by Ann Rule
Debby didn’t know what was wrong; she wondered if Tom regretted his impending divorce or perhaps felt sad to be away from his daughters on New Year’s Eve. But she knew better than to question him too closely.
ANNE MARIE and Mike were also together that night for their first New Year’s Eve since they’d met. Anne Marie was able to forget for a while the lowering presence of Tom Capano; and she prayed that the year ahead, all the years ahead, would be with Mike. It seemed possible that night. It didn’t matter that Mike was fighting off a nasty cold and they couldn’t stay out as late as they might have; they enjoyed just being together. They watched Winterthur’s fireworks explode into a million cascading colors and then headed for home.
But Anne Marie moved into 1996 apprehensively. Her friends and family knew that she was happy with Mike. Her very close friends knew she dreaded that Tom would destroy her new love. They also knew that she was hiding something else from Mike: her eating disorder. She realized that she had to tell him about that soon—but she hoped she would never have to admit to Mike that she had slept with Tom.
The physical side of Anne Marie’s relationship with Mike was not nearly as intimate as it had been with Tom, and that was OK with her. Mike’s restraint was a sign that he cared about her and took his Catholicism seriously. But they kissed and hugged and held hands all the time.
Anne Marie knew Mike was concerned that she was so thin, but unlike Tom, he didn’t pressure her to eat. She hoped she could gradually explain more about her eating problems to Mike—about how she sometimes felt as if her life was slipping away from under her and she wasn’t able to control anything but her appetite. But that could wait. It wasn’t as though she was lying to him; he could see she had lost weight.
MEANWHILE, Tom would not leave her alone, and Anne Marie’s way of dealing with him was appeasement. He had been so angry when she refused to accept the ticket to Madrid (although how in the hell was she supposed to come home again with a one-way ticket?). She didn’t dare show him the side of her that was angry, too, and desperate to be free of him. By January, she decided that the best way to get away from Tom would be in small increments. If she could slip out of his life without fanfare, it just might work. It was clearly not possible to simply break up with him, but she hoped that she could convince him she loved him as a friend and was appreciative of all he had done for her, and she hoped that gradually, gradually she would become less available to him. She understood that his ego and his feelings were involved. She truly did not want to hurt him.
Even though Tom had become very demanding about wanting to see her, Anne Marie tried to defuse that by having what was basically an E-mail relationship. She became very adept at finding excuses to avoid meeting him in person. Her head was filled with Mike—not Tom.
A few days after New Year’s, Mike and Anne Marie ate at the old Charcoal Pit in Brandywine Hundred. Funny—Louie Capano owned it now, and it was still doing great business with both high school kids and people who remembered it from their youth. It had been more than a dozen years since Anne Marie waited tables there, and many good things had happened to her since then. She had a home now and a wonderful job and, she hoped, a future with Mike. They had fun together that night. Being with Mike wasn’t anything like the tense and often miserable times with Tom. But then, Mike wasn’t trying to keep her on a leash that steadily grew shorter.
DELAWARE was hit by a roaring blizzard on January 8, and Anne Marie and Mike drove a friend of his to Dover, taking the drift-laden back roads in Mike’s four-wheel drive. Anne Marie noted it whimsically on her calendar: “Death ride with Mike!”
Tom wanted to see Anne Marie on January 11; she avoided him by staying all night at Kathleen and Patrick’s house. She was late to work the next morning because Jackie Steinhoff had, of all things, an attack of gout and was in terrible pain; Anne Marie took her to several clinics before she found one that was open. She contacted Tom as soon as she got to the office to apologize for not being home the night before. What Anne Marie E-mailed to Tom was all true, but she resented having to account for every minute of her time. And like Debby MacIntyre, Anne Marie always seemed to be apologizing to Tom.
Tom’s E-mail to Anne Marie was rife with minute instructions on what she must do and references to their old times together. On January 15, he said he was on his way to two of his daughters’ basketball games, “so don’t worry about calling me until this afternoon after they all leave for Dover. Please call me so we can touch base. . . . Let me know if I can call you on 6636. Te Amo. [I love you, in Spanish.] Oh, forgot to tell you we also had the Olde Bay fries at DiNardo’s and we dipped them in barbecue sauce. They were outfuckingstanding.”
