Every Dead Thing

Complainant Detective Second Grade Charles Parker stated he left house at 1900 hrs following argument with wife, Susan Parker. Went to Tom’s Oak Tavern and remained there until around 0130 hrs on December 13. Entered house through front door and found furniturein hallway disturbed. Entered kitchen and found wife and daughter. Stated that wife was tied to kitchen chair but daughter’s body appeared to have been moved from adjacent chair and arranged over mother’s body. Called police at 0155 hrs and waited at scene.

Victims, identified to me by Charles Parker as Susan Parker (wife, 33 years old)and Jennifer Parker (daughter, 3 years old), were in kitchen. Susan Parker was tied to a kitchen chair in center of floor, facing door. A second chair was placed beside it, with some ropes still attached to rear struts. Jennifer Parker was lying across her mother, faceup.

Susan Parker was barefoot and wearing blue jeans and white blouse. Blouse was ripped and had been pulled down to her waist, exposing breasts. Jeans and underwear had been pulled down to her calves. Jennifer Parker was barefoot, wearing a white nightdress with blue flower pattern.

I directed Crime Scene Technician Annie Minghella to make a full investigation. After victims were confirmed dead by Medical Examiner Clarence Hall and released, I accompanied bodies to hospital. I observed Dr. Anthony Loeb as he used rape kit and turned it over to me. I collected following items of evidence:

96-12-1806-M1: white blouse from body of Susan Parker (Victim No. 1)

96-12-1806-M2: blue denim jeans from body of Victim 1

96-12-1806-M3: blue cotton underwear from body of Victim 1

96-12-1806-M4: combings from pubic hair of Victim 1

96-12-1806-M5: washings from vagina of Victim 1

96-12-1806-M6: scrapings from under Victim 1’s fingernails, right hand

96-12-1806-M7: scrapings from under Victim 1’s fingernails, left hand

96-12-1806-M8: combings from Victim 1’s hair, right front

96-12-1806-M9: combings from Victim 1’s hair, left front

96-12-1806-M10: combings from Victim 1’s hair, right rear

96-12-1806-M11: combings from Victim 1’s hair, left rear

96-12-1806-M12: white/blue cotton nightdress from body of Jennifer Parker Victim No. 2)

96-12-1806-M13: washings from vagina of Victim 2

96-12-1806-M14: scrapings from under Victim 2’s fingernails, right hand

96-12-1806-M15: scrapings from under Victim 2’s fingernails, left hand

96-12-1806-M16: combings from Victim 2’s hair, right front

96-12-1806-M17: combings from Victim 2’s hair, left front

96-12-1806-M18: combings from Victim 2’s hair, right rear

96-12-1806-M19: combings from Victim 2’s hair, left rear

It had been another bitter argument, made worse by the fact that it followed our lovemaking. The embers of previous fights were stoked back into glowing life: my drinking, my neglect of Jenny, my bouts of bitterness and self-pity. When I stormed from the house, Susan’s cries followed me into the cold night air.

It was a twenty-minute walk to the bar. When the first shot of Wild Turkey hit my stomach, the tension dissipated from my body and I relaxed into the familiar routine of the drunk: angry, then maudlin, sorrowful, remorseful, resentful. By the time I left the bar only the hard core remained, a chorus of drunks and sots battling with Van Halen on the jukebox. I stumbled at the door and fell down the steps outside, barking my knees painfully on the gravel at their base.

And then I stumbled home, sick and nauseous, cars swerving wildly to avoid me as I swayed onto the road, the faces of the drivers wide with alarm and anger.

I fumbled for my keys as I arrived at the door, and scraped the white paint beneath the lock as I struggled to insert the key. There were a lot of scrapes beneath the lock.

I knew something was wrong as soon as I opened the front door and stepped into the hall. When I had left, the house had been warm, the heating on full blast because Jennifer especially felt the winter cold. She was a beautiful but fragile child, as delicate as a china vase. Now the house was as cold as the night outside. A mahogany flower stand lay fallen on the carpet, the flowerpot broken in two pieces amid its own soil. The roots of the poinsettia it had contained were exposed and ugly.

I called Susan’s name once, then again, louder this time. Already the drunken haze was clearing and I had my foot on the first step of the stairs to the bedrooms when I heard the back door bang against the sink unit in the kitchen. Instinctively I reached for my Colt DE but it lay upstairs on my desk, upstairs where I had discarded it before facing Susan and another chapter in the story of our dying marriage. I cursed myself then. Later, it would come to symbolize all of my failures, all of my regrets.