Over the previous couple sections, we’ve covered the police account of the events leading up to Timothy McEnany’s arrest and subsequent charges in the murder of Katherine Bishop. And while painfully obvious already that the police account has a number of curious and alarming red flags, which point to a murder scene that was not properly investigated, and the possibility, in my opinion, that the real perpetrator was being protected by a corrupt police force, I felt the most important thing to do next, was to have the accused — Timothy McEnany — tell us what actually happened during that period of time.
While what is discussed with clergy is protected by the Clergy Privilege (pastoral confidentiality), I have Mr. McEnany’s permission to share this account with you, which is written in his own words:
Before I begin my account of what has happened to me, I think something I told Archbishop Salvato bears repeating.
I feel it is necessary to point out that I am not an eloquent writer, and hope my feeble attempt to relate things to you will be acceptable. Also, I feel that I need to warn you that I don’t think about the past, or what has happened to me much, if at all. Perhaps I should also point out that I do not think about the future. I believe it is a defense mechanism of mine to help me cope with living my daily life.
I will do my best to relate to you what has happened to me.
My background
Perhaps first I should give you a little background on me, at the time these events occurred. I was twenty-six years old, married, with two children. I owned a chimney sweeping and repair business. I am not now, nor was I then, an angel or saint. I have made mistakes in life, and am not perfect. While I’ve made mistakes, I did not commit the crime that I have been convicted of.
My account of what happened
The day before I actually worked on Mrs. Bishop’s house, which would have been March 2, 1993, I was at her home to give her a free inspection of her chimney. Mrs. Bishop was a very nice lady, and very personable. After the inspection, I determined that her chimney could use a cleaning, and some minor repairs. We made an appointment for me to come back the next day. The exact time escapes me, but I believe it was in the afternoon, possibly around 3 PM.
On March 3, 1993, as my cousin, Andrew Reischman, who was working for me at the time, prepared to make our service call, we discovered that the work truck was having trouble holding a charge in the battery, causing us to get started a little later than planned.
We made several service calls before we arrived at Mrs. Bishop’s house that day, as I said, around 3 PM. I knocked on the door, and was greeted by Mrs. Bishop, with whom I exchanged some pleasantries and then Andrew and I got to work.
We swept the chimney clean and were also contracted to repair the crown of the chimney and install a new chimney cap. At some point, while I was repairing the crown, Andrew let me know Mrs. Bishop’s daughter was there, and wanted to talk to me.
I came down from the roof and spoke to Mrs. Seitz, who was Mrs. Bishop’s daughter. She asked exactly what we were doing, and I explained everything to her. I got the feeling that she was less-than-enthused that we were there working. However, she thanked me, and I resumed working.
Some time later, a man, whom I would later learn was Mrs. Seitz husband, hollered up from the yard, greeting me with a friendly hello. I had just finished, and was sending some tools down off the roof via a rope and bucket. I asked Mr. Seitz if he saw another worker down there, and he said he did not. He asked if he could be of any help, and I replied that if he could unhook the bucket from the rope, it would be of great help.
Shortly thereafter, I lowered the rest of the things down from the roof, and came down the ladder myself. I proceeded to have a nice conversation witgh Mr. Seitz, explaining the work I had done that day. He told me he worked in some sort of construction, and I asked him if he would like to go up on the roof to inspect our work before we took the ladder down. Mr. Seitz politely declined, so I grabbed my Polaroid camera (yes, the ancient Polaroid, as we didn’t have cellphone cameras back then!) and went back on the roof to take a photo of the work we had done, so he could have a look.
After showing Mr. Seitz the photo, he said something to the effect that it looked like I had done a good job. Andrew and I finished cleaning up, completed the paperwork, and received a check for payment for our services.
As I recall, we were waiting for the Seitz’s to back down the driveway before we could leave, Mrs. Bishop was kind enough to bring us a couple of cookies, or perhaps some fudge, which we gladly accepted and thanked her for. We then left for another job.
I believe we only had one more job that day, where we gave the customer a free inspection. After that service call, our workday was done.
