Fatal Web

Dear, who severed his business relationship with Bridewell without revealing his suspicions, had become friends with Rousch. "He asked to meet for lunch," Rousch says. "Bill felt she was guilty and said I needed to get away from her as far as possible."

The Oklahoma detectives had been reassuring Gloria that Bridewell's arrest was imminent; they just had to prove she had been in Oklahoma, but their canvassing of the area and search of Southwest Airlines records had yielded no such evidence.

After the funeral, Gloria began getting phone calls from people in Highland Park with information about Bridewell that took her grief in a new direction. She learned about Bridewell's hysterectomy, her first husband's suicide and the mysterious death of Betsy Bagwell.

In late spring, Bridewell moved to Marin County in California. Gloria got word that unless something happened in the criminal case, the insurance company would be forced to pay Bridewell $220,000. She filed legal papers against her former daughter-in-law to prevent it.

Pacheco and Mitchell were prepared to testify in court that Bridewell was their only suspect in Rehrig's murder. Days before an important hearing, Bridewell abruptly resigned as executor of Rehrig's estate in Texas and moved to California to continue the legal battle there. She countersued Gloria and Phil for slander and libel. Unable to afford the long-distance legal fees, Gloria was forced to give up her fight. Bridewell received the $220,000 in life insurance benefits.

Huskinson dug into public records about Bridewell and interviewed Bobby Bridewell's father, the parents of her first husband Stegall, the parents of Betsy Bagwell, and Dear, who gave her access to his files. Huskinson got autopsy reports and crime scene photos from Bagwell's car, showing the mother of three slumped over on her right side, still gripping the gun.

Then Huskinson discovered Bridewell's hysterectomy, which made the baby claim impossible. Huskinson tracked down Kathryn Bridewell, who was attending college in the Pacific Northwest. Kathryn explained they had called their mother a "pot-bellied pig" because any weight gain went straight to her stomach.

Kathryn had never been approached by Oklahoma City police, nor had Britt or Emily. She told Huskinson that contrary to her mother's claim, Kathryn did not remember seeing her mother after midnight on Saturday, not until sometime late Sunday morning. If confirmed by her siblings, that meant Bridewell had no alibi for either the estimated time of the murder or the early morning hours of December 8, when police believed the Bronco had been transported to Oklahoma.

Huskinson called Oklahoma City police and talked to someone in homicide, who assured her that they planned to interview Bridewell's son and daughters. After Bridewell's recent arrest, Huskinson called Oklahoma to remind them of her report only to discover there was no mention of it in the file.

"I think Sandra put together the perfect crime," Dear says. "I think she planned it from the beginning, when she met Alan."

Was it the perfect crime, or did Rehrig's killer get lucky? The split jurisdiction that put Oklahoma City in charge of the investigation ensured that things would fall through the cracks no matter how hard Pacheco and Mitchell worked. The lack of cooperation between agencies magnified the problem. If they had pooled their information, hadn't turned up their nose at Dear and paid attention to Huskinson's report, the case might have been solved years ago.

Eastridge says he has already talked to Emily, Bridewell's youngest child, who lives in the Northeast with her husband and three young children. She has declined to talk to the Observer on the record about her mother.

Though Kathryn and Britt are estranged from their mother, they have kept silent about Rehrig's murder for the last two decades. "They need to come forward," Eastridge says. "If Britt confirms what Emily told me, [Bridewell] will be indicted."

Britt Bridewell now lives in Marin County. He did not respond to a request for an interview.

Kathryn is married and living in Alabama, in a small red brick house with her husband, Patrick, who told Eastridge on Friday that his wife did not want to talk to police.

Kathryn spoke briefly with the Observer. "I think what you are doing is noble," Kathryn said, but added she was trying to put the first 20 years of her life behind her.

That is going to be hard no matter what happens.