Andy McCord, Lynn Whitehead, and their son, Bradley, were sitting down to a Friday-night dinner of Chinese takeout when they realized that someone was at the front door.
"Brad got up to go to the bathroom. He walked by the front door -- and we
have a little piece of molding missing on the door -- and he could see
through," McCord said yesterday. "He turned around to me real quick,
quivering, and said, `Dad! Dad! There's somebody out there with a gun.'
"I was on the phone with my brother. I said, `Dave, call 911 real quick.
He's out there. He's out there.' "
"He" was Joseph Palczynski. The accused killer quietly lurked outside
McCord's Dundalk home for about five minutes before shooting his way across
the threshold -- launching an invasion that would make Andy McCord and his
loved ones prisoners in their home.
Yesterday, as McCord picked through the ruins of his apartment and talked
of finding a new place to live, the former hostages described the cruel games
Palczynski played with his guns, and one final death threat that seemed all
They talked about their captor's emotional highs, as when he gazed at
family snapshots and reminisced about better times with Whitehead's daughter,
Tracy. And they remembered his lows, when he became so depressed that he
handed the telephone to McCord -- allowing the captive to pass on vital
intelligence to police negotiators.
Finally, they described the escape plan that gained them freedom after 97
hours. And they answered anyone who would question the decision to leave young
Brad behind and hope that police would be able to rescue him.
"I don't care what people say," Lynn Whitehead said. "We're all here
Brad, a star pitcher for his youth baseball team, said yesterday that he
slept through the moment when officers stormed into the apartment and fatally
"I woke up," he said, "and all I saw was the SWAT team."
Their release ended nearly three weeks of tension. Yesterday, Andy McCord
described the family's reaction to the ordeal, starting March 4 when "Joby"
Palczynski was charged with assaulting Whitehead's daughter, Tracy. He did not
expect the crime spree that followed.
"I just figured it was another breakup and they'd be back together," McCord
said. "But this time, when she filed charges, behind his back she was getting
her own place. I never thought he would go to this extreme, but he was really
obsessed with her."
"We figured he drove somewhere, some isolated area, killed her and killed
himself," McCord said.
The family's fears were justified.
According to Tracy, Palczynski walked her to a field, made her lie on her
stomach and pressed a shotgun into the back of her neck.
"All I kept saying was, `Please, please, if you're going to kill me, let me
call my son up and tell him I love him and let me call my family and tell them
I love them before you kill me,' " she said.
The next night, when Tracy broke free from Palczynski, family members met
her at the White Marsh precinct. They took her to McCord's brother's home in
McCord said that while the rest of his family stayed at his brother's home,
he lived alone on Lange Street.
"I was the only one in the house all week," he said. "I felt a little bit
concerned, but I kept the very front door locked, my door locked and the phone
right beside me."