April 30, 1998

Online Trail to an Offline Killing

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In This Article

Self-Help Group

Illusory Anonymity Is Seen on Internet

Suspect Described as Introspective

Related Article

The Steps in a Confession: Excerpts From E-Mail

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By AMY HARMON

OWMAN, N.D. -- For nearly a year, Elisa DeCarlo had been logging on to the Internet daily to type messages to an online support group about her battle against alcohol. It did not matter that Ms. DeCarlo did not know where most of the 200 or so other members of the group lived, or even their names. All that mattered was that they were there for her, and she for them, in a fight that some days sapped all of her strength and sense of humor.

But on a Monday morning, March 23, sitting in her usual bathrobe attire, drinking her usual cup of coffee as she scrolled through the previous day's E-mail, Ms. DeCarlo, a 38-year-old comedian in Manhattan, lost faith in her virtual community, she said in an interview. Along with the typical postings from members about their weekends was a message from a man she knew as Larry. In graphic detail, Larry described how in 1995 he killed his 5-year-old daughter, Amanda, here in the southwestern corner of North Dakota.

A Murder Confession on the Internet Excerpts from E-mail posted by Larry Froistad and another member of Moderation Management, a support group for problem drinkers. 'Amanda I Murdered' DATE: Sun, 22 Mar 1998 12:50:22 TO: Moderation Management FROM: Larry Froistad " ... Amanda I murdered because her mother stood between us." 'You Murdered Your Daughter?' "Okay, Larry, what do you mean, you murdered your daughter? Is this emotional hyperbole or cold fact?. . ." 'Listened to Her Scream' "...When I talk about killing my daughter, there's no imaginative subcomponent.... I got wickedly drunk, set our house on fire, went to bed, listened to her scream twice, climbed out the window and set about putting on a show of shock, surprise and grief to remove culpability from myself.... Those last two screams that I tell everyone saved my life--they are wounds on my soul that I can't heal and that I'm sure I'm meant to carry with me...."

In the message, posted at 12:50 P.M. on March 22, Larry recounted how, distraught at the end of a bitter custody dispute with his ex-wife, he had set fire to his home and trapped his daughter inside.

"The conflict was tearing me apart, and the next night I let her watch the videos she loved all evening, and when she was asleep I got wickedly drunk, set our house on fire, went to bed, listened to her scream twice, climbed out the window and set about putting on a show of shock, surprise and grief to remove culpability from myself," Larry wrote, according to archives of the support group's E-mail, available to any member on the Internet.

"Dammit, part of that show was climbing in her window and grabbing her pajamas, then hearing her breathe and dropping her where she was so she could die and rid me of her mother's interferences."

Ms. DeCarlo said she was horrified by the E-mail message, but she grew further dismayed over the online debate that followed. While some members of the group were appalled by Larry's account, others rushed to his defense, trying to assure him that he was experiencing a fantasy driven by guilt over his divorce. Others tried to comfort him by telling him the crime was long past.

It seemed to Ms. DeCarlo that the nature of online communication -- which creates a psychological as well as physical distance between participants -- was causing her friends to forget their offline responsibilities to bring a confessed murderer to justice.

On March 24, amid an E-mail debate known as a flame war, Ms. DeCarlo was one of three members of the support group to notify the authorities. The police here in Bowman said Larry Froistad, a 29-year-old computer programmer living in San Diego, called them on March 27 and confessed. Mr. Froistad has since been extradited to Bowman, a town of about 1,800 people, and he is scheduled to be arraigned on murder charges on Friday.

The courthouse is a few blocks from the slab of concrete and rusted plumbing that is all that remains of the house where his daughter died in a 1995 fire that was ruled accidental.

Vincent Ross, Mr. Froistad's lawyer, said his client would plead not guilty. Mr. Ross said Mr. Froistad, who worked for the Sony Corporation, might have been taking antidepressants at the time of the March 22 posting on the Internet. Mr. Ross suggested that he might dispute the validity of the E-mail and challenge its use as evidence.

