“Well, I know it must be hard,” he’d say, “but you make an awful lot of money, much more than you’d be making if you had a day job, so I’d suggest you stay with it for a little while longer.”
Sharon, as was her way, said little. She’d stare out the car window while Warren continued the conversation, expressing interest in the porno business, and his plans for Sharon.
“She got the boob job and she’s good to go into these movies,” said Warren. “Now she can make some real money. Maybe you can introduce us to some people.”
“I don’t know much about movies, but I’ll keep a lookout for anyone that might have an ‘in’ for you,” said Heather, who turned to Sharon. “How do you feel about movies? Something you want to do?”
Sharon didn’t reply. She remained slumped against the back seat, keeping her focus outside the car.
“Of course she wants movies!” said Warren, raising his voice in anger. “How can she not do movies with these!”
Warren reached into the back seat and pinched Sharon’s breast.
“Damn right she’ll do movies,” said Warren.
The exchange, and Warren’s grab at Sharon’s chest, took Heather by surprise. She later spent a night at the Marshall home, where she heard more of Warren’s strange, sexual remarks toward Sharon, and Heather couldn’t resist reporting what she’d heard to the girls at Mons.
“I think he’s sleeping with Sharon,” said Heather. “Even the baby looks retarded.”
The rumors that Warren was the father of Sharon’s baby ran rampant throughout the club, and by the fall of 1988 the sordid stories eventually reached Sharon’s ears.
Sharon confronted Heather in the dressing room, and tearfully denied an incestuous relationship with Warren, saying the baby’s father lived out west, in Arizona.
“You know your dad is strange,” said Heather.
“I know, I know. But it’s nothing like you’re thinking,” said Sharon.
Heather remained unconvinced, and Sharon became even more reclusive, arriving to work and then leaving without saying much to anyone.
Two months later, in December 1988, the Marshalls disappeared. Everyone at the Mons thought they fled due to the rumors.
But Sharon returned in January, saying they took a brief vacation, and the Marshalls rented the trailer at the Golden Lantern trailer park.
She soon met Cary Strukel and became friendly with Stevie.
In March, Strukel and others noticed that Sharon wasn’t looking right. She appeared to be gaining weight, especially around the hips and midsection. Sharon said she suffered from stomach problems and was bloated, giving off the appearance she was gaining weight.
Strukel didn’t question Sharon, and would occasionally meet her for breakfast after she got off of work. If Strukel was good for anything in Warren’s eyes it was that he served as a chauffeur on those rare nights when Warren didn’t feel up to driving Sharon to and from work.
Warren had a new toy, a twenty-two-foot boat that he kept on a trailer in the driveway. He’d take it to Tampa Bay, or one of the neighboring lakes late in the afternoon while Sharon worked. Everyone knew he was living off Sharon’s money, and there wasn’t a night she didn’t work, leading to whispers at the Mons that Warren wasn’t just Sharon’s father but her pimp.
CHAPTER 24
Cheryl Ann Commesso wanted to be a star.
A free spirit who performed under the name “Stevie,” she arrived at the Mons in January 1989 believing, like some of the other performers, that her dancing and appearances at local beauty contests could earn her a ticket to Hollywood.
After arriving at the Mons she dated the son of Harry the pimp from Georgia, and lived for a while with Heather Lane and another girl.
By March, Cheryl’s penchant for walking around the house nude annoyed her roommates to the point that they kicked her out. She needed a place to stay and moved in temporarily with Sharon and Warren.
Cheryl took a liking to Warren, who boasted to having contacts in the entertainment industry. Cheryl agreed to appear in a video, taped on the beach at dusk. Warren, camera in hand, directed Cheryl and Sharon to frolic in the sand, then lie on a blanket and massage each other, then later engage in sexual acts.
Warren claimed he was going to send the video to producers he knew in Los Angeles to serve as an audition tape, and the girls would be called to Hollywood to appear in adult films. Cheryl was excited with the possibility.
Warren also talked Cheryl into posing nude, claiming he was a still photographer and had contacts with Playboy magazine.
