Chapter 8 - Outcome
Everything sooner or later, falls to a routine. The routine can be good or even great. I can close my eyes and go back to being a small child. Not everything was perfect, but nothing is perfect. There were great routines in my childhood.
I remember we had a family doctor back then. Family doctors, real family doctors were on their way out. We had one of the last ones. A couple of small towns up the river, that small town had the doctor's office. Children get strange things out of events sometimes. I was no different in that regard. When my mom was sick or unwell? She would have the obligatory doctor appointment.
If the season was at all reasonable and not raining. Spring, summer, or fall? My dad would take me from the doctor's office. Mom had to get there for her appointment, then wait forever for her turn. Then to see the doctor visit and all that. But me, a small child? This was fun. I looked forward to it. My dad would take me to the deli ice cream place in that town. I always got an ice cream cone. Any flavor, they had tons. Double scoop if I wanted.
Then? Fishing. My dad wasn't the giant fisherman, it was an irregular thing. But after the ice cream, the double scoop? He had an old metal tackle box, with old fishing stuff in it. He'd have worms, and he would take me to the boat launch ramp there. Actually, just down from it. I was very young, and could barely grasp it. Push the button on the closed face reel to cock it, throw the pole to launch the sinker hook and worm bait. Watch that red and white floating plastic globe, or my dad would fish the bottom. So I got to try that way sometimes.
Every once in a while? I actually got a bluegill or something. Strange looking back on it, you laugh about children and their odd misconceptions. I was filled with all but joy if my mom was hurt or sick. Wow! Ice cream and fishing! I can laugh about it now. My mom and dad looking at me funny. Being told my mom was a little under the weather, and my childish enthusiastic joy. I explained the ice cream and fishing. They smiled and laughed, they got it.
A great routine.
Sundays as a child were another one. Church wasn't fun. Uncomfortable clothes, and up early for it. But? Just like mom getting sick brought ice cream and fishing. Church was another ritual just like that. Early services, then? My dad and mom liked the big Sunday breakfast. You got home from church and got into your casual clothes. Sunday breakfast? Everything. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon, ham. Home fries and hash browns. Just... everything. And? You could have all you wanted, of anything. Extra bacon? Sure. Sausage or a mountain of scrambled eggs? Why not. Extra syrup on pancakes or home made waffles? Of course. Blueberry was my favorite.
When the weather was cooperating, my dad loved the big Sunday breakfast to happen on the big cement patio out back. A big cement table because replacing wooden picnic tables got old. Sometimes other people came over for these giant Sunday breakfast affairs. Like a little party, every Sunday.
Another great routine.
All great routines come to an end eventually, though. You enjoy them while they're there.
There's routines that are not so great, and even some routines that are downright horrible. Fortunately, even a routine that's terrible won't last forever. Because nothing does. The routine I'm in right now? Not a good one.
Once a week, I go to get a now routine big shot of time release that shuts my emotional responses down. If its time for another bottle of the little white pills that one a night activates sleeping? I get another. The lawyer, the one that came and saved me. She has an expense account, and must have a running deal with the hospital. Managing people like me, in shock or grief? Must be routine to big defense law firms.
I've been talking with the doctor. I know the name of the drug I need. It doesn't require knowing how to hit a vein right. Subcutaneous fat layer injection. Short needle, in the butt or thigh or really any meaty spot will do fine. The doctor is letting me learn to prepare the shot. He says this is fine. No different than a diabetic learning it. I have my vial of stuff, I have my syringe. Pretty easy. I make sure the syringe is all the way in. I go into the rubber seal, and slowly draw upwards. I know how many cc makes my dose. Always upside down before you draw the syringe out to get the right amount. Air bubbles are a big no no.
Then? With no intravenous injection to sweat, pretty easy. Firm jab and plunge. The little white pills? Pharmacy, any pharmacy has them by the bucket full back there. I got loaded up with prescriptions for the main liquid vials, and one for the little white pills.
I got online. There's online "doctors". If its not for anything narcotic, a small fee and an online "consultation", and I can get a surprisingly large prescription for either drug. The syringes as well. Bought in this manner, its actually surprisingly cheap. The vial that provides for the shot that shuts down emotional responses? Been around long enough its routine, and multiple generic versions are available and really affordable. No addict would want the stuff, it keeps it cheap. The little white pills, the codependent? Really cheap when you go generic and with an online pharmacy. Pennies a pill.
