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  HIGHEST PRAISE FOR M. WILLIAM PHELPS

  “M. William Phelps dares to tread where few others will: into the mind of a killer.”

  —TV Rage

  “Phelps is the king of true crime.”

  —Lynda Hirsch, Creators Syndicate

  “Phelps treads dangerous ground like an Amazon jungle guide—fearless, compassionate, insightful.”

  —Geoff Fitzpatrick, Executive Producer of Dark Minds

  THE KILLING KIND

  “In this true crime book, Phelps focuses on unrepentant killer Danny Hembree . . . [who] seizes the chance to take center stage with lurid confessions of a decades-long career of violent robbery, assault, rape, and murder.... Fans of the author’s Discovery TV series, Dark Minds, will be rewarded.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Phelps presents in-depth research and interviews that allow for vivid descriptions of characters and events.... Fans of true crime, forensics, and serial killer activities will all find something of interest here.”

  —Library Journal

  OBSESSED

  “True-crime junkies will be sated by the latest thriller from Phelps, which focuses on a fatal love triangle that definitely proved to be stranger than fiction. The police work undertaken to solve the case is recounted with the right amount of detail, and readers will be rewarded with shocking television-worthy twists in a story with inherent drama.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  BAD GIRLS

  “Fascinating, gripping . . . Phelps’s sharp investigative skills and questioning mind resonate. Whether or not you agree with the author’s suspicions that an innocent is behind bars, you won’t regret going along for the ride with such an accomplished reporter.”

  —Sue Russell

  NEVER SEE THEM AGAIN

  “This riveting book examines one of the most horrific murders in recent American history.”

  —New York Post

  “Phelps clearly shows how the ugliest crimes can take place in the quietest of suburbs.”

  —Library Journal

  “Thoroughly reported . . . the book is primarily a police procedural, but it is also a tribute to the four murder victims.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  TOO YOUNG TO KILL

  “Phelps is the Harlan Coben of real-life thrillers.”

  —Allison Brennan

  LOVE HER TO DEATH

  “Reading anything by Phelps is always an eye opening experience. The characters are well researched and well written. We have murder, adultery, obsession, lies and so much more.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  “You don’t want to miss Love Her To Death by M. William Phelps, a book destined to be one of 2011’s top true crimes!”

  —True Crime Book Reviews

  “A chilling crime . . . Award-winning author Phelps goes into lustrous and painstaking detail, bringing all the players vividly to life.”

  —Crime Magazine

  KILL FOR ME

  “Phelps gets into the blood and guts of the story.”

  —Gregg Olsen, New York Times best-selling author of Fear Collector

  “Phelps infuses his investigative journalism with plenty of energized descriptions.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  DEATH TRAP

  “A chilling tale of a sociopathic wife and mother . . . A compelling journey from the inside of this woman’s mind to final justice in a court of law. For three days I did little else but read this book.”

  —Harry N. MacLean, New York Times best-selling author of In Broad Daylight

  I’LL BE WATCHING YOU

  “Phelps has an unrelenting sense for detail that affirms his place, book by book, as one of our most engaging crime journalists.”

  —Katherine Ramsland

  IF LOOKS COULD KILL

  “M. William Phelps, one of America’s finest true-crime writers, has written a compelling and gripping book about an intriguing murder mystery. Readers of this genre will thoroughly enjoy this book.”

  —Vincent Bugliosi

  “Starts quickly and doesn’t slow down.... Phelps consistently ratchets up the dramatic tension, hooking readers. His thorough research and interviews give the book complexity, richness of character, and urgency.”

  —Stephen Singular

  MURDER IN THE HEARTLAND

  “Drawing on interviews with law officers and relatives, the author has done significant research. His facile writing pulls the reader along.”

  —St. Louis Post-Dispatch

  “Phelps expertly reminds us that when the darkest form of evil invades the quiet and safe outposts of rural America, the tragedy is greatly magnified. Get ready for some sleepless nights.”

  —Carlton Stowers

  “This is the most disturbing and moving look at murder in rural America since Capote’s In Cold Blood.”

  —Gregg Olsen

  SLEEP IN HEAVENLY PEACE

  “An exceptional book by an exceptional true crime writer. Phelps exposes long-hidden secrets and reveals disquieting truths.”

  —Kathryn Casey

  EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE

  “An insightful and fast-paced examination of the inner workings of a good cop and his bad informant, culminating in an unforgettable truth-is-stranger-than-fiction climax.”

  —Michael M. Baden, M.D.

