by Gregg Olsen
Stutzman said he had mapped out a route to Ohio via U.S. 81. He said he took 80 at first.
“I was looking for a place to cut across to 70, which is the route I used traveling back and forth to—from Colorado to Ohio. It seemed like 81 was the most appropriate route to cut across.”
The truth was that 81 provided a direct route to John Yost’s place.
Gallup led Stutzman like a horse.
“At some point in the trip, did you notice anything unusual about your son, at any point, or notice that he wasn’t alert, or what happened if anything?”
“In the afternoon he complained a little bit about not feeling real good and I suggested stopping, not continuing, for seeing a doctor, and he said he just wanted to lay down and he would be fine.”
Stutzman moved some luggage and toys so that the boy would have room to stretch out.
“What eventually drew your attention to the back of the car?”
“Well, later, late in the evening, during the night—I believe it was time for his medication—I reached back while driving and got a hold of him and I couldn’t get him awake.”
Gallup looked concerned. “He didn’t respond to touch?”
“Right. He did not respond. So I pulled over to a—to see what it was about. I was shocked to see that there was no response at all.”
Gallup questioned Stutzman about his medical training, and the witness said that he had been a hospital orderly and knew the techniques of CPR and heart massage.
“So, then, would you relate to the judge what, if anything, you did when you found your son didn’t respond to your touch?”
“I was shocked. I could not believe finding him that way.”
“What did you do?”
“I—”
Gallup told him to speak up.
“I tried desperately to revive him.”
Stutzman said that he tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and heart massage, but that nothing worked. The boy was dead, and Stutzman didn’t know what to do. He was somewhere on U.S. 81, close to Chester, Nebraska. He drove to a place off the main road.
“I had difficulty facing the fact that he had died. I couldn’t understand, couldn’t figure out why he died, or would have died under the circumstances.”
“I pulled off the main road and made another turn or two and found a place in a valley, up in a valley, where I thought there was nobody else around, and I spent some time, quite a bit of time there praying, and I tried again to revive him and I just—”
Gallup cut him off. “Did you think at any time that maybe this was due to the disfavor of your God for the way you had left the church? Was that something that was bothering you?”
The defendant shook his head. “No, I can’t tell—I don’t remember that crossing my mind, that I felt guilty because of my past in any way.”
Stutzman thought he stayed in the valley for several hours, trying to figure out what to do with the body in the back of the Gremlin.
“I knew that I could go and try and, you know, find a phone and get an emergency squad, but I did have feelings that maybe the facts would be against me.”
“What?”
“The facts would be against me from my family.”
Stutzman’s voice was so soft, Gallup again asked him to speak louder.
“I thought the fact about my family might be against me, that I was not taking proper care of him. I feared for that . . . and I had a big difficulty realizing what had happened and why it would have happened. I could not understand why it would have happened.”
Stutzman said he continued home to Ohio, where he told a number of people different stories about Danny’s whereabouts and death.
“I guess I did not want to face the fact that he actually had died. I had difficulty accepting that.”
Gallup wrapped it up. “As you sit there right now, you don’t know what caused your son’s death, is that a fair statement?”
“Right.”
Gallup reminded Stutzman that a Saint Louis pathologist had favored the conclusion that Danny had died a natural death.
“Would that help let you sleep a little better?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
• • •
It was Dan Werner’s turn, and though he was glad for the chance to confront the accused, he wished that he’d had more time to prepare. Maybe information would have come to light possibly leading to an investigation that would result in an abuse or murder charge.
“Mr. Stutzman, let’s go back a little bit. You left Danny with foster parents in Wyoming, is that right?”
“Friends, so to speak.”
Stutzman said that he and Danny had left Austin, Texas, and arrived at the Barlows’, in Lyman, Wyoming, where he left his son.
“Why did you leave Danny with the Barlow family?”
“I was preparing to move, and I was afraid that because of moves . . . I would probably not be able to avoid having to change schools, not be able to keep him in one school for the first half of the school year. And another reason was because of a roommate of mine . . . his body was found, I was informed—had been informed recently, and I was questioned, I had given a statement, and my son was also questioned, and it left a bad effect on him by some of the questions he was asked by the law.”
Stutzman said his roommate had left Texas, and that he had no idea he was missing until the sheriff came calling.
Werner asked why Stutzman and his son had left Austin.
“Because of the psychological effect it left on him, some of the questions that were asked. Plus I had planned on moving, had some things to take care of in the Durango area.”
After leaving Danny with the Barlows, Stutzman saw friends in Ohio, before returning to Texas. He spent most of his time with Owen Barker in Azle. A month later, he left for Durango to complete some ranch business. He said he did some remodeling for Chuck Freeman.
Stutzman said that he had planned to pick up Danny and spend Christmas in Ohio and then return to Texas.
Werner made his move. He was looking for the why of Danny Stutzman’s death.