Another weekly routine. Meeting the police to pick me up. They walk me into the station. Media covers these trips. Its still in the news cycle, but its lessening. The talking heads on TV? They speculate. Some take the tack that the police are trying to crack me. There goes the man that police speculate may have had something to do with the horrific murder of his girlfriend.
Other talking heads? Cut from the herd, and speculate the police are trying to generate new leads. The police, get their show. That they're doing something. To lessen the downwards pressure from the higher ups, the important people? To just do something. The DA gets the same show, the same relief valve. My lawyer even gets her show. She's what stands between the police and me.
No one admits anything. Its all one big no comment. Any statements? Is just the DA or the lead detective. Its not entirely clear exactly what happened, but they're trying their best to get to the bottom of it. Rest assured, anything that can be done? Is being done. Its too early to speculate or comment on an ongoing investigation. All possibilities are being carefully examined, all possible leads are being vigorously investigated.
This routine won't go on forever. The news cycle? Starts to subside, then picks up again on slow news days. It falls again. With no action developing? It will fade. The news vultures will move on and pick at another carcass, eventually.
The detectives carefully give controlled leaks. Planned little leaks. One? I'm a suspect but nothing is developing and it doesn't seem to be going anywhere on that end. Another? I've gone from suspect to person of interest and witness. The police are still interviewing me, but are leaning towards what I might know, more than thinking I did it. Yet another is that they ruled me out completely, and are working with me to try to develop new leads.
These conflicting drops of information, the talking heads snatch up and excitedly tell viewers what the "source close to the investigation" related. Always to the backdrop of me coming into or out of the police station. Me, the lead detective and a few of his detectives. My lawyer with me. Its no longer clear who the star is, and who comprises the entourage of these little sojourns.
I spend a lot more days in the police station with the detectives than anyone knows. This weekly ritual? Is the show. I just go in a back door casually on many other days. If you don't call the press? They simply don't know. The early super high pressure of camping out on her front lawn is long gone. I can go for a walk now.
There's limited progress, but nothing concrete. When the news cycle disappears completely, the pressure on the detectives and the DA will fade soon after. Then? The attempt to solve it will dissolve slowly. There's reality in on this. Other cases that can be solved? Can't be ignored. They might be highly solve-able. Wasting resources on a case going nowhere and growing colder by the day? Someone has to assign limited resources.
I had a meeting with my lawyer, and her supervisor. One of the four names on the sign. There's four giant corner offices, the big senior partners. The ones on the TV commercials and billboards.
I'm there, because he wants to hear how satisfied I may or may not be with how his firm handled my case. I all but gushed. I'm not making it up, as I describe what was going on when they found me in the fetal position in shock and what they were like dealing with me. How she swooped in, and had the magical ability to bark at them and chase them off with a stick.
She played the tape for him. That round one informal meeting. He smiled cool. He liked it. He had a shark on his legal defense team, he loved it. The cops and DA already knew who she was, she was no slouch. But now? She had the keen acumen to sign a high profile case. One that looked horrific.
He loved the way she handled herself and took no prisoners, and just gutted the detective and the DA. He relished the way she didn't spare the judge referee either. Taunting the DA. Where's Bobby Big Guns, huh? Please, file charges. Go for it. I'm daring you. Send Bobby, so I can be the one that hands him his ass in a hat in a courtroom. You don't have the guts to file on this one. You have nothing, and I know it.
His smile, her smile. How happy and appreciative I was? Solid gold to him as a senior partner. He approved of the way she wrangled it under her control. How she agreed to let the police try to generate leads, as long as they did it politely. How she kept the tape as backup insurance, to guarantee their continued understanding of the deal.
She was a bigger gun now to him. She was turning into one of his own Bobby Big Guns soon. He could now send her, in court in front of Jimmy the judge. He would be wary. He'd have to make slow, careful decisions when she was defending someone. He couldn't pull any little stunts and give the prosecution something to hang their hat on.
