Shadows of Death (True Crime Box Set)

by Katherine Ramsland

  AT ANNE MARIE’S APARTMENT, detectives went methodically through her things. Given how close she was with her family and how reliable she usually was, the fact that she’d contacted no one in several days raised red flags. So did the rotting food, parked car, and purse left behind. She hadn’t accessed her bank account or used any credit cards. Her sister had found a diary, which still needed to be examined. This book, they knew, could be a significant find if the missing woman had mentioned someone who frightened her.

  The forty handwritten pages, dated between March 1994 and April 1996, showed that she’d been having an affair with a married man for about two years. She called him “Tomas” or “Tommy,” and sometimes just “T.” She was completely smitten and she’d allowed him to gradually take over her life. At times, she expressed dismay over this involvement. She also mentioned her problems with consuming food, describing it as poisonous. Mostly, she discussed her developing relationship.

  “I have fallen in love with a very special person,” she wrote. “He makes my heart smile.” She’s clearly seeking his approval, which wasn’t surprising for a young woman with self-esteem issues. Later, she wrote, “I don't want to be in love, but I can't help it.” He apparently asked her to be a kept woman, for whom he would pay the rent. The thought made her uncomfortable. “I love him, but…” She found him to be highly intelligent, gentle, caring, and engaging. She wished he wasn’t married. She seemed sadly aware that her dreams of their life together would never happen.

  When she eventually emerged from her infatuation and saw this man’s behavior in a new light, Anne Marie wrote: “I've been through a lot of emotional battles. I have finally brought closure to Tom Capano. What a controlling, manipulative, insecure jealous maniac. Now that I look back on that aspect of my life, I realize just how vulnerable I had become… For one whole year I allowed someone to take control of every decision in my life.''

  She had ended it. In her final entry in April 1996, she offered the full name: Tom Capano. The man the police already suspected, thanks to the letters. He had acted as if he knew nothing, but there was a dark side to this man that Anne Marie apparently had seen … and feared.

  Although her description of Capano implicated him in her disappearance, it proved nothing. Under questioning, he admitted that they’d had an affair and it had ended. He’d even said he’d seen her around the time she’d disappeared. But he seemed to have accepted her decision to end their affair … according to his version.

  And there were other matters that weighed against him having done something to her. Capano would have put a significant career in jeopardy. He’d been seen in public with her before she disappeared. He’d surely realize how this would look. The man wasn’t stupid. He was from a prominent Wilmington family, with a lot of influence. He was well connected, politically. He was an attorney who could command an impressive hourly rate. He wouldn’t throw this all away and bring shame on his family, for a tawdry affair.

  One of Capano’s friends told police that he had been very concerned about Fahey’s weight loss. Even after their break-up he’d often taken food to her, inquired after her health, and even took her to an occasional dinner. He’d been grateful for their time together and had let her go graciously.

  Nevertheless, Capano was currently the only viable suspect. When police canvassed the neighborhood, they found someone who recalled seeing Capano sitting in his SUV outside Anne Marie’s apartment building on several occasions. He’d been there recently, perhaps two or three weeks ago. Seemingly, he hadn’t just accepted her situation. Or, she hadn’t.

  People had seen them together, despite her written expressions of exasperation. Apparently, she hadn’t quite held to her vows to quit this affair. Maybe she was with him, willingly, and he was covering for her. Maybe she was having second thoughts about her impending wedding. There were such things as runaway brides.

  It was time to grill Tom Capano.

  He resided in a $2000-a-month brick townhouse on Grant Avenue. He’d separated from his wife, Kay, so it was easier to speak openly with him. Detectives arrived at 3:30 AM and knocked several times before Capano answered the door. He appeared to have been asleep. He knew why they were there. He wasn’t surprised. In fact, he was friendly and self-possessed, as if he had nothing to hide. He only wanted to help. He invited them to come in.

