Blood Crimes

by Fred Rosen

  “Long-term,” she finally answered.

  Brenda confided in her father. She told him that she was trying to place the boys permanently. Nelson Birdwell, his heart breaking over his grandchildren’s problems, told Bryan and David about those plans. He hoped they would mend their ways before things got more serious.

  The site of the concert was the Clubhouse, Detroit’s skinhead rock palace. One of the skins there that night was Frank Hesse, a nineteen-year-old from Midland, Michigan. Frank started talking to Bryan Freeman, who told Frank he was a skinhead on vacation from his regular job.

  That night, the two teenagers celebrated their skinhead bond by drinking beer and enjoying the hate rock bands, as 1995 came in at the stroke of midnight. Bryan made sure to write down Frank’s name and phone number and place it in a secure place in his wallet.

  Bryan returned to Allentown with a feeling in his gut that with the new year of 1995, things seemed to finally be coming to a head in the Freeman family.

  Friday, January 20

  At the Whitehall Mall, Larry Martin, a student at Salisbury High School and a friend of David’s, ran into Benny. Benny wanted to “rip his face off” because Martin was accompanied by an African American friend.

  Saturday, February 4

  In a last ditch attempt to make her children conform, Brenda sold their cars.

  Fred Simon remembers that Bryan and David were royally pissed off that their mother sold their cars while they were sleeping. Bryan had a Camaro and David “a piece of junk,” probably a Chrysler. He says that the Freemans kept a wooden bat and knives in their cars.

  Sunday, February 5

  Bryan and David came home from the tattoo parlor. Brenda and Dennis were shocked. Bryan now had the word “berserker” tattooed on his forehead; David now had “Sieg Heil” tattooed on his. When Benny came over later to visit, he, too, had “berserker” tattooed on his forehead. Neither Dennis nor Brenda knew what to do.

  Saturday, February 11

  Brenda and Dennis had had it. They waited until the boys had left and then like a hurricane, the parents passed through their sons’ bedrooms, turning out drawers and emptying closets of all their heavy metal and skinhead clothing. Except for what the boys had on, they left them with none of the accoutrements of their neo-Nazi lives. They took all the Nazi decorations off the walls and threw out all the posters of their hate rock stars, all their SS paraphernalia.

  Tuesday, February 14

  Marshall Fallon, one of the Freeman brothers’ closest friends, noticed that in the last month they had changed.

  Fallon says they became more violent, more bizarre. They talked to Fallon about robbing a gun store, killing a cop, and “splitting” down South. The brothers also talked constantly about how much they hated their parents, Principal Platt, and some other skinheads. They talked about destroying those people.

  The Freemans had told Fallon previously about getting “berserker” tattooed on their foreheads, and when they did that, it would be the final straw. That tattoo would mean that they no longer cared about anything and would go on a “path of destruction.”

  When Fallon saw that they had done it, it sent shivers up and down his spine. He felt that the Freemans were out of control and would hurt anybody who got in their way, including the police.

  Monday, February 20

  Self-acknowledged skinhead Bud Anderson talked with David Freeman.

  “Since you’re always complaining about your mother, why don’t you just kill her?” Bud asked.

  “I plan to,” David replied. “I’m just going to kill that bitch one of these days.”

  Tuesday, February 21

  Larry Martin found himself in the main office of Salisbury High School with David.

  “I’m going to kill my parents. And when I do, they’re going to feel real pain,” David told Martin.

  Wednesday, February 22

  Bryan took a Pennsylvania Skills Test. During a break, he spoke to John Jones, a neighbor and fellow classmate. Jones noticed his tattoos. He asked him what they meant and Bryan offered an explanation.

  “So what happened to your car?” Sam asked next.

  He had noticed that it was gone. Bryan’s manner turned from friendly to cold.

  “My parents sold it while I was asleep,” Bryan answered. “If I was awake while they sold it, I would have killed them.”

  Thursday, February 23

  It was discovered that on the previous day’s test, Bryan had drawn racist slogans and lewd pictures. Later that same day, Meg Diamond heard Bryan and David make threats against their parents.

