July 23–30, 1998

cover story

Blood, Net and Tears

Two lonely people met over the Internet. Now one of them is dead, shot in the face. The Philadelphia Medical Examiner has ruled the death a homicide. No one has been charged. Family and friends demand some answers.

by Gwen Shaffer

Roseann and Mike beside the Delaware River in New Hope on April 18.

On the morning of April 29, the shrill ringing of the telephone in George and Marie Malcolms' living room began even before dawn. The couple was asleep on the second floor of their Fishtown home, so the machine picked it up.

When Marie eventually padded down to fix breakfast around 7:30 a.m., her eye caught sight of the flashing red message light. She punched the "play" button.

Immediately, she recognized the voice. It belonged to her son-in-law, Daniel LaBrake.

The Malcolms' daughter, Roseann, had rented her own apartment and left Dan just two days earlier. Now, his words were laced with a combination of fear and anger. "Call me," Dan said.

George descended downstairs into the kitchen about 15 minutes later and Marie let him know about the call. Dan had already left several panic-stricken messages the previous day, so George figured it would be best to call him back right then and get it over with. He dialed his daughter's former phone number. When Dan picked up, he urged his in-laws to hurry over to his house as soon as possible. Dan said he had "some things" to show them. "You owe me that much after being married to your daughter for 26 years."

Hanging up the phone, George recounted the conversation to his wife.

Marie immediately expressed reservations about going. She realized Dan, 46, was simply trying to win them over to "his side." He wanted to persuade the Malcolms that the problems ripping apart his marriage to Roseann were not all his fault. Marie says she didn't see the point in listening to Dan—her daughter had a mind of her own, and Roseann had decided to leave.

But George had already promised that he and his wife would stop by Friday evening.

So two days later, May 1, the couple hesitantly knocked on Dan's door. It was nearly 8 o'clock in the evening, but Dan's disheveled appearance resembled someone who had just rolled out of bed. His salt-and-pepper hair was uncombed and his clothes rumpled. Anxiously, he ushered them in.

"How are you doing?" Marie posed the obligatory question.

"I'm devastated," came back his agitated reply.

What Marie recalls most vividly about Dan's odd behavior that evening was how her son-in-law refused to ever sit down. Instead, he paced erratically back and forth in the living room.

A few minutes after they arrived, Dan popped a video into the VCR. When you see this tape, Dan said, you'll understand.

The video featured a man driving around a small town in Missouri and pointing out places of personal importance. Clearly, the tape had been made for Roseann. Smiling, the man showed off the Mississippi River, a gambling casino and a tree-filled park.

A second "act" on the tape featured this same man playing guitar and singing as he stood beside an airplane. A final cut presented the man's family to Roseann. Both his sister and daughter said hello.

As the Malcolms watched the tape roll, Dan turned his head away from the television screen every few minutes. He would scamper from the living room into the kitchen, spitting out, "I can't watch this part."

At one point, Dan began accusing Roseann of having an affair with the man in the video. The Malcolms attempted to assure him that their daughter and this man were simply good friends. After all, the tape was void of any suggestion that the two were romantically involved.

But their words failed to ease Dan's distress. "I'm not sleeping, I'm losing weight," he whimpered. His words were those of a dejected man.

He swore to George and Marie that he loved their daughter. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Roseann.

"Please, talk to her."

The Malcolms were sympathetic, but made one thing clear—they couldn't tell Roseann what to do.

Three weeks later, their daughter was shot to death in Dan's house. George and Marie have churned that evening in their minds, over and over. They analyzed it from all angles. Was there some obvious clue that they missed?

 

No one has been charged in connection with Roseann's death. Dan told the first police to arrive on the scene that his wife shot herself in a second floor bedroom while he was downstairs. The Philadelphia medical examiner has ruled Roseann's death a homicide, and police won't discuss the case while it is under investigation.

Dan's lawyer says neither his client, nor Roseann's two daughters, are in a position to comment.

City Paper has reconstructed the events leading up to Roseann's death through e-mails and taped phone conversations—as well as interviews with Roseann's family, friends, neighbors and co-workers.

 

A portrait of Roseann taken in 1993.

Roseann LaBrake had been wanting to buy a computer to use at home for what felt like forever. She admired the homemade greeting cards her sister Nancy designed on her own desktop, and Roseann wanted to do the same. Plus, having a computer at home would allow her to keep in better touch with family and friends through e-mail.

