Wendi insisted she did not know the location of Michael Severance. “He’s been acting strangely over the last couple of weeks. He’s been drinking heavy and spending lot of time at Buffalo Wild Wings and Graham Station.”
“And that’s unusual for him?”
“It is out of character. And he’s been disappearing for hours at a time without telling me where he’s going. I got home Saturday night about eight, and he wasn’t here. And I haven’t heard from him since then,” Wendi added.
When McGuire asked about Michael’s job, she told him that he was in the Air Force and on leave until Monday, January 24. “We were supposed to fly to Maine to visit his parents yesterday morning, but we didn’t go, because he was gone. I called the airline and they checked and said he didn’t fly out by himself. I don’t know where he is.”
“What did he take with him?” McGuire asked.
“There’s two hundred-twenty-one dollars missing from the cash register. Mike knew the money was kept there, and he could get into the till. I think he took it,” Wendi accused. She didn’t bother to explain that it was only in small bills, making it a huge wad of cash to stuff in a pocket.
McGuire walked through the clinic noticing a knife with a blue handle, and mentally noting the computer and the types of drugs on hand. He did not confiscate anything. As he went through the couple’s apartment, McGuire noticed that all Michael’s clothing still appeared to be there, and none of the luggage was missing. Behind the building, Michael’s 2004 blue Dodge pick-up sat in the lot, as did Wendi’s 2001 red Chevrolet Camaro. Inside the cab of the truck, McGuire found Michael’s cell phone.
McGuire brought the phone inside and continued to look around the clinic. In Maine, Frank Severance dialed the cell number of his missing brother just before 3:30 that afternoon. McGuire told Marshall to answer. As Frank heard the click of someone connecting the phone, his heart soared. He believed for a brief moment that he’d hear Mike’s voice and all would be well. He’d have a story the two of them would laugh about for years to come. Instead, there was another voice on the line—someone he did not recognize. “Who is this?” Frank demanded.
Marshall explained that he was Wendi’s brother and that Mike’s phone was found in his pick-up. Frank was rattled by hearing a strange voice and even more unsettled by learning that wherever Mike was, he didn’t take his cell.
Les called the San Angelo Police Department and received another shock. He couldn’t believe the callousness of the unidentified man who spoke to him. “We’ll probably find him shacked up somewhere with a whore.”
This description did not fit the son Les knew he’d raised. Next, he called Mike’s commanding officer, Captain Bill Walker at Dyess Air Force Base. Les repeated his concerns, explained the plans to fly to Maine and held his breath.
“Let me look into this and get back to you,” Walker said.
Les was bewildered. The way the day was going, he didn’t think he’d hear back from the Air Force any time soon. He felt so helpless. When the phone rang fifteen minutes later, he could barely believe Walker was on the other end of the line. “You are absolutely right,” the captain said. “This is not characteristic of Michael. Something is wrong. I can’t do anything official until he’s AWOL. He’s on leave and doesn’t have to report for duty until January twenty-fourth. But I’ll look into it. It doesn’t sound right.”
Relief washed over Les. His son was still missing, but at least now someone obviously cared—someone believed in Michael. The insensitive comment made to Les by someone at the police department had left a sour taste in his mouth and it would permanently skew the family’s view of the investigation into the disappearance of Michael Severance.
EIGHTEEN
Frank Langley got the word that Michael Severance was missing from the local news. He heard that Wendi was postulating that Mike had committed suicide. He called the OSI office at Dyess Air Force Base. “Michael Severance didn’t commit suicide. Search the highways for an accident and look at his wife. Something’s wrong here.”
When investigators suggested that Mike had gone AWOL, Frank batted down that possibility, too. “Mike thought a lot of the service. He’s a stand-up guy. No way he’d walk off without a word.”
On Tuesday, January 18, two days after she’d reported her husband missing, Wendi took her mother’s advice and paid a visit to attorney Tim Edwards. Right after she left for her appointment at the lawyer’s office, Les called the clinic. Judy told him that Wendi was putting down a dog. Les didn’t understand the significance of that phrase until much later.
Wendi filed a petition for divorce, stating:
The marriage has become insupportable because of discord or conflict of personalities between Petitioner and Respondent that destroys the legitimate ends of the marriage relationship and prevents any reasonable expectation of reconciliation.
Wendi requested that health insurance be provided for their child, Shane Michael Severance, through her estranged husband’s place of employment, that Mike make child support payments and Wendi be awarded the ultimate determination of where Shane would live. She requested that the court divide the community property and acknowledge that she had separate property that should be excluded from that settlement.
She didn’t stop there, though. Wendi also obtained a restraining order forbidding Michael from contacting her in person or by telephone, and from writing to her in “vulgar, profane, obscene or indecent language or in a coarse or offensive manner.” Michael was forbidden to threaten, take unlawful action against Wendi, or to cause bodily harm to her or one of the children. And the list of what he could and could not do went on and on.
Wendi knew he was not capable of doing any of these things. She knew he was dead, and she knew where his body rested. That was the greatest obscenity of all.
