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She posted it online: "Just to let everyone know, my mother was murdered." But those simple words written by sixteen-year-old Rachelle Waterman couldn't begin to describe the horror of the crime: Her mother's body locked in a van. Doused in gasoline. Burned beyond recognition…
Alaska troopers arrested two young men―both of whom had dated Rachelle and claimed to still love her. Investigators grilled Rachelle until she made shocking and apparently incriminating revelations…
Was this obviously intelligent young woman really an abused child coerced by police―or a deceptive murderess? The answer may lie in Rachelle's Internet journal, a disturbing glimpse into a troubled girl's mind. Did she convince her lovers to kill for her? That is the question at the heart of this shocking true story of madness, manipulation, and matricide.
- Sales Rank: #1451083 in Books
- Published on: 2011-11-01
- Released on: 2011-11-01
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.75" h x .56" w x 4.13" l, .29 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 256 pages
From the Back Cover
ONE TEENAGE DAUGHTER.
She posted it online: "Just to let everyone know, my mother was murdered." But those simple words written by sixteen-year-old Rachelle Waterman couldn't begin to describe the horror of the crime: Her mother's body locked in a van. Doused in gasoline. Burned beyond recognition…
TWO EX-BOYFRIENDS.
Alaska troopers arrested two young men―both of whom had dated Rachelle and claimed to still love her. Investigators grilled Rachelle until she made shocking and apparently incriminating revelations…
ONE SHOCKING MURDER MYSTERY.
Was this obviously intelligent young woman really an abused child coerced by police―or a deceptive murderess? The answer may lie in Rachelle's Internet journal, a disturbing glimpse into a troubled girl's mind. Did she convince her lovers to kill for her? That is the question at the heart of this shocking true story of madness, manipulation, and matricide.
With 8 pages of dramatic photos!
About the Author
MICHAEL FLEEMAN is an associate bureau chief for People magazine in Los Angeles and a former reporter for The Associated Press. He lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Love You Madly
CHAPTER ONEA night of frigid, blustery winds and light snow turned into a wet, gray morning, the clouds hanging low over the mountains of the glacier-carved valley. As he drove his four-wheel-drive Ford Expedition, Alaska state trooper Bob Claus kept an eye out for black-tailed deer darting onto the slick two-lane road. It was a weekend in November 2004, and the woods would be full of deer, and, Claus knew, men with high-powered rifles.The road took Claus past familiar scenery: briny inlets, trout-filled streams, snowcapped ridges thousands of feet high and forests of spruce interrupted every few miles by the ravages of clear-cutting, the stumps standing gray like tombstones. The side of one mountain to his left was scraped clean of timber from a 1980s clear cut.Even after a decade, the scenery never ceased to amaze Claus, an Illinois transplant, just as the scars from logging always saddened him. As one of two troopers, Bob Claus had patrolled wild and sparsely populated Prince of Wales Island for more ten years, working out of a small wood-framed building in Klawock, an ancient Indian fishing village that marks its heritage with a hilltop stand of totem poles.Driving north out of Klawock, Claus was responding to a call that had come in to the trooper post about noon. No apparent danger loomed, just the prospect of a long cold day in the rain, but Claus had quickly learned that every venturein rural Alaska carried risks that no city policeman could imagine.Prince of Wales Island is the largest of the islands in Alaska's southern archipelago, about the size of Delaware, but it has only 250 miles of designated road--100 miles paved, the rest compacted gravel, full of potholes and washouts. A routine call could keep him out of the office for hours or days; a complicated call could turn disastrous quickly. Backup--if it could be summoned--might take hours to arrive. Most locations had spotty radio and cell phone reception, and medical services were minimal. Ambulances were converted pickups. The island has one twenty-four-hour doctor-staffed clinic in Klawock. The closest hospital was in Ketchikan, and no road went there. It was reachable by medevac helicopter, floatplane, or ferry.To prepare for anything, Claus kept the Expedition stocked with camping supplies to last two to three days in the woods, boots with spikes for walking through dense forests, a stretcher, oxygen tanks, and a first-aid kit. He had the tools of investigation and crime scene analysis: tape measure, rules, evidence bags. For protection from man or beast--bears also prowled the woods this time of year, fattening up for winter hibernation--the truck was armed with rifles, shotguns, handguns, and lots of ammunition. Claus wore one Kevlar vest and kept a second as a spare.He took a second precaution this time: an Alaska Department of Fish and Game trooper who shared office space with him accompanied him in the vehicle