Dale's Story
For over 2 decades, people have either asked about, wondered or believe they know what really happened to Donna Fontaine and Fred Palahniuk on May 29, 1999 on a secluded property outside Kendrick Idaho which led to Dale Shackelford spending 10 years on Idaho's Death Row. Only one person alive today knows what happened firsthand on that mountain. Documentaries have been aired, stories have been published and people in town still talk in the diners and local bars about what happened that Memorial Day weekend while the Locust Blossom Festival was in full swing.
In 2005, from his prison cell, Dale committed to paper what really happened that fateful day, and sent sealed copies of the documents to people outside the walls for safe keeping. These envelopes were to be opened and disclosed to but a few people upon his death or incapacity. Dale feared his knowledge of the true happenings of that day, and what led up to them, would be lost forever to the families, friends, trial jurors, sheriff's deputies, prosecutors and the like who's lives were changed in an instant were he himself no longer able to divulge the facts.
Dale Shackelford's retrial hopes are now gone - technicalities will forever mask the truth and injustices that occurred in this case to innocent people who still live, and have died in that community - so there is nothing for him to lose or gain by releasing those papers now - nothing to gain by changing or distorting the events as they happened.
There are those who deserve to know the truth, and those who need to know how wrong they were.
WHO'S WHO HEREIN:
> Misti (my daughter - age 14)
> Becky Freeman (Misti's mother / my first wife)
> Sonja Abitz (my fiance)
> Mary Abitz (Sonja's mother)
> John Abitz (Sonja's dad)
> Brian Abitz (Sonja's brother - age 15)
> Ted Meske (Sonja's uncle / Mary's brother)
> Grandpa - (Mary & Ted's dad, Sonja's grandfather)
> Donna Fontaine (my ex-wife)
> Gary Fontaine (Donna's brother)
> Fred Palahniuk (Donna's boyfriend)
> Bernadette Lasater (Office Manager / Shackelford Enterprises - Trucking )
> Marty Millar (Driver / Shackelford Enterprises - Trucking)
> Dothan - (dog & best friend)
> P.J. & Katie Baker - (local neighbors)
> Robin Eckmann ( [Lead] Latah County, Idaho Deputy Prosecuting Attorney)
> Kurtis Hall (Latah County, Idaho Deputy Sheriff)
It had been planned for a couple months - I would pick up my daughter Misti and take her on the truck with me to Idaho over the Memorial Day weekend to meet Sonja, her soon-to-be step-mother, and the whole Abitz family. I had a load already scheduled to take me from St. Louis to west Salt Lake City Utah, a load of powdered milk. I had taken this particular load because the other possible loads contained hazardous materials, materials I would not haul while carrying such a precious passenger.
I believe it was while the powdered milk was being loaded into my trailer that I received a page. When I called my service, there was a message from Misti that she wouldn't be able to make the trip to Idaho, so I called Becky's house to confirm. Misti told me that Lola, Becky's mother, had been sick and needed help, so she decided to stay at home, and not make the trip to Idaho. With much apology and many tears, my daughter told me she loved me and we promised to take another trip soon.
I drove back to the Ironton (MO) office rather than heading straight to Idaho. I had scheduled the load to be delivered several days later than what would have been normal so as to make the drive more leisurely, spending more quality time with Misti than would have been possible with a earlier delivery date. My priority now was to keep Marty and Bernadette from fighting over who was running the Missouri office while I spent the weekend at home in Idaho.
After spending some time parked at the C.R. England trucking company yard in West Valley City, UT, I delivered the load of powdered milk literally across the road early on a Tuesday morning and headed for Idaho. I had made arrangements to park my tractor trailer at Canyon Country trucking in Lewiston on their lot - it was much safer than leaving it at the Flying J lot unattended.
I had called Sonja from a roadside park on the way home. I had tried several times to get my cell phone to work during the trip west, even calling the cell phone company several times at each stop from landlines in an effort to get the issue resolved. It didn't work, and I was tired of arguing with them.
Sonja met me at Canyon Country. She was driving the Bronco, into which I loaded my usual fare - dirty clothes, maps, log books and other stuff, in addition to about 100 pounds of powdered milk. I had asked Sonja to bring some large plastic garbage bags because the bags of milk were those that were rejected due to having had the bags punctured during some point in the manufacturing/ shipping process. No use letting such a valuable commodity go to waste. Once all were aboard, we headed home.
During the drive from Salt Lake to Lewiston, several truckers had discussed (over the CB radio) the impending crack-down by the US DOT and Idaho equivalent on semi-trucks over the Memorial Day weekend, specifically on inspections of vehicles. The state/DOT does this on occasion, setting up surprise inspection stations, pulling over big trucks and writing thousands of tickets for the smallest infraction. These inspections can take hours and can cost the driver/company thousands of dollars in fines.
When I stopped for fuel en route from SLC, I had noted that the inspection on my trailer had expired, but only by about a week. While I could have simply written my own inspection sheet & sticker (being licensed to do so), inspecting one's own equipment will usually cause the DOT to inspect even closer. I had asked around and learned that there was a small tractor-trailer repair station behind the Flying J truckstop there in Lewiston that could do the inspection. Since Sonja & I would be stopping at the Flying J on the way home (as we most often did to pick up last minute items) I decided to visit the repair shop. They told me I could bring the trailer by the next day for an inspection.
On the way home, Sonja reminded me that Donna was supposed to be there to take Gary to the dentist on Monday (the 31st of May) which presented me with no problem because I was planning on being long gone by the time she arrived - loading on Friday and headed east towards Missouri. I never was sure if Gary's appointment was scheduled for that Monday, which was a holiday, or the next day (Tuesday).
Problem was is that anytime Donna saw me, or knew where I was, whether in Idaho or anywhere else in the country, she would accuse me of having done - something - either to her, about her or to something of hers, so I had made it a practice not to let her know where I was at any specific time. This also meant that I couldn't let Gary know anything either because he would tell Donna. Most often, Gary would learn things about me through the Abitz family, or through Ted Meske - so virtually every aspect of my life and whereabouts was known to Donna at any given point. I can say that the planning of the trip, and the fact that I was to have brought Misti to Idaho had been kept pretty close to the vest, did not involve Gary, who was always at the Abitz home/ affairs, or Ted, for Ted and Gary talked all the time. I wanted no problems with Donna during my daughter's visit.
On Wednesday, I drove to Lewiston with Dothan (my dog and best friend) to move the trailer to the repair shop. Leaving the Bronco at Canyon Country's lot, I pulled the trailer to the Flying J parking lot to wait for an open space at the repair facility. While I waited, I cleaned the inside of the tractor and did some basic maintenance. When I finally pulled into the repair shop, the mechanic showed me that one of the brake pads on the trailer had a crack running through it. He also pointed out that the water pump on the trailers' refrigeration engine was leaking, and that both the leak and the brake issues had to be fixed before the trailer would pass inspection. Fortunately, he had the parts for the brakes, but the water pump had to be ordered, and wouldn't arrive until Friday - the very day I had hoped to leave Lewiston for points east. In fact, Marty had already found a load of apples from Washington state to St. Louis, but they had to be refrigerated, and had to be picked up early Friday morning. I had to have Marty cancel the load and look for one that could be picked up later in the day or on Saturday, a difficult find on a (Memorial Day) holiday weekend. Marty and I both searched for loads on local and national databases, to no avail. I was spending the weekend at home after all, but would still be gone before Donna arrived on the mountain … or so I thought.
I don't remember exactly what I did on Thursday, but I went by a couple building supply stores and discussed with the managers/owners hauling in used red bricks and limestone blocks that I had found a great price on in Missouri. If the value was there, I could haul a load of them anytime I needed to get home, but had no other loads to get me there. In the normal course of things, I usually worked on or around the house when I was home, so I'm sure I did so that week as well.
I had planned on going to the Locust Blossom Festival in Kendrick on Saturday since I was going to be home. Ted rarely ever went to the festival, and Gary had made arrangements to ride down to town with John & Mary. They would go to the festival, then drive to Lewiston to visit with Mary's father at the nursing home in Lewiston before returning home later that evening. Once time had passed for them to head out to Lewiston, Sonja & I would go to the festival for a couple hours.
On Friday, all the well-laid plans began falling apart… That morning, I called the repair shop bright and early. They told me to bring the trailer in that afternoon and they would install the newly arrived pump. It shouldn’t take too long, they said, so Dothan and I loaded up and headed for town. Because I had plans to meet Sonja and her parents in town for lunch, I drove the pickup truck with Dothan in the bed. When I arrived at the shop, the mechanic rode with me to Canyon Country to get the trailer, and he drove the Ford back to the shop for me.
As the mechanic started working on the refrigeration unit, Dothan and I drove away to meet with Sonja, Mary & John, have lunch and run some errands and do some shopping for my next trip. It was a normal day, what would probably be my last.
The first thing I noticed when Dothan and I arrived at the shop was that the tractor-trailer was missing. I wasn't too concerned as I had left the keys with the mechanic to move it from in front of the small shop when he was done to clear the area for other customers. I went into the shop to talk with him, finished up some paperwork and settled the bill. He gave me the keys, and told me that he had moved the tractor to the Flying J lot just a few yards across the road. In fact, had I been looking when I pulled in, I would have seen the back of my trailer. As I walked from the shop to the trailer, I remember thinking about how much this inspection had cost in both time and money, and figured Marty was going to get chewed out when I got back to the office. She was the last one to use the refrigeration unit on this trailer, and there was no way she couldn't have noticed it was leaking as bad as it was. I could hear the reefer unit running as I approached the tractor. The driver told me he had left it running and that I could shut it down as long as the motor had reached normal operating temperature.
It didn’t really sink in at first. I thought it was a "lot lizard," a truckstop prostitute sitting on the running board of my tractor as I approached from behind. It was in fact… Donna.
It wasn't divine intervention that had led Donna to my truck, it wasn’t even coincidence. First, the tractor was very unique both in color and style, very recognizable. Second, the Flying J truckstop was always (our) last stop for fuel, incidentals and after a long drive, a shower as the house/garage had no hot water or shower. Because her hair was wet, it was obvious that she had already availed herself of that luxury.
It didn't take long for her to notice me walking towards her. She said something that I couldn't hear over the reefer engine, so I held my finger up gesturing for her to hold her thought as I climbed up the back of the tractor to inspect the trailer's engine compartment. After shutting down the engine, and before she could speak, I asked her what she was doing there, and her response was pretty much what I had expected - a question of her own... why was I following her.
After some pleasant unpleasantries, Donna advised me in no uncertain terms that I was to make sure that "all of her stuff" was in her garage before she got home. She told me that Gary had told her that Brian had been taking things from her garage while she was away, and threatened to have Brian arrested. Knowing that she had many times blamed me for the very same thing(s) without it being true, I was sure she was exaggerating again. Gary and Brian spent a lot of time together, and Brian did borrow things from Gary all the time, so I figured Brian likely did have at least something from the garage. Since I hadn't seen or talked to Brian during my time at home, I wasn't sure, but knowing Donna's penchant for having people arrested, I figured I had better find out.
After a few more minutes of bantering, I watched as Donna walked toward the Flying J store where her Chevy pickup was parked. It was only then that I noticed her dog Kismet, along with another dog walking in a small patch of grass next to the store. Sitting in my tractor, I watched as Donna and the guy, whom I now assume was Fred, loaded the dogs into the back of the Chevy, tied the camper shell door down with a yellow nylon rope and drove out of the lot toward Kendrick. As I watched her leave, I hailed a (truck) driver on the radio and asked him/her to let me know if the blue Chevy truck in front of him/her with the Missouri plates and yellow rope turned around. I never heard from the truck driver after that, so I guessed she was headed to the garage.
After moving the tractor-trailer back to Canyon Country's lot and getting a ride back to the shop, I used the pay phone at the store to call home. I needed to let [them] know that Donna was coming, and I needed to talk to Brian before Donna arrived. Nobody answered at either my house, or at the Abitz home, so I left a message. It takes about an hour to drive from the Flying J to the hill, so I knew Donna had not yet arrived.
