Dear Reader:
The book you are about to read is the latest bestseller from the St. Martin’s True Crime Library, the imprint The New York Times calls “the leader in true crime!” Each month, we offer you a fascinating account of the latest, most sensational crime that has captured national attention. St. Martin’s is the publisher of bestselling true crime author and crime journalist Kieran Crowley, who explores the dark, deadly links between a prominent Manhattan surgeon and the disappearance of his wife fifteen years earlier in THE SURGEON’S WIFE. Suzy Spencer’s BREAKING POINT guides readers through the tortuous twists and turns in the case of Andrea Yates, the Houston mother who drowned her five young children in the family’s bathtub. In Edgar Award-nominated DARK DREAMS, legendary FBI profiler Roy Hazelwood and bestselling crime author Stephen G. Michaud shine light on the inner workings of America’s most violent and depraved murderers. In the book you now hold, GONE FOREVER, author Diane Fanning details the shocking story behind the disappearance of Susan McFarland and the discovery of her charred remains.
St. Martin’s True Crime Library gives you the stories behind the headlines. Our authors take you right to the scene of the crime and into the minds of the most notorious murderers to show you what really makes them tick. St. Martin’s True Crime Library paperbacks are better than the most terrifying thriller, because it’s all true! The next time you want a crackling good read, make sure it’s got the St. Martin’s True Crime Library logo on the spine—you’ll be up all night!
Charles E. Spicer, Jr.
Executive Editor, St. Martin’s True Crime Library
St. Martin’s True Crime Library Titles
by Diane Fanning
BABY BE MINE
GONE FOREVER
THROUGH THE WINDOW
INTO THE WATER
WRITTEN IN BLOOD
UNDER THE KNIFE
OUT THERE
GONE
FOREVER
A True Story of Marriage, Betrayal, and Murder
DIANE FANNING
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
GONE FOREVER
Copyright © 2006 by Diane Fanning.
Cover photo of “Missing” poster @ William Luther/San Antonio Express-News.
Cover photo of Richard McFarland © Bob Owen/San Antonio Express-News.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 0-312-99404-4
EAN: 9780312-99404-4
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / February 2006
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
To Susan McFarland
And to the three boys she left behind
Acknowledgments
The only way a book like this one is possible is through the kindness of strangers. And now that it is finished they are strangers no more. I owe them all a debt of gratitude.
In the Bexar County District Attorney’s Office, I send my appreciation to Judge Susan Reed, Michael Bernard, Catherine Babbitt, Bettina Richardson and Julian Martinez. I had looked forward to your courtroom performance—maybe next time. And thanks to the many people in that department who smiled as they saw me in the halls and made me feel welcome and at home.
In the Bexar County court systems, thanks to Gary Gauntt in the records department and Rachel Rushton, Alice Gonzales, Beatrice Gonzales and Gloria Tamayo in the district clerk’s office.
A special thanks to Sergeant Shawn Palmer who proved, once again, that the Texas Rangers are an exceptional group of law enforcement professionals—and you are one of the best in that elite group.
And to Detective Sergeant Boyd Wedding—may your rodeo weeks never again be interrupted by the call of duty.
In the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s Office, I send my thanks to Dr. Randall Frost, in the fire marshall’s office to Ted Manganello and in the Bexar County correctional center, Aida Camero with the MATCH/PATCH programs.
We all owe a debt of gratitude to Executive Director Kate Kohl and to Mary Dry of the Heidi Search Center for the special service and comfort they provide to families in our community. I also must thank Kate for her extraordinary patience and openness in explaining the work they did in the Susan McFarland case and the mission of their organization.
Thanks to Havilah Tower at the Texas Council on Family Violence for providing background information. And to the organization itself for their operation of the National Domestic Violence Hotline—800-799-SAFE.
Many thanks to neighbors, friends and acquaintances of the McFarland family including Debbie Anderson, Margot Cromack, Dee Ann Dowlen, Karen Hardeman, Carrie and Steve Miller, Molly Matthews, Mimi Riley, Linda Schlather, and Charlene and Susan Schooling. Thank you for sharing your time and your memories with me.
At Southwestern Bell Corporation, thanks to Gary Long, Phil Rodick and Kevin Jefferies for your input and the tour of Susan’s workplace. I appreciate the time you took out of a very busy week.
And those of you who spoke to me but chose to remain nameless—thank you.
Of course, no acknowledgment section would be complete without thanks to my agent, Jane Dystel; Executive Editor Charles Spicer and editors Emily Drum and Joe Cleemann at St. Martin’s Press; and my ever-patient, always-supportive life partner, Wayne. The five of you made this book possible.
But most of all, I want to thank Susan’s brother, Pete Smith, Susan’s sister, Ann Smith Carr, and Susan’s niece Kirsten Slaughter. Your memories, thoughts and reflections brought Sue to life.
1
Texas Ranger Shawn Palmer and Terrell Hills Police Department Investigator Boyd Wedding drove into the hardscrabble countryside of southeast Bexar County to follow up a lead on the afternoon of January 14, 2003. Only miles from the thriving downtown of San Antonio, the eighth largest city in the United States, this rural area looked worlds away from the glitter of the Majestic Theatre and the majesty of the Cadena-Reeves Justice Center.
