Mortal Danger (25 page)

It has been said—and often—that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I suspect there is a fury that far exceeds that of a woman rejected by her man, and that is the rage of a cuckolded male, or one who
believes
that his mate has been unfaithful. Every day I get at least one e-mail from a woman somewhere in the world who is struggling to be free of her “prison of love.”

Most days, I get three or four.

As we’ve seen in the first case in this book, it is far easier to fall in love than it is to abandon a love that is not what it seemed to be. Many men still consider that a woman, once pledged to him, is his personal property, his chattel and possession forever. He would rather see her dead—violently dead—than picture her making love with someone else.

In one Seattle homicide, a fifty-three-year-old man proved once again that some men cannot let go gracefully. His name was Melvin, and his former wife, Kathryn, was fifteen years younger than he was. He’d always believed that she would leave him one day, and it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. His jealousy and suspicion ruined his
marriage. Kathryn had tired of him long before their divorce decree was final.

She moved forward in her life, and some months later, she had a new love whom she hoped to marry. Melvin was enraged when he learned that.

In the fall of 1976, he lay in wait and shot and wounded Kathryn’s lover. The wounds weren’t critical, and Melvin received little more than a slap on the hand and a suspended sentence from the judge. Although Kathryn was still afraid of him, no one else involved—except for her lover—believed that Melvin would act out violently again.

Within days of his release from jail, Melvin decided to break up Kathryn’s romance in a most final way.

On February 5, 1977, he loaded his shotgun and carried it stealthily up the alley behind his ex-wife’s home. He then dragged a garbage can beneath the kitchen window so he could look inside. What he saw seared an unforgettable image in his brain. Why his wife and her lover weren’t more afraid is puzzling. They should have moved into a bedroom, or at least pulled the blinds—but they didn’t.

Unaware that they were being watched, his wife and her lover were making love on top of the dining room table.

Melvin leveled his weapon on the windowsill and called out, “Move—and you’re dead!”

Involuntarily, the lover drew back and Melvin’s slender, beautiful ex-wife started to sit up. Had she remained still, she might have lived.

The shotgun blast reverberated throughout the house, its full force piercing the helpless woman in one breast and tearing completely through her body, taking out her heart
and both her lungs in its lethal course. She was dead instantly, senselessly, forever.

Seattle homicide detectives had no trouble locating Melvin; neighbors who ran out of their homes at the sound of the shotgun had spotted his car license as he drove away. And, of course, many of them recognized him and his vehicle.

Booked into jail, Melvin had very little to say. He seemed oddly satisfied that Kathryn was dead and no longer in the arms of another man. If he thought at all of their three children who were now virtually orphaned, he didn’t comment on it to the detectives. In his mind, Kathryn had been his to do with as he saw fit, and he saw fit to destroy her.

But he also destroyed what was left of his own life. Tried and convicted, Melvin was sentenced to serve a hundred years in prison for murder in the first degree, plus another twenty years for assault against his rival, who lived.

Melvin’s motivation was not unlike that behind another tragedy brought about by suspicion, jealousy, and a sense of possession of another human being. This murder occurred four months after Melvin shot his ex-wife’s boyfriend, and eight months before he killed the woman he swore he loved more than anything.

Although it’s been thirty-two years since I first wrote about the case of Amelia Jager, her story is one of a small percentage that refuses to leave my conscious memory. Cruel fate somehow brought the principals together, and it was a sorry thing that they ever met at all.

Amelia Jager, twenty-seven, was a flowerlike Eurasian woman, a small and fragile brunette with lovely eyes whose beauty combined the best of both the East and West. She weighed barely 100 pounds and stood about five foot two. She was stronger than she looked, but she was no match for a man, especially for an irrational stalker.

Ironically, Amelia had never loved anyone with the intensity she felt for the man who would eventually destroy her; she had never been unfaithful to him, and she had left him only because she feared his dark side. Nothing in her former life had prepared her for the sudden waves of blackness and hate that washed over him, mercurial emotions she neither foresaw nor understood.

Except for the unpredictable vicissitudes of fate or karma or whatever it can be called, Amelia would never have met Heinz Jager at all. She grew up a world, an ocean, many continents away from the native of Bern, Switzerland. Amelia had never known anything but a peaceful, loving family life with her parents and her sisters and brother.

Amelia had no prejudices against anyone. Her parents’
marriage had shown her that different cultures and different racial backgrounds could blend into a strong, fine union. She and her siblings had been blessed with beauty and brains, and there were real bonds among them. Their home in one of Seattle’s finest suburbs was charming and gracious. That was all Amelia had ever known. Perhaps if she had been brought up in turmoil, she might have recognized the danger signs sooner.

