In the Attic Final MS PDF 2020 Revised
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In The Attic Warning In The Attic is based on a true crime story. This tells of a vicious, double ax- murder that actually occurred. The horror of this crime is not embellished, nor abbreviated. Explicit descriptions of the crime scene, factual dialogue, real police procedures, and accurate thoughts of the killer and detective are portrayed. Some names and locations are changed for privacy and commercialization. Chapter 1 — Friday, June 10th - 4:55 pm “I’m so terrified… that psycho’s going to kill me.” Maria Dersch trembled like it was twenty below. “What’s his name again?” I clicked my pen. Maria sat across the plain, metal desk. We were in a small police interview room with no windows or distractions on the walls. “Shaughnessy.” Maria swallowed. “William…Raymond…Shaughnessy.” She double swallowed. “But he goes by Billy Ray.” I’ll never forget Maria’s anguish—her voice hesitant, like a condemned woman stepping up to the guillotine…knowing what waited for her above. Maria said it again. “I’m so terrified that psycho’s going to kill me.” Yeah, yeah. Heard this before. As a cop near retirement, I don’t know how many times I heard that line. “He’s gonna kill me. Or, “I’m gonna kill you.” It’s always exaggerated. They usually bring this shit on themselves. But, this was one time—the only time—in my homicide investigation career where I heard it right from a real victim. Or someone about to be a real homicide victim, that is. “Okay, Maria. I need a statement from you and I’m going to record it.” I pointed at the mic. She nodded, wiped her nose, and whispered. “Okay.” “And I need you speak up so it can be clearly transcribed.” Maria Dersch nodded again. She’d come to the police station for a restraining order against Billy Ray Shaughnessy—a man I’d soon spend hours with in this same little room. A uniformed officer took the start of Maria’s complaint but, hearing the severity of violence in what she said, immediately called for a plainclothes investigator from the Serious Crimes Section to take over. I’m the poor bastard who got handed the file. “Where’d this happen?” “Up on Machleary Street. Four six nine Machleary. Like, three blocks away. At the dead end.” “Here in Nanaimo, right? I just want that clear for the record.” Nanaimo is a small, seaside city of around a hundred thousand on the east side of Vancouver Island in southern British Columbia, Canada. It’s straight-across from the craziness of Vancouver—one of the world’s most expensive, exotic, and erotic cities. Nanaimo is world- class, too—a mecca for international students and tourists. It’s a cruise ship port, a hub of higher learning, and the gateway to unlimited outdoor adventures. But Nanaimo has its own seedy underworld. Sleazebags and skitzos, junkies, drunks, and weirdos, low-lives and homeless, hardcores and hookers, perverts, pimps, and psychos. We, the cops, try keeping these losers from killing themselves and they keep us employed. It’s a zero sum game. “Yeah.” Maria coughed and touched her throat. “I mean yes.” “When did this happen?” “Well, it’s been ongoing…but really got bad this morning...he had his knife out…at my throat…threatened to kill…kill me…but I offered to…have…have…I didn’t offer…I gave in.” Listening to the recording, you can just feel Maria’s fear. It resonates. Chills. Terrifies, as she said. It’s like she’d been attacked by a wild animal, anticipating its return. “Can you give me some background? What’s your relationship with this…,” I glanced at my notes. “Bill Shaughnessy.” Maria put her head in her hands. I gave her a few moments, judging this young lady. Kinda mousey with long, blondish-brown hair. Maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. Germanic, I think from the color, looks, and name. Left ring finger’s bare and nails are painted an odd yellowish-gold. Got the piercings. Probably tattooed to the nines. Skin’s kinda rough. So are her teeth. It’s June and a warm summer day. She’s wearing a heavy jean jacket. The western kind with the fleece collar. And a burgundy scarf wrapping her neck? Blood-colored, I remember. —— Maria started to talk. She stared down at the floor through big, plastic-framed shades. “He’s my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend now. Like, we were never engaged or married or