Too Many Suspects

Kill Brother, Kill Sister: Episode Five

Podcast: Episode Five – Too Many Suspects
Apple Podcasts: Episode Five – Too Many Suspects
Schedule: Tuesday, Thursday

“Whodunnit?” Okay, this is the obvious question, right? “Whodunnit?” That’s what everyone wants to know. So let’s start to unravel that question… And see how far we get. One thing up front: I’m going to stipulate that we’re talking premeditated murder. You don’t just casually walk up to a car and stuff it with a bomb. It’s not a situation where, hey, somebody gets mad and grabs a gun and then says… “I’m sorry Your Honor, the gun just kinda accidentally went off.” So that means we’re looking for a certain kind of suspect — or suspects.

And yes, this is the kind of murder that forces us to ask about motive: “Who benefits? Who benefits from this?” There’s one thing we’ll eventually realize… If we didn’t know it right away: There seemed to be a “prize” waiting at the end of this… What do I call it? Hit job?

His name is Neil Pfeil “Scotty” Mackay, the offspring of Muriel Pfeil and Neil Mackay. A child whom his father, Neil Mackay, regards with… let’s just say “some mixed emotions.” Many — most? — of those emotions encompassed by his “claim” on the boy. And I use the word “claim” broadly. Certainly fathers are called to love their sons and daughters as much as their mothers do. And, let’s face it, Neil Mackay came to fatherhood fairly late in life. So there’s that.

OK, It’s A Poem

But mixed in with that are all the other sentiments. Some of them frankly pedestrian. We’ll start with the scrap of “poetry,” if you can call it that, mounted on the wall of a house Mackay owned – a spot where he’d moved his office because… His high-rise apartment building was condemned. Here it is, in all its glory:

“First there was a father, then a son, neither wore kilts, but both had fun.

They romped and they stomped it is to be said and the son became as father, so the Bible read.

Mackays, they were a proud Scot line, a bond formed between them that was just fine.

As a seedling, the father took the boy in tow and shall all remember now, with God’s help we all watched Scottie grow.”

Poem displayed at Neil Mackay’s Stanford Drive house

Yes, it was framed. A reminder to all who ventured there that Neil S. Mackay treasured his son. As for the spelling… I’m not so sure. All the documents — every single one I’ve ever seen — use an alternate spelling. Scotty with a “y,” not an “ie.” So, maybe the poem was a gift?

Whatever the case, we include that doggerel here, in part, to help illuminate the feelings that motivated Neil Mackay to file a very specific legal notice once he gained full custody of Scotty. The year was 1979. The state was Hawaii. The cause in his petition read: “In the Matter of the Petition of NEIL SUTHERLAND MACKAY (father) for and on behalf of NEIL PFEIL MACKAY, a minor, For Change of Name.” The petition was summarily granted. And here’s what the decree read:

Upon consideration of the petition of NEIL SUTHERLAND MACKAY and there appearing to me good reasons for granting the same,

NOW, THEREFORE, by virtue of the authority in me by law vested and thereby enabling, I, JEAN KING, Lieutenant Governor of the State of Hawaii, do hereby order and decree that the name NEIL PFEIL MACKAY is hereby changed to NEIL SUTHERLAND MACKAY, JR.

In one stroke, Neil Mackay moved to sever Scotty’s ties, Scotty’s identity, to excise his mother’s family name. And the pretext here, the history… The theory of the case – and I emphasize THEORY… 

Muriel’s Blocking Move

Because whatever Neil Mackay’s feelings were toward his son, Muriel Pfeil stood in his way. She actively blocked any semblance of possession whatsoever. Remember: her last act before dying was to block expansion of Neil’s custody rights for two years, until Scotty, then three years old, turned five. The guy was losing power. The guy had lost control – if, indeed, he ever had it. He’s going to wrestle it back the best way he knows how. Because it’s also clear that the courts are also in his way. 

But… If she – if Muriel – is eliminated, if she is gone, if she is dead, then he – the presumptive father – can stand there and say, “I’m the father, I’m the surviving father, give me my child. He’s mine.” 

Does this make him one of the suspects? Not exactly. Then again, it doesn’t eliminate him from the suspects group, either. And what a rogue’s gallery it was.

A Galley of Suspects

Because, as soon as they start investigating – they meaning the Anchorage police – the realm of possible suspects started to expand. In fact, as the investigation moved forward, the cops ended up with about seventeen suspects. Seventeen. That’s too many. I mean, what you want is to narrow the list down to the one person or persons who are directly responsible. 

