Martin Anderson Murdered

   Martin Anderson, 35, lived with his wife Lorna and their four young daughters, Lori, 8; Julie, 6; and the twins, Jennifer and Janelle, 2½, in Emporia, Kansas. He was the chief laboratory technician at Emporia’s Newman Memorial Hospital.

      Marty also served in the Army Reserves. One weekend each month he reported to either Fort Riley, near Junction City, or to the National Guard Armory in Topeka, to fulfill his military obligation. Each location is a bit more than an hour’s drive from Emporia.

      On Friday, November 4, 1983, Marty packed a picnic lunch for his family. They left Emporia just after noon and headed to Fort Riley to shop at the Post Exchange and Wal-Mart. Marty wanted to buy a new camouflage jacket before reporting for his scheduled reserve duty two weeks later. Lorna wanted to pick up a good supply of diapers and other family necessities.

      When Marty left his house that day, he had no idea that Lorna wanted more than diapers—she wanted him dead, and this was the day her evil scheme would be consummated. Lorna believed that soon she could bank the hundreds of thousands of dollars coming from Marty’s life insurance policies. She would finally be free from his beatings. Best of all, she would have the freedom to move in with her latest lovebird.

      The family picnicked at Fort Riley before going to the Clothing Exchange to buy the jacket. Because it was quite chilly and rainy that day, they ate their picnic lunch in their Ford conversion van. The children got out and played until the chill sent them scurrying back into the warm van. While she watched the children play, Lorna rehearsed her part in the death drama about to unfold. Marty planned the schedule for the rest of the day. He wanted them to get back to Emporia to play in the co-ed volleyball game that night. He knew that while Lorna was playing volleyball with him, she could not be in the arms of another man.

      Next, Marty drove to the PX. The family walked up to the PX door, but Lorna was turned away. She had left her ID card in the van. Lorna returned to the van and waited for Marty. Maybe it was at this time that she passed the .22 caliber Colt Woodsman to the hit man, or maybe she did it earlier, or even the night before. Her purse had served as its holster for a long time, waiting for this day.

      Marty drove them to Wal-Mart to buy diapers. During this stop, Marty, who had charge of Jennifer, slipped out the door for a few minutes and left the little girl wandering about by herself. A store clerk found the child and brought her to Lorna. Lorna wondered where Marty had gone and why he left the child behind.

      She went out to the parking lot where she spotted Marty, already in the van. As she got in, she alleged that she saw that Marty had a roll of money and had told her, “Someday you’ll thank me for this.” She told this to police and to her closest friends, raising the possibility that Marty was a drug dealer.   

      Before getting on the road back to Emporia, Marty took the family to McDonald’s for a treat. Everyone said he was good with the girls, even though he had no respect for Lorna. The girls got strawberry sundaes. Lorna sampled them—or at least made it appear as though she did.

      Marty looked at his watch. He had just enough time to get back to Emporia to play volleyball. He never got to play that game. In less than an hour he was dead.

      Before leaving McDonald’s, Lorna complained that she was sick to her stomach and felt like throwing up. Since she was allergic to strawberries, Marty never questioned her sudden attack of nausea.

      After she finished in the restroom, she told Marty, “You take care of the kids. I’m driving.” She got into the driver’s seat. Lorna had to control all their movements from then on for her plan to work. She headed south on Highway 177 toward I-70.

      Lorna pulled into a gas station just north of I-70. Marty waited for her to get out, but she did not. This was not the pre-arranged murder site and it was still a little too early.

      One of the twins had fallen asleep on Marty’s lap. Lorna put the sleeping twin on the folded-down seat in the back of the vehicle, and then pulled the big Ford conversion van back onto Highway 177, and continued heading south. She ignored the I-70 east exit they usually took because her plan required her to stop alongside Highway 177, a two lane concrete road with gravel shoulders that tailed sharply off into the ditches straddling the corn and hay fields on either side of the road.

      About three miles south of I-70 Lorna again complained of nausea. She needed to throw up. She saw that the pre-arranged murder site was coming soon and started to slow down. She pulled off the road, but suddenly lurched back on—still not the right place. Then she spotted the marker, a mailbox about a mile south of McDowell Creek Road. She pulled over and stopped. Lorna had her role well memorized.

      She turned off the motor, pulled the car keys from the ignition and ran from the van down into the grassy stubble in the ditch by the mown hayfield. It seemed odd to some that she took the keys with her, but she claimed that is what Marty always told her to do. Most importantly, the murder plot depended on it. Marty and the four girls stayed inside to wait for her. Seeing his chance to take control again, he moved over to the driver’s seat.

      About 40 feet from the road toward the hayfield, Lorna bent over and faked vomiting. She stood just north of the tractor gateway that crossed the highway. A farmhouse and its outbuildings sat empty on the east side of the highway. A clump of trees grew a few hundred feet north. Another farmhouse sat about a half-mile south on the same side of the road. Otherwise, there were no buildings near where she had stopped the van. An occasional car drove by, but the murder would be done down in the ditch, the sight line blocked by the big van.

      Done with her fake vomiting, Lorna called out to Marty. “I dropped the keys!” She went to the van. “I dropped the keys down there in the ditch.”

      Marty got out and went down into the ditch. Lorna stood a little ways off, her heart pounding, as she knew the grim deed was almost done. Marty dug around in the six-inch long grass and stubble. Just then a masked gunman came toward him from the north. The gunman shouted at Marty. Lorna claimed he said, “Give me your wallet!” The gunman put three bullet holes in the back of Marty’s head. Marty fell dead. A pool of blood seeped into the muddy dirt beneath his body.

      Now all Lorna had to do was wait a few minutes until the hit man got away. She rehearsed her lines again. “He pulled me down into the ditch. He said he was going to shoot me, but his gun didn’t fire. He ran south.” When the witnesses came, she had to act hysterical, out of control, but she was good at that.

  Return to Excerpts Page