  “M. William Phelps is the rising star of the nonfiction crime genre, and his true tales of murder are scary-as-hell thrill rides into the dark heart of the inhuman condition.”

  —Douglas Clegg

  LETHAL GUARDIAN

  “An intense roller-coaster of a crime story . . . complex, with twists and turns worthy of any great detective mystery. . . reads more like a novel than your standard non-fiction crime book.”

  —Steve Jackson

  PERFECT POISON

  “True crime at its best—compelling, gripping, an edge-of-the-seat thriller. Phelps packs wallops of delight with his skillful ability to narrate a suspenseful story.”

  —Harvey Rachlin

  “A compelling account of terror . . . The author dedicates himself to unmasking the psychopath with facts, insight and the other proven methods of journalistic leg work.”

  —Lowell Cauffiel

  Also By M. William Phelps

  Perfect Poison

  Lethal Guardian

  Every Move You Make

  Sleep in Heavenly Peace

  Murder in the Heartland

  Because You Loved Me

  If Looks Could Kill

  I’ll Be Watching You

  Deadly Secrets

  Cruel Death

  Death Trap

  Kill For Me

  Love Her to Death

  Too Young to Kill

  Never See Them Again

  Kiss of the She-Devil

  Bad Girls

  Obsessed

  The Killing Kind

  She Survived: Melissa (e-book)

  She Survived: Jane (e-book)

  I’d Kill For You

  To Love and To Kill

  One Breath Away

  If You Only Knew

  DON’T TELL A SOUL

  M. WILLIAM PHELPS

  PINNACLE BOOKS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  HIGHEST PRAISE FOR M. WILLIAM PHELPS

  Also By M. William Phelps

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8
/>   9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  PART TWO

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  PART THREE

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  PART FOUR

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

  68

  69

  70

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DANGEROUS GROUND

  Notes

  Some names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals connected to this story.

  PINNACLE BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by M. William Phelps

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Pinnacle and the P logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-0-7860-3726-1

  First Kensington Mass Market Edition: March 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3727-8

  eISBN-10: 0-7860-3727-X

  Kensington Electronic Edition: March 2017

  For My Readers . . .

  PART ONE

  The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground.

  And now you are cursed....

  —Genesis: 4:10–11

  1

  SHE HAD A SOUTHWESTERN CHARM that people adore: calm disposition, a Texas twang, a relaxed outlook on life, an admirable Christian manner. Since 2002, sixty-eight-year-old Rueon had been married to Gethry Walker, eighty-three years old, a man pretty much set in his ways by now. Gethry was a gentle spirit—one of those rare men that listened more than he talked. He was an old-school, churchgoing Texan who almost every day wore suspenders, dress shirt and slacks, along with a subtle, elegant tie. When Gethry did have something to say, he spoke it at the altar behind a lectern during services at the Greater Love Temple Church in Tyler, Texas.

  Both Gethry and Rueon were God-fearing people. They believed in Jesus Christ, redemption of the cross, penances paid for wrongs committed, justice, and facing demons and coming to terms with who you are under the guidance, influence and faith of God.

  On Saturday, June 19, 2010, when Gethry and Rueon had not heard from Gethry’s daughter, thirty-nine-year-old Cherry Walker, they felt something was wrong.

  Where is Cherry?

  Perhaps she had simply decided not to call. Cherry was entitled to her own life. Plus, she could be absentminded. Cherry had suffered from “learning disabilities” all her life and had just gone off to live on her own. She was almost thirty-nine, her birthday four months away. Classified as MR, “mentally retarded,” by her doctors, she’d made great progress.

  That Sunday morning (which also happened to be Father’s Day), as Gethry and Rueon got ready for church, Rueon wondered again why Cherry had not called. She would always call before church to check in or ask what time the van was coming to pick her up. But as the morning wore on, there was still no word. Almost two full days now and not a peep.

  Totally out of character for Cherry.

  Rueon fixed her hair and figured the church van, which Cherry’s brother drove, had picked her up for services and they’d meet her at Temple Love. She told Gethry not to fret. They’d go to church and run into Cherry there. No worries. Rueon could kindly scold Cherry and remind her that calling Rueon and Gethry once a day, if not every other day, was what they expected from her. They could explain to Cherry she needed to take responsibility, be done with it, and enjoy Sunday service, praising Jesus.

  Gethry and Rueon, Cherry’s stepmother, looked for Cherry as they walked into Temple Love. Cherry had her favorite seat down in the front row of pews, her name on it. But when Rueon reached the front by the altar, she looked around and Cherry was nowhere to be found.

  Rueon sought out Cherry’s brother. “Where’s your sister?”

