James enjoys talking to the guards, seeing what’s happening in their lives. Most are civil, though some are “meaner and more ill-mannered than the inmates they look after,” James believes. His fellow cons gets annoyed when he chats up the guards. “There’s a real us-and-them attitude here, and some inmates get mad at me because I’m friendly to the guards. I don’t get it. Why make things uglier than they have to be?” he asks me. One guard told James recently that he “doesn’t seem to be the kind of guy who belongs behind bars,” James recounted. “I didn’t tell him what I was in for.” James considers himself a “normal” person with “control issues” who made a “big, big mistake.” He’s on antidepressants because “my life here is pretty depressing,” he notes. The other inmates often confound him. They’re hard to read because, he suspects, many of them are grappling with severe mental illnesses. “They’re your best friend one minute, then trying to beat the crap out of you the next,” he explains. He had a cellmate for a time who was “too hyper; he made me nervous,” says James, so he asked to move out. He gets along with his current cellie, who has been in one prison or another since the age of 16. James has taught him how to string seed beads. The two never talk about their crimes.
James communicates with his elderly mom, who lives in Kelowna, British Columbia, but it’s hard for her to travel to see him. He never hears from his sister, Tammy, who stood by helplessly when James’s young victim died. Before the murder, they used to talk weekly, and he was closer to her as an adult than to any of his other three siblings and stepbrother. “It’s hard for me,” says James. “But it’s probably much harder for her to deal with what happened.”
James is being held in the protective custody West Block section of his prison, some five acres from the 1,500-man “mainline” facility, because his crime was so horrible his co-convicts want to murder him. He has asked me to use only the name James to identify him in case a copy of this book gets into the hands of fellow inmates. He knows his crime would be easily discovered through an Internet search, but cons at his prison have only e-mail access and can’t search the Web. He also believes prisoners won’t easily identify him from photos reprinted here because he’s slightly older now and his appearance has changed. From his first day alone behind bars in an intake prison facility, other inmates, told of his crime by the prison guards, shouted to James from inside their cells what they planned to do to him when they got the chance.
Figure 1.1. A mourner at Clare Shelswell’s funeral holds a photo of the five-year-old murder victim after services. Reprinted by permission from the Canadian Press/Darryl Dyck.
James cut the throat of his five-year-old stepdaughter, Clare Shelswell, a heart-wrenchingly cute, skinny, blonde kid, who liked pickles and had an impish smile. He used a knife snatched off a kitchen counter in a cottage near Lake Cushman in Hoodsport, Washington, where he and his family were vacationing in 2010. His stunned, frantic wife, Sarah, a nurse, raced into the kitchen when she heard her baby scream. She desperately called 911 as she clutched Clare’s throat, struggling to keep the life-saving blood inside the girl’s limp body. James hung back, trying, too late, to be helpful and stay out of the way as Sarah screamed for help from the emergency dispatcher.
911 Operator: What’s going on, Ma’am?
Sarah (screaming): Oh my God, my baby, you need to send an ambulance right now.
Operator: You need to tell me what’s happening and calm down.
Sarah: My daughter’s throat has just been cut. I need you to come right now! I can’t stop the bleeding!
. . .
Operator: Keep pressure on that cut now, keep pressure on it, please.
. . .
Sarah: (sobbing) You have to come now, please. Oh my God, please. I don’t think she’s breathing. Please, please, please . . .
Operator: How’s she doing, Ma’am?
Sarah: She’s barely breathing, she’s barely breathing.
Operator: OK, get her on the floor, on her back.
Sarah: She is on her back, but I’ve got her head up, the cut is on her throat. You have to hurry up! Please, you need to come now!
Operator: They are on their way, Ma’am. I dispatched them out.
Sarah: You need to send the police, too.
Operator: They are getting there, Ma’am.
Sarah: She’s breathing, but it’s really, really ragged and infrequent.
Operator: Is she changing color?
Sarah: She’s really pale. I’m cradling her.
Operator: OK, I want you to keep pressure on that wound, whatever you do, don’t take the rag off. If it gets soaked through, put another on top of that.
Sarah: OK, I started on that.
Operator: OK, keep doing that. We have people en route now. If she stops breathing I need to know right away. Is she conscious and alert?
Sarah: No, she is unconscious, not alert of anything. Respiratory rate is four to six a minute.
Operator: Does anyone there know CPR in case she stops breathing?
Sarah: I’m a nurse, but the gash on her throat is so big there’s no way it would work. I don’t know if [the bleeding] is under control.
Operator: How did this happen?
Sarah: My husband took a knife to her throat.
Operator: Your husb— . . . purposely?
Sarah: Yes.
Operator: We need law enforcement on that call. Where is he now?
Sarah: He’s here, but he’s away from her. This is what I said: You need to send police, too. I haven’t really examined the wound, she’s still breathing. Hang in there, Baby, hang in there.
(Talks to someone in the background.)