NINETEEN
The same day that Wendi filed for divorce, the 7th Security Forces Squadron at Dyess Air Force Base referred Mike’s disappearance to the Office of Special Investigations. On Wednesday, January 19, Special Agents Arch Harner and Greg McCormick drove down to San Angelo to the residence of the missing airman.
They verified that Mike was not at his home, that he had not taken any military clothing or any other equipment necessary for his position and hadn’t left in any personal vehicle. In response to their questions, Wendi said, “Mike talked about not wanting to go on his next deployment and how easy it would be to disappear into Canada.”
The agents were surprised at how unemotional and apathetic Wendi appeared. When they ran through the list of possibilities, including everything from the question of suicide to the likelihood of another woman, Wendi’s demeanor did not change. Most wives of missing men show something—worry, fear, anger—but Wendi was devoid of any expected human response in the initial volley of the queries.
Then, almost as if a cartoon light bulb had formed over her head, Wendi seemed to understand that the agents wanted her to be upset. She teared up once she picked up on the unspoken cue, but the reaction appeared mechanical and artificially induced. The sorrow did not show itself in her eyes.
By January 24, San Angelo Police Department investigator Dennis McGuire was beginning to feel uneasy about the Michael Severance case. There was a world of possibilities. Michael could have gone AWOL and be hiding out in the countryside or he could have fled to Canada. Perhaps, as suggested by Wendi’s family, Michael had committed suicide. And then there was the possibility of homicide. McGuire had seen no definite signs of foul play, but that might only mean the killer had been careful. McGuire needed answers, and to get them quickly, he needed help.
The San Angelo Police Department had a heavy case load investigating incidents that they knew were criminal. They had every crime you’d find in Dallas, but with lower numbers. They had a big city to police, with minimum staff and a small-town mentality. They’d even had to launch a major education effort to teach citizens to lock their cars and houses.
In this case, all they had was a m
issing person and the knowledge that adults had the right to abandon family and friends without warning. It was a far more serious matter for the military. They had few desertion cases. Most of the time when an airman went AWOL, he was found within a couple of days, usually at his mother’s house. This case was unusual.
McGuire referred the case to the San Angelo Major Crimes Task Force, calling a meeting of representatives of the law enforcement agencies impacted by any of the scenarios. At 2 P.M., the task force members, Lieutenant Randy Swick from the sheriff’s office, Texas Department of Public Safety Special Crimes Sergeant David Jones and Texas Ranger Shawn Palmer gathered at the San Angelo Police Department. Because of this case’s connection to the Air Force, Agent Greg McCormick of the Air Force Office of Special Investigations was also asked to attend. Detective McGuire briefed them all.
McCormick noted that Michael had not reported to duty that morning and was now AWOL, which, for the Air Force, meant that a serious violation had been committed. For their investigators, on that day, the case had turned criminal.
Palmer noticed an uncomfortable undercurrent at the conference table. There seemed to be an unspoken animosity between McCormick and McGuire. Being in a position of minimal responsibility, he did not pursue the problem. But what he noted was a clear conflict of agency objectives.
In correspondence a few months later, the Air Force acknowledged the friction and blamed it on Special Agent McCormick’s belief that the San Angelo Police Department was uncooperative and lacked enthusiasm for the investigation. The agents, the letter read,
became somewhat frustrated. Their perception was there did not seem to be a sense of urgency by others to help locate an active duty Air Force member who was missing under suspicious circumstances.
Palmer left the meeting with three responsibilities and started to work right away. He contacted Budget Rent A Car at the San Angelo Regional Airport terminal. They reviewed their records, as well as the records of the other rental car agencies operating out of that facility. No one had rented a car to Michael Severance.
He then contacted Crime Analyst Melanie Schramm to request a search for any computer queries made in reference to Mike, or to either his truck or Wendi’s car. After that, Palmer put in a request for the cell phone records for the number listed in Mike’s name. An administrative subpoena was served on Sprint communication company on January 25.
That same day, the OSI agents interviewed Judy Davidson who said, “Mike hated the military and talked about going to Canada.” Lloyd repeated the comments made by his daughter and his wife. He mentioned that his employer, Terrell Sheen, owned more than a thousand acres that the family, including his son-in-law, could access at any time. “Maybe Mike is hiding out there,” he added.
Wendi faced additional concerns that Tuesday. She was served with papers from the court relating to her divorce petition. She was required—along with Mike—to attend and complete a Children’s Interest Seminar provided by For Kids’ Sake, a non-profit agency, within sixty days of her original filing.
Wendi and Lloyd both underwent a polygraph examination administered by Detective James Johnson, at the San Angelo Police Department, at the request of the Air Force. The results were inconclusive. One of Wendi’s attorneys leaked the information that she’d passed a lie detector test. It is uncertain if he was referring to the same polygraph examination. But there is a reason why the results of these exams are not admissible in many courtrooms. Although a nice addition to the arsenal of law enforcement’s collection of investigative tools, it is not perfect.
The instrument records three levels of autonomic arousal—heart rate/blood pressure, respiration and skin conductivity. But the idea that these psycho-physiology changes are constants and can accurately predict a person’s veracity is closer to myth than reality.
