On January 11, Judy visited her ailing mother and, according to Emmett, tricked the frail woman into signing papers giving Lloyd and Judy power of attorney and making them co-executors of Jessie Mae’s estate. When Emmett learned what she had done, he was furious at Judy’s manipulation of his helpless wife.
Mike returned from training on January 12, excited about the trip back home. He was looking forward to seeing his family, but what he talked about the most was Tristan. It would be the young boy’s first chance to see snow when he traveled to Maine. Mike called home frequently to check on the weather. He couldn’t wait to share this experience with his stepson. He planned to take him sledding and teach him how to make snowballs and build a snow fort.
The only cloud hanging over the anticipated trip was Wendi. Since his return from Wichita Falls, Mike was puzzled at how distant she seemed—not willing to talk or warm up to him at all. She didn’t seem pleased that he’d returned home. He called his dad, chatted about the weather in Maine and the travel plans. Then, he shared his concern about Wendi giving him the cold shoulder.
He didn’t know that during his absence, his mother-in-law had worked overtime to poison Wendi’s mind against him, his family and the trip back East. Judy and Lloyd were adamant in their opposition to the planned visit to Mike’s home state. Judy tried to discourage Wendi from going through with the trip. “It’s not going to be good for business. You’re just opening and now you’re closing down for a week. It’s bad business.”
“Hey, it’s just one week,” Wendi said. “Things can wait. I’ll be back.”
When that argument didn’t work, Judy tried emotional warfare. She planted the suspicion in Wendi’s mind that a conspiracy was afoot. Judy warned Wendi that the Severance family might not let her come back to Texas, or wouldn’t let her bring Shane home. Although Judy had no proof to reinforce her theory, she’d always been a destructive influence on Wendi’s thinking.
On the morning of January 13, Mike helped Wendi out at the clinic. He carried a puppy back for an x-ray. He set the animal, attached to an IV, on an examination table and walked out of the room. He returned immediately and was chastised by Wendi. “Are you just going to leave the puppy on the table by itself?” She lit into him, calling him stupid. Her outburst distressed Shane, who fussed and cried in response.
Without saying a word, Mike picked up the little dog and placed him in a crate. He then got Shane and drove off to visit friends in Abilene without telling Wendi where he was going.
A little while later, Wendi went into the apartment looking for him. He wasn’t there and neither was the baby. She went outside and saw that Mike’s pick-up truck was gone. She called Mike’s cell phone, but he didn’t answer. She instantly became distraught and burst into tears. “Maybe they’ve been in a wreck. Maybe they’re on the side of the road somewhere,” she moaned to her mother. “Why would he take off with the baby?”
Judy had nothing worthwhile to offer—no comfort, just another venomous remark about her son-in-law. Wendi called Mike again. This time he answered. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Abilene visiting some friends. We’ll be back soon.”
By 4:30, he was home, and the two children headed out the door with Judy. Lately, Wendi’s parents had kept the boys overnight three or four times a week. Mike was not pleased with the frequency, but what Judy wanted, Judy got. He knew better than to engage in a battle he could not win with his mother-in-law.
Friday morning, Judy returned to the clinic with her grandchildren in tow. Wendi kept busy all day, examining her furry patients, handing out medications to their owners, performing surgery and continuing Jamie’s training as a veterinary assistant.
Mike made arrangements for repairs to his truck. Someone had rammed into the side of the bed and left an unsightly dent. Mike thought the best time to get the work done was while they were away. He made an appointment to drop the pick-up off at a body shop on Saturday morning. He also contacted the insurance company, setting up the free replacement car rental for use in Maine rather than Texas.
Since Wendi and Mike knew they had to stay home Saturday night because of their early flight Sunday morning, they wanted to go out for dinner and dancing Friday evening. Wendi asked Jamie if she could baby-sit the boys.
“Why are you asking Jamie?” Judy wanted to know.
“You had them last night, Mom. It’s too hard on you to have them two nights in a row.”
“Well, let me take Tristan. Jamie’s young and inexperienced. The two of them are too much for her.”
