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  Finding Amy

  A TRUE STORY OF MURDER IN MAINE

  Captain Joseph K. Loughlin

  Kate Clark Flora

  University Press of New England

  HANOVER AND LONDON

  Published by University Press of New England,

  One Court Street, Lebanon, NH 03766

  www.upne.com

  © 2006 by Joseph K. Loughlin and Kate Clark Flora

  Printed in the United States of America

  5 4 3 2 1

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Members of educational institutions and organizations wishing to photocopy any of the work for classroom use, or authors and publishers who would like to obtain permission for any of the material in the work, should contact Permissions, University Press of New England, One Court Street, Lebanon, NH 03766.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Loughlin, Joseph K.

  Finding Amy : a true story of murder in Maine / Joseph K. Loughlin,

  Kate Clark Flora.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references.

  ISBN-13: 978–1–58465–533–6 (cloth : alk. paper)

  ISBN-10: 1–58465–533–X (cloth : alk. paper)

  ISBN-13: 978–1–58465–563–3 (pbk. : alk. paper)

  ISBN-10: 1–58465–563–1 (pbk. : alk. paper)

  eISBN: 978-1-61168-228-1 (ebook)

  1. Murder—Maine—Portland—Case studies. 2. Murder—Investigation —Maine—Portland—Case studies. I. Flora, Kate Clark. II. Title.

  HV6534.P67L68 2006

  2005035369364.152’30974191—dc22

  “The tale is brimming with insights about police procedure, jurisdictional disputes, and politics. Over and over again, real life trumps fiction…. The reader is never allowed to lose sight of the humanity of the victim, a young girl who accepted a ride from the wrong guy, then had the temerity to say no.”

  —The Boston Globe

  “True crime at its most powerful. Compelling and ultimately tragic, it's written by the ultimate storytelling team: a mystery writer and a real-life detective. This is a book you won't be able to put down.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen

  “Few true crime books get behind the scenes and explain how homicide detectives do their jobs the way Finding Amy does. Even readers who followed the case as it unfolded … won't be able to put the book down…. [A]n intensely vivid portrait of the investigation…. The authors don't just take readers into the investigation; they take them inside the heads of the investigators…. An absorbing tale about how the police do what they do in the real world rather than on television crime shows.”

  —Bangor Daily News

  “One of the best true crime stories to be published in recent years … This book should reaffirm the public's faith in the police, prosecutors, and Maine's judicial system.”

  —Brunswick Times Record

  “Loughlin's recorded entries about the case—his thoughts, emotions, and reactions to the investigation—amplify Flora's straightforward but potent narrative … a feast for proceduralists.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[E]specially compelling because of the personal account of [Captain] Loughlin … There are no ‘CSI solutions’ that wrap up the case in a conveniently short time. There are no magic findings of DNA. What takes place in this true story is the passionate belief that they will find Amy, bring her killer to justice, and give closure to her family and to the people of Maine.”

  —Foreword magazine

  “[A] highly compelling read from the opening page to the bittersweet final lines. This is true-crime reporting at its best.”

  —Gary Braver, anthor of Flashback

  “A remarkable chronicle … Loughlin and Flora give us a compelling and moving behind-the-scenes window on the investigation, trial, and, most of all, the impact of Amy's story on the lives and hearts of the investigators.”

  —Margaret Press, author of A Scream on the Water

  To Amy Elizabeth St. Laurent

  And to all those officers out there who believe

  When night darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.

  —JOHN MILTON, Paradise Lost

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue: Welcome to the Cop's Life

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Illustrations

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue: Amy's Legacy

  Notes

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, our gratitude to Amy's family, for raising the special woman who inspired this book and for their courage in keeping her in the public's eye during such a painful time.

  This book would not have been possible without the generous help of the many people who took time from their busy schedules to explain procedure and discuss their role in the investigation. Special thanks to Sgt. Daniel Young, Sgt. Thomas Joyce, and Sgt. Bruce Coffin of the Portland Police Department; Sgt. Matthew Stewart and Detective Scott Harakles of the Maine State Police; Lt. Patrick Dorian and Warden Kevin Adam of the Maine Warden Service; Assistant Attorney General Fernand LaRochelle, Deputy Attorney General William Stokes, and Assistant Attorney General Donald Macomber from the Office of the Attorney General; Detective Gerard “Biff” Brady from the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department; and Landon Fake from the Mahoosic Mountain Search and Rescue organization.

  To all our readers who gave us feedback and advice on our early drafts: Diane Woods Englund, Elizabeth Armstrong, Esq., Nancy McJennett, Brad Lovette, Andree Buckley, and the most erudite Thomas Yellen of Keio University, Tokyo, Japan.

  To our agent, Eve Bridburg, and our editor, John Landrigan, for believing in the book and helping us share Amy's story.

