I have set the date of publication for [Redacted] on Friday, April 3, 2015. It will be available on Amazon in paperback and in digital format for Kindle.
Here's an excerpt.
Some people
get away with murder, literally. Not Kardashian literally—literally, literally. The statistics are staggering. As of this
writing, in the state of Michigan there are [insert number here] unsolved homicides.
That’s how I wanted to start this opening, with an
actual verifiable number, but then I found out this information isn’t readily
available to the public. You can’t call and have someone print out a list of
open homicide cases under the jurisdiction of the Michigan State Police.
Apparently, how they keep track of open homicide cases is a mystery second only
to the construction of Stonehenge.
Once I was
told there was no list that Michigan State Police kept of all unsolved
homicides, I submitted a records request for the District 6 homicides because
that includes the area in which Janette Roberson was murdered. I figured I’d
narrow it down a bit to see if that helped.
My request
was granted in part and denied in part, the denial portion stating “A master list of statewide unsolved
homicides does not exist.”
Wait, really? How do you keep track of them all
in a way that would easily illustrate any similarities or possible serial
offenders? Particularly really old cases where the original investigators are
no longer attached to the case? You know, some sort of system like the drug
store has to alert when you try to fill two prescriptions that would cause drug
interactions. Maybe a digitized spreadsheet that notes similarities in crime
scenes, possible serial perpetrator MO comparisons, for when Detectives retire
and the new guys need to be brought up to speed.
Nothing? Nada?
After I
received the District 6 list, it was clear Michigan State Police could get me the information, it would
just have to come piecemeal and I’d have to bother them a little more to get it.
So I sent another request to Michigan State Police, this time for Districts 1,
2, 3, 4, 5, 7 & 8.
Meanwhile, I
studied the District 6 list. From 1970 to 2014—including Janette Roberson—there
were 31 unsolved homicide cases in District 6. Seven of those were attributed
to the Reed City area. I began researching those cases and submitted document
requests to the crack MSP FOIA team. Eventually I got a letter that requested I
send them $103.49 to get those other District numbers.
Huh? They had more than that of my money
sitting on someone’s desk at that time for a request they had asked me to
cancel. So I emailed the gal I was working with, prepared her an annotated list
of the FOIA requests and charges I had outstanding, as well as the amount of my
money they had floating around Lansing somewhere—which was, by the way, more
than the amount requested for that District information. I got this response:
Renee,
Please
let Ms. Decker know that after a review of our emails and files, the agreement
was that the 2 requests that she paid half on and then cancelled (CR-93318
$117.37 and CR93687 $53.15), those monies would have been credited to the
request that was replacing those two (CR95886, billed estimate of $5,828.73). If they don’t intend to pay
the balance on CR98556 and complete that request, a request for the refund of
those 2 payments should be made to us in writing. We do not have the ability to
keep a “balance” and deduct fees for each request. Also, any unpaid requests
would still be due at this time. Please let her know she can contact me with
any questions.
Thank
you.
Jessina Beckner
We’ll talk
about the $5,828.73 in a bit. That’s a fun story!
I knew they had the ability
to keep a “balance” and deduct fees because they had already done so for other
requests of mine, early on. At another point, I had received a refund for a
document request they approved, changed their minds, and decided not to send
me, months after the initial request. Needless to say, by this time—just shy of
New Year’s, 2015—I’d had enough of the Michigan State Police FOIA Department. A
root canal sans anesthesia while being forced to listen to Rush Limbaugh
blather on about Obama’s shortcomings sounded more pleasant than writing even
one more document request.
The problem
is that’s what they’re counting on. I learned from my research that it’s
common practice to charge exorbitant fees and make it as uncomfortable as
possible for the public to get certain information if they didn’t think you
should have it. Go ahead, Google it. Look for court cases related to FOIA
claims. They reach all the way up to the Supreme Court. It won’t be a
productive day, but you will come out the other end enlightened, if not really irritated.
I should note that it’s not just Michigan State Police. It’s common practice.
Even NASA was on the receiving end of some testy questioning by Congress over
dragging their heels on FOIA requests.
So, as much
as I would love to tell you how many unsolved murders Michigan State Police has
on the books for the entire state, I can’t. I should be able to, but I can’t
because as a citizen, I don’t have unlimited funds to throw around in order to
get information that should be freely accessible. I only know that in the area
of Michigan where Janette Roberson was killed, District 6, I was given a list
that has 31 names on it. That’s one district, and we’ll take their word that Michigan
State Police gave me all the names, although I have no facts to back that up.