On the way home, we decided to stop off for a couple of beers at a bar, and maybe shoot some pool. You would think that after a long day, especially after having had trouble with the truck, I would want to go straight home, but this was not the case. As I told you, I was no angel, but I now consider this to be one of the worst mistakes of my life (and I’ve made my share of mistakes!).
The first bar we stopped at had a large sign posted that it did not serve anyone under the age of 21, and that prosecution would be forthcoming. Andrew was not quite 21, so we decided to go home. On the way home, we passed a bar called Shane’s Flight Deck and decided to stop there. Neither of us had ever been there before.
We were served without a problem, staying for a couple rounds of beers, talking with some of the people at the bar, before heading into the game room. We played some video games, air hockey and shot some pool, both against each other, and against other patrons in the bar. Stopping for “a couple of beers” turned into an all night affair, and we left the bar at approximately 1 AM.
March 5th, 1993
Two days later, on March 5, 1993, two state troopers came to my home and asked me to accompany them to the local State Police barracks in Elizabethville, PA. I asked what it was about, and they wouldn’t tell me anything other than the fact that they wanted to ask me some questions. It made me nervous, not knowing what it was about, but I agreed and went with them.
We arrived at the State Police barracks after a short drive, and upon arriving, the troopers began asking me where I was and what I was doing on March 3rd. I responded to the best of my ability. My concern was that this was about someone complaining about the work I did on their home. I’d never had any complaints about my work before, but having worked in the service industry, I knew that even when everything was perfect, people could still complain. Still, I couldn’t imagine why else they were asking me these questions.
Then the troopers began to specifically ask me about the job I did at Mrs. Bishop’s home. It was at that point that they told me Mrs. Bishop had died. I was shocked. And although I hate to admit it, was a little relieved that it wasn’t about someone complaining about my work. In my mind, that meant I wasn’t the focus of the problem. If I had only known what was going to happen, I wouldn’t have felt any relief whatsoever.
The troopers wanted to know if I’d seen anything suspicious, or out of the ordinary. I told them what I could about that day, and that nothing seemed out of the ordinary in any way, and that I was sorry I couldn’t be of more help.
The troopers thanked me for my time, and asked me to call them if I could think of anything more. They said they might contact me again to give a formal statement. I asked what that entailed and they said it would be a written or taped account of what I just told them. I said that would be fine, and they drove me home.
As off-putting as the situation was at times, I didn’t feel like the police were accusing me of anything to do with the crime, so I spent some more time thinking to try to be sure there was nothing out of the ordinary that day. I couldn’t think of anything, and more or less gave it no more thought.
March 7th, 1993 – They Return
On March 7th, 1993, about mid-morning, two state troopers again showed up on my doorstep. They asked me if I would mind giving a formal statement concerning the events of March 3rd, and told me they were not equipped to take my statement at the house, and asked me to come with them to the station. I wanted to be helpful, if I could, and figured the station was only a few miles down the road, where we were two days prior. I told them I would grab my keys and meet them at the station.
The troopers said I didn’t have to drive, and that we would be going to the station in Harrisburg. That was a bit of a drive — about 20-30 minutes from my home. I asked why we couldn’t do the statement at the local station, and they said something to the effect of their office in Harrisburg, and because it was a Sunday, they wouldn’t be able to access what they needed at the Elizabethville station.
Since it was a Sunday, it was a day I would normally spend with my family, but I didn’t have any pressing business to conduct, so I figured it would be better to do it that day, rather than interrupt the work week. Figuring that I would be gone for more than an hour, I didn’t want to take the car from my wife, and with the troubles I had with the work van, I accepted the officers’ offer to give me a ride there, stating that they would bring me back home as soon as I finished giving them my statement. The thought never occurred to me that by not allowing me my own transportation, they would effectively be holding me hostage.
So off the two troopers and I went. During the ride to Harrisburg, we engaged in casual conversation, the troopers asking how long I had been married, how old the children were, etc. At the time, it seemed like nothing more than polite conversation, but in hindsight, I believe they were seasoned investigators, gathering information for further questioning. At the time, however, it seemed innocuous enough. They even stopped at McDonald’s and asked if I wanted anything to eat. I declined, and recall being a little irritated that we were wasting time, as I wanted to get home to my family.
