In addition to exploiting children, Jackie and Bernard had a legitimate gig, hauling cars between the Yakima dealership and one in Portland, Oregon. After checking around, Regimbal learned that the pair was off “fetching cars” someplace near Portland. When they returned, he served a warrant on Jackie Schut for sexually abusing her daughters.
Jackie went to jail. Unlike her ex-husband, she was sullen and angry, reluctant to talk to law enforcement officers.
Bernie got word that Jackie was in jail and that the detective was looking for him. He hired an attorney and then he turned himself in.
Shortly after Bernie was incarcerated, he sent word that he wanted to talk to Detective Regimbal.
Regimbal was interested to hear what he had to tell him, and Bernie was escorted from his cell to a meeting with the detective.
“He wasn’t too concerned about what was going on,” remembers Regimbal. “I think he realized he’d been caught, but he said, ‘I just wanted to share something about what happened with me and Jackie on a road trip.’ ”
Regimbal watched him closely, wondering what he was up to, as Bernie insisted, “I’m not looking for any favors. I’m not looking for anything. I just wanna share this with you.”
According to Bernie, it was during one of their trips hauling cars that the peculiar event unfolded.
Sometime after 1980, he and Jackie were riding together on the stretch of freeway between Yakima and Portland, as sheets of rain fell so furiously the windshield wipers groaned with the weight of the water they wiped away.
They noticed a hitchhiker getting drenched as she held out her thumb. If they had chosen to pass her by, things would have turned out very differently. But they pulled over, and the grateful woman climbed in.
The trio stopped at an International House of Pancakes restaurant for something to eat. Bernard took a place at the counter, while Jackie and the hitchhiker settled into a booth. A little later he glanced over at them and was startled to see that Jackie was crying.
The other woman appeared to be listening intently as Jackie talked, telling a story so sad that tears seeped from her eyes as she spoke.
Ah, women! thought Bernard, shaking his head as he dismissed the emotional scene.
When Jackie got up to go to the ladies’ room, the hitchhiker cautiously approached Bernard. “How well do you know that woman?” she asked.
Bernard shrugged and fibbed, “Not well.”
“She just told me that she killed a baby in Athens, Alabama, in 1980!” blurted the hitchhiker.
Bernie digested the information, filing it away. He didn’t know if it was true, but he had never seen his partner in crime become so emotional.
They say there is no honor among thieves, but somehow, the producer of pedophile porn had a flash of conscience and was compelled to share the story with Detective Regimbal.
On the surface, it seemed that that was what happened—that Bernie told on Jackie because it was the right thing to do. But Regimbal was not taking anything for granted. He knew it was possible that Bernard Oldham deliberately shifted the focus of the investigation onto Jackie Schut, to take the spotlight off himself.
Yet Bernard did not strike the detective as being very bright, and Regimbal doubted he was clever enough to manipulate the situation. He claimed he had nothing to do with the alleged murder, and that he had never been to Alabama. “I didn’t even know Jackie in 1980,” he added.
It seemed to the Yakima detective that nothing Bernard had told him really fit. Regimbal had never heard of Athens, Alabama, and Jackie Schut was a small-time child molester. Why on earth would she have killed a baby in Alabama?
He picked up the phone and called Information and said he was trying to reach the police department in Athens, Alabama. There was such a place! He called the number Information gave him.
When someone at the faraway police department answered, Bob Regimbal explained that he was a detective in Yakima County, from the state of Washington, who was working on a sex crimes case there.
“I need to ask you a question,” he began. “Do you have the death of a child—a baby—in Athens in 1980?”
Without missing a beat, the officer on the other end of the line startled Bob with his quick reply: “No, the baby didn’t die. The mother did!”
The Athens officer was referring to the tragic unsolved murder of Geneva Clemons—the case that was never far from the thoughts of law enforcement there. He heard the words death, baby, and Athens, and his mind immediately flew to the night that the newborn was abducted as his mother lay dying.
“The baby didn’t die—the mother did!”
