months old.”
When June called to arrange the visit, she heard tears in Jami’s voice. She regretted that they hadn’t been as close as they once were, but she suspected it was because she had warned Jami not to marry Steve. “He didn’t treat her well,” June recalled, with massive understatement.
This time, Jami urged her to come over for a visit. When June arrived at Jami’s house in Bothell, Washington, she quickly learned why Jami was crying. Jami confessed that Steve had hit her and pulled her down the hall by her hair. And it wasn’t the first time.
“You’re going to pack your things and come with me,” June said firmly. “Nobody deserves to be treated like this.”
For a moment, June thought Jami was going to come with her. Then Steve came home. When he saw June there, he glared at her and grabbed Jami’s arm, pulling her into the bedroom, slamming the door behind them.
“Steve came out yelling and swearing,” June said, “And then Jami came out, and she was crying. She told me that I should go, that she could take care of it.”
Saddened, June had no choice but to leave, but she was troubled for a long time, remembering how diminished Jami was; her dear friend had lost all of her exuberance and her zest for life and there was nothing June could do to change it. She wondered if she would ever see Jami again.
Apparently, Jami was able to appease Steve after the incident with June—but not for long. Like almost all domestic abusers, Steve’s assaults on Jami only escalated. Now he not only put her down verbally but he was also increasingly physically abusive when she annoyed him.
And Jami seemed to annoy Steve frequently; it was almost impossible to please him. He was given to large and sudden shifts of mood, alternately depressed, euphoric, and angry. It was hard for Jami to tell if this was a result of the drugs or his natural unstable personality. Jami continued to withhold a portion of his cocaine, but it was like mending a huge, oozing wound with a Band-Aid.
Most distressing of all to the few who knew about it, Jami herself sometimes used cocaine. Steve had finally coaxed her into trying the drug. Timarie couldn’t fathom how anyone could truly enjoy getting higher and higher all night long—only to land with a crash when the supply of cocaine inevitably ran out. When Timarie asked Jami why she used cocaine, Jami answered, “Because the more I do, the less [Steve] will—and the less I will have to put up with. We won’t have so much fighting…. I do it just to keep the peace.”
Steve had pulled Jami down with him in his endless pursuit of newer and grander sensations. As impossible as it seemed for the little girl who had loved to climb trees, ride horses and play softball, Jami had long been caught up in Steve’s shadowy world of chasing drugs. Not only that but what most people would consider “normal” sex didn’t turn him on much anymore either, and Steve talked constantly to Jami about his increasingly bizarre sexual fantasies. She hated it, but she didn’t know how to escape.
On November 5, 1989, King County Police Officer Paul Guerraro was dispatched to check on a domestic dispute at a house in Bothell. He found a near-hysterical Jami Sherer holding her toddler son. The right side of her face was bright red and there was a bloody spot on her scalp.
“Her hair was pulled out,” Guerraro remembered. “I remember it well because that’s the only time I had actually seen scalp fragments attached to hair.”
In her statement, Jami said that Steve had been out most of the night, coming home at 4:00 A.M. She suspected that he’d been with another woman, and they had an argument about it. Jami said she had Chris in her arms and was preparing to leave: “I was at the door, turning the knob when my husband grabbed me by my hair and pulled me six feet across the floor.”
She dropped Chris in the struggle and the baby got up and ran over in a pitiful attempt to help
When June called to arrange the visit, she heard tears in Jami’s voice. She regretted that they hadn’t been as close as they once were, but she suspected it was because she had warned Jami not to marry Steve. “He didn’t treat her well,” June recalled, with massive understatement.
This time, Jami urged her to come over for a visit. When June arrived at Jami’s house in Bothell, Washington, she quickly learned why Jami was crying. Jami confessed that Steve had hit her and pulled her down the hall by her hair. And it wasn’t the first time.
“You’re going to pack your things and come with me,” June said firmly. “Nobody deserves to be treated like this.”
For a moment, June thought Jami was going to come with her. Then Steve came home. When he saw June there, he glared at her and grabbed Jami’s arm, pulling her into the bedroom, slamming the door behind them.
“Steve came out yelling and swearing,” June said, “And then Jami came out, and she was crying. She told me that I should go, that she could take care of it.”
Saddened, June had no choice but to leave, but she was troubled for a long time, remembering how diminished Jami was; her dear friend had lost all of her exuberance and her zest for life and there was nothing June could do to change it. She wondered if she would ever see Jami again.
Apparently, Jami was able to appease Steve after the incident with June—but not for long. Like almost all domestic abusers, Steve’s assaults on Jami only escalated. Now he not only put her down verbally but he was also increasingly physically abusive when she annoyed him.
And Jami seemed to annoy Steve frequently; it was almost impossible to please him. He was given to large and sudden shifts of mood, alternately depressed, euphoric, and angry. It was hard for Jami to tell if this was a result of the drugs or his natural unstable personality. Jami continued to withhold a portion of his cocaine, but it was like mending a huge, oozing wound with a Band-Aid.
Most distressing of all to the few who knew about it, Jami herself sometimes used cocaine. Steve had finally coaxed her into trying the drug. Timarie couldn’t fathom how anyone could truly enjoy getting higher and higher all night long—only to land with a crash when the supply of cocaine inevitably ran out. When Timarie asked Jami why she used cocaine, Jami answered, “Because the more I do, the less [Steve] will—and the less I will have to put up with. We won’t have so much fighting…. I do it just to keep the peace.”
Steve had pulled Jami down with him in his endless pursuit of newer and grander sensations. As impossible as it seemed for the little girl who had loved to climb trees, ride horses and play softball, Jami had long been caught up in Steve’s shadowy world of chasing drugs. Not only that but what most people would consider “normal” sex didn’t turn him on much anymore either, and Steve talked constantly to Jami about his increasingly bizarre sexual fantasies. She hated it, but she didn’t know how to escape.
On November 5, 1989, King County Police Officer Paul Guerraro was dispatched to check on a domestic dispute at a house in Bothell. He found a near-hysterical Jami Sherer holding her toddler son. The right side of her face was bright red and there was a bloody spot on her scalp.
“Her hair was pulled out,” Guerraro remembered. “I remember it well because that’s the only time I had actually seen scalp fragments attached to hair.”
In her statement, Jami said that Steve had been out most of the night, coming home at 4:00 A.M. She suspected that he’d been with another woman, and they had an argument about it. Jami said she had Chris in her arms and was preparing to leave: “I was at the door, turning the knob when my husband grabbed me by my hair and pulled me six feet across the floor.”
She dropped Chris in the struggle and the baby got up and ran over in a pitiful attempt to help