The Savage Murder of Skylar Neese: The Truth Behind the Headlines (5 page)

Three days after Skylar disappeared, WBOY, one of three local TV stations, told viewers the local girl was missing. WAJR, a station with a popular call-in show, tweeted,
Police looking for a missing Star City teen
the same day, July 9.

One day later, the only newspaper in town,
The Dominion Post
, ran its own story. “Police, Family Seek Missing 16-year-old,” read the headline in the July 10 edition. The story described the teenager and the clothing she was last seen wearing. It also quoted Dave, who said Skylar’s cell phone was “shut off or out of power.”

The article ended on a poignant note, relaying the distraught father’s message for his missing daughter:
Just come home, baby.

That same day, as the media geared up to cover the story, the Star City Police Department received good news: Skylar had been spotted in Carolina Beach, North Carolina. She was reportedly seen hanging around a boardwalk with an unidentified red-haired girl. A local woman with West Virginia connections had learned about Skylar on Facebook and called in the tip.

Colebank was skeptical. She didn’t believe Skylar was a runaway and doubted the teenager would surface in North Carolina. She’d been wrong before, though, and she fervently hoped she was wrong again this time.

While Carolina Beach police tried to track down the lead, Colebank phoned the Neeses. Dave answered.

“Who has red hair, Dave?” Not having met her, Colebank didn’t know about Rachel Shoaf’s trademark tresses.

“That’d be Rachel. Why?”

“We may have something. I’ll call you back.”

Next, Colebank called church camp officials. It was possible that Rachel had left camp, and she and Skylar had taken a mini-vacation. Maybe they were skipping out on their responsibilities and worrying their parents, acting like typical teenagers. She hoped this was the case.

Colebank lost her optimism when camp officials put Rachel on the line. Skylar’s other best friend claimed she didn’t know the teen was missing. Colebank found that quite odd. Even if Rachel was out of touch at camp, she could have learned the news almost any time Friday before she left Morgantown. Rachel suggested that Colebank call Shelia, saying she wasn’t as close to Skylar as Shelia was. Colebank wasn’t sure that was true but said she would. Before hanging up, the young officer asked Rachel to stop by the department when she returned to Morgantown.

“I will,” Rachel promised.

***

Despite the lack of support from the AMBER Alert program and the absence of widespread media coverage, the news about Skylar was spreading. Momentum was building on social media, especially on Facebook. More and more people were sharing Skylar’s MISSING poster. On Thursday, July 12, Joanne’s daughter, Rikki Woodall, posted the following:

In truth, Rikki did not know her cousin Skylar at all. Mary and Dave said they had never even met in person. Despite her concern, Rikki was hardly an insider and her knowledge of the teen was based primarily on what was broadcast through social media.

Oftentimes, social media communication conceals as much as it reveals. It’s not necessarily about conveying the full truth so much as sustaining a public image and managing that image. By all accounts, Skylar wanted to be
seen as
a wild child, but she wasn’t, not really. That’s not to say she didn’t occasionally get drunk or smoke weed, because she did. Accounts of her drug use vary—some teens maintain it was confined to marijuana and alcohol, while others said Skylar used other substances. But the wild child image that Rikki Woodall had disseminated appears to have been largely manufactured by Skylar herself.

Still, Skylar looked up to Shelia and Rachel—even though Shelia was known for being significantly more involved in the party scene and both she and Rachel were sexually active. As a result, many teens thought Skylar was hanging with the wrong crowd. Apparently, at various parties around Blacksville and Morgantown, Skylar was often seen sitting on a couch by herself, playing with her phone or her iPod. While people around her were drinking, drugging, and making out, Skylar was on Twitter.

Like so many teenagers, she wanted to be perceived as “cool.” Her tweets and Facebook posts revealed a girl who just wanted to have fun. At the same time, they concealed Skylar’s true nature. They obscured the girl who was insightful, had exceptional writing skills, and planned to be a criminal lawyer. This was the real Skylar, the one whose peers said she was by far the smartest person in her social circle, the Skylar who was a rock for the friends who counted on her.

The day after Rikki’s Facebook post, Mary and Dave loaded their bags into Mary’s sister’s car and prepared to drive down to North Carolina. Carol Michaud, or Aunt Carol, as Skylar called her favorite aunt, had bonded with Skylar at Skylar’s birth. Carol and Skylar had spent so much time together since then, Carol looked at Skylar like the daughter she never had. Skylar was also like a sister to Carol’s son, Kyle, who was two years older. Carol would do whatever it took to bring Skylar home.

Mary and Dave’s own car wasn’t in the best shape, and they had already put a ton of money into it just to keep it on the road so it would get them to work each day. But a long trip like that was another matter. Dave was afraid it would break down and leave them stranded along the road. God knows they already had enough stress; the last thing they needed was more.

