With Kim there always seemed to be a drama taking place with a lover or an ex-lover, one of her children or somebody at work. Generally, it was the same old domestic problems many estranged couples with kids find themselves involved in. Yes, it only hurts the kids. But Kim Cargill never got that. Or she didn’t care. With this recent problem with the state, Kim realized she had the fight of her life ahead of her—a battle to keep her youngest son. (Her oldest had already been removed from the home many years before.) If she lost a second child, what about the other kids? It would open a Pandora’s box of issues for her. Not to mention the fact that Kim would have to pay child support to two ex-spouses—something she claimed she could not afford and would never do.
Cherry had a conflicting appointment for that Wednesday, June 23, the same day she had been subpoenaed to testify. Wheeler asked the officer who served Cherry about that appointment and what Cherry could do with regard to the conflict.
“Tell her to cancel her appointment,” the officer told Wheeler. The hearing was, of course, more important. Cherry needed to be in court or she would be held in contempt.
When the officer left, Cherry called Kim. Wheeler stood and listened to the call.
“Don’t tell no one,” Kim told Cherry. “Don’t tell your daddy”—about the subpoena. Cherry related the conversation to Wheeler afterward.
“[She] says I don’t have to go to the court, Paula,” Cherry said.
Wheeler nodded her head. “Yes, Cherry—yes, you do have to go.”
This was around 10:50 A.M. on that Friday before Cherry went missing, Wheeler explained to Riggle as the two spoke over the phone on Sunday night. The subpoena had been delivered to Cherry at 10:18 A.M., records later proved, so the timeline given by Paula Wheeler, which would prove to be important in the days to come, turned out to be spot on.
“What else happened?” Riggle wanted to know. He was curious about the subpoena. This Kim person, whose kid Cherry had been watching. Had Kim seen Cherry? Had Kim dropped Cherry off somewhere? Had Cherry called Kim that night or on Saturday? Kim was someone the SCSO needed to interview right away.
“She handed me the phone,” Wheeler said. Cherry was overcome with anxiety as she spoke to Kim and felt she couldn’t continue, so the caregiver took the telephone from her.
“I didn’t know what to think,” Wheeler said, recalling what had transpired.
“Yes,” Wheeler said into the phone. Cherry stood in front of her, looking on. She was becoming more anxious as each moment passed.
“What is your name?” Kim asked.
“This is Paula Wheeler,” said the caregiver.
“She was very arrogant,” Wheeler later remembered, describing the phone call in detail. Kim’s nerves were surely fraying as she scrambled to come up with a way to keep her child. She probably just realized that having Cherry watch the boy was not the best decision she had ever made. Her former husband, fighting for custody, was going to use what he could—and that included the fact that a clinically diagnosed mentally retarded woman, regardless of how nice and kind she was, not to mention how gentle and pleasant she was to the child, had been watching Timmy. As soon as he found out, he and the court were going to use Cherry against Kim.
“They want to make Cherry go to court and they want to make her look bad,” Kim said to Wheeler. Kim claimed to be worried about Cherry’s welfare. She said the court was going to make Cherry out to be a freak and that it was going to devastate her. Being on the witness stand was not going to be good for Cherry’s psychological well-being. “They want to make her come to court,” Kim reiterated, “but she doesn’t have to—she doesn’t have to go to court!”
Kim was obviously upset. She asked that Cherry not show up to testify against her. Couldn’t Cherry just do her that one favor?
Wheeler didn’t know what to tell Kim. Cherry wasn’t going to be held in contempt of court for not answering a subpoena, pay a fine or go to jail. Not for Kim. Not for anyone. That wasn’t the right thing to do, nor was it the proper message to teach Cherry about responsibility.
“Look,” Kim said. “Wednesday (June 23) is the last day of the trial—I can take Cherry to my house and hide her all day there.”
Now Kim was asking Wheeler to sign off on Kim and Cherry committing a crime.
