Suspects (The Botham/Miracle Murders)

SUSPECTS

The Botham/Miracle Murders

By

Marti Talbott

© 2011 All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

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This book is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

Previously titled Colorado Cold Case.

Sometime in the night a woman screamed. The next morning Pat Botham, Linda Miracle, and Linda's two toddler sons were simply gone. It was the perfect murder until the railroad lowered the water level in the Gunnison River and exposed the bodies.

Mattie Rhoades had no desire to become involved in the aftermath of the crime and didn't - until someone told her something about one of the suspects that no one else knew.

*

This is a work of fiction based on a true story – my story. That is not to say that everything in it is true, but that what I heard from other people served to influence the decisions I made. The conversation between Sam and Mattie is fiction and meant only as a story telling tool. Some of the names have been changed.

CHAPTER 1

SOMETIME DURING THE hot summer night of August 22, 1975, a woman screamed.

The next morning, a sizzling sun rose over the eastern mountains, the birds began chirping in the lush Elm trees, and the people living in the 1900 block of Ouray Avenue in Grand Junction, Colorado started to wake up. But inside Linda Miracle’s home, the air was thick with dread. Beds belonging to energetic, five-year-old Troy and cuddly, three-year- old Chad was empty, and Linda’s bed had not yet been slept in. The screen door was closed but the front door was wide open and so were several windows throughout the house. Lights beamed in the living room as well as the kitchen, and the television was broadcasting the morning news. Dirty dishes from the previous night’s spaghetti dinner remained on the dining room table. In the kitchen, two top burners were still on and so was the oven. All of Linda Miracle’s clothes remained in her closet. Her makeup was in the bathroom and her purse, with money inside, had not been disturbed. On the lawn in her small front yard sat an empty gas can and a man’s bicycle. Her old clunker station wagon was in the driveway beside the house and her keys were still in the ignition.

ACROSS THE STREET ANOTHER bed was empty. An open book lay face down on the nightstand and Pat Botham’s bed covers were in disarray. She too left all of her clothing, makeup and money behind. However, one thing in the Botham home was acutely different—Pat Botham’s two little boys were still in their beds sound asleep. No fingerprints were ever taken from either house. The reason, rumors suggested, was to protect members of the Grand Junction Police Department and/or the Mesa County Sheriff’s Office.

TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS LATER

Those were the... Right in the middle of his sentence, Sam Weller suddenly stopped and turned to look at her. If you graduated in 1963, you must have gone to school with Ken Botham.

Mattie Rhoades couldn’t help herself. The mere mention of Botham’s name caught her off guard and her eyes sharply widened. Not quickly enough, she looked away. Did I say something wrong? he asked. Sam’s most notable features were his kind brown eyes and the dimples on each side of his oval shaped face. His thick red hair made him look far younger than a man in his late fifties, and his trimmed mustache held only a hint of gray. He wore a blue and green, checkered shirt with well-worn jean overalls and heavy black boots.

Not at all, it’s just that I live on the other side of the mountains where Ken Botham is not so notorious. I wasn’t expecting to hear his name, that’s all.

Did you know him?

She didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly lifted a teacup to her lips and sipped the warm liquid. Mattie and Sam were strangers, brought together on top of a mountain by an unexpected snowstorm. She was the owner of a car now stuck in a snow bank, and he was the owner of the cabin she went to for help. For the better part of half an hour, he’d served her hot tea, helped her get warm and made her comfortable. Soon they discovered they had attended the same high school and that Sam was only two years older than Mattie. They sat facing the fireplace in matching maroon, over-stuffed chairs on either side of a small end table. The warm, cozy room was bathed in the sweet aroma of burning pine and outside, heavy snowflakes drifted past a large window in the dimming light of evening. It was the picture of contentment except for one thing...he’d touched a nerve. He wanted to know about the man convicted of the murders, and she could feel him watching her and waiting for an answer. I didn’t know him in high school.

