But I Trusted You

by Ann Rule

Brad Pince explained carefully that Nick Callas had been interviewed as a “possible witness” in a homicide case involving Teresa Gaethe-Leonard.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why on earth?—”

  Pince drew a deep breath. “I should explain to you that your husband has been paying Teresa Leonard’s legal expenses, and he’s posted $500,000 cash to bail her out of jail.”

  “What?” Grace Callas gasped, much more upset now than when she had originally called the sheriff’s office.

  “She was barely able to continue the conversation,” Pince commented later. “And she kept asking me what she needed to do.”

  Grace sobbed as she told Pince that her husband was spending all their money, that she herself had no independent resources, and now he was leaving her and their son “high and dry” without any money to pay their bills.

  All Pince could do was suggest that she obtain legal help to protect her personal finances.

  From her comments, Pince deduced that things were not as rosy in the Callas marriage as Nick had described. Grace said she no longer lived in Hawaii. “I had to move because of my medical condition. The local doctors in Hawaii ran out of ways to treat me, so I had to move to California with my son Jack, and I’m staying with my sister while I undergo treatment. Nick still lives in Hawaii, but he comes to California to visit us.”

  Grace Callas had not been aware how important Teresa was to him. Until she found the cards, she had never even heard of Teresa. Now she said she was going to contact her family’s attorney to see that her assets were protected.

  Two hours later, Brad Pince received a call from Grace’s lawyer. He said that she was still upset to the point of hysteria, but he would see that she was properly represented, if not by him, then by another attorney.

  At four thirty on this same day, Grace Callas called once more and seemed much calmer. Pince explained that he, John Padilla, and Michael Downes had gone to Hawaii to interview her husband earlier in the year, and Pince gave her more details on the death of Chuck Leonard. Grace confided that she had had issues with Nick for years, and had known of several girlfriends he had. “He lies to me, and he can be intimidating. I’m afraid of him.”

  Knowing now her penchant for high emotion, Pince suspected that Grace Callas could be exaggerating, especially when she said Nick called her several times a day. He appeared to be a man who was constantly on the phone; between his many daily calls to Teresa, and his business calls, and constant calls to his wife, too, it was a wonder the man got anything done, let alone manage to successfully juggle a wife and a mistress and a business.

  Pince and Downes were anxious to see the cards Teresa had sent to Nick Callas. They would, perhaps, substantiate that the two did have a very romantic, intimate relationship, far more intense than either of them had admitted. They would need to obtain the actual cards to use as court exhibits; copies wouldn’t be as easy for a handwriting expert to examine.

  Three days later, on November 16, 1997, Pince talked once more to Grace Callas. She had retained an attorney—Eleanor Stegmeier—and would turn the cards from Teresa to Nick over to her. As Pince had suggested, she had taken notes during her phone conversations with Nick. He had warned her, she said, to stop snooping into his business.

  “Did he tell you anything about Chuck Leonard’s murder?” Pince asked.

  “He told me that Teresa killed her husband for the insurance money—that she’s now saying Chuck abused their daughter, but that that’s not true. He said that he had no involvement with Teresa, but that everyone who knew her was being investigated. She wanted the insurance money and she wanted to move to Hawaii.”

  “Which was it?” Pince asked. “Did your husband say her motive was Chuck Leonard’s insurance payoff—or that she shot him because he was molesting their daughter?”

  She wasn’t sure; she thought that Nick had told her different things at different times.

  “I’ve been told,” Pince began, “that the reason Nick can’t leave you is because all the money he has is money you brought into the marriage?”

  “When I married him in December 1989, I had about $300,000—but all of my money has been spent. It’s gone now. I have no idea what Nick’s assets are worth—he hides that from me,” she sighed. “He always tells me he’s broke. He wouldn’t pay ten dollars for his son to sit on Santa’s lap.”