that followed.His route this Sunday afternoon took him twenty winding miles around Big Salt Lake until the road hit a T intersection, one of just three major intersections on the entire island. A left turn would have led to the former logging camp of Naukati, twenty-five miles away over mostly paved surfaces, until the highway turned to crushed rock and continued for a bone-jarring seventy miles of twisting gravel road to the northernmost tip of the island at Labouchere Bay on the Sumner Strait. Claus turned right and went over acurving paved road toward the hamlet of Thorne Bay on the eastern side of the island on the Clarence Strait.After several miles, Claus looked through rain-streaked windows and found his landmark: a gravel road marked by a small sign several yards to the right of the highway reading Forest Service Road 3012. He pulled off the highway, the Expedition tires crunching on the coarse rock, and came to a stop. He got out and, in the drizzle, met a deer hunter from Thorne Bay named Scott MacDonald.Only about two thousand people lived on Prince of Wales Island, and Bob Claus knew virtually every one of them, including MacDonald. The thirty-two-year-old hunter worked for the Forest Service, inspecting second-growth groves that sprouted after logging. Glenn Taylor, the Fish and Game trooper following Claus, pulled up to the scene, and MacDonald relayed why the authorities had been summoned.Scott explained that he had left home at about nine a.m. with the idea of spending his Sunday hunting in the woods off the main highway. He drove to the Forest Service Road 3012 turnoff and made his way down the abandoned gravel logging road. The road went up a steep mountainside through a vast open area from clear-cut logging about ten years earlier. Streams trickled down the mountain and cut small arroyos through the old road. On the periphery stood an old-growth spruce forest, prime deer hunting ground. Scott MacDonald saw three or four other people that morning, all probably hunters, but nobody he knew.As he drove up a steep section where it continued to switchback through the clear-cut area, Scott MacDonald saw smoke rising about a quarter mile away as if from a chimney, but as far as he knew there were no cabins in the area. Through his binoculars he saw that the smoke originated from the blackened wreckage of a large vehicle, probably a van. Scott drove closer, got out of his truck, and hiked the rest of the way. The wreckage clung to the side of the mountain, having tumbled off the road and then becomingpinned against a log. The van itself wasn't on fire; the smoke came from smoldering branches and logs beneath it.Peering through a blown-out passenger window, MacDonald made a grisly discovery. He trudged back to his truck and drove down the mountain to where he could get a cell phone signal and called his mom, who worked as a business management supervisor at the Forest Service and knew the local law enforcement people. She put in the call to the trooper post in Klawock.Claus asked MacDonald to lead him and Taylor to the scene. As he drove behind MacDonald, Claus paid close attention to their route. About one thousand miles of logging roads crisscross the island, almost none of them marked or memorialized on any maps. In rain or darkness it would be easy to become lost or disoriented even within earshot of the cars whizzing by on the main road. Claus wanted to be able to find this road again.The first few miles took them across a relatively smooth road, and the caravan of three four-wheel-drive vehicles went along at a thirty-five-mile-per-hour clip. Along they way Claus spotted other trucks carrying hunters. The trooper stopped each one and asked if they had also seen a burning van. None had. After four miles the road branched into a Y, with MacDonald leading them along steeper, narrower road. Barely a lane wide, the road was of loose wet gravel, ravaged by potholes and washouts and littered with boulders and old logs. Claus noticed the road also was covered in car parts that he suspected had been dislodged from the van on its way up here. The road forked again, and MacDonald drove on a few hundred yards, stopped, and got out. Claus and Taylor parked their vehicles in a wide section of the road so they could turn around.The men hiked through the rain over slippery rocks and branches toward the twisted, blackened heap lodged amid fallen timber logs, stumps, dirt, grass, and bushes. A blue vapor rose from beneath the wreck, steam forming off the rainwater creeping onto the smoldering undergrowth and logs in the nearly freezing temperatures. Up close, the vehicleappeared to be a minivan. The fire had scorched away most of the paint, with patches of the original purple remaining. Heat had blown out the windows all around and melted the license plate, now a glob of aluminum puddled beneath the rear bumper. Claus looked for the metal plates stamped with the vehicle identification number, normally affixed to the inside driver's-side door and on the dashboard, but found nothing but twisted metal and ash.The trooper looked into the backseat area at what had prompted Scott MacDonald's call. Resting on the blackened remains of passenger