Murder in the Heartland (34 page)

T
he town of Skidmore had been quiet since Bobbie Jo’s murder. Zeb was spending his time with Victoria Jo and still wouldn’t speak publicly about the case.

A few days after Bobbie Jo was murdered,
New York Post
columnist and author Andrea Peyser, in a column titled “Depraved Schemer Deserves No Sympathy,” wrote, “Don’t hog that lethal injection needle, Scott Peterson. Pass it on down to Lisa Montgomery when you’re done.” The column sparked some debate over whether death was a severe enough punishment for Lisa, if in fact she was found guilty. Farther down in the piece, Peyser wrote, “Now, people in the Missouri town where Stinnett lived and was murdered lock their doors, fearing the next knock will come from a baby snatcher.” Lisa’s case came back into the public spotlight as the anniversary of Bobbie Jo’s murder approached. Skidmorians were not vengeful people, looking to right a wrong by lynching a woman for the horror she had allegedly committed in the town; they were common folk, waiting patiently for justice to run its course. They got up every day and worked the land. Talked about life and politics, weather and sports. They attended church on Sundays. Many included in their prayers a special plea to God:
May Bobbie Jo rest in peace…. May her family be blessed with your love.

A trial, regardless of the outcome, wouldn’t change anything for the people of Skidmore. The town had suffered a devastating blow to the heart—and nothing could alleviate that pain.

About six miles east of Skidmore, heading toward Maryville on the “A” road, Zeb and Victoria Jo had moved to the town of Maitland. Zeb had family there, brothers and sisters who could help him raise his daughter. During the past year, Victoria Jo had grown into a strong, cheerful infant, “active and healthy,” with chocolate-pudding brown eyes, big and round, like Bobbie Jo’s, and a dynamic, spunky nature.

“She doesn’t have much hair yet,” Becky Harper told the
New York Post
, “[but Bobbie Jo] didn’t grow her hair for a long time either. She seems real content and happy. I think her dad’s taking real good care of her. She doesn’t take the place of my daughter, but she is a comfort.”

Victoria Jo was doing everything any child her age might: crawling, “jabbering,” “learning how to walk,” and “trying to talk.”

Pat Day, Victoria Jo’s great-grandmother, told the
Post
, “She’s like a little doll. We just enjoy her as much as we can.”

December 16, 2005, marked the one-year anniversary of Bobbie Jo’s death and was Victoria Jo’s first birthday. To memorialize Bobbie Jo, push the need for Amber Alert legislation to close what some were calling “Tory’s Loophole,” and support grandparents’ rights, several Skidmorians held a candlelight vigil at 7:00
P.M
. at a park about two blocks from Bobbie Jo and Zeb’s former house.

“We know we had someone in Heaven, an angel looking down to save Victoria Jo,” someone at the ceremony said as it got under way.

“I spent hours trying to come up with just the right thing to say tonight,” Cheryl Huston, a friend of Becky Harper’s, said at one point, while people huddled around her trying to stay warm. “But nothing that I say up here is going to do the one thing that would make Becky feel better, and that is to give her back Bobbie Jo. One year ago, a woman from Kansas came here to our community—and from that point on, all she did was take.”

After Huston spoke, everyone bowed their heads and prayed, candles in hand, their tiny flames waving and flickering in the wind. They were standing next to a seven-foot-tall brick monument dedicated to Bobbie Jo.

It was a somber ceremony, commemorating the death of a cherished citizen. Many agreed that Bobbie Jo had demonstrated what was so charming about Midwesterners, with her cute drawl, big-boned frame, large brown eyes, and humble demeanor. It had been a rough year for Bobbie Jo’s family and friends, especially Becky Harper, who had obviously missed her only daughter dearly. Little things, of course, made it hard: the special way Bobbie Jo spoke, smiled, and always seemed to bring joy to whatever situation she was involved in. Tonight was a tribute to her memory and the child she left behind.

“We’re doing this because she is a friend and this is a community,” Cheryl Huston told a reporter from the
Kansas City Star
. “We take care of each other.”

At the close of the ceremony, Reverend Harold Hamon talked about how the country “rallied together” during the Pearl Harbor and September 11 attacks, before adding, “I saw the same things here a year ago,” pointing to the ground below his feet. “When tragedy strikes, you can fall apart, roll over, and play dead—or you can rise to the occasion. I just thank God that we can share together as members of a community such as we are here. Tragedy comes, but we don’t have to be defeated by it.”

A press release issued a day before the vigil was specific: “A primary purpose of the event is to remember Bobbie Jo Stinnett. It is being held by friends of the family and by caring members of her community. It is being held in support of her family, in an effort to let them know we care about them. A secondary purpose of the event is to raise awareness of legislation regarding ‘Tory’s Loophole’ in the Amber Alert. A final purpose of this event is to bring further awareness to restrictions on grandparent rights of visitation in Missouri….”