Driving through the town of Kendrick on the way home, I saw Sonja's school bus and turned my CB to the proper channel. Even before I passed her going the opposite direction, Sonja told me over the radio that Donna was "here." I thanked her, told her I loved her and headed home. There was no need to upset her with the news that I had already talked to Donna. She would know soon enough. By the time I reached the turnoff to my house, no less than 4 people, in addition to Sonja, had told me that Donna was in the area. Everyone in the community it seemed knew of the bad blood between Donna and I, and each had at least 2 opinions on the matter, depending on who they were talking to. It was a small community, and the Abitz family was well known and respected. I was grudgingly accepted as part of the Abitz family.
I wasn't sure if Donna was already up at the garage, nor was I sure where Brian was. Someone during the week mentioned that Brian was out camping, and while I wasn't sure exactly where, I knew the approximate area where Mary thought him to be. I believed it more likely however that Brian was spending the week at a friend's house(s) getting drunk/high and causing trouble somewhere. Despite that, I drove several miles up Three Bear Road to see if I could spot the Dodge pickup I knew he was driving. I even asked a passing log truck on the radio if he/she had seen the truck or any campers along the road. No luck.
Arriving home, I put Dothan on his run and went inside. None of the school buses were parked at the Abitz house, so they weren't home yet, but it was clear that Donna had made it to the garage. I could hear her yelling at Gary and the dogs, dogs barking, and the usual "Donna's home" noises. I went to the shed and locked it to keep her from snooping.
Later that evening as Sonja and I discussed the day at home, Sonja told me that while she had been at her parent's house after arriving home from the afternoon school bus run that Gary had told [them] (via phone or in person, I don't recall) that he would be riding down to the Locust Blossom festival with Donna and Fred the next morning, and wouldn't need a ride from John & Mary. He would however meet them in town to go see "grandpa" at the Lewiston nursing home. This was not good news to Sonja as she and I had planned on attending the festival together, but with Donna in the area, there was no way I was going to attend. I urged Sonja to go to the festival with her parents, then spend a little time with her grandfather. I would spend the day at home, and go see P.J. & Katie Baker who rarely, if ever attended the festival. Sonja agreed, and after supper, just before dark, I drove up to P.J's house to let them know I'd be up the next day, and asked what I should bring for lunch. After a short conversation, I headed home, early to bed.
SATURDAY, MAY 29, 1999
It was shaping up to be a pretty day outside, still a little chilly but for 3300 feet up, it wasn't too bad.
I don't remember what time we got out of bed, but Sonja headed for the shower and I went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and make "birds in the nest" for Sonja. Not too long after Sonja got out of the shower, I could hear Donna's Chevy headed our way. Even over the din of whatever it was that Sonja was doing, she too heard the truck and walked into the living room where I stood with a cup of coffee, looking out the picture window toward the road that passed directly in front of my house, the only road Donna could use to get from the garage to the county road on the other side of the Abitz home. Sonja announced that Donna was headed down the hill, but I already knew - that's how "in tune" we were where Donna and her antics were concerned.
As the big Chevy passed my house, the rumbling of the large engine literally shook the glass in the frame of the picture window. I looked to see who was inside the cab of the truck but was unable to see through the glare on the truck windows. A few minutes later, someone, either John or Mary phoned to tell us that Donna's truck had just passed the house, but that Gary could not be seen in the truck - only Donna & Fred were visible in the cab. Everyone agreed that it was probable that Gary had been relegated to the bed of the truck. While they were on the phone, I asked if anyone had heard from Brian. Nobody had, but they promised to leave a note on their refrigerator for Brian to get ahold of me. The refrigerator would be the first place Brian, a teenage boy, would go upon entering the house.
It wasn't too long after Sonja left the house to walk to her parents’ home that I went outside to the shed. I needed to check the clutch on the Bronco to see if it could be adjusted until it could be replaced. As I was wrestling with the car ramps, the telephone in the house rang, but by the time I got to it, it had stopped, so I took the wireless/portable phone outside with me. Before I got back to the shed, the phone rang again - it was Brian - and he was at home next door.
After arguing with Brian for several minutes as to why he needed to get to my house immediately, he promised he would be over as soon as he got something to eat. Rather than wait on him however, I drove the Bronco to the Abitz house to find him eating a bowl of cereal. I explained to him that Donna had told me that Gary had reported to her that he had taken several items from Donna’s/Gary's garage, and that the items needed to be returned before Donna found anything missing. Brian told me that the things he had were taken only with Gary's permission and that he promised Gary that he would return them to the garage before Donna arrived on Monday. I explained that Donna had already arrived, and was [now] at the festival.
When I asked what all he had from the garage, Brian told me that he had a chain saw, a shotgun, a pistol and a rock-polishing kit. He told me that he had to go (somewhere) to get most of the items before he could return them to the garage, and advised me that Gary had given him a key to get into the garage when he wasn't there. I told Brian to get the items, and to get back as quickly as possible - that Donna could be back at any time, and that I wouldn't put it past Donna to try to have him arrested for theft if she could. Despite his protests, he immediately took the Dodge truck and left, and I went home, back to my work in the shed.
It was some time before Brian returned. He drove the Dodge up my driveway and I walked over to talk to him. In the cab of the truck he had Donna's shotgun and a cardboard box full of smaller items. In the bed of the truck was Donna's chainsaw, a gas can and a jug of oil. I asked Brian if this was all of Donna's things and he claimed it was. When I inquired of the rock-polisher, he told me that it was still at a friend's house, and that Gary had given it to him as a gift (I had purchased this item for Donna as a gift during our marriage). Rather than arguing the point, I instructed Brian to get the stuff back to the garage, make sure the place was locked up tight when he left, and to leave things alone up there even if Gary gave him permission otherwise.
A few minutes later, I heard the Dodge straining to make the hill to the garage at Gary's place. I decided to go in the house and check the computer before heading to P.J. & Katie's house for lunch, and after putting things away in the shed, I heard the first in a series of shotgun blasts from the direction of Gary's place - then several shots in rapid succession. A cold chill went through me, I just knew that Brian had shot one of Donna's dogs. Fortunately, I was wrong. After a few more shots, the dogs resumed their barking. It wouldn’t be until much later that I learned what the shooting was all about.
As I waited for Brian to come down the hill from the garage, I heard a vehicle coming up the road - it was Donna's truck - and it was headed towards my house, and thereafter, the garage, the garage where Brian was, and I knew there was going to be trouble.
I watched the Chevy pass my house, then minutes later, heard it climbing the grade to the garage area. I didn't notice who was driving the truck, but could make out 2 people in the cab. I was ready to leave, but decided to wait for Brian, and an explanation, before leaving. I didn't hear the expected yelling and screaming, though I did hear Donna's voice above the barking of the dogs. I figured Donna had found Brian waiting for Gary when she arrived and had no problem with him being there as Brian often looked in on Gary. Maybe Gary had intervened and stood up to Donna on Brian's behalf… but those thoughts didn't go on too long, nor did the relative calm.
I heard Donna yelling, screaming - not the words, but the tone. A few moments later I heard the sound of a car (truck?) horn - 3 short honks - just as we did on the farm in Missouri to call people to the house who were in the woods or the fields. We also used that signal to have Donna or I to come to the Abitz house for telephone calls or other reasons before Donna & I split up. A second round of 3 honks, and I knew there was a problem, for that was our "GET HERE NOW" signal. A sense of dread came over me as the third set of honks came from up the hill, the EMERGENCY signal. Still, I wasn't rushing headlong into some problem that Donna was certainly a participant in without a good reason, and a lot of caution.
Rather than driving straight up the hill to the garage and what I figured could be some sort of plot by Donna to have me arrested, I decided to head up Three Bear Road to get to the Potlatch logging road that ran just north of Donna's/Gary's property line. While I couldn't get through the locked gate, there was a small trail used by motorcycles to access the road, and my Bronco (a Bronco II) was small enough to pass. With the 4 wheel drive and short wheelbase, I had easily passed this way before. Figuring it wouldn't take too long, I hadn't even taken my hat, glasses or wallet - just me in my t-shirt, a flannel, pants, shoes and socks and my always present Swiss Army knife.
It took only a matter of minutes to get to the edge of Gary's property on the Potlatch road. I drove Slowly up the gravel path, quietly so as to see what was going on before I myself was noticed, but even before I was able to turn off the engine, Donna was on the landing of stairs on the garage, yelling at me to "get in here." As I got out of the Bronco, she came down the steps toward the barbed-wire fence, talking so fast that I couldn't understand what she was saying. The gist of what she said however was clear: she had caught Brian "burglarizing" (her) garage, that she had tried to stop him from leaving, and that he had shot at her. She made it clear that I was to be the one to rectify the situation.
As she led me towards the garage, I noticed her small semi-automatic pistol in the waistband of her pants near the small of her back which doubled my worry about the situation. As we climbed the steps to the upper level of the garage, Donna told me that if she could have gotten into Gary's trailer, she would have already called the cops. As it turned out, Donna's cell phone was locked in Gary's trailer, and Gary had not returned from the festival with her & Fred, but had gone to the nursing home in Lewiston to visit with grandpa.
As I entered the darkened garage loft, my eyes adjusted and Brian was sitting on a couch by the door, an older man standing in the center of the room with (Donna's) shotgun aimed at the floor, but in Brian's general direction, almost lazily. The man looked as if he would rather be anywhere than where he was at the moment and I knew that look all too well, Donna had already beaten him down.
When I entered the loft, the man backed away and I stood about where he had been standing when I came in, and I asked Brian what was going on. Both Donna and Brian began talking/shouting at the same time until exasperated, I yelled at both of them to shut-up. The gist was that Donna had come home to find Brian's truck (Dodge) blocking the top of the driveway, where he was standing when she & Fred arrived back from the festival. She had instructed Brian to move the truck out of their way and when Brian tried to pull up, his truck rolled backwards and hit the front of Donna's truck. Brian then "dumped" the clutch and spun the tires, spitting rocks and dirt. She yelled for him to stop, and when he did, Donna walked up to yell at him through the driver's side window, and noticed her gas can, chainsaw and other items in the bed of the Dodge. She also noticed her .22 pistol on the seat next to Brian. She told Brian she was calling the cops.
According to Brian, as he handed the pistol to Donna, it discharged, breaking the window pane in the garage next to the (man) door. According to Donna, Brian shot at her. In either case, Fred became involved, ordering Brian upstairs (at gunpoint or not is unknown). Donna then found other items in the Dodge truck, and thereafter retrieved a set of bolt-cutters from the garage, as I understood it, to cut the lock off Gary's trailer door to get to the cell phone and call the cops. She had also retrieved her .32 Bersa from her truck and armed herself.
Then, my life changed completely…
Brian suddenly, and without warning jumped up from the couch and in just two steps, had made it out the door, taking everyone by surprise. I could hear him running down the steps before anyone even moved. Next, Donna ran for the door - so fast in fact that I recall thinking that she had fallen off the landing to the ground below, and by the time I reached the doorway, she was at the bottom of the steps with gun in hand.
When I heard the first shot, I ducked back into the doorway and bumped into Fred who had walked up right behind me, but the shot didn't come towards me. Donna fired at least three rounds at the fleeing Brian as he headed for the driveway and through the brush west of the garage. I yelled at Donna to stop shooting, but by then she was already cursing and headed back up the stairs toward Fred and I. As she reached the landing, Fred and I moved back into the center of the room as Donna "scolded" Fred for being "incompetent" and letting Brian get away. Then she turned her anger towards me, pointing the gun at me and calling me names before she started screaming for me to "get on the floor." I told her I wasn't getting on the floor, but that I would wait for the cops to come if that's what she was after. She told Fred to go to the trailer and get the cell phone, and I sat on the (floor model) T. V. to wait.
