Read Online Love Her To Death by M. William Phelps - Free Book Online
Authors: M. William Phelps
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point.
Gone.
Inside the Roseboro residence by 2:52 A.M., Neff explained, there was, “and I am going to estimate here, between fifteen to twenty family and friends walking around the house.”
Neff and Martin knew going into the situation that Roseboro could yank the “consent to search” form out of their hands anytime he felt like it, then demand they hightail it out of his house at once. So they had to be careful with their reactions and what they said, making the visit as quick and thorough as they could under the circumstances.
“That house was cold,” Neff said later, referring to the reaction from Roseboro’s family and friends as he and Martin began their walk-through. Nobody wanted them there, and they were not concealing those feelings for the officers as Martin and Neff entered.
“I just kept my head down,” Neff added, “and did what we had to do.”
The house itself was “confusing to navigate,” Neff explained. Which was one of the reasons why they asked Roseboro to show them around. The other problem was that everyone in the house was startled by their presence this second time: Why in the heavens are the cops back here again? Jan had drowned accidentally. Everyone at the house had signed off on that as a cause of death. Heart attack. Fall. Drowning. Jan’s death was a tragedy enough all by itself. Did the police have to make matters worse by continuing to pester this grieving family?
“We were not welcome with open arms,” Martin said. “I’ll leave it at that.”
There was a lot of strange feelings in the house, too, Martin felt. The pastor from the Roseboro’s church, Larry Hummer, who also happened to be the ECTPD’s chaplain, was inside, talking to Roseboro friends andfamily, helping out where he could. Many of these people inside the house were professionals: doctors, lawyers, businesspeople.
Martin had called ADA Kelly Sekula back and asked if the ECTPD had any chance of obtaining a search warrant.
“You just don’t have enough,” Sekula said. Most in law enforcement will admit that Pennsylvania is one of those states where getting a search warrant is tough business. It’s not as easy as people might think. Here, in this situation, the ECTPD had absolutely nothing: speculation and theory, a cop’s gut instinct. But no evidence whatsoever—the “probable cause” a judge wants to see—showing them Roseboro had anything to do with his wife’s untimely death.
That would all change the instant Neff or Martin spotted something in the house that could kindle a search warrant: a bloody towel on the floor, hair or blood in the washer or dryer, a bloody weapon of some sort, maybe some furniture out of place, a broken vase, anything of concern. But they were walking on eggshells, being hawked and watched as if they were intruders.
Larry Martin pulled Michael Roseboro aside before they started. “Mike, listen, is there anything strange or out of place—i.e., somebody who could have broken into the house, robbery, burglary, or evidence of an intruder—that you see?”
There was always the possibility that while Roseboro was asleep, which he had claimed to be during that crucial hour Jan had died, a home invasion could have been uncovered by Jan, who died trying to bust it up.
Roseboro did not hesitate with his answer: “Nope. Everything looks normal.”
Martin made note of what Roseboro said.
Both detectives “would have loved to lay on the floor and shine flashlights under beds and in back of furniture,”Martin later lamented. But considering the intense disgust they were feeling from others about them being there, in the first place, and the fact that Roseboro could ask them to leave at any moment, a more thorough search was not going to be possible.
There were several people, including Roseboro, following so close behind as they walked through, Neff and Martin could literally feel their breath on their backs.
Martin opened the door to the master bedroom, where the
Gone.
Inside the Roseboro residence by 2:52 A.M., Neff explained, there was, “and I am going to estimate here, between fifteen to twenty family and friends walking around the house.”
Neff and Martin knew going into the situation that Roseboro could yank the “consent to search” form out of their hands anytime he felt like it, then demand they hightail it out of his house at once. So they had to be careful with their reactions and what they said, making the visit as quick and thorough as they could under the circumstances.
“That house was cold,” Neff said later, referring to the reaction from Roseboro’s family and friends as he and Martin began their walk-through. Nobody wanted them there, and they were not concealing those feelings for the officers as Martin and Neff entered.
“I just kept my head down,” Neff added, “and did what we had to do.”
The house itself was “confusing to navigate,” Neff explained. Which was one of the reasons why they asked Roseboro to show them around. The other problem was that everyone in the house was startled by their presence this second time: Why in the heavens are the cops back here again? Jan had drowned accidentally. Everyone at the house had signed off on that as a cause of death. Heart attack. Fall. Drowning. Jan’s death was a tragedy enough all by itself. Did the police have to make matters worse by continuing to pester this grieving family?
“We were not welcome with open arms,” Martin said. “I’ll leave it at that.”
There was a lot of strange feelings in the house, too, Martin felt. The pastor from the Roseboro’s church, Larry Hummer, who also happened to be the ECTPD’s chaplain, was inside, talking to Roseboro friends andfamily, helping out where he could. Many of these people inside the house were professionals: doctors, lawyers, businesspeople.
Martin had called ADA Kelly Sekula back and asked if the ECTPD had any chance of obtaining a search warrant.
“You just don’t have enough,” Sekula said. Most in law enforcement will admit that Pennsylvania is one of those states where getting a search warrant is tough business. It’s not as easy as people might think. Here, in this situation, the ECTPD had absolutely nothing: speculation and theory, a cop’s gut instinct. But no evidence whatsoever—the “probable cause” a judge wants to see—showing them Roseboro had anything to do with his wife’s untimely death.
That would all change the instant Neff or Martin spotted something in the house that could kindle a search warrant: a bloody towel on the floor, hair or blood in the washer or dryer, a bloody weapon of some sort, maybe some furniture out of place, a broken vase, anything of concern. But they were walking on eggshells, being hawked and watched as if they were intruders.
Larry Martin pulled Michael Roseboro aside before they started. “Mike, listen, is there anything strange or out of place—i.e., somebody who could have broken into the house, robbery, burglary, or evidence of an intruder—that you see?”
There was always the possibility that while Roseboro was asleep, which he had claimed to be during that crucial hour Jan had died, a home invasion could have been uncovered by Jan, who died trying to bust it up.
Roseboro did not hesitate with his answer: “Nope. Everything looks normal.”
Martin made note of what Roseboro said.
Both detectives “would have loved to lay on the floor and shine flashlights under beds and in back of furniture,”Martin later lamented. But considering the intense disgust they were feeling from others about them being there, in the first place, and the fact that Roseboro could ask them to leave at any moment, a more thorough search was not going to be possible.
There were several people, including Roseboro, following so close behind as they walked through, Neff and Martin could literally feel their breath on their backs.
Martin opened the door to the master bedroom, where the
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