Summer’s Death

Preamble

My sister and her husband were murdered in their home in the middle of a sunny fall day in a nice house in a nice neighborhood. My story has raised many important questions and facts. First, I lost two beloved family members. The pain was excruciating. My pain was exacerbated when I learned how my sister and her husband were tortured before their murders. As a violence researcher, I know empirically that there is no way around this pain; however, to climb my way out of this dark posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) abyss, I focus on the positive and am developing policies to prevent batterers from having free reign in communities. Second, due to the violence, I experienced extreme feelings of shock, fear, and helplessness because somebody wanted my sister and her husband dead. In fact, the killer wanted them more than dead. Each of their bodies had multiple injuries pre, peri, and post-mortem, and each of their bodies was posed to torment whomever found them. The killer pulled Michael’s pants and underwear down and sexually assaulted him, and Terri was posed in a grotesque manner in the pond with an altar built on her back. Their deaths were without the honor or peace becoming of a state trooper or an environmental investigator. Michael and Terri dedicated their lives to advocacy for the vulnerable and the environment.

It is with great hope that you, the reader, share the story of Terri and Michael Greene. Domestic violence affects all of us, even those who do not live in violent homes. We are still waiting for the necessary social change that frames domestic violence as a human rights violation to prevent Terri and Michael’s fate from occurring to others. Most importantly, Terri and Michael Greene were victims of domestic violence. Their murders were preventable, and had anybody at any point over the last 25 years upheld the laws passed by Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) I, II, and III and held the perpetrator accountable for the psychological, emotional, physical, and sexual abuse of dozens of women and children, Terri and Mike would be alive. Deemed a narcissistic sociopath with substance abuse dependencies and depression based on a court-ordered psychiatric evaluation, the question isn’t why he killed Mike and Terri; the question is “why did the police, prosecutors, parole boards, and judges feel he was a safe bet to let out of jail?” At the time of the murders, the perpetrator was on parole, incarcerated, and on work release simultaneously. He did not have a job, and he was allowed to roam the community freely. These were passionate acts of hatred. He enjoyed killing, and surely they were not his first because he was comfortable playing with dead bodies for two hours before leaving their home only minutes before my elderly parents arrived.

I discovered the name of the killer on September 29, 2011, but that fact had to remain a secret until December 22, 2011, when the prosecutor charged their killer with two counts of homicide. I used all my knowledge and skills to learn about the killer. From the sheriff’s perspective, the killer had a six-line rap sheet that ranged from driving without a license to credit card fraud. From a domestic violence researcher’s perspective, the killer had 132 independent violent events that ranged from child abuse, attempted homicide, child neglect, absconding from parole, dropping dirty, home invasion, and breaking and entering. Everything about this perpetrator predicts violence. The lead detective said this was a strange case because the killer had no violent history. I immediately responded, “What about the violence perpetrated against his partners and children?” The detective responded sheepishly, “Well, that is because he had a lot of girlfriends.” It did not occur to a law enforcement officer in the year 2012 that woman abuse is a crime, violent, and a violation of a victim’s civil rights. When we met with the prosecutor, I was shocked a second time when someone queried the prosecutor “why?” He said he did not know because the killer only had a history of credit card fraud. I immediately asked, “Why do you continue to say he is not violent when I have pages and pages of violent events?” The prosecutor did not consider the woman and child abuse “real violence.”

My mother said to me, “I thought domestic violence is illegal.” She asked me, “Why wasn’t he in prison?” “Why did he pose their bodies?” “I thought you could get arrested for hurting your girlfriend.”

