He also found that the U.S. military were not bound by legal restraints imposed by the state of Texas, as state and local law enforcement were, and that military rules of evidence were not violated. “Lastly, even if any of these findings were incorrect, I find there is sufficient attenuation. Law enforcement were directed to this pond by Ms. Davidson and by her brother. At that point in time, that’s when they were able to discover the body, so I am going to deny the Motion to Suppress evidence. Now are we ready to proceed?”
Fred Brigman rose to his feet behind the defense table. “Your Honor, if we could have about ten minutes, we will be ready.”
The judge nodded. “We are in recess for ten minutes.”
Wendi collapsed, lying on the floor of the courtroom sobbing while her attorney attempted to comfort her. With this hurdle crossed, the prosecution’s case looked more and more like a slam dunk—and the defense knew it.
FIFTY-THREE
The defense team had made a decision on the previous Friday night: If their motion was denied, there was only one possibility remaining—their client had to plead no contest. If she went to trial, Wendi would face a sentence ranging from 9 to 99 years. They had to improve the odds. A no contest plea allowed her to not admit guilt, preserved her ability to appeal and locked in a period of incarceration far more tolerable than the maximum she faced. According to Lloyd Davidson, the attorneys assured Wendi that if she entered this plea, she’d never serve a day in jail and she would not lose her license to practice veterinary medicine.
In minutes, the plea agreement was ready. Both sides agreed in open court to forgo a jury trial and submit the case to the judge. The defendant waived the reading of the indictment. Wendi sobbed and shook when she choked out “No contest.” She then admitted her guilt in the unrelated child endangerment case.
District Judge Tom Gossett warned her, “You will be found guilty, and you will be convicted of the offenses just as if a jury found you guilty.”
Wendi acknowledged her understanding of the outcome.
The judge announced that it appeared to him that the defendant was competent to stand trial, was not influenced by any consideration or fear, and that her statement was free and voluntary. After hearing arguments from both sides, Judge Gossett stated there was sufficient evidence to support the no contest plea and announced his ruling of “Guilty.”
He asked Wendi if she had anything to say about why sentence should not be pronounced. Wendi did not respond. The judge read out the sentence: 25 years on the murder conviction and 10 years each on the two tampering charges, to be served concurrently. Judy cried as the judge intoned her daughter’s fate. Her father sat stock-still without a trace of emotion on his face.
In the hallway outside of the courtroom, Leslie Severance spoke on the phone to a reporter in Maine, telling the Bangor Daily News that he felt neither joy nor satisfaction. “We all kind of realized that this isn’t going to bring Mike back. We’re kind of glad it’s over, this part of it. Surprisingly, it doesn’t do anything for the pain. I think we got robbed again. She is in jail right now because she is guilty of murder, but she has never admitted to anything. I guess we didn’t get a whole lot of answers we were hoping we would get.”
Melvin Gray, one of Wendi’s lawyers, said, “By going this route, we’ve limited the exposure to our client. There are real issues as to who committed the murder.”
After being assessed nearly $2,500 in court costs and fees on the three felony charges, Wendi signed the Waiver and Stipulation of Evidence form. She was then handcuffed and escorted from the courtroom. She waited in the Tom Green County Jail for her transfer to a state prison facility.
Doctor Wendi Mae Davidson would be eligible for parole in thirteen years.
FIFTY-FOUR
In November, Fred Brigman filed a notice of intent to appeal the verdict in the case. Wendi spent the month in the Tom Green County Jail.
After Thanksgiving, Les Severance flew down to Texas once again. On December 1, he petitioned the Tom Green County Civil Court for extra visitation rights with his grandson, and met with attorney Tom Goff to plan the battle for full custody of Shane Severance.
By mid-December, Wendi was in a state of panic. She wrote letters to two judges—the one who’d presided over her criminal case and the one still holding the reins on the custody case. To District Judge Tom Gossett, she wrote:
My name is Wendi Davidson. I am sure you remember who I am. I am writing you this letter out of fear and desperation.
In mid-October, I was in your courtroom and pled no contest to charges I am perfectly innocent of with the absolute assurance of my attorneys that an appeal would be the safest, quickest route to end this horrible nightmare I have been in for almost two years. They assured me that an expedited appeal would take 3 months to 9 months, maximum.
Well, it has been over 2 months now and I am trying to be patient and strong while the wheels of justice slowly turn. But, I was given the impression I would remain in Tom Green County Jail while we waited for the appeal. My mother has recently found out that I will probably be going to TDC [Texas Department of Criminal Justice] in 1–2 months.
I know my opinion means very little at this particular place and time but I am definitely opposed to going to TDC for several reasons. First, this appeal process should be finished w/in 1–7 months. Second, I have child custody issues I am dealing with right now in Judge Walther’s court. It seems questionable if I could be bench warranted back for these. Sir, my small boys are the reason for my existence—I have to be in court when it concerns them. One more reason, I do not want to go to TDC is that I just found out I am pregnant. I am concerned for this child’s safety and feel much safer here than in a dangerous prison.
