Gone Forever

by Diane Fanning

  Charlene could still see the yard next door, and it broke her heart. Sue was particular about the upkeep of her property. Now depressing mounds of brown leaves were strewn everywhere.

  Charlene had to do something—for Sue’s sake. She knocked on the front door to ask if she could mow up the leaves. Rick’s brother David answered the door and stepped out on the porch to talk. “Anything you want to do to brighten things up around here is just great,” David said.

  Charlene asked about the boys, about Rick and about his parents. David said, “All is as well as can be expected.” He repeated many times how hard the situation was on everyone. But he did not mention Sue’s name even once.

  “Did you like Susan?” Charlene asked.

  “Well, that’s a kind of hard question to answer.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, we went to the same high school, but ran with different crowds.”

  Charlene did not quite understand that evasive answer. But beneath its surface, she saw clear signs that the McFarland family’s attitude toward Sue was not an adoring one.

  “I just hope they find Susan soon—whether she’s dead or alive,” David continued. “And if my brother is guilty of what it seems they all are expecting, then I wish they’d just get this thing over with so everyone can have some closure. It’s so depressing around here. I can’t wait to go home,” David said.

  Late one night, a neighbor in a home with a glass-covered back overlooking the McFarland house was up late. The rest of her family was tucked in bed, asleep. She laid out clothing for the kids to wear to school the next day, then went through the house turning out all the lights. When her home was as dark as the outdoors, she paused by a window and surveyed the house full of questions that backed up to hers.

  She saw the back door open and shrunk back into the shadow of darkness. Rick stepped out onto the porch. She did not think he could see her with all the lights out in her home. But Rick walked to the driveway, bent down as if he were picking up a small rock. He pulled back his arm and hurled it in her direction. She held her breath waiting for the sound of crashing glass. Nothing.

  Rick bent down again and repeated his actions. Still she heard not a sound. She did not know if he really threw a rock at her house or if he was just faking it. She did know, however, that he was trying to intimidate or frighten her—and he succeeded. She imagined he was concerned that she might have seen something on the night of November 25 and wanted her to be too scared to say a word.

  She was frightened. But she was also angry—angry at the pain he’d caused his three boys, angrier still at the impact his actions had on her 6-year-old daughter. Her little girl was fearless before this past Thanksgiving. Now, she was a timid, terrified rabbit. She would not set foot outside alone. She wouldn’t even go upstairs unless one of her parents accompanied her.

  In William’s Sunday school class at First Presbyterian Church, Melissa St. John gave him a piece of ceramics—a white dove Christmas ornament—that he had made as a class art project before his mother’s disappearance. All he wanted to do now was destroy it.

  Melissa told him it was not a good idea to make an irreversible decision while there was so much chaos in his life. She encouraged him not to do anything until his world was back to normal. After the contemporary church service, William rushed up to Melissa and threw his arms around her. Melissa’s heart swelled—William was usually averse to touching.

  That display of affection had an impact on Rick McFarland as well. After observing it, he approached church personnel and insisted that they prohibit anyone from talking to his children about their mother.

  In his class at the church, James McFarland asked his teacher, “Does God send people to heaven who have killed?”

  35

  It seemed as if everyone was worried about the boys. What did they know? What did they fear? How were they coping? Terrell Hills police fielded a constant stream of calls about the children’s well-being. Police wanted Child Protective Services to move in and take action. They filed paperwork requesting CPS look into the situation. Individual caseworkers were concerned, but getting the lumbering, overloaded bureaucracy into motion was a challenge.

  Detectives kept a close eye on the boys, though. They had serious concerns that Rick would grab them and run. They received vague information about overheard bits of conversation indicating that Rick planned to flee to Mexico with his kids. The border was only a couple of hours away. Although none of the rumors could be verified, the possibility remained real, their investigators’ vigilance constant.

  Margot Cromack was determined to make the boys’ Christmas as normal as possible. She baked Christmas cookies with them and took them on holiday outings.

  The thought of taking the children out of the chaos of their home and relocating them in St. Louis was considered and rejected. The prevailing opinion was that maintaining the regular routine as closely as possible was the best plan.

  No one wanted to speculate on the long-term effect this event would have on the rest of their lives. But Rick McFarland declined all offers of counseling for his boys.

  On December 20, the last day of school before Christmas break, Sergeant Palmer went to Woodridge Elementary School. First, he talked to a reluctant James. “I wish my mother would be here for Christmas,” he said.

  “I am working very hard to find your mother, but I need some help,” Palmer said. “Do you know where she is?”

  “Mom said she was going to Amarillo without us.”

  To Palmer’s ears, this line sounded coached and memorized.

  Then James asked, “Do you think my mom is dead?”

  “I don’t know. But I am working very hard to find her.”

  James talked about a car with blood in it and then said, “Some people have gardens and they could cut themselves in the garden. Can I go back to class?”

  William entered the room ignoring the presence of the Ranger. He sat down and rolled his eyes. “I will not talk to the police,” he said.

  “We can talk about whatever you want,” Palmer coaxed.

