Eye of the Beast: The True Story of Serial Killer James Wood by Terry Adams & Mary Brooks-Mueller & Scott Shaw

Eye of the Beast: The True Story of Serial Killer James Wood by Terry Adams & Mary Brooks-Mueller & Scott Shaw

Author:Terry Adams & Mary Brooks-Mueller & Scott Shaw [Adams, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Wednesday, June 30, 1992. Warm, dry winds whipped through the Portneuf Valley. Just before ten that morning, Shaw left the station and drove to the home of Jeff and Joyce Underwood. Although Shaw had never met the Underwoods, he was familiar with the subdivision where they lived. Not only did he drive past it eveiy day on his way to work, but a few years earlier, he had owned a home there. As Shaw turned into the subdivision of modest ranch-style homes and saw his old house, he was surprised by how close his family had once lived to the Underwoods, They lived on a cul-de-sac directly behind the house he had owned. It was obvious which of the three small homes belonged to the Underwoods. Two middle-aged women, carrying casserole dishes covered with aluminum foil, were walking toward the front door. Several cars were parked in front.

Walking up to the door, Shaw saw a girl’s blue bicycle leaning against the front steps. Colorful plastic toys were scattered on the lawn near the driveway. But the children they belonged to were nowhere in sight. Shaw rang the doorbell. A well- dressed woman in her mid-thirties opened the door. Behind her, Shaw could see several people talking in the small living room.

“I’m from the Pocatello Police Department,” Shaw said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Underwood,”

The woman turned and led Shaw through the living room into a small foyer near the kitchen.

The tired, anguished looks on their faces left little doubt that the couple before him were the Underwoods. Joyce’s dark eyes met Shaw’s. Strain was etched into her face. Her eyes were red. Standing by her side was Jeff, a stubble of beard on his face, wearing the same dark blue work clothes he had worn the day before. Still, both husband and wife managed weak smiles as they greeted the tall detective.

“I’m Detective Scott Shaw, and I’ve been assigned to investigate your daughter’s case,” he said, first shaking Jeff’s hand, then Joyce’s. He could not help thinking how small and frail they both appeared. “Is there a place we can talk?”

“Maybe in the kitchen.,” Joyce said, her voice barely audible. She gestured toward the back of the house.

As Shaw followed the Underwoods into their kitchen, he glanced around the small house. It had the look and feel of a place where children lived. It seemed to him a loving home, too. Everywhere he looked, there were family photographs. On the upright piano in the living room was a framed photograph of Jeff and Joyce and their six children. At the top of the picture frame was the word love in bright letters. On the wall above the basement stairwell, he saw color studio portraits of Jeff and Joyce. Surrounding them were dark-framed portraits of each of their six children, arranged in order of their age. The portrait of a smiling Jeralee was just below Jamen, her older brother.

Every countertop in the kitchen was covered with casserole dishes, trays, and plastic containers of food.



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