The Killing Kind

by M. William Phelps

  Deb Ratchford, an African American from Gastonia, was thirty years old when her brutally assaulted and sexually violated body was found in a densely wooded area on August 4, 1992, near the Oakland Street Cemetery, on North Oakland Street, a twenty-minute drive from Momma’s house. She’d been stabbed and slashed multiple times in the upper chest and neck.

  Inside the box, Hembree told Gastonia detectives that he, along with a cohort, James Swanson, murdered Ratchford. He didn’t say much more than that.

  When Gastonia PD took Swanson into custody some time later (the same day they served Hembree with a murder warrant for the Ratchford case), Swanson denied taking part in Ratchford’s murder. He protested, “That man is telling a bare-faced lie about me. I’m innocent.”

  CHAPTER 66

  Now twelve hours into his confession, Hembree had stirred up talk around Gastonia as he fingered old friends and crime associates, people he hated, drug buddies, and dealers. He was seemingly on a quest to close cold cases for law enforcement from as far back as 1979, as far away as Florida. The guy would not stop talking and, in the process, burying himself deeper and deeper—that is, if all of what Danny Hembree spouted off turned out to be true.

  As Hembree spoke to Gastonia Police investigators, Hensley worked at getting Hembree’s car impounded. It was parked at Nick’s. Yet, before they towed the vehicle away, Hensley wanted to check on something to see how honest Hembree had been.

  The young detective snapped on a pair of latex gloves and opened Hembree’s car as it sat in Nick’s driveway. Hensley thought back to Hembree telling him how he had hidden “a few beaded bracelets or necklaces” of Randi’s inside the glove compartment for the purpose of proving he killed Randi if ever questioned.

  After opening the glove compartment and conducting a cursory search, Hensley came up with five “multicolored beaded bracelets.”

  Hembree was telling the truth.

  When Hensley got back from Nick’s on the afternoon of December 5, 2009, he asked Hembree if he’d like to have a smoke. Hensley’s offer was by design. Hembree’s car had been impounded and towed back to the GCPD, and there it was, on the bed of a tow truck, as Hembree and Hensley came out the back door.

  “I wanted him to see that we were listening to him, trying to take care of all the demands he was making. This was important.”

  Power and control. Hembree had to think he continually maintained it.

  As far as those cases in Florida were concerned, Hensley wasn’t telling anyone at the moment, but he questioned whether Hembree committed any of them. In Hensley’s mind, he believed Hembree was stacking the deck to have more to barter with down the road.

  “You kill a few people and you are going to remember that,” Hensley said later. What concerned Hensley was the lack of detail Hembree offered. Yes, he said he didn’t want to talk about it until he got a deal, but he wasn’t clear on anything regarding Florida. All of the information he gave was vague; whereas, when he discussed Randi and Heather, he pinpointed specific details about each murder, without having to think about it.

  “Guy like Hembree,” Hensley continued, “he’d remember details because of the high or thrill he is getting from the crime at the time.”

  Sumner felt a bit different about Florida. He said, “We have no evidence to believe he committed the murders he mentioned in Florida. But I have no reason to underestimate his intelligence and his ability to manipulate and conning nature—because Danny Hembree is not going to tell you until it benefits him.”

  At the time Hembree confessed to Randi and Heather, making slight mention of Florida and Deb Ratchford, he was, Sumner pointed out, “coming off of a crack cocaine binge. That’s why we wanted to keep him talking. Hembree was down, depressed.... I recall him saying again and again, ‘I’m just ready to die, man. I’m just ready to die. Let’s just get this over with.’ So those two confessions benefited him because he was ready to die. He was tired, physically exhausted. God knows how long he had been on a crack binge. But all that other stuff, Florida and Deb Ratchford, he wanted something for it.”

  Thus far, Hembree hadn’t displayed much in the form of comprehensive facts surrounding Florida. And even a quick call down to the areas Hembree had mentioned led Hensley to consider it all as just a ruse. The county had no record of any murders near the time Hembree had said.