Even before Fred could get to the door, Donna shouted, "Never mind, I’ll do it myself.” Mumbling something about men being idiots, she headed out the door and down the steps. I looked at Fred, and he at me, and when I shrugged my shoulders, he raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness and smiled a sad smile, all the while holding the shotgun aimed towards the floor.
I heard the door of the Chevy slam closed, and as I moved towards the door to see what she was doing, she was headed again for the loft where Fred and I stood. (Based on the number of live and spent rounds (casings) found at the scene and the ammunition capacity of the weapon, I can only assume she changed magazines while she was in the truck, where Donna carried her weapon, extra magazines and her handcuffs.) As soon as she entered the doorway, she pointed the pistol at me, just inches from my face, and again ordered me to the floor. I hesitated until she pulled the slide back on the semi-automatic (probably for emphasis) and a round flew from the chamber and landed on the floor. Of course, I couldn't help but to make some snide comment about her being inept, and that's when she fired a round into the floor next to my foot. This time when she ordered me to the floor, I complied.
I laid on the floor, on my stomach with my head facing north, while Fred stood south of me. As Donna approached she ordered Fred to "cover" me, and I heard the unmistakable sound of handcuffs. I started to roll over and get up when Donna placed the barrel of the pistol to the side of my head and said, "give me an excuse, just one." She went on to tell me how Fred would back up her story, and that no jury would ever convict her of killing me as a burglar.
It was at that moment that I felt my greatest fear. The smell of the cordite and heated steel, the air seemed almost like a blanket over head. It was like I was moving under water, and it seemed like a very long time since I had slept.
I heard her say "I should have done this a long time ago." I felt her foot move between my legs as I lay helpless, face down on the floor. "Put your hands behind your back.” As I complied, I felt a handcuff tighten around my right wrist. I could no longer see the gun, nor did I feel it against my head, but it was close, I could still smell it, the oil had a distinctive odor, so I took the only chance I knew I would ever have of making it out of that garage alive…
As the cuff closed, I rolled as hard and as fast as I could onto my left side, trapping her ankle between my thighs, and when I had rotated far enough, I could see Donna trying to maintain her balance - almost like a tree falling. There was an almost imperceptible delay, her lower body coming down first, while her torso remained erect - arms wildly swinging to keep her balance - gun in hand.
Suddenly, there was quite literally an explosion. I couldn't see or hear anything but a ringing in my ears, and my face felt as if it were on fire. I pulled Donna down onto my lap and tried to get control of her gun, but everything was slippery, my eyes burned and it was difficult to breathe. I grabbed at her hair to keep my grip on her, and felt my way down her arm to her hand, but my hand didn't seem to respond as it should have, so I used my left hand to grab at anything I could get ahold of. Before I could get to her hand where the gun was, I felt her arm jerk as at least two rounds fired from the Bersa, then another large explosion filled the room. I tried to get to the pistol with my left hand but Donna had bitten down on my arm, though fortunately she had bitten down on the rolled up sleeve of the flannel shirt I was wearing, but still her bite held my arm back. With her biting and fighting, kicking at my legs and my right hand not working and numb, I felt as if I were losing the fight. Everything was so slippery that I had no real idea what I was grabbing hold of or what might have hold of me.
I don't know how long we fought, it seemed like hours, but suddenly, she almost broke free from my grip and I remember pulling her hair, jerking her head back when the pistol fired again. It felt like my wrist was broken as the handcuff snapped back, and I figured she had hold of the free end of the cuffs and was pulling my arm around. I still couldn't see very well, and the air was filled with smoke, then I felt Donna go limp in my arms. I figured she had given up, come to reason, but that wasn't the case…
I pushed Donna off my lap and onto the floor, not knowing that she was in fact already gone. I called her a few choice names and threatened that I would have her locked up. When I wiped my eyes, I saw blood, slippery and wet - I was awash with it. Donna's face was covered in blood too, and small holes covered her face to her hairline, and her whole right side was charred, I got up and moved away when I saw Fred, who I had completely forgotten about, laying face up on the floor, eyes wide open, staring at nothingness. I looked at my right hand and saw it too was covered with blood up to the elbow, and the handcuff still dangled. The manacle had tightened down so far on my wrist that I had lost all feeling - so much that for a moment, it looked and felt as if my hand had been shot off.
When Donna hadn't moved, I felt her neck and found no pulse, but with my heart beating so wildly in my chest, I couldn't be sure, so I got to my knees and pressed my ear to her chest. No heartbeat, but there were what seemed to be gurgling, almost whistling sounds. I shook her, yelled her name - maybe she wasn't gone… but she was.
I moved over to Fred where he lay with the shotgun across his chest, almost as if he had simply laid down. He didn't look at all injured, and my thought was that he had had a heart attack. Because my nerves were causing me to shake so much and my hearing still had not cleared, I touched Fred's open eye with my finger-tip. When he didn't move or blink, I knew that he too was gone. I went back to Donna, opened her eyelid, and touched her left eye to be absolutely certain she was gone - and she was. Her right eye was sunken in, almost like it was missing, a sight that I remember to this day.
I stumbled down the stairs of the garage, trying to keep from gagging. My first concern was to determine my injuries - my face specifically because it felt as if it was literally on fire. My right hand too was injured, but I was unsure to what extent, and I wasn't sure whether or not I had been shot.
I walked to the Dodge truck and looked in the driver's side mirror - I didn't even recognize myself covered in all the blood and what seemed to be ash covering my face and neck. Even my eyes were filled with blood, with no whites showing. I didn't know if it was Donna's blood, or mine.
It took a few minutes to pull myself together and get control over my thoughts, nerves and body. I went to the water spigot and turned on the hose, letting the cold water run on my hands and face. After feeling around and determining that my face was intact, I directed attention to my hand that was still so completely numb that it was like it wasn't even there. It was pure white and looked itself dead.
I walked over to Donna's truck and looked in the ignition for her keys. She, like I, always kept a handcuff key on our keyring. The ignition was empty, so I walked around to the passenger side and opened the glove box where we always kept an extra set of "important" keys in a "Bubble Yum" case. Retrieving the extra handcuff key, I went to unlock the manacle, but when I tried to put the key into the lock I couldn't - the steel on the cuff lock was bent nearly closed and had small, jagged edges where it should have been smooth, and the centering pin was bent nearly completely over. There was no way the key would fit into the lock.
As I made way to the garage, I remembered the bolt cutters that I assumed Donna was going to use to cut the lock off of Gary's house trailer. I figured I could use them to cut off the handcuffs. Despite the awkwardness, I was able to cut a small notch into the metal of the cuff, but the length of the full-sized bolt cutters hindered my progress. Finally I gave up and went into the garage where my old roll-top tool box had been stored in the corner. In the bottom cabinet, right where I left it, was my Dremel tool kit; the carbide blade and all the accessories I needed to make short work of the handcuffs.
I'm not sure when it happened, maybe before or during the removal of the manacle but my wrist had a small cut - not deep, but enough to draw blood, and enough to cause serious concern.
There had been rumor/ speculation that one of the guys Donna had slept with (which was the root of our divorce) had AIDS/HIV, and that Donna herself had been infected. Having her blood all over me was troubling, but having it contact an open wound was disturbing to say the least. (Later testing showed I was not infected).
I immediately covered my (scratched) wrist with some sort of orange-smelling hand cleaner that was on the work bench, and went to Donna's truck for the first aid kit. Not finding it behind the seat where we normally kept it, I went to the bed of the truck - spread out some newspaper to prevent spreading blood all over, and climbed inside. I finally found the kit and after dousing my arm in alcohol and applying antibiotic ointment to the scratch on my wrist, I started stripping off my clothes.
Standing totally naked under the water hose, I rinsed off as well as I could, using the small plastic mirror from the first aid kit to check parts that I could not otherwise see. My clothes, even through my underwear were soaked with blood, all the way down, and into my skin. I used what alcohol was left in the bottle to wipe my face and hands as best I could then walked back to the Chevy where I remembered a pair of suit pants and a jacket hanging on a hanger behind the passenger seat, and found a colored shirt amongst the other bags of clothes in the bed. There was also a pair of shoes, but they were much too small to fit me, and while the clothes did not fit well, they would have to do.
I had already made up my mind - there was no way that I would walk away from this scene if I called the cops. There was no way that I, the ex-husband wasn't going to be charged, or that I was going to be believed. I was covered in blood, gunshot residue and who knew what else. I needed some time - and I needed to know what to do next. I knew I couldn't go home because I would track trace evidence with me. They would inspect every carpet fiber, open every drain and search every crevice for DNA, and who knew if Donna hadn't already been in our house without us knowing? Gary was in there all the time, and maybe he dragged some of her DNA with him on one of his many stays. No, I couldn't make any decisions without time to consider any number of things.
I placed my clothes in one of the plastic shopping bags I found in the back of the Chevy and wrapped it all up in a paper dog food bag. I walked down to near the bottom of the driveway (painful on bare feet) and stashed the bag in some tall grass next to the road and headed back to the garage. Looking inside, I noted the handcuffs and Dremel tool still on the workbench. Using another of the plastic bags, I picked up the tools and the handcuffs, and wrapped them securely in the plastic. I couldn't take the chance of leaving MY blood at the scene nor any evidence of my post-death presence, so I opened a can of paint that was in the garage and poured it all over the bench. On the way out, I noticed blood and footprints on the steps leading to the loft, and grabbing the still running hose, washed down the entire area as best I could. I then walked the hose over to the [horse] trough and let it run to make sure the animals were watered, and to make a plausible explanation for the area being wet.
Confident I had cleaned as well as I could, I headed for the Bronco. I opened the back (tail) door and noticed a couple extra garbage bags Sonja had brought to me on Tuesday for the powdered milk. I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to destroy the Bronco after driving it due to trace evidence I might bring in, but when I realized their potential, I used one of the bags to cover the back of driver's seat, and split the other down the seam to cover the seat and floorboards. The plastic from the dry cleaners that covered the suit jacket covered the gearshift and part of the passenger compartment.
As I drove to Kendrick, I realized I would have to take the back streets through town due to the festival - but more importantly, I had to make sure not to do anything to get pulled over for doing something stupid, like speeding. With my nerves shot, I was almost ready to lay down and go to sleep, but I knew I had to continue.
I always kept emergency money in all my vehicles, and the Bronco was no exception. In addition to the loose change that accumulated in the cup holders, I kept $20.00 under the carpet. Not taking the risk to stop at home, I went directly from the Potlatch road to Lewiston, no glasses, wallet or shoes. My eyes were still bloodshot and irritated, and I looked as if I had been drinking.
When I arrived at the Canyon Country lot, I found the emergency key I kept hidden on the tractor to open the side storage panel where I kept my shower kit - a backpack with a spare set of clean clothes, hygiene kit, shower shoes (flip-flops) and other items a long haul trucker uses in a truck stop shower. There was even a miniature bottle of scotch, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
After putting the backpack into the back seat of the Bronco, I went to the Flying J where I used the $10 from the backpack to buy a shower (ticket), another bottle of rubbing alcohol and another pair of cheap, thin shower shoes, because the ones I took from the backpack were now contaminated. I always kept hydrogen peroxide in the showering kit for rinsing out my mouth and for small cuts, and poured it all over my body before I even turned on the water in the shower.
While standing under the hot water, I used my Swiss-army knife to literally cut all the clothing I had worn into small pieces and strips that I could flush down the (industrial grade) toilet in the private showering area. I figured that throwing the things away could be risky, especially if someone went dumpster diving. I was able to cut up the thin flip-flops and flush those as well. The backpack and other items went into the shopping bag that I received when purchasing the flip-flops and alcohol. The $20 bill was washed and dried, and before I left the store area, I bought a cup of coffee, and a small can of (Lysol?). I carefully removed all the plastic from the vehicle, placed it into the second plastic bag that the (Lysol) came in, and sprayed the interior of the Bronco and my hands until the can was empty. I tossed the plastic bag(s) and spray can, and went to use the telephone while the interior of the Bronco dried - contaminating, or eliminating any errant DNA that might have made it past the plastic onto the fabric.
