No Regrets (17 page)

Rolf Neslund was listed as a potential witness in his own murder trial!

What did that mean? For one thing, it meant that every time the courtroom door opened, heads jerked and everyone in the gallery looked to see who was coming in.

There was scarcely space to breathe in the courtroom; every seat was filled and some spectators stood. It remained that way throughout the proceedings.

Picking a jury for a case that had had sensational headlines
and media coverage in minute detail for so many years is always difficult. Judge Bibb wrote to the pool of hundreds of potential jurors and asked them not to read or watch television news or newspaper accounts that proliferated as Ruth’s trial drew near. He hoped not to have to sequester the jury during the trial, which was expected to last four to six weeks. San Juan County could scarcely afford the trial, much less hotel and food bills for jurors for that long. The county had budgeted eighteen thousand dollars for the trial, and keeping the jury sequestered would cost at least twenty-four thousand dollars, an unheard-of drain on the county budget.

But from the beginning, everyone concerned, which, indeed, was most of San Juan County’s residents, had worried about the possibility of a mistrial. They would hold their breaths and hope that no one got sick, that there was no misconduct, and that everyone from witnesses to jurors would show up on time for every session. If the jurors were not sequestered, there was always the chance that one or more of them might be approached or overhear something they were not supposed to.

It took six days before all but thirty of the original four hundred in the jury pool had been winnowed out by the state and the defense for cause, and for medical and financial reasons of individuals who felt serving on the jury would be a hardship.

And still, Judge Bibb felt that it had become necessary for more potential jurors to be called. On Veterans’ Day, Lisa Boyd, an Orcas Island banker, was shocked to receive just three hours’ notice that she must report to the courtroom in Friday Harbor. The county needed five more jurors. Although her supervisor at the bank wasn’t happy to have her leave on such short notice, Lisa and five other citizens
caught the ferry to San Juan Island just in time. Only one of that half dozen was dismissed, and finally, twelve women and three men took their places in the jury box. Lisa had become Juror Number One.

No one on the Neslund jury was from Lopez Island; they had all been removed “for cause” by the state—much to Fred Weedon’s disappointment. Ruth had a lot of loyalty from Lopezians, despite all the “meat-grinder” folktales. Many of the potential jurors had mentioned the meat-grinder when they were asked what they might remember of the Neslund case, but said they didn’t think that would influence their ability to judge the testimony fairly.

It was to be a trial full of fits and starts; Ruth’s health and habits would interrupt her trial continually. Only a few days into jury selection, her blood pressure had risen dangerously high and she suffered a severe nosebleed. Every effort was made to keep this emergency from the potential jurors’ eyes, but one person did see her as she was spirited from the courtroom, a handkerchief pressed against her face in vain, and her blouse already stained with blood.

She was flown to a hospital in Bellingham. Subsequently, she spent a week in a local convalescent center until she was deemed well enough to come back to court. Although the jurors didn’t know it, Ruth had suffered from “the DTs”—delirium tremens—in the medical center. They were brought on by alcohol withdrawal.

Almost anyone on trial for first-degree murder might be expected to experience a rise in blood pressure, but Ruth Neslund looked ill when she returned to her trial.

But there was no mistrial. They had all dodged another mistrial bullet.

Finally, Greg Canova asked that the defendant, who was free on bail, be confined to the Islands Convalescent Center where she could have her vital signs and her consumption of alcohol monitored. Unless she was, Canova argued that she was “in a position to control this trial.”

Judge Bibb agreed and ordered that during the week, Ruth should be in the center from 8:00
P.M
. to 8:00
A.M.
She would be allowed to go home on weekends.

She was, in many ways, a pathetic figure, a limping old lady. But Ruth was also a consummate chameleon. Throughout her life she had morphed from capable businesswoman to persuasive mistress to Lady Bountiful to furious and combative wife to alleged murderess to kindly neighbor to gracious hostess, and finally, to an elderly invalid whose own community seemed to surround her with concern.

But who was she... really?

