The Phantom Killer: Unlocking the Mystery of the Texarkana Serial Murders: The Story of a Town in Terror by James Presley Page A
Authors: James Presley
want her to stay out after midnight, called for permission to go to the late movie. Her mother said No. Tom and Ramona waited at the Albritton front porch for Paul to return with Betty Jo. When he hadn’t made it by half-past eleven, Tom walked Ramona home several blocks away. When he returned home, Paul still hadn’t shown up. Perhaps Betty Jo hadn’t been able to leave the VFW in time; perhaps they had dropped in on the slumber party afterward. It had been a long day. Tom went to bed.
Paul Martin, unaware that Betty Jo would not be able to leave the dance in time to attend the midnight show, waited in his car. He was standing outside when she emerged from the building. Betty Ann Roberts walked to the car with her. It was the first time Paul and Betty Jo had seen each other that weekend. He took her saxophone case and set it on the back floorboard of the coupe. As late as it was, the night was far from over. There remained the slumber party-in-progress of Betty Jo’sfriends that they could drop in on for a while. Then perhaps they would have a snack at one of the all-night restaurants. But first, before they did anything else, Betty Jo had to drop off her saxophone at home. It was an unvarying routine, whatever else she did after any performance, for her to take her expensive musical instrument home first. On the way to her Sussex Downs home, however, Paul suggested they drive to Spring Lake Park, only a few minutes away from Anthony Drive, and
then
deposit the saxophone. Later they could visit Betty Jo’s girl friends at the slumber party. With the weekend slipping away, Paul would be returning to Kilgore in a matter of hours.
He drove the coupe north past the city limits to Spring Lake Park, crossed the Kansas City Southern tracks leading north from the city, and entered the park area. For most teenagers, it was familiar ground. Paul parked. The darkened sky ensured them absolute privacy.
It was a cool evening after warming into the 70s that afternoon. By eleven P.M. while the band still played, the thermometer had dipped to 58. By two A.M. the reading was headed to the middle 40s. People were already talking about the traditional “Easter cold snap.” Betty Jo had worn a full-length coat that was comfortable in the chilly night.
After they had been parked for a short while, a car drove up. A man got out and strolled to the driver’s side of their car. He spoke in a casual but authoritative tone. He held a pistol in his hand.
CHAPTER 6
PALM SUNDAY HORRORS
W hen Betty Jo first played the VFW gig, her mother would wait up for her, regardless of the hour. Betty Jo always gave a full report on the evening, down to what she’d eaten and done. In due time, however, Bessie saw no reason to wait up so late and went on to bed before her daughter arrived in the wee hours.
On this Saturday night, Betty Jo still not in, Bessie went on to bed and fell asleep. She hadn’t been asleep long when she got up. Betty Jo wasn’t in, and her saxophone wasn’t where she always left it when she went back out after playing for the dance.
Bessie woke her husband.
“Clark, Betty Jo isn’t here. Her saxophone’s not here. Something is wrong.”
Drowsily, Clark Brown said, “Well, don’t get upset. You’ll hear from her.”
“No,” she said, “I’m going to call the police. I’m going to call the hospitals.”
“Bessie, don’t do that. It will embarrass Betty Jo, and it will embarrass you, if there’s nothing wrong. She’ll show up after a while and explain.”
Bessie couldn’t go back to sleep. She turned the matter over and over in her mind. Betty Jo had
never
gone anywhere without letting her know she was going back out. She
always
told her. The break in the pattern troubled her. She imagined all sorts of scenarios. Had she been in an accident and unable to notify her family? The worried mother could find no satisfying explanation for her daughter’s not being home or not having called to tell her why. Betty
Paul Martin, unaware that Betty Jo would not be able to leave the dance in time to attend the midnight show, waited in his car. He was standing outside when she emerged from the building. Betty Ann Roberts walked to the car with her. It was the first time Paul and Betty Jo had seen each other that weekend. He took her saxophone case and set it on the back floorboard of the coupe. As late as it was, the night was far from over. There remained the slumber party-in-progress of Betty Jo’sfriends that they could drop in on for a while. Then perhaps they would have a snack at one of the all-night restaurants. But first, before they did anything else, Betty Jo had to drop off her saxophone at home. It was an unvarying routine, whatever else she did after any performance, for her to take her expensive musical instrument home first. On the way to her Sussex Downs home, however, Paul suggested they drive to Spring Lake Park, only a few minutes away from Anthony Drive, and
then
deposit the saxophone. Later they could visit Betty Jo’s girl friends at the slumber party. With the weekend slipping away, Paul would be returning to Kilgore in a matter of hours.
He drove the coupe north past the city limits to Spring Lake Park, crossed the Kansas City Southern tracks leading north from the city, and entered the park area. For most teenagers, it was familiar ground. Paul parked. The darkened sky ensured them absolute privacy.
It was a cool evening after warming into the 70s that afternoon. By eleven P.M. while the band still played, the thermometer had dipped to 58. By two A.M. the reading was headed to the middle 40s. People were already talking about the traditional “Easter cold snap.” Betty Jo had worn a full-length coat that was comfortable in the chilly night.
After they had been parked for a short while, a car drove up. A man got out and strolled to the driver’s side of their car. He spoke in a casual but authoritative tone. He held a pistol in his hand.
CHAPTER 6
PALM SUNDAY HORRORS
W hen Betty Jo first played the VFW gig, her mother would wait up for her, regardless of the hour. Betty Jo always gave a full report on the evening, down to what she’d eaten and done. In due time, however, Bessie saw no reason to wait up so late and went on to bed before her daughter arrived in the wee hours.
On this Saturday night, Betty Jo still not in, Bessie went on to bed and fell asleep. She hadn’t been asleep long when she got up. Betty Jo wasn’t in, and her saxophone wasn’t where she always left it when she went back out after playing for the dance.
Bessie woke her husband.
“Clark, Betty Jo isn’t here. Her saxophone’s not here. Something is wrong.”
Drowsily, Clark Brown said, “Well, don’t get upset. You’ll hear from her.”
“No,” she said, “I’m going to call the police. I’m going to call the hospitals.”
“Bessie, don’t do that. It will embarrass Betty Jo, and it will embarrass you, if there’s nothing wrong. She’ll show up after a while and explain.”
Bessie couldn’t go back to sleep. She turned the matter over and over in her mind. Betty Jo had
never
gone anywhere without letting her know she was going back out. She
always
told her. The break in the pattern troubled her. She imagined all sorts of scenarios. Had she been in an accident and unable to notify her family? The worried mother could find no satisfying explanation for her daughter’s not being home or not having called to tell her why. Betty
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