The Cold Case that Turned Hot

"I found six Samantha McCabe's on Facebook, but by now, Samantha would be fifty-two and all those women looked to be in their thirties or younger. I found one woman on Linkedin, but her profile listed her as a CPA and her graduation date from college was just five years ago. I couldn't see Samantha giving up a career in nursing and then going back to college when she was forty-seven.

"Then I started thinking that if Samantha doesn't want to be found, she probably wouldn't use any of the social media sites. Instead, I went to one of the sites you said could find my address if it was a public record. I typed in her name and got back thirty-nine. Some were duplicates, but I found three who live in Tennessee or Georgia. One of those women is fifty-two and what I could get on her without paying for it was that she lived in Knoxville and now lives in Ringgold, Georgia.

"I went back to the nurse registration site then and typed in her name with the state as Georgia. She was there, and she's an RN at the Hamilton Medical Center in Dalton with a degree in nursing from UT. Dalton is only about a dozen miles from Ringgold, so I think both are probably the same Samantha and it was her who sent me the threat.

"So now that we know where she probably is, what do we do next?"

"Well, we need to prove she's the same Samantha McCabe. I can talk to William now and maybe he'll confirm that. I also requested his phone records so if he's been calling a number in Ringgold, that's probably Samantha.

"I think he can tell me if Samantha sent the letter to you. He seemed to be pretty good at hiding from you, and since you've never talked with Samantha, if she sent the letter, it was probably him that told her about you. I want to see if he'll hide from the police too. If he does, he knows more about what happened than he told Harry. Did his wife ever say when he'd be home for sure?"

Rochelle frowned.

"No, just that he usually was home on the weekends."

"Well, I'll try early Saturday morning then. Let's go look at our security video now."

When Rochelle had the system installed, she'd picked pretty good cameras. They'd recorded me leaving for work that morning. As long as the person was less than fifteen feet from the camera the detail was pretty clear. Her house sat a hundred feet from the county road though, so the cars and truck going past weren't easily identifiable.

Most just drove past anyway, just normal road traffic I figured, but there was one that did catch my interest. It was beige or gold and there was no mistaking the model. It was a PT Cruiser.

It slowed down when it got in front of the house and kept driving slow until it went past some trees along the road. I could get a list of the PT Cruisers licensed in Tennessee and find out the names of anybody who owned a beige PT Cruiser. That might not tell me anything because the PT Cruiser was pretty popular when it came out, but if William was the owner, I'd know he was watching our house.

It was almost six by then, so Rochelle put a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner. After we ate, she grinned and said she was ready for her conjugal visit. I conjugal visited her once before she snuggled up to me, kissed me goodnight, and then went to sleep.

The next morning, we had breakfast and for a second I thought about staying home. Rochelle only put on a light robe after she got out of bed and she kept teasing the hell out of me. It would have been fun, but I had work to do.

The Tennessee DMV search yielded sixteen champagne PT Cruisers with three being licensed in the Knoxville area. One of them made me smile. It was registered to William and Deborah McCabe. Either William or Deborah had been checking out our house. That gave me a believable reason to talk with William without tipping my hand.

That afternoon, I drove over to William's house and when a woman answered, I showed her my badge and asked if William was there. She said no, she was his wife, Deborah, and he was working in Johnson City that day. I figured talking with her would be almost as good as talking with William, so I told her my fake reason for being there.

"Mrs. McCabe -- can I call you Deborah - Deborah we got a call down at the station from a woman who said she'd seen a gold PT Cruiser drive by her house really slow. Now, normally we wouldn't think much about that, but this woman just got a restraining order on her husband. Seems he'd started beating her up.

"She told the desk that her husband drove a gold PT Cruiser and she was worried that it might be him. Well, people sometimes get the color wrong -- they'll say it was a black car when it was really dark blue or they'll say it was white when it was really cream. I got a list of all the gold-colored PT Cruisers registered in Knoxville and you and your husband's name were on the list. I'm sure it wasn't him or you who drove by the woman's house, but I have to check. The house is out in the country on County Highway 6. Do you still have a PT Cruiser? Sometimes it takes the DMV a while to get changes made.

