“Why? He was happy here today.”
That news unsettled Wendi, causing her to stammer a bit, then she said, “He was just very to the point: ‘What can I do for you; is that all you need?’ I mean, he just, I don’t know. He was kind of hateful.”
“. . . He wasn’t earlier. We all sat there and talked to him . . . He’s behind you, trust me,” Marshall assured his sister.
“It didn’t sound like it. I mean, I don’t really want to call him again, ’cause, I don’t know, he hurt my feelings, I guess.”
When she complained about having to call everyone collect, Marshall reminded her that she didn’t need to call all the veterinarians in town.
“No,” Wendi snapped back. “But I need to write them, but I can’t even do that right now. I can’t even have a freaking pencil or a piece of paper.”
“You don’t need to write them either, because anything you write down is going to be thrown into court, good, bad or indifferent.”
“I know. But God, Marshall, I just need to be doing something. Damn it.”
“Well, if we can get you out of there, you’ll be able to watch TV and read or whatever.”
Wendi continued her complaint. “I feel like I need to be trying to figure out what they’re up to, you know, ’cause I . . .”
“You can’t. That’s what your lawyer does. He’s got access to all that stuff.”
“I mean, I just—For the life of me, I can’t understand why they took my records unless they’re going to try to get people to say bad things about me, you know, calling clients and stuff.”
“Well, they’re not going to, you know, they’ve got to do what they got to do, and our side has got to do what we got to do. I mean, we’re not trying to hide anything, we’re not trying to cover anything up, but we’re going to, you know, we’re not going to sit there and tell them, ‘Well, when she was three, she picked her nose,’ and everything else. I mean, that’s irrelevant. I mean, we told them what we know, and we’re going to move on from that. And everybody else, you know, if they call somebody else, they can tell them what they know and move on from that. And your attorney is going to get to do the same thing and twist it on them. We’re saying, ‘Well, you said this, but, you know, the same person said this.’ I mean, that’s how the game is played no matter where you go . . . Nothing you can do. I mean, anything you do is just adding to the fire that, you know, stuff that your attorney has got to justify,” Marshall said, and turned the phone over to his dad.
Wendi asked her father, “Everything going okay?”
“Yeah, well, as well as can be expected. I mean, it’s a lot better on us than it is on you, obviously, but it’s still hell out here, too.”
“I know. Damn it, Daddy. I mean, my whole life, I mean, I just tried to do things that . . .”
“Well, I know.”
“. . . help, you know, I always want to—I’m always worried about what y’all think.”
“Well, you know, from this point on, you know, everything is a done deal. You just have to move forward from this point on. So . . .”
“I don’t know,” Wendi objected. “Everybody is like, ‘You have never been in jail before?’ I was like, ‘No.’ And they’re like, ‘Oh, she’s trying to make it to the big top.’ I mean, everybody is just . . .”
“Well, you know, if any of the inmates or anything try to talk to you about anything about the case, don’t say anything to them either.”
“I know,” Wendi sighed. “I’m just worried that I’m going to be in here forever and then they’re going to charge me and then it’s just going to be ridiculous. I mean, I need to hurry up and get out so I can—I mean, I want to see my kids, but I need to work at the clinic to try and get money saved up so we can have money to—so y’all can take care of the kids and so we can fight my way out of this.”
“I know,” her dad said. “But see, you’re worrying about that. You’re working too far in the future. I mean, you need to worry about today and tomorrow right now . . . and the next day. You know, not weeks, months.”
As the call was disconnected, Wendi shouted, “Love you!” but no one was there. Wendi seemed incapable of understanding and accepting that the act she’d committed had changed the landscape of her universe, building a barrier between her and the rest of the civilized world. In her mind, it was still all about her—everyone should be focused on her—and there were no signs that that would ever change.
TWENTY-NINE
In Abilene, at Dyess Air Force Base, those who had known Michael Severance as a friend or fellow airman gathered at the base chapel at 1:30 P.M. on March 11. Memorial services were common on any Air Force installation during a time of military conflict. But Mike’s death was different. Although he’d died while in service to his country, he did not lose his life in the line of duty.
It was hard to take this loss in stride. There would have been sorrow if he’d lost his life under fire during one of his deployments to the Middle East, but no one could frame this incident in noble rhetoric. His life had been stolen in a selfish and senseless act of homicide.
Down the road in San Angelo, Lloyd Davidson answered the phone just after 9:30 that night. Wendi apologized for being angry the day before, complained about the hardships of jail, asked about Marshall’s possible professional transfer to the area and inquired about her mother’s health. After a few minutes, Lloyd turned the phone over to his wife.
“How are you?” Judy asked.
“Oh, hanging in there, day by day. I think I’ll be better whenever I get, you know, around the TV, because time will pass faster.”
“Well, did you get out?”
“Well, off suicide watch, but they haven’t moved me out of the cell yet, so I’m still stuck here. So I don’t know.”
“You don’t know why?” her mother asked.
“No. I asked them. They just don’t even answer nothing. They just turn and walk away. So that’s how everything is. You say, ‘Can I use the phone?’ and they just turn around and walk out. Not a ‘Yes,’ not a ‘No,’ not a ‘Kiss my ass,’ nothing.”
