She was a baby faced butcher!
Elaine Bouck's boyfriend Steve was butchered by his own daughter!
Friday 11th April 2008
With her dark, baggy clothes and sulky pout, 16-year-old Courtney Schulhoff looked like a typical, moody teenager.
'Lovely to meet you, Courtney,' I smiled. 'Your dad's told me so much about you.'
Courtney's eyes flicked suspiciously towards her dad — my new boyfriend, Steve Schulhoff, 48. I bet he has, her face seemed to say. But she smiled sweetly at me.
'Nice to meet you, too,' she replied.
It was October 2004, and I'd been dating Steve, a timber salesman, for the past month. We'd met at the sports shop where I worked, in Orlando, Florida. He was so kind and sweet, he'd won me over instantly. So I'd been surprised when he'd confessed he was having trouble with Courtney.
'She's a real handful,' he'd sighed.
She'd only moved in with him two months earlier, after living with her mum for a year.
'She's probably just feeling unsettled,' I'd said.
I had a 16-year-old daughter, too, Emily, as well as a son, Danny, 13, so I knew how tricky teenagers could be.
But this was more than just a few late nights or failed maths tests.
'She has this boyfriend…' Steve had begun.
His name was Michael Morin. He was 19, and had been seeing Courtney since February 2003.
'He's bad news,' Steve had gone on. 'But she's besotted.'
So besotted, that when Michael stole his dad's car back in August, to go on an 800-mile trip to visit Courtney's grandparents, she'd gone along with it.
'She was only 15 at the time,' Steve had told me. 'I was out of my mind with worry.'
And Courtney, Steve's only child, had also been skipping school, which caused furious rows.
'I tried getting her involved with after-school clubs, even counselling,' Steve had explained. 'But all she cares about is Michael.'
But looking at her now, slouched miserably on the settee, I reckoned she wasn't a bad kid. Just a girl experiencing first love.
Over the next two months, Steve and I grew closer. He'd phone before 9.30am every morning for a chat, and most nights, I'd pop round to his.
'Hi, Elaine,' Courtney would smile, then she'd either lock herself in her bedroom or go out.
'She's probably with him,' Steve would tut.
In December 2004, I saw Michael for the first time, when we went to pick Courtney up from a party. He was slim with a shaved head. Nothing special. Still, Courtney adored him. And I was pretty smitten with her dad, so I knew how she felt. After just three months, Steve already meant the world to me. But then, in January 2005, Michael was arrested for stealing another car, and jailed for 70 days. Courtney was heartbroken. And Steve? He was livid.
'That's it,' he fumed to Courtney. 'I don't want you seeing him when he gets out.'
'I love him!' Courtney yelled. 'You can't tell me what to do.'
Steve begged, shouted, pleaded… But it didn't stop Courtney meeting Michael the minute he was released. On 9 February, Steve came round to see me looking miserable.
'I had the police round,' he sighed.
Courtney had been sneaking Michael into her room, after Steve had gone to bed.
'The cheeky so-and-so has even given my address to his parole officers,' Steve fumed. 'I'm having a serious chat with Courtney in the morning.'
I walked him out to his car at about 11.45pm.
'Speak to you tomorrow,' he said, kissing me goodbye.
But Steve didn't phone the next morning, and when I called his mobile, it went straight to voicemail.
By 1.30pm, I still hadn't heard from him, and was starting to worry. I called my mum, Shirley, 77, who lived near Steve, and asked her to drive by his house, to see if his van was parked outside.
'It is,' she told me when she called back. 'His mobile's on the front seat.'
I was really concerned by now, so I drove straight over there.
Pulling up 25 minutes later, I saw a figure in a pink polo shirt with Steve's greyhound, Chase, on a lead.There he was. What a relief. But then, horror struck. It wasn't Steve, it was Michael. But Steve couldn't stand Michael. There's no way he'd lend him his favourite shirt.
Then I saw Courtney walking down the drive.
'Hi,' she smiled. 'How are you?'
I was in no mood for chitchat.
'Where's your dad?' I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
'Haven't a clue,' she grinned.
'Well, can I go and have a look around inside?' I asked.
She stepped aside, then strolled down the garden path towards Michael, as I tried the front door. But it was locked. I turned back to ask Courtney for her key, but she, Michael and Chase were gone. Now I was really starting to panic.I called the police, and when they arrived and managed to prise Steve's French windows off their runners, I darted inside.
'Steve,' I called. 'Are you there?'
His clothes, shoes and some empty beer bottles were lying in the usually-neat hallway. There was no sign of him.
'Please will you wait outside while we search the house?' one of the officers asked me. Soon, more police and an ambulance arrived.
Was Steve hurt? An hour later, I was driven to Altamonte Springs police station with Mum, who came to support me.
I still didn't know what had happened, as officers questioned me about Courtney and Michael. I was still there at 8pm, when my vicar, who Mum had called, finally broke the terrible news to me.
'I'm afraid Steve's dead,' he said.
He'd been bludgeoned to death in his sleep, with a metal baseball bat.
Police had found his body wrapped in a duvet, and crammed into a bedroom storage box.
'We've arrested Courtney and Michael,' an officer told me.
I was stunned. Why did they do it? Why would they hurt my gentle, cheerful Steve?
I had to wait until October 2006, when Courtney appeared at Seminole County Court, charged with first-degree murder, to find out. I expected her to be distraught, terrified. But, wearing a smart pinstripe suit, Courtney looked confident and relaxed as she pleaded not guilty.
The court heard Courtney had plotted to have Steve killed, because he didn't approve of her relationship with Michael, and because he'd stopped her from using his credit cards online. It was claimed that Michael, who was to stand trial for first-degree murder at a later date, had waited until Steve was asleep.
Then, at 2am, Michael — under Courtney's instructions — had crept into his bedroom and struck him repeatedly over the head with a baseball bat, killing him instantly and splattering his blood up the wall. After stashing his body and cleaning up, they'd used Steve's money to go for a McDonald's, then returned for a nap, knowing his corpse was just metres away.
As I gave my evidence, I tried to catch Courtney's eye, so she could see the pain she'd caused. But she wouldn't look at me. I was stunned as her defence claimed Steve had been violent towards her, and Michael killed him out of revenge. Utter lies, I thought, horrified.
'Steve was one of the most wonderful people I've ever met,' I wept, as I took the stand. They hadn't fooled the jury, either.
'Guilty,' the foreman announced. Courtney was sentenced to life in jail, which, in the US, means just that. She'll never be released.
I looked over at her shocked face. Courtney hadn't said a word during her trial, choosing not to testify. But now, as tears rolled down her face, she stood up to speak.
'Your Honour,' she began.
I held my breath. Was this the apology I'd longed for? Some regret for arranging the slaughter of a man who'd done nothing but love her?
'I would like to openly admit in court that Michael Morin is not the person who killed my father. I was. So I accept full responsibility, and I accept the verdict,' she said.
Even now, when she should have been thinking about her dad, she was thinking about Michael — and trying to get him off the hook by taking all the blame. Thankfully, her ploy failed, and eight months later, in June 2007, Michael was also found guilty of first-degree murder and given life. Now, 10 months on, I still can't work out what turned Courtney from a mixed-up kid into a killer. But I've no doubt that, sitting in her cell, one man's on her mind. And it's not her dad. It's Michael.
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