A mother’s memories of a violent tragedy

by Rhonda Schulte
October 27, 2005

     Every so often, Angie Taylor drives her daughter’s silver 2000 Toyota Camry to the Thermopolis Fire Department drill field off 14th Street, parks the car and cries.
     With her daughter’s favorite Macy Gray CD softly playing, Angie tries to picture the events that led up to Kelley’s murder by her estranged boyfriend at the drill field in the early morning of Sept. 14, 2002. She wonders what Kelley’s last moments felt like.
     “I’m sure she didn’t know he was going to do anything,” said Angie. “That’s what I hope.”
     The bodies of Kelley Taylor, 23, and Michael Goltz, 24, were found in her car that morning with the motor still running. According to police, Michael shot Kelley, who was in the driver’s seat, and then took his own life with a 9mm Ruger pistol. The couple had been engaged to be married for two years but had broken up.
     Advised by the police chief and county attorney not to look at her murdered daughter’s body or pictures taken during the investigation, and kept from the crime scene while the bodies were there, Angie goes to the murder-suicide site to grapple with the reality of her daughter’s death.
     “I didn’t get to go and hold her hand,” she said.
She tries to figure out why Michael took their lives and wishes she could apologize to her daughter for not seeing the situation more clearly, and for not getting her away from Michael sooner.
     Angie and her husband, Scott, have kept Kelley’s car as a memorial. The interior is like new, the shattered window replaced and the shell casings have been removed from the back seat. The only sign a shooting took place in the vehicle is the dent from the lodged bullet that killed Michael, visible from the exterior passenger-side roof.
     While at times it’s difficult to drive the car, Angie is determined people don’t forget. That’s also why she’s kept Kelley’s license plate that reads “To Die For.”
     “Kelley thought Michael was to die for,” explained Angie. “It’s ironic.”

     An apartment crime sceneThe last time Angie saw her daughter was the night before Kelley’s murder when mother and daughter had dinner together at Kelley’s new apartment on Canyon Hills Road. In July, Kelley had moved out of her parents’ home and was excited about living on her own.
     “She cooked and of course burnt one of the steaks,” said Angie with a quiet laugh.
     They made plans to go shopping the next day and said “I love you” before parting.

    The next morning when Angie went to Kelley’s apartment she came upon crime scene tape, broken glass and a boarded up front door. Not knowing what had happened, she called dispatch. Sheriff Lou Falgoust, then a Thermopolis police officer, came to give her the painful news.
     After the investigation, police concluded Michael followed Kelley around on the night of Sept. 14 and after a friend took her home, he walked from his residence on Amoretti Street to Kelley’s apartment and kicked in the front door. According to the police report, Michael confronted Kelley and the two left the apartment out the back door.
      Kelley drove, most likely under force.
     Three years later, Angie still finds the tragedy difficult to comprehend.
     “I know she’s gone, but I don’t get it yet,” she said.
Angie has the clothes Kelley wore when killed and keeps her daughter’s ashes at home in a cherrywood box decorated with roses. Cherrywood was Kelley’s favorite, she said.
     In his grief, Scott carries ashes in a small urn protected by a leather pouch.
      “This was just really unexpected,”said Angie. “I didn’t think (Michael) would ever follow through with that.”

     Born in Thermopolis, Kelley spent her school years in Oklahoma before returning to her birthplace in 1998 with her parents. They were a close family.
     “Kelley was a good kid,” she said. “... of course every (parent is) going to say that.”
     Kelley’s two older half brothers visited summers and a sister ten years her senior had been raised by adaptive parents. Essentially raised as an only child, Kelley was spoiled and knew her dad couldn’t resist giving into her wishes, said Angie.
     The Taylors were not immune to the struggles and emotional upsets of raising a teenager, however, they could always rely on Kelley to check in to say where she was going and what she was doing. If she would be late getting home, she would call.
Kelley was suspicious of others, not interested in gossip and loyal to those close to her.
     “We taught her to be very careful,” said Angie. “Don’t let people pick on you, be respectful, don’t make judgments right away and give everybody a chance.
     “She didn’t trust people, but when she did like you, she liked you no matter what.”
     With her pretty face, long golden hair and flare for fashion, Kelley was a striking young woman. Friendships did not come easily, however.
     “I think (others) were intimidated by her,” said Angie.