Little Tristan got on the phone next and exchanged love you’s and miss you’s with his incarcerated mother. Then he asked, “Where you at?”
“Where am I at? Oh, I’m at this new place. I’m working,” she said with a sob.
“You crying now?”
“Yeah, baby, I’m crying, ’cause I miss you and Shane. Is Shane doing good? Is Shane happy?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you being a big boy for Mommy?”
“I’m a good boy.”
“You are?”
“I don’t cry anymore.”
“You don’t cry anymore?”
“Unh-uh.”
“Oh golly, you’re big.”
In the manner of 3-year-olds everywhere, Tristan talked for a short while and then, without explanation, was ready to go. “Bye, Mommy. I love you.”
When Judy returned to the phone, Wendi asked, “Mama, can you, on Monday, go to the clinic and get Mike’s dad’s number and either y’all or have the attorney call and find out what’s going on, ’cause, Mama, I need to be there you know?”
“Monday?”
“Mama, I need to. Wouldn’t you want to be at Daddy’s funeral if he died?”
“Well, that’s—You know, Wendi, the circumstances—I don’t know that you can.”
“Well, I don’t know that I can or I can’t, but dang it, I need to find out. I don’t even know where he is or what’s happening, and at least I knew before. And, you know, I know that sounds fucked up, but God dang it, you know . . .”
Judy interrupted Wendi’s tirade. “Well, Wendi, honey, you might as well just calm down. I mean, I’m not calling up there.”
“Then just get the phone number. It’s in the Rolodex under ‘Mike,’ and it says ‘Mike’s dad.’ Give it to the attorney and tell him that I want to know what they plan on doing, and what kind of services or arrangements, ’cause I really wa
nt to go. I really do. I’ll fly up there by myself and go if they’re doing it in Maine. And I don’t care what they say, or anything else. Mommy, I loved him so much. And maybe y’all didn’t like every little thing about him or something, but this is hard.”
“. . . God, I know it’s hard, but . . .” Judy sympathized.
Like a pouty child, Wendi snapped back, “You don’t.”
Judy bristled, “I’m glad you think not.”
“I mean, I know it’s hard on you, in your shoes and everything, but golly, you know, it’s one of those things that I just don’t think it’s right for Dad and Marshall to go out and shoot jackrabbits . . . but they do . . . And then here I was, and I don’t feel like I did anything wrong. I mean, that’s how I feel, deep down, but I know that it must be, you know . . . I know that society would think it was bad, but . . .”
“Okay, Wendi. That’s enough. Okay? Just think about something else, talk about something else.”
When Wendi spoke about the possibility of losing her veterinary license, she choked with sobs. “I’m going to get everybody in the world to sign a petition for the state board and everything I can, ’cause, you know, otherwise, I just threw seven years of my life away going to school.”
“Well, Wendi, did you not think about that at all?”
“No, Mama,” Wendi shrieked. “If I was thinking logically, I wouldn’t be in this freaking boat!”
Judy calmed Wendi down and their conversation ended with an exchange of “I love you.”
The next day, Wendi was out of the suicide watch unit and in a little building behind the jail called “the barracks.” Here, twenty women lived in one big room filled with bunk beds.
They all shared one television set. Early in the day, it was tuned to a Spanish-speaking channel, but after 4 o’clock, it turned over to stations with English language programming. Wendi wished she had some control over the channel selection, but was grateful that there was something to watch just the same.
When she called her mother, she shared her good news and then resumed complaining again. “I worry about everybody and it’s ridiculous. Y’all are having to do my business stuff, all my tax stuff. And, boy, you know what I’m going to do the minute we get out? I’m going to go to the Standard-Times and get that ad, that free ad, and put a big old ad, Advanced Animal Care Now Open, blah, blah, blah.”
“I don’t know,” her mother cautioned. “You’re going to have to take it a day at a time.”
Wendi continued on as if Judy had never spoken. “And I’m going to get all my records back, and if they don’t get my records, then I’m going to get the attorney to demand that they make copies and provide manila folders, because I need to start calling all the clients and I need to start— We need to make sure we’re sending out reminders and blah, blah, blah, because, you know, they’ve done everything they can to destroy, you know, everything and . . .”
“Well, Wendi, this is a pretty serious thing.”
“Well, maybe it is, but they’re making it a mountain from a molehill . . . If you were in here, you would think what I did was not too bad. I mean, it’s just— It’s different. That’s why it makes news, but as far as, you know, I didn’t do nothing violent. I didn’t do nothing, you know, I didn’t— I don’t know, but, you know, whatever. And the only reason I lied about anything was because I had to. You know?”
“All right, well you need to talk to your attorney and . . .”
“And I need to find out what in the heck is going on with, you know, I guess Monday morning if y’all can call over there with their phone number—Mike’s dad’s phone number—and find out . . .”
“And find out what, honey?”
“I want to know are they having a funeral, are they not having a funeral or is it here, is it in Maine, where the heck is it? Because I need—I need to try to go.”
“I don’t think that would be a real wise decision.”