But you did know him? Wow, I’ve never met anyone who actually knew him. This is exciting! Did you know him at the time of the murders? I bet you did. His eyes were positively sparkling as he shifted in his chair, turning more toward her so he could see her better. I want to hear every juicy detail and don’t leave anything out.

It made Mattie giggle. Her nearly white hair complimented her blue eyes and she looked right at home dressed in jeans, a blue sweater and white tennis shoes. You’re crazy.

I know, but let’s keep that just between the two of us, okay? He winked and went on, That murder case was the biggest thing to happen in our boring little valley in a hundred years. I’ve read every article, seen every newscast and I’ve been totally obsessed with the case since it first began. Do you know if he did it?

Mattie’s smile slowly faded and worry lines creased her forehead. She gently set her cup and saucer down on the end table, folded her arms and allowed a crackling ember to catch her eye, as sparks shot up the chimney of the white marble fireplace. She began to feel sick to her stomach and wondered if it wouldn’t be a whole lot easier just to say she hardly knew Botham. But she wasn’t a very good liar and Sam didn’t appear to be the type to let go that easily. She needed time to think. Let me ask you this, what do you remember about the victims? 

Well...ah, I remember there were two women and two little boys. They disappeared in the middle of the night and their bodies were found in the river at Bridgeport. 

"Yes, but do you remember who they were before they were murdered?

What did they like to do for fun, what was their favorite color, when did..."

I see your point, he interrupted. Unfortunately, I can’t answer any of those questions.

"Unfortunately, neither can I. Every dirty little secret became public after they died, but the media was so consumed with their murders, they left no record of the good things. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that over the years. If I had to guess, I’d say Linda was a literal person–you know, the kind that sees things more in black and white than in shades of gray. She was a petite woman who smoked, wasn’t highly educated, wanted very much to be loved and definitely took a few wrong turns in life. Her sons were vibrant and active, just like all little boys and she loved them very much.

I think, Mattie continued. Pat Botham went to college before she got married, but I’m not sure. She too was a petite woman with dark hair who loved going to church, loved keeping a clean house and loved her sons very much as well. I doubt we’ll ever know how she felt about her husband. Then there were Pat’s little boys who lived through that awful night and were practically forgotten altogether. They were left to grow up with no mother and a father who was on death row, where they could only see him once or twice a year. Behind the scenes, however, there were a lot of people who cared and I was one of them.

Sam gleefully clasped his hands together and grinned. By golly, you know a lot about that case. How about starting at the beginning when you first met Botham?

Start at the beginning? You have no idea what you’re asking.

How so?

It’s a very long story.

And we have other things to do? he said. I can’t dig your car out until morning, it’s the most boring TV night of the week and that only leaves a deck of cards. Frankly, I find you far more entertaining than a deck of cards.

Correction–you find the murders far more entertaining than a deck of cards. But Sam... She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The thing is, I don’t know you. When you’re on the outside looking in, a murder case like this is intriguing and fascinating. But when you’re on the inside, it’s....

You were on the inside? Sam stood up, turned his chair just a little so it faced her more, and then sat back down. Only then did he notice her suspicious expression. Hey, I’m one of the good guys. I’m a forest ranger, you know, and who can you trust if you can’t trust a friend of Smokey the Bear?

It didn’t make her smile. Instead, she buried her face in her hands. I don’t know, I need to think about it.

Okay, take all the time you want. Do you have any luggage I should bring in before dark?

Yes, there’s a suitcase in the trunk of my car. She reached down beside her chair, grabbed her purse and dug inside for the keys.

Sounds easy enough. He took the keys she handed him, headed for the door and pulled a heavy blue jacket off an antique coat rack. He quickly put it on, zipped up the front and opened the door. Anything else you want me to get out of your car?

No thanks.

Okay, I’ll be back in a flash. He closed the door behind him, and then abruptly opened it again.

Which way?

Uphill, on the left-hand side. It’s not very far. Just seconds after the door closed again, a burst of cold air hit her face and sent an odd chill down her spine. She shook it off, realized how tense she’d become and forced herself to take two deep, relaxing breaths. Then she slowly looked around, examining the whole room carefully just as she always did in a strange place.

It was a clean and comfortable old cabin built in the early 1900s. A round, multicolored, hand-woven rug lay on the hardwood floor and the furnishings included a sofa that matched the chairs. A coffee table faced the sofa and a television, CD player and desk complete with a computer, lined the inside wall. Sam even had a Ham Radio. Various scenic pictures, deer antlers and an array of guns were mounted on the walls, and she stared at the guns for a full thirty seconds before tearing her eyes away. Opposite the large picture window, a hallway led to a bath and two small bedrooms.

She was about to go look for a back door when she heard him stomping snow off his feet on the steps, so she turned instead to watch him open the door and set her suitcase inside. You’re an angel for helping me. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here.

That’s what I get paid for. A tall man of average weight, he grabbed a broom from its storage place near the coat rack, took a moment to sweep the snow off the top step, and quickly cleaned his pant legs and shoes. Then, just before he stepped inside, he brushed the snow out of his hair with his hand. Sam closed the door, took off his coat and hung it back on the rack. Yep, I save trees, animals and occasionally a hair-brained woman who tries to drive around in a blizzard.

Mattie suddenly sat up straight. Hair-brained? I didn’t know it was going to snow. The weather channel...

It’s fall, he said, walking into the adjoining kitchen to make more tea. Everyone knows we get freak storms up here in the fall. Of course if you haven’t lived here in years, I guess you forgot."

I guess I did.

He put a hot pad around the handle of the teakettle, lifted it off his antique coal-burning stove and headed for the sink. Except for the stove, the kitchen was modern and contained an extra-large refrigerator/freezer, a microwave, various small appliances and plenty of cupboards for storage. A good-sized table sat in the middle of the room with matching wooden chairs on all four sides. In the center of the table lay an assortment of bills, letters, condiments and a box of long matches. Actually, I’ve been extremely bored lately and having you here is lucky for me. Feel like telling me what you’re doing up here?

My mother passed away and I wanted to see the valley below from Lookout Point just one more time.

You could have waited until spring to go to Lookout Point, you know.

I don’t plan to ever come back.

How come? Sam added more water to the teakettle and then set it on the stove. He opened a small drop-down door under the burner, used a poker to stir the coal embers and then closed the door. A half bucket of black coal chunks sat on the floor nearby. Well, I’ve spent every holiday and every vacation for years coming home to visit my parents. Now that they are both gone, I’d like to see a few other places.

I understand. Does your husband know you’re up here?

I’ve been divorced for many years.

Me too. He walked to the cupboard to get two more tea bags, laid them down on the table and headed back to the living room. I don’t mind being single.

I don’t either. You sure picked a beautiful place to live. What I remember most about this old mountain is drinking great-tasting water right out of the stream and walking through the fields of Columbines.

It’s beautiful all right, he affirmed, retaking his seat. By the way, if you hear a noise outside don’t be alarmed. I ran across an injured fawn last year, nursed her back to health and now she thinks I’m her mother. She still comes around about once a week and sometimes lies against the house, near the fireplace where it’s warm.

Do you go out when she shows up?

I try not to, it’s not good to let them get too friendly. Helping the animals is the best part about living up here. The worst part is when the mountain is covered with too many tourists, stupid hikers and highly combustible pine trees. But after the first snow it gets quiet and peaceful, and the stars at night look close enough to touch. Grand Mesa is a volcano, you know. A long time ago, some guy fell out of his boat and drowned in one of the Twin Lakes. He was wearing heavy boots and divers spent days trying to find his body, but they couldn’t even find the bottom of the lake. Yes sir, we are sitting on one of the world’s oldest volcanoes.

Mattie rolled her eyes. That’s a comforting thought.