  “They don’t deserve to live,” Bryan said.

  “I wish they were dead,” David added in his flat voice.

  At 10 A.M., Doug Grimes, Dennis’s co-worker, found Dennis at his desk. Dennis was crying, staring at a photo of Bryan and David in happier times. Grimes went over to comfort him, and Dennis looked up, pain and anguish written all over his face.

  “What am I going to do for my boys?” Dennis cried.

  There was no answer. Ray didn’t know what to say. All he could do was walk away, shaken up by the experience of seeing a strong man like Dennis so full of grief.

  For Dennis, the problems with Bryan and David seemed to be insurmountable, and he could see no solution down the dark tunnel he was staring into. His children would not reform; they were going straight to hell. And so was he, because he had no power over them anymore.

  “He’s not a bad boy,” Dennis said to another co-worker, Sally Kneller, referring to David. “He’s just got in with the wrong crowd.”

  10:45 A.M.

  Harry Liste walked by the principal’s office a couple of times. Each time, he noticed Bryan inside. A little after 11, Harry saw Bryan at lunch. Principal Platt had suspended Bryan for five days.

  “I don’t care if I get into trouble. I want to kill my parents,” Bryan told him angrily.

  11:00 A.M.

  Bud Anderson ran into Bryan in Principal Platt’s office. Bryan was going to be disciplined for trashing the test. Bryan hated Platt. Eventually, Bryan’s wrath turned toward his mother.

  “I hope I get kicked out of school so I can go home to that ugly fucking bitch!” Bryan told Bob. “And that brother of mine? He’s a piece of shit!”

  11:15 A.M.

  In the cafeteria, Harry Liste saw Bryan trying to scrounge lunch money. So did Platt, who came into the cafeteria and grabbed the skinhead by the arm.

  Platt said something, and Bryan snarled, “Shut up or I’ll throw you in the oven, you kike!” Bryan pushed him away and ran out.

  2 P.M.

  Benny met with his probation officer. He told him that he intended to get a new tattoo, one with the image of people entering one end of a gas chamber, and smoke billowing out the opposite end. He also said that the word “berserker” tattooed on his forehead was the name of the skinhead crew he and his cousins were forming in Allentown. And one other thing: He wanted to buy a gun.

  3 P.M.

  It was just like going home.

  Actually, the Freeman house on Ehrets Lane had been home to Valerie Freeman until her nephews Bryan and David forced her out. Still, she came back as often as she could, primarily to visit her favorite nephew, Erik. She knew the problems Erik had with his older brothers. They didn’t accept him, they screamed at him, they picked at him, they beat him up. But the boy was an angel and he seemed to have the patience of Job. He was growing up nicely, too, and had worked with his parents, ministering door-to-door. Valerie worried about him in that household, though, because there was a violent unpredictability about Bryan and David.

  Valerie came by to visit Erik. Up in his room, they sat quietly talking, and then Valerie asked him a question.

  “How are your brothers treating you?”

  With a steady gaze, Erik looked across at her.

  “You never know when you’re going to die.”

  Saturday, February 25

  Meg Diamond saw Bryan Freeman. N
ow carless, the skinhead was walking, so she offered him a ride, which he gladly accepted. Their conversation turned toward the subject of Bryan’s car, which his parents had sold. Bryan clenched his fists so hard that he shook.

  “My parents have to learn that me and my brother run this house, and until they learn that, we are going to keep doing what we are doing.”

  Bryan then got specific about what he really thought about his brother and father.

  “Erik is a faggot,” Bryan exclaimed, “and as for my father, he’s a sissy.”

  Meg had heard the brothers make threats against their parents in the past.

  Like everyone else, she wrote it off as the disturbed ramblings of troubled teenagers.

  Sunday, February 26

  By the boys’ recollections, it was a lazy winter’s Sunday in Allentown. On Ehrets Lane, where the Freemans lived, nothing special was happening.

  By early evening, David and Bryan, against their mother’s wishes, had decided to go to the movies.

  “I want you back by eleven,” Brenda said. “You’re not to be out after eleven.”

