30 years in a Barrel

Transcript

A Barrel Reveals A Body

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For 30 years, her family never knew what happened. Then a barrel in a basement revealed the truth: she'd been murdered after telling his wife she was pregnant with his child. September 2, 1999. Jericho, New York. Ronald Cohen was moving out of the split-level house at 67 Forest Drive where his family had lived for nearly a decade. The new owners had one request: remove the heavy barrel from the crawl space under the stairs. The 55-gallon drum had been there when the Cohens moved in back in 1990. It was rusty, grimy, covered in faded chemical labels, and impossibly heavy—350 pounds. They'd never bothered with it. Now, as Cohen tried to haul it to the curb for garbage pickup, the sanitation workers refused to take it. Too heavy. Chemical markings. Needed special disposal. Cohen pried open the lid. Inside, covered in white plastic pellets, was a mummified human hand. A ring still on one finger. The police were called immediately. Detective Robert Edwards of Nassau County homicide arrived and peered into the barrel. What he found was a nightmare frozen in time. The remains of a young woman, folded into a fetal position, her body preserved by the airtight seal of the drum. She was fully dressed—cardigan, imitation leopard-skin coat. Her body had shriveled to just 57 pounds. And she was nine months pregnant. The medical examiner determined the cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple blows. The woman had been murdered and stuffed into this barrel decades ago.

Clues Hidden With The Remains

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But who was she? And how did she end up sealed in a drum in a suburban Long Island basement? The barrel itself provided the first clue. It had been manufactured in 1965 and shipped to Melrose Plastics—a Manhattan artificial flower factory. Inside the drum, along with the remains, investigators found artificial flowers. A small medallion. Two rings. And an address book. Most of the address book had deteriorated beyond recognition. But under infrared light, detectives could make out faint writing. On the first page: a Social Security number. The number belonged to Reyna Angélica Marroquín—a 27-year-old woman from El Salvador who had vanished in January 1969. Thirty years. Her body had been in that crawl space for thirty years, through multiple owners of the house, while her family in El Salvador waited for word that never came. Reyna

Reyna’s Life In New York

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Angélica Marroquín was born on December 2, 1941, in San Martín, El Salvador. She grew up with dreams of something more—a better life, independence, opportunity. In August 1966, after leaving an unfaithful husband, she immigrated to the United States. She arrived in Miami and immediately moved to New York City, where she settled into the Jeanne d'Arc Residence for Women—a Catholic home for working women run by nuns on 24th Street in Manhattan. She took English classes. She studied fashion design. She worked hard. She told her mother, "I'm going to be somebody." She found work at Melrose Plastics on West 34th Street, painting artificial flowers by hand alongside dozens of other women. It was honest work. It paid the bills. The factory was partly owned by Howard B. Elkins—a married businessman with three children and a comfortable home in Jericho, Long Island. Somewhere along the way, Reyna and Howard began an affair. She was young, hopeful, far from home. He was her employer—powerful, established, promising her a future together. In 1968, Reyna became pregnant. Howard told her he would leave his wife. He promised they would be together. He just needed time. But as the months passed and her pregnancy advanced, Reyna realized the promises were empty. He had no intention of leaving his family.

The Call That Sparked Fear

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In January 1969, nine months pregnant and desperate, Reyna made a decision. She called Howard's wife, Ruth, and told her everything. The affair. The pregnancy. The truth. Immediately after the call, Reyna phoned a friend from the Jeanne d'Arc residence—a volunteer she trusted. "I made a big mistake," Reyna said, her voice panicked. "I'm afraid he's going to kill me." The friend rushed to an address in New Jersey where Howard had supposedly set Reyna up in an apartment. When she arrived, the door was wide open. A warm meal sat on the table, half-eaten. Reyna was gone. The friend tried to file a missing person report with police. They refused. She wasn't family. They wouldn't take the report. Reyna Angélica Marroquín vanished without a trace. Her family in El Salvador placed desperate ads in newspapers, begging for information. Months turned into years. Years turned into decades. They never heard from her again. Back in New York, Howard Elkins sold Melrose Plastics in 1972—three years after Reyna disappeared. He and his wife Ruth moved to Boca Raton, Florida, where he retired comfortably. For thirty years, he lived a normal life. Comfortable. Quiet. Free. Until September 1999, when a rusty barrel in a crawl space gave up its secrets. When

Detectives Connect Elkins To The Drum

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detectives identified the remains as Reyna Marroquín through the Social Security number in her address book, they immediately connected the dots. The barrel had come from Elkins' factory. The house had been his. The victim had worked for him. And there was that phone number in the address book—Kathy Andrade, Reyna's friend, still living at the same address after all these years. Kathy told detectives everything. The affair. The pregnancy. The phone call to Ruth Elkins. Reyna's terror that Howard would kill her. Nassau County homicide detectives flew to Boca Raton to interview Howard Elkins, now 70 years old. He denied everything. Claimed he had no knowledge of any barrel. Didn't know what happened to Reyna. Had nothing to do with it. The detectives didn't believe him for a second. Before leaving, they informed Elkins they were getting a court order for his DNA. They would match it to the fetus found with Reyna's remains. They would prove he was the father. They would arrest him for murder and extradite him back to New York.

DNA Pressure And A Sudden Suicide

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The next day—September 10, 1999—Howard Elkins drove to a Walmart in Boca Raton. He purchased a 12-gauge shotgun and ammunition. He paid $20.01 cash—gave the cashier an extra penny to round out the change. Then he drove to a friend's house, climbed into the back seat of a Ford Explorer parked in the garage, and shot himself in the head. His body was found with the shotgun between his legs. A single self-inflicted wound. Howard Elkins chose death over justice. In January 2000, DNA testing confirmed what everyone already knew: Howard Elkins was the father of Reyna's unborn child. 99.93% probability. He had murdered the woman carrying his son. Stuffed her into a barrel filled with plastic pellets—intending, investigators believe, to dump it in the ocean from his boat. But the barrel was too heavy to move. So he shoved it into the crawl space of his house and left it there. Then he sold the house, moved to Florida, and lived thirty more years in peace.

Answers For A Family After Decades

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Reyna's body was returned to El Salvador for burial. Her mother, Ercillia, was 95 years old and still alive. For three decades, she had dreamed about her daughter—literally dreamed of her trapped inside a barrel, calling for help. When investigators told her what had happened, she finally had answers. But the answers brought no comfort. Her daughter had been murdered, nine months pregnant, by the man who claimed to love her. And he had escaped justice by taking his own life. The case was officially closed. Howard Elkins was identified as Reyna's killer. But he never stood trial. Never faced her family. Never answered for what he did. Reyna Angélica Marroquín came to America dreaming of becoming somebody. She wanted a better life. Independence. Hope. Instead, she found a man who made promises he never intended to keep. And when she demanded the truth, he killed her. For thirty years, she lay forgotten in a sealed barrel in a suburban basement while her murderer lived free. Justice came too late. But at least her family finally knew. Reyna Angélica Marroquín. December 2, 1941 January 1969. Twenty-seven years old. Nine months pregnant. Murdered for telling the truth. Her name deserves to be remembered.