case had not come together as the end of the month approached. Donna Trapani was a leading suspect, as was George Fulton. The OCSD needed to take a trip south into Florida and see what it could find out; yet there was no reason to head down there when so little was known about Donna Trapani and her potential—if any—involvement in the murder. As hard as it may seem, cops understand that patience is a virtue of police work that must be adhered to in order to solve these types of cases where the trail leads in many different directions. Donna and George had alibis. Sure, they could be covering for each other, but the more likely scenario was that one or both had hired someone to commit the murder. And if that was the case, cops were certain that someone would talk, sooner or later. Two, three, or four people cannot know about a crime so volatile and violent as a murder—grating on the conscience—and keep it secret for long. It goes against all human instinct.
Unless police are dealing with a clinical sociopath.
Then all bets are off.
On October 21, 1999, Donna Trapani sent George an e-mail after he requested that she pay him some of the money she owed him. Donna’s business was just about ready to close its doors for good. George wanted what he deserved.
In response, Donna said she had deposited $140 into George’s account, apologizing that it was so late. She said she was “doing the best” she could to pay the bills, but it was hard. She told George that there were more bills than there was cash, but she hoped that this small amount will help ... somehow, Donna wrote. Donna was still depending on George to do the billing for her, because she hadn’t yet learned how to do it herself, she related, and could not afford to hire anyone. This was one of Donna’s tactics to hang on to a connection to George after he had decided the relationship was over. She’d been manipulating and controlling George for months now. She said she could tell in his voice last night when they spoke on the telephone how “aggravated” George was to still have to do the billing. In a spate of sarcasm, Donna ended the e-mail: I am sorry to inconvenience you.
If George thought he was through with Donna, he was mistaken. This woman was not going to give up. Gail was out of the picture now completely. This was Donna’s moment to step into the lives of George and his children and take over—something Donna had wanted to do for a long time.
George received a card from Donna on Halloween. The inscription inside the card referred to Donna being thrilled that George had chosen to “share something so special” and “so meaningful” with her. I love you, the card said, and Donna added “still” to the end of that term of endearment. Happy anniversary, the card continued.
It had been two years to the day they had met.
The note Donna wrote inside said a lot about where her mind was these days. She was “remembering” that night they met so long ago. Thinking back to all they had done together “put a smile” on her face, as well as in her “heart.” She went on to say how meeting and getting involved with George was the most “wonderful time” of her life. She knew he felt the same way. She wanted George to spend just five minutes and think about that night they met. She was certain the memory would warm his heart. She missed not being able to talk to him. She missed his voice. She missed his laughter. She wanted him to know that if he wanted to talk anytime, he could just pick up the telephone and call her. She’d always be there for him to “unload”—an odd choice of words, considering how George’s wife had been murdered—should he need someone to lean on.
Along with the card Donna sent George a dozen red roses.
George took the flowers and dropped them off at his local parish. He wanted no remembrances of Donna Trapani in his house. What she didn’t understand was that when George Fulton—at least this time—said
Unless police are dealing with a clinical sociopath.
Then all bets are off.
On October 21, 1999, Donna Trapani sent George an e-mail after he requested that she pay him some of the money she owed him. Donna’s business was just about ready to close its doors for good. George wanted what he deserved.
In response, Donna said she had deposited $140 into George’s account, apologizing that it was so late. She said she was “doing the best” she could to pay the bills, but it was hard. She told George that there were more bills than there was cash, but she hoped that this small amount will help ... somehow, Donna wrote. Donna was still depending on George to do the billing for her, because she hadn’t yet learned how to do it herself, she related, and could not afford to hire anyone. This was one of Donna’s tactics to hang on to a connection to George after he had decided the relationship was over. She’d been manipulating and controlling George for months now. She said she could tell in his voice last night when they spoke on the telephone how “aggravated” George was to still have to do the billing. In a spate of sarcasm, Donna ended the e-mail: I am sorry to inconvenience you.
If George thought he was through with Donna, he was mistaken. This woman was not going to give up. Gail was out of the picture now completely. This was Donna’s moment to step into the lives of George and his children and take over—something Donna had wanted to do for a long time.
George received a card from Donna on Halloween. The inscription inside the card referred to Donna being thrilled that George had chosen to “share something so special” and “so meaningful” with her. I love you, the card said, and Donna added “still” to the end of that term of endearment. Happy anniversary, the card continued.
It had been two years to the day they had met.
The note Donna wrote inside said a lot about where her mind was these days. She was “remembering” that night they met so long ago. Thinking back to all they had done together “put a smile” on her face, as well as in her “heart.” She went on to say how meeting and getting involved with George was the most “wonderful time” of her life. She knew he felt the same way. She wanted George to spend just five minutes and think about that night they met. She was certain the memory would warm his heart. She missed not being able to talk to him. She missed his voice. She missed his laughter. She wanted him to know that if he wanted to talk anytime, he could just pick up the telephone and call her. She’d always be there for him to “unload”—an odd choice of words, considering how George’s wife had been murdered—should he need someone to lean on.
Along with the card Donna sent George a dozen red roses.
George took the flowers and dropped them off at his local parish. He wanted no remembrances of Donna Trapani in his house. What she didn’t understand was that when George Fulton—at least this time—said
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