Roseann and her husband, Dan, spent months shopping around for a good buy on just the right computer. They finally made a purchase in the spring of 1997.

One of the first homepages Roseann checked out was a site dedicated to Steve Forbert. She adored the dusty-voiced singer.

A 44-year-old married mother of two, and a secretary at Frankford Hospital in Northeast Philadelphia, Roseann was perhaps not the typical Forbert groupie. Nevertheless, she could spend hours listening to his simple, folksy style. She admired his sincere lyrics, and his ability to create characters that came alive and actually told a story in just a three-minute song.

And, like many of the musician's fans, she was attracted to his personable manner. Roseann would dash to Forbert's shows every time he stopped in Philadelphia to play at the Tin Angel or the Keswick. She chatted about Forbert so incessantly to her sisters—who didn't even listen to his music—they would demand Roseann change the subject. Still, that didn't deter Roseann from attaching digital photographs of Forbert's little-boy face to the e-mails she sent friends and family.

Cruising the Forbert Web page on her new computer changed Roseann's life. And, indirectly, ended it.

 

Roseann was far from alone in her infatuation with Forbert. The performer has a contingency of hardcore fans, all emotionally aligned with each other. Serious Forbert followers maintain a running commentary about their hero through an online newsletter. Every day, people sign on with insights concerning his music and performances. This past December, Roseann added her thoughts—something she had done countless times before.

A couple of days after Christmas, a reply flashed up on her screen:

hey roseann

how bout being my friend? I just broke up with my girl and i'm reaching for all areas of sympathy.

thanks.

your fellow steve buddy and new lonely guy

mike

Apparently, something in this stranger's tone touched Roseann and she replied. Mike wrote back. He told Roseann he'd read her earlier comments on Forbert's music and they mirrored his sentiments exactly. That's how their correspondence began.

At first, their messages focused solely on Forbert—their mutual love of attending live shows, comparing his older releases to more recent albums, and dissecting the veiled meanings behind his words.

"Roseann and I talked mostly about Forbert's music for about a month," Mike says. "We were both attracted to his intelligent lyrics and the way he puts his heart and soul into his performances."

Later, after they got to know each other, Roseann told Mike that the innocence resonating throughout his initial short message—the one where he said he was reaching for sympathy—led her to assume he was a love-struck teenager.

In reality, Roseann's heartbroken pen pal was 49-year-old Mike Barnett, a resident of Caruthersville, Missouri. Mike had just split up from his wife after a tumultuous four-year relationship.

Mike sold agricultural parts for a living, but his real passion was playing guitar. Acquaintances have told him he vaguely resembles Eric Clapton. And like the rock legend, Mike had a penchant for writing songs about the hurtin' ways of women and persevering through the tough times.

 

Viewed from the outside, Roseann was living the life of a typical middle-aged American woman. Her days had settled into routine, with some occasional ups and downs. To those around her, Roseann certainly appeared to be content.

And why not?

She was well-liked by her co-workers at the hospital. Anytime one of the girls came into work feeling blue, she could count on Roseann to find the bright side. Co-workers say they haven't even celebrated a birthday since Roseann died—Roseann was always the one who ordered the cake and made sure the card got signed by everyone in the office.

She had an equally good working relationship with her boss, who depended on Roseann's speedy typing skills and easygoing demeanor to keep the office running smoothly.

Roseann had been married to the same man for nearly 26 years. Really, Dan was the only man she'd ever known; they began dating when she was just 16. Dan was a painfully shy 18-year-old. Roseann's mother, Marie, recalls offering him a beverage every time he came over to the house. Dan was too bashful to accept.

Dan's family lived on the other side of the woods from the house Roseann was raised in, so the two had grown up together. When Roseann got pregnant at age 17, she and her parents were grateful Dan didn't abandon her. Instead, he did the respectable thing and asked Roseann to marry him.

The LaBrakes lived in one half of a tidy twin house in Lawndale, a working-class section of Northeast Philly. Dan, a competent carpenter, transformed their house into a showplace. He built their garage himself, and personally constructed a stairway leading from the living room into the basement.

Dan earned a decent living as a tower operator at SEPTA's 30th Street Station. Unlike a lot of husbands Roseann knew about, hers never drank or ran around with other women.

Roseann and Dan's two daughters were grown and living on their own. "Little" Roseann, 25, was working for her uncle at his tanning salon in Huntingdon Valley and shared an apartment with a friend in Rockledge. Michelle, 23, was on the verge of completing her third year as a photography student at the University of the Arts. During the school year, she rented an apartment in Center City, but spent summers back home with her folks.

