Perfect Murder, Perfect Town - Lawrence Schiller [85]
Hofstrom knew Eller had the law on his side.*
“When our job is done,” the commander continued, “we’ll bring it over and deposit it on your doorstep.”
Hofstrom said nothing.
“What are you going to do,” Wise asked, “bring us twenty thousand goddamn pages some Friday night and say, ‘We’re arresting somebody Monday morning’? That’s not a good way to run an investigation.”
Though Hunter remained calm, Wise could see that it took great effort on his part.
“I can’t believe how you respond to those people,” Eller continued, referring to Hofstrom’s handling of the Ramseys’ attorneys. “You’re such a Goody Two-shoes.”
The way Hofstrom remembered it, Eller had asked him to get a second handwriting sample from the Ramseys, who didn’t want to cooperate with the police because of Eller’s attempt to withhold their daughter’s body. Hofstrom had met with Bryan Morgan, and on January 4 Patsy Ramsey had given the detectives her second handwriting sample at a neutral location, Pete Hofstrom’s home. Now the commander was turning the incident against Hofstrom.
Wise could see that Hofstrom was furious. Meanwhile, Koby sat there Buddha-like, as if he were a disinterested party rather than the chief of police presiding over an increasingly notorious and baffling homicide, the same chief whose answering machine chirped, “Hi, this is Tom Koby. It’s a beautiful day here in Boulder, and I hope it’s beautiful where you are too. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back.”
“I can’t believe you used written questions,” Wise felt obliged to say, referring to Arndt’s December fax to Bryan Morgan, even though by now Wise had learned that Hofstrom had approved Arndt’s actions. Eller ignored him and said to Hofstrom, “You’re so clubby. The handwriting samples should have been taken at police headquarters, not at your house.”
Hofstrom barely said a word. Finally Hunter spoke up. He asked Eller to explain how exactly the police and the DA’s office would move ahead with day-to-day business.
The police would do what they determined was right, Eller told him. If they had any questions or needed any legal advice, they’d call. But they would no longer share information.
Hunter knew he was facing a common problem. A colleague of his had once put it this way: “The cops are where the rubber meets the road, but the DA is where the Constitution meets the cops. The conflicts are endless.” Endless, yes. But not usually so acrimonious.
On February 6, Alex Hunter’s elderly mother, Virginia, died suddenly in the Boulder nursing home to which she’d just been moved. A diabetic, she had been given a glass of prune juice, which has a high sugar content. She had died almost immediately. Hunter’s two sisters flew in from the East Coast to attend the memorial service, but he felt unable to grieve for his mother properly amid the almost hourly crises of the Ramsey case. After the family had spread their mother’s ashes in the mountains along the Continental Divide, Hunter went back to work. It wasn’t long before he was comparing his own situation with John Ramsey’s.
When Ramsey had lost his daughter Beth, he wasn’t under public pressure and, as Hunter understood the situation, had been able to grieve properly. Now, after JonBenét’s death, he appeared composed in public, though more than likely he couldn’t grieve properly either, thought Hunter. Patsy, on the other hand, expressed her pain openly—anytime, anywhere.
Sheriff’s patrol deputy Kevin Parker was working traffic on February 10 when he responded to a possible felony–menacing call. As Parker pulled into the parking lot at 4939 North Broadway, just north of Boulder city limits, he found Jay Elowsky handcuffed and sitting in the backseat of a Boulder police car. A silver baseball bat and a 40 Caliber Sig Saur pistol had been found in a search of his BMW. Most cops knew Jay Elowsky, who owned Pasta Jay’s restaurant on Pearl Street.