Читать книгу Every Move You Make - M. William Phelps - Страница 9

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.