The woman looked scared to death.

"Yes, but ours is champagne, not gold, and it's the car that I drive."

"Did you happen to drive down County 6 on Monday? I mean, if you did, there's probably a good reason. I know there's a farmer out there who sells tomatoes and sweet corn from a roadside stand."

Deborah was wringing her hands.

"I might have. Sometimes I drive that way to go see my mother. I went to see her on Monday."

I smiled at Deborah.

"I hate to push you, but we have to tell the woman something. What time did you drive down County 6?"

Deborah screwed up her face a little too much and then said she thought it was about two in the afternoon. The time stamp on the video was ten in the morning.

"Well, it must not have been you then. The woman said it was right after she finished sweeping her living room and that was about ten. Thanks for talking with me."

Deborah seemed to be relieved that I was leaving because I heard her quiet sigh as I was turning. I was sure then it was her who drove past our house. I just didn't know why she would have, but Deborah didn't seem to be very brave. I stopped and turned back around.

"There is one more thing I need to know, just for my report, you understand. Where does your mother live? I'll need to ask her to verify what you just told me."

Deborah looked at me and her lower lip started to quiver. A second later I saw a tear stream down her cheek.

"You don't need to go talk to my mother. It was me. William told me to drive by that house and see if anybody was there. I didn't see a car in the drive so I came back home and told him I didn't see anybody."

"Hmm...that's interesting. Any idea why he'd tell you to do that?"

"About a week ago, this woman came to the house and gave me a business card and said she was writing a book about people who were killed on a curve like the one on Delrose. She said William's mother and father were killed in an accident there and she wanted to talk to William about it to get information for her book. He wasn't home because he was working in Chattanooga so that's what I told her. She said she'd come back when he was home.

"When William got home, I told him about the woman and what she wanted. He got really mad and told me if she came back to tell her he didn't have anything to say to her. Then he spent about an hour on his computer. Monday morning he told me to drive over to a house on County 6 and see if there was anybody there. I was supposed to drive by there every day until I saw that somebody was home. Then I was supposed to call William and tell him that. I just didn't get started there yet today. I don't know anything else. I shouldn't have told you this much. William won't like it if he ever finds out."

Deborah was almost shaking by then, and I thought she was trying to tell me something else. That had happened to me when I was a patrol officer a couple times. I'd go to a call about a domestic dispute and I and another officer would separate to couple. The woman would usually tell me nothing was wrong and they were just having a normal fight, but she'd look scared. I'd ask her if she thought her husband would do something to her after we left, and with those two cases, the woman had said no and that they'd be all right once I left. Those were her words, but her eyes and body language told me she wouldn't be all right.

"Deborah, it sounds to me like you're afraid of William. You don't have to tell me. All you have to do is nod. Are you afraid William will do something to you if he finds out we've talked?"

Deborah nodded and then blew her nose on a tissue she fished out of her pants.

"Deborah, if I could help you find a way out of this that would keep William from doing anything to you, would you work with me to do that?"

Deborah wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

"What would I have to do?"

An hour later, I had Deborah sitting down with Shirley Adams, a female officer at the station. Shirley was explaining to Deborah that William was going to keep abusing her unless she swore out a complaint and had him arrested. About half an hour after that, Shirley walked up with the complaint in her hand.

"The asshole never hit her in the face, but her body is covered with bruises and scrapes. She said anytime she did anything he thought was wrong, he'd start hitting and kicking her. I had our resident EMT look at her, and Marcie said it looked to her like Deborah has had at least two broken ribs. I took pictures of everything and they were enough for a judge to issue a warrant for his arrest. Deborah says she's willing to testify against him, but even if she backs out, we still have enough to try him. Go arrest the son of a bitch."

