Jayme Closs's Case: A terrible story about murder, kidnapping and escape in rural America



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He doesn't know his name. He also did not know who lived in a nearby squat house, in the style of a cream siding house, retreating from the rural Wisconsin road by a group of trees spilling gold leaves.

On the third visit, he will not go alone

Behind the wheel of his old Taurus Ford, facing the rear lights on an unused bus, Patterson's complicated plot began to form.

When it ends, he will face two counts of deliberate murder, along with kidnappings and armed thieves. He was held on bail of $ 5 million and has not included a defense.

The investigator said he gave terrible details of his crime in a long confession, including his insistence that he would never be caught if he "planned everything perfectly."

However, with his own confession, Patterson "put a little thought" into every detail.

First, he took his 12-size Mossberg rifle, a fairly common weapon which he said was difficult to trace. He took half a dozen rifle bullets, then put on gloves and wiped them for printing. At Walmart, he took black balaclava.

He shaved his face and head, so he left no forensic evidence. At one point, he stole plates from a parked car, then exchanged them for his. He cut the light of his car dome to help hide his appearance. He cut the rope which could unlock the trunk from inside.

Twice, Patterson went to Jayme's house in Barron, a city of northwestern Wisconsin consisting of 3,300 residents, about 90 miles east of Minneapolis. The car in the driveway scared him first. One or two nights later, he canceled his plan after seeing the lights and people at home.

However, on October 15, he will not go alone.

He knew his father was dead

He wore brown-toed steel boots, a black jacket and jeans. The mask hid his round, bespectacled face. Gloves covering his hands. Taurus slid into the Closs family entrance early Monday morning with the headlights turned off.

Jayme was sleeping in her room when her dog, Molly, started barking. He got up, looked at the car and rushed to wake his parents. His father James, 56, headed for the front door.

Patterson shifted to the park, stepped out quietly and walked to the red brick entrance. Deciduous leaves surrounded by ornamental pumpkins and a pair of blue garden chairs.

Jayme and her mother Denise, 46, took refuge in the bathroom. They lock and bar the doors with cupboard drawers. His mother and daughter stepped into the bathtub and swung the shower curtain.

Behind the white curtain in the window to the left of the front door, James Closs stood with a flashlight.

Get on the ground, Patterson shouted.

James Closs didn't move. The flashlight illuminated the window.

Jayme Closs was kidnapped after her parents were killed in a family home, shown here after police secured the crime scene.

Patterson climbed the brick stairs and opened the storm door. He banged on the wooden door. Jayme's father looked at him through a small window panels made of wrought iron in the middle of the door.

Show me your badge, James Closs demanded, thought Patterson as a police officer.

He stared through the glass, down the chrome-plated gun barrel. Patterson pulled the trigger.

The explosion shook Jayme, who curled up in the bathtub. He knew his father was dead. His mother plays 911 on his cellphone.

He turned and squeezed the trigger

It was around 12:53 when the call came to the Barron County Shipping Center, three miles from the Closs family home. No one spoke. Dispatchers heard shouts. One officer returned the call and received a voice message from Denise Closs.

Outside, Patterson tried to break the door. He took out a used shell and let out an explosion towards the doorknob. He pushed open the door and stepped over James Closs's body.

Flashlight in hand, Patterson followed the room. One door won't move. He checked the rest of the house: empty. He returned to the bolt door. He can't kick it open. He hit him with his shoulder, repeatedly. Drawer. Need 10 to 15 blows from the top of the frame 6, 215-pounds before splitting in half.

He tore the shower curtain. Denise Closs sticks to her daughter in what bullies will describe as "a bear hug."

He handed Denise Closs masking tape and ordered him to cover his daughter's mouth. When he struggled, Patterson put his gun in the sink and did it himself. He also tied Jayme's wrists and ankles and helped him out of the bathtub.

He pointed the gun at his mother's head and pressed the trigger when he turned his head.

Patterson then grabbed a 5-foot, 100-pound teenager and almost slipped on the floor covered in blood on the way out. He dragged him across the yard and forced him into the Taurus trunk. Overall, he spent four minutes at home.

Deputy Three Barron County Sheriff is already on his way.

Patterson took off his mask. The gun is placed next to it. He pressed the gas pedal. But only 20 seconds after the holidays, he slowed down because the lights blinked and the sirens roared.

A deputy sees a Taurus proceeds to passing troop cars. This is not the last time during Jayme's trial that law enforcement will find the car.

Patterson was ready for a shootout, then told investigators that he was "likely to shoot at the police" if they stopped him.

In the trunk, Jayme heard the siren. Then, they disappeared.

At the Closs house, the deputies found bodies around 1 am; Jayme is gone. The deep Amber Alert drone immediately buzzed throughout the state.

The door sign reads: & # 39; Patterson & # 39; s Retreat & # 39;

For three months, police and volunteers in northern Wisconsin searched for him. Detective chases thousands of tips. The FBI offers a $ 25,000 prize for information. Her parent's employer added $ 25,000.

