Gitchie Girl: The Survivor's Inside Story of the Mass Murders that Shocked the Heartland (4 page)

“Well, hello,” he said assuredly as if they were old friends. The warmth of his eyes glinted with serenity as though they were kindred spirits. He extended his hand. “I’m Roger Essem. What’s your name?”

Sandra tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, reached out after a brief pause, bowed her head just a bit, and shook his hand. “Sandra Cheskey,” she replied softly.

They fell into an easy conversation, and she found out that Roger was a student at Washington High in Sioux Falls. He was with his good friend Stewart Baade. Sandra purposely avoided the topic of school, only mentioning that her school was in Harrisburg near the town of Tea. They talked for about fifteen minutes before Roger asked for her number. “I’ll call you, and maybe we could do something together.”

Though inexperienced in the art of flirtation, Sandra walked away elated.

“Where did you go?” Debbie asked, throwing her hands in the air when Sandra reappeared later on.

“Didn’t you SEE him? Oh, Debbie, he was so confident, not like most boys who don’t know what to say. And he is gorgeous, I mean SO gorgeous. He’s going to call me, and you HAVE to meet him.” Then she regretted saying that. Would he call? As a hopeful teenage girl, she couldn’t get Roger off her mind all night. She kept hoping he’d happen to walk by their car, but he didn’t.

The next day, Sandra replayed the previous night over and over. Why hadn’t she found out more about him? Why hadn’t she walked around more? Maybe she would have run into him again. He’d probably lost her number. The day dragged on, and just when Sandra plopped onto the couch to read a book, the phone rang.

“I’ve got it! It’s for me!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. She raced to the phone with hopeful anticipation.

It was Roger, and they talked for nearly an hour. When the conversation ended, it was with the words Sandra had been aching to hear. “Do you want to go to a movie with me next weekend?”

Late Summer 1973

Roger and his friend would be there to pick her up at five o’clock. Sandra started getting ready by mid-afternoon. In a bathroom filled with clouds of steam that sent rivulets of water sliding down the wall, Sandra was oblivious to the sound of one of her brothers banging on the door with muffled shouts to hurry up. She shampooed her hair for the second time and picked at a hangnail, which in its waterlogged state pulled back too far and began to bleed. She huffed then washed off the blood before carefully examining her legs and using the soapy razor to remove any stray hairs she’d missed the first time. This was followed by a careful application of make-up and a bout with the blow dryer to attain the perfectly silky locks that could only be achieved in this humidity by careful attention to the application of the various hair products spread along the bathroom sink.

Just after five, Roger’s friend Stewart, or Stew, pulled his old blue van into the long drive in front of the house. Roger hopped out wearing a plaid coat that Sandra thought was a perfect match for his lean, muscular build. He walked Sandra to the car and opened the door for her.
A true gentleman, like in the movies.
Her stomach quivered, and she suppressed the smile spreading across her face so she didn’t appear too pleased. She was mature enough not to have unrealistic expectations of being pampered like a princess but definitely expected respect from any boy who intended to hold her interest.

They sat toward the back of the State Theater, first Sandra, then Roger, and finally Stew. There in the darkened room Roger reached over and held her hand. The movie was
Night of the Living Dead
, which gave Sandra plenty of excuses to squeeze Roger’s hand and lean in close to him. When he walked her to the door later that night, he gave her a gentle hug but their lips never met. Not that night. Sandra fell asleep with sweet thoughts of their perfect first date.

Regular dates followed. Roger continued to treat her respectfully and demonstrated maturity beyond his years—something he and Sandra had in common. Stew, because he had a vehicle, accompanied them on these dates. When Roger finally kissed her, it was during a walk through Falls Park in Sioux Falls next to the roaring water of the Big Sioux River. It was a quick kiss on the lips, but it was enough to cause a change in Sandra. Something magical happened the moment their lips met.

When Roger again walked her to the door that night, she felt a small, unwelcome shudder in her stomach. There was something she had to tell him, and she wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Once he knew, there was a good chance he wouldn’t want to see her again. She’d been meaning to tell him since the night they’d met, but the time never seemed right. He deserved to know, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it now. Not after the perfect kiss. Not after this perfect date. Life was too good to ruin it by telling him.

