She approached the back door and out of the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of something not quite right through the garage window. She opened the door to the garage and discovered a blue-and-gray Suburban with its windows all rolled down parked inside. Harriet was stunned—whoever had parked the car needed to do three things first: come inside her gate, go into the garage and activate the door opener. After that, the intruder had to move the old couch where the dogs used to sleep and relocate a table and a few other items to make enough room to be able to shut the door behind the large vehicle. She knew the McFarlands did not own a Suburban. Still, the first thought was: What has Rick done now?
Harriet suspected McFarland, but did not know with certainty—she wanted proof. She climbed in and searched the Suburban for clues. She came up empty in the obvious places—the console area and the glove compartment. In the back seat, she spotted a brand new Christmas sweatshirt and a canvas basket. She reached into the container and pulled out a clear plastic folder. Inside, she found an AAA card and a credit card—both bearing Richard McFarland’s name. She put everything back where she found it and exited the car.
Coming around the side, she saw other alien items in her garage—one large and two small gasoline containers, two bottles of insecticide, two big bags of charcoal, a roll of paper towels and a half-empty bottle of orange cleanser. She had never seen any of these things before. In fact, when she was at the house the day before, none of it was present—not even the Suburban.
She looked over the charcoal and gasoline again. Her eyes widened at the thought that raced through her mind: He’s killed her, cut up her body and burned it.
She called her husband, Ned, and told him about what she’d found and what she suspected.
“Let me call Rick,” he said.
“No, I don’t want to mess with him,” Harriet said.
“Then call the police.”
“Okay. But first I want to get done what I came here to do.” Harriet took care of her planned chores and then called the Terrell Hills Police Department and reported the presence of a strange vehicle in her garage.
Across the street, other police officers posted on the street knocked on the McFarland front door. They knew Rick was inside, but they got no response. They went next door to the Schooling house and asked Charlene if they could come inside and keep an eye on her neighbor’s house. They wanted to catch Rick if he came out.
About a half hour later Rick emerged in bright orange wind pants and a white tee shirt. He raced to his car, jumped in and tore out of the driveway. The officers dashed out Charlene’s front door and took off after him.
Twenty minutes later, Rick pulled into his driveway and the police car parked across the street. Rick went into his garage and came out with an orange power cord, which he unwrapped with methodical care and stretched back to the garage. He returned with a circular saw in hand. He plugged it into the end of the cord, started it up and proceeded to score a line across his driveway.
When he finished, he put his tools away and walked across the street to Harriet’s house. At this point, a fascinated Charlene lost sight of him from her windows. She kept looking out, intrigued by what might happen next. She was so captivated by the odd behavior she was witnessing that she ignored her telephone when it rang.
Officers Delgado and Trevino had arrived at 356 Arcadia by now. They saw this strange performance, too, along with Harriet Wells. Delgado turned to Harriet and said, “Ma’am, his wife is missing.”
That was enough to convince Harriet that the purpose of the cutting of the pavement in the driveway was to heat up the blade enough to destroy any evidence on it.
In the garage, Harriet and the police watched Rick as he watched them—walking back and forth in front of them with a false air of nonchalance. Charlene couldn’t see this routine, but she kept watch, and in two or three minutes was rewarded when James came out the front door and crossed the street with a portable phone receiver in hand.
As James handed the phone to his dad, Harriet and Trevino locked eyes. Rick turned and walked away.
Once again, Rick was in Charlene’s sights—walking back across the street talking on the phone. When he went inside, Charlene checked her voice mail. There was an urgent message from Harriet Wells pleading with her to call right away. When she did, Harriet told her about the strange car in the garage, and that Officers Trevino and Delgado were there to investigate, and wanted Charlene to come over to see if she recognized the vehicle.
Charlene was reluctant to walk across the street in clear view of Rick McFarland. Instead, she got into her car, drove around the block and approached Harriet’s house from the rear. As soon as she walked into the garage, Charlene asked, “What was Rick doing over here?”
“He just walked by and stared at us,” Corporal Delgado said.
Charlene did not recognize the Suburban in Harriet’s garage and looked at the other items that had mysteriously appeared there. When she saw the can of bug spray, she choked. Because of her experience watching forensic shows on television, she felt certain that Rick had sprayed the area where he’d left Sue’s body to keep the bugs away.
“Have you looked under the car for weeds and dirt?” Charlene asked.
When she got a negative response, she got down on her hands and knees and peered up at the undercarriage. From floor level, she hollered up, “Come see all the weeds and mud under here.”
As she pushed herself to her feet, her face inches away from the bumper, she and Harriet gasped in unison. There on that bumper was a telltale thumbprint smudge of red. Harriet said, “Officers, that looks like blood to me.”
The men looked at the scarlet smear and said, “Sure does. That’s blood.”
The possibility of a connection to Sue’s disappearance was now clear. The officers ran the plate on the Suburban and connected it to a Suburban owned by Ron Zimmerman—a producer for America’s Most Wanted.
