Never See Them Again, page 8
As George made himself more available to Ladd as the days went on, Ladd realized something else. It was obvious that George was going to be involved in this case on an inherent level, placing him in the faces of the Homicide Division, likely, on a weekly, if not daily, basis. It was clear George was not going to let this go until his daughter’s killer was behind bars. As deeply hurt and beaten up by his daughter’s death as he was, George Koloroutis knew that keeping focused on catching Rachael’s killer was going to help him through that endless well of anguish and pain. The man saw a light. He needed to find its source.
“How are things going, Tom?” George called and asked one afternoon. George had phoned the detectives on call and/or Tom Ladd just about every day since Rachael’s funeral. Here it was July 29, now eleven days after the murders, and it seemed HPD didn’t have a clue as to what had happened inside Tiffany Rowell’s house. News reporting of the murders had dropped off considerably. Homicide hadn’t mentioned it was onto something, per se. Thus, any armchair investigator, or anyone who has watched his share of CSI, Forensic Files, or any other crime show, knew that each day past the date of the crime—those prized forty-eight hours postmurder—was a mile further from catching the perpatra-tor (s).
“Not too bad, George,” Ladd said. He didn’t know what to tell the guy. “We’re working on some things.”
Things: such a relative, shallow term.
“Let me know if I can help,” George offered. There, between both men, was an unspoken commitment that these two strong personalities respected. George was saying, without coming out with it, that he was not going to let this go for too much longer. Ladd knew it had been George at the crime scene on the night of the murders, and cops nearly had to restrain him.
Guys like that, Ladd thought, you had to take it easy with them; the pain was dictating George’s actions, especially this early.
GEORGE KOLOROUTIS WAS born in Washington, grew up an army brat while traveling the world with his parents—Germany, Boston, New Jersey, Texas—and then he settled back in Washington as a married man with three kids. As the children grew, George was offered a job at a company that had an office opening in Houston, and he was asked if he wanted to move south and run it.
“We had a wonderful life,” George said of his days with Ann and the kids in Olympia, Washington, and even later, when they first moved to Texas.
George went south first, before his wife and kids, making the move to the nation’s second largest state (area and popu-lationwise). There was quite a bit of difference between Washington and Texas. But that was okay. George and Ann were up for the move. George traveled down before the rest of them and lived in corporate housing for 120 days to check things out and look for a home. The Clear Lake area, for no apparent reason, drew George in. He soon found a nice house with a yard in Clear Lake City.
Then something strange happened—at least it seemed so when George looked back on it later.
As George was looking around at different houses, a very high-profile abduction case hit the news. The abduction had taken place right there in the Clear Lake region. George couldn’t believe it. The crime terrified and shocked him. Here he was moving his family to a foreign place, and this ghastly crime involving a young child was in his face.
“It made a lot of press. . . . She was taken and murdered.”
George asked his Realtor about the case, which was all anybody talked about as he prepared to sign a contract for a house that he had found.
“I remember having the thought as the Realtor and I spoke,” George recalled, “ ‘God, I hope nothing ever happens to my little girls.’ ”
The middle child, Rachael, and her sisters acclimated themselves well to their new surroundings and the new curriculum, which was somewhat different in Texas than it had been in Washington. As she grew, it was clear to George and Ann that Rachael was mama’s girl, as opposed to her older sister, Lelah, who was daddy’s girl. As a small child, Rachael was quiet and docile, laid-back, like her mother. In a sense, George said, when she got into her late teens, Rachael developed into “a rare combination of her mom and me—easy to get along with and kindhearted (her mother), but stubborn as hell (me). . . . Like me, too, Rachael liked [what life had to offer]. She loved a good movie, a good meal, and just loved the things that I did.”
Rachael was all about the color purple. She adored drawing, coloring, doodling. She was a Barbie girl, in the sense that she loved playing with the dolls. She and Lelah, her older sister by a year and change, were inseparable when growing up. Together every day, they were close enough in age that they got along instead of competing. So close, in fact, they had made up their own language.
The family attended church and became involved with many of the programs revolving around the church. They donated a lot of their time, believing that giving back was something anyone blessed with prosperity, such as they were, should do. The girls and their mom joined the theater group at church. They loved it: playing different roles, entertaining churchgoers with big productions. Lelah wrote many of the plays. Rachael acted and directed, but soon became involved with the youth groups, helping the younger girls, serving as church counselor with Lelah, going to summer camp and helping out.
Life was on a fast track—and much of it was flawless bliss. The Koloroutises were the quintessential American family, enjoying the fruits of their work in the community and from George’s success in his professional life. They gave back. They enjoyed life together.
Then another side of Rachael emerged, George explained, as she grew from her junior high years into a teenager and entered high school.
“She liked to party—and that’s how she ended up with that group of friends in Clear Lake she was involved with.”
