Free Because You Loved Me by M. William Phelps Page A

Parker couldn’t tell, but as he got closer, he could see Chris was covered with blood. (“He had a dazed look on his face,” recalled Parker.)
    “What?” a dismayed Parker said, inching closer.
    “She’s gone, man…Jeannie.”
    Parker wasn’t sure at that moment if Chris had done it or not. (“I saw all that blood all over him and wondered, you know.”)
    While stubbing out his cigarette, Parker talked to Chris as a detective walked up and, staring Parker in the eyes, asked in a sneering tone, “And you are?”
    “I’m the guy who lives in this house,” said Parker, pointing to his house next door.
    Parker’s wife, who had been waiting for him, came out of the house. “Jeannie’s dead…,” she said to Parker in tears.
    “I know.”
    “Where’s Nicole?” asked Parker.
    “They’re looking for her.”
    “Let me find out what’s going on,” Parker told his wife. “Go back in the house.”
    Parker made his way over to a group of detectives congregated in front of Jeanne’s house and asked one of them for an explanation. Parker was concerned for his family’s well-being. He didn’t know what to think. Had Chris snapped and killed Jeanne?
    “Why is it any of your business?” one of the detectives asked in a condescending tone.
    As they talked, another detective hopped in the cruiser Chris had sat down in and took off with him to the NPD.
    Parker didn’t notice Chris had left.
    The same detective Parker had spoken to before his wife came out of the house returned to ask him again why he was so concerned about what was going on.
    “Because my family lives right here!” Parker snapped back. Now he was pissed. How dare they treat him like a criminal for asking important questions. His neighbor had been murdered. He was concerned. There was no need, Parker said later, for “tough guy” police tactics. He just wanted information.
    “I want to know. I have kids.”
    Suppose there was some lunatic running wild, Parker wondered. “I needed to know that.”
    Indeed, he wanted to know that his wife and kids were going to be safe. He worked third shift. In a few hours, he would be gone for the night.
    “Your neighbor was killed,” one of the detectives finally acknowledged.
    “Do you know who did it?”
    “ Why are you asking these questions?”
    “I’m concerned about my children’s safety. I want to know if you know who did this and you’re going after them—or if there’s somebody roaming around the neighborhood right now.”
    It was a fair question from a man becoming increasingly animated.
    The detective ran a hand over his chin and thought briefly. Then, “No need to worry, sir. We’re pretty sure who did it.”
    That satisfied Parker’s curiosity. But as he walked back to his house, the detective said, “We’re going to have you come down to the station and give us a statement. You and your wife.”
    “Sure,” said Parker, “anything I can do to help.”
    When Parker met up with his wife, he said, “They know who did it.”
    “What…already?”
    “Apparently.”
    Both were baffled that the police had supposedly solved the crime already, but for whatever reason were not telling anyone.

C HAPTER 16
     
    Patricia “Pat” Sullivan was at her Willimantic, Connecticut, home when she received a call from Billy, her son, at about 7:30 P.M . He was “calm,” Patricia said later, as he explained that he and Nicole had been driving around town most of the night. They were “shopping,” added Billy. Two young lovers spending their final night together.
    “OK,” said Patricia.
    “We’re at the mall.”
    “How are you?”
    “Good. I’m picking up some souvenirs for [my sisters].”
    “Don’t go spending all of your money,” warned Patricia. She had always taught Billy the value of saving his money. There was no need to go out and buy the kids a gift. They could do without.
    “I won’t, Mom.”
    Then Patricia asked, “Are you taking your medication?”
    Billy was on a