Shattered: The True Story of a Mother's Love, a Husband's Betrayal, and a Cold-Blooded Texas Murder (8 page)

It was easy to see that the Temples’ new neighborhood was a step up, more affluent, with larger houses than Comstock Springs Drive, and Belinda appeared proud. “I didn’t think we could afford anything this big,” she told her mother when she called. “Wait until you and Pops see it. It’s just beautiful.”

David seemed happy as well. The Harlans saw it as just another of David’s attempts to hone his image when they realized that he made a point of telling guests to take a certain route to the new house. “It was longer, but it went past bigger houses,” says Tammey. “It made the neighborhood look more expensive.”

Still, as the deal came together, Belinda and David hit a roadblock, coming up short on money for the down payment. If there was anyone Belinda could count on, it was Brenda, and that was whom she called, asking for a loan. Dedicated to her sister, Brenda didn’t have cash, but she pulled out money from a credit card and sent Belinda a check.

When Brenda came as she always did for their birthday a few weeks later, she helped Belinda unpack. Downstairs the house had a living room, kitchen, den and dining room, with a half bath and a center staircase to the second floor. All the bedrooms were upstairs, and Belinda had decorated Evan’s room with a colorful bedspread of a fanciful city with a plane flying overhead, and a rug with a railroad track for his Thomas the Tank Engine cars. Over his desk she had painted a fire engine and squad car at a stoplight, and she stenciled a truck that read “Evan’s Room.” Belinda had decorated Evan’s bathroom with jungle animals and put a futon in the extra bedroom. Down the hall was the master bedroom, with a bed covered by a brightly colored quilt, and a large bathroom with a walk-in closet. When their paychecks came in that month, she and David repaid the loan.

At that point, at least from the outside, to many it appeared that David and Belinda, along with Evan, their gray cat, Willie, and the brown chow, Shaka, made a nearly picture-perfect family in a picture-perfect house. Soon there was a replay of Comstock Springs, where Belinda knew all the neighbors and always appeared happy to see them. In contrast, David hung back, giving some the impression that he felt those who lived near him weren’t worthy of his attention.

For Tammey, the first visible cracks in the Temples’ tranquil image appeared over the holiday break, when Belinda complained that David wouldn’t let her take Evan to see her parents. By then, while they were playing cards or barbecuing, Tammey had already heard David call his in-laws fat rednecks and white trash.

Tammey urged Belinda to go on her own, saying she had the right to see her parents and that Evan needed to know his grandparents. But, as quickly as she opened up to Tammey about the dispute with David, Belinda made a complete reversal, saying she understood how David felt, and calling him a wonderful husband and father. Tammey listened, stunned. Only years later, would she say, “It was as if Belinda was trying to convince herself that they were happy.”

By the spring of 1997, Tammey saw David in a new light. In hindsight, she would wonder how much Belinda understood about David’s late nights. More than once she’d said to Tammey, “I don’t know why you let Quinton be friends with David.”

From the other coaches’ wives, Tammey had heard rumors that David was unfaithful. She knew many of the wives didn’t want their husbands going out with David. Still, Tammey trusted her husband. “Quinton can take care of himself,” she told Belinda.

Then Belinda would say, “If I didn’t know David better, I’d think he was fooling around. But he wouldn’t be cheating. He couldn’t.”

That a husband is being unfaithful is a risky thing to tell a friend, and Tammey knew that while the wives were suspicious, it was possible she was hearing groundless gossip. She could never bring herself to tell Belinda of the rumors. In fact, under the circumstances, keeping her mouth shut seemed the kindest option. Yet, as time passed, Tammey wondered even more about David Temple.

One night Quinton returned home with the collar on his heavy denim shirt torn. He explained that he and David had been out at a bar and Quinton wanted to leave. David wasn’t ready for him to go, and ordered him to stay. When Quinton attempted to walk away anyway, David grabbed him, pulling him by his shirt. Quinton pulled back, and David pulled harder, until the shirt collar ripped. Although stunned by the encounter, Quinton didn’t seem too distressed. He saw David as a good friend, and in the rough, tough world of football, “it didn’t seem like a big thing,” Quinton said. The following day at school, David acted like nothing had happened.