anything, although he’s been trying to, and I guess that’s what started the problem because I tried to get rid of him, get him to leave, but he won’t and now, he’s threatening to kill me if I leave him…or…God help…he says if I ever have someone else.” “How long have you known him?” “Six months. Actually, less, because we met just after New Year’s.” “How did that come about?” Maria’s knee was bouncing and she was lint-picking her jeans. Ripped jeans. Ones with the ready-made, horizontal slashes. “I met him through a friend. A friend who babysits for me. I’m a single mom with a one- year-old daughter and Becky, my friend, knew Billy Ray through another friend. We’re all wanna-be musicians.” “So, Bill’s not your daughter’s real father, eh?” “It’s Billy Ray.” Maria looked to her left. “No. No. Karliana’s dad is another guy I used to date. Earl…Karliana’s real father…we were never married or even lived together, but we’re still good friends. He’s got visiting rights to Karliana.” “What’s the dad’s name?” “Earl. Earl Barker.” I jotted it down. “Do Bill and Earl know each other?” “Oh, yeah. Like, we all jam together.” “Is there a conflict between Bill and Earl?” Love triangle. That’s usually behind these things. “There’s a conflict with any guy Billy Ray thinks I might…you know… First priority. Protect the kids. “How is Bill with your daughter? How does he treat her?” Maria looked up. “Actually…really good. He treats Karliana like his own daughter. He’s almost…like…obsessed with her. Obsessed with me…and Karliana. It’s like he’s possessed or something.” “Where is your daughter right now? She’s not with…” “No, no. Karliana is with my friend Becky. Rebecca Rigg.” “So, she’s safe?” “Yes. Absolutely.” “Now, Bill was living with you?” Maria stared at the floor. “Yes. He moved in right away after we started dating. He was new to town…had no place to stay…so I felt sorry for him…he seemed nice and needed help… so stupid me…took him in…and…” Oh yeah. A stray rescuer. “When was that?” I prompted her. “January fourteenth.” She started to cry. “It was my birthday.” I waited for Maria to compose. “How were things at first?” She pulled her sunglasses slightly forward and dabbed with the scarf. “So-so. He was supposed to get a job…but every day…just sat around the house. He’d pick guitar…sing…do song-writes…he’s actually a good singer…he’s always making things into songs. But more and more he’d spend a lot of time staring off into space. Finally, I got pissed off because he was such a leech, and then he started becoming more and more…aggressive…hurtful…mentally…physically…” “Does Bill have substance abuse issues?” This usually goes with the package. Defense will chew it up…if…this ever ends up in court. Maria shook her head. “No. He doesn’t drink much, then only a couple beers. He smokes-up…we all do…everybody I know does…but he doesn’t do hard drugs or nothing. That’s what attracted me in the first place. He seemed like this nice, clean guy. Not like the rest of the…whatever…losers around here.” “How did things go off the rails?” There was a long pause. Maria wrapped her arms around her midsection, leaned forward, and rocked. “Well…he…he kept getting weirder and weirder, like so possessive. So…psycho. I have a part-time job. Server at the MGM Restaurant and he started restricting where I could go. Who I could see. He’d walked me to work, and then be there when I’d got off. He took care of Karliana. Would have her in the stroller while walking me.” Oh yeah. I see where this is going. Actually, I couldn’t. I had no idea where this was going. Now, looking back, my only thoughts are if only…if only… “Like, it kinda worked out for me. Him helping with Karliana and around the house, but then it got to the point where he did nothing but sit and stare. He wasn’t even picking, or writing, or making up songs, and did nothing to help out and…like, he’s got a serious, serious mental problem. But…at first I didn’t see it. I…I guess I didn’t want to see it.” “Mental problem?” Maria rocked, her arms wrapped around her mid-section in a self-embrace. “He’s real secretive about his past. He had a problem in the past, and I know he was taking medications because I looked in his backpack and he had pill bottles. Empty ones. So I checked what they were, and they’re for mental problems.” “Do you remember what they were?” She squinted behind her sunglasses.