Lisa Pace direct-deposited her National Guard paychecks and sent Chris money orders or wired him cash when he was broke. “What are you doing that you need so much money all the time? I don’t understand,” she said to him.
He began lying to her. He even lied to her about who drank the last Dr Pepper or whether he’d been to Hardee’s, even though she stared at the Hardee’s cup. It drove Lisa crazy.
“If it’s affecting us financially and we’re not going to be able to pay the rent, of course I’m going to tell you you can’t buy those jeans and you can’t buy a two-hundred-dollar cowboy hat,” she said.
“You think you’re so smart.”
“Well, I am so smart. So what’s your point?”
“You can’t just boss people around all the time.”
“Well . . . why not? Sometimes people don’t know what they want, so you have to tell them. Or, you have to help them decide what they want.”
Chris Hatton gained weight. His color was bad. Whenever Lisa Pace touched her fingers to his hair, it fell out like so much burned brown straw.
She phoned their apartment time and again from Fort Sam only to get a busy signal or the answering machine. She left message after message. Her calls went unreturned.
Pace phoned one of their neighbors and asked him to call Hatton while she listened on three-way calling. When Hatton heard their friend’s voice on the answering machine, Hatton picked up the phone.
“Yeah, I’m just watching TV and drinking a beer,” he said.
They hung up. Pace immediately phoned back. This time Hatton answered. “I just walked in,” he lied to her.
In July, Lisa Pace found a Yellow Rose stripper-bar T-shirt in Hatton’s drawer. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing. A guy at work gave that to me. He stocks the Rose.”
She only partially believed him.
On July 19, 1994, Chris Hatton walked into Kay Jewelers and purchased $413.91 worth of jewelry, including a ruby pendant. He paid $90 via check; the balance he financed.
Labor Day weekend, a bus was scheduled to go from Fort Sam to Laredo, and the price was dirt cheap—$5. Lisa Pace wanted to take it. Chris Hatton didn’t want her to go.
“Whatever. Fine. Okay.” Her one-word sentences were like one-word period punctuations. “I’ll just come home, then.”
Days later, Pace received a card from Hatton that he’d made on a computer at H-E-B grocery store. The card was postmarked August 24, 1994. On the outside of the card was a big heart, with Lisa’s initials in the middle, and the words “I love you, Lisa. I really do.” It was signed with several more “I love you”s.
When Lisa called home that week, some days Chris’s telephone worked; some days, it didn’t.
Just before Labor Day weekend, Chris Hatton sat with Lisa Pace, Glenn Conway, and some friends in a neighboring apartment drinking beer and watching a movie. Lisa wanted to go home, but Chris wanted to watch the movie. She left. After the movie ended, Chris stayed and horsed around with the guys. Lisa phoned wanting to know when he was coming home.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said. But he wasn’t. She called time and time again, and finally Hatton put her on speakerphone. “I’ll be home when I’ll be home,” said Hatton, with his buddies laughing in the background.
Pace didn’t like that.
According to Glenn Conway, Lisa Pace stomped over to the apartment, threw open the door, and walked in—without knocking—strode over to Hatton, and in front of everyone, slapped him hard across the face. “Get your ass home.”
Right then and there, Hatton decided he was going to do everything he could to make Pace’s life hell.
On August 31, 1994, he drove to Kay Jewelers and returned all of the jewelry he’d purchased the previous month.
Six
Over Labor Day weekend, Lisa Pace and a male National Guard buddy drove up to the apartment she shared with Chris Hatton.
Pace glanced at the door and her stomach sank. Her glance froze into
He began lying to her. He even lied to her about who drank the last Dr Pepper or whether he’d been to Hardee’s, even though she stared at the Hardee’s cup. It drove Lisa crazy.
“If it’s affecting us financially and we’re not going to be able to pay the rent, of course I’m going to tell you you can’t buy those jeans and you can’t buy a two-hundred-dollar cowboy hat,” she said.
“You think you’re so smart.”
“Well, I am so smart. So what’s your point?”
“You can’t just boss people around all the time.”
“Well . . . why not? Sometimes people don’t know what they want, so you have to tell them. Or, you have to help them decide what they want.”
Chris Hatton gained weight. His color was bad. Whenever Lisa Pace touched her fingers to his hair, it fell out like so much burned brown straw.
She phoned their apartment time and again from Fort Sam only to get a busy signal or the answering machine. She left message after message. Her calls went unreturned.
Pace phoned one of their neighbors and asked him to call Hatton while she listened on three-way calling. When Hatton heard their friend’s voice on the answering machine, Hatton picked up the phone.
“Yeah, I’m just watching TV and drinking a beer,” he said.
They hung up. Pace immediately phoned back. This time Hatton answered. “I just walked in,” he lied to her.
In July, Lisa Pace found a Yellow Rose stripper-bar T-shirt in Hatton’s drawer. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing. A guy at work gave that to me. He stocks the Rose.”
She only partially believed him.
On July 19, 1994, Chris Hatton walked into Kay Jewelers and purchased $413.91 worth of jewelry, including a ruby pendant. He paid $90 via check; the balance he financed.
Labor Day weekend, a bus was scheduled to go from Fort Sam to Laredo, and the price was dirt cheap—$5. Lisa Pace wanted to take it. Chris Hatton didn’t want her to go.
“Whatever. Fine. Okay.” Her one-word sentences were like one-word period punctuations. “I’ll just come home, then.”
Days later, Pace received a card from Hatton that he’d made on a computer at H-E-B grocery store. The card was postmarked August 24, 1994. On the outside of the card was a big heart, with Lisa’s initials in the middle, and the words “I love you, Lisa. I really do.” It was signed with several more “I love you”s.
When Lisa called home that week, some days Chris’s telephone worked; some days, it didn’t.
Just before Labor Day weekend, Chris Hatton sat with Lisa Pace, Glenn Conway, and some friends in a neighboring apartment drinking beer and watching a movie. Lisa wanted to go home, but Chris wanted to watch the movie. She left. After the movie ended, Chris stayed and horsed around with the guys. Lisa phoned wanting to know when he was coming home.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said. But he wasn’t. She called time and time again, and finally Hatton put her on speakerphone. “I’ll be home when I’ll be home,” said Hatton, with his buddies laughing in the background.
Pace didn’t like that.
According to Glenn Conway, Lisa Pace stomped over to the apartment, threw open the door, and walked in—without knocking—strode over to Hatton, and in front of everyone, slapped him hard across the face. “Get your ass home.”
Right then and there, Hatton decided he was going to do everything he could to make Pace’s life hell.
On August 31, 1994, he drove to Kay Jewelers and returned all of the jewelry he’d purchased the previous month.
Six
Over Labor Day weekend, Lisa Pace and a male National Guard buddy drove up to the apartment she shared with Chris Hatton.
Pace glanced at the door and her stomach sank. Her glance froze into
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