Whether the subject possesses guilty knowledge or not, results can reach a dead end with no conclusions possible. Innocent but anxious people are found deceptive. Sociopaths lie and are found to be truthful. In fact, the most trustworthy results often are created by the placebo effect—a person who believes in the infallibility of the testing is most likely to exhibit the types of changes in their readings that the examiner uses to gauge levels of deception.
The fallibility rate is believed by some to be only slightly more than chance. Even proponents of the device admit that many who administer the polygraph are inadequately or incompletely trained, skewing the results they obtain. Estimated accuracy rates range from 52 to 76 percent—not exactly conclusive indicators of honesty. It might sound like a scam, but some people advertising surefire methods for beating a lie detector test actually can help an interview subject do just that.
Wendi logged on to her computer and researched lie detector tests, looking for that kind of information. On January 26, she entered a search for details about the decomposition of dead bodies in water.
Wendi Davidson was an intelligent woman. But she had to doubt her own smarts when she found the information that pointed to her big mistake. The body she’d tossed in the stock tank would surely rise to the surface and reveal her secret.
She had to return to where she’d dumped the remains of her husband and cover up her error. She had no other choice.
TWENTY
Wendi read and learned. A corpse in water usually sinks because the specific gravity of a human body is very close to that of water. When she’d submerged the body, tissue decomposition from bacteria had begun, forming a gas byproduct. That accumulation of a lighter substance decreased the specific gravity of the body, creating sufficient buoyancy to allow it to rise to the surface and float. Weights attached to the body may delay, but will not usually prevent, the body rising. In warm water, the body will drift to the surface in eight to ten days; in colder water, it would float in two to three weeks.
Wendi wasn’t sure of how the water temperatures were defined or of the current reading at the stock tank. It was January, making her think she had the longer period of time. But, then again, she was in Texas and ponds just didn’t get as cold there as they did up North—that made her lean toward the shorter period of time.
Either way, odds were that, at the very least, Mike’s body was beginning to rise. The brake drum attached to his neck with baling wire, and the cinder block tied to his left leg were not enough. She needed more weight. She needed the body to stay underwater until decomposition of the tissue was complete.
She logged off the computer in her veterinary clinic and went out the back door. She scrounged through the barn, gathering up used auto parts and anything else of substantial weight to attach to the body.
When she finished scavenging in there, she still needed more. She planned to stop by the dump out at the 7777 Ranch to get additional items. She set the blue-handled boning knife she’d used in veterinary school on the seat of the pick-up truck when she climbed into the cab.
She exited the highway, out in the countryside. Near the fence line, a short distance before the gate, was a large pile of discarded material. The ranch owner, Terrell Sheen, liked to call it a brush pile, but it looked just like a dump to everybody else. Wendi unearthed a few more hefty items to weigh down the body and tossed them in the back of the truck.
She pulled into the ranch and locked the gate behind her and drove the mile out to the stock tank. Standing on the dock, her eyes scanned across the surface. Nothing stuck above the water. Just below the surface, though, she saw a shape. As she’d suspected, the body was rising.
She didn’t know that at about the same time she spotted the body, someone spotted her car. Fortunately for Wendi—unfortunately for everyone who cared about Michael Severance—when hired hand Jose Romero saw her vehicle, he’d thought little of it at the time. He didn’t interrupt her or try to find out what she was doing. He’d seen her out at the ranch many times before.
She got into the little boat and rowed out to the body. She reached down for it, but with the brake drum and cinder block attached, it was too heav
y for her to lift. With the oar she pushed on it, guiding the corpse over to the bank, resting it half in the mud, half in the water.
She tied the boat up to the dock, disembarked and got down in the mud by the body of her husband. She had two tasks to perform. First, she wanted to make it easier for the gas to escape from his body. So she stabbed him with the blue-handled knife—through his chest into the lungs, the diaphragm and downward into the abdomen. She thrust the knife into the lower abdomen, ripping it open. She drove the knife into clusters of wounds in his right flank and into his right arm. She rolled him over and slammed the blade into his back again and again.
Homicide investigators have often said that a preponderance of wounds were evidence of overkill, and indicated anger toward the victim. But she’d killed Mike weeks earlier. Was Wendi now furious with her husband for foiling her plans to conceal her crime? Or was she driven by desperation to hide the secret of her ugly actions? Was it possible that her mind was elsewhere—that she stabbed at someone or something else? Was it a vain attempt to eliminate malevolent demons residing in her psyche?
Whatever made her exhibit this level of fury, it wasn’t possible, in the midst of her rampage, that she spared one kind thought for the individual loved by his family and friends—for the man who was the only daddy either of her sons had ever known. After forty-one thrusts of the knife, she stopped desecrating his body.
Her second chore was to weigh the body down with more objects to delay its rise to the surface. It took several trips from the truck to the dock, but she soon had all she needed by her side. She lost a couple of items in the muck at the side of the pond trying to tie them to the partially submerged body. She switched to plan B.
A Poisoned Passion Page 8