Operator: What’s going on with her right now?
Sarah: Her respiratory rate seems to have improved a little bit. She’s still pale, but conforming with the rest of the color of her body.
. . .
Operator: Does he still have the weapon, Ma’am?
Sarah: No, he does not.
Operator: OK, where is the weapon?
Sarah: It’s on the floor in the kitchen—where I am, not where he is.
Operator: OK, where is he in the house?
Sarah: He’s sitting in the next room, but he’s pretty docile right now.
Operator: OK, why is he so docile?
Sarah: Probably because he’s in shock over what he just did.
Operator: How’s she doing now?
Sarah: Breathing is becoming faster, but definitely more shallow. You need to move right now!
Figure 1.2. Pallbearers take the coffin carrying Clare Shelswell’s body from a local church in her hometown of Abbotsford, British Columbia. Reprinted by permission from the Canadian Press/Darryl Dyck.
Operator: Is there any way they can get him out of the house?
Sarah: Probably. Why?
Operator: Because we don’t need him the house.
Sarah: OK, the only complication with that is if we do that, there might be a second . . .
Operator: If you don’t think that’s safe to try and get him out of the house, I don’t want you to do that. I’m just giving you some ideas.
Sarah: She is not breathing.
Operator: OK, then you’re going to get her some air then. Is there anybody else there who can hold that bandage on while you tilt the head back and give her CPR?
Sarah: Yeah, but I’m going to have to keep the phone down.
Operator: OK, just keep it as close to you as you can, and let me know what’s going on.
(Sarah’s sister-in-law, Tammy, takes the phone while Sarah continues to attend to Clare.)
Tammy: It doesn’t look like she’s breathing.
Operator: So dad is in the other room?
Tammy: Yeah . . . the air is just coming right through her throat.
. . .
Sarah (in background): Oh my God! They have to hurry now!
Operator: What happened when you tried to attempt CPR?
Sarah (in the background): It sounds like t
he air is going right through her throat . . . I can’t feel her chest rising. (Crying.) Nothing is getting into her chest when I breathe through her mouth, it’s all exiting in the gash in her throat! She is not breathing, she is not breathing. Hurry up, Goddamnit! You have to hurry!
Operator: Ma’am, we are getting there as fast as we can. Please try to get some air into her. Is there someone helping you? Can you feel a pulse, a heartbeat, anything?
Sarah (in the background): Her chest is not rising at all, the gash in her throat is too big, they have to hurry up!
Operator: They are coming as fast as they can.
Sarah (in the background): Give me another rag! Oh my God, my baby . . .
. . .
Operator: What started this?
Tammy: I don’t even know, I was gone, I just got back here.
Sarah (in the background): Please, they have to hurry!
Operator: Ma’am do you feel comfortable moving her out of the house at all?
Tammy: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Sarah (in the background): There’s no difference, she’s dying!
Operator: Is the dad still in the house?
Tammy: Yes.
Operator: What is he doing?
Tammy: Sitting on the floor.
Operator: Is he alert at all?
Sarah (in the background): It’s not him, you need to get the ambulance here for her!
Operator: Can you get her outside? If you can get her outside away from dad, we have a better chance of aid coming in without law enforcement.
Tammy: That’s not important, that’s not relevant!
Operator: Ma’am, can you get her outside?
Tammy: There’s no point in that.
Operator: Why is that?
Tammy: He’s not doing anything, he’s just sitting on the floor.
Sarah (in the background): Where are the paramedics?
Operator: I can’t make my units come in without law enforcement being there.
Tammy: There’s nobody here!
Operator: We need to do something to try and save her.
Tammy: If he leaves, can you come in?
Operator: Yes.
Tammy (speaking to James): Can you leave?
Tammy (speaking to operator): He’s leaving.
Operator: Tell him to get as far as he can but stay in the area.
. . .
Operator: Someone needs to tell me where dad went now.
Tammy: He went to other side of property, he’s sitting outside.
Operator: How far away?
Tammy: He’s literally non-coherent.
Operator: I know. Please answer my question. How far away from the house is he?
Tammy: The next lot over. Listen to me: She has not been breathing for approximately ten minutes at this point. If the paramedics don’t get there STAT she is not going to survive. How far out are they?
Operator: I’ve advised paramedics dad is out of the house. Does he have any weapons on him?
Tammy: No, he has nothing.
Operator: OK, stand by. What’s going on with her now?
Tammy: She’s dead. We’re doing CPR but she’s effectively dead unless they’re here now.
. . .
Sarah (in the background): How far out are they?!
Operator: Can you give me [a] description of [the] male?
Tammy: 5’8”, 250 pounds, brown hair, shorts and a polo shirt. I can’t tell from here. I really wasn’t paying attention.
Operator: You were not there when this started?
Tammy: I was not there, no one witnessed it.
Operator: Is the dad still on the other property?
Tammy: Yes.
