I Should Have Known Better

I guess now's a good time to tell the reader that Laurie was relating her story as we sat at my kitchen table; her left eye was still black and blue.

"Are you going to press charges against Michael?"

Laurie stunned me with her answer. "No, I'm just going to go through with the divorce. If I send him to jail, he'll never be able to pay the child support and I can't afford to miss that check. Hopefully, he'll be back in Alaska soon."

I thought Laurie was making a big mistake; but my mother always taught me you can't fix stupid and to avoid getting too involved in other peoples' problems. I remember what she said when my Uncle Dennis told us he was going to marry an exotic dancer, "You can't argue with insanity!" (Uncle Dennis and the stripper were divorced within the year.)

So, I decided I'd let Laurie figure out what she wanted to do and keep my mouth shut. Maybe the police or her family would have better luck convincing her to sign a complaint against Michael.

The police came over to her apartment later that day and from what I learned later, didn't have any better luck.

About this time I was given an opportunity that was too good to pass up. One of our affiliates in West Texas needed a project manager on the construction of a wind farm after the previous project manager had a heart attack. It meant up to four weeks on site while the guy was recovering after surgery. My boss offered a large bonus if I'd go down there and keep the project on schedule. Two days after my conversation with Laurie, I was flying from SeaTac to Midland.

During the next three weeks, I didn't have much time to think about Laurie's issues. After all, we were still just friends and she wasn't my responsibility -- yet. I spent twelve hours a day, six days a week, working on the wind farm project. I was exhausted by the time the guy I was filling in for returned to work. He and I spent three days together, making certain everything was turned over properly before I boarded a plane to take me home.

*******************

I was only back in my apartment a few hours when there was a knock on the door. I opened the door to find Laurie standing there holding Michelle's hand. Laurie looked like hell; she had lost weight and generally looked strung out. I asked her to come in, sit down and if there was anything I could get her. Laurie just shook her head.

"Welcome home, Sam. I've missed you these past few weeks. You've been such a good friend since Michelle and I moved in. It's good to have you home."

"What's going on Laurie?"

"Sam, I didn't come over here to burden you with my troubles. Michele saw you were home and wanted to see you. She's hoping you read to her soon. Maybe I could make dinner one night this week, you can come over, have a meal and read to Michelle. I bet it's been a while since you had a home cooked meal; unless you caught the eye of one of those Texas gals." Laurie actually smiled when she said this. It was good to see a smile on that sad face.

"My calendar is empty, didn't expect to be home this soon. So, yes, I'd love it if we could have a meal this week." I lifted Michelle and put her on my lap. "And I'd love to tell you a bedtime story." Michelle gave me a hug. I looked back at Laurie. "And, no, I didn't find any Texas gals to spend time with; mostly I just worked."

Laurie kept the smile on her face. "What should I make?"

"Anything but barbeque. I think I ate at least a whole cow down there."

Laurie made a nice salmon dinner; the meal was pleasant, but there was an unspoken cloud over the dinner table. Laurie kept watching the front door; as if waiting for something to happen. She didn't have to say it; I knew what she was thinking; what would happen if Michael showed up and found me sitting at the table with her and Michelle?

When we finished eating, Michelle went into the den to watch TV; Laurie watched her leave the room. Reading Laurie's mind, I had to ask, "What about a restraining order?"

Laurie looked at me and chose her words carefully, as if talking to herself. "Do you really think a man who is willing to go to jail for harming his wife is going to be stopped by a piece of paper? I had a neighbor growing up, she got tired of being her old man's punching bag. She pressed charges and got a restraining order. The guy made bail, showed up at their home and beat the crap out of her. She ended up spending three weeks in the hospital and her children ended up in child services."

Laurie's response gave me a lot to think about and shortly after reading to Michelle, I went back to my apartment. I already decided something had to be done. The trouble was -- what? I was sitting in my recliner with the first of a few bourbons and gave it some thought.