seat was a skull beside a blackened human torso. Other charred bone fragments and a pile of ash lay nearby. The arms and legs had been burned off, as had the skin, hair and clothing. It was impossible to determine if this had been a man, woman or child. But these were definitely human remains.Claus pondered his next step. In fifteen years as a trooper, he had handled every kind of case: burglaries, robberies, search and rescue, first aid, medical calls, drunken drivers, disorderly conduct, traffic accidents, and assaults of every stripe. This was the advantage of being only one of two troopers responsible for law and order on the 145-mile-long island. His experience also included a number of death investigations, including missing-and-presumed-dead persons, suicides, fatal accidents, and suspicious deaths that turned out to have medical causes. Every case came with its own challenges and often required improvisation. Hours could pass before a supervisor could even be reached. In past death investigations Claus would do an initial determination of the circumstances, photograph the scene, collect evidence, put the body in the truck, and call the medical examiner and "then ask for permission to do what we just did," he said.But this case called for more caution. Of his death investigations in the course of his career, only three were homicides, and this one had all the hallmarks of a fourth. Claus could come up with no other plausible explanation for a body found burned up in the backseat of a suburban family vehicle on a desolate, barely accessible mountainside road.Asking Taylor to stand guard against any curious hunters, Claus made his way back down the hill to the main road, where he could get a cell phone signal.He called the dispatch center, which routed calls for ...
Most helpful customer reviews
7 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
An author but not a writer
By Leonard Bolton
The author is merely an opportunist -- he found a story and ran with it. Nothing wrong in that except that he isn't a writer. Any drama in this tale comes entirely from the substance of the story and not the style of writing. There's no flair, no presence, no penetrating subjective angles to draw one in -- he merely writes very much from the outside with very little to make characters spring off the page. It's lacking in dimensions and the players remain flat on a boring canvass as bleak as the Alaskan setting.
The author clearly doesn't have what it takes to be a writer -- he tabulates the facts and publishes a book and gets there before anyone else, probably discouraging anyone with ability to make a better job of it.
Fleeman manages to pull off the impossible -- make an interesting story uninteresting. While the chill of Alaska sometimes comes across the same cannot be said for the characters who are as remote at the end of the book as they are at the beginning. A book has as its prime objective to be gripping so this one falls at the first fence. It was easy to put down which I did many times but felt that since I'd bought it(with regrets) I was obligated to finish it.
Not recommended.
14 of 17 people found the following review helpful.
Halfway thru...and irritated with the publisher
By Amazon Customer
I read true crime by this publisher frequently and never noticed this many errors in editing before.
I hate to penalize the author for this and I would have waited until I finished reading the entire book before reviewing it if this didn't bug me so much...and given more stars, too, because (so far) the author is doing a great job. But the editing actually made me look to see if it was self published.
3 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
The Facts and Nothing But
By zenbren
It was pretty obvious to me that the author interviewed absolutely no one but law enforcement. Except some Alaskan scenery and a few words from Rachelle's blog, every word was a reprint of police interviews or trial transcripts.
Here's the story: 16 yr old Rachelle, living with her parents in a desolate town that she refers to as, "Hell, Alaska", starts wearing black and tells her parents she's Wiccan. She meets 2 twenty something losers, whom no girl has ever given the time of day to.
Rachelle constantly cries to them that her mother is abusing her: pushing her down stairs, hitting her and leaving bruises. We are left in the dark as to whether any of her claims were true or just typical teenage angst. (As in most true crime books, the victim was perfect in every way and never even killed a fly) Like any 2 besotted young men (she had sexual encounters with both)they plead with her to tell them what they could do to help. Whichever one came up with murder is never really made clear.
Remember, all this was gleaned from police interviews. I'd like to get some feel for some of the characters in a true crime book...absolutely none here. The NBC Dateline version HAS to be more interesting and you can probably watch it on YOUTUBE, for FREE!
As a side note: Very funny comment in the book on the ratio of males to females in Alaska being so great..as one woman put it, "The odds are good but the goods are odd".
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