Read Online Blood Lust: Portrait of a Serial Sex Killer by Gary C. King - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gary C. King
Tags: True Crime, Murder, Serial Killers, forest, oregon, portland, eugene, blood lust, serial murder, gary c king, dayton rogers
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their own weapons drawn, she tried to
assure them that they weren't being shot at. She said that the
shots they had heard had only been fired into the air by her
father, Roy Miller, who lived just down the road, on the other
side. He had seen the deputies' cars in the driveway area, she
said, but in the darkness had not been able to tell that they were
sheriff's office vehicles. He had mistaken the deputies for
prowlers, she said, and called her on the telephone to tell her
about it. But when she peeked out of a window, she recognized the
cars as patrol vehicles and cautioned her father not to fire any
more shots.
Visibly shaken but grateful that the shots
had only been fired into the air, Helmstadt and Schroeder
reholstered their own weapons. At least they hadn't been shot at,
and that seemed to serve as a consolation of sorts. But due to the
nature of their visit, they weren't going to take any chances. They
obtained Roy Miller's telephone number from his daughter and, using
their radios, were patched through by their dispatcher. As they
talked with Mr. Miller and realized that he seemed sincere and was
apologetic about what he'd done, the traumatized deputies began to
calm down a bit. Someone else, however, would have to take over for
them to keep objectivity in the investigation and to allow them
time to recover their nerves.
A short time later Deputies Larry Beckwith
and Kevin Layng, assigned to the patrol division's south county
area, were detailed to assist at the suspect's address in Canby.
They arrived at the mobile home at 4:56 A.M. and relieved Helmstadt
and Schroeder, who were still unnerved over what they felt had been
a potentially life-threatening situation. With everything now calm
and apparently safe, Beckwith and Layng determined that the
light-blue pickup was not on the premises, nor was it at the
relative's home on the other side of the road.
After checking in with their dispatcher,
Beckwith and Layng approached the mobile home and knocked on the
front door. Mrs. Rogers, still sleepy and bleary-eyed, eventually
came to the door again, her youthful and attractive face reflecting
a look of helplessness and wonderment at why more deputies from the
sheriff's department had come to her home at such an ungodly hour
of the morning. She knew that something very serious must have
happened, but she didn't know what. Following depart mental
procedure, Beckwith and Layng weren't going to provide her many
clues. Looking at them quizzically, she apologized again for her
father's actions and repeated her explanation about why he had
fired off his gun. When Beckwith told her that they weren't there
about her father but were instead looking for a 1985 Nissan pickup
registered at her address, she haltingly invited the deputies
inside.
"I'm the co-owner of the truck," she said,
obviously frightened. "I'm on the registration with my husband,
Dayton."
In response to Beckwith's questions, Mrs.
Rogers said that Dayton had worked all day and that the pickup was
at his place of business in nearby Woodburn. She knew this, she
said, because she had called her husband there after her father had
called her when he saw the cars in the driveway. The business was
known as Small Engine Repair Unlimited, located at 11635 Pacific
Court N.E. She told the lawmen that Dayton had come home at about
8:30 P.M. to eat dinner. Half an hour or so later, he left after
saying that he was going back to the shop to catch up on some work.
She said that Dayton often worked late hours.
"Was he driving the blue Nissan pickup when
he left?" asked Layng.
"Yes."
"How was he dressed?"
"He was wearing blue jeans. What's this all
about, anyway?" She was worried and wanted to know why the
sheriff's department was so interested in hers and Dayton's
truck.
Beckwith and Layng looked at each other
briefly without answering her question, and they left the residence
momentarily so they could confer with each other privately and
relay their information to
assure them that they weren't being shot at. She said that the
shots they had heard had only been fired into the air by her
father, Roy Miller, who lived just down the road, on the other
side. He had seen the deputies' cars in the driveway area, she
said, but in the darkness had not been able to tell that they were
sheriff's office vehicles. He had mistaken the deputies for
prowlers, she said, and called her on the telephone to tell her
about it. But when she peeked out of a window, she recognized the
cars as patrol vehicles and cautioned her father not to fire any
more shots.
Visibly shaken but grateful that the shots
had only been fired into the air, Helmstadt and Schroeder
reholstered their own weapons. At least they hadn't been shot at,
and that seemed to serve as a consolation of sorts. But due to the
nature of their visit, they weren't going to take any chances. They
obtained Roy Miller's telephone number from his daughter and, using
their radios, were patched through by their dispatcher. As they
talked with Mr. Miller and realized that he seemed sincere and was
apologetic about what he'd done, the traumatized deputies began to
calm down a bit. Someone else, however, would have to take over for
them to keep objectivity in the investigation and to allow them
time to recover their nerves.
A short time later Deputies Larry Beckwith
and Kevin Layng, assigned to the patrol division's south county
area, were detailed to assist at the suspect's address in Canby.
They arrived at the mobile home at 4:56 A.M. and relieved Helmstadt
and Schroeder, who were still unnerved over what they felt had been
a potentially life-threatening situation. With everything now calm
and apparently safe, Beckwith and Layng determined that the
light-blue pickup was not on the premises, nor was it at the
relative's home on the other side of the road.
After checking in with their dispatcher,
Beckwith and Layng approached the mobile home and knocked on the
front door. Mrs. Rogers, still sleepy and bleary-eyed, eventually
came to the door again, her youthful and attractive face reflecting
a look of helplessness and wonderment at why more deputies from the
sheriff's department had come to her home at such an ungodly hour
of the morning. She knew that something very serious must have
happened, but she didn't know what. Following depart mental
procedure, Beckwith and Layng weren't going to provide her many
clues. Looking at them quizzically, she apologized again for her
father's actions and repeated her explanation about why he had
fired off his gun. When Beckwith told her that they weren't there
about her father but were instead looking for a 1985 Nissan pickup
registered at her address, she haltingly invited the deputies
inside.
"I'm the co-owner of the truck," she said,
obviously frightened. "I'm on the registration with my husband,
Dayton."
In response to Beckwith's questions, Mrs.
Rogers said that Dayton had worked all day and that the pickup was
at his place of business in nearby Woodburn. She knew this, she
said, because she had called her husband there after her father had
called her when he saw the cars in the driveway. The business was
known as Small Engine Repair Unlimited, located at 11635 Pacific
Court N.E. She told the lawmen that Dayton had come home at about
8:30 P.M. to eat dinner. Half an hour or so later, he left after
saying that he was going back to the shop to catch up on some work.
She said that Dayton often worked late hours.
"Was he driving the blue Nissan pickup when
he left?" asked Layng.
"Yes."
"How was he dressed?"
"He was wearing blue jeans. What's this all
about, anyway?" She was worried and wanted to know why the
sheriff's department was so interested in hers and Dayton's
truck.
Beckwith and Layng looked at each other
briefly without answering her question, and they left the residence
momentarily so they could confer with each other privately and
relay their information to
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