A Poisoned Passion

by Diane Fanning

  While he was on the road, Marshall called Palmer’s office and left a message in his voice mail. He wanted to get one of the records seized during the March 7 search, claiming that one of Wendi’s patients needed their pet’s veterinary records for a trip out of the country. It sounded plausible, but Palmer would soon learn that Marshall had really wanted the record to provide information to Wendi’s attorney.

  Early that evening, Wendi called and talked to Marshall once more. “I’m sorry to be calling again, but I just was thinking, this article in the paper, they said that you stated that he was dead in the bed.”

  “The article wasn’t right, Wendi.”

  “I never said that, Marshall. He was dead . . .”

  “Wendi . . .” he tried to interrupt.

  “. . . before in the back.”

  “Wendi. What did I say about the case? If you talk to me about the case, I’m hanging up.”

  “Okay. I’m just saying . . .”

  “I didn’t say that. You need to not worry about what you see in there,” Marshall insisted.

  “All right. Well, just listen.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think it’s important that they have the facts.”

  “Wendi, listen to me. Your lawyer is handling it. I am not—if you say one more word about the case, I’m hanging up, I promise you.”

  “Well, I need to speak to my lawyer. Can you get him to come up here tomorrow?”

  “I’m going to talk to him, but you have to understand, what the paper says is not the facts. That’s not what’s going to court.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve already told your lawyer that.”

  “Okay.”

  “He said—Well, that’s why he doesn’t want to talk to the paper is, they always skew it and, you know, do it however they benefit themselves.”

  Wendi sighed. “I know. I just—I mean—I’m not talking about any specifics. I’m just going to tell you that . . .”

  Marshall raised his voice. “Wendi, you just told me a specific. Don’t ever do it again.”

  “I’m not talking any specifics. I just want to make sure all the facts are straight.”

  “Well, that’s what you need to tell your lawyer.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry. I just worry about this.”

  “Well, I can’t believe that you just said that,” Marshall responded.

  “I’m repeating what was said in the newspaper.”

  “And then you repeated what you said.”

  “Well, it’s the truth. I don’t know.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s the truth,” Wendi repeated.

  “Well, it may be. I don’t want to know what room he was in. I don’t care.”

  “All right. Whatever.”

  “But, yes, I know you never said the bed.”

  “I know. I just don’t know why they always—A lot of that is lies.”

  “Well, I know, Wendi, but you need to think before you speak,” Marshall urged her.

  “All right. I’m just worried about in here and I’m worried about out there.”

  “Well, you don’t need to worry about out here. We’re taking care of it.”

  “But I do worry, because if I get bonded out, then I want to be able to run my business for a little while, forever—and how am I going to do that if they’ve taken half the freaking clinic?”

  “If they’ve taken it?” Marshall asked.

  “Did they take any of my equipment or supplies or anything?”

  Marshall said, “No,” then seemed to contradict himself by adding, “But all that will eventually come back.”

  “I hope soon, because . . .”

  Marshall interrupted her again. “Well, you need to worry about what’s going on in there. We’ll worry about what we need to do out here.”

  “I know.”

  “You know, there’s nothing you can do to help the situation . . . I’m telling you, we’re taking care of our end. You need to keep your mouth shut about the case except to your lawyer.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, you keep forgetting.”

  “Is Tristan doing okay?”

  “He’s doing all right.”

  “Does he ask about me?”

  “Every once in a while he’ll mention something, and we just say that you’ve got a new job.”

  Wendi badgered him for specifics of Tristan’s conversations about her, which Marshall couldn’t recall. Then she asked, “Does he still sleep with Mom and Dad?”

  “Yes, he’s sleeping with Mom and Dad.”

  “Where does Shane sleep?”

  “In his bed.”

  “Does he wake at night?” she asked.

  “Every once in a while.”

  “Do you get up with him?”

  “What?”

  “Do you get up with him?” Wendi asked again.

  “Yes, I get up with him and, yes, Mom gets up with him. I mean, you’re acting like we’re not taking care of them and . . .”

  “I know you are, Marshall. It’s just that I miss them.”

  “Well, I know you do, Wendi.”

  “I mean, I’m used to not being around you, and I’m used to not being around Mom and Dad, thank God. I’m not used to being around—not being around my kids.”

  “I know, Wendi . . . We’re all working to try to get you back with them . . . Don’t say anything you shouldn’t, or anything else.”

  “I know. It’s hard, because I’m in here by myself and all I have to do is sit and worry.”

  “I know, and we’ve already talked about that. We said that we know that’s all you’ve got to do. And there’s probably reason for concern.”

  “I’m trying to be strong, I am, but God, it’s hard,” Wendi moaned.

  “Well, I know, Wendi, and I know how you are, that you can’t, you know, be by yourself, and that’s why it’s so hard for you in there.”

  “It is.”

  “But, at the same time, if they put you in general population, you get stuck in a—with people you don’t like, how is that going to be, too?”

  “I don’t know, Marshall. I don’t know. But I just know this is horrible . . . I usually can’t brush my teeth. I mean, I’ve been able to brush them twice since I’ve been here. I don’t have any deodorant or shampoo or . . .

