Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

Every Move You Make

Every Move You Make

4.7 20
by M. William Phelps

See All Formats & Editions

From the author of Perfect Poison and Lethal Guardian comes his most shocking true crime story to date: a tour-de-force of cop and serial killer becoming friends, and the thirteen-year odyssey between them to uncover the truth behind five grisly murders. A fine journalistic piece of work by one of the country's most esteemed experts on crime and murder, told in


From the author of Perfect Poison and Lethal Guardian comes his most shocking true crime story to date: a tour-de-force of cop and serial killer becoming friends, and the thirteen-year odyssey between them to uncover the truth behind five grisly murders. A fine journalistic piece of work by one of the country's most esteemed experts on crime and murder, told in heart-thumping true-crime story-telling fashion, EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE explores the bizarre relationship between good and bad guy that is being billed as "Catch Me If You Can" meets "Silence of the Lambs."


"Gary Evans was one of the most interesting criminal masterminds I have written about. The sheer intelligence and calculating nature he embodied will shock readers into, at times, sympathizing with him, almost finding themselves wanting to like him; while, at other times, hating what he allowed himself to become. He mastered not only the art of disguise and burglary, but exploiting people-especially females. The letters I uncovered between Evans and David 'Son of Sam' Berkowitz will give readers true insight into the mind of Son of Sam and why he committed such heinous acts of murder. To understand the relationship Evans had with James Horton, the cop who pursued-and, remarkably, befriended-him for thirteen years, one will walk in Horton's shoes and recognize that the one thing many career criminals as smart and malicious as Gary Evans cannot resist is the one thing that eventually brings them down: the female. How this story concludes-or does it, really?-is the most incredible and surprising ending in the history of true-crime story telling. I challenge anyone to tell me different."

Product Details

Publication date:
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
4.10(w) x 6.70(h) x 1.60(d)

Read an Excerpt

Every Move You Make

By M. William Phelps


Copyright © 2005 M. William Phelps
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7860-2497-1


What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. ... You will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.

— Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance (1841)

Friday, October 3, 1997, had been a hectic day for Caroline Parker, an unassuming, moderately attractive thirty-seven-year-old wife and mother of three. The following afternoon, at four o'clock, Caroline's sister was getting married. In what had been planned as a rather large family event through months of preparation, Caroline had a list of errands for her husband of almost four years, Tim Rysedorph, to run after he got off work.

For starters, Tim needed a haircut. Then he was supposed to get the family car washed, stop to buy a new suit and drop by Sam's Club to pick up a few last-minute items for the reception.

Tim had left work at noon; by 3:30 P.M. Caroline was seething with anxiety because she hadn't heard from him yet.

When it came down to it, Caroline really didn't have any reason to fuss. Whenever she needed help, she turned to Tim, who had turned thirty-nine back on June 2, and whatever it was she needed, Tim was usually right on top of it. Anyone who knew him, in fact, later recalled how he would go out of his way for Caroline whenever she snapped her fingers.

Tim met Caroline on June 21, 1983. A mutual friend, Michael Falco, who lived in the same Troy, New York, neighborhood where they had all grown up, introduced them. Caroline was in the process of going through a divorce. Tim, who had been living in a New Jersey hotel shortly before he'd moved back to Troy, shared an apartment in town with his boyhood friend Falco and another old friend of theirs, Gary Charles Evans, a well-known burglar.

Caroline grew up in the Lansingburg section of town, and had flirted with the prospect of singing in a band. Tim, whom family members and friends later described as a "gifted" drummer, was in a fairly successful bar band called the Realm. Because of "their mutual love for music," Caroline later told police, they hit it off immediately when she showed up one night to audition for a vacant singer's position in Tim's band. Although she never got the gig, they started dating about a week later.

