Interview excerpts, Len Wilcox with Sara Sheldon, June 24, 2019
SS: Okay, so first thing on the record, I need to make sure everyone knows I did my duty and Len Wilcox did indeed get a breakfast pasty.
LW: The local delicacy.
SS: You have no idea how lucky you are. They sell out like that.
LW: Is that a tourist rite of passage?
SS: I think the first rite is admitting there’s no R in “pasty.” Okay, so you go ahead and eat that, and I’ll get started, because I know you’re booked. Do you have a list of questions, or …?
LW: Why don’t you start with how you’re connected to the Clark family and go on from there.
SS: I grew up in the house behind them. My parents still live there. The blue one, just across the alley? I’m younger than their kids, so I was fourteen when the murders happened. But I remember that night.
LW: The night, huh?
SS: Oh, yeah. My bedroom looked right out into the backyard, so it looked into their backyard. So it could’ve been a lot worse, because I couldn’t see their front door or anything, and I heard … well. If you’ve seen photos, then you know … that they could see her from the street. Birdy. But … okay. I don’t know if I heard the shots, because I can’t remember what woke me up, but I remember all the flashing lights. There were a lot of them, police cars and the ambulance and stuff, and it went on for hours. No sirens, but lights. There was a police car in their driveway, pulled all the way up, and that was the main one. My bedroom kept flashing like a rave. And my parents woke up after a while—I could hear them moving around, and then I saw my dad go out, and a policeman stopped him at the alley, and they talked for a while. So I got up, and went downstairs where my mom was at the kitchen table in her robe, and we waited for Dad to come back in.
LW: Did they tell him anything?
SS: They asked him if he’d seen or heard anything, and that was enough. Because of the police cars and the ambulances, you know? All the people. So clearly something had happened, and it needed EMTs, and it took a long time. So my dad kind of took my mom aside, you know, and … okay, you’re not going to get us for slander or something on this, are you?
LW: I don’t have to print anything you tell me.
SS: Okay, because … well, I heard him, even though he was trying to be quiet. And the first thing Dad thought was that Mr. Clark killed his family. So. I mean, we know it’s not true, but that’s what he said to Mom: “I think Clark finally cracked and killed them all.” So.
LW: I’m sure it was tense. And nobody knew anything.
SS: Right, and if people did know, they weren’t telling. The police were trying to keep it quiet, and then the adults were trying to shield their kids, and for a while there they thought it was Ollie working with Eli, which was just a load of crap. Ollie loved her sister. Sometimes … well. Sometimes I think she was the only one who did.
LW: Really.
SS: Oh, you’ve heard stories, I’m sure. Always fighting with Wendy, Mr. Clark didn’t know what to do with her … did you know—well, I know you don’t—that when I was really little, maybe four or five, I was out in the backyard and I saw Birdy teasing this cat? It was caught in a live trap, because it was a stray, and she was just … poking at it with a stick. Nice and safe, but poking. Not laughing or anything—her face was blank. She was just … turned off. Then, when she saw me, she stared right at me and said “If you think you saw something, no, you didn’t.”
LW: Oh?
SS: Yeah. Which I remember, because it wasn’t the only time I heard any of them say it. It was one of Wendy’s things, except she always made it funny. You’d catch her taking a cookie and she’d say “If you think you saw something, no you didn’t” and wink and also give you one. You know: haha, you caught me being bad, but not really bad. Except the time with the cat? That was really bad. I’ve never told anybody, not even my best friend, because … well. It doesn’t matter anymore, does it? And it was just … so weird.
LW: Did you have much contact with the Clark sisters?
SS: Not really. They’re only a few years older, but that’s a lot when you’re kids. And they didn’t … well, Ollie hung out around the house a lot, I guess, so she’d wave or whatever if we saw each other, but Birdy was always out with her friends. On their bikes or once they got a car, that kind of thing. So I’d avoid them. That whole gang.
LW: What were they like as a group?
SS: You were always the outsider and they wanted you to know it. If it was just the four of them, they’d sort of trade off: Birdy and two of them against the other one. But never the three of them against Birdy. And then, if you crossed them, they’d all turn on you and start making fun of … well, it didn’t really matter. Your hair, especially if you’d just gotten it cut or your mom had done it special. Your clothes. Your lunch box, if you had one. Or even just … if you had a stutter, or a lazy eye? All of them would start mocking you and laughing and shrieking. You could hear them from blocks away, so at least you could avoid them. And the thing … okay, another deep, dark secret, I guess: I was so worried that Ollie had been killed that night. Birdy, I didn’t really mind, and it was awful about their mother, but I was a kid. I thought forty was old. But Ollie was always so … so sweet, and nice, and in Birdy’s shadow.
