Body Hunter

by Patricia Springer

  “She’s a flower compared to the cactuses I’ve dated. She is beautiful. Intelligent. She’s perfect. How’s a country boy like me going to have a snowball’s chance on a hot sidewalk with her?” Wardrip asked a friend.

  The attraction was mutual. Glenda Kelley and Wardrip began a long-distance romance.

  Shortly after she met Wardrip, Kelley enrolled in a Bible college in Lubbock, Texas. Wardrip was worried. He thought, She is going to be around a lot of guys going to Bible college to be ministers. She’s going to meet a guy a lot classier than I am. A lot more educated. I’m not going to have a chance with her.

  He sat down and wrote her a letter.

  Glenda, I know you might be against long distance relationships but I’m just crazy about you. If we just commit to each other we can make this long distance relationship work. You’ll come see me and I’ll come see you. You can stay in school, but let’s commit to each other.

  He was nervous about Glenda’s response. He never expected her reply.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you,” Glenda said.

  Although Wardrip hadn’t actually asked Kelley to marry him, he was ecstatic over her affirmative response. He believed she was his gift from God. He would do anything to keep from losing her, including withholding the truth about his shady past and the blood on his hands.

  “The semester ends in October,” Glenda told him by phone.

  “Well, you show up October first, and I’ll have an apartment ready. I’ll set everything up,” he assured her.

  Wardrip found a small apartment in the same government-subsidized building where he lived with his parents. He quickly set about paying the deposit, getting the phone turned on, buying furniture, and setting up their first home.

  Determined to do it God’s way, Glenda lived with the Wardrips in their apartment while Faryion stayed a few doors away in their future home. The soon-to-be newlyweds would have picnics on the carpet of their apartment; then at ten o’clock every evening Wardrip would walk Glenda down to his parents’ home where she slept each night.

  The couple had planned to marry in December; however, George Wardrip was scheduled to begin radiation treatments for cancer in November. Wanting his father to be present at his wedding, Faryion Wardrip approached Reverend Clark.

  “Can you marry us this Saturday night?” Wardrip asked his good friend and pastor.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Clark said, surprised at the request.

  Some of the church members overheard Wardrip and Clark’s conversation and set out to make the wedding a memorable one. The couple wanted to make a fresh start, and the congregation wanted to show their support. In a matter of days, singers, flowers, plants, punch, and cake had been ordered for the nuptials of Faryion Wardrip and Glenda Kelley.

  While the congregation pulled together a traditional wedding with all the trimmings, Wardrip and Glenda drove to nearby Graham, county seat of Young County, and applied for a marriage license. The application indicated that Faryion Wardrip, born March 6, 1959, in Salem, Indiana, intended to enter into marriage with Glenda Diane Kelley, born January 6, 1953, in Dodge City, Kansas. Wardrip paid the license fee and the couple returned to Olney.

  It was three days before the scheduled wedding when Wardrip called his mother to let her know he would be married on Saturday, not in November as first planned. Then he called his brother Bryce and asked if he would stand up for him as best man.

  “Have you told Glenda the real reason you’re wearing a leg monitor?” Bryce asked his brother.

  “No. There’s no need for Glenda to know the details,” the older Wardrip replied.

  Bryce’s misgivings about Faryion’s conversion and baptism returned. He knew his brother had turned their parents’ apartment into “party central” whenever they were away. Now suddenly he was planning marriage. It didn’t make sense to Bryce. Reluctantly, he agreed to be the best man, but wondered why Faryion had chosen him.

  As kids, Bryce felt abused by Faryion and their older brother, Roy. The older boys had beaten him, thrown darts at him, tied him up and dragged him across the yard. They had even crashed into his Big Wheel, knocking him to the ground. When Bryce tattled to their father, his brothers would smash peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches into his face. But the physical mistreatment was not as traumatic as the emotional torture. The two older brothers would don white sheets and scratch on the screen of Bryce’s bedroom window. Terror surged through the youngest Wardrip as he lay still in his bed, afraid to breathe or the ghosts outside would surely get him.