"Any statements that Mr. Froistad allegedly made have to be taken in light of his mental condition," Mr. Ross said, "and certainly there is no evidence that Mr. Froistad killed his daughter."

For many of those who knew Mr. Froistad through the ether, his unbidden declaration is testimony to cyberspace's singular capacity to invoke trust among strangers. But the E-mail transcripts in the wake of the confession also provide a glimpse into the interpersonal and moral predicaments raised at a time when an increasing amount of social interaction is taking place in electronic arenas, devoid of cues like tone of voice and facial expression, and structured around their own sets of rules and mores.

"My position here is that we, as a list, have two responsibilities here -- to ourselves as members of this list community and to the larger community beyond," read an E-mail on March 26 by Frederick Rotgers, a psychologist who helped found the support group two years ago.

"That may sound radical to some, but I believe it is an essential feature of the Internet, and one that we must protect if it is to continue to be a source of great support for people who are in need."

Dr. Rotgers said he had not notified the law-enforcement authorities after being informed that someone else in the group already had, because "since the child was already 'dead' no purpose would be served in the form of protecting anyone for rash, emotional and poorly thought-out action."

Self-Help Group for Problem Drinkers

r. Rotgers administers the group, known as the M.M. List, as a volunteer for Moderation Management, a nonprofit self-help organization based in Woodinville, Wash., for people who consider themselves problem drinkers but not alcoholics. He is director of the program for Addictions, Consultation and Treatment at Rutgers University.

Rather than turn Larry over to the police, Dr. Rotgers said he had sent private E-mail to him with referrals to therapists near San Diego.

"I had no basis for knowing whether it was true or not," he said in an interview. "Neither did anyone else on the list."

Many on the M.M. List said they believed that Larry was simply expressing his desire to be punished for surviving a horrible accident. Perhaps, as he himself suggested in later postings and then discounted, he had unconsciously invented a false memory. Others said he might have done it, but that their role as a support group was not to judge. The few who disagreed became the target of often vicious "flame" attacks.

On the evening of March 22, a few hours after Larry's initial posting, one participant wrote: "Oh, man, you are really challenging me. It would be O.K. if you would just go away. This is just repulsive stuff and I just can't deal with you. I personally will not read a post by you again. You do not deserve anything!"

Someone else quickly responded: "To me, YOUR post is completely unacceptable, especially in this forum. I am repulsed by YOUR post."

Jim Shirk, of Bremerton, Wash., said he had notified the Federal Bureau of Investigation. When news of Larry's arrest reached the group, one member called for the informers to come forward. Mr. Shirk, 59, who said he had been sober for 19 years and is a licensed chemical-dependency counselor, sent the member a private E-mail explaining his desire to remain anonymous.

Instead, the member posted the E-mail to the whole list, and sent Mr. Shirk private E-mail back: "Just how big a pervert are you? I bet you really get off talking to the F.B.I. Wow. Did you ask them if you could see their guns?"

Others accused Mr. Shirk, a proponent of the Alcoholics Anonymous approach to treating addiction, which calls for total abstinence, of using the incident to tarnish the reputation of Moderation Management.

"You get a gut feeling for what's real and what isn't and it struck me as very frightening," Mr. Shirk said in a phone interview. "What really scared me was the part after he described everything he did, where he says he wants another family. I felt both professionally ethically and personally ethically that I had to do something."

Some members simply wanted to get back to the purpose of the group.

"Can we please talk about drinking? I need your help here," read one posting a week into the exchange.

Illusory Anonymity Is Seen on Internet

ome longtime Internet users have been communing in disembodied form for years, with the ups and downs any real-life communities naturally experience. On-line services like Echo Communications in New York and The WELL in Sausalito, Calif., which serve as gathering places for hundreds of discussion topics have weathered many a flame war, as have Internet news groups.

