Death Trap (19 page)

31

For the Alabama Dance Academy the annual recital is one of those yearly events signaling the unofficial start of summer. All the bliss of hot days in the pool, walking along the beach, a day in the park, as well as barbeques and family picnics, is right around the corner. Soon schools will pop their doors open and unleash the children. They’ll turn giddy and bored and begin to look for things to do. For the dance studios all of this summer folly begins on recital day. It is a time when little girls and boys dress up in their colorful patent leather costumes, down feathers, silk scarves, spandex pants, then take to the stage for that one day when the spotlight is all theirs. They two-step and tap, do hip-hop and ballet. They smile until their blushed cheeks hurt. Mothers busy themselves backstage making sure every seam is pressed, every hair in place, every dance routine remembered. The culmination of ten months of rehearsals.

Over in one (long) afternoon.

And so it was in late June 1999 that nine-year-old Samantha Bates found herself inside the historic Alabama Theatre, backstage. She was there to take part in the Alabama Dance Academy’s “Evening of Dance,” waiting for her chance to enter stage right and perform a routine she had practiced since the start of the school year. Standing in line next to Sam was her dance instructor. Sam had been taking classes since 1996, McKenna having joined in 1998. Sam could feel the excitement in the room. Raw nerves. The anxious butterflies flapping their wings inside the tummies of all the girls and boys.

The lights.

The music.

Grandparents.

Moms.

Dads.

Friends.

Everyone there to cheer on their favorite dancer.

“Miss Pamela,” Sam said to her instructor, Pamela Merkel Sayle, tugging at her blouse, “can you say hello to my daddy for me?”

Alan felt at home inside the theater, having worked in the building now for years. As part of a deal he had made with Pamela Sayle, Alan took care of the recital’s technical details. Although he was working, Alan had that proud smile only the father of a little dancer can muster. He was going to watch his little girl perform today, and Jessica was not going to be able to stop him or interfere.

Alleluia.

Kneeling down eye level with Sam, Pamela pointed to Alan. “Well, Sam, he’s right over there. You can get out of line and go say [hello] yourself.”

The well-liked dance instructor smiled. What was the big deal?

Sam stared at the floor. Paused. Then, “But I can’t, Miss Pamela. My mommy said I was not allowed to speak with my daddy.”

Little Samantha couldn’t help herself. Like her sister, she loved her father. She was a child—like millions—caught in the whirlwind swirling amid the selfishness some parents harbor when battling over issues that have little to do with the children’s well-being and everything to do with getting back at a spouse because of some deep-seated resentment. It’s pure torture on kids. Yet so few parents are able to see beyond the self-centered ideology of themselves. Where the kids were concerned, Jessica created every possible difficulty she could for Alan. It was as if the court did not exist. Jessica believed she could do whatever she wanted and she would not have to answer for it.

To anyone.

Standing so close to her father as he worked backstage, Alan glowing and beaming, having not seen him for some time, Sam decided to walk over and pay her pop a visit.

Alan smiled when he saw his little girl coming toward him. Held out his arms.

Still under her mother’s spell, however, Sam was true to her keeper: she hugged Alan, but then got back into line with the other dancers—this, mind you, without speaking one word to her father.

Pamela Sayle was surprised. She hadn’t realized things had spiraled so out of control—that the communication between Jessica and Alan had broken down so badly. Indeed, many later said that Jessica warned Sam and McKenna not to speak to their father. Under no circumstances were the kids to exchange words with Alan—unless, of course, Jessica gave the order. Pamela Sayle knew Jessica and Alan were having problems. It was not uncommon for Jessica to show up at Sayle’s dance studio and announce to the instructor and her aides that they were not to allow Alan to pick up the kids from dance.

He was never to take them.

Court orders.

It was a lie. But no one questioned Jessica—why would they?

But now, Jessica wasn’t allowing the kids to even speak to their father.

One evening, Pam recalled, when Jessica picked up Sam and McKenna at the Alabama Dance Academy, she babbled about her (supposed) latest dilemma with Alan. It was right after Alan and Terra hooked up. Alan informed Jessica he was taking the visitation situation to family court to get things settled. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but Jessica had forced his hand.

