BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE

Jeffrey Culler's Long Downward Spiral Into Oblivion Ended One Cool November
Evening On A Mean High Point Street.

The 37-year-old father of two lay dying. Someone had shot him on Franklin
Avenue, known as "crack central" to some. A single bullet wound under his
left arm caused massive internal bleeding.

No doctor could save him. The bullet had hit too many organs, caused too
much damage.

A life shattered, rebuilt and shattered again by the all-consuming need to
feel the rush of a crack hit ebbed away.

As he had done most of his life, Jeffrey Lawrence Culler downplayed his
injuries, telling officers he was OK.

Maybe he didn't realize the seriousness of his wounds.

Maybe he did.

Deeply religious, prone to a lifetime of deep insecurity, worn out from his
addiction, maybe he saw death as a way out of his hell on Earth.

What thoughts drifted through Culler's mind that evening can't be known,
not on this side of the grave.

Mike Nixon, the High Point police detective assigned to the case, says
there is a good chance Culler's killer still can be brought to justice,
even more than 10 months after his Nov. 18, 2001, fatal shooting.

Like Culler, but in a completely different way, police need help to come
face to face with the truth.

'He just wasn't strong enough to deal with cocaine'

- - Dick Culler, victim's father

Dick Culler said his son was shy and struggled with low self esteem all his
life.

"He was a loner, very insecure," Culler said.

Culler believes that self-doubt drove his son to substance abuse at Griffin
Middle School.

He also blames the school's location, an area he says is rife with drugs
and bad company.

Most of all, he blames himself for not enrolling Jeffrey in private school,
despite his wife's urgings.

"It was the worst decision I ever made in my life," he said.

Culler said his son started with alcohol and marijuana, and eventually
moved on to crack, a cheap form of cocaine that is extremely addictive.

"Jeff's life was a horror story from age 13 on," said Culler, who owns
Autographed Ball, a N. Main Street sports memorabilia company.

Jeff Culler did a stint in the Navy after graduating from High Point
Central High School, but that too was cut short by drug problems.

In the last years of his life, Jeff Culler began to talk about the hold
crack had on him, his father said.

"He said, 'The last thing I think about at night is crack, and crack is the
first thing in the morning I think about.'"

A grandfather, Dick Culler still looks like the kind of man you'd want on
your side in a fight. But despite his strength, crack proved stronger, at
least to his son.

Jeff Culler found faith and tried very hard to get his life back on track,
his father said.

Amid a fifth stint in rehab, this time at Teen Challenge, he became a
Christian and seemed headed for better days. Jeff Culler spent the last 22
months of his life as a Teen Challenge counselor.

And despite his failings, Jeff Culler got some important things right.

"He was very religious," said Dick Culler. "Jeff was not a bad kid. He was
a terrific father."

But in the end, those small crack rocks proved more daunting than a mountain.

"He just couldn't get over it," his father says.

Jeff Culler spent the last weekend of his life with his children and his
mom, Patricia, staying at her house.

Patricia dropped off her son and grandchildren at Jeff's ex-wife's
residence on Baker Road.

Instead of heading back to Teen Challenge, Jeff then drove his 1979 Chevy
station wagon to Franklin Avenue, an area where authorities say he had no
known ties.

Nixon says police aren't sure what happened just before the shooting, but
they believe it was drug-related.

Dick Culler agrees.

"I suspect he owed somebody some money," he said.

Officers responding to an emergency call about 6 p.m. found Jeff Culler
lying on the street next to his car.

He was partially underneath the right rear corner of the brown station
wagon, legs stretched out, arms straight along his sides with clenched fists.

Culler was conscious, but seemed to be having a seizure, police said.
However, he did not appear to be shot. There was no clearly visible wound,
no signs of bleeding.

At first, he didn't tell officers he had been shot, Nixon said.

But Jeff Culler made statements later, Nixon said, "about how he got there
and what happened to him."

Nixon won't reveal those statements.

Police canvassed the neighborhood but came up with few leads and no
eyewitnesses.

Someone said they heard a shot. Others said they saw a black male about
5-feet-8-inches tall running from the area.

Jeff Culler was taken to High Point Regional Hospital and later transferred
to Wake Forest University Baptist Medical Center, where he died about 9 p.m.

Doctors said saving his son would have been impossible, even if they had
been on the scene when Culler was shot. A single bullet sealed his fate.

Jeff Culler's tortured journey had come to an end.

A Crimestopper's tip and interviews with two jail informants added a few
pieces to the puzzle, but investigators ruled out the information for the
most part, Nixon says.

In April, a second Crimestopper's call finally gave Nixon important new
information, revelations that were "more consistent and credible."

The anonymous caller confirmed the description of the alleged shooter and
offered other pieces of information in a second call to Nixon.

"Supposedly, two other people are involved," Nixon says. "These are people
we're familiar with."

The detective said police believe they have the killer's identity pegged
but just need more information.

"We've got a pretty good suspect, it's just a matter of tightening the
noose a little," Nixon says. "I think it can be solved. As far as we know,
all the people involved are still around here."

Dick Culler said although he would like to see his son's killer punished,
nothing - not even an execution - can make the pain of the death go away.

"I don't think closure is possible," he said.

Nevertheless, Culler said he is "more mad than hurt."

"Over the years, I have dealt with such addiction (with my son)," he said.
"You just don't know what it's like until you've gone through it."

He said he "was not surprised" about the way Jeff died.

"When you deal with scum, some of it may rub off on you," he said.

But Culler, a man of strong opinions and deeply-held convictions, softens
for a moment when he reflects on his youngest son's death.

"I feel like Jeff is in a better place," he said. "His misery is over."