But I Trusted You

by Ann Rule

  But Teresa Gaethe-Leonard looked more like a pretty kindergarten teacher or someone serving fruit punch at a church function.

  That look had stood her in good stead since puberty. When she cried or trembled from the emotion of it all, she was even more pitiable. And Michael Downes worried that a jury might view her that way.

  There was no question at this point that Morgan could live with her mother—Teresa’s emotions were too unstable. Under an agreement drawn up by the Washington State Child Protective Services, Teresa was allowed to phone Morgan twice a week for a fifteen-minute monitored call. However, Judge Farris was concerned that Morgan hadn’t seen a counselor yet, apparently because Teresa hadn’t signed the required paperwork. A guardian was appointed for Morgan who would arrange for her to have sessions with a child psychologist.

  On March 12, 1997, Morgan was slated to talk with P. J. Summers, a child interview specialist with the Crimes Against Children Unit of the Snohomish County Sheriff’s Office. Since her mother’s arrest, she’d been staying with Chuck’s father and stepmother, Fred and Caroline, at their home in Concrete, Washington, and her small world was in total upheaval.

  Caroline Leonard brought her into the sheriff’s office.

  Morgan wanted to know where her mother was, and why she couldn’t see her.

  “She’s in a safe place,” Pince explained, “but you can’t see her right now.”

  “I need to ask about my daddy,” she pressed.

  Pince said he would talk to her about that later. Morgan was willing to talk to P.J., whom Pince introduced as a friend of his, but she made him promise to answer some questions for her when she was finished.

  Morgan told P. J. Summers that her mother was going to get married in Hawaii and she and her mom were going to move there. “I’m going to be a flower girl at the wedding,” she said.

  She was clinging to the happy-ever-after ending that her mother had promised her. She said she knew her daddy was dead, but she didn’t really understand what had happened.

  Pince kept his word and, after Morgan’s interview with P.J., he did his best to explain what had happened to her father. He told her that Chuck had been shot. She didn’t ask who had done that. They talked a little bit about how anyone could have gotten into his house. Morgan said she knew that he had some guns around the house, but they were kept up high or locked up and she was not allowed to touch them. She didn’t think her mother had any guns at all in her house.

  Pince was very gentle with her. Morgan was confused about what could have happened. She wanted things back the way they were before.

  If only …

  The Snohomish County investigators talked to dozens of people as they reconstructed the last day of Chuck Leo-nard’s life. He had, indeed, had drinks and dinner with friends at Buck’s American Café in Everett on Wednesday night, and he’d been trying to find someone to go to Harrah’s Club, a nearby casino, with him. But he had no luck. Les Staunton was tired after arriving home from his South American trip. Michelle wished him good luck, but she was turning in early. She asked him to call her when he left the casino or when he got home.

  The “skinny blonde” he’d talked about taking to gamble with him was a former waitress at Buck’s. She’d eaten with Chuck and his friends, but hadn’t wanted to go to Harrah’s so late on a weeknight either.

  A cocktail waitress at Harrah’s confirmed that Chuck had been in the gambling casino that night. She said he was usually loud and raucous after a few drinks, and it would be difficult to forget him—although he was also a nice guy who had a great sense of humor. However, on this last night, he’d seemed “down” or “depressed.”

  Chuck had arrived late—after eleven. He wasn’t in her section, so she had no idea how many drinks he had. “By the time I saw him, he was drinking bottled water,” she said. “After two a.m., the drinks are cut off.”

  Chuck Leonard had left Harrah’s quietly and probably driven straight home; it wasn’t more than a half hour’s drive.

  They were now eight days away from Teresa’s April trial date for the murder of Chuck Leonard.

  But like most high-profile trials, Teresa’s was delayed. Rather than beginning in April, it was rescheduled for July 1997. And then, quite suddenly, on April 25, after eight weeks in jail, Teresa was released. Her half-million-dollar cash bail had been paid. Her attorney, George Cody, said a group of her friends had raised the money because they were worried that Teresa wouldn’t be able to choose who would have custody of Morgan if she had to do it from a jail cell.

  But Teresa’s friends and relatives weren’t anywhere near that rich. In truth, the bail money came almost entirely from one very close friend: Nick Callas. He may not have chosen to divorce his wife and marry Teresa, but he seemed to care deeply for her.

  George Cody, too, was very taken with Teresa. He doted on her, and some observers wondered if his feelings for her were more than those of an attorney for his client. Just before Teresa walked free from her jail cell, Detective John Padilla asked Teresa’s new lawyer, John Henry Browne, to be present while he photographed Teresa in the clothing she’d worn the night Chuck died.

  With a female detective present, too, Padilla began by taking several photographs of the suspect as she looked in her normal clothing.

  She was annoyed, and said sarcastically, “Of course you had to do this before my cosmetic surgery.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. Next, he took pictures of Teresa wearing the sweatpants, dark brown fleece jacket, and bloodied boots. He noted that she never looked at him or the clothes; instead she gazed with empty eyes at the door to the room they were in. She didn’t seem particularly upset. Rather, she seemed removed, as though she had stepped out of her body, blocking any angst she might feel at seeing the stained items again.

