No, Daddy, Don’t!: A Father's Murderous Act Of Revenge. Irene Pence
John. The seven-year-old’s father lived in Baton Rouge, and Billy wasn’t seeing him on a regular basis. John took over that role, and the two became very close.
When Michelle and John attended law firm parties, her colleagues would exclaim how lovingly he looked at her. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the new man in her life adored her.
On New Year’s Eve, three months after they began dating, Billy was scheduled to visit his father in Baton Rouge, freeing Michelle for three full days. At the same time, one of her law school friends offered to loan Michelle her New York City apartment on Third Avenue while the friend was visiting relatives in Shreveport.
Michelle and John flew to New York for three romantic days. They bundled up for the crisp, cold weather and strolled down Fifth Avenue, delighted by the spectacular Christmas decorations in all the upscale store windows. They stopped at Rockefeller Center to watch the locals ice skate and were awed by the spectacular jewel-toned lights decorating the tree beside the rink.
The crowded, fast-paced city captivated their imaginations. Yellow taxis streaked by them as they walked the streets deeply inhaling the wafting aroma of freshly baked pretzels.
They made love for the first time, which made the trip all the more special.
Only one incident marred their vacation. Michelle had run across the street to a grocery store, and when she returned, Battaglia was sitting on the bed with a goofy expression on his face.
Michelle looked into eyes that stared blankly at her. She was positive he had taken some kind of drug. But he wouldn’t admit to anything and his behavior appeared normal. Still, Michelle couldn’t get his silly look off her mind.
As the weeks passed, Michelle saw no other indication of drugs, and John seldom drank, so their whirlwind courtship returned to its original happy, and now intimate, state.
In February of 1985, they decided to drive to New Orleans to celebrate Mardi Gras. It was only a forty-five minute drive from Baton Rouge, and Michelle wanted to introduce John to her family.
At five o’clock, he picked her up at her glass-and-granite office building on Pacific Street. Once in his car, she took off her heels and slipped into a pair of loafers she had pulled from her suitcase. He had already been home and changed into jeans and a casual shirt.
They headed east on Interstate 80, through a chain of small Texas towns. They crossed the Louisiana border near Shreveport and drove southeast for several more hours.
At pitch-black midnight, they were nearing Baton Rouge when a car full of teenagers roared past them. No sooner had it passed, then it pulled in front of them and slowed down, causing Battaglia to slam on his brakes. That enraged him, but when the kids flashed a bright floodlight directly into his eyes, he went crazy. It was impossible for him to see the road.
“Those goddamn kids!” he bellowed. “Are they trying to get us both killed?”
In the glow of the light, Michelle could see Battaglia’s face visibly change. His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a threatening grimace.
He reached down, his right hand fingering the carpeted floor, searching for something.
“What do you want?” Michelle asked
“The duffel bag,” he said as he groped in vain under the seat. “I’ve got a gun in the bag. Get it for me!”
The thought of a gun frightened her. “That’s the last thing you need,” Michelle said, her concern growing. She kept glancing at his face. It was a face she hadn’t seen before. For the first time since she had met him, he looked panic-stricken. His eyes stared wildly and he began yelling at her. “Give me the goddamn duffel!”
As they fought over the bag, Battaglia began weaving across lanes.
“Stop it,” Michelle screamed. “Now you’re going to get us killed!” What’s wrong with him? she asked herself.
As he sped up the car, his driving became more erratic. Michelle was so frightened that she grabbed the duffel and threw it into the backseat. A few moments later, they passed the car full of boys and Battaglia screamed obscenities at them.
When the teenagers’ car was only pinpoint headlights in their rearview mirror, the atmosphere in the car was still heated.
“Why in the world are you bringing a gun?” Michelle asked, her temperature still climbing.
“New Orleans is a dangerous place,” he told her.
“It’ll be a lot more dangerous if you’re carrying a gun!”
She thought she knew him, but this man sitting beside her was a total stranger.
It was almost one in the morning in Baton Rouge when they pulled into the driveway of Michelle’s sister’s house where they would be spending the weekend. One look at Michelle, and her sister could tell that she was upset and asked her what was wrong. Michelle explained about the incident in the car.
The rest of the weekend flew by in a blur for Michelle. She couldn’t erase the craziness of the highway episode, although no further bizarre incidents occurred during the rest of the trip. John Battaglia behaved normally in spite of the loud and colorful Mardi Gras crowds and the parades that covered them with confetti and plastic jewelry.
However, by the time Michelle returned to Dallas, she had made up her mind. She wouldn’t tolerate anyone who had such drastic mood swings and was so scary and unpredictable. No longer would she be seeing John Battaglia.
Then she found out she was pregnant.
FOUR
Despite the circumstances, Michelle was excited to be pregnant. She didn’t want to raise her son as an only child. Then as the reality of her situation settled on her, she began to wonder what in the world she had gotten herself into. She didn’t want to be married to John Battaglia, but she didn’t want to have a child out of wedlock. Overall, she was surprised to be pregnant since she had been on birth control pills and was diligently taking them.
When she finally built up the courage to tell John that she was pregnant, he immediately wanted to marry her. But she wasn’t sure that she wanted to jump into such a commitment. She kept pondering her options, although she never considered having an abortion. Then reconsidering marriage, she wondered if she could have the baby on her own and not marry John, but she was afraid to discuss single parenthood with him.
In late March, she sat down and wrote a letter to her mother, telling her about her plan. Her mother’s explosive response came back by return mail.
Michelle,
How dare you think of having that baby all by yourself?
Her mother went on to question whether she had the right to deprive her child of a father and make it illegitimate.
Michelle had hoped for a little support; she had no idea that her mother would blow a gasket.
In mid-April, Michelle slid up the zipper of her skirt and noticed a gap where the last half inch didn’t meet. Although she hadn’t gained much weight, she knew that time was running out and she had to make a decision.
On April 28, 1985, she took her mother’s words to heart and married John Battaglia in an unromantic civil ceremony at the courthouse. Amid cluttered desks and ringing phones, they were married by a justice of the peace. John slid a plain gold ring on her finger and gave her a peck on the cheek after the brief ceremony; then they stepped aside for the next couple to get married in assembly-line fashion.
Only one month after they were married, to Michelle’s shock, John disappeared. He was gone for two days. On the morning of the third day, Michelle was frantic, not knowing if he were dead or alive. When he finally called mid-morning, she was relieved to hear his voice.
“Michelle, I’m really sorry,” Battaglia stammered. “I know I should have called you before now. See, here’s what’s