Jessica was incensed at the notion that she could lose custody of her kids. As far as she could tell, Alan’s plan all along was to get sole custody and take the kids away from her.

And that, she decided, was never going to happen.

“What’s wrong?” Pamela asked Jessica, noticing how on edge she seemed. Pam was curious why Jessica was so irritated.

A smirk flashed across Jessica’s face—that Joker-like grimace Jessica could call up in a moment’s notice, the one that screamed revenge. She was up to something.

“I’ll take the girls to Florida,” Jessica snapped back at Pamela, “if he
ever
tries to get them!”

Knowing Alan was involved in a long-term relationship with Terra, and might marry her one day, Jessica needed to act. She was a single mom. Alan was working on creating stability, which Jessica knew the courts would look at favorably.

 

 

One other time, Pam later testified, some weeks after that first incident, Jessica was in a rage over Alan and his desire to take her to court. The court had set a trial date and Pre-Trial Order for September 14, 1999. The judge had asked each party to file “a list of all [their] personal and/or real property,” among other actions. This grated on Jessica’s unstable temperament. She hated the idea of being told what to do. The court even “encouraged professional counseling” to rectify the issues of visitation and child custody. After all, it could only help. A trial was going to turn things nastier.

Apparently, however, Jessica had a new plan.

Pam asked if everything was all right.

“If he ever tries to get the girls,” Jessica said, helping one of the kids put on her jacket, “he’ll regret it.”

 

 

Jessica was not going to allow her ex-husband to have his way. Nor was she going to permit another woman, especially someone she saw as prissy and prudish, to step into her role as the mother of her children. Just wasn’t going to happen. In her mind Jessica was undoubtedly prepared to do everything in her power to see that Alan and Terra never got custody of the kids. Thus, the situation—a war Jessica had waged—wasn’t about Alan not seeing the children anymore.

It was about winning.

Beating Alan.

Alan’s plan, up to this point, had never involved taking legal full-time custody of his kids. Jessica was telling people this—one could only assume—to draw sympathy and make Alan out to be an aggressive, uncaring monster. Alan was known as the proverbial “peacemaker” in his family. Many of his friends agreed with this. Alan never once vocalized a desire to take the kids away from their mother—even when Jessica was at her worst. To the contrary, Alan was all for the kids staying with Jessica. Providing, that is, she could raise them in a way he saw fit. Part of that upbringing needed to include Jessica fulfilling her end of the divorce decree regarding visitation.

From old friends and family, Alan got word that Jessica routinely dropped the kids off at the houses of friends and family (her mother included) and took off for an indeterminate amount of time. Jessica pushed the responsibility of raising their kids, it seemed, on everyone else but Alan. This made it clear to Alan she was punishing him. No other reason. She wanted to hurt him.

“Alan just wanted to see his children,” Robert Bates later explained. “But she kept shoving him back.”

 

 

Alan and Terra planned to get married at the end of June 1999. They talked about having the wedding on the stage of the Alabama Theatre, a building they had grown to love throughout the years of their relationship. Invitations were printed. The caterer hired. Flowers purchased. Limos. Gowns. Little wedding favors picked out.

But Jessica wasn’t about to let Alan go through with it. If Alan got married, what would a judge say about his situation? Alan would have that lock on stability first. Terra would be the kids’ stepmother. Both Alan and Terra had clean records, something Jessica couldn’t claim. Jessica feared the worst. So she kept the girls away from Alan the week leading up to the wedding.

No one could find them.

“No kids, no wedding,” Alan said.

Terra had no trouble with the decision. She understood. There was no way she was about to marry Alan without his kids being part of the ceremony.

“Instead of going through with the wedding,” Kevin Bates later said, “Alan and Terra decided to postpone it. They weren’t about to get married without the girls present. Whether or not Jessica was responsible for keeping the kids away, Alan knew it would send the wrong message to them.”

 

 

Some weeks later, as the subject of when to reschedule the wedding came up, something else happened. The last year and more had taken its toll on Alan. He was ready to give up. He felt there was no way he could drag another human being—suffice it to say, a woman he loved deeply—into such a mess.

It wasn’t fair.