That was nothing compared to what transpired with another of the coaches at Hastings one afternoon. David and Quinton were in the field house next to the stadium with Billy Kramer, a coach David had picked on unmercifully for more than a year, ridiculing him for what Quinton saw as no reason. With Kramer and people he didn’t like, Quinton had noticed that David gave off an aura of sorts, a physical attitude that warned, “Don’t mess with me.”

Quinton thought that David enjoyed picking on Kramer because he saw Kramer as an easy target. David had made him the butt of his jokes, and Kramer had rigorously ignored the abuse. On this afternoon, the three coaches were in the locker room putting stickers on their players’ helmets as “attaboys” for good plays. “David popped off,” says Quinton. “And this time [Kramer] didn’t take it. He shot back. The next thing, it was like having two bulls in the ring.”

David lunged at Kramer, and the two fought. Attempting to break it up, Quinton jumped on David’s back, screaming, trying to pull him off. David threw a punch, and Kramer reciprocated, with Quinton screaming at them both to stop. In the end, Kramer sported a busted lip and both had bruises. While no one was seriously hurt, Kramer had had enough. He stayed through the year, but then found a coaching job in another district.

By summer 1997, Tammey was ever more aware of the cracks behind the perfect veneer of the Temple marriage. David’s ten-year high-school reunion approached, and Belinda cried, confessing that David didn’t want her to go.

“Well, of course you’re going,” Tammey responded. “You’re going to buy a new dress, and you’ll look beautiful.”

They talked about it for weeks, and Belinda finally did buy a new yellow dress. When that weekend arrived, David went to the Friday night pre-party alone. That night, many saw him around the bar, flirting openly with his old high-school girlfriend Jimi Barlow.

“Did you have sex with her?” Quinton asked, when David bragged about his exploits.

“Everything but that,” David said.

On Saturday night, Belinda went with David to the actual reunion, while the Harlans kept Evan. The next day when Belinda arrived to pick her son up, Tammey opened the door and her friend was again in tears. Once inside, Belinda sobbed, saying she’d been humiliated watching David flirt with the other women, especially Jimi. “I don’t even feel pretty anymore,” Belinda confided.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” Tammey assured her. “Don’t let all that bother you. Don’t let him make you feel bad about yourself.”

It would seem that no matter how David treated her, Belinda was determined to forgive. As in the past, she’d soon put the pain of the reunion behind her and move on, acting as if it never happened. Still, Belinda couldn’t seem to hide the frustration and disappointment she felt about the way David segregated her from her family.

That summer was the last time that Brian and Jill would see Belinda. She called one Friday to say that she, David, and Evan were driving to Dallas to see David’s oldest brother, Darren, and his wife, Lisa. Belinda said they wanted to have dinner with Brian and Jill, who lived nearby. “We’re all going to the lake skiing,” she said. “But we’ll call you and meet you at the restaurant.”

They were to meet at Brian and Jill’s favorite restaurant, Esparza’s. But Saturday came and the phone didn’t ring. Jill had Colton, their young son, dressed and ready, excited about seeing Aunt Belinda, Uncle David, and his cousin. They waited and waited, and still they didn’t hear from Belinda. As the time passed, the phone remained silent. Finally, hungry and tired of waiting, Brian and Jill decided to pick up dinner and bring it home. They drove past Esparza’s and saw Belinda, David, Evan, David’s parents and Darren and Lisa drive up. As Brian and Jill watched, the Temples walked toward Esparza’s. They were going out, but they hadn’t called to tell Jill and Brian to join them.

“We were hurt,” says Jill. “Both of us were really hurt.”

The following Sunday, Belinda called the house and talked to Jill’s mother, who lived with them, claiming she tried to call Brian and Jill but didn’t understand she had to dial the area code to reach them. Brian didn’t believe her. Darren and Lisa lived in the area, and they would have known how to place the call. Plus, Belinda had called them earlier in the week without a problem.

“It didn’t dawn on either one of us that it was David who didn’t want to see us,” says Jill. “But later, it all made sense.”

From that point on, they received photos of Evan in the mail but didn’t hear from Belinda. When Brian called, Belinda never called him back.

Although six years had passed since he’d stopped playing college football, David still looked the same, muscular and strong. Nearing thirty, he worked out regularly, and he could still bench-press more than 400 pounds. At Hastings, he was often seen in the weight room, working out with the team. By any measure, David Temple was an imposing figure.

