Looking back, it seemed that Beverly Jarosz had sensed that Death wanted her.

A vague sense of impending danger first stirred in the summer of 1964, around the time the 16 year old received an anonymous present tucked into the back door of her family's house in Garfield Heights. It was a gift-wrapped box from Higbee's, tied up in a blue ribbon and marked "To Bev." Inside were a silver bracelet and ring, but no indication of who had sent them. There were a lot of young men in the neighborhood who wanted to date her. It could have been any one of them. But the anonymity made the gesture more frightening than thrilling.

She took to locking the doors when she got home from school and making sure the curtains were snugly shut before dark. She bought an ornate letter opener - more of a knife, really - and kept it on the desk by the door that led downstairs. "Just in case," she told her little sister, Carol.

She seemed to take an interest in divining the future, reading books on parapsychology and palm reading. She ruminated on death in poems that she wrote in a small black book. Carol remembers her saying once, "Someone will want to publish these when I'm dead."

Still, the summer and fall passed uneventfully, and by the end of 1964, things were looking up. Bev was dating a college boy, a young Republican named Roger McNamara. He was well-mannered, a far cry from her first love, Dan Schulte, whose idea of a date was making out behind the local car wash. Roger was reserved, a proper Catholic who attended Latin Mass and spoke out against the liberal tenets of Vatican II. Bev's family approved, and Bev particularly enjoyed attending parties at Roger's fraternity and meeting his educated friends.

But her new happiness was short lived. Death finally caught up with Bev on Dec. 28, 1964.

The Jarosz (pronounced Jar-rose) family lived in a modest two-story home on Thorton Avenue in Garfield Heights, where nearly identical houses were packed tightly together in neat little rows, separated by driveways and fronted by well-kept lawns. Residents knew their neighbors and often invited them over for dinner.

Bev's mom, Eleanor, worked in a local office; she was one of the few women in the neighborhood who worked outside the home. Bev's father, Ted, was the co-owner of a small lighting and manufacturing firm, but had a real knack for woodworking. In his spare time, he built toys and chests. Over a couple years, he slowly renovated the entire second floor of his house, converting it into a shared bedroom for his two daughters. He constructed everything in duplicate so that neither felt slighted. Each had her own dresser, mirror and wooden nook beside her bed to store little girl treasures. And each had a bookcase; Bev's contained the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe. Between their beds was a nightstand that they shared.

In late 1964, Bev's sister, Carol, was a seventh grader at St. Therese. Usually, when Bev was asked out on a date, she asked Carol what she thought of the boy before she accepted. They were a close family, one with no secrets.

Bev herself was a striking young woman with blue-gray eyes and a womanly figure. She preferred jazz to the Beatles, and she often visited the Cleveland Museum of Art, spending hours there by herself. She attended Marymount High, a private Catholic school, where she was a member of the Future Teachers club. She studied Latin. She volunteered at the local hospital. In the summers, she liked to sunbathe in the backyard and read books. By all accounts, she was intelligent and well-liked.

Which made it all the more shocking that her murder was so hateful, so violent.

Carol later gave detectives a detailed account of her sister's last day. "Monday, December 28, Bev and I got up about 8:30, 9 o'clock. We had breakfast and then washed dishes from the night before."

The dishes were left over from the small gathering in the Jarosz home the previous evening. Their neighbors on both sides, the Webers and the Zumgulises, had come over for snacks and drinks, a Christmastime tradition. Bev had come in and out during the party, leaving briefly at the end of the night for a short car ride with Roger McNamara.

After the dishes were done, the girls got dressed and left the house around 10:15 a.m. Bev wore slacks and a white blouse with a black cardigan. Carol walked with Bev first to Woolworth's to pick up a hairnet for their grandmother, then to Hough Bakery for some bread. At about 10:45, they arrived at Grandma Vanek's and ate lunch, ham sandwiches and coffee. Bev told Carol that she was going to return home and meet up with a friend named Barb Klonowski at 12:30. Bev and Barb were going to visit another friend named Margie Gorney for the afternoon. Around 12:15, a young man named James Mondzelewski, who lived next door to Bev's grandmother, drove her home while Carol stayed with Grandma Vanek.

