Cold Case New England: Catherine Millican, New Hampshire 1978

*please see the accompanying video for this blog post for all of the photos that go with

https://youtu.be/0urKtMxtAIY

I was about fourteen the first time I picked up a book about true crime.

I was at the library, my young eyes eagerly scanning the backbones of books that lined the shelves. I selected one about Elizabeth Short in Los Angeles in 1947, also known as the Black Dahlia murder.

I proceeded to pour through many such books, my own curiosity killing me with the horror of it all.

That’s the age I wrote my first “novel” about a homicide detective.

“Why are you into this stuff?” Mom asked me once, eying the aforementioned books on my nightstand.

“I don’t know.” I replied in earnest.

Twenty some odd years later, I am still unsure.

So, in 2012, when my boyfriend at the time warned me about galivanting to the great up north of southern Vermont and New Hampshire and wherever else I decided to spirit off to on a whim, I raised an eyebrow.

“I think there might be an active serial killer up there.” He explained and, in short order, handed me a book.

One of the first things he ever gave me.

How romantic, we joke but really, in my mind, there is nothing more romantic than having your woman’s back.

But I digress

The book was black with red lettering on the spine. The Shadow of Death by Philip E. Ginsburg.

I read it from cover to cover in less than 48 hours, enthralled yet mortified.

Young girls, women, mothers…their lives cut tragically short. Their last minutes, no doubt, gripped with terror.

These were some of Vermont and New Hampshire’s coldest cases - a slew of homicides which remain unsolved. And they are centered around Claremont, NH. These cases are traditionally called the Connecticut River Valley Killings.

In 2019, we moved to Westminster, VT and I realized - with a start- how close we were to ground zero; Claremont.

The first time I went to Claremont, I was uneasy. I relaxed a bit as time went on but I always wondered.

Wondered if the killer was still around. Wondered if that car was following us or got nervous when I used to smoke outside late at night. I remember seeing a group of teenage girls walking down the street and thinking Be Careful.

Hubs and I have been exploring together since 2012. We explore anything that piques our interest; scenic vistas, shipwrecks, historical places.

Naturally, we began to explore the Connecticut River Valley that we now lived in; eventually exploring the towns where these women disappeared from, visiting their graves, and feeling out the areas where some were finally found, in varying states of decomposition.

And going to these places where victim’s cars were found abandoned, or where someone was last seen makes you wonder…

What kind of person did this?

We’ve read virtually everything publicly available online, and listened to every podcast imaginable on local true crime and cold cases.

As I browse through different websites, transcripts, and various discussion forums, I feel like I am seeing these women only for their causes of death, for how many times they were stabbed, and how old they were, etc.

Clunk. Clunk. Over and over.

There is one case in particular that always got me. Cathy Millican.

Cathy Millican - just a name, a single picture and a number somewhere between 20 & 29. Occasionally there might be another sentence or two. Like a postage stamp, a flat snippet of time representing everything she was yet nothing at the same time.

From the beginning, I always wondered why Cathy’s case seemed to be the least covered and why there was so little info on her. I reasoned it had to do with the time - in the 70s, things were still analog. Plenty of things from the 70s haven’t made it to the internet.

This may be true.

And I imagine if I were to reach out to family and others who might still be alive, I may be able to find so much more. I’ve decided to not reach out at this time. As a person who lives with PTSD, I know all too well what it’s like for people to inject trauma into your life without warning. I am here to listen if and when they are ready but I don’t want to douse them with this, out of the blue, like cold water.

For now, all the internet seems to know of Cathy was that she was murdered by stabbing on October 24, 1978 in the Chandler Brooke Wetlands in New London, NH while photographing birds. Cathy is often mentioned as somewhat of an afterthought.

This always bothered me greatly.

The picture we see is her behind a candle, looking off slightly with a soft and secret smile on her face, almost like she’s sharing a private thought with herself. Are there no other photos? There isn’t even a photo attributed to her in The Shadow of Death.

It has become its own mystery which I seek to remedy. To remember her as a person.

*****************

Cathy was born on May 25, 1951, the same day Willie Mays made his debut with the New York giants and Too Young by Nat King Cole was #1 on the billboard charts. It was a Friday, hot for May but windy.

She was born in Newport, NH to Guy and Betty Alexander. She was the youngest of four. Her family was well settled in Sunapee, NH, in a stone house on Lower Main St.

One of the neighbors' kids played with Cathy’s older siblings and they were so excited when she was brought home from the hospital as a newborn. This neighbor, also the town clerk for Sunapee, described Cathy as just delightful, a nice girl.

Sunapee is a crisp and clean little town, nestled in the mountains of southern NH and surrounds Lake Sunapee, which covers 6.5 square miles, has 70 miles of coastline and is New Hampshire’s 5th largest lake.