With all the delays, it was November 13 before opening statements began. The jurors looked at Charles Silverman expectantly. As youthful and inexperienced as he was, the man known to islanders as “Charlie” did a good job as he laid out the whole case for them in a comprehensive fashion. He characterized the relationship between the Neslunds as “rather vicious,” growing from the “seeds of violence” that had been germinating in their home for some time, culminating in a terrible argument that was sparked by Rolf Neslund’s discovery of his wife’s financial manipulation of his money. Silverman promised jurors that Ruth’s niece, Joy, and her brother, Paul, would describe what had happened in the last bloody day of Rolf’s life.

He promised the jurors a plethora of physical evidence that would back up the circumstantial evidence that pointed to Ruth as her husband’s killer.

Fred Weedon opted to delay his remarks until the defense began its case. Attorneys sometimes choose to hear the opposition’s case before they lay out their own.

This was a small-town trial, but it drew tremendous interest. “It felt like being part of a real-life book,” Lisa Boyd remembered. “There were lots of ‘actors.’ Greg Canova was very handsome—like the actor Pernell Roberts—and he dressed beautifully. Charlie Silverman was quite young then, and earnest. He didn’t pretend to be an expert in criminal law, and we liked him for that.

“Fred Weedon was known for being a real estate attorney in the islands. He wasn’t a big-time criminal defense attorney. Ellsworth Connelly—who I think was appointed by the state—wasn’t familiar to us. He had a habit of jingling coins in his pocket. I don’t think he was aware of it. And he always referred to Deputy Ray Clever as ‘Cleaver’—like Beaver Cleaver.

“Ruth constantly wore what appeared to be that navy blue pantsuit. She didn’t care how she looked. Her hair was straight and short, and stuck out every which way. It was gray and it often looked greasy or dirty.

“We could see that she had a cane or a walker, but we didn’t know if she really needed it or not.”

Joe Caputo, Ray Clever, and other detectives were local men, deputies from the small Sheriff’s Office, and not like investigators from Seattle, Spokane, or Tacoma. Jurors felt comfortable with them, as they described what they had found during the sweeping search of the Neslunds’ home three years earlier, telling things no one had heard before.

Joe had created an exhibit that would document exactly where the blood spots on the floor were found. “I had actually got a large roll of white butcher-type wrapping paper and spread the paper about the floor, and then connected them into a huge diagram which could be folded. I thought it was a good technique that was done in addition to the photographs.”

The trunk, which Rolf had reportedly tumbled over when he was shot, still bearing hardened blood and gray hair caught in the metal corner, was brought into the courtroom.

For the first time, the community heard what had really gone on during the long search of 1982. Now, at last, they could understand why the case against Ruth Neslund had moved forward so slowly, and yet no one in the courtroom could possibly realize how many hundreds of hours of detective work had gone into linking Rolf’s disappearance with that final horrific day in 1980.

When the sheriff’s investigators finished their testimony, the mass of physical evidence became part of the court record. Some of it was minute; some were the large chunks of concrete, carpet, and the padding beneath it— still bloodstained.

As the investigation’s results spun out, Ruth sat at the defense table, her demeanor seemingly calm. She scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad and whispered often to the man beside her. Fred Weedon had devoted many years to absolving her of any guilt. Ruth had used those years to create a “new Ruth Neslund,” with her lovely inn, and her life without Rolf. Jurors who glanced at her were struck by her air of confidence; a few found her demeanor almost arrogant.

Still, they wondered what she was thinking as she
watched members of her own family take the witness stand to testify against her.

On November 19, the trial was in its third week when Donna Smith, the niece who had been “like a daughter” to Ruth, took the witness chair. It was obvious that she was torn by memories of better days. Since she had come to Seattle from Ohio in 1968—seventeen years earlier—she had been welcomed into the Neslunds’ home by both Ruth and Rolf. Rolf had encouraged Ruth to invite her extended family to reunions on Lopez Island, and Donna recalled happy times. But she spoke then of the disintegration of her aunt and uncle’s marriage. In answer to Greg Canova’s questions, she described the fights that began in earnest about 1979.

“My aunt called me to tell me she was in ‘the bunk-house,’ because they were fighting. She said, ‘If he comes back here, I’ll shoot him.’ I was scared for both of them.”

