In the hallways at Round Rock High, Lisa Pace watched Emily and Will. As Emily sat down in art class, Lisa asked, “Are y’all going to go out to the SP this weekend?” She meant SPSJT, the country-western club.
Lisa Pace didn’t need Emily Eaves to answer her question. Pace often saw Busenburg at SP’s, always alone, never dancing, and always with booze on his underage breath.
Lisa Pace thought more about the way Busenburg stood in the school hallways, and seemed to be lurking after Emily.
She’d heard him rave about the Ku Klux Klan: “The KKK rules; the KKK needs to run the government; we need to wipe out all the niggers.” It turned her stomach. She thought he was rude and that Emily deserved better.
Chris Hatton and Glenn Conway didn’t feel that Will Busenburg was so bad. They just felt that he was always trying to live his life to everyone else’s expectations, trying to fit in with whatever crowd he was with.
When he was with Emily Eaves, Busenburg was all Jesus this and Jesus that, even wearing Jesus T-shirts to school. When he was with Hatton and Conway, Busenburg was one of the boys—or at least tried to be. He wasn’t really the type they wanted to hang out with. He was a misfit, and he knew it.
“I’ve always been an outcast,” he said often, frequently to sympathetic female ears. “I’ve never fit in. I’ve never had very many friends.” It seemed almost like a pickup line with the girls. With the boys, they heard it, but that was about it. They heard lots of talk from Busenburg that they dismissed.
He talked like he wanted to go party with the boys. But when they grabbed some beer, drove around, partied, and tried to raise a little ruckus while listening to country music, Busenburg sat in one place and didn’t join in the rowdiness.
When Hatton and Conway went camping at Lake Georgetown with the idea of hiking in five miles, raising their tents, and building their own campfires; of getting their water from a stream, purifying it themselves, eating what they could find in the wilds; of roughing it like Junior ROTC boys would do, Busenburg went along once or twice, but he didn’t act like he enjoyed it.
To Hatton and Conway, Busenburg’s idea of camping was to take an RV. Busenburg was right—he just didn’t fit in. He talked gung ho military, but he didn’t ever look like he was actually enjoying playing military.
Hatton and Conway pulled out their paintball rifles and fired at each other. Busenburg fired, too. The paintballs slammed their bodies with chest-pounding splats. Hatton and Conway laughed. Busenburg didn’t. In fact, he wasn’t very good at paintball, just like he wasn’t very good at camping.
Still, Will Busenburg wore his battle dress uniform (BDU) to school at least three times a week. That was just one more sign to Hatton and Conway that Busenburg was weird. They glanced down the hall toward the ROTC room. There stood Busenburg in his BDUs with a khaki shirt, or in a T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He just didn’t get what one had to do to fit in.
When Chris Hatton and Glenn Conway drove over to Busenburg’s house, they were never invited in. Busenburg just ran into the house and ran back out.
It was so different from Conway’s home where friends were always welcomed and laughter was always plentiful. It was a house where Busenburg would have wanted to stay.
In 1991, during Will Busenburg’s junior year, he and Emily Eaves broke up. He wanted more physically, he told Hatton and Conway. He wanted more emotionally.
Like Lisa Pace, they also knew he was obsessed with Emily, calling her all the time, going wherever she went. The only time Emily got a break from Busenburg was when she was in class. But he didn’t come across to anyone as a crazy, psycho lunatic. The relationship just wasn’t going anywhere, and it ended.
A month later, Busenburg told Eaves he was moving to Montana. His sister Michelle had moved there. He said he was going to finish high school in Montana and then go on to college.
Busenburg should have graduated from high school in the late spring of 1992. He told people that he had graduated from Skyview High School in Billings, Montana, with a 2.8 GPA out of a possible 4.0.
Will Busenburg’s birthday suddenly changed to October 22, 1972, rather than 1973. In April of 1991, while still seventeen years old and a year before he should have graduated from high school, Busenburg joined the Army National Guard.
A small announcement ran in the “Military Notes” section of the
Austin American-Statesman
on September 12, 1991. It said, “National Guard Pfc. William Michael Busenburg has completed basic training at Fort Dix, N.J. He is the son of Fran Wallen . . . Round Rock.”
From July 21, 1992, to September 29, 1992, Private First Class Busenburg attended and completed the Medical Specialist Course at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, and earned a U.S. Army diploma of the Academy of Health Sciences. He told others that he had graduated with a 3.9 GPA out of a possible 4.0.
Reportedly, he stayed in the National Guard in Billings, Montana, until May 1994. His job was medical specialist, combat medic, and Hum-Vee ambulance driver. His knowledge of his job was considered “excellent” by his platoon sergeant Don Hammel. Hammel believed that Busenburg’s ability to work with others and his reliability and dependability were both “very good.”