My first call was to the Abitz home - I wanted to make sure that Brian was 0K, and that he hadn't been hit. It hadn't been until I was most of the way to Lewiston that I had even considered whether or not he was laying out somewhere with a bullet in him from Donna's gun as he fled the garage. When nobody answered the telephone, I hung up before the machine picked up. My next call was to a local lawyer - actually, a couple local lawyers, as most had messages telling me of their office hours, which did not include a Saturday afternoon over the Memorial Day weekend. I did finally get hold of a lawyer and asked if there were any good websites where I could get Idaho statutes online, and he pointed me in the right direction. My next call was to a local clinic/hospital. I told them I had cut my hand, that I was alright, but that I had gotten blood in my eye, and needed to know if it was dangerous (NO) and how I could clean it out. They told me that it would clear up naturally, but that I could use eye drops to speed up the process. I bought a small bottle immediately, and went to the bathroom to use them.
By the time I had finished with the eye drops I figured I had a chance of getting someone on the phone. I called the Abitz home again, and this time, Brian answered. I asked him if he had been shot or injured (no, but twisted an ankle) and asked if he had gone back up to the garage. After some hesitation, he admitted that he had gone back to the garage to retrieve the Dodge truck. After pressing him further, he told me he had gone into the upper level of the garage, and had seen Donna & Fred. I told him not to talk about this on the phone, and in general terms, told him that he had most likely left evidence of having been there after the deaths, that he had tracked blood and other evidence, even if he couldn't see it, everywhere he had gone after leaving the garage the second time. I told him to remove his clothing, especially his shoes, and to put them all in (my) burn barrel behind my house. He asked me if he could keep (something), I think it was a ball cap, if he washed it. I told him no, and explained that washing it would simply contaminate everything else, probably even the washing machine, and the only way to get rid of the evidence was to burn it.
After more (generalized) conversation, Brian agreed to take all the items he took from the garage when retrieving the truck, and all the things he wore to my burn barrel, and to clean the truck, inside and out with bleach.
As I drove home, I knew that I would have to get rid of all the small things that I had yet to dispose of, including my Swiss-army knife. I pulled into a turn-out next to the river just outside Lewiston near the paper factory and tossed the knife and the other items into the current. I also retrieved the Dremel tools, handcuffs and the plastic they were wrapped in and tossed them into the water. Using what little rubbing alcohol I had left, I poured it over my hands and tossed the bottle into the river.
When I arrived at Kendrick, I parked the Bronco next to the firehouse, hoping to be picked up by a security camera that would document my presence in the town that afternoon. I noticed Sonja & Mary across the road - both were readying to leave with Gary & John to see grandpa at the Lewiston nursing home. I told Sonja I would give her a ride home instead, so Gary, Mary & John took off together, leaving Sonja & I at the festival.
Sonja is a perceptive woman. I don't know for sure what she suspected was wrong with me, but I tried to keep the conversation light on the way home. There was no missing the fact that I was dressed much differently than when she had left home that morning, and that I was wearing, of all things, flip-flops.
When we got to about Southwick, Sonja said she thought she had seen smoke in the vicinity of our house. I too thought I had seen smoke, but said nothing to confirm her sighting, thinking that Brian was burning his clothes in our burn barrel. Once we got to the house, it was clear that the smoke wasn't from our burn barrel, so I used the idea of there being a fire as an excuse to drive past our house to see if there was "something" going on up at "Donna's place."
Once I reached the bottom of Donna's driveway, I got out and asked Sonja to take the Bronco to the next property (Jack Brown's place) and turn around at the next available spot while I walked up the driveway to see what was happening. After Sonja pulled away, I walked to where I had stashed the bag(s) with my clothes and shoes in the grass. By the time Sonja had turned around, I was waiting at the bottom of the driveway and as I walked behind the Bronco to get into the passenger side, I stuffed the paper bag between the spare tire and the body of the Bronco. I told Sonja it was a piece of trash that we would burn when we got home and assured her there was no fire that I could see. It had taken less than 2 minutes for Sonja to leave, turn around and return.
Arriving home, Sonja went inside, and I straight to the burn barrel with the bag(s) of clothes. I noticed charred but unburned clothing in the barrel, and assumed it was Brian's clothing. I went to the shed and grabbing a gas can, poured fuel in the barrel and set it alight. I added some household trash that was already in the bin to be burned and attached the grate to the top of the barrel and went inside where I took another shower. Sonja was certainly suspicious by then, but had no idea what had happened that day. Indeed, she trusted me enough never to have asked why I was wearing flip-flops.
I don't remember if Sonja left to go to her parents’ house while I was still in the shower or after I was out, but she left our home soon after Mary, John & Gary got to the Abitz house from their trip to Lewiston. I took the opportunity to clean the shower and pour several chemicals into the drain before I logged on to the internet to check the legal websites given to me by the lawyer. After reading Idaho statutes, it was worse than I had feared…
It turned out that Idaho has a (felony) murder statute, meaning simply that if someone dies during the commission of, or as a result of a felony that (you) have/were committing, you can be convicted of first degree murder, whether you intended that someone die or not. Brian’s presence at and/or in the garage might well be construed as a burglary, even with having Gary's permission to be (in) there, thus be exposed to Capital Murder charges. Additionally, I too could probably be charged with being an accessory to the crime(s).
I called the Abitz house and asked Sonja if Brian was there. He had been there just minutes before, but had left in the Dodge truck towards Three Bear Road. Sonja did inform me however that Ted Meske was at the house, along with Gary, so I asked her to call me when Gary and/or Ted left, and to let me know when Brian returned. I then made a couple calls to Missouri.
It wasn't too long before my dogs started barking - it was Gary walking up the road towards the garage. I called Sonja again, asking her why she hadn't called me when Gary left (we had call waiting). Knowing Gary would discover the bodies of Fred and Donna in only a matter of minutes, I asked to speak to Ted. At first, Ted thought I was calling from Missouri, not knowing of my presence in Idaho. I had to convince him that I was literally next door. I asked him if he knew where Brian had gone, but he said he had no idea either where Brian had gone most recently, or where his campsite might be. I told Ted I needed to speak with Brian, and that I would come to the Abitz house to wait for his return.
Ted, Mary, Sonja and I sat at the kitchen table talking. John was outside doing something to the house when the telephone rang, and Mary answered it. When I saw the shock on her face, and she mouthed that it was Gary, I knew it was going to be a long night, but when she announced that the garage was on fire, I was as surprised as everyone else, and even more confused.
After a moment for it all to sink in, we all (except John) headed for the garage on foot. When Ted and I got to my driveway, one of us (I don't remember which one) suggested we take my Bronco. Because of the angle of my driveway, I had to turn towards the Abitz home to be able to turn around and head for the garage. As I got to the front of the Abitz house to turn around, I noticed Brian driving the Dodge truck, with Mary and Sonja in the cab with him. Brian headed for the garage, then turned onto the pull-out (Ted’s road) to allow me to pass, then followed me to the end of the driveway. While I drove up the driveway, Brian, in the Dodge drove to Jack Brown's property to turn around, parked, and all three of the Abitzes walked through the brush to the garage.
When I stopped the Bronco behind Donna's Chevy truck, Ted got out and continued up the driveway on foot. I had to park the Bronco with the rear bumper against the dirt bank to keep the vehicle from rolling down the steep grade of the driveway (the parking brakes simply wouldn't hold it). When I made it up the hill on foot, Ted was already fighting the fire on the lower level of the garage with the water hose that I had left running in the trough. When things started exploding within the garage, (paint, ammunition, etc.) Ted and I stayed as long as we could (I used a wheelbarrow for cover) but we all moved back relatively quickly when the explosions became bigger.
I had tried to move Donna's Chevy up to the top of the driveway to clear a path for other vehicles, but the tires just spun, and the 4 wheel wouldn't engage. After a couple tries, and letting the truck roll back a bit to get traction, I gave up. Eventually, I moved my Bronco to the bottom of the driveway, and told Brian to get into Donna's Chevy with me while I moved it to the bottom of the hill. I explained to Brian that I wanted him in the truck so as to be able to explain either his, or my fingerprints in or on the truck that might have been put down on top of anyone else's.
Backing down the hill, I asked Brian why he had set the place on fire. He told me that after our talk on the phone, he had gone back to his campsite and was worried that he had left evidence of his presence at the garage after the deaths, evidence such as bloody footprints or fingerprints. He had returned to the garage to "clean up" but when he arrived, he noticed some jewelry and other valuables which he took, along with some other items from the garage, and the bodies, including wallets and money from Donna's purse. He told me he thought his best bet would to be to burn the garage to cover up what was missing. Brian related that he had set a fire, and drove back to the Sutton family campsite. When he didn't see smoke that should have been visible from the campsite if in fact the garage was burning, he went home to see if anyone had returned from the festival, then drove to the Potlatch gate and walked to the garage where, he said, the fire he had set had gone out.
This time, Brian related, he poured oil and gasoline all over the lower level of the garage, lit a rag on fire and threw it in the garage - pulling the door closed behind him. He walked back to the Dodge and drove home, and when he arrived, (we) were all headed for the garage. He was extremely worried that Gary might have seen him at the garage, but subsequent conversations with Gary indicated that he had not.
I asked Brian what all the shotgun blasts were about when he first drove up to the garage to return [Donna's] stuff. He told me that he had long ago used up all the shotgun shells that Donna had in the ammunition box, and had himself purchased a box for his own use. He told me that he was using up all that he bought, and that he was only going to leave 2 shells in the shotgun so that Donna didn't "get suspicious." While the logic escaped me, I asked him what he was shooting AT. He told that he was just shooting into the woods (I later noticed empty shotgun shells around the house and garage and tossed them into the fire, knowing that Brian's fingerprints/DNA would be all over them). Soon thereafter, the cops arrived.
After several days I returned to Missouri with an empty trailer, unable to find a load that fit my timeframe needs. On the road, I found a (very similar) Swiss-army knife to the one I had tossed into the river. I bought clothes and shoes at a thrift store (used) that were similar to those I had worn that day and had been forced to burn, and I "restocked" the showering supplies in the truck.
Brian was on edge for quite some time. I explained to him that he was family to me, and that I would do everything I could to protect him. He wanted me to take him to Missouri where (he thought) he could "disappear,” but I convinced him that it would look even more suspicious not only as far as he was concerned, but as to my involvement.
I spoke with a couple lawyers in Missouri, one in Wyoming and one in California anonymously - giving as few details as possible. All agreed with what my own research had concluded: Brian was open to a (felony) murder charge, and I would likely be charged with accessory after the fact.
I would later be touted as the angry, jealous and controlling ex-husband, the prime suspect in the brutal murders of a helpless woman and her unsuspecting boyfriend. This, despite the fact that it was my lack of wanting, or taking control over Donna that was the basis of the problems in our marriage. Brian would come forward, but even then he wasn't a witness to what happened after he fled the garage. Unfortunately, his disclosure of what really happened would only get him charged with felony murder. SOMEBODY was going to be charged with SOMETHING... either way.
Brian moved ever closer to depression. He contacted me several times, and we spoke only a few times after I was incarcerated. One night from my prison cell, I spoke with him at the Cameron Lutheran Church. He confided in me that he and his lawyer had gone to Deputy Prosecutor Eckmann and Sheriff's Deputy Hall with the story of what really happened that day. They advised him to never repeat it. Once I was convicted, his guilt overwhelmed him, and his drug use had increased to the point he could barely function. He asked for my forgiveness, and while he needed no such thing from me, I told him I forgave all that he might have done. He was but a child, scared and alone, making bad decisions as children will do. Eckmann and Hall knew what they were doing, and for that reason, I blame them not only for what I have endured, but what they have done to the Abitz family, and in the killing of their child Brian.