I can only guess that most Americans feel the same as my parents. Their awareness of woman abuse has increased, but the system intended to protect fails to protect battered women and children and remains dysfunctional. Alas, I have no answers for my mother because it is illegal, and the police and prosecutors and judges were aware and he should have been in prison. At the perpetrator’s arraignment for the murders of Terri and Michael Greene, his previous victims crawled out of the woodwork. Some emailed me, some called, some showed up in court to hug me. These amazing women who survived near-lethal homicide and were not protected by the U.S. criminal justice system were the most compassionate persons during my grief; they comforted me. Nobody believed their story or paid attention to violations of laws put in place to protect battered women and children. These women did not know there were dozens of other victims because the domestic violence crimes were never publically recognized. Each woman believed she was alone. Independent cases in four Michigan counties consisted of women who had been battered, robbed, beaten, threatened, and terrorized by my sister’s killer, and not a single police officer, prosecutor, or judge took them seriously. Each police report was met with skepticism that the case was unique, or the woman was “crazy” and if she did not like being battered, why she had continued to return to her abuser. The perpetrator’s violent history was treated as a series of “singular events,” rather than as a 25-year pattern of violence. One crazy woman is possible, but 12? Terri and Michael’s murders validated battered women’s experiences. One of his victims was battered and stalked by the killer for years. She made multiple police reports and filed restraining orders and a no stalking order. The perpetrator was not arrested when he violated the restraining orders. Terri and Michael’s murders gave this woman peace. Following the arraignment, she asked the police detective, “See! Do you believe me now?” Nobody believed her fear and experience until Terri and Michael were brutally tortured and murdered.

It is within this context that I offer Summer’s Death, plus an apology to all battered women for referring to myself as an expert in violence against women. I knew nothing.

These murders weighed heavily on my family, but what hurt the most were the people telling me not to discuss the case before the trial, during the trial, or afterward because it might make somebody uncomfortable. These restrictions left me in a lonely place and the one person, my sister, who could have helped me through these dark days was dead.

Summer’s Death

The Autumnal Equinox occurred on September 22, 2011, when I learned my sister and her husband were murdered.

I knew this girl, such a short while ago;

Our design was divine apropos;

Our beings in discord;

She was tall, I am small;

She was bronze, I am fair;

She was structured, me laissez faire;

My life chaos, next to orderly;

My brazen words, her timidity;

She worked to live, while I lived to work;

And yet we lived in this common ground;

A mother, a father, and a history abound;

This woman, my sister, was always around;

Despite my strange ways, she still cared for me;

In her way, in her way, so specially;

She is that person, I so need;

The quiet strength behind me;

The woman accepted, unrestricted from me;

For my words, for my words, astounded;

Contradiction, infliction, conviction from me;

Mayhap unwonted, offended, could be;

Lacked inhibition, oft shamed her;

But she stayed, yes she stayed, beside me;

Demented deranged erratic could be;

Explained my conduct, byproduct crazy;

But she stayed, yes she stayed, and she claimed me;

As her sister, with pride, that perplexed me;

Separated by six states, distant depart;

Yet connected, unaffected 700 miles, apart;

Then came that call, yes a call, that broke my heart;

At 10:29, 10:29, 22 of September;

Death of summer, The Fall Equinox;

I remember, I remember, I remember;

That call, oh that call, stole you from me;

You departed, I started, my journey to hell;

Disbelief traded for pain;

Confusion, effusion disoriented I fell;

Hysteria, delirium, madness now sadness;

God, oh my God, awaken me;

To a day, any day, besides the “one” without you.

One life, not suffice, so he took more;

In my head, I see dead, I see your end;

He took one life, he took Mike, wanted more;

He took two, yes its true, with no remorse;

I went to the place, yes that space, where you died;

I follow the steps, you walked as you died;

Just to know, just to feel, just to touch you some way;

I walked your death march, the following day;

A hundred times, in my mind, I have tried;

To feel what you felt, as you knelt, in his blood;

From your dead husband, his body destroyed;

Devoid of life, until you did know;

You were not safe, the monster came for you.