  “Have you done anything with your contacts?”

  “No. They still haven’t done anything. I’m just going to have to wait till I get out of here. There’s nothing I can do about it. So . . .

  “Are you sleeping?” Marshall asked.

  “Yeah, okay. I’m sleeping.”

  “They got you a bed, or do you sleep on the floor or what?”

  “No, it’s a metal rack and it has the little plastic net thing. It’s all right. I mean, my physical needs are being met. I mean, the food sucks. Yesterday I had to eat a meal off the floor because it fell on the floor, and I either had to eat it or do without. So . . .

  “They wouldn’t bring you another one?”

  “No. That’s all right. I don’t care.”

  “Well, who threw it on the floor?”

  “I dropped it trying to get it through the bars. That’s all right. It’s my fault, I guess. That’s all right. You know what? I thank God every day that this is me and not any of y’all, and especially Mama, because Mama wouldn’t make it, because you can’t smoke, you can’t drink coffee.”

  “I know.”

  “You know, you can’t move around. God, Dad couldn’t live—I mean, Dad would not be able to sit here. I don’t think you would be able to do it. I don’t think you would be able to sit here like this. I mean, if anybody is a good candidate, I guarantee you, I’m the best. I mean, it’s horrible, but . . .”

  “Well, we’re trying to get you out, Wendi, but you—I mean, you’ve got to be prepared for the worst and hope for the best.”

  “I know. I tell myself that every day. Every day I tell myself that. And, you know, I know I should
n’t worry, but God, I worry about what everybody that knows me thinks. You know, what is Terrell thinking; what is Mr. Fleming thinking?” she asked.

  “They’re all just—They’re all supporting you, Wendi . . . Everybody is in full support of you, just whatever, you know, they need to do to help.” Wendi expressed a long list of worries and fears about losing friendships. Then she said, “I just wish I could change the whole past.”

  “Well, I know. We all wish it wouldn’t have happened—anything wouldn’t have happened. We wish you weren’t in jail. But whatever happened happened, and you’re in jail.”

  Wendi fretted about loose ends and finances, and then turned her words to her deceased husband. “I know this sounds maybe silly, but, you know, I just want Mike to be buried here, because he’s my husband and the kids’ daddy and . . .”

  Marshall interrupted. “Wendi, you need to let that go. I mean, the last two times you’ve called, all you’ve talked about is him, and you need to worry about you, now. Okay?”

  “But I don’t want them to, like, ship him off to Maine.”

  “Well, that’s where he was born and raised.”

  “But I’m his wife.”

  “What?”

  “I’m his wife, Marshall.”

  “Yeah, but he’s got family up there, too.”

  “I don’t know what they want to do, but . . .”

  Marshall cut her off. “I don’t know what’s going to happen yet. Like I said, you need to talk to your lawyer. But you need to think about his dad, you know, probably do what his dad wants to do. You know . . .”

  It was Wendi’s turn to interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what I want to do?”

  “Y’all have been married for a few months—Well, sure it matters, but y’all have been married for a few months. He’s been his dad’s forever.”

  “And what about Shane and Tristan?”

  “What about them?” Marshall asked.

  “That was their daddy.”

  “They’re not going to be able to see him, Wendi. I don’t understand what you’re saying there. You know that as well as I do.”

  “Well, would you want Papa shipped off somewhere, you know?”

  “Papa was born and raised here. You need to think, Wendi. You are—I don’t know what to tell you. You’re losing it. You need to pull yourself together and think about it, because you’re thinking Shane—Well, Shane doesn’t have a clue who he is.”

  “I know.”

  “Shane doesn’t know who he is and–and Tristan knew him for a short time in the scheme of things. So . . .”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, you’re the only big one it’s affecting, and it seems like it’s getting worse and worse, and you need to think about other things than, you know, where he’s going to be buried.”

  “I don’t know. It just seems important to me . . .” Wendi insisted.

  “. . . It’s like your lawyer said, he ought to just be cremated and spread over wherever, you know, his dad wants to spread him.”

  “Is that what they want to do?”

  “That’s what the lawyer said. I don’t know what they want to do. I haven’t talked to his dad or anything.” Then, Marshall told his sister that he would not be able to visit her on Monday because he needed to go to a regional meeting and hoped at that time to have the opportunity to talk with the head of his department about getting transferred to San Angelo.

  When the warning of the impending end of the call echoed in both receivers, Marshall was ready to terminate it. Wendi desperately wanted to keep him on the line until the last possible second. Marshall gave her that additional minute—it was no big deal. But soon, his devotion to his sister would cost him far more than a little time.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  On March 10, Detective McGuire and Texas Ranger Palmer drove out to the Davidsons’ place to speak with Marshall. “We understand that you removed some of Michael’s clothing from the Advanced Animal Care clinic,” Palmer said.

  Marshall was argumentative, stopping just short of denying that the clothes were in his possession. When asked to describe exactly what he had, Marshall wasn’t free with any details. He said, “Yeah. I have a couple of things—some shirts and stuff.”

  While Palmer secured the knife, Marshall spoke to McGuire. “Do not expect any assistance from me just because I am in law enforcement. Wendi Davidson is still my sister, and I am not going to help with the investigation.”

