Infidelity and Double Murder

I visited Betty Broderick for the first time at the prison near San Diego awaiting trial for shooting to death as they slept, her former husband, and his new wife, a 'Betty' look alike.

Actually, I know from talking to Betty the second time, long after her conviction, and sentencing to 25 years in prison (a degree of leniency was granted, I believe, on the grounds that her husband had virtually tortured and humiliated her over a long period, a defense which might have earned no prison time if not for the murder of the new wife) the actual timing of the murders. She shot the new wife first, killing her instantly.  As the husband got out of bed and headed for the phone, wounded, Betty fired again, she said, not to kill him, but to stop him from reaching the phone. It was then, says Betty, he uttered the immortal words, "Okay okay, you got me, you got me." Bang, bang. I mention this only because Betty believed that, not necessarily because I do. I believe the line, but not the motivation for continuing to shoot. I have no opinion otherwise. My interest is primarily about the destruction of a family with small children when the initial 'crime' was the husband's gross infidelity and torment of his loyal wife who greatly assisted in putting him through not only Medical School, but Law School too. After their divorce, when she left abusive language on his answering machine, he "fined" her by deducting money from her alimony. He made millions from Medical malpractice law suits. I realize that a book, written by a LA Times woman writer, and two TV movies were made about the murders, and readers here may recall the details. But it was a long time ago, and I do have some direct contact with the author of the book (she is now dead) and with Betty.

Those murders have come back to me from the accident that my wife and I, and Michael, went to Langers restaurant near MacArthur Park near downtown LA yesterday, bringing back memories of  the LA Times woman writer I rendezvoused with at that restaurant. The writer accused me of having a personal interest in Betty, and that lots of men were like me, she said, and some even proposed. She recounted this platitude accusingly, without apparently making any distinction between male lust and female lust, or male benevolence and female benevolence. In her book there isn't a shred of sympathy for Betty! Ha! The writer is right, perhaps, that Betty took my interest seriously: when I saw her the second time, at a different California women's prison out in the desert, long after, she was very excited and said she felt as if she was on a date. Good Lord, who could fault her for such simple, easy to understand emotions? I had no interest at all in capitalizing on my knowing her, I had no book to write, at least not then, and I greatly enjoyed writing to her often. My doing so was actually somewhat spurred by California government-paid-for public service announcements pleading with the public to visit prisoners. The government's motive? To help prevent recidivism.  She was not much of a correspondent by temperament, but not from disinclination. Even then, after her life was a wreck, she was sunny, pleasant, forthcoming, open, appreciative. The husband must have been nuts! When I first layed eyes on her, when she was behind bars, I felt she made involuntary motions as if she'd kill me if she had a weapon. The kindest thing I could say about him is that maybe America turned him into an avaricious, grossly insensitive clod. If I could go back in time I'd try to quiz Betty by subtle indirection and ask if her husband was semi  impotent. Often money replaces sex. Blaming the partner, in this case the wife, the man seeks another woman with, he imagines, more oomph, someone who'll really turn him on. Of course such a man desperately needs to understand how to turn himself on, with fantasies if needed, and quit the blame game. Today, if I was permitted just one question to ask Betty, I'd ask her if her husband ever made non-verbal sounds while making love. Of course I can't try to see her again: I'm now married.

Barry