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Authors: M. William Phelps

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CHAPTER 29
G
EORGE KOLOROUTIS TOOK
a call on November 15, 2004. The woman explained that she was Abby Strickland's (pseudonym) mother. Mrs. Strickland (pseudonym) was frantic. Abby, her daughter, had said she'd been friends with Rachael, though George and Ann had never heard of her.
Still, Abby had been acting very strangely, Mrs. Strickland explained. “Her behavior has been spiraling downhill. She moved in with two male friends and is now working at Exotica.” It wasn't until after the murders that Abby had moved in with her friends, who wouldn't, Mrs. Strickland explained to George, “let her out of their sight. They are the ones who kept pressuring her to leave the house and go to work at Exotica.”
“What can
we
do?” George asked.
“Can you go talk to her?”
Abby's father was a Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) agent in Boston, Mrs. Strickland said. Abby's mother had called him and he was back in town to help out. There was a swell of concern emerging from the public about the Houston drug culture being involved in the Clear Lake murders, and fear of a possible swarm of potential murders forthcoming. A DEA agent whose daughter was on the forefront of that line was not going to stay put and allow his own daughter to become a target.
George grabbed Ann and drove to where Abby now lived with her two friends. Her DEA agent father was there as well.
“Come on in,” he said. “I want to warn you that there is a gun in the house.”
Ann, who was with George, looked at her husband.
Okay. . . ,
she thought.
They sat with Abby and talked. “Pleading with her to move back home” was how this part of the conversation was framed in one report.
Abby said she didn't want to go home. She was scared. This apartment, with these two guys, was the best place for her to live right now.
It sounded to them as if Abby believed her two roommates would protect her.
Ann got up and walked around the apartment. She looked at several photos of Rachael that Abby had on the walls. They were not the kind of images Ann wanted her daughter to be remembered by. So Ann took them off the wall.
“What are you doing?” Abby asked. “Come on . . . those are mine.”
“You can come to our house anytime and pick out a photo of Rachael,” George said.
Abby was crying. She was confused. Although they didn't know her, they could tell something was wrong.
Abby said she would go to George and Ann's house the following day and meet with them, and would talk about things a bit more. The situation, to put it mildly, seemed weird.
The next day Abby brought one of the two guys she lived with to George and Ann's house. Almost immediately George and Ann were “creeped out” by the guy, who walked into the house with a cocky chip on his shoulder.
Lelah, Rachael's sister, was also home.
“You had no right taking those photos off the walls of my apartment,” the guy said sternly. He looked at Ann and George.
George stepped in front of the kid, his bulky chest pumped out, a look of
take it easy there, big fella
about his face. “Just relax, buddy,” George said. “Cool your jets. As a mother, Ann had
every
right to confiscate those pictures of her daughter.”
After that, the man calmed down. Meanwhile, Lelah was in her room talking to Abby about Rachael—and getting a strange vibe from the girl. Then they walked back into the living room, where George and Ann were with the kid.
“It became obvious to us,” George said later, “that [Abby] didn't really know Rachael that well. [Lelah] got a really bad feeling about her and sensed she was a liar and was faking her closeness to Rachael.”
Why, though?
During the conversation with Lelah, Ann and George, Abby tried to play up how great a place Exotica was to work. The guy she brought to George's house worked at the club, too. In fact, it became clear that he and Abby's other roommate were quasi recruiters for the club, looking for girls to turn into strippers.
“They're really nice people,” Abby said of both guys.
“The management is great,” Abby continued, trying to convince herself it was the right choice in life. “It's the perfect place to work.”
George wondered where this was going.
After a few more insincere words, Abby mentioned that she had spoken to HPD and told them everything she knew.
George didn't believe her.
The
other
guy Abby lived with was worried, the guy
with
Abby explained to George and Ann. “He thinks he gave HPD too much information and that the killers may come after him.”
“What else did he say?” George asked.
“He told us Adelbert told him that he owed the Voo Crew money.”
“The Voo Crew is a group of Vietnamese from the Seabrook region,” one law enforcement source said, “that raced cars and sold a little dope. This idea that they were involved turned out to be a rumor fueled by the likes of [Abby Strickland],” who was trying to push the investigation as far away from her doorstep as possible.
