Free Everything She Ever Wanted by Ann Rule Page A

were looking for
    parked there.
     
    They suspected this was the vehicle Carolyn Allanson said she had seen;
    there was already a statewide want out on it-and on its alleged driver,
    Patricia Taylor Allanson.   Callahan noted the license plate number, CY
    242, a 1974 Georgia-issued plate.   A quick radio check with "Wants and
    Warrants" elicited the information that the plate had been issued for a
    new jeep, purchased three months before in Marietta, Georgia, and that
    it indeed was registered to Patricia R. Taylor of the Kentwood Morgan
    Farm in Zebulon.
     
    In the rapidly dimming light, the three policemen could make out the
    form of a woman sitting in the jeep.   There was no way of knowing if
    she was alone, or if someone was crouching down beside her or behind
    her.
     
    They leaped from their police unit and approached the jeep from behind
    with guns drawn.   The woman in the vehicle didn't move at all-not even
    to turn her head to glance at them.
     
    "Get out of the jeep!"   Callahan shouted.   "Get out of the jeep with
    your hands up!"
     
    For a moment there was no movement in the little blue ragtop jeep, and
    then a pretty, slender woman wearing a miniskirt and a halter top poked
    one bare leg out, slid to the ground, and turned to stare back at
    them.
     
    She held up one arm and gestured that she could not raise the other
    because it was injured.
     
    "Anyone else in there?"   Callahan called.
     
    She shook her head.
     
    "You sure?"
     
    "I'm all alone."
     
    Callahan and Jones moved to either side of the woman they presumed to
    be Pat Allanson and led her inio the police car.   She didn't resist,
    but she winced as if her shoulder hurt her.
     
    "What is going on?"   she asked.   "What has happened?   Where is Tom?"
     
    "Are you -A4rs.   Allanson?"
     
    "Yes.
     
    "Well, he shot his mother."
     
    Pat sagged a bit, and then said forcefully, "No, he couldn't have s of
    "Well, his ex-wife said he did."
     
    Pat didn't care about what Tom's ex-wife said.   She insisted that if
    anybody did any shooting, it wouldn't have been Tom.
     
    At this point, they couldn't argue with her.   The only thing they could
    be sure of was that the elder Carolyn Allanson was dead.   For all they
    knew at this point, Tom might be dead too and, as improbable as it
    seemed, they might be looking for Walter Allanson.   The basement up the
    street had been so obscured by walls, doors, and junk that they
    couldn't be sure of anything, and they hadn't yet been informed about
    what the investigators back at the house might have found.
     
    None of the police units circling the area had made any definite
    sightings of Tom.   His new wife seemed to be in shock.   All she knew
    was that she had been waiting for him for hours.   She was worried
    sick-so much so that she had called her parents, Colondl and Mrs.
    Clifford Radcliffe, to come and be with her.   She would, of course, be
    glad to talk with the officers about anything they wished-if only she
    could wait for her mother and daddy to get there.
     
    She appeared panicked that the officers would remove her from the
    parking lot before her mother and father arrived.   "Please don't take
    me away.   They're on their way, and they won't know where to find me if
    you take me away from here."
     
    She said she had no idea where her husband might be at the moment.   He
    had been wearing a brown shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots when she
    last saw him.
     
    "How tall is your husband, ma'am?"   Lynn asked.
     
    "Tall.   Real tall-six foot three or better.   He's a very large man-but
    very gentle.   I believe he weighs over two hundred pounds.
     
    Captain Lynn got on the radio and broadcast a BOLO (be on the lookout
    for) on Tom Allanson, giving the additional descriptive information on
    his appearance.   The details fit the running man that Officer Cecil
    McBurnett had observed just after hearing the report of "Burglar in the
    house" at 1458 Norman Berry Drive.