Isn’t it a pity, isn’t it a shame
Evans plays a vicious game
And seeing how you like to tell people things
I wish you could tell me…is it dark in that hole?
Discovered years later, Evans had written a letter in verse from prison to one of his victims before he had killed him. He didn’t name the person, but it was clear years later that it was either Michael Falco or Damien Cuomo, both of whom had been buried in holes.
Today is so nice, it’s a shame to die on such a day. Now I’m wondering if you feel anything—can you feel your death coming to meet you? Did you ever think that I spent every day + night for years thinking of how you should die? I wonder what you gained when you told on me?
The 1½-page letter was unrelenting in its accusatory manner. Evans wanted his victim to know that because he had “told” on him, he had to die. In what had become his trademark throughout the years, he began the letter with a smiley face and ended it the same way, as if speaking of death and premeditated murder was what made him the happiest.
Letter writing had always been an outlet for Evans while he was incarcerated. He used letters to manipulate people, and each letter was methodically tailored to coddle each specific person’s character.
In early July, as prosecutors prepared what was shaping up to be a death penalty case against him, Evans began a letter-writing campaign to those people in his life he trusted the most. In a letter addressed to Horton on July 3, he spoke about their entire life of cat and mouse together, flavoring the letter with anecdotes from his childhood and teenage years of burglary: I look at the things I’ve done and say in the mirror, “I did that?” And I know I did and I know it’s all over soon.
“The remorseful Gary Evans.”
Then he talked about his “magical princess,” Doris Sheehan, a woman he credited with getting him over the love of his life, Stacy.
Near the end of the letter, Evans reminisced about the “red light” he had run in Cohoes back in 1985 on the night he met Horton. As if fate were the driving force, he equated the meeting to some sort of astrological aligning of the stars.
He admitted he “looked up” to Horton, “because I can’t look down on you.”
Finally at peace, no more pain—that’s freedom. It’s over finally. Thank you Jim for being Jim. You’re a great guy and my friend.
He lastly told Horton he didn’t want him to love him: I’m that much better off.
On July 10, as the Bureau began looking for Michael Falco’s remains in Florida, Evans penned a letter to Bill Murphy, the only “true friend in the world” he claimed he ever had.
He begged Bill to come to the jail: It’s safe now, no filming, etc, no publicity…. Boy did I fuck up. He wrote he needed to say some serious things—views of life from the Evans observatory.
“The feel-sorry-for-me Gary Evans.”
He then explained how regretful he was for the reporters who had been bothering Bill at work. Then: I made mistakes and it’s almost finishing time.
Bill, he said, had been his friend longer than anyone: I hope you come see me soon, it’s almost too late already. Please come, I need to…say good-bye.