Roseann found pleasure where she could—in simple day-to-day pastimes. She enjoyed sprucing up her flowerbeds, shopping with her sisters, putting together elaborate photo albums of her family. Roseann's lifestyle could not be characterized as extravagant, but she did take pride in owning nice things. She had an attractive figure—about 5'5" and thin. Her long hair was a pretty auburn and she had an easy smile.

"She looked like the rest of us," a neighbor says.

 

The 300 block of Passmore Street, where Dan LaBrake still lives, is a narrow little stretch of pavement just off bustling Rising Sun Avenue. It feels like a piece of suburbia that has been stolen and secretly plopped in the city. The houses are bordered by bright gardens and shiny green grass. Traffic rumbles down the block so infrequently that neighborhood boys play baseball, undisturbed, right in the street on a Saturday afternoon.

There is a sense of community permeating the block; the neighbors are a tight-knit bunch. The newest homeowners have lived here four years. The longest, 30.

On warm nights, the neighbors mingle on their well-manicured lawns. Everybody enjoys a little gossip, right?

The strange couple living in 340 Passmore Street consistently cropped up as a favorite source of conversation. Unlike everyone else on the street, the couple kept to themselves. "They didn't look or speak to anyone," one neighbor says. "We all just thought they were weird—they couldn't be bothered to talk to anyone, they'd just get in their cars and drive away."

When Roseann and Dan walked past their neighbors, Roseann kept her eyes glued to the pavement.

Even though Dan and Roseann moved into the house nearly 18 years ago, people who lived near the couple never even knew their last name. Until after the shooting, of course. Instead, neighbors invented nicknames for them. Some referred to the LaBrakes as "the Weasels." Another woman on the block dubbed them, facetiously, "the Friendlies."

One neighbor describes Dan's frame as "short and small." He wears a mustache and glasses. "He's a little dweebie guy," she says.

Because the 300 block of Passmore Street is so insular, its residents don't miss a beat. To put it bluntly, they're nosy.

They can tell you that every single Wednesday, without fail, Dan steps outside—wearing his customary white T-shirt and jeans—to trim the hedges and mow the lawn. In fact, one neighbor specifically remembers Roseann dying on a Wednesday because a persistent roar interrupted her sleep that morning. "I thought to myself, 'Who in God's name is trimming the hedges at 7 a.m.?'"

Neighbors can also tell you they always assumed neither Roseann nor Dan had family in Philadelphia because they so rarely saw visitors come to the house. In reality, both Roseann and Dan had five siblings, as well as parents, in the area.

Residents of the 300 block of Passmore also know that the LaBrakes' house was put on the market twice in the past few years. One after another, prospective buyers emerged from the front door in awe, raving about the home's beautiful interior.

None of the neighbors can vouch for its magnificence firsthand.

"They don't open any windows or doors or blinds on that house," someone down the street says. "Everything is always locked up like Fort Knox. They even club both cars in their own driveway."

The point is, if there had ever been any fighting in that house before the real trouble began in April, neighbors certainly didn't hear it.

Not a single neighbor agreed to have his or her name printed in this story.

 

Roseann's family believes now that Dan ate away at her self-esteem. "Danny was like a sponge," her sister Nancy says. "Any happiness Roseann had, he would suck right out of her."

From the beginning of their marriage, Dan rarely interacted with Roseann's family. Sure, he would put in an appearance at her parents' home in Fishtown for the occasional birthday or Easter get-together. But Dan never really warmed up to Roseann's family. In retrospect, they believe Dan resented that his wife was so close to them.

"If he was with one of us, he didn't have control over Roseann's time," points out her sister, 43-year-old Pat.

Pat contends that Dan was particularly nasty towards her.

And Roseann's other sister, 37-year-old Nancy, has a theory as to why. "Dan felt threatened by Pat because she isn't married. She's free."

Even if Roseann's marriage wasn't ideal, the Malcolms believed Dan was "a solid husband." Roseann's parents respected their son-in-law for earning a bachelor's degree in journalism, even though it took him eight years of night classes to do it.

"We liked him," George says. "We would sit down and talk about science, and projects around the house."

Generally, Roseann's siblings thought Dan was a strange guy. But they didn't give him much thought beyond that.