Busenburg, thought Hammel, was a “self-starter who was always volunteering, he was very loyal, very smart, and an excellent person to work with.”
During a portion of Busenburg’s tenure in the National Guard, he was also working for his sister Michelle and her husband, Ron Burchette. Busenburg was a deliveryman for their Bighorn Orthopedics company in Whitehall, Montana. He worked for his sister and brother-in-law from January 1992 until May 1994 when he moved back to Austin, Texas.
Busenburg said he had been honorably discharged from the National Guard, and on his arrival back in Austin, he immediately went to work at Discount Cinema 8, a huge nondescript gray block of a building between Austin and Round Rock. He said he was an assistant manager with a starting salary of $4.25 an hour that rose to $5.50 before he left.
Busenburg’s mother, Fran Wallen, suggested that he work for Intermedics Orthopedics, as she did. On July 24, 1994, he applied at Intermedics for a job as a polisher. He passed a drug test for Intermedics on August 9, 1994. On the consent form, he said he was currently taking Demerol.
Intermedics phoned Busenburg’s platoon sergeant in Montana two days later for a recommendation. He was given a positive referral.
Intermedics also phoned Busenburg’s sister. She, too, gave him a glowing review. Michelle said her brother delivered implants, laid out instruments, and did inventory at Bighorn. He was very familiar, she said, with implants and instruments. He worked well with others, he was very quiet, and he was always there. “He never had to be asked twice to do something.” Will, she said, was very motivated and very loyal.
On August 15, 1994, Will Busenburg was hired as an $8.13-an-hour knee polisher at Intermedics Orthopedics.
In the late summer of 1994, Chris Hatton and Will Busenburg ran into each other. “I’m living with my mom,” said Will. “And it’s not working out. Y’all know anyone who needs a roommate? I’m looking.”
So was Chris Hatton.
By Labor Day weekend, they were living at the Aubry Hills Apartments. A few days later, on September 13, 1994, Busenburg purchased a Winchester 12-gauge 1300 Defender shotgun from Oshman’s Sporting Goods. With tax, the price came to $260.56. Busenburg wrote out a check.
Ten
As TCSO officers Richard Hale and Bruce Harlan stood outside the Aubry Hills Apartments on that Saturday, January 14, 1995, with Will Busenburg in handcuffs, Busenburg’s female companion continued to excitedly batter the cops with questions. “What murder? Who’s been murdered?”
“Will you come with me to my vehicle?” Harlan said to her. “I need to secure it.” He’d rushed from his vehicle to the apartment stairs so fast that he’d left his car door open. “I’ll explain as much as I can, if you’ll come with me,” he said, wanting to calm her down.
They walked toward the back of the apartment and to his car. She got in the passenger seat; he got in the driver’s seat. As he drove past the apartment’s fence with the razor wire and circled the complex to go back and meet Hale, the woman identified herself as Stephanie Martin.
“You’re not under arrest,” said Harlan as he drove. “You’re not charged with, or, as far as I know, even a suspect in any crime. But because of my limited knowledge of the case, before I talk to you, I want to make sure you understand your rights.” At 4:40
P.M
., Harlan Miranda-ized her, just to be on the safe side.
He pulled up close to Deputy Hale’s vehicle and turned to face Martin. “What’s your relationship to Busenburg?”
“We’ve been dating for about three months.”
“Did you know his roommate, Chris Hatton?”
“Yeah. Uh, we didn’t like each other.”
“When was the last time you saw Hatton?”
“Uh, I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks. My boyfriend, Will, we’ve been dating for two or three months, and that’s caused some problems between me and Chris. Like I said, we didn’t like each other. Will’s moving out of here and in with me. We just, uh, came to move some of his stuff.”
“When’s the last time you were here at Busenburg and Hatton’s apartment?”
“Will and I came by Sunday or, um, Monday to pick up some of Will’s things.”
“Can you account for Busenburg’s whereabouts over the last week?”
“We’ve been together pretty much the whole week,” she said quickly.
At 5
P.M
., Sergeant Tim Gage was informed that Deputy Richard Hale had in custody Will Busenburg and a female companion. Gage and Mancias left for the Aubry Hills Apartments.
Hale walked around Busenburg’s truck and observed a paint pan and rollers in the bed, along with a piece of rope with dark-red stains on it. He turned to face Busenburg, who sat in the deputy’s backseat. “Why’d you come to the apartment?”
“I moved out about two weeks ago, around the end of December, and moved in with my girlfriend.” He nodded his head toward the outside of the vehicle to indicate his female companion. “I moved out because Chris, my roommate, wasn’t keeping up his end of the apartment and owed me some money. I paid the deposit and the first and second months’ rent, and Chris owed me the money.”
“When’d y’all move in?”