I've failed in being able to protect my loved ones; the Abitz family, I’ve done things that have hurt them one and all, and I bear that guilt every day of my life.
In 2005, from his prison cell, Dale committed to paper what really happened that fateful day, and sent sealed copies of the documents to people outside the walls for safe keeping. These envelopes were to be opened and disclosed to but a few people upon his death or incapacity. Dale feared his knowledge of the true happenings of that day, and what led up to them, would be lost forever to the families, friends, trial jurors, sheriff's deputies, prosecutors and the like who's lives were changed in an instant were he himself no longer able to divulge the facts.
Dale Shackelford's retrial hopes are now gone - technicalities will forever mask the truth and injustices that occurred in this case to innocent people who still live, and have died in that community - so there is nothing for him to lose or gain by releasing those papers now - nothing to gain by changing or distorting the events as they happened.
There are those who deserve to know the truth, and those who need to know how wrong they were.
WHO'S WHO HEREIN:
> Misti (my daughter - age 14)
> Becky Freeman (Misti's mother / my first wife)
> Sonja Abitz (my fiance)
> Mary Abitz (Sonja's mother)
> John Abitz (Sonja's dad)
> Brian Abitz (Sonja's brother - age 15)
> Ted Meske (Sonja's uncle / Mary's brother)
> Grandpa - (Mary & Ted's dad, Sonja's grandfather)
> Donna Fontaine (my ex-wife)
> Gary Fontaine (Donna's brother)
> Fred Palahniuk (Donna's boyfriend)
> Bernadette Lasater (Office Manager / Shackelford Enterprises - Trucking )
> Marty Millar (Driver / Shackelford Enterprises - Trucking)
> Dothan - (dog & best friend)
> P.J. & Katie Baker - (local neighbors)
> Robin Eckmann ( [Lead] Latah County, Idaho Deputy Prosecuting Attorney)
> Kurtis Hall (Latah County, Idaho Deputy Sheriff)
It had been planned for a couple months - I would pick up my daughter Misti and take her on the truck with me to Idaho over the Memorial Day weekend to meet Sonja, her soon-to-be step-mother, and the whole Abitz family. I had a load already scheduled to take me from St. Louis to west Salt Lake City Utah, a load of powdered milk. I had taken this particular load because the other possible loads contained hazardous materials, materials I would not haul while carrying such a precious passenger.
I believe it was while the powdered milk was being loaded into my trailer that I received a page. When I called my service, there was a message from Misti that she wouldn't be able to make the trip to Idaho, so I called Becky's house to confirm. Misti told me that Lola, Becky's mother, had been sick and needed help, so she decided to stay at home, and not make the trip to Idaho. With much apology and many tears, my daughter told me she loved me and we promised to take another trip soon.
I drove back to the Ironton (MO) office rather than heading straight to Idaho. I had scheduled the load to be delivered several days later than what would have been normal so as to make the drive more leisurely, spending more quality time with Misti than would have been possible with a earlier delivery date. My priority now was to keep Marty and Bernadette from fighting over who was running the Missouri office while I spent the weekend at home in Idaho.
After spending some time parked at the C.R. England trucking company yard in West Valley City, UT, I delivered the load of powdered milk literally across the road early on a Tuesday morning and headed for Idaho. I had made arrangements to park my tractor trailer at Canyon Country trucking in Lewiston on their lot - it was much safer than leaving it at the Flying J lot unattended.
I had called Sonja from a roadside park on the way home. I had tried several times to get my cell phone to work during the trip west, even calling the cell phone company several times at each stop from landlines in an effort to get the issue resolved. It didn't work, and I was tired of arguing with them.
Sonja met me at Canyon Country. She was driving the Bronco, into which I loaded my usual fare - dirty clothes, maps, log books and other stuff, in addition to about 100 pounds of powdered milk. I had asked Sonja to bring some large plastic garbage bags because the bags of milk were those that were rejected due to having had the bags punctured during some point in the manufacturing/ shipping process. No use letting such a valuable commodity go to waste. Once all were aboard, we headed home.
During the drive from Salt Lake to Lewiston, several truckers had discussed (over the CB radio) the impending crack-down by the US DOT and Idaho equivalent on semi-trucks over the Memorial Day weekend, specifically on inspections of vehicles. The state/DOT does this on occasion, setting up surprise inspection stations, pulling over big trucks and writing thousands of tickets for the smallest infraction. These inspections can take hours and can cost the driver/company thousands of dollars in fines.
When I stopped for fuel en route from SLC, I had noted that the inspection on my trailer had expired, but only by about a week. While I could have simply written my own inspection sheet & sticker (being licensed to do so), inspecting one's own equipment will usually cause the DOT to inspect even closer. I had asked around and learned that there was a small tractor-trailer repair station behind the Flying J truckstop there in Lewiston that could do the inspection. Since Sonja & I would be stopping at the Flying J on the way home (as we most often did to pick up last minute items) I decided to visit the repair shop. They told me I could bring the trailer by the next day for an inspection.
On the way home, Sonja reminded me that Donna was supposed to be there to take Gary to the dentist on Monday (the 31st of May) which presented me with no problem because I was planning on being long gone by the time she arrived - loading on Friday and headed east towards Missouri. I never was sure if Gary's appointment was scheduled for that Monday, which was a holiday, or the next day (Tuesday).
Problem was is that anytime Donna saw me, or knew where I was, whether in Idaho or anywhere else in the country, she would accuse me of having done - something - either to her, about her or to something of hers, so I had made it a practice not to let her know where I was at any specific time. This also meant that I couldn't let Gary know anything either because he would tell Donna. Most often, Gary would learn things about me through the Abitz family, or through Ted Meske - so virtually every aspect of my life and whereabouts was known to Donna at any given point. I can say that the planning of the trip, and the fact that I was to have brought Misti to Idaho had been kept pretty close to the vest, did not involve Gary, who was always at the Abitz home/ affairs, or Ted, for Ted and Gary talked all the time. I wanted no problems with Donna during my daughter's visit.
On Wednesday, I drove to Lewiston with Dothan (my dog and best friend) to move the trailer to the repair shop. Leaving the Bronco at Canyon Country's lot, I pulled the trailer to the Flying J parking lot to wait for an open space at the repair facility. While I waited, I cleaned the inside of the tractor and did some basic maintenance. When I finally pulled into the repair shop, the mechanic showed me that one of the brake pads on the trailer had a crack running through it. He also pointed out that the water pump on the trailers' refrigeration engine was leaking, and that both the leak and the brake issues had to be fixed before the trailer would pass inspection. Fortunately, he had the parts for the brakes, but the water pump had to be ordered, and wouldn't arrive until Friday - the very day I had hoped to leave Lewiston for points east. In fact, Marty had already found a load of apples from Washington state to St. Louis, but they had to be refrigerated, and had to be picked up early Friday morning. I had to have Marty cancel the load and look for one that could be picked up later in the day or on Saturday, a difficult find on a (Memorial Day) holiday weekend. Marty and I both searched for loads on local and national databases, to no avail. I was spending the weekend at home after all, but would still be gone before Donna arrived on the mountain … or so I thought.
I don't remember exactly what I did on Thursday, but I went by a couple building supply stores and discussed with the managers/owners hauling in used red bricks and limestone blocks that I had found a great price on in Missouri. If the value was there, I could haul a load of them anytime I needed to get home, but had no other loads to get me there. In the normal course of things, I usually worked on or around the house when I was home, so I'm sure I did so that week as well.
I had planned on going to the Locust Blossom Festival in Kendrick on Saturday since I was going to be home. Ted rarely ever went to the festival, and Gary had made arrangements to ride down to town with John & Mary. They would go to the festival, then drive to Lewiston to visit with Mary's father at the nursing home in Lewiston before returning home later that evening. Once time had passed for them to head out to Lewiston, Sonja & I would go to the festival for a couple hours.
On Friday, all the well-laid plans began falling apart… That morning, I called the repair shop bright and early. They told me to bring the trailer in that afternoon and they would install the newly arrived pump. It shouldn’t take too long, they said, so Dothan and I loaded up and headed for town. Because I had plans to meet Sonja and her parents in town for lunch, I drove the pickup truck with Dothan in the bed. When I arrived at the shop, the mechanic rode with me to Canyon Country to get the trailer, and he drove the Ford back to the shop for me.
As the mechanic started working on the refrigeration unit, Dothan and I drove away to meet with Sonja, Mary & John, have lunch and run some errands and do some shopping for my next trip. It was a normal day, what would probably be my last.
The first thing I noticed when Dothan and I arrived at the shop was that the tractor-trailer was missing. I wasn't too concerned as I had left the keys with the mechanic to move it from in front of the small shop when he was done to clear the area for other customers. I went into the shop to talk with him, finished up some paperwork and settled the bill. He gave me the keys, and told me that he had moved the tractor to the Flying J lot just a few yards across the road. In fact, had I been looking when I pulled in, I would have seen the back of my trailer. As I walked from the shop to the trailer, I remember thinking about how much this inspection had cost in both time and money, and figured Marty was going to get chewed out when I got back to the office. She was the last one to use the refrigeration unit on this trailer, and there was no way she couldn't have noticed it was leaking as bad as it was. I could hear the reefer unit running as I approached the tractor. The driver told me he had left it running and that I could shut it down as long as the motor had reached normal operating temperature.
It didn’t really sink in at first. I thought it was a "lot lizard," a truckstop prostitute sitting on the running board of my tractor as I approached from behind. It was in fact… Donna.
It wasn't divine intervention that had led Donna to my truck, it wasn’t even coincidence. First, the tractor was very unique both in color and style, very recognizable. Second, the Flying J truckstop was always (our) last stop for fuel, incidentals and after a long drive, a shower as the house/garage had no hot water or shower. Because her hair was wet, it was obvious that she had already availed herself of that luxury.
It didn't take long for her to notice me walking towards her. She said something that I couldn't hear over the reefer engine, so I held my finger up gesturing for her to hold her thought as I climbed up the back of the tractor to inspect the trailer's engine compartment. After shutting down the engine, and before she could speak, I asked her what she was doing there, and her response was pretty much what I had expected - a question of her own... why was I following her.
After some pleasant unpleasantries, Donna advised me in no uncertain terms that I was to make sure that "all of her stuff" was in her garage before she got home. She told me that Gary had told her that Brian had been taking things from her garage while she was away, and threatened to have Brian arrested. Knowing that she had many times blamed me for the very same thing(s) without it being true, I was sure she was exaggerating again. Gary and Brian spent a lot of time together, and Brian did borrow things from Gary all the time, so I figured Brian likely did have at least something from the garage. Since I hadn't seen or talked to Brian during my time at home, I wasn't sure, but knowing Donna's penchant for having people arrested, I figured I had better find out.
After a few more minutes of bantering, I watched as Donna walked toward the Flying J store where her Chevy pickup was parked. It was only then that I noticed her dog Kismet, along with another dog walking in a small patch of grass next to the store. Sitting in my tractor, I watched as Donna and the guy, whom I now assume was Fred, loaded the dogs into the back of the Chevy, tied the camper shell door down with a yellow nylon rope and drove out of the lot toward Kendrick. As I watched her leave, I hailed a (truck) driver on the radio and asked him/her to let me know if the blue Chevy truck in front of him/her with the Missouri plates and yellow rope turned around. I never heard from the truck driver after that, so I guessed she was headed to the garage.
After moving the tractor-trailer back to Canyon Country's lot and getting a ride back to the shop, I used the pay phone at the store to call home. I needed to let [them] know that Donna was coming, and I needed to talk to Brian before Donna arrived. Nobody answered at either my house, or at the Abitz home, so I left a message. It takes about an hour to drive from the Flying J to the hill, so I knew Donna had not yet arrived.