Why are they sitting here telling us this?
George wondered, staring at Abby and her friend. He wanted to hear what they had to say, but he also wanted them out of his house.
But then it hit George as he stared at them:
They look just like the people in the sketches
.
CHAPTER 30
A
FTER ABBY AND
her friend left his house, George sat down and wrote out everything that had been said, on top of everything else he knew about Abby and her two roommates. George, Ann and Lelah had a bad feeling. At the end of his note, which was addressed to a detective in the Homicide Unit, George added:
This is all we can think of . . . . We are not sure of the knowledge they have, but believe they know more than they've admitted to. We continue to have concerns about JU, [a few others], and Miranda Baxter (pseudonym) as well. One thing seems very evident: Whoever committed this heinous act knows the kids were at the house at that time.
George went on to ask HPD about phone records. He wanted to know if all of them “had been scrubbed”? He was concerned that the media wasn't taking the sketches by the horns and running—very little had been said in the media about the sketches since HPD had released them. Why hadn't there been more media play?
From what I understand, the two in the composite were seen by a neighbor walking by wearing black clothes,
George wrote.
They stopped and looked in Tiffany's truck!?!? This [was] all around the time the murders were committed. . . . Were they the killers? Who are they? Shouldn't an effort be made to find out?
The Koloroutis family's frustrations, much the same as the other families, were there, implicit in every word George wrote to HPD. He thanked those members of the Homicide Division for all their efforts, but at the same time, he wanted something more to be done.
The last thing the police needed now, any of the detectives investigating the Clear Lake case knew, was George Koloroutis becoming impatient and pushy. This was an incredibly protean investigation; it was constantly changing its shape, its feel, and its profile of a suspect.
 
 
ABBY STRICKLAND CALLED
George at work. The last time they spoke, Abby was at George's house arguing with Ann about the picture of Rachael that Ann had taken from the wall of Abby's apartment. Abby and her roommate didn't much appreciate it.
“How are things going?” Abby asked. George could sense in her tone that she had other things on her mind besides small talk.
“You know,” he said, to oblige her.
“I heard you guys know who did it.”
“Who told you that?”
“My mom.”
“The police have a very good idea and are investigating accordingly. That's about all I can say at this point.”
“Listen, I heard that some black guy, who was supposed to be all doped up, one night at a party, he was, like, mouthing off that he had done it. . . .”
“You heard that?”
“I'll try to find out who it was,” Abby said.
“Don't do anything dangerous. Please use caution . . . and notify the police or me as soon as you can.”
Another week—heck, another year—and another new theory to add to that growing list of possibilities.
George hung up the phone and sat back. Some days were tougher than others. All he could do was take a deep breath, have a good cry, and carry on.
CHAPTER 31
A
S THANKSGIVING 2004
arrived, Justin Rott and his new girl decided to part ways for what was the first time in their near month-old relationship. Because Justin didn't have any family nearby, he went with a couple of guys from the halfway house to San Antonio and spent the holiday with one of their families. Christine drove back to Friendswood to spend the weekend with Tom Dick and Lori Paolilla.
Christine had been transformed. She was feeling good, looking good, and comprehending the notion that drugs were only going to slow her down in life. She saw Justin Rott as the ideal man for her, mainly because he was gentle, soft-spoken, and, according to her, nonviolent in every way that she had been accustomed to with Chris Snider. Justin treated her like a lady, and Christine had never experienced such affection and tenderness from a man. He allowed her to have her own feelings, think for herself, and be herself. And she truly felt, for maybe the first time, that a healthy relationship with a man was possible. She could love someone without smothering him with insecurities.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Justin and Christine continued to see each other every day. Perhaps against their better judgment, Lori Paolilla and Tom Dick told Christine that Justin Rott was welcome in their house for the Christmas holiday. No doubt Christine had told them about Justin during the Thanksgiving break. And she must have worked them hard since then.
Look how great I'm doing, Ma. . . . He's an excellent guy! I love him.
