James Oliver Martin was such a likable young man. Looking into his sad brown eyes and noting the strong resemblance to the late James Dean caused most women to long to comfort and protect him. The four women on the jury absolutely refused to believe young James had murdered and butchered those two teachers from the university.
The murderer had severed the hands from the bodies before leaving the murder scene.
The evidence was overwhelming -- the prosecution even presented two reliable eye-witnesses, but still they hesitated. The prosecution to convict had the responsibility to prove the three requirements, M.O.M. -- Means, Opportunity and Motive. He had, indeed proved Means and Opportunity, but the final requirement for conviction was missing -- they couldn't produce any Motive. Finally, they had to admit that yes, he obviously was guilty, but there had to have been some extenuating circumstances, something horrible in his past that drove him to do it.
The prosecuting attorney was demanding the death penalty, but the four woman jurors wouldn't even consider that option. Eventually, the jury agreed to ask for a life sentence. They didn't want to spend the rest of the year arguing with the ladies. So, James Martin was sentenced to life in the state penitentiary. He was 22 when he was sentenced, and he spent the next six years being a model prisoner and establishing a network of pen pals throughout the country.
The majority of his pen pals were middle aged women who soon grew to love the poor young man. He sent pictures and slowly pieced together a sad history to touch their matronly hearts. There were ever so many, tear-stained photos of James Oliver Martin treasured by his pals. It wasn't long before he was calling them Mom and they loved it.
One of his most intimate pen pals was Gloria Danton, the public defender who had defended him throughout his trial. She believed in him and his innocence and was nearly destroyed at losing the case and losing him to the state penitentiary. Gloria's husband Fred thought she was obsessing over the murdering little punk, but because of the disparity in their ages, never said anything about his feelings in the matter. It was only when she started her campaign to get him paroled that Fred started to get concerned.
She wrote letters to the Governor, the parole board, and prospective employers. James sent a mailing list of pen pals. She contacted his pals and got their names on a sponsors petition to free James Martin. They wrote to their congressmen and appealed.
Finally, all of her efforts started bearing fruit. The congressmen called the governor asking him to do them a little favor, he received letters from the pen pals, and letters from prospective employers offering sponsorship, so at last he gave in and suggested to the parole board that if James Martin was paroled, it would look much better than if he was pardoned.
So, seven years and three days after being sentenced, James walked back out through the gates a free man.
Fred and Gloria were just sitting down to dinner when the doorbell rang. Fred grumbled and went to the front door. He looked through the peep-hole and yelled through the door,
"What do ya want?"
"Is Gloria home, Gloria Danton?"
"Wait a minute," Fred replied, "I'll get her."
"It's some young guy. He's asking for you. Tell him we're eating and what your business hours are. I don't want those seedy characters you represent to start coming around our home."
Gloria went to the peephole and looked out.
"It's James Martin," she said, "I wonder what he needs?" She opened the door a few inches...
"Yes, James, I'm glad to see you out and free again. What is the problem? You know you should come to my office, not my home."
"Oh Mom, I didn't know where else to go. They won't let me live anywhere in this town. My parole officer, Mister Wilson, is here, my job is here, but no one wants me to live here."
He looked so sad she opened the door and put her arms around his shaking shoulders, saying,
"There, there, don't you fret. Fred and I have a spare room out in the garage. Our son, Danny, fixed it up so he could have some privacy when he was nineteen. It's quite livable. You can stay there until something better becomes available."
"Where's Danny, now?" he asked.
"Married with three lovely children and living in Wisconsin."
Gloria and Fred had a bitter argument that evening over her decision, but Gloria prevailed -- providing the arrangement was really temporary. She promised to try to find other accommodations within the month. So, seven years and five days after sentencing, James Martin moved into the Danton's garage.
Gloria found it more difficult to find someone willing to shelter the paroled murderer than she anticipated. Everyone was sympathetic, but nobody wanted the young man living nearby. Six weeks went by, then another complication developed.
His employment sponsor reported to the parole officer that James was a good worker, but he was missing a lot of work. He had been absent from work every Tuesday since starting on the job. The parole officer phoned Gloria because James address was the Danton residence. He knew Gloria was supplying shelter, while James looked for a permanent place to live. She told him she was unaware James was missing work, but would check into it.
She talked it over with Fred that evening. She said she didn't want to be too intrusive, but the parole officer had to know. Fred volunteered to take the next Tuesday off work and check to see where James went. They left it at that and went to bed.
Fred didn't return home until after Midnight the following Tuesday; however, Gloria was sitting up waiting. Her curiosity was keeping her awake. When he came to bed, she asked,
"Well Fred, don't keep me in suspense -- where does he go and what does he do?"
"Beats me! I followed him to the bus terminal, saw him get on a bus that was leaving for Chicago, so I ran to my car and followed the damn bus all the way into Chicago. I waited until I was sure there were no more stops, then hurried ahead. I wanted to get parked and into the terminal before the bus arrived. When it did show up, I was watching, but the bastard never got off. He musta changed busses after I left our bus terminal because, I know, he never got off anywhere between here and Chicago."
