Dying to Divorce Part II: Boston: Basic Black and Pearls

By Richard Z Schatz and Angela Prine

Based on true events, this is the story of John Ruckles, a Boston businessman and widower, who explores a service offering brides-by-mail from Southeast Asia. He makes contact with Lulu Ming, a gunsmith from Laos. They enter into a significant email correspondence, and Lulu and her young daughter, Hina, travel to Bosto

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dying to Divorce
• Release date: Mar 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9780578873947

Richard Z Schatz

During Richard's professional career he specialized in rendering forensic financial services to both attorneys and to individual clients. In his forty-five years of practice, he handled over one thousand matters, the majority of which involved marital dissolutions. Five of these cases resulted in the death of one of the parties in the divorce. Dying To Divorce: Part II- Boston presents the actual facts of one of these cases. Born, raised, and educated in California, Richard now lives in Houston.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

You’re here early, Larry.

Shelly, the redheaded Irish bailiff who usually stands in the lobby, gave Larry Basset the eye as he sauntered in, hair and tie windblown. It was Friday morning and Larry credited his good mood to the weather and rapidly approaching weekend. The leaves had turned late this year, and it was unseasonably warm to a native Bostonian. Nothing like a little extra sunshine before the doom and gloom of winter in New England.

My mother always told me if I’m on time, I’m late. He noticed the flashy shade of lipstick painted on Shelly’s smile and waggled his eyebrows at her, Can’t a guy listen to his mother?"

Shelly half-laughed, half-snorted at his clumsy flirting, but gave him a forgiving eye roll.

One day you’re gonna get smacked, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

In the Suffolk County Probate and Family Court, everyone seemed to be in a mischievous mood. The bailiffs and clerks dutifully went about what they were sure would be another unremarkable day, debating which tavern would be best for the Pats game that weekend. Nothing on the day’s docket stood out as particularly exciting: alimony, child support, child custody and visitation, and marital property.

Larry checked his watch, a hand-me-down from his older brother, and saw that his client Lulu Ming would be arriving at any minute.

Larry, a tolerant guy, had dealt with his fair share of nasty separations and divorces. But Lulu and John were testing even his patience. He had his fingers and toes crossed that today would be the day they finally made a little progress with the custody proceedings. At least with the daughters, Hina and Sophia present, there may be less drama. He couldn’t imagine John even daydreaming about successfully winning custody.

Meanwhile Lulu Ming drove east on Storrow Drive feeling eerily indifferent to the morning traffic. She left her house in Jamaica Plain fifteen minutes later than she’d planned; it had been difficult getting ready. She had tried on a red suit dress first, admiring the color’s boldness, but something about the brassy hue made her stomach tense up in knots. She asked herself, what exactly should a wife wear to kill her husband? Her divorce attorney had counseled her to dress as conservatively as possible for the honorable Judge Harriman, and she had eventually decided on basic black and pearls, heels and hose. She checked her makeup in the rear-view mirror and thought to herself that she wouldn’t look out of place at a funeral.

PART ONE

Chapter One

Shipping up to Boston

Detective Zach Willis looked around the room as he waited to meet with the Chief of Homicide of the Boston PD. He wasn’t even aware of himself doing it at the time, but whenever he walked into a room he looked for a few things. The nearest exits being first among them. Contrary to what most people would think, this was not a habit he picked up during his training as a police officer and detective. He learned to look for ways out when he was much younger.

As a child, Zach found it calming to know exactly how to escape from any space. His anxiety around being caged-in began around the time he started kindergarten. That was when his dad started to drink too much after work. Zach’s father wasn’t a bad person, he told himself, just a little out of control sometimes. He’d reward himself after a long day at the shop with a beer or two, and if it was a particularly rough day, some whiskey to take the edge off. He’d come home to find his wife curled up on the plastic-wrapped couch with a book, his son on the carpet at her feet usually holding a book or toy. It should have been a sight to warm his heart. He knew that. He hated how alike his wife and son were. He hated that both of them gave a shit about words on a page. It made him feel cast out and stupid.

One day when Zach’s father came home to what should have been a cozy scene and no dinner on the table, he felt his ears turn hot.

Jesus Christ, Charlene. How hard is it to put a fucking meal together? Zach and his mother flinched away from his bellowing.

Looking at her son, Charlene commanded, Go upstairs now. Zach recognized the tone in her voice that tells kids it is not up for negotiation. He did as she said, and on his way up the stairs heard the sound of skin forcefully colliding with skin. The bruise on his mother’s left cheekbone told the rest of the story.

Lying in bed that night, Zach had looked at the grungy popcorn ceiling trying to make sense out of what he knew had happened. He flipped onto his side, his nose making little steam circles on the window beside his bed. It suddenly occurred to him that if his father was still angry and drunk and came stomping up the stairs, he could easily open the window and climb into the branches of the tall oak outside. Though he never had to escape his room because of his father, the thought comforted him for years. It became the lullaby allowing him to drift into a deep sleep each night uninterrupted by nightmares.

Looking around the neat and orderly station, Zach thought to himself that this is what a station should look and sound like. There was no question that Boston PD ran a tight ship. One emergency EXIT sign glowed over a door on his right, the closest way out. He also could have run through the pen of desks to the main doors if necessary. He inhaled deeply, shifting in his seat, ready to start the conversation. If he was going to move to Boston, he’d want to be sure this was an office that got things done. Zach didn’t like loose ends or open cases. He liked satisfying answers and dangerous people locked up for a long, long time.

The Captain’s assistant finally called his name and motioned for him to go on in. Stepping inside, Zach took in the office, with its worn teak paneling and desk that