Horton spent the next hour, like an expecting father, wound up and stressed out. He paced. He sat. He talked to Lang and, at times, went off by himself to go through everything in his head one more time. Have I done all the right things? What if I missed something?
Lisa had been sitting in Lang’s cruiser, not saying much of anything. She still had it in her head that she was going to meet Evans after they captured him.
Horton’s standing orders to the team were to take Evans into custody if conditions appeared safe. The first time Evans showed his face, everyone agreed, was much too dangerous. There were too many people around. But Horton made it clear that if he emerged again, they would have to make a move.
They wouldn’t get a third chance.
After a harrowing hour and ten minutes, the call Horton had been waiting for finally came over the radio: “Target once again in sight.”
Without Lisa’s help during the past eight months, Horton knew he would not be in a position of possibly capturing Evans. Because of her courage, here they were ready to detain a fugitive suspected of three murders—someone who, just days ago, seemed invisible, “uncatchable.”
After some prudent thought on the notion of perhaps letting Lisa meet with Evans one last time, if and when they apprehended him, Horton decided to do what any cop in his same position might do: lie.
“Lisa, listen to me,” Horton said, approaching her shortly before Evans had been spotted the second time. “The Vermont State Police will have jurisdiction over Gary if we get him. I’ve been talking to Lieutenant Lang and there is no way you can meet with Gary, he said. I’m sorry. I have nothing to do with the decision. I thought I did. But we’re not in New York.”
It was all bullshit. Horton was running the show. If he wanted Lisa and Evans to have one last fling, he could have set it up and nobody could have denied it.
Lisa started crying. “Please, Jim. I just need to have sex with him. When we’re done, you can take him.”
“Lisa…I’m not saying this again. Absolutely not. It won’t happen.”
“You lied to me, Jim.”
“It’s too damn dangerous for you. The Vermont State Police don’t understand the relationship we’ve had, Lisa. They laughed at me when I asked them.”
What Horton planned on doing, to pacify Lisa’s desire to see Evans again, was put a fake wiretap in her car and send her to McDonald’s to wait. She had no idea what was going on. She would wait, and when Horton thought she had waited long enough, he would drive there and tell her they had taken Evans into custody—that is, if they caught him.
At 12:55 P.M., an investigator stationed inside McDonald’s indicated he had Evans in his sights.
“It’s him,” another investigator said. “He’s here.”
Evans had changed his appearance since they last saw him. Now he was wearing a “wife-beater” T-shirt and cutoff blue jean shorts. He had ditched the bandanna for a hat. It would have been easy to assume that he wasn’t carrying a weapon, suffice it to say he really didn’t have anywhere to hide it on his body, except he also had a large blue backpack draped over his shoulder, which quite possibly could be full of weapons.
Sitting, listening to the chatter between investigators, Horton felt powerless. He had waited for nearly a year for this day and—at least hands-on—he wasn’t part of it.
During his second sojourn into downtown, none of the investigators stationed around town had seen Evans walk in or out of McDonald’s parking lot. They weren’t sure if he had ever been in the restaurant. Sully, stationed in the bank president’s office across the street, looking out the window, had been the first to see Evans arrive. Evans had driven his bike by the window Sully was looking out, rode up a small incline, stopped directly across the street from McDonald’s, walked a few yards over to the monument and sat down.
Sully had a clear view of him from the bank window.
Sitting atop the monument, Evans cradled his chin with his right palm, while his large legs hung down off the front without touching the ground. He appeared calm, comfortable, just sitting, waiting, apparently, for Lisa to arrive. Every once in a while, he would look down at his watch and scan the entire area with his eyes.
“I don’t even know where he came from,” somebody said over the radio.
“Well, he’s back.”
“Shit,” Sully said, “I have him…. He’s sitting right here.”
All of the investigators in the field, Horton later noted, knew exactly what to do and when to do it. They certainly didn’t need some overly excited senior investigator barking orders as if he were some taxicab dispatcher, directing their every move. They were professionals. They had all done this before. If there was a chance to grab Evans, they would take it.
As much as it hurt him, Horton could only sit and wait—having no idea what was going on.
Without warning, one by one, each investigator emerged from his or her position and began to move in on Evans at the same time as he sat on the monument.
At first, Evans didn’t have a clue as to what was going on. Then, as he “felt everyone closing in” on him, he later told Horton, he leaped off the monument and took three quick steps toward the street, heading for the wooded area behind McDonald’s. There were immense pine trees, in perfect rows, like farmed Christmas trees, directly in back of the restaurant. The woods, beyond the trees, were thick and dense. Because it was the beginning of spring, the leaves on the trees and bushes had recently bloomed an army green dark color. It would be impossible for anyone to catch Evans once he bled into the aesthetics of the woods. Further, throughout the morning, it had become increasingly cloudier. The sun was covered by clouds now. Once Evans reached the woods, he would be in his element, the keeper of his own fate. A band of street cops from Albany would be no match.
As Evans bolted across the street, however, the K-9 cop, who was closest to him, unleashed the dog. A large German shepherd, trained to attack a moving target, took one leap and sank his razor-sharp teeth into Evans’s calf, tearing a gash in his flesh as if it were a piece of raw beef.
Evans fell immediately to the ground and began fighting off the dog.
Within seconds, every investigator in the field ran toward him and tackled him.
Sully, who had come running out of the bank toting his shotgun, ran up and, along with the others, pointed the barrel of his weapon directly at Evans’s head.
Do not move, motherfucker, seemed to be said in unison.
Horton had warned everyone about Evans’s penchant for being able to escape while in custody, not to mention the reputation he had for hiding razorblades and handcuff keys all over his body, in every imaginable cavity. The only way to monitor his behavior at all times and be sure he wasn’t “up to something,” Horton suggested, was to strip him naked.
So, after handcuffing him, two investigators stripped him.
A crowd had begun to swell as people in town began to figure out what was happening. One of the investigators had already radioed for backup and several local and state police cruisers had arrived on-scene, lights blaring, sirens wailing.
Bare-assed and handcuffed, Evans now stood in front of what were scores of onlookers and law enforcement. At first, he tried wrestling the handcuffs off, hopping around, falling down, getting back up again, his right leg bloodied from the dog bite. But then, as he began to realize there was little chance of getting away, he broke into a violent rage, screaming aggressively in what could only be described as one of his Incredible Hulk moments.
Evans would later say he was, at that moment, picturing himself “caged” and locked up again. In his mind, it was over. No more running. No more hiding.
No more freedom.
Twenty-five to life.
Back at base camp, Horton and Lang hadn’t heard anything for about eight minutes. The last they had heard was that someone had spotted Evans in town. For all Horton and Lang knew, the entire plan had gone bust and Evans was gone.
Maybe someone had even gotten hurt? Horton thought.
Then, over the radio, came those words cops love to hear during stakeouts and surveillances—which were especially welcomed, Horton later admitted, in this case.
“Target in custody without incident.”
Horton looked over at Lang and shook his hand.
“Thank you, Lieutenant, for everything. Your men were amazing.”