Tom appeared uninvited at her apartment the next night, and Anne Marie could not shut him out, even though it made her ill when he tried to touch her. Her E-mail to him the next morning was studied and demonstrated her constant conflict about her desire to be free of him and her concern about hurting him.
Good Morning Tommy:
I want to apologize for my “outbreak” last night. I’m sure it must have scared (amongst other feelings) you. Quite honestly, I scared myself last night. Tommy, I had a lot on my mind last night regarding my appointment w/ Gary Johnson. . . . Right now, I need a friend more than anything else. There was a part of me that just wanted to be alone to think things out clearly. So, when I asked you not to rub my stomach, and you responded with how much I hurt you, I couldn’t take feeling guilty about that with everything else that I am feeling. It is my fault because I was not communicating with you, and you didn’t know how to respond. I am sorry for my behavior. Please try to understand that right now I have some things that I need to “work out” but I’m not sure where or how to start. I know that I am not ready to check into a Clinic, and confront my family, friends and coworkers about my situation. Blah. Blah. Blah. I am not making any sense (as usual) so I am going to sign off. Annie
Sadly, Anne Marie had once again given Tom too much information about herself, and thus, more weapons to use against her. He continued to find ways to draw her back into his life. She had set a date to have dinner with Tom and Jackie as far off in January as she could. Mike was in Bolivia on a business trip toward the end of the month, and if she had to go, that seemed the best time. Anne Marie picked Jackie up and they drove to Tom’s house on North Grant. Jackie brought along a pasta maker for Tom—a housewarming gift and a thank-you for all his legal help. Anne Marie asked her not to mention Mike Scanlan during the evening. “They don’t get along,” she said. “They don’t work together well.”
Jackie had already mentioned Mike to Tom during a talk at Java Jack’s, but she didn’t tell Anne Marie; she vowed not to say anything further about Mike during dinner, however.
Tom seemed excited about living on his own and insisted on showing them around the whole house. They dutifully followed him up and down the stairways, admiring the many rooms. He had clearly gone to great pains to have pretty bedrooms for his four daughters. Each of the girls had her own boom box and her own phone. “I want them to feel comfortable here,” he explained. “It’s their home, too.”
The tour ended in the great room at the head of the steps to the garage. Jackie would recall that it was a warm room with a wine-colored couch that faced a television set in the left corner of the room. There was a big stack of oversized pillows that Tom said his daughters liked to hug when they lay on the wall-to-wall carpet to watch television.
They went to La Famiglia for dinner that night and Jackie noted that Anne Marie “wasn’t in a great mood,” which was strange because she could almost always be counted on to be “real up and real peppy.” It had been almost four years since Jackie was so distrustful of Tom when he came to their old rental house to visit Annie. And she had long been convinced that he was, indeed, only a good friend. For some reason, Anne Marie had never confided in Jackie about their affair, or even that she was now desperately trying to avoid Tom.
At some point during
the evening, Anne Marie excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. As soon as she was gone, Tom—who had had several glasses of wine—turned to Jackie and asked desperately, “Why does she hate me, Jackie?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, surprised. “Why would Annie hate you? She doesn’t hate you, Tom.”
“Oh yes, she hates me, hates me, hates me.”
Jackie tried to reason with him, but he had that familiar pitiful look. And Jackie knew that Anne Marie’s dates with Mike were behind Tom’s sad face. Jackie wondered if Tom had loving feelings for Annie after all. If he did, it would be too bad; she knew Annie was really enthusiastic about Mike and Tom didn’t stand a chance.
And then Jackie put her foot in it when she tried to change the subject by talking about Anne Marie’s surprise thirtieth birthday party that Kathleen Fahey-Hosey was throwing. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could tell by the expression on his face that Tom hadn’t been invited. “He just seemed shocked,” she said. “He said, ‘Oh no, I’m not invited,’ and I kind of backpedaled and said it was probably just friends, just going to be small.”
