Every Move You Make

by M. William Phelps

  Moore and Sully looked at each other: You are so full of shit.

  About a week prior to his disappearance, Caroline recalled, Tim had taken a day off from work. Moore and Sully knew—but didn’t share it with her—that on that particular day Tim was south of Albany with Evans selling stolen merchandise to an antique shop that the two of them had been doing business with for years. The owner of the shop had picked Tim and Evans out of a photo lineup. The Bureau had three checks in the neighborhood of $10,000 written out from the shop owner to Tim Rysedorph.

  Caroline continued to talk about Tim’s mood around the house during the last few weeks, relating how he was an incredibly private person, especially when it came to whom he was speaking to over the telephone.

  “Do you recall any strange calls the past few weeks?” Sully asked.

  “I cannot remember any unusual calls except for one. About two months ago, I answered a telephone call from a person I thought was my uncle Gary Ashton. ‘Hello, is Tim there?’ the caller asked when I answered. I said, ‘Hi, Gar, what’s the matter?’ The caller replied, ‘Just let me talk to Tim.’ He sounded mad.”

  Caroline said she realized later it wasn’t her uncle Gary, but it was Gary Evans. Everyone in their old Troy neighborhood, where Michael Falco, Evans, Damien Cuomo and Tim had all grown up, she said, believed Evans had murdered Falco.

  The last time, Caroline said, she saw or heard from Evans had been when Sean was born. Evans brought over a card and gave them an air conditioner because he was concerned that the temperature in the apartment was too hot for Caroline and the newborn. As the years passed, Caroline said she would mention Evans’s name around Tim, but he would always get upset.

  “Don’t ever mention that name again,” Tim would snap angrily at Caroline at the mere mention of Evans. There was obviously some tension and resentment between the two men, but Caroline continued to maintain she had no idea why.

  “Anything else you can recall about your husband and Gary Evans,” Moore prodded, “would be of great help to us.” He knew she had more information.

  “Well, I remember Tim telling me that if anything ever happened to him, or if he ever became missing, ‘like Mike Falco,’ that I was not to say anything to the police about Gary Evans…. He is dangerous.”

  Moore and Sully wondered why she hadn’t offered the information weeks ago.

  Continuing, she said, “Tim said that if anything ever happened to him, I should change our last name and move away.”

  Considering what had happened the past few weeks, Caroline perhaps realized for the first time that Evans had likely had a hand in her husband’s disappearance. She said she now believed it was Evans, using the alias “Lou,” who had called her the weekend Tim disappeared. Tim was scared of Evans, she added, and had probably gone with him reluctantly because Evans had threatened Tim with Sean’s safety.

  It was one of the last conversations she’d had with Tim that really scared her, she admitted. The night before Tim disappeared, a Thursday, she said they had a fight and talked about getting a divorce. “‘I love you…but if you want a divorce,’” she said Tim wrote in a note to her that night, “‘I will give you money for the divorce.’”

  Later in the note, after he apologized for being “moody” lately and even “mean” at times, as if he had a premonition of what was to come, Tim wrote of his concern for Caroline and Sean’s safety, should he ever not return home. He speculated that Evans would harm her and Sean and was worried about not being around to protect them.

  CHAPTER 10

  Lisa Morris lived a life of solitude in a modest apartment that was, by sheer luck, only about two miles from Jim Horton’s home in Latham. Stopping by Lisa’s apartment and badgering her, Horton knew, was going to be the conduit to making contact with Evans.

  The first few times Horton popped in, Lisa was passive, unfriendly, and perhaps a little scared. During a Bureau briefing one morning after Lisa’s name had been discovered, Horton told his investigators he had recognized her name as someone Evans had mentioned to him from time to time.

  “Gary told me more than once that, in his words, Lisa was simply ‘someone he stopped by to fuck’ every once in a while. I had no reason not to believe him. Gary had a lot of those women in his life.”

