Murder of undercover cop sent ripples through Midlothian still felt 30 years later

The gunshots rang out as darkness fell that drizzly autumn night on a field where three Midlothian High School students had shared a joint.

Two of them headed back to the road to catch their pre-arranged ride. One was the son of a Dallas police officer. The other had a fascination with the occult and Satanism.

Left behind in the field was a classmate they’d just killed, an undercover police officer who’d been posing as a student since the start of that school year to root out drugs on campus.

Thirty years have passed since 21-year-old George William Raffield Jr. was gunned down on the job on Oct. 23, 1987. His sister can’t stop asking why.

“It’s still very real,” said Sheryl Raffield, 52, who is reminded about the crime each year when one of her brother’s killers gets considered for parole.

{“type”:”video”,”title”:”Dallas News Video”,”author_name”:”Dallas News”,”_id”:”k0c3gyZDE6Sr5h3MD4iCW8Lyga5w5Jtz”,”provider_name”:”Ooyala”,”html”:”

“,”raw”:”{”type”:”video”,”title”:”Dallas News Video”,”author_name”:”Dallas News”,”_id”:”k0c3gyZDE6Sr5h3MD4iCW8Lyga5w5Jtz”,”provider_name”:”Ooyala”,”html”:”u003Cdiv class=”oo-vid-container” data-oo-content-id=”k0c3gyZDE6Sr5h3MD4iCW8Lyga5w5Jtz”u003Eu003C/divu003Eu003Cscript defer src=”https://www.dallasnews.com/resources/motif/dist/js/ooyala.js”u003Eu003C/scriptu003E”}”,”providerType”:”ooyala”,”providerLink”:”https://www.dallasnews.com/oembed”,”embedType”:”video”}

Killing a police officer is a capital crime in Texas, but the teenagers responsible didn’t get capital punishment, Raffield said. Instead, Greg Knighten, who was 16, and Richard Goeglein, who was 17, were both sentenced in 1988 to 45 years in prison for murder with a deadly weapon. Since 1999, when the two became eligible, the parole board has denied their early release.

“I will do everything in my power to keep them behind bars,” said Raffield, who asked that her maiden name be used because she doesn’t want the killers tracking her down once they’re released. “The fact that they got 45 years? It’s a gift.”

No danger

The murder came at a time when the federal government was pushing the war on drugs. The DARE program — Drug Abuse Resistance Education — had launched in 1983. Three years later, first lady Nancy Reagan initiated the “Just Say No” campaign to discourage drug use.

And April 1987 brought the premiere of the TV show 21 Jump Street, which featured youthful-looking cops going undercover in schools to combat crime, including drugs.

Raffield’s execution-style slaying made national news. Media flocked to the tiny Ellis County town of Midlothian to focus on the impact of drugs in small-town America. It was also the subject of a true crime novel, a children’s book and the push for more drug awareness education.

In the days before the shooting, rumors flowed throughout Midlothian High School that Raffield was an undercover narcotics officer. One student stood him up rather than deliver the $50 worth of marijuana Raffield arranged to buy. When Raffield confronted him, the student slapped him and accused him of being a “narc.” Raffield didn’t fight back.

Midlothian police said in news accounts after the shooting that rumors about narcs on high school campuses were not uncommon. They didn’t believe Raffield was in danger. And, apparently, neither did he.

‘These are just kids’

Known as Tiger to his family, George Raffield had long dreamed of being a police officer.

He was part of the Texas Department of Public Safety Explorer Program at Mesquite High School, where he graduated in 1985. The following year, he completed the basic police officer proficiency course at Tarrant County Junior College.

His first full-time job, as an officer with the Wilmer Police Department, didn’t last more than a few months. He was fired after wrecking two patrol cars in two days.

He found work as a reserve officer and dispatcher for the Red Oak Police Department. But he wanted back on the streets. So when Midlothian’s new police chief offered him the undercover job with the promise of a later transfer to patrol, the rookie jumped on it.

