This is a non-professional and commercial blog and any infringement on copyright is unintentional. If you own the copyright to any photos and wish to have them removed please contact me via comment and I will remove them.
Lost Boys Six
The First Forty Eight©
Thirty six hours into the missing children report, a ‘search theatre’ began. ‘Massive’ search meant local citizens used their boats or their dog walks to look for the boys. The RCMP site
only lists three of the boys: Mattie, Marty, and Dave. Where are the other three boys? They were not found. Why are they not on the police list?
Circumstances of Disappearance
James Johnson, Marty Reardon, Jeremy Weber, Michael Smith, Jason Harrison and David Leforet, were last seen walking together towards the Basseting Marina in Basseting Ontario, on
March 17, 1995.
Witnesses and evidence suggest that after some spring break partying and drinking, the teenage boys went down to the beach looking for adventure. Once there, they may have stolen
a four-meter imitation Boston Whaler motorboat and a three-wheeled paddle boat from separate marinas on Frenchman's Bay. Then, it's believed, they headed out for a joyride on the
cold, icy waters of the lake without lifejackets. Before they left at around 12:50 a.m. on Friday, the boys told a friend they were going to "goof around" on a boat.
At 1:48 a.m., a surveillance camera caught four of the boys entering the Marina.
Between 2:30 and 3 a.m., some marina residents heard a motor boat out on the lake. The next morning, two boats were reported stolen from two marinas.
The police believe the boats capsized and hypothermia gripped the boys within minutes. The boys were first reported missing by worried girlfriends on Friday, but police did not treat
their concerns seriously until Saturday afternoon, when they connected the boys to the missing boats.
By 2 p.m. Saturday - 36 hours after the boys were last seen - a massive search was underway. Local police were joined by provincial police marine unit, the Coast Guard, Hercules C-130
aircraft and a helicopter from the air-sea rescue unit at Canadian Forces Base Trenton. They found nothing. Thousands of volunteers from across southern Ontario then joined the hunt.
But no bodies. No boats. No pieces of clothing. The only item found on the lake was a gas can belonging to the 4-metre Boston Whaler.
Investigators:
if you have any information concerning this case, please contact:
The Royal Canadian Mounted Police
877-318-3576
NCIC
Number: Case Number: 9600028-Lost Boys Six ©
Detective Mike Sheldon pulled up on the scene of the disappearances March 18, 1995.
It was cold and cloudy and he noticed the direction and velocity of the wind, the choppiness of the lake. The night before had been clear and calm.
Mike knew some of the parents from some of their sons’, pettier crimes. Girlfriends hugged on the shore chain smoking and avoiding the camera crew.
Sheldon approached the adults he knew slowly so that they saw him coming. After all they were the victims this time. So nobody seemed to care that he was there. He pulled out his
notepad as a gesture of, “okay folks let’s get underway”.
Sheldon knew that if you have been the victim of a crime, perception of crime may affect how your criminal investigation proceeds. These parents and the girlfriends of the boys are
wary of police from past experiences. Since they figured their sons and boyfriends would be back soon from this grand theft, they contributed very little to the entries in Mike’s
notepad.
When the marina owner finally arrives on the scene he is hysterical and longwinded in the details he is giving Mike. Apparently his insurance deductible skyrocketed on account of the
past boat thefts and damages.
The boys had been stealing expensive boats and rifling through other craft, for liquor, CDs and cigarettes for months. Now it was official who those criminals were.
Because of their defensiveness, the loved ones stood in tiny circles of three or four mumbling and murmuring to each other and excluding Sheldon. His hackles were starting to rise.
They truly expected the boys or some of them to come back, soaking wet but alive, at any minute.
Mike anticipated that too. But the criminals might be victims here. Their loved ones denied that they were either of these.
Treachery thy name is Roy Boy
Roy was born and raised on the lake, has been left lots of money, but it is doled out, as trusts so often are. He does not have to work but unhappiness with his life keeps Roy an
unmarried hermit wearing his father's old clothes and neglecting upkeep on one of the century houses his parents owned, and have left him to live in. He seldom bathes or washes his
hair but he reckons the creek keeps him clean enough. He has a mechanic license and is able to fix any broken down motor at the marina at the mouth of Eleven Mile Creek New York.
His greater family’s mansion and estate are now a museum eleven miles from the mouth of Lake Mento, along the same creek.
On weekends Roy meets up with a militia group who 'murder' each other with paint balls and play Para-military games. He is a member of a New York State Militia and owns many guns
Roy Blankley is a six generation New York State resident whose great great grandfather was an old time circuit judge. Their family estate is a museum along twelve mile creek,
twelve miles from the mouth of Lake Mento. Google map shows it on the other side of Blankley Road, near a bushy inlet, with no other houses around.
The third of five sons, Roy always played 'catch up' in a birth order that had him as pinned as an insect in a collection of old world has-beens.
He has a diving license and can fix any broken down motor the marina at the mouth of twelve mile creek calls him about. He even welds underwater.
~
A speedboat with keys and a full tank does not look like a 'set up', to the our boys, at the time.
