Dark Downeast - The Disappearance of Virginia Sue Pictou Noyes (Maine)

Episode Date: December 14, 2020

MAINE MISSING PERSON, 1993: 26-year old Virginia Sue Pictou Noyes disappeared in the early morning hours of April 24, 1993, after she slipped out unnoticed from her Eastern Maine Medical Center hospital room. Nearly 30 years later, her family continues to search for answers through their own investigations and cultural rituals.This is the Cold Case of Virginia Sue Pictou Noyes.Homicide is the third leading cause of death of Native American women. Indigenous women are murdered and sexually assaulted at a rate 10 times higher than other ethnicities, with a majority of them committed by non-Native people on Native-owned land. 85% of Native women experience violence in their lifetime.If you or someone you know needs help, call StrongHearts Native Helpline at 1-844-7NATIVE (762-8483). It is a domestic, dating and sexual violence helpline for American Indians and Alaska Natives, offering culturally-appropriate support and advocacy daily from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. CT. The helpline is anonymous and confidential.If you have information regarding this case, please contact the Maine State Police Major Crimes Unit - North at [phone] or toll free 1-800-432-7381. You may also report information about this crime using the leave a tip form. View source material and photos for this episode at darkdowneast.com/virginiasueFollow @darkdowneast on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTokTo suggest a case visit darkdowneast.com/submit-caseDark Downeast is an audiochuck and Kylie Media production hosted by Kylie Low.

Homicide is the third leading cause of death of Native American women. Indigenous women are murdered and sexually assaulted at a rate 10 times higher than other ethnicities, with a majority of them committed by non-Native people on Native-owned land. 85% of Native women experience violence in their lifetime. These numbers are a staggering reality for Indigenous women across North America. According to a study released this year, 2020, a majority of homicide cases and disappearances of Indigenous women in the U.S. and Canada go cold. Years and decades rolling by without answers for the families who mourn the loss of their daughters, sisters, mothers, aunts, and friends. The land we now call Maine is not

immune to this epidemic. This is the cold case of Virginia Sioux Pictou Noise. I'm Kylie Lowe, and this is Dark Down East. This story deals with domestic violence and may be upsetting for some listeners. If you or someone you know needs help, you can call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233. You can also call Strong Hearts Native Helpline at 1-844-7NATIVE. That's 1-844-762-8483. It is a domestic dating and sexual violence helpline for American Indians and Alaska Natives, offering culturally appropriate support and advocacy daily from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. Central. The helpline is anonymous and confidential. Virginia Sue, pick to noise, sat in her hospital room at Eastern Maine Medical Center,

waiting. She replayed the night's events over again in her head as the bruise above her eye began to throb. All at once, Virginia was scared. Scared for what would happen to her when she stepped out of the safety of the hospital. She was nervous about the paperwork she'd just completed, the report she filed, the restraining order that was now in place. The officer told her it would protect her, that he wouldn't be able to come near her anymore. But Virginia knew it would only make him more angry. And she was worried. As she sat in her hospital room, Virginia's five children were at home, and they needed their mother. But Virginia wouldn't be discharged until she was seen by a doctor for a final evaluation. As she waited, Virginia's mind raced. Getting back

to the kids was her highest priority, but the logistics of that trip weren't going to be easy. She was in Bangor, and her home was in Easton, two and a half hours north. Who would pick her up? Who could she call? She couldn't get in the car with the people she came with. Not after what happened. Virginia considered her options as she took another glance at the clock on her hospital room wall. 1 a.m. The nurses were attending to another patient, a gunshot victim who'd just arrived by ambulance.

Eastern Maine Medical Center was really the only option in the area for the critically injured, and it was a busy night in the trauma center. Whatever compelled Virginia to walk out of that hospital room and on to State Street in Bangor on April 24, 1993, we may never know for sure. But without her final evaluation, without a formal discharge, without a plan to make it home, she did exactly that. And that hospital room at Eastern Maine Medical Center would become the last confirmed place that Virginia Sue Pictou Noyes was seen alive.