He spent a month training with the Dallas Police Department’s narcotics division. He shaved his mustache and enrolled as a senior at Midlothian High under the name George Moore, his stepfather’s last name.

{“type”:”video”,”title”:”Dallas News Video”,”author_name”:”Dallas News”,”_id”:”1rNWozZDE6Da9mWtGbRxt6Dlo7f-h3aZ”,”provider_name”:”Ooyala”,”html”:”

“,”raw”:”{”type”:”video”,”title”:”Dallas News Video”,”author_name”:”Dallas News”,”_id”:”1rNWozZDE6Da9mWtGbRxt6Dlo7f-h3aZ”,”provider_name”:”Ooyala”,”html”:”u003Cdiv class=”oo-vid-container” data-oo-content-id=”1rNWozZDE6Da9mWtGbRxt6Dlo7f-h3aZ”u003Eu003C/divu003Eu003Cscript defer src=”https://www.dallasnews.com/resources/motif/dist/js/ooyala.js”u003Eu003C/scriptu003E”}”,”providerType”:”ooyala”,”providerLink”:”https://www.dallasnews.com/oembed”,”embedType”:”video”}

In Carlton Stowers’ 1990 book Innocence Lost, Raffield’s fiancée, Martha Asbury, recalled his excitement about his first drug buy. She warned him to be careful.

“Hell, these are just kids,” said Raffield, just two years removed from high school himself.

A ‘fall partner’

It didn’t take long for Raffield to hook up with Knighten, nicknamed Sparky. Knighten took advantage of Raffield’s willingness to drive him to Dallas to make frequent drug buys.

Knighten was described in news stories at the time as a distant and rebellious teen. He was also the son of a now-retired Dallas police officer.

Greg Knighten declined a recent interview request from The Dallas Morning News. Now 46, he is assigned to the state prison’s McConnell Unit in Beeville, north of Corpus Christi.

Knighten and Goeglein had known each other only a few weeks. Goeglein’s family had moved from Arizona that summer of 1987. Goeglein’s sister was dating Jonathan Jobe, Knighten’s neighbor and friend. It was Jobe who introduced Goeglein to the teen he now calls his “fall partner.”

Goeglein, 47, spoke to The News earlier this month from behind the clear glass in the visitors room at the state’s Telford Unit in New Boston. Tattoos from his early years in prison snake down his arms to his fingers, from his neck to his chest.

He said he doesn’t talk about his Satanic beliefs anymore, preferring to keep them personal because they are so often misunderstood. When asked for details, he referred to the writings of the late Anton LaVey, known as the founder of the Church of Satan.

But Goeglein made it clear that his beliefs weren’t responsible for Raffield’s death. He said he has had a long time to think about that fateful night.

“I’m not that dumb kid anymore,” he said. “I didn’t think it was real. I really didn’t.”

Hatching a plot

Suspicions that Raffield might be an undercover police officer soon reached Cynthia Fedrick, a 23-year-old single mother with a drug habit who allowed high school students to hang out at her Midlothian apartment and use drugs.

When Knighten stopped by one evening with Raffield, Fedrick pulled Knighten aside. That is believed to be the beginning of the plot to kill the cop. In an interview with The News in 1997, Fedrick said she told Knighten to keep Raffield away from her and to stop coming by her place.

“I never told nobody ever in my life to kill nobody,” Fedrick said at the time.

She later pleaded guilty to conspiracy to commit capital murder. Fedrick served about 20 months in prison but was sent back for another four years after a parole violation. She died in 2005 at age 40 after what her obituary described as “a long battle.”

The killing field

Goeglein said Knighten was the one who came up with the plan. It involved one of his father’s guns.

When Raffield stopped by Knighten’s house on the evening of Oct. 23, 1987, the teen explained that they were going to buy drugs and that Goeglein was coming along.

Raffield followed Knighten’s directions as he drove his red pickup south of town, turned off FM875 onto a makeshift road and parked. They turned on some heavy metal music, pulled the tailgate down and sat there.

Goeglein said they’d been out there about 30 minutes, getting high. Nothing was happening.