At 1 p.m., Bev called her mom at work. The call was brief. Bev said she had to go because Barb was supposed to be there any minute and she still needed to change.

Barb arrived at the Jarosz house at 1:20 and walked to the side door, beside the driveway. She noticed that the storm door was closed but that the inner door was open to the kitchen, which was strange, because Bev always kept both doors closed and locked. She could hear classical music blaring from the radio in the family room. Barb rang the doorbell three times but Bev didn't answer. She assumed that Bev couldn't hear the bell over the radio, so she tried to open the glass storm door, but it seemed to be locked, so she went around front.

Barb rang the front doorbell and this time she distinctly heard a sound from upstairs, like a dresser drawer being opened loudly. She figured Bev was getting dressed so she pulled a magazine from the mailbox and sat on the steps. When Bev didn't come to the door after several more minutes, Barb wondered if Bev was mad at her for being late. So she gave up and started walking home again.

Back at home, Barb tried to call Bev on the phone, but no one answered. Then Margie, the friend Bev and Barb were supposed to visit, called Barb's house to see where they were. When Barb told her that Bev had stood her up, Margie called Bev's grandmother to see if she was there. When Grandma Vanek got no answer at the Jarosz home either, she called Bev's father at work.

Ted rushed home, pulling into the driveway at 4:10. He found the side storm door unlocked, the inner door still open. The radio was still playing loudly inside. Upstairs, he discovered the lifeless body of his daughter lying facedown in a pool of blood on the floor beside her bed.

The scene was horrific. Bev's blouse and bra were pulled up over her breasts. Her slacks and underwear had been yanked down, and her backside was riddled with deep gashes. Her left hand was tucked under her body and her right hand was at her neck, where she had received another deep stab wound. A length of rope was wrapped around her neck. Above the bed, where the ceiling slanted low from the pitch of the roof, was a large hole in the plaster, possibly created as she kicked at her attacker during the struggle.

An autopsy determined that Bev had been stabbed over 40 times. But the cause of death was the rope - a clothesline, tied with a square knot. Her murderer had become so violent that he accidentally cut part of the rope as he stabbed her and a piece of it was still wrapped in her fingers.

Among the first people interviewed by investigators was James Mondzelewski, who had driven Bev home that day. He said the whole trip had lasted 15 minutes, after which he returned home, changed his clothes and had a bite to eat. Later, he had driven Mrs. Vanek to the Jarosz home to be with the family after Bev's body was discovered. There was nothing in his character for police to question and he was quickly ruled out.

But almost every other man in Garfield Heights was a potential suspect and many had the means, motive and opportunity to commit the crime. At that time, more men were home during the day than usual, due to a strike at White Motor Co. And as police canvassed the neighborhood, they learned the names of several young men who had taken Bev on dates, and even more who had been rejected.

They questioned a 21-year-old college student who lived directly behind Bev's house, after detectives discovered a note that Bev had written to Margie that read: "Bruce came over to see what I looked like when I'm not dressed. I have my blue robe on and my hair is still in curlers." But the man had a decent alibi, and Margie admitted to detectives that it wouldn't be unusual for Bev to make up the affair. She sometimes wrote about daring situations, Margie said, "because nothing ever happened to her."

Police also looked at a cousin of Barb's who had once dated Bev until she broke it off. "I feel sorry for Stanley because he's so misunderstood, troubled, and disturbed," Bev had written. But that didn't pan out, either. They questioned another young man whose mother had bad-mouthed Bev after the girl had dumped her son. They looked closely at every male who had been seen at the house: the grocery-bagger at the local A&P, the boy in her typing class who gave her rides home, and countless other would-be suitors.

They interviewed 19-year-old John Paliyan, who lived two doors down from the Jarosz house. He was home alone the day of the murder and admitted eyeing Bev whenever she sunbathed in the backyard.

Slowly, the investigation narrowed to those closest to Bev.

After talking to family members, detectives took a look at Bev's former steady, Dan Schulte. He had dropped out of high school to join the Air Force but was back in town for Christmas. He was dating a new girl, but Bev's friends believed that he still pined for her, to their chagrin. They considered him a bad influence. He had showed up at Bev's viewing with a girl at his side but later returned alone and sat quietly by himself.