I felt pretty good about that. I now had a reason to arrest William and bring him to the station instead of just asking him if he'd talk to me. I'd also hopefully gotten Deborah out of a situation she didn't seem to be able to get out of by herself.

According to the DMV records, William also owned a 2019 blue Ford pickup, so I put out a BOLO on the vehicle and the arrest warrant for William McCabe. I figured William probably drove a company truck when he was on a service call, but he'd be coming home in the Ford pickup. The instructions were to stop the truck, arrest William for spousal abuse, and bring him to the station.

It was about four when I got the message that a patrol officer had spotted the truck, confirmed the driver was William McCabe, and was on his way to the station with William handcuffed in his back seat. I called Rochelle and told her I'd be late getting home. Then, I called Doctor Michaels, a psychiatrist who often watched our interrogations and offered his opinion about a suspect's possible motives. He was in the room on the other side of the one-way glass when I walked into the interrogation room.

When I saw William, I was almost certain he couldn't be Victor's son. Victor had been five-eight and weighed one-fifty according to his driver's license. William was at least six feet and probably weighed in at two-twenty to two-fifty. He also had an attitude that Harry apparently hadn't seen.

As soon as I walked into the interrogation room with my case file, William looked up and said, "Why the fuck did you arrest me for spousal abuse? I never hit the bitch even once."

I pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down.

"Well, William, that's not what Deborah says, and after I saw the pictures of her body, I think you've hit her a lot."

I think William would have punched me if his handcuffs hadn't been looped through the bar on the top of the table.

"That fat whore let you see her naked?"

"Now settle down, William. No, she didn't. A female officer took pictures of the bruises and scrapes you gave her. All I saw were the pictures without her face, but it looks to me like you beat the hell out of her and it wasn't just one time. Deborah's being examined by a doctor right now, but our EMT said it looked like she'd suffered a couple broken ribs recently.

"If that's true, it changes the charge from Domestic Assault to Aggravated Assault. Aggravated Assault will put you away for twelve to fifteen years, and I doubt any judge is going to take pity on you once he sees the pictures and reads the doctor's report. If the doctor says he believes the abuse has continued over a longer period of time, the judge is able to sentence you to whatever he believes is appropriate.

"I've personally been involved in two cases where the abuse went on for more than a year. One husband got twenty-four years and the second, because he broke his wife's right arm, got thirty. You're what -- forty-nine? That'll make you at least seventy when you finally get out.

"From what I've seen in the past, this is a pretty done deal, but that's not the only reason you're here, and that reason might get you a little shorter sentence for the abuse if you cooperate.

"I want you to tell me what happened before and after the accident that killed your parents in 1992. After looking at all the evidence, I don't think it was an accident. I think they were murdered and left on that road so their car would get hit and it would look like a car accident, and I think I can prove that to be the case. So does the District Attorney. I also think you were involved somehow.

"To have happened that way, the murder had to have been planned and if you're responsible, you're looking at the death penalty or life without the possibility of parole. Now, you were only eighteen at the time, so I don't think you actually killed them though if you did, my investigation will prove that.

"What I think is you know who did. That's what I want you to tell me -- who killed them, how they killed them, and why. Oh, and you can have a lawyer if you want one. Anything you tell me from now on the DA can use during a trial so you probably should."

William sat there for at least five minutes without saying a word, but I could see him thinking. When he finally said something, all he said was he wanted a lawyer. I stood up and picked up my file.

"I'll get your lawyer but it might take a while. You won't be arraigned on the spousal abuse charge until two days from today, so I'll let you sit in a cell and give you time to think about that too. It won't be too bad. I hear the other guys in holding are pretty nice guys as long as you do what they tell you to do."

I walked out of the room and then into the viewing room and asked Doctor Michaels what he thought. He said he wanted a cup of coffee and he'd buy.

After we sat down in the breakroom, Doctor Michaels looked at me and frowned.

"I don't think he's your killer, but he is probably guilty of abuse. He doesn't have a very high opinion of his wife and I imagine that comes from some experience in his childhood. Do you know what his mother was like?"

