There’s a balance that this month’s blog post seeks to maintain. I’ll probably fail.

If one peeks in on my current work from a ten-thousand-foot vantage point, it’s easy to caution me: you’ve only just started. Relax. It’ll be okay.

Easy for you to say.

I’ve discovered the wonder of newspapers.com. That’s both good news and bad news. I paid for a six-month membership as a way to travel back four-plus decades, into the thick of the lives of a community that for now, and for the most part, doesn’t know it’s in my crosshairs. A place I grew up in. A place that no longer knows me.

Well, some do. And they’re not talking.

The good news is, mountain counties with small communities and an even smaller dedicated community newspaper tell me more than what I’d discover in a series of routine interviews. I’m there at their births, their 4-H Club meetings, their heated local elections, their weddings … their funerals. Their words are in black and white. They can be neither disputed nor altered. All their squabbles. Their struggles. Their triumphs. I see everything. No one can stop me.

The bad news is: the jig is up.

Things began friendly enough. An old grade school friend of mine seemed to be the obvious place to start. We’d run into each other, for the first time since sixth grade, some twenty years ago while I was working on a documentary about the same case I’m now writing about. It was a happy, chatty mini-reunion. Since then, I’ve had two occasions to contact him again. The first, back around 2015 when I called to alert him about an issue I was concerned with related to his community. The second, an email in 2023 to reconnect, let him know what I’m working on, and requesting a formal interview.

Initially, his response was positive. I began preparing a list of questions for this former Sheriff, my former friend and classmate. It felt great to still have some “in” there. Someone who would know my intentions would never be to exploit or sensationalize matters. I’d assured him, “I’m not into the hype of all of this. I just want the truth, whatever that truth is.”

That was a year ago.

Earlier this month, I wrote him again. I updated him on my plans and my progress, and urged him to schedule a time to talk. His response?

“It’s been a crazy year and I apologize for the delays – let me know when you want to meet and we will do it – I have a lot going on (family, business and county) but will meet with you.”

Okay, fair enough. I’m not one to throw stones at glass houses or whatever analogy works best. I get it. I’m busy and distracted all the time. I mean, at least he agreed to talk. Right?

I’ve written him three or four times since then, and have heard nothing but crickets. Mind you, I’m only an hour or so from where he is.

Meanwhile, I’ve started connecting dots. Now, I don’t need to tell anyone “in the know” about how small towns operate. I’ll be honest. I hesitate to expound too much here because it’ll be me giving you all my best material before it makes it onto the pages of the book – which, by the way, has been officially outlined. Community cliques are an effective deterrent against lesser-willed outsiders seeking an audience with their brightest and best. Leaders, be they famous or infamous, enjoy their positions. They know things. Mostly, they know each other.

I’m beginning to suspect this might be our mutual downfall.

While I’ll submit monthly updates on my progress, here’s where I fear things stand as of today. Basically, there’s a group of folks who may want to write their own true crime book. That’s no surprise, beyond the fact that they could have done it by now. In fact, one guy has, though it seems to be one part of perhaps a bigger anthology. But there’s also this trio of folks, which includes an award-winning journalist who put out a series of articles on the very topic in question. Rumor has it (gotta love tiny towns, eh?) there were issues with this particular partnership and it dissolved. The journalist in question self-published what looks to be her first YA Fantasy book back in July and is currently working on its sequel.

Who knows what really happened between these three would-be collaborators? All I know is what I discovered while connecting those aforementioned dots. It seems this same journalist may have a vice-like grip on her fellow town leaders. As if the town itself “owns” the happenings, and they’re not eager to let some outsider just waltz into the town limits and rob them of whatever they think they may gain by keeping their knowledge to themselves (which, in this case, essentially harms the survivors). Bottom line: I fear the word is out about what I’m tying to do, and people are none too happy about it.

With apologies to Bernie Taupin, it’s a little bit funny. Anyone familiar with unsolved murder cases knows they fall into one of two camps: 1) local cops want to solve the crime no matter what it takes; and 2) local cops close ranks, are secretive, and don’t want any help – even if that means the case never gets solved. Unfortunately, I’m beginning to wonder if the latter is what I’m dealing with. Of course, I’m not trying to solve the case, per se. I’m seek only to document the details in as thorough and accurate a manner as possible.

Can I possibly write a true crime book without interviewing witnesses, the cops, and members of the community? We may be finding out.

It’s not for lack of material. Not by a long shot. I have access to more than I should. More than anyone should, considering the case’s official status. Plus, I’m pretty good at puzzle-solving, if I do say so myself.

Realistically, their refusal to meet with me may impact my credibility. It also works against them.

The last thing I want is to make this an us vs. them situation. That was never my intent. I find myself once more professionally jealous of Michelle McNamara’s collaboration with multiple police departments, witnesses, victims, etc., as she worked through the East Area Rapist/Original Night Stalker (EAR/ONS) case for her book I’ll Be Gone in the Dark. She encountered good people with like-minded intent to give access to and work through all available information. And though it cost her her life, she prevailed. My respect for everyone involved in that knows no bounds.

I’m in a parallel universe, it seems. So far, I’ve reached out to:

* Four family members of one of the victims

* An old friend of one of the major suspects

* A former Sheriff (my former classmate)

* One of the case’s “special investigators”

* The man I worked with on his documentary about the case (which prompted everyone’s interest)

* A citizen detective (who, in fairness, hates me – but he hates everyone)

* An entire dedicated Forum of folks, who I’ve asked to let me interview them

That’s nine-plus requests in a single month. I’ve received one response from one person who, let’s be honest, is ghosting me. Aside from Forum members who may simply not want to openly participate, that’s not good.

That’s not really the issue, though.

Make no mistake. As I said, I can do the book without any of them. There’s ample documentation available for me to accomplish my goals. However, I anticipate the whole “…well, she must not have done a very good job if she didn’t even do some basic interviews.” Am I worried? I’d by lying if I said no.

But wait…

There’s an old saying. Silence is acceptance. If true, who risks more – the person who doesn’t get the big interview, or the people refusing to be interviewed?

[insert name here] was contacted for comment but declined.

[insert name here] declined to be interviewed for this project.

Multiple attempts to contact [insert name here] went unanswered.

I’ll be honest. I’d prefer the discussions. I’d love to hear folks out. Listen to their thoughts and theories and perspectives on things. Give them a platform to discuss, even if I don’t agree with them. It’s a matter of respect as much as it is anything else. What’s fair is fair.

However, as a solitary teaser, I’ll share with you the last line of the Preface for the book:

Know upfront, I apologize for nothing.

If they won’t talk, they leave me no choice. Their silence doesn’t squash my work. It simply puts the onus on me to work harder, work around them, and soldier on. My greatest advantage is that, while they may no longer know me, I know them. Besides, I’m doing something unlike even the previously mentioned collaborators can do. Would I prefer sitting down with these sources to learn more? Of course. But I have asked the biggest question: can I interview you? I won’t give up, but if my pleas continue to be met with silence, it won’t deter me. Rather, it will leave me no choice but to call them out by name. I can do that. And I will.

These murders have been unsolved for over forty years. Forty. Years. Many witnesses – along with two chief suspects – are dead. It’s a messy, complicated, baffling cluster. The more I uncover, the more I question. But as I try and fail to reach out to the still-living principals involved, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s really a surprise at all that it hasn’t been solved. Or if people want it solved.

Research continues. Don’t answer me at your own peril, you-who-know-who-you-are.

More next month.