Growing up one of 13 children in Member 2 First Nation near Sydney, Nova Scotia, Virginia Sue became the playful yet nurturing spirit in her household even at a young age. She loved to play Wonder Woman and Superman with her brother Francis. They climbed from tree to tree, their wild imaginations just thriving, creating their own fun together. And after a day of running around fields of cattails playfully swatting at her siblings, stomping through swamps and bogs in search of fireflies, Virginia became the motherly young girl, looking after her brothers and sisters, whether they were older or younger. She loved having tea parties as a kid. Virginia had a little teapot and a cup set that she carried into the dirt driveway after a rainstorm. Their home didn't have running water, so puddles made for the perfect source of mud pies and tea. Even though Francis was two years older than her and didn't want to play house with his little sister, he sat for tea service with Virginia. I had to go with the flow.

If not, I was going to hear it from my brothers. She was just so fun-loving. That's what Frances said in a public hearing for the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. Virginia was incredibly bright and a dedicated student. All through middle school, she brought home straight A's and continued her strong academic record into high school. Her life was expanding. She reached for more, and it seemed like, with her dedication and focus, she would get it. Until domestic violence,

Frances said in that hearing. At only 14 years old, Virginia had her first baby. She dropped out of high school by her junior year, and by the time she was 22, she welcomed three more children into her life with different men. I think that fact is something people get hung up on, and it has the potential to cast her in a negative light in the media. But if you're a true crime fan and you've listened to countless cases like I have, you know that assumptions like these and prejudices can lead to unfair treatment during investigations. But it's important to point out that sex and family planning may not have been talked about in Virginia's community in the way you might expect a teenager to get the education in schools today. Virginia's father had been sent to what's called a residential school as a kid. Mr. Robert Pictou Sr. talked about his life in that residential school during the public hearing for the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls. Robert said, quote,

The girls weren't taught. I don't even think they were ever taught even the word sex when they were in that residential school. Multiple pregnancies among young girls and teenagers was commonplace. So while Virginia herself did not attend these types of residential schools, and she was separated by an entire generation from her father, the topic of family planning just might have been off limits. But let us also remember that in the 1960s and 70s, the United States government, through the so-called Indian Health Service, sterilized thousands of Native American women and girls, even as young as 11, without their consent. I point this out just to demonstrate that the history of reproductive rights and family planning among Indigenous women in the land we know as the United States is fraught with abuse. I'm not an expert on this topic and I'm still learning about the layers of injustice and discrimination and straight-up genocide of the indigenous people of this country, so I invite you to learn alongside

me. I've linked a few studies in the show notes of this episode. I just wish more of this cultural context was included in news reports surrounding this case and others involving Native American victims. Forgive me for that offshoot from the story, it just felt irresponsible not to mention these things. So say or think what you want about Virginia having four children by the time she was 22. She was a good, caring, nurturing mother. The same year she turned 22, Virginia Sue married a man named Larry Noyes.

Larry Noyes, that's a name law enforcement in northern Maine knew quite well by the time he was in his early 20s. Larry and his brother Roger Jr. were seasoned criminals. According to an article by Gloria Flannery in the Bangor Daily News, their prior convictions included burglary, vandalism, assault, operating under the influence, and arson. Among the crimes that they were most well-known for in their community was a particularly cruel rampage through a Fort Fairfield cemetery in 1985. Larry and Roger knocked over and destroyed over 120 headstones, an act that would land them both with four-year sentences on aggravated criminal mischief convictions. But Larry must have been released early, because according to a newspaper article from 1987, he had broken the law again.

Now, they weren't married yet, but in August 1987, Larry was pulled over while he was driving Virginia's car, and she was sitting in the passenger seat. When the officer attempted to arrest and cuff Larry, Virginia took the wheel, put the car in drive, and peeled off, kicking up dirt and dust. In the commotion, Larry escaped the officer and darted into the surrounding woods. Police chased Virginia through potato field roads for nearly three miles, eventually catching up with her at her home and arresting her for failure to stop for a police officer and allowing the operation of her vehicle by a person operating under the influence. Meanwhile, backup arrived at the scene with a police search dog. Larry was