It was too late; Tom looked stricken.
Later, Jackie would recall that the winter of 1995–96 had seemed such a great time for Anne Marie, now that she had met Mike. “You always kid around,” she explained. “Like, ‘Annie, is this the guy?’ She would be like, ‘Yeah, I think so, but I don’t want to get too excited because you don’t want to jump too far into a relationship.’ But she was really happy. She finally met somebody she really cared for and who definitely cared for her.”
The awkward dinner at La Famiglia finally wound to a close and Tom drove them home to his house, where Anne Marie had parked her car. He tried to get them to come in and watch a movie with him, but it was after midnight and Anne Marie said they had to get home. Jackie sensed that Anne Marie could hardly wait for the evening to end.
It was evidence of how ashamed Anne Marie was about her affair with Tom that so few of her longtime friends knew about it: only Kim Horstman, Jennifer Haughton—her old friend, who lived near Cape Cod—and possibly Jill Morrison. Others might have suspected, but she never confirmed their suspicions.
IT was such a cold winter that year, with one snowstorm after another sweeping in from the northeast. Wilmington was muffled and chastened by snowdrifts, the whole state blanketed with white upon white for weeks. Gerry Capano bought a snowplow and did a land-office business. But his brothers talked him out of his plan to buy a fleet of snowplows, pointing out that Wilmington had snow-clogging winters only once in a blue moon. What would he do with all his plows during the other years?
Gerry had more toys than any of them, as it was: classic cars, a boat, trucks, guns; he even bought guns for his toddler son, “to save for him.” Gerry still spent a lot of time big-game hunting and deep-sea fishing. He was usually one of the top contenders in the shark derby in the Atlantic.
ANNE MARIE’S thirtieth birthday, on January 27, was fast approaching. She had mixed emotions about that. She was still single and still childless, and thirty was a watershed. It didn’t matter that, in the nineties, women were marrying later and having children later. If she had to turn thirty, at least she would be doing it with great fanfare.
First, Kathleen was having the “surprise” birthday party for her. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise because Anne Marie knew about it, although she didn’t let on to Kathleen. In fact, she would be celebrating with her family and friends a night early because her actual birthday fell on the date of one of the biggest events in Wilmington’s social season: the Grand Gala Ball. And almost in awe at her luck, Anne Marie had confided to her sister that she would be going with Mike.
The Grand Gala was a wondrous affair that drew the crème de la crème of society—from the du Ponts on down. Even though tickets sold for as much as $500, they weren’t easy to come by. That year, the festivities would open with a performance by “The Velvet Fog,” Mel Torme. Then there would be a gourmet dinner, followed by dancing in five ballrooms at the Hotel du Pont.
Anne Marie felt like Cinderella. Wearing the perfect dress, she would attend the Grand Gala with the perfect man. It could be the most unforgettable night of her life and a way to bury, at last, the residual memories of that poor, lonely little girl in a cold house, rolled into a ball under a table to avoid the wrath of her drunken father.
Anne Marie had been thrilled when Mike asked her to go to the Grand Gala. She talked to all of her friends and all the other women employees in the governor’s office about what she should wear. Even though they were work friends rather than social friends, the governor’s executive assistant, Sue Mast, even went with Anne Marie to shop at Morgan’s for a suitable—but smashing—gown. She chose a long black dress that showed off her beautiful eyes and complexion. It wasn’t a “little black dress,” it was a dynamic, sweeping black dress.
Although she knew about her birthday party at Kathleen’s house, Anne Marie didn’t expect to see Mike there. He had told her he wouldn’t be back from Bolivia until the day of the Grand Gala, and he gave her his arrival time so she could pick him up at the Philadelphia airport. In fact, he had arranged to come home a day early so he could be a surprise guest at Kathleen’s party.
There was one surprise that Anne Marie dreaded: she did not want Tom at the party. Because she didn’t know who had been invited, she called Kim Horstman in a panic. “She was very concerned that there was a possibility that Tom would be invited to the party,” Kim said.
