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St. Luke Missionary Baptist Church is a squat, brick building off Charlotte Pike. Last Sunday, light from a perfect spring day flooded the rows of pews inside, brightening a room with low ceilings and mostly bare walls. At the pulpit, Rutta Simon stood stiff and nervous, her voice wavering.
“My mom was my best friend,” she said, “the only person that I really trusted. Losing her was like someone plunging a knife into my heart over and over again, tearing my heart into pieces.” She paused and looked up at the small group assembled in pews before her. “I felt dead inside,” she whispered.
Unsolved Mysteries Earl Jordan of Partners in the Struggle
Photos: P.J. Tobia
It’s been almost a year since the body of her mother, Freweini “Winnie” Gebremicael, was found dumped by the side of a trash- and weed-choked creek in South Nashville. She’d been shot once in the head and her corpse had been torched. She was 34.
The remarkable story of the Gebremicael family—from their harrowing escape from war-torn Eritrea in East Africa to Winnie’s tragic murder last May—was chronicled in this paper last summer (“The Grisliest Nashville Murder,” June 22, 2006). Much has changed since then.
Winnie’s business—a small coffee shop on Second Avenue—has closed, her son, 18-year-old Yonas, has moved into his father’s trailer and her daughter Rutta is preparing to graduate from high school. One thing, however, has stayed the same: Winnie’s killer is still at large. He’s not the only one.
Joining Rutta Simon at the St. Luke Missionary Baptist Church last Sunday were three families who had all lost loved ones to killers that are still on the loose.
Six years ago, Earl Jordan’s cousin AnTwaunn “Jelly” Finney was found lying in his underwear on a North Nashville street, hands and feet bound, with a bag over his head. Shortly thereafter, Jordan started Partners in the Struggle, an organization that he uses to speak out against violent crime and keep alive the memories of its victims. It was Jordan who organized Sunday’s meeting, and he gave each of the families plaques commemorating their lost loved ones.
Last month, Jordan was honored with a plaque of his own from the Metro Council that recognized his work on behalf of the city. This week, he will receive a Citizens Commendation Award from the Metro Police Department. He says that the awards are appreciated, but they are not his motivation.
“When our loved ones are taken from us in homicides, people in the rest of society forget,” says Jordan. “I intend to remind them.”
He says he plans to rent two billboards in Nashville with the names and faces of locals whose murders are as yet unsolved.
Dave Robertson is one of them. In 2004, Robertson was found face down in his driveway with a single gunshot wound in his back. More than a dozen of his family members came to Missionary Baptist wearing matching T-shirts bearing Robertson’s image and an offer of a $60,000 reward for information leading to the capture of his killer.
More than two years after Robertson’s death, his family still pushes for answers. “I talk to the police at least once every two weeks,” says his sister, Faye Jordan. She says she joined forces with Partners in the Struggle because, “anything that gets the word out about Dave’s death is a good thing.”
These tragic mysteries aside, most murders in Nashville over the last two years have not gone unsolved. Of the 17 murders in Nashville this year, 10 have been “cleared”—meaning that a suspect has been arrested or died, according to police spokesman Don Aaron.
Every six months, murder cases are reviewed by the cold case unit, which is staffed by some of the most senior homicide detectives in the city.
“If after one year the leads at the precinct level have been exhausted, the case (will) revert to the cold case unit,” Aaron says.
Those gathered at Missionary Baptist were unanimously appreciative and surprisingly patient with the work done by police detectives.
“We are going to be the ones who solve our loved ones’ crimes,” Jordan said from the pulpit. “The detectives are doing a heck of a job, but in the end it could be one remembrance or memory (of ours) that leads to the murders of our loved ones being solved.”
The families—black, white, native and foreign born— all nodded in agreement.
A woman in the front row who has recently lost three close relatives to gun violence raised a hand and bowed her head. “Amen,” she said.