Kino Gomez got into Twisp the afternoon of July 17, his Dodge Ram pickup rolling into the parking lot of the Blue Spruce Motel off Highway 20 in Okanogan County. Sun warmed the Methow Valley, where mining and orchard farming have given way to a growing arts, recreation, and tourism industry. Out-of-towners line the streets of neighboring Winthrop, with its historic-themed storefronts and nearby posh resorts, while century-old Twisp (pop. 950) is morphing into a colony of visual artists, a wide spot of still life and tranquillity.
Rick Anderson
Room 7 at the Blue Spruce Motel is where Tom Pfaeffle was mortally wounded by a King County roads engineer.
Rick Anderson
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Of course, there was that day someone strangled a man and stuffed him in a closet. But that was 40 years ago, the most recent homicide in Twisp. "There's the usual substance abuse, a little domestic violence, burglaries, nothing really major," says the town's easygoing police chief, Rick Balam. "We don't have murders."
Gomez, 57, a squat figure at five feet four inches and 150 pounds, with a graying trimmed beard and cropped dark hair, hopped down from his truck that Friday and went into the motel office, an American flag flapping at its doorway. He checked in, got a key, and pulled his truck up to Room 7, where he unloaded his gear. A second vehicle containing Gomez's traveling companions, a family of four that included one of his co-workers, pulled in before settling into Room 4.
A Seattle resident and road engineer for the King County Department of Transportation, where's he's worked since 1991, Gomez and the family had spent the day driving along the scenic North Cascades Highway. They planned to overnight in Twisp, then in the morning move on to the rangelands of Chelan County. Gomez had promised to teach the co-worker's son how to shoot a BB gun Gomez had bought. He might let the son shoot a real gun too, he told the boy, according to his father. And Gomez came prepared: Among his gear was a Rock River AR-15 semi-automatic assault rifle, with which he hoped to pick off a few coyotes in the foothills. He also had 250 rounds of ammunition and two 40-caliber Glock 27 handguns, which he wore in a Belly Band, an elastic belt-and-holster device that can be concealed under clothing. That night, stripping to his skivvies, he'd wear the gun belt and both Glocks to bed.
Tom Pfaeffle and his wife Valarie got to the Blue Spruce after dark; Gomez had already gone to sleep in Room 7. The 49-year-old Pfaeffle, an instructor in audio production at the Art Institute of Seattle, also operated a widely respected recording studio, The Tank, next to his home in the woods of Black Diamond. He'd been a sound engineer for some of America's most popular musicians and groups, including Nirvana, Heart, B.B. King, and the Black Crowes.
The Pfaeffles had been with friends, one of them celebrating a 50th birthday, at nearby Sun Mountain Lodge. But the shaded resort perched in the amber hills outside Twisp was too pricey, the couple felt. So around 10:30 p.m., they drove the 13 miles to Twisp and the $55-a-night Blue Spruce.
A trim, balding, goateed man in a shirt and summer shorts, Pfaeffle was given the key to Room 8. It was located at the far end of a one-story gray building with eight units; a matching building with a blue tin roof faced it across the parking lot. He pulled up to a series of four doors in a wide alcove—Rooms 6 and 7 facing straight ahead, Rooms 5 and 8 off at angles to the left and right. "We think he was told his room was on the end," says Chief Balam. "Room 7 looks like it's on the end when you drive up." As Valarie waited in their black BMW roadster, Tom got out and put the key to Room 8 into Room 7's door, which began to open.
Gomez rose from the bed. Though he had helped design and build some of the King County highways that Pfaeffle drove over, road engineer Gomez was meeting sound engineer Pfaeffle for the first time. They apparently never exchanged a word, nor clearly saw each other's face. The extent of their introduction that quiet eastern Washington night two months ago was a bullet that came tearing out of Gomez's door before striking Pfaeffle in the torso.
Valarie saw Tom stagger backward and turn. She couldn't understand what was happening. "Oh, fuck," Tom said, holding his right side as blood ran down his shorts. "I've been shot." Mortally wounded, the father of four died two hours later in an emergency room.
Did Gomez just wake up and recklessly pull the trigger before realizing what was happening? Or did he see someone coming into his room and, feeling threatened, lawfully fire in self defense?
The answer could mean the difference between a life of freedom or one spent in prison.
Pfaeffle had been having an especially productive year at his Black Diamond studio. "Things are cooking along," he wrote in his last blog entry, June 22, at thetankstudio.com. "Just finished Dog Leg Preacher's full length 'Abscess.' The record kicks. Check it out on the bands [sic] site.Finishing tracking Seattle's own 'Lorpan' and about ready to start a full length with northwest artist 'Random Manor.' Atomic Bride also released their CD which was mixed and mastered here at the tank. Back to work!"
