Stella Sands - The Good Son: A True Story of Greed, Manipulation, and Cold-Blooded Murder

For Sass, always.

Acknowledgments

I was indeed privileged to have had many generous and knowledgeable people willing to help me with this book. Attorneys first. I would like to thank Larry M. Moore, David Pearson, Bob Ford, Tim Moore, and Ray Hall, Jr., for supplying me with legal information, background, and personal beliefs about the case. For sharing insights and facts, I would like to thank Detective Ralph Standefer.

For opening my eyes to the case and for her constant support, I would like to thank my dear friend Jennifer Dixon; for being a source of comfort and encouragement, a thank you to Marjorie Frank; and for her insightful comments on the manuscript, a deep dept of gratitude to Margaret Mittelbach.

Heartfelt thank yous to my agent, Giles Anderson; to my discerning, funny, and always right-on editor at St. Martins, Allison Caplin Strobel; to Charlie Spicer for giving me another wonderful opportunity to write for St. Martins; and to copy-editor Katherine Pradt, who made certain that no participle dangled.

And as always, Id like to say a special thank you to Jess and AF, for always being there.

Contents

Chapter One

Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Tis the season to be jolly

Suzy Wamsley hummed along to her favorite holiday tune as she put the finishing touches on her familys sparkling Christmas tree. The Christmas season was always a jolly time for the Wamsleys. Their homea sprawling two-story mansion in the Walnut Estates neighborhood of Mansfield, Texas, just south of Arlingtonwas a veritable Santas workshop. In truth, the house at 820 Turnberry Drive seemed to have been constructed with Christmas lights in mindthe eaves purposely built to display the hundreds of twinkling white lights that Rick Wamsley painstakingly hung each year; the fireplace expressly fashioned to show off the colorful Christmas stockings; the front lawn perfectly suited to the Santa and sleigh that were brightly lit by a spotlight in the flowerbeds.

Rick and Suzy, both 46 years of age, had spent the day basking in the holiday spirit. Although it was only December 10, they always gave themselves plenty of time to get things just right. Neither wanted the headache of rushing around in the last few days before Christmas. With the tree meticulously decorated, presents beautifully wrapped, and trayloads of cookies baked and placed in the freezer, the couple took a moment to stand back and admire their work. Everything looked festive and cheery. After moving tinsel from one branch to another and rearranging some of the glittering ornaments, Suzy remembered that the brownies she had been baking especially for her son Andrew were ready to come out of the oven, and she dashed to the kitchen. Rick stayed in the living room and repositioned the presents for their children, Andrew and Sarah, and their beloved granddaughter, Brittany.

When everything was exactly as it should be, the couple headed for bedexhausted. In just a few days, their neighbors the Clarkes and the Leggs would be coming over for their traditional holiday get-together to exchange gifts, enjoy a scrumptious meal, and toast another year of good health and good cheer. This year, it was the Wamsleys turn to host the party, and Suzy and Rick wanted to make sure that they maintained their five-star rating as fabulous hosts. Then, just a few days after the get-together with the neighbors, the extended Wamsley family would converge on 820 Turnberry to celebrate the holiday, as they did every year. Life was good. Sweet dreams would surely flow easily. It was just before midnight.

Rick and Suzy got undressed and slipped into their king-size bed in the first-floor master bedroom. Rick fell right to sleep. But Suzy was restless. Instead of waking her husband, she shuffled sleepily into the living room, turned on the TV, and stretched out on the plush sofa. Wearing her usual bedtime garbjust a T-shirt and pantiesand with a warm blanket pulled up tight to her chin, Suzy eventually fell into a deep sleep.

Sing we joyous, all together
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Heedless of the wind and weather
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

* * *

At 3 a.m., a car inched along the deserted streets of Walnut Estates and turned onto Turnberry Drive. The vehicle entered the driveway at number 820, and the male driver turned off the engine. After a few moments, he got out of the car, walked through a gate on the side of the house that led to the backyard, and stealthily entered the house through a back door. Slowly and cautiously, he checked out the rooms and made mental notes of the inhabitants whereabouts. After a few minutes, he returned to the car and gave his report to the two female passengers: one male asleep in the master bedroom; one female asleep on the living room couch.

With that information, all three silently exited the car and entered the house via the same clandestine route. Inside, everything was dark and silent. They crept down a hallway, past the laundry room, and into the kitchen. The male intruder stopped there, and waved on his accomplices. The two females furtively continued into the formal dining room, where they stood stone still, backs against the wall.

You can do it, whispered one to the other.

Okay, she replied.

The sooner you do it, the faster we can go home.

Yeah.

I believe in you.

I can do it.

Do it quickly!

There was a moment of tense silence. No, I cant.

You have to. Were gonna have to do it tonight.

I cant.

Yes, you can!

No.

Yes!

Yes, I can!

Go! demanded the encouraging female as she pushed her reluctant companion around the corner and into the living room. Do it! she urged.

Stumbling into the living room where the unlit Christmas tree stood sentinel, the female stopped between a coffee table and the fireplacewithin five feet of the couch. With a gun in her gloved hand and without heeding the gifts and tinsel, she took aim, and fired. Bang! The bullet struck the sleeping woman on the left side of her head.

With adrenaline coursing through her body, the gun-wielding female continued toward the bedroom, all the time hearing the words The male is in the master bedroom and You can do it! As she got to the door, she saw the man sitting straight up, a startled expression on his face. She headed toward him, firing once, twicebut missed him both times. The man charged out of bed to tackle his assailant as she kept firing, again and again and again. Finally, she hit him directly above the right eyebrow.

But the bullet didnt stop Rick Wamsley. He lunged forward, rushed toward her, and grabbed her. The two struggled out of the bedroom and into the living room, where they ended up in a heap by the fireplace. Despite having been shot, Rick fought back. He seized his attackers hair and pulled as hard as he could. He punched her and pushed her, finally pinning her down by putting the entire weight of his body on top of hers. As they wrestled, the gun came loose from his attackers hand and lay on the rug by the hearth, a few feet away.

Hearing the sounds of this frantic struggle, the male intruder, who had been waiting in the kitchen, raced into the living room. There, he desperately tried to pull Rick Wamsley off the female shooter. But the bleeding mansummoning all his waning strengthwouldnt let go. The three struggled toward the front door. As they did, Rick managed to grab the gun. He lifted it high above his head and brought it down, bashing the male intruder in the head.