Worth More Dead

The date on the suicide note was January 24, 2002, almost two years earlier. Nevertheless, it was ominous. Several paragraphs began, “In the event of my death…” and ended with instructions for Teresa Perez’s funeral arrangements and what bequests she wanted her children to have. But she hadn’t killed herself then; hopefully, Bob Costello was right. Teresa was just off on another of her wild tears. His family didn’t know it yet, but Teresa had, quite literally, kidnapped Justyn. He was gone from home. She had already mailed new suicide letters to those who were on her mind, people she loved and those she resented.
    And then Teresa had forced Justyn into his new white Expedition and told him to begin driving. It was rush hour on a Friday afternoon and traffic was heavy.
    The voices on tape indicated that they drove aimlessly around Denver as she railed at him, telling him that neither of them was going to live.
    Histrionic as always, Teresa wanted the world to know her story. She memorialized their conversation on the small tape recorder, perhaps thinking—as some dramatic would-be suicides do—that she would be able to listen to it one day, not comprehending that she would not be around to relive what she was doing. She thought she would feel the shock waves that would wash across Denver. She believed that she would be able to watch television news and see her name—and Justyn’s—on the front page of area newspapers.
    For the moment, the knowledge that she was terrifying the man she considered a faithless lover seemed to be enough. She was in charge of their lives at last.
    Her voice on the tape rambled on, out of touch with reality. She was clearly distraught and emotional. Her vocabulary was profane as she repeatedly threatened Justyn Rosen.
    Teresa addressed her taped remarks alternately to Justyn and his lawyer, a man she intensely resented. “Craig Silverman,” she said scornfully. “I already got all the letters out in the mail, to newspapers, everything. It’s all out. All the money’s going to one of my relatives that I have. You have pushed me [over the edge].”
    Her voice broke as she talked to Rosen. “You’re a dead man tonight, and I’m a dead woman ’cause of you. You went too far. You do one wrong thing, and I’m gonna shoot you.
    “I saw [ sic ] your lawyer calling me, and here’s your lawyer with an [unintelligible]. You’re setting me up.”
    “Bullshit,” Rosen muttered.
    “You’re setting me up,” she warned, as she criticized Rosen’s driving, apparently wary that he might deliberately cause an accident to thwart her. “If you hit that car, you’re—as soon as you fuck up on the road, I’m shooting you and then me. So be ready. And I don’t want to kill you, but I’m gonna embarrass the fuck out of you. I’m gonna die ’cause I want to go to heaven. If I kill me, I can go to heaven, but if I kill you, I won’t. But I’m gonna shoot you. You’re gonna be shot tonight. Give me your cell phone now. Give me your cell phone!”
    “I’m not gonna do it,” he said firmly.
    It was clear what she intended to do if he tried to call for help. “Okay. When you pick it up,” she said, “then you’re shot. Why have you lied to me for six years?”
    In crude terms, she recalled her view of their sex life together, reminding him of all she had done for him, sexual favors that only she could provide. She repeated her recollection of what she claimed had been their most intimate moments.
    It sounded, too, as though she were giving him driving directions. “Turn here…turn there…Pull over…”
    Sometimes Teresa insisted that he stop the car, always with a threatening tone in her voice, which sounds implausible as she was clearly on the fine edge of total hysteria.
    They were apparently on Colorado Avenue, close to the Gang Bureau offices, at this point on the tape. It dovetailed precisely with Randy Yoder’s recall of the first glimpse he had of Rosen’s SUV.
    “If you get out of the car, you’re shot,” she warned him. “Drive the fucking car up there now. If you…Drive the fucking car! Geez, what are you trying to do?”
    She sounded surprised and frightened. “Go straight! What are you trying to do to me?”
    “Nothing,” Rosen’s voice said, trying to placate Teresa as he turned into the parking lot. “I just want to…”
    It was obvious that she realized Justyn was headed toward the police substation. “Keep driving,” she ordered,