We got to the police station and pretty much went straight to the interview room. In the room was a desk and three chairs. The room was pretty small. I am a bit claustrophobic, and remember feeling uncomfortable, but the troopers were very nice, and asked me questions in a friendly manner. I didn”t feel like this was an adversarial situation at all at that point. The troopers were smiling and very polite. Freehliung, the trooper who did most of the talking, sat across the desk from me. The other trooper sat at the end of the desk, blocking me into the corner essentially. Although not aware of it at that time, I now realise this was done to have an intimidating psychological effect on me, and realise I was feeling trapped, and not in control of the situation.
I didn’t say anything about being uncomfortable, because they were, after all, being nice to me. In fact, I may have even said I was comfortable if asked. I really just wanted to give my statement and get back home.
One thing I did notice was that there wasn’t a typewriter or tape recorder. I asked why not, and was told that they had to take some notes and get all the background information before we could make the formal statement. I thought, okay, whatever… really, what did I know about making a formal statement anyway?
They asked me to relate the events of the day to them. I was constantly asked for more details and provided them wherever possible. First it was just about the time we were at Mrs. Bishop’s house, but eventually it included events from the time I woke up until getting home that night. I asked what the other events of that day has to do with Mrs. Bishop’s house, and was told that it might help me to remember something I didn’t previously remember.
So I related everything that I could to them, and answered their questions. We started to go around in circles. Talking about things that we had already talked about more than once. I told them we were going over the same things, and could we just get to the formal statement. I was told they just needed to get all their facts straight before we could make a formal statement.
And so I kept answering their questions, and eventually their questions about what I told them started to be wrong about what I said previously, and I would have to correct them. This was frustrating me, because I would have to correct something I just told them. I told them one thing, and they would say something completely different. Of course, I now realise this was another tactic to try to trip me up on any lies; however, at the time, I really just thought I was dealing with a couple bumbling Keystone cops!
At this point, their line of questioning was becoming more like an interrogation, and I kept answering their questions willingly. Since I didn’t lie to them about anything, there was nothing for them to trip me up on. But eventually, it began to feel like they were badgering me, and I told them I wanted to make the formal statement and go home. I was told we would take a little break, and that they would take the formal statement when we resumed.
I was asked it I wanted anything to drink, and they brought me some water or coffee, I can’t remember which. During the break, I was introduced to another trooper, McIlhenny, outside of the interrogation room. Trooper McIlhenny engaged me in conversation while the other troopers were supposedly preparing to take my formal statement.
McIlhenny and I talked about how similar our names were, and inquired if I had ever been to Ireland, telling me about his trips there. Again it seemed friendly enough, but I now realise it was just another tactic. I realise now that I might appear stupid not to have realised this, but I was a very naive young man, and have a habit of trusting people as a result of my upbringing, I suppose.
At some point, I was told that Trooper McIlhenny administered polygraph tests, and was asked if I would consent to one. I asked why they would want me to take a polygraph test, as I had been truthful with them. At this point, I asked they thought I had anything to do with the death of Mrs. Bishop, and told, “No, of course not.”
They told me that the polygraph was just a formality to be done, after which we could make a formal statement. I didn’t have anything to hide, so I told them I would take the test, if I could speak to my sister first. My sister was a police officer, and I remembered that during her interview for the academy, they issued a polygraph test. She told me that during her polygraph, she admitted to shoplifting as a child, and that the test showed that she was lying about that, even though it was the truth. So I wanted to get her opinion on my taking a polygraph for this statement.
After an inordinate amount of time, I was told I could call her. I tried calling, but could not get through. After several attempts, each of which failed, I thought it was odd, because my sister is not normally difficult to reach. I would later learn that she was in fact home at that time, and that her phone never rang. But I consented to do the polygraph, because once again, I felt I had nothing to hide.