attempting to throw that trained canine unit off his scent, discarding layers of clothing in the woods as if he was in a one-man game of strip poker. When the police caught up to him, he was buck naked. So while the image of a grown man fully nude in the woods of Aroostook County kind of deserves a chuckle, I don't want to make light of the fact that Larry kind of operated as if breaking the law was standard procedure. To me, it seems like he believed he could outrun consequences, and even if the consequences caught up to him, they weren't enough to discourage his next criminal act. In 1989, Virginia Sue Pictou became Virginia Sue Pictou Noyes, the wife of Larry Noyes. noise. This isn't a happy marriage gone bad story that you might be used to hearing. From all the reports and testimony and stories I've read from Virginia's family,

their marriage was abusive from the beginning. They fought about money, about the kids, of which they now had five in the household, one from their marriage. Virginia's sister recalled the times she'd gone to her house to pick Virginia up when their fights were the worst. Her family always stepped in to get her and the children out of the house

when they needed it, but every time, Larry would return and somehow earn his forgiveness. Virginia would go back to him, only for the cycle to repeat again. However, Larry Noyes paints a different picture of their relationship. He told the Bangor Daily News his wife was a nice girl, that she loved him and their children, but she was controlling and jealous. He said they rarely did things separately. Every time they left the house, they went together. Larry also admitted that they both liked to drink. He said, I love beer. I don't see nothing wrong

with drinking it. Whichever version of the story you're inclined to believe, what happened next was an undeniable tragedy that would forever alter Virginia's life and change her marriage to Larry forever. On the evening of October 20th, 1990, Virginia and Larry were in the midst of a particularly heated argument. Larry later said that Virginia threw him out of the house sometime around 10 p.m. Virginia was left at home alone with her five kids. At 3.40 that morning, according to reports, a neighbor called 911 to report a fire next door to his home on Forest Avenue in Fort Fairfield. By the time first responders arrived, the walls and roof had collapsed, and standing outside the flame-engulfed trailer was Virginia and three of her children. According to reports, Virginia's eight-year-old son, Randy, woke his mother up when he smelled smoke,

and she quickly discovered a fire coming from the kitchen area. Virginia, in a focused panic, broke the bedroom windows and started to lower her children to the ground outside, first Randy and then six-year-old John. As the flames grew, she handed off her five-month-old daughter Brittany to the boys outside and sprinted back down the hall to save her other two children, Ashley Sue, just two and a half years old, and Jesse James, 17 months. But the smoke was too thick, and the flames scorched her skin and hair. Virginia couldn't make it. She couldn't save her two babies. Ashley and Jesse died of smoke inhalation. The cause of the fire was officially determined to be a leaking pump on the hot air furnace. To this day, Virginia's family questions what actually happened that

night given the circumstances, given the fight that pushed Larry out of the house. The details have always seemed suspicious to the Pictou family. A marriage already plagued by abuse sank deeper into darkness with the tragic loss of two children. Virginia turned to the spirituality and rituals of her culture. She'd always been proud of her Mi'kmaq heritage, and it provided comfort to her in mourning. She steeped sweetgrass in her bathwater to ease her sorrows. Sweetgrass is a sacred Micmac medicine, with a sweet-smelling smoke that's often used in smudging. Larry, who was white, not Micmac, he told the Bangor Daily News he didn't like the rituals that Virginia and her family practiced as part of their culture. Despite all of that, the pair stayed together.

And they were together, along with Larry's law-breaking brother Roger, at a bar in Bangor, Maine, the night were in Bangor for a night out and a night off. They were visiting Larry and Roger's father, and they hit up a bar on State Street that night. After the tragedy in by 1993, Virginia and Larry had had two more kids. Being a mother of five is exhausting just to think about, so no one could blame the just 26-year-old Virginia for wanting to enjoy herself out with her husband and brother-in-law in the city, Bangor being the closest thing resembling a city in northern Maine. Over the course of several beers, Larry and Roger got progressively more intoxicated and belligerent. It was all a good time until, according to Larry, Roger leaned over and slapped Virginia on the butt,