LW: Yeah?
SS: Yeah. You’d think it’d be the other way, since Ollie was older and got the good grades and everything, but Birdy had the spotlight. All the time. And if she didn’t already have it, she’d steal it. But Ollie didn’t really mind. She was almost relieved, I think, when she could just be left alone with her book. That’s how it was a lot of summers: Birdy off with the gang and Ollie in the backyard with a book. I’m not surprised she became an English teacher. And she was so smart—because of how much she read, I think. But now … since I’m not a child anymore … I don’t think it was right, you know? Leaving her alone like that. Letting Birdy take all their attention and just … hoping Ollie didn’t slip through the cracks.
LW: I thought that was what the daddy-daughter weekends were for.
SS: What, you think Mr. Clark talked to her about school and the future and stuff? Wendy, maybe, but not him. He always talked about the stuff he liked, and if you wanted to hang out with him, you had to go along with it. The camp? Where they were that night? No running water, no electricity … my mom says he kept it that way so Wendy wouldn’t want to join him. And Birdy didn’t really like it, either, but he was harder to annoy than Wendy, so she kind of had to do it or else not get anything from him. And Ollie … I think she was just so desperate for any of them to admit she existed that she’d go along for anything.
Interview excerpts, Len Wilcox with Roger Porvoo, June 24, 2019
LW: So you were the reporter covering … the trial?
RP: Everything. It’s a small paper, Mr. Wilcox.
LW: Len.
RP: Right, Len. Small paper. So I was up and out there early morning on the twentieth, when the police were still stringing up the tape and telling people to stay back. I was there when Randy Clark got home, and yes, I asked if he wanted to say something. You know how it is. Or maybe you don’t—you only get to people long after it’s over, don’t you?
LW: Correct.
RP: So I was there, and I tried. You’ve read it?
LW: Yes.
RP: Okay, so some of what I didn’t write was how he looked like he was the one who’d been shot in the chest. Pale. His face didn’t move, but it wasn’t still, either, if you know what I mean. Melting wax figure that hadn’t been painted properly. Moving the way I always thought Cinderella would in her glass slippers. Slowly, feeling for each step … but you can’t put that in a paper. It’s too poetic. Did I tell you I write poetry?
LW: You did, yes.
RP: Not that the situation was really poetic. It’s just one of those things people can’t really imagine, you know? And don’t want to. Who wants to come home to blood and who knows what else? Wife and daughter on slabs. He identified them. I wasn’t there for that, but I asked. He didn’t break down. I don’t think anyone I talked to has ever seen Randy Clark break down. Maybe it was for his daughter. The other one—Ollie. They kept moving her around. Keeping her away from me, I guess. I didn’t get to her until the trial, which … yeah, sounds bad, but … again, you know. It’s the job. It’s what people want, as long as it’s not them.
LW: You were there every day of the trial?
RP: Oh, yeah. That’s one of the biggest things that ever happened up here. We don’t usually get to try people for multiple murder, you see. But it was a weird trial. The defense was right to push for one, because Denomie really didn’t have evidence. There was so much he said, she said, but nobody says the same thing. And none of it made any sense, because it wasn’t in hot blood. Wendy had always been nice to Eli, and Birdy had never been nice to anybody, but it wasn’t like he’d go off and shoot the both of them for Ollie. Makes no sense. That whole story about how it was supposed to frame Randy? Complete BS. Denomie was banking on public backing, the headlines … support come election time … but he built up a house of cards, and he was the only one who wouldn’t admit it. We had this horrific crime, and he wanted to wrap it all up with a bow. Instead, he ruined that kid’s life.
LW: I don’t know if you’ve seen the news …
RP: What, Kelly having an alibi? First, sloppy. That should’ve all been checked before the big press conference. And second, so what? It still wasn’t Eli Chapman. It made no sense. And even if you don’t want to rely on personality and all the rest, what about the gun? Chapman didn’t have a gun. His aunt didn’t have a gun, so he couldn’t have gotten one there. And friends? He didn’t have anyone else. The Clarks didn’t have guns. I know it seems like that should be rare, up here, but none of them did. So he would’ve had to steal one, but there weren’t any reports. Nobody was missing one. So you’re left with, what, he stole one, shot it twice, and returned it before it was missed? No. It was an outsider. The gun wasn’t found because it wasn’t there. Someone brought it in, used it, and took it back out again. You know what I think?