  As the Wardrip boys matured, Bryce continued to feel used by his older brother. When Bryce sold Faryion a car for four hundred dollars on a verbal agreement, he never received a dime of the money.

  As used and abused as he had felt over the years, Bryce somehow felt obligated to help his brother restore his life. He agreed to be Faryion’s best man.

  On October 15, 1998, three days after Wardrip and Kelley obtained their marriage license, Bryce and Tina Wardrip’s three-year-old and six-year-old daughters walked down the aisle of the Hamilton Street Church of Christ. Outfitted in identical pink floral dresses with large white collars, white tights, and pink bows in their hair, the girls smiled broadly at their daddy and Uncle Faryion as they stood at the front of the altar. The girls carried flower baskets with woven wicker handles. Their four-year-old brother followed them, carrying a white pillow with two shiny gold rings. The rough-and-tumble little boy’s white shirt was neatly tucked into the pants of his gray suit.

  Only minutes before the ceremony the boy had said, “Daddy, we look like a bunch of monkeys.” Bryce agreed. The day before, Bryce and his brother had argued about Bryce’s wedding wardrobe.

  “I want you to wear a pink shirt and mauve tie,” Wardrip had told Bryce.

  “I’m not wearing any pink shirt,” Bryce had retorted, refusing to wear what he believed to be feminine colors.

  Bryce won the argument and stood beside his brother as best man dressed in a light blue shirt and dark sports coat. The groom wore the pink shirt and mauve tie, with a dark blue sports coat, a white rose boutonniere, and the light slacks his bride had insisted on.

  A broad grin spanned Wardrip’s face as he watched Glenda walk from the rear of the church to where he stood waiting at the front. Wardrip thought Glenda was a vision in her off-white dress and matching jacket. Truly a God-send.

  In less than fifteen minutes, Reverend Scott Clark pronounced Faryion Wardrip and Glenda Kelley husband and wife.

  There was no honeymoon. Wardrip was restricted by the surveillance monitor attached to his ankle. The new groom promised his bride that in February, less than three months away, they would be honeymooning in some romantic spot. He would have fulfilled his parole obligation and the monitor would be removed.

  Wardrip was happier than he had ever been. He believed his marriage was the beginning of the perfect life he had dreamed of for so many years.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After arriving in Olney, Wardrip had drifted from job to job. It wasn’t until his father sought out Frank Duncan at the Olney Door and Screen Company and asked him to help give his son a second chance that Wardrip had a job he liked.

  “Frank, you know my boy Faryion is home. He got himself into some trouble and he’s been in prison. He needs a job. Frank, I’d be pleased if you’d give him a chance,” George Wardrip told the company’s owner.

  George Wardrip towered over the short, stocky Duncan. As dissimilar as the two men were in physical appearance, they were alike in their love for their sons. George Wardrip was trying to get Faryion back on track, and Duncan was turning over the reins of the family-owned business to his son Brad.

  “Sure, George, we’ve given lots of men with records jobs. Bring him on out and let us talk to him,” Duncan said.

  The Olney Door and Screen Company was the small town’s third-largest employer with thirty-five full-time employees. The manufacturing company produced screen doors for construction coast to coast, with the
Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) their largest contractor.

  Within days, Faryion Wardrip was sitting in the office of Brad Duncan, Fred’s son, and president of the screen company.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Brad said to Wardrip.

  With no apparent pause, the ex-con began to tell Brad the same story he had told the members of his Church of Christ congregation. He was convincing in his description of the auto accident, the death of his fiancée, his incarceration, and the ankle monitor he wore. He not only won the job he desired, but also the compassion of his employer. Once again he had manipulated the truth to his advantage.

  “Faryion, this is Dave Collard, our purchasing agent,” Brad said. “You’ll be working with him. He’ll show you the ropes.”

  Collard, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a pleasant smile, took Wardrip under his wing. The two men became instant friends. Wardrip had common sense, people skills, and a work ethic unlike many of the laborers at the factory, qualities that earned greater value for him, not only with Collard, but the Duncans as well.