in a way that seemed a little too familiar, he said. Larry had always suspected that maybe his brother and his wife had some sort of relationship in the past. He even alluded to the idea that one of the babies who died in that fire was the daughter of Roger, though the rumor could have been Larry's own invention. What Roger did so casually to his wife in the middle of that Bangor bar triggered the already booze-soaked and belligerent Larry. When Virginia started to sense one of Larry's outbursts coming on, she made her way towards the exit looking for some fresh air, but she didn't make it out the door on her own. Reports say Larry was just a few paces behind her, close enough to kick her square in the back and send her falling face

first onto the State Street sidewalk. According to her family and testimony given at the National Inquiry hearings, both Larry and Roger assaulted Virginia. Her brother said, quote, two full-grown men pinned down a 125-pound woman and they're physically beating her on the street and nobody does nothing. It tells you of the mindset when it comes to our indigenous women in this area, end quote. Someone from inside the bar shouted that they'd called the police. That's when, reports say, Larry and Roger dragged Virginia behind the building and continued beating her in the face and head. When police and emergency responders finally arrived, Virginia had escaped the two men and she was sitting on the curb, bruised, bloody, and sobbing. Police tried to question Virginia, find

out who attacked her, and she initially told the officer that it was her husband Larry and his brother Roger. But as Larry rounded the corner and approached Virginia during that interview, she frantically changed her story. She said Larry had nothing to do with it. It was just Roger. Police later reported that it was obvious Virginia was afraid of her husband. And it's for that reason the responding officer told Virginia she could, and she should, file a restraining order against him. Virginia had endured years of abuse and domestic violence. She was caught in a cycle of fear, of leaving and returning again, controlled and manipulated by her abuser each time she attempted to escape for good. It could not have been easy to say yes to that officer, to pursue a restraining order and potentially face

even more violence and pain when Larry found out. But she put her trust in the officer. Virginia agreed. She needed to file a restraining order. As officers arrested Larry and loaded him into the squad car, Larry pounded the windows with his feet and screamed through the closed windows at his wife. Roger was not arrested, but he was charged with assault. Virginia, still shaking and bleeding, gave her statement to police before they transported her to Eastern Maine Medical Center. Later in the night, Larry posted his bail, and he said that he returned to that same bar on State Street looking for his wife and brother, but found neither. Larry said he had no idea that Virginia was in the hospital or that Roger had

apparently found a ride home from Bangor up to the county on his own. Larry said he waited in his car, the one they'd all driven to Bangor in, until 4.30 in the morning on April 24, 1993. Then, he told police, he set off towards Easton, stopping at every rest area and truck stop on his way back, keeping his eyes peeled for his brother and wife. Larry made it back to Easton, without Roger or Virginia, by 6.45 that morning. Around the same time that Larry was beginning his drive home from Bangor to Easton, the phone rang back at Virginia and Larry's house. The babysitter answered. It was Virginia, and she needed a ride. There wasn't much the babysitter could do, though. She was at home with their five children, and Larry wasn't home yet either.

It's believed that Virginia made that phone call from a truck stop in Holton. How she made it from the hospital in Bangor to the truck stop in Holton isn't known or publicly released. Virginia made a few more calls, hoping to find someone who could pick her up and get her home to her babies as quickly as possible. It was only a 45-minute drive. She'd already made it a majority of the way home.

But when Larry came through the door at quarter of seven that morning, Virginia still hadn't made it back. He told police he waited all day for her to return, but there was no sign of her. No more phone calls. Nothing. On Monday, April 25th, Larry called the Maine State Police to report Virginia's supicto noise missing.

When Virginia's family heard their sister, their daughter, hadn't been seen since the night she was brutally attacked by her husband, the same man who repeatedly abused her, The same man she was so afraid of? We sprang into action, they said. Robert Pictou Jr., Virginia's brother, described their earliest efforts to find his sister in his public testimony, saying, My sister Agnes actually got in the car with my brother David, and they drove, I think I clocked it out, it was like 450 kilometers from the distance of where she They exhausted their resources making posters. Robert Pictou Jr. said, And so that's what we did. A bunch of copies. Agnes was the one who put that together.