In any event Christine approached her new man just before the Christmas break. “Why don't you come to Friendswood and spend the holiday with us?”
“Of course,” Justin answered. “Yes, absolutely.”
Justin Rott had some news himself. Just before they prepared to head northeast to her parents' house, he took Christine out to a bridge in Kerrville. It wasn't the George Washington or the Golden Gate, but the small concrete edifice with the murky, muddy water below was good enough to serve his purpose on this day, and perhaps even act as a portent, pointing out what was ahead for both of them.
“I cannot be with you anymore,” he said as they stood on the bridge, a slight wind blowing cool winter air.
Christine's jaw dropped. Then the tears came.
Here we go again: more rejection. She thought she'd escaped it this time. But here was another human being she had given her heart to about to walk out of her life and never return. It felt like murder. And if there was one person who knew about those feelings, how much they tore at the heart, it was Christine Paolilla.
CHAPTER 32
G
EORGE WAS HOME
in his office, working late. He had been feeling as though the case was never going to be solved. It was that up and down, back and forth, hot and cold nonsense that comes with the territory of losing a child to murder, and then becoming actively involved in catching her killer.
In the days to come, George Koloroutis and Brian Harris would refer to them as the “old guys.” One of the old guys called George at home. George had been the most visible of the victims' family members. He was on the news and in the newspapers.
One of the old guys decided to phone him with news that sent George's heart racing.
“We think we know who killed your daughter,” the old guy said.
George stood up from his desk chair. “You what?”
The old guy repeated it.
They talked some more. The old guy explained that he and his partner, a retired cop, were private investigators. They wanted to help. You know, go over some things the police had already investigated and follow a few leads they had developed on their own. George set up a meeting and hung up. Why not hear them out?
No sooner had he cradled the phone, than George called Brian Harris and explained what was going on.
“We want to be there,” Harris told George, meaning at his house when the old guys came for that meeting.
“No problem.”
CHAPTER 33
J
USTIN ROTT KNEW
immediately that he'd made a terrible mistake in teasing the love of his life. “I cannot be with you anymore”—he corrected himself quickly after seeing the tears run down Christine's cheeks—“as your
boyfriend
!”
“What?” she said, perking up. “What did you just say?”
“Christine, I love you. Could you please make me the happiest man and make me your husband, and you be my wife?”
Not so much a smooth wordsmith, but the guy was proposing marriage in his own sincere way.
“Yes. Yes. Yes!” Christine answered. She wanted to jump up and down, but instead she hugged her man and wept some more—this time tears of joy.
They were engaged. Weeks after meeting, while both were in treatment for serious drug addictions, Christine Paolilla and Stanley Justin Rott were planning on getting married. This was no simple train wreck in motion; it was more like a fifty-car pileup on the highway, and a train with a dozen railcars was heading toward it!
“It was one of the reasons,” Justin Rott said later, “why she wanted me to meet her parents” during Christmas break.
Both agreed, however, that it would not be a good idea to tell Lori and Tom that they were going to be husband and wife within a few short months. That would be their secret, at least for the time being.
“Well, I mean,” Justin recalled, “everybody thought we were kind of crazy because we didn't know each other that long. And that's one of the reasons why she wanted me to meet her parents—because we got engaged.”
Both were able to secure the required permissions from their halfway houses to go to Christine's parents for the holiday. They drove down to Houston/Friendswood from Kerrville, arriving a few days before Christmas Eve, with the intention of staying about five days. It was supposed to be Justin Rott, Christine, and her parents. Christine's brother showed up and took the spare bedroom, while Justin was given one of those plastic Walmart blow-up mattresses to put on the floor of the entertainment room, a section of the house, he later added, that impressed him. There was a large-screen television and a nice setup for showing movies.
Christine and Justin slept together on the blow-up mattress. And, according to Justin, neither Lori nor Tom voiced any objection to the arrangement.
During Christmas dinner, Christine appeared depressed, looking down at her plate of food, playing with her vegetables. She seemed to be forever on the verge of saying something that never came out of her mouth. Justin looked on and listened most of the time, knowing his boundaries.
“I miss home,” Christine finally voiced.
“We want you back here,” Lori said.
