The trials of Billy Dean Smith : a true story of murders on Alaska's Kenai Peninsula

111 Pages·2015·0.63 MB·English

by  Bellamy

The
TRIALS OF BILLY
DEAN SMITH

A True Story of Murders on Alaska’s Kenai
Peninsula

PHIL HERMANEK
THE TRIALS OF BILLY DEAN SMITH
A TRUE STORY OF MURDERS ON ALASKA’S KENAI PENINSULA Copyright © 2015 Phil
Hermanek.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-7226-3 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4917-7227-0 (e) Library of Congress Control Number:
2015911008

iUniverse rev. date: 07/14/2015
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Dedicated to the sweet spirit of
my dear RaShelle,
who died much too early.

God willing,
we’ll be together again someday.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I offer my sincere appreciation to those who helped me directly or indirectly
with the completion of this book. Many writers, friends and life-teachers have
inspired me, led me on and championed my efforts in bringing this story to a
wide audience.
While the story is true, many of the names, especially those mentioned during
Mr. Smith’s confession, have been changed as some had not yet been convicted
of a crime, some had not yet been charged and some had not even been arrested,
yet. During the first trial in Kenai (pronounced KEE-nye), one principal
character in particular asked me to use his name as little as possible in my news
coverage, because he had turned his life around, stopped drinking and using, and
would hate to have his past dredged up once more. I chose to change his name
entirely in this text.
The confession dialog in this book is extracted from actual transcripts of Mr.
Smith’s confession, documents which are public record. The confession is
presented here to let the reader decide whether or not it is true.