Suddenly, one of the most despicable crimes in recent history came to light.
Regimbal and the Alabama investigators filled one another in on what they knew. The file from Athens soon arrived, and Chief Faulk wasted no time in reserving plane tickets for a flight to Yakima.
Bob Regimbal pored over the file, soaking in the shocking details of the Clemons murder. It soon became clear that if Bernie’s story was to be believed, Jackie thought that baby James Clemons had perished—she assumed that the helpless infant had not survived being deserted on that icy night. Indeed he would not have, had he not been miraculously discovered.
Had Bernie really seen Jackie crying about the baby? It’s hard to believe that a killer capable of shooting a mother in cold blood in front of terrified children could then turn around and be so remorseful.
There was no way to prove or disprove the hitchhiker story.
If Bernard was involved or knew more than he said, and he wanted law enforcement to focus on Jackie, it was awfully convenient that an anonymous hitchhiker was the one who spilled the beans. No one knew her name, and it would be impossible for the long gone hitchhiker to validate or contradict Bernard’s story.
Did the hitchhiker ever exist, or did Bernard concoct her from thin air as a means to alert detectives to Jackie’s involvement in the Athens murder?
Though he certainly could not consciously remember losing his own mother, and it’s hard to imagine that the sadistic Oldham could have compassion for anyone, maybe the murder struck a nerve—maybe some small part of Bernard Oldham was moved by the tragedy of a baby ripped from its mother’s arms, and it prompted him to come forward.
Detective Regimbal had not expected to find himself in the middle of a murder investigation, but he was horrified by the cruelty of the homicide, and he was determined to do what he could to help get justice for Geneva Clemons.
Regimbal contacted Dana Rose. She had been placed with Blake Simons in Rancho Mirage, California. According to Jackie, Blake was Dana Rose’s father, but the girl had never felt any real connection with the man. He was nice enough to her, but she never felt he was her father.
“His mother wasn’t interested in me, either,” Dana Rose says now. “She didn’t treat me like I was her grandchild. I think she knew that I wasn’t really related to her.”
But Blake welcomed Dana Rose into his home, sheltering her while authorities tried to sort out the Yakima pedophile ring mess. Detective Regimbal called and explained to Blake that he needed to talk with Dana Rose. “Tell her she’s not in any trouble,” said Regimbal. “But I need to talk to her.”
Regimbal made small talk with Dana Rose for a few minutes, and then he said, “Dana, I’m investigating something, and I need to ask you some questions.”
Prompted by his inquiries, Dana Rose told him about a long trip that she and Deanna had taken with Lee and Jackie in 1980. Her memory was fuzzy on some details, but she knew they had taken the Malibu. And she remembered something about harvesting peas. (Geneva had been shot in January, and it is not unusual for peas to be harvested in Alabama at that time, though pickings are better later in the year.)
Dana Rose also remembered going to a house where there was a lady with a baby, and a girl about her age.
At some point in the conversation, Regimbal asked who shot the lady. “You’re not in any trouble,” he assured
her again.
There was a very long silence. And then Dana Rose replied, “My mom did. My mom shot the lady.”
* * *
Richard Hollis Faulk was a highly regarded police chief in Athens, Alabama. Born in Athens in 1926, he was a World War II veteran who started his career in the police force as a patrolman, and then studied at the police academy. Shortly after graduating from the academy, he was promoted to assistant chief.
The father of four was known for his integrity and the fact that he truly cared about people. Tracy Clemons remembers how kind Chief Faulk was to her after her mother was murdered. He often came to the Clemonses’ home to check on them and bring toys for the kids. “He gave me a baby doll with a bald head,” Tracy recalls.
The police chief took it personally whenever someone in his community was victimized. He was especially disturbed by the Clemons case, and it bothered him that they had not yet caught the killer. He was a diligent investigator and had explored every angle he could think of, but had not come up with any good leads.
