Eva was a dog trainer who kept thoroughbreds on the premises. Normally, her six dogs would have discouraged intruders. But on the night of her murder, she had confined them to a "dog room." Their barking had disturbed the three young girls--two of Mrs. Shoen's daughters and her daughters' friend--who were watching television.
The children were sleeping downstairs. The dogs were in the basement. So no one heard the killer who entered the home carrying what the coroner said was a .25-caliber pistol, probably with a silencer attached.
Sam was obviously the hired killer's real target. But Sam had made an unanticipated auto trip back to Phoenix earlier in the evening because of business.
He had escaped death. He is left, however, with an aching wound that will never heal.
I climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor of the ancient San Miguel County Court house to find Sheriff Bill Masters. The sheriff, who heads a nine-man staff, has a small office at the rear of the building. He is currently heading the investigation into the August 6 murder of Eva Shoen.
"Sheriff Masters is out right now," said Lola Chesnut, his secretary, "and I don't expect he'll be back."
It was Friday morning.
"How about Saturday?" "Oh, no," she said, "Saturday's not a good day." "I don't suppose he'd be here Sunday?"
Mrs. Chesnut smiled. That was too obvious even to answer.
"And then Monday is Labor Day," she added. "That's a paid holiday." "Just what is it you want to see Sheriff Masters about?" she finally asked.
"I'd like to ask the sheriff about his investigation into Mrs. Eva Shoen's murder," I said. "Her husband, Sam Shoen, is a member of the family who owns the U-Haul company down in Phoenix. A lot of people are interested in the case.
"I understand the sheriff has been on the job ten years, but has never handled a murder case before. Everyone hopes he isn't over his head." The secretary bristled. She leaped at once to the sheriff's defense.
"Well, you don't have to worry," she said. "The poor man's working seven days a week and 24 hours a day on this case." I said nothing. It seemed to me that the sheriff must be thoroughly exhausted by now.
"If you want to get the latest news, I suggest you call Eileen McGinley. She's a public relations person here in town. The Shoen family hired her to handle all questions from the press." It's bizarre.
I have covered a lot of murders, but I don't remember a single one in which the bereaved family hired a public relations firm to deal with the press. There are other remarkable things about this case:
1. L.S. Shoen has contributed $50,000 to San Miguel County to cover the extra costs of the murder investigation to the county.
2. Members of the Shoen family, led by Eva's bereaved husband, Sam, have put up a $250,000 reward for the arrest and prosecution of those responsible.
3. The U-Haul corporation, now headed by brothers on the other side of the family feud, have hired a Phoenix private detective firm to help track down the killer or killers.
Old man Shoen doesn't trust the private detectives hired by his enemy-sons. "We made certain the police preserved any evidence before they were allowed on the premises," he says.
As you can see, this drama is far from over. The Shoen family saga is King Lear in modern dress. It is Dallas and Twin Peaks combined.
For years, the anger and hatred dividing the family have fed on acts of treachery, deceit and brutality. In order to find the Shoen home in the dark, the killer clearly must have studied the layout carefully in daylight.
"I understand the sheriff has been on the job ten years, but has never handled a murder case before. Everyone hopes he isn't over his head." I have covered a lot of murders but I don't remember a single one in which the bereaved family hired a public relations firm to deal with the press. "Their desire for power is absolute and insatiable. The more they have, the more they want.
