eye:
WIFE SENTENCED FOR MURDERING
HUSBAND
Judith Klepick, 29, was
sentenced to life in prison for the murder of her husband last
Friday. Gary Klepick, 38, died of suffocation in October under
highly suspicious circumstances. Early reports by the police
believed it to be suicide.
Mrs. Klepick’s sentence came
despite her plea of temporary insanity. She told the court she had
no recollection of killing her husband, or of the days surrounding
his death. She claimed to suffer from severe, prolonged blackouts
during which she was neither aware nor in control of her actions.
However, the court dismissed her plea as ‘a desperate attempt’ when
later information revealed she had conspired to run away with a
lover, with whom she was alleged to have had an affair.
The story struck me. It seemed
to glow off the page. Perhaps illogically, it felt in a way like
some sort of proof; of the possibility that at least my suspicions
were justified. A murder which had at first seemed like suicide—it
was almost the same. And yet in that case it had eventually been
revealed that there was more to it. The lack of information
frustrated me, and I made a mental note to read more about the
story when I had the chance.
As I leafed through the rest of
the newspaper, I got the notion that strange things were happening
all around London. I noticed a story about a used ambulance being
used to abduct people and pump them full of psychotropic drugs.
Another story mentioned a drugs ring that had been using unmapped,
underground tunnels built during WWII to avoid detection. One
article mentioned an alarming trend of violence breaking out during
concerts within the past few months.
I rarely read newspapers. I
would idly check out the news on TV when I had the chance, and
perhaps I had simply lost touch, or perhaps I was just noticing
these kinds of stories more now. But it seemed like these sorts of
things didn’t usually happen. I felt concerned.
I reached my stop and got out.
The station wasn’t too far from Monika’s house, but it was bitingly
cold, and I hadn’t eaten since morning. I arrived at her front door
shivering and tired. She opened the door with a frown and invited
me in.
There were loud voices and
laughter emanating from the living room. I followed Monika through
the door and saw five incredibly attractive people sitting around
the coffee table, drinking aromatic drinks and smoking. Vicky was
standing next to an incredibly thin, short-haired blonde. She was
wearing a pair of oversized pink glasses and a beaded necklace that
obviously belonged to the blonde. They were laughing and giggling
as if they were both teenagers. The others watched and laughed too.
Of them, three were girls and one a guy. All were meticulously
dressed and alluring. It was like walking into the pages of a
magazine, and I imagined that together these people made any
situation seem like a fashion shoot.
Vicky saw me and squealed.
“Big bro!”
“Hey. You look very nice. Where
did you get those?”
“Belinda gave them to me.”
The blonde smiled at me and I
smiled back.
“Is she your sister?” asked the
guy. I noticed they were all looking at me, and felt all the more
self-conscious for it.
“Yeah. I hope she didn’t cause
you any trouble.”
“Aw, she’s a sweetie. So cute,”
said a redhead in some sort of retro 80’s get-up. She turned to the
girl next to her and laughed: “I want a little sister now!”
“Are you going to come out with
us?” asked Vicky.
“No, we’ve got to go home.
You’ve got school tomorrow.”
“But I want to go out to party
with Belinda.”
I groaned internally as soon as
she said it. I could tell she wasn’t about to leave without a
fight, and with everyone around a scene seemed unavoidable.
Luckily, Monika pressed a hand on my shoulder.
“Can you come with me a second,
Joseph? I want to have a quick word.”
I followed her into the kitchen
where she fumbled in a tiny handbag and pulled out a slip
WIFE SENTENCED FOR MURDERING
HUSBAND
Judith Klepick, 29, was
sentenced to life in prison for the murder of her husband last
Friday. Gary Klepick, 38, died of suffocation in October under
highly suspicious circumstances. Early reports by the police
believed it to be suicide.
Mrs. Klepick’s sentence came
despite her plea of temporary insanity. She told the court she had
no recollection of killing her husband, or of the days surrounding
his death. She claimed to suffer from severe, prolonged blackouts
during which she was neither aware nor in control of her actions.
However, the court dismissed her plea as ‘a desperate attempt’ when
later information revealed she had conspired to run away with a
lover, with whom she was alleged to have had an affair.
The story struck me. It seemed
to glow off the page. Perhaps illogically, it felt in a way like
some sort of proof; of the possibility that at least my suspicions
were justified. A murder which had at first seemed like suicide—it
was almost the same. And yet in that case it had eventually been
revealed that there was more to it. The lack of information
frustrated me, and I made a mental note to read more about the
story when I had the chance.
As I leafed through the rest of
the newspaper, I got the notion that strange things were happening
all around London. I noticed a story about a used ambulance being
used to abduct people and pump them full of psychotropic drugs.
Another story mentioned a drugs ring that had been using unmapped,
underground tunnels built during WWII to avoid detection. One
article mentioned an alarming trend of violence breaking out during
concerts within the past few months.
I rarely read newspapers. I
would idly check out the news on TV when I had the chance, and
perhaps I had simply lost touch, or perhaps I was just noticing
these kinds of stories more now. But it seemed like these sorts of
things didn’t usually happen. I felt concerned.
I reached my stop and got out.
The station wasn’t too far from Monika’s house, but it was bitingly
cold, and I hadn’t eaten since morning. I arrived at her front door
shivering and tired. She opened the door with a frown and invited
me in.
There were loud voices and
laughter emanating from the living room. I followed Monika through
the door and saw five incredibly attractive people sitting around
the coffee table, drinking aromatic drinks and smoking. Vicky was
standing next to an incredibly thin, short-haired blonde. She was
wearing a pair of oversized pink glasses and a beaded necklace that
obviously belonged to the blonde. They were laughing and giggling
as if they were both teenagers. The others watched and laughed too.
Of them, three were girls and one a guy. All were meticulously
dressed and alluring. It was like walking into the pages of a
magazine, and I imagined that together these people made any
situation seem like a fashion shoot.
Vicky saw me and squealed.
“Big bro!”
“Hey. You look very nice. Where
did you get those?”
“Belinda gave them to me.”
The blonde smiled at me and I
smiled back.
“Is she your sister?” asked the
guy. I noticed they were all looking at me, and felt all the more
self-conscious for it.
“Yeah. I hope she didn’t cause
you any trouble.”
“Aw, she’s a sweetie. So cute,”
said a redhead in some sort of retro 80’s get-up. She turned to the
girl next to her and laughed: “I want a little sister now!”
“Are you going to come out with
us?” asked Vicky.
“No, we’ve got to go home.
You’ve got school tomorrow.”
“But I want to go out to party
with Belinda.”
I groaned internally as soon as
she said it. I could tell she wasn’t about to leave without a
fight, and with everyone around a scene seemed unavoidable.
Luckily, Monika pressed a hand on my shoulder.
“Can you come with me a second,
Joseph? I want to have a quick word.”
I followed her into the kitchen
where she fumbled in a tiny handbag and pulled out a slip
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