The obscure demonic beast, which hath no soul;

Unfettered, unhampered, out of control;

His growing hunger, hateful vitriol;

Consuming lovers, clandestine children, as his toll;

Secretly, the weakly, he gains control;

Asunder the sentinel’s stand, he grows;

Because he knows, he knows, he knows;

The feminine, the young belong to his spoils;

They are invisible, inconspicuous; nonvisuals;

In the eyes of our guardian fools;

You meant the world to me, irony;

Because your life, just a trophy, was snuffed randomly.

I wonder and wonder, what came to your mind;

As you lay dying, struggling for life;

Was there worry or fear or pain to bear;

You died alone, oh alone, I was not there;

To tell you I love you, maybe just hold your hand;

Or cradle your head, and tell you some lies;

You will live, all will be well;

Stay with me, please stay, instead of farewell;

You’re my sister, my sister, and I was not there;

When you needed me most, I was lost, nor did hear;

Your last words, precious words, are lost to the wind.

You are my sister, and sisters do know;

The minds of each other, so maybe I know;

I am late, I came late, but I finally did show;

You need not worry, for your son, pray tell;

Would be safe, beloved, as he grew;

He’s a man, yes a man, and he did survive;

You’d be proud, yes so proud, strong and alive;

He went on, without you, with work and school;

The son you wanted, exalted, a beautiful soul.

It is I who is trapped between life and death;

Unable to cope, to live, without hope;

Pushed by others to go on and forget

To live without you, ignore my regret;

My sister, dear sister, is no longer here;

Your dreams and your stories, are missing I fear;

Heart broken and lonely, I’m forced to go on;

It’s the motions, the motions, without feeling or soul;

I dredge forward, yes forward, and nobody knows;

I cannot let go, let go, let go;

No rehearsal for death or a murder;

Crazy, unstable, is what I hear;

Forced into silence, where I may not speak;

The horrors of murder, because I am weak;

My sister, dear sister, I can’t move on;

How cruel to cross over, you left me alone;

Alone, alone, forsaken alone;

Death is forever, to weather alone;

Terri, my secret murder, tormentor and torture;

Visions of your body submerged in a pond;

The blood spattered walls, bullet holes, abandoned;

The memory of death, I can’t go beyond;

Some days, too many days, I try and forget;

But the pills and booze still cannot mask;

Broken heart, broken heart, I cannot get past;

So for now we pretend that all is well;

My secret murder, I will not tell;

Rather, life is wonderful, as if, as “is” if.

Speak not of these murders, I have been told;

Not at work, nor at home, are secrets untold;

Time to move on, as my grief grows old;

Yet I wonder, I wonder, why it’s so wrong to remember;

Little sister who died, yes you died in September;

Murder evokes a bad feeling, no healing;

I am vexed, so perplexed, for concealing;

Deny, it’s a lie, this girl a short while ago;

I had a sister, perfect sister, I know;

She had to die, no good bye, why deny;

Why must I forget, oh forget and yet;

I know why, must comply, needn’t cry;

You who demand, reprimand, I let go;

Can’t fathom my pain, died not in vain;

Because you had no sister, not my sister, no pain;

Suffered my loss, such a cost, to sustain;

I am normal, as normal a sister could be;

To resent, denounce life, that was she;

Rather I shall scream to the world;

My secret murder had a name, TERRI!

Postscript

The killer went to trial after 26 delays. The trial lasted two and a half weeks. At every venture, the killer’s rights were considered. He continues to terrorize one of his former victims, stalking by proxy. He knows where she is and when she is at work. He calls her or has other girlfriends call and write letters to her. He has somebody watching her. He has been moved downstate close to where Terri’s son lives, and his former victims live where he can have visitors that maintain his social network and control. During my victim’s statement, I was chastised and threatened for divulging the sexual assault. I did not want the killer to go to prison as a hero for killing a police officer, especially one who was a champion of battered women during his career. The only time the killer showed emotion throughout the trial was when my father testified that he found Michael’s body with his pants pulled down to his ankles and his underwear pulled down below his buttocks. This was the only time that the killer turned red from shame. We are currently awaiting an appeal the killer has filed.