Tim stood about five feet eight inches, 160 pounds. He had a noticeable receding hairline, the crown of his forehead big and round, with strands of dirt brown hair, like frayed rope, protruding down his shoulders. Friends said he was a casual, easygoing guy who liked to please people. Tim's band played regularly at bars and nightclubs in and around Albany, New York. Usually, on Friday and Saturday nights, he was off with the band making extra money while Caroline stayed home with their nine-year-old boy, Sean. Known as a "comical joker" by his coworkers, during the day Tim held down a job driving a recycling truck for BFI Waste Systems.

Life had been fair to Caroline and Tim. They seemed to be making a go of it. Yet, some would later question the strength of their marriage, saying Tim could "never do enough" for Caroline, who, for the most part, hadn't worked a steady job throughout 1997.

Before Tim took off for work on Friday morning, October 3, he read a note Caroline had left him the previous night on the kitchen counter. Mainly, it was a list of the errands he had to run before the big day on Saturday. Because of the shift Tim worked at BFI, Caroline later told police, they often communicated through notes.

During the first ten years they were together, Tim and Caroline lived in Mechanicville, New York, just outside Albany. After getting into some rather enormous financial problems in 1995, they rented a small, two-bedroom apartment in Saratoga Springs and had lived there ever since. About fifteen miles north of Albany, Saratoga Springs is, historically, known for what locals call its "healing waters." Part of the Hudson River Valley, the town boasts one of the oldest thoroughbred racetracks in America, Saratoga Raceway. Victorian houses and ancient apartment complexes line the streets, while Starbucks and Borders cater to the middle class.

Tim had worked at BFI since the fall of 1995. His shift was not what most Americans would jump at when looking for work. He was expected at the office at 5:00 A.M. on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and would get out at about 12:00 or 1:00 P.M. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he worked from 6:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M. If he ran behind because of traffic or inclement weather, he would have to stay for maybe an hour longer. Either way, he was generally home by no later than 4:00 P.M. on any given day.

Tim enjoyed the job and hours. Getting out early freed him up for rehearsal with the band Monkey Business he had been in for several years. On the days when he didn't have rehearsal, he would make time for family. When work was done, a coworker later said, Tim often headed home. He didn't run out like some of the other guys and "grab a beer or two and watch the game." He did his time at work and, while pursuing his dream of making it in the music business, rushed home to be with his family. On top of that, Sean was an avid soccer player and Tim rarely missed one of his games.

On Friday, before Tim left for work, after reading the note Caroline had left, he sat down at the kitchen table and dashed off a note to Sean. He told him to have a "great day in school." He wished him "luck" in his soccer game later that day, ending the brief note: Love, Dad.

Tim didn't mention why, but he wasn't going to make Sean's soccer game on Friday night. With the wedding one day away, perhaps he felt he had too many things to do after work. After all, what was one game? Caroline and Sean could count on one hand the number of games Tim had missed over the years.


Throughout the day on Friday, October 3, Caroline Parker, perhaps overjoyed and anxiety-ridden over her sister's wedding the following day, left Tim numerous messages on his pager. Finally, at about 3:30 P.M., after not talking to her all day, Tim called home.

"I'm still running errands," he said. "I'll be home soon."

Caroline had spent the day sewing a comforter for her bed. It was a way, one would imagine, to burn off all that wedding stress. Tim had promised to bring home dinner.

At around 7:00 P.M., Caroline, wondering what she, Sean and Tim were going to have for dinner, paged Tim again and left another digital message.

What's for dinner? We're still waiting.

After thirty minutes went by, getting no response, Caroline ordered takeout from a deli up the road. She was getting upset because Tim wasn't home. The wedding was fewer than twenty-four hours away. She wondered if he had finished all the errands.

When Caroline and Sean finished dinner at 7:30, she paged him again.

Where are you? Call me ... [Caroline].

"Where are you?" was the first thing out of her mouth when Tim called a few minutes later. Her aggravation had now turned to anger.

"Listen —" Tim said before Caroline cut him off.

"Forget dinner. We already ate."