Now let’s
multiply 31 (unidentified killers) by eight (for 8 districts) and get a pretend
number that will stand in place of the accurate number Michigan State Police is
unable to supply us in anywhere close to a timely and reasonable manner, and we’ll
call it Unsolved Homicides for Dummies.
248. The
number is probably much higher than that, given District Six likely has less unsolved
homicides than some of the southern areas. They’re really murdery down south, or
so I’ve heard.
Let’s stop
for a minute and think about it, though, using our fake number that’s probably
way lower than the real number. 248
people who killed someone—give or take a few who may have died in the interim
in a manner nowhere close to befitting their crimes—so, 248 killers walking
free, eating stuff they like to eat, today a Whopper, maybe tomorrow a sandwich
from Panera, and they’re watching their favorite TV shows, Facebooking about their
kids’ accomplishments, or online gambling, maybe spending a Friday afternoon
contacting their local congressman with a detailed list of gripes. Perhaps they’re
at Walmart arguing with the deli manager, or getting an oil change at Jiffy
Lube.
248 people going
on with their daily lives as if nothing untoward occurred. You know, like them slashing
up the body of another human being before dinner. Stuff like that.
One thing’s
for certain. The person who killed Janette Roberson has issues. You don’t do
what was done to her and then go on to be a productive member of society. Oh,
it might look like that on the
surface, but the type of rage required to do that sort of thing doesn’t go
away. It’s constantly on simmer. You don’t want to be anywhere around when it
boils over. Whoever this person is, they are not a nice person. This person is
a monster. This person slaughtered a twenty-seven-year-old woman, then gathered
his weapons and got the hell out of dodge like the coward that he is.
Here’s the
thing about Janette that gets me. You haven’t really come into yourself as a
woman in your twenties. That comes later, mid-life, when you’ve learned how to
separate the worries that matter from the rest of the crap. It’s when you
innately come to realize the small crap mustn’t be sweated. You’re the most you that you’ve ever been in your
forties, fifties, and beyond, and for that reason, you’re more confident. You
finally understand how all the pieces fit, so life begins to move more smoothly
around you, rather than feeling like you’re running directly into oncoming
traffic.
This is a
generalization of course, but that’s how it feels to me, having travelled from
birth through my mid-forties. It’s something I’ve earned. I’ve earned every bit of the woman I am, and
my wish for each woman out there is that she can say that, too. That’s why it’s
called “coming into yourself.”
Janette
Roberson was cheated out of that chance. It was stolen from her. She left this
world while still in her twenties, feeling around in front of her, trying and
make things fit. I wish I could go back and have a cup of coffee with her now.
Just fifteen minutes, I’d take it. I don’t know enough about her to adequately
relate all the uniqueness she brought to the world in the twenty-seven years
she had here. I don’t believe I’ve spoken to a single person who does. I’m not
sure if any of the people I talked to really
knew who Janette was in January of 1983. Her kids were too young, still in
elementary school. Her mother is gone as I write this, and probably took the
largest volume of Janette’s memories with her to the grave. The family members
I’ve spoken to weren’t part of her day-to-day life at the time she was
murdered, so it’s hard to say if anyone really knew who Janette Roberson was
when she died. There’s a whole world that goes on inside you at that age when
you’re doing all that puzzling. She wasn’t given the chance to be become the
woman she was meant to be.
Then there
was the town. Reed City, Michigan.
Lots of drama
plaguing Reed City in January 1983, I tell you what. An embezzlement scandal
was brewing in the city clerk’s office. (Incidentally, Janette’s mother was the
City Clerk and Treasurer.) Threatened litigation over a business owner who’d
opened a Tool and Die, but alleged he’d been purposely misled about the
property and it was going to cost him a pretty penny to fix. The State Police
were still smarting from a failed attempt at getting a proposition passed on
the 1982 ballot—one that was summarily voted down after months of mudslinging
between the local cops (city/county) and State Police.
Speaking of cops, one of
them got himself tossed in the pokey after assaulting two state troopers and a
bar customer, just a few weeks before Janette’s murder. It’s not clear if the
assaults had anything to do with the aforementioned ballot proposal, though the
officer did have an awful lot to say about it to the press after his firing. It
may have just been plain old drunken stupidity and anger. It’s clear he had the
latter, based on the amount of f-bombs that were tossed around in ALL CAPS in
the police report.
Let’s see, what else? Oh!
The city was about $80 thousand dollars in debt at the time, the council itself
got along about as well as a group of caged tigers fighting over the last hunk
of meat, and they did it on TV in the form of live broadcasts.
It was an
interesting time to be a denizen of Reed City in the 1980s. But little did they
know, there was a killer in their midst, one who’d prove capable of
indescribable violence.
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