Authors Note
Like jury foreman Brad Weatherly, I approached Kevin Foster determined to view him innocent until proven guilty. Despite his conviction, Kevin and his mother insisted on his innocence. For eighteen months, Kevin and I exchanged dozens of letters and spent more than one hundred hours conversing on death row.
After confessing to the murder, Kevin asked me a favorto murder three witnesses: Burnett, Tom and Brad. I went to Randy McGruther, who arranged for Brian Kelley and other state attorneys investigators to use me as a cooperating witness.
During covert surveillance, Ruby Foster gave me a shotgun, suggested I cover the bodies with lime to prevent animals from digging them up and urged Craig also be killed. On death row, Kevin repeated his scheme while I wore a concealed wire. Mother and son reached plea agreements on new charges of conspiracy to commit first-degree murder. Ruby was released from prison in 2004.
The full story of what happened between Kevin and me would fill another book.
The Schwebes family established a scholarship to benefit students pursuing degrees in music education. To make a contribution, write Mark C. Schwebes Memorial Scholarship, Administrator, 523 East Cherokee Court, Woodstock, GA 30188.
I began reporting this story on May 1, 1996, for the News-Press in Fort Myers, Florida, standing outside Mark Schwebess duplex, wondering for just a second if his death might be related to his school andthree years before Columbinequickly dismissing the idea.
Much of the narrative of Someone Has to Die Tonight is reconstructed from about ten thousand pages of court records. The sworn statements and depositions of more than 180 witnesses, including all the boys, and the full trial transcript were primary sources.
For narrative reasons or out of respect for the privacy of individuals not charged in the LOC case, or both, I have omitted some who were present during events described here. In a few cases, I combined similar scenes into one event. Many law enforcement officers played a role in the capture and conviction of the LOC; only a handful are acknowledged.
Thanks to all at the Twentieth Judicial Circuit of Florida, Florida Department of Law Enforcement, Florida Department of Corrections, Lee County Sheriffs Office, Fort Myers Police Department, District 21 Medical Examiners Office and other agencies who helped during the research for this book.
The story took me to Alabama, Florida, Louisiana, Mississippi, Missouri and Texas. Thanks to all who assisted in those visits.
Thanks to those who talked with me about the people, places and events described here, either during the reporting for this book or when I was covering the story for the News-Press or both.
Thanks to all former colleagues at the News-Press in Fort Myers, Florida, especially Sam Cook, David Dorsey, Peter Franceschina and Bob Norman.
Thanks to Nolen-Martina Reporting Services, especially Connie DeMarsh, Gail Johns and Lisa M. Windhorst.
Thanks to the staff of the Twentieth Judicial Circuit of Floridas State Attorneys Office for your guidance, professionalism, steady demeanor and skills through the cooperating witness process.
I owe a particular debt to Brad Windsor, a former colleague at the News-Press, now at USA TODAY , for a meticulous style edit. Any remaining errors are mine. Thanks to all who read part or all of the manuscript in progress.
Thanks to Shachar Bar-On, Liz Brown, Keith Morrison and all at Dateline NBC. And to Karen Cooper of the Southern Association of Forensic Scientists.
Thanks to those who provided technical advice and public records assistance.
Thanks to those who helped me navigate professional questions and ethical issues or assisted me in the quest for an agent and publisher. Some of the best lessons come not in acceptance but rejection.
Thanks to my literary attorney, Bob Pimm, and to Gary Carr at Rising Moon Public Relations. Thanks to my editor at Kensington Publishing, B. Tweed, to copy editor Stephanie Finnegan and to Editor-in-chief Michaela Hamilton.
Lifes a journey, and space wont allow me to list all who helped me to this station along the ride. We are an accumulation of experienceeven my darkest has been valuable. My deepest gratitude to fellow travelers at Dulwich College, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, newspapers and in the U.S. Army.
To those I owe amends, apologies; to those who helped me recover, gratitude. In memory, Sean Patrick Wetmore, 1969-2005.
My deepest thanks is reserved for my wife, Carol, without whom none of this wouldve been possible. I knew I married a forensic pathologistbut it turned out I also married the best editor Ive ever had.
Jim Greenhill
North Fort Myers, Florida,
and Durango, Colorado
September 2005
C HAPTER 1
A Knock on the Door
Fort Myers, Florida; Tuesday, April 30, 1996
Band director Mark Schwebes ( Shh-we-beez ) left the Riverdale High School (RHS) band boosters ice-cream social at 9:38 P.M. The thirty-two-year-old former marine had a military precision in his punctuality, reliability and dress. He never left school without checking for stragglers.
Mark steered his green Bronco II through campus, eyes sweeping the empty grounds, turning past the gymnasium, looking across the swimming pool and approaching the auditorium, where boys stood near the pay phone. That phone doesnt work, vandalized . He turned into the loop in front of the auditorium and stopped. One boy was tall and odd-looking; the other, short, fat and familiar. I know him . What are yall doing?
Makin a phone call, the chubby kid said, with attitude.
A third boy peeked from behind a column, ten feet away. Mark focused on the boys at the phone. Youre not calling; this phone doesnt work.
Hands behind backs, the boys fidgeted. Were just waiting on a ride. Were waiting on a friend.
Yall need to wait somewhere else. You dont need to be hanging out here.
This is where we told him to meet us.
The boy behind the column broke and ran across the road, disappearing into the woods. Who was that? Mark said.
We dont know. The attitude dissolved into nervousness.
Mark got out. Staplers on the pay phone. A fire extinguisher and plastic grocery bag of canned goods at the boys feet. Well, gee, where did this come from?
Were just now seeing it.
Mark glimpsed the tall boys hands. Gloves . Hold out your hands. Why do you have gloves on?
The boy looked terrified. The chubby one answered. We like to wear gloves. Is it against the law?
Auditorium windows had been repeatedly broken. Gloves. Heavy cans . Give me that stuff.
The boys peeled off the gloves and put them in the grocery bag. The tall, silent kid loaded Marks Bronco.
Yall need to find somewhere to go. If you cant, Ill take you up to Winn-Dixie.
We know a guy across the street. Well go to his house.
Start walkin. Use the phone over there. Mark got in the Bronco and pulled away. The tall kid trotted after him.
What are you gonna do with the stuff? Youre not gonna report this, are you?
Mark stopped. Dont be surprised if Deputy Montgomery calls you to his office in the morning. He turned to the chubby boy. Dont I know you? Do you go here?
Nope. I dont know you from Adam.
Mark drove off. In the mirror, he saw the tall boy standing dejected, shoulders slumped as the fat boy stamped his feet, waving his arms. It came to him: Keyboard class. Hes in keyboard class .
