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"Martha's long blonde hair was parted in the middle and hung
lankly down her shoulders, in the fashion of the times," writes
Timothy Dumas, author of A Wealth of Evil. "She had shed
her baby fat in that final summer and her physique had acquired a
sexy maturity that no boy could help noticing. Boys always swirled
around her now. Peter Ziluca had bested Grey Weicker, the senator's
son, for her attention, a victory…She loved cats. She collected
frogs. And she had the sort of small mischievous streak that makes a
girl highly desirable company."
After school on Thursday, October 30, 1975, the kids in Belle
Haven were in a festive mood. Not only were they off of school the
next day, Halloween, but they faced a three-day weekend. As
teenagers anywhere, much partying was in the offing. To officially
kick off the frolic, Martha and her friends planned to participate
in Hacker's Night, when the kids of the community playfully wrapped
their neighbors' trees in toilet paper and lobbed eggshells onto
passing cars. Belle Haven police were out en force, just to
discourage any extremes.
Not that they anticipated trouble. Belle Haven, which means
"beautiful shelter," is the most exclusive edge of
exclusive Greenwich. Comprised of "40 homes on a hundred acres
jutting into Long Island Sound," says Mark Fuhrman in his book,
Murder in Greenwich, Belle Haven has "a private security
force (patrolling) the streets around the clock and manned guard
posts at every public access."
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| The Moxley's former home, in 1998
(AP) |
Early evening, Martha and some friends -- Helen Ix, Geoffrey
Byrne, Jackie Werenhall and Marie Coomoraswamy -- left the Moxley
house at 38 Walsh Lane to head to a party just around the corner on
Otter Drive. Dorothy Moxley reminded her daughter not to stay out
late. Night had already fallen over the suburb and Dorothy found it
necessary to close the windows of their Tudor-style home against the
near-freezing October chill. Because she had been painting trim all
day, she would have preferred to keep them open a while longer to
vent the smell of enamel. |
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Outside, the troupe of teens headed toward the Skakel home. They
were feeling a little cautious. The Skakel boys' reputation wasn't
the best, for they were known to do just what they wanted to do –
anytime, anyplace – damn convention, damn obligation. And that
sometimes caused trouble. Their mother had died of cancer in 1973
and their father, Rushton, was gone most of the time keeping the
wheels of the family business, Great Lakes Carbon, running
profitably. So, there was little adult supervision.
However, maybe because of the connections they had – Rushton's
sister was Ethel Kennedy, widow of the assassinated Bobby Kennedy
– and one of the Hyannisport notables – the Belle Haven police
overlooked the Skakels' mischievous behavior. Neighbors noticed this
and some of them kept their children distant, money and fame
notwithstanding. The Skakels were observed by many as part of the
large "Irish Mafia," comprised of the politically smart,
politically controlling all-Catholic East Coast Kennedy crowd, made
rich by Joseph Kennedy's bootlegging enterprises in the 1920s and
made permanent by John F. Kennedy's election to President in 1960.
The Greenwich line of Skakels was comprised of tycoon Rushton and
his brood: Rushton, Jr. (19), Julie (18), Thomas (17), John (16),
Michael (15), David (12) and Steven (9).
Martha and her group arrived at the Skakel home about 7:30 p.m.,
only to be told by gardener Franz Wittine that the Skakels were
dining with their new live-in tutor Ken Littleton, at the private
Belle Haven Club; they would be home shortly. Marie went home.
Martha and the other kids dallied around town, and returned an hour
later, but the family was still out. Walking Jackie home to meet her
nine o'clock curfew, the remaining trio returned once more to the
Skakels where, this time, they encountered Michael sitting in the
family's black Lincoln Continental, listening to music. Geoffrey and
Helen joined him in the car, sitting in the back seat, and so did
Martha, sliding onto the front seat beside Michael.
Martha liked the baby-faced Michael, but seemed to hold an equal
interest in his older brother, Thomas. In turn, both boys often
fought over the girl. Maybe that is why, when Thomas came from the
house a few minutes later to get a tape cassette from the glove
compartment and saw her beside Michael, he decided to remain and
listen to the tape from the car's tape deck. In fact, he had just
edged in next to Martha when his hand crept upon her knee.
"Take your hand off!" Martha demanded. Thomas obeyed, but
with a flirtatious wisecrack that made the girl giggle. His breath
smelled of beer, she noticed; he had had a few at the club, as well
as, he later confessed, a couple of scotches.