  For the detectives, Capano repeated what he’d already told to Anne Marie’s close friend, whom he knew had been aware of their affair. He’d taken Annie to dinner at Ristorante Panorama in Philadelphia and then taken her home, around 10 PM. He’d given her a bag of groceries, too, which she’d carried inside with her. He hadn’t gone in. That was the last time he’d spoken with her. She had mentioned going to the beach the following day, he recalled. She’d also told him about difficulties she was having with her sister. He knew that she suffered from depression and was seeing a therapist for suicidal thoughts and excessive anxiety.

  Where had he been the rest of the night, Detective Robert Donovan inquired? Capano recalled that he’d stopped to buy cigarettes at a Getty Station before going home. He lived alone, so no one could corroborate when he’d come in. He encouraged detectives to go see if anyone remembered them at the restaurant.

  It was on their list. If what Capano had said was true, it provided leads in other directions, including the possibility that Anne Marie Fahey and taken her own life. But would she have left her apartment in such disarray, with food spoiling in the kitchen? This seemed unlikely. The appearance was that someone had called her to come outside. She hadn’t taken her purse because she hadn’t expected to go anywhere. Yet, it did seem odd that she’d just go outside. Whoever it was, it couldn’t have been someone she didn’t know. She had trust issues and it was late at night.

  Questions to Capano offered little more to go on. The detectives needed to look in other directions.

  More questions to Anne Marie’s therapist elicited some surprising information: Anne Marie had expressed a fear of Tom Capano. He’d been stalking her. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to report him, knowing this could just make him more dangerous. She felt as if she were to blame, since she’d continued to be involved with him for two years. She’d also believed that any hint of her affair with Capano would have negative political repercussions for her boss. They’d met, after all, because they were both associated with the governor.

  Detective Donovan went to the Getty Station to see if Capano’s story checked out. The attendant knew Capano. He didn’t recall that he’d stopped by that night. In fact, he couldn’t have bought cigarettes at 10, because the station closed at 9:30.

  Donovan returned to Capano. This time, the attorney was less composed. In fact, he was annoyed. He said that all further questions should go through his attorneys.

  Donovan traveled to Philadelphia, half an hour north of Wilmington, to talk with staff at the pricey Ristorante Panorama, an Italian wine bar restaurant on Front Street in the heart of Old City. A waiter remembered this oddly matched couple. The thin girl had been way too young for the man, who’d selected from the menu for them both and had seemed to be in a foul mood. His date had looked rather ill. She’d barely eaten a thing. Nothing about this dinner had seemed friendly or solicitous. Capano’s second lie.

  However, if Anne Marie had broken up with Capano, and was afraid of him, why had she agreed to go to dinner with him? Did he have some leverage over her? Or did she hold the naïve belief that she could reason with an obsessed man who believed he owned her?

  On July 5, President Bill Clinton called Governor Carper. He was concerned about the rumors he’d heard. He promised FBI assistance, should they need it.

  THE COPS WERE GRANTED A SEARCH WARRANT. To Capano’s annoyance, they combed through his home and vehicles. The working hypothesis was that Capano hadn’t taken Anne Marie home that night. He’d taken her to his home and had killed her there. Then he’d covered it up.

  They found evidence of bloodstain removal and a few small blo
odstains, as well as a stack of hard copies of emails between the two lovers. The detectives also learned that some items were missing from the house – a love seat and an expensive rug. Capano had replaced the rug. A receipt showed that it had been purchased just after Anne Marie disappeared.

  The FBI’s analysis indicated that Anne Marie Fahey had bled in the great room of Capano’s house. Soon, a team of agents arrived. In view of neighbors, they dug holes in the backyard, led trained dogs through the living room and filled two vans with possible evidence, including vacuum cleaners and soil samples.

  The Capano family was to Delaware what the Kennedy clan was to Massachusetts. Capano had three brothers, Louis, Joey, and Gerard. Each was questioned extensively, but it grew evident that, in this case, family stuck firmly together. Tom, the oldest brother, had rescued each other brother in one way or another. Louis had given illegal campaign contributions, Joey was once charged with the kidnap and rape of a woman, and Gerry had been involved on and off with drugs. Tom had some leverage with them. But it was also clear that this was no law-abiding family with potentially one black sheep.

