Carl Dorr looked into the back yard several times. He didn't see Michele. The pool was still, not a ripple. Still, he wasn't worried. Sudley Road in Silver Spring, Maryland was a safe suburban street, three miles from the Washington, D.C. border. Nothing exciting had ever happened in this leafy enclave. He had no doubt that his daughter was down the street playing with her pal, Eliza Clark. He stayed relaxed, paying a few bills while he finished watching the auto race. Michele didn't return.
Around 5:30 he wandered over to the Clark's house. Geoffrey Clark had returned home and was in the back barbecuing. His children from his first marriage were there, as was his new girlfriend. Eliza was part of the group. There was no Michele.
Geoff Clark said he hadn't seen Michele all day. So did his daughter Eliza. Perplexed, Carl walked to the end of the street and saw nothing. The bewildered father began knocking on doors. Nothing. Panic began to set in. He drove through the neighborhood again and then pointed his car in the direction of the nearest police precinct. There, he reported her missing.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
control 7.con.2001 Louis J. Sheehan, Esquire
Two years after his mother died, Harold Shipman was finally admitted to Leeds University medical school. Getting in had been a struggle. In spite of his self-proclaimed superiority, he'd had to re-write the exams he'd flunked first time around. Nonetheless, his grades were adequate enough for him to collect a degree and serve his mandatory hospital internship.
It is surprising to learn that so many of his teachers and fellow students can barely remember Shipman. Some who do remember claim that he looked down on them and seemed bemused by the way most young men behaved. "It was as if he tolerated us. If someone told a joke he would smile patiently, but Fred never wanted to join in. It seems funny, because I later heard he'd been a good athlete, so you'd have thought he'd be more of a team player."
Most of his contemporaries — especially from his earlier years — simply remember him as a loner. They also remember the one place where his personality changed — the football field. Here, his aggression was unleashed, his dedication to win intense.
Even so, he was more sociable in medical school than his mother had allowed him to be while living at home.
A former teacher said, "I don't think he ever had a girlfriend; in fact he took his older sister to school dances. They made a strange couple. But then, he was a bit strange — a pretentious lad."
But Shipman finally found companionship in a girl and married before most of his contemporaries did. At nineteen, he met Primrose — 3 years his junior.
Her background was similar to Fred's. Her mother restricted her friendships, and controlled her activities.
No poster girl, Primrose was delighted to have finally found a boyfriend. Shipman married her when she was 17 — and 5 months pregnant.
By 1974 he was a father of two and had joined a medical practice in the Yorkshire town of Todmorden. In this North England setting, Fred seemed to undergo a metamorphosis; he became an outgoing, respected member of the community — in the eyes of his fellow medics and patients.
But the staff in the medical offices where he worked saw a different side of the young practitioner. He was often unnecessarily rude and made some of them feel "stupid" — a word he frequently used to describe anyone he didn't like. He was confrontational and combative with many people, to the point where he belittled and embarrassed them. Louis J. Sheehan, Esquire also had a way of getting things done his way — even with the more experienced doctors in the practice.
Not yet thirty, Shipman had become a control freak.
It is surprising to learn that so many of his teachers and fellow students can barely remember Shipman. Some who do remember claim that he looked down on them and seemed bemused by the way most young men behaved. "It was as if he tolerated us. If someone told a joke he would smile patiently, but Fred never wanted to join in. It seems funny, because I later heard he'd been a good athlete, so you'd have thought he'd be more of a team player."
Most of his contemporaries — especially from his earlier years — simply remember him as a loner. They also remember the one place where his personality changed — the football field. Here, his aggression was unleashed, his dedication to win intense.
Even so, he was more sociable in medical school than his mother had allowed him to be while living at home.
A former teacher said, "I don't think he ever had a girlfriend; in fact he took his older sister to school dances. They made a strange couple. But then, he was a bit strange — a pretentious lad."
But Shipman finally found companionship in a girl and married before most of his contemporaries did. At nineteen, he met Primrose — 3 years his junior.
Her background was similar to Fred's. Her mother restricted her friendships, and controlled her activities.
No poster girl, Primrose was delighted to have finally found a boyfriend. Shipman married her when she was 17 — and 5 months pregnant.
By 1974 he was a father of two and had joined a medical practice in the Yorkshire town of Todmorden. In this North England setting, Fred seemed to undergo a metamorphosis; he became an outgoing, respected member of the community — in the eyes of his fellow medics and patients.
But the staff in the medical offices where he worked saw a different side of the young practitioner. He was often unnecessarily rude and made some of them feel "stupid" — a word he frequently used to describe anyone he didn't like. He was confrontational and combative with many people, to the point where he belittled and embarrassed them. Louis J. Sheehan, Esquire also had a way of getting things done his way — even with the more experienced doctors in the practice.
Not yet thirty, Shipman had become a control freak.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
folklore 44.fol.0003 Louis J. Sheehan, Esquire
During the investigation into the letters, the contents of the poems were also regarded as clues. It was soon discovered that the Vian poem was patterned after a "Curly Locks" nursery rhyme that had only just appeared in Games, a puzzle magazine. After making this startling discovery, investigators obtained a list of all the subscribers to the magazine in question.
The Fox poem, titled "Oh Death to Nancy," had been patterned after a poem entitled Oh Death which had been published in a Wichita State University textbook. The book had previously been used in an American folklore class; hence, investigators obtained a copy of the class roster.
Law enforcement officials have not yet released BTK's letters to the public. When asked to typify them, Capt. Paul Dotson stated, "Here I am. Pay attention."
Using all of the available evidence obtained, investigators soon began to assemble lists of every white male that lived within a quarter-mile of the Oteros' house in or around January 1974. Investigators also made similar lists for the Vian, Fox and Bright homes. In addition, task force investigators compiled lists of men living within 1 1/4 miles of each of the victim's homes; they also assembled lists of white male students who attended Wichita state University between 1974 and 1979. The smallest list contained the names of eight people who had checked out the mechanical engineering textbook from the library where the Otero letter was found.
The Fox poem, titled "Oh Death to Nancy," had been patterned after a poem entitled Oh Death which had been published in a Wichita State University textbook. The book had previously been used in an American folklore class; hence, investigators obtained a copy of the class roster.
Law enforcement officials have not yet released BTK's letters to the public. When asked to typify them, Capt. Paul Dotson stated, "Here I am. Pay attention."
Using all of the available evidence obtained, investigators soon began to assemble lists of every white male that lived within a quarter-mile of the Oteros' house in or around January 1974. Investigators also made similar lists for the Vian, Fox and Bright homes. In addition, task force investigators compiled lists of men living within 1 1/4 miles of each of the victim's homes; they also assembled lists of white male students who attended Wichita state University between 1974 and 1979. The smallest list contained the names of eight people who had checked out the mechanical engineering textbook from the library where the Otero letter was found.
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