I have been blessed in my life with many good writing and reporting teachers
beginning with Mrs. Sullivan at Lewis College in Lockport, Ill., U.S. Navy
journalism chief Lucasey at the Defense Information School in Indianapolis, and
Ed Rooney of the Chicago Daily News at Loyola University in Chicago.
Some friends who enhanced my understanding of the drug culture include
Jaclyn E. and John S., and I owe much gratitude to Michael D., Roland D., Bill
W. and Dr. Bob.
A great deal of my knowledge of criminal court proceedings and especially
Alaska law came from Alaska judges Jonathan Link, Harold Brown, Charles
Hugelet and John Wolfe, and from District Attorneys June Stein and Scot
Leaders. Criminal Defense Attorney Chuck Robinson taught me the most about
seeing both sides.
I have been encouraged along the way by some very good friends – authors
themselves – including John R. Coyne Jr., Chuck Mason and Ralph E. Lugton,
and especially Liz Guthridge, author and strategic employee and change
communication specialist, whose experienced advice kept me writing, writing,
writing.
Thanks to all!
PRELUDE
“Will the attorneys please approach the bench.”
Judge Jonathan Link was obviously troubled by something the witness had
just said, and by several failed attempts to fix the problem.
As the court clerk activated the courtroom’s white noise, preventing all but
those close to Judge Link’s bench from hearing the conversation about to unfold,
assistant Kenai Peninsula district attorney John Wolfe and defense attorney Rob
Herz came forward.
“Gentlemen, you’re right. We’ve got a problem,” said Kenai, Alaska presiding
judge Link. “The witness mentioned having taken a lie detector test when he was
first interviewed in 1994. If the jurors think Mr. Brauer passed the test they’ll
believe he’s a truthful person. If they learn later that he spent three and one-half
years in jail, they might think it’s because he lied, and he might be lying now as
well.
“Either way, the jury’s going to be affected by what the witness said.”
Because lie detector test results are inadmissible as evidence in Alaska courts,
the court was prohibited from showing the jury the actual results of Brauer’s test.
After much debate between the attorneys and failure to come up with a
curative solution, Link said, “There is no other fix. What I’m doing is declaring
a mistrial.”
Jackson Brauer (not his real name) had been retelling the events of March 27,
1994, when he claims to have been with Billy Dean Smith when Smith fatally
shot Harold Enzler and Nancy Bellamy on a remote road north of Nikiski,
Alaska.
At the mention of a mistrial, Smith turned to the dozen or so spectators in the
courtroom gallery with a friendly smile, apparently thinking he had just been
deemed victorious and that he might soon be free.
This would not be the case.
CHAPTER ONE
The killings were the furthest thing from Billy’s mind as Alaska Airlines
Flight 99 dropped down through the clouds covering Turnagain Arm on
approach to Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage.
He watched as the brown, murky waters of Turnagain mixed with those of the
much deeper glacial green Cook Inlet -- keeper of the secret of two murders
committed on the Kenai Peninsula three and one-half years earlier.
The Boeing 739 banked hard to the right now, and Billy could see Fire Island
below as the plane lined up for its final approach to Alaska’s busiest airport. He
wondered when they’d start erecting the giant wind turbines that were raising so
much controversy when he had left for the Lower 48 three months earlier.
Although Mt. McKinley, 300 miles to the north, was visible from Alaska’s
largest city on only the clearest of days, Anchorage residents protested that the
big windmills would scar the horizon, forever ruining all photo ops across the
inlet. Never mind the fact that nearly two dozen offshore oil platforms already
erased the possibility of any pristine photographs of America’s “last frontier.”
Thoughts of wind farms and ever-present Alaskan controversy fled from
Billy’s mind as the airliner smacked down hard and roared along the runway
eventually slowing to taxiing speed.
When the plane came to a complete stop outside the passenger terminal, Billy,
along with the hundred or so other passengers, eagerly got up to stretch and head
up the aisle for the exit. It had been a long flight and Billy wanted to get out into
the fresh Alaska air.
With characteristic charm, he returned the flight attendant’s smile and tossed
in a wink just to let her know how friendly he truly was.
As seemed to be the case every time Billy came back from Outside, Ted
Stevens airport was under construction.
He again didn’t know the way to the commuter terminal where the much
smaller Era Aviation plane would carry him the remaining leg of his trip home to
Kenai.
This time his route led him past the major airline ticket counters, outside and
into the next terminal building. The carpenters’ hammering was noisy and the
smell of concrete cutting irritated Billy’s nose, but he was glad the workers had
installed small portholes to offer the curious a peek at what was going on behind
the sheets of plywood.
Billy’s musings were abruptly cut short when someone grabbed his arm from
behind and a man’s voice said, “Mr. Smith, will you come with us?”
Billy turned to see two uniformed Anchorage police officers just one step
behind him.
These weren’t airport security goons, these were actual city cops. Though they
asked him to come with them, they clearly were not making the request optional.
Without another word, the two escorted Billy back up the way he had just
come, this time opting for an elevator, and took him to a small back office
furnished only with a couple of chairs and a metal table. On one end of the table
was Billy’s suitcase.
“Mr. Smith, is this your suitcase?”
“Yes, it looks like mine,” Billy answered.
“Open it,” the cop said.
Billy’s hands began to tremble as he started to slide the latches open. He knew
full well what was inside.
Secreted beneath the socks and underwear were drugs destined for distribution
among Smith’s numerous customers on the Kenai Peninsula.
Billy Smith had brought back much more than this during his reported 15-
year, successful cocaine business on the peninsula. Why was he stopped this
time? Was he getting careless in the way he wrapped the shit, or were the damn
dogs getting better?
His mind swirling with questions, Billy almost didn’t hear that he was being
arrested for drug possession with the intent to distribute; he was being
handcuffed; and he was heading downtown to the Anchorage city jail.
Questions continued bombarding his brain as he was booked on drug
possession charges and led to his jail cell: How much was the stuff worth? How
much money was he losing? How was he going to get out of here to get a fix?
Although Smith allegedly dealt in cocaine, his own personal drug of choice --
his addiction -- was heroin, and he hadn’t shot up since before leaving the Lower
48.
He was already starting to sweat, his body feeling so hot. Then, in an instant,
he was freezing and then right back to burning up again.
The times he had gone through withdrawal before, he knew he could get some
relief by sitting in a hot tub, at least until he could line up another fix. The
Anchorage city jail didn’t afford such luxury.