Sad tale of Jason Rimer, forgotten by family and society

If your child were found dead, would you show emotion?

Colleen and Stan Rimer didn't when their 4-year-old disabled son, Jason, died in their Ford Excursion, dressed in the clothes he'd worn to church.

Colleen calmly called 311, which isn't even the emergency number, and said her son was "cold and not moving."

While waiting for paramedics, her husband sat in the front seat of the sport utility vehicle. He told police he didn't try to revive his son because he knew he was dead. He never touched his son. Then he decided he was thirsty and went back into the house for a drink of water.

That indifference, combined with not knowing the whereabouts of their youngest child for 17 hours, doubtlessly contributed to the second-degree murder charges filed against the couple, on top of the child neglect and child abuse charges.

In the criminal complaint against them, their own words often are the most horrifying.

One vivid example: when mom describes not knowing where her youngest of eight children is, but then going back to eat dinner with her husband because finding Jason had slipped her mind.

The basics are already known. The family attended church June 8. Dad felt ill. When they arrived home and got out of their Ford Excursion, Jason was left behind about 2:30 p.m.

Mom and dad headed upstairs to nap and watch movies while four sons -- 9, 12, 14 and 15 years old -- played downstairs. Later, mom picked up their 19-year-old son using her husband's truck.

Nobody in the home, not the parents or five other children, knew where Jason was until about 8:30 the next morning when one of the brothers went out to the SUV.

Jason was dead on the middle seat. Forgotten by his family for an incredible 17 hours. Still wearing his usual church clothes: a white shirt, blue print tie, black pants, white socks and black lace-up boots. He weighed 33 pounds when he died. Too heavy for his mother to pick him up, she said.

It's hard to muster sympathy for the Las Vegas couple. They admitted they lost track of Jason, who behaved more like a 2-year-old because of his myotonic dystrophy, inherited from his meek, subservient mom.

Jason had a vocabulary of 25 words, couldn't say some of his brothers' names, and couldn't even say whether he was hungry or thirsty. He wore diapers (which his alpha-male father refused to change) and didn't learn to walk until six months ago.

The criminal complaint said that for two years, Jason and his five brothers lived in "a foul-smelling house" where "minimal food" was provided and the children were verbally or physically abused.

Their daughter told police she once helped her mom with a yard sale while her dad was indoors with Jason for eight to nine hours. She said it appeared his basic needs, including diaper changes and feedings through a tube, hadn't been met during the entire time. The 18-year-old daughter and a 21-year-old son on a Mormon mission in Canada no longer live at home.

Starting 20 years ago, child protection authorities had their first of many contacts with the Rimer family. Since 1988, there were about 21 contacts, including five since Jason was born. Only twice were the neglect allegations substantiated: once in 1988 and again in 1991.

It's not public who made the 21 calls to authorities with concerns about conditions in the Rimer household. But at least one person, maybe more, tried to get help for Jason five times, the first time when he was 9 months old, again when he was 2, then when he was nearly 3. Never did authorities find any reason to remove and protect those children. Cases closed 19 times over 20 years.

There were no further contacts with the Clark County Department of Family Services until June 9, when the little guy who took so much effort to care for was dead. Again, a dysfunctional system, which is supposed to protect vulnerable children, failed another child.

Think about what Jason Rimer went through for those 17 hours, both physically and emotionally. Even with his disabilities, he must have wondered why nobody came to find him. He must have thought nobody cared.

Jane Ann Morrison's column appears Monday, Thursday and Saturday. E-mail her at Jane@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0275.