"Well Fred, I want to thank you for trying. He's obviously hiding something. Do you think I should get a private detective to watch him?"
"Hell Gloria! he's not your problem, or mine. Why don't I just boot him out? He's not playing square with you or his boss on the job. I say, get rid of him before he turns out to be real trouble."
"No Fred, let me have a chat with him. He's always been perfectly honest with me. I'm sure I can get the truth out of him." Fred grumbled, but agreed to one last attempt.
The next evening Gloria went to the garage and knocked lightly on the door.
"Who's there?" came a muffled voice.
"It's me, Gloria, I need to talk to you, James."
"Okay Mom, I'll be there in a minute." After much longer than a minute wait, James opened the door and looked nervously around before inviting Gloria inside.
"What on earth is bothering you, boy?" she asked, "You look scared to death."
"Someone's been following me," he replied, "I don't know who it is, but I'm dead sure. I could feel them watching even when I opened the door, and now, it may sound crazy, but I feel their eyes watching us." He started to shake, and impulsively she put her arms around him and patted his head. She could feel his body stiffen, so she began rubbing the back of his neck while she talked.
"Nonsense James, you've got an over-active imagination. Why would anyone be spying on you? Especially here in our garage. Do you have any enemies you haven't told me about? And speaking of telling me, why is it that you haven't told me about your little trips on Tuesdays? You've been missing work, and your parole officer is about to revoke your parole for not being honest with him or me."
There was a long pause, then he spoke in a completely different tone of voice. He was almost screeching in his anger...
"It's you, you and that damned parole officer, Wilson who have been spying on me. Well, if you have to know, I've been visiting with some of those other old bitches who wrote me in state pen. They all want to give me a helping hand, and if there's anything I can't stand is hands -- hands touching me, stroking me, and driving me out of my damned mind." He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll.
"You bitch, you have always tried to get inside my head and solve the mystery of the missing 'M' -- The Motive I had for cutting off the hands of those two old crones. Well, I'll tell you, but you'll never tell anyone else...
"Always, when I was little, old women would fondle me -- even in my stroller. 'Oh, what a cute child, such a pretty little boy, give granny a kiss, Jimmy' they'd tickle my ribs, mess my hair, pinch my cheeks until I screamed in pain, but they wouldn't stop. Oh God, how I hated them. As I grew older, I promised myself that when I was big, no one was ever going to paw me again. Even if I had to cut off their God Damned hands!"
Gloria saw the flash of the knife and screamed as she jerked free. She tried to run, but stumbled and fell. Grinning diabolically he stood over her and spoke,
"Here Mom, let me give you a hand." he reached down, and when she grasped the extended hand, he giggled insanely and walked away. She screamed again when she saw what she was holding. Her nightmare continued as he returned and sat on her chest, knife in hand.
"Don't worry Mom, I won't let you suffer long after I remove your claws...oh yes, I'll be sure to clean my room after..." He cruelly bent her wrist back and brought the knife closer.
"Look at me, you bitch. I want to see your eyes when I hurt you like you've been hurting me with your patting and stroking." She looked up into his eyes and started crying. Her eyes were so full of tears she didn't see the top of his head suddenly explode, but she felt the weight lifting as his body slammed into the wall. She got to her knees, and suddenly Fred's arms were around her -- lifting her to her feet.
"Don't look, honey, I had to aim high and mess him up pretty bad to keep from hitting you. That Son of a Bitch, won't be killing and butchering any more folks. There's no parole from where I sent him." He half carried her outside and said, "Go call the police -- don't worry, I got the whole thing on tape. They won't be prosecuting me."
Later when the coroner had done his thing, and the investigating detective had his team go through the garage and remove all the ghastly trophies. He took their statements and a copy of the video that Fred produced; they were finally alone. Gloria was pretty shook up, but not too shaken up to lose her curiosity...
"Fred, how on earth did you know what was happening to me, and where did that video tape come from?"
"Well Hon, I never did tell you, but when our son was living out there, at one time I thought he might be getting into the drug scene. I installed a camera in the fuse box compartment. It's hooked into my computer in my den. I could keep an eye on him whenever he was at home. Thank God, he wasn't on drugs -- just a little quiet boozing. He was trying out every kind of booze imaginable and puking in the toilet. Some nights I'd laugh myself sick watching him. I guess I should have trusted him more, but now I'm damn glad I installed that camera."
"You sure you weren't suspicious of me with that young stud?" she asked with a mischievous grin.
"Well, that, too," Fred replied, "he was sure a cute, little, cold-blooded murderer wasn't he?"
"I've learned my lesson," she retorted, "no more cute, young defendants, and the next time someone calls me MOM, I'm gonna run like hell.
[END]