“Mr. Stutzman, do you resent your Amish upbringing?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you ever recall telling Mr. Chuck Freeman that you resented your Amish upbringing?”
“I may have mentioned that I didn’t get the education I could—probably would—have benefited from. But as far as the strict rules, being brought up, I have no—”
Werner cut short Stutzman’s ramblings.
“Do you recall telling Mr. Freeman that you did not wish to see your son brought up in the Amish faith?”
“Yes, I felt he had—”
Again, Werner interrupted the defendant.
“Were you concerned at that point in time that your parents might get custody of Danny?”
“I would not know any reason why.”
Now the question.
“Did you tell Mr. Freeman that you would rather see Danny dead than being brought up as Amish?”
Stutzman shook his head. “I don’t remember making that statement.”
The county attorney continued to push his scenario of Little Boy Blue’s death. Stutzman said that he had returned to Wyoming on December 13 and that he and Danny had left the following morning. Danny seemed to be “in good health and spirits,” but he had a virus and was on medication for it.
Margie Barlow gave the boy the medication that night, before bedtime, and told Stutzman that it was required four times a day. Stutzman and Danny stopped for a haircut on their way out of Lyman.
“Then you went directly to 80, is that correct?”
“Filled up with gas. Bought some soft drinks and got a few breakfast things and we ate in the car.”
“And after leaving there, did you stop again anywhere before getting to Nebraska?”
“Not other than for gas or food. Whether we did before we hit Nebraska, I am not sure. I don’t remember the distance.”
Werner, knowing
the boy’s stomach was empty at the autopsy, zeroed in on the meals the Stutzmans might have had on their trip across the plains. Stutzman said that Danny had been munching off and on and hadn’t eaten a real meal until evening.
Stutzman said he was certain they had stopped to eat in the evening, though he couldn’t recall the name of the restaurant.
“It was a truck stop where they serve smorgasbord-style food.” He believed it was in Nebraska.
“He did not eat everything that he had dished himself out, but he ate better than I expected.”
“Up until this point in time, was he feeling fairly well, or how would you describe his health?”
“In the afternoon he had some complaints, but it didn’t seem to be serious, according to him. But then in the evening, after he had laid for several hours, he told me he felt a lot better and agreed to eat.”
“And when you ate at this truck stop, do you remember how long a drive it was before you reached 81 from that truck stop?”
Stutzman shook his head. It had probably been dusk when he pulled into the truck stop for dinner. They ate, and he filled the car up with gas. Danny sat in the front seat.
“We didn’t leave right away,” Stutzman added. “I had him change into some pajamas so that he could get in the back.”
Stutzman said that they talked before Danny fell asleep in the back of the Gremlin. Stutzman said that he checked on him a short time later and that he was still sleeping. Stutzman drove on, occasionally getting out of the car for fresh air.
When Stutzman turned south on U.S. 81, traveling through Thayer County to U.S. 70, Danny was still curled up in back. Stutzman said he had given the boy his medication at six and at noon.
“Now, Mr. Stutzman, do you recall speaking with Ted Garber after your arrest in Texas?”
Stutzman looked confused. “Ted Garber, a detective?”
“In Azle, Texas?”
“Oh, yes.”
“After your arrest and before you were brought up here?”
Stutzman nodded.
“Now,” Werner continued, “you just told me that you were in Nebraska and stopped at a large truck stop near Salina, Kansas, to eat, is that right?”
“I do remember Salina, Kansas, the following morning.”
“The following morning?”
“Yes, but not while I had my son with me.”
“And you stated to him that Danny got out, but didn’t eat very much. But you have told me today that Danny ate fairly well at the truck stop. Which is correct?”
Again Stutzman seemed confused, and his voice was nearly inaudible. “He dished out—what he dished out for himself, he did not eat all of it.”
It was about midnight—time for Danny’s medication, Stutzman said—when he tried to wake him.
“I reached back, I got a hold of his leg, and he wouldn’t wake up. So I pulled over and reached back again and couldn’t figure it out. So I got out of the car and went around the back of the car and opened the back end where he had his head back there. And I noticed right way, or shortly, the look on his face—there was something wrong.”
“What did you notice about his face?” Werner asked.
“His eyes were, like, rolled back in his head, and his complexion did not look like it normally does.”
“What did his complexion look like?”
“White.”
“What did you do?”
Stutzman said he tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. But Danny remained still, his eyes rolled back.
Werner retraced what had been said in court that morning. The Stutzman car was somewhere off U.S. 81 when this happened. Stutzman couldn’t recall exactly how long he had driven by then.
“Do you remember any towns in the area?”
“No, I really don’t. I do remember—I remember some landmarks and stuff, and I do—”
“What type of landmarks?”
“One of the things I remember that was close by was a cemetery.”
Stutzman said that after he noticed Danny was not moving and couldn’t be awakened, he felt for a pulse. He tried mouth-to-mouth and heart massage numerous times.