Terra hadn’t been feeling herself lately. She was tired a lot. It turned out to be Crohn’s disease, a debilitating disorder that causes inflammation of the digestive tract, as well as a host of other symptoms that make life uncomfortable at best, miserable at worst: frequent abdominal cramps, dry skin, joint pain, stress.

She flew to Iowa to work on a special project one weekend. Alan met Terra at the Birmingham Airport a few days later. He looked glum, Terra noticed as she walked into the terminal. Alan had his head down. Seemed preoccupied. Not himself. Terra knew him well enough by this point. His demeanor. It was different. Something was going on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Alan, what is it? I know you.”

“I don’t know that I’m—I’m”—Alan had a hard time getting it out—“ready to get married.”

There it was: out in the open like an exposed secret. She’d asked for it.

Terra was astounded. Hurt. She didn’t know what to say.

She called her father later that night and told him the story.

Tom Klugh loved hearing from his only daughter. They had weekly talks. Tom thought only the best of Alan. Knew he was the perfect husband for his daughter. Terra expressed how happy she was with Alan, and how much she loved his kids.

Terra explained how she felt about this latest incident. Every detail.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Tom responded when she was finished talking. “What can I do to help?”

“That is going to be it.”

Tom didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“Alan and me. I think I’m done.”

Terra didn’t have the energy to go back and forth with Alan on a relationship seesaw: seeing him, not seeing him; getting married, not getting married. It wasn’t her. Terra was all about yes or no. She didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want to be with her.

Not a week later, Tom talked to Terra again and things seemed better.

“I think I’m going to give him another chance,” she said. “I really love him, Dad. If it can work out, I want it to.”

It wasn’t that Alan didn’t want to marry Terra—his decision had nothing to do with love. Nor was it a reflection of Terra’s character. Alan adored Terra more than any woman he had ever met or dated. They were perfect together. Alan felt torn that his ex-wife was torturing their lives. Day in and day out. Jessica ran their emotions. Now she had gone and destroyed their wedding day. What else was she capable of doing? What else would she do? Alan didn’t want to drag such a sweet person as Terra into the chaos of his life dealing with Jessica. Terra had endured it long enough already. Didn’t matter what Terra said. That unconditional love she showered on Alan and the kids was something Alan did not want to take advantage of. Enough was enough. Jessica wasn’t going to hurt anybody else.

On the flip side of Alan’s decision was the notion that he did not want to play into Jessica’s hand. If Alan and Terra went forward with their wedding—without the children—Jessica could turn around, take the kids aside and make a case:
See, Daddy
doesn’t
love you. . . . He went and got married
without
you.
Alan knew Jessica pounced on any opportunity to bad-mouth him. He understood that Jessica was filling the kids with this sort of rhetoric, anyway, telling them he had run off with Terra and was creating a new life without them, that he really didn’t care anymore. Saying it was his fault they never saw him, not hers. Why give the woman more ammunition?

So Terra and Alan talked it through and agreed to wait. It had been four years since they met. What was another month, or two, or even three?

32

The idea that Jeff and Jessica were on the run during the week of February 20, 2002, was the result of circumstance. Because they had not returned to Jessica’s mother’s house, or to their own home, it appeared they were running. When, in fact, the couple was just trying to avoid what was turning into unneeded attention swelling around them in relation to the deaths of Alan and Terra Bates.

As it turned out, Jeff and Jessica could not afford high-profile attorney David Cromwell Johnson. They had little money. Hardly any assets. And Johnson’s fee was pricey for two people not working.

Still, Johnson told the press that “the police know where the McCords are staying.”

No one else did, however.

Johnson’s prudent advice was made clear in an article written by Carol Robinson that day. “They’re just trying to get away for a while,” the attorney commented, “and I think they should.”

With all that was happening around her, faced with a situation she knew to be the result of her own behavior, there was something about Jessica that automatically switched into “how do I get out of this?” mode. Or, more pointedly: “how can I spin this to my favor?”

Take your pick.

When Jessica checked into the hospital to give birth to McKenna in November 1992, she claimed to have almost died. According to one source, Jessica said the hospital had failed to give her an epidural
and
she nearly bled to death. Upon visiting her in the hospital, the source couldn’t believe the stories coming out of Jessica’s mouth regarding the treatment she had received while in the hospital.