It would be nice if the asshole could be chased out of town and never came back. It would be nice, although if I made the threat, there would be no way to make certain he didn't retaliate. I'd have to watch my back every minute of every day -- not a good way to live. Unlike so many stories, I didn't have any Navy Seal or Mafioso friends that I could ask to make the threat on Michael's life -- scare the bejesus out of him without him knowing it's me behind it.

No matter which scenario I mulled around in my head, it came down to one thing; Michael would have to disappear permanently.

For the first time in my life, I contemplated taking the life of another human being. Sure, TV and the movies make it look so easy. Kill someone and shake it off, go about your business as if nothing happened. I knew that's not the case. I know two guys who had taken a life; one was an Iraqi War veteran, the other a cop returning fire on a man bent on killing him. Both told me how difficult it was to get over their feelings.

And here I was, sitting in my comfortable den, thinking about Michael and whether I could end his life. In many ways I thought it was the only way to save Laurie and Michelle. But; who made me the judge, jury and executioner?

Two days later, that question was answered. I heard the screaming next door and the sound of a door slamming. Looking out my front window, I saw Michael get into his truck and drive away. I went over to Laurie's apartment and knocked on the door. When there wasn't an answer, I opened the door and looked in.

Laurie was on the ground with her arms around Michelle. Both were crying hysterically. As I kneeled next to them, I saw something that horrified me. A small section of Michelle's scalp was bald.

"How?" is all that I could get out.

"We were eating dinner when Michelle spilled her milk. Michael went nuts; he pulled Michelle up off her chair by her hair. Her hair gave way, he didn't have enough hair to hold her full weight."

"Why was he even here? I thought you were going to keep him away after the last incident."

"He asked to come over to talk about the visitation schedule. He said he was sorry about my eye; he sounded so sincere"

"Laurie, you have to call the police!"

"I can't. The last thing he said before he stormed out of here is -- if I call the cops, he'll kill me and Michelle."

There was nothing I could say to change her mind; I silently stood there; Michael had just signed his own death certificate.

The question of what was answered; now how? How does one murder another human being and not get caught? It took me a full week to develop and refine my plan. Michael didn't show his face at Laurie's apartment during that week, but I followed him a few times in a rental car and learned that Michael was a creature of habit.

Growing up, my mother loved watching detective/murder mysteries. Two of the shows I watched with her were 'Columbo' and 'Monk'; both with eccentric detectives that always solved the case. So, I knew there wasn't a 'perfect' murder, only one that left few clues and, this was especially important -- the killer couldn't be cocky.

I thought it through as if it were a work project, listing all the components; certain I knew how I was going to do this.

*******************

It's rare for anyone to be hanging around late on weekday nights at the marina where I moor my fishing boat. I parked my truck in the lot and went down to my boat where I placed the small flag on the cabin door; the flag was a warning to any unexpected late night visitors that the boat owner had a female guest aboard; much like the ties we used to put on the dorm room door handle warning our roommates that we were 'entertaining' a member of the opposite sex. Basically, the flag meant, 'stay away'.

I went back to the truck and retrieved the used bicycle I purchased earlier down south in Everett. I put a hoody over my head and rode the three miles to the tavern where Michael spent almost every evening. I ditched the bicycle a block from the tavern and walked the rest of the way. Michael's truck was there; this being a semi-rural area, it wasn't locked. I disabled the dome light and waited in the back seat for Michael to come out.

An hour later, it seemed much longer, Michael came out of the bar and climbed into the driver's seat. No one came out with Michael, so this was my chance. (This was one of the many concerns I had, if someone came out the same time as Michael, I'd have to hide in the back until we got to his driveway. If Michael was lucky enough to pick up some skank, I planned to mace them both and get the hell out of there. I'd wait for another opportunity; I wasn't about to murder two people.)

As soon as Michael started his truck and before he put it in drive, I zapped him with the Taser; then immediately covered his head and upper body with the black construction-weight plastic garbage bag; wrapping it tight around his neck. The bag served two purposes, it suffocated him; and I didn't have to see his face as he expired. I climbed into the front seat; zip tied his arms and legs, just in case, shoved him over to the passenger side, and drove away.