Sarah (in the background): We can deal with legal ramifications later! Can we please not have this be about a homicide?
Tammy: Sarah, the mom, is doing CPR.
Operator: How many people are in the house?
Tammy: Two of us, Clare, and two people upstairs.
Operator: What are the people upstairs doing?
Tammy: There’s another daughter. She’s upstairs with my sister-in-law, trying to keep her away from this scene.
Operator: How old is the daughter?
Tammy: Clare is five.
Operator: Is that the one with injury?
Tammy: Yes.
Tammy (speaking to James): They want you to stay where you are.
Operator: Who’s there, Ma’am?
Tammy: The paramedics and police.
(Sobbing in the background.)
When police and paramedics arrived, James was sitting on a swing in a gazebo outside the cottage. James was “stoic,” a responding officer noted in the police report, and he told them Clare was inside, and that he had just cut her throat. His wife later told investigators that the attack occurred after an angry argument about disciplining the children, Clare and her eight-year-old sister, Suzy. Finally, James told his wife “not to worry,” that he would “take care of things,” before walking Clare downstairs to the kitchen. He told police that when he took Clare’s small hand into his own to lead her to the kitchen, he knew that he was going to kill her. James was booked into Mason County Jail, charged with first-degree murder, and held on $3 million bail.
The brutality of the crime riveted the public and the police who responded to the scene. “In 37 years, this is the most horrific, senseless crime I’ve ever seen,” County Sheriff Chief Deputy Dean Byrd told CBC-TV News in British Columbia, where the family was living at the time.1 “How does a person make the decision to take the life of a five-year-old girl in such a violent and horrific way? How does that happen?”
Sarah avoided the reporters who clamored for her reactions, asking that she and her family be “left in peace” to grieve “our beautiful baby girl. My daughter Clare has been killed. Anyone with a heart will be affected by this story, especially due to the brutal way in which she died,” she said in a statement released to the media. “Asking us how we are doing is unhelpful. Put yourself in our shoes and give yourself an answer.”
Hundreds of mourners turned out for Clare’s funeral at the family’s local church in Abbotsford, British Columbia, that featured photos of Clare and her worn green teddy bear, “Baby,” which sat forlornly next to a drawing of a rainbow by Clare. Pastor Terry Kaethler recalled Clare as an “engaging girl” with a rare sensitivity and compassion beyond her years. She had a generous soul and “saw beauty where few other people would see it,” he said. The principal of her kindergarten said Clare often waited to start playing at recess until everyone who wanted to join in was part of the group. Clare’s sister, Suzy, talked of her joy reading books to her little sister, noting that in her glasses Clare had “quite the look.” Sarah, who sat in the front row of the church with Suzy, said in a statement read for her that the family was struggling with a new life seen “through a glass darkly. This past week has been the most difficult of our lives. We have said good-bye to our beautiful baby girl and have today begun to look at what life without Clare might look like,” she added.
Figure 1.3. James, in a bulletproof vest and handcuffs, is led into a Washington State court to face murder charges for killing his five-year-old stepdaughter, Clare. Courtesy of the Mason County Journal/Kevan Moore.
It was difficult to imagine James committing such a crime. Even his ex-wife spoke up for him. He had no arrest record. He briefly pleaded not guilty, offering a mental illness defense based on his struggles with bipolar disorder and anger issues. Sarah would say in an interview months later with Canadian broadcaster CTV that before the attack on Clare, James never exhibited any significant signs of violence, never threatened to hurt anyone, and “faithfully” took his medications for his disorder.2 James quickly changed his plea to guilty to first-degree murder with aggravating circumstances to “spare his family the anguish of a trial,” his attorney said in court. “He has apologized to his wife and family. He loved his family,” said lawyer Ron Sergi. “He lost control. He never s
aw this type of conduct coming; he was as surprised as anyone else by this. He asked for forgiveness, well aware he wasn’t deserving of it.” As James entered his plea before the judge, sobbing, he said he wished he could trade his life for Clare’s. Mason County Superior Court Judge Toni Sheldon sentenced him to the maximum time allowed in prison, citing Clare’s vulnerability, the stepfather’s abuse of trust, and the destructive nature of the crime for the family.
“Clare’s death has been shocking and devastating beyond comprehension to me and my family,” Sarah said to the court in her victim impact statement. “As I was preparing this, I realized how impossible it is for me to truly describe who Clare was, the spark that made her uniquely Clare, the essence of the little person that she was. Clare was a bubbly, smart, loving, creative, vibrant five-year-old girl. She was cheeky and had a fabulous sense of humor, even though she couldn’t quite figure out how knock-knock jokes were supposed to go. Her laugh was infectious.” Her mom recalled how her daughter “saw beauty” everywhere, especially in “wild flowers most would call weeds, or in caterpillar-bitten leaves. When beach-combing with my parents, Clare wanted to keep all of the broken shells she had picked up because they were all special.”
Killer Dads Page 2