As her friend Candice (pseudonym) sat with Jessica a day after the birth, Jessica carried on about the hospital staff and how bad the service and medical treatment was during her short stay. The staff was brutal, she reported. She had suffered every moment while being in the place.

Jessica is going somewhere with this,
Candice thought as she sat and listened.

“I need to use the restroom,” Candice said at one point. She had sat for a while, listening to Jessica’s diatribe. It was time to step away from her and catch her breath.

“You can’t use the bathroom,” Jessica said from bed. “Don’t go in there.”

Curious because of the way Jessica had phrased her words, Candice walked over and pushed the restroom door open.

“When I got there,” Candice told me later, “the bathroom floor . . . was covered in blood. I was physically ill from this.”

Looking back at the scene, going over those complaints from Jessica, knowing what Jessica had said about suing the hospital, Candice realized Jessica “was only doing all of this so she didn’t have to pay for the hospital bill.”

On Wednesday night, February 20, 2002, Jessica had a major problem to confront. She and Jeff were holed up at a friend’s house in Alabaster, Alabama, twenty minutes south of Birmingham. Jessica had grown up with the guy. He was a friend of the family.

The HPD had a source inside Jessica’s assembly of family and friends calling in the McCords’ status whenever possible. This person was close to the action. No sooner had Jeff and Jessica shown up in Alabaster than the HPD got a call.

The HPD and Roger Brown had been waiting on word from ballistics for a match to the bullet found in the McCords’ garage against the bullet found in the trunk of Alan’s rental car. By late Wednesday night, that report had finally come in.

Arrest warrants for Jeff and Jessica were issued immediately afterward.

At some point Detective Laura Brignac telephoned Naomi, who was taken aback by the accusations surrounding her friend. She had been reading about Jessica in the newspapers. The possibility that Jessica was involved did not override the fact that Alan and his wife (two people Naomi knew and liked very much) were dead. Still, hearing the news, Naomi was now certain Jessica was somehow responsible.

Naomi had been trying to find Jessica for several days. She had given a statement to the Bureau and HPD, inviting them into her home so they could record any phone calls from Jessica. Investigators let Naomi know they were looking for a particular friend of Jessica’s in Alabaster, a guy Naomi and her husband had also gone to high school with and knew fairly well. Naomi called the guy and left several messages, asking him to phone the HPD immediately.

He never did.

“Naomi, can we bring Jessica’s children by . . . ?” Detective Laura Brignac called and asked that night. The kids were being driven back from Florida, and the HPD needed a friend of the family to look after them while they found grief counselors. There was an indication that Randy Bates, who lived in Birmingham, was going to eventually take the kids and drive them to Georgia.

Naomi said no problem.

That night came and went, and the HPD never showed up with the kids.

The next morning, while Naomi was at work, Jessica called. “You believe that I did this?” Jessica asked pointedly. She needed to know.

Naomi paused. She didn’t want to get into it. Not at work. She couldn’t record the call, anyway. What if Jessica admitted something important or incriminated herself?

“I would hope you didn’t do it, Jess,” Naomi said.

“Listen, I need you to put your house up for me for my bond and my legal fees if I am arrested.”

There was no pause this time. “I cannot do that, Jess. I already have a second mortgage—”

Jessica interrupted. Said she didn’t care. “Just do it.”

“I can’t get any more money out of this house. It’s just not possible.”

Jessica turned irrational, Naomi later said. (“She just wasn’t getting it.”) She did not want to take no for an answer. She did not care about banks and equity and mortgages. Jessica McCord wanted what she wanted—and that was that.

“Are you okay?” Naomi asked, changing the subject.

“I’m mad. . . . I didn’t do it!”

Naomi had no idea how to play this. But at some point she decided that she wasn’t going to sugarcoat the situation any longer. Enough of playing along like everything was okay and she believed in her friend. Time to expose the elephant in the room.

“Jess, how do you expect me to believe
any
of this when you and I, we had that conversation last week?”

 

 

Naomi sat at her desk, waiting for a reply, thinking about what Jessica had told her just about a week prior. It was near Valentine’s Day. Naomi called Jessica. “Jess, I need help with this project of mine. Can you do it?” One of Naomi’s kids had to say ten words in Spanish. Naomi knew Jessica and Jeff were somewhat fluent in the language. She figured they could help.