Love turned violent
     From the day Michael walked into Kelley’s place of work to meet “the blond” at Texaco, she never dated anyone else, said Angie.
     It was the classic match of the high school cheerleader dating the football jock.
     “She thought he was absolutely adorable,” said Angie. “He had that innocent smile. You could like him - he was a very likeable person.”
     The couple lived together in the Taylor’s home for four years. According to Angie, behind closed doors Michael was different than the person his co-workers and friends knew.
     Kelley and Michael got along fine the first year. With time, signs of his controlling nature evolved, such as when he would call from work to wake Kelley so she could get him a soda. Angie said he knew she always napped after getter off an early work shift, yet repeatedly called at that time.
     “If she wrote an address crooked (while addressing an envelope), he would call her stupid and have a fit,” said Angie. “Kelley would cry.”
     According to Angie, Michael, who worked as a mechanic after graduation from Hot Springs County High School and later as an oil field worker, was a workaholic. Raised by a grandmother and having little to no contact with his parents, he never wanted to be poor again, she said. He complained that Kelley, with three jobs, still didn’t make enough money.
     There were times early in their relationship when Michael, angry and red-faced, would frighten Kelley by driving 100 miles per hour down a country road. Angie said she learned of the scare tactic much later from Kelley.
     Despite the close living quarters, Angie said Kelley didn’t talk about the couple’s relationship and Angie never saw the young couple argue. Trouble in the relationship become obvious when one night, upon her return home, a hysterical Kelley blamed her bloody lip on Michael.
     Angie said Michael came through the door behind Kelley, laughing and saying he didn’t do it. The couple went into their bedroom, and no other explanation was given.
     “I’m sure he hit her, but I don’t know when or where or why,” said Angie.
     Three days later Michael said he needed time away and left for a few days.
     There were other signs the relationship had turned abusive. To hurt Kelley, Michael would take her possessions such as a large picture she favored and her dog, Badger.
     It seemed everything Kelley did upset Michael, said Angie.
“He’d get mad and take something she’d like, come home and they would talk.”
     After talking, they would appear to accept each other’s faults and get along OK until another incident, she said.

Fighting for independenceKelley loved to ride a motorcycle. For three years, she, Michael and Scott had been planning to ride to the Sturgis, S.D., Motorcycle Rally. A couple of days before their Aug. 9, 2002, departure, Michael backed out, saying he was going to work instead.
     “That’s when (Kelley) decided to break it off,” said Angie. “She started locking her door after Sturgis.”
Angie said a week or two before their deaths, while the two were at the Taylor’s home, Michael tried to talk Kelley into getting back together.
     “He said, ‘I feel like killing both of us,’” said Angie.
According to the police report, Kelley told police Michael was stalking her, and Michael had told several people he wanted to kill Kelley for leaving him.
     Part of the tragedy is Kelley did not take steps to help herself. She had a legal order issued so Michael could not sell their snowmobile, Harley motorcycle, the Toyota or other join property.
     Her mother felt the better action would have been to give up the possessions without a fight.
     “I told Kelley to give him everything,” said Angie. “I said ‘If you want to get out of the relationship, just give it up.’”
     At the same time, Michael was accusing Kelley of emptying his bank account to buy drugs and running up credit card charges, the police report states.
     Kelley eventually asked police to issue a trespass order for her apartment and place of work. Even though Michael continued to bother her, she stopped short of getting a protection order.
“If a protection order had been in place, he could not have bought the gun, but he already owned guns,” said current Thermopolis police chief Mark Nelson, who at the time of the crime was an investigating officer.
     With both victim and murderer gone, Angie can only guess at Michael’s reason for carrying through on his threats.
“He finally lost, and she finally stuck to her decision (to leave),” said Angie.

     Dealing with the painKelley’s violent death has left her parents in emotion disarray, putting a strain on their 30-year marriage.
     “We can’t talk about Kelley,” said Angie. “What do you say? The three of us were so tight.”
Separately, Angie and Scott are searching for ways to ease the pain.
     “Her daddy feels so guilty; he just knows it’s his fault,” said Angie. “She was daddy’s little girl.”
     While Scott deals with his anger, Angie blocks her pain by taking medication. The Taylors rarely attend church now, and she has given up on finding relief from sorrow in the Bible. She started to read a book on how to grieve but has put it down.
     “It’s hard,” she said. “I don’t want textbook answers.”
     Angie can’t erase the horror of her daughter’s death, yet by virtue of the murder-suicide circumstances, she finds herself giving counsel to other victims of domestic violence.
     “The problem I have now is they just go back to (their abusers),” she said. “It’s kind of like a game for them.”
     Angie is on a quiet campaign to raise awareness and money for those trying to escape from unhealthy relationships. Proceeds to benefit Wyoming Against Domestic Violence, totaling $10,000, were collected from a Chick’s Run held at Casper in 2003 in Kelley’s memory.
     The Chick’s Run is an all women’s motorcycle tour held to benefit causes important to women. Kelley had participated in a run in 2002 that raised money for breast cancer research.
     Money raised through the sale of purple magnetic ribbons Angie has designed that read “Stop Domestic Violence” will also go to help victims, said Angie.
     Her message to people now is simple: “Pay attention because it’s right there in your home, and you know it.”

     Lasting memoriesPictures of Kelley and other reminders help keep her memory alive. One of Angie’s favorites is a newspaper photo of Kelley kissing her young niece, Joey, at the Lions Easter egg hunt in Hot Springs State Park three and a half years ago. Both are dressed in their Sunday best.
     Although she may not remember much of their brief time together, Joey, now 5, ponders the death of her beautiful aunt.
     “Every now and then, she’ll say, ‘Kelly lives with Jesus now,’” said Angie.
     In a tribute to their daughter printed in “The Wyoming Silent Witness Story,” a book dedicated to women who lost their lives during a brutal incident of domestic violence, the Taylors wrote: “Kelley is the brightest star that has ever passed through our lives. Her smile was infectious; her beauty inside and out made her the envy of many and a pleasure to others. Her life was short. Her love is long.





                                             -0-