“All of these things describe Susan, but the three words that I think best describe Susan are: Susan loved life.
“[. . .] It is my prayer that we might all remember Susan’s sweet spirit and the joy she found in living. I especially pray that her family, in those quiet moments of reflection that will come, might feel of her Spirit and of her love for them and find comfort and peace in knowing that one day they can be re-united with her again.”
Friends Blanca Hernandez and Margot Cromack stepped up to run through the alphabet with remembrances of Sue. Sue’s brother, Harley Smith, followed the two women. He was 15 years old when his little sister Sue was born on New Year’s Eve, 1958. “In retrospect, it was right that Susie was born on the biggest party night of the year,” he said. “Dad called her ‘my best little tax deduction.’ ”
His final words reflected the hearts of many in the church that day. “We mourn your passing, but celebrate the joy you brought to our lives.”
In the audience, Kate Kohl of the Heidi Search Center vowed to remain stoic. She tried to practice what she preached to staff and volunteers again and again: “We cannot cry. We cannot get emotionally involved. We need to be the strength and support of the family.” Yet, when Kate saw the three motherless boys, a lump formed in her throat. When she focused on little Timmy and knew that his direct memories of his mother would soon fade away, her tears flowed. She would have loved to know Sue—alive, in charge, her arms wrapped around her sons.
As uplifting as the eulogies were, many others were also overcome with sorrow—breaking down in tears with the first refrains of “Amazing Grace.” The service ended with final words from Reverend Zbinden: “Although we celebrate her life, we cannot pretend that our world is not darker because Susan’s bright light is not shining.”
At the reception that followed the service, bright colored balloons filled the room in honor of Sue and “for children of all ages.” William, James and Timmy kept busy running around and hiding under tables. But often, William broke away from his brothers to wrap neighbors and family friends with big bear hugs.
After the service, Timmy told his Aunt Ann, “I’m just a little boy and all I have is a bag of bones for a mom.”
“You will always have your mom in your heart,” Ann assured him.
Timmy thought about that for a moment, then he smiled and said, “You’re right. I do.”
That conversation broke Ann’s heart, but other words she overheard flamed her to anger. In Ann’s presence, Mona McFarland said, “Susan didn’t have an ounce of mothering instinct in her.”
And that was not the only callous, ugly statement Mona made. She even told one person, “The boys’ mother was an evil woman.” More than once, she told others, “Rick has many, many, many reasons for what he did.”
Wesley Miller got off the school bus, came into the house and slumped in a chair. His body limp. His eyes glazed. His face ashen.
His mother Carrie asked, “What’s wrong, Wesley?”
He turned to her with moist eyes, “Did Mr. McFarland really burn Mrs. McFarland up?”
Carrie’s anger at Rick flared. No young once-innocent boy should ever have to ask a question like that. “Yes he did, Wesley. But he burned her body. She did not feel a thing.”
Thirteen-year-old Stephanie Miller dealt with her demons, too. Her bedroom window overlooked the back of the McFarland home and had a clear view into the windows now that the hackberry tree no longer stood in the way. She lowered her blinds and tightened the slats. “I had a murderer looking at me,” she said. Her blinds remained that way every day—all day long—for years.
Sue’s family held another memorial service in Sue’s hometown of Webster Groves on February 1. The start of the service was delayed by the late arrival of Sue’s Amarillo friend, Dee Ann Dowlen. Even more fanatical a shopper than Sue, she lost track of time on a side trip to the nearby Saks. It was a story Sue would have loved. It did not, however, amuse some of those who stood in the damp cold waiting for the event to begin.
Sue’s high school friend Sandy spoke bittersweet words in celebration of Sue’s life. “In the spirit of our fun friend Sue, listen to some Kathy Mattea, try a new recipe, buy some art glass, savor a smiley cookie, get your feet pampered and paint your toenails hot pink, take a spontaneous, unplanned trip somewhere and make it your own adventure du Jour. And when doing these things, most definitely think of Sue and smile.
“In my opinion, if we do some of the things suggested here, we honor Sue’s legacy to us—her love of being a mom, her generosity, and her fun nature—and we carry her in our hearts. If we do these things, think of Sue, and smile, then we pass along the joy of life that she personified so well, and she smiles right along with us.”
Goodbyes said. Tears shed. It was now time to seek justice for Susan McFarland.
43
Before investigators found Susan’s body, botanists Patty Pasztor and Paul Cox performed botanical analysis on the plant samples collected from the Suburban grille and undercarriage, and tape lifts from Rick McFarland’s shoes, socks and pants. On January 22, they went to the crime scene on South W.W. White Road.
They cut plants from the roadside, along the worn path leading to the trailer and in a twenty-foot radius to the south of the trailer where Sue’s body had rested for weeks. They took care to collect any flowers and seeds and placed each sample in separate one-gallon-sized plastic bags. Each was labeled and numbered. They filled fifteen bags in all. They also collected duplicate specimens in the vicinity of the trailer and taped those in a hard-covered book to press.