LW: What?
RP: I’ve always wondered if it wasn’t a case of mistaken identity. Wrong address. Wrong house. Not a hitman, maybe, but … maybe. Someone who wasn’t from there, so he’d be in, out, and in the wind. But he got the wrong house, and he just … shot twice. Jacked up on adrenaline. Then he reads in the papers that it wasn’t the right ones, that he killed a girl and her mother, and …
LW: And?
RP: No idea. Suicide? Gets religion? Either way it’s not the kind of case that’s easily solved. Strangers killing strangers, and in that case, strangers killing the wrong strangers.
LW: What were your impressions of the Clarks and Chapmans during the trial?
RP: Ah, well … Randy didn’t come off well. He was stiff. Cold. My opinion, it was rage, because he was sure Eli had done it. His daughter’s boyfriend since time out of mind. Ultimate betrayal. He had such a tight hold on himself, you wouldn’t have said he felt anything about his wife and daughter. So that didn’t play well. Ollie tried to keep it together, but she cried more than once. Denomie really didn’t look good, coming after her like that. He was still trying to get her to say that yeah, sure, it was her boyfriend, and she’d known about it. Helped him plan it. Eli’s lawyer kept objecting, and eventually the judge had to call them both to the bench. Lectured him, I guess. Ollie was broken. Dull. Like she was an oil painting and someone took a couple swipes at her with a rag dipped in turpentine. Eli, now … he was angry. Kept clenching his jaw and then reminding himself not to, because it was a bad look, being pissed at the remaining family, you know, but then he’d do it again. His mom was a wreck—I don’t think she showed up sober a single day. Don’t know how she lasted those long days, either, unless she’d sneaked a flask in or had someone waiting outside with one for recesses. So that wasn’t much help for him, this drunk mom who seemed to think he was guilty. His aunt and cousin were there, too, and they always sat next to her, but it was night and day. Serena wore the same suit every single day, but it was clean. Sat straight as a poker. Jared spent most of his time leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the judge or whatever witness was speaking. He was the only one obviously rooting for Eli in that entire room. And the only one who’d say it—every day after, or whenever he had a chance to talk to the press, he’d say Eli was innocent. They got sick of him, because it was the same thing, no matter what. No matter what evidence, who else had been called … which made sense, because there wasn’t any evidence and the defense poked holes in everything, but it doesn’t make for good press, the same thing over and over.
LW: Does anyone else stand out to you?
RP: As good media? Well. Birdy’s little friends canonized her. Apparently they didn’t know about waterproof mascara. And one of them, I think the Rajala kid, had a handkerchief. Lace-edged, if you please. They all went into hysterics since their queen bee was gone, and they used the courtroom to fight for the empty throne. God, I’m not going to let you use any of this. But they acted like it was all fake—a courtroom drama instead of an actual courtroom. But it was too loud, too often … Ollie fought it. She wanted to get her answers out so they could be heard and get it over with. I don’t think … well. She kept giving the press the good old “no comment,” so I didn’t really get a chance to make an opinion before that, but Ollie thought the trial was a waste of time. She’d do her duty and put herself through it, but she was maybe the only person up there on the stand who thought the prosecuting attorney was an idiot and Eli was innocent.
Interview excerpts, Len Wilcox with Elise Koko, June 24, 2019
EK: I was the children’s librarian back then—that’s how I met the girls. I suppose you couldn’t talk to the school librarian or any of their teachers, hey?
LW: No. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to put anyone in that position.
EK: Some of them have retired. They wouldn’t lose their job. And Birdy’s dead—she’s been dead now for more than half the time she was alive. Cruel, maybe, but true. And it’s such a unique situation. It’s not like they’d be talking about children who are still out there. Who had the chance to grow and change. Which, if I may be blunt, Birdy really should’ve had the chance to. That child …
LW: What did you want to tell me about her?
EK: The father, Randy, always brought them in to sign them up for the summer reading program. Read books, earn small prizes and the chance to win bigger ones. Beat the summer slide, so on and so forth. And I was always glad to see them, because so many parents don’t care at all. But Randy brought them in, like clockwork, as soon as signups opened. The years we had the adult program, he signed up, too, like he wanted to prove to them it wasn’t punishment. And it wasn’t punishment for Ollie. That girl was in here year-round, when she could get a ride. Her dad would drop her off, do some errands, and pick her up again. We’re not really supposed to do that, you know—unaccompanied minors and all—but if the child doesn’t bother anyone, and if they’re not upset, we look the other way. Assume a parent is in the other section, that sort of thing. Ollie would take her time picking her books, and check them out, and tuck them into her special library bag, and then take them over to a chair and sit and start reading one. Her dad always knew where to look when she came in, and he’d check with us, too, even though he didn’t really have to. Was Ollie good? Of course she was good. She read Matilda one summer and I wanted to ask her if she felt any sort of kinship, but that felt like crossing a line. Have you ever read Matilda?