To make matters more disheartening for Becky Harper, Zeb Stinnett had cut back on the days she could see Victoria Jo. As of December, Harper was getting the baby only one weekend per month. Zeb seemed concerned over what Harper was telling the child—and would eventually explain as she grew older—about her mother’s death and the circumstances surrounding her birth. The situation between Harper and Zeb became so tenuous that Harper filed a petition in Holt County Court so she could legally spend more time with her granddaughter.

Zeb answered by filing an injunction himself, saying he “temporarily cut” Harper’s visitation time “because her behavior has become bizarre.” Moreover, Zeb indicated that “at no time should Becky Harper discuss any events concerning the death and demise of [Victoria Jo’s] natural mother.”

As the new year dawned, Harper and Zeb were heading to court. (Under a court ruling weeks later, Harper was allowed visitation with Victoria Jo.)

In spite of the family problems over the past year,
Post
correspondent Jennifer Fermino, in an article published on November 28, 2005, seemed to condense into nine words how the case had impacted the nation, calling Bobbie Jo’s murder “a nasty and bizarre killing that broke America’s heart.”

And that one line seemed to explain everything: America identified with and wept for Bobbie Jo Stinnett and the loss of innocence her murder personified. Bobbie Jo’s murder was a gruesome reminder that evil lurks in the most remote and pastoral corners of the rural Midwest. The death of an American sweetheart, in Middle America, exemplifies how uncertain and unpredictable life can be. The painful ripple effects of her death spread throughout the small community and what was once a close-knit family.

H
er favorite song lately was “Mockingbird,” by Eminem. The blond-haired, blue-eyed hip-hop artist had taken an old classic—“And if that mockingbird don’t sing…”—and rapped an ode to his daughter over it. Lisa seemed to relate to the song’s meaning.

“My mom didn’t like Eminem when I lived with her,” said Kayla. “She listened to some of the same things we did, but not always.”

After Lisa ended up in prison, she talked about the lyrics Eminem had written and how they related to the predicament she now found herself in while behind bars, away from her children, awaiting trial. One day Lisa called the house and talked to Rebecca, who was still driving up to Leavenworth to visit her every Tuesday night.

“‘I know Mommy’s not here right now,’” Lisa sang into the phone, quoting from Eminem’s version of “Mockingbird,” “‘and we don’t know why we feel how we feel inside. It may seem a little crazy, pretty baby, but I promise: Mama’s gonna be all right.’”

“That really got to Rebecca,” remembered Kayla. “It bothered her.”

As a Mother’s Day gift, Lisa sent Kayla a rather bizarre drawing, considering the charges she faced and the sweet nature of the picture. Artistically speaking, the picture, created with colored pencils, showed talent; the detail and soft use of color displayed an obvious ability.

The picture showed an uncomplicated, cartoonish Laura Ingalls–type character, holding a potted heart-shaped flower plant. Checkered bows gathered the girl’s wisps of blond hair together tightly near her hidden ears. Under a large pink beach hat, with a scarf encircling it like a sash, the girl’s blue eyes, purple blouse, and plaid dress, hanging down to her ankles, complement the subtle smile on her pudgy, round face. The character stands on a bed of blue clover, green grass all around her, appearing stress-free and, at the same time, blissfully mysterious.

“It is pretty cool,” remarked Kayla, smiling, looking at the picture. “That’s Mom,” she added before changing the subject.

Accompanying the picture was a doily Lisa had sewn. She said in a note that she hoped Kayla “enjoyed” it as her birthday present.

It was a fine piece of embroidery. From the weblike detail of the item, Lisa was talented in that craft, too. Yet, the doily had soaked up and retained a certain prison stench, as if it had been left in an attic somewhere for years: musty, dank, sour—an eerie reminder of Lisa’s daily life.

Three of Lisa’s children have been up to Leavenworth to visit her. Kayla has yet to make the trip. The last time she saw her mother was around August 18, 2004, her fourteenth birthday, before she left for Georgia. She has spoken to Lisa a few times on the telephone, but chooses to take a step back and allow the space between them to act as a healer. Lisa writes to Kayla often. (“But I don’t always write back.”) And she will, once in a while, tell Rebecca “something” to bring back to Kayla, but “I will not go see her.

“As I told Mom in one of my letters,” concluded Kayla, “I don’t want to have any memories of her in prison. A lot of people have told me I should go see her so I don’t have any regrets [if she is put to death]. But I just can’t bring myself to do it.”

Once, Kayla considered visiting her mother. She thought about it long and hard and almost convinced herself to tag along with her sisters and brother. At the last minute, though, she changed her mind.

“Well, I’m not really sure what else there is to say about that.”

Still, Kayla has a photograph Lisa had taken behind bars, copied, and handed out to the kids. It is the exact image of her mom that Kayla doesn’t want to see in person. For the first time in her life, said Carl Boman, Kayla is “free” from the restraints Lisa put on her. “She’s her own person again. She is happy for the first time in a long while.”

“I am,” Kayla said later reaffirming what Carl had said earlier about her joy at just being able to be a teenager. “I really am.”