When the clinic closed, Judy left with her older grandson and Jamie took the baby. Mike called Derrick and Julie Fesmire, asking them if they wanted to come down for a night of dancing. The Abilene couple couldn’t get a sitter on the short notice. Within days, regret for not making it down to San Angelo that night piled up high on Derrick’s shoulders.
Wendi and Mike went across the street and had dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings, leaving the restaurant at 7:40. After dinner, Wendi and Mike went to Graham Central Station, where they danced and had a few drinks. They crossed the street to the clinic. Between the beer and his excitement about the upcoming trip, Mike was exuberant and full of wild energy. He jumped in his pick-up and drove in crazy circles around the parking lot.
Wendi went inside. The truth of what happened in the next twenty-four hours remains unclear, but based on the evidence later compiled and examined, the state of Texas was able to reconstruct what they suspect happened.
Inside the apartment, Wendi poured a beer for her husband. Then she dropped five veterinary phenobarbital pills into his drink. The drug was highly soluble and the strong flavor of the beer easily overrode the medicinal taste. It was not a fatal dose, but it was enough to ensure eight to twelve hours of deep sleep.
A grinning Mike came through the door and downed his beer. He undressed and collapsed on the bed. Wendi waited until she was certain that he was unconscious. Then she slammed a syringe full of Beuthanasia-D, a common veterinary euthanizing solution, into her husband’s chest. The liquid contained a lethal dose of pentobarbital diluted with phenytoin, a substance added to drop the active agent from a schedule two down to a schedule three narcotic (a restriction affecting wholesale purchasing). It would be only a matter of time before the drugs shut down his respiratory function and his heart.
There was only one more thing Wendi needed to do—dispose of the body of the man she’d promised to love and cherish “till death do us part.”
FIFTEEN
Wendi got in Mike’s pick-up and backed it up to the rear door of the clinic. She chose an angle that took advantage of the slight depression in the ground in front of the entrance leading inside. She lowered the tailgate and eyeballed its height. On flat ground, the distance was just under three feet. Her strategic parking got it closer to a height of two feet.
She dragged the body across the lintel and hoisted the top part of his frame onto the lowered gate panel. She crawled into the truck bed and, sticking her hands under his arms, jerked him all the way up. She pulled the burden completely into the back of the pick-up. Then she jumped down and slammed the tailgate shut.
She threw a covering over his body and went into the outbuilding behind the clinic and returned with an old brake drum and a concrete block. She hoisted them into the truck bed, weighing down a couple of corners to keep her cargo concealed from view. Then she tossed a spool of baling wire and a reel of fishing line into the cab.
She left town, heading north on Route 87 toward the community of Grape Creek where her parents lived. She angled off the highway onto March Road. When it forked, she left the paved surface, going straight on Sutton Road.
The surface of this byway was caliche, a light-colored layer of dirt that split into shingles like sheets of mica. In other parts of the country, people refer to this soil as “hard-pan.” Nothing can grow from it but clouds of dust. The ride over it was rough, but Wendi had been raised in this part of Texas. She was used to bounc
ing a pick-up truck over rugged back roads.
She followed the fence line of the 7777 Ranch until she reached the main gate. A lot of spreads out here had tall arches spanning the gate with metal artwork on top proclaiming the name of the property. Here, though, was just a simple metal entryway locked shut to keep out intruders. Wendi had the key. She opened it up and pushed it all the way back. She climbed in the truck and pulled through across the cattle guard. On the other side, she stopped, put on the emergency brake and got out. She pushed the gate shut, but didn’t lock it.
The narrow, one-lane caliche drive went up and down hills, past weed-like mesquite and cedar trees and sparse brush for a mile before reaching the stock tank. Out of sight of the road, it was surrounded by acres of rolling hills devoid of homes and prying eyes.
In Texas, a stock tank refers to a large pond. There was a boat dock on one end, and it was stocked with fish every year for laid-back summertime recreation.