Sheriff Vinson signed off with the dispatcher and hurried in the direction of his deputy’s shouts, making mental notes along the way: the entrance to the park was blocked off, several officers had arrived from the surrounding area, and more were on the way to assist with a thorough search. He reminded himself to tell the officers who would be assisting to bring extra crime scene tape for this large area. His job as sheriff had yet to require the supplies needed to investigate a murder of this magnitude. Had it not been for the three dead bodies sprawled along the road, it would have been a perfect day for a walk through Gitchie Manitou, an untouched nature preserve whose name literally means “Great Spirit,” the name given to the great creator by the Anishinaabe Indians. Nature had adorned the park with smooth pink outcroppings of bedrock that formed natural steps and ledges for hiking among the three hundred plant species of the area. Each season brought forth a new show of prairie flowers, and the last of the asters had already faded away during the frigid fall nights.

A slight wind sent soft flutters through the golden prairie grasses and the scurrying of small birds and animals here and there broke the otherwise peaceful silence of the surroundings. The specter of death dampened the natural beauty, and Vinson had to fight off the impulse to imagine the sounds of agony that must have filled the air as one body after another fell to the ground. Even the sweet aroma of fall leaves, crisp beneath his feet, took on a stifling odor that permeated Vinson’s mouth and nose.

He rounded the edge of an old camp shelter, its eight-foot-high walls constructed of purplish quartz block sections probably quarried not far from Falls Park. The weather had been crisp, and the ground was hard. There were no footprints or tire tracks visible to the eye. The remains of a cold campfire stood at the side. Vinson started to piece together a crime scene adjacent to a glowing fire further down the path. He began to envision not how the scene looked at the moment but how it had appeared during the throes of the homicides. To Vinson, crime scenes were three dimensional, and he noticed not only what he saw but how the layout made him feel as well.

In the short time he’d been here, he’d noted that a steady stream of South Dakota troopers, crime-scene photographers, and officers from the Sioux Falls Police Department had begun to arrive. By the end of the week this would unfold into a massive investigation by eight law enforcement agencies from South Dakota and Iowa. There were acres of land to comb, and Vinson knew from experience that cases like this either wrapped up quickly, with clues left by a careless criminal and a quick arrest, or lingered on, requiring volumes of manpower.

“Hey, Vinson.” It was Deputy Griesse yelling with a troubled voice. “They found another body.”

Vinson swiftly moved to the area. Beneath the drooping, leafless branches lay another still figure. He removed his hat and ran his hand over his head, then took the notepad from his pocket and began to write.

Male. Mid-teens. Black hair. Plaid coat.

He shook his head and let his hands drop to his sides, the pages of the notepad fluttering in a wind that was slowly gaining speed. He turned to the deputy, and the two of them said almost in unison, “What happened out here?”

Washington High School in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, is a massive four-story building with expansive windows that allow natural light to stream in. It is constructed of Sioux quartzite, a durable stone that resists erosion and contributes to the beautiful rock formations in and around the Big Sioux River near Falls Park. It is the same stone that is used by Plains Indians to carve ceremonial pipes and can be found in buildings all around the city and surrounding area. In the 1970s, around 2,100 tenth-to twelfth-grade students attended this school each year.

Roger Essem’s friend, Mike Hadrath, lived half a block away from Roger so the two spent much of their time together both at and away from Washington High. Mike was a popular sophomore with a ready smile. What set him apart from others was his unparalleled athleticism; tall, lean, and muscular, he was a tenacious competitor who was a starter on every team. In basketball he consistently led in points scored. He pitched all spring and summer in baseball, leading one team to the Little League regional championship tournament. His PE uniform shorts were adorned with multiple President’s Physical Fitness Award patches, the hallmark of a well-rounded athlete. Even as a sixth grade student at Franklin Elementary he’d set a record of forty-four pull-ups. After twenty years, longtime PE teacher Judy Jasper reluctantly retired his record since students had given up trying to beat it and remarked, “Here’s a kid who not only had athletic ability but worked hard to set records and never caused a single discipline problem.”