As Wheeler spoke to Kim, Cherry began to shake nervously in front of her, Wheeler explained to Detective Riggle. Cherry had a blank look on her face, staring straight ahead. Cherry was beyond terrified, likely getting the feeling that she was doing the wrong thing, maybe even betraying a friend—even though she did not understand what was happening. She sensed the situation was becoming unglued and she was in the middle. She didn’t know what to do.
“Was that it?” Riggle asked.
The caseworker explained that she and Kim hung up, but Kim called right back.
“What did she want?” Riggle wondered.
Kim, Wheeler explained, went into a rant about Cherry not telling anyone that she had received the subpoena and how she didn’t want Cherry to “show the paper” to anyone else. It was nobody’s business but hers and Cherry’s. They’d figure it out together, Kim said to Wheeler.
“Have you told anyone?” Kim asked the caregiver.
“Well, I need to tell my supervisor about it because I need to tell my supervisor about everything that goes on with Cherry. I’ll also have to write it in my notes.”
“You’re some kind of friend!” Kim snapped, apparently trying to make Wheeler feel bad. “If you were a real friend to Cherry, you wouldn’t take her [to the court date].”
“I have to tell my supervisor, ma’am. I have to report what goes on with Cherry. I have to let my case manager know everything.”
Why wasn’t Kim getting this? Was she that desperate? Didn’t the court already know about Cherry? Or maybe not? Was this why they had subpoenaed Cherry in the first place, to learn more about who she was and what she knew?
“They’re just going to try and make her look incompetent, and they’re going to confuse and upset her,” Kim repeated.
The aide explained that she had to do the right thing. She had to teach Cherry the correct way to handle life’s challenges. The court would be sympathetic to Cherry and her mental issues; Kim need not worry about that.
“I can come and pick her up,” Kim then suggested, sounding as though she’d had an epiphany. “She doesn’t have to go to court.”
Wheeler said once again that Cherry had to answer the subpoena.
As Cherry stood nearby, listening to the phone call, the aide could tell by looking at her that Cherry was becoming increasingly upset over the whole thing. She continued to shake and stare. Kim didn’t have to worry about the court upsetting or confusing Cherry because it was already happening, Wheeler considered.
“Well, let me tell you,” Kim lashed out, realizing she wasn’t getting anywhere with the caseworker, “if they find out something’s wrong with Cherry, they’re going to . . . They’re going to take my baby from me.”
They hung up.
Riggle was interested in this conversation, not to mention the subpoena.
There was more, Wheeler said.
“More?” Riggle asked.
Much more.
9
AFTER KIM CARGILL AND PAULA Wheeler hung up, the caseworker consoled Cherry, who was torn up over the idea of not being able to make everyone happy, while at the same time unsure about what she had done wrong. The confusion. The stress. The unsettling feeling of disappointing people. Cherry sensed that Kim, Timmy’s mom, was mad at her, but she didn’t fully comprehend what had just happened.
“It’s going to be okay,” Wheeler reassured her.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Go where?”
Cherry meant court. “I’m nervous,” she added.
Standing inside Cherry’s apartment, Wheeler realized this was the first time Cherry had verbalized being nervous. She’d never come out and said it before—at least not to Whe
eler. The caregiver could see that Cherry was suffering anxiety because of the way she acted, but now Cherry was telling Wheeler how she felt. Was it a good sign? Had Cherry crossed a threshold? Was she beginning to understand her feelings?
Wheeler explained to Cherry that they needed to take a drive downtown to the Community Access offices to report what was going on, make copies of the subpoena for Cherry’s file, and perhaps speak with Wheeler’s supervisor regarding any next steps. There was no way Wheeler could just leave Cherry in the state she was experiencing. Cherry needed to understand the importance of what was going on in her life; she was obligated to show up in court and tell the truth.
Wheeler went to see her supervisor, Pertena Young, who also happened to be her sister. Community Access, which both sisters worked for, fell under the Adult Human Services banner of the Home & Community-Based Services of the state. Young knew of Cherry Walker and her case because, as Wheeler’s supervisor, she would have to meet with Cherry once a month. Young had also taken it upon herself to help Cherry when she could, giving her rides, answering questions, consoling her. She adored Cherry. The one thing Young noticed about Cherry was how softly she spoke. Her voice had a dulcet quality, a nonconfrontational tone, innocent, perhaps needy.