  They had no car to take them, but Benny stopped by and picked them up in his Camaro. They went to Wendy’s, where they ordered burgers, fries, and drinks. Bryan and Ben sat in a booth together, while David sat near them, alone and brooding. They all wore light-colored jeans and T-shirts.

  All three boys left Wendy’s about 7:30 P.M. and drove to another local hangout, the Capuccino Cafe. After staying there for a while, they walked over to the multiplex in the Whitehall Mall. There were two movies they were interested in seeing, Boys on the Side, a comedy, and Murder in the First, a drama. They couldn’t decide which film to see together, so Ben and Bryan went to the comedy and David, ever the loner, to the drama.

  Dennis Freeman went to bed early that night and fell asleep quickly. Brenda stayed awake, anxious that her children should return home, unsure what to do if they came home late, a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

  Next door, in his bedroom, Erik lay on his bed, breathing rhythmically as he settled into a deep sleep.

  Inside the theater, the boys sprayed Mace on the water fountain. They thought it was funny if they made it difficult for others to drink the water. Then, it was time for the movies. During Boys on the Side, some of the movie-goers heard Bryan and Ben make racist comments about Oscar-winner Whoopi Goldberg, the film’s star. Bryan wore shades during the film; he thought he looked cool. He told one of their friends who he met in the theater that the main occupation of the group of skinheads he belonged to was to party.

  After the film was over, David went out in the lobby to wait for the others, who came out soon after.

  “How was it?” Bryan asked.

  David shrugged. It was a serious, dour film, and he didn’t have much to say about it. The clock read 10:30 P.M. Despite their rebellious nature, there was something about their mother’s threat to lock them out that hit home. In the past two weeks, they had tried living with their aunt, Sandy Lettich, but that had not been pleasant, either, and eventually Sandy sent them home. They really had no place to go, other than back into placement, where they knew their mother would send them if they broke the rules again.

  Between the proverbial rock and a hard place, they went home, reaching the Freeman house on Ehrets Lane by 11 P.M. They went into the downstairs family room and started making a ruckus. Brian went upstairs and came back down with some cookies and milk. Soon, they heard the heavy tread on the stairs coming down that could only be Brenda Freeman.

  She appeared in her nightgown, looking disheveled and distraught.

  “You boys have been drinking again. Benny, go home,” she ordered, and, “You boys go to sleep.”

  Ben looked at his cousins, who smiled, and Ben went out the front door. Brenda went back upstairs. Outside, Ben went around to the downstairs bathroom. David opened it and let him in. Soon, all three were back in the family room, making noise again. Again, Brenda came downstairs.

  “Benny, I told you to go home. Now, go home!”

  Bryan watched, his pulse racing, every sense becoming attuned to what was happening. He was beginning to feel alive, really alive, for the first time in years as the anger inside him, the resentment built up over years, produced the adrenaline that pumped like a powerful narcotic into his system.

  Brenda watched like a hawk as Ben left again. She gave her kids a dirty look.

  “Now, get to sleep. Now!”

  The two boys listened as her footsteps retreated up the stairs. Then, they went back around to the bathroom and laughed as Ben climbed back in. Upstairs in her bedroom, Brenda was just getting back into bed when she heard Benny’s voice downstairs. Her husband was still asleep. He needed his rest because he got up early every morning around 6 A.M. to go to work.

  It was already near midnight, and unless she did something, those kids downstairs were sure to wake him up. She hurried back downstairs and lit into Benny.

  “I’m telling you for the last time, go home!”

  It was a game now, but the stakes had changed, and Brenda didn’t know it. But Bryan did.

  He knew that Benny was going to come back in and he knew what was going to happen. Brenda had barely reached her bed when for the third time she heard Benny downstairs. This time she ran down the stairs like an avenging angel. There, waiting to meet her was Bryan.

  “What the heck is going on here?” she demanded of her oldest son.

  “Listen, you bitch!” Bryan replied quietly.

  “Don’t call me a bitch. I’m your mother! I’m the adult here, I make the rules in this house, I tell you what to do.”