  The first thing Horton noticed when he knocked on Lisa’s door on October 15 was how homely her apartment, from the outside, looked. It wasn’t run-down, but, as Horton peered through the window, he could tell she hadn’t kept it up perhaps the way she could have. A cop is always studying people and places: body language, vocal characteristics, clothes, how someone walks, eye movement, the appearance of a home, car. Lisa spoke with a smoker’s raspy voice. She wore plain clothes and little makeup. She hadn’t really held down a full-time job, but would work occasionally as a process server, delivering subpoenas to people in civil cases.

  It was obvious to Horton by just looking at her that first time that she liked to drink—a lot. She had bags under both eyes and loose, pale skin. She appeared lethargic, as if it had taken all of her energy just to answer the door.

  “Paperboy,” Horton said as Lisa opened the door. He was holding a day-old newspaper he’d picked up on her front steps.

  Without Horton saying anything more, the initial look Lisa held told him she knew exactly who he was and why he was there. Although Horton never openly wore a shield or flipped it out like television cops, he had a look about him that screamed law enforcement. It was something most cops couldn’t hide. They looked the part. What was more, he kept his handcuffs hanging not from his waist, but from the emergency brake lever in his cruiser, and hardly ever carried his weapon.

  “I never wore those stupid tie tags—like a miniature silver or gold set of handcuffs, announcing that I was a cop,” Horton said later. “But it was written all over my face…and, of course, the blue suit. I certainly wasn’t a vacuum cleaner salesman.”

  As Lisa invited Horton in and began to talk, he realized the connection she’d had with Evans ran deep and, most important, recent. There was no doubt she had seen Evans within the past few weeks.

  “He’s talked about you,” Lisa said, adding, “I’ve heard your name before.”

  “I need to know some things, Lisa.”

  Within a few minutes, Horton learned that he and Lisa had more in common than just Gary Evans: their daughters attended the same school. Twelve-year-old Christina Morris, had gone to the same school as Horton’s daughter, Alison. They weren’t friends, but they knew each other.

  Even more remarkable was who Christina’s father was.

  “Damien Cuomo,” Lisa offered. Cuomo was one of Evans’s “business partners.” He had been missing since 1989. Horton had no idea Lisa even knew Cuomo.

  Horton sat back for a moment, took a breath. It was all beginning to make sense.

  “Let me get this straight: Damien Cuomo is your daughter’s father?”

  “Yes,” Lisa said, surprised as to why Horton seemed so shocked.

  More evidence to Horton that Cuomo, Falco and Tim Rysedorph were dead—and that Evans had killed them.

  “It just all made sense to me at that moment,” Horton recalled later. “What had been a hunch for years turned into a fact for me.”

  The apartment complex where Lisa lived was located on a patch of land in back of a strip mall on Route 155 in Latham. A second-story unit, her apartment had two bedrooms, a small living room, eat-in kitchen, and a sliding door that walked out to a small deck. It wasn’t a penthouse, but the school district for Christina was considered one of the best in the state and the apartment was affordable.

  Evans liked the location because he could park his truck in the parking lot of T.J. Maxx, a retail clothing store located in the strip mall adjacent to Lisa’s door, when he wanted to pay her a visit. The apartment complex was directly to the northeast of the loading dock area of T.J. Maxx. Evans would park his vehicle in the front parking lot of the strip mall and blend it into the store’s parking
lot of vehicles. It was just one more way for Evans to keep his whereabouts secret.

  Every aspect of his life had been thought out with meticulous consideration. Even a seemingly innocent stop at a girlfriend’s house for “a piece of ass,” as Evans would jokingly put it, had to be planned with concerted effort to the finest detail—and Evans was a master at alluding authorities and tricking people into thinking he was somewhere other than where he was supposed to be. Being a criminal was his job, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Everything he did consisted of him snooping around, looking over his shoulder, covering his tracks. He had to, he later admitted to Horton, have a system in place for every part of his life, or he couldn’t function. One of his biggest fears about visiting Lisa was being bottled up at her apartment if push ever came to shove. If his truck were out in front of her apartment, he would have felt caged in. On foot, he believed, he could get away from any situation.