“Come on, man. It’s time to go,” Goeglein remembered saying as he climbed back into the truck’s cab.

Raffield started walking to the driver’s side. That’s when Knighten pulled out the gun and fired three shots, Goeglein said.

“I looked back at Knighten, and he’s in shock, too,” Goeglein said.

The autopsy would later show that Raffield was killed instantly by a shot to the back of the head. A second shot grazed his scalp. The third one missed.

Knighten ordered Goeglein to get Raffield’s wallet. Goeglein said he didn’t argue.

Three decades later, he still struggles to describe what was going through his mind.

“It’s a feeling…” he said, “when you know you’ve crossed over, you’ve crossed a major line.”

Knighten and Goeglein walked back to the main road, where Jobe picked them up as planned. The trio split the $18 in Raffield’s wallet and headed to Fedrick’s place. Goeglein said Fedrick threw the wallet in the trash.

Jobe later pleaded guilty to a charge of conspiracy to commit murder and spent less than two years in prison. He couldn’t be reached for comment.

‘Whole world just collapsed’

The search for Raffield started about 3 a.m. He hadn’t checked back in with his supervisor. He hadn’t come home either, his fiancée told police.

Sheryl Raffield said her parents, now deceased, bought a police scanner that morning so they could keep tabs on the search. About 4 p.m., a Department of Public Safety helicopter spotted the officer’s red pickup in a wooded area south of Midlothian. His body was lying face down in the grass. The voice over the scanner confirmed the family’s worst fears.

TV news reports followed shortly after that with aerial footage from the scene that the family wasn’t prepared to see.

“Our whole world just collapsed,” Sheryl Raffield said.

Police arrested Goeglein at his house that afternoon. They later picked up Knighten on a hayride with his girlfriend. Both faced capital murder charges in the killing of a cop.

In the days after Raffield’s death, investigators would find a number of teens who had heard about Knighten’s threats against the officer. Even more surprising to authorities was the number of students who learned Raffield had actually been killed and didn’t tell a parent or call police.

“No one said anything,” Sheryl Raffield said.

‘What’s done is done’

Knighten’s seven-day trial the following year was a circus with media everywhere, according to Sheryl Raffield. Testimony went back and forth about whether Knighten knew Raffield was a sworn police officer or simply an informant.

For jurors, it was the difference between capital murder, which carries a life sentence, and murder. The death penalty was not an option because Knighten was a juvenile at the time of the slaying.

Goeglein agreed to testify against Knighten in exchange for a 50-year sentence. His punishment was reduced to 45 years when jurors decided on that sentence for Knighten. Even after the trial, many were still convinced that it was Goeglein, not Knighten, who fired the fatal shots.

“It really doesn’t matter,” Goeglein told The News. “What’s done is done.”

An eerie premonition

Midlothian Assistant Police Chief Kevin Johnson said many of the officers who knew Raffield have moved on or passed away. But there has been a resurgence within the police department in the past decade or so to keep the rookie’s memory alive.

A few years ago, the police association raised enough money to commission a portrait of Raffield and Officer Heather Phares, who was killed in a 2014 car wreck. The portraits by James Spurlock were dedicated at a Midlothian City Council meeting in August. They now hang inside the police department.

Each year, the George Raffield Memorial Scholarship is awarded to a Midlothian High senior. The five-page application calls for a short essay explaining how Raffield’s work has influenced student applicants to be drug-free.

Sheryl Raffield, who recently moved back to North Texas, said her son reminds her a lot of her late brother. Nick Zanolini, 27, served four years in the U.S. Marines and is now eyeing police work, possibly in Midlothian.

“I want to continue my uncle’s legacy,” Zanolini said. “I want to help the community.”

He knows just like his uncle did that the pull toward public service can be difficult to ignore. George Raffield couldn’t see himself doing anything else. As a senior in high school, he wrote his own obituary.

He wrote of the things that people should consider during a lifetime before noting, in an eerie premonition, that he would die in the line of duty by being “shot in the back, killed instantly.”