Death on the Palouse

Keith Morrison Correspondent • Profile

YAKIMA, WASH. - It happened on a highway. A ribbon of road, up above the Snake River, which might as well have shared the name snake the way it slithered up and down, around blind curves.

They call this corner of the country the Palouse here in eastern Washington -- hollows and hills as far as the eye can see. It's fertile, warm, wheat and wine country.

And through it is this nine mile stretch of road linking two states and two college towns.

Here was the stage. And the drama that played out on it? As distressingly familiar as your local newspaper.

So who could have expected the outrageous decision, the unlikely love story, the mystery that began here and then spanned whole continents?

Where in the world would it end?

But at the beginning it was spring. 2001.

It was dark, middle of the night.

There was a knock at Cindy Fulton's door.

Cindy Fulton: I went to the door and recognized the Chaplain. And behind him recognized a local police officer.

Cindy went with the police to her ex-husband's house. Rich Morrow.

Rich Morrow: By the looks on their faces, I knew what they were there to tell me.

Three hours away, near Yakima, Washington, they went to see Karen Overacker.

Karen Overacker: I remember hearing the sheriff say I’m looking for the parents of Brandon Clements.

And soon after that, at a farm 20 miles away, the Sheriff visited Karen's ex-husband, Hank.

Hank Overacker: He couldn't look me in the eyes he says I got some really bad news to tell you. And I said, "it's Brandon." He said yeah.

Keith Morrison: Did you sleep that night?

Hank Overacker: No. I probably walked 20 miles.

Keith Morrison: This was the news: A collision. That lonesome road. A bad one.

They were all college students. They'd seen a movie, "Shrek."

They were on that 9-mile road back to campus.

And there was no warning at all.

Brandon Clements, 22, a year from his masters in chemical engineering, was killed at the wheel of this old Cadillac.

Dead in the backseat was Ryan Sorenson, 21, just graduated in criminal justice, and his girlfriend Stacy Morrow, also 21, a junior, studying to be a teacher.

All three were killed instantly.

Three other students in the same car were horribly injured.

Karen Overacker: All I could think of was, did he suffer? Y'know, did he call out for me?

Rich Morrow: You feel as though someone has not only knocked the wind out of you, but knocked a hole in your soul.

Hank Overacker: It's like you've been shot and the bullet's still in there and by the time you think it's over, you move wrong, and it let you know it's there yet.

Keith Morrison: It's almost seven years. But the way you're talking to me it could've been last week.

Hank Overacker: Yeah, well I don't know how you put it out of your mind.

Investigators thought the stories told at the scene by the survivors all made sense. An SUV, they said, had come barreling up a blind hill - in a no passing zone - at high speed. It crossed the center line, bounced off one car, then another, before smashing into the Cadillac carrying the students nearly head-on. Then it hit a fourth vehicle before bursting into flames.

The man at the wheel of the SUV, apparently flouting the laws of the road, was found sitting calmly at the scene of the crash, largely uninjured. His name was Frederick David Russell. A 22-year-old junior at Washington State University. His course of study? Oh, the irony: Criminal justice, with plans for law school.

And what made the young man's apparent disregard of the rules even more surprising was the position of Russell's father. Professor Greg Russell was an attorney and chairman of Washington State's criminal justice program.

Now Russell's son was on the wrong side of the law, accused of vehicular homicide and drunken driving.

Karen Overacker: I have never felt so much rage throughout this whole time.

Cindy Fulton: This was preventable! I didn't have to lose my daughter.

Frederick Russell pleaded not guilty and was released on $5,000 bail.

Rich Morrow: I was empty at that point. I was sitting in that courtroom hours away from having to go pick Stacy’s ashes up. Part of me wanted to just scream.

Up to now all this has been frankly, dreadfully familiar to far too many American families. But not for long. This story does not take a straight road to its conclusion. It goes around a blind corner. Because in October 2001, just two weeks before his trial for vehicular homicide was set to begin, Frederick David Russell disappeared.

Hank Overacker: It just told me that he knew he was guilty and that he didn't have the nerve or good common sense to 'fess up to what he's done and face the punishment.

Where had Russell gone? Why couldn't anyone find him?

And as the years -- yes, years -- began to pile up, one after another, the questions began to suggest answers of their own.

Had this young criminal justice student thumbed his nose at justice and escaped for good?

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