Warren complimented Cheryl on her tight body and large breasts, telling her how beautiful she was and intimating they should have sex. Cheryl wasn’t attracted to Warren but gave in anyway.
Warren thought he had a girlfriend.
Word about the video eventually found its way to the Mons, along with Warren’s unbelievable claim that he and Cheryl were an item.
When Heather Lane heard the stories, she confronted Cheryl, asking what the hell she was doing with a freak like Warren Marshall.
“He said he was going to get me into Playboy,” said Cheryl.
“Warren Marshall? Are you insane?” said Heather. “Stay away from him, you hear me.”
Cheryl ignored Heather’s advice and continued to visit the Marshall home, pulling up each afternoon in her red Corvette. She even took a trip alone with Warren on his boat on Lake Okeechobee. When Warren sought sex, Cheryl resisted, infuriating Warren, who punched Cheryl in the mouth, then tried to choke her. She was on the floor of the boat shaking off the effects of the blow to the head when she saw Warren coming toward her with a fishing net in his hands. She picked herself up and, fearing for her life, jumped off the boat into the water. Warren flung the net overboard but missed his target, and Cheryl swam the quarter mile to shore, hitchhiking home.
Cheryl decided to get even with Warren through Sharon, calling Florida social services to inform them that Sharon had been collecting welfare but earned more than fifteen hundred dollars a week as a nude dancer. Social services subsequently called Sharon to inform her that the welfare checks would be stopped pending an investigation.
Warren was furious.
It was Heather who answered his angry call to the Mons. He wanted to know where to find Cheryl. Heather said she couldn’t help him and hung up the phone.
Later that night Warren was at his usual spot in the parking lot when Cheryl arrived for work. He grabbed Cheryl and tried to pull her into his car. The screaming drew the attention of Heather, who ran outside to intervene.
“You don’t understand. That bitch turned Sharon in to welfare,” said Warren, who wouldn’t let go of Cheryl.
Heather went inside and told the bouncers that a crazy man was trying to kidnap Cheryl. They ran outside and Warren let her go, but not before more angry words were exchanged.
Warren sped off into the night.
A week later, Cheryl Ann Commesso disappeared.
By mid-April it was clear that Sharon Marshall was pregnant again, and the sordid rumors about Warren were resurrected.
Even in a place like the Mons folks had their ideas about respectable behavior, and incest was crossing the line. Many of the dancers had personal experiences with child abuse, and the thought of Sharon with her father was revolting and unacceptable.
Heather decided to confront Sharon and waited until the two were alone in the dressing room as Sharon changed into her short skirt and bobby socks.
“Sharon, everybody can see you’re pregnant, and we all think your father is the dad,” said Heather. “That’s something a lot of people here can’t take.”
Sharon started to cry before Heather could finish the sentence. She slumped into her chair, tears streaming down her cheeks. She raised her arms, trying to explain with her hands since she could only stutter, unable to speak in any intelligible form.
“Sharon, honey, I know this is tough. Your father is fucked up. We all know it. We all see it. C�
��mon, you can talk to me. A lot of girls have been there before,” said Heather.
“You don’t understand,” said Sharon between the tears. “He’s not my real father.”
“Then who is he?” said Heather.
“He’s my stepfather. He’s been molesting me for years, ever since I was a child.”
Sharon crumpled onto a chair, her head buried between her legs, the crying now more like an anguished squeal. She had finally admitted something she had kept hidden all her life.
“Sharon, listen, father or no father, you’re going to have to leave this guy. Go to the police. Go to somebody. Get your kid and get away from him,” said Heather.
“I can’t do that!” shrieked Sharon. “You don’t understand, He’s done things. I saw it. I know what he can do and if he ever heard me talking like this he’d kill me and Michael. He has friends everywhere. I can’t leave him. I just can’t. I know he would find me. And I know he’d hurt Michael.”
Sharon shot up from her chair as terrible thoughts crossed her mind.
“Heather, you can’t say anything about this. Please promise me you won’t say anything.”
Sharon was scared for her life and the life of her son, and Heather could see the terror in her eyes.