Palmer and Wedding traveled past well-maintained ranch homes, old farmhouses with peeling paint, seedy trailers with broken windows, overgrown fields and occasional piles of illegally dumped mattresses, broken appliances and other no longer desirable accoutrements of civilization. The investigators’ destination was an abandoned farm owned by Clark Barkmeyer at 9394 South W.W. White Road. Although, as always, the two men hoped this lead would be productive, they knew they followed many to nowhere—they knew the many miles they walked to find nothing at all. They squashed their optimism under the weight of the hard lessons they had learned.
They pulled into the dusty side street. A mound of dirt blocked the end of the drive leading into the property. The owner created that barrier a short time ago to discourage trespassers. The tall dried weeds and weary buildings on the unkempt property spoke of dying dreams and shattered hope. There was no warmth and no welcome here.
Both officers headed straight for the empty house. Inside, it looked as if the last occupant woke up one morning and walked away. Clothing, small personal items and an occasional weary piece of furniture filled each room. Dust covered every surface and sparkled in the sunlight trickling through the windows. The refrigerator was well stocked, but, without electricity, its contents were rotten and rancid.
They mov
ed trash aside searching for any place a body could be concealed. They peered into corners looking for any signs of an altercation that could point to a crime occurring inside this dwelling. Nothing raised the slightest suspicion.
Outside of the house, the two men split up down an invisible line that ran the length of the property from the road. Wedding took the right half, Palmer the left. In addition to looking for a body, they were looking for any signs of a fire—witnesses reported something burning on this land.
Flattened brown grass crunched under Palmer’s feet as he walked the short distance to the detached garage just north of the residence. The double doors hung open. From the disrupted dirt scraped and mounded around the doorway, it looked as if someone had opened the door wider a short time ago.
Next, Palmer moved to the small outbuilding, thirty-six steps from the garage. It was a strange structure, slapped together with big sheets of Styrofoam insulation.
Palmer stood still and listened to the whispered sounds of movement inside. He exercised caution as he eased open the door. He was greeted by a litter of nine- to ten-week-old black puppies with white chests and tan feet squirming out of their makeshift bed to beg for attention. Scattered through this building were more signs of an impulsive departure in the past—articles of clothing, household items and other detritus of daily life.
Near this building a Datsun pickup truck bed converted into a pull-along trailer caught Palmer’s eye. As he neared it, a foul odor blending the corruption of decomposition and the nauseous stench of burnt flesh drew his attention as it offended his senses. He yelled for his partner.
Wedding, meanwhile, walked a zig-zag path through the field. He found a 1988 Chevrolet Camaro stolen two days before Christmas—not in any way connected to the case they were investigating.
Then, he turned his attention to the barn. It was a derelict wooden building, appearing as if it would collapse to the ground in a light gust of wind. Hanging from the huge rafters were scythes, rakes and other farming implements ready to fall on an unsuspecting head and harvest a life.
Wedding was so focused on the barn and its contents, he did not hear the repeated calls from Palmer. He contemplated the risk of going inside. Just before he stepped across the threshold, he turned his head in his partner’s direction. Palmer saw the movement and windmilled his arms in the air.
As Wedding headed toward him, Palmer took a closer look at the trailer. On the surface of the rubble in the bed were wires and the metal skeletons of electronic devices marred by flames and rust—perhaps the television and VCR reportedly gone from the missing woman’s Explorer.
Beneath that debris, Palmer spotted what he both hoped and dreaded he would find—the curve of human rib bones, an upper arm bone and the roundness of a shoulder. The surfaces were crusty, cracked and browned, but still the bones screamed out their humanity. He confirmed this deduction when his eyes found the unmistakable shape of a human skull.
He looked closer at the pyre and saw metal springs. Then his eye caught an interesting piece of litter tucked in the corner. It was plastic packaging, curled and puckered from the heat—a strip of wrappers that once held Wyler’s Authentic Italian Ices. Palmer knew their suspect, Richard McFarland, was obsessed with this snack. And he knew he found the missing woman.
He walked toward the approaching Wedding. “I found her,” he said.
“Where’s she at?” Wedding asked.
Pointing, Palmer answered, “Over there in the trailer.”
Wedding approached, taking great care not to touch or disturb any possible evidence. He looked hard at the contents, but could not identify anything that looked human. Palmer pointed out the curves of the charred bones and then Wedding, too, knew the fate of Sue McFarland. The hunt was over.
2
Former judge and Bexar County District Attorney Susan D. Reed sat in a burgundy leather executive’s chair embossed with the seal of Texas in her office on the fifth floor of the Cadena-Reeves Justice Center in downtown San Antonio. Perched above the city streets, through the windows to her left, she was at steeple level with the historic San Fernando Cathedral. The cornerstone for this city landmark was laid in 1738. Construction was completed in 1755, making it the first parish church in Texas. Those original walls still stood and formed the sanctuary of the current edifice.
