Everything She Ever Wanted: A True Story of Obsessive Love, Murder, and Betrayal

by Ann Rule

  Both want to win. But it might be safe to say that detectives are more philosophical about losing.

  In the end, Bill Akins chose to accept a plea bargain. Pat Taylor would go to prison. But she would never have to worry about facing murder charges—at least not in any case up to June 1988. There would be no trial, speedy or otherwise. There would be no blazing headlines. Don Stoop was livid. He didn’t give a hoot for headlines either, but he was a hard-liner on justice. He would remain furious for a very, very long time. “Bill Akins never should have plea-bargained. And I’ll never change my mind about that.”

  Both Don Stoop and Michelle Berry were bitterly disappointed, ultimately frustrated. They had given it everything they had. Georgia passions being what they were, there would be other cases. They devoutly hoped not to run into Pat again, although it was certainly possible that they would, given world enough and time.

  CHAPTER 56

  ***

  On June 12, 1991, less than two months after she was arrested, Patricia Taylor Allanson aka Patricia Radcliffe Taylor appeared with her attorney in the Hon. William H. Alexander's courtroom in Atlanta.

  A plea had been negotiated in Indictment No. Z-32688.

  Pat took the stand and looked stolidly at Bill Akins as he approached her. His questioning was routine. He needed to establish that she was competent and understood what she was about to do, that she felt she had been fairly represented.

  “Were you satisfied,” Akins asked, “with the services that he rendered on your behalf?”

  “More than satisfied.”

  “Counsel,” Akins turned to Steve Roberts. “Do you waive formal reading?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Ms. Taylor, do you understand,” Akins began, “that you are charged in seven counts in the bill of indictment? Count I charges you with aggravated assault with intent to murder, which carries with it a penalty of one to twenty years in the penitentiary. Count II charges you with aggravated assault, which also carries with it a penalty of one to twenty years. . . . You can't be convicted of both. . . . Count III charges you with violation of the Georgia Controlled Substances Act dealing with being in possession of Halcion . . . one to five years. . . . That is a Schedule IV drug.” Count IV was the same. “You can’t be convicted of both. Count V charges you with theft by taking, specifically a stainless-steel Rolex watch . . . ten years in the penitentiary. Count VI charges you with theft by taking of some specifically named items of jewelry . . . one to ten years.”

  Akins explained that the latter two charges were separate. Pat could be convicted of both.

  “Count VII charges you with unlawfully posing as a registered nurse without a license. That is a misdemeanor, which carries with it a maximum penalty of twelve months in jail and a one-thousand-dollar fine. Do you understand all of those charges and the penalties for them?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Pat Taylor was prepared, she said, to plead guilty to aggravated assault, to violation of the Georgia Controlled Substances Act, to theft by taking of the specific items, and to posing as a registered nurse: Counts II, IV, VI and VII. She understood full well that she could be sentenced to a total of thirty-six years in prison, and that she had the right to a trial by jury. She was waiving that right.

  Pat was eager to make a statement about why she was pleading guilty. Her attorney explained she could do that when the judge questioned her later.

  Bill Akins reviewed Pat’s long, long history with the legal system in Fulton County, giving a summary of what he would have presented in a trial if there had been one: the violent deaths, the poisonings, the forged wills. Moving into the recent past, he told Judge Alexander that Pat had been paroled, trained to work only in nursing homes. “She also cared for an elderly lady by the name of Mansfield. She essentially worked with Ms. Mansfield through a nursing home and the children didn’t have much contact with her. Ms. Mansfield subsequently died and was cremated. And that’s really all we know about that.”

  The Crist assignment was next. Akins described the lies and misrepresentations, and Pat’s constant dismissal of all other employees. “It was essentially she and her co-defendant, Debbie Cole Alexander, who were the primary caretakers of the elder Mr. Crist. . . . Mrs. Crist’s . . . doctor prescribed a sedative known as Halcion. . . . The doctor prescribed thirty pills . . . to take no more than one pill—preferably just half a pill—at bedtime. Within the span of some thirty-six days, Your Honor, the defendant acquired an additional one hundred and twenty tablets of Halcion from two different drugstores.”