“OK, Sharon. It’s your secret.”
In late May 1989, Vicki Bahan heard that Sharon Marshall was looking for a home for a Maine coon cat.
Bahan was the night bar manager at the Mons and a one-time dancer named “Cherry Pie” who now lived on a farm outside Tampa. For reasons known to no one but herself, Bahan preferred the company of animals to humans, and didn’t associate with any of the girls at the Mons.
All she cared about were her horses.
Sharon heard Bahan lived on a farm and approached her one night, saying she was leaving town and asking if Bahan wouldn’t mind taking in her cats.
“If I don’t find a home for them I’ll have to drop them off at the pound, and you know what happens to them there,” said Sharon.
She had two cats, and one was the Maine coon cat. Bahan had never seen one before and figured, why not?
“It’s my father’s favorite cat,” said Sharon.
“Well, I’ll do it for you. Not for your father, but for you, OK?” said Bahan. “And one other thing. They’ll have to stay in the barn.”
“Well, they’re house cats. We keep them inside,” said Sharon.
“Sorry. I don’t let any animals inside my house. I’ll let them go in the barn. If they hang around, they hang around,” said Bahan.
A week later Warren, Sharon and her year-old son, Michael, pulled up to Bahan’s farm in a late-model Ford pickup truck, the flatbed filled with boxes. Sharon stepped out with the cats in her arms, and thanked Bahan again for taking in the animals.
“I didn’t ask you, where you heading?” said Bahan.
Sharon stammered, saying she wasn’t sure, but that her father needed a better climate, a place with less humidity for his ailing back.
“Maybe somewhere out west.”
“So you’re done dancing?”
“I’m done dancing at the Mons,” said Sharon, putting her hand to her belly. “Besides, I’ve got other things to worry about now.”
Sharon offered a weak smile and said good-bye, and Bahan watched as the Marshalls drove down the dirt road and out of sight.
Cary Strukel saw the dozen roses that had been left at the Brown Derby when he walked into work that day, and asked who they were for.
“They’re yours,” said a hostess. “A pretty lady stopped by earlier in the day and dropped them off, and I’d say you made a good impression.”
There was no card attached, but there were two gold charms. One said “Special Lover.” Judging by the description of the woman from the hostess, Strukel knew it had to be Sharon who left the flowers.
He called Sharon at home but there was no answer. He called the Mons but was told she’d quit. The next morning Strukel drove to the Marshalls’ trailer and rang the bell, but no one was home. He looked inside a window and could see the trailer was empty. Everything had been cleared out.
Sharon didn’t mention anything about leaving. No phone call, no warning. Just a dozen roses and gold charms. She couldn’t leave like that, thought Strukel, who figured she’d eventually call. So he waited.
Two weeks later Strukel received a call at home. Only it was Warren. He asked if anyone had been by to question Strukel about Warren’s boat. It had sunk the month before, and Warren had grown increasingly nervous, even more so after he was quizzed by insurance investigators. They fished the boat out of Tampa Bay after Warren filed a claim and found someone had drilled holes through the boat’s bottom.
“No, why would anyone ask me about your boat? Where are you guys?” said Strukel.
“Oh, just on vacation,” said Warren.
“I went by your trailer and everything was gone.”
“Well, we put all the stuff in closets so nobody would want to break in.”
“The furniture too? In the closets?”
“Well, yeah, that too.”
“Is Sharon with you? Can I talk to her?”
“No, she’s not feeling well. She’s out on the beach. I’ll tell her you asked about her and I’ll call you later.”
Warren didn’t call, and Strukel would never speak to Sharon again.
Like Cary Strukel, Michelle Cupples thought something was wrong when she stopped by the Marshalls’ trailer only to find it empty. The Marshalls had left without even saying good-bye.
A week later she received a call at her home from Warren asking her to take the mail out of his mailbox and burn it. Michelle said no and handed the phone to her mother, who also said no.
Several weeks later, on June 16, the Marshall trailer at the Golden Lantern trailer park burned to the ground.
