Читать книгу No, Daddy, Don’t!: A Father's Murderous Act Of Revenge - Irene Pence - Страница 16

EIGHT

It was a crisp Tuesday, January 6, 1987, when police knocked on John Battaglia’s apartment door and shoved an arrest warrant into his hands. He wasn’t surprised, after having thrown the rock at Michelle’s car. He’d felt sure she’d file charges as soon as she got back to her office.

He couldn’t help but smile inwardly at how irritated Michelle was with the legal system. He’d blithely go through the process of being fingerprinted, posting bail, and getting out. Later, he’d go back for a hearing, pay a fine, and leave.

Battaglia grabbed his jacket and followed the police to their car.

At the Dallas County jail, Battaglia took a “business as usual” attitude as he strolled over to the desk to take care of the paperwork. He’d put up $100 for the $1,000 surety bond. After filling out forms, he’d be out the door. For just such situations, he always carried a $1,000 in cash in his billfold. It had frequently come in handy.

Battaglia turned to the clerk behind the counter and asked, “Could you shove that phone over here, please? I need to call the guy about my bail bond.”

“Not so fast,” the officer behind him said. He laid another form in front of Battaglia. “You can’t use a surety bond on this one. Judge Entz raised your bond to ten thousand dollars. Cash.”

Battaglia stared at the policeman in disbelief.

“Nobody ever told me about this. A surety bond was always okay before.”

The officer shrugged and picked up the form. “Says here that there’s good cause to believe you won’t appear when directed by the court. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Judge Entz asked for the ten-thousand-dollar cash bond and that’s what he’ll get, or you’ll get jail time.”

Battaglia sighed. “Give me the phone,” he said. “I’ll call my lawyer.”

Battaglia called his attorney, James Newth. After a brief wait, he explained that he couldn’t come up with the $10,000 in cash right then. Newth told him he’d file a writ of habeas corpus to try to get him out of jail, but cautioned that it would take a couple of days. Battaglia gave him the information he needed and hung up. Then, he quickly punched in another number for a call he was craving to make.

He reached Michelle Laborde at work. Cupping his hand over the mouthpiece, he moved as far as the phone cord would stretch. When Michelle answered, he asked, “Well, bitch, aren’t you proud of yourself? They have some fucking bond deal here where I have to come up with ten thousand dollars in cold, hard cash. This time they’re gonna lock me up. Aren’t you as happy as shit about that?

“You are going to be sorry. Some dark night when you’re out by yourself I can disable your car, and I’ll be following you. I’ll know where you are—alone with nobody to help you.”

Michelle listened to him rant, then hung up the phone and shuddered. Once he got out of jail, would he be all the worse?

Three days in the county jail made John Battaglia furious. His confinement was all Michelle’s doing, since his problems were always someone else’s fault. And even worse, he still couldn’t come up with the $10,000 in cash. It was Friday, and all he could think was that his damn attorney better have something up his sleeve to get him out, for he certainly didn’t want to spend the weekend in this godforsaken place.

Judge Harold Entz entered Dallas County Criminal Court No. 4 and took his seat at the bench. A large man with a reputation for being firm, he had served fourteen years as a judge. He nodded to the lawyers. “Is the defendant ready?”

Battaglia let his attorney do all the talking. James Newth pleaded that the court had previously accepted John Battaglia’s surety bonds and now the judge had issued only a verbal order to the county clerk to increase the bond to $10,000. And cash at that. The lawyer complained that the court had given no notice of the bond change, so his client had been denied due process of law, and that the bond had been increased without a prior hearing or evidence. He ended by asking that the defendant be discharged from such illegal confinement and restraint.

Michelle had hired a new attorney, John Barr, and he accompanied her to the hearing.

John’s father, John Battaglia Sr., had not seen his son for several months. Among his other complaints, he was furious that John had filed for divorce. But today John Jr. was desperate and had invited his father to attend the hearing. He hoped that his father had brought along his checkbook.

When Michelle described how Battaglia had thrown a rock at her car, John Jr. turned around and caught his father’s eye. He raised his right arm and flexed his bicep, then grinned.

Judge Entz listened to both sides. The judge had read about John Battaglia’s offenses himself rather than relying on a paralegal or a clerk to do his research. He saw that Battaglia’s history of getting probation had not deterred him from committing offenses. Judge Entz slid his finger down the column of entries in the document, counting the times Battaglia had violated Michelle’s protective order. Experience had taught him that those were only the reported occurrences. After noting the number of offenses, the judge announced that the bond would remain at $10,000 cash.

The police returned Battaglia to his cell.

Monday came, and John Battaglia was still in jail and desperate. He again phoned Michelle.

“Listen, I’ll do whatever you want,” he said, sounding hoarse and frantic. “I’ve been here for eight days and I’m going nuts. I’ll drop everything I’ve asked for in the divorce and you can have Laurie for the lion’s share of the time. Please, Michelle,” he begged. “Listen to me. I’m stuck in here. I need to get a job so I can come up with the money. Please, Michelle, please.”

Michelle thought about Battaglia’s plea, but she was tired of giving in to his demands. An hour later, she was surprised when he called back.

“I’m out,” he announced.

“You are?” she said, astonished. “How’d you manage that?”

“Dad came through at the last minute. I’m under big time pressure to pay him back, but at least I’m free. Now I need to come over and talk about those charges.”

When John Battaglia arrived at Michelle’s house that night, he looked terrible. His skin was chalky white, and he resembled a whipped hound dog. He sat quietly on the small gray chair in Michelle’s living room, looking tired and remorseful. When he talked to her about dropping the charges, he sounded frantic. Maybe, Michelle thought, his confinement had been long enough to get his attention.

The next day, Michelle called her attorney, John Barr, to discuss Battaglia’s request to drop the charges. Her lawyer told her that if there were a trial and they found Battaglia guilty, he would probably be given a penalty of no more than the time he had already served.

Resting her forehead on her hand, Michelle reflected on the injustice of it all. There was almost no consequence for violating a protective order.

At lunch the next day, she drove to the county courthouse and signed an affidavit of non-prosecution to dismiss the charges. Michelle desperately hoped that John had learned his lesson, and would start listening to reason. Had John not acted so calm, insisting how much counseling had changed him, she would have realized that John had just sweet-talked her through another phase of the abuse cycle.