Recently, we went to Sunapee State Park Beach, and watched the kids swim for a couple hours while sitting on the sandy shore. The park was opened in the 1940s and I thought about how many summers and families had graced these shores, just like us. The air was full of laughter, and music and the lingering smells of BBQ that made my mouth water. As we sat there, I imagined what it was like back in the 60’s and 70’s when Cathy lived there.

Did she ever walk this beach? Swim here with her siblings? Take in the lake and its magnificence? Did she take the lift to the top of Mount Sunapee for the scenic views?

A May. 15, 1977 article in the New York Times was titled Lake Sunapee: Place of gentle ripples. And I agree with a giggle:. The lake is massive , yet somehow gently rippling, inviting.

I could see Cathy spending a lot of time there, photographing the flocks of ducks and walking barefoot at the waters’ edge, jumping off the diving board.

Cathy’s father, born and raised there, was an active duty marine during WWII. He returned to his hometown and his wife, Betty, after the war. Betty was from Massachusetts and had summered by the lake throughout her life. I imagine this is how she met Guy. They married in 1942 and Betty stayed with George’s parents, Ralph and Ella, while he was away on active duty.

Guy took over the family business, Geo. E. Alexander & Son, from 1952 until its closure in December, 1993. Over the years, he was an active pilot, car enthusiast, volunteer fireman and Sunapee school board member. Betty worked with Guy as the office manager until the late 1980s. She had graduated from the New York Institute of Photography and herself was a pilot. She was active in such organizations as the historical society of Sunapee, the Lake Sunapee Protective Association, Abbott library and her churches, to name a few.

When I first saw one of Cathy’s class photos from high school, I couldn't help but smile. She stands in the front row, in a light colored sweater and skirt and dark knee socks, with a huge grin on her face. She looks excited, with a bit of a twinkle in her eye. You see this same glimmer in other photos. By all accounts, she came from one of the nicest families in town, and was so smart she skipped a grade. In school, she was part of the honor society, Glee Club, Sunapee Players and cheerleading, where she continued to flash that smile. She seems to me to be brimming with a certain sweet yet adventurous energy.

Cathy was class of 1968, the year of Sunapee’s bicentennial.

********

She went on to Connecticut College, in New London, CT, just north of the mouth of the Connecticut River at Long Island Sound. It is a self proclaimed “academically rigorous liberal arts college”. Photos show barefoot students, ballet, art and photography, photos and articles about social justice issues and philosophical , artistic discussions. Indeed, Cathy was in college during the Vietnam war. There is a certain thread of authenticity and free spiritedness I feel in those pages.

Cathy was a member of the Phi Betta Kappa Honor Society. She studied one semester at London Polytechnic Institute in London. She graduated magna cum laude with a bachelor's degree in art history in 1972.

I don’t exactly know when Cathy met Chuck, but I do know that in late 1971, Chuck Millican was working in Old Mystic, CT as a customer service rep for Van Zandt sails. He was gearing up to represent the US in the Little America’s Cup in Australia in February of 1972. Chuck was a big deal in the sailing world and while I won’t even pretend to be acclimated to the verbiage and lingo of such a world, I will say that he won the Class C Catamaran world championship in 1970 and won 2 North American Sailfish championships in 1966 & 67. He also captained the Sunfish National Championship teams in 1970 and 1971. He estimated he sailed competitively 43 of the 52 weekends in 1970.

Originally from Plymouth, Massachusetts , he picked up the sailing bug from his father, who built large traditional wooden sailboats. The family sailed frequently. Chuck eventually began to teach sailing on the Cape, while also writing a book “Sail it Flat” which, to this day, is considered an authority on the subject.

He finally decided he didn’t want to teach. He wanted to sail. And sail he did.

Old Mystic is only 10ish miles from Connecticut college so I assume this is where they met.

Chuck and Cathy were married around September of 1973, and the announcement was shared in her college’s alumni magazine. Cathy was about 22, and Chuck 29. The magazine also followed up saying “Cathy Alexander Millican continues her modeling as well as her photography in Peewaukee, Wisconsin. This spring she will do the 470 Olympic class sailboat racing circuit with her husband, Chuck.”

I wonder if they eloped- ran off together excitedly and said their vows.

I actually suspect that the candle picture of Cathy could be from their wedding day. I imagine them falling madly in love, and eagerly planning their future, heading to Wisconsin for Chuck’s job. Doing life and sailing together.

On Aug, 23, 1974, the Santa Cruz Sentinel reported that “ Hometown boy Chuck Millican and his pretty wife Cathy walked away with top honors in the Flying Junior Nationals…” They also won for the second time at Lake Champaign, Michigan.

