The Last Dance

When Ronnie Carroll got there, the doctor told him Kristi had been shot in the head and her chances were not good.

When Linda Serrioz heard about the murder at Troostwood Banquet Hall, she wasn't surprised.

For the past several years, she had been the 49/63 Neighborhood Coalition's coordinator for the citywide Community Backed Anti-Drug Tax initiative known as COMBAT, which is funded by a special sales tax. Her main duties were to keep an eye on the neighborhood and to field complaints from residents.

Formed in 1971, the 49/63 Neighborhood Coalition is the oldest organized neighborhood association in Kansas City. Encompassing the sturdy bungalows southeast of the University of Missouri-Kansas City campus, it stretches from 49th Street along Brush Creek south to the commercial thoroughfare of 63rd Street and from Oak Street east to the shade-dappled Paseo. It's the only neighborhood organization that spans Troost, the city's historic racial dividing line. The association was formed in an effort to break down racial barriers at a time when property values were plummeting amid white flight. To this day, 49/63 remains one of the most diverse neighborhoods in the city.

In spite of its location in the middle of the urban core, the neighborhood's crime rate has stayed relatively low because of programs like the one Serrioz worked for and the presence of Community Action Network officers -- beat cops based in a neighborhood office who work with residents to make the streets safe. The coalition pioneered the program, which operates in several other neighborhoods around the city, such as Blue Hills directly to the east of 49/63 and Lychens in the Historic Northeast.

But like all neighborhoods in the inner city, 49/63 has had trouble spots. Serrioz says Troostwood Banquet Hall has been one of the worst. (It has continued to operate infrequently since the shooting.) A lot of the calls she received were about Troostwood: loitering, booming car stereos, street brawls, screeching tires, public urinating, gunshots.

Often the calls came in the middle of the night. She'd drive by the banquet hall and see teens scattering, leaving behind broken bottles.

On several occasions, she called the building's owner, John Haynes. She left him messages relaying the complaints, but she says he never called her back.

She wasn't the only one who called on Haynes. Officer Patrick Foster, who patrolled the neighborhood under the CAN program, had fielded numerous calls about the place and had been dispatched there on several occasions to shut down parties. He tracked down Haynes in early summer 2002.

The two men talked briefly. Haynes explained that he'd rented the facility to a high school graduation party. He said he had another party scheduled, which he promised would be the last.

Foster suggested that Haynes hire security or at least require that renters do so.

Like Serrioz, Foster wasn't surprised when he heard later that year that a girl had been shot at Troostwood.

Neither was Marti Lee. As president of the Southtown Council, a nonprofit organization that works with businesses and neighborhood associations in the southeast part of the city to improve the community, she had contacted Haynes four times about the problems associated with his facility. Haynes was a member of the Southtown Council, but other members had been flooding her with complaints about the noise, the trash and the occasional gunshots.

She told Haynes he needed to supply security for his events, both inside and outside the hall. Haynes said he thought his renters would be hosting family events, but they'd turned out to be raucous public affairs complete with flyers and door charges.

Lee and Haynes discussed ways he could strengthen his rental policy. But Haynes' place had built a reputation among teens looking for a place to party. The demand was great. Initially, he welcomed the business, knowing the kids didn't have a lot of other places to go.

The parties kept getting bigger and bigger.

In 2002, just a few months before Kristi Carroll was shot, Haynes told the Pitch he'd had enough. He talked about a kid who had called him to rent the place so he could throw a big bash for his 16th birthday. Haynes wanted no part of it. "I do not do youth events from this day forward," he said.

In the days after Kristi Carroll's death, dozens of people visited the Carrolls to offer their condolences. One was Al Nicholson, the man who threw the party where Kristi had been shot. "He came in, and he said how sorry he was," Cynthia Carroll recalls. "He said, 'Let me know what I can do. I really want to help you out with the funeral expenses.'"

Nicholson had rented the Troostwood Banquet Hall earlier that year for a graduation party, an event that went without incident. Haynes rented the hall to Nicholson again in November 2002 for $625, including deposit.