A Serial Killer’s Daughter

by Kerri Rawson

  I would have visited the treehouse and might have even been brave enough to climb the rickety, gray wooden ladder, still propped up to reach its door, and look out the windows toward the ditch. That treehouse was magical to me as a child and big enough to sleep Dad and us kids on overnight adventures.

  It didn’t hit me that day, as I packed Dad’s things to prepare for the upcoming sale of the house, that I would be losing something else—a place I loved. As can happen with the things we lose, it would only hit me later, after it was gone.

  CHAPTER 35

  Refuse to Let the Bad Stuff Win

  MAY 2005

  MISSOURI

  Mom and I left a few days later for Michigan in the teal-green Tempo; she wanted to be out of town for Dad’s arraignment and didn’t want me driving the long trip alone. Due to Mom’s broken foot, I did most of the driving. While I was getting fuel at a travel stop along I-70 between Kansas City and Saint Louis, it struck me how much our family had changed in such a short time.

  Mom, Dad, and Brian had driven this same route a year ago, coming to visit. Now it was just Mom and me, and I was the one driving long distances and refueling the car.

  Dad was always the one who drove. Dad was the one who pumped the fuel. Dad was the one who knew the best route around the big cities. Dad was the one who packed and unpacked the car. Dad was the one who carried the heavy bags into the hotel.

  Dad.

  The weight of the absence of this man in our lives settled into my bones. Everything had changed, and nothing was ever going to be right again.

  Dad was gone.

  MAY

  DETROIT

  At my dad’s arraignment in early May, a not-guilty plea was entered by the judge as my dad stood silent. We had been told this might happen, to buy his legal team more time. We didn’t understand the wait if Dad was going to plead guilty eventually, but we trusted his lawyers and hoped Dad would do the right thing.

  Trying to gauge the state of my father, I sought out pictures of his court appearance online, studying them closely. He had trimmed his beard and his hair looked neater, but he continued to grow thinner, his dark-blue suit coat now a size too big.

  At the end of the hearing, my dad looked upset as he was escorted out. I could tell from the pain across his face that he was trying to keep it together, fighting back tears. Was he sad?

  He looked the same as the night we lost Michelle, his face darkened, his countenance broken. He also appeared similar to how he’d looked at my wedding, welled up with emotion, trying to hold it back.

  The first time I saw my dad cry was in May 1993, the day we had to euthanize thirteen-year-old Patches. Dad had come across her in the backyard, unable to move her back legs. Dad came bounding into the house and I quickly followed him back outside. We tucked an old sheet under her and gently lifted her onto the faded orange sled, pulling her to our old Chevrolet.

  Our vet told us there wasn’t anything that could be done. Her back end was wasting away, likely due to a stroke. As he gave her the medicine to sleep, I heard an odd utterance from my dad and was shocked to see tears escape his eyes. He looked at me with a slight lift of his face and, with a shrug, attempted to wipe his face with his sleeve.

  On the day Patches died, my dad dug a grave for her under a tree and marked it with a paving stone. A month later, he arrived home with a wiggly springer spaniel that had hitched a ride in the cab of his work truck. The puppy had been running loose, and after no one claimed it at the animal shelter, it became our new dog—Dudley.

  May 2

  Dear Kerri,

  As you read this, the big day will be in the past and hopefully the team made the right decision.

  Received your wonderful newsy letter from April. Oh, I was so happy to get your mail. I read it over and over again. The good and sad of it.

  I really liked the colorful print on the paper. You are so thoughtful.

  Things are going okay, although I am so tired of “Boot Camp 101.” I’m ready for closure, Kerri.

  Mail that goes to the “net,” I’m trying to be careful on what’s said. My poems will show up soon, that okay. But any letter could be used as a “spin.”

  Tonight, on TV-3, my poem show up. Last night, they show a letter on the news, speaking of family wishes for closure. It was type and out of focus, so you could not tell. I think it was a fake, or maybe one your letters that didn’t get here. What a mess for us.