  Within weeks Collard watched from his office as Wardrip drove the forklift to move materials from one location to another in the factory yard. He thought of how quickly Wardrip had adjusted to the work routine. He had taken to purchasing like a fish to water. Wardrip was perfect for the job slot. Collard’s only concern was Wardrip’s own impatience with himself.

  “Faryion, take it easy,” Collard had advised when his employee had become angry over an error he had made. “Don’t get so upset.”

  The friendly advice was ignored. Wardrip was a perfectionist, driven to be flawless in his job performance. It was part of his plan. A piece of the puzzle that when complete would reveal a mosaic of what would be his picture of an impeccable life.

  Wardrip’s apparent change of character had made him a likable employee. He had been well received by the vendors dealing with the company, and Collard hoped to be able to turn most, if not all, of the responsibilities of purchasing over to Wardrip shortly. Collard planned to go back out on the road for outside sales.

  It had been a difficult time for Collard. His wife had been ill for some time before she finally lost her fight with cancer.

  Wardrip was one of the first people to arrive at Collard’s house after hearing the news of his wife’s death. In the living room of Collard’s house, the two men embraced and cried.

  “Dave, I’m so sorry,” Wardrip said with tears in his eyes.

  “I know, son, I know,” Collard said.

  In the few months he had been with the company, Wardrip had become like a son to Collard. Collard had watched him grow emotionally and advance professionally. He was equally pleased that Wardrip seemed to be happily married. He thought Glenda’s influence had helped to bring Wardrip down to earth. To settle him. But Collard had given Wardrip some good-natured ribbing as well.

  Their first Christmas together, the newlyweds had agreed not to pay more than one hundred dollars for gifts to one another. Faryion Wardrip had been upset when he had stuck to the imposed limit and his wife had not, giving him an adorable black poodle puppy as a gift.

  “You’re in a lot of trouble,” Collard had taunted. He enjoyed poking fun at Wardrip. The younger man was good natured and had taken the ribbing well.

  “You better watch out, Faryion, she’s keeping you on a short leash,” Collard had teased when he heard that Wardrip cooked Glenda breakfast every morning, led them in Bible study, then did the dishes.

  The cord remained short as Glenda arrived on most days at noon with Faryion’s lunch and brought him an occasional morning snack. In addition, she chastised him for working, even if infrequently, on Sunday. But nonetheless, to Collard, Wardrip seemed to be on cloud nine. His life appeared to be working out just as he had expressed to Collard he had hoped it would.

  As the two men sat in the factory yard one day, Wardrip stared out to the north, gazing at a tall stand of trees.

  “You can’t imagine how long it had been since I had seen trees,” Wardrip said, remembering the gray, cold walls of the prison unit.

  “Huntsville [prison] is a place you don’t want to go back to,” Collard said.

  “I never want to go back,” Wardrip said with determination and a bit of fear in his voice.

  He had expressed the same fear to Bryce.

  “I’m so scared on this program,” Wardrip had told his brother. “Even if there’s a false report, I can go back.”

  Bryce mulled over Faryion’s statement. His older brother had always thought he was ten feet tall and bullet proof. Since his release from prison, Bryce had seen glimpses of a change.

  Glenda seemed to keep him on the straight and narrow, but there was some backsliding that concerned Bryce. At his house, Faryion would watch Bevis and Butthead on television, listen to rock and roll, and generally have a good time joking and playing with Bryce’s kids. But as soon as Glenda would arrive, his brother changed into a Bible-thumping holy roller. It was something Bryce had difficulty tolerating.

  Tina, Bryce’s wife, was equally uncomfortable as she watched Glenda tell her brother-in-law where to sit, even how to sit. In general, Glenda made Faryion’s brother and sister-in-law uncomfortable in their own home. One day Tina had watched all the henpecking she could stand.

  “They have surgery for that,” Tina told Glenda curtly.

  Glenda’s questioning look told Tina her older sister-in-law had no idea what she was talking about.