While on leave, Schulte had picked up some part-time work and was able to produce a timecard that showed he was on the clock when Bev was murdered. But the woman who lived next door to him told police that she had seen him come home that day and run inside in a hurry. So Schulte was given a lie-detector test, which he passed.

Roger McNamara told investigators that he had been home sick. He too passed a lie detector test. But the next day, Det. William Horrigan told the Cleveland Press, "There are some elements to his present story that bother some of us."

There was little physical evidence to go on. Fingerprints lifted from Bev's bedroom could not be matched to family or close friends, nor to any suspects. Strands of Bev's hair were found in a bush behind the house, suggesting that the murderer had escaped via the back door. The knife-like letter opener was missing.

The coroner determined that Bev had not been raped - in fact, she had never even had sex, which raised some important questions. Was it possible that her friend Barb had interrupted the attack when she rang the doorbell? Or was the scene staged to look like a sexual assault?

There was one other odd clue: Bev had apparently received a phone call when she was home alone the day of her murder. She had written a message for her father that she had placed next to the phone: "Stephen Stackowicz called. Will call back later." But her father didn't know anyone by that name. And Stackowicz never did call back. Detectives theorized that it may have been the killer, calling to make sure Bev was home alone.

As the leads grew cold, police consulted a specialist who provided them with a detailed profile of the killer's mind. "The killer may have been attracted to the girl by some feature that reminded him of his mother's face," the report said. "He has a fear of being rejected. The killer would justify the act to himself by believing the girl was making him feel sick and this was the only way to cure himself." There were at least a few suspects who fit that profile.

Reporters interviewed a neighbor named James Krawczyk, who claimed to have seen the killer run away from the Jarosz house. He was home because of the White Motor strike and his wife confirmed to journalists that he often stood by the window, looking out toward Thorton Avenue But Krawczyk later admitted to police that he had made up the story to get his name in the paper.

On Jan. 11, 1965, a 17-year-old boy from the neighborhood committed suicide. Many quickly assumed he was responsible and had taken his life because he was overwhelmed with guilt. But police found that the boy had been working at the time of the murder and that he had no direct connection to Bev.

Eventually, the tips generated by the media coverage slowed to a trickle. Garfield Heights detectives continued to follow every lead, one dead-end after another. They spent years on the case. It became personal to the home-grown investigators who devoted their time to finding Bev's killer. But there was never enough evidence to charge anyone with the crime, though Det. Horrigan believed he knew who did it. "I had who I was convinced was the killer the second day after the murder," he told a Plain Dealer reporter in 1989. "He passed several interrogations. I hope one day he'll blow his top and talk."

Garfield Heights is still a blue-collar town, though most of the factories that once employed its residents have closed. Serious crimes have risen steadily over the years, as the city moved closer to the suburb. But Thorton Avenue still looks the same. The houses and lawns are still well-maintained. And inside the Raymond Stackowicz Justice Center, detectives are working the Beverly Jarosz case again.

This time around, the investigation is being led by Capt. Robert Sackett and Det. Carl Biegacki, two men who grew up in Garfield Heights and who understand the community intimately. Sackett is friendly and quick to smile, a wiry man who likes his job. Above his desk is a hand-crafted wooden train, made by Ted Jarosz. Biegacki ("common spelling," he jokes) is more stoic, with a dry sense of humor but a similar affection for his tough occupation.

The pair reopened the Jarosz case in 2004, hoping that advances in DNA might yield new clues. They asked "six or seven" people to submit DNA and requested the coroner's office to test evidence for the presence of DNA as well. The suspects complied and that evidence is being compared to a possible DNA profile of Bev's killer, extracted from material left behind at the crime scene. But this isn't CSI. Thoroughly testing DNA takes months, and the results are often not as conclusive as investigators would like.

The detectives also pored over the old case files and newspaper clippings, searching for overlooked details that might unlock the riddle. They know more than they'll say publicly, but will reveal some of what they've come to believe.

"This was a blitz-style attack on her," says Biegacki. "He definitely came from behind with the rope, which was prepared before he got there."