I told Dr. Michaels about what Rochelle suspected about Rhonda sleeping with another man and that it was entirely possible William was the result. I said Rochelle figured that turned William against both his mother and father. Dr. Michaels nodded.

"Most boys love their mothers, but if he found out he wasn't his father's child, that might have turned him against her. Mothers aren't supposed to do things like that.

"Most fathers assume a position of authority in the family and pass that trait on to their sons. William might have seen the fact that his mother slept with another man as defiance of that authority. That could make him hate his mother, probably not enough to kill her, but he wouldn't have respected her much and that might have carried over into his opinion of women in general.

"As for William killing his father, I doubt he did. He probably didn't like his father because of what you said about the strict discipline when William was growing up, but he probably knew other boys growing up who's fathers wouldn't let them do what they wanted to do. He would just have assumed that was the way most fathers treated their sons and if he knew he wasn't actually his father's son, that could explain the harsher discipline he received. William would have attributed his father's actions to his mother's infidelity and felt sorry for him as well as hating him.

"It's also likely the father abused the mother in one way or another. William would have tried to be more like his father and his abuse of his wife was just him trying to be the same man his father was. That's just conjecture though. I'd have to talk with him in order to get deep enough into his personality to know for sure. It's probably so deep William doesn't understand why he is like he is."

I told Dr. Michaels that William had told Harry that he and Samantha didn't get along very well. He said that was probably for the same reason. His distrust of his mother had caused him to not trust any woman, even his own sister.

It was six by then, and I'd just gotten back to my desk when one of the officers in holding called me.

"The McCabe guy and his lawyer want to talk to you. You got time or should I tell them you'll be back tomorrow?"

I didn't really need for William to sit in holding all night. I figured I had his sister anytime I wanted to pick her up. What I didn't have was a reason to bring her back to Knoxville to talk to her. What I wanted from William was that reason, and I hoped he was ready to give it to me. Intended to give him a little push to help him along.

After he, his public defender, and I sat down in the interrogation room, I reminded William of his Miranda rights and then said I was going to charge him with the first degree murder of his parents in 1992. William started to say something, but the public defender stopped him.

"William, don't say anything unless I tell you it's OK, OK?"

Then he turned back to me.

"I assume you have the evidence to back up the charges. If so, it's Mr. McCabe's right to have his attorney to see that evidence. If you can't produce it, we're done here. You need to release Mr. McCabe and let him go home."

I smiled.

"Well, I can still hold him without the evidence for the murder charge because of the evidence I have for the domestic abuse charge, so I'll be keeping him in a cell until he's arraigned. If the judge wants to, he can release William on bail after he's arraigned.

"I'll have the evidence for the murder charge by the time he's arraigned for the abuse charge and if he tells me what I want to know and I believe it, I won't charge him with murder. Maybe he told you, but I don't think he was the murderer. Right now though, he's the only one with a motive and an opportunity and based upon both, I can charge him.

"I think he knows who the murderer is. That's what I want him to tell me. If he does, I can still charge him with obstruction because he didn't come clean back in 1992, but so much time has elapsed, I don't think a judge is going to sentence him to any prison time."

I looked at William then.

"William, you ready to tell me what I want to know or would you rather take the heat for the person who killed your parents?"

The public defender asked if I'd give them some time alone, so I picked up my file and left for the viewing room. At about seven, the public defender looked up at the one-way glass and waved his arm. I walked back into the interrogation room.

The public defender cleared his throat.

"What are you offering if Mr. McCabe tells you what you want to know?"

I shrugged.

"I already told you. Unless he's deeper into this than I think, I'll only charge him with obstruction. If his involvement goes deeper, I might have to go as high as aiding and abetting, but as old as the case is and since William hasn't been in trouble since then, well, except for the domestic abuse charge, a judge will probably sentence him to a year or two and then set aside the sentence. He'll have a criminal record, but won't serve any jail time unless he's found guilty of domestic abuse as well."