“Well, maybe it wouldn’t, Mama, but it’s a one-time thing, you know. It’s like getting married. It’s a one-time deal, you know? You get married. You know, hopefully that’s it . . . Mike is not going to be buried more than one time . . . He’s my husband. He’s Shane’s daddy, and as much as people did or didn’t like him, I loved him . . . and that doesn’t change anything that happened in the past . . . It’s something I can do now . . . Now, if it’s in Maine, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to go. It depends if I’m out of here or not, and I’m sure I have to get permission from somebody, but I’ve got credit on plane tickets, you know. And I know Tristan doesn’t need to go, but I probably would take Shane.”
“Well, that would be kind of stupid,” Judy said.
“Well, it’s not my fault what happened. It’s not Shane’s fault what happened and . . .”
“But they’re not going to look at it that way.”
“Well, I don’t care what they look at . . . What I should have done is not even released his stupid body . . . I should have been the one to make that decision. The only reason I didn’t is because, one, I’m in jail and I can’t afford it, and, two, is I can’t even wipe my own ass in here. How am I going to plan a funeral? . . . It’s just not fair . . .”
“Well, there’s a lot of things in this life that ain’t fair.”
“. . . Maybe I deserve what I’m getting, but I don’t feel like it . . . I guess it will either make me stronger or crazy or meaner. I’m not sure which one yet.”
“Well, you better decide it’s going to make you a stronger, better person,” Judy said.
“Well, I guess I’ll learn not to take crap from people. This is ridiculous . . . Maybe everybody was just doing their job, but I’ll tell you, one person I’d like to kick in the balls and that’s that stupid, freaking McCormick guy. God, he’s such a liar and ass.”
“Wendi, that’s what he does. That’s his job.”
Wendi griped about the trackers and warned her mother she’d better get the devices off of the two trucks. “It might not be on Daddy’s. They might have been able to take it off of his without him knowing, but, you know—Stupid fuckers . . . Maybe I did do something wrong. They’re twisting it all around . . . They’re low-bag piece-of-shits . . .”
“Watch what you’re saying,” Judy admonished.
Judy’s warning was too late. Despite knowing that her phone calls were being monitored, Wendi’s self-centered carelessness had already put negative consequences in motion.
THIRTY
In between the morning and late afternoon visitation times at the jail on Monday, March 14, 2005, Lloyd and Judy filed a petition for custody of their grandson, Shane Severance, in the Tom Green County courthouse. Two days later, Leslie’s San Angelo attorney, Thomas Goff, filed similar documents on his behalf.
On March 17, the medical examiner’s office in Lubbock, after a forensic analysis of Air Force dental records, confirmed the identity of the body pulled from the water at the 7777 Ranch as that of Staff Sergeant Michael Severance. The office released his remains to the Severance family. Leslie’s wait was over at last—his son was coming home.
Down the road at the San Angelo Police Department, Marshall Davidson met with McGuire and Palmer. Marshall appeared agitated and resentful that he had to turn over the clothing given to him by his sister. He’d previously insisted that he had only a couple of items belonging to Michael; however, on this day, he relinquished two jackets, sixteen shirts and two pairs of pants.
Palmer knew that Lloyd Davidson had removed cash from the console of the Camaro before it was searched. He also knew that Marshall had knowledge of his father’s actions. It was time to test the game warden’s honesty. “Do you know of anything being removed from Wendi’s car before it was taken into custody?”
Marshall stood before him and lied, denying any awareness of the facts. Palmer and McGuire now knew they could expect only the worst from their fellow peace officer.
That same day, Marshall submitted his official hardship transfer request. He began
his statement with a synopsis of current family events. Then, in contradiction of what he’d told Wendi days before, and in opposition to the papers filed by his parents earlier that week, he wrote:
My family decided the best course of action would be to award custody of her two children to me along with Power of Attorney to take care of my sister’s financial and other needs. At this time, the 6-month-old’s grandparents from Maine are also fighting for custody of my sister’s six month old baby which means that I will have to appear in hearings in San Angelo.
I do not have a very extended family, so help both physically and financially is limited. Wendi is my only sister, my parents and two grandmothers are the only family I have in Texas that could be considered to take care of Wendi’s children. Unfortunately, my grandmother on my father’s side has been in a nursing home for several years, and my mother’s mother has been diagnosed with cancer that has spread throughout her body and she is not expected to live more than two months.
My parents had loaned my sister the majority of their savings to open her veterinary clinic and now that money is lost because the clinic had to be closed. Although I have paid several thousand dollars to help with lawyer fees, my parents were also forced to find even more money to help pay for a retainer fee with more up and coming fees and expenses.
My mother has a terminal disease called Lupus which limits her ability to stay active for an extended period of time, and causes her to stay ill a majority of the time. She is on disability because she is unable to work and gets tired very easily. My grandmother’s sickness and now this terrible situation has devastated her and has caused her to almost completely stop eating or sleeping and I can only hope she begins to accept the facts and settle her nerves before she is hospitalized. Right now, she is helping me with the children and it is imperative that she does, since I cannot and will not be able to do it by myself.
A Poisoned Passion Page 13
