Monster (51 page)

“You mean he doesn’t want to testify against J.D.,” Richardson said sarcastically.

Hansen nodded but she wasn’t going to say it with the tape recorder running. Byron, she said, could identify the killer. “You already know who it is. And Byron can put the two of them, Cher and the killer, together. How they met, where they went, and what happened.”

Eerebout could also provide the original disposal site of Elder’s body, where she had been relocated to, and the identity of someone else who was involved in the homicide. “He can tell you what she was wearing, what happened to her clothes, and might even be able to find some of it,” Hansen said. “The body had been disfigured in some fashion, and Luther has something from the body he’s using to keep Byron quiet.”

“Specifics,” Richardson said. “I want more specifics.”

“Byron can tell you how she was killed. What she died from,” Hansen responded. “And give you a possible motive. Luther told him that he killed her.”

“When will he do all this?” Richardson asked. He was close. He almost had Cher, yet he didn’t feel he could let up even for a moment.

“He doesn’t have the exact location of the grave yet, but he will provide it,” Hansen said.

The two prosecutors and the detective looked at each other and nodded. “You get your deal,” Hall said, “provided Byron had no direct involvement in the murder of Cher Elder. If he did, all bets are off. We will not be limited in what we can question him about, nor will he be able to dictate what he will testify about. And finally, he will put in all in writing.”

Hansen agreed and the meeting adjourned. Richardson left muttering to himself. He didn’t trust Eerebout or his mother.
I got to find Healey,
he thought,
I got to find him now
.

Scott Richardson poured all of his efforts into locating Luther’s old friend. They had to have been tight. Hell, Luther had gotten Southy Healey out of prison by posing as his uncle. They were hanging together around the time of the murder, and then there was that panicked meeting following the July 1993 press conference that Debrah Snider had mentioned. If Luther had talked about the killing to anyone, it would have been Southy, and Byron was hinting that Southy was involved.

The detective called every law enforcement agency in the area, asking them to notify him if Healey was located. He was contacted by Lee Hughes, a bounty hunter who said he was also looking for Healey, who had failed to appear in court to answer burglary charges. “The last time I talked to him, on the telephone,” Hughes said, “he wasn’t worried about what he called any ‘bogus burglary charges.’ But there was some other investigation that he said, ‘I don’t want them to hit me with.’ ”

Hughes noted that Healey had come forward after his arrest for the burglary a year earlier, wanting to trade information about a homicide. But they hadn’t been aware of his involvement in the Cher Elder case, and no one had believed him.

A few days later, Richardson located Healey’s three sisters, one of whom said she had met Luther once but had no other information to offer. Another said she knew Mortho, Byron Eerebout, and Luther, and that she had heard of the Cher Elder case, but that was about as much information as she had.

Myra Healey, however, not only knew all the players involved, she recalled a meeting with Luther in Longmont that had particularly upset her brother. If was after the Elder case was on the television, she said. She and her boyfriend at the time, Bob Ramierez, had accompanied Healey to the meeting. When they left Longmont, Myra said, her brother was really angry with Luther.

It was music to Richardson’s ears, a rift between friends. In the end, it wasn’t hard to find Healey. On January 9, Richardson was called by the Adams County Sheriff’s Department north of Denver. They had just arrested Dennis “Southy” Healey for brandishing a gun at a couple he claimed owed him money for drugs.

Now that he knew where Healey was, Richardson took his time going to see him. He knew that Southy was a junkie. He wanted him to be feeling the effects of withdrawal and hurting. So he waited until 4
A.M.
to call the jail and asked that Healey be awakened and taken to an interview room.

Boy, am I gettin’ tired of jails,
Richardson thought when he arrived. Nothing but a bunch of dopers, convicts, or liars. But he was well aware of the old saying: few murders are committed in heaven with angels for witnesses. He’d take what he could get.

Healey was in the interview room when he walked in. As Richardson suspected, the young man looked badly in need of a fix. He sat hunched over in a chair and kept rubbing the back of his neck beneath his long, scraggly red hair, as if there was a pain there that wouldn’t go away. His arms were covered with prison tattoos and needle tracks. His blue eyes were dull and suffering.

Richardson introduced himself and pulled a chair over next to Healey. “You have any idea why I’m here?” he asked, sitting down.

“No,” Southy mumbled, his head down so that Richardson could not see his face.

“None? Well, we need to talk bad,” Richardson said, leaning closer to the nervous junkie. “I’m talkin’ bad. And it has nothin’ to do with what you’re in jail for now. Okay?”

Healey looked quickly at him out of the corner of his eye before looking away again. “Yeah.”

Richardson read Healey his Miranda rights, which he waived. “We need to talk about some old stuff here, bud,” Richardson began. “And we need to spend some time because the way this stuff’s goin’, this may be your one shot. I’m here on Thomas Luther, Byron Eerebout, and Cher Elder.”

Southy’s head sank lower at the mention of each name. Richardson continued, “It’s two years since it happened. There’s a lot of things that have changed in two years. I have waited this long to even contact you ’cause I wanted all the ducks in a row. You know where Luther is now?”

“I think he’s in West Virginia,” Healey said. He had a thick Boston accent.

“Yeah,” Richardson nodded. “Luther’s got big problems, big problems. He grabbed a girl, took her out, raped her, and he’s charged with a bunch of crimes. He’s lookin’ at some hard time.”

Healey nodded. He said that he had seen Byron in the Jefferson County Jail, who told him that Luther had been charged with rape and assault.

Richardson turned his head to the side to try to catch Southy’s eyes. “You’re the next to the last person before everything comes to a head on this case,” he said quietly. “Luther knows it. Everybody knows it. In the last two years, I have done nothin’ but work this case. This case is ten four-inch binders of nothin’ but evidence accumulated for two years—every day, every single day. And I’ve been watching you—we got videotapes, taped conversations, everything.”