LW: No, can’t say I have.
EK: The little girl learns to read and uses the library to escape her horrible family. They’re all horrible and rather stupid—dad, mom, older brother. And I don’t think Randy was horrible or stupid, exactly, because he did bring Ollie here, but he did just leave her here, if you catch the difference. It was more than the mother ever did, I can tell you that. I honestly didn’t realize she was still alive before I saw the news about the murders, if you can believe it. It’s such a shame when that happens. Some people like knowing things, but not learning them, because to learn, you have to first admit that you don’t know something. You follow?
LW: I think so.
EK: And that’s not to say a library’s a cure, but I’ve certainly never heard of it hurting a family. But we also see those divisions. One parent only, or a grandparent, but not the others. And the children … well. Ollie always earned the highest level on her program challenge. We asked them to read books and then come and tell one of us a bit about them—informal, but it’s more than just turning in the title list, you know. These days it’s more of an honor system, and it’s not even the kids doing it—it’s the parents, checking out stacks of books and making lists of titles. But Ollie wasn’t one to cut corners. Sometimes she came in with sticky notes in the book, and she’d tell me about them as she went through and took them out before she returned it. She didn’t just sit down and give you a monotone list of events—she’d wonder why, or what if this had happened, or what happened after the happy ending. She devoured books, but the way the French eat a fine meal: slowly, tasting every bite. Birdy, now …
LW: Birdy was different.
EK: Good gracious, yes. Birdy would plunk down and recite the jacket copy as fast as she could, then hop up again and shove her sheet at me so I’d sign off on it. We always asked questions—that was the deal back then: two questions per child. If they couldn’t answer, then they didn’t get the credit. With a kid like Ollie, you didn’t need the questions, so you could ask the soft ones about character’s names, or something broad, like “Well what do you think happened next?” Birdy could show you a copy of Treasure Island with Long John Silver on the cover, crutch and all, and not be able to tell you how many legs he had. She didn’t want to be there. She was a girl who never wanted to be where she was and always thought somewhere else was better, but she never got the chance to learn that, wherever you go, there you are.
LW: She just wasn’t a happy kid?
EK: She wasn’t a satisfied kid. Contentment wasn’t in her DNA. But she didn’t get enough time to figure it out—that going to California wasn’t going to be enough. Whatever her dream was, if you plunked her down in the middle of it, she’d still be unsatisfied. She wasn’t ever going to grow out of it, but at least she could’ve learned that about herself. How to live with it. How to use it.
LW: But, as a kid, it manifested …?
EK: She wanted to be anywhere but here, doing anything other than what she was doing right now. Always. Like a cat: as soon as you let it out, it wants back in. She had a resting bitch face as a kindergartener, before we even knew what the term was, and she was just so haughtily dismissive of everyone. It was like she thought all of us, even the adults, cared about whether she thought we were cool. Like she expected us to kowtow the way her little friends did. And they weren’t in here much, either, for the record. There was no good influence in the bunch. Birdy had the most power, and she pulled them all down.
Interview excerpts, Len Wilcox with Liza Kahkonen, June 24, 2019
LK: Yeah, I mean, I guess … I did think Birdy was acting funny that last day or two. I didn’t see her at all on the nineteenth.
LW: And that was weird?
LK: Well, yeah. I mean, neither of us really liked being at home, you know? So we’d get out of the house as soon as we could, which was pretty early. It’s not like our moms sat there and ate breakfast with us or anything. Get up, grab whatever, head out. We had, like, a couple places we’d meet up, so you’d do a circuit and find whoever got there before you. If you were somewhere and got tired of waiting you’d check the other spots, looking for the group, that kind of thing. And that morning it was just me, because the other two had work and Birdy didn’t show up. I did a loop, and waited, and did another loop, and went home for lunch, and did another loop, but she wasn’t there. After I’d guessed she was with Eli, you know? That he’d found her and talked about Ollie and convinced her to change the weekend and all the rest.