Mike’s accomplishments along with his refreshing modesty drew him into a popular social circle. His good friend Roger Essem loved music and classic cars, but what drew others to Roger were his quiet ways and genuine interest in their lives. Throngs of Washington High students of all grade levels considered Roger and Mike to be their friends.

On a Friday afternoon in mid-November, the two crossed paths in the crowded hall and made plans for the weekend. Leaning against their lockers and amid frequent interruptions by their peers to “have-a-good-weekend-see-you-on-Monday,” they decided to invite some friends to trek out to Gitchie Manitou State Preserve where they could build a fire, shoot the breeze, and play some music. Since Stew had a van he would drive.

Mike came from a close-knit family with parents who adored their children and felt that having meals together and sharing conversation was important. Mike looked up to his older brother, also a standout athlete, and he doted over his little sister. Mike helped her with whatever she needed and had just taken her trick-or-treating a couple weeks prior.

The next day, in typical Mike style, he kissed his mom goodbye. Stew and his fourteen-year-old brother, Dana, would be here soon to pick him up to head to the State Preserve. She watched Mike swing his way through the backyard on the clothesline pole as he headed to the alley behind their house to wait for Stew’s van.

At 2:00 PM on Saturday afternoon, Sandra was brushing her hair in front of the mirror, counting the strokes so that she brushed long enough to get a glossy shine but not so long that it looked greasy. She couldn’t stop thinking about Roger’s smile and the way he’d tenderly stroked her hair last weekend before once again giving her a small kiss on the mouth. He treated her and looked at her in a way that was exciting and romantic. The phone rang.

“Don’t answer it! It’s for me!” her brother yelled from the next room in a girly voice, clearly attempting to sound like Sandra and not bothering to move from his spot on the couch in front of the blaring television. Sandra smiled and leapt for the phone.

She made a face at him and rolled her eyes at his spot-on impression of her then picked up the phone.

It was Roger. “What are you doing tonight?”

Her heart jumped and a small smile spread across her face. “Why are you asking?”

“Well, Stew and Dana are coming to my house, and we’re planning on going out to Gitchie Manitou. I was wondering if you wanted to come along.” As soon as he’d asked, Roger regretted that he hadn’t asked her sooner. Because it was the weekend, he assumed she already had plans with some girls down the road from her with whom she’d recently become close friends. Stew and Dana were more of the laid-back, easygoing musician types who went with the flow of the moment when it came to making plans. In fact, that was how the whole night had come together. The boys thought it sounded really “rock-n-roll” to spend an evening in front of a fall campfire singing into the night and playing their music.

“Sure,” Sandra replied. “If someone will come out and get me. Maybe Stew will. Do ya think so?”

“Yeah, he will ’cause I really wanna see you.” Roger had already checked with Stew, who was such a good friend he was willing to drive twelve miles out of the way to pick up Sandra and then another fifteen miles to Gitchie Manitou. Roger finally allowed a smile to cross his face. He adored Sandra and regularly marveled at his good fortune of meeting her that night at the drive-in theater. They were a perfect match, and now he’d be able to spend the rest of the day with her.

“I wanna see you, too. When ya coming?”

“Right now!”

Sandra’s mom worked long hours late into the evening, which left Sandra with more liberal hours than most girls her age. She’d always been responsible, though, and often had three older brothers looking over her shoulder. This newfound freedom in the hands of a girl gripped with young love was too irresistible. When Roger called, she melted.

By the time 8:00 PM rolled around, Sandra had started to worry. Really worry. Maybe Roger had changed his mind about doing something with her. Maybe Stew didn’t want to drive all the way out to her house. She tried not to keep glancing at the phone but found herself willing it to ring so she could at least hear Roger explain why he hadn’t come to get her. She kicked off her shoes, turned on the television, and curled up on the couch clutching a pillow.
I will not cry. I will
not
cry.