Strangler

by Corey Mitchell

  Were there drugs involved? Rob asked rhetorically. “I can only speculate. I know that a lot of people get into a lot of trouble with the drug stuff. You wonder on things like that and certainly over in that part of town that’s an area that’s more prone to that type of stuff, I think.”

  Rob Shore was doubtful whether he would get an honest answer from his son as to why he was the way he was. “I’m sure when I visit him, he’s not going to give me great enlightenment as to how or why it started, or anything like that.”

  He’s not your typical backwoods serial killer like most of them are.

  —Detective Bob King, on Tony Shore

  Bob King

  “I guess when I realized the same guy had done Estrada, I knew the potential for him to strike again. The clock was ticking. And it’s on my shoulders to find the guy. And, if I don’t, a girl is going to be killed, and I’ve failed. And then, of course, eleven months later when Dana Sanchez was killed . . .” King paused to reflect.

  “Wayne Wendel took the call from County Homicide, and when he told me that they found a girl strangled with a tourniquet, I just stormed around the room, and I was really beside myself, because here it is, proof that I failed. But even then, we couldn’t prove that they were connected. I caught some flack from my supervisor because they didn’t believe we could tie these murders together. So, then detectives who are supposed to be working on murder cases are out of the call-up and they’re on this task force and you’ve got several guys tied up from county and city, and we don’t even know if these murders are related and we’re acting like they are.”

  King took the criticism hard. “I became miserable, but there was nothing I could do about it. It wasn’t until nine years after Rebollar was killed, and eight years after Sanchez was killed, that it was proven by Shore’s admission that those three were related. And, of course, he gave John Swaim Laurie Tremblay. Then, of course, the question arises, did he do more? He also gave us Selma Janske. When she testified, the whole courtroom was riveted. I was standing outside. They could have given the death penalty for what he did to her and he didn’t even kill her.”

  King continued to believe that Tony Shore might be responsible for even more killings. “John Swaim, Todd Miller, Allen Brown, and Eric Price, from the Friendswood Police Department, went back and talked to him about the Laura Smithers case [a thirteen-year-old girl from Friendswood, Texas, who went missing and was later discovered dead]. He would not fess up about any other murders.

  “But it didn’t hit on anything else. John Swaim, Todd Miller, Alan Brown, and Eric Price, they all think he’s good for that [the Laura Smithers case].”

  King spoke of the frustration of working with the local media on a serial killer case. “The tourniquet was a secret that we kept from the news, but I know who blurted it out. It wasn’t someone with the Houston Police. The tourniquet was a secret until ’95.

  “The Chronicle, in an article about all these I-45 murders, printed that these three girls were killed with tourniquets. I couldn’t believe it. It was done. We didn’t mention it again. And I don’t think the Chronicle mentioned it again. I think that person [the leaker] just made kind of an offhand comment. But it just threw me for a loop. Then, if you have murders subsequent to that where tourniquets are involved, you wonder, Did the killers get the idea from the newspapers or are they connected to the original three murders? It turned out it had no bearing, because there were no subsequent murders with tourniquets, and it turned out it didn’t hurt us like I thought it might. But I was furious.”

  King’s first thought when Tony Shore’s name came up as the killer was “I was surprised he wasn’t a blond-headed guy. I was looking for this fair blond guy. Amy Lynch went to the police substation on Westheimer and filed a police report. She claimed that Tony ‘choked me while we had sex’ and we looked at that and said, ‘All right.’ And then we started looking at all of his addresses: where he worked, his proximity to the murder scene, and it put him right in the middle of all of it.”

  When asked about Laurie Tremblay, King mentioned how Shore claimed that he took her to school and picked her up at the bus stop. “‘She was my girlfriend. She wanted to bum a cigarette off of me.’ He says he has these relationships with these girls, but Diana Rebollar, no way.

  “He tried to have an excuse for anything, but he knew he didn’t have an excuse for everything.”

  King spoke of the pressure of working on such a high-profile case.