There still wasn't any sign of life at the marina. I parked Michael's truck in the lot and carried the lifeless body to my boat, leaving it in the galley before locking back up. I drove Michael's truck the half mile to a spot where there is a drop off down to the cove. The water is fifty feet deep there and it would be a while before anyone knew a vehicle was submerged below. I put the truck in reverse and it backed itself over the cliff.

I walked back to my boat and left the dock. Less than a mile offshore, the Sound is well over two-hundred feet deep. It was still dark, the cloud cover hid most all of the moonlight. I pulled Michael's body back up and stuffed him inside one of my crab pots. It took some maneuvering to get him in it; I didn't want to start cutting up pieces if I didn't have to. Luckily, he was a small guy, he couldn't have been more than five-eight and maybe one-hundred-fifty pounds. With some effort and quite of bit of bending, his entire body fit inside the ten cubic foot pot. Just to be on the safe side, I wedged a twenty-five-pound plate in there with him.

Out the transom doorway and over the stern, the pot sunk out of sight.

I waited a few hours and started to fish. I hooked a wild Chinook that had to be thrown back in; but scored when I landed a twenty-three inch hatchery Chinook that I could keep. At eight am I was back at the dock. No sooner had I tied down when a Fish and Wildlife officer approached the boat.

"Mind if I take a look inside your ice chest?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. I didn't have a choice.

I opened the chest and he looked inside; he confirmed it was a hatchery fish.

"Set out any pots today?"

My heart was racing, but I did my best to keep calm as I answered.

"Not today."

"How many pots do you have on board?" (Each person on board is allowed a maximum of two pots in these waters. More than two earns a citation.)

"Just the one."

"Why just one?"

I was starting to get irritated with this guy. "Cause that's all I have today; I didn't even set it out. It's just here from last week. What's with the questions?"

He seemed contrite. "Sorry, for the past two weeks I've had five or more boats come in with too many pots for the number of people on board. The higher-ups are asking us to keep a closer eye on things."

I could see he was trying to make amends; so I let him off the hook. "Well, anyone that takes more than they're allowed deserves to get bit; I fish these waters all the time and I stay within my limits."

We parted ways and I started to breathe again.

*******************

Michael wasn't considered missing for almost a full week. When someone did start questioning where he was, the police took another two days before entering his apartment. Foul play was suspected when it appeared he hadn't taken any clothes or other personal effects. Laurie was eventually questioned, they even talked to me once. Without any witnesses or leads, the investigation stalled and went into the cold-case files. It probably didn't help that nobody cared for the asshole; not even his crack-whore of a mother.

As hard as it is to believe, Laurie seemed upset by Michael's sudden disappearance. I was giving Laurie plenty of space; trying not to rush her. We still had dinner at least once a week. Two weeks after Michael's disappearance, Laurie brought it up again. I couldn't hold my tongue.

"Laurie, the man beat you and abused your daughter. I don't understand why you're not glad he's gone."

"You don't understand, Sam. Michael was my boyfriend since junior high school; he's my first and only lover. He's the father of my daughter. He may have hit me; but I think he really loved me; it's just that he found it hard to show his love the way normal people do. He was raised by a woman who did drugs and had a string of men come into their home. Michael told me how some of those men beat his mom. Other times, he had to listen to her getting screwed in the next room, sometimes there was more than one man in there with her. Don't you see; a boy growing up in that environment can't turn out normal. I did everything I could to show him love to help him heal."

What could I say? How do you question or respond to such a statement? I decided to leave it alone. Maybe time would open her eyes and change her mind. I thought to myself, "Take your time, be her friend. When the time is right, let her know how you feel and how you can take care of her and Michelle, how we can become a family."