Amelia was a teacher in California. Her summers belonged to her after she’d completed her mandatory “fifth-year” postgraduate courses in education, and she was free to travel during her vacation time. In 1973, she embarked on a tour of Europe. Although she enjoyed the whole trip, it was Switzerland that attracted her the most. That was probably because of the man she met there: Heinz Jager. Heinz was a tall, handsome Swiss with startling clear blue eyes, thick brown hair, and a beard. He was a theatrical engineer, successful and much admired for his work. He towered over Amelia’s petite frame and made her feel safe and protected.

Although they had some language difficulties, Heinz seemed to know what she felt and what she thought, and she believed she understood him, too. Although her family and friends back home called her Amy, Heinz liked the more formal Amelia; he said it suited her.

When Amy reluctantly returned to California to honor her teaching contract in the fall, she missed Heinz, far more than she had expected. Their correspondence became increasingly frequent and intimate. It was only natural that she go back to Switzerland the next summer to be with him.

This time, in 1974, Amy’s sister Jill went along with her, intrigued by her sister’s glowing reports of Switzerland. Jill was younger than Amy, but taller and stronger, a statuesque woman, very attractive in her own way. She took a job as a waitress and bartender in Bern and both sisters had a wonderful summer.

Amy and Heinz communicated in French, although her native language was English and his German. They both became more fluent in French, and their second summer together convinced Amy that this was the man she had dreamed of all her life.

He was eight years older than she was and had been married once before, but that didn’t matter to Amy. Many men learned from the mistakes of a first marriage, and it often made their second marriages stronger. When she and Jill left Switzerland, Amy knew that she would be back again. She hoped that the next time they were together, she might never have to leave Heinz again.

No one could say that they rushed into a committed relationship. They’d grown to know each other not just in person but also through hundreds of letters.

When Amy returned to Bern in the summer of 1975, her love for Heinz had not diminished; it had grown. She wrote happily to her family and friends in America that she would not be coming home in the fall because she and Heinz were to be married in October. She planned to give up teaching and work hard to adapt completely to her new country. And to her marriage.

It was difficult for her family to think of their daughter so very far away, but, as always, they wanted her happiness. That that happiness meant they would see Amy rarely,
and probably that their grandchildren would be born and grow up in Switzerland, was bittersweet.

And Amy
was
happy, but only for a short time. As her lover and suitor, Heinz had been considerate and nothing she’d done ever seemed to annoy him. But Heinz appeared to change on their wedding day. It was almost as if someone had flicked off a light switch. Everything was different now that they were married, and Amy was stunned. As long as Amy remained at home, catering to Heinz’s every need, she pleased him.

She thought he would be happy when she signed up to take German lessons. She wanted to become a real part of his homeland, and to do that, she would have to learn to speak the language. And their own communication would be so much better if she was able to speak his native language. Perhaps there were shadings of meaning, slang terms, vocabulary that meant something other than Amy thought they did, and that was causing their difficulties.

But something was wrong. Heinz didn’t want Amy to go to class. He didn’t like the idea of Amelia having friends other than himself. He frowned when she told him of the new friends she was making at school. He became sullen, then jealous, if he saw her talking even casually to other men. She tried to tell him that they were only students at the school who meant nothing to her except as acquaintances.

She assured Heinz that she had never loved anyone but him and that she never could love any other man.

He appeared not to hear and turned away from her, pouting like an angry child.

During the weeks before their first Christmas, Amelia
stopped being puzzled at Heinz’s actions. She became afraid. If she hoped to remain in his good graces, she realized that she would have to stay in their home, a virtual recluse. She wouldn’t be able to speak to anyone at all, or have any friends.

The man she had married was gone. The “new” Heinz was terrifying in his alternating jealous rages and coldness. To her horror, Amy discovered that he kept a collection of knives and swords, as if to ward off everyone in the world outside their home. And now he threatened her, accusing her of liaisons and treachery—ugly things she had never done, or even dreamed of doing.

But Amy was a proud woman and, despite everything, one who still tried to be optimistic about the future. She didn’t write home about her situation; she had loved this man for years, had chosen to turn her back on the United States, to make a marriage and a home for him. She still hoped that somehow she could make it work, and she could not bear to tell anyone of her marital troubles. That would be a betrayal of Heinz and an admission that she had made a dreadful mistake.