A little after 9:30 p.m.,
Julie Skakel and a friend, Andrea Shakespeare, emerged from the
house and approached the Lincoln. Julie announced that she needed
the car to drive Andrea home. But, before the others could exit the
automobile, her brothers Rush and John followed her to equally claim
use of the car. With them was cousin Jim Terrien. The party was
moving to the Terrien house, Rush explained, and anyone who wanted
to come was welcome.
Martha's two friends, Helen and Geoff, figured they had better
not tag along, for they had curfews. Martha and Thomas decided to
stay at home also. Their reason soon became apparent. No sooner did
Michael and the others pull away from the driveway than the older
Skakel boy and Martha "began flirting, roughhousing, and
eventually kissing," says Fuhrman. "Helen Ix and Geoffrey
Byrne were a little disgusted with Martha's behavior and decided to
go home. As they walked together across the Skakel backyard, they
saw Thomas and Martha falling together behind the fence near the
Skakel pool. This was the last time they saw their friend Martha
Moxley."
Across the way on Walsh Lane, Dorothy Moxley heard the neighbors'
dogs yelping outside beyond the driveway. It was 10 p.m. She glanced
out to see what the disturbance might be and saw nothing but
darkness – not Martha, as she had hoped. As the clock neared
11:00, and still no Martha, Dorothy became a trifle concerned.
Although the girl hadn't a specific curfew, she was never one to
take advantage of the liberty. She always wandered in at a
respectable hour. With husband David out of town on business, the
first person Dorothy had to share her motherly concerns with was son
John when he returned home from a party. He assured her that Martha
was just out having a good time. But, because he didn't like to see
his mom worrying so, he agreed to cruise the neighborhood to look
for his sister. Circling Belle Haven a couple of times, he spotted
no one. When he came home with this report, Dorothy grew frantic.
Midnight passed. Dorothy called Helen Ix, who explained that she
hadn't seen Martha since she left her with Thomas at the Skakel
house, much earlier. Telephoning the Skakels, Julie (who answered
the phone) checked with Thomas, who was already half asleep in his
room. He told his sister that Martha and he had parted company about
9:30, at which time he came up to his room to study. He had assumed
she had gone straight home.
As the hours passed without a sign from her daughter, Dorothy
feared the worse. She dialed the Skakels several more times, each
time getting Julie, until she demanded to speak directly to Thomas.
The boy, roused again from sleep, related the same story as earlier.
Now Dorothy Moxley panicked. Despite the hour, she called anyone she
could think of, the Terriens, the Werenhalls and other parents of
Julie's known friends. No one had seen Martha nor knew where she had
gone. At 3:48 a.m., Dorothy summoned the police.
Two patrolmen scoured Belle Haven for the next couple of hours;
they searched back yards and driveways, groves and any recess where
a teenager might have fallen asleep drunk. They found no one. At
dawn, one of the patrolmen contacted Dorothy, hoping the child had
come home in the meantime. She hadn't. Now, realizing that this
might be more serious than they thought, turned the case over to the
Youth Division. Officers from that unit continued to search for the
minor.
Mid-morning, around 10 a.m., Dorothy paid an urgent visit to the
Skakel home. She crossed Walsh Lane and short-cut through to the
Skakel's back sun porch, which was visible from her front stoop.
Michael Skakel answered the door, appearing, as Fuhrman describes,
"very pale and disheveled, as if he were hungover and hadn't
slept all night." When Dorothy asked if Martha was there, he
answered no without really bothering to look."
Realizing she wasn't going to find any answers there, she
retreated to her kitchen to wait for what she hoped would be
Martha's eventual return. Having been angry hours ago over her
daughter's irresponsibility, all she wanted now was to hug her
prodigal offspring. In the meantime, the neighbors and friends she
had called during the night, most of them having daughters too,
stopped by to offer hope and consolation. Deep down, they were
beginning to wonder if something evil had befallen the Moxley girl.
Belle Haven began to pray. Time crept by without an answer.
Then an answer came. At roughly 12:15 p.m., the Moxley back
doorbell rang with an indication of alarm. Dorothy leaped from her
chair, but neighbor Jean Walker reached the door first. On the patio
stood Sheila McGuire, a 15-year-old school acquaintance of Martha's,
who had been cutting through the wooded portion of the Moxley back
yard. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she seemed to be gasping
for air. "I found Martha….there…" she pointed a
trembling finger towards the row of trees that lined the property.
"Martha's there -- "under the tree.."
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