My True Crime Story
Like a lot of us, I did some stupid things when I was younger. Mostly just regular teenage behavior, but I was fortunate that none of them resulted in dire, dangerous consequences. My wayward youth was abbreviated when I became a quasi-adult, responsible for the life of a little person at the age of 19, but I managed to pack in plenty of experience.
During my early teenage years, before I was licensed to drive and experience the world outside of my neighborhood, I’d escape through my bedroom window most nights. Sometimes I met friends, sometimes I met boys (just one and he broke my heart) and sometimes I sat on the curb, watching the darkness. I ran on the fringe of a ‘rough crowd’, but never invested myself too deeply. The edgiest thing I’d done at this point was give Joe Shaw a tattoo that said Devil’s Dealer using India ink and a sewing needle. He said he liked my handwriting. I think he also liked me, but I was too afraid of his world to consider dating him.
That all changed the night I was thrust into the deep end without my consent, or even my participation. Sitting at a table at “The Rec”, which was the hangout for the aforementioned crowd, an acquaintance named Billy Evans slid into the chair across from me. He looked disheveled, sweaty, and pale; his eyes scanning the room on repeat. He left as quickly as he came.
I wouldn’t have even remembered that brief interlude until I began getting death threats. I’m not even remotely kidding.
It seems that Billy was running from the cops that night. For what, I never knew, but he was soon caught and sent away to a juvenile detention center. He was convinced I was the person who turned him in, and his friends were determined to make me pay for ratting him out. They made it very clear that once they found me, they would even the score for Billy. So, I made sure they didn’t.
I barely left my house. I had to go to school, but I didn’t have to stay, and I’d dip out after first period and hightail it home while my mom was at work. This went on for a couple of years, long enough to affect me academically and ended any plans I might have had for college. Billy eventually discovered that his informant was not me and he and his friends later apologized. The damage was done but at least they weren’t out to kill me anymore.
As I struggled to catch up with school, preferring instead to work, my focus was the independence that would come with my 18th birthday. The only problem was I still had to get through my 17th year.
I met a man named John Swart during the summer I turned 17. A friend of mine was interested in his younger brother so the four of hung out at the lake a few times. I didn’t think much about him again until my friend, Patti (you may remember her from Debbie’s story a couple of weeks ago) said she wanted to hook me up with a friend of her boyfriend. He was 28 years old, had a degree in criminal justice and had recently completed his service as a military officer. I told Patti I thought he was too old, but she persisted, and I eventually agreed to meet him. Why in the world would a 28-year-old man agree to a fix-up with a 17-year-old girl? Well.
We met and I realized he was the guy from the lake. He was worldly and charming, and I fell hook, line, and sinker. We dated for several months, broke up, then dated again briefly before breaking up for good. I was devastated, thinking he was my road to independence, but eventually got over it. I saw him once, briefly, with his new girlfriend just before they married. Apparently, he had a type because she looked a lot like me.
Fast-forward to 1982. I was figuring out the adult thing, raising a toddler and working in a pawn shop. Once Saturday afternoon, John Swart walked through the door. I said hello before he registered it was me at the counter. After a five second deer-in-the-headlights look, he mumbled something unintelligible and turned back out the door. I was amused by his reaction but since I hadn’t thought about him in years, I didn’t think about him again until he returned a few weeks later. He showed me a picture of his newborn baby and I showed him a picture of my little girl. He hung around to chat longer than needed to pay for his purchase, telling me repeatedly how good I looked and how nice it was to see me. I usually wore a wedding ring while working at the pawn shop, to discourage unwanted advances and I just let him assume I was off the market. He certainly was, not that I was remotely interested.
Fast forward again, to a morning in September 1988. I’m married, for real this time, and getting ready for work while the local TV news plays in the background. There’s a breaking report that the body of a woman was found in a burning car on the side of a country road outside of the city limits, between towns. I stopped in my tracks. The name of the victim had not yet been released but I knew it was the wife of John Swart. This was pure intuition. I didn’t even know her first name at that time. It was Neva.
Details were released over the next days and weeks. Neva didn’t die in the car. She’d been killed elsewhere, placed in the car, and then the car was set on fire. John was the primary and only suspect. He was arrested and charged and during the trial the details of their marriage began to come out. He’d cut her off from her family and wouldn’t allow her to work. She wasn’t allowed to run the air conditioning during the day while he was at work, and she was home with two small children. There were accusations of physical, verbal, and emotional abuse. The only blood found in the house was on a bathroom towel but explained away because she lived in the house, and it was her towel. DNA evidence processing wasn’t as advanced at the time, and he wasn’t so much found innocent as they couldn’t prove his guilt.
From that point, John continued to go to work every day and raise his two daughters. End of story. Neva’s killer was never found.
Fast forward one more time, to 2004. A cold case investigator determined they had enough DNA evidence to retry the case. Once again, he was arrested and stood trial and once again, he was found innocent. Or rather, not guilty. You’ll never convince me he didn’t get away with murder. John once told me he killed a fellow cadet at Texas A&M with his bare hands, because the cadet was flirting with his girlfriend. At the time of the second trial, I felt I should tell someone about this, so I shared this story with my ex-husband who was an investigator with the District Attorney’s office. He did some digging but found nothing to corroborate the story.
So, a relationship that should have been just a blip in the radar of my wayward youth, turned out to be the bullet I never knew I dodged. Did he find me to be too difficult, or was he deterred because my brother was a police officer, so he moved on to find someone easier to manipulate and later control? Was there a guardian angel looking out for me? Or just sheer dumb luck that my boyfriend decided he didn’t love me after all?
What did a 28-year-old man want with a 17-year-old girl? Nothing good, I can tell you that. The trial and related story is easily located through a Google search, if you're interested.
If you would like to know more about my ancestral connection work, my Daoist path, or my other offerings such as tarot readings, spiritual guidance and mindset coaching, you can find more detailed information by using the drop-down menu on my website: The Mystic’s Parlour (the-mystics-parlour.ghost.io)
You can also contact me via email at themysticsparlour@gmail.com or on any of my social media channels. Your continued support and encouragement are greatly appreciated.