In January 1976—after only three months of marriage—Heinz’s behavior and his erratic mood swings became untenable, and Amy sought medical help for her husband. The doctors who examined him agreed that he was not rational. He was admitted to the Bern Psychiatric Hospital because of his volatile behavior and his threats to Amy. It broke her heart to see him locked in a mental hospital, but, if possible, she still hoped to save her marriage. They were barely out of what should have been the honeymoon stage. She visited him faithfully, did what the psychiatrists sug
gested, and avoided discussing anything that seemed to upset him.

Treatment didn’t help him at all. He resisted all efforts to medicate him and would not talk to the therapists who tried to reach him. Heinz Jager’s pathological obsessions about Amy had gone much too far. She wondered how he could have maintained such a normal façade during the summer months they were together and then become Mr. Hyde to the warm Dr. Jekyll she had fallen in love with.

Amy didn’t know his history yet, possibly because of the language barriers and because Heinz had forbidden her to make friends, but he had always taken this approach to women. Once he had taken lovers, they became trapped like butterflies in a glass jar, beating their wings hopelessly as they tried to escape.

In April 1976, Amelia Jager accepted that her dreams of happiness were doomed to failure. She still cared for Heinz in a way, but not as she had once loved him. She was too frightened by his strange moods and his collection of sharp weapons. She hurriedly packed a few possessions and then slipped away from their house while he was out.

Her note of April 9 displays the compassion she still felt for him and also her sadness:

It was the farewell letter of a rational woman who had taken all she could bear. A rational man might have ac
cepted her decision. But Amy Jager was not dealing with a rational man. She realized that, but even she could not guess the lengths to which Heinz would go to keep what he considered his. She allowed herself to feel somewhat safe after she talked with officials at the American embassy in Switzerland and begged them not to give him a visa—on the slight chance he would attempt to follow her.

They assured her they would not. Anyway, Heinz had no money; she felt he would not leave Bern. In time, she thought, he would come to accept what had to be.

Amy Jager came home to her family. She couldn’t find a teaching job in Washington in the middle of the school year so she obtained a position as a secretary. She took back her maiden name and made preparations for filing for divorce. After a few weeks, she began to smile again. She was only twenty-seven; her life wasn’t over, and there could be better days and years ahead. Letters to friends showed that she was once more becoming the optimist she had been before her marriage.

She had seen the love of her life turn into ashes, but she did not burden those around her with her sorrow. She was determined to go on with her life.

On May 11, 1976, the doorbell rang at Amy’s family home. It had been only a month since she’d left Switzerland, and she’d assured her relatives that Heinz wouldn’t be able to get a visa to follow her.

But he had. They were shocked to find Heinz Jager standing there. Somehow, some way, he had obtained a visa and enough money to fly to Seattle.

He had come, he said, to convince Amelia that they should continue their marriage. They were meant to be together, and Heinz was insistent that Amelia would understand that if he just had a chance to talk with her alone.

They feared him and the chaos he might cause, but he wouldn’t leave, and it took a call to local police to persuade him that he could not stay with Amy’s family. They found him a motel room, paid for it, and waited anxiously to see what he would do next. They didn’t want to see him on the street, and they felt compassion toward him. They also felt apprehensive.

They were a gentle family and could not understand this man who had flown halfway around the world to seize the woman he had married and take her away again.

Amy understood him, though, and she was very afraid.

On May 18, Amy wrote to Senator Henry Jackson and demanded to know why Heinz had been given a visa to America. She said it would not expire until June 21, more than a month away. In the meantime, she and her family felt like hostages to a madman. She asked that he never be given a future visa.

What Amy didn’t know was that Heinz Jager had no intention of leaving America—ever. He had disposed of all his possessions in Switzerland and arrived with the few belongings he had left, only his skis and some clothes.

He had a knife, too, but the family didn’t know about that. The year 1976 was long before airport security teams made thorough checks for weapons in luggage.

As they waited out what they thought would be thirty-three days, Amy’s family guarded her, shepherding her to work and protecting her in their home at night. They tried
to be as gracious to Jager as they could, taking him on a well-chaperoned sightseeing trip to the mountains of Washington. Because they were kind, they hoped that Heinz would have good memories of his last visit to see his about-to-be-ex-wife and leave them alone once he was back in Switzerland.

Heinz made no preparations to leave the United States. He seemed to have no plans beyond the day.

After a few weeks, Heinz said he was going to California to visit a friend. He seemed calmer, and the family dared to hope that he would return to Europe and leave Amy alone. His friend in California welcomed Jager and assumed that he was accepting the fact that his marriage was over. He encouraged Heinz to make a new start.