Driving through the town of Kendrick on the way home, I saw Sonja's school bus and turned my CB to the proper channel. Even before I passed her going the opposite direction, Sonja told me over the radio that Donna was "here." I thanked her, told her I loved her and headed home. There was no need to upset her with the news that I had already talked to Donna. She would know soon enough. By the time I reached the turnoff to my house, no less than 4 people, in addition to Sonja, had told me that Donna was in the area. Everyone in the community it seemed knew of the bad blood between Donna and I, and each had at least 2 opinions on the matter, depending on who they were talking to. It was a small community, and the Abitz family was well known and respected. I was grudgingly accepted as part of the Abitz family.
I wasn't sure if Donna was already up at the garage, nor was I sure where Brian was. Someone during the week mentioned that Brian was out camping, and while I wasn't sure exactly where, I knew the approximate area where Mary thought him to be. I believed it more likely however that Brian was spending the week at a friend's house(s) getting drunk/high and causing trouble somewhere. Despite that, I drove several miles up Three Bear Road to see if I could spot the Dodge pickup I knew he was driving. I even asked a passing log truck on the radio if he/she had seen the truck or any campers along the road. No luck.
Arriving home, I put Dothan on his run and went inside. None of the school buses were parked at the Abitz house, so they weren't home yet, but it was clear that Donna had made it to the garage. I could hear her yelling at Gary and the dogs, dogs barking, and the usual "Donna's home" noises. I went to the shed and locked it to keep her from snooping.
Later that evening as Sonja and I discussed the day at home, Sonja told me that while she had been at her parent's house after arriving home from the afternoon school bus run that Gary had told [them] (via phone or in person, I don't recall) that he would be riding down to the Locust Blossom festival with Donna and Fred the next morning, and wouldn't need a ride from John & Mary. He would however meet them in town to go see "grandpa" at the Lewiston nursing home. This was not good news to Sonja as she and I had planned on attending the festival together, but with Donna in the area, there was no way I was going to attend. I urged Sonja to go to the festival with her parents, then spend a little time with her grandfather. I would spend the day at home, and go see P.J. & Katie Baker who rarely, if ever attended the festival. Sonja agreed, and after supper, just before dark, I drove up to P.J's house to let them know I'd be up the next day, and asked what I should bring for lunch. After a short conversation, I headed home, early to bed.
SATURDAY, MAY 29, 1999
It was shaping up to be a pretty day outside, still a little chilly but for 3300 feet up, it wasn't too bad.
I don't remember what time we got out of bed, but Sonja headed for the shower and I went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and make "birds in the nest" for Sonja. Not too long after Sonja got out of the shower, I could hear Donna's Chevy headed our way. Even over the din of whatever it was that Sonja was doing, she too heard the truck and walked into the living room where I stood with a cup of coffee, looking out the picture window toward the road that passed directly in front of my house, the only road Donna could use to get from the garage to the county road on the other side of the Abitz home. Sonja announced that Donna was headed down the hill, but I already knew - that's how "in tune" we were where Donna and her antics were concerned.
As the big Chevy passed my house, the rumbling of the large engine literally shook the glass in the frame of the picture window. I looked to see who was inside the cab of the truck but was unable to see through the glare on the truck windows. A few minutes later, someone, either John or Mary phoned to tell us that Donna's truck had just passed the house, but that Gary could not be seen in the truck - only Donna & Fred were visible in the cab. Everyone agreed that it was probable that Gary had been relegated to the bed of the truck. While they were on the phone, I asked if anyone had heard from Brian. Nobody had, but they promised to leave a note on their refrigerator for Brian to get ahold of me. The refrigerator would be the first place Brian, a teenage boy, would go upon entering the house.
It wasn't too long after Sonja left the house to walk to her parents’ home that I went outside to the shed. I needed to check the clutch on the Bronco to see if it could be adjusted until it could be replaced. As I was wrestling with the car ramps, the telephone in the house rang, but by the time I got to it, it had stopped, so I took the wireless/portable phone outside with me. Before I got back to the shed, the phone rang again - it was Brian - and he was at home next door.
After arguing with Brian for several minutes as to why he needed to get to my house immediately, he promised he would be over as soon as he got something to eat. Rather than wait on him however, I drove the Bronco to the Abitz house to find him eating a bowl of cereal. I explained to him that Donna had told me that Gary had reported to her that he had taken several items from Donna’s/Gary's garage, and that the items needed to be returned before Donna found anything missing. Brian told me that the things he had were taken only with Gary's permission and that he promised Gary that he would return them to the garage before Donna arrived on Monday. I explained that Donna had already arrived, and was [now] at the festival.
When I asked what all he had from the garage, Brian told me that he had a chain saw, a shotgun, a pistol and a rock-polishing kit. He told me that he had to go (somewhere) to get most of the items before he could return them to the garage, and advised me that Gary had given him a key to get into the garage when he wasn't there. I told Brian to get the items, and to get back as quickly as possible - that Donna could be back at any time, and that I wouldn't put it past Donna to try to have him arrested for theft if she could. Despite his protests, he immediately took the Dodge truck and left, and I went home, back to my work in the shed.
It was some time before Brian returned. He drove the Dodge up my driveway and I walked over to talk to him. In the cab of the truck he had Donna's shotgun and a cardboard box full of smaller items. In the bed of the truck was Donna's chainsaw, a gas can and a jug of oil. I asked Brian if this was all of Donna's things and he claimed it was. When I inquired of the rock-polisher, he told me that it was still at a friend's house, and that Gary had given it to him as a gift (I had purchased this item for Donna as a gift during our marriage). Rather than arguing the point, I instructed Brian to get the stuff back to the garage, make sure the place was locked up tight when he left, and to leave things alone up there even if Gary gave him permission otherwise.
A few minutes later, I heard the Dodge straining to make the hill to the garage at Gary's place. I decided to go in the house and check the computer before heading to P.J. & Katie's house for lunch, and after putting things away in the shed, I heard the first in a series of shotgun blasts from the direction of Gary's place - then several shots in rapid succession. A cold chill went through me, I just knew that Brian had shot one of Donna's dogs. Fortunately, I was wrong. After a few more shots, the dogs resumed their barking. It wouldn’t be until much later that I learned what the shooting was all about.
As I waited for Brian to come down the hill from the garage, I heard a vehicle coming up the road - it was Donna's truck - and it was headed towards my house, and thereafter, the garage, the garage where Brian was, and I knew there was going to be trouble.
I watched the Chevy pass my house, then minutes later, heard it climbing the grade to the garage area. I didn't notice who was driving the truck, but could make out 2 people in the cab. I was ready to leave, but decided to wait for Brian, and an explanation, before leaving. I didn't hear the expected yelling and screaming, though I did hear Donna's voice above the barking of the dogs. I figured Donna had found Brian waiting for Gary when she arrived and had no problem with him being there as Brian often looked in on Gary. Maybe Gary had intervened and stood up to Donna on Brian's behalf… but those thoughts didn't go on too long, nor did the relative calm.
I heard Donna yelling, screaming - not the words, but the tone. A few moments later I heard the sound of a car (truck?) horn - 3 short honks - just as we did on the farm in Missouri to call people to the house who were in the woods or the fields. We also used that signal to have Donna or I to come to the Abitz house for telephone calls or other reasons before Donna & I split up. A second round of 3 honks, and I knew there was a problem, for that was our "GET HERE NOW" signal. A sense of dread came over me as the third set of honks came from up the hill, the EMERGENCY signal. Still, I wasn't rushing headlong into some problem that Donna was certainly a participant in without a good reason, and a lot of caution.
Rather than driving straight up the hill to the garage and what I figured could be some sort of plot by Donna to have me arrested, I decided to head up Three Bear Road to get to the Potlatch logging road that ran just north of Donna's/Gary's property line. While I couldn't get through the locked gate, there was a small trail used by motorcycles to access the road, and my Bronco (a Bronco II) was small enough to pass. With the 4 wheel drive and short wheelbase, I had easily passed this way before. Figuring it wouldn't take too long, I hadn't even taken my hat, glasses or wallet - just me in my t-shirt, a flannel, pants, shoes and socks and my always present Swiss Army knife.
It took only a matter of minutes to get to the edge of Gary's property on the Potlatch road. I drove Slowly up the gravel path, quietly so as to see what was going on before I myself was noticed, but even before I was able to turn off the engine, Donna was on the landing of stairs on the garage, yelling at me to "get in here." As I got out of the Bronco, she came down the steps toward the barbed-wire fence, talking so fast that I couldn't understand what she was saying. The gist of what she said however was clear: she had caught Brian "burglarizing" (her) garage, that she had tried to stop him from leaving, and that he had shot at her. She made it clear that I was to be the one to rectify the situation.
As she led me towards the garage, I noticed her small semi-automatic pistol in the waistband of her pants near the small of her back which doubled my worry about the situation. As we climbed the steps to the upper level of the garage, Donna told me that if she could have gotten into Gary's trailer, she would have already called the cops. As it turned out, Donna's cell phone was locked in Gary's trailer, and Gary had not returned from the festival with her & Fred, but had gone to the nursing home in Lewiston to visit with grandpa.
As I entered the darkened garage loft, my eyes adjusted and Brian was sitting on a couch by the door, an older man standing in the center of the room with (Donna's) shotgun aimed at the floor, but in Brian's general direction, almost lazily. The man looked as if he would rather be anywhere than where he was at the moment and I knew that look all too well, Donna had already beaten him down.
When I entered the loft, the man backed away and I stood about where he had been standing when I came in, and I asked Brian what was going on. Both Donna and Brian began talking/shouting at the same time until exasperated, I yelled at both of them to shut-up. The gist was that Donna had come home to find Brian's truck (Dodge) blocking the top of the driveway, where he was standing when she & Fred arrived back from the festival. She had instructed Brian to move the truck out of their way and when Brian tried to pull up, his truck rolled backwards and hit the front of Donna's truck. Brian then "dumped" the clutch and spun the tires, spitting rocks and dirt. She yelled for him to stop, and when he did, Donna walked up to yell at him through the driver's side window, and noticed her gas can, chainsaw and other items in the bed of the Dodge. She also noticed her .22 pistol on the seat next to Brian. She told Brian she was calling the cops.
According to Brian, as he handed the pistol to Donna, it discharged, breaking the window pane in the garage next to the (man) door. According to Donna, Brian shot at her. In either case, Fred became involved, ordering Brian upstairs (at gunpoint or not is unknown). Donna then found other items in the Dodge truck, and thereafter retrieved a set of bolt-cutters from the garage, as I understood it, to cut the lock off Gary's trailer door to get to the cell phone and call the cops. She had also retrieved her .32 Bersa from her truck and armed herself.
Then, my life changed completely…
Brian suddenly, and without warning jumped up from the couch and in just two steps, had made it out the door, taking everyone by surprise. I could hear him running down the steps before anyone even moved. Next, Donna ran for the door - so fast in fact that I recall thinking that she had fallen off the landing to the ground below, and by the time I reached the doorway, she was at the bottom of the steps with gun in hand.
When I heard the first shot, I ducked back into the doorway and bumped into Fred who had walked up right behind me, but the shot didn't come towards me. Donna fired at least three rounds at the fleeing Brian as he headed for the driveway and through the brush west of the garage. I yelled at Donna to stop shooting, but by then she was already cursing and headed back up the stairs toward Fred and I. As she reached the landing, Fred and I moved back into the center of the room as Donna "scolded" Fred for being "incompetent" and letting Brian get away. Then she turned her anger towards me, pointing the gun at me and calling me names before she started screaming for me to "get on the floor." I told her I wasn't getting on the floor, but that I would wait for the cops to come if that's what she was after. She told Fred to go to the trailer and get the cell phone, and I sat on the (floor model) T. V. to wait.
Even before Fred could get to the door, Donna shouted, "Never mind, I’ll do it myself.” Mumbling something about men being idiots, she headed out the door and down the steps. I looked at Fred, and he at me, and when I shrugged my shoulders, he raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness and smiled a sad smile, all the while holding the shotgun aimed towards the floor.
