Empty Promises

fanciful. People began to suspect that this was all about getting attention. When they compared notes, they found contradictions in his stories. But he was such a likable guy that no one ever confronted him. If it made Larry feel important, they could overlook his outrageous fibbing.
    Larry wrote to Gareth during the time Gareth was in Michigan and when he headed west for a short sojourn in San Francisco. No one ever saw those letters, but it would have been like him to tell Gareth about the threats. After all, he had thrown in his lot with Gareth and was prepared to stand beside him in his upcoming campaign to make the army pay for its injustices. Larry wanted to be important to Gareth. By telling him of the threats that he was receiving, Larry may have hoped to show Gareth that he was willing to face danger and even death, if need be, to prove his loyalty.
    The holidays were fast approaching and Gareth Leifbach was still traveling. Larry didn’t know if he would ever come back to Seattle.
    In November 1979, Larry attended a party. True to form, he began a long, involved story about the perils of his life. People rolled their eyes. His anecdotes were just too weird to be believed. A psychologist whom Larry respected a great deal happened to be at this Thanksgiving party. He listened to Larry’s tales, then drew him aside and bluntly asked if his story was true. “You know, you don’t have to tell such stories, Larry,” the man said gently. “People will like you anyway. They may even like you better if you stick to the truth.”
    Others at the party noticed that Larry became very quiet, and that was the end of his wild stories, at least for that evening. Chastened, he kept his mouth closed and for once just listened to other people talk.
    In the first week of December, to Larry’s relief and joy, Gareth Leifbach did come back to Seattle. And he did move in with Larry. For a man with such impressive contacts and grand plans for the future, Gareth had precious few possessions, only a few clothes and his shaving kit. It didn’t matter. Larry was more than happy to share his furniture, stereo, and television with Gareth. Things would start to happen soon, and it would be exciting to be on the road with Gareth, to stand beside him as they toured the country on speaking engagements. Larry was sure they would be together for a long, long time.
    December 14, 1979, was a blustery, rainy day. Final exams were approaching at the University of Washington and the campus was crowded that Friday night; some people were studying in the library, some had night classes, and many were attending Christmas musicals and plays.
    A Christmas card rested on Larry Duerksen’s mantel. It had been mailed on December 7 by a friend in Santa Barbara. Its sentiments were to prove prophetic, “Dear Larry, How are you? I hope all in one piece. Good Lord, you do attract strange ones! Be careful.” It was probably a response to Larry’s earlier letters describing the unseen enemies who were out to get him.
    Larry was just one of the hundreds of people walking along the diagonal paths of the campus that evening. For once, he didn’t tell everyone what his errand was. He confided in only one person.

    Lorraine Lacey, a graduate student, got off a Metro bus at the intersection of 15th N.E. and N.E. 41st just before 7:00 P.M and headed for the campus. It had been dark for almost three hours by then. She was a little wary; the campus paths were like black tunnels between evergreens and rhododendrons, and she was alone. For that reason, she watched the two men who were walking toward her more closely than she would have if it were daylight.
    The taller of the men held an umbrella over both their heads for protection against the driving rain. She would later recall to the police that she sensed they were no threat to her; they seemed to be very close friends, perhaps even lovers, focused only on each other. She continued down the dark path, her mind at ease.
    Lorraine had just reached a circle of light beneath a lamppost when the night air was pierced by a series of loud noises. Firecrackers? No, this was louder. She whirled around and saw a man bent over in a crouch, his arm extended toward the ground. When she saw the flash of a gun, she shrank silently into the shrubbery, shocked and frightened.
    It was all over in a matter of seconds. The man with the gun turned and ran away, headed north. Forgetting her own fear, now, Lorraine Lacey hurried