"I have a few more errands to run," he said. "I'll be home soon."

Before Caroline put Sean to bed at 9:30, she sent Tim another message.

I need to talk to you right now! Call me.

When Tim failed to call back, she dozed off while lying on the couch watching the nightly eleven o'clock news to see what kind of weather to expect for the wedding.

By 11:30, she woke up and, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, walked downstairs into the bedroom to see if Tim had come home yet.

Near midnight, she paged him.

Call me right away....

Tim called back immediately.

In what Caroline later described to police as a "broken call," she said she thought Tim had said he was "surrounded by the police," but the line had gone dead midway through the call. Later, when police asked her to describe the call a second time, she said she wasn't sure if she had been dreaming, watching something on television, or if it was, indeed, Tim.

After he told his wife he was surrounded by the police, Caroline recalled later, she said, "Now you won't be able to get a suit for the wedding." Then she said they argued about Tim's having to wear an old suit.

"That's the least of my worries," she thought Tim said before the line went dead again.

An hour later, at about 1:03 A.M. the following morning, as Caroline tossed and turned on the couch worrying not only about her sister's wedding but where in the hell her husband was, the phone rang.

"It's me, Caroline," Tim said.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in Latham. I'll be home in forty minutes."

A few hours after the sun broke over Tim Rysedorph and Caroline Parker's Regent Street apartment on October 4, 1997, Caroline woke up and immediately realized that Tim hadn't come home. After paging him — Where are you? Call me right now! — she walked up the stairs to the kitchen, made a pot of coffee, threw some laundry in the washing machine and tried to sort out what was going on.

With no response to her first page, she sent another.

Tim, please call me now. ... I need to speak to you now....

Fifteen minutes later: Tim, Sean has a soccer game soon, he can't miss this one, too.

Sitting on the sofa, contemplating what to do next, the telephone startled her.


When she answered, all she could hear were "Touch-Tone noises," as if, she said later, "the call was being made from the outside. But I don't know why I thought this. I assumed it was Tim, and he sounded like he was out of breath ... that he was scared, or running."

That's when she said, "Tim? Tim? Is that you?"

Sean, who had been sleeping on the couch, got up when he heard his mother screaming and crying into the phone: "Tim? Tim? Speak to me?"

"Yes ...," the caller said quietly.

"Are you all right?"

"... call ... not working ... doesn't work" was all Caroline remembered hearing before the line went dead.

When that happened, she sent him another digital page. Tim, I couldn't make out anything you were saying. ... Please call me.

For the next hour, Caroline paced in the living room ... waiting, wondering. In her heart, she felt something was wrong — terribly wrong. Tim was not in the business of running off without telling her. They'd had problems in the past and Tim had slept at a friend's apartment or his brother's house for the night, but this was different. They hadn't been fighting. Tim had promised to take care of several errands before the wedding.

Where the hell is he?

At some point before the wedding, after not hearing from Tim all morning, Caroline called her mother.

"Tim did not come home last night. He's missing. I can't find him."

"What? Caroline, are you —"

"Don't tell anyone in the family, Mom. I don't want to ruin the day."


While Caroline was putting the finishing touches on her makeup after talking to her mother, the phone rang. Nearly jumping out of her dress to reach for it, she said in desperation, "Hello ... hello?"

"Is Tim there?" a man's voice asked.

"Who is this?"


"Are you a good friend of Tim's?" Caroline couldn't recall anyone by the name of Lou that Tim had ever known.

"Yeah. I'm a friend. I work with Tim."

"Have you seen him lately ... Have you seen him" — Caroline was jumpy, frenzied, barely able to get the words out fast enough — "he's missing."

"I'm just returning his call; he left me a message."

Caroline couldn't handle it; she started to cry. "I'm sorry. I ... I ... We need to find him."

"Don't cry," Lou said. "Everything is going to be all right. I'll make some phone calls around town and see what I can find out."