I heard the door of the Chevy slam closed, and as I moved towards the door to see what she was doing, she was headed again for the loft where Fred and I stood. (Based on the number of live and spent rounds (casings) found at the scene and the ammunition capacity of the weapon, I can only assume she changed magazines while she was in the truck, where Donna carried her weapon, extra magazines and her handcuffs.) As soon as she entered the doorway, she pointed the pistol at me, just inches from my face, and again ordered me to the floor. I hesitated until she pulled the slide back on the semi-automatic (probably for emphasis) and a round flew from the chamber and landed on the floor. Of course, I couldn't help but to make some snide comment about her being inept, and that's when she fired a round into the floor next to my foot. This time when she ordered me to the floor, I complied.
I laid on the floor, on my stomach with my head facing north, while Fred stood south of me. As Donna approached she ordered Fred to "cover" me, and I heard the unmistakable sound of handcuffs. I started to roll over and get up when Donna placed the barrel of the pistol to the side of my head and said, "give me an excuse, just one." She went on to tell me how Fred would back up her story, and that no jury would ever convict her of killing me as a burglar.
It was at that moment that I felt my greatest fear. The smell of the cordite and heated steel, the air seemed almost like a blanket over head. It was like I was moving under water, and it seemed like a very long time since I had slept.
I heard her say "I should have done this a long time ago." I felt her foot move between my legs as I lay helpless, face down on the floor. "Put your hands behind your back.” As I complied, I felt a handcuff tighten around my right wrist. I could no longer see the gun, nor did I feel it against my head, but it was close, I could still smell it, the oil had a distinctive odor, so I took the only chance I knew I would ever have of making it out of that garage alive…
As the cuff closed, I rolled as hard and as fast as I could onto my left side, trapping her ankle between my thighs, and when I had rotated far enough, I could see Donna trying to maintain her balance - almost like a tree falling. There was an almost imperceptible delay, her lower body coming down first, while her torso remained erect - arms wildly swinging to keep her balance - gun in hand.
Suddenly, there was quite literally an explosion. I couldn't see or hear anything but a ringing in my ears, and my face felt as if it were on fire. I pulled Donna down onto my lap and tried to get control of her gun, but everything was slippery, my eyes burned and it was difficult to breathe. I grabbed at her hair to keep my grip on her, and felt my way down her arm to her hand, but my hand didn't seem to respond as it should have, so I used my left hand to grab at anything I could get ahold of. Before I could get to her hand where the gun was, I felt her arm jerk as at least two rounds fired from the Bersa, then another large explosion filled the room. I tried to get to the pistol with my left hand but Donna had bitten down on my arm, though fortunately she had bitten down on the rolled up sleeve of the flannel shirt I was wearing, but still her bite held my arm back. With her biting and fighting, kicking at my legs and my right hand not working and numb, I felt as if I were losing the fight. Everything was so slippery that I had no real idea what I was grabbing hold of or what might have hold of me.
I don't know how long we fought, it seemed like hours, but suddenly, she almost broke free from my grip and I remember pulling her hair, jerking her head back when the pistol fired again. It felt like my wrist was broken as the handcuff snapped back, and I figured she had hold of the free end of the cuffs and was pulling my arm around. I still couldn't see very well, and the air was filled with smoke, then I felt Donna go limp in my arms. I figured she had given up, come to reason, but that wasn't the case…
I pushed Donna off my lap and onto the floor, not knowing that she was in fact already gone. I called her a few choice names and threatened that I would have her locked up. When I wiped my eyes, I saw blood, slippery and wet - I was awash with it. Donna's face was covered in blood too, and small holes covered her face to her hairline, and her whole right side was charred, I got up and moved away when I saw Fred, who I had completely forgotten about, laying face up on the floor, eyes wide open, staring at nothingness. I looked at my right hand and saw it too was covered with blood up to the elbow, and the handcuff still dangled. The manacle had tightened down so far on my wrist that I had lost all feeling - so much that for a moment, it looked and felt as if my hand had been shot off.
When Donna hadn't moved, I felt her neck and found no pulse, but with my heart beating so wildly in my chest, I couldn't be sure, so I got to my knees and pressed my ear to her chest. No heartbeat, but there were what seemed to be gurgling, almost whistling sounds. I shook her, yelled her name - maybe she wasn't gone… but she was.
I moved over to Fred where he lay with the shotgun across his chest, almost as if he had simply laid down. He didn't look at all injured, and my thought was that he had had a heart attack. Because my nerves were causing me to shake so much and my hearing still had not cleared, I touched Fred's open eye with my finger-tip. When he didn't move or blink, I knew that he too was gone. I went back to Donna, opened her eyelid, and touched her left eye to be absolutely certain she was gone - and she was. Her right eye was sunken in, almost like it was missing, a sight that I remember to this day.
I stumbled down the stairs of the garage, trying to keep from gagging. My first concern was to determine my injuries - my face specifically because it felt as if it was literally on fire. My right hand too was injured, but I was unsure to what extent, and I wasn't sure whether or not I had been shot.
I walked to the Dodge truck and looked in the driver's side mirror - I didn't even recognize myself covered in all the blood and what seemed to be ash covering my face and neck. Even my eyes were filled with blood, with no whites showing. I didn't know if it was Donna's blood, or mine.
It took a few minutes to pull myself together and get control over my thoughts, nerves and body. I went to the water spigot and turned on the hose, letting the cold water run on my hands and face. After feeling around and determining that my face was intact, I directed attention to my hand that was still so completely numb that it was like it wasn't even there. It was pure white and looked itself dead.
I walked over to Donna's truck and looked in the ignition for her keys. She, like I, always kept a handcuff key on our keyring. The ignition was empty, so I walked around to the passenger side and opened the glove box where we always kept an extra set of "important" keys in a "Bubble Yum" case. Retrieving the extra handcuff key, I went to unlock the manacle, but when I tried to put the key into the lock I couldn't - the steel on the cuff lock was bent nearly closed and had small, jagged edges where it should have been smooth, and the centering pin was bent nearly completely over. There was no way the key would fit into the lock.
As I made way to the garage, I remembered the bolt cutters that I assumed Donna was going to use to cut the lock off of Gary's house trailer. I figured I could use them to cut off the handcuffs. Despite the awkwardness, I was able to cut a small notch into the metal of the cuff, but the length of the full-sized bolt cutters hindered my progress. Finally I gave up and went into the garage where my old roll-top tool box had been stored in the corner. In the bottom cabinet, right where I left it, was my Dremel tool kit; the carbide blade and all the accessories I needed to make short work of the handcuffs.
I'm not sure when it happened, maybe before or during the removal of the manacle but my wrist had a small cut - not deep, but enough to draw blood, and enough to cause serious concern.
There had been rumor/ speculation that one of the guys Donna had slept with (which was the root of our divorce) had AIDS/HIV, and that Donna herself had been infected. Having her blood all over me was troubling, but having it contact an open wound was disturbing to say the least. (Later testing showed I was not infected).
I immediately covered my (scratched) wrist with some sort of orange-smelling hand cleaner that was on the work bench, and went to Donna's truck for the first aid kit. Not finding it behind the seat where we normally kept it, I went to the bed of the truck - spread out some newspaper to prevent spreading blood all over, and climbed inside. I finally found the kit and after dousing my arm in alcohol and applying antibiotic ointment to the scratch on my wrist, I started stripping off my clothes.
Standing totally naked under the water hose, I rinsed off as well as I could, using the small plastic mirror from the first aid kit to check parts that I could not otherwise see. My clothes, even through my underwear were soaked with blood, all the way down, and into my skin. I used what alcohol was left in the bottle to wipe my face and hands as best I could then walked back to the Chevy where I remembered a pair of suit pants and a jacket hanging on a hanger behind the passenger seat, and found a colored shirt amongst the other bags of clothes in the bed. There was also a pair of shoes, but they were much too small to fit me, and while the clothes did not fit well, they would have to do.
I had already made up my mind - there was no way that I would walk away from this scene if I called the cops. There was no way that I, the ex-husband wasn't going to be charged, or that I was going to be believed. I was covered in blood, gunshot residue and who knew what else. I needed some time - and I needed to know what to do next. I knew I couldn't go home because I would track trace evidence with me. They would inspect every carpet fiber, open every drain and search every crevice for DNA, and who knew if Donna hadn't already been in our house without us knowing? Gary was in there all the time, and maybe he dragged some of her DNA with him on one of his many stays. No, I couldn't make any decisions without time to consider any number of things.
I placed my clothes in one of the plastic shopping bags I found in the back of the Chevy and wrapped it all up in a paper dog food bag. I walked down to near the bottom of the driveway (painful on bare feet) and stashed the bag in some tall grass next to the road and headed back to the garage. Looking inside, I noted the handcuffs and Dremel tool still on the workbench. Using another of the plastic bags, I picked up the tools and the handcuffs, and wrapped them securely in the plastic. I couldn't take the chance of leaving MY blood at the scene nor any evidence of my post-death presence, so I opened a can of paint that was in the garage and poured it all over the bench. On the way out, I noticed blood and footprints on the steps leading to the loft, and grabbing the still running hose, washed down the entire area as best I could. I then walked the hose over to the [horse] trough and let it run to make sure the animals were watered, and to make a plausible explanation for the area being wet.
Confident I had cleaned as well as I could, I headed for the Bronco. I opened the back (tail) door and noticed a couple extra garbage bags Sonja had brought to me on Tuesday for the powdered milk. I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to destroy the Bronco after driving it due to trace evidence I might bring in, but when I realized their potential, I used one of the bags to cover the back of driver's seat, and split the other down the seam to cover the seat and floorboards. The plastic from the dry cleaners that covered the suit jacket covered the gearshift and part of the passenger compartment.
As I drove to Kendrick, I realized I would have to take the back streets through town due to the festival - but more importantly, I had to make sure not to do anything to get pulled over for doing something stupid, like speeding. With my nerves shot, I was almost ready to lay down and go to sleep, but I knew I had to continue.
I always kept emergency money in all my vehicles, and the Bronco was no exception. In addition to the loose change that accumulated in the cup holders, I kept $20.00 under the carpet. Not taking the risk to stop at home, I went directly from the Potlatch road to Lewiston, no glasses, wallet or shoes. My eyes were still bloodshot and irritated, and I looked as if I had been drinking.
When I arrived at the Canyon Country lot, I found the emergency key I kept hidden on the tractor to open the side storage panel where I kept my shower kit - a backpack with a spare set of clean clothes, hygiene kit, shower shoes (flip-flops) and other items a long haul trucker uses in a truck stop shower. There was even a miniature bottle of scotch, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
After putting the backpack into the back seat of the Bronco, I went to the Flying J where I used the $10 from the backpack to buy a shower (ticket), another bottle of rubbing alcohol and another pair of cheap, thin shower shoes, because the ones I took from the backpack were now contaminated. I always kept hydrogen peroxide in the showering kit for rinsing out my mouth and for small cuts, and poured it all over my body before I even turned on the water in the shower.
While standing under the hot water, I used my Swiss-army knife to literally cut all the clothing I had worn into small pieces and strips that I could flush down the (industrial grade) toilet in the private showering area. I figured that throwing the things away could be risky, especially if someone went dumpster diving. I was able to cut up the thin flip-flops and flush those as well. The backpack and other items went into the shopping bag that I received when purchasing the flip-flops and alcohol. The $20 bill was washed and dried, and before I left the store area, I bought a cup of coffee, and a small can of (Lysol?). I carefully removed all the plastic from the vehicle, placed it into the second plastic bag that the (Lysol) came in, and sprayed the interior of the Bronco and my hands until the can was empty. I tossed the plastic bag(s) and spray can, and went to use the telephone while the interior of the Bronco dried - contaminating, or eliminating any errant DNA that might have made it past the plastic onto the fabric.