When Roseann finally did work up the courage this past spring to tell her family what life with Dan was like, the Malcolms were shocked.

They knew Dan was antisocial and didn't share many of Roseann's interests. What they had not heard was Roseann's later description of her husband's need to maintain strict control over her life. A kind of possessive, choking domination that Roseann said influenced her every move.

"During all those years, Roseann never said one bad word against Dan," her father reflects.

It wasn't until this spring that Roseann told her family she nick-named Dan a "seething mass of misery."

Sometimes Dan would say or do bizarre things in front of Nancy and Pat, and the sisters would assume he must be joking. Looking back, they think he may have been serious.

Nancy remembers returning to Roseann's house after the two of them made a run to the dollar store. Roseann brought in a little trash can, which she had purchased for $1.

"When Dan saw it, he gave her hell. 'You need another trash can like you need a hole in the head,'" Nancy recalls. At the time, she simply thought he was being sarcastic but now she is not so sure. "None of us ever realized the extent of how controlling he was."

Roseann finally told her family that she lived like a prisoner in her own home and that Dan reduced her to a "44-year-old teenager." Roseann said she wasn't allowed to listen to music or hang a picture on the wall without her husband's expressed permission.

In an April 27 e-mail to her sister Pat, Roseann laid it all on the line:

Nancy said she told you about my marital problems… [Dan] has always been controlling, possessive, jealous, angry. He says rotton [sic] things out of the blue for no reason at all… He's jealous of my friends and always thinks I'm out having sex when I'm only having dinner or lunch. I can't have anything unless he approves of it… We don't do anything [or] get anything unless it's his decision. Plus he puts me down for the things I enjoy in life… I try to do stuff when he's not home just so I don't have to hear him hollaring [sic] or disapproving…

Strangely reclusive, Dan disapproved of having company other than close relatives. When Little Roseann and Michelle were growing up, their father wouldn't let them invite friends to spend the night, Nancy says.

Pat remembers flipping through photos with Roseann earlier this year. They stumbled across a photo of Pat with an ex-boyfriend, posing on Roseann's living room sofa.

Pat remembers Roseann's comments: "That must have been the only time he was allowed over here."

Roseann's family believes now that Dan ate away at her self-esteem.

"Danny was like a sponge," Nancy says. "Any happiness Roseann had, he would suck right out of her."

Roseann's gut told her she'd be better off without Dan, but she also wanted to see him get help.

For a time, Dan acquiesced to his wife's pleading and attended therapy. Dan disliked the first couple of psychologists he saw. But right before she died, Roseann told her sisters that Dan had, finally, found a therapist with whom he felt comfortable. She was really happy to know he might finally get help, they say. Roseann was in therapy as well.

Over the years, Roseann would go through phases when she felt she would collapse under Dan's incessant berating. When that happened, she'd uncap a red pen and circle apartments for rent in the classified ads. Roseann always vowed to herself that, one day, she would escape from her wretched marriage. But so many fears tugged at her. Fear of being alone, fear of confronting Dan, fear of not being able to support the girls. Fear always persevered. So she stayed. Year after lonely year.

 

Forbert at the North Star Bar, July 11, 1997.

Perhaps because Roseann believed Dan resented it when she spent time with anyone but him, one of her favorite diversions became corresponding with "friends" whom she met over the Steve Forbert electronic mailing list. She exchanged messages regularly with Nick in England, and there was another guy named Bill in Wisconsin with whom she enjoyed "speaking." Roseann didn't hide her virtual chums from Dan. As far as she was concerned, they were simply that—friends.

But with Mike, correspondence crossed an invisible line. As his e-mail messages to Roseann became more personal, she reciprocated by revealing her own loneliness. Perhaps it was Mike's ability to be completely open and vulnerable—traits so foreign in her own husband, Dan—that captivated her.

Mike attributes their closeness to an "unexplainable connection."

"We just sort of miraculously found each other," he says.

While Mike wrote about how rejected he felt by his ex-wife, Roseann revealed the gory details of her own marital woes. She told Mike that although a part of her truly loved Dan, she had wanted out of the marriage for the past 23 years. The two of them simply weren't good for each other, she rationalized.

Roseann's friendship with Mike was intense from the start. Within a month, their frequent e-mails led to telephone conversations. By February, the two were exchanging care packages—chocolate kisses, cards of encouragement, poetry. By March, they had swapped photos and Mike was dedicating his music to Roseann. They used the word love in their e-mails.