"You will? Yes. Do that. Please."

"Maybe he's in a place where he can't call you?"

"What ... where? What do you mean by that?"

"Maybe he got into trouble and got picked up and is in jail."

"I would have heard something."

"Not necessarily."

Confused, Caroline asked, "What do you mean?"

"Listen, don't worry. I will try to find out what's going on and call you back later."


Before Lou hung up, he had one last bit of advice.

"Maybe you should call the police."


Minutes before Caroline left her apartment to make her sister's wedding on time, she phoned the Saratoga Springs Police Department (SSPD). Hysterical, she asked the officer who picked up if he could find out if Tim had been involved in an auto accident, or if he had been arrested.

"No, ma'am, I don't see anything," the cop said a few moments later.

At 1:42 P.M., Caroline sent Tim a message.

It's almost time to leave for the wedding, call now.

Two hours later, about twenty minutes before the wedding, she sent Tim one last message: Emergency with wife, call home right away.

Tim never called.

The wedding obviously turned out to be an uncomfortable affair for Caroline, but she had to attend, nonetheless. Her sister counted on her.

Minutes after the wedding, she called the state police, the sheriff's department and the Colonie Police Department, a nearby town Tim occasionally frequented. She asked the same set of questions she had posed to the SSPD earlier.

At the urging of the Colonie Police Department, the SSPD sent a uniformed officer to interview Caroline and write up an official missing person report. The SSPD's initial thought was that the case would not amount to anything. So far, all they had was a husband missing fewer than twenty-four hours who had not shown up for his sister-in-law's wedding.

It was hardly enough to panic.

Ed Moore had been a detective with the SSPD for the past twenty years. Promoted to chief later in his career, Moore knew his business as a cop perhaps better than a lot of his colleagues, and relied, like most cops, on his instincts.

When Caroline got home from her sister's wedding early in the evening on October 4 and telephoned the SSPD, demanding it do something about what she insisted was her "missing husband," Moore heard what he later said was genuine pain and anguish in her voice.

Moore spoke to Caroline briefly, trying to reassure her that he was going to do everything he could to find her husband.

After hanging up, weighing what she had told him, taking the sincerity she had displayed into account, Moore told himself something wasn't right.

Tim Rysedorph had a good job, apparently loved his wife and son, had made specific plans to go to his sister-in-law's wedding and rarely ever failed to come home from work — at least that's what Caroline had claimed. To top it off, he had missed the wedding.

Something wasn't adding up.

By Sunday morning, October 5, Caroline had called several of Tim's friends to see if any of them had heard from him. She even had a friend page Tim and leave his phone number as a callback — just in case Tim had been screening his calls and, for whatever reason, didn't want to talk to her.


At about noon, Lou called back. After hitting the streets and asking a few people about Tim's whereabouts, he said he couldn't offer much.

But Caroline, as worried as she appeared, began to float her own theory.

"Tim's still not back, Lou," she said in a rush. "I'm getting really scared ... and, well, he's probably dead because I haven't heard from him yet." Caroline was, she later told police, rambling on and on, just blurting out words as they passed through her mind, not thinking too much about what she was saying.

"What are you talking about?" Lou asked.

"They're probably going to find him dead," Caroline said, "in the trunk of my car at the bottom of the Hudson River."

"Don't say that," Lou said. "That's not going to happen. Or else, he'll never be found — just like what happened to his friend Mike."

Lou was referring to Michael Falco, who had been missing for about twelve years. Shortly after Falco introduced Caroline and Tim, he went out one night and never returned. It had been rumored that Tim and Michael Falco's old friend Gary Evans, who had lived with them at the time, was responsible for Falco's disappearance. Evans, who had been partners with Falco on a number of profitable jewelry heists, denied the stories, telling people Falco had gone "west."

Caroline didn't know what to say after Lou compared Tim's situation to Falco's.

"Like I said, maybe he's in a place where he can't call," Lou told her.