  Benny and David watched the two go at each other, awed by Brenda’s anger and Bryan’s unusual quiet.

  “Bryan, you will do …”

  Bryan could not hear the rest of what his mother said. He had turned on his heel and marched into his bedroom. It was a bedroom denuded of his Nazi memorabilia. His mother had gotten rid of that, she had gotten rid of their cars, there were her stupid rules, and now she was arguing with him and she was going to send them back to prison. She was going …

  When Bryan came out of his bedroom, he was holding a steak knife. Brenda saw him and tried to run down the narrow corridor, but Bryan was quicker. He pounced on her, grabbed her around the mouth with his left hand to stifle her cries, and thrust the knife with his right hand five deep inches into her back. Brenda gasped, and Bryan stood back to watch his mother.

  Die, you bitch! Die! Die! Die!

  Without a scream, Brenda fell. She should have died right then and there. It was a fatal wound, but anger overwhelmed her. She rose to her full height. She was corpulent, now in her late forties, but still a strong woman, so strong that she reached behind her, grabbed for and felt the handle of the knife, and pulled it out of her back.

  Then, she looked at her son, her own flesh and blood, who was staring back at her, awestruck. Now she advanced on him, the knife held high.

  Satan! It was Satan who had come from her loins.

  David and Ben watched as the two struggled for possession of the knife. Bryan cut his hand on the blade during the battle, but he won and plunged the knife one more time deep into his mother’s shoulder, up to the hilt. Brenda gasped and fell to the floor.

  Bryan stood over this woman he despised and watched as she gradually lost consciousness.

  Brenda was on her side, breathing heavily, knowing she was dying, watching her blood spill out deep red on the floor. It was time to meet Jehovah, to be one of the 144,000, she hoped; time for Judgment Day.

  Bryan turned and looked at David and Benny.

  “Whoever pussies out, they’re gonna get stabbed!” he screamed.

  David and Ben looked at each other, and then their gaze drifted over to the stairs that climbed toward the second floor, where Dennis Freeman and his youngest son, Erik, still lay sleeping.

  February 27, 4 P.M.

  Downstairs, Brenda lay sprawled in her blood, her night
gown hiked above her thighs in the position in which she had fallen. She lay face down, her face bashed in, not worried anymore about her kids, no longer concerned about answering the telephone, which was ringing.

  Upstairs, Dennis was on the bed in the room he had shared with his wife. His blood was splattered on the walls and up to the ceiling. His face and skull had been bashed in with a blunt object so that his features were totally unrecognizable, and his brain had burst through a crack in his skull. His throat had been slit, and blood had oozed down his chest and onto the bedspread, where it had dried into a coagulated dark substance that looked like sticky syrup.

  Erik was not in such bad shape. Considering what had happened to him, he didn’t look as gruesome as his father. No cut throat. He had been hit three or four times by blunt objects and had died instantly. Alone in his room, he was a pathetic, frail figure huddled on his bed and covered with blood.

  In his office sixty miles away in Philadelphia, Barry Morrison, regional director of the Anti-Defamation League, waited for someone to pick up the phone at the Freeman residence. He had not spoken to Brenda Freeman for a while and was checking in to see how she was doing and whether she’d had any luck placing her troubled kids. After a while, Morrison hung up the phone.

  He’d try her later. But there was no later for Brenda, or Dennis, or Erik.

  Someplace in the heartland of America, in the empty hours of the night, Benny Birdwell drove the Sunbird north toward Michigan, Bryan and David Freeman in the seats beside him.

  Bryan sank back on the seat cushions. It was over, finally over, and now he could relax.

  PART THREE

  “He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind.”

  —Proverbs 11:29, King James Bible “Authorized Version,” Cambridge Edition

  FOURTEEN

  The death chamber was on the mind of more than one person in Midland, Michigan. Bob Donohue, for one, was very concerned about it.

  A private practice lawyer who also worked as a public defender, Donohue is stout and middle-aged, wears thick, wire-framed lenses, and has large lips, a protruding jaw, and hair combed to the side.