Never let her go

Author: (USA) Ann Rule, translated by Ji Tianxiang et al.
Translator: Ji Tianxiang, Da Hong'an, Zhang Jiyuan
Country:
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-09-01
Features: In September 1980, that young couple moved to Payne Street, New Jersey, but Linda still refused to give up her job in Wilmington. Despite Tom's constant threats, he still didn't own Delaware and was far from that kind of prestige—at least not yet. He didn't dare do much, of course, though he did have some background. It wasn't hard to find her phone number in New Jersey, and Riley really did record the calls he made to her. After Linda answered, Riley said he was someone who knew all her secrets with Tom. He was ready to go find her husband and say he had been deceived—unless Linda came up with some money. After a long silence, Linda bluntly replied, "I don't know what you're talking about, sir," and hung up. This little recording didn't make Tom happy. But Riley had recorded a lot of the conversation where Tom was asked to call Linda, as well as a recording of Tom's talk after he lost track of Linda. (Due to Riley's pressure, Linda convinced her husband to move again, though she hid the whole truth from him. All he knew was that her boss's "former client" was harassing her. They moved in with Tom's father, also in New Jersey. Tom wanted to know how many times Riley had called her office and home, and how many times he had called her husband at DuPont. He also wanted to know the details of all those calls. The mysterious caller threatened to tell her husband about the two intimate encounters Linda had with Tom, driving Linda nearly mad, while Tom, upon learning this, seemed coldly pleased. But Tom didn't know that Joe Riley had taken the tapes to see a private detective who had retired from the FBI. This detective had a client—the ethics oversight committee of the Delaware State Bar. Tom's career should have been over, but this time he only received a light punishment. Many women at the time—and still do—say that Wilmington produces good men, and Tom was a typical example. Maybe so. His harassment of Linda Marandola was just seen as a normal, and he got away with it scot-free. No one ever thought of revealing that Tom was behind the threatening calls. All Linda knew was that the calls from the stranger finally stopped. That might just have been one of the things that happened in Tom's life, all of which repeatedly reinforced his belief that he, Tom Capano, was above the law. By September 1981, Tom Capano finally lost interest in punishing Linda. Riley didn't know why, but in fact, this was when Tom had set his sights on another woman, Debbie McKintire. Of course, he hadn't forgotten Linda. Six years later, for business reasons, he called her office directly, shocking her, as his gesture was like they were "long-lost friends," as Linda put it. It was in 1987, and Tom was already the chief of staff to the mayor of Wilmington; Linda was then divorced and single. She wondered if Tom was really that bad; maybe he really cared about her, which is why he wrote those strange letters to her in desperation and later threatened her after being rejected. "I believe the fewer the links, the better," he continued, "Except for Gray Sleet, we haven't talked to anyone about this case. No one really understands where the investigation stands." Now, for the first time, Debbie McKintire's name appeared alongside Tom's in a detailed account, followed by just two brief sentences: "—June 28, 1996, 12:30 PM, someone at Capano's residence dialed 69. The call returned to the home of Debbie McKintire, 47, a teacher at Tattnall School, a friend of Capano's, who lived on Delaware Avenue. Tom had assured Debbie there was nothing to worry about, and things were almost back to normal. But in fact, the investigation was deepening. Newsweek's January 3 issue, which detailed the case of Fay and Capano, sparked public interest. Like most professional law enforcement officers, the three investigators involved also posted their personal phone numbers. At 3:00 AM the next day, Colm Connelly's phone rang. When he answered, there was no sound. At 3:00 AM the next day, Erik Albert's phone also rang. When he answered, it was silent again. At 3:00 AM on Saturday, Bob Donovan's phone rang. When he answered, the same thing happened. Though they couldn't be certain, they had no doubt about who made the calls. If this was a silent threat to back off, it clearly hadn't worked. They had always known the investigation would make many people unhappy. In Wilmington, you couldn't stay anonymous. The Connoley family's house was purchased from a friend of Capano's. Their son was supposed to attend a class taught by a teacher who was a staunch supporter of Tom. They were told not to send their child. In fact, Kay Capano was the nurse for Dr. Connelly's pediatric patients. Though they knew she was an excellent nurse, they always felt awkward when they met. They