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Authors: M. William Phelps
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ma’am?”
“No. I don’t know their names. Only Jennifer.”
“Do you know what type of vehicle they were driving?”
Dorothy thought about it. “A truck,” she said. “They were all in a truck.”
Bob Dow, McAllester knew, owned a 1989 Chevy pickup.
Which was also missing.
Mike McAllester took a ride over to the hospital to see if he could get a few moments with the woman, Bob Dow’s mother, who had been brought in after Dow’s body had been discovered. McAllester was told Mrs. Dow was in the emergency room. Her status was considered “weak, but mostly okay.” She was getting her strength back. But whoever had been caring for the old woman wasn’t fulfilling his or her role, certainly. It had taken some time and lots of fluids to get Mrs. Dow’s electrolytes back in check, but she was coming along well.
McAllester also found out since heading over to the hospital that Bob Dow didn’t actually live in the house where his body had been found. At least, that is, on paper. Bob had his own trailer in Weatherford, about twenty miles east of Mineral Wells, where one would suspect he spent most of his time. Through the impression the MWPD was getting, Bob’s mother’s house was his personal party house.
“For an eighty-six-year-old woman,” the doctor told McAllester as the detective walked toward the emergency room to speak with Mrs. Dow, “she is doing reasonably all right. She suffered a stroke a few years back. So all considering, she’s okay.”
“Any indication that she has been neglected in any way?” McAllester asked.
The ER doctor looked at her chart. “I don’t think so. No.”
“Can she talk? Can she communicate with me?”
“Ah, no, not really. And listen, I’m not sure she’s even aware of anything that happened inside the house, anyway.”
“I may need to speak with her at a later time when she’s able.”
The doctor said that would be fine. Just not right now.
McAllester drove back to the crime scene. He wanted the exact information on Bob Dow’s truck, so he could forward it to dispatch.
After finding the info, McAllester called dispatch, saying, “Get that out to TLETS. . . .”
TLETS is the Texas Law Enforcement Telecommunications System. There were over one hundred thousand law enforcement personnel with access to TLETS. “The core component of TLETS is a store-and-forward-message brokering system that ensures safe, secure delivery of content being transmitted throughout the system,” according to the Texas Department of Public Safety (DPS).
As the night wore down and McAllester headed home, an all-points bulletin (APB) went out on Bob Dow’s truck, which the MWPD believed was carrying four young females—one of whom was now wanted for questioning in the murder of the man who owned the vehicle.
CHAPTER 8
W HEN LATER ASKED ABOUT her childhood, Jennifer Jones’s simplified analysis was straightforward and concise: “It wasn’t good.” After Kathy Jones left the home, Jerry Jones had a tough job of raising the girls. The older they got, the harder it became to keep a leash on them and provide. “My father,” Jen added to her recollection of those years, “he wasn’t able to support me.”
After quitting high school, Jen said, she “tried to get a job.” But the nearly eighteen-year-old girl found out quickly that she wasn’t “very good” at working. So each job that came along—and they were limited, at best—became a chore. She’d end up quitting. She never said whether she made the jobs out to be more than they were, or she had a run of bad bosses. Either way, there aren’t too many kids in the world who get up every morning with smiles and burning desires to rush out to their jobs. But they do it to support themselves, as emerging, responsible adults, who live healthy lives, often do.
Apparently, Jennifer wasn’t interested in growing up.
It was just a few weeks before her eighteenth birthday when Jen, now out of school, found
“No. I don’t know their names. Only Jennifer.”
“Do you know what type of vehicle they were driving?”
Dorothy thought about it. “A truck,” she said. “They were all in a truck.”
Bob Dow, McAllester knew, owned a 1989 Chevy pickup.
Which was also missing.
Mike McAllester took a ride over to the hospital to see if he could get a few moments with the woman, Bob Dow’s mother, who had been brought in after Dow’s body had been discovered. McAllester was told Mrs. Dow was in the emergency room. Her status was considered “weak, but mostly okay.” She was getting her strength back. But whoever had been caring for the old woman wasn’t fulfilling his or her role, certainly. It had taken some time and lots of fluids to get Mrs. Dow’s electrolytes back in check, but she was coming along well.
McAllester also found out since heading over to the hospital that Bob Dow didn’t actually live in the house where his body had been found. At least, that is, on paper. Bob had his own trailer in Weatherford, about twenty miles east of Mineral Wells, where one would suspect he spent most of his time. Through the impression the MWPD was getting, Bob’s mother’s house was his personal party house.
“For an eighty-six-year-old woman,” the doctor told McAllester as the detective walked toward the emergency room to speak with Mrs. Dow, “she is doing reasonably all right. She suffered a stroke a few years back. So all considering, she’s okay.”
“Any indication that she has been neglected in any way?” McAllester asked.
The ER doctor looked at her chart. “I don’t think so. No.”
“Can she talk? Can she communicate with me?”
“Ah, no, not really. And listen, I’m not sure she’s even aware of anything that happened inside the house, anyway.”
“I may need to speak with her at a later time when she’s able.”
The doctor said that would be fine. Just not right now.
McAllester drove back to the crime scene. He wanted the exact information on Bob Dow’s truck, so he could forward it to dispatch.
After finding the info, McAllester called dispatch, saying, “Get that out to TLETS. . . .”
TLETS is the Texas Law Enforcement Telecommunications System. There were over one hundred thousand law enforcement personnel with access to TLETS. “The core component of TLETS is a store-and-forward-message brokering system that ensures safe, secure delivery of content being transmitted throughout the system,” according to the Texas Department of Public Safety (DPS).
As the night wore down and McAllester headed home, an all-points bulletin (APB) went out on Bob Dow’s truck, which the MWPD believed was carrying four young females—one of whom was now wanted for questioning in the murder of the man who owned the vehicle.
CHAPTER 8
W HEN LATER ASKED ABOUT her childhood, Jennifer Jones’s simplified analysis was straightforward and concise: “It wasn’t good.” After Kathy Jones left the home, Jerry Jones had a tough job of raising the girls. The older they got, the harder it became to keep a leash on them and provide. “My father,” Jen added to her recollection of those years, “he wasn’t able to support me.”
After quitting high school, Jen said, she “tried to get a job.” But the nearly eighteen-year-old girl found out quickly that she wasn’t “very good” at working. So each job that came along—and they were limited, at best—became a chore. She’d end up quitting. She never said whether she made the jobs out to be more than they were, or she had a run of bad bosses. Either way, there aren’t too many kids in the world who get up every morning with smiles and burning desires to rush out to their jobs. But they do it to support themselves, as emerging, responsible adults, who live healthy lives, often do.
Apparently, Jennifer wasn’t interested in growing up.
It was just a few weeks before her eighteenth birthday when Jen, now out of school, found
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