10/29/10
For some odd reason, I began my day rummaging through Hazel’s materials and curiously was very drawn to the funeral registry. I have not perused this document in many, many months. Now in the light of hindsight… names jump out at me and I am amazed at what I did not see before that now glares at me from the yellowed pages. Names that before were like so much scribble scrabble on a bathroom wall, now speak to me of mock compassion and blatant defiance. People, whose secrets were shielded prior by assumed innocence, now lurch off the page with utter contempt and I wonder now how half of them didn’t choke on the bile of the beast as it rose in their throats as they sat in a holy sanctuary in silent vigil knowing their sins of omission. Knowing what we believe to be true now, it is amazing they did not spontaneously combust in their hypocrisy.
Shall I list them for you… these people who played charades with other’s lives? Amongst the cherished friends and local gentile… there, penned in blood tainted ink before me now read the signatures of the following:
The alleged mistress.
The driver of the car who was there that night at the gas station/general store as G exchanged guns with the red headed go to man- the man who played tennis and painted signs- the man who told the shooter to shut up, go home and not come out till he was contacted.
The man who lied in his statements and misrepresented others and kept official records.
An FBI agent who rubber stamped the investigation.
The banker who ran the porn ring.
The man who lives next door to Rox’s final un-resting place.
The man who lied about where and what he was doing in Charley’s office that night at 1:00 in the morning.
The retired judge who withheld information that Charley was murdered- that it was a homicide and the judge that never told Hazel the truth- preventing the shooter from being prosecuted while he was still alive… the same retired judge who told me to back off and leave things alone- not to dig- not to pry- to let the children and the grandchildren of key players go to their graves thinking their namesakes were heroes and good guys.
Flowers sent from someone whose family farm now cradles the bones of Roxanne under water.
Flowers from the first witness who saw Charley’s body propped up against the front right tire of his vehicle on his way from work.
Flowers from an agent who looked the other way.
Flowers from the prison warden who pushed his parolees on Charley and Hazel for work.
Flowers from the alleged mistress.
Remarkably… not one of the four in flannel who killed Jessica and Rox, nor those that took part in the actual murder of Charley, the subsequent cover-up and beating of the MOT, sent flowers or were present at the funeral. Guess they were too busy tearing apart Charley’s house, his car and his office searching for the tape!
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