Cherry was still shaken up. This was clear as she sat down with the two sisters inside the Community Access offices.
“Calm down, Cherry, it’s going to be okay,” Young explained. This had become a common way to address Cherry when she seemed nervous. “It’s going to be all right.” Sometimes this tactic worked, sometimes it didn’t, Young later said. It all depended on how close Cherry was to the person trying to settle her down. If she knew and trusted you, Cherry generally took your advice.
Cherry had been on medication for what one law enforcement official later described as “controlled” seizures. The episodes in which Cherry began to shake and appeared nervous were in no way associated with her seizures. A seizure was an entirely different matter.
In so many ways Cherry was “like a child,” especially when she became upset and did not know what to do with a swell of emotion. The support of family, friends and professionals, like Paula Wheeler and Pertena Young, was essential to her maintaining a balance and settling down. Cherry needed caring people to stay focused on her goals and to live as normal a life as she could.
* * *
When Young had heard that Cherry was watching little Timmy, she had a sit-down with Cherry to talk about it. It was some months before Cherry went missing. Young had gone over to see Cherry one day and Timmy was there. Young was shocked. In fact, the supervisor had gone over to pick Cherry up for an appointment, but Timmy’s mother was late again. As a result they had to bring the boy with them and Young had to watch Timmy while Cherry saw her doctor. Right after that, during one of their monthly meetings, Young told Cherry, “Can you have Kim . . . call me, please? I . . . need to speak with her.”
“Sure,” Cherry said. Community Access could not stop Cherry from watching the child, not as a disciplinary matter. They could suggest that Cherry not babysit, they could report what they knew to DFPS and the boy’s father (if they chose), but in the end it was Cherry’s decision. She lived on her own, and was an adult. She made her own choices.
A day after Young sat down with Cherry, Kim called.
“Hi,” Young said, introducing herself. “I’m Cherry’s case manager.” Young was under the impression that perhaps she could speak with the mother and explain the situation. As adults they could come to an agreement that Cherry was probably not the best choice in a babysitter.
“Okay, and . . . ,” Kim snapped.
“Well, I was told that Cherry keeps your son once in a while and I have some concerns about that.”
“Concerns?” Kim cracked in a nasty tone.
“Cherry is MR.” Young had used the clinical acronym because she had been told that Kim was a nurse. As an LVN Kim must have known that MR meant “mentally retarded” and that Cherry was in no position to be watching a four-year-old.
Young wanted Kim’s last name, something Cherry could not give her. The case manager’s plan was to get Kim’s last name out of her on the phone and then call DFPS and “turn her in” for having a mentally challenged person babysit her child. It wasn’t right. Young and Wheeler were dedicated to helping families and people in the community; neither could sit by and do nothing with regard to Timmy. Not to mention how emotionally disastrous to Cherry the situation could be if something ever happened to the boy while in her custody. It would set her back, possibly even destroy all of her progress.
“That’s what I was going to do,” Young explained later. “Turn her in.”
“One of Cherry’s case managers I spoke to,” Young further told Kim, “does not want Cherry watching the child. It’s not good for her and it’s not good for [Timmy],” Young said. Why wasn’t Kim understanding such a simple issue?
They went back and forth, Young trying to get Kim to give up her last name, which she was not willing to do. At one point Young said, “Look, I am going to turn you in to the [state].”
“Well, you do whatever you need to do,” Kim said, then in an ominous tone, “I have friends down at the DA’s office.”
“Are you threatening me?” Young wanted to know. It sure sounded like it. “Because I don’t threaten very easy.”
Intimidating pushback was nothing new to Young. In her role as manager of her department at Community Access, she’d heard people say similar things: “I know this person. I know that person. I’ll make a call, and you’ll lose your job.” It did not faze her one bit. She had a job to do. Baseless, idle threats would not deter Young from always doing the right thing. “She was kind of making . . . like I was going to be afraid of her,” Young recalled. “Like she could make me do something . . .”
