...And Never Let HerGo

assistant was his wife, Dee, a striking woman with white-blond hair, who not only served as a paralegal but was a shrewd judge of human nature.
    In January 1996 Bergstrom had defended John E. du Pont against the murder charges resulting from the shooting of Olympic wrestler David Schultz.
Philadelphia Magazine
named Bergstrom one of the top criminal defense attorneys in Pennsylvania.
    Bergstrom was probably the
last
attorney Tom would have wanted for Debby. When he learned somewhat belatedly that she had retained him, he was appalled—and he characterized her new lawyer as “loathsome,” calling him “the Malvern malefactor” and “pond scum.” The fact that another of his least favorite people—Debby’s ex-husband, Dave—had recommended Bergstrom made Tom even angrier.
    But there was more than rage behind Tom’s attacks on Bergstrom. Bergstrom was smart and skilled and he would protect his client against anyone, and that included Tom. Tom needed Debby in his camp no matter what, and Bergstrom was a major threat.
    Tom was convinced that if he forgave Debby for failing to support him at the bail hearing, she would come back to him as loyal as always. But he had to do some backtracking because he had sent her a final, final farewell letter on February 9, telling her he would no longer read her letters and ending with, “I wish you peace and happiness from the bottom of my heart and apologize for everything, especially for the invasion of your privacy. Keep swimming, take care of yourself, move on, find contentment.”
    But he was not quite as bereft as he sounded. Now that Debby had defected, Tom contacted another of his mistresses who might be a good witness for him. He was corresponding with Susan Louth, the blond legal secretary Marguerite Capano called “that slutty little girl.” Susan was living in the Virgin Islands, but their relationship in Wilmington dated back to 1995 and 1996. There were holes in Tom’s case he felt Susan could fill.
    But not like Debby. On reflection, Tom realized Debby was stilla loose cannon and started courting her again with phone calls and letters on February 24. He knew she would be in a terribly vulnerable emotional state; because of her involvement with him, she had just been fired from her job at Tatnall School. Tatnall had been Debby’s life for a dozen years, and she had worked early and late without complaining, doing double duty. That had always annoyed Tom.
    There was no question at all about Debby’s competency in her job, but a prestigious private school apparently dared not risk the scandal that she had been plunged into. Tearfully, Debby gathered her staff together and said good-bye before she cleared out her office. Then she left on an already scheduled trip to New England.
    On a Sunday in late February, there was an article in the paper about Debby’s dismissal, and Tom tried to call her that evening. He knew she would be embarrassed and heartsick. He got only her answering machine. When he lost his phone privileges a day later for breaking yet another rule at Gander Hill, he asked one of his attorneys to call Debby and express his concern, and to urge her to fight Tatnall’s decision.
    Tom followed that with a letter he gave to one of his attorneys’ legal aides to deliver personally. He wanted Debby to know that his good friend Nick Perillo would be calling her to convey how worried he was about her.
    The first two pages of his letter were full of concern for Debby. He didn’t begin to berate her until the third. She had returned one of his long letters with only a short note and he was concerned that she might be accepting the advice of her new attorney and rejecting his.
    “I loved you with every fiber of my being,” Tom wrote. “We planned the rest of our lives together.” He reminded her of all the people who did not love her and who had failed her, and then went on,
    I wasn’t perfect. I don’t want credit. You don’t owe me. But I loved you, from rubbing your aching hip—to helping you clean out your garage attic—to taking you to Villa d’ Roma, sharing Montreal with you, listening to your problems as a sounding board. I thought you were my best friend. I thought I was your best friend . . . I would never have abandoned you when you needed me, despite my own fears. I say before God and swear upon the lives of my children that I would have stood by you regardless of the cost. I would have trusted you. I would have fought for you. I