These two strangers created an intimacy that had been lacking in their individual lives. Even though they had never even met in person, Roseann and Mike invented a private space that was all theirs. In daily computer messages, Roseann boosted Mike's self-esteem by assuring him that he was a talented and caring man. Mike showered Roseann with verbal affection, telling her she was a beautiful, deserving woman.

If Roseann couldn't physically leave Dan at the moment, she could at least flee mentally.

Roseann and Mike were spending up to three hours a day talking on the phone and hammering out sappy letters to one another over the computer. At some point in early spring, Roseann and Mike began talking seriously about being together in the future. Even if things didn't work out for them romantically, they promised to always have mutual affection, support and love for one another.

All under the strict guise of friendship.

In February, Mike began tape recording his phone conversations with Roseann. He claims he did it for, really, a sweetly innocent reason. "I taped them so I could listen to her voice. I just couldn't get enough of her."

 

Roseann's friendship with Mike was intense from the start. By March, they had swapped photos and Mike was dedicating his music to her. They used the word love in their e-mails.

After more than four months of anticipation, Roseann and Mike finally met on April 17 when he flew to Philadelphia for the weekend.

Mike had not been on an airplane in 20 years, which was nerve-wracking enough. But the strangest part was knowing that when he reached the end of the exit ramp, he would glide into Roseann's waiting arms.

Anybody watching that initial greeting, Mike says, would have assumed he and Roseann were two old friends meeting again after a long separation. They immediately clicked.

Roseann played the part of tour guide. She took Mike on a whirlwind journey through Old City's historical sites. At twilight, they sat out on Penn's Landing, where Mike sampled his first cheesesteak (not being the adventurous type, he skipped the onions and Cheez Whiz). On Saturday, the couple strolled along the Delaware River during a day trip to New Hope.

Dan works weekends so Roseann probably could have gotten away without explaining her long absence from the house. She told her husband she would be showing a friend around Philadelphia on Saturday. Dan, however, was unaware that the friend was Mike.

All weekend, Roseann and Mike held hands and hugged. Most importantly, they made each other happy. Roseann and Mike discussed the possibility of marriage.

There was never any "hanky-panky," Mike says, because they both wanted to wait until Roseann officially separated from Dan.

As Mike flew back to Missouri on Sunday, he dreamt of that time.

 

For the first time in Roseann's life, she felt sexy and desired. She had built up enough self-esteem, at last, to not only tell Dan she wanted out, but to follow through.

On the evening of April 23, Roseann broke the news that she had picked up keys to her own place and was moving out. Naively, Roseann thought Dan would simply let her leave. Instead, as she later told her sisters, he flew into an hysterical rage.

About six years earlier, their Passmore Street house had been robbed. Dan had kept a loaded gun, a .357 Magnum, ever since.

Roseann told her family that when she announced her plans to leave, Dan went upstairs and grabbed the gun. Up until that moment when Dan emtied the bullets from the gun and handed them to Roseann, she had never been physically afraid of her husband.

"You better hold these because, with the frame of mind I'm in, I don't know what I'm capable of doing," Roseann told her family he screamed, while waving the gun in her face. Dan forced her to clutch the bullets while he accused her of wanting her own apartment so that Mike could spend the night. Terrified, Roseann stood there motionless.

Then Dan trekked back upstairs. When he emerged from the landing this time, he dragged two suitcases behind him, threatening to throw Roseann out of the house right that instant. She begged Dan to give her a week, when her new apartment would be available. Roseann, with her calm manner, was able to pacify him into letting her sleep there a bit longer.

The following day, Dan called Roseann at work to apologize. He begged her to give him a chance to change. He promised to see another therapist.

Roseann believed her husband hoped to bribe her into staying. He offered to buy her a $20,000 car and a puppy if she didn't leave.

"He hates dogs and I'm not gonna watch while he abuses another animal," Roseann wrote to Mike a few days later." The only dog we ever had was taken to the SPCA by him and destroyed just cause he couldn't take the agrivation [sic]…"

But Roseann was left so emotionally drained by Dan's week of physical and verbal tirades, her courage folded. She agreed to stay. Immediately, her mood plummeted.

By that point, Roseann believed things couldn't get worse. What she didn't know was that Dan had gotten wind of the fact that Mike was planning to meet Roseann in Philadelphia for a Steve Forbert concert on May 29.