Wendi pulled up to the dock head first, pointing her headlights in the direction of the stock tank. She rolled Michael’s body out of the bed and grabbed his feet, dragging him face down across the ground and onto the covered wooden platform built over the edge of the pond. Then, she returned to the truck and retrieved the supplies needed to weigh down the body.
She looped one end of the baling wire around his neck and twisted it tight—but not too tight, so as not to sever the neck. On the other end, she attached the brake drum. She tied fishing line around the cinder block and secured it to his left leg.
What was she thinking as she went about her gruesome task? How could she do this? Lying before her in nothing but red boxer shorts, his winter-white skin glowing in the gleam of her headlights, was the man who’d shared her bed—a man she’d claimed to love. Mike was only 24 years old. He’d served his country, he’d cared for his baby, he’d loved life. Wendi had gone with him to look at homes where they could build a future together. Now, she stood by his corpse, in the middle of nowhere, in the dark of night, treating him like useless trash.
She pushed his body to the edge and rolled him off into the water. When the sound of the splash disrupted the eerie quiet of the wilderness, did it make her jump? She needed to stay until the last of his body passed under the black surface of the water and the ripples smoothed to glass.
She stalked back to Mike’s pick-up truck, backed it up, put it in gear and headed out of the ranch and back to her apartment in the clinic. She climbed into her empty bed—a place she’d tried so hard and so often to fill with a man. She sought just a few hours of sleep before her mother arrived to open the clinic.
She believed she’d committed the perfect murder.
SIXTEEN
Judy arrived at the clinic between 7:15 and 7:30 that morning. As soon as she got there, Wendi left to pick up Shane from Jamie. Since no surgeries were ever scheduled on Saturdays, it was Jamie’s day off. Wendi returned in time for the clinic to open at 8 A.M.
She laid Shane down in the designated area of the office that housed his bed with its colorful mobile, a swing and baby’s toys. She left the door open in order to hear him if he cried.
The door to the bedroom remained closed. Judy thought she heard sounds of movement from the apartment. She asked Wendi if Mike was coming out to help with patients that morning.
“Nah. He’s too hung over from last night,” Wendi said.
Despite Mike’s condition, Judy noticed that her daughter appeared to be in a very good mood. A couple hours after the clinic opened, Lloyd pulled into the back parking lot. He saw Mike’s pick-up parked there—the truck that was supposed to be in the body shop that morning.
Lloyd sent Tristan inside and then he got to work on some outdoor chores. The clinic stayed open until 3 in the afternoon on Saturdays, but Judy was tired and Tristan was hungry. She left with her grandson a little after noon to feed the boy and get some rest. When Lloyd finished up in the back, he joined his wife at the house.
Wendi closed up the clinic at the regular time. She strapped Shane into his car seat, hopped into Mike’s pick-up truck and drove out to the Davidsons’ place, arriving just after 4. They all had dinner together. While they ate, Judy continued to argue about the trip to Maine. Mike and Wendi had spent $1,500 for flight tickets for the four of them to travel back East, but still Judy persisted. “You shouldn’t go, Wendi. It’s bad business and a bad idea. Mike’s been acting strange. What if he doesn’t let you come back?”
After supper, Wendi loaded up the boys and drove over to her grandmother’s house. She dropped off some shrimp for Jessie Mae and chatted with her by her bedside. “We’re leaving for Maine in the morning,” she said.
“I’m afraid I might die while you’re gone. I might never see you again,” Jessie Mae cried.
“You’ll be okay,” Wendi reassured her. “I’ll be back and I’ll come by and see you just as soon as I can.”
Wendi talked with her step grandfather Emmett out in the yard. He glanced in the bed of the truck and noticed gravel and cement block chips.
Wendi returned with her two boys to her little apartment in the clinic. She later claimed that she’d discovered Mike’s body then. She said she’d found him in bed. Then she said she’d found him on the floor of the clinic. In all likelihood, both stories were nothing but self-serving lies. She did not see his body. Little Tristan did not experience that trauma. Mike was now lying on the bottom of a cold stock tank in the middle of a desolate ranch.