But nothing worked.
“And what did you do after you had done all of these things?”
“I got back in the car and went on a little ways and decided to pull off the main road.”
“How far did you go? How far is a little ways?”
Stutzman was uncertain, but conceded it had probably been less than a mile.
“Mr. Stutzman, when you noticed his eyes rolled back, when you couldn’t get a pulse, why did you not seek help for Danny at that time?”
“That’s what I keep—still keep asking myself today. I had difficulty believing that it had happened. I could not figure out why it happened. I wish now I would have.”
“Could Danny have been alive at that time?”
“I don’t think it is possible. Well, I’m not going to swear to it, but I don’t think so at all, because at the time there was no pulse and I spent several—at least several more hours with him after that, and he never did breathe during that time.”
“This was after you pulled off the road that you spent several hours with him?”
“Yes.”
“Were you outside the car when you spent that time with him?”
“I kept him in the car until I left him. But, yes, I did get out of the car some of the time.”
“Could Danny have been alive when you placed him in that ditch?”
“I don’t see any way possible.”
“Do you recall Officer Garber asking you that question down in Azle, Texas, after your arrest?”
“No, I don’t.”
Werner probed further. “Do you recall telling Garber when asked, was Danny alive when you put him in the ditch, do you recall telling him, ‘That is a good question. I don’t think so, but he could have been?’ ”
“No, I don’t recall that.”
“Did Danny have a T-shirt, a wrestling T-shirt?”
“From Wyoming?” Stutzman looked puzzled.
Werner handed Stutzman a photograph, marked as exhibit number three. He asked if the shirt had been Danny’s.
Stutzman studied the photograph for a moment, then asked if it was a child’s size.
“Did Danny have a T-shirt like that?”
Stutzman shrugged it off. “I don’t recall. But it is possible. He had a lot of different T-shirts with a lot of different emblems. . . . It is possible. I don’t know.”
“Did you buy a T-shirt like that for Danny?”
“I don’t recall buying a T-shirt with Panther Wrestling on it.”
“Did you throw out a T-shirt like that in the country?”
“I don’t remember throwing anything out.”
Werner changed the direction of his cross-examination. “What type of toys did Danny have?”
“That he was playing with? He had all kinds of toys.”
Werner asked him to describe some, and Stutzman responded that Danny had some video games. He also had a soccer ball on that trip two years ago.
“Do you remember him playing with any toys that were blue in color, with kind of a metallic paint?” Werner asked.
“Blue? No, I don’t.”
“Mr. Stutzman, did you kill Danny?”
The room was so quiet that no one had difficulty hearing the man’s response.
“No, I did not.”
“Did you help Danny die in any way?”
“No.”
“Do you remember anything else about Danny’s death that you haven’t told us about?”
“No, not that I can think of. Only thing I can say, it’s real tragic. I still, to this day, don’t know why or exactly what—”
“Did—what did you do when you placed him in the ditch?”
Again, Stutzman was very quiet. “I told him another prayer. I decided to leave him and let God take care of him.”
He said he pulled off the road, parked, and carried th
e boy’s limp body to a ditch and covered him with snow. He got back on the main road and headed south. He said he didn’t report the boy’s death because he could not bear what had happened.
“I guess I didn’t want to face my friends and family, realizing what had happened. I couldn’t figure out why.”
Werner asked how many days had passed between Stutzman and Danny leaving Wyoming and Danny’s death, and Stutzman told him that Danny had died the same day.
“I left there on a morning and he died during that night, and I left him.”
Did Stutzman know on what day he had arrived in Ohio?
“It was towards—I would say either—probably either Thursday or Friday.”
“Where did you go—did you go directly to Ohio after you left Thayer County?”
“I did spend some time—I had difficulty continuing on. What I had in mind—I lost the holiday spirit, and spent some time in motels.”
Lost the holiday spirit? The statement was so ludicrous that some spectators might have laughed had the case not been so grim.
“Do you remember where?”
“I suppose I could find it or look it up. I don’t remember the names right offhand.”
Stutzman said that he remembered spending some time in his car and that he did not get a motel room every night. He said he did not recall getting a room until the night after Danny died.
Questioned further, however, Stutzman could not recall the motels or anything about them.
With good reason. There hadn’t been any.
Stutzman told how he had lied about his son’s death when he arrived in Ohio. He also said he had lied to the Barlows, telling them that Danny was enrolled in an Ohio school.
After the holidays, Stutzman said he went to the Azle, Texas, area, where he lived with Owen Barker.
Werner asked, “What did you tell Owen Barker about Danny?”
“I believe I told him Danny was with the Barlow family.”
“Is there a time when you told Owen Barker that Danny had died?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have Owen Barker speak with someone and tell him—have Owen Barker speak with someone on the telephone and tell him that it was Danny?”
“Repeat that again, if you would?”
“Remember Father’s Day of about 1986?”
