Peter Terry and the wounds that never heal

Louise again.

I just got off the phone with a friend of mine whose mother was murdered in 1985. Someone attacked her while he was sleeping. In the same house. He woke up on the day before his 17th birthday to find his mom lying unconscious, severely beaten, in the room down the hall from his bedroom. She lingered for two weeks and then died on Halloween.

The police called him the other day and let him know they're re-opening the case. This happens from time to time. It doesn't mean they have any new information. It's just part of the procedure, he said, so that cold cases don't ever freeze over entirely. They'll ask him all the questions they asked him the first time. They'll want to know what he saw. What he smelled. What he heard. Who she knew. He wanted to talk to me about what he might do to prepare himself for the emotional and spiritual beating he's about to experience, as he slams headfirst into the details of a trauma most of us could never imagine enduring. What is there to say? We talked for a while, but really, there's a despair about something like this that can't be fanned away. All I could do was give him some shrink advice and let him know I cared about him and would be rooting for him, praying for him, and would be unflagging in my devotion as his friend. Then I hung up the phone and cried.

During the course of writing my books, I've become friends with several Dallas homicide detectives. The DPD homicide squad's motto is "We never forget." And they don't. I know this because I know them and because I have the mug. They stay mad about these murders - especially the ones involving "innocent" victims. The ones who were in the wrong place at the wrong time - as opposed to someone who was choosing to engage in a high risk activity, like exchanging gunfire with a drug dealer, for example. Or robbing 7-11's. There is a distinction. Not in the value of the life of the victim, of course, or in the necessity for justice in each case. Or in the amount of work, energy and intention the detectives give each case. The difference is in the level of outrage that rises up in you on behalf of the victim. (The official designation for the victim in a murder investigation is the complainant. Which I always thought was sort of macabre, since the victim can no longer complain about anything.)

There was a murder in Dallas last December that my homicide friends worked. A 50ish woman is leaving her office building on Greenville Avenue at the end of the work day. A man follows her off the elevator and through the lobby. You can tell by his demeanor and his clothing that he doesn't work in the building and shouldn't be there. As she nears the door to the parking lot, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a gun. She steps through the door into the cold night air. You can see Christmas decorations in the background. As she begins to turn to look behind her, perhaps realizing that someone is behind her, he jacks a bullet into the chamber, straightens his arm, and fires into the back of her head. She drops like a stone. He puts another bullet into her as she lies motionless on the ground. Then he reaches down, tugs at shoulder strap of her bag, which is now wedged underneath her body. When he realizes he's going to have to expend time and effort to get the bag, he leaves it and walks away.

The reason the cops know all these details is that the entire thing was caught on the building's video surveillance system. When the detectives reviewed the tapes from the day, they saw that the man had been riding up and down the elevators, walking down hallways, poking his head into offices, looking for a victim. He's on the elevator, going down, presumably about to leave the building, when she steps into it and the doors close behind her. He spots her bag and makes his decision. They ride down together and then he follows her out into the night.

I saw clips of the video - the murder was featured on The First 48, a show on A&E. (The First 48 has been following DPD homicide for a couple of years now. They devoted their season opener this year to this one case. If you watch it, you'll see my friends, Detectives Eddie Ibarra, Phil Harding, and Robert Quirk, as well as many other dedicated detectives who do this unspeakably impossible job.) I haven't been able to bring myself to watch the clip of the murder itself. I'm afraid I'll never get the image out of my head.

How do you look up at a blue sky with your face to the warm sunshine and reconcile your mind to something like that? How has my friend made it this far with the stench of evil smelling up his life? Imagine, one day you and your mom have supper and do the things you do when you're 17 and she's trying to raise a 17 year old by herself. And the next morning, you find her lying there. And you look around the room and see the gory evidence of her last desperate moments. And you never get those images out of your head. Ever. For the rest of your life.

Peter Terry is the evil figure in my books. His literal identity is shadowy but the suggestion is that he's a demon. But really, he's a metaphor for the opposition. It's us against them. I don't mean "the complainants against the murderers." Because I think the guy that killed that woman and the person who killed my friend's mom are losing to the same force of evil in the world that everyone else is fighting. But they haven't lost in the same way. They've surrendered their humanity. Or some part of it.

See, the thing is, you can't let that happen. You've got to fight. My friend is entitled to heal from this terrible wound. And I believe he will. I pray for that for him. (Peter Terry's wounds never heal, by the way. Have you ever noticed that Jesus keeps his wounds? But that they're healed? That's how important our wounds are.) But sometimes, I just feel the weight of it all.

The opposition is formidable. And it's aiming for us every day, as we say good night to our mothers for the last time or step off an elevator and into the night. What Peter Terry wants is your peace of mind. Your joy. Your serenity. Your sense of safety in the world.

But if we give it to him, what else is there?