Closer to the center of the room, where the freezer stood against one wall, were two dog-food dishes and a bruised book of Mother Goose nursery rhymes. In one corner were a brand-new toy wagon and a child’s training toilet. It was a small room, no more than twelve feet long by six feet wide, made smaller by the presence of a washer, a dryer, a freezer, and a small cabinet where Betty had kept toys and knickknacks.
Few looked at the head at all-the sight was too horrible-so the early reports as to the manner of death were conflicting, and usually wrong. Even those who already knew what lay beyond the utility room door were never bold enough to look more than a moment before closing the door. Without exception, each man who saw the lifeless body of Betty Gore the night of June 13, 1980, reflexively averted his eyes. This story from Texas Monthly’s archives is the first of a two-part series that concludes with “ Love and Death in Silicon Prairie, Part II: The Killing of Betty Gore.” We have left it as it was originally published, without updating, to maintain a clear historical record.