  Pince didn’t have to ask questions; Grace seemed to have an endless list of grievances against her husband of eight years. She said that when Nick left Hawaii on trips, he always suspended her credit cards so she couldn’t spend any money while he was gone.

  It was like watching an Oprah or Dr. Phil show on nasty divorces. But the Callases weren’t getting a divorce, and Grace insisted they were still married and not really separated—except temporarily, and only for medical reasons.

  On December 1, Pince and Michael Downes, the assistant prosecutor, flew to Orange County, California, and met with Grace and her attorney. Although she was willing to let the Washington investigators look at the actual romantic cards Teresa had sent to Nick, and to ask Grace Callas some questions, Eleanor Stegmeier refused to turn over the cards to them.

  But they needed the original cards because they would “tend to show that a felony had been committed, or that a particular person committed a felony.”

  The cards certainly established that Teresa and Nick had been in an intimate relationship—something they both continued to deny ten months after Chuck’s murder. If Pince and Downes had to get a search warrant to seize them as evidence, they would do that.

  Brad Pince and Michael Downes wondered if Teresa was responsible for putting those cards in Nick’s accordion file, knowing full well that Grace would find them when she worked on the books.

  Grace told them that Nick was accusing her of trying to send him to prison for ten years with her stubborn snooping. And he’d brought in his big guns when he’d said that she could be “arrested as a conspirator, dragged to Washington State, and forced to leave my son behind.

  “He told me that you destroyed evidence, Mr. Pince, that Chuck Leonard was a pornographer, and that the sheriff’s office destroyed evidence proving that he was molesting his daughter, and that you ruined Teresa’s alibi.”

  Grace Callas said that, above all, her husband had warned her not to talk to any detectives from Washington. That would be best for him, certainly. Grace was a loose cannon, highly suspicious, given to outbursts of emotion, and torn between getting revenge against him and Teresa and not wanting to let go of her marriage.

  Few people are more dangerous than women scorned.

  The two cards that someone had slipped into the financial records of Nick and Grace’s corporation would have stunned any wife. The first one was all trees and hearts, drawn as simply as a child would, although the printed sentiments were written by an artist at the American Greetings card company:

  I don’t ever want

  to take you for granted.

  I don’t ever want to forget

  what it was like before you

  or how it would be

  without you.

  I don’t ever want to forget

  our first kiss

  or our last touch,

  or let a day go by

  without telling you

  how much you mean to me,

  how deeply I love you, and how much I need you.

  I don’t ever want you to doubt

  the way I feel or how much

  happier I am because of you.

  I love you.

  And in Teresa’s own handwriting:

  With all My heart & Soul

  Love,

  Teresa

  XXOOO

  The second card showed a bridal couple through a car’s rear window. They were dressed in 1930s wedding clothes and kissing. The word “ALWAYS” was printed in capital letters beneath.

  This card was written in Teresa’s hand, and like the first, would give any wife pause.

  Nick,
>
  You give Me peace … that I’ve never had. … Thank you—for you.

  T

  “I love You so Much. … Your (sic) everything to Me. I thank you for being in my life, Standing by Me & Loving Me! You are Everything I could Want. … What everyone wants. … You are kind & knowing … gentel (sic) & smart. … Your (sic) Just right!—I miss You Every Second & think about You Every Second. … I feel as if I’ve known You all My Life. … I know Your Love for Me … & I cannot tell You How Special It and You have Made me feel! … I know I have caused You pain & I cannot tell you how Sorry I am for that! The Outside World is Crazy for me & I am trying to find a way thru this. … You are the Most Wonderful!

  Love You,

  Teresa! OOXX

  Teresa had many reasons to be thankful to Nick Callas. Were it not for him and the bail money he’d posted for her, she would probably still be sitting behind bars in the Snohomish County Jail. Instead, she was living in a nice apartment that her attorney, George Cody, was paying for, and she had at least $10,000 in cash to pay John Henry Browne. She wasn’t working, and either Nick Callas or George Cody had given her Browne’s fee.

  They both trusted her.