  That same day, the Davidsons’ child custody attorney drafted a “Power of Attorney for Child Care” document for Wendi’s signature. It named her brother Marshall as her “agent and attorney-in-fact” in order that he could “. . . provide for the care and control of” Shane; “. . . obtain any and all medical attention, aid, surgery or treatment reasonable and necessary for” him; and enroll him “in a public or private school . . .”

  That afternoon, Wendi called Terrell Sheen. “Maybe several veterinarians could alternate working there, like Jody up the road and Janis Cortez and Doctor Russell, so we can pay some bills and not lose it.”

  Terrell did not seem very receptive to the idea. In fact, he suggested it might be time to sell her practice.

  At 6:30 that evening, Wendi called home. Marshall said, “We talked to the other attorney about the kids, and what we’ll probably do is give Mom and Dad custody of Shane, and they’ll also have—Well, all three of us will be power of attorney over Tristan, and then I’ll have power of attorney over you.”

  “Why is Shane going to Mom and Dad?” Wendi demanded.

  “Huh?”

  “Why is Shane going to Mom and Dad?” she repeated through clenched teeth.

  “Because I don’t have any what they call ‘standing,’ which means—Grandparents do, but I don’t. And if we don’t give it to Mom and Dad, and they do it wrong, do it with me, then that would give his family some grounds to come down and get him, because, basically, they’ve got the same grounds to come pick up the kid right now as anybody.”

  “No, not really, because don’t I have say?”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t have any say anymore?” Wendi bristled.

  “Not right now. You don’t have physical control of him.”

  Wendi said, “He’s not going to be going to Maine, I don’t think.”

  “Well, right now, there’s nothing that really could stop him other than we have physical custody of him right now. So we’re going to get a temporary power of attorney. I’m going to get power of attorney over him for right now. That way, at least somebody will have some say so over them and then Mom and Dad will get temporary custody.”

  The conversation turned to Wendi’s mental health evaluation. “Was there a psychiatrist coming or am I supposed to talk to MHMR?”

  “No, the psychiatrist, he’ll have him come up here pretty quick.”

  “MHMR is coming tomorrow.”

  “Well, you need to tell them that you—He basically said, No, I’m not crazy and I can’t talk to you about the case.”

  Wendi objected to keeping silent, because she wanted to be moved out of the suicide watch unit.

  Marshall insisted that she not talk to them unless her lawyer was there with her. “Look, they’re probably going to try to beat it out of you to talk to them and everything else. Just say, ‘No, not without my attorney. He’s got somebody else supposed to come up here and talk to me.’ ”

  Next, they discussed Marshall’s encounter with Palmer and McGuire earlier that day. “Don’t say anything back to me after I tell you, but basically, they want all the clothes that . . . you gave me, and they got that blue-handled knife that you left out there at the house. I don’t want to know anything about it, but . . .”

  “Well, I don’t care. Whatever . . . Nobody has been here asking about Mike, what—what we’re going to do with Mike?”

  “No. I asked him about that, too,” Marshall said, referring to the criminal attorney. “And he said somebody . . . from the military will
probably come up there and have you sign off on something releasing it to the military so they can take care of . . .”

  “And nobody has. So they’re just going to let him rot?”

  “Well, they will. No. I mean, I’m sure he’s still up in wherever they sent him. But they—Somebody will come by . . . You don’t talk to them or anything. You just sign whatever they give you so that they can handle the burial or however they’re going to do it.”

  Wendi complained about not knowing what would happen to Mike’s body and about not being able to talk freely to her brother.

  Marshall said, “Well, if it’s not about the case, it’s fine.”

  Wendi babbled as she sought the right words to use. “Let me put it in some little metaphor. I just, you know, I know what all happened, and I guess in my mind, I just, you know—Why can’t you just let dead dogs lie, you know? And I don’t know. I was kind of at peace knowing things, and now I don’t know. You get what I’m saying?”

  “Well,” Marshall said again, “I don’t want to know any more.”

  “But you do know what I’m saying?”

  “I guess. I don’t know. I don’t want to know about the case.”

  Wendi expressed annoyance that her family wasn’t making an all-out effort to get her out of the jail.

  “The D.A. said charges are imminent. I mean, they’re coming,” Marshall said.

  Everyone else seemed to take that as a matter of course, but Wendi seemed shocked. “The D.A. said that?”

  “Yeah,” Marshall said. “The D.A. said that to the attorney.”

  “I just don’t understand why. I just don’t know how they can do that when they don’t know anything.”

  “Well, they can do it just based on the evidence they have got. You know, it’s all circumstantial stuff, but that’s how they’re going to do it. But, you know, that’s what we’re waiting on and everybody kind of figured that. It wasn’t no big secret, you know, and, anyway, so we’re waiting on that and then we’ll try to get your bond reduced and try to get you out of there.”

  “So basically, there is no ifs, ands or buts.’ I mean, it’s going to be just a matter of time that this is going to trial,” Wendi said. She turned the conversation to the disappointing phone call she’d had that afternoon. “Terrell didn’t sound happy when I talked to him.”