Law and (Dis) Order

After I talked to the superintendent at the post office, I called my attorney to report what had happened. He told me that I should call the police and let them deal with Dick and his shenanigans. The next morning, as soon as Marni walked out the door for school, I dialed the non-emergency number of our local sheriff's office. Not knowing what to expect, and with much trepidation, I told the officer on the other end of the phone about my mail fiasco. He asked me what I want to do about it. What do I want to do about it? What was this all about? I realized that this incident wasn't a life and death situation. And I also knew that this wasn't a major crime. *That's why I called the non-emergency number instead of 911. But for crying out loud, I didn't call the police looking for a sympathetic shoulder to cry on and to shoot the breeze about my divorce and the pain in the neck I'm unfortunately still married to. Mail tampering is a federal offense and I was simply following up on the directive given by two respectable sources. I'm sure I wasn't the first and I definitely won't be the last to have this happen to. But if this officer wanted my advice on how to proceed, I would have gladly suggested that they arrest Dick and hold him without bond until further notice.

Instead, I said that I would like to file a police report. We then discussed where this should take place. For several reasons, I did not want the police showing up at my home. If a squad car pulled into my driveway, all the yentas in my neighborhood would be outside in a split second. This wasn't something I wanted everyone else to know about. Nor did I want to air out my dirty laundry on the street. Also, I didn't want to take a chance that the police would show up if Dick were still home. That wouldn't have been a pleasant scene. So we decided that a safe place to meet was at the Seven-Eleven located in the strip mall by my home.

I parked my car directly in front of the store and waited for the police to arrive. After about 20 minutes, a squad car finally pulled up next to mine. The officer inside motioned to me and we both got our of our vehicles. While I understood that this wasn't an emergency, I thought he would have shown up much quicker than he did. As I opened the door to exit my auto, I glanced around to make sure that no one I knew was in the vicinity. That would have been totally embarrassing and humiliating. Thankfully no one looked familiar.

Being the "goody-two-shoes" that I am, I was anxious about the prospect of speaking with a law official. Within seconds, it became obvious that I had nothing to be nervous about. (Not that I want to make a habit of this!) The first thing the deputy asked me was what I had called for. I wondered to myself, "Didn't he get a heads up about what this was about or was he just in the neighborhood looking for a convenience store to stop by to grab a quick cup of coffee and a pastry?" I certainly didn't think it should have been a surprise to him. I explained that Dick and I are going through a bitter, ugly, nasty divorce; we are still living in the same house together; he had opened Marni's and my mail; he took one of Marni's letters without her even seeing the contents of it; and he opened and resealed my credit card bill. Judging by the expression on his face, it was apparent that this man wasn't the least bit concerned. I then produced the tampered envelopes. He looked them over briefly and quickly informed me that he had no way of knowing if Dick did this or not. The gentleman then proceeded to tell me that for all he knows, I could have done this myself and blamed my husband. I looked at him with total disbelief and replied that while I can understand his point that he didn't actually witness these occurrences, how was I supposed to prove that this really happened? He told me that even if I called the police while something was going on, unless they were there to witness the event, it was Dick's word against mine. While I knew he was absolutely correct, I was starting to wonder if there really is any justice in this world... and if there is, when will I start seeing any of it.

The officer then asked me when I filed for divorce. I told him the date was July 15, 2009. Next, he told me that I should move out of my house and get a job until our divorce is finalized. (I've been discovering that when it comes to divorce, just like pregnancy, everyone is an expert and has an opinion on what needs to be done.) I told him that my daughter and I are not leaving the house. It's not an option at this time. The deputy then told me that he doesn't think this will be the last time his office will hear from me. He felt that as time goes on, I will be calling complaining of other things. "Isn't he a ray of sunshine?" I thought to myself. I loved his optimism! The last thing I wanted to consider while standing outside my neighborhood convenience store was what Dick might be scheming to do to me in the future. All I could do at that point was take it one day at a time. However, the officer's next suggestion made more sense to me. He told me to go to the post office and get a P.O. Box in Marni and my names. This way Dick wouldn't be able to go through our mail. Now this was a recommendation I could live with.
With that, he told me he would write up a brief one paragraph incident report. We then parted ways.