  “There are guys up there who have solved several serial murder cases and will continue to solve serial murder cases and, here it is, I work on one case and we all solved it. Actually, DNA does and Katherine Long and Orchid Cellmark.

  “But I think I feel better. I tell you what, they are really getting hammered up there now and I don’t care to do multiple homicides anymore. When you’re in Investigations, it could be robbery, burglary, theft, forgery, homicide. You’ve always got the cases hanging over your head, so even when you’re off-duty, you’re constantly planning how to attack the case. What am I gonna do tomorrow to work this case and keep my head above water on the new cases? I don’t have to worry about that anymore. At the end of the shift that’s the end of my problems, and that’s another big [reason for] leaving Homicide and going back to Patrol.”

  Kelly Siegler

  “Anthony is smart. He outplayed every woman he ever met. His sister said his IQ was 150, right?” Nonetheless, the prosecutor was shocked that so many women fell for his ruse. “Those eyes are horrible. Horrible eyes. But he gave good bullshit and he is very, very smart.”

  Siegler still had nothing but admiration for Bob King. “For ten years he had those boxes. The guys laughed at him because he had those boxes down there under his desk all that time. The other guys are like macho Homicide cops. Bob is not like that. He’s just more eager, just kind of a good . . . you just want to hug Bob.

  “I can tell you what got the cops fired up,” she continued. “It was the way that the victims were tied up. And then when they found the little girl, Diana Rebollar, like that, you could feel the anger in them at the scene.

  “Those guys, they’re the heroes of the story. Not me and Terese and the trial.

  “Tony was very subdued in the trial,” Siegler continued. “He never looked at us. He pretty much just looked down or looked at the jury in a nonintimidating way. He never did anything to ratchet it up. He knew he was done.”

  As far as her thoughts on the trial, Siegler said, “It was too bad that those people had to go through the trial, testify, and endure it all. He’s an animal. I haven’t done that many cases where I think we shouldn’t have to waste our time. He’s one of them.”

  Kelly Siegler believed that Tony Shore was responsible for more deaths than just those he had confessed to. “I don’t think we are done with this story. It’s been long enough now for him to miss the attention. And like the guys told him, ‘You aren’t gonna be famous, five [including the rape of Selma Janske] doesn’t do it. Five ain’t shit.’ At some point he’s gonna realize that.”

  I always said if this case gets solved, I’d go back to Patrol. Case is solved and one month later I went back to Patrol.

  —Bob King, who currently works the graveyard shift as a patrol officer, by choice

  The rest of the family and I all believe that he should have the death penalty.

  —Regina Shore Belt, on her brother, Tony Shore

  If Anthony Shore’s not on death row, who the heck is?

  —Kelly Siegler

  It has occurred to me more than once that I may have the divine misfortune of being the reincarnation or in possession of his spirit (Rasputin, that is).

  —Tony Shore

  There is no Enlightenment, no evolutionary entrance into the truly Spiritual Condition of human existence, without ego-death, or transcendence of the mind.

  —Adi Da, “Scientific Proof of the Existence of God Will Soon Be Announced by the White House!”

  I believe t
hat when I die I shall rot, and nothing of my ego will survive.

  —Bertrand Russell

  IN MEMORIAM

  Laurie Tremblay

  Maria del Carmen Estrada

  Diana Rebollar

  Dana Sanchez

  Corey Mitchell will donate a portion of his royalties

  for Strangler to the Parents of Murdered Children—

  Heights Chapter (Houston, Texas).

  Feel free to visit their site and consider donating:

  http://www.pomc.com/heights/index.html

  For Strangler updates and extras, please visit:

  www.coreymitchell.com

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  For Corey Mitchell’s blog, please visit:

  In Cold Blog

  http://incoldbloggers.com

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  Acknowledgments

  It was my pleasure to be able to work with so many wonderful, funny, and inspiring people. I truly am lucky to have spent time with the following people in person or via modern communications: Diane Messimer, Kristi Thomsen, Kurt Wenz, Kelly Siegler, Terese Buess, Gina Worley Shore, Bob King, John Swaim, Lynda White, Rob Shore, Rose Shore, Dea Shore, Regina Shore Belt, Tiffany Shore, Terry Janske (pseudonym), Gerald Bourque, Andy Kahan, Gabe Vasquez, Ogoretta Worley, Jamie LaChance, Michaela Hamilton, Justin Hocking, He Who Shall Not Be Named, Adam Korn, Irma Rios, the fine folks at C & F Drive Inn, the tire guy, and many more, who wish to remain anonymous.