Despite a proclivity to go out partying with friends once in a while, Rachael picked up a fondness for, George noted, “police work.” Rachael was from the Law & Order, NCIS, and CSI era of television. She simply had to watch those types of shows every week. It was one of her vices: a dose of crime television. And through that, one would imagine, she developed a fevered passion for going into law enforcement, dreaming of one day becoming a female FBI agent.
“Whenever I’d go to D.C. on business,” George remembered, “I’d bring her back something with the FBI symbol on it, a shirt, jacket, or something. She loved that.”
Everyone agreed on one thing where it pertained to Rachael: She was a “very soft-spoken, kindhearted girl.” When she was younger, Rachael was the kid who stood beside her dad, grasping his leg, twisting a lock of her hair, not speaking a word. Yet, at the same time, she was watching your every move, sizing you up. “Shy” was what girls like Rachael were sometimes called. But that was a simple explanation for a complicated girl, who was not necessarily cautious or nervous around others more than she was curious and wanting to know you before she allowed you access into her world.
Then Rachael went through a period where her hair was all over the place, bushy and plain-looking, and her teeth were big and crooked. But George and his wife got their girl braces, and Lelah taught her little sister how to fix her hair, and everything changed. Rachael came out the other end “stunningly beautiful,” George said proudly. She was five feet four inches, and very thin. She was a petite girl, now with a smile that could grace the cover of any magazine. She had the looks and body of a supermodel, a sweet and genteel personality to go with it. Rachael was on her way. She had even met and started to date a popular boy (who had gone off to college the year before she was murdered, according to George) at Clear Lake High School.
Rachael seemed happy.
Like most teenagers, Rachael led two lives—the one at home (the churchgoer, family person, responsible young adult getting ready to go off to college) and the one out in the social world of high school and “Teen Land,” where you were judged on everything you did. Not that Rachael was two different people, consciously splitting her personality to satisfy both sides. George pointed out that that was “not at all what” he meant by agreeing his daughter led two separate lives. Rachael was like any other teen who acted one way around friends, another way around family. It’s part of growing up. A rite of passage into the adult world through that sieve of teen intercession. Maybe even a survival mechanism for kids in a tough world today of bullying and being constantly judged by what you wear, the music you listen to, and the people with whom you hang around.
This problematic period of her life began when Rachael entered those final years of high school. Part of it had to do with a bad acne problem Rachael developed during those years, George was convinced, and the fact that Rachael began taking a popular prescription drug for that skin problem. Her “behavioral problems” and going on that drug coincided with each other. George was certain of the connection.
“We had at first attributed the problems to me and Rachael’s mother being overprotective of our girls. We didn’t let them go out and do a bunch of stuff, and you could have called us ‘very strict.’ ”
So when Rachael began to get into things, especially after high school, when she expressed a desire to move in with Tiffany in Clear Lake City, George believed part of it was due to Rachael wanting to “go wild a little bit and enjoy some freedom” from her overbearing parents. Many kids do this. That first year out of high school, if the kid doesn’t head directly off to college, becomes a transitional year; it’s a time to think about the road ahead, and what life was going to offer.
When Rachael went on that acne drug, she was prescribed forty-five milligrams a day. It was early in the life of the drug.
“Today,” George said, “you can’t get over twenty milligrams, and only one out of every ten dermatologists will put a kid on the stuff because of all the class-action lawsuits related to [it].”
The side effects most associated with this particular drug include mood swings, an increased rate of suicide, colitis, Crohn’s disease, inflammatory bowel disease, severe depression, liver damage, and so on.
“We wonder when we look back over that last two years of her life, if some of her acting out was related to taking that drug.”
George wasn’t blaming the drug for his daughter’s risky behavior. But as many of the witnesses coming forward had explained to Tom Ladd and Phil Yochum, Tiffany and Rachael were exceptionally naïve to their surroundings and the people they hung around with in Houston. Casual drug use—picking up some cocaine on a Friday night and having a party with friends at the house, snorting a couple lines, having some beers, talking all that gibberish about saving the world people high on coke often do—was certainly one thing. Dealing grams and “eight balls” (an eighth of an ounce) was quite another.
CHAPTER 11
RACHAEL KOLOROUTIS MET Tiffany Rowell at Clear Lake High School in 1999. They became best friends almost immediately. If Clear Lake High sounds familiar in the realm of crime circles, it is probably because during a period between September and October 1984 the school was thrust into the national spotlight when six students supposedly made what some claimed was a “suicide pact” and killed themselves. The story drew the New York Times and other major media outlets.
This idea that students had all agreed to commit suicide together, however, turned out to be something of an urban legend.