  Scattered around Lisa’s apartment were ceramic elephants, statues, figurines and knickknacks of all types. In the ashtrays were butts from marijuana cigarettes. When Horton took it all in, he had no choice but to think that every antique in the apartment had been stolen by Evans and given to Lisa as a gift.

  “I need to talk to Gary,” Horton said as Lisa continued to speak of menial, everyday things.

  “I’m not sure where he is.”

  “Listen, Lisa. I don’t know what Gary’s told you about me, but we go back a few years. I really need to find him.”

  Horton brought the list from the prison with him, hoping to prove to Lisa that he wasn’t just making things up to further his agenda. He had no idea what kind of picture Evans had painted for Lisa of their relationship.

  “You see,” Horton said, pointing to the list where his name had been written by Evans, “he doesn’t write that I’m a cop; he writes ‘friend’ next to my name, just like yours.”

  Lisa appeared to ease up a bit, as though she had become unwillingly convinced she could trust Horton.

  “I used to date Damien Cuomo,” Lisa said.

  Horton explained how he knew the name and why it shocked him so much to hear that Lisa’s daughter had been fathered by Cuomo.

  “Do you think Gary had anything to do with his disappearance—no one has seen Damien for almost ten years now?”

  “No! He’s a piece of shit for leaving me high and dry with Christina. Fucking deadbeat dad is all he is.”

  “You know that Gary and Damien are—” Horton didn’t even get a chance to finish what he was saying.

  “Yes…I know they’re thieves,” Lisa said. “So what.”

  Even though Horton thought there was a good chance Damien Cuomo was dead, he felt he needed to ask Lisa where she thought he was.

  “I know exactly where he is,” Lisa said. She seemed mad, raising her voice and looking away. “He’s down in the Carolinas living it up!” She was convinced of it.

  Over the course of the next ten minutes, Lisa confessed that she had been dating Evans on and off for about the past eight years, but had never visited him while he was in jail. It wasn’t something Evans wanted, she claimed. She talked about him as though he were some sort of Prince Charming who had saved her and Christina from the mess Damien Cuomo had left them in.

  “I know Damien is on the run. He could have given himself up, done his time, and he could be sitting here right now with his daughter. But he left us instead! He never calls at Christmas, her birthday. Nothing. Thank God Gary came into our lives.”

  After a few simple questions, Horton understood Lisa’s role in Evans’s life. Gary Evans never considered Lisa to be anything more than a “quick lay.” He felt nothing for her emotionally. He liked Christina, as he did most kids, and treated her with respect, but Lisa was a mere stepping-stone along his path of crime.

  “Can you tell me when you saw Gary last?” Horton asked, ratcheting his voice up a level, letting Lisa know he was serious. It was time for answers. He didn’t want to mention the stolen antiques in the house or the marijuana she was obviously smoking, but felt she wasn’t being totally honest with him and would use it if he had to.

  “Sunday…I saw him on Sunday,” Lisa said, putting her palm under her chin, cradling her head, staring at the floor.

  “This past week? Or last week?” Horton asked. He then pulled out a small calendar and pointed to the past two Sundays. “Which one?”

  Lisa put her finger on October 5.

  “What time?”

  “About nine-thirty in the morning.”

  Evans had stopped by for about twenty minutes, she said. He was driving his green Toyota pickup.

  “How was he?”

  “Very scared…pale-looking.”

  There was more, of course, but Lisa paused, stood up and walked around the living room. She realized she was letting Evans down by saying things she shouldn’t. Evans had warned her that Horton would be coming around.

  “What did he say?” Horton asked.

  “He told me that he had done something he was going to get caught for and didn’t want to go to jail for twenty-five years.” She sat back down.

  “Is there anything else you can think of, Lisa? This is extremely important.”

  Neither Horton nor Lisa had mentioned Tim Rysedorph’s name, which was the main purpose of Horton’s visit.