It wasn’t because of lack of ability. Faulk was known for his crime-solving skills. In 1977 he had been credited with breaking one of the largest burglary rings in the nation’s history. The ring of thieves operated in multiple states and was responsible for up to ten million dollars in stolen goods.
Chief Faulk’s involvement in that case started when Athens resident Martha Clay Smith’s home was burglarized while she was at work. The thieves got away with thirty thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry and silver.
Faulk had traveled to four states in that investigation, interviewing witnesses and recovering stolen merchandise. The suspects were arrested and convicted and were serving their time, and now, Faulk was about to take another trip.
He and Bobby Smith, the chief investigator for the Limestone County’s district attorney’s office, were soon on their way to Yakima.
Regimbal did not want to tip off their suspect, so he held off interviewing Jackie until the Athens team arrived.
As Detective Regimbal and Chief Faulk sat across the table from Jackie Sue Schut, she stared back at them coolly. She listened, seemingly with little interest, as the men explained to her that they suspected she was involved in a murder. She did not appear angry or even indignant that they should accuse her of such a horrible thing.
Her responses to their questions were clipped, and she admitted to nothing. Her eyes simmered with the same controlled fury that they always did whenever Bob had encountered her. It was obvious to him that Jackie despised him.
He glanced at Faulk and wondered if his laid-back southern charm could coax Jackie to open up to him.
“Chief Faulk was a nice old guy,” remembers Bob. “He was grandfatherly.”
It occurred to Regimbal that Faulk would have much better luck extracting a confession if he questioned her alone. In a strategic move, Regimbal excused himself.
There was no two-way glass here, no cameras rolling—no way to witness the conversation between Faulk and the suspect. Regimbal waited in the other room, hoping their suspect would admit something to Chief Faulk.
Regimbal’s hunch was right. Jackie was more comfortable with Richard Faulk, and he got further with her than the other investigators had. Soothed by Faulk’s easygoing manner and slow Alabama drawl, she tiptoed dangerously close to the truth. At one point, Jackie ventured, “What if it was an accident?”
“Well, we know it wasn’t an accident,” Faulk replied.
Jackie tried again. “What if it was self-defense?” she asked.
“Well, we know it wasn’t self-defense,” said Faulk.
Jackie tensed up. “I’ve never been to Alabama,” she said firmly.
When Faulk later relayed the conversation to Regimbal, the Yakima detective winced. Jackie had come so close to admitting she was involved in the murder, but the chief had not given her an inch. While known in Limestone County for his interviewing skills, Chief Faulk’s hard-line tactics had not worked on Jackie Sue Schut.
Regimbal wished Faulk had allowed Jackie to explore the possibilities she had suggested. If he could have gotten her to admit to pulling the trigger—even in an accident or self-defense—they could have at least placed her at the scene of the crime with some culpability.
But now, Jackie would not admit to ever setting foot in Alabama—let alone confess to her presence at the scene of the crime with a smoking gun in her hand on January 21.
Jackie was forever after steadfast in her denials. She had never been to Alabama. She would not budge on that point. Her jaw set, her eyes clear, cold, and calculating behind her large, round Sally Jessy Raphael–style glasses, she shook her head. If she had never been to Alabama, then she was not guilty of the crimes she was accused of.
As it turned out, the murder case would hinge upon proving Jackie’s whereabouts on that tragic January day.
Jackie Schut had a number of friends and relatives with remarkable recall who could remember exactly what they were doing four years earlier on January 21. They were positive that they had seen Jackie on the day of the Athens murder, and she had been in Yakima.
Jackie’s army of loyal supporters would stand by her, and that wall of defiance would be just one of the many obstacles law enforcement would need to break through to prove her guilt.
While Jackie continued to deny she had ever been to Alabama, her ex-husband, Harold Lee Schut, had been to Alabama. The woman who raised him, Ruby Bates, was one of the most famous yet controversial characters ever associated with Limestone County, Alabama.
Ruby was at the center of the “Scottsboro Boys” case—a case involving false allegations of rape that would dominate headlines for years.
In 1931, Ruby Bates and a friend, Victoria Price, accused nine black males of raping them. It was a lie that would destroy the lives of many, and inspire the courtroom scenes in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird.
In Harper Lee’s novel, the character Atticus Finch defends a black man falsely accused of rape by an ignorant white woman named Mayella Ewell, who is loosely based upon Ruby Bates—a seventeen-year-old millworker who lived in a poor neighborhood in Huntsville, Alabama.
Ruby, who had once been arrested for hugging a black man in public, hopped a Southern Railroad freight train with Victoria on March 25, 1931, in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Dressed like males in coveralls and caps, they mingled with the rowdy young men who filled the car. A fight broke out between the white men and the black men. Shortly thereafter, Victoria cooked up the story of the gang rape. The youngest of the accused was only thirteen.
When the train reached Paint Rock, Alabama, the nine were arrested and sent to the Scottsboro jail.
Victoria was twenty-one, four years older than Ruby, and she was also the more outspoken of the two. Ruby was not very bright, and she quietly went along with everything that Victoria said.
Years of courtroom conflict followed, but in the spring of 1933, Ruby had a fit of conscience and retracted her statements. She confessed that it had all been made up. It was not the end of the legal wranglings, however, because Victoria stuck to her guns and accused Ruby of lying about lying.
A notable moment in the drama took place in Athens, Alabama, at the Limestone County Courthouse on June 22, 1933, when Judge James Edward Horton Jr. risked his career by standing up for what he knew was right.
“Scottsboro Boy” Haywood Paterson had been found guilty of the rape and sentenced to death. But Horton set aside the verdict, detailing why he found Victoria Price’s testimony to be contradictory and unreliable.
It was a brave stance to take in the Deep South in the 1930s. Judge Horton later lost his bid for reelection because he had ruled in favor of a black man. But it was more important to him to keep his integrity intact.
The Limestone County courthouse would one day be the stage for the drama involving Harold Lee Schut. Some say he is the son of Ruby, while others insist he is her nephew. At any rate, she raised him.
In May 1976, Ruby Bates Sc
hut filed a $2.5 million libel and slander suit against NBC for airing the made-for-TV movie Judge Horton and the Scottsboro Boys.
Ruby and Victoria were angry because the movie gave the impression that they had both died in 1961. In addition, Ruby felt that the movie, which depicted her as a prostitute, had been an invasion of privacy, and she sought an injunction, barring its repeat airing.
Ruby had married Elmer Schut in 1943, and had lived a quiet life in Yakima County ever since. The suit said that she was respected in her community until the movie aired, and that it had exposed her to “hatred, shame, contempt, ridicule, aversion, degradation, or disgrace” by falsely accusing her of “committing perjury, false swearing, falsely imputing to plaintiff a want of chastity, being sexually promiscuous and of loose character, being of bad character, being dead.”
In October 1976, Elmer and Ruby died within days of each other before the lawsuit made it to court.
One of the accused, Clarence Norris, finally received a full pardon from the state of Alabama, two days before Ruby died. He was sixty-four years old and was believed to be the last living “Scottsboro Boy.”
Because Ruby had resurfaced in 1976 to file a lawsuit, the Schut family was no longer unknown. No one had realized that Ruby—who went by the name Lucille Schut—was the scandalous character in the NBC movie until she called it to everyone’s attention by suing. According to the movie, she was dead.
Ruby had complained that her reputation was ruined by the movie, but she put herself in the spotlight. And because her suit had attracted attention to her family, there was no way that Harold Lee Schut could deny he had ever been to Limestone County.
Limestone County played a prominent role in the Schut family history, yet the Schuts had chosen that very location to kidnap an infant. Had they chosen a place where they had no ties, it might have been easier for them to cover their tracks.
Dana Rose had met Ruby and Elmer Schut just once. “We went to their trailer, and they told us they were our grandparents,” she says. “They gave us some snacks—some kind of beef jerky. As I was eating it, I glanced at the package and saw that they were dog treats! I stopped eating right then.”