They reported this to Police Chief Larry Semander. Semander called Zimmerman’s home and the call transferred to his cell phone. “Do you know where your car is?” Semander asked.
“It’s sitting in the driveway.”
“No, it’s not.”
Zimmerman then explained that he was at SeaWorld in San Diego and was sopping wet from a splash he’d just received from Shamu.
Then the word came in that, although the tags belonged to Zimmerman, the Suburban in the Arcadia garage did not. Zimmerman had no idea of how his plates got on another vehicle—but he did offer one clue.
He said that as he was preparing to leave town, he’d stopped by the Texaco service center, where he encountered a man who identified himself as “Ballew” and said he lived on Arcadia. “Ballew” offered to drive him to the airport and return the Suburban to Zimmerman’s driveway in Terrell Hills.
Semander relayed this information to Trevino, who shared it with Charlene and Harriet. Charlene asked, “Who do you think ‘Ballew’ is?”
Trevino jerked his head toward the McFarland house and said, “Probably our friend.”
On orders of Chief Semander, Delgado and Trevino secured the garage as a crime scene.
26
Trevino crossed the street to join Detective Sergeant Boyd Wedding. The two officers explained that they were here to investigate the missing persons report and asked Rick to sign a consent form to search the premises. Rick did so without objection and then called Margot to come pick up the kids. While Wedding and Trevino searched, a police officer sat with the boys as they watched television.
About fifteen minutes later, Texas Ranger Shawn Palmer arrived to assist. He introduced himself to Rick McFarland and shook his hand. At that moment, Palmer sensed that Sue McFarland was dead and that the hand he held in his was the one that killed her.
Palmer and Wedding went upstairs to examine the master bedroom and bath. Palmer discovered what appeared to be blood droplets five feet above the floor on the wall in the master bath along with other stains and smears that looked
consistent with blood.
The men went downstairs and Palmer went outside. He looked through the window of the white Windstar van parked in the driveway. There was no carpeting on the floor.
Margot answered Rick’s call for assistance and pulled up at the house at 7:15. She was shocked by the chaos before her eyes. Flashing, spinning lights lit the night sky and police swarmed everywhere. She went up to the back door and an officer told her, “Ma’am, you cannot go inside.”
The boys came to the door and she told them to go get their shoes, jackets and some books. Then she told the officer, “I need to talk to Rick before I leave, because I need to know what he’s told the boys. I need to know where to start.”
James and Timmy came out of the house and said that William was not there. As she got those two situated in the car, a police vehicle with flashing lights pulled up to the house and William bolted out of it. “Where’s my mommy? Where’s my mommy?” he cried in a panicked voice.
Margot put an arm around him and moved him toward her car. “We don’t know where your mommy is. That’s why all the police are here. You’re going to spend the night at my house so your dad can take care of all of this. So they can find out where your mom is.”
She got William into the car and Rick walked up with a garbage bag full of stuff for the boys.
“What did you tell them, Rick?”
“About what?”
“About their mother. About what happened to her.”
“I didn’t tell them anything.”
Margot stuffed down her impatience and got into the car. By the time she checked that all the seat belts were fastened, Rick was back.
“They told me I can’t spend the night here. Can I spend the night at your house?”
She wanted to say no, but the boys were listening, and the Cromacks were the closest thing to family they had in San Antonio. Her concern for William, James and Timmy was genuine and deep. She said yes. She did not want Rick in her home, but she feared he would take the boys from her if she did not agree. It was a small price to pay to ensure their well-being.
As soon as Margot and the boys left, Palmer began his first interview with Rick McFarland in the living room of his home. He asked about Sue’s friends, her credit and debit cards and whether or not she carried a pager. The interview was punctuated with Rick’s loud yawns.
Palmer asked, “Is there anything that you know that she packed for the trip that would be—should have been—in the car?”
“No.”
“Or that she was planning to take?”
McFarland explained about the plastic storage bins that Sue planned on giving away on Monday when she went out. He also said she would have had a TV/VCR, a computer and a laptop in her car.
“Did you happen to see those—I assume they were still in there Monday night?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rick responded.
“Do you know if she came home late and left early that morning to go to work?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Was there anything to show that, like, maybe she had showered or done something?” Palmer pressed. “ ’Cause I know you said that you confirmed she was at work.”
Palmer questioned Rick about the identity of the person on the other end of the line at Southwestern Bell who told Rick Sue had been seen at work on Tuesday morning, but McFarland said he only knew it was a woman.
“Was there anything to indicate that she’d come home after you’d gone to sleep Monday and gotten up Tuesday and gone to work?”
Rick’s response was no more than a mumble.
“Do you all sleep in the same room?” Palmer asked.
Rick wiggled around the question, mumbling all the while, then finally stated his answer clearly, “I was downstairs on the couch.”
“It didn’t look like she’d slept in the bed?”