The detective paused to let that sink in. He could tell what Healey was thinking: Holy shit! They’ve been following me for two years! Which is exactly what he wanted him to believe, even if it wasn’t true.

“We’ve been to West Virginia, Missouri, Canon City. You understand that?”

Healey nodded.

“Now it’s over for everybody. People are deciding they don’t want no part of it ‘cause we’re talkin’ first degree murder. And it’s one thing to be partially involved, and it’s another thing to be hands on, so to speak.”

Healey slumped even farther into his chair. He looked at the floor and away from Richardson, which angered the detective. “Do me a favor,” he demanded. “Sit up so we can look at each other while we talk. I want you to concentrate on me for a minute and not the floor. I’m not used to talkin’ to men like that.”

Like a puppet on a string, Southy Healey jerked himself upright and looked at Richardson. Fear was in his eyes, as well as the pain of his addiction. But he was listening.

Richardson nodded and continued, “What’s happening is people are pointin’ fingers and they don’t wanna point fingers at themselves, period. And I’m not lying to you. Now you’ve got to talk to me, and we’ve got to be straight with each other tonight. This is your shot, period.

“I’ve seen your history. You’ve been in trouble more than you’ve been out of trouble. But I don’t care about none of that. I don’t care about burglaries or dope or thefts. I care about one thing—I care about Cher Elder.

“You got to come clean or everybody’s going down. We’re talkin’ first degree murder and were talkin’ death penalty. I don’t think you’re the kind of guy that wants to go down for a first degree murder.”

“What do you know about what happened?” Healey asked cautiously.

Richardson shook his head. “I’m not gonna tell you my theory. Because what I need from you is your side of what happened. And if I tell you my theory, then it’s gonna alter your theory.” Actually, theory was all Richardson had; if it was wrong, Southy would know and see through his bluff.

“I’ll tell ya this,” Richardson volunteered. “I know she was killed that night, without a doubt. Everybody knows it. And my theory is, you got sucked in like a couple other people got sucked into this. And I’ll tell ya why I’m here—you’re important to me. I’m not gonna deny you’re important to me. But people who don’t cooperate go down, period.”

Healey shrugged. “Well, see I know for a fact there is nothin’ you can get me for. I met Byron and J.D. maybe a couple of times at the most. They’re not my people. I don’t work for them, they don’t work for me.”

“You ever meet Cher Elder?”

Healey shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Were you ever over at Byron’s apartment with your sister?”

“No.”

“You ever take a girlfriend over there? Now think, early in the morning.”

Healey shook his head more emphatically. “No.”

Richardson cut to the chase. “What can you provide me, Dennis?”

A crafty look came into Healey’s eyes. “I don’t know. What can you provide me?”

“I can’t make promises,” Richardson said. “But I’m tellin’ ya, you’re gonna find that your information, as long as you stay honest with me, that your information on Elder is gonna be a lot more important to you than you realize. What have you been told, that’s what I need to know.”

Finally there was something from Healey. “Luther said she was gonna testify.”

“Cher?”

“Yeah.”

“But who would be scared of her?”

“I don’t know,” Healey said and shrugged. “Maybe Mortho. I heard that from someone else.”

“Who?”

“Maybe Byron. J.D.”

“Before or after she was killed?”

“I don’t know that she was killed.”

Richardson rolled his eyes and sat back. “I’m not gonna tell you who, but somebody is puttin’ you with dumpin’ Cher’s car in a grocery store parking lot.” It was a stretch. No one had told him that. But whether it was true or not, it might shake Healey.
Get his lips movin’,
he thought. “See, you got a lot more to gain here than you got to lose.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Why should I believe you?” Richardson asked leaning close again. “I ask you questions I know you have the answers to and you sit there.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ I need to be fuckin’ worried about.”

“Then why are people sayin’ you were in the apartment the next morning if you have nothin’ to worry about?”

“They’re tryin’ to fuckin’ protect themselves is why they’re sayin’ it.” Healey was gettin’ angry. Not defensive, just angry, which Richardson took as a sign that he really might not have anything to worry about.
Maybe this guy even has a conscience,
he thought, and that gave him an idea.

“Let me tell you this first of all, Cher Elder wasn’t no snitch for anybody,” Richardson said. “She was a twenty-year-old girl that got caught up in the wrong crowd. Do you have any kids?”

“Nope.”

“Can you imagine what it would be like? What if something like this happened to one of your sisters?”

Healey looked like someone had just struck him in the face with a board. His brow furrowed and his hands clenched.

So the sisters are the key,
Richardson thought.
He’s just a big softy when it comes to family.
He decided to turn the screw a little more. “Cher’s entire family is fucked up and that’s bein’ polite. Her dad walks like a beat child. Her little sister and brother are only about fifteen or sixteen, and they’re in counseling weekly. They can’t bury Cher.

“I got a picture of Cher that her mother sent me. It’s from when Cher was three years old. And let me tell you, ‘cause I’ll never forget it, it’s a picture of a little girl sittin’ on a chair with a smile. Her mother wrote: ‘This is Cher when she was three. She was a good kid.’ ”

Richardson paused. What he’d just said had hit closer to his own heart than he intended. He thought of his boys, including the infant Brian he’d hardly seen. He missed them and he missed Sabrina. Here it was five in the morning and he probably wouldn’t see any of them that day, at least not when they were awake. He didn’t know why he was talking about this stuff to a junkie, but he found he could not stop.

“Cherish yours while you can ‘cause you never know when you’ll lose ’em.” He looked at Southy, who had tears in his eyes. “All I want for Christmas is for you to find her body,” he said, echoing the words of Rhonda Edwards.