Читать книгу No, Daddy, Don’t!: A Father's Murderous Act Of Revenge - Irene Pence - Страница 17

NINE

After John Battaglia’s time in jail, he was contrite, and even seemed calm. He continued in counseling with Randy Severson once a week. Michelle also met with Severson for updates on Battaglia’s progress. The counselor told her that John was doing much better “adjusting” to the divorce, and made a special point of saying, “John is no danger to you.”

The following spring, Dick Dickson was working in his yard. He began weeding the flower garden on the side of his house that faced Michelle’s, and noticed two electric wires coming from her attic. Concerned, he went over to tell her about them. They both went up to her attic to investigate, and saw that the wires had been spliced into her telephone line.

Outside, they traced the wires, following them as they stretched across the newly green grass and into several bushes at the rear of the lot. Crawling underneath, Dickson found the wires plugged in to a recorder. There was only one explanation as to how those wires became attached to her phone.

A few days later, Michelle confronted John Battaglia and he admitted connecting the wires to her telephone line. He proudly told how he would set his alarm for 2:00 A.M. and walk down to her house. After scrambling under the bushes, he’d take out the tape, insert a fresh one, then go back to his apartment and listen to all of her conversations. He knew exactly who she was talking to and what she was doing. He wasn’t the least repentant. In fact, he was arrogant, boasting that he had learned several of those clandestine tricks in the Marines.

So many happenings that appeared coincidental now had a logical explanation. John could have heard her making plans for her trip to the client’s office in Houston. Four months earlier, Laurie had fallen and bumped her head, and Michelle had called the doctor. Battaglia was at her door the next morning screaming that she was an unfit mother and that if she had been watching Laurie more closely, that wouldn’t have happened. Michelle couldn’t imagine how John had known of Laurie’s fall. When she called the doctor back, he insisted that he had never talked to Battaglia.

After speaking with the doctor, she contacted her lawyer, who had sent out a private investigator to check her phones for “bugs.” None were found, for he hadn’t looked in the attic.

Battaglia’s wiretapping was a federal offense, but any week now they would sign their final divorce papers, and Michelle didn’t want to file charges that would only interrupt the proceedings and give John another reason to delay giving her a divorce.

Over five months, James Newth, John Battaglia’s lawyer, had sent him several requests for payment and had received nothing. In addition to covering the habeas corpus hearing in front of Judge Entz, Newth had been representing Battaglia in his divorce. On June 18, James Newth wrote Battaglia, stating that without payment he would no longer represent him. Battaglia shot back his reply:

I received your letter today regarding your proposed withdrawal from the . . . cases in which you ‘represented’ me. It is unnecessary for you to file these motions to withdraw . . . since I am firing you.

Battaglia twisted the knife further and closed with:

I am in the process of contacting counsel regarding the proper legal actions to take relating to your negligent representation of me.

James Newth took his motion to withdraw before Judge Harold Entz, who knew the situation all too well, and quickly released Newth.

During the summer, John Battaglia had many unsupervised visits with Laurie. It was a relief for Michelle to not have to include Billy in these exchanges. She had too much firsthand evidence of how Battaglia had treated the boy.

However, Laurie had atopic dermatitis—she was highly allergic to grasses, trees, and animal hairs, and these allergies were also aggravated by stress. John complained that every night she spent with him, her scratching made it difficult for either one of them to sleep.

When John returned Laurie after a weekend visitation, her little legs, feet, and hands would be scratched and bleeding.

At last, on July 10, 1987, the final divorce decree was ordered, and the marriage of John Battaglia and Michelle LaBorde was dissolved.

Michelle was awarded managing conservatorship of Laura. Battaglia would be allowed unsupervised weekly visitation in addition to other specified holidays. Although Michelle emphasized John’s physical abuse of herself, the judge declared that it didn’t matter what John had done to her. The judge wouldn’t order supervised visits because John had not harmed Laurie.

The very first time John Battaglia was scheduled to visit Laurie after the divorce, he appeared at the house late and in an angry mood.

“Hey, bitch!” he yelled. “Give me my kid!” He grabbed for Laurie and she started crying.

Michelle held her daughter tightly. “You’re in no condition to take her,” she said firmly. “Just leave!”

“Look, whore, we all know you’re an unfit mother, and I’m not going anywhere without Laurie!”

Michelle started to carry the baby back in the house, but John wouldn’t leave. She was terrified to turn Laurie over to him, and angry that he would come for her in this condition.

Blocking Michelle’s open door so it wouldn’t close, he got in her face and continued screaming. “Okay, bitch, what are you going to do about it now? I’m not leaving, what are you gonna do about it? Huh? Call the police? Huh? Huh, bitch?”

Catching him off guard, Michelle pushed him out of the door, slammed it shut, and locked it. Then she spent the next thirty minutes trying to calm her daughter.

Battaglia angrily returned to his apartment and picked up the phone. He called the police and filed an assault and battery charge against Michelle. The police came out to John’s apartment and took his complaint.

The black Dallas skies unleashed a torrent of rain, unusual for August 13, a time when the sun normally beats down on the baked ground and sunburned flowers.

Michelle LaBorde was driving on the busy, eight-lane LBJ Freeway when a car pulled into her lane as if she were invisible. The sedan clipped her fender and threw her into a spin on the slick pavement. She twirled 180 degrees. To her horror, she found herself sliding backward, looking directly into the oncoming traffic. Another car hit her head-on and spun her around again. Her car crashed into the concrete median, where it finally came to rest.

Twenty-month-old Laurie was with her. The child was screaming from fright, but miraculously had suffered no injuries. Michelle fared almost as well, with only a bruised left thigh and upper arm, but her car was totaled.

Because of a mix-up with insurance forms, the claim wouldn’t be settled for over a month, and she would be forced to ride the city bus to work each day. Walking to and from the bus stop would be the problem. She’d be out alone, and vulnerable to John’s whims. This would prove more hazardous than she could ever dream.