But they had to check on this last Skylar sighting, to see for themselves if the girl spotted on the boardwalk was their daughter. For all they knew, it
was
her. In just a few hours, they believed, they might see their baby again. Carol’s offer of her own car had been an answer to their prayers.

Meanwhile, the volunteers who spent hours every day hanging up posters began to wonder what was happening to the fliers. The posters kept disappearing. Was someone following them and taking the posters down? The MISSING posters had been removed at one local grocery store and at a nearby hair salon. Dave’s Aunt Joanne said it had happened repeatedly in Sabraton, too. No one could conclusively say why. Or who was behind it.

The same day Mary and Dave were getting ready to drive to North Carolina, someone who called herself “Pisces_Sun” posted on Websleuths, saying she had barely seen or read anything about the story. Websleuths is one of the largest online crime discussion sites, and Pisces_Sun’s post highlighted a disturbing reality:
Me and my husband drove through Star City on our way to the store just now… I’m shocked that there aren’t missing posters for this girl up anywhere on the main drag! … Haven’t heard anyone mention it around town, either.

Even though Skylar had been missing for one week, few people outside of Mary and Dave’s immediate circles seemed to know about it. Skylar’s story illustrated a sad truth: traditional media can’t raise awareness as quickly as necessary in the case of a missing juvenile. That’s why the AMBER Alert was created—but the AMBER system didn’t consider Skylar to be in danger. As far as Mary and Dave were concerned, the AMBER Alert system was broken and needed to be fixed.

Once national news programs did pick up the story, the networks requested sound bites from the parents. Ultimately, all of them came from Dave because Mary couldn’t look into a camera without crying uncontrollably. With his close-cropped, gray-flecked hair, knitted eyebrows, and tight skepticism pulling at the left corner of his mouth, Dave reminded people of the actor John Goodman. In spite of his obvious concern and frustration, every news clip portrayed a man who was bearing all the disappointments with an admirable, soft-spoken dignity.

As the online momentum intensified, more people learned about Skylar’s disappearance. The mainstream media struggled to catch up to all the social media sites that had been covering the story since it began. By the time the Neeses were ready to leave for what they hoped would be a joyful reunion with Skylar, Colebank heard back from the Carolina Beach police. The girl who had been seen was, in fact, a runaway. She was not Skylar.

Mary and Dave could barely find the energy to unpack Carol’s car.

***

On Sunday, a week and a half after Skylar came up missing, Mary Neese awoke to the certainty she’d never see Skylar again. Her maternal instincts told her as much. Across town, her sister Carol had the same feeling. Carol dressed quickly and drove to Mary’s.

On the way, Skylar memories kept playing as if on a loop inside her mind. Carol had been there the day Skylar was born. She had driven Mary and Skylar home when Mary called her, insistent she leave the hospital a day early. Carol never forgot that day, or the black ice that the car containing her, Mary, and their two only children spun around on in the middle of a busy road. Carol had held it together long enough for her husband, Steve, to come and rescue them. The minute she got home, though, she burst into tears.

Like Mary, Carol cries easily. She does so even as she relates stories about Skylar: the time Skylar borrowed her earrings to wear to a middle-school dance, the times Skylar insisted she had to come clean Carol’s house when Carol was sick, and every time her favorite niece gave her another teapot.

Carol entered the Neeses’ apartment without bothering to knock. In north-central West Virginia, people leave their doors unlocked when they are home—and often when they’re not. It’s common for relatives and close friends to simply enter, especially if they are expected. Mary was on the couch, her eyes rimmed with red.

“Carol, she’s not coming back,” Mary said. “If she was coming back, she’d be back. I’m telling you now.”

“I know. I can feel it, too. Skylar wouldn’t do this.” Carol sank onto the couch beside her sister.

“You know what else?” Mary said. “Her period was going to start, and you know how she gets.”

Carol nodded. “Cramps so bad she has to go to bed for the entire first day. And she always has to have Goody with her.” Carol suddenly realized something. “Mary! Where’s Goody?”

Mary shook her head. “In Skylar’s nightstand, same as always.”

“If Skylar had run away, she’d have taken Goody with her,” Carol insisted. The women were referring to a fuschia piece of cloth cut from Mary’s nightgown that Skylar had kept since she was a toddler. Any time she was sick or in pain, Skylar wanted Goody nearby.

With that shared realization, Mary and Carol cried together, long and hard on the small balcony outside the dining room. They talked and wept for much of the afternoon.

When Dave got home after his shift, Mary and Carol were on the deck.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows knitted together with worry.

Mary spoke quietly. “Skylar’s gone.”

“What?” He felt suddenly panicked. “How do you know that?”

“We just know.”

Dave didn’t want to hear that. The family was just pulling out of a rocky patch. Skylar had sensed the change and was once more becoming the amiable and happy kid she had always been. He couldn’t bear to hear that Skylar was never coming home.