  The case that Don Stoop and Michelle Berry had built step by step was stunning to listen to. Judge Alexander sat quietly, absorbed, as Bill Akins told of the huge drug store bills, the Crist childrens’ growing suspicions and fears.

  “Dr. Watson . . . drew a blood sample [from Elizabeth Crist] which subsequently showed almost double the normal dosage of Halcion, and this was at a time when the elder Mrs. Crist was not as drugged as she was at other points. . . . I would expect the evidence at trial to show further . . . that the overdoses of Halcion that Mr. Crist was getting exacerbated his condition with Parkinson’s and accelerated his decline . . . and also harmed the health of Mrs. Crist.”

  After noting the valuables missing from the Crists’ estate, Akins gave the state’s recommendation for sentencing. “As to Count II—aggravated assault—twelve years to serve eight, the balance on probation. . . . Count IV, five years to serve concurrent. As to Count VI, ten years to serve eight, concurrent, and, as to Count VII, twelve months to serve concurrent. . . .

  “As a condition of probation, Your Honor, I recommend that the defendant receive counseling and that she at no time be employed either for compensation or voluntarily in anything which might be remotely a health-related field.”

  That certainly seemed a given.

  Steve Roberts asked for two additional conditions. “He [Bill Akins] has agreed as a condition of this plea . . . that the codefendant, Debbie Alexander, who is Mrs. Taylor’s daughter . . . be put into the pretrial intervention program and, upon successful completion of that, that case would be dead-docketed against her and that she will not be further prosecuted.” She had also promised to make restitution for Mr. Crist’s Rolex watch.

  And next, the big carrot. The humongous carrot.

  “As a condition of this plea, he [Bill Akins] will in no way attempt to indict Mrs. Taylor for, in connection with, the death of Mr. Walter Allanson, which occurred, I believe, in 1974.”

  Akins nodded and rose to explain this condition further to Judge Alexander. “Your Honor, that is correct. It came to light during the course of our investigation of this case that this defendant was substantially involved as a party to the murder . . . of her ex-husband’s—Tommy Allanson’s—parents. It is my position that, if she enters a plea as outlined, the state will not proceed further with the indictment or prosecution of that case.”

  Steve Roberts spoke again. He said that his client was pleading guilty against his advice. He had advised Pat to plead not guilty and go to trial. “My client is entering this plea today. She will tell the court freely and voluntarily she wishes to enter what is in effect an Alford plea.”

  (An Alford plea has nothing at all to do with Bill and Susan Alford; the etiology of the name is from some landmark case a long time back. It was an ironic match— nothing more.)

  Margureitte and Clifford Radcliffe, who were, of course, in attendance, flinched a little at the sound of the name. But they sat as proudly and benevolently as ever, gazing upon their daughter.

  “She wishes the court to understand the reasons why she is entering her plea,” Roberts continued, “that the nature of the charges made against her and her daughter lead her to the belief that, if the evidence as outlined by Mr. Akins is presented to a jury, that there is a substantial likelihood that she would be convicted, and, if convicted, would receive a harsher sentence than the state is recommending today. . . . The state has indicated it would intro
duce her prior crimes—which they would contend is a similar crime. Mr. Akins has notified me that he would put up evidence to that effect.

  “So all of those things, as well as her intention to put an end to this matter once and for all—both with regard to this crime, the crime involving Mr. Allanson in 1974, and her prior offense involving the alleged poisoning—all of those things, Your Honor, are entering into my client’s decision to enter her plea today.”

  Pat lumbered to her feet to face Judge Alexander. She wore jail-issue blue pants and top, and sandals. Fourteen years and thirty-five days had gone by since the last time she was sentenced to prison, but she still had her cheering section. Debbie was there, along with her new husband, Mike Alexander. Miss Loretta was too broken hearted to come to Pat’s sentencing, but she still had Boppo and Papa, just as she always had.