LW: Eli—
LK: Never said that happened, I know, but she wasn’t there, so that’s what I ended up thinking. After Mr. Clark said that part. And, like, why would he lie about it? I mean, Birdy might lie about it, but she still had to be somewhere. She wasn’t where she normally was. That was all. And Ollie said she wasn’t home most of the day, at the trial, when they asked her, so …
LW: Was she acting funny before that?
LK: A bit. See, usually if something was bothering her, you knew exactly what it was. She’d tell you, and rehash it, and then find a new angle and go over it again. She was snippy, though. Not talking much, but when she did, she’d snap at you. Well. More than usual. I guess I figured it had something to do with Jared, because she didn’t complain to us about him, you know? Which was weird, because she’d totally complain about these other guys she was with. How bad they were at sex or if they didn’t get the door for her or if they’d ignored her for some video came or whatever. But we didn’t hear much of anything about Jared. So it was weird, because maybe he wasn’t good, but she wasn’t complaining? And …
LW: She always complained?
LK: Yeah, you know. Everything was a big deal and nothing was ever right. Standard Birdy stuff.
LW: She complained about her parents?
LK: All the fu—all the time. So it wasn’t them.
LW: Ollie?
LK: God, yes. That was just about all we heard that year. Ollie’s going to college, Ollie’s getting the money, my parents won’t give me the money they’re giving Ollie … because then it was someone else’s fault, you know? Not Birdy’s for not making better grades or getting the scholarships. It was Ollie’s and their parents’, and Birdy was still perfect. It … well. The thing is, we all believed it at the time, because she’s the only one we heard talk about it, you know? It wasn’t like any of us went up to Wendy like hey, thanks for the snacks, and by the way what’s this about Ollie getting all the college money for herself? And Ollie wasn’t around, so she couldn’t defend herself. Which … was basically Birdy’s MO. As you probably know already. If you’re not there, shots fired. And if you are there, you have to go along with it, even though you know this means she does it to you when you’re not. Even though we all knew. But like, she was our friend, so we had to side with her. Girl code. The same way she always took our side against our own parents. My mom cut my allowance because of a grade? Birdy was the first to call her a bitch. Birdy slept with my boyfriend? She’d call him out as a cheating bastard.
LW: Even though …
LK: Yeah, I know, right? In her world, she was doing us a favor. If the guys slept with her, then it was on them, and at least we found out sooner rather than later. Before we married them or got pregnant or whatever.
LW: Did she ever try to sleep with Eli?
LK: You know, I’m pretty sure she did say something to him once, but the way she worded it … it was half-joking, and he just shut her down. She didn’t even try again. And it wasn’t even in front of Ollie or anything, because … well, that’s not how she worked. The guy didn’t have to be alone, but the girlfriend couldn’t be there. So … yeah, okay, she propositioned Kendra’s boyfriend in front of me once. When there was a group of us, and she just walked up, looked him up and down, and said “You’re cute and I’m horny. Want to?”
LW: Did he?
LK: He went off with her. So he wanted us to think he did.
LW: So maybe she spent the nineteenth off with someone else’s boyfriend, is what you’re saying?
LK: Well. I mean, It wouldn’t be out of the question. Nobody ever came out and said “Oh, yeah, she was with me,” but it wasn’t like the police actually asked. Or anyone would admit to it.
LW: What do you mean?
LK: Dude, she was dating Jared Chapman. Like publicly hanging out and holding hands and all the rest. He’d claimed her, and you didn’t mess with Jared. You heard all that about how angry Eli was? Eli walked away. He’d go retreat when he was angry and take it out … I don’t even know. On himself, maybe. But Jared? He was like Birdy. Whenever he had a problem, it was also your problem, and it didn’t always matter if you weren’t the one who’d pissed him off. You had to answer for it. And if Birdy cheated on him, he wouldn’t take it out on her, no matter how pissed he was. He’d go for the guy, and he’d be lucky not to end up in the morgue. Did you look into Jared’s history? It’s not all juvenile records. He’s beat the crap out of people and sent them to urgent care. One guy went to the ER.
LW: A town as small as this one, a community this tight-knit, and nobody knows where she was?
LK: I know, right? If anybody saw her that last day, they’ve never said. And nobody we know showed up with bruises and crap after, so it’s not like Jared found out on the sly.
LW: Because he would’ve absolutely laid his hands on anyone who had sex with Birdy.
LK: Touched. Looked at wrong. That was his girl, and he’s the possessive caveman type. You do her wrong, you’ve done him wrong, and you have to answer for it.
Bury the Dead 13 – coming April 13
Rebecca Frost 