Two Codes for Murder
A True Crime Story
| The Book | The Author | The Publisher | The Crimes | The Criminals |
Free online sample Chapter 24 from Two Codes for Murder, a true crime story about the attempted murder of Charlene Mitleider and the attempted murder and torture of Muaid Alfuraiji. Set in the Hillside section of San Diego.Chapter 24, Two Codes for Murder |
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Not a Good Day to DieJune 6, 1995 An old Kojak episode was on TV. Charlene watched from across the room, a glass of Pepsi in front of her. She rubbed a dusty spot from her old oak table, looked at her watch and then glanced back at Kojak. He had a sucker in his mouth and his trademark grin slipped out one corner as he asked, "Who loves you, baby?" "I do," came a voice, "I do love you." It was Floyd's voice from the past. A million "I love you's" from their courtship blotted out reality in an ethereal circle flashing around her head, making her dizzy, making her ill. She stood up abruptly and pounded her fist on the table. "No. It's not true. You don't love anyone!" She closed her eyes trying to see his face, but it would not appear. Only the voice activated his spirit, not his being. Forever. You are my Forever Girl. I love you. I do love you. She heard his Hello on her call back a few days ago. That is all she had heard since the April hearing. Why had he taken the chance? It was sinister how he used his power to do whatever he thought he was entitled to do. His self-proclaimed superiority was again rearing its ugly head. Charlene remembered. "Lou are inferior; they are smelly, dirty people and should have been sent back to Africa a long time ago." "We have to put up with Spiks, homos, weirdos of all kinds down at the store; the masses are asses." "Your folks suck. They didn't even watch the Super Bowl on TV, they're always into some stupid educational program. When they die we'll get their money." Stop! she yelled. She covered her ears, refusing to listen to any more. Didn't anyone teach him anything about the world? Has he no appreciation of the diversity of the peoples of the world; color, religion, the ethnic factor are all insignificant. He doesn't try to understand people, because he thinks he has an inborn wisdom. Who are you to judge? Who are you, Floyd Mitleider? "I am the man you're going to marry," his spirit spoke out; "you are beautiful enough for me. People will watch us when we go to the dance floor." He worked out to keep his body trim; he fought his battle with the bald spot . . . transplants, treatments. He had eye surgery because eyeglasses detracted from his good looks; that failing, contacts. He was truly vain. He had never needed an understanding of the world around him. He was the world. There was room for Frankie in it, and for a while for her. But she did not measure up to his expectations; he had given her a chance. Charlene's delusional conversation became tense. How can you say you love me? she questioned. You won't let love into your life. "He has all the signs of an abusive personality," her attorney had said as they discussed her case. "The isolation, the excessive secrecy about his affairs, the insistence on handling the money, the act of putting you in total dependence on him, the power play, the control. These are the things men who intend to abuse their wives always do. Believe me, I have seen cases similar to this in my practice, though none quite so severe. You should not be too concerned," continued Mr. Dunne curiously, "You're good-looking and you'll have men at your feet." Charlene was embarrassed by Dunne's remarks. She did not think this kind of consolation was appropriate. She just wanted a divorce and to get home. "He never got you and the girls health insurance nor allowed you to have a credit card. Do you know how many credit cards he has in his possession, Charlene? My God, his line of credit is astronomical. I cannot understand why he charges everything. Even his car is being financed. People with money don't usually waste it on high interest installment buying. Promising you the car is a joke. It is not his to give." "When will discovery be complete?" Charlene asked. "My mother and father have been spending so much on this divorce. They told me a St. Louis-based private detective is looking in on his finances and his past. It seems in his first marriage Floyd treated his wife much like he's treating me; he filed for divorce after two years and settled with her for a very small amount of money. She was in therapy for years after her marriage. I am positive he mistreated her, too. I am not looking for a fortune, but I did give up my worldly goods to marry him and move to California. He made promises he never intended to keep." "Have the detective furnish me with whatever relevant information he comes up with. Meantime we are trying to find out as much as we can about his business and his assets." "And he has never paid any more spousal support. My parents are paying my rent and sending me money. What are you doing about the agreement he just signed?" "He is filing to be relieved of that commitment now. He says he can't afford it." "What happened to his money?" "Reports show he might not have as much as he claimed." "What reports? You know he has money. I gave you those papers which showed he was getting $10,000 a month on the sale of his store. He has all the money he left St. Louis with. I saw a six-figure check before he came to San Diego. And of course, he has all my money, too. This is not making sense. He is manipulating the accounts just as he does his income tax. This is his specialty." It was about time to pick up Jericha, then Tracie. Charlene took the Caprice keys and left the apartment a bit earlier than usual. The cautious trek to the centrally located elevator and on to the parking garage, Charlene began her afternoon routine. It was early enough she could stop by the Bank of America ATM machine and withdraw some cash from her meager account. She had to be very budget-conscious. Floyd's genius for having and hiding money was on her mind. The parking lot was nearly void of parked cars and she felt very much alone, like on a desert island. Noting the hour she realized she still had more than half an hour to spare before Lewis School dismissal time; she decided to bypass the school and go on to a Wal-Mart store to buy a congratulations card for Susie and Will whose new baby had just arrived. There, too, was an eerie abundance of parking places. The shopping public seemed to have disappeared. That suited Charlene. She was in and out in no time. It was as though she had this place and the whole world to herself. Charlene backed into her usual parking place at the school where she would be able to see the kids coming out seconds after the final bell rang. There was a FedEx truck parked in the drive directly in front of the school office . . . a man was unloading some cartons. It was an unhurried day. There was some time to wait. Charlene reached for her Wal-Mart bag, took out the card and a pen and began to write. "Dear Suze, How wonderful to have a new baby boy brought safely into the world. Congrats! After your difficult pregnancy, it must be a tremendous relief to... " Suddenly Charlene was aware that a dark gray car had come swiftly into the driveway which passed in front of her parking place, and had stopped directly in front of her, creating a shadow in her view and drawing her attention. As she looked up she saw the three black occupants of the car openly staring at her, one on the passenger side beside the driver leaning out of the window. He was pointing a gun at her. The sun's rays ricocheted a glint from the barrel of this instrument of death into her face, blinding her unbelieving eyes. She panicked, frozen in fear, unable to control her shaking body. "My God, he's going to shoot me! I'm about to die!" He fired a thunderous shot. Duck down! Duck your head! I'll save you! She did not know what the bullet had hit. As the voice suggested, she struggled to get her head down to the empty seat, hindered by the still fastened seat belt her hands would not reach. Her torso bent over and her head tilted as far as it would go beneath the dash, she heard another deafening shot, a slight pause, then two more rapidly fired shots closer to the right door. A screeching sound and the smell of burning rubber made her realize she could now raise up her head. Through the windshield she could see a dusty film rising from the driveway and scattered small gravel settling as she unfastened her seat belt with violently shaking hands. She cautiously but rapidly jerked open the door and began to run to the school office door. Two workers from the office had stepped out and took hold of her arms, nearly dragging her, to help her get inside. The bell had rung. The school children were huddled around the double exit doors nearby and were clamoring to get close to Charlene. Among them she saw the colorless, pinched face of Jericha who had tears in her eyes that were begging Charlene to let her out so she could be with her mother. Sample Chapters from Two Codes for MurderChapter One, Getting To Know YouChapter Twelve, A Lesson in Self-Control Chapter Twenty-Four, Not a Good Day to Die More about Two Codes for Murder |
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© 2000 DiefFesco Publishing