At the end of the study of the botanical evidence, they matched seven species of plants from the scene to samples obtained from the stolen Suburban and Rick’s clothing—redroot pigweed, yellow wood sorrel, beggars’ ticks, hooded windmillgrass, threelobe false mallow, bufllegrass and multi-flowered false rhodesgrass. All of these plants were common in the area. But one burr found at the site and on a sock belonging to Richard McFarland stood out—there was only one area in Bexar County where it could be found, the location where Sue’s abandoned, burned body rested for weeks.
On February 3, Sergeant Palmer talked to the previous owner of 351 Arcadia Place. He learned that there was a removable floor panel inside the closet under the stairs. The panel allowed access to a crawlspace beneath the house.
Palmer obtained a search warrant and, with Investigator Julian Martinez from the Bexar County District Attorney’s Office, went back into the McFarland home. When they cleared away the items stored on the closet floor and lifted up the cut-out section of the wood flooring, the dirt below did not appear disturbed. They found no additional evidence down in that dark hole.
The trip was not a waste, though. They found an interesting hand-written document on top of the desk in Rick’s second-floor office. Rick, it appeared, wrote this suggestion for a possible defensive strategy before his arrest and before the discovery of Susan’s body:
Framing Theory
She planted evidence before abandoning her family.
Motive 1: To divert attention to Rick to get the police to only search for her locally.
Motive 2: To eliminate the stigma of the woman who did the unthinkable—abandoned her children.
Motive 3: Revenge on Rick for not moving out the previous year when Susan asked.
Motive 4: Her dad was an FBI Agent for 35 years, she must of picked up extensive knowledge about crime scenes from the stories her father brought home.
It took a strange mind to conceptualize this theory. It took even more distorted thinking to believe the scenario would find credibility with law enforcement, the district attorney or even a jury of his peers.
Before his bail-reduction hearing, Rick contacted Steven Rogers, owner of Alamo Mini Storage, to ask him to be a witness on his behalf. At Rick’s request, Steven called one of Rick’s attorneys.
“Do you think Rick is violent?” the lawyer asked.
“I’ve never seen him act violently,�
� Steven said.
“Do you think Rick is honest?”
“Rick wanted to store items at my place to keep the police from finding them.”
Steven never heard from the legal team again.
On February 7, in district court, Judge Sid Harle presided over the bail reduction hearing for Richard McFarland. His bail was now set at $950,000 for four charges: murder, unauthorized use of a vehicle, attempting to bribe a witness and tampering with evidence.
The prosecution argued for no reduction in bail. The defense stated the current bail amount was outrageously high. They requested a bail of $100,000.
Seventy-three-year-old Dick McFarland testified that his son was a gentle man who posed no danger to the community and no risk of flight to avoid prosecution. He portrayed his son as a God-fearing, church-attending father who “would not run or any of that foolishness because he would lose his kids if he did.”
The judge lowered the bail to $550,000. That meant that to gain Rick’s release from Bexar County jail, his family would have to raise a minimum $55,000 and possibly have to post collateral for the rest. Rick’s retired parents, living on fixed incomes, managed to scrape together $30,000—far short of the amount required.
After the hearing, District Attorney Susan Reed said, “This case was put together one piece at a time through good old-fashioned detective work, and when all these pieces are put together in court, we are confident that McFarland will be convicted.”
44
On February 12, Rick spoke to his mother and told her not to allow Ann Carr into his house. He also said that he did not want Ann to be the executor of Sue’s estate.
Rick talked to his dad two days later. Dick told his son that he thought Ann should be allowed into the house. Rick was adamant—she must be denied access. Rick warned his dad about one other person—Charlene Schooling. Rick told Dick not to share anything with her. Charlene, he said, was bad news. Then they discussed the bail. Rick insisted they could get the $55,000 from a bank in St. Louis.
The next day, Mona was upset about borrowing money for the 10 percent needed to bail Rick out of jail. “Who will have to pay the other 90 percent if you don’t show up?” she asked.
“The estate will pay,” Rick said.
Dick got on the phone and said, “I filed a motion to have Ann as executor. You should use your time for something worthwhile.”
“Fuck!” Rick exploded.
“I cannot oppose Ann,” Dick continued as if the forbidden word had not been spoken, “because I would have to take the witness stand.”
The next week, Rick talked to his dad and expressed his distress that the judge had not yet made a decision on whether or not a simple 10 percent down payment with no additional collateral would be sufficient to bond him out of jail.
“The judge and district attorney are both up for reelection,” Dick said.
“Oh, God.”
“Unbelievable,” Dick agreed.
“I’m not going to make it here much longer,” Rick said.
The following day, Rick cried as he begged his mother, “Don’t go back to St. Louis till I’m out of jail.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Mona said. “How could this happen? I can’t take this.”
Rick continued to sob. “Ask any family member to sell property or the house to get bail money.”