*******************

A week later my boss asked me to head back down to Texas and resume management of the wind farm project. The former manager came back to work too soon and had a relapse. The stress was too much for him and he was forced to take an early retirement. It would mean I'd be down there for at least three or four months; but maybe that was a good thing. Hanging around Laurie without letting her know how much I loved her was getting to be too difficult.

I only got back to Washington once during the four months I was gone. It was after the first month and only for a weekend. Laurie, Michelle and I had dinner; I read to Michelle before her bedtime. It was a nice, friendly evening. Laurie seemed to be reconciled to the fact that Michael may not come back. Sunday morning I headed back to Texas.

It was a Friday evening months later when I returned after the project was completed. I didn't see Laurie or Michelle until Sunday night. Michelle saw me first as I sat out on my back patio; she came out their patio door and gave me a hug before she showed me the doll "Uncle Jeff" had given her. Laurie and some tall, dark-haired fellow came out within minutes. Laurie seemed all bubbly.

"Sam; you're home. What a surprise." She looked at her companion. "Jeff, this is the neighbor I was telling you about; Sam. Sam, this is Jeff."

I stood up to shake hands with Jeff. He took my hand, but I could see he wasn't all that anxious to make my acquaintance. Laurie was oblivious.

Laurie seemed to want to stay and chat; she asked me two questions about my time in Texas before Jeff interrupted her and told both Laurie and Michelle it was time to go back in; he was hungry and it was time to eat.

I only talked to Laurie one more time after that. It was the following Wednesday. Laurie stopped over and told me how she and Jeff had met at work. How he swept her off her feet, a whirlwind romance. How Jeff was in love with Michelle and hoped to be her adoptive father someday. Finally, she stopped talking about the wonderful and magnificent Jeff.

"Sam, thanks for all the times you listened to my tales of woe. Thanks for being my friend. I'm moving in with Jeff next week and we're planning on getting married in seven or eight months. It will take that long to have my divorce from Michael finalized since he never signed the papers before he disappeared. I probably won't have much chance to see you again. Jeff doesn't think it's right for a married woman to have a male friend. He's old-fashioned that way; kind of like Michael. When I asked if we could invite you to our wedding, he didn't think it was a good idea; he thought people would talk. I told him that you and I never did anything to be ashamed of; but he thought it's best not to give people a reason to believe otherwise. I'm sorry, Sam."

When Jeff came the next week to empty her apartment, I left to go fishing. Jeff's smirk as I walked to my truck told me everything I needed to know.

*******************

Epilogue -- Five Years Later

I haven't seen or talked to Laurie in five years; I do receive a Christmas card from her every December. It always has one of those photocopied sheets inside giving the recipient all the family news. Laurie and her husband had a daughter three years ago and she gave birth to a boy this past year. It seems all's well in her world; but I wonder -- did she trade one abusing asshole for another? To tell the truth, I don't know and I don't care.

I date some; but haven't gotten serious with any of the ladies. I get laid often enough that I don't need to do it myself. Mostly, I concentrate on advancing my career. In other words, I'm high on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, close to self-actualization and fairly happy if I ignore the one fact that I haven't found the right woman to share a long-term, loving relationship.

This past summer a group who were scuba diving in the Sound came across a truck at the bottom of the cove. The police figured out it belonged to Michael Turner and re-started the investigation into his disappearance. They came and talked to me; some bright detective (or maybe they do it with computers now) linked the fact that his truck was found near where I keep my boat and that I was once Laurie's neighbor. They even asked, politely, if they could search my truck and boat. I let them, what the hell; there's no way they'd find any DNA. But I guess they had to go through the motions.

I suppose there could be a time when they come to my door and take me away. I'm not really worried, but I do wish the nightmares would stop. I saw a movie once, a Western; the bandit said it best, "It shows you, sooner or later, you must answer for every good deed."* Pretty cynical, I know; but it's how I feel.

Yea, yea -- you don't have to say it - I should have known better.

* Spoken by the bandit Calvera, played by Eli Wallach in the 1960 film, "The Magnificent Seven".