Jayme's photo circulates on the poster. Foreigners attend the funeral of their parents. Neighbors gather at events in his honor. Relatives request information from the public about where he can be.

"Jayme, we need you here with us to fill the hole in our hearts," said his aunt, Jennifer Smith, in a message issued by relatives. "We all love you to the moon and come back."

All the time, Patterson carried Jayme in a messy single-family home near the heavily forested small town of Gordon, with a population of 650, just 70 miles north of where he lived. A sign above the front door welcomed the visitors to the cream and brown two-bedroom house, set on a remote 2.6-hectare land: "Patterson's Retreat," he said.

At the underground fireplace, he burned his clothes, masking tape and gloves. He asked Jayme to change his clothes with pajamas. He was surprised not to find blood splashes on his boots or clothes.

Patterson forces Jayme to stay under his twin size bed, closes it with a bag, trash can and barbell when a visitor arrives or he leaves the house. When his father arrived on Saturday, he turned on the room radio to dampen his movements.

He said he was guarding his line by shouting and hitting the wall, especially twice he realized that he was trying to get out from under the bed. He repeatedly warned that "bad things will happen to him if he tries" to get out.

During one explosion, Jayme said Patterson hit his back "very hard". He sometimes stays under the bed for 12 hours, without food, water or access to the bathroom.

He walked into a cold and unknown world

For a moment, he kept a rifle loaded outside the room in case the police arrived.

But two weeks after the kidnapping, he saved his weapon. Patterson then told detectives that he believed "he had left" with his crime.

It was probably this confidence and achievement that made Patterson apply for a night warehouse job at the liquor distributor on the morning of January 10 – 87 days after Jayme's kidnapping.

"I'm an honest and hard-working person," he wrote under the title "Skills" on his resume. "There isn't much work experience but I appear to work and I'm a fast learner."

That morning, Patterson told Jayme that he would leave for a few hours. And Jayme makes a decision: He won't be locked up again. He pushed the trash can and ballast away from the bed. Then, he crawled out from 2½ feet separating the mattress from the cold floor.

Feeling free in his grasp, he unlocked the front door and stepped out into the strange snowy landscape wearing only his pajamas and catching shoes on the wrong foot.

Jeanne Nutter is carrying her dog near the road of the car around 4pm when he saw a blonde girl, alone, without a coat or gloves in cold January. Nutter usually doesn't visit his hut in winter. But today, he is there.

"Did he run away?" Nutter asked himself about the teenager. "Did someone throw it here?"

The girl approached.

"I got lost and I didn't know where I was and I needed help," said the teenager.

Nutter recognized his face. Maybe from countless leaflets or television news.

"I'm Jayme," said the girl, scared but calm.

Nutter knows that name.

"This is Jayme Closs! Call 911 right now & # 39;

He hugged Jayme tightly when they walked to the nearest house.

Kristin Kasinskas heard a bang on the door. His neighbor stood outside with a thin girl with disheveled hair and big sneakers.

"This is Jayme Closs!" Nutter told him. "Call 911 now."

Inside, fear crept Nutter. What if the kidnapper comes looking for Jayme?

"Get a weapon," he told Kasinskas.

The women called 911 when Kasinskas's husband stood guard at the front door with a gun.

"Douglas County 911," answered one operator.

"Hi. I have a young woman in my house now, and she says her name is Jayme Closs," Kasinskas said.

"Did you see the picture, ma'am?"

"Yes. That's it. I'm 100% thinking that's him."

Nutter immediately took the telephone. He says that Jayme doesn't know where he is but has told them that a young man named Jake Patterson killed his parents and kidnapped him. Nutter said he was just a few doors away from his hut.

"We're a little scared because he might come," said Nutter.

But the operator was still stuck at the start, asking "And he said," I'm Jayme Closs? & # 39; "

"Yes," Kasinskas said. "He said, & # 39; He killed my parents. I want to go home. Help me. & # 39;"

Capturing panic, the sending officer assured the woman's authority on the way. "My mistress, my representative, he just wants you to lock the door … and don't let the dogs come out or anything. Only everyone stays inside until I can bring representatives there."

"Are they close?" Asked Nutter. "We are nervous."

Deputies stopped at home just before sunset, at 4:43 a.m. But even then, Nutter couldn't believe they were safe.

"We have to let them in, right?" he asked on telephone 911.

Near the prison is his secret, a shocking confession

When Patterson arrived home, Jayme was gone. He searched the house, then went outside and noticed his footprints. He returned to Taurus to hunt him down.

At that time, a deputy carrying Jayme away from the Kasinska family's house saw a red vehicle – a Kia or Ford – approaching from another direction. Jayme can't say whether it's his kidnapper. The representative told his colleagues.

Patterson has now returned the original plate to his car. The number plate check by the police shows that the vehicle was registered with someone with the Patterson family name. An officer saw a male driver alone in a car and followed him past the house they would soon find out was Jayme's secret prison.

Two sergeants stopped Taurus. One ordered the driver to raise his hand, then opened the door.

Jake Patterson identified himself. He said he knew about this.

"I do it."

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