"We think it is someone she knew," Sackett continues. "There wasn't a struggle on the first floor. All the violence is upstairs, which leads you to believe she let this person into the house. But what's this guy's real intent? Was it rape or was it murder?"

"Why did he bring two weapons?" asks Biegacki, meaning the rope and whatever instrument he used to stab her 40 times. It's unusual for someone to bring two murder weapons to a crime scene. It's possible, the detective concedes, that the killer saw the letter-opener on the nightstand, and used it when Bev fought back harder than he expected, but the deep wounds suggest it was probably a knife.

Quickly, their passion for solving this case and their frustration from not yet having done so becomes evident. They could theorize forever about intent, but it brings them no closer to a resolution. Det. Horrigan, who passed away in 2004, spent a good portion of his life hoping for a resolution that never came. It must have been even harder for him.

"I know how not solving this makes me feel," says Sackett, shaking his head.

"It drives you crazy," says Biegacki. "But you can only do your best with what you have on your desk."

Sackett and Biegacki had been quietly reviewing the case for a couple months when a caller mentioned a familiar name: John Paliyan.

Paliyan was the young man who'd lived a couple doors away from the Jarosz home and who'd admitted to watching Bev when she lay out in the summer sun.

Paliyan submitted to a lie detector test in 1965. The results were inconclusive. Even more interesting, a co-worker claims that Paliyan had asked him how to beat a polygraph. But apparently these details were forgotten over time, as the leads on the Jarosz case grew into the thousands.

Free Times approached Paliyan at his house in early January. He's a husky man, bald on top. He chewed on a thin cigar as he talked. He immediately responded that any request for an interview should go through his lawyer, Jay Milano. "I have a big mouth," he said. "So the lawyer told me not to talk to anyone without talking to him first. And I'm paying him, so you know. I should call him."

He said he hired the well-known defense attorney after being contacted by detectives from Garfield Heights in 2005. He claimed he was being framed and that there was a cover-up going on. Paliyan also said his sister had been questioned, and so Free Times visited her as well.

Paliyan's sister did not talk to us, but her husband did. He's still angry at the way Garfield Heights detectives came to his wife's work and interrogated her for over an hour before putting her in a cruiser to take her to the station for more questioning. According to him, the detectives wanted to know if she had disposed of the murder weapon for her brother. But his wife contacted an attorney on her cell phone on the way to the station, and on the advice of that lawyer, asked to be dropped off before they got to Garfield Heights.

"It's nonsense," says the husband. "And we would have cooperated with police if they had treated her kindly."

Roger McNamara also still lives in Northeast Ohio. Free Times caught up with him as he was leaving his apartment with a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He declined an interview.

Dan Schulte could not be located. He left the country in 2005 and is rumored to be living in Israel.

The investigators will not discuss individual suspects, but Biegacki offers this: "It was somebody close [to Bev]. If you start taking 10 steps outside the box, you get lost. It's usually a simple answer.

"Look, prosecution is not the main goal for the family. Before Bev's parents pass they would just like to know what happened. God may forgive you, but the family still deserves to know."

Bev's father still lives in the same house on Thorton Avenue in Garfield Heights. Though his health is declining, he still busies himself with woodworking. Bev's mother, who separated from Ted several years ago, still lives in Northeast Ohio, too. So does Bev's sister. To them, time means nothing. This murder could have happened yesterday. They still grieve.

"I think about her every day," says Carol. "I have nobody to remember my childhood with. No nieces or nephews to share my children's lives with. I think about her all the time. I had a dream about her the other night. We were walking together near Canton and I lost her. I thought, "I'll never see her again.' But then I turned the corner and there she was."

"I've only dreamt about her once in all these years," says Bev's mother, Eleanor. "In the dream, she was living upstairs in Grandma's house and I was so happy to see her. I dream about other people all the time, but never her."

Carol still has Bev's book of poems and keeps it nearby like a talisman. One of the last entries is from that haunted summer of 1964.

What is this thing called time?

Time is measured eternity.

It is that which is counted

between the meetings of foolish lovers.

Time is a wilted flower...

or a dead bird.

It is a graying half moon

in a midnight sky.

Time is death itself.

Anyone with information related to this crime can contact Garfield Heights police at 216.475.3056.