***

One week after Officer Colebank first spoke with Shelia, the Blacksville branch of the Huntington National Bank was robbed. It was just after 10:00 a.m. on Monday, July 16, when a sturdy man in all black wearing a full-face mask entered the branch carrying a backpack. He didn’t say a word—the large gun in his right hand said it all. The lone teller triggered the silent alarm. The bank robber either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He walked to the counter and handed the backpack to the teller, who filled it with the contents of the cash drawer. The robber fled through the back door. From start to finish, the crime took less than thirty seconds.

Corporal Ronnie Gaskins and Senior Trooper Chris Berry from the West Virginia State Police arrived first on the scene. Trooper Berry knew the bank well. He had been transferred to Morgantown to help solve the rash of recent bank robberies. Berry’s family was from the Blacksville area, so he was happy to spend time working in his hometown. His grandfather, a Monongalia County deputy sheriff, had been shot in the neck at the very same bank Berry was assigned to investigate. Luckily, the shot had grazed him and only required a few stitches.

Berry immediately liked Gaskins, his new partner. Both men were second-generation law enforcement. At one time Gaskins and his father were the only father-son state trooper team working the same West Virginia Detachment. While their personalities were like day and night—Berry, talkative and excitable; Gaskins, reserved and thoughtful—both men were driven. They also shared the same family tradition, which made for a good working relationship.

This was Gaskins’s and Berry’s second visit to the Huntington National Bank, Blacksville branch. The same bank had been robbed five weeks earlier, one month to the day before Skylar disappeared. Neither one of them yet knew that the bank robberies would draw them into the most complex case of their careers.

Colebank sensed they were being watched.

She’d gotten that sensation as soon as she pulled her Star City Police cruiser into the Shoafs’ driveway just a few moments earlier. Sure enough, within seconds, a blonde woman appeared at the entrance of the house next door. Once she made eye contact with Colebank, the woman bustled down her walkway.

Still behind the wheel, Colebank grabbed her notebook and motioned to her male passenger. “Let’s do this,” she said, opening the car door. FBI Special Agent Morgan Spurlock followed her lead. In a suit and tie, Spurlock looked like a classic FBI agent—until he hoisted his ever-present backpack over his shoulder. Instead of briefcases, today’s federal agents carry backpacks.

Once outside the car, Colebank turned toward the blonde woman she thought might be Rachel’s mother.

“We’re here to see Rachel,” Colebank said.

“Oh, I’m not Patricia,” the woman said. “I’m a neighbor, Kim. Her mom’s not here. Can I help you?”

It had been almost two weeks since Colebank had spoken with Rachel at church camp. Colebank was eager to talk to her again, but the teen had never showed up at the station as she’d promised. The officer wondered if her first face-to-face with Rachel would make her as uneasy as when she’d met Shelia.

“Yes, Star City Police.” Kim had already pulled out her cell phone and was now talking to someone. “It’s about Skylar, I guess. They wanna talk to Rachel. You need to talk to them or come home. Okay?” Kim nodded, eyeing the officer and the agent.

Then she held the phone out to Spurlock. “Patricia wants to talk to you. She left for Virginia about a half hour ago.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the FBI agent said, taking the phone.

Colebank listened as he introduced himself and gave Rachel’s mom their agencies. She heard Patricia’s reply, too: “Ask her whatever you want. We’re trying to help here.”

The last two days, Colebank and Spurlock had pulled video from the Circle K convenience store at one end of tiny Star City and from the Sheetz convenience store at the other. The recordings they requested from corporate headquarters wouldn’t arrive for at least a few days, but in the meantime they planned to scout the area for any vehicles resembling the one captured on the landlord’s surveillance video.

Colebank hadn’t conducted many interviews and was eager to pick up a few techniques from Spurlock. He was whip-smart, and Colebank expected that she would learn a great deal from working with an FBI agent. Even though Spurlock looked like he was in his early twenties, she knew he had extensive training in criminology and accounting, so he must be older than that. What she didn’t realize was that Spurlock had only been out in the field a couple of months.

By the time Spurlock returned Kim’s cell phone, she had already grabbed Patricia’s hidden key. Kim unlocked the front door of the Shoaf home and yelled up the stairs. “Hey, Rach! Star City Police are here to see you!”

The house was dimly lit, and Colebank could just make out the figures of two older teens who hung back, watching as Rachel walked over to the officer and the agent. Colebank didn’t recognize Kelly Kerns’s name, but she immediately knew the guy’s name sounded familiar. He was Mikinzy Boggs, Rachel’s boyfriend.

***

Rachel and Mikinzy had recently started dating—again. The two had first gotten together at the end of the previous October, drawn together by a mutual love of the stage. Rachel was a rising star in UHS drama circles. She had already played the lead in a couple of school productions, which was rare for a sophomore. Mikinzy wrote songs, played guitar, and sang lead in a band christened “Call Us Next Tuesday,” a name presumably chosen for its deliberately shocking acronym.

