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    The Jefferson County Egan Murders: Nightmare on New Year's Eve 1964
    The Jefferson County Egan Murders: Nightmare on New Year's Eve 1964
    The Jefferson County Egan Murders: Nightmare on New Year's Eve 1964
    Ebook140 pages2 hours

    The Jefferson County Egan Murders: Nightmare on New Year's Eve 1964

    By Dave Shampine and Daniel T. Boyer

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    • Social Issues

    • Murder Investigation

    • Family Relationships

    • Crime & Punishment

    • Redemption

    • Personal Growth

    • Small Town Secrets

    • Dark & Stormy Night

    • Criminal Underworld

    • Family Ties

    • Police Corruption

    • Social Inequality

    • Unreliable Witness

    • Unreliable Witnesses

    About this ebook

    The true story of a triple murder that shocked a New York community and drew the interest of famed criminal defense attorney F. Lee Bailey.
     
    Twenty-seven-year-old Peter Egan, his wife Barbara Ann, and Peter’s younger brother Gerald were familiar to Watertown, New York, authorities long before December 31, 1964. The police suspected the brazen trio in a long string of burglaries and petty crimes. They were also under investigation by the FBI for grand theft auto. But on that New Year's night, the Egan family’s criminal career came to a violent end. All three were found with a bullet to the head at a rest stop off Interstate 81.
     
    The gruesome killings puzzled local and state police. Was it a random murder? A confrontation gone awry? Or a premeditated act of retribution by hardened criminals who feared the Egans would turn state's witness? Then, a surprise arrest was made. But when F. Lee Bailey, lawyer for the self-confessed Boston Strangler, entered the fray, the case took an unexpected twist that shrouded the murders in mystery to this day.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Integrated Media
    Release dateOct 14, 2014
    ISBN9781625847744

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      Book preview

      The Jefferson County Egan Murders - Dave Shampine

      CHAPTER 1

      NEW YEAR’S EVE OUT OF HELL

      Bill and Beverly Jay had been on the road for three or more hours, anticipating a New Year’s Eve gathering with family and friends in Norwood, New York, when Bill pulled into a rest area for a nature call. Never again would Beverly consent to her husband stopping in a desolate location in the darkness of night to attend to a personal need. What the couple—he at thirty-nine and she at thirty-four—stumbled upon that cold evening of Thursday, December 31, 1964, was a scene of bloody, cruel inhumanity.

      The two, who for about a year had been residents of Rochester, New York, were returning to where they had lived for most of their seventeen years of marriage. Awaiting them were their son, Terry, seventeen, and two daughters Bonnie, fourteen, and Sharon, thirteen, who had been sent ahead a week earlier to stay with their grandmother Hattie LaPoint in Norwood, a small community near the college town of Potsdam in New York’s St. Lawrence County.

      Bill, formerly a paper mill worker in Norwood and more recently employed in a Rochester packaging plant, was heading north on the new and unfinished Interstate 81 when, just a couple miles north of Watertown, New York, and about seventy-two miles from his final destination, he decided he needed to stop at the rest area he saw up ahead. He pulled onto the rest area’s paved access road shortly before 9:20 p.m., according to state police reports at the time, and stopped a short distance behind a blue 1955 Mercury station wagon that was parked without lights at the edge of the roadway.

      Leaving his headlights on, with Beverly remaining in their car, comfortably protected from the ten- to fifteen-degree temperatures outside, Bill exited and started his walk to a slightly snow-covered grassy area. As he glanced toward the station wagon, located about fifty yards from the highway, Bill noticed something in the snow at the auto’s passenger side. Perhaps somebody was sick, he thought. He approached and found the lifeless body of a woman lying facedown in the grass, resting perpendicular to the car. Her head was about a foot and a half from the vehicle. Bill started to reach down to her but stopped abruptly when he spotted a large patch of blood around the woman’s head.

      Stunned by his discovery, Bill hustled around to the driver’s side of the Mercury. The tightly closed windows were fogged over, so he couldn’t see inside. He opened the door to view two occupants in the front seat—two motionless men, seated upright. The action of the door’s opening prompted the two figures to tilt to their right. There was still life in the car but not in the two men. A small dog, its fur matted crimson from the blood-soaked upper back of the front seat, was barking and excitedly jumping around.

      Again, Bill refrained from touching the bodies. Instead, he closed the car door, rejoined his wife, hastily told her of the bloody massacre he had found and drove off, hoping to reach a telephone. That, they found, would be no easy task on New Year’s Eve. No public phones were in sight as they traveled unfamiliar streets and roads, and businesses had closed early for the holiday. Frustration built as minutes turned into what seemed like hours.

      After checking a diner, which also was closed, they came upon a farmhouse at the corner of Routes 11 and 342, a short distance north of the hamlet of Calcium. An outdoor light was on, so they stopped there. Shirley Coleman, at home with her children—ages eleven, nine, eight, five and two—greeted the strangers.

      They were scared to death, Mrs. Coleman recalled recently. "They were just shaking. I felt so bad for them. They told me they had found three bodies in a rest area on Route 81 and that a woman’s body was on the ground. They could hardly talk they were so

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