Pinellas Park fire investigators determined that the blaze had started on the kitchen stove. A combustible liquid was placed over the left front burner, which was turned on, and the mixture soon ignited. The trailer was destroyed, along with everything inside.
The fire was determined to be arson.
CHAPTER 25
Bob Schock closed the thick folder stamped “Cheryl Ann Commesso” and sat still at the long conference table, looking at the men and women who were seated around him, all of whom were unable to say a single word.
It was March 1997, two years after the skeletal remains were found on the side of the highway, and eight months after Schock first saw the shocking photos. Schock and Mark Deasaro were in Oklahoma City, completing their report on the investigation into the murder of Cheryl Ann Commesso for Joe Fitzpatrick, Mark Yancey, Ed Kumiega, and others involved in the Michael Hughes kidnapping.
Schock’s report was sickening, sad, and sobering.
The two Florida detectives spent considerable time on the Commesso case, interviewing numerous acquaintances of Floyd and Sharon, and drawing a comprehensive listing of their activities in Florida from 1988 through June 1989.
The chilling details deflated all in attendance, particularly Fitzpatrick, Yancey, and Kumiega, who thought they had heard the worst about Sharon Marshall.
They now knew they had been wrong.
Veteran lawmen sitting at the table shook their heads or let out deep sighs as Schock continued his report.
“After leaving Florida sometime in June they drove to New Orleans where, according to the FBI timeline, on June 15, Floyd and Sharon were married as Clarence Hughes and Tonya Hughes,” said Schock. “The only reason I can see for the marriage is that Sharon knew that Floyd killed Cheryl Commesso, and by marrying Sharon, Floyd believed that as his wife, Sharon would be barred from testifying against him in the event he was ever arrested. We’re entertaining a theory that after Floyd killed Cheryl, it was Sharon who helped Floyd get rid of the car at the airport. Someone had to drive it there.”
Someone said that if Floyd was in New Orleans on June 15, who burned down his trailer on June 16?
&
nbsp; “Good question,” said Schock. “We don’t know.”
Following the FBI timeline, Schock said that while in Louisiana, Sharon or Floyd apparently stole the Social Security number of a man who lived in nearby Gulfport, Mississippi. The man remembered being at a mall in June and filling out numerous credit card applications. Somehow, Sharon or Floyd got hold of his number.
They remained in New Orleans, where on August 11, 1989, Sharon gave birth to a girl, who was immediately adopted by a young couple. The identity of the birth father was unknown.
After leaving New Orleans in September they traveled to Tulsa, where Sharon danced at the Passions club the last months of her life. It was clear to all she reached the depths of despair in Florida, where Floyd cast her into a seamy world of prostitution and hopelessness.
After arriving in Tulsa, it was clearly evident that Sharon had somehow found the courage to see a life beyond Floyd.
She was reading again, as she had in high school, devouring books and magazines between her sets at Passions. With the help of her new boyfriend, Kevin Brown, Sharon planned her escape from Floyd. She warned Kevin that it would be dangerous, and she was right. Floyd had contacts in Tulsa, including sheriff’s deputies who knew the women and clientele at Passions, and he somehow learned of Sharon’s plans, which cost Sharon her life.
Her death, it was conceded, was inevitable. Floyd was, at his core, a murderous pedophile, and as Sharon grew older his interest in her diminished to where her only purpose in life was to support Floyd. Under daily threats of physical and verbal abuse, Sharon worked every day for Floyd as a nude dancer and prostitute. Floyd’s full attention, his focus, was now on Michael. The little boy had become Sharon’s replacement, and it didn’t matter to Floyd if she lived or died.
He was obsessed with Michael, and as long as Sharon served a purpose, she lived.
Schock said Cheryl Commesso apparently lost her life because of a single phone call. Floyd became enraged when Cheryl turned Sharon in to social services, and his anger was evident in the violence plainly displayed in the horrifying photos. Schock reminded all that Cheryl wasn’t killed right away. Floyd toyed with her, tortured her, took delight in her misery as he degraded her, burned her, beat her to near death, and then finally ended her life with two shots from a .22 to the back of the head.
A Beautiful Child Page 19