  “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

  “I am working hard to find your mom,” Palmer said. “Do you know any clues that would help?”

  William’s conversation wandered through details about his spy kit and his microscope, the house across the street and an apartment in St. Louis where DNA was found. He was talking in a normal tone of voice, but anger flared hot in his eyes.

  “William, what do you think I should do to find your mom?”

  “Give everyone in the world a lie detector test.”

  “Who should I start with?”

  “My dad.”

  “What should I ask him?”

  “ ‘Did you do it?’ ”

  “Do what?”

  “Ask my mom to leave. My mom and dad were arguing and stuff.” After that detail slipped through his lips, William changed subjects, castigating Palmer for destroying his GameCube with that powder—the luminol. Then he asked to go back to class.

  Kim Gueldner’s third grade class at Woodridge Elementary shook with the trauma of Sue’s disappearance. They worried about their classmate James—it had been nearly a month and the whereabouts of his mother were still a mystery. Many worried that their mothers would be next.

  But Sue was more than just a fellow student’s mom—she was their Junior Achievement teacher, too. She came to see them once a week and taught them about towns and cities. She helped them put together a newspaper, build model homes out of cardboard and create an accurate blueprint of their classroom.

  They missed her smile, her vivacity, her words of praise. They needed to do something—anything—to express their grief and fear. Kim had an idea. The class would submit Sue’s name as a candidate for the Junior Achievement Volunteer of the Year award.

  Each of the children wrote a letter to Mrs. McFarland. These notes were submitted with the application. The words of the children were poignant and heart-rending.<
br />
  Thank you for being such a good mother and a teacher. I wish you could come back but you are not here. Please come back. I will tell God if he could tell me where are you. My and your Christmas present will be you to come back.

  James is worried about you. I hope you are ok. I miss you so much. My mom misses you so much. The hole class misses you. Well, I hope your ok.

  We’ll never forget you. You are a good friend to us. A lot of people are scard. We all wish you wher still here. I hope we find you. Your like $2,556,000 to me. I think your botuful. If you enterd a bouty contest you would come in first place.

  I hope we find you because you are so fun and wonderful. Sorry we were so loud.

  I wish this has never happen. You missed Thanksgiving. I hope you don’t miss Christmas.

  Later that day, Rick was at the school for the annual Holiday Happening. Principal Linda Schlather and another administrator escorted him to the classrooms. They tried to be subtle, but Rick recognized the special treatment and asked them about it.

  “It’s as much for your own protection as anything else,” Linda explained.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are people here who are convinced you committed this crime. We want to prevent them from saying anything to you,” Linda said. But that was only part of the story. She was also motivated to keep him in her sight because of the responsibility she felt for the safety of the school and everyone in it.

  In honor of Sue McFarland, Charlene and her daughter Susan picked up enough poinsettias for the front porch of every house on their block. They wrapped the pots in blue paper—Sue’s favorite color—and silver bows. They attached a card that read:

  Remember Susan McFarland.

  P.U.S.H.

  Pray Until Something Happens.

  On December 23, probate court conducted a hearing about the estate of Susan McFarland. Sue’s family had filed papers to ensure that the estate was used for the care of the boys. They were concerned that since Rick had no income of his own, Sue’s money would be spent to pay his legal expenses instead of being used for the boys’ welfare. Although Sue’s paychecks from Southwestern Bell continued to be direct-deposited in the McFarlands’ joint account, Rick was not paying the mortgage.

  The court ruled that Rick would maintain control of Sue’s salary. They did, however, appoint George Dowlen, a former judge, as receiver of Sue’s assets and inheritance from her mother. He was authorized to use those funds for the education, support and medical needs of the three boys.

  In Missouri, anxiety trampled on any vestiges of Christmas spirit. Emails and phone calls kept the edgy family connected in distress rather than celebration. On the Internet, they checked San Antonio websites as obsessively as if they were driven by intense religious fervor.

  No one slept well. Everyone’s productivity plummeted as their minds were distracted by thoughts of Sue.

  Sally the dog was in the McFarlands’ front yard when Susan Schooling gave her a bone on Christmas Day. She then went up to the McFarland house with two presents for each of the boys. Mona invited her in. Timmy rushed up to her and tugged on her shirt. “Susan, Susan. Guess what? My mommy is lost. Did you know my mommy was lost?”

  As Timmy spoke, Susan’s heart shattered like a fragile glass ball knocked from a Christmas tree. Rick wanted to talk to Susan privately. She cringed—she did not want to talk to him at all. She knew he was guilty of harming Sue. In fact, she felt as if her presence in that home was a betrayal of Sue. But she wanted to be there for the boys.

  Rick asked if she could take care of the boys for a couple of hours after school and make dinner for them. Susan’s first inclination was to agree for the sake of William, James and Timmy. She gave Rick a non-committal response.

  When Susan did not return right away, her mother, Charlene, was concerned and went over to bring her home. Rick answered the door and invited her inside. Charlene’s head spun as she encountered reminders of Sue everywhere. But she was even more disturbed at the things that were not the same. The house was a mess. The Christmas tree was not in its usual place and it stood as straight as the Leaning Tower of Pisa—the ornaments hanging drunkenly from its branches.