Mikinzy’s band mostly played house parties. Slender, with prominent nose and teeth, Mikinzy gave the impression of a young man not yet grown into his face or body. But he was the front man in a band, and as anyone who’s attended high school in America knows: That. Trumps. Everything.

Their school friends knew Rachel and Mikinzy’s relationship was rocky. They were always on-again, off-again. Some students said it was because Rachel used weed—Mikinzy was said to be an outspoken critic of drugs. Others said it was because he tried to control Rachel. Either way, by the time they were firmly committed to the relationship, Mikinzy’s stance on drugs had softened considerably. Perhaps it was because Rachel enjoyed frequently getting high with Shelia and Skylar.

Now they were newly reunited, and their bond seemed stronger, almost unbreakable. Almost.

***

Several minutes into the interview with Rachel, Colebank felt she was getting nowhere. “So when you dropped her off—I’m sorry, Rachel, I just want to make sure we have this right. Tell me again, where did you drop her off?”

The three of them, Rachel, Colebank, and Spurlock, were talking in the upstairs living room of the Shoafs’ split-level house. Rachel and Colebank were sitting together on the couch. Spurlock sat alone in a chair. Mikinzy and Sabrina were downstairs in the family room.

“I told you, at the end there,” Rachel whined, as if she was annoyed at having to answer the same questions again. “University Avenue. Skylar got angry and told us she didn’t want us to take her all the way to her apartment.”

“You dropped her off,” Spurlock said, “after riding around smoking marijuana?”

Colebank broke in. “Look, Rachel, we don’t care about the weed. We care about where Skylar’s at. Where did you guys drive around?”

Rachel looked thoughtful, then shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not really sure where we drove around exactly. I was pretty messed up. I think we drove down Patteson Drive.”

Patteson was the main artery leading up to the WVU Coliseum, a basketball and athletics facility, where it formed a T intersection with Beechurst Avenue at the top of the hill. Colebank realized that if the girls had turned right, they would have gone right by the State Police Detachment when they headed down the hill and into Star City. A left would have taken them along the river, into downtown Morgantown.

“Thanks.” Colebank looked over at Spurlock, nodding her head. “There should be cameras.”

Many businesses along that stretch of Patteson had video cameras, but most focused inside the establishment, on the doors, and on parts of the parking lot. None really showed a clear view of traffic. But Colebank suspected Rachel wouldn’t know that.

“Yes, check the cameras,” Rachel said, “but I don’t know if you’ll see much. We stayed on side streets as much as we could.”

“Do you know the names of any of the side streets?” Colebank asked, masking a grin. She knew it was impossible to drive along Patteson
and
the side streets at the same time. She also knew that people who are lying often stall by repeating the question.

“The names of the streets? How am I supposed to know that?” Rachel looked bored. “They were just streets. With houses. Like a regular neighborhood. I wasn’t driving. Ask Shelia.”

“We have.” Colebank let the silence draw out as she intently focused on Rachel. At the same time, Rachel’s neighbor was repeatedly pacing around the area—visiting the kitchen, perching on the steps, sitting on the downstairs couch—as if unsure of what to do with herself. Colebank fought a maternal urge to tell Kim to take a seat and stay there.

***

The young officer didn’t know it, but the same day she was interviewing Rachel, the two state troopers were paying their first visit to the Conaway place. When they pulled up, they saw a man digging in the backyard. As they walked toward the front door, the man came around the corner carrying a shovel. They recognized him from his police mug shot.

Darek Conaway held the shovel out from his body by the tip of the handle, the muddy blade waist high. Bare-chested, Darek was clean-shaven, his hair sweat-caked to his skull. The man was ripped, all corded muscle. He glared at the two troopers. Neither trooper was easily spooked, but they tensed when they saw Darek.

“Hello, Darek,” Gaskins said. “I’m Corporal Gaskins and this is Senior Trooper Berry. We’re here to chat with you a few minutes.”

Darek’s shovel blade lowered a little and he shrugged. “Okay.”

Neither trooper wanted to square off against an angry man with a shovel, so Gaskins and Berry tried to defuse the tension.

But then Gaskins asked lightly, “What are you digging back there, Darek?”

“Oh, I ain’t digging anything,” Darek said.

“You ain’t digging? You trying to hide a dead body or something?” Gaskins meant it as a josh, but that’s not how Darek took it. He drew himself up, his eyes large, and Berry could sense his heart hammering away.

Gaskins and Berry exchanged a look.

“I’m just joking with you, Darek,” Gaskins said.

Just then an elderly woman poked her head around the open front door, before slowly stepping out of the shadows and onto the porch.

“Hey, Grandma, it’s okay,” Darek said.