“She is real tidy,” Rick said, then tripped over incomplete sentences having to do with Sue’s obsessive need to make the bed when she arose.
“Was there anything else to indicate that she’d come home and gone to work from here rather than somewhere else?”
“No. I mean, I was assuming that when I called the Dowlens. I had no sense of alarm until she wasn’t there. You know when they called and said that her car was found—the make and model? She had just ordered, uh, uh . . . somebody ordered three cheese pizzas for us Tuesday night and that was in keeping with activities, so I felt everything was basically, relatively normal with the things . . .”
Palmer noticed that Rick had abrasions on the knuckles of his left hand. He also had a section missing from the tip of the small finger on his right hand. Small red scratches drew long lines down his neck. Palmer turned the conversation to Rick’s injuries.” You said you cut your finger working?”
“Yeah, with a saw. You know, I was jogging, I ran into a thorn tree . . .”
“When was that?”
“Uh, what’s today? Two days ago. What’s today, Friday?”
“Today’s Friday,” Palmer confirmed.
“I guess Wednesday.”
“And that was here at the house?”
“Yeah.”
“And your knuckles there in your left hand?” Palmer asked.
“Uh huh.”
“How did that happen?”
“Um, when I fell,” Rick said.
“Fell jogging?”
“Yeah.”
“When was that?”
“Tuesday, I guess.”
“Do you jog every morning, or . . .?”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t say every morning. But maybe twice a week,” Rick said.
As the investigation progressed from this point, Palmer would ask everyone who knew McFarland about the frequency of his jogging. No one could confirm that he ever went running.
“When you cut your finger, did you go to the doctor or anything at all?” Palmer asked.
“No.”
“How about when you fell?”
“No.”
“No? I guess you took care of yourself here at the house?”
“Yeah.”
“I noticed that there was some blood up there in the master bedroom. Do you know where that’s from?”
“It could have been a minor incident.”
“That’s what I’m asking,” Palmer persisted. “Did you clean your hands up there in the bathroom when you cut yourself?”
“Yeah.”
Palmer switched the topic to the cleaning lady who had been in the house earlier that day. McFarland claimed that My Day Cleaning Service came every Friday. Palmer segued into personal questions about Rick’s marriage. “Is there anything unusual with you all’s relationship recently? Where she just might up and leave?”
“No. No,” Rick denied.
“Were you all having any more problems than usual right now?”
Rick mumbled a response.
“She hadn’t talked about wanting to leave?”
“No,” Rick insisted, then added, “It’s never been discussed before, but . . .”
“Has she ever disappeared before?”
Rick muttered a negative response.
“No? Has she ever left for a day or overnight or anything without letting you know?”
“No.”
“No? Do you have any idea where she would have gone?” Palmer asked. “If she decided to leave and didn’t want to talk to you, do you have any idea where she would have gone other than the friends you mentioned?”
“No.”
“Was she seeing anybody else that you know of? As far as you know, she didn’t have a boyfriend or anything?”
“Correct.”
Palmer moved his questioning to the van in the driveway. “How long ago did you have the carpet taken out?”
“A week and a half—Wednesday.”
“What was wrong with the carpet that you had them take it out?”
“The kids, I guess.”
Palmer next asked about the map book he’d seen in the Winds
tar van and asked Rick why it was there. Rick explained that he used it to try to locate Lazy Lane before he jogged over to look at his wife’s car.
Palmer then turned his questions to the house for sale across the street. “Have you ever been in that house before?”
“Yeah,” Rick said and added that he had been there for the open house a couple of weeks ago. Palmer asked about parking the Windstar in the driveway there.
Rick claimed he parked it there because of the party and the kids’ desire to skateboard in his driveway.
“Have you ever been in the garage over there?”
Rick denied being in the garage until Palmer pinned him in a corner by asking, “Is there any reason why there would be anything of yours in the garage?”
“Huh. I can’t think of a reason. It’s, uh, I visited there once, when the tank ran out of gas. I put some stuff over there.”
“What did you put over there?” Palmer asked.
“We were cleaning out space.”
“Well, like, for instance . . . ?”
“There’s a storage shelf, cans, bags, charcoal, and, uh, just big stuff, bug stuff,” Rick said. Then, after a little back and forth, he added, “I took the liberty of just putting stuff in there till we got it put back.”
“You have anything over there right now?”
“We might have some stuff in there.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t recall.”
“I mean, ’cause if they are selling the house, I would guess they probably wouldn’t want all that stuff over there.”
“Yeah,” Rick acknowledged.
“Kind of a mess.”
“Yeah.”
“So when do you think that you last saw her—you said Monday?” Palmer said, switching subjects again.
“Monday evening.”
“Monday evening. And what time do you think that was, did you say?”
“Nine o’clock.”
Palmer then moved the discussion to the three little boys. “The kids are both yours and hers?”
Rick nodded his head.
“Have they asked for their mother?”
“They’re starting to.”
“Are they? When did they start asking for her?”
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