Every Move You Make. M. William Phelps
91
CHAPTER 92
CHAPTER 93
CHAPTER 94
CHAPTER 95
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FOREWORD
This incredible true story, which, in my opinion, includes the most shocking and surprising ending in the history of true crime, begins and ends at a section of the Hudson River near downtown Troy, New York. Because the Hudson, called “the River of Steep Hills” when adventurer and explorer Henry Hudson discovered it in 1609, plays such a figurative role in this story—as if it, too, is a character—I feel obligated to give you, the reader, a brief description of the river, the towns and cities along its banks where the book takes place, and the surge of crime that has infected the region throughout the years.
Considering the role the river plays in this story, in a twist of irony only nature could invoke, the Hudson—315 miles of stunning waterway that empties into the Atlantic Ocean at the southern tip of Manhattan—is fed by Lake Tear of the Clouds, a body of water about the size of a football field, shaped like a teardrop, in the Adirondack Mountains. As one travels north from Manhattan along the Hudson’s banks and into upstate New York, there are areas littered with debris: pieces of old Styrofoam cups that take decades, if not centuries, to decompose; beer bottles without labels floating aimlessly; used condoms; bits of newspapers and magazines; driftwood; and just about anything else the river decides to consume, or people discard inconsiderately. Along certain sections of the river, large, boulderlike rocks, sharp and jagged to the touch, are grouped together like swarms of gnats, the water crashing off them as high and low tides rise and fall against the ebb and flow of the moon. The sand along the shore is like clay: gritty, the color of coffee. The water, in some areas, is as clear as cellophane straight down to the bottom, the pebbles and rocks on the river floor staring up at you; while in others, it is as murky as melted milk chocolate. In recent years, polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs) have been the hot topic of debate when communities along the river get together and talk about dredging the bottom to clean it up. Some say it will only stir up tons of poisons collected throughout the years, while others argue it is essential to the ecology and survival of the river’s two hundred different species of fish.
Located 138 miles north of New York City and 144 miles west of Boston, Massachusetts, the city of Albany is not only the capital of New York, but the crossroads of the Northeast. Described as the “humblest city in the state,” always taking a backseat to its more popular sibling, New York City, this industrial town of about 130,000 residents sits thirty feet above sea level, with the hum, serenity and mirrorlike reflection of the sky bouncing off the Hudson on its doorstep.
Shortly after World War II, Albany, the unassuming hub of New York’s government, enjoyed its most populated era with about 140,000 residents. That number has declined some over the years as people have moved outward into the suburbs of the “Capital District”—Rensselaer County, Saratoga County, Schenectady County—which is about eight hundred thousand people strong today.
Metropolitan areas around the Capital Region include four central cities—Albany, Schenectady, Troy and Saratoga Springs—and are surrounded by dozens of suburban and rural communities. Interestingly, Chester A. Arthur, the twenty-first president of the United States, is buried in Albany. Up the road from Arthur’s grave is the burial site of Erastus Corning, who sat in the Albany mayor’s chair for an unprecedented forty-one years. William Kennedy, the acclaimed novelist, whose most esteemed books include Ironweed, Billy Phelan’s Greatest Game and Legs—“the Albany trio”—writes of a fictional Albany, dark and unfashionable, during the hardscrabble Depression-era times of the late ’30s when the city was brimming with thieves, mobsters, union busters and murderers. In the popular film Ironweed, actor Jack Nicholson plays Francis Phelan, perhaps Kennedy’s most famous creation. Phelan is a drunkard, an ex–baseball player turned gravedigger who bounces around Albany with his drinking partner, Helen, trying to figure out where he fits into society.
Like a majority of its surrounding counties, Albany County has its lion’s share of crime to contend with, and has, historically, been marred by the highest crime rates in the north country. Between 1996 and 2000, for example, the county reported some fifty murders, which is rather low considering the population boom in the county during that same period. Rape is a crime that is hard to track because the numbers fluctuate so much from year to year—sixty-four rapes were reported in 1996, while, just a year later, the numbers doubled. By far, however, the most popular crimes in Albany County have always been burglary, robbery and aggravated assault. During that same five-year period—1996–2000—there were nearly 2,500 robberies and 4,000 reports of aggravated assault—staggering numbers by any count.
Under New York State penal code, robbery is the “forcible taking” of someone’s possessions and/or cash—a convenience store or bank holdup, for instance. Also under the robbery code is “taking from a person forcibly”—walking up to someone on the street, perhaps, and demanding their money or possessions.
Burglary falls under three different degrees. Third degree is “unlawfully entering a building and committing a crime therein.” Second degree is entering a “dwelling.” First degree involves breaking and entering someone’s residence and forcibly taking a “person or thing.”
This story is about one of the Northeast’s most prolific burglars—whom authorities later found was also a serial murderer—and the cop who pursued (and befriended) him for thirteen years. Nothing in this book has been made up; every bit of dialogue, every circumstance and thought, and every single fact in this book is real. I conducted over 150 hours’ worth of interviews, studied thousands of pages of public records and had access to nearly one hundred letters written by Gary Charles Evans. That research, plus the scores of other documents, court records and interviews I used, have convinced me that this true-crime story is the most incredible you will likely ever read. There are events in this book that may be hard to believe; but trust me, everything in this book actually happened.
—M. William Phelps
March 2005
CHAPTER 1
What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think…. You will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance (1841)
Friday, October 3, 1997, had been a hectic day for Caroline Parker*, an unassuming, moderately attractive thirty-seven-year-old wife and mother of three. The following afternoon, at four o’clock, Caroline’s sister was getting married. In what had been planned as a rather large family event through months of preparation, Caroline had a list of errands for her husband of almost four years, Tim Rysedorph, to run after he got off work.
For starters, Tim needed a haircut. Then he was supposed to get the family car washed, stop to buy a new suit and drop by Sam’s Club to pick up a few last-minute items for the reception.
Tim had left work at noon; by 3:30 P.M. Caroline was seething with anxiety because she hadn’t heard from him yet.
When it came down to it, Caroline really didn’t have any reason to fuss. Whenever she needed help, she turned to Tim, who had turned thirty-nine back on June 2, and whatever it was she needed, Tim was usually right on top of it. Anyone who knew him, in fact, later recalled how he would go out of his way for Caroline whenever she snapped her fingers.
Tim met Caroline on June 21, 1983. A mutual friend, Michael Falco, who lived in the same Troy, New York, neighborhood where they had all grown up, introduced them. Caroline was in the process of going through a divorce. Tim, who had been living in a New Jersey hotel shortly before he’d moved back to Troy, shared an apartment in town with his boyhood friend Falco and another old friend of theirs, Gary