  Lisa then got up off the couch again and walked toward the door. As she opened it, suggesting it was time for Horton to leave, she said, “Gary told me he would contact me.”

  “When?” Horton asked as he walked over the threshold.

  Lisa smiled as she closed the door. “In a few years.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The fact that Lisa Morris knew Evans and Damien Cuomo were thieves told Horton that she knew a hell of a lot more than she was admitting. With certain sources, especially “key” sources, experience told Horton patience was his most productive asset. Lisa would come around. It would take time, but she would crack. All he had to do was continue pestering her: stopping by on his way home from work, and on his way to work, calling her and just keeping the pressure on. Establish a rapport, maybe even a personal relationship. He had to break that bond between Lisa and Evans and somehow make her trust him. Since Lisa was the last known person Evans had contacted before leaving the area, and had made a point of telling her he was going to get in touch with her, Horton felt she could ultimately be his “lady in red.”

  Horton recalled later, “In thinking about how to handle Lisa Morris, I figured I had to become her Columbo. It wasn’t my style…bothering people like that until they just got sick of me. But Lisa knew something. She had been sleeping with Gary Evans.”

  A day later, Horton popped in unexpectedly. “Can I do anything for you?” he asked.

  “Come in,” Lisa said, opening the door.

  She looked like she hadn’t slept. It was either that, Horton guessed, or she had been drinking most of the night.

  “What’s up?”

  “I wasn’t all that truthful with you yesterday,” she admitted.

  Here we go…, Horton thought as Lisa fired up a cigarette, took a deep pull from it and, while exhaling, ran her hands through her hair.

  “Go ahead. I’m all ears, here, Lisa.”

  “Gary showed up that Saturday morning, not Sunday. I don’t know, maybe nine or ten o’clock. He came to the door”—her hands were shaking—“and wanted to come in.”

  “So you let him in?”

  “Not at first. He was dirty…covered with mud. I told him to go hose off downstairs in the laundry room and come back up.”

  “Relax, Lisa,” Horton said, trying to calm her. She was getting antsy, getting up and walking around the apartment, thinking about things before she spoke.

  “He was sweaty and really scared,” she continued. “He kept some of his things here, so he had a change of clothes. ‘I have to leave town,’ he told me. He was nervous.”

  “Did he leave right away?”

  “I guess. He was jumpy
, looking out the window while getting dressed. He didn’t want to hang around too long. He sensed you guys were on his trail.”

  “He didn’t say anything else: where he was going, who he had been with, what happened?”

  “No,” Lisa said. “He gave me a few hundred dollars and told me he’d be in touch with me in a few years.”

  “Listen, I appreciate what you’ve told me here. If Gary happens to call you or make contact with you in any way, just promise you’ll contact me.”

  Horton gave Lisa his business card, flipped it over and wrote his cell phone and home number on the back. “If you need anything, Lisa, just call.”

  Holding the card, Lisa stared at it for a moment. “I will, Jim. Thank you.”

  A clearer picture of Caroline Parker’s relationship with Tim and his family began to emerge as Bureau investigators began talking to Tim’s siblings.

  Molly Parish, Tim Rysedorph’s sister, said she hadn’t seen Tim for almost a year, and no one in her family cared much for Caroline. “If Timmy left,” Parish said, “it was because of [Caroline] and his not being able to provide for her needs.”

  According to Parish, the last time she saw Tim he had asked her to co-sign a loan so Sean, her nephew, could attend summer camp. She refused. When investigators asked whether Tim was inclined to do drugs, she said she’d never seen him under the influence and he never talked about it.

  At one point during the interview, Parish offered one of her most vivid memories of Caroline. At Caroline and Tim’s wedding, she said, Caroline had rummaged through the wedding gift envelopes long before the wedding ended. When she finished, all she could do, Parish added, was complain about “not getting enough money” from guests.

  For members of the Bureau, that telling little anecdote only added to how much they didn’t know about Tim and Caroline’s relationship—and maybe Caroline hadn’t been as forthcoming as she should have been about what else she knew.