  As anticipated, the family stood steadfast. Tom, they said, was innocent. Nevertheless, detectives chipped away at the investigation. They learned that Gerry had sold a fishing boat that was missing its anchor. Why sell, and why no anchor? This seemed suspicious. They also discovered that Louis had ordered the emptying of a dumpster at a construction site before it was scheduled to be emptied. Again, why?

  Deputy Attorney Ferris Wharton felt helpless. There was circumstantial evidence, to be sure, but not enough to make a case in court. Two months went by with no word from the missing woman and no progress on the investigation. Wharton decided to have detectives apply pressure on Louis, to try to find out more about his unusual behavior at the construction site.

  He continued to resist, but there were signs that he was breaking down, losing faith in his brother. He knew something, they could tell, so they kept working on him.

  Louis finally admitted that his brother had told him something about the missing woman. Tom had confided to him that on the night of June 27, he’d been with Anne Marie. She’d been despondent. They’d gone to his house after dinner in Philadelphia, because he wanted to give her a gift. She’d sat on the love seat. When he wasn’t looking, she had slit her wrists, bleeding on the love seat and rug. The next day, Tom had asked Louis to help him move these items out of the house. Louis also reluctantly admitted that Tom had asked him to provide a false alibi for a certain time period. He believed that his brother hadn’t actually done anything to his former mistress, but he had some nagging doubts. He didn’t know much more than that.

  It was clear that Tom Capano was more fully involved than he’d let on. It sounded like Anne Marie was dead, whether by her own hand or by his, and she’d died in his house. She had suffered from depression, it was true, so there was reason to accept Capano’s story, but given her plans to marry, along with Capano’s reported obsession, homicide was equally likely – perhaps more likely. However, the evidence was ambiguous enough that, even if they found the rug and love seat, Capano had an out. If Anne Marie had died and he’d hidden the body to keep from being implicated, he could be charged only with obstruction.

  The detectives needed the body. They tried working around Capano, searching local landfills, but found no incriminating items. They also did not locate Anne Marie Fahey’s body.

  ONE OTHER BROTHER, GERARD, OFFERED potential leverage. He’d sold a fishing boat. Everyone knew there was a possibility that if Tom Capano had murdered Anne Marie, and also had access to a boat, it wasn’t difficult to dump a body in the ocean. Delaware lay along the Atlantic. The beaches were popular. Plenty of people went boating or fishing. Sometimes, bodies or body parts floated back to shore, but not always.

  Wharton knew that Gerard, known as Gerry, had been involved in selling drugs. Tom, the attorney, had gotten him out from under the charges. But it was likely that Gerry still had a hand in this illegal business. Not many people took to heart the meaning of an arrest, using the lesson to turn their lives around. Given the sense of immunity he might have developed as a member of a privileged family, the odds favored a continuation of illegal activity.

  Twenty-five federal agents went to Gerry Capano’s home with a warrant. In his son’s bedroom, they turned up cocaine and illegal firearms. Gerry asked Tom for help once more, but Tom pushed him away. That was a mistake.

  The agents searched the home of one of Gerry’s close associates, a convicted felon. He had a gun that he was not allowed, and it was linked to Gerry. Now the prosecutor had leverage. Gerry faced potential time in prison. If he knew something about his brother, now was the time to barter with him.

  On November 8, 1977, over a year after Anne Marie had vanished, Gerry confessed what he knew and provided a good guess about his brother’s actions on the night of June 27, 1976. He was clearly relieved to have a burden off his shoulders. He’d been having nightmares, he admitted. He’d believed his brother’s story … at first. Over the months, he’d wondered. He’d talked with Louis about it and they’d both decided that their older brother might very well be a killer. They had approached Tom about going to the police, but he’d refused. He’d never actually admitted to anything, in so many words, but Gerry had seen something. He could barely even talk about it.