And we put out flyers immediately because we got no help. We searched near lakes, rivers, fields, forests, abandoned buildings, the swamp near her home in Easton, anywhere where someone might dump a body because we know in our heart, we know that she's gone, end quote. The lead detective for the state police at the start of the investigation was James Madore. He told the media that from the beginning, Larry and Roger Noyes were key persons of interest, and yet no charges were ever filed against them. No forensic evidence that police could find pointed to their involvement in Virginia's disappearance. Mador recalled in an interview with George Barrera for the CBC that the Noyes brothers did submit to a polygraph test. While he couldn't remember or wouldn't disclose the

specific results, he did share that Larry's answers weren't exactly truthful when they questioned him about the night and early morning Virginia was last seen alive. If I'm being honest, not much was reported in the media about the police involvement or official investigation into this case at the time. That's not to say the investigation wasn't active in 1993 and 1994 and those years immediately following her disappearance, but in comparison to other cold cases I've researched, the media archive on this case is actually quite slim. The most in-depth reporting isn't until recent years when the case garnered new attention thanks to social media, but I'll share that in a moment. On September 7th, 1994, more than a year later, a man was walking his dog

between the Marsh and Penobscot rivers on the Prospect-Frankfurt line when his dog veered off the path and returned with something in his mouth. As he ordered the pup to drop the object, the man realized it was a human skull. The medical examiner later determined the skull to be that of a young woman, and while they were cautiously hopeful that the unsettling discovery might lead to answers in Virginia's case, the skull was determined to not be hers. Virginia's brother, Robert, said in his testimony for the National Inquiry into Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, quote, We searched fields. We searched swamps. We talked to family. We did our own investigation. We hired private investigators.

We've gone to psychics. We've done sweat lodges. We've done ceremony. We've done shaking tent. We've done pipe ceremony. All in search to find my sister. But it's gone nowhere, end quote. Over 18 years passed without a single solid development in the disappearance of Virginia Sue Pictou-Noise. Then, in 2011, an old friend brought new attention to the case with the formation of a Facebook group. As I researched these cases for Dark Down East, one of the first places I look to for information is social media. Once I have the names and dates and locations, I search those names in hopes of turning up a relative or even an investigator who might be willing to share their memories of the victim and the details of the case. So often I find groups like the one I found in this case, named The Search for Virginia Sue Pictou Noise. They're usually private to protect the members, but with a message to explain who I am and why I'd like to

join, the moderators usually accept me into their closed community. I joined this group for Virginia and shared my mission with the members. I know hearing the story of a loved one on a podcast or seeing their name in any media without warning has the potential to resurface old trauma, and that's always at the front of my mind when I research these cases and approach the people closest. My posts in the group received likes and hearts and positive reactions, and I scrolled the old discussion threads and posts by the moderators, hoping to learn every precious detail I could about Virginia and her family. Jamie Lee Owens started that original group in 2011, and it was then that the surge of new information and tips began to surface. One piece of information that she quickly shared with detectives was a chat thread between herself and Ryan Noyce, Roger Noyce Jr.'s son. According to a report by the CBC,

Ryan Noyes suggested that his father, along with Larry, and one other person, killed Virginia. The car Larry was driving at the time was later burned inside a barn in Easton, Maine, not long after Virginia disappeared. I scoured news archives for any stories containing the keywords car and fire and barn in Easton, Maine, but I came up empty-handed. When the CBC approached Ryan Noyes to ask him about the car and his theories about what happened

to Virginia, he declined to comment. Then in December 2011, Larry Noyes himself joined and commented inside the group dedicated to uncovering the truth in his wife's disappearance. He said in his post that Virginia had left a note before she disappeared and that he had handed that note over to the lead detective at the time. The CBC shared his post in a 2017 article. Larry posted, quote, The note said, I am leaving April or August 1993,

and I'll be back when my children turn 18. Ask James Mador for the letter. He was the head detective of my wife's disappearance. End quote. James Mador, he had no recollection of this note when he was interviewed by the CBC in 2017. The note, whether real or fake, was a story Larry loved to tell. He even shared it with Virginia's youngest daughter, Lene, who told the Bangor Daily News that on her 18th birthday, quote, I waited all day and she didn't show up, end quote.

