The prostitutes working the streets of Detroit’s rundown southwest side were afraid. Over the last few months, there had been a new “John” prowling their beat—a big, baby-faced guy driving a dark, late-model SUV. The man liked to play rough. He had already throttled a couple of girls who had been lucky to escape with their lives. The word was out: Avoid this John. Sooner or later, he was going to kill somebody.
Kelly Hood’s Descent into Addiction
The working girls may have been scared, but that didn’t stop them from walking the streets. Some, like Kelly Hood, had no choice in the matter. The Muskegon native had a crack cocaine habit to feed, and selling her body on the streets was the only way she knew to make enough money to satisfy her needs.
It hadn’t always been this way for Kelly. When she moved to Detroit from her hometown, it was to join her boyfriend, who worked on the production line at the Chrysler auto plant. Eventually, they married, bought a house in the suburbs, and raised three children. But the tedium of domestic life got to Kelly. Seeking an escape, she allowed her friend Linda to talk her into trying crack cocaine.
Before long, both Kelly and Linda were addicted to the drug, living only for the next high, “chasing the dragon” in street parlance. Soon, Kelly left her husband and children behind for a life as a “buffer”—a street prostitute selling herself to support her habit.
A Cold Night, a Deadly Encounter
It was cold on the night Kelly died, but not too cold for a crack addict to be out on the streets. Similarly, the driver of the black Jeep with the vanity plate “BABY DOLL” was not discouraged by the unpleasant weather. Like Kelly, John Eric Armstrong had a habit of feeding.
Armstrong had recently arrived in Detroit following his honorable discharge from the Navy. He was out looking for someone along a darkened stretch of Michigan Avenue when he spotted her—Kelly, standing beneath a streetlamp. Her fake rabbit fur jacket was pulled up around her ears against the cold, and her short skirt provided scant protection. If she had heard about the aggressive John in the black SUV, she either didn’t register or didn’t care. Her need was too great; everything else was secondary.
Kelly’s only concern was whether the man might be a cop. The last thing she needed was to go cold turkey in a police holding cell. But this guy didn’t look like a cop. He was big, a flabby 300 pounds, with a receding hairline and three days’ worth of scraggly blonde growth on his chin. He also wore glasses. Despite his size, he didn’t seem dangerous. Like most working girls, Kelly liked to think she had a nose for danger.
The Fatal Mistake
After a short exchange of bartering, the price was agreed upon, and Kelly hoisted herself into the passenger seat. The Jeep was warm inside, which was a blessing at least. She directed the man to drive to the end of the block and turn into an alley. Without comment, he did so, bringing the vehicle to a stop in the shadows and engaging the handbrake.
“You wanna get in back?” Kelly asked her mind already on the rocks of crack this trick was going to bring her.
“No,” the man said, shooting out a huge hand and wrapping it around her throat, applying instant pressure.
The Killer’s History: John Eric Armstrong
Three months before Kelly Hood’s murder, police had been called to the scene of another homicide. Wendy Jordan wasn’t a hooker—at least, according to her family, who insisted those days were long behind her. They said she’d been clean for over two years and now had a decent job managing a gas station. That might have been true, but it didn’t stop Wendy from falling into the hands of a man trawling for prostitutes on New Year’s Day, 2000.
Two days later, Wendy’s body was pulled from the cold, dirty waters of the Rouge River in Dearborn Heights. She had been strangled, her body thrown from a bridge into the water. It was a tragedy, no doubt, but the kind of thing police officers in cities across the globe deal with every day. However, it was the discovery of the body that bothered investigators. The man who found her was John Eric Armstrong, a hulking ex-sailor.
Armstrong’s Suspicious Behavior
Armstrong claimed he had been out for a walk when he suddenly began to feel nauseous. Leaning over the bridge to try and throw up, he spotted the body in the water and dialed 911. While his story was plausible, the police weren’t buying it. They had seen this ruse before—a criminal reporting a crime he committed to deflect suspicion. Armstrong’s nervy behavior didn’t help either, as he closed or averted his eyes whenever investigators pressed him on key points.
Armstrong’s background revealed a troubled history. Born in North Carolina in 1973, his early life was marred by trauma. At five, his two-month-old brother died suddenly, a loss that deeply affected him. His father left the family shortly after, and Armstrong later claimed he was sexually abused by him. These events marked the beginning of a troubled path.
Read more: William Dale Archerd: First U.S. Conviction for Murder Using Insulin
Armstrong’s Confession and Worldwide Murders
By the time Armstrong was arrested, investigators had linked him to the murders of multiple prostitutes in Detroit. During his confession, Armstrong admitted to killing Wendy Jordan, Monica Johnson, Kelly Hood, and several others. He even confessed to murders in Seattle, Hawaii, Norfolk, and as far away as Japan, Hong Kong, and Israel. Armstrong’s confession spanned over 30 killings, making him one of the most widely traveled serial killers in history.
Justice Served
In March 2001, John Eric Armstrong was found guilty of Wendy Jordan’s murder and sentenced to life without parole. He was later convicted of the other Detroit prostitute slayings and received multiple life sentences. To this day, no charges have been pursued in connection with his global killing spree.