And actually, in many cases of intimate homicide – think a lover’s quarrel – it’s reasonably easy to reduce that number down to one. To the perpetrator. Maybe he was wounded in the struggle. Maybe he left behind proof. Hair or fingerprints or other kinds of evidence. Maybe there’s a history of violence. Even witnesses. Eye witnesses.

But that’s not that’s not what happened here. Instead, this bombing birthed an aura of fear and paranoia in Anchorage. The suspect list blossomed into a bandwagon of possibilities. Consider, for example, the guy who owned the Baranof Lounge, sort of a typical Alaska bar, a live music kind of joint. That guy was convinced the bomb was actually meant for him. He’d had threats against his life. He drove a car that was very similar to Muriel Pfeil’s car. In fact, he left Alaska out of fear that there’d be another attempt on his life. 

So what’s that about? Mistaken identity? Was Muriel Pfeil simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? 

Suspects Or Mistaken Identity?

That seemed possible after police came across several other incidents. While at a local bar, actually a restaurant, an Anchorage Police investigator observed $15,000 in cash changing hands. And this was at a time close to the bombing. So he’s suspicious. But it’s not a home run. Because neither of the participants looked like Mr. Mackay. And, more to the point, they both got away before the investigator could identify them or determine why there was such a large transaction. And I gotta ask: How in hell does he “know” there’s fifteen grand on the table? He sees packets of hundred-dollar bills, straight from the bank?

But let’s keep going, shall we? Another informant told investigators that the bomb that killed Muriel Pfeil was actually meant for a female reporter who’d been doing freelance investigative journalism into alleged corruption in the Fairbanks Teamsters organization. Yes, we’ve already mentioned her. That informant later revised her opinion, but police learned that the journalist was doing a Teamsters Union expose. Something about corruption. 

And, the thing was, this reporter was based in Anchorage, drove a car very similar to Muriel Pfeil’s, and always parked in the lot where the blast occurred, a lot in which Muriel Pfeil seldom parked. So? Yeah. 

Teamsters Again?

And then there was the lawyer who later became a judge. His name was Karl Johnstone. He provided a statement to the police indicating that he felt he had been the intended victim of the blast. A pro-business lawyer, who often helped companies fight off union activities, he’d been involved in many a battle that pitted store owners against their workers, most of them, of course, demanding better wages or better working conditions. 

One of Johnstone’s most recent actions – in June of 1976 – had been in support of Alaska Fish & Farm, a restaurant wholesaler. And the Teamsters were leading a boycott of that very wholesaler. Johnstone, representing Alaska Fish & Farm, said his clients were seriously considering filing a damage suit against the Union. 

If the suit went forward, and the wholesaler prevailed – AF&F could seek to recover not only actual damages, but also a punitive award against the Teamsters. So… That might make somebody mad. Johnstone also told investigators that he routinely parked his car in the lot where the blast occurred. A spot, it was noted, where Muriel Pfeil did not usually park. And, he added, he’d received threats. You might take a car bombing as… What? An escalation of those threats?

17 Suspects, 1 Confession

But if you want to get really, really, really down into the interesting part… You have to follow me around a corner… Because… Within weeks of the murder all those suppositions were in the past tense. A young man had come forward. And confessed.

His name was Donnie Wayne Pitts. He was at the Alaska Psychiatric Institute, in the Adolescent Facility. In other words, he was still in his teens and he might be crazy. Okay, so that tells us a little bit about him. Why are you there, Donnie? Well, mental problems, he admitted. I’m unstable. But he said, look, and this is where it’s, it gets kind of — weird. 

Two hours before the bomb went off, he was telling anyone who’d listen: There’s a bomb and it’s going to go off within a block of Captain Cook Hotel. And he’s saying this, like I said, before the bomb goes off. And then after the bomb goes off, he’s complaining. It should have gone off by now.

The cops found out and, of course, they confronted him. Interrogated him. He said, yeah, I had plans for the bomb and I passed them on to a friend of mine. And once I learned the bomb had finally gone off, I skipped out of this place – meaning the Psychiatric Institute – and collected my $100 bucks. ‘Cause I helped plan that bomb. 

Really Donnie? Are you sure? Donnie started backpedaling. Recanting. The cops said, what about a polygraph? Which was canceled because… Donnie Wayne Pitts was schizophrenic. Take him off the suspects list.

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The Book: Kill Brother, Kill Sister

Kill Brother, Kill Sister is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other fine bookstores (paperback and ebook).

Copyright Leland E. Hale (2026)