  I hope the Tempo drove okay. Oil that it uses should be in the glove compartment. I assume you kids had some monetary problems, in not obtaining a new-used car a[s] planned. I pray it was not me!

  Glad to hear you and Darian are working and going about life as you should, and the bible study (verses) you sent me was the most hopeful. I’m finding peace in the bible more than ever nowadays; it and other Christians are my new friends. And communications to family bring peace and the unknown—known. I miss Dudley, but it does sound he has adjusted.

  Attorney said you did talk to Dr.’s, while here. I met them; I believe more confused about me.

  I have kept busy, writing letters, day room activities and heavy thinking. Learning more card game, but boredom is slowly creeping in and I’m starting to get aggressive or attitude-ly towards this whole mess.

  I design Mother’s Day Card, Birthday Card for Mom. Also need to do a wedding anniversary one. I feel like a school kid doing this, but that is only way we (inmates can express our self.) Jail art, drawing, poems, and letters.

  Love to you, family. Keep Mom in heart on her birthday, Mother’s Day, and our anniversary, she will need extra support and love those days.

  Love,

  Dad

  MAY

  Dad had written: “Keep Mom close and help her. Her heart will mend someday, but I broke it; I’m sure it will never mend completely.”

  My heart is broken, too, Dad. I’m sure it will never mend completely.

  “I’m so proud of you and how you turn out. Both you and Brian. A Dad could never ask for anything more.”

  I fought hard for two and a half decades to hear you say these rare, valuable words: “I’m proud of you.”

  “Did you know they took your medical DNA from records when I was a suspect before arrest?”

  Yes, Dad. I’m quite aware.

  He also wrote: “Sad about the house, all this loving years there. I know it the best. Did the police ever go through storage shed? Don’t forget the book in the SW room up high. What time frame do we have: anything weird needs to be removed and thrown away from property.”

  Found the book. My room, Dad—that was my room.

  Dad’s blatant criminality and narcissism just reared its ugly, dark head. Like he flipped on the light switch and let himself really be seen by those he left living for one of the first times.

  Thirty-one years. Ten murdered.

  Anything weird about that? Yes.

  Cursing commenced. And didn’t stop for a good long while.

  May 17

  Dear Dad,

  Hi, sorry it’s been awhile since I last wrote. Included are pages from a puzzle book I had—I sent all the cryptograms.

  We thought it might not be a good idea to send you family photos right now; we were afraid they would be stolen and end up in the media. Your lawyers agreed with us. None of our pictures have been in the media yet and we’d like to keep it that way.

  Brian is doing well and keeping busy with classes and duty.

  Mom has a lot of help from family getting things boxed up. She’s getting help with the yard also. The tulips you planted are beautiful!

  I saw Dudley, he has a permanent home now with our friends. He wanted to stay near me the whole time. He seemed okay when we left; he watched us through the glass door but wasn’t too upset.

  Mom and I had a good trip back here to Michigan and the Tempo ran fine. We did the trip in two days and I did most of the driving. Mom did about an hour each day so I could rest. She stayed for a week here and we had a good time.
We went shopping and out to eat a lot. We went to Greenfield Village at the Henry Ford. We flew her home from Michigan on a nonstop flight and she got along fine.

  We put new tires on the Tempo and had the brakes checked. The car is running good now and should last a few more years at least, fingers crossed! We didn’t feel like we could make car payments right now.

  Mom and I went to see Grandma Dorothea while I was home. She likes the care home and is getting along okay. She was doing all right when I saw her, but I guess she isn’t eating well and has fallen down a few times since.

  Darian and I are going to drive to New York and Connecticut at the end of this month to visit his grandma and Brian. We are looking forward to a vacation, I am always ready to see something different. I get that from you—wanting to travel, explore, get outdoors, be on the open road. I miss that drive between Wichita and Manhattan. We don’t have anything like the Flint Hills around here—the open space and beautiful sky.