“Look,” Jessica said, “we’re all asleep right now. Can I call you back?”

Naomi took the phone away from her ear:
Asleep?
It was six o’clock in the evening.
What in the hell are they all doing sleeping now?

Naomi went back to cooking dinner. She wondered what in the world was going on with her friend.

Jessica called back later that night. “Ready?”

After Jessica helped the kid with his homework, Naomi got on the phone and started to talk about things.

“I know you mentioned you had a deposition coming up, Jess. When is it?”

“This Friday.”

“Okay . . . so, how are you thinking things are going to go?”

“I’m really concerned about it. Alan’s really pushing for custody.” This was a different Jessica. She sounded more worried than angry. There was genuine concern in her voice. Perhaps even dread. Definitely defeat. “He’s flying in and then he’s going to have visitation with the kids as well.”

“Oh,” Naomi said. “That’s good. He should see the kids.”

But then the conversation took on a different course. Jessica went from being distant and cerebral, almost sympathetic, to vengeful. She needed to do something. There was no way she could sit back and let Alan beat her.

“We’re going to set him up,” Jessica said.

“Alan?” Naomi asked. She was shocked. Confused. Such a strange comment. What did Jessica mean by “set him up”? “What are you talking about?”

“Domestic violence . . . we’re going to set Alan up for domestic violence charges.”

It was clear that Jessica and Jeff had devised some sort of a plan to entice Alan into hitting her or doing something irrational to get himself in trouble. The ignorance was incredible. To think Jessica had been married to the man all those years. There was no way Alan would engage in violence with his ex-wife. He’d had several opportunities to strike back at Jessica while she hit, yelled or pushed him down the stairs and broke his arm. He had never so much as raised a hand.

“Why are you gonna do that, Jess?”

“I need to. My case is not going good.”

“Come on.”

“He’s going to get custody!”

In the midst of cooking dinner, helping her own kids with their homework and doing what normal working mothers and housewives do every weeknight, Naomi thought,
Oh great! This darn story again.
She had heard it all from Jessica before.
“I’m gonna get Alan,” etc.
It was common speak whenever Jessica mentioned Alan in the same breath as the child custody matter.

“What are you going to do if Kelley walks up while this is happening?” Naomi asked. She was worried if Jessica lured, provoked and plied Alan with enough hurtful words, he might finally snap and do something to Jessica. And if that went down, Jeff and Alan could get into a fight. Naomi mentioned later that she was privy to only Jessica’s side of the story—that Jessica had built Alan up into a bully, a deadbeat dad who was capable of doing something like this. So it was easier for Naomi to fall for Jessica’s lies. Jessica had manipulated her children’s god parents as well as everyone else. Yet, Naomi made a point to say later, “I never believed Alan would ever hurt Jessica.”

“Oh,” Jessica said, “Kelley’ll just kill him.”

Hearing this, Naomi obviously had no idea Jessica actually meant it.
This is a whole bunch of hooey . . . how many times have I heard this before?
Naomi thought after Jessica said it.

“I gotta go, Jess. I cannot listen to this.”

It was old hat. Naomi had heard Jessica’s threats too many times to take her at her word. “So much so,” Naomi said later, quite remorsefully, “that I didn’t even mention it to my husband that night.”

 

 

After Naomi brought up that “Kelley’ll just kill him” conversation, Jessica said, “That’s funny . . . you’re the only one who doesn’t believe me.” She sounded as if she was disappointed in her friend.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Jess.” This was painful for Naomi. She didn’t want her friend to be crazy
or
a murderer. She had put her trust and faith in Jessica. She and her husband had tried helping her. Had given her advice and money and food and support. (“It sounds like we took her side in the divorce,” Naomi clarified later. “But in trying to stay out of it, we lost touch with Alan, but [we] did have contact with him over the years.”)

“I didn’t do it,” Jessica pleaded.

“It’s just that I am asking you what happened, and if you were involved,” Naomi said. She needed to know. No more lies. Fess up.

Jessica thought about it. Before hanging up, she took a deep breath. Paused. Then gave Naomi a clear warning: “Now you keep your mouth shut about our conversation.”