference.

  “Maybe it’s because you’re poking into a hornet’s nest,” he said.