“August or September. I met Stephanie”—again he nodded toward the outside of the vehicle and his female companion—“about three months ago and we’re thinking about getting married. She works at the Yellow Rose. We came here to pick up some clothes.”
Hale thought about how Busenburg and his companion didn’t have any clothes in their arms when they exited the apartment. “An investigator is responding to the scene, and you can speak with him. More than likely, your vehicle’s going to be seized as evidence. Do you own any weapons or do you have any weapons in your vehicle?”
“There’s a hunting rifle in the toolbox of my truck, and I own a Mossberg shotgun that’s either at my mother’s house or Stephanie’s apartment.”
“What do the keys on your key ring go to?”
Busenburg politely and methodically pointed out each key—the apartment door, Hatton’s pickup truck (which he then described), a toolbox key, a key to Stephanie’s apartment, a mailbox key, and a key to a safe that he said Chris had stolen from him.
When Gage and Mancias arrived at the north Austin complex around 5:30
P.M
., Hale still had a handcuffed Will Busenburg in his car. Busenburg was clean-cut but with the beginnings of a new beard. They glanced over at Harlan’s unmarked vehicle. In it was the white, female subject. She was pretty and petite with long, dark hair.
Hale and Harlan relayed the facts to Gage and Mancias: the couple’s arriving and then departing moments later from the apartment; their saying they were there to get Busenburg’s things, but leaving empty-handed; the couple saying they knew nothing about a murder; both subjects had been read their rights.
“The truck the two subjects drove up in,” said Hale to Mancias, “it’s parked just east of the front door of the apartment.” He pointed to the black pickup.
Mancias walked over to the truck and stared at the paint residue on the paint pan and rollers, residue that matched the freshly painted spots in Chris Hatton’s bedroom.
Harlan led Gage over to Busenburg’s truck. Gage carefully circled the outside of the truck in search of blood. He didn’t see any.
Mancias walked back over to the composed Will Busenburg.
“We’re investigating the possibility of a homicide. We’d like you to come to the office with us.”
“Okay,” Busenburg replied without one iota of emotion.
Martin was told the same thing. She, too, agreed.
Mancias led Busenburg to the front seat of Mancias’s vehicle. Gage led Martin to the backseat of Mancias’s vehicle. “Stay here with the truck until further advised,” said Gage to Harlan and Hale. Gage and Mancias left with Busenburg and Martin.
Holly Frischkorn and Bill Hatton walked into Bill’s Round Rock apartment. Together, they wanted to tell Brian about Chris.
But Brian was at one of his friends, and he thought he was in really big trouble, since he wasn’t allowed by Bill to go over to any friend’s. When Holly and Bill told Brian that his big brother was dead Brian ran into his bedroom and screamed, “My father, not my brother!”
Sawa got on the phone and made arrangements to meet with a TCSO officer and Chris Hatton’s friend John Phillips. When Sawa tried to phone Glenn Conway, June Conway answered.
“This is Detective Mark Sawa with the Travis County Sheriffs Office. Do you know Christopher Michael Hatton?”
“Yes,” said June.
“I hate to tell you this, ma’am, but he was killed at Pace Bend Park.”
June cried.
“Are you okay?”
She tried to mutter yes.
“I’m sorry that I have to give you this type of information, but I’ve got to talk to your son.”
“He’s at work,” June answered.
“Can I call him at work?”
“No. No. You are not calling my son at work. This will devastate him. I do not want him driving home by himself being upset. I will call him at work.”
She told the detective that Chris had spent the night in their home on January 8 and 9 and that on January 11, she misspoke, he had been at their house until 1
A.M
. talking with her.
She phoned Glenn’s boss, who was June’s brother, and relayed the information to her brother. “Do not tell Glenn Junior what happened,” she ordered. “Just tell him I need him at home and that it’s very important.”
When Glenn was told to go home, he wouldn’t go. “Not until you tell me what’s the matter.”
“It’s something about Chris.”
John Phillips’s interview with the detective at TCSO was brief. Phillips didn’t know anything. He hadn’t seen Hatton in months.
Glenn Conway was different. The cops escorted Glenn, his girlfriend Marlena, and Glenn’s cousin to the downtown headquarters. For safety, they led Glenn and his companions up the back stairs, then quickly separated him from Marlena and his cousin. They also escorted Glenn to the water fountain when he wanted a drink.
“Will often thought he was as good a friend with Chris and me as Chris and I were friends. But he wasn’t. I didn’t even particularly care for Will. He’s self-centered and a habitual liar.”
Conway told the detectives that Busenburg and Hatton hadn’t been getting along, in part because of money, in part because of Will hanging out with strippers and dating a girl from the Yellow Rose. “It severely conflicted with Chris’s lifestyle.”
“Do you recall exactly what he was wearing when you last saw him?”
