In today's Journal we published a story about how police were able to solve a 15-year-old murder six days before the statute of limitations expired. Read the story here . There was so much to the story that it was impossible to tell everything in print. One of the things we didn't go into was who William Bowen was. As we mentioned, he was a truck driver from Kansas who was passing through Albuquerque when he was stabbed to death in 1993. We asked Bowen's family to share a series of letters with you to help you get a sense of the type of person Bowen was. We have also included copies of the criminal complaint charging Robert Gomez with Bowen's murder as well as newspaper articles that covered the homicide in 1993.

 Arnold Bowen, Father of William M. Bowen:

It's been 15 years since my son, Billy, was brutally murdered there in Albuquerque; the shock has worn off but I still miss him and his infectious laugh very much.  He had beautiful golden-blond hair as a young boy and made us all proud as the No. 1 All-Star pitcher during his Little League Baseball years.  At age three, he told his Great Uncle Gus "Dus, I can't bewieve Winda  (Linda) and Wisa (Lisa) wike peanut butter but they don't wike peanuts!"

Being a trucker, I wasn't around a lot when he was growing up so I cherish the seven month period we lived together in my tiny "box" cab 18-wheeler as I taught him how to drive a big rig.  You'd have to "double-clutch" it when shifting so every time he'd mis-shift, he'd start yelling at the "stupid" transmission and I'd say "Billy, are you sure its the transmission?" and he always answered "I get it Dad, I get it."  And he did get it as he became an excellent driver by the time he flew solo; he was a natural.  Sometimes I think if he hadn't become a trucker, maybe this wouldn't have happened, but my heart is at peace about where he is now as I know he loved the Lord.  In fact, we went to mobile chapels nationwide whenever we could and I remember us attending services five nights in a row at a mobile chapel in Chicago during a layover there.

I wanted you to know something about his life other than the grim statistic that it became on 8-13-93.  This loss has affected every one of my family members in ways that most likely only another violent crime victim survivor could understand.

My family and I would be extremely grateful if you would contact Detective Lewis of the Albuquerque P.D. with any knowledge you may have about my son's murder, as we would take great comfort in knowing that the person/people responsible for his vicious murder will never again have the opportunity to do this to anyone else, if justice is served...

His Great Aunt Frances :

"Wild Bill", as he was affectionately called because he was so tender to people and animals - was a good buddy of mine.  I never missed his little league games and I often "caught a few" in his backyard.  He also went out for pop warner football and loved wrestling.  He loved my cooking, his favorite being brownies followed by "floating biscuits".  This was the name he and his Uncle Gus gave my chicken pot pie.  I set the dish between the two and watched it disappear.

We all wonder "why".   All I really know is I miss him and always will.
 

Linda Nelson, Sister:

"Nightmare"
The phone was ringing...
If the ground had opened up and dropped me into a black hole filled with sharks and ice water, it wouldn't have been more shocking than the jolt I was about to receive.  It was August 13th, my 40th birthday, and I was expecting a tormenting call from my ornery brother laced with hilarity and old-age jokes.  INSTEAD came the chilling news of his murder.  It's so weird how your comfortable life can suddenly morph into a fate altering nightmare while the world just keeps on turning, like nothing's wrong.  I remember thinking the sky had no right to be so blue that day.
Our "Wild Bill" was one of a kind with his loyal, good natured, quick witted, big hearted, tough guy disposition.  He was part dreamer, part maverick, part Indiana Jones, and as a brother, he was first class.  Without him my world has been less colorful and a lot emptier, like something vital is missing.  They say time heals; it doesn't.  INSTEAD, God gives the Grace to bear the pain of wounds that can never heal this side of heaven.

Matt Browne, Nephew:

The day my Uncle Bill was mercilessly stabbed to death was the day life changed forever within my family.  I was only five when it happened, so I feel I was robbed in many ways.  I didn't get to grow up with the coolest & funniest uncle a kid could ever want, according to my older cousins.  I do remember him, and how funny he was.  Even during the taking of our family reunion picture the week he died, he lived up to his prankster reputation by covertly tickling me right before the picture snapped so I burst out laughing.  He watched Ernie & Bert videos with me, making me laugh with all his silly jokes that week he was here.  I remember how sad my family became after he died, and how sick my Grandmother got after that.   My Mom spent a lot of time away, helping her with the legal matters involving the murder, and managing her health care, groceries & home maintenance pretty much until she passed away in 1998.  My Aunt Linda lived in another state but came out to help every chance she could.  On top of all of this, my Uncle's only child fell into a depression and tragically took her own life three years after his murder; she was only 16.  Clearly, whoever killed my Uncle Bill not only robbed us of sharing our natural lives together, he/they also altered the course and quality of each of our lives as a direct result of the pain and suffering inflicted by that one heinous act, which became just too unbearable for some.   I sincerely hope justice will prevail -