  Judge Alexander looked down upon Pat and intoned, “Mrs. Taylor—as to Count II, I will sentence you to twelve years, to serve eight, balance probated. . . . Count IV, I sentence you to serve five years, concurrent with Count II. As to Count VI, I sentence you to ten years to serve eight, and to run concurrently with the others. . . . On Count VII, I will sentence you to serve twelve months. All of those sentences to run concurrently.” Adhering to Bill Akins’s request, Judge Alexander reminded Pat that she was never again to work in any health-related field.

  In essence, Pat was going to prison for eight years.

  The deputy guarding her allowed her to step to the side of the courtroom, where she was enveloped in hugs. Margureitte shook her head and muttered under her breath to no one in particular that this was all some terrible, terrible mistake. Pat herself didn’t cry. Even facing her return to Hardwick, she may have heaved a sigh of relief; it could have been so much worse.

  Later, Margureitte Radcliffe said Pat had only pleaded guilty to save Debbie. “She is the kind of mother who couldn’t bear to see her child suffer. She sacrificed herself for Deborah.” Margureitte did not mention Steve Roberts’ insistence on the condition guaranteeing that Pat would never again have to deal with vexatious questions about the murders of Walter and Carolyn Allanson. Whatever had happened that rainy twilight eve of July 4th, whatever Pat had done to provoke the bloody confrontation in the basement of 1458 Norman Berry Drive, the subject was closed—at least legally closed.

  CHAPTER 57

  ***

  From the moment she learned of her mother’s first arrest, Susan Alford had dreaded two things, knowing that if she avoided one, she would bring the other crashing down upon her.

  Although she doubted that anyone would believe her, she loved her mother and longed for a happy ending. When Pat got out of prison in 1984, it was as if a great weight had fallen from Susan’s heart. A whole wonderful future lay ahead of them then. Susan was the daughter who gave her mother so much support while she was in Horizon House, eager to help Pat reenter the world outside prison.

  Pat wrote to Susan on November 30, 1984, after her first out-of-state visit while she was on parole. It was a long letter any daughter would treasure.

  . . . As each day of our lives together passed, I loved you more and more each one. I have so many beautiful images and memories that will always be with me of you. Oh, how many times I drew on those images and memories all the last 8 years. . . . Trips to the beach in North Carolina where you all looked for sand dollars. Germany, and how all the people thought you were a little Bavarian girl with your rosy cheeks and long braids. And as all this time passed, my love didn’t stand still either but rather I just kept loving you more. Every day of our lives (together or not together) whether the experiences have been painful or pleasureful [sic], joyful or sad, regardless, each and every one has made me love you more. Neither time, nor distance, not even the physical seperation [sic] of the last 8-10 yrs. can diminish that love. For everything we’ve endured has only made the bond a stronger one. The baby I loved became the little girl I loved who became the beautiful and loving woman you are now. I am so proud that you are my daughter and I look forward to the many wonderful years and future experiences we'll share. . . .

  The letter had thrilled Susan and made her weep. And yet, even back then the first niggling doubts had already begun, no matter that she cloaked herself in denial and rationalizations, no matter how many times she looked away from what she would not see.

  Susan’s worst dread was that her mother would again want something so badly that anyone who got in the way would be hurt. It had never occurred to her that she might be one of those hurt. Even when Susan herself had two mysterious illnesses that no one could diagnose, she would not listen to Bill’s and Sean’s warnings that her mother was probably poisoning her. She would not, could not, believe that. Maybe she had only suffered from the flu or something equally innocuous. Without specific testing, no one could say. “But I was lucky at that. I lived,” she said later. “I could have died, like Kent did or the Allansons.”

  Susan had vowed since 1976 that she would not let her mother destroy anyone else. And she hadn't, but it cost her.