Not a chance.
Pertena Young made it clear she wasn’t standing for it. She knew what to do.
“So I hung up in her face,” she later explained in court.
* * *
On that Friday, June 18, after Cherry Walker and Paula Wheeler spoke with Kim, and Wheeler brought Cherry down to the office to photocopy the subpoena papers, they sat down with Young. Cherry had a beauty shop appointment scheduled for that early afternoon (the one from which her father, Gethry, would later pick her up). Cherry never wanted to miss one of her beauty appointments. She liked getting her hair done. It was important to her.
“She loved looking good,” Wheeler remembered.
It took some time, but they were able to calm Cherry down. Young put in a call to the office number on the subpoena and spoke with someone there at the office, letting the woman know that Cherry was considered MR. It appeared the office in charge of handling the case had no idea of the extent to which Cherry had a learning disability, or even that she had one at all.
Cherry made it to her hair appointment at one o’clock. Wheeler dropped her off—or, rather, tried to. As it turned out, Cherry had some trepidation about going into the salon on this day, which in itself seemed strange to Wheeler.
After pulling into the parking lot of the salon, Cherry said she didn’t want to get out of the car.
“Cherry, what’s wrong?” Wheeler asked.
She had pulled the car under a shade tree so they could talk. They sat with the vehicle turned off. They were early, but as it got nearer to one o’clock, Wheeler said, “Cherry, you have to get out now. You have to go to your appointment.” Keeping Cherry on schedule was important to her progress. Wheeler couldn’t understand Cherry’s misgivings about going into the salon, because she had always adored this appointment. This was one time Cherry could relax with no pressure, no one asking her uncomfortable questions.
“Okay,” Cherry said. She opened the door and began to get out of the car. She was still shaky, just not as much as she had been most of that day. She hesitated. “But I want to stay with you, Paula.”
It was as if Cherry knew she was never going to see her casework
er again.
“I know you do,” Wheeler said. “But you need to go inside now. Listen, you call me when you get home, okay?”
Paula Wheeler said good-bye to Cherry, watched her walk into the salon, and then drove away.
Gethry Walker picked Cherry up that afternoon when her hair appointment was over. He drove her home to her apartment. They discussed the following day, a Saturday. Pizza, maybe. Church’s Chicken, perhaps. Cherry and Gethry didn’t need to say it, but they would talk tomorrow, maybe meet up for lunch or dinner at one of those places. Gethry told his daughter he loved her and he’d see her on Sunday morning at church service.
By 7:00 P.M., or thereabouts, Cherry Walker was back inside her apartment. She seemed to be calm and recovered from all that had happened earlier. An hour later, just before eight o’clock, on Friday, June 18, the last day anyone saw or spoke to Cherry Walker, she was at home. Alone. Cherry had told nobody about any plans to go out or leave her apartment. As far as anyone knew, Cherry was in for the night.
“How do you know that?” Detective Riggle asked Wheeler as he interviewed her. How could she know that Cherry was home at 8:00 P.M. on Friday and not planning to go anywhere? A victim’s timeline for the last day of her life was gold. You get a timeline on a victim, and you can question witnesses and suspects with authority to determine who is hiding (or holding) information and who is not. Although Paula Wheeler worked for the state and was, by all accounts, a person who cared for others, she also needed to explain her whereabouts and how she knew Cherry was at home on Friday evening. Had Wheeler gone over to visit Cherry that night?
“She called me about eight o’clock [on Friday],” Wheeler told Riggle.
And, boy, did Cherry Walker have something important to tell Paula Wheeler.
10
ONE COULD ARGUE THAT JOE Mayo was part of a healthy support system Cherry Walker depended on to make her life as fulfilling as it could be. Joe adored Cherry. They had been friends for almost fourteen years, according to Joe. Although he had not been seeing Cherry as often as he had in the past, they still talked on the phone and went out to eat once in a while. They remained friends.
Don't Tell a Soul Page 5