After Virginia disappeared, the domestic assault charges against Larry Noyes and Roger Noyes Jr. were dropped. As the victim, Virginia would have also been the key witness, so without her, there was no case. The two never faced the consequences for their attack on Virginia the night she disappeared. In spite of everything that occurred between Virginia and Larry, he continued to care for Virginia's children with the help of his family, until a few years later when he was once again arrested on charges not related to her disappearance. The kids were placed in foster care, but Virginia's family says they were not contacted about the children being placed with other families, or even informed when the three daughters were adopted. In 2017, when Virginia's daughters, Linnae, Brittany, and Miley, were all in their late teens and early 20s,

they reached out to the Pictou family. They told their Aunt Agnes about the abuse they'd suffered when they lived with Larry, how horrible those years were with Larry before he was arrested and they were adopted. The three daughters asked about their mother. Reconnecting with her nieces was special and welcomed, but Agnes was critical of the system that removed those children from her life in the

first place. Agnes had always helped care for Virginia's children when they needed it. And yet she says she was never contacted when Larry was arrested and the children were taken away. She said in her testimony, quote, those children were taken from the tribe and they were put in homes that were not Mi'kmaq or anything. They changed their last names. We were not allowed any contact at all with these children that are part of our family. Agnes continued in her testimony for the National Inquiry into the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, quote, We were not told where these children were. Now they come to us.

They come to us when they want a ceremony. They come to us saying, teach us our way again. Teach us a little bit of our language. Teach us about some of those ancestor legends. So we're kind of bringing the children back into the fold. Every year in the month of April, those children are re-traumatized by being asked by the state officials, have you seen your mother? Have you heard from your mother? But us as a family are not informed, end quote. James Medore was no longer the lead detective on Virginia's case

when the CBC interviewed him in 2017. Still, he shared his view of the open, two decades old cold case, saying, quote, In my opinion, Virginia disappeared at the hands of Larry, but that's my opinion only. If I'd had the evidence to arrest Larry, I would've. Everything pointed toward Larry, end quote. And yet, even today in 2020, 27 years after she left her hospital room and made her way to Holton for that final phone call home, desperate for a ride back to her children, we still have no answers in the search for Virginia Sue Pictou-Noise. According to her Charlie Project listing, Roger Noyes Jr. died in 2009.

In 2011, Larry pleaded guilty to several domestic violence charges unrelated to Virginia's case. In 2017, Larry was homeless, suffering from serious health problems, and he used a wheelchair for mobility. He died of liver failure in the summer of 2018. Virginia's brother Francis tried to reach Larry in the days before he died.

He was the last person, the family believed, who knew where they could find Virginia. Francis was hopeful for a deathbed confession, but until his very last breath, Larry denied killing Virginia. Francis said, To us, she's missing. To the guy that killed her, she's not missing. He put her someplace. He put her someplace, so to him, she's not missing because he knows where she is. End quote. Virginia's sister Agnes told the Bangor Daily News, quote, As we say in our culture, justice will be served if you wait.

When the timing is right, someone will say something and that will be the end of it. They will find her. I feel peace about that. Waiting is the hardest part, end quote. 27 years, and still waiting. Thank you for listening to Dark Down East. Sources for this case and others, including links to all individual articles and resources that i turned to to tell this story are listed in the show notes at darkdowneast.com

i invite you to do some more digging and reading on your own subscribing and reviewing dark down east is free and it not only supports this show it's the best way to ensure that you never miss an episode of maine and new england true crime Do me a favor, if you leave a review after hearing this episode, can you put a lobster emoji in your review so I know this is where you came from? If you have a story or a case I should cover, I'd love to hear from you at darkdowneast at gmail.com. Follow along with the show at darkdowneast.com and on Instagram at darkdowneast. And thank you again for supporting this show and allowing me to do what I do. I'm honored to use this platform for the families and friends of those who have lost their loved ones

and for those who are still searching for answers in cold missing persons and murder cases. I'm not about to let those names or their stories get lost with time. I'm Kylie Lowe, and this is Dark Down East.