Every Move You Make Read Online Free PDF Page A

under five feet six inches, 185 pounds, Evans had built his body throughout the years into a machine, lifting weights, carving it like a Greek statue. He never drank alcohol or used tobacco or drugs, and hated anyone who did. He lived on a simple, yet disciplined, diet of cereals, breads, pasta, rice and sweets. He despised meat of any kind. Even in prison, he would trade meat for bread. As a criminal, he took pride in his work and tried to outdo himself with each crime. He spent every hour of each day planning and thinking about his next job, and how he was going to avoid being caught. He had never worked a full-time job and had told Horton numerous times he never would. Horton had even pulled some strings and found him jobs. But he’d always quit after a few days.
    Horton’s last encounter with Evans was the final blow to their relationship. In 1995, Horton needed Evans to testify in a rape-murder case involving a known rapist and alleged serial murderer. Evans had befriended the guy, under the direction of Horton, after being put in a jail cell next to him, and eventually got him to incriminate himself in an unsolved murder. All Horton asked Evans to do was stay out of trouble until the trial was over.
    Months before the trial, Evans stole a rare book worth nearly $100,000 and ended up with the FBI on his trail. Horton was livid. After the trial, Horton ended the relationship.
    They hadn’t spoken since.

CHAPTER 6
    As Horton and Charles “Sully” Sullivan made their way over to Caroline Parker’s apartment on Monday evening, October 6, to begin trying to find out where Tim Rysedorph had been for the past three days, they had no reason to believe it was anything more than a cheating husband running off on his family, regardless of the wild accusations and theories Caroline had whipped up while talking to Detective Ed Moore.
    “Why are we even getting involved in this?” Horton lamented as they trekked up the pathway toward Caroline’s apartment.
    “Don’t know, Jim. It’s our job, maybe?”
    Before they got to Caroline’s front door, Horton told Sully to take care of the introductions. Sully would act as the quiet cop who took notes, while Horton would be the abrasive cop, asking the tough questions, trying to empathize with Caroline and, at the same time, pulling information out of her without her even knowing. They wanted to wrap up the case as quick as they could and move on to what they presumed were more important cases: homicides, missing children, rapes.
    Horton, who had worked for years as a polygraphist, was a first-rate interviewer, well-versed in these types of interviews. They hadn’t called Caroline to warn her they were coming. The element of surprise worked best. A cop could learn many things by just studying body language and listening to the way a person spoke when he or she was confronted with certain questions.
    When Caroline came to the door, Horton and Sully could tell it had been a long three days for her. She looked distraught. Crying. Shaking. Her face vacant, withdrawn.
    Earlier that day, Horton had run Tim’s name through the system to see if anything came up. Besides a child endangerment charge when Tim was in his early twenties—most likely buying alcohol for someone underage—and a petit larceny—a stolen car stereo or something—he was clean.
    On the surface, Tim and Caroline appeared to be middle-class people living in a clean apartment in a good section of town. Nothing more, nothing less.
    “The apartment was very neat and clean,” Horton said later. “I remember what looked like a brand-new leather couch in the living room and several expensive-looking items—knickknacks, that sort of thing—all around the place. The couch was gorgeous. I recall saying to myself, ‘How the hell does a guy like Tim Rysedorph afford a couch like this?’”
    Horton and Sully already knew Tim was pulling down no more than $350 a week as a truck driver for a garbage company. So, as