  Sonic salutations go out to Divine Pustulence (check out my video for “Blowtorch Lobotomy”), The Wiggles, Cannibal Corpse, Isis, Pelican, Cult of Luna, Glass Casket, Between the Buried and Me, Cusp, Vapourspace, Intermix, Machine Head, Plastikman (Richie Hawtin is a genius), Phylr, Celtic Frost, Slayer, Strapping Young Lad, Winnie the Pooh, Necrophagist, Aix Em Klemm, The Dead Texan, Astonishing Sod Ape, Boards of Canada, Neurosis, Carpet Musics, Jesu, Scorn, Dysrhyth-mia, These Arms Are Snakes, Aphex Twin, Labradford, Low, The Timeout Drawer, Stars of the Lid, Walls of Jericho, Ministry, Red Sparowes, Revolting Cocks, Loscil, Watchtower, Mouth of the Architect, Dread, A Life Once Lost, Autechre, Michael Haaga, Into the Moat, Zombi, Explosions in the Sky, Global Communication, and, as always, P. J. Harvey.

  For my friends Ray Seggern and Kelly Nugent, Peter Soria, Lupe Garcia, Mike and Lynette Sheppard, Knox and Heather Williams, Ricky and Shirin Butler, Trey and Missy Chase, Clint and Cathy Stephen, Phil and Karen Savoie, Kevin and Shana Fowler, Chris and Beverly Gol-drup, Dennis McDougal, Aphrodite Jones, Poppy Z. Brite, Kirk and Teresa Morris, Drew and Sarah Stride, Mike and Sarah Stinski (aka “Necrolagnia” and “Luna C”).

  To the Yahoo! True Crime Group for the enlightening book discussions for Evil Eyes and Murdered Innocents.

  To my MySpace friends—thanks for your enthusiasm and keep checking out the site for more contests, freebies, etc. Be sure and join up with my MySpace True Crime group. I am your humble mod.

  Thanks to Dave Prewitt and CapZeyeZ. You fawkin’ rawk!

  Thanks to the Chill Villain.

  Thanks to Phyllis Coblentz and Will Robertson at E! Entertainment Television for the special on Hollywood homicides. Let’s bring back Mysteries and Scandals with me as your host.

  To all of the bookstores, radio and television stations, newspapers and magazines, Web sites and podcasts that have let me sign books, taken the time to review my work, or had me on for a discussion, I always enjoy getting to talk about my books and getting close to my readers. Thanks for your help in spreading the disease.

  I have the greatest in-laws in the world, Dennis and Margaret Burke. Thank you for watching Emma on Fridays for me. You have helped keep me sane. Also, my sister-in-law Denise Burke ain’t half-bad either. Of course I have the coolest Chi-niece in the world, Leah Burke. Lots of love to the Burke family.

  I have been blessed with two of the most wonderful parents on the planet, Don and Carol Mitchell. Thank you, as always, for your unending support. I am blessed to get to say, “I love you both.” Much love to my brother Kyle and sister-in-law Ramona, my brother Darrin, and all of my beautiful, funny, and intelligent nieces—Julie, Kaylee, and Madison—and my brilliant nephew, Ronnie. Also to Bill and Renee Runyan, Todd Solomon, and Jeremy Frey. Lucas, Dallas, and Max, of course, I would not forget y’all. I couldn’t function without each one of you.

  For my late wife, Lisa, who always supported my writing career. Thank you again. No matter what, I will always love you.

  For my daughter, Emma. Welcome to this crazy world. I am always here for you, but promise not to be the overbearing father. Please know that I will love you forever and will be here for you whenever you need me.