  “I thought she was with y’all,” he said.

  “No, we thought she was coming with you.”

  Throughout that Sunday service, as anxiety turned more into a deeper concern, Rueon called Cherry at her apartment and Cherry’s cell phone number.

  “We got no response,” Rueon said later.

  If there was one thing about Cherry that Rueon and Gethry and anybody close to Cherry knew, it was that the girl did not go anywhere without two things: her money purse and cell phone. These two items were part of her, attached.

  For Rueon and Gethry it was easy to tell themselves that Cherry probably just went to church with someone else.

  “She sometimes did,” Rueon explained later.

  When Rueon and Gethry got home, Rueon called Cherry several more times, but got no response.

  “You know,” she told Gethry, “I’m going to git her.”

  Cherry had struggled, but worked hard, and she’d managed to overcome many difficulties and disabilities to carve out a life for herself with a small studio apartment across town in Tyler, not far from Rueon and Gethry’s home. She had help from an aide, who came to see her every day, but Cherry was living on her own, doing things for herself. They could think of no reason for Cherry to fail to call them for this long. It just did not make sense.

  “Call her again,” Gethry suggested.

  No answer.

  “Let’s go eat, and if we don’t hear from her by the time we’re done, then we can stop by Cherry’s apartment and check in on her,” Rueon suggested.

  Gethry nodded.

  They ate lunch and still heard no word from Cherry. Leaving the restaurant, they stopped back at home to grab the spare key to her apartment and headed out to East Houston Street in Tyler, the Citadel apartment complex.

  Rueon walked in first. She couldn’t believe it. The place was in “disarray,” which was entirely unlike Cherry, a neat freak who fixated on cleaning and cleaning supplies in an obsessive-compulsive way. She’d never, under her own will, leave her apartment with “everything” all over the place. “Her ironing board was up. . . . Her bed was unmade . . . and things were just kind of scatter-y,” one source later recalled.

  “This is not Cherry, ain’t it, Gethry?”

  “Sure ain’t,” he said.

  In addition, Cherry would have never walked out of her apartment without taking a bath, changing her clothes—all of which needed to be ironed before she’d wear them—or tidying up. Everything in her apartment had its place, and there was a place for everything. That was how Cherry lived her life.

  Structure.

  Focus.

  Detail.

  “This was the first thing I noticed,” Rueon later explained. “And you just kind of get a feeling, you know.”

  A sense. That sin
king pit in your gut. A woman’s intuition—something was off.

  Rueon looked in Cherry’s closet. In her kitchen. All over. She searched for Cherry’s cell phone or the coin purse Cherry always carried with her. Not finding either gave Rueon a bit of comfort, because there was no chance Cherry would leave the house without both of them. With both being gone, there was a bit of relief in knowing that she wasn’t whisked away in some sort of home invasion or kidnapping.

  Still, walking around the apartment, Rueon couldn’t shake the feeling: Something’s wrong.

  The comb was on the vanity counter, the mouthwash by the faucet, the spray bottle of tile cleaner on the floor by the shower, where Cherry always left it, the smiling kitty cats on the ironing board apron underneath of pair of socks waiting to be ironed, two cases of water on the floor by the wastebasket, a roll of paper towels on the kitchen table, Cherry’s favorite poster—from the horror film Shutter—taped to her wall, her velvety red chair against the wall, stacks of DVDs, mainly horror and other R-rated movies around the television, and the TV remote sitting on the bed.

  Everything in Cherry’s life was there waiting for her, but she was missing.

  Rueon didn’t see it then, but on a calendar on Cherry’s wall, two dates stuck out: June 18, the previous Friday, and the following Wednesday, June 23. On both days, in pen, somebody had written, Babysit.

  Another possibility existed, Rueon thought. One of Cherry’s closest friends or even her caseworker, Paula Wheeler, a woman who saw Cherry almost every day, may have come by and picked her up to go out to eat or to shop. Rueon had been getting on Cherry lately, in a motherly way, “Girl, you know . . . you’re [thirty-nine years old] now, and you need to grow up.”

  They had been trying to show Cherry what Rueon called “hard love,” based on the idea that Rueon and Gethry could not be with Cherry forever—she’d need to spread her wings and go off on her own. Was this Cherry doing that very thing, going it alone? Had she taken Rueon’s advice?

  There was another side of Cherry, however. Her collection of DVDs. She liked to watch horror films such as Saw, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and her favorite, Paranormal Activity. Yet she played with children’s toys and could not read or write much more than her name and a few numbers and letters. She was very much a child in an adult’s body.