Christine smiled. She wanted to come back.
“I can offer you a job,” Tom Dick told Justin at one point during the meal. It wasn't pitching bales of hay or picking up horse dung, either. Tom Dick promised Justin he could help get him into the plumber's apprenticeship program. Not too shabby for a dope addict in recovery.
At some point during the dinner, Lori, according to a source at the table, brought up the Clear Lake murders, saying, “How difficult this holiday season must be for those families that lost their children.”
They all knew what Lori was referring to. The crime was still something the community, of which Lori and Tom were a part of, had been concerned about and were still coming down from. If four kids could be murdered like that in broad daylight, and the crime went unsolved for as long as it did, what role did the community play in the delay? Not only that, but Lori had met Tiffany and Rachael.
Christine didn't seem to want to discuss the crime, especially since her friends had been among the murdered.
She was still as a stone. Quiet too.
“I think,” Lori said next, “that whoever did this to these kids should get the needle.”
Such a bold statement.
Justin Rott agreed.
Christine, white as paper, “with a frozen look on her face,” Justin later said, didn't respond. She looked at her man, however, with her eyes bulged out, or, as Justin later put it, “just . . . huge.” Christine was shocked that her mother had said such a thing.
Justin thought something was up: There was more to the look on Christine's face than someone, per se, reacting to an audacious remark about the death penalty. There was something about the way she protruded her eyes out at him. He made a mental note to continue the conversation with her later, when they were alone.
After a brief moment, Christine pushed her meal aside and complained about not having much of an appetite.
Dinner was over.
The Christmas holiday visit to Friendswood ended without drama or problems for Christine and Justin.
For Justin Rott, it was the first time in years that he had sat down to a Christmas dinner within the framework and closeness of a family environment, and it made him feel great about the people who were going to be his in-laws. He had gotten along well with Christine's parents.
“They were wonderful,” Justin said of Tom Dick and Lori Paolilla. “They bought me Christmas gifts. They were polite to me. It was one of the best Christmases I had had in years.”
Besides that one instance—Lori's death penalty comment—Christine seemed happy over the holiday. She had matured in some ways and was ready to take on life with a new outlook. And now her stepfather had offered her soon-to-be husband a job. Sobriety was everything they had promised.
When they returned to Kerrville, Christine and Justin took in a New Year's Eve party at
La Hacienda
, a treatment center for alcoholism and other chemical dependencies where Justin had taken on service work in the past with younger kids, helping out classes on Thursday nights. He knew mostly everyone at
La Hacienda
, had a good rapport with many of the employees and several of the counselors. Introducing Christine to everyone felt good; he had found someone. It was rewarding to show her off.
The party went off as planned, and Justin and his girl had a great time. Christine was so comfortable with her new surroundings, the way of life she now led with her new man, that she even raised her hand and decided to give karaoke a try. Everyone laughed and clapped along as Christine belted out a few pop songs in her squeaky, high-pitched, off-key singing voice.
At some point during that same week, Justin pulled Christine aside and told her: “I want to take that job your father offered me. Let's go to Friendswood together. Start new lives.”
Christine was beside herself. Awesome. Another reason to celebrate. Lest they forget, within months Christine was going to be coming into a whopping sum of money from her biological father's death—$360,000.
They could get married, buy themselves a home, and begin to live happily ever after.
Both Justin Rott and Christine Paolilla had to know that happily ever after was truly something written in fairy-tale marriages only, and this about-to-be union between two recovering drug addicts stepping into a ton of cash—well, let's just say that it would turn into anything but a Rapunzel moment.
 
 
THE OLD GUYS
showed up at George's house. Detective Brian Harris and a colleague sat with George and greeted the two men as they got comfortable.
The old guys brought photographs and reports. They sat and talked about JU and that drug ring connection. They were certain the JU path was the right way to go with the case. It had to be.
All of the evidence pointed to JU and/or one of his drug-dealing cohorts.
“All right,” George said.
After discussing it with Harris as the old guys were out the door, heading back to wherever they had come from, George decided to keep in contact with them and see what they could come up with.
To put it mildly, Harris was “unimpressed.”

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