Читать книгу No, Daddy, Don’t!: A Father's Murderous Act Of Revenge - Irene Pence - Страница 18

TEN

Needing to leave early to catch the bus to work, Michelle LaBorde hurriedly gulped down a cup of coffee in her kitchen. She grabbed her briefcase and walked out into the warm August morning.

She froze when she spotted John Battaglia’s car. He didn’t have a scheduled visit with Laurie, so he had no right to be there. His sudden appearances always scared her to death.

She saw him walking toward her house. Although she was shaking, she decided to take her counselor’s advice and be firm with him. She turned and stormed up the sidewalk. “I have legal rights and it’s about time you started observing them!” she yelled. “I want you to leave immediately!”

She approached the first set of five concrete steps leading to her front door, but Battaglia held his ground on the top step and made no attempt to move. She closed in until she was standing on the stair immediately below him, close enough to feel his hot breath on her face. In a strong voice she said, “Get out of here or I’m calling the police!”

Battaglia’s eyes narrowed with rage. There was no stream of obscenities this time. He simply raised his fist and knocked Michelle down the concrete steps. She tumbled onto the unforgiving sidewalk. Her briefcase flew from her hand and legal papers scattered across the lawn. She was dazed at first, not truly comprehending what had happened. When her mind cleared, she sat up and touched her torn hose and skinned knees. She was furious.

Battaglia stomped right by her as she sat on the sidewalk. Then he climbed into his car and roared up the street.

Odice Cooper cautiously opened the front door and peeked out. The whites of her eyes were large and she looked panicky. Michelle saw Odice’s frightened face and realized that her baby-sitter had endured more than any employee should have to.

“Call the police!” Michelle shrieked. “This time he’s going to be arrested and he can rot in jail!”

Twenty-eight-year-old Bonnie Kingman lived in the same hilly, tree-shaded neighborhood as Michelle LaBorde, but she had no idea what the woman who lived two blocks from her had been going through.

Clad in khaki shorts and a pink T-shirt, Bonnie was enjoying a chat with her next-door neighbor as both women watched their toddlers play in the hot afternoon sun.

A bus rumbled down the street in front of them and slid to a stop. A pretty woman stepped off whom Bonnie recognized, but didn’t know by name. As always, the woman was dressed with bandbox precision. Her smart red suit was accented with black and she carried an expensive-looking briefcase. Diamond studs sparkled in her earlobes.

With a subtle hint of recognition, the stylish woman smiled at the two women and said, “Hi.”

They said, “Hello,” and stared admiringly as she began to cross the street. Bonnie glanced at her watch. “Five-thirty,” she said. “Time to start dinner.”

Both women began heading home with their children. Just as Bonnie reached her front door, she heard a scream. She turned and saw that the woman in red had crossed the street and was several feet from the entrance to the teachers’ parking lot at the White Rock Elementary School, directly across from Bonnie’s house.

A flurry of movement caught Bonnie’s attention next. A man was beating the woman, who appeared to be fighting for her life. She was raising her hands and using her expensive briefcase to fend off his blows. He wore only tight white tennis shorts and no shirt. Bonnie thought she heard him call the woman a bitch, and she wondered what had the woman done to make that jogger so mad?