Issue 7.3
As promised, Loyal Reader, the S&S is pleased to bring to you our first interview.
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The Tindale Correctional Facility is a medium-security prison located 45 minutes west of Kensington, nestled into the thick woods of the basin foothills. As I approached the facility via the sole winding access road, the building’s square towers were the first thing to be seen. They rose from the canopy like great rooks and it was easy to mistake them for the ramparts of some feudal land baron. It was not until I get closer that the layered barriers of chain link fencing and concertina wire made the true nature of the buildings clear.
Inside, Tindale was surprisingly clean and new. No rusty bars for Tindal, only white and sky blue pained concrete block. Mr. Macintosh and I were allowed a semi-private room with no restraints. And although I was assured that the inmates of Tindale are generally non-violent, I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t more than a bit nervous.
As was reported in a previous entry, Mr. Macintosh is a small man. His shoulders were narrow in his prison-issue jumpsuit. His salt-and pepper hair was quite thin on top, which he compensated for with a robust moustache. It was hard for me to imagine the spectacled man across from me as a monster. I was reminded of something an old friend told me once, that even monsters have to do their laundry sometime. At any rate, I was eager to understand what made this murderer tick.
S&S: Mr. Macintosh, thank you for meeting with me.
PM: Phil is fine.
S&S: Thank you. Phil, these questions are going to be difficult, but I am sure that you understand the purpose of my visit.
PM: Oh you’re much more polite than the Network people. Those folks are all business.
S&S: Phil, can you tell me about the morning of April 13th, the day you killed your wife.
PM: Frankly, it was a day just like any other day. I got up to make breakfast and get the day started. I brought it up to Suzette. And when I did she said that she had told me that she didn’t want eggs two days in a row, and then she - bam – smacks the plate, just like that, clean up in the air. And when it got on one of her babies, she got about as red as you could ever imagine.
S&S: Her babies?
PM: Her “collectibles”. She has all these baby dolls and stuffed animals that she saves, just I mean, hundreds of ‘em. And some of the food got on a Strawberry Shortcake she said it would “kill the signature smell”. But it was in the box, you know? I don’t know how she thought it was gonna kill the smell if it’s never even been opened.
But at any rate, she went hog-wild and jumped up out of the bed and hit me in the side of my ear as hard as she could. So I fall over, you know, into one of the shelves, and all the dolls come tumblin’ down. And then she really loses it.
S&S: Wait a minute, Mister – um, Phil. She hit you in the head?
PM: Oh yeah, that was nothing new. That was a regular occurrence in the Macintosh household. That woman beat on me regularly. Why do you think I was bringing her breakfast in bed? That was a regular occurrence, too.
S&S: Suzette beat you?
PM: Your words. Not mine. But yeah. She hit me. She would lock me in a closet sometimes. She would even make me wear a baby bib at dinner sometimes. Talk to her animals . . .
But see, that’s the thing. We got to fightin’ in that bedroom, and usually she would just tan me good. But you know, things happen, and somehow she ended up on the ground – hit her head or something. Don’t get me wrong, now, this was after a knock-down drag-out – you take a look at the Police photos, and you will see that I was black and blue all over. But she got hurt somehow in the whole thing. And then she’s yelling for me to get her up, and I don’t know what happened. I just wanted her to shut up, you know, stop yelling all the time. So I took one of those little Beanie Babies and stuffed it in her mouth to just make her shut up.
S&S: So you were just trying to get her to be quiet? The killing was an accident?
PM: Well, that’s a funny thing there. Yes and no, I guess. I’ve asked myself that a million times. I mean, yeah, I did want her to hush up. But I also knew what I was doing. It felt good, to tell the truth. I pushed the little doll in her mouth, and she kept fussing, so I pushed it in a little more. And then she started gagging, or whatever. And, well, tell the truth – it just felt good.
S&S: It felt good to kill your wife?
PM: I don’t know. It sounds ugly to say it like that. But I just didn’t want to hear it anymore. I just wanted her to turn it off for a while, you know.
S&S: And what about the computer cord?
PM: The “Macintosh” cord? (laughs) That’s why they call me the iKiller, you know? The computer.
S&S: Right.
PM: I don’t know, man. I was on a slippery slope, I guess. It was like, in that moment, it was a different world, with different rules. You know what I was thinking? I was thinking, “I just want a nice, pleasant breakfast with the woman I married. I want to enjoy this lovely Spring day.”
You know, I never wanted to be a girdle salesman. That was her daddy’s business and they made me do it. I just wanted to be a teacher?
S&S: A teacher?
PM: Well yeah. I was half-way through my Master’s of education when we got married. That’s always been my heart, teaching. Nothing wrong with women’s underwear, the world will always need women’s underwear. But I wanted to – well, to me, teaching was more meaningful, if you follow me.
S&S: So Phil, is this why you spent all day making that lavish meal.
PM: That’s right. I dolled up Suzette, put on some nice music, and made the perfect, perfect lunch, or supper. Whatever. Let me tell you, friend. It was a glorious afternoon. Glorious. So quiet, peaceful. We had the doors open, it was nice and cool. I even put Suzette in an office chair and danced her around. You’re going to think this is crazy, but the conversation was sublime.
S&S: Phil, how has prison life been treating you? Are you holding up ok?
PM: It’s wonderful here.
S&S: Excuse me? Wonderful?
PM: I don’t want to promote prison, make it out to be some sort of vacation cruise. It’s not. But listen, all I ever wanted to do was to teach. And in here I get to do that. Most of these guys in here are stunted at a certain age. For whatever reason a lot of them never succeeded in school, and then when they got in to the System, their maturing just stopped cold. There are 40 year old men in here who essentially have the minds of 15 year olds. I get to teach these guys, I get to make a difference every day. And there is always a new batch of students right around the corner.
Besides, the world is full of meanness and disorder. And least the walls make the meanness in here orderly.
S&S: It sounds like you are admitting to everything, but you didn’t plead guilty to the murder charge. Can you explain to me your thinking behind your Alford Plea?
PM: Well, you know, did I kill Suzette? Yes. Straight away. I killed her. Am I “guilty” of killing her? I don’t know. I think – philosophically – the situation is fundamentally different. I’m from the country, and we have a joke, “That man needed killin’.” I hate what happened to our love. But I am not a sentimental or romantic person. And if we are all going to agree to speak honestly to each other: that woman needed killin’. So do I regret it? Sure. Would I do it again? I would. Am I ever going to kill again? Not very likely.
S&S: What do you say to those people who wonder if you are a monster?
PM: Well, that’s for them to say, of course. But I say, we’re all monsters, aren’t we? Given the right situation. That’s why places like this are full and not empty. We’re all monster here.
S&S: Phil, you’ve given me a lot to think about today, some of which brings to mind another case that I am investigating. I want to sincerely thank you for your time . . .
PM: I’ve got nothing but time.
S&S: . . . and I just have one last question for you: How many killers do you think there are in this city?
PM: (laughs) Huh. Yeah. I would answer that question with a question: How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?
S&S: Thank you, Mr. Macintosh.
PM: Thank you.
As always...
- truth will out. W. Shakespeare
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