“Rumors of a pact in which 20 to 30 students swore to commit suicide within six weeks,” a Times article written in late 1984 noted, “were generated by a student who, according to the students and counseling staff, circulated the story ‘as a lark.’ ”
Prank or not, the school had quite the reputation before it was tarnished by this dark cloud. If not for that one instance of gossip getting out of control, Clear Lake High was celebrated for producing some of the more engaging star athletes in professional sports: Major League Baseball relief pitcher Jon Switzer, National Football League players Craig Veasey, Jeff Novak, and Seth and Steve McKinney, and even Ultimate Fighting Championship tough man Mike Swick. Besides, could you ask for anything more American than having your school colors as red, white, and blue? In addition, Clear Lake High School catered to a majority of kids whose parents were oil company execs and NASA employees, and so the hierarchy had a bar set fairly high for a good portion of the students. Many came from money. And according to one news report, within that social pyramid: “Rachael Koloroutis and Tiffany Rowell stood on top.”
Like any high school, Clear Lake was no different when it came to cliques and various groups of kids chastising one another for reasons we know all too well. Tiffany and Rachael, though, were never like that. They were more of the celebrity type: the pretty girls walking through the halls whom every boy wanted to date, but wouldn’t dream of asking for fear of being rejected. And even that would be a misconception, a judgment; because Tiffany and Rachael were, by far, more approachable, according to former students and friends, than most other girls in the school. They were well liked, and kind to everyone, regardless of his or her status. Didn’t matter who you were, where you were from, how much money your parents had. They were in total accord with helping out whomever they could.
Tiffany had dreams of going into social work. Some said she was a very “talented actress.”
Rachael and her sister Lelah, a senior when Rachael and Tiffany were juniors, met Tiffany together, but it was Rachael who became closer to Tiffany Rowell. Tiffany’s mother had died not long after Rachael and Lelah had befriended her. Tiffany had hit a rough patch in her young life, having just lost the only woman she had ever known as a mother (Tiffany was adopted at a young age). Her life had been overwhelmed with grief at a time when it should have been filled with wonder and anticipation of what was around the corner. In this respect Rachael filled an important role in Tiffany’s life, and Tiffany understood and appreciated it greatly.
Rachael and George had talked about Rachael joining the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC). Undecided on which branch of the military she wanted to go into, the ROTC could fill that desire Rachael had expressed for law enforcement. Every division of the military had a criminal investigation unit of some sort. The ROTC was a good place to begin that career path. Rachael would learn discipline and routine and possibly earn a scholarship. She’d be taught leadership skills, something her father had already given her in genes. She could step into military life as an officer, essentially. Nothing would make George and Ann Koloroutis happier than to see Rachael get involved with the ROTC program.
Rachael was supposed to join her sister at college after what her father described as Rachael’s one “wild and crazy summer,” which now included Rachael moving into Tiffany’s house. Rachael had a plan—she just wasn’t following it immediately after graduation, and this greatly frustrated her mother and father.
Lelah had been enrolled at the University of North Texas in Denton, and Rachael was planning on doing the same. UNT was where Rachael could enter into that ROTC program. From there she could do whatever she wanted.
“Because there were some behavioral issues there during that last year or so of her life,” George said later, “I thought the structure of the air force (which Rachael had finally decided on) would be good for her. She did, too. She agreed with the plan.”
George was all about helping his kids organize and plan their lives. He had sat down with Rachael more than once and talked about what she was going to do. Yet Rachael, George pointed out with a laugh, “had become a staunch liberal by the time she was a junior in high school.” Being a GOP man himself, George admitted this caused some friction; and they butted heads over those differences more than once.
“When she got an idea in her mind,” George said, “there was no changing it. That was it.”
That stubbornness on Rachael’s part, however, would help her in life, George knew. When she put her mind to something, Rachael generally did it.
Ann Koloroutis saw this side of Rachael, too—more so during Rachael’s senior year at Clear Lake High School. Rachael and her mother were not on good terms when Rachael left the house to go live with Tiffany. There had been an issue between her mother and father, and Rachael had no choice but to side with her dad. Still, Rachael had confided in her mother about a girl in school who had been picked on and laughed at by many of her classmates. Rachael said she and Tiffany had stepped in and befriended the girl, who was a year behind them. They both felt sorry for her.
Her name was Christine Paolilla. Christine was a short, somewhat cheery, not too overly confident transplant to suburban Houston (the town of Friendswood, just over the Clear Lake city limit). Christine suffered from a rare condition that made her hair fall out: alopecia (defined simply as “loss of hair”). It’s a debilitating disease for women—the pain being more cosmetic than necessarily physical. Because it is such an obvious condition when a breakout occurs, it can turn quickly into psychological trauma because of the stigma attached.
Christine lost her father when she was two years old (he died in a tragic construction accident, she said, but would add later that “he was also a heroin addict”). She’d had alopecia for as long as she could recall. She wore wigs and painted on her eyebrows, always trying to do the best she could with what she had.
“But it made her look like a clown at times,” remarked one source.
And this only added to the peer punishment she endured at school.
There was also the pockmark Christine had of having a mother who, at one time, had some rather well-known problems with drugs herself.