I was told the test was very trustworthy, and just a formality. I had my misgivings about the trustworthiness of the test, considering my sister’s experience, and given that I had heard they were not reliable and not even admissible in court.
McIlhenny started to explain the procedure to me, stating I would be asked ten questions, which he would go over with me before the test began. He claimed the test was 100% accurate, and so I shouldn’t have anything to be worried about.
I agreed to the test, and asked to use the restroom first. McIlhenny said he needed to use the restroom too, and accompanied me. As we left that interrogation room, I noticed an armed guard outside the door. I looked at him strange, because he was in plain clothes, and I thought it peculiar to see an armed guard outside the door of the interrogation room. McIlhenny escorted me to the restroom, and I relieved myself, but despite his claim to have had to use the restroom himself, McIlhenny did not use the restroom. At that point, I began to feel uneasy.
Once back in the interrogation/polygraph room, McIlhenny administered the test. He went over the questions ahead of time, and then asked them during the test three times, in different order. After taking the wires off me, he asked what the test told him. I responded that I was truthful, so that was what it would have proven. He said, no, that the test told him that I might not have committed the crime, but that I knew something about it. I told him that wasn’t true at all.
While I thought things were surreal before, I now felt I’d stepped into a Salvador Dali painting. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me.
At this point, McIlhenny became adversarial. He again accused me of knowing something about the crime. I denied it. This went back and forth, with him becoming increasingly agitated. I told him it wasn’t true.
He drew something on a piece of paper and asked me if I knew what it was. I told him it looked like a hand. He replied that the finger was pointing at me. I told him he was wrong again, and at that point he left the room.
Next, the two original troopers returned to the room, and told me that McIlhenny told them I was lying. I told them that was not true, and I wanted to go home. They responded by telling me I wasn’t going anywhere. They said that I knew something, and it would be better for me if I would just tell them what I knew. I didn’t know anything, and told them so. Freehling became increasingly agitated, and began getting louder and banging on the desk.
At this point, Freehling put forth a scenario in which he claimed my cousin committed the crime, while I waited outside, and that I didn’t know that Mrs. Bishop was dead until the troopers told me.
I told them that was absolutely untrue. Freehling said it might not be exactly how it happened, but that it was pretty close to the truth. I told him he was wrong. He then slammed his hand down again, causing the pen to go flying off the desk, yelling for me to tell him what happened.
I told him that I wanted to make a formal statement, still thinking that I could make the formal statement they used as a ruse to get me to come to the station in the first place. I also told them I wanted to see my wife and children. I know that I wasn’t thinking clearly by this point in time, because things had become so surreal. I think that in my mind, I thought that if my wife and children came, I could give my formal statement and go home with them.
I’m sure that doesn’t seem rational now, but this whole course of events had, by this time, become emotionally draining and dreamlike… no… nightmarish. I felt like everything was moving in slow motion.
Freehling left the room, and I was left with McIlhenny. There was no conversation between us. I was very upset, and said aloud that if I hadn’t gone drinking, then I wouldn’t be in this predicament. You see, drinking had caused me problems in the past, especially with my marriage, and in my mind, I felt that if I had just gone home that night, my wife could have told them I was there with her all night, and this would all be over.
Freehling came back to the room with a piece of paper for me to sign, saying that I waived my right to an attorney.I had previously signed at least one such document earlier in the day, but he again claimed this was just a formality. The thought hadn’t occurred to me earlier in the day that I would even need an attorney, since I had nothing to do with the crime, and even when things started to become bizarre, I didn’t think to ask for an attorney. But now they had accused me of something to do with the crime, and so I refused to sign their piece of paper, and told them I wanted an attorney.
There is no better way to describe Freehling’s demeanor at this time, beside “pissed”.
I was told it would be in my best interest to sign the paper, and tell them what happened. I again refused, and told them I wanted an attorney. They then claimed that if I would sign the paper and talk to them, they would bring my wife and children down to the station to see me. Once again, I told them I didn’t have anything to say, and wanted an attorney present.