  After the GCPD finished interviewing Hembree about the Ratchford case, Sumner and Hensley sat with him inside the box again.

  “We need you to look at a statement we’ve compiled for you,” Hensley explained, sliding the pages across the table. The statement detailed everything they had talked about the previous night.

  By 3:00 P.M., Hembree had a statement detailing his crimes in front of him. Hembree took his time listening as Hensley read through the statement, word for word. And after making a few corrections, Hembree said he was happy with it, placing his John Hancock in the appropriate spaces.

  Hensley asked Hembree if it was okay for them to fetch him the following day or the day after to “talk about some other things.”

  “Yeah . . . yeah,” Hembree said. “Sure.”

  After signing the statement, Hembree rubbed his hands together for warmth; then he asked if they had done everything he had requested.

  Hensley said they were working on it.

  Hembree seemed satisfied.

  Back in 1997, when Hembree was questioned again about the murder of Deb Ratchford, he admitted to it. But then shortly afterward, Hembree did something he had done his entire criminal career: recant the confession.

  “Somewhere in the back of his mind,” Sumner explained, “as we finished up with him and he had given [us] . . . Heather and Randi’s murders, he knew he could always recant those confessions if he needed to. He is a pathological liar. And to underestimate his abilities in this regard would be foolish.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Some states use a magistrate system. In North Carolina, magistrates are viewed as judges. They are not elected, however. Magistrates are appointed by the court clerk and are not required to have law degrees. Magistrates swear officers to both search and arrest warrants. But they also set bond after police serve those arrest warrants. Magistrates are set up in the local jails and there is generally no attorney present when a suspect is brought before them. Magistrates, it could be said, take some of the burden off judges.

  There was not going to be a bond set in Danny Hembree’s case. Whether he realized it or not, Hembree faced the most serious charges the state had on its books. There was no chance of Hembree enjoying freedom while he awaited the iron fist of the justice system.

  That being said, if a defendant cannot make bond or, in Hembree’s case, is not given the opportunity to bond out, he must be brought in front of a district court judge on the following day, where he is then given the opportunity to apply for appointed counsel.

  Hembree was slated to go in front of a superior court judge, but Hensley and Sumner had to first get him in to see a magistrate. The magistrate was the first step along what would be, if Hembree chose that route, a tedious legal process toward justice. Of course, Hembree could plead his cases, if a deal was later offered.

  “No media, right?” Hembree said as they made their way to the magistrate’s office.

  “Yeah, Danny.”

  Word had spread that Hembree had been brought in for the murders and was being questioned. The town was bustling with rumor and allegation. The local media was salivating at the prospect of covering a story with such broad implications and the potential for a nationwide media feeding frenzy.

  Television media loved the words “serial killer.”

  As they escorted Hembree to the magistrate’s office, coming around a corner in the building, Matt Hensley was shocked to see them all waiting: reporters whom Danny Hembree had purposely said he did not want to face.

  “We had no idea,” Hensley said to Hembree.

  There were cameras rolling, reporters waiting. A photograph would e
merge in the days to come displaying the sheer shock on Hensley’s face when they came around that corner and were surprised by the media.

  “I’m done. Finished talking,” Hembree said.

  “Danny, come on. We had no idea.”

  “Get them out of here now or I will recant everything I said to you,” Hembree announced. His demeanor had changed. He became someone else.

  All Hensley could think about now was the idea of approaching Hembree again in the future as they began to investigate all the crimes he had admitted to. If Hembree shut them down, they were on their own. If they had him to bounce facts off, it would make the cases go much smoother.

  Hensley pulled the magistrate aside and explained what was going on, relaying the promises they’d made to their suspect, adding, “Can you see Mr. Hembree without the media breathing down our backs?”

  The magistrate thought about it.

  “Yes.”

  The media was shut out.