L
isa Montgomery is in a Leavenworth, Kansas, prison awaiting her trial. The
United States of America
v.
Lisa Montgomery
was slated to begin on April 24, 2006, but was then postponed until October 23, 2006 and, in the summer of 2006, postponed again until April, 2007. As of this writing, there has been little indication as to the defense Lisa’s lawyers will present. However, I have heard from certain people connected closely to the case that Lisa is going to present a defense claiming that, because of her “abusive” childhood and upbringing, she cannot be held responsible for her alleged actions. She will maintain that the abuse she suffered throughout her life caused her to be unable to decipher right from wrong. Legally speaking, a more appropriate defense might be what is called an “irresistible impulse” defense, which “argues that a person may have known an act was illegal; but, because of a mental impairment, [the individual] couldn’t control [his or her] actions.” In 1994, Lorena Bobbitt was acquitted of the felony “malicious wounding” when “her defense argued that an ‘irresistible impulse’ led her to cut off her husband’s penis.”

Considering the premeditation and substantial planning the government alleges Lisa Montgomery took part in, months before Bobbie Jo’s murder, Lisa’s lawyers only have so much they can work with. Devoid of any earth-shattering new evidence and surprise witnesses, I don’t foresee any groundbreaking relevations coming out at Lisa’s trial. From a law enforcement perspective, the case is fairly textbook: the evidence against Lisa is, I was told by several deeply engrained in the prosecution, “overwhelming.” As many law enforcement officers said, “Bobbie Jo Stinnett’s baby was found in Lisa Montgomery’s arms. What more conclusive evidence do you need than that?”

T
he people I need to thank for their tremendous work on this project are, first and foremost, the producers. Mainly, Kensington Publishing Corp. as a whole. After editor-in-chief Michaela Hamilton read the outline for the project, she believed, as I did, that this story, as gruesome as it was, could be more than a true-crime book—and certainly more than the horrific elements surrounding the case would have implied. Michaela was behind me from day one; and she saw my vision of using the two towns of Skidmore and Melvern as a narrative thread, through which an important social story would emerge. Michaela’s expert editing skills in the beginning shaped this book into the fast-paced narrative it became; she gave me sage advice after reading drafts of the book, sending me back to the canvas with a clearer picture of what I needed to do. Having worked with Michaela now for five years, knowing that she has edited some of the best in the business (Ann Rule among them), I am entirely grateful for the time and care she dedicates to my career.

Kensington publisher Laurie Parkin was instrumental in giving the project legs; without her belief in me as a writer, this project would not have floated. Senior editor Jeremie Ruby-Strauss has always been one of my advocates, and I appreciate his continued advice and consummate understanding of the process.

Copy editor Stephanie Finnegan, in what must have been an exhausting job, did tremendous work.

Equally important on the production side was Jim Cypher, a friend who read and edited an early draft of the book. Jim is a superb editor, smart reader, and perfect gentleman.

Peter Miller, my agent at PMA Literary & Film Management, Inc., was my biggest supporter from day one. Peter worked a lot of hours for me during the beginning of the year 2004, and continues to. I am indebted to his dedication to my career.

Carl Boman, of course, was helpful to me in many ways. Kayla Boman became my treasure trove of information, helping me with those nuggets of information I needed, and also introduced me to potential sources; she is one of the most intelligent teenagers I have ever met. The other Boman children were helpful in their own ways and I need to thank them for allowing me to infringe on their space.

Judy Shaughnessy, I was told, would be abrasive and rude and no help at all. “You’ll be shot if you show up on her property,” one misguided man, with an obvious score to settle, told me while I was in Kansas. When I returned to Connecticut, I e-mailed Judy and thus began what turned into two months of conversations that changed this book in many ways. I am sure Judy left a lot of things out of our talks, but I am grateful, nonetheless, she trusted me with what she did.

Sheriff Ben Espey greeted me with a comforting Midwestern charm when I showed up at his office, as did his dispatcher. Ben was forthcoming with so much information about the case, he really turned this book into what I had envisioned from the start. Thank you, Sheriff. I tip my hat to you. I also want to say that although Ben Espey had a problem with a certain member of the FBI, in no way did he play down the FBI’s role in the investigation. He spoke highly of Mickey Roberts and Kurt Lipanovich, and wanted me to understand they were instrumental in Victoria Jo’s safe return.

Jeff Owen, who did much of the forensics on Bobbie Jo’s computer, was extremely helpful in guiding me through the incredibly confusing labyrinth of those critical hours when he and Kurt Lipanovich figured out Darlene Fischer and Lisa Montgomery were the same person.

To those in Melvern, Skidmore, and other parts of the Midwest who stretched out their arms and allowed me to pry into the history of the towns they love so much, I applaud you for your hospitality and warmth while I asked tough questions about the lives you lead.

Those people, spread throughout the little towns I stopped in and gassed up my car, who talked to me about their lives over a cup of coffee, helped give this book its Midwestern feel of reality.

This project took more time away from my family than any of the others. Without the support of Mathew, Jordon, April, and Regina, I could not have done it. They accept my passion for storytelling and the enjoyment I get out of the writing process and allow me the space I need to get things done. I am forever grateful for their love and support, and truly blessed to have it.