  Teresa’s one regret was that she could not see Morgan, although she was still allowed monitored phone conversations with her. Without Morgan, she seemed devastated.

  With the assistance of Detective Tim Schennum of the Costa Mesa Police Department, Michael Downes and Brad Pince obtained a search warrant for Eleanor Stegmeier’s office. To search an attorney’s, physician’s, or clergy person’s office, California law demands that a “special master” (a state bar–appointed attorney) be present. Grace Callas’s lawyer was not pleased to have a search warrant served on her at her office.

  After an impasse, she agreed to talk with Detective Schennum. The original cards were delivered to Downes and Pince soon after. It would have been much easier and less costly if that had been done in the beginning, but Grace’s attorney had wanted to protect her.

  Browne and Downes jousted in their arguments. Browne pointed out that Teresa had been responsible and cooperative since she had bailed out from jail, and Downes voiced his concern that she was “an unpredictable person” whom he still considered a danger to the witnesses prepared to testify against her.

  Chapter Seven

  And unpredictable Teresa Gaethe-Leonard was. As Christmas decorations appeared in the first week of December 1997, law enforcement departments in Washington State were searching for her. She had disappeared.

  She probably would not look like the Teresa in her earlier photographs. She had had plastic surgery in November. Teresa had a new nose, a forehead lift or Botox injections, and a modification of her prominent chin. If she had a new haircut, and changed the color of her hair she might be hard to recognize.

  Wherever she was.

  She had apparently paid for the surgery with the estimated $10,000 to $15,000 meant to retain John Henry Browne. Although Browne was a generous man who often represented clients pro bono (for free) when they had no means to pay, he wasn’t pleased that she had simply run out on him without any warning. She had shown up for an appointment with him a few days earlier, and she was scheduled to be in his office again on December 3.

  Teresa had missed her appointment with Browne, but she had been in touch with him as recently as the previous weekend. He was as baffled as Nick Callas and George Cody were that she would bolt and run, mostly because Browne felt her defense case had been getting stronger. He believed she had a good chance at acquittal. That chance would diminish markedly now if the detectives could prove Teresa had deliberately disappeared—and they probably could.

  Browne walked into the Snohomish County Sheriff’s Office to notify them that Teresa was missing.

  According to Nick Callas, he had stopped sending Teresa money for living expenses in late spring 1997. He believed that George Cody was taking care of that.

  Callas did admit, however, that beyond putting up her bail money, it was he who had furnished the check to pay John Henry Browne.

  Cody hadn’t spoken to Teresa for a few days, nor had he been able to reach her by phone after December 1. He went to the apartment he’d rented for her. The manager let him in, and there was the immediate sense that the rooms had been abandoned. It smelled empty. Dust had begun to settle on flat areas, and beyond some food spoiling in the refrigerator, there was no sign that anyone currently lived there. Most of Teresa’s furniture was gone, along with her personal items.

  Their footsteps echoed on bare floors.

  Stunned, Cody gave notice on the apartment—he felt in his gut that Teresa didn’t plan to come back here. Her car was parked nearby, however, and he had it towed to a safe place.

  * * *

  Now Teresa had betrayed three men who were trying to help her gain her freedom: Nick Callas, George Cody, and John Henry Browne. And aside from breaking promises to them, she had cost each of them financially—Nick the most. Browne was the only one without emotional ties to Teresa, but he was frustrated with himself that he hadn’t seen it coming.

  Nick was now holding the bag for $500,000 in bail money. His marriage had blown all to pieces, and for all her promises to him, her professions of love and her sentimental cards, he realized that Teresa had abandoned him.

  Yes, she had been depressed because she had little contact with Morgan, but that could change at any time. If she should be acquitted of murder charges, Morgan could live with her again, but for now, Morgan was on the State’s witness list. And even if Teresa could somehow arrange to meet up with her young daughter, as a fugitive from justice, she would always be looking over her shoulder.

  It had been only three months since Teresa’s “accidental” overdose in Washington State. Had she gone off to some lonely place where she could commit suicide without being rescued? Michael Downes thought not. He cited signs that she had planned her escape. Her home in Everett had been emptied of almost everything of value. Eventually, the Snohomish County detectives would locate her belongings in storage at a female acquaintance’s home.

  Chuck’s sister, Theresa Leonard, had taken custody of Morgan, and they were living in Portland, Oregon. Theresa was frightened when she heard that Teresa had fled. She worried that Morgan’s mother might try to kidnap the five-year-old and take her with her in her flight to avoid prosecution. The Snohomish County investigators reassured Aunt Theresa that they had notified the Portland Police Department and Morgan’s school that her mother did not have legal custody of her, and that it was possible she might attempt to abduct her.

  Jan Jorgensen, spokeswoman for the Snohomish County Sheriff’s Office, told reporters that they were receiving assistance from the FBI, the U.S. Marshal’s Service, and the Washington State Attorney General’s Office in an ever-spreading dragnet for Teresa.

  Michael Downes stopped himself from saying “I told you so,” but it was obvious that the “no bail” he’d requested three months earlier would have prevented her from running simply because she would have been jailed until her trial.

  The Snohomish County detectives first thought that she had probably gone to Hawaii, and that she was being hidden by Callas. But he willingly cooperated with them, and they believed he hadn’t heard from her. Some of his devotion to her had to have diminished since Teresa had just cost him $500,000. He assured the investigators that she hadn’t contacted him at all and he had no idea where she was.

  Nor did any of Teresa’s girlfriends who considered themselves part of her inside circle or the psychologist whom the defense team had consulted, even though Teresa had had twenty-five sessions with her since May. Teresa clearly knew when to keep herself to herself.

  Witnesses came forward to say that Teresa appeared to have black eyes before Thanksgiving; many suspected she had either been in a brawl or, more likely, had had plastic surgery. What did she look like now? Detectives found the plastic surgeon who had operated on her. He verified that her face had changed after he had operated
on her on November 11, modifying her chin and nose. With her blond hair dyed dark, and wearing sunglasses, it would be very hard to spot her, even if they knew where to look.

  As the days passed, it seemed likely that Teresa had left the country, or at least the mainland. She could not have done that with her own ID, even though she had in her possession various credit cards using different names. She would need either a driver’s license or a passport with a photo on it at some points in her journey—to get on a plane or to cash checks.

  From the beginning, Brad Pince, John Padilla, and Jim Scharf had worked with various phone companies to have numbers that she might call monitored. Nick Callas had myriad phone numbers, set up under many names, some with special calling plans that would assure his wife would not know how often he’d talked to Teresa over the last few years. One was a “500” setup that seemed designed specifically so the two of them could send and receive calls to each other from anywhere in the world.

  Even after she had sacrificed Nick’s bail money when she fled, detectives had seen how addicted he was to her. Long after he had to have known that she was capable of murder he had remained steadfastly supportive of her; it apparently never occurred to him that Teresa would ever be dangerous to him or his family. He appeared to cling to his belief that Teresa was “ninety percent angel.”

  Pince and Padilla kept careful track of calls to Nick Callas’s many numbers. And that paid off. Cell phone calls had come in to one of those phones from Puerto Rico. A cautious statement to the media said that someone close to Teresa had heard from her, although detectives would not reveal which of her friends or relatives had received the calls.

  Two weeks later, the investigators said that the Puerto Rico cell phone calls had gone to Nick Callas. They still would not verify that the calls had come from Teresa Gaethe-Leonard. How she had made her way to Puerto Rico was anyone’s guess—but she had evidently had money.

  By checking flight manifests, detectives found the name of a thirty-five-year-old Snohomish County woman who had flown on American Airlines from Seattle to Chicago on December 2, 1997, and then to Puerto Rico on a one-way ticket. Her name was Carolyn Fabray.