Cathy was reported to take excellent photos, particularly of sailboats. I imagine her doing this on these competitive sailing weekends - boat in the sunset, boat in the waves, Chuck sailing the boat.

I wonder if she had seen the ocean before this. I wonder how she felt with the sea breeze whipping her hair and the salt air sticking to her skin. Did she prefer ocean swimming to lake swimming? Did the ocean air chill her to the bone in winter? Did she ever miss the slower pace of New Hampshire? Perhaps the sea gave her the same pace.

After living in Wisconsin for a time, Cathy and Chuck moved back home to Sunapee, where they built a house on a bluff on Granite Road overlooking the lake. Granite Road does not seem to exist any more, but Granite Ridge Road does.

We drove up there on our way home from the lake once, just to check it out.

It did indeed overlook the lake, and I could imagine the exhilaration one would feel here, especially in the 70s, when the area was less developed and less populated. The bluff would have been a quiet, private escape. I imagine them having their morning coffee, looking out over the water, enjoying the serenity of a space removed from the bustle of town, with nothing but sky above.

Chuck went to work with Cathy’s father at the family business where they had manufactured wooden rake handles since the 1800s as one of the earliest industries in the area. In the later years, they moved on to making crutches. Chuck remained an avid sailor. I wonder if they sailed on lake Sunapee. As a member of the Lake Sunapee Yacht Club, I imagine they might have!

From Dec 1976-July 1978, Cathy worked at the Kearsage Telephone company, where she was described by her supervisor as not only bright and efficient but also as very creative and not wanting to do anything hum drum.

She was an accomplished photographer. She is remembered as a great nature lover and bird watcher, sitting for hours at the marsh taking photos and observing. In June of 1977, she received a certificate of ornithology from Cornell University. She was also a member of the National Audubon Society and the Audubon Society of New Hampshire.

In July of 1978, she left the telephone company and went to work at Addison Publishers in Wilmot, NH, where she marketed the company’s beautiful coffee table books. She was hoping to be able to use her talents here, and took to the job like a fish in water.

*******

And this is where we find Cathy on Tues, Oct 24, 1978.

She left work at about 5:30pm, and drove the 5 ish miles in her Volkswagen Rabbit to the Chandler Brook Wetlands, where someone told her some rare ducks were spotted.

In 1978, How Deep is Your Love was in the Billboard Top Ten and honestly, I can’t stop listening to it as I attempt to bring myself back in time in my mind's eyes. I wonder if she ever listened to this song. Was she listening to anything on the radio on her way to the preserve that day?

The Chandler Brook Wetlands are absolutely beautiful, and teeming with wildlife, including a multitude of flying, stinging and biting insects. Birds call almost non stop and chipmunks scurry about, making a racket.

There are several short trails going to the water’s edge, with stone benches and a beavers dam which had apparently been there since the 1960s. The pond stretches out with trees shooting up from its edges. The main path (called Davis Path) leads you easily through the woods, with even more paths leading to duck blinds on the water.

I can imagine how glorious this place must have been on that October evening with late autumn still casting its colors. It was brisk that day, but the light was failing, with sunset at just about 6 pm. I wonder if she hurried and dare I say, sped, to get there. She was probably giddy with excitement as she pulled up in the small parking area and gathered her gear.

I know I would have been - I relish the opportunity to photograph nature and have been known to boldly and brashly “get the shot”. Maybe the carpet of fall colored leaves crackled underfoot as she made her way into the preserve and she pulled her hands into her sweater to ward off evening’s pending chill and hugged herself a bit.

At one point around 6:00 pm, a local police officer was making his rounds. He noticed two cars, one being Cathy’s and the other being a small, light colored car, at the preserve. Nothing was inherently amiss, so he continued on.

Chuck called her job the next morning to ask if she had arrived. I wonder if Chuck was away, and had tried reaching Cathy at home the night before. With no luck, he likely began to worry. He called her job several times that day, and after being told each time that she hadn’t arrived, she was reported missing.

*******

Chief Walter Reney had been on the New London police force since 1966. Previously he had worked at a warehouse loading crates. In 1978, he had been the police chief of New London, NH for 8 years.

On policing, he once said, “It makes you act like a cold blooded person but you’re not. You’re a person who has feelings but you’ve got to block those out at the time.”

Did Chief Reney steel his resolve upon realizing a missing woman’s car was in his town? Prepare to face whatever may be out there?

At 11:30 pm that Wednesday night, Chief Reney, New Hampshire State Trooper Gary Quint and the trooper’s bloodhound, Smokey, found Cathy’s body a few hundred yards off route 11, into the preserve.

Trooper Quint was 26 years old, the same age as Cathy. Did this cross his mind as a young police officer, in the woods that night? Did the bloodhounds’ bark echo in the chilly fall night against the naked trees? He had been with the New Hampshire State Police for 3 years at that point.