My first call was to the Abitz home - I wanted to make sure that Brian was 0K, and that he hadn't been hit. It hadn't been until I was most of the way to Lewiston that I had even considered whether or not he was laying out somewhere with a bullet in him from Donna's gun as he fled the garage. When nobody answered the telephone, I hung up before the machine picked up. My next call was to a local lawyer - actually, a couple local lawyers, as most had messages telling me of their office hours, which did not include a Saturday afternoon over the Memorial Day weekend. I did finally get hold of a lawyer and asked if there were any good websites where I could get Idaho statutes online, and he pointed me in the right direction. My next call was to a local clinic/hospital. I told them I had cut my hand, that I was alright, but that I had gotten blood in my eye, and needed to know if it was dangerous (NO) and how I could clean it out. They told me that it would clear up naturally, but that I could use eye drops to speed up the process. I bought a small bottle immediately, and went to the bathroom to use them.
By the time I had finished with the eye drops I figured I had a chance of getting someone on the phone. I called the Abitz home again, and this time, Brian answered. I asked him if he had been shot or injured (no, but twisted an ankle) and asked if he had gone back up to the garage. After some hesitation, he admitted that he had gone back to the garage to retrieve the Dodge truck. After pressing him further, he told me he had gone into the upper level of the garage, and had seen Donna & Fred. I told him not to talk about this on the phone, and in general terms, told him that he had most likely left evidence of having been there after the deaths, that he had tracked blood and other evidence, even if he couldn't see it, everywhere he had gone after leaving the garage the second time. I told him to remove his clothing, especially his shoes, and to put them all in (my) burn barrel behind my house. He asked me if he could keep (something), I think it was a ball cap, if he washed it. I told him no, and explained that washing it would simply contaminate everything else, probably even the washing machine, and the only way to get rid of the evidence was to burn it.
After more (generalized) conversation, Brian agreed to take all the items he took from the garage when retrieving the truck, and all the things he wore to my burn barrel, and to clean the truck, inside and out with bleach.
As I drove home, I knew that I would have to get rid of all the small things that I had yet to dispose of, including my Swiss-army knife. I pulled into a turn-out next to the river just outside Lewiston near the paper factory and tossed the knife and the other items into the current. I also retrieved the Dremel tools, handcuffs and the plastic they were wrapped in and tossed them into the water. Using what little rubbing alcohol I had left, I poured it over my hands and tossed the bottle into the river.
When I arrived at Kendrick, I parked the Bronco next to the firehouse, hoping to be picked up by a security camera that would document my presence in the town that afternoon. I noticed Sonja & Mary across the road - both were readying to leave with Gary & John to see grandpa at the Lewiston nursing home. I told Sonja I would give her a ride home instead, so Gary, Mary & John took off together, leaving Sonja & I at the festival.
Sonja is a perceptive woman. I don't know for sure what she suspected was wrong with me, but I tried to keep the conversation light on the way home. There was no missing the fact that I was dressed much differently than when she had left home that morning, and that I was wearing, of all things, flip-flops.
When we got to about Southwick, Sonja said she thought she had seen smoke in the vicinity of our house. I too thought I had seen smoke, but said nothing to confirm her sighting, thinking that Brian was burning his clothes in our burn barrel. Once we got to the house, it was clear that the smoke wasn't from our burn barrel, so I used the idea of there being a fire as an excuse to drive past our house to see if there was "something" going on up at "Donna's place."
Once I reached the bottom of Donna's driveway, I got out and asked Sonja to take the Bronco to the next property (Jack Brown's place) and turn around at the next available spot while I walked up the driveway to see what was happening. After Sonja pulled away, I walked to where I had stashed the bag(s) with my clothes and shoes in the grass. By the time Sonja had turned around, I was waiting at the bottom of the driveway and as I walked behind the Bronco to get into the passenger side, I stuffed the paper bag between the spare tire and the body of the Bronco. I told Sonja it was a piece of trash that we would burn when we got home and assured her there was no fire that I could see. It had taken less than 2 minutes for Sonja to leave, turn around and return.
Arriving home, Sonja went inside, and I straight to the burn barrel with the bag(s) of clothes. I noticed charred but unburned clothing in the barrel, and assumed it was Brian's clothing. I went to the shed and grabbing a gas can, poured fuel in the barrel and set it alight. I added some household trash that was already in the bin to be burned and attached the grate to the top of the barrel and went inside where I took another shower. Sonja was certainly suspicious by then, but had no idea what had happened that day. Indeed, she trusted me enough never to have asked why I was wearing flip-flops.
I don't remember if Sonja left to go to her parents’ house while I was still in the shower or after I was out, but she left our home soon after Mary, John & Gary got to the Abitz house from their trip to Lewiston. I took the opportunity to clean the shower and pour several chemicals into the drain before I logged on to the internet to check the legal websites given to me by the lawyer. After reading Idaho statutes, it was worse than I had feared…
It turned out that Idaho has a (felony) murder statute, meaning simply that if someone dies during the commission of, or as a result of a felony that (you) have/were committing, you can be convicted of first degree murder, whether you intended that someone die or not. Brian’s presence at and/or in the garage might well be construed as a burglary, even with having Gary's permission to be (in) there, thus be exposed to Capital Murder charges. Additionally, I too could probably be charged with being an accessory to the crime(s).
I called the Abitz house and asked Sonja if Brian was there. He had been there just minutes before, but had left in the Dodge truck towards Three Bear Road. Sonja did inform me however that Ted Meske was at the house, along with Gary, so I asked her to call me when Gary and/or Ted left, and to let me know when Brian returned. I then made a couple calls to Missouri.
It wasn't too long before my dogs started barking - it was Gary walking up the road towards the garage. I called Sonja again, asking her why she hadn't called me when Gary left (we had call waiting). Knowing Gary would discover the bodies of Fred and Donna in only a matter of minutes, I asked to speak to Ted. At first, Ted thought I was calling from Missouri, not knowing of my presence in Idaho. I had to convince him that I was literally next door. I asked him if he knew where Brian had gone, but he said he had no idea either where Brian had gone most recently, or where his campsite might be. I told Ted I needed to speak with Brian, and that I would come to the Abitz house to wait for his return.
Ted, Mary, Sonja and I sat at the kitchen table talking. John was outside doing something to the house when the telephone rang, and Mary answered it. When I saw the shock on her face, and she mouthed that it was Gary, I knew it was going to be a long night, but when she announced that the garage was on fire, I was as surprised as everyone else, and even more confused.
After a moment for it all to sink in, we all (except John) headed for the garage on foot. When Ted and I got to my driveway, one of us (I don't remember which one) suggested we take my Bronco. Because of the angle of my driveway, I had to turn towards the Abitz home to be able to turn around and head for the garage. As I got to the front of the Abitz house to turn around, I noticed Brian driving the Dodge truck, with Mary and Sonja in the cab with him. Brian headed for the garage, then turned onto the pull-out (Ted’s road) to allow me to pass, then followed me to the end of the driveway. While I drove up the driveway, Brian, in the Dodge drove to Jack Brown's property to turn around, parked, and all three of the Abitzes walked through the brush to the garage.
When I stopped the Bronco behind Donna's Chevy truck, Ted got out and continued up the driveway on foot. I had to park the Bronco with the rear bumper against the dirt bank to keep the vehicle from rolling down the steep grade of the driveway (the parking brakes simply wouldn't hold it). When I made it up the hill on foot, Ted was already fighting the fire on the lower level of the garage with the water hose that I had left running in the trough. When things started exploding within the garage, (paint, ammunition, etc.) Ted and I stayed as long as we could (I used a wheelbarrow for cover) but we all moved back relatively quickly when the explosions became bigger.
I had tried to move Donna's Chevy up to the top of the driveway to clear a path for other vehicles, but the tires just spun, and the 4 wheel wouldn't engage. After a couple tries, and letting the truck roll back a bit to get traction, I gave up. Eventually, I moved my Bronco to the bottom of the driveway, and told Brian to get into Donna's Chevy with me while I moved it to the bottom of the hill. I explained to Brian that I wanted him in the truck so as to be able to explain either his, or my fingerprints in or on the truck that might have been put down on top of anyone else's.
Backing down the hill, I asked Brian why he had set the place on fire. He told me that after our talk on the phone, he had gone back to his campsite and was worried that he had left evidence of his presence at the garage after the deaths, evidence such as bloody footprints or fingerprints. He had returned to the garage to "clean up" but when he arrived, he noticed some jewelry and other valuables which he took, along with some other items from the garage, and the bodies, including wallets and money from Donna's purse. He told me he thought his best bet would to be to burn the garage to cover up what was missing. Brian related that he had set a fire, and drove back to the Sutton family campsite. When he didn't see smoke that should have been visible from the campsite if in fact the garage was burning, he went home to see if anyone had returned from the festival, then drove to the Potlatch gate and walked to the garage where, he said, the fire he had set had gone out.
This time, Brian related, he poured oil and gasoline all over the lower level of the garage, lit a rag on fire and threw it in the garage - pulling the door closed behind him. He walked back to the Dodge and drove home, and when he arrived, (we) were all headed for the garage. He was extremely worried that Gary might have seen him at the garage, but subsequent conversations with Gary indicated that he had not.
I asked Brian what all the shotgun blasts were about when he first drove up to the garage to return [Donna's] stuff. He told me that he had long ago used up all the shotgun shells that Donna had in the ammunition box, and had himself purchased a box for his own use. He told me that he was using up all that he bought, and that he was only going to leave 2 shells in the shotgun so that Donna didn't "get suspicious." While the logic escaped me, I asked him what he was shooting AT. He told that he was just shooting into the woods (I later noticed empty shotgun shells around the house and garage and tossed them into the fire, knowing that Brian's fingerprints/DNA would be all over them). Soon thereafter, the cops arrived.
After several days I returned to Missouri with an empty trailer, unable to find a load that fit my timeframe needs. On the road, I found a (very similar) Swiss-army knife to the one I had tossed into the river. I bought clothes and shoes at a thrift store (used) that were similar to those I had worn that day and had been forced to burn, and I "restocked" the showering supplies in the truck.
Brian was on edge for quite some time. I explained to him that he was family to me, and that I would do everything I could to protect him. He wanted me to take him to Missouri where (he thought) he could "disappear,” but I convinced him that it would look even more suspicious not only as far as he was concerned, but as to my involvement.
I spoke with a couple lawyers in Missouri, one in Wyoming and one in California anonymously - giving as few details as possible. All agreed with what my own research had concluded: Brian was open to a (felony) murder charge, and I would likely be charged with accessory after the fact.
I would later be touted as the angry, jealous and controlling ex-husband, the prime suspect in the brutal murders of a helpless woman and her unsuspecting boyfriend. This, despite the fact that it was my lack of wanting, or taking control over Donna that was the basis of the problems in our marriage. Brian would come forward, but even then he wasn't a witness to what happened after he fled the garage. Unfortunately, his disclosure of what really happened would only get him charged with felony murder. SOMEBODY was going to be charged with SOMETHING... either way.
Brian moved ever closer to depression. He contacted me several times, and we spoke only a few times after I was incarcerated. One night from my prison cell, I spoke with him at the Cameron Lutheran Church. He confided in me that he and his lawyer had gone to Deputy Prosecutor Eckmann and Sheriff's Deputy Hall with the story of what really happened that day. They advised him to never repeat it. Once I was convicted, his guilt overwhelmed him, and his drug use had increased to the point he could barely function. He asked for my forgiveness, and while he needed no such thing from me, I told him I forgave all that he might have done. He was but a child, scared and alone, making bad decisions as children will do. Eckmann and Hall knew what they were doing, and for that reason, I blame them not only for what I have endured, but what they have done to the Abitz family, and in the killing of their child Brian.
I've failed in being able to protect my loved ones; the Abitz family, I’ve done things that have hurt them one and all, and I bear that guilt every day of my life.