The DA, too. If in the future he sent her to defend an important client? They wouldn't take her light. They would likely start talking "deal". If she threatened them? They would take her seriously. Any big law firm likes to have the list of testimonials on their website. A list of what the police claimed? And what the outcome for their client was. I gave them permission. My initials. My initials were picked up on suspicion of murder one. Resolution of the case? Not one night spent in jail at all, no bail hearing, all charges dropped and never even filed.
When you had money and you were in a bad spot? You wanted a law firm like this to represent you. They came in and their lawyer all but handled the police and the DA's office like a lion tamer with a whip and a chair in each hand.
The senior partner smiled, nodded, and spoke in affectionate soothing tones to his rising star defense attorney. He called her "my girl", and it made her clearly beam with pride. He told her to stay on it, see it through. He told her a relationship with the detectives and the DA's office was fine now, as long as things remained stable and she was in control and they knew it. She was authorized to continue to use research and investigators, but to try to limit the cost as this wound down.
He assured her, a working relationship with the detectives and the DA was a fine thing, as long as you had the upper hand. She could now get things from those detectives or the DA, if she needed them as a resource. I signed a paper allowing use of my initials and outcome as part of their advertised prowess. When the case was closed completely? Only then would it go up. He even took us both out to a fancy lunch.
He seemed sincere, when he talked about the system. How people thought the police arrested people, and those damned lawyers? They just found technicalities and got them off. I was seeing the other side now. What the police and DA could and would do, when they had nothing and just needed a scapegoat. I agreed, it had been an eye opener. He agreed, that there are ambulance chasing bottom feeders, but top notch defense lawyers like her? Were all that stood between the police and the DA's office running wild. I could see it, too.
He seemed sincere, or it could easily just be a well practiced little speech. This was a little political city after all. You never knew.
Its not looking like we're going to get her killer before the whole thing deflates and the world moves on. I keep a careful record though. Of what seems like best guesses, hunches, and gut ideas. Maybe, there's things the police can't do that maybe I'll be able to try. If I can? I will.
There's something that took up residence within me and seems to be growing slowly. Nature abhors a vacuum, and something will eventually replace it. I keep it to myself. I'm not so dumb as to lash out verbally. I keep this a secret. When emotions go? You're left with only cold hard logic.
I find myself realizing that I'm capable of violence now, and in a way I never before imagined. I can imagine my hands around the throat of whoever did this, or ordered it done. I can dispassionately squeeze the life out of them, drop them, and calmly walk away. Not a care in the world for their fate, or really my own.
Its no revenge fantasy, either. Its a calm realization that it simply is. I now know what a father that had a child killed feels. You can simply walk right up to them, and do away with them. Cold blooded, ruthless. Efficient. No guilt, no remorse. They earned it. They all but asked for it.
Yeah. I keep this to myself. Naturally.
There's two kinds of people like me, that go through what I went through. Some fall to pieces, and can never go on or need propped up to barely function right. Then there's the ones that lash out. Unpredictably. Loose cannons.
I let myself be seen as the former, I need propped up to barely function. I am though, definitely turning into more of the latter. I could lash out, and very violently. Very unpredictably. I wasn't doing it? But I recognized that I could and that under certain conditions? It wouldn't take much.
Honestly, in my own self assessment of myself and my condition? I figured it wasn't that out of line to have thoughts and feelings like this. Anger was after all, one of the stages of grief. And if "anger" was one of the normal stages of grieving when grandma died from cancer, well... based on what I had seen and experienced and gone through. Well. Honestly, now. How much of a leap was it and how big of a deal really was it, after all. If I had more anger than the person that a relative died from an unexpected illness or car accident. Was it that big a deal if I got my "anger" stage out of the order it was supposed to come in.
I didn't want to act out and erupt verbally or by throwing things around or being too confrontational with people. I figured someone might err on the side of "caution" if I went around shooting my mouth off about taking violent revenge on... whoever. And, I honestly figured that the level of what I had to eat and swallow simply made for more anger, and anger out of order on the "grief process" poster at the hospital.
I was concerned with so many other things at that point in time. Truthfully, if my final stage of grief was "anger"? It wasn't high on my priorities. I was in a sort of survival mode. Or, maybe the strong antidepressant shots messed with my order of the grief process stages.
I honestly figured this would pass.
Walking in the rain? Is fast becoming my best and seemingly only effective therapy. Its temporary, but its something.
I'm never going to be the same, ever again.