Merrimack County Sheriff Ronald Daniels joined them and they spent the night combing the area where they found various possessions of Cathy’s strewn about the trails, and evident signs of what had taken place.

Cathy was found with her skirt pulled down and her under garments astray. Some of her clothing had been taken off and thrown aside. She had multiple stab wounds to her neck, chest, back, abdomen and thighs. For a more in depth analysis of her wounds and cause of death, please read The Shadow of Death by Philip Ginsburg.

Once we were visiting the preserve and hiking the trails and one of the kids snapped a branch. It echoed more loudly than I expected it would, and I became keenly aware of the way sound traveled in this place. I imagined fall leaves, crunchy, punctuated with a scream or heavy footfalls. A crow cawing. Echoing.

From there on, every noise stung and I could feel the very stain that was left here by this horrific crime. The terror and anguish of her last moments.

The moon of the falling leaves is always my favorite time of year but in this context, it is sickeningly bittersweet. It is unnerving. The very tension and energy of her last moments cling to that place, and my gut wrenches as we approach, every time.

It’s hard to be in there, to be honest.

The towns of New London and Sunapee and the surroundings were rocked by Cathy’s death. There hadn’t been a murder in that town since 1964 - 14 years earlier. No doubt her family was, too. People were shocked that something like this could happen here, in quiet, rural New Hampshire. While investigators remained tight lipped, some speculated that a bear had gotten her. The town was abuzz with chatter, fear, sorrow, disbelief. Rumors leaped and dived for months.

Security at the nearby Colby - Sawyer College was increased, with students being warned to stay in at night. Quickly, an 11 person investigation unit was formed, headquartered at New London Police Department. New Hampshire State Police Lieutenant Willard Dodge headed the team, with the assistance of Chief Reney and Sheriff Daniels. They immediately offered a reward of $1600 for information leading to an arrest. They interviewed over 100 people and built a case file 300 pages thick.

Nothing.

Roadblocks were set up in the area to stop passers by at random in the hopes that someone remembered something they had seen.

Nothing.

“We want this person caught.” Cathy’s father, Guy Alexander said. “And so do a lot of people in New London. That’s a town with a lot of retired people and college girls. This thing’s got them scared.”

Her case eventually went cold. In 1981, the reward was increased to $6500. Still nothing.

Two years later, Willard Dodge would describe the stalled investigation as one of his great disappointments in life. “We lived and breathed it for a couple of months. Believe it or not, We know nothing more now than we did then. We ran down leads but they were dead ends. Nothing concrete. In most cases, we have someone in mind, but we just don’t have enough to pin it on him. With this there was nothing.”

Cathy’s case received renewed attention in 1986 when a task force was formed in Claremont after several homicides occurred in the region over the course of 2-8 years, depending how you looked at it. Cathy’s case bore striking similarities to some of them. Now, you will frequently see Cathy’s name as a bullet point in this list of cold cases.

Her burial place is unknown. Whenever I start to wonder why, I recall an exchange I had years ago with a friend of mine. His wife had died giving birth to their second child. Years passed and she didn’t have a headstone. When we went to visit her, we mostly guessed where she was buried.

I finally asked him. Was it the cost? He explained that the stone was already bought and paid for but to finalize the details meant that he would have to relive the event of her death again. He wasn’t prepared to do that. She died 13 years ago and there is still no headstone. Her grave is marked by an ever present pile of dried roses.

Perhaps the same is true for Cathy.

The Chandler Brooke Wetlands were eventually expanded and changed a bit and now bear a new name. It seems that some of the trails are overgrown and I wonder what trail Cathy actually walked down.

Did she ever take any photos that day? Was she able to breathe a sigh or two of wonder while peering through the viewfinder and snapping the shutter? Fluttering with the anticipation and satisfaction of getting a great shot? Did she at least have that moment of joy and exhilaration?

Today, you can see remnants of parking lot boulders, a stone wall and what looks like a spattering of old paths, themselves getting lost in the trees. The forest eventually reclaims its floor, puts down new roots and swallows the past.

It is hard to reconcile with something so brutal happening in such a beautiful place and to such a sweet soul as Cathy. That blood would stain the same ground where flowers grow and bees go to work. In this crisp, wooded country, surrounded by forest and rolling hills, mountains and lakes. The winding ribbons of road that lead you here from Sunapee and from Newport and Claremont, that led Cathy throughout her life and to route 11, the last road she would drive.

Cathy’s parents lived to nearly 100, respectively, with her mother passing in 2010, her father in 2016. In her mother’s obituary photo, she is smiling, looking slightly off camera, with that same excited twinkle and beam in her cheeks like Cathy had.

I find a strange, sorrowful comfort in that.