  It’s funny how some people react to the sudden notion that a neighbor or friend could possibly be a vicious serial killer there in front of them, right under their nose the entire time. Perhaps it’s denial. Maybe we don’t want to admit we’ve missed a sign. Or possibly it’s just that realizing a psychopath committed murder and hid corpses within a stone’s throw of your house would unnerve us so much, we block out the reality of the situation.

  Whatever the case, it’s inevitable that the neighbor ends up on the nightly news, that deer-in-the-headlights gaze, uttering those pedestrian comments we always hear in such a situation.

  Thus, “He just didn’t strike me as that type of guy,” one of Hembree’s neighbors said when reporters caught up to the case and went trolling for quotes in Hembree’s neighborhood after being shut out by the magistrate.

  CHAPTER 68

  On December 7, Monday, a pair of detectives from Brevard County, Florida, arrived to speak with Danny Hembree about murders he had supposedly committed in Florida. Hembree had family in Brevard County. He had spent copious amounts of time there. The opportunity existed for Hembree to have committed murders in Florida and, for that matter, at any point along the way, to and fro.

  Brevard County is north of Fort Pierce, in the middle of the state, on the east coast. Two Brevard County Sheriff’s Department (BCSD) detectives sat down with Hembree, who was being held at the jail across the street from the Gastonia Police Department, downtown. Hembree had made it clear he wanted to be transferred to Raleigh; he wasn’t going to be saying much of anything specific to Florida until that demand was met. Hensley had contacted the DA’s office to ask about the request and was informed that some sort of arrangement would be made—not necessarily what Hembree wanted, but he was soon going to be transported to the DOC and out of the Gastonia local jail.

  Hembree explained to Brevard County detectives, without going into detail, that he and Bobby Johnson had killed two women back in the early 1990s while in Florida. They showed Hembree a mug shot of Johnson, who was serving life for a 2003 first-degree burglary in South Carolina. Johnson was the same age as Hembree, forty-eight.

  “That’s him,” Hembree said, pointing to the photo.

  With Hembree not willing to tell much more before he was transferred to a prison of his liking, the next stop for the Florida detectives, they explained to Hensley and Sumner on their way out, was South Carolina and a visit to Bobby Johnson.

  “Right now, we have no record of any homicides in the areas Hembree explained during those periods he talked about,” one of the detectives told Hensley.

  CHAPTER 69

  Hembree made his first official appearance in the Gaston County Courthouse on North Marietta Street late in the day, December 7. The DA, Locke Bell, was ready to prosecute Danny Hembree to the full extent, and already was talking about exploring the death penalty.

  For a true narcissist, there can be no better stage on which to perform than the structured atmosphere of a United States courtroom, with the media, judge, lawyers, and cops all watching. He is given the opportunity to run the show, so to speak, and control some of what happens from day to day. Hembree would waste no time in exploiting this part of his character to the fullest extent.

  When DA Bell announced that his office would seek the death penalty, the alleged killer responded in kind. As proceedings got under way, Hembree indicated he was going to be representing himself for the duration of his case. And since his incarceration inside the local Gaston County Jail, he said, “I’m receiving death threats. I haven’t been tried. I haven’t been convicted.”

  Bell stated that security was not an issue inside the jail and Hembree would be staying put. He would not be moved or placed in a safer space. He was fine where he was, until charges had been worked out and a new court date set.

  During the short appearance, Hembree was charged with the two murders: Heather Catterton’s and Randi Saldana’s. Bell implied that Hembree would be charged within a day or two with a third murder, Deb Ratchford’s.

  As the session ended, Hembree made eye contact with Heather’s and Randi’s family members who were present in the courtroom, making them aware he was going to be an open wound as the cases went forward. Stella’s sister showed up to represent Heather. As Hembree, dressed in a pumpkin-colored jumper, got up to be removed from the courtroom, he smiled at Stella’s sister, no doubt thinking back to the accusations he’d made against her, Stella, and Shorty.