So, I am begging you, on my hands and knees to please have mercy on me. Please be just and fair. Please place a hold or bench warrant on me so I can remain here where I can attend court hearings and keep in contact with my attorneys, until the appeal is finished.
In her letter to Judge Barbara Walther, she claimed her innocence once again, but didn’t repeat the lie about being pregnant:
The custody suit involving Shane has resided in your court for the past, almost two years. And we may be requesting hearings involving Tristan soon. So, this is why I write you . . . I am begging you to please, please do something—anything to hold me here. . . . Please can you do this, not for me, but for the well being of two little boys?
She enclosed a 14-stanza poem, “Angels” in which she anguished about her sons.
In documents Fred Brigman presented to the Texas Third Circuit Court of Appeals in Austin, the defense alleged:
The actions of the Major Crimes Task Force and Air Force Special Agents were unreasonable and prohibited by the Fourth Amendment to the United States Constitution and Article I, Section 9 of the Texas Constitution. The trial court erred in denying Ms. Davidson’s motion to suppress.
On December 29, Shane flew into Maine. The Severance family had delayed the celebration of Christmas until his arrival. They hoped for snow so Shane could go sledding. They cherished the time they had with Michael’s only son.
At one point, Shane very nearly broke Nicole’s heart. “My daddy is in Heaven,” Shane said. “Is my mommy in Heaven, too?”
Nicole couldn’t spew the truth at this small child. Instead she said, “No, Shane. But she doesn’t live around here. When you’re older, you will get to know her.”
Wendi was transferred out of the jail and into the custody of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice on January 9, 2007. One month later, the Texas Board of Veterinary Medical Examiners revoked Wendi’s license to practice veterinary medicine. They did leave open the option that she could apply for re-licensure upon her discharge from prison.
FIFTY-FIVE
Wendi Davidson moved to Gatesville, in Central Texas, home of the largest spur collection in the world, and one of the last fully operational, full-time drive-in movie theaters in Texas. It was also where the state
had planted four prison facilities for women on 1,317 acres of land.
Tom Goff traveled to meet with Wendi in her new home and to finally get her deposition for the child custody case. Wendi took the Fifth on all questions pertaining to Michael’s death, including if she knew who killed him, but insisted she was innocent of the charges. Finally she answered one of his questions, saying, “I did not kill my husband, no.”
“Do you think that your family is—any member of your family, your brother, your mother, your father, was capable of killing Michael?” Goff asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you believe that they did—were involved at the time? Did you believe that?”
“I’d like to plead the Fifth on that,” Wendi said.
After that comment, lawyers for both sides engaged in a lively discussion over whether or not the Fifth would apply. Finally, Goff said, “Let me rephrase the question. At the time, March fifth of 2005, did you believe that your family was involved in either the killing of your husband or the disposal of the body?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you involved in the selling of drugs from your veterinary clinic?”
“I would like to plead the Fifth on that.”
When Goff asked about the father of her oldest son, Tristan, Wendi said, “I don’t know who his father is for sure. I was dating several people then. I do not know.”
“You were having sex with several people?”
“I had slept with several people, yes,” Wendi admitted.
When they talked about life insurance, Wendi said she didn’t believe in it and didn’t want it, not even for Shane. She said making money off of someone’s death is wrong.
Goff asked Wendi about sheep or goats that were alleged to have been found dead at her parents’ ranch. He asked if she’d killed them. His question was in response to a rumor running around San Angelo that Wendi had slit the throat of an animal and left it on her parents’ porch with the knife protruding from its body and a note that read, “I cleaned up your mess, now clean up mine.”
Wendi said she’d euthanized two of her “sheep that were severely sick” out at her parents’ place “ ’cause that’s where the sheep lived.” She denied slitting their throats, saying she’d used euthanizing solution.
Goff asked if she’d left the dead sheep on the porch. She said, “I left them there for my dad to bury, yes.”
“Did you leave any notes with the sheep?”
“I asked my dad to bury the sheep.”
“And that’s all that was in the note?”
“That’s all I recall.”
Goff asked for copies of the letters Wendi had received. Wendi said that when she’d read them and re-read them, she flushed them down the toilet.
“I requested copies and you’ve destroyed them?” Goff asked.
She said, “I didn’t receive anything about that.”
“You are on notice now,” he snapped. He then asked if she’d talked to her family on the telephone and she said no.
“Have you ever made any—any kind of recordings of any family member, audio or video?”
“You mean like ever?”
“Since Michael’s death,” Goff clarified.
“I think I made one audiotape maybe, and that’s all I can recall.”
“When was that?”
“A year ago maybe. I don’t recall.”
“An audiotape of what?”
“My dad talking to me.”
“Okay. And why did you make that tape?”
“Because I was just interested to see what he was going to say to me when I was asking him some questions or something that I don’t even remember what that conversation was,” Wendi explained.