  After the Schoolings left, Rick called Dee Ann Dowlen. “How’s Christmas going?” she asked.

  “It’s funky,” he said. “I imagine I’ll be calling more since George is the receiver for the estate.”

  “Do you want to talk to George?”

  “No. But the boys want to talk to you.”

  One by one, the three children took the phone and thanked Dee Ann for the Christmas presents she and George sent to them.

  That evening, Rick, his parents and his sons had Christmas dinner at the Cromack home.

  The day after Christmas, Rick and the boys went over to the Schooling home to offer thanks for their presents. As Charlene opened the door, William was looking at Rick and screaming, “I hate you!”

  The photograph of Sue featured on her MISSING posters hung on the Schooling refrigerator. Charlene rushed over to take it down, concerned that it would upset the boys. Rick blocked her way—he stood in front of it staring at the picture as if he had never seen it before.

  When the boys came into the home, Timmy was his usual self—all over the house chasing and romping with the Schoolings’ dogs. James and William, however, were unusually quiet. William brought the i-Zone camera he’d received from the Schoolings so that he could use it to take their picture. As Charlene posed for the shot, her throat clutched tight—she thought William was looking more and more like Susan with every passing day.

  36

  The McFarland boys attended riding camp over the Christmas break. Margot arrived each morning to take them to the ranch. One brisk morning, the boys emerged from the house in lightweight clothing unsuitable for the chill in the air. Margot detoured past her home and grabbed sweatpants and sweatshirts to keep them warm.

  At noon, Margot always drove back to the ranch to pick them up and return them to their home and their grandparents. One day when she arrived, Rick was there. He was walking around the collection of old cars by the stable with James. If Rick kicked the wheel of car. James kicked the wheel. If Rick peered in a window, James did, too. When Rick put his hands in his pockets, James likewise stuck his down deep.

  A comment Sue made nearly two years earlier drifted up into Margot’s mind. “If I divorced Rick right now, James would never speak to me again.”

  Margot pooh-poohed that idea at the time. But, now, watching James echoing Rick’s every move, she saw the strong connection between father and son and knew that Sue had grounds for her concern.

  A case like the disappearance of Susan McFarland generated a lot of irrelevant leads. One of the oddest of all was a phone call on December 26 from a woman who’d spoken to a psychic in the interior of Mexico. Susan McFarland was alive and being held captive by cocaine-snorting thugs in an old abandoned house, the psychic said. These thugs were in regular cell phone contact with Richard McFarland.

  Other tips had a stronger connection to reality and required the time of investigators to follow them up. Employees at Ruben Auto Center in Seguin—forty miles east of San Antonio—discovered a burned human body in the back of a pickup truck on New Year’s Day. From the beginning, investigators thought it unlikely that it was Susan McFarland. They went out to the scene just the same. The trip was fruitless. Susan McFarland was still missing.

  The neighbor with the window overlooking the McFarland house returned home after being away for the holidays. Once again, she was up later than the rest of the family and walked room to room turning out the lights. Once again, she paused by a window and looked over there.

  As if on cue, Rick came out of his house and stopped at the same spot as before. This time, he did not re-enact the rock-throwing. Instead, he threw his arm up and swung it around in a broad motion as if to say, “Come on over.”

  She staggered back from the window. As frightened as she was, she did not w
ant Rick to know of her fear. She stayed away from him as much as possible, but sometimes contact was unavoidable. When she did see him at school or in the street, she donned a façade of polite normalcy. She did not want McFarland mad at her. She did not know what he would do.

  On January 2, Susan Schooling went on line to do research on after-death communications. She was ready to try any means to locate Sue McFarland. She was desperate to do something—anything—to find answers to the mystery that shredded the peace of the neighborhood and the hearts of three young boys.

  She sent emails to three or four websites that appeared credible. One hour later, she received a call from Scotland. It was psychic Christine Toomey. She said she could not fight the urge to call. She felt an extreme, powerful energy—Sue McFarland was trying hard to communicate.

  Christine was certain that Sue’s body was burned—all police would find were charred bones. She said that finances were a major struggle between her and her killer, and a generous amount of money was involved.

  The psychic claimed that Sue said she was okay now and in a better place. She was with an elderly woman—a small, frail older woman—possibly her mother.

  Christine also delivered a warning from Sue to Susan: “Absolutely do not go over to the house when you would be alone with Rick.” Sue does not want you there, the psychic said. She wants you to stay away.

  About the manner of Sue’s death, Christine said she died from a blow to the head. “It was real quick and fast. She did not feel it.” It was going to take a long time, however, to resolve the case. It would probably be a year before Rick went to jail.

  “They found already, or will find, a red sweater or red top in or nearby a creek, lake or ravine, with other debris that belongs to Susan. That is what she was wearing when she was murdered. He left her clothed when he burned her body, and that item was blown away by the wind, while burning, into a nearby area like a creek bed. They will find it.”