Football season started again that August, and David and Quinton were busy grooming that year’s defense for the games ahead. Once the season started, the weeks were filled with obligations. On Monday evenings, the coaches hobnobbed with the school’s booster club. In addition to the late practices, on Thursday evenings Quinton had junior varsity games to attend, and their varsity games were on Friday evenings or sometimes Saturday afternoons. Sunday afternoons were spent in the field house with the other coaches dissecting the last week’s game and sizing up the coming week’s opponent.

“Being a coach’s wife is like being a single mom. We hardly ever see our husbands,” says Tammey. “Having Belinda to share it with made it easier.”

On nights when their husbands worked, they took turns cooking and ate together. One of Belinda’s favorite recipes was for hot dogs wrapped in croissants. On Wednesday nights they met at McDonald’s, where the women talked while their young ones played on the indoor gym. When the children acted up, Tammey and Belinda joked and said they got their manners from their fathers. Friday nights were spent at the football games, and then the Harlans and Temples did things together on the weekends, everything from barbecuing and cards to shopping and taking the kids to the park.

At Katy High that fall, 1997, Belinda wore a poodle skirt and played a fifties high-school kid in a song-and-dance skit from the Broadway musical
Grease
, for the faculty luncheon. Meanwhile, at Hastings one afternoon, Quinton talked to David about a shotgun he planned to buy. One thing led to another, and soon they had newspaper ads out, comparing prices on different models. They discussed getting concealed gun permits, and David reminisced about goose and duck hunting behind the Katy house, in the rice fields.

“Yeah, our parents gave all of us shotguns for Christmas,” he told Quinton.

As close as the two families were, that fall things began changing for Tammey. She’d started growing uncomfortable when David was around. He called Tammey “Little Momma,” pointing out how trim she was, even after the three girls. When Tammey looked over at Belinda, who was still struggling to lose all the weight from Evan, Tammey sensed her friend was hurt. And there were those evenings when David laughed, talking about “Belinda’s big butt,” comparing her to what she’d been like in college, when she worked as an aerobics instructor. She was still an average size woman, wearing a size twelve, but David implied Belinda had let herself go. “You should have seen Belinda before she had Evan. She looked good,” he said as he gave her a slap on the rear.

“You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that,” Tammey told Belinda later. “Tell David that upsets you. Tell him how you feel.”

When Belinda didn’t, Tammey began to think of her friend as weak.

In the new house as he had at the old, Shaka moved into the backyard. Evan, a quiet child who had his mother’s eyes, rode on the chow’s back as if it were a horse, and Belinda often remarked that she appreciated having the dog near. “I never worry about being home alone,” she told more than one friend. “With Shaka, I know no one would ever bother us.”

It was a different story with non-family members, who she often cautioned to be careful around the chow. When they had guests, David and Belinda locked the dog in a bedroom or outside the house, sometimes in the garage. “She never let the dog loose around any of us,” says a neighbor. “I’m a dog person, but I wouldn’t approach that animal. It wasn’t friendly.”

One evening, when she hosted Bunco, a dice game where players rotate tables, Belinda invited a friend into the backyard to give her advice on planting flower beds. Shaka was in the garage, barking, when the door swung open, and the dog charged out.

“Get back in the house,” Belinda shouted at the terrified woman. “Quick.”

Her friend did as instructed, slamming the door behind her just before a snapping Shaka lunged at her.

At other times, the dog ran inside along the fence line, growling at neighbors as the children rode bikes down the street or the adults took their evening walks. Shaka so frightened some in the neighborhood that they avoided walking past the Temple house, for fear the animal would break through the gate or fence and charge at them. Even those who had dogs of their own feared Shaka.

On Round Valley, Sheree and her children stopped by, usually while riding their bikes. At other times, she ran into Belinda at the grocery store. That Halloween, Sheree put a “Boo” on Belinda and David’s front door, a sign with the word printed across the front. The next time she saw her, Belinda said she’d known it was Sheree from the handwriting. The two women laughed and caught up on news, and Sheree judged the move to the bigger house hadn’t changed Belinda. But that wasn’t the case for David. When Sheree happened upon him in the neighborhood, David rarely said more than hello before walking on. When Sheree mentioned their old neighbor’s coolness to her husband, he shrugged and said, “You don’t live next door anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice to you.”