  George Cody had found an apartment for Teresa and paid the rent. There was no possibility that she could have Morgan live with her. Chuck’s family wouldn’t hear of it, and the court felt Teresa wasn’t currently stable enough to have her back. But there was more. If Morgan lived with Teresa, what would stop the accused murderess from disguising herself and her daughter and vanishing? Who would prevent Teresa from convincing Morgan of just about anything she wanted her to believe?

  Morgan had told her grandparents and her Aunt Theresa that she was going to have a “new daddy” when her mother got married. Fred, Caroline, and Theresa were alarmed.

  “And I’m going to have flowers in my hair at the wedding,” Morgan burbled. “My mommy said so and she doesn’t lie.”

  Although the case appeared to be growing tighter around Teresa, there were gaps in it, and there were still many people who absolutely refused to think of her as a killer. The men who loved her and the women she’d chosen to be her confidantes still could not equate the bubbly, caring Teresa with their image of a murderess.

  Detective John Padilla took advantage of the trial delay to see if he could find out who Teresa really was. He called Lieutenant Steve Buras of the Homicide Division of the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Office in Louisiana and asked him if he would search his records there for any information on Teresa Gaethe-Leonard. Padilla gave the Louisiana lawmen every possible combination he could come up with about Teresa: her birthdate, Social Security number, her names, parents’ names, even her father’s date of birth.

  Buras called Padilla a few hours later and said he couldn’t find any information on Teresa, but he was going to check with the Social Security office in his jurisdiction and see if they might have something on her activities.

  Next, Padilla found the phone number for Gary Gaethe, Teresa’s ex-husband. He called him in early summer, 1997. Gaethe was most forthcoming with what he knew about her.

  According to Gaethe, Teresa had lived most of her life in Pensacola, Florida, and she attended high school there until her parents moved to Metairie, Louisiana. He knew her mother’s name was Gloria, and that she had two sisters, but he’d forgotten their names.


  “After we divorced,” he said cryptically, “I got rid of everything that reminded me of Teresa.”

  Gaethe’s romance with Teresa began much like her involvement with Chuck Leonard. He had been in a department store, buying a present for his mother. They struck up a conversation. He got the impression that she was in her twenties.

  “I found out later that she was only a teenager,” he said. “We dated for about three years before we got married. She was a fun and exciting person to be with.”

  Gary Gaethe made good money. He owned a sailboat, a plush condominium, and expensive cars. They took trips together and reveled in an outdoor life.

  When they got married, Gary had a BMW and he bought Teresa a Lotus. He moved his sailboat to Pensa-cola, and they lived together aboard her for a few months. “We had a lot of fun,” he recalled.

  But it didn’t last. Gaethe said there were cracks in their relationship almost from the day they got married. He worked four days a week in New Orleans, while Teresa insisted upon living on their boat. He would have much preferred that they live in his condo in New Orleans and spend their weekends and vacations on his sailboat.

  “She became very cold to me,” he recalled to Padilla. “She wanted her own apartment. And for the first two months of our marriage, she isolated me from my family.”

  Thinking back on what might have caused Teresa to be frosty toward him, Gaethe said he believed it started when he suggested they slow down their spending a little. “I told her I didn’t want to have the financial pressure of all the bills for things we really didn’t need.”

  That was all it took. His bride set her jaw and turned away from him. She had enjoyed their life as long as there were no restrictions on her spending habits. Shortly thereafter, they separated and lived apart for seven months until their divorce became final.

  Gary had loved Teresa and he took the divorce hard. Even so, he wanted to be sure she was okay. He got her an apartment, gave her money to live, and bought her another car and new furniture. He was instrumental in getting her the concierge job at the Sheraton Hotel.

  And then she walked out of his life without a backward glance.

  “I didn’t see her again for about ten years,” Gaethe told Padilla. “Not until she called me out of the blue four months ago. It was like nothing had ever happened between us. She told me she had a beautiful daughter and that she was no longer married. She said she owned a fancy boutique, and that she was coming to New Orleans to see her mother. She asked if she and her little girl could stay with me for a while when they came down.”

  Gary Gaethe was unaware that Gloria Jones had been dead for almost seven years at that point. Or that Teresa was soon to go on trial for murdering the husband who came after him. Even so, he demurred about having her stay with him. He had long since moved on, and didn’t want to open old wounds.

  Teresa stayed in Washington. Teresa had been very exciting and fun. “But when it came to reality, she was as cold as ice. She was an accomplished liar—I learned that. You know, I think she even believed her own lies.”

  “Was Teresa capable of handling a gun?” Padilla asked.

  “She sure was. I had a house in the woods, and Teresa and I used to go out there for target practice. We shot all kinds of guns, but primarily a .44 magnum.”

  Padilla contacted the Registry of Vital Statistics in New Orleans next, and he came up with three names Teresa had used before she became Teresa Leonard: Teresa E. Jones, Teresa E. Goldstein, and Teresa E. Gaethe. He wondered how many others there were.