On Saturday, February 22, Rick told his dad, “This morning, go ahead and process me out as if you don’t know any better. Go to the bank and get the big piece of paper—the big fifty-five-K cashier’s check—and just make a beeline down here and just show up like everyone else and, just routine, process me out. And the worst thing they can say is, ‘I don’t think so.’ Last Friday, they just couldn’t believe I wasn’t leaving.”
“Are you sure? You sure?”
“So, try it, Dad . . . just go in and play dumb to them.”
“Well, what do you mean?”
“It’s because they want me out of here. I’ll be out in two hours. Do me a favor—humor me—and like you don’t know any better, go get the big piece of paper, come down and just say, ‘I’m here to bail out my son.’ ”
“Well . . .”
“Let’s just see what happens.”
“Well, first off, talking to this guy at the bonds in the first-floor window down there . . .”
Rick interrupted, “Okay, when you say you are here to pick up Rick, here’s the fifty-five thousand . . .”
“Okay but first they have to check to see if the judge has that on the statement—the ten percent factor—if we don’t, that’ll shut it down right there unless they really screw up.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was going to say, explore, just try it,” Rick pleaded.
Dick, however, was not willing to play games with the authorities in the hopes that they would make a mistake.
In March, Rick told his parents that he wanted a visit from Chaplain Al Logan, the director of detention ministries. The chaplain could bring in two books. “I want Winning in the Cash Flow Business and Tin Can Alley: How to Make Money ASAP. Tell the jail people I want to speak with Al Logan. Don’t tell them about the books though.”
Mona had reservations about dealing with Logan. She did not feel he was good enough to visit with her son.
In early March, David McFarland penned a letter to his brother Rick while sitting in the Macaroni Grill waiting for his order of Penne Rustica to arrive:
Every time I am enjoying the outdoors or some other luxury I used to take for granted, I think about you and where you are [. . .] I can’t believe I’m actually writing a letter like this to a brother who is in prison.
[. . .] The fact is I cannot save you or William, James and Timmy. That’s the bad news, the Great News is that I know the one that can save you and the boys and I pray that the Holy Spirit would indwell you and the boys so you would have the same assurance.
He then wrote about his reluctance to follow the plan cooked up by Rick and his mom to pretend to be adopting the children when he and his wife had no intention of keeping them more than a couple of months. He expressed his concern about the legal consequences of taking this action:
If anyone can understand the fears of messing with the State of Texas and their legal system, it would be you! So it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that Julie and I will not be taking any part in a home-study. I hope you can understand that my first and foremost obligation is to my family.
Mona and Dick had two accounts at the Bank of America in Missouri—a checking account and a home equity line of credit that was created to be overdraft protection for the first account. A couple years before, the elder McFarlands stopped hearing about the accounts, but were not concerned. They were inactive accounts and they thought the $19 balance they left in the checking account eroded to nothing because of the $5 monthly service fee.
Behind bars, Rick was unable to cover his tracks by making the payments necessary to keep the account alive and keep everyone unaware of what he had done. Back in December of 2000, Rick used his father’s Social Security number to gain access to the account. He changed the address from St. Louis to a mail drop box in San Antonio that he opened in the name of Ramona McFarland.
Rick forged over $28,000 worth of checks in 2001 and more than $15,000 in 2002. On top of that, he rang up thousands of dollars on the check card at CompUSA, OfficeMax, Wal-Mart, Target, Wolf Camera, Alamo Heights Office Supply, Eckerd drug, The Sharper Image, Sprint and Paris Hatters.
Helping his wife, Ann, review all the paperwork that might be attached to Sue’s estate, Gary Carr uncovered the trail of theft—Rick left the elder McFarlands with $59,670.96 worth of debt on their home equity line of credit.
Dick and Mona had stood by their son. They believed in him. Rick accepted everything they offered him—and never hesitated to ask for more. All the while, he knew he’d ripped them off and destroyed any vestige of financial stability they had in their old age.
Did Rick apologize or show any rem
orse for what he had done? Of course not. He told his parents, “Sue made me do the Bank of America thing.”
Mona accepted this excuse. Either she really believed him or she could not cope with believing anything else.
Dick seemed a bit more skeptical about his son and money in a conversation he and Mona had with Rick a few days later.
“Go to H-E-B and get a three-hundred-dollar check sent to the P.O. Box,” Rick said.
“Why three hundred dollars? I’ve been sending one hundred dollars.”
“I said three hundred dollars! Take it out of my house.”
“How do we do that?” Mona asked.
“My brain is not in very good shape.”
Dick insisted he was only going to send $100 to Rick’s fund at the prison. Rick countered with an offer of $200. Dick finally expressed his disgust; “You’ve been spending it before you got it for forty years.”
Charlene Schooling felt mighty sorry for Dick and Mona. It had gotten so hard to be the parents of Rick McFarland. She offered to bring dinner over to them after they got home from visiting Rick in jail. When they arrived at 351 Arcadia, Charlene trooped over with a casserole, a salad and a pitcher of iced tea.
Mona was sitting on a sofa in the living room with the Bible opened on her lap. Charlene put the food in the kitchen and sat down next to her.
Gone Forever Page 20