  For my wife, Audra, the most sensational bride a man could ask for. You are a wonderful mother, an incredible friend, and the perfect wife. I am completely amazed by you every day. You are an inspiration and my heart is yours forever. All my life and love.

  Don’t miss Corey Mitchell’s true-crime classic

  PURE MURDER

  Available from Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Keep reading to enjoy a compelling excerpt . . .

  PROLOGUE

  Monday, June 28, 1993—5:00 p.m.

  T. C. Jester Park

  T. C. Jester Boulevard

  Houston, Texas

  “Where are the kids at?” the large man, with shoulder-length blond hair, asked the Texas state trooper as he walked along the side of the railroad tracks.

  “Sir, you can’t go over there,” the trooper informed the man, who had already bounded over the side down a steep gravel incline.

  “I came for my daughter, goddamn it!” the man screamed, barely glancing back over his shoulder as he quickly scooted toward the trodden circle in the grass where several Houston police officers had gathered. “No, man. Fuck you!” he screamed. The trooper slowly took off after the man, but he did not press the issue.

  The large man picked up his pace as he darted toward the cluster of officers. “Does she have blond hair?” the livid father screamed at the top of his lungs. The sound carried through T. C. Jester Park like the crack of a shotgun blast.

  “Is she blond? Is one of them blond?”

  Randy Ertman had been looking for his fourteen-year-old daughter, Jennifer, since the previous Friday. Jennifer had gone with her best friend, sixteen-year-old Elizabeth Pena, and other friends to an apartment located on the northwest side of Houston.

  Two officers stepped forward to cut Ertman off. One officer placed his hand up to prevent the angry man from advancing. The other officer told him he could not go any farther.

  “I want to know if that’s my daughter, goddamn it!” he screamed at the police officers.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but you cannot go any farther,” one of the officers informed him again. “This is a crime scene and you cannot be here.”

  “I want to know if that’s my goddamned daughter in there!” he screamed again, but to no avail. The officers were not budging. They would not let him through.

  Ertman stared over the shoulder of one of the officers into the gaping maw of the nearby green forest. Towering pine trees hovered over the enclosed area, where even more police officers were located.

  Word had leaked out that the bodies of two teenage girls were discovered in that enclosed space. Randy Ertman believed his daughter, Jennifer Ertman, may have been one of the two girls.

  * * *

  Randy Ertman had exerted a lot of effort to find his daughter over the prior four days. He contacted all of Jennifer’s friends to see if they had any clue where she might be. He printed up thousands of flyers and posted them from Galveston to Cypress-Fairbanks. He attended an anti–death penalty rally for convicted killer Gary Graham in hopes of getting the media’s attention to focus on his little girl.

  When the call came in that there were two bodies found in the brush near the end of the tree line of T. C. Jester Park, Randy was speaking with newspap
er and television reporters at his home in the Heights. He overheard the call on one of the reporters’ walkie-talkies. The semihysterical father looked at a cameraman from the local ABC-affiliate channel 13 news division, grabbed his news van keys, and shouted out, “C’mon! Let’s go.” Randy jumped into the van and made the cameraman drive. They tore out of there like a scorpion shuttling over scorching asphalt.

  The news van pulled up to the scene, skidded to a halt in the asphalt, and Randy leapt out of the passenger door. He noticed a large crowd of onlookers had gathered behind the invisible barrier. He was disgusted by the people. They reminded him of hungry, circling vultures eyeing rotted carrion on a deserted highway.

  Randy ran from the van, jumped over the police barrier, and made a mad dash for the cluster of police officers.

  “Is it my daughter?” he screamed. “Is my daughter back there?” he yelled as he advanced forward.

  Sean O’Brien, an eighteen-year-old African-American male, watched the insanity unfold. He saw the van pull up to the scene and witnessed the hysterical father jump out and practically tackle one of the police officers. When O’Brien heard the man ask if one of the victims was blond, he realized it had to be one of the girls’ fathers.

  O’Brien sheepishly grinned. He slowly turned around and walked away.

  Robert Shore, Anthony’s father, was not around to raise his son.