 

Back in Missouri, Mike encouraged Roseann as she attempted to liberate herself from an unhappy marriage. Repeatedly, he reminded Roseann she needed to leave not for him, but for herself.

On April 26, a Sunday, Mike was in the studio recording some new songs. He put down his guitar and dialed up his home answering machine.

A microchip told him he'd received a message at 2:19 p.m. Mike was shocked by the menacing-sounding tape: "This is Daniel LaBrake, Roseann LaBrake's husband. You give me a call. You and me are gonna talk."

He continued listening as the second message played.

Sunday 4:07 p.m. Beep. "Yeah, this is Dan LaBrake. Again. Roseann LaBrake's husband. You call me. I'm sure you know my number… I'll be lookin' for you, buddy, when you come to Philly. We got some talkin' to do. I'm gonna give you a tour of the city, not like the one my wife gave ya. You weigh on me, buddy. Back-stabbin' bastard."

Apparently, Dan redialed just one minute later. Sunday 4:08 p.m. Beep. "Yeah, this is Dan LaBrake again. Roseann LaBrake's husband. I still wanna talk to you, buddy. Shadowman. Try and reach me. Area code 2-1-5… We will talk, buddy. You talk to my wife, you talk to me."

Shaken up, Mike quit recording for the day and pondered how to respond. He decided not do anything until he could consult Roseann the following day.

While Mike slept, a fourth message arrived at 4:33 a.m. "Hello, this is Dan LaBrake again. I'm still trying to get ahold of you, buddy. My number is 2-1-5… I'll be lookin' forward to talkin' to you. We will talk, sooner or later. You can avoid me as much as you want. You come to Philly, we'll do more than talk."

When Mike told Roseann that Dan had tracked him down, she advised him to ignore the messages. "She asked me not to do anything," he recalls.

But testosterone won out. Not wanting to look like a wimp who wouldn't face up to Roseann's husband, Mike defied her wishes.

That day, April 27, he called Dan. Because he felt Dan's messages were threatening, Mike thought it best to record their conversation. This is what the tape sounds like:

 

Dan picks up on the second ring, "Hello."

"Dan LaBrake?"

"Speaking."

"This is Mike Barnett."

"Ohhh, Mike Barnett. I been looking to talk to you, buddy. What is your problem?"

"Just say what you have to say," Mike says, his voice heavy with feigned indifference.

"I want you to back off, all right, from my wife. I want you let us work out our problems, and you just back off. And I don't want you to come to Philly."

"That sounds fair, and I won't come to Philly. How's that?"

Dan pauses, obviously taken aback by Mike's refusal to be confrontational.

"Now, if you do come to Philly, now…"

"No threats, okay?" Mike interjects.

"I'm not threatening anything, okay? If you come to Philly, I'll consider you to have broken your word to me."

"Okay." Mike's tone is one of acceptance.

"All right? Now, what are you gonna tell my wife?"

"Thought you said don't call her?"

The question catches Dan completely off guard.

"I'm just saying, if you… if she calls you. I don't know what the hell's going on." Dan sounds like he's losing control for the first time.

Mike eases him back down. If I can just avoid conflict, he's thinking.

"It will be exactly like you said. Everything will be fine. It will be fine. You can have your chance to work things out."

"Uh-huh. For how long? Until you decide otherwise?"

"That will be up to you guys. I don't want to do the wrong thing," Mike assures him.

"You been doing the wrong thing," Dan barks.

"I don't want to do the wrong thing," Mike repeats, this time with a bit more force.

Dan's not buying into Mike's attempt to be amicable.

"You're being a hypocrite my friend. Tellin' me one thing and you're out acting another. My wife tells me you're a good Christian. This how you act? Trying to step in, you knew we're havin' problems." Dan sounds like his self-control is slipping. "You come to Philly. You come to Philly? When you know we're havin' problems?"

A hint of defensiveness creeps into Mike's response.

"That's not the only reason I did that. Look, I have agreed with you. I'm not coming to Philly." And for emphasis. "I'm backing off.

What else is there to say?

"All right," Dan mutters.

"You work things out if you can, ya know."

"That's fine. Stay out of my life," Dan orders.

"Gladly."

The line goes dead.

 

For the first time in Roseann's life, she felt sexy and desired. She had built up enough self-esteem, at last, to not only tell Dan she wanted out, but to follow through.

Apparently, Mike's assurances that he would stay away from Roseann failed to put Dan's mind at rest.

On April 28—a Tuesday and one of Dan's days off—Roseