Gitchie Girl: The Survivor's Inside Story of the Mass Murders that Shocked the Heartland (11 page)

The three men pulled their chairs up around the table, and one of them turned on a tape recorder. It whirred to life. Sandra took a deep breath, ready to give her statement.

The first questions were easy: What is your date of birth? Where do you go to school? How many brothers and sisters do you have? Then came the part she dreaded.

“Tell us everything that happened last night starting with the phone call from Roger.”

Sandra found herself reliving the nightmare with each lengthy explanation. Never once stopping and asking for a break, she answered with details that painted a night of horror and refused to quit until she’d unloaded every strange memory that had been gnawing away at her weary mind.

“Honey, you’ve been through a lot.” Vinson’s jowly voice was calming. “You rest now. I’ve got your mother on the way.”

Sandra gratefully laid her head onto her folded arms, not even aware she’d dozed until her mother’s soft touch startled her awake. Lolo grabbed her daughter in a tight embrace and stroked her hair that was now matted with the grime of dirt paths and lost innocence.

“Ma’am, your daughter provided excellent information. We hope it will prove very useful in catching the murderers,” Vinson said reassuringly.

Sandra looked into her mother’s eyes and whispered, “Murderers?”

Is that what homicide meant?
Breathless, she sat wondering if it could really be true.
Were Roger and the other boys really dead? How could this be happening?

But moments later, reality set in and Sandra collapsed onto the floor and broke into fitful, choking sobs. Lolo enveloped her daughter with loving arms and tried to absorb her pain, but it was no use. For Sandra, her anguish had reached its climax and exploded, sending her into hysterics.

As Lolo and Vinson discussed the agenda for the investigation, Sandra clung to her mother, shuddering. She wasn’t sure what they were talking about because even though she heard their words, the meaning just bounced off her brain. Somehow they managed to transport her into a car, and then she was vaguely aware of being ushered into a sterile white room with an unsettling bright light overhead. Lolo was immediately removed from Sandra’s side and a stream of strangers, men in white medical coats, filed into the room, making notes on their clipboards and spewing out more words she didn’t understand about pelvic examinations and speculums. Although she was now clothed in a thin gown, it felt as if her body was being violated again, this time by the group of men wearing medical masks . She held her breath and tried to block out what was happening “down there” by thinking of words to her favorite song, praying to God for this to end, and counting down the seconds until she could run to Lolo’s arms again. Then, as if a biting wind had finally passed through, the men were suddenly not there anymore. The last one wordlessly left the room and shut the door with a soft click. An officer she didn’t recognize drove her and Lolo back to the police station. Surely, Sandra thought, the worst was over.

While Sandra wept with a fervor brought on by a combination of lost love, trauma, and violation, the policemen in the next room determined their next move. At the top of the list was finding a safe place for Sandra and her family. Three killers were presumably at large, and they knew where she lived. The possibility had been raised that perhaps Sandra knew the killers, and this needed to be taken into consideration. A love triangle? Would she try to run? It was Sunday evening, and their choices were limited. It was ultimately decided that she would spend the night at the juvenile detention center for her own safety, as it was put. Tomorrow, the department would find a safe house for the whole family.

That night, on a thin, institutional-grade mattress, Sandra eventually fell into a restless sleep only to awake screaming. All alone, she was once again separated from the person who held the power to comfort her. Lolo, who was staying at the home of a friend along with the rest of the family, longed to take away her beautiful daughter’s pain and yearned for time to heal her. Neither could have known that the worst was not over. There was taxing work ahead for Sandra. Although exhausted, she made the commitment to compose herself for the sake of the boys who were now, as she’d been reminded several times that night, in a better place.

The house was dark and still when Vinson arrived home many hours later. He turned on a small lamp and saw someone had left him a note on the table.

Terrible game! You didn’t miss much. Bears scored in the first quarter, and then it was a washout. Bears: 7, Lions: 30

Had that been just this afternoon? Any importance he’d attached to the game had vanished in the wake of the day’s events. Vinson didn’t feel like the same man who’d left the house expecting to find himself on the receiving end of a prank.

He crept down the hallway and shut the bathroom door before turning on the light to avoid waking anyone. In the mirror, he saw a man who should have been in bed hours ago, but those who knew him would have see a man filled with the determination that would eventually be the key to cracking the case. He’d started this assignment, and he’d see it out to the end. He’d even brought with him some files to look over before going to bed. There were some names he might need to check out the next day. They still had few clues, and Vinson was well aware that the success of the entire case could likely fall on the shoulders of a thirteen-year-old girl. This small-town sheriff had been thrust into the eye of the storm, and there were some who wondered if he possessed the qualifications and experience to take the reins of such a high-profile case. In time, he and his deputy would show themselves as capable as any in rising to the occasion.

On Monday morning, Sandra should have been getting ready for school, blow-drying her hair to a shine, eating a Pop-Tart, then giggling through the school hallways with friends. Instead, she was escorted back to the police station by Vinson for a meeting with a woman who would develop a composite sketch of each perpetrator based on Sandra’s descriptions.

The sketch artist immediately put Sandra at ease, asking which movies she’d seen and discovering that they shared a fondness for
The Brady Bunch
. Sandra was also relieved that the lady didn’t require her to relive the horrors she endured. “Just tell me everything you can remember about what each man looked like.” The work was more grueling than Sandra had anticipated. The lady pulled out some reference photos; each one had a slightly different nose or mouth, whichever feature Sandra was describing. Each trait she described brought back a spark of terror. She pored through the pictures until she found the feature that most closely resembled the monster she was describing.

“No, the face needs to be a little thinner, right there,” Sandra pointed to the cheekbones of the Boss, and the sketch artist patiently made the adjustment, “and his hair was shorter on the sides and kind of spiky or wavy on top.” The only noise was the humming of overhead lights and the scratching sound of the pencil moving quickly across paper. After multiple adjustments, a hauntingly familiar face stared out from the paper. “Yes! That looks like him, that looks like the Boss,” Sandra exclaimed, her stomach clenched.

After a night of erratic slumber and a morning spent staring into the hand-drawn faces of the killers, she wanted nothing more than to sleep. There was no time for that. The case could grow cold. Sandra was loaded into a police vehicle and brought back to Gitchie Manitou. When she first heard about this plan, she nearly vomited.

“I can’t do it! I don’t want to see that campsite again or walk past the spot where Roger was killed! I know I can show you where everything happened on a map or something,” she pleaded.

Her protests waned when the detective explained the importance of the task. Having her firsthand account filmed at the scene of the crime could eventually be the key to getting the criminals convicted in court. She had to do this. For the boys. And so she did without further complaint. The ordeal proved so traumatic that Sandra blocked the entire incident from her memory until the film was eventually brought up in court almost a year later. She was shocked to recall that she had gone back to the park so soon after the murders.

Behind the scenes, Vinson, Griesse, and the detectives worked feverishly to consolidate the information that would be released to the press. By now, the Iowa Bureau of Investigation had also been called in to assist. Vinson jotted information on a brief memo that he’d later distribute to every officer working the case. Communication was vital. So far Vinson had assessed that everyone on this case was a team player. He intended to keep it that way by being forthcoming with information, delegating responsibility, and remaining neutral about the case’s only witness.

The latter choice would be the one divisive issue among the group. Nonetheless, Vinson and another detective had already mapped out possible locations for the farm and the abandoned house where the rape had occurred. The massive “hot zone,” as they referred to it, covered hundreds of miles of roads. Along with Sandra, they would drive along a predetermined course, working their way from the edge of Sioux Falls outward. Sandra had affirmed that she would definitely remember both places if she saw them again. A search of this zone could conceivably take weeks, yet it was one of the only leads they had to follow. Some of his fellow officers tried to dissuade him from pulling man hours away from the investigation to focus on a farm and abandoned house that they didn’t believe existed. Later that day, however, Vinson and another detective began the search by car along with Sandra’s help.

First, though, there was the issue of covertly transferring Sandra and her family to a safe house, where they would stay until the murderers were apprehended. The safe house was a small trailer that sat on a sparsely populated street in Sioux Falls. The house was furnished with only the bare necessities, and this is where the family stayed while the hunt for three ruthless killers went on around them. Unmarked police cars performed regular security checks of the trailer. Yet, there was mounting concern down at the police station that Sandra was withholding information.

There were divided opinions on Sandra’s credibility. Many officers had expressed concern either directly to Vinson or among each other in private conversations that Sandra knew the men, or at least one of the men who committed the murders. It seemed unlikely that everyone except her would have been murdered. And why had only one of the men raped her? The common consensus was that it was a scorned boyfriend. Otherwise, why would he let her go and drop her off at home? But Vinson and several others had a gut feeling about Sandra’s innocence. Either way, there was mounting pressure to find the killers, who were still at large. Already there was an outcry from the community to lock up these three supposed murderers running loose and dangerous.

While the detectives meticulously followed up on their limited clues, Sandra had another concern on her mind. She wanted to see the boys at the funeral home. Whenever the officer assigned to the safe house stopped in, she used her fiercest arguments, even breaking down into tears, to persuade him into letting her see the boys.

“I understand what you’re asking. But you have to know that our top priority is keeping you safe,” he explained sympathetically.

“I WILL be safe. You’ll be there, right?” she countered.

“It’s more complicated than that. There are too many people milling around the funeral home. If the killers are determined to eliminate you as a witness, that would be a prime opportunity for them. They could even be staking out the funeral home in hopes of following you back here.”

In the end, it was one argument that Sandra lost.

In spite of not being allowed a visit to the funeral home, Sandra was unrelenting in her requests to attend Roger’s funeral. She hounded her mother, then the officers assigned to the safe house, and finally to Sheriff Vinson. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll walk there by myself,” she said, determined to see Roger one last time.

The officers and Vinson tried to remain steadfast. There were three killers at large who were likely focused on disposing of the only remaining eyewitness. The public was already clamoring for arrests to be made, so they couldn’t chance losing another child. Sandra was persuasive, and in the end, Vinson couldn’t ignore her heartfelt pleas. He made arrangements that he thought were suitable to everyone. She would be allowed to attend the funeral but would sit in a small overflow room adjacent to the chapel. A heavy curtain that divided the two rooms would be shut, and a plainclothes officer would be nearby. As soon as the funeral was over, she’d have to leave. The detectives had a meeting to troubleshoot any potential problems that could occur. Everyone agreed that the plan seemed safe. So Vinson finalized all the details. All the details he could predict at that time.

As medical examiners, Dr. Gessford and Dr. Schultz had performed their share of autopsies due to unusual causes of death. Yet conducting the autopsies of four grisly murders remained a difficult task. Their work involved setting aside emotions in order to collect facts, and both were experts at this methodical process. Even with extensive experience and training, Gessford and Schultz had to steel themselves for the examination of four teenage boys who’d been gunned down in their youth.

The day was emotionally exhausting, and at the end they reviewed the four separate reports they’d prepared. The doctors anticipated eventually being summoned to court and called on to explain and defend these reports in a challenging cross-examination. Both proceeded carefully, as always, double checking each notation.

Roger Essem, male, 17 years old. Multiple wounds to the head, face, upper chest, and arms. Seven exit wounds. Skull fractures. Brain wounds.

Stewart Baade, male, 18 years old. Wounds to the chest, abdomen, and right upper leg. Extensive wounds to the left hand. Large, gaping wound to middle of back and buttocks.