“A pair of blue jeans and a black T-shirt with a bronco rider on it that said ‘My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys.’ ” He and Chris had been wrestling in the yard and in the battle Chris had gotten his shirt dirty. Glenn had offered his buddy a T-shirt. That T-shirt was imprinted with the words “My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys.”
“I don’t know if he took it or not,” said Conway, “but I do know the shirt’s not at the house.”
Sawa remembered the fire ring at Pace Bend Park. On the remaining piece of burned T-shirt was the lone word “cowboy.”
Detective Mancias walked in. He pulled his partner out of the office. “Will Busenburg and Stephanie Martin are in my office and Gage’s office,” he said quietly. “Both subjects were seen by Harlan and Hale going into Hatton’s apartment. We need you to help with the interviews.”
Sawa stepped back into this office. He looked at Conway and said, “They caught Will and Stephanie at the apartment cleaning up the murder scene.”
One thought went through Glenn Conway’s mind:
I want to see Will right now.
While Sawa completed and closed his interview with Conway, Mancias took the handcuffs off Will Busenburg and began reading him his rights. It was 5:40
P.M
., Saturday, January 14, 1995. After each sentence, Mancias stopped and asked Busenburg if he understood. Busenburg said he did.
“With this,” Mancias ensured, “you are acknowledging that you have read and understood the warnings which I read to you.”
Busenburg voluntarily signed the green card printed with the Miranda warning. It was 5:43
P.M
. He then waived his right to an attorney and volunteered to answer any of Mancias’s questions.
“Did you know Christopher Hatton?”
“We were roommates.”
“Beginning when?”
“Since September of ’94.”
“When did you first meet?”
“Chris and me met in eighth or ninth grade when we were in ROTC together at Round Rock. After high school, I moved to Montana and was in the National Guard. Chris joined the Navy. After I was discharged because of my bad back, I moved back to Round Rock.”
“When did you move back?”
“In May. That’s when I decided to look Chris up. At the time, Chris was living with his girlfriend. A few months later, she joined the military, and Chris and me moved in together at Aubry Hills Apartments.”
“Where did Chris work?”
“He was a driver for Coors.”
“Where do you work?”
“Intermedics Orthopedics. I manufacture artificial knees. In the National Guard, I was a medic. That’s the same as an EMT.”
“Did you or Chris have any weapons in the apartment?”
“Chris owned a shotgun that he kept in his bedroom loaded with bird shot. I own a shotgun and a .243 rifle.”
Lisa Pace’s pager went off while she was at work. When she looked down and saw that the caller was her mother, Lisa reached for a phone.
“Lisa, I’ve got some pretty bad news, and I need you to come home.”
“Yeah, Mom. Whatever. I’m at work. I don’t have time to play these games.” Lisa’s family was notorious for making calls of fake emergencies or bad news to get out of work, only to go home to celebrate and party.
“No, really, Lisa, you need to come home.”
“Mom, just tell me. What is the news? What is the big news, okay?”
Who’s visiting? An aunt? One of my uncles probably just got out of jail,
she thought.
“Lisa, you need to come home.”
Lisa Pace needed to make money. The last thing she wanted was to go home and celebrate the arrival of a car thief. “Mom,
what?”
“Lisa, it’s Chris. He’s been killed.”
“Chris who?”
“Hatton!”
“What? What do you mean he’s been killed? He’s like run off the road . . . like drinking and driving . . . and killed himself, you know, like that type of he’s been killed or what?”
“No, he was murdered.”
“What? . . . What did you say?”
“He was murdered. I think you need to come home. Holly wants to talk to you.”
Lisa started crying. She couldn’t remember where she’d put her purse or where she’d laid her keys. She walked around in circles. She didn’t know what to feel. But no longer would her stomach drop with hope every time the phone rang, hoping it would be Chris Hatton calling.
Gage sat down with Stephanie Martin. Her skin was pale; her eyes were determined. He again read her her rights.
“Do you understand your rights?”
She said she did.
“Do you read, speak, and understand the English language?”
Again she said she did.
“Will you sign this card then?” At 5:50
P.M
., on Saturday, January 14, almost four days from the time the sheriffs department had been alerted to the corpse of Christopher Michael Hatton, Stephanie Lynn Martin waived her rights.
“You have been brought to this office in relation to a murder investigation,” said Gage. “Can you tell me what you know about Christopher Hatton?”
“I know Chris as Will’s roommate, and I, uh, lived with Will and Chris when I first met Will back in October.”
“What were you and Will doing at the apartment today?”
“We went there to get some things that belonged to Will.”
“What things?”
“Some clothes.”
He remembered that the place had been almost empty of clothes, except in Chris’s room. There had been only the one pair of underwear he’d spotted near the shotgun boxes in the master bedroom.