"Ahoy, 'sup?" Roy’s face is streaked black and his jumpsuit matches his boat colour. "Dude! We're dead in the water here, we don't think its gas though:
'Dead in the water alright'.
Roy Boy says that he is part of coast guard practise manoeuvres that haven't started yet. He would be happy to tow us back but his blow-up boat's outboard motor cannot handle the
Whaler’s weight drag. Can we all pile on the paddle boat and be towed in behind him? Since a couple of us are wet, he will get the Boston Whaler later after dropping us back at
the marina. We cannot believe our luck. He tosses six life jackets and we hop on the paddle boat.
All of a sudden, in a hard hurry, Roy accelerates the Zeppelin's motor and we six skip like stones in six directions into Lake Mento. Mattie, Jeremy, Marty, Dave, Jason and me. Jason and
I fall in closer to shore and can touch bottom. A millennium’s worth of crud and algae is slippery under our running shoes. We fail time after time to catch grip and we re-tumble into
thawed lake water. Jeremy perishes first because he is frost bitten for hours from being wet in the March night. After the paddle boat ride, and the shock of the March arctic
temperatures, Marty finishes struggling and dies. Roy locates the six barrels anchored a few metres away from the death scene. He tows him into a circle around the death site.
Mattie and Dave cling to each other, dying in each other’s arms. Jason and I beg Roy to see things another way before it is too late for us. But Roy just circles the six barrels in that ‘c’
shape around us. He sweeps up the younger dead boys, one by one, with the boat’s grappling hook, whistling, ’Blow The Man Down,’ under his breath.
~
One after another, Roy removes the boy’s life jacket from each body and packs it in a barrel. Without sealing any of the barrels, Roy leaves enough air in each one, to make for easy
towing. Roy is underway in less than twenty minutes, towing six barrels, semi-opened barrels, with his blow-up boat. Using a depth finder Roy finds the eight hundred foot bottom of
Lake Mento. This site is close to the mouth of Eleven Mile Creek, and therefore situated, on his way home. Before going too far, Roy stops to use the other one of the two Boston
Whaler gas cans from the speedboat, to re-fuel the Zeppelin. Before he re-starts its motor, he checks the dinghy’s depth metre again. Deep enough.
Roy figures the Canadian authorities will not start searching until dawn. It is four thirty a.m. Re-starting the Zeppelin, he quietly tows the Boston Whaler into Blankley Bay and up twelve
mile creek toward his circuit judge relative’s historic home. He had played, swam, fished, and guided on the creek all his life.
Finding the sheltered cove near the road where he has left his truck several hours earlier, he debarks the Zeppelin, deflates it and stuffs it on the truck. He leaves the Whaler to deal
with later. Roy wears a protective wet suit, and watches lake water fill over the head of each dead boy. Then he seals their barrel. Then he sinks each of the six, one after the other.
~
Roy resented, “those little bastards,” stealing and messing with his friends’ property week after week. His family’s marinas, on either side of the lake, were both once more secure to his
way of thinking. And now, except for some possible seepage from a few of barrels, eight hundred feet down, he is safe forever too!
Some of the parents believe their sons are working off drug debt in Mexico. Gangland debtors are found in the woods, tied to trees, shot in the head, not working off debts in Mexico. Inevitably, parents turned against each other, blaming one another. Lack of cohesiveness among them worked against them with the police.
For homicide detectives, the clock starts ticking the moment they are called. Their chance of solving a case is cut in half if they don't get a lead in THE FIRST 48™. Each passing hour gives suspects more time to flee, witnesses more time to forget what they saw, and crucial evidence more time to be lost forever.
Roy’s final act is to pull the Boston Whaler up eleven mile creek, away from the Winston New York marina, and into a boathouse on his own property, by 6:30 a.m. March 18th, 1995. By
2 p.m. Saturday – March 19, 1995, 36 hours after the boys were last seen - a massive (sic) search was underway. Local police were joined by provincial police marine unit,and the Coast
Guard. A Hercules C-130 aircraft and a helicopter from the air-sea rescue unit at Canadian Forces Base Trenton. They found nothing. Thousands of volunteers from across southern
Ontario then joined the hunt. But no bodies. No boats. No pieces of clothing. The only item found on the lake was a gas can belonging to the 4-metre Boston Whaler.
~
The most puzzling factor in this mystery to me is that fact that heat seeking technology was available on the Hercules aircraft that was deployed to look for the teens but was not used
during the search. We know six bodies having recently died would have still radiated heat. I also read on a report that the sunken paddle boat was seen from the air. Why were divers
not ordered to have a look below it? Where these kids deemed not worth it?
When I talked to the only officer connected to this case still on the force, he asked me, “have you talked to the parents?" I have not but I coincidentally met a friend of the boys who
almost went with them that night. He reported to me that the evening of March 17, 1995 was clear and all the stars were shining bright. He was very tempted to go but decided against
it for some reason that he cannot recall now.
Yesterday, while shopping, a woman asked me to contribute money to a "missing children" charity. "There are 80,000 missing or exploited children," her pitch went” Yeah, I quipped
back at her as I drifted by," I know six of them." "Oh dear", she replied, and continued counted donations.
No comments:
Post a Comment