  The police removed everything from the house they needed, they also searched the cars, sheds, and the rented storage unit. I don’t think you have to worry about us running into anything else.

  We weren’t very thrilled to see your written interview with the local TV station. We also didn’t like seeing your poems and letters on TV. We know you can and will do what you want to do, but we would really appreciate it if you could control that stuff better.

  Any publicity is bad for the family, especially for the ones that live in Kansas. Brian and I have the grace of living in areas where we’re not known; and that’s been a blessing these last three months. Mom and everyone else doesn’t have that grace. We’re asking you to stop this type of communication on behalf of us. I have shared this view with your lawyers, and they were going to talk to you about it.

  Mom is having the hardest time with everything that has happened. Brian and I share a different kind of bond with you than she does. It is easier for children to love their parents unconditionally (and vice versa) than it is for spouses. For her own sake, she might need to start distancing herself from you, and you’re going to have to try to understand that.

  She’s stronger than we all thought and she’s going to get through this, just as the rest of us are. We refuse to let the bad stuff win. Mom shared 34 good years with you, Brian 29 years, and me 26 years. We’re trying to hold on to that—not let the other things define you or us. You should not let that define you either. You’re stronger and better than that.

  I love you and I know you’re trying to do the right things. I’m truly sorry your life has turned out this way. I want you to know you’re loved and cared for. You’re loved by your children, family, and most importantly God, whose love and forgiveness is much more powerful and greater than any on earth could be. I’ll write again soon.

  Love,

  Kerri

  CHAPTER 36

  Try to Hold On to the Good Times

  May 21

  Dear Kerri,

  Hello today and how RU? I know you are really busy and time does fly for those outside the 4 walls.

  It’s quiet this Sat AM. Out in the day room, a rare moment anymore due to “original” Dirty Dozen changing to different inmates. Some are noisy and younger and not very serious type people. I tend to use this quiet time outside my room to do correspondence and more serious matters before the noisy start. My own room is cold and not very comfortable.

  I receive letter from Brian. I was excited, any mail from family is heart-felt and warming. It sounds like he’s doing good and enjoying his Navy career.

  Since I was without so much at first after my arrest, I tend to take new inmates under my wing until they have commissary funds. I have been bless with pen-pals helping me out. This week I bought some approved Health shoe for my feet. $42, but I really like them. Before I had sandals, made of cheap plastic and little support. Any way I share coffee, oatmeal, paper, pen, envelopes, and Jolly Ranchers. My mission of grace work!

  They see me study the Bible at time and strike up a conversation. I explained I’m middle of the road, find a peaceful mood within the book and verse.

  Had a quick haircut for Snicker-bar, a safety razor cut. Our hair clipper broke and we only get one set-3 month. So, my hair will be getting longer. A good hair cut cost me 2–3 Snickers bars.

  AM exercise: 30 laps in the day room, 30 wall-push-ups and 9 pull-ups on stairway bar.

  Received letter from Grandma Dorothea. Mention your visit. She was hoping I would write her more often. I have, but I think brother is sitting on letters. I might need to mail her directly. I hope there isn’t a problem with my brothers, between them and me now. No love or do you think it’s like lots of relatives feeling at this time. They have not wish to communicate or even think about me. Not very Christian.

  I glad [you] kids are [at] least open to me. I understand you do not have to accept the problems I created but have open up to me as a human being.

  I have many people write me, accept me, don’t condone what happened but are friends. This is the way I treat people here. Accept but don’t condone them!

  I’m starting to enter a phase in life that Mom may not accept me and her loyalty is beginning to weaken. I sent her a birthday card, Mother’s Day card and no letter or thanks. Her last letter was a month ago. I realize I broke her heart and the wound is deep. Do you think I should still write, it hurt to write and not get any reflection? Can you talk to her and find out her feeling? Or will you talk? Or will you write?