Donna Smith said a family reunion in July 1980 had been ruined because her aunt and uncle were arguing. At that time, her aunt had said to her, “I’m not going to have to put up with him much longer.”

The witness said that she had become very concerned in the first week of August when her babysitter left a scribbled message on her chalkboard. Rolf had been watching a preseason football game and, according to her sitter, he was excited when he called Donna. “Great touchdown! Did you see it?” he had dictated. “Tell Donna Rolf called and to call him back!”

That was on Thursday, August 7. And Rolf had apparently been in a good mood. “I tried to call him all weekend,” Donna testified, “but there was no answer.”

And when her sister, Joy Stroup, had phoned her on August 23 from Ohio with her concerns about what might have happened to Rolf on August 8, Donna testified that
she had called the Neslunds again, hoping that Rolf would answer and she could put both of their worries to rest. But that was the call during which her aunt Ruth answered and gave her three or four different versions of where he might be.

Donna Smith said she had seen Ruth and her uncle Bob at a family party on September 5, but Rolf wasn’t with them. “My aunt said they had decided to divorce and that he [Rolf] was gone to Norway.”

But by April 1981, Donna had still neither heard from nor seen Rolf. And his sister and brothers in Norway contacted her to say that Rolf wasn’t there, and they didn’t know where he was.

At that point, Donna—with her sister Joy’s approval— had gone to the authorities.

“My aunt phoned me ranting and raving because I had betrayed her.”

Later, of course, Ruth had sent Donna the thirty dimes, calling her a Judas.

Joy Stroup took the stand. She recalled that she had been working at her restaurant job during the noon hour of August 8, 1980, when her “Aunt Nettie” called. Joy said she was used to Nettie Ruth’s muttering about her frustration with her step-uncle—that she had often talked of “wasting” him, and said she could “burn” him. When she had been drinking, she was known for her wild phone calls to relatives. This phone call had begun like all the others, but quickly took on an ominous tone.

Joy was nervous now, and close to tears as she looked toward the defense table where her aunt sat calmly, her hands folded on the table in front of her.

Seeing the witness’s discomfiture, Canova moved just enough so that he stood directly in front of her, blocking her view of her aunt. Now Joy would not have to look at Ruth.

Lisa Boyd, who sat in the first swivel chair in the jury box, felt for Joy. “It had to be the worst thing in her life,” she would recall. “Having to testify against her aunt.”

“And what did she say?” Canova asked of Joy. “Tell us just what you remember.”

“That there had been a confrontation with her and Rolf,” Joy said, “and he had hurt her. Ruth told me that Rolf had struck her left breast, and hit her in the nose, doing more damage than he had previously.”

As Canova asked the witness to describe more of the phone conversation, tears began to course down Joy Stroup’s cheeks, and her voice choked. “I can’t say it...I can’t say it.”

There was a pause while Joy Stroup took deep breaths and a sip of water.

Finally, she sobbed as she testified, “She said, ‘Uncle Bob held him and I shot him and he’s now outside burning in a barrel!’ Those were her exact words. ‘Uncle Bob held him and I shot him and he’s now outside burning in a barrel...’”

The courtroom erupted into gasps and murmurs and then hushed as Judge Bibb warned those in the galley. Ruth never changed expression.

Joy said that her aunt’s words were so shocking that she could scarcely believe them. She had tried not to believe them. “I told her I was busy at work and would have to call her back. It didn’t affect me then like it does now. I just don’t know what I thought then. At the end of my shift, when I called back, she said it was true, but she didn’t repeat those words...”

Joy thought that her aunt had mentioned something about calling a “sheriff,” or that “the sheriff was coming,” but could not recall exactly what Ruth Neslund had said.

During the ensuing weekend, the witness said, she had tried to call Ruth again, but there was no answer. “I was hoping it would be like other instances, that it would be [the next] morning, and everything would be all right.”

It always had been in the past, no matter how angry her aunt was with her uncle. But there was only the shrilling of a ringing phone in an empty house, and that wasn’t reassuring.

On Monday, Joy Stroup had heard again from her aunt. “She told me Rolf was in Norway, and she had gone to Bellingham just to get away from there for the weekend.”