Kim had reassured Anne Marie, and then she called Ginny Columbus because Ginny knew who was coming.
“Who’s on the guest list?” Kim asked.
Ginny told her and Kim sighed with relief. Tom, of course, wasn’t invited.
It turned out to be a wonderful party. Anne Marie did an obligatory whoop of feigned surprise when she walked in to see all of her family and friends, but she was really astonished to see Mike grinning at her. She started screaming and ran up to Mike and hugged and kissed him. “She was in a great mood, really happy,” Mike recalled. “That was her night.”
And so was the next. It seemed that Anne Marie was almost too happy.
The Grand Gala was black tie, and Jill Morrison had been in on the final selection of Anne Marie’s dress and shoes. She went by Anne Marie’s apartment early on Saturday evening, the twenty-seventh, to wish her happy birthday, and was shocked to find her very upset and angry.
“I wish you wouldn’t tell Tom Capano what I’m doing!” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“He knows I’m going to the Grand Gala with Mike, and he’s been calling me all day.”
Jill admitted that she had let it slip, maybe even subconsciously, to show Tom that he didn’t own Anne Marie. She was sorry that she had. While Jill was in Anne Marie’s apartment, the phone rang continually. During that short time, there were six calls from Tom, and Anne Marie told Jill that he said he could find a date and come to the Grand Gala. She was terrified that he would expose their relationship not only to Mike but to the crowd. That would leave her lovely evening, her life itself, in ashes.
“It’s the one thing in my life I’m most ashamed of,” Anne Marie said hopelessly. All her joy evaporated as she visualized Tom’s carrying out his threat.
Eventually, Anne Marie pulled herself together and got dressed. Despite her apprehension, she looked gorgeous. Jill stayed until Mike arrived, reassuring Anne Marie that even Tom wouldn’t really have the nerve to show up at the Gala and make some kind of public declaration.
Inside, Jill wasn’t so sure. After she finished her shopping, she decided to drive by Tom’s house to see if his car was there—but she couldn’t find the address. She had his phone number, so she called him on her car phone. It was nine-thirty. If he answered, it would mean he wasn’t at the ball. When she heard his voice, she hung up, vastly relieved. Annie was safe from his harassment—at least for that night.
The next day, Anne Mari
e told Jill that it had been the most wonderful night of her life. But not because Tom stayed away. Anne Marie later confided to her therapist that Tom had come to the Hotel du Pont. When she left Mike to go to the ladies’ room, he was waiting in a small anteroom. He grabbed her arm and pulled her in, but she broke away from him and said she would not allow him to spoil her night. She was back at Mike’s side, her heart pounding but her smile steady, before he had time to miss her.
Tom had had no date for the Grand Gala; appearing at the hotel was simply his way of showing Anne Marie that he always knew where she was and who she was with.
Even so, that night at the ball would remain one of her most precious memories. People had teased Mike and asked him where he found the model he was dancing with. And for once, Anne Marie had believed she was beautiful. She and Mike agreed that they would date each other exclusively. They weren’t engaged, or engaged to be engaged, but they were going steady.
Chapter Seventeen
AS EXHILARATING as her night at the ball had been, Anne Marie worried about how hurt Tom was that she had been with Mike. That was Anne Marie; she had been harassed, tormented, and stalked—but upon reflection, she felt sorry for Tom because of the gloomy picture he had painted of himself during his barrage of phone calls on Saturday. While other women would have been able to tell him where to go in unladylike terms, Anne Marie could not. She was cursed with such an acute empathy for another’s pain that she had to apologize—once again—to Tom.
At ten minutes to eight the Monday after the Grand Gala, Anne Marie sent an E-mail to Tom.
First let me start off by saying that I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you over the weekend. I am afraid and I do not know where to begin. I spent a good part of yesterday morning/afternoon at Valley Garden Park thinking about a lot of stuff: Us, Girls, Eating Disorder, my family, etc. I desperately want to talk to you, but I’m too afraid to place the call. I do love you Tommy no matter what happens—I will always love you. Annie
