Judgment Ridge: The True Story Behind the Dartmouth Murders by Mitchell Zuckoff, Dick Lehr Page B
Authors: Mitchell Zuckoff, Dick Lehr
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said. Meanwhile, her husband quietly fulfilled one of the Zantops’ last requests. Bob McCollum sent a letter to Vermont’s U.S. senators, opposing appointment of John Ashcroft to the post of attorney general, speaking on behalf of the friends whose bloody bodies continued to flash before his eyes.
With minor variations, Audrey McCollum’s sentiments about a targeted killing were echoed in conversations all over campus and throughout Hanover and Etna. “I would assume there was some connection between whoever did these crimes and the Zantops, and I don’t think there’s any reason to think there’s some person who would be a threat to the community,” said Marion Copenhaver of Etna, a former state representative whose husband was a retired Dartmouth professor. “Clearly there’s a monster out there, but he has a specific target.”
Still, just in case a murderer was among them, Dartmouth students began escorting each other around campus. “You wonder if this kind of violence has come to this little town,” said Diana Allen, the mother of a prospective student from Los Angeles. “It’s so charming here, but this is scary.” Homeowners began searching for keys to deadbolts they rarely used. Others adopted an offensive posture. Eighty-four-year-old Robert Adams Sr. had lived peacefully in his Etna farmhouse for fifty-six years with his wife, Ruth; the Zantops’ home was built on a portion of his old pastureland. Adams vowed he’d be ready if the killers were lurking in the woods. “I got a shotgun here,” Adams said, “and it holds enough shells to keep ’em away.”
Fueling the fear and speculation was the near-absence of information from authorities. The case was being investigated by more than thirty members of the Hanover Police Department and the New Hampshire State Police—some of whom strapped on snowshoes to
search the grounds around the Zantop house. But the New Hampshire attorney general’s office was the lead agency, and it kept an unusually tight rein on the release of information. (In most states, district attorneys prosecute murders, but because of New Hampshire’s small size and relatively few murders—an average of twenty-one per year in the decade before the Zantops’ deaths—homicide cases were the AG’s domain.)
During the first few days after January 27, most of the circumspect public pronouncements came directly from Attorney General Philip McLaughlin, a graduate of Boston College Law School who had spent twenty-three years as a defense lawyer before being appointed attorney general in 1997. McLaughlin was fifty-six, the easygoing son of a police officer, a Democrat in a state run by Republicans. He was a father of five whose office overflowed with family photos, with one exception: he kept on his desk a photograph of a six-year-old girl who had been raped and killed. In daily meetings with the press, the normally articulate McLaughlin found himself in the impossible position of trying to reassure the public that all was well while subtly acknowledging that authorities had no idea who killed the Zantops. Compounding that conundrum, McLaughlin refused to reveal any details of the killings, including the cause of death, a position he recognized had the dual effect of protecting his investigation while intensifying the media’s already unquenchable thirst.
As a result, McLaughlin’s answers to reporters’ questions tended toward the same shade of gray as the suits he favored. Asked if the community was at risk, the attorney general said: “We don’t know the answer to that.” On the other hand, he added: “If we have a specific, reliable reason to believe the community is at risk, we would express that because that would be our duty.” A day later, he said, “I can assure the public there is progress that is being made,” though under questioning he acknowledged he had “no idea” if the killers remained in the area or had fled. He refused to say whether a murder
With minor variations, Audrey McCollum’s sentiments about a targeted killing were echoed in conversations all over campus and throughout Hanover and Etna. “I would assume there was some connection between whoever did these crimes and the Zantops, and I don’t think there’s any reason to think there’s some person who would be a threat to the community,” said Marion Copenhaver of Etna, a former state representative whose husband was a retired Dartmouth professor. “Clearly there’s a monster out there, but he has a specific target.”
Still, just in case a murderer was among them, Dartmouth students began escorting each other around campus. “You wonder if this kind of violence has come to this little town,” said Diana Allen, the mother of a prospective student from Los Angeles. “It’s so charming here, but this is scary.” Homeowners began searching for keys to deadbolts they rarely used. Others adopted an offensive posture. Eighty-four-year-old Robert Adams Sr. had lived peacefully in his Etna farmhouse for fifty-six years with his wife, Ruth; the Zantops’ home was built on a portion of his old pastureland. Adams vowed he’d be ready if the killers were lurking in the woods. “I got a shotgun here,” Adams said, “and it holds enough shells to keep ’em away.”
Fueling the fear and speculation was the near-absence of information from authorities. The case was being investigated by more than thirty members of the Hanover Police Department and the New Hampshire State Police—some of whom strapped on snowshoes to
search the grounds around the Zantop house. But the New Hampshire attorney general’s office was the lead agency, and it kept an unusually tight rein on the release of information. (In most states, district attorneys prosecute murders, but because of New Hampshire’s small size and relatively few murders—an average of twenty-one per year in the decade before the Zantops’ deaths—homicide cases were the AG’s domain.)
During the first few days after January 27, most of the circumspect public pronouncements came directly from Attorney General Philip McLaughlin, a graduate of Boston College Law School who had spent twenty-three years as a defense lawyer before being appointed attorney general in 1997. McLaughlin was fifty-six, the easygoing son of a police officer, a Democrat in a state run by Republicans. He was a father of five whose office overflowed with family photos, with one exception: he kept on his desk a photograph of a six-year-old girl who had been raped and killed. In daily meetings with the press, the normally articulate McLaughlin found himself in the impossible position of trying to reassure the public that all was well while subtly acknowledging that authorities had no idea who killed the Zantops. Compounding that conundrum, McLaughlin refused to reveal any details of the killings, including the cause of death, a position he recognized had the dual effect of protecting his investigation while intensifying the media’s already unquenchable thirst.
As a result, McLaughlin’s answers to reporters’ questions tended toward the same shade of gray as the suits he favored. Asked if the community was at risk, the attorney general said: “We don’t know the answer to that.” On the other hand, he added: “If we have a specific, reliable reason to believe the community is at risk, we would express that because that would be our duty.” A day later, he said, “I can assure the public there is progress that is being made,” though under questioning he acknowledged he had “no idea” if the killers remained in the area or had fled. He refused to say whether a murder