  “To remove the stick up your ass,” Tina said.

  Part III

  Chapter Fifteen

  As Faryion Wardrip labored at the door and screen factory, Archer County District Attorney Investigator Paul Smith and Wichita County District Attorney Investigator John Little toiled over the unsolved murder files of Terry Sims, Toni Gibbs, and Ellen Blau. They searched for a common denominator. Something that might tether the fifteen-year-old murders together.

  Archer County District Attorney Tim Cole, who had pursued the latest technological advances in DNA testing in the Toni Gibbs case three years earlier, challenged Smith to untangle the mass of information accumulated in the fifteen years since the murders had been committed. Cole had been disappointed and a bit surprised when 1996 DNA tests showed that the original suspect in the Gibbs’s killing was not the murderer.

  Danny Wayne Laughlin, who had been unsuccessfully tried for Gibbs’s murder, was innocent. The findings came too late for Laughlin. His death in a Colorado car crash in 1993 had come three years before the DNA findings that would clear him of the crime he had repeatedly denied.

  But while Cole was disappointed with the DNA test findings exonerating Laughlin, the tests revealed a surprising discovery. The semen found in Sims matched the semen found in Gibbs. For the first time since the 1984/1985 slayings, authorities had linked the two murders to a single killer. One man.

  Cole instructed Smith to reopen the case of Toni Gibbs for further review.

  “Find me a common link between Sims and Gibbs,” Cole told his investigator.

  Because Gibbs had been abducted from Wichita County and transported to Archer County, the two governmental entities had decided more than a decade before to work together in searching for the killer. There was no question that their collaboration would continue. For fifteen years, both DA Cole and DA Macha kept the murders of the three young women alive in their minds and hearts. They had vowed never to give up the search for the vicious killer who had plagued their region’s young women for eighteen fright-filled months. Each district attorney assigned an investigator to the sole pursuit of finding the slayer.

  Investigators Smith and Little pored over the files, searching for any clue, anyone who might appear in the files of Gibbs, Sims, and Blau.

  “Here he is again,” Little said to Smith as he reviewed Gibbs’s file. “His name has popped up in both Gibbs’s and Sims’s files.”

  Then the investigators came across a notation in one of the cold case files. A notat
ion that stunned the experienced detectives. A Thomas Granger had gone to the police twice in 1986 to report his suspicions that a man he knew had something to do with the deaths of Sims, Gibbs, and Blau. The first time had been only three days after he had confessed to killing another Wichita Falls woman. Evidently the information had been disregarded.

  The second time Granger approached police was after he and a private investigator named Ray Cannedy investigated links between the man and the murdered women themselves. They had even prepared a report, which they gave to local police and the FBI.

  “We have to consider him a suspect,” Little said.

  Smith and Little had eliminated more than two dozen men over the two years they had been working on the cold case files of the unsolved murders. Each suspect had been systematically expunged. The man whose name appeared in the files would join that list of former suspects if his DNA sample didn’t match the semen samples from the victims. If his sample matched, Smith and Little knew beyond any doubt that they would have their killer.

  Since the late 1980s, DNA, a genetic profile or a genetic fingerprint as it’s sometimes called, had been perfected and used by law enforcement to identify suspects from hair, blood, semen, or tissue found at the scene of a violent crime. Smith and Little knew that a person could change his name and physical features, but he couldn’t change his DNA configuration.

  In DNA fingerprinting, DNA is extracted from a sample, such as blood, hair, or saliva, and cut into segments using enzymes. Those segments are sorted by lengths. Segments that contain sequences of repeated DNA bases, which vary greatly from one individual to another, are radioactively tagged, causing them to form a visual pattern. That pattern becomes the person’s DNA fingerprint. In criminal investigations, the DNA fingerprint of a suspect is compared to that of evidence found at a crime scene. It could come from such things as hair, blood spatter, any type of biological tissue. Coffee cups, soda cans, toothbrushes, even bubble gum had been used to collect DNA samples from suspects.