  Before Anne Marie disappeared, Tom had asked Gerry if he knew anyone who could break someone’s legs. He’d also asked for a gun. It was for protection, he’d said. Someone was trying to extort money and he wanted to be able protect his family, if necessary. Gerry had given him a gun. Tom had casually asked about using Gerry’s boat to dump a body in the event he’d have to kill the guy who was threatening him. Gerry had said no. He wasn’t going to be part of anything like that. Eventually, he got the gun back, unused. He’d been relieved.

  On Friday, June 28, Tom had approached him again. It was six o’clock in the morning. Gerry had come outside to get the newspaper and had seen Tom waiting for him. He told Gerry he needed his help. The whole thing had felt quite ominous. There was every indication that Tom had killed the man who’d threatened him.

  Gerry hesitated, a sick feeling in his stomach. He did not want to get involved. It would risk his home and family. But Tom had said he had nowhere else to go. He needed a boat, right now. Gerry owed his brother plenty. He didn’t think there would be any harm in loaning out his boat. He hadn’t been part of a crime, and Tom assured him that he’d complete the job himself. No one would ever know. This situation was about family loyalty.

  But there was a problem: Tom did not know how to operate the 25-foot sports fishing boat. Gerry would have to go with him.

  Gerry was unhappy about this, but he felt cornered. How could he turn away his older brother, the brother who’d helped him when he’d needed it? Finally, he gave in. Tom told him to come over to Grant Avenue later that morning.

  When Gerry arrived, he saw that Tom had his wife’s car, a Chevy Suburban. Apparently, he didn’t want to use his own Jeep Grand Cherokee for this job. That made sense. But then he got a jolt. Next to the car sat a white plastic Igloo marine cooler, about the right size for a body. Four feet long, two feet high. He didn’t think it would fit an adult male, but he knew nothing about the guy who’d threatened his brother. A chain wrapped the cooler, as if to ensure that whatever was inside would never get out. He also saw a rolled-up rug. He recalled that Louis had removed a love seat for Tom.

  Tom beckoned Gerry over to help lift the cooler. Gerry took a breath and bent down to grab the handle. He heard a noise inside, which sounded like ice. It gave him the creeps. They shoved the heavy cooler into the car. It sank a bit with the weight.

  “Now the rug,” said Tom.

  “No.” Gerry was firm about this. Tom wasn’t happy, but he let it go.

  “Everything will be fine,” he assured Gerry. The main “thing” was done. It was just a matter of cleaning up loose ends.

  They d
rove the car out to Stone Harbor, New Jersey, where Jerry docked The Summer Wind, his fishing boat. It was a nice day, so no one thought twice about two men loading a large cooler for a day of fishing. Gerry started the boat and headed out to open water. Tom wanted to get pretty far out. Gerry thought that Mako Alley, where people fished for sharks, would be a good place. The depth was about 200 feet. If the cooler were sufficiently weighted, it would go straight down and stay there.

  Gerry did what he was asked, but the feeling between them was tense. They drove along in silence, for the most part, aside from Gerry’s lone comment: “This is crazy!” He kept hoping his brother would change his mind, have them turn back, and go do this terrible deed on his own.

  No such luck.

  They found a spot about sixty miles offshore where only one other boat was out, and it was off in the distance, too far for anyone on board to see what Tom was about to do. They turned off the engines. Gerry looked away. Despite Tom’s assurance that he’d do this distasteful thing alone, he couldn’t move the cooler by himself. Gerry offered a hand and they hauled it over to the edge and pushed it into the water.

  That’s it, Gerry thought. It’s done.

  But it wasn’t.

  The cooler floated. Tom was astonished. He needed it to sink, and fast! But it bobbed along, giving no sign of being heavy enough to sink. It started to float away from the boat.

  Exasperated, and not about to pull the thing back in, Gerry grabbed his twelve-gauge Mossberg shotgun, which he kept on board for shooting sharks. As Tom stood back and watched, he took aim at the bobbing cooler and fired two rounds. He looked at the holes he’d made. To his horror, some red liquid seeped out. Worse, the cooler remained afloat. And it had floated further away. He aimed again, but it was out of range.