Across the street from the Cathedral, a swatch of green and a shooting fountain broke the concrete monotony of the city streets. Tall brick and sandstone buildings created a red backdrop on the skyline.
From the window behind her, she looked across the street at the massive Romanesque Revival architecture of native Texas granite and red sandstone—the old Bexar County Courthouse, built in the 1890s. The new justice center that housed her office was connected to the older building by a tunnel that ran under Main Street.
Inside, a wooden desk with a light layer of clutter sat in front of Reed. The wall she faced was covered with photographs taken of her with other important Texas personalities like both Presidents Bush and Barbara Bush, Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison and Governor Rick Perry. Scattered throughout the display of photos were framed magazine covers featuring the district attorney’s determined face.
To her left, a bookcase stretched along the wall. As expected, its shelves held a complete set of Vernon’s Annotated Texas Codes as well as other legal guides. The personal side of the D.A. lightened the weight of the serious tomes—photographs of her son from babyhood to adulthood; CDs by Norah Jones, Carly Simon and Lou Rawls; a few eclectic books like Capone by John Kobler, Grudge Match by San Antonio author Jay Brandon and Frommer’s Born to Shop Paris.
A herd of elephants trumpeting her political allegiance stampeded through her office in every size, shape and design imaginable, including a colorful Oaxacan wood carving from Mexico. The whimsical touches continued with items like a Texas Prison Rodeo cap, a bottle of Victory over Evil oil and a basketful of cascarones, the colorful confettifilled eggs that were ever-present during the Fiesta celebration in April each year.
Reed’s cell phone, as usual, was tucked down in her purse. Most days, though, she had it set to vibrate and never noticed when someone called. Not today.
When the phone rang just after 2 P.M., she fumbled in her handbag until her fingers locked around the keypad. She extracted it from a bundle of miscellany and pressed the TALK button.
“I’m out here in a field and I think I’ve found her,” Texas Ranger Shawn Palmer said.
He didn’t need to say more. Reed knew who he meant. It was mid-January and everyone had been looking for Susan McFarland since Thanksgiving. Everyone except Richard McFarland.
Reed wanted to rush to the scene to see it all first-hand, but she had her job to do. First, the three young sons of Susan McFarland needed to be spirited away from the family nome to a secure location. Next, Richard McFarland needed to be cuffed, arrested and questioned once again. She had no doubt about his guilt. Now, she just needed to prove it.
3
Steven Hanson, the chief medical investigator for the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s Office, arrived at the scene at 3:05 P.M. He observed the contents of the trailer. He agreed with investigators that the Texas Department of Public Safety’s Crime Laboratory Service personnel should process the scene before the damaged body was transported in for an autopsy. He left two body bags and two clean white sheets and instructed officers on the proper procedure for collecting the remains and the surrounding debris.
While the Texas Department of Protective and Regulatory Services was ensuring the safety of the three McFarland boys, Sergeant Palmer was drawing up paperwork. He would not serve any warrant until he knew the boys were removed, to prevent them from becoming possible hostages if McFarland decided to flee. He prepared the three affidavits he hoped would result in arrest warrants for Richard McFarland. He presented his case to Judge Sid Harle of the 226th District Court. The judge issued three warrants on charges of unauthorized use of a vehicle, tampering with a witness and tampering
with or fabricating physical evidence. Murder charges could not be filed until the medical examiner confirmed the identity of the charred body and made a ruling on the cause and manner of death.
While waiting for word on the safety of the children, Sergeant Palmer and Investigator Wedding kept McFarland under surveillance. They were parked in a lot at Interstate 35 and Dolorosa Street when they received information that McFarland was heading out to pick up his oldest son and go to his lawyer’s office.
In the heavy downtown traffic congestion, the two officers wound up a block ahead of their quarry by the time they got the go-ahead for the arrest. They slowed down and allowed McFarland to move ahead of them on St. Mary’s Street near Commerce Street. Palmer pulled up beside McFarland’s white Windstar van. Then he whipped his vehicle in front of McFarland and slammed on his brakes. The suspect honked his horn in annoyance.
Palmer and Wedding approached opposite sides of the van with guns drawn. Since they were not wearing uniforms, the two armed men looked more like carjackers than law enforcement to many of the drivers and pedestrians on the scene.
In locked elbow stance, they ordered McFarland to get out of the van. McFarland unlocked the driver’s-side door, but did not move. Palmer opened the door and repeated his request. Still, McFarland did not move. Palmer eased him out of the car, cuffed his hands behind him and put him in the back seat of his official vehicle. Palmer drove McFarland over to the Justice Center, and Wedding followed behind the wheel of McFarland’s van. McFarland appeared apathetic and disinterested. He asked no questions. He offered no answers. Inside the Windstar, Wedding was jubilant.
In the courtroom, Judge Harle set bond at $150,000 for each charge—a total of $450,000. Before the bench, McFarland mumbled about an attorney—speaking out when he should have been silent and remaining mute when it was appropriate to speak. Palmer delivered McFarland to the nearby Bexar County correction center, where sheriff’s department personnel confirmed the warrants. Then they booked and processed their prisoner and escorted McFarland to his cell.
Gone Forever Page 1