Goff was stunned. This was the first he’d ever heard of an audiotape. “Where is that tape?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know where the original is.”
“A copy? Where are the copies of the tape?”
Wendi said that she’d given her lawyer “a copy at some point in time.”
This tape was never produced in discovery. Goff was outraged that it had been concealed from him against court orders, but he suppressed his indignation until after the deposition was over. He asked about the situation with Tristan in the Buffalo Wild Wings parking lot and Wendi took the Fifth again.
Next Goff turned to her spotty employment record after graduation from veterinary school. He asked her how long she’d worked at the clinic in Abilene.
“About a year-and-a-half.”
“Why did you leave?”
When Wendi answered, she shed no tears nor offered a word about the animals that had died because of her actions. Instead she brushed away any personal responsibility and pointed an accusatory finger at her employers. “Because Dr. Ellis and his wife were very immoral people.”
“ ‘Immoral’?”
“Yes.”
“In what regard?”
Wendi dredged up a litany of her own sins from her stint as a clinic operator in San Angelo and threw it on the couple in Abilene. “They lied to clients, they charged people for services they didn’t do, they were very rude to every employee they had. They—they were just very awful people, in my opinion.”
“So that’s the reason you left, then, because of the way he conducted his practice?”
“Yes, sir,” Wendi said, and then responded to the series of questions about her employment in Lubbock with a total denial of her sub-par job performance there.
On another front, Goff asked, “Did you tell the police that you thought Michael was AWOL?”
“I’d like to plead the Fifth on that.”
Goff countered with another touchy question. “Why did you file for divorce?”
“I’d like to plead the Fifth on that,” Wendi said again.
Goff demanded and, in a little over a week, finally received a poor copy of the audiotape of the recorded conversation between Wendi and her father. The original was nowhere to be found. After listening to it, Goff copied the tape to CD and sent that copy to attorney John Caldwell, following up with a note on March 13:
As I understand . . . you are not inclined to take any action in response to this new information. I hope that you have listened to the recording. My name is mentioned three (3) times, as is my client, Leslie Severance. The recording lasts 22 minutes and raises serious concerns about Mr. Davidson’s mental stability. [We] are concerned for the safety of the children, as well as our own safety.
As an amicus attorney, you have the legal right to take these concerns to the court. I request you do so. In the meantime, I am going forward with a motion for additional temporary orders, asking the court to remove the children from the Davidson household.
In an immediate faxed response, Caldwell wrote that he’d been unable to reach the psychiatrist who was evaluating the custody situation, so
I decided to take the CD to Angie Voss with CPS. I left the CD with her. She said she was not aware of any other reports to CPS . . . Ms. Voss said that it would be helpful if others made reports concerning Shane.
I chose to report this matter to CPS not only because of my concern for Shane’s welfare but also Tristan’s.
Up in Maine, plans were afoot for another fundraising dance to help defray travel expenses to San Angelo to fight for the custody of Shane. Even after that battle was over, the Severance family planned to make the dance an annual event in Michael’s memory, raising money for organizations and scholarships.
FIFTY-SIX
From prison, Wendi wrote repeatedly to Les Severance. She referred to Severance custody attorney Tom Goff as “the devil.” She discussed the paternity of her son Tristan, writing:
They’ll never figure out who the father is. They are so stupid. They can’t see who is right under their nose.
Wendi desperately wanted to talk to her former father-in-law, but she was adamant on one condition—she had to meet with him alone, without anyone else in the room. Les wanted to hear
what she had to say. The warden, however, would not cooperate. A prisoner could not meet with a family member alone.
On June 21, 2007, Wendi was served with a bench warrant and moved back to Tom Green County Jail. She would remain there for five months.
The small town of Lee had gathered behind the family of Michael Severance, holding them up in their time of loss, mourning the death of one of their own at another’s hand. More pain ripped through their hearts in 2007.
On June 23, a roadside bomb tore through a humvee in Taji, Iraq, stealing the life of another native son and Lee Academy graduate, 22-year-old Army specialist Joel House, the brother of Michael’s best friend. The tears did not have time to dry before they were invoked anew on November 30. Blair Emery, a 24-year-old Army corporal was felled by another roadside bomb in Baghdad. He’d been scheduled to return home in early November, but like many fighting that war, his deployment had been extended. Blair was Frank Severance’s best friend.
Frank staggered under the blow. Only in his early twenties, Frank’s life had been a litany of sudden loss—first his mother, then his brother and now his dearest schoolmate. He told the Portland Press Herald, “It feels like I’m losing a brother all over again.”
The folks in Lee bowed under their sorrow. Joel had planned to be a game warden when he left the military, Blair a police officer. Now, both of their dreams were gone, their contributions to their community unfulfilled.
Lee, like other rural areas across the United States, carried a disproportionate burden during this war. A study by the Carsey Institute at the University of New Hampshire found that although
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