  From Kate: Special thanks to my husband, Kenneth Cohen, who put up with my endless trips to Portland—it's not every man who is comfortable with a wife who hangs out at the police department—and to my writing partner, Captain Joe, who kept the faith when I lost it, reminding me that Amy's story mattered. To Lt. Thomas LeMin, of the Newark, Delaware, Police Department, who briefed me on buried bodies; to Lt. Joe Brooks and the Waltham, Massachusetts, Police Department for letting me attend their Citizens’ Police Academy; and to Concord, Massachusetts, police chief Len Wetherbee for answering a million questions.

  From Joe: Special thanks to Jennifer True Webber for her love and patience; to Chief Michael Chitwood for his energy and passion; and to Lucille Holt for her faith and friendship. Thanks to Detective Brian Keller and Richard VonVoight, Riverhead, NY, PD (retired) for starting it all by introducing me to the job; and to my neighbor Helene Albert for her insight into the first manuscript.

  Prologue

  Welcome to the Cop's Life

  I can still recall clearly some of my first days and years on the street after I graduated from the academy. I remember physically shaking on my first call at a domestic disturbance. Training, films, instructor warnings, and danger signals raced through my m
ind as we made our way up the dark, cold, urine-stained stairwell. A man was screaming, a woman sobbing, and neighbors pointing as glass showered down on us from the third floor.

  The senior officer I was assigned to, Cleo Kelly, made it all look so easy. He appeared more interested in talking about the Celtics than concentrating on our task. I was thinking we were about to be killed. We ended up arresting the man after a brief struggle and counseling the bruised woman as she begged us not to take him away.

  The scene at the booking room was just as disturbing. One man was rocking back and forth crying; another spitting and cursing at everyone; tough guys stared ahead and right through me; shouts and curses echoed down the hall from the “tanks” where violent offenders were placed. A man smashed his head against the wall. Metal doors slammed shut; electric buzzers rang out amidst the shouting and screaming. I thought this was what hell must be like.

  After a while it all runs together and you forget most of what you are exposed to on the job. By the end of my first year, one of my colleagues was shot in the face, my partner had a breakdown and left the job, and a short while later another officer committed suicide. Yet, I couldn't leave. It was too interesting, too challenging, and a place where I could do good for the world. It was in my blood, as they say.

  One day in the summer I had a fairly busy shift involving some routine and some disturbance calls. One call was for an infant in distress at an apartment. The baby was not breathing. Paramedics and I worked on the baby as the parents tugged and howled at us to help. The apartment was filthy. The man had broken bones from a fall and both legs were in casts. And the baby died in our arms. I distinctly remember that smell and how white the infant looked. After all the reports, I moved on to the next call for service, and the next, adjusting my emotions each time to meet the situation.

  Later, taking a break at a Dunkin’ Donuts to get a large fruit punch, which I paid for, a man called over to me, “Hey, you guys have it made, doncha. Drive around all day and get free food.” I returned to my car, thinking about all I had seen that day alone, then drove behind a building to drink my drink, hoping not to be disturbed by another run, and started sobbing about the baby.

  It's eighteen years later, I'm the lieutenant in charge of CID, the Criminal Investigations Division. I've been to hundreds of deaths and horrible crime scenes. It's easier now. Almost routine. Now I sit with other detectives in a hotel conference room, passing around photos with casual indifference, speculation, and study, like people passing around a report or stats at a board meeting. Different conversations float in the air. “Now, that's bullshit!” “She was dead before he tied her up.” “Look here, look at her hands, the lividity.”

  I'm distracted by another detective, as he nudges and points to the Polaroid. God knows what happened to this poor girl. These are not ordinary photos; these are horrible death scenes involving torture and rape. One girl, her nostrils flared, mouth agape, sucking down her last breath in panic. Nice white teeth, lips curled back like an angry dog's. All sorts of emotions running through her last thoughts. Beautiful long brown hair. Yup, she fits the profile all right.

  Different agencies are trying to match up the work of a serial killer we think worked in our area. As the meeting goes on, some are even bored with the routine of it. We've witnessed so much tragedy over the years we can view these victims without emotion. I pause and think, God, if “normal” people saw this stuff, they'd be asking for counseling and wouldn't sleep for weeks. Our “board meeting” continues as photos are tossed around like trading cards.

  Ironically, we can often see through the horror. “Hey, look at this one,” somebody says. “She's good looking.” Early twenties, her pretty eyes rolled up with a panicked look. Amazed at what is happening to her. This girl is all tied up neatly by a monster with an eye for detail. Anger wells up toward the suspected perpetrator of these despicable acts, a killer who trained others to follow in his footsteps. Talk about the death penalty. Easy when you see this kind of stuff. What about the families, friends, children? Juries and citizens will never see these pictures. Never be exposed to the whole truth.

  We discuss the details with words like positioning, stains, fibers, hair, DNA, petechia, ligature marks. Detectives Dumas and Krier are arguing. “Look, you moron, it's Investigation 101! You should know that.” “Hey, John, look at this. What's up with the red lividity? That's odd.” The voices merge together until they sound like one noise.