[Editor’s note: Why did the police insist on trying to get Timothy McEnany to relinquish his right to an attorney? What was their agenda? I’ve spoken to seven police investigators from other states, and three from Pennsylvania, and all of them agreed that when a detainee refuses to reliquish their rights, and requests an attorney, standard protocol is to comply. In this case, the State Troopers were clearly interfering with Mr. McEnany’s constitutional rights.]
At this point, I kept my mouth shut, and refused to say anything else. The troopers continued making comments. Things like, “You’re throwing your life away…” and “We just wanted to help you…” The suggested that I shouldn’t have to pay for the crime my cousin committed. [Editor: If that was the case, why wasn’t his cousin detained? Maybe because there was no evidence, even circumstantial, linking either man to the crime!]
They said that I should think about my wife and kids, and shouldn’t spend the rest of my life in prison for something I didn’t do. But as difficult as it was not to respond to these comments, I just shut down, and remained silent.
Eventually I was told an attorney was on the phone for me. I was taken to a room filled with brown bags, and was directed to the phone. The public defender was on the other end of the line. I believe his name was Scott Evans. He told me not to speak to the police, and that a lawyer was being sent to meet with me. I hung up, and left the room.
Troopers were standing outside the room, and when I exited, they asked me what he said. I told them he said not to talk to them. I was taken back to the interrogation room. This time, the door was left open, and troopers came in and out. They continued to make comments and ask if I would talk to them. I told them I would not, and they eventually began to ignore me altogether.
Shortly thereafter, I heard my wife’s voice, and someone talking to her. There was no one in the room with me at this time, so I stepped outside the room, and a trooper sitting at a desk close-by told me to go back into the interrogation room. I spoke loudly to my wife, whom I could not see, but could still hear, and said, “Do not talk to them.” The trooper then physically shoved me back into the interrogation room, and closed the door behind him. I told him I wanted to speak with my wife, and he didn’t answer me. He left, closing the door again, behind him.
Later, the door again opened, and one of the troopers introduced me to Mr. Lydon, who told me he was an attorney with the Public Defender’s office. I didn’t trust anyone at this time, and asked him to show me some ID. Mr. Lydon produced his license and business card, and then asked me what was going on. I told him the troopers were accusing me of a crime I knew nothing about. I also told him my wife was there, and I wanted to see her and tell her she should not be speaking to the police. He said he would see what he could do, and left the room.
When he left, a trooper came into the room with me. We didn’t speak. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Lydon came back into the room with my wife. My wife asked me what was going on, and I told her I didn’t understand why, but the police were accusing me of something I had nothing to do with.
I told her not to speak to the troopers, and asked how she got there. She told me the troopers picked her up and drove her there. I told her to call my parents and ask them to come pick her up. At this point a trooper came into the room and made my wife leave.
Lydon and I were then left alone in the room, and he asked me what I wanted to do. I didn’t understand what he meant, and so he asked if I wanted to talk to the troopers. I told him that I had nothing more to say to them, because I knew nothing about the crime, and that Mr. Evans told me not to speak with them. Mr. Lydon then left the room, and returned with a couple troopers and the District Attorney. I was presented with the waiver form to sign again, and they claimed that if I would talk to them, they would do what they could to help me. Again, I told them I had nothing to say.
I was escorted out of the interrogation room, where my hands and feet were chained to a metal ring embedded in the floor. I asked what was going on, and was told that I was being charged with the murder of Mrs. Bishop.
Even after everything else that happened, I was in shock. I remember wishing I would just wake up from this surreal nightmare.
As much as the earlier part of the say seemed like a surreal blur, things just became more and more surreal at that point. I recall being taken to the District Magistrate’s office, where I was charged with criminal homicide, burglary, and conspiracy to commit a robbery. I was committed to Dauphin County Prison without bail.
That was over twenty-one years ago, and I have yet to wake up from this nightmare.
Again, I am so grateful and humbled that you have been gracious enough to turn your head, and not only look my way, but help me in my time of need, when it feels like the world has aligned against me, Archbishop Salvato. Please accept my most heartfelt thanks.
— Timothy McEnany
CP 0502
1600 Walters Mill Road
Somerset, PA 15510
(Received September 2013)