  Her second worst fear was that she would no longer have a family if she told anyone outside that family about her mother’s crimes. Lord knows, no one had ever acknowledged Pat's dangerousness inside the family; if Susan did the unspeakable, she knew she would be forever beyond the pale. All she could count on would be Bill and Courtney and little Adam. She had seen Bobby and Charlotte Porter virtually excommunicated for far less. They had only refused to write a letter. Although they had agreed not to prosecute Pat for her alleged mistreatment of Aunt Lizzie, they would not write a letter praising her and they had become pariahs.

  In the end, there had been no choice at all for Susan. She could not live knowing that sometime, sooner or later, her mother’s eye would fall on something she wanted very, very much. And that disaster would follow.

  Boppo had been Susan’s ideal for more than three decades of her life, her support, her rescuer, the one person she had always believed she could count on. But when Susan’s presence in Boppo’s house had irritated Pat, she was out on the street in no time. Susan had no illusions that she would still be part of the family after her mother and sister were arrested. But she could not have realized that she would never be allowed simply to walk away, to begin a new life. Banishment was merely the first increment of her family’s revenge.

  From the moment they left Boppo and Papa’s on Thanksgiving Day, 1990, the Alfords had been on their own. Susan no longer had a sister, a brother, grandparents, great-aunts, uncles, cousins (save the discredited Bobby and Charlotte), or nieces. Her son, Sean, remained estranged—but she learned that he was encouraged to come to Boppo and Papa’s house once a week. It was almost primitive. Susan and Bill had betrayed the pack, and the others would never forgive them. Whatever Pat had done, she had always been taken back, not only forgiven but supported and carried above all of them on arms of love. Susan had spoken up only to prevent her mother from doing harm and she was exiled.

  The Alfords were becalmed for a year on Main Street in McDonough. Sometimes, they felt as if they lived in a fishbowl. McDonough was so small that they could go nowhere without running into Boppo and Papa. When that happened, they were strangers; Boppo took on her crystal gaze and sailed by them. Susan saw her grandmother often, and she did not look ill, but the doctors’ reports said otherwise, and Susan believed them. She worried about Boppo.

  It would take her months to hook into the anger deep inside. Naturally diffident, Susan didn’t feel rage until she saw her children hurting. Courtney received a letter from Boppo and Papa telling her that they would no longer pay for her riding lessons. Adam couldn’t understand why Boppo and Papa had gone out of his life.

  Susan heard rumors about her own treachery wherever she went in McDonough. The gossips were busy, and apparently Pat’s and Debbie’s offenses paled in comparison with Susan’s. An “anonymous source” reported the Alfords to the local child protective authorities as abusive parents. The allegations were investigat
ed and dropped when Courtney laughed out loud at the charge that she had been “dragged across the floor by her hair.”

  Don Stoop and Michelle Berry stood by the Alfords; the case was over, but the detectives had come to like and respect the couple who had done what they felt they had to do. When things got to be too much for Susan, Stoop could usually make her laugh. He didn’t tell her, but he was going to be relieved too when the Alfords got out of McDonough. They were objects of such hatred.

  On July 8, 1991, Susan and Bill received a letter from Boppo, typed on her old manual machine—the same one she used for everything from suspicious confessions to the official disinheritance of miscreants. Susan and Bill had assumed that their banishment from Boppo’s funeral services had been their last official notice. But there was yet another salvo.

  Susan Taylor Alford

  George C. Alford

  Since this tragedy occurred, I have been trying to find the worrds [sic] to say to you . . . there are no words that can express the depth of my hurt and thae [sic] deep loss I feel.

  . . . At this point it is impossible that we could ever have any relationship. There are no winners here. But there are many losers. As my Mother said many times, “What has been done is done, and can not be changed, it is written in our page of life and will stand as it is. Only God can forgive you for all of this. With mankind it is a little harder.”

  Your Grandfather and I have re-written our wills. So has your Mother. You are both excluded. It is not fitting that you should benefit materially after all the tragedy you have caused. You Susan, will not be getting [the] ring that Uncle Kent gave to me. I know that he would not think [you] deserved same. . . .