"You do not transform when you log on," said Stacy Horn, author of

"Cyberville" (Warner Books, 1998), a book about Echo, which she founded. Ms. Horn recalled that when one veteran member declared that he was a Nazi, and offended many others with his anti-Semitic postings, Ms. Horn required him to start his own topic area. People flocked there, virtually, to argue with him.

The Froistad case is not without its offline version. In 1994, Paul Cox was convicted of manslaughter in the murder of a couple in Larchmont, N.Y. Members of an Alcoholics Anonymous group testified that Mr. Cox had told them that he thought he might have killed the couple in an alcohol-induced blackout in 1988.

Experts who study the sociology of cyberspace say the intersection of the confidentiality ethic of self-help groups, and the sometimes illusory anonymity of online communion, can make for particularly difficult situations. Among those in the M.M. support group, a frequent source of controversy has been that participants can drink and post simultaneously -- as many believe Larry was doing that Sunday. Spouses have been known to subscribe under a false name to maintain their privacy themselves or, some have said, to keep track of the other.

Yet the combination is also what has made the global computer network such a boon to people seeking support on a wide range of issues, from cancer patients to senior citizens to gay teen-agers.

"People will reveal more online than they might in person," said Sara Kiesler, a professor at the Institute for Human Computer Interaction at Carnegie Mellon University. "Psychologically, economically and in every other way, it's cheap talk, people really enjoy it, and it feels safe too. You're just talking to the screen. Sometimes people get oblivious to the dangers and they say things they wouldn't have said otherwise."

That may or may not help explain the question that still looms in the minds of many of Larry Froistad's online and offline friends.

"What I can't get out of the thing is why would a guy up and write something like that on the Internet?" said Rodney Redetzke, 35, a mechanic in Bowman who helped Mr. Froistad tear down the remains of his house after the fire.

While Bowman's police chief, Don Huso, reopened the investigation into the fire after hearing from Ms. DeCarlo, he did not issue an arrest warrant until Mr. Froistad called him directly five days after his disturbing Internet posting.

"He said, "Don, I set the fire,'" said Mr. Huso, whose only other contact with Mr. Froistad was several years ago when he had to tell him it was against city ordinances to raise rabbits in his backyard. "The memories I have of this is that I did it to destroy Amanda."

According to the E-mail transcripts and the criminal case file, Mr. Froistad called Mr. Huso the day after Dr. Rotgers, the psychologist, posted to the E-mail list that someone had gone to the police.

If convicted, Mr. Froistad faces life in prison.

Suspect Described as Introspective

esidents here remember him as an introspective computer enthusiast smarter than everyone else. In a town where any straying from the norm is regarded with a certain suspicion, neighbors described him as different.

"Larry was the kind of guy you could ask him a question and he'd come back and answer you with another question," said Mr. Redetzke, the mechanic. 'My wife would always say, 'Larry, come down to our level!'"

The son of a Naval Reserve officer, Mr. Froistad also joined the Reserves after his divorce from his wife, Ann, in 1990. He returned to Bowman two years later and fought and gained custody of Amanda. The thick divorce file contains a report from a psychologist who interviewed Amanda in those years.

Reached in Rapid City, S.D., Ann, who has remarried, declined to comment on the case.

Among those in the M.M. support group, the furor has largely died down. Its postings are now from people seeking advice on how to get through their 30-day abstinence periods and querying the meaning of alcoholism.

Audrey Kishline, the founder of Moderation Management, said the group was considering not maintaining archives of the E-mail conversations, and issuing a more strongly worded notice to new subscribers that their words, once released on to the Internet, can never be considered completely confidential.

But Ms. DeCarlo, the comedian, said she now attended only face-to-face meetings of the chapter she leads in New York.

"Ultimately, we are alone," she said. "The closeness is for the most part illusory. If Larry walked into a room, I wouldn't know him. On line, they're just words on a screen.

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