They had arrived in separate vehicles. After the fun-loving afternoon came to an end, they left in separate vehicles. The drive back to town for the lovebirds took about forty-five minutes. Angie Funk probably stopped to pick up her children at her mother-in-law’s—this, after having adulterous sex all afternoon with her lover—although she never mentioned this in her play-by-play of the day later on.
No sooner had they left Mount Joy did Angie call Michael Roseboro. That first call at 4:59 P.M., as they trekked down Interstate 283 toward Lancaster, lasted two minutes; but the next, at 5:05 P.M., went on for thirty-six minutes.
Later prompted by law enforcement to recall anything said during those thirty-six minutes, Angie could not remember a single word, saying in court a little over one year after the events, “I have no idea. I mean, it was conversation, you know. I don’t … I don’t know the specifics….”
“Getting to know each other. “
For the next forty minutes after that call, there was no communication between them. Then Michael called Angie’s cell phone from his home phone at 5:45 P.M., a call that lasted twenty-six seconds.
Eleven minutes later, Angie sent Michael a text.
He responded one minute later.
Two minutes after that, Angie sent a text back.
Three minutes later, Michael responded.
Then, at 6:01 P.M., Angie answered him.
He did not reply.
Angie sent another at 6:46 P.M.
Again, Michael failed to respond.
What was wrong?
Roseboro called Angie’s cell number from his house at 7:19 P.M.; they talked for seven minutes. At 8:42 P.M., Roseboro called her back—a call that lasted seventeen minutes. Of that seventeen-minute call, when asked, Angie could recall only that her lover said, “I’m tired…. I’m going to bed,” adding, “That’s really all I remember. I’m sure we talked about the day.”
And what a day it had been.
“Well,” Angie said, thinking back, “it was the most time we ever spent together. So, yeah, I guess you could say [it was a big day].”
When pestered to recall what she talked about during that 8:42 P.M. call, Angie admitted that they shared “how much we loved each other and that we planned to leave our spouses.”
This was an important revelation. On the night of Jan Roseboro’s murder, Jan’s husband and his lover discussed divorcing their spouses. It appeared that this was something Angie was beginning to wonder about as their relationship carried on in such a holding pattern.
Yet, there was more, according to what Angie had said in September 2008, a little over two months after the day in question.
“Like,” she said, talking about the content of the 8:42 P.M. call, “getting married and all that stuff…. I mean, I just said that, you know … [Jan] could probably take him for a lot if she found out about us.”
Pressure.
They also discussed the fact that Michael Roseboro, if Jan ever found out about Angie Funk, could lose the funeral home in a nasty divorce.
“That he didn’t want to lose it,” Angie said. Once again, she and Roseboro talked about him putting the funeral home in his father’s name until the divorce was finalized. “Then put it back in [Mike’s] name or whatever.” The reason for that, Angie said they discussed, was so “she [Jan] couldn’t touch it.”
Michael had spent more time with his lover that afternoon than he ever had. They ate lunch together. Had sex all afternoon. Talked marriage and wedding dresses and beaches and all things Mike and Angie. But now, as the strain of Jan at home wore on him, Roseboro was feeling it somewhere near 9:00 P.M. Jan was outside at the pool. Roseboro was, undoubtedly, wondering what he was going to do about a wife he was certain would take him to the cleaners in a divorce.
Tell her and lose everything?
Or kill Jan and try to make it look like an accident?
Regarding this so-called wedding, Angie Funk told Michael Roseboro one day when they were discussing getting married, she wanted him to “grow his hair longer for the wedding.”
“It’ll become curly,” Roseboro said.
“Do it now,” she demanded, “so I can see what it will look like for the wedding.”
Like listening to country music now—when before meeting Angie, he had despised it. Roseboro agreed to grow his locks out.
The wedding was scheduled “soon,” Angie later said during a police interview. They had never set a particular date other than, she agreed, within a year’s time. Yet, Angie would later refute her own words, saying, “I’m not denying that I said that, but I don’t—there’s no way we could have been married within a year.” She went on to say she didn’t think she could have divorced Randy and resolved all of her personal affairs in twelve months. “I’m just saying it would not be possible for me to be married within a year….”
As they talked some more about being married and their life together, the subject of affairs came up. Angie was obviously worried about Michael continuing to do in the future what he was doing to Jan.
Roseboro said he’d never had an affair before Angie. But the conversation had somehow sparked a memory in Roseboro, which he shared. And this was where Roseboro utilized his best manipulation skills: dodge the hardball questions by dredging up some sympathy. Get Angie to focus on something else.
“What is it?” she asked. Roseboro looked dismayed.
Roseboro explained that someone close to him “has had affairs.” He paused. “I don’t want to be like [that person].”
In recalling this conversation to police, Angie said, “I was fooled by Michael. If I confronted him about things, he would just explain them away.
“He was a good liar.”
Those last two phone calls Angie Funk made to Michael Roseboro on the night of July 22, 2008, must have been important. For two people who had communicated throughout a day with what Craig Stedman later called “an extremely unusual amount of contact,” back and forth, the final calls of that long day of communication would have been significant. Between 9:37 and 10:14 P.M., cutting it close to the time that Jan Roseboro was murdered, Angie called her man three times and sent one text message. At 9:37 P.M., Angie called Roseboro’s cell phone and left him a five-minute voice mail, something she later noted that, besides the time on that night, was not unusual for her to do. Then at 9:43 P.M., a minute after hanging up from the previous call, she left a three-minute voice mail; then, at 10:08 P.M., another five-minute voice mail. Finally, on her last communication of that busy day, Angie Funk sent Michael Roseboro a text message at 10:14 P.M.
He never responded to any of the calls or the text.
When asked later what she had said, and why she kept calling back, Angie could not recall.
“I just don’t know.”
Had Angie Funk told her lover that she was carrying his child—and had that information sent Michael Roseboro over the edge, to the point that he did not want to talk to her? According to Roseboro, he was wide awake during those times, save for maybe that last text at 10:14 P.M. In fact, Roseboro was inside the house with the young kids, he claimed, while Jan was still outside. Couldn’t he have slipped away from the children (like he had so many times before) and, at the least, answered the text, or walked to another part of that large house and called Angie back?
If you asked Angie, she’d say, no way. She had not told him she was pregnant during any of those voice mails. Craig Stedman posed this question to Angie: “When did you find out that you were pregnant?”
“July,” Angie answered without hesitation. But then she seemed to think about it and said: “Or no! August first.”
“Was it July or August?” Stedman wondered.
“It was August first.”