  I’m enclosing a picture of the flower tulip bulbs we bought last year in Holland, MI. I so enjoyed that trip’s time. I have a print on my desk. Neighbor took the picture.

  By the way, there are things the police took that are family items and they need to be returned. I want my journal, my old guns, computer, return. They may have Mom’s jewelry. I have a list of items they took from house, work, and storage shed.

  If I go to prison, it will be just like it is here, at first. Lonely at first, months of no contact, except visitors. No monetary funds unless someone step forward. I will need book, magazines, hobby supplies, mailing item, pads, pen, pencil, health items and snacks. I now average about $25 per week on items. 25 x 52 week = 1150 per year x 10 year = $11,500

  There is the chance I may be able to work, but at my age I don’t know. I’m so close to retirement, the prison jobs may not pay well or none. Bottom line either the family support me, visit, letters, monetary, or I will have to create another support system!

  There will be a plea from me, please keep this quiet. That will be part of closure for me and Sedgwick County.

  All is going okay. I have a schedule, keep to myself a lot but socialize some and befriend all who crossing my path or attempt to. The guards like me and now I don’t wear belly chains, except to court or outside the main area. I sit at Table A, the higher pecking order table, and better seat now, better control of my back and good view of others. My art is improving and everybody want some poem, from me. My friends endless or people that talk to me. Tell Darian Hi.

  Love,

  Dad

  JUNE

  Jewelry? Why would the police have Mom’s jewelry? Had Dad given Mom stolen necklaces from homes he had broken into? Oh, dear Lord—had he given her jewelry from one of the women he murdered? Had he given me anything that belonged to someone else?

  My stomach churning, I dropped the letter and went to my jewelry box, rummaging through my necklaces and earrings.

  This isn’t ever going to end, is it?

  June 7

  Dear Dad,

  Just received your letter dated May 21. Darian and I’ve been on vacation and picked up the mail today. If you haven’t received that last letter from me, the lawyers might be holding them, they were upset about the media leaks.

  Darian and I just got back from traveling to see his grandma and Brian.

  We drove to Groton, Connecticut, to spend the weekend with Brian. We walked around Mystic with Brian looking at the ships and eating mussels a
t dinner while overlooking the river.

  We drove to Boston the next day and saw the USS Constitution (Old Ironsides) and a naval destroyer from WWII. We walked around downtown Boston on the Freedom Trail, stopping at the church Paul Revere hung lanterns in and touring his home.

  Brian had duty on Memorial Day, so Darian and I walked around Groton and New London and we went to the Nautilus museum. We saw the Long Island Sound, visited a fort from the 1800s and walked along a pier. I finally got to put my feet in the Atlantic, accidentally falling off a rock into the bay.

  Darian and I then drove to New York. We stayed at his grandma’s until Saturday. She’s in a care home, but Uncle John was at the house and we hung out with him and Dave, who flew in to spend the week with us.

  Saturday, we drove back to Niagara Falls and stayed in a hotel near the falls on the Canadian side. We saw the falls lit up at night. On Sunday, we took the Maid of the Mist right up to them. We got soaked, even with ponchos on.

  We took the Tempo, we had to add a quart of oil on that first Saturday and Dave checked and added other fluids that were low at Grandma’s, but it did well.

  I am glad you were able to buy some better shoes, they sound like they will be more comfortable on your feet.

  Please be careful around the other inmates, what you tell them or give them. Under no circumstances should our personal information be given to other inmates or the media.

  About the items the police took, your lawyers or the detectives can contact me when they are ready to turn it over if they legally can.

  Your younger brothers are having a difficult time with everything. They are handling this by trying not to think about it, not talk about it—acting like it didn’t happen. If a person starts communicating with you and visiting you, then it makes it real or more real, at least. People handle grief and stress differently. Paul, your mom, your uncle, along with Pastor Mike, have been willing to come see you, but don’t hold it against the rest of our family for not coming.