  Teresa’s trial was postponed yet again, to October 1997. She had her new attorney, one of the most effective criminal defense lawyers in the Seattle area. His name was John Henry Browne, the same John Henry Browne who had once advised Ted Bundy on his legal options more than twenty years earlier, and who had defended many of the most high-profile accused killers in the Northwest. Browne was a flamboyant and passionate advocate for his clients, and a successful one, too. He would probably be among the three top choices in the state for someone facing serious criminal charges. How Teresa could afford Browne was a question; perhaps Nick Callas had stepped in once more to rescue her from a long prison sentence.

  Nick had always promised he would stand behind her. Indeed, Nick contacted many of Teresa’s women friends and asked them to support her emotionally; he was very worried about her.

  In late summer, Teresa was in the headlines again. John Henry Browne told reporters that she had barely survived an overdose of prescription drugs. He stressed that she had not attempted suicide—the overdose was accidental. She had been taken to Stevens Memorial Hospital in Edmonds, Washington, on August 28 in a comatose state from a combination of antidepressant and sleeping pills.

  “She almost died,” Browne had said the day after she was hospitalized, adding that physicians were preparing to do “brain-death studies” to determine if her memory loss was temporary or permanent.

  Prosecutor Michael Downes was less sympathetic, asserting that she had deliberately attempted suicide. He asked Judge Ronald Castleberry to raise her bail to $5 million to assure that she would remain in jail until her trial. The judge perused a doctor’s report on her condition, and deduced that neither the State nor the Defense was completely accurate. He didn’t believe that her condition after overdosing was critical or that she was comatose, but he did think it had all been an accident.

  Castleberry denied a raise in Teresa’s bail to the almost unheard-of amount, but he stipulated that she avoid alcohol and continue all treatment—psychological and medical—and that every doctor who might prescribe medication for her be aware of what she was getting from the others.

  Chuck Leonard had been dead for six months, and the path toward trial seemed to be getting slower and slower. Brad Pince and D.A. Michael Downes kept working, gathering more evidence. They continued to find rumors, anecdotes, and accusations about Teresa; she had convinced any number of people—both men and women—that they were essential to her well-being, that she cared a great deal for them and was grateful for all the help they gave her.

  Her first attorney, George Cody, was at the forefront of her defenders. Although he was no longer representing her in the murder case, he was overseeing her civil affairs. He had found a new apartment for her and paid all the expenses there through his law firm. He was probably infatuated with Teresa. When she mentioned how much she wanted to have some plastic surgery, he couldn’t see why she would need it—but he didn’t try to talk her out of it.

  Nick Callas was still sending her money, although not as much after he’d put up $500,000 bail money for her. Her loyal employees at The Consignment Shop were keeping it open, knowing she needed that income. Although Joyce Lilly had kept her distance since she turned in evidence and information that led to Teresa’s arrest, Teresa had several other female friends who stood by her.

  One friend, Carol Fabray,* had given birth to a new son in 1997, and she was touched when Teresa was so interested and concerned for her, despite her own problems. Although they made many appointments to meet so Teresa could give the new baby a present, it wasn’t until late fall that Teresa showed up at Carol’s home.

  Chapter Six

  It was close to 9:00 a.m. on November 13, 1997, when Brad Pince walked by Sergeant Al Zurlo’s desk in the homicide unit. Zurlo was on the phone and obviously trying to calm down whoever was on the other end of the line. He had written a name on a pad in front of him: Grace Callas.

  Pince knew that surname, and he heard Zurlo say, “I’ll transfer you to Detective Pince’s extension—”

  But the woman’s voice came through the receiver so loudly that Pince could hear her. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Zurlo covered the mouthpiece and whispered quickly, “She says her name is Grace Callas, and she’s hysterical. She wants information about her husband’s involvement in one of our homicide investigations.”

  Pince picked up the phone and identified himself. Zurlo was right; the woman was sobbi
ng and screaming into the phone. It was difficult to make sense of what she was saying, but he finally deduced that she was Nick Callas’s wife, and, of course, Nick was Teresa Gaethe-Leonard’s lover.

  “Ma’am, ma’am,” Pince said, “I think I know who you are. How can I help you? If you can calm down a little, maybe I can answer any questions you have.”

  “Two days ago — on November 11—I found some romantic cards in my husband’s business papers,” she said, still crying. “They were from someone named Teresa Leonard. When I asked him about where the cards came from, he told me that this … this Teresa person is involved in a murder in your jurisdiction. He says he’s been dragged into the middle of it.”

  Not surprisingly Grace Callas wanted to know more about Teresa and what her husband had to do with her.

  She had done some detective work of her own before she called the sheriff’s office. When Nick left on November 12, she began searching through their computer files. She found two listings for “Teresa.” One was for someone associated with Orca Travel in Marysville, Washington. When she called the number given, she reached a consignment shop instead. The woman who answered said she was in the process of buying the store from Teresa Gaethe-Leonard.

  Grace Callas had asked her husband who this was. He was angry and said, “You don’t know what you’re getting into. You have to stop your little detective work. Stop digging and stop asking questions.”

  But that just spurred her on more. She noted the area code for Marysville and called every law enforcement agency in that region, finally ending up with the Snohomish County Sheriff’s Office.