arranged to see the pediatrician separately when they took their child for treatment. The lives of everyone involved seemed to intersect in a strange, tangled way. At first, many people supported Tom just as many had sympathized with Anne Marie and her family. In Wilmington, 70,000 people were like 2,000, because everyone knew each other to some degree. And everyone had their own opinions. Catherine, Robert, Kevin, Mark, and Brian Zaini tried to curry favor, but the release of witness statements didn't bring good news. They now knew the reasons for the search of Tom's home, but the testimonies confirmed the fears that Anne Marie was dead. When Charlie O'Malley condemned the FBI, saying their investigation was mostly speculative and baseless and that the privacy of the Capano family had been completely violated, the Fay family was furious. Their sister had lost her privacy, and just months earlier, she had lost her precious life. Tom's lawyer released four points, further stripping away Anne Marie's privacy. The notes written on the governor's memo, dated May and June 1996, were short messages to "Tommy." For anyone unfamiliar with how she struggled to leave Tom without causing emotional conflict, the content of the notes seemed friendly. But sometimes, not being seen or remembered, not leaving a record behind, was extremely important. Gary Capano briefly described the arduous journey that took almost eleven hours and spanned two states, full of twists and turns. From the moment he was arrested, Tom paid no attention to Gary's account of what happened on June 28. To verify these details, investigators launched another large-scale operation to retrace Tom's movements. They started from Grant Avenue, went to Emma Court Street, to Stone Harbor, to the oceanfront, and then returned to Grant Avenue. They hoped to find as much evidence as possible from this trip to support the state-level case. Jeffrey Stamp lived next door to Gary on Emma Court Street. He told the investigators that early one morning on June 28, he saw Tom Capano's car in Gary's driveway. "I left at 5:45 AM to get the newspaper," Stamp said. "My house faces Gary's garage, and Tom's car was in the driveway, the engine still running. He saw me and turned around." Stamp knew Tom's car, a large black Jeep Cherokee. He recognized Tom. Though the public wasn't aware of it, in fact, federal agents had been to Stone Harbor a year earlier. That was when the schedule Tom had listed was discovered. Federal agents had quietly conducted a large-scale search along the New Jersey coast, from land to sea. They even asked Gary's neighbors if they had seen anything that looked like a body-sized object being taken onto or off a boat. But no one had seen anything. Indeed, who would look twice at a freezer? Yet, they still hoped to find alert witnesses like Ron Smith and Ken Chub. Tom had planned a series of long-term actions without being discovered, either because he was very careful or because he was very lucky. They suspected that their luck might finally be running out. O'Toole saw that Tom's story was already having an effect on the jury, so he decided to lighten the mood. "So," he asked, "Are you an emotional person?" "Yes," Tom said. "But you didn't get worked up today, did you?" O'Toole offered. "No—not exactly, first, I took medication; second, I held back my grief again," Tom said. Tom said Dr. Tavauni had increased his dose of XANAX (an anti-anxiety medication) and added another drug whose name he had forgotten. "That's why you're always so lethargic, isn't it?" O'Toole probed. Connelly objected, but his objection was ineffective. Judge Li asked Tom to explain the effects the medication had on him. If there was anything inappropriate in Judge Li's conduct during the trial, it was entirely to ensure fairness to the defendant. He let Tom continue to explain how his father had "closed off his emotional doors" in Hell's Kitchen. Tom's testimony continued, once again involving Debbie. When mentioning his phone records, Tom said the situation wasn't as Debbie had said. Indeed, he had called her office to create the illusion that he was home at midnight. He had also called Debbie to discuss how to dispose of Anne Marie's body. He had to get rid of the freezer and the carpet in the living room—he knew he couldn't move it alone. He said Debbie had offered to help. "She was here before 1:00 AM," Tom said. "After she arrived," O'Toole asked, "What did you do?" Tom said they moved the freezer down the steep stairs. "I couldn't have done it alone," he emphasized, "She helped me. Then we moved the furniture aside and rolled up the carpet. It was very large and heavy, wall to wall, with a rubber pad underneath. It took two people to lay it down when we bought it." Tom said Debbie stayed with him for a while, and he kept reassuring her that Anne Marie's death was completely accidental. He said he would take responsibility because he hadn't told her about Anne Marie earlier.