  Stella’s sister stared back at him. It was a gesture, she later told reporters, with the message: Not “all of Heather’s family members are . . . going to be your friends and lovers.”

  Another important factor coming from the day’s events became that while Danny Hembree had been incarcerated for lengthier periods of time twice in his lifetime, he had escaped from prison on two occasions. Within his near forty-page criminal record, it was made public that Hembree scaled a wall in 1998 while serving eleven years for burglary, escaped, and was on the run for three days before he was caught. Then a second time, just two years prior, in 2007, Hembree was on work release duty when he took off. He had been working off a five-year bid for robbery. He was caught not long after that escape.

  CHAPTER 70

  Twenty-three-year-old Nicole Catterton took off after her boyfriend Danny Hembree’s arrest. Word on the street was that Nicole was missing. The family was, of course, worried about her. Why take off? Was Nicole concerned enough about Hembree’s arrest and her possible role in the crimes? Had she been involved—willingly or not—in covering up for Hembree?

  It turned out Nicole was upset with herself for not realizing she had been sleeping with a monster. The guilt became overwhelming. It was not easy to deal with the pain. Nicole was worried that she had inadvertently and unknowingly been a party to Hembree’s crimes. That thought alone made her sick: She could have participated, without realizing it, in her own sister’s demise.

  Nicole had not run off, as it turned out. She was staying at a friend’s house, and Nick knew where she was the entire time.

  Hensley went to see Nick. He wanted to know what was going on. The rumor mill was churning with word that Nicole had left town. Hensley wanted to know why she would do this. For Hensley, he’d always had a feeling that Nicole, out of all the other players, knew a lot more than she was letting on.

  “No,” Nick said. “She wasn’t reported missing.” He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  “I’m fine,” Nicole explained to Hensley. “I just cannot be home right now.”

  Hensley said there was going to come a time when he needed to sit down with her and talk about things.

  Nicole said she understood. Just say when.

  CHAPTER 71

  As they worked to try and back up—or tear apart—what Hembree had admitted to during his interviews, Sumner and Hensley found the store where Hembree claimed to have purchased the gasoline. It wasn’t the same store, however, that Hembree had pointed out during that tour of the town while exploring his murder memories. I
t was another gas station/convenience store down the block.

  This was where Hembree and his tales diminished in integrity: the details.

  For example, earlier that same day, Hensley had found that girl whom Hembree said he had picked up after leaving Shorty’s (the one he said he had gotten oral sex from). However, it turned out Hembree had a few facts wrong. The girl said he’d picked her up, all right, but she had not given him oral sex, not on that day. It was a month prior when she had done it; she remembered distinctly because Hembree had taken her to the abandoned trailer. As they were driving later, “Danny wanted me to go out and make some money (prostitute herself), but I didn’t want to.” So Hembree pulled over and told her to get out.

  Hensley and Sumner walked into the gas station under the impression that all of the surveillance tape from that time period was gone by now, because those types of establishments don’t hold on to tapes that long. But maybe, they hoped, there was a receipt. Hembree said he purchased the fuel on that Sunday morning when he burned Randi’s body: November 15, 2009. Yet, after discussing the situation with the manager, she pulled out a receipt from the prior day, Saturday, November 14.

  “I remember the purchase,” one of the clerks told Hensley over the phone after the manager called. She remembered because the purchase was for a single dollar.

  Hensley asked her to explain.

  “Nicole Catterton came in to purchase the gas—one dollar’s worth.”

  The receipt matched the story.

  They searched the tapes to see if the cameras picked Nicole up inside the store. But that day, for some reason, had been erased.

  Hensley wondered how the clerk was so certain she had spoken to Nicole. Hensley couldn’t get the thought out of his mind: How could Nicole buy a gallon of gas, Randi’s body show up burned in the woods, and Nicole not know what was going on? Or, at least, put two and two together?