Four years after my first divorce, in a courtroom on the other side of the state, the parties were gathering to complete their divorce case. Apparently, things were going really bad for the husband. He knew he was going to lose it all, so it lost it all in a different way.
There was limited security in the courthouse. No metal detectors. The court relied mainly on its bailiffs to keep order.
The husband, seemingly an ordinary guy of even temperament, an aerospace technician, had stashed two pistols in his briefcase. It wasn’t long before the gunfire began.
He shot and killed his wife. Shot both his attorney and her attorney. Shot a bailiff and a sheriff’s deputy. Shot at, but missed the judge. All before the police responded and took him down.
He sustained nine gunshot wounds – two to his head.
Before the paramedics arrived, and while he was still conscious, the story is that he exclaimed:
“Did I kill the bitch?!! Did I kill the bitch?!!!”
Now that is some powerful hatred. From a man who presumably, at least at one time, loved the woman he just killed.