  After the meeting, I stop on the way home for a steak dinner. I want to be alone, sitting at the bar enjoying a few beers. Mellow feelings wash over me as I wait for my food, dim voices blending with the music. I listen to simple talk and regular lives. People who aren't exposed to the extremes of life's underside. I hear someone talk about a “big problem,” something about her nails, and think, lady, you don't know what problems are.

  This is what it's like for cops. Day and night. Night and day. Year after year, the unimaginable things pile up. At the academy and on the job, they teach us objectivity. Keep an emotional distance. Separate yourself. After a while, we can see things like today's crime-scene pictures without much emotional response. Mostly it works, but sometimes things get stuck in your head, haunting your dreams and interrupting your thoughts because they matter so goddamned much. A case involving a beautiful girl named Amy St. Laurent was one of those.

  Chapter One

  It is every parent's nightmare—your child goes out one Saturday night and vanishes off the face of the earth. It is also, sadly, something that happens far too often—a sensible and independent young woman who thinks she knows how to take care of herself crosses paths with a predator. The bad guy doesn't look evil. He is charming, charismatic, lively, and fun. It is only when he has his victim alone that his true self—his violent, explosive, self-indulgent, and remorseless side—emerges. Suddenly, a lifetime of striving toward maturity and self-awareness, of good decisions and generous acts, is changed by one bad choice. This is one of those stories.

  On Saturday night, October 20, 2001, a lovely blonde woman with a generous heart and a happy disposition set out to show a new acquaintance from Florida the nightlife in the Old Port area of Portland, Maine. After an evening shooting pool and dancing, twenty-five-year-old Amy St. Laurent disappeared.

  This is the story of how a group of tenacious detectives solved the case. From the start, it was an unusual situation. They had no body. No crime scene. No witnesses. Only their certainty, based on years of experience, about what the circumstances suggested and an ever deepening determination to find the young woman they had never known when she was alive but who became, over the course of the investigation, “Our Amy.”

  They had a complex tangle of lies and half-truths to unravel. A cocky young suspect partying under their noses, shielded by the inaccurate stories, fuzzy or false recall, and inaction of friends and relatives who couldn't believe someone they knew could be a killer. They had difficult jurisdictional and territorial issues to resolve. Personal style differences. Crushing workloads. Weeks of sixteen- to twenty-hour workdays ticked by with no resolution as a Maine winter came relentlessly toward them, the holidays approached, and the family's agony of uncertainty pressed them on.

  This is a story about the way real-world investigation works, from the first phone call and the intensity of the first week through the long, miserable grind of many more weeks, then months. It details the way detectives collect information, evaluate that information, formulate theories, and continuously test and retest their theories as new facts become known; how they work under pressure from a desperate family, a worried public, the media, the command staff, and city government, knowing that haste truly can make waste and that a good investigation must be detailed, careful, and methodical. The whole enterprise is informed by their knowledge of the ways they'll be tested when a case comes to court.

  This is a story of good, old-fashioned police work. Not the sexy, solve-it-in-an-hour forensics of CSI or the intense, sweat ’em in
a box psychological manipulations of David Simon's Homicide. In the real world, the investigation, arrest, and trial don't happen neatly in an hour, as they do on Law & Order. They happen piece by slow, determined, painstaking piece, through a complex interweaving of different detectives’ skills. The investigation took thousands of hours of legwork, phone calls, interviewing, and report writing. Careful listening informed by instinct and experience. Meetings and arguments and a continuous reassessment of the story. Patience and taking chances, overcoming legal hurdles, refusing to take no for an answer, and coming to know the victim and the suspect extremely well.

  The investigators weighed a number of suspects, testing the veracity of their often incredible stories, until they fixed on a young man devoid of empathy and self-discipline whose goal in life was to have sex with as many women as possible; who regarded women solely as objects for his satisfaction, believing he had a right to be satisfied no matter what the cost. A young man who would prove, even to experienced detectives, to be shockingly cold-blooded in the lengths he would go to to hide his crime.

  This is also a story of unusual interagency cooperation, of strong bonds formed where territorialism and suspicion normally reigned. Of a case that might never have been successfully resolved, a body that should never have been found, of dark dreams and psychics’ maps and divine intervention. This is the story of how some good and dedicated cops relentlessly tested the evidence—and the suspect— until the false stories unraveled, waiting for the missteps that would give them their breaks, and, in the way of the best homicide investigators, did not give up until they had found their Amy and brought her killer to justice.

  Portland is Maine's largest city. With a residential population of around 70,000, it is one of the largest cities north of Boston. During business and entertainment hours, the population swells to 150,000. The population of the surrounding area is about 300,000. The city's old downtown sits atop a hill on a boot-shaped peninsula surrounded by the Fore River, Back Cove, Portland Harbor, and Casco Bay. At the East End and West End, the toe and heel of the boot, there are lovely vistas. Daily ferry service carries residents to the city from the many inhabited islands that rise from the sparkling waters of the bay.