SEVENTEEN
At some point after disposing of her husband’s body, Wendi called the airline, cancelling the family’s four tickets for the flight to Maine. Around 5 A.M. on Sunday, she picked up the phone and called the Severance home in Maine.
Leslie had already left for work. Brinda answered the phone. “Where is Michael? Have you seen Michael?” Wendi asked.
“ ‘Where is Michael?’ What are you talking about? You are supposed to be getting on an airplane to fly here. You’re not at the airport?” Brinda said.
“No. I can’t find Michael. I don’t know where he is. He didn’t come home last night.”
“He wouldn’t miss a trip back home. Are you ready to leave when he shows up?”
“I haven’t even started packing yet. But we’ll fly out just as soon as I find him.”
Brinda could not believe what she was hearing. The flight was just a couple hours away and Wendi hadn’t packed? Where was Mike? He was on leave—but had something happened? Had he been called in to work because of a national emergency? She sat stunned for a few minutes and then called her daughter Nicole.
Together, they wondered if, for some unknown reason, Mike was on his way there alone. Brinda called the airport. She learned that the tickets for the flight had been cancelled that morning. Dread uncoiled, releasing an overload of acid into her stomach. She called the bus lines and the trains, but could not find any passenger named Michael Severance. She spent hours on the telephone, talking to everyone she knew, trying to find Mike. She walked past the snowsuit, boots and sled she’d bought for Tristan, and burst into tears. She was desperate to locate Mike before Les returned home from his twelve-hour shift.
Nicole called Wendi several times that day for updates, but there never were any new developments. Nicole got more frantic with every passing hour. She was baffled by Wendi’s attitude. Mike’s wife acted as if it was no big deal at all.
In Texas, Marshall Davidson called his parents to remind them that he’d be coming to San Angelo on Monday and to ask about his grandmother’s health.
“Mike’s gone missing,” Judy said.
“Missing?”
“He’s not here. He was supposed to go on that trip to Maine, and we don’t know where he is,” Judy said.
Lloyd got on the other phone and joined the conversation. “He’s been wanting out of the military. Maybe he made the trip to Maine early and went off to Canada.”
Judy said, “I can’t believe it, but he ran off on Wendi, and left the baby and everything.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Marshall assured his parents.
Les got home from work that evening at 6. One look at Brinda’s face and he sensed something was wrong. “You don’t look ready to go. We’ve got to drive down to Bangor, the plane will be in soon.”
“Mike isn’t coming, Les,” Brinda told him.
“What do you mean, Mike’s not coming?”
“Mike is missing, Les. Wendi called this morning. She wanted to know if he was here. I’ve been on the phone all day trying to find him.”
“Something’s wrong,” Les said. “He wouldn’t miss coming home.” He called Wendi and questioned her.
“We left Mike at home and I took his truck and the kids over to my parents’ house and I haven’t seen him since,” she said.
“Mike’s truck was supposed to be in the shop. He had an appointment to take it in Saturday morning. What were you doing with it?” Les asked.
“Oh, we forgot to take it in,” Wendi said.
Leslie knew how much his son cared about that truck. He knew he wouldn’t forget to take it in. Leslie was devastated. They’d rented a hall and planned a reception for Michael and his new bride. They were so excited about the arrival of his son and family. Now, all that anticipation turned to cinders—replaced by a churning anxiety. Leslie Severance knew something bad had to have happened to his son, but he knew nothing more.
Soon after talking to Les, Wendi and her father went to the San Angelo Police Department to file a missing persons report. She provided the necessary details to Officer Lucien Thomas and was told that an investigator would come to see her on Monday morning. Wendi then called the Air Force and reported that Staff Sergeant Michael Severance was missing from his home.
On Monday morning, although Advanced Animal Care was scheduled to be closed, Wendi opened it for business. Judy reported to work, picked up her grandsons and took them to day care. When Detective Dennis McGuire of the San Angelo Police Department arrived at Advanced Animal Care, Marshall Davidson was there with his sister. McGuire asked questions and looked around the facility and the apartment.
A Poisoned Passion Page 7