"I called the police like you suggested and reported Tim missing."

"Maybe you should call the police back and tell them you've heard from him?"

Caroline screamed, "No! I can't do that! They will stop looking for him."

"Calm down. Keep your chin up. Everything will be okay." But Caroline could do nothing more than cry. "I'll call you back at dinnertime," Lou added, and hung up.

After that, Caroline began phoning the SSPD almost hourly, wondering what it was doing to find her missing husband. Tim had been gone for three days now.

Something's wrong!

Although the SSPD is a full-service police department, fully capable of any type of investigation, Detective Ed Moore decided to call the New York State Police (NYSP) — if only to quell Caroline's constant phone calls and inquiries. She was becoming quite the pain in the ass.


Excerpted from Every Move You Make by M. William Phelps. Copyright © 2005 M. William Phelps. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

What People are Saying About This

Lowell Cauffiel
"Phelps is writing at a level rare in today's true crime genre . . . [utilizing] facts, insight and the other proven methods of journalistic leg work."
New York Times bestselling author
Michael Baden
"Phelps is a first-rate investigator."
Dr., host of HBO's Autopsy, author of several books

Meet the Author

Investigative journalist M. William Phelps is the author of I’ll Be Watching You, If Looks Could Kill, Because You Loved Me, Murder in the Heartland, Perfect Poison, Lethal Guardian, Every Move You Make, and Sleep in Heavenly Peace. He has appeared on dozens of national radio and television programs, including Good Morning America, Court TV, The Discovery Channel, Geraldo at Large, and Montel Williams, and has consulted for the Showtime cable television series Dexter. He lives in a small Connecticut farming community with his wife and children.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

Every Move You Make 4.7 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 20 reviews.
GailCooke More than 1 year ago
If you're ready to listen to a true story that will have you double checking door and window locks, even looking under the bed, Every Move You Make is the book for you. The life of Gary C. Evans would be horrific enough if it were fiction but to know that it is true challenges description.

Much has been written and extensive research has been done in society's efforts to probe the mind of a psychopath. What could have happened to turn a human being into an amoral being? We might guess in the life of Evans. His parents, Flora Mae and Leroy, were alcoholics and abused the boy repeatedly. If he refused to eat something he did not like, he was tied to a chair and force fed then tossed into his room. He was beaten severely countless times. How can one assess the emotional and psychological damage this may have caused?

Whatever the case, his mother taught him to steal and he was an apt pupil. More clever than most thieves he planned his robberies but was caught several times and sent to prison. He was a deft liar, convincing enough to explain the disappearance of someone he had killed.

Friends? That word was not in his vocabulary as he murdered those who helped him steal. He killed without remorse, murdering the storekeepers from whom he stole.

At last, around 1985 New York State Police Senior Investigator James Horton became involved in one of the murder cases. He promised himself that he would somehow discover the truth about Evans and those who had been slain.

J. Charles is an estimable reader with some 40 years experience in professional theatre. He delivers a taut, chilling narration of an unthinkable true story.

- Gail Cooke
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is my first Phelps book. I think it was well written and I enjoyed the book. Recommend it to anyone interested in true crime.
Guest More than 1 year ago
it was a relly good book i could not but it down this is the first book i read from m.william phelps i hope too read many more from him
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is the 7th book by Phelps ive read, excellent read..this book pulls you in where u feel u know the people in it. I feel so drawn to Jim lol
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This was well written and a fast read
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Read thiss three times over the years - incredible!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I couldnt put this one down. At times I found myself rooting for the bad guy. Serious note, the reader really gets an inside the seedy underbelly and cut throat world of the criminals that make crime a way of life. I highly recommend.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I really liked this book, it held my interest throughout. Probably one of my favorites thus far.
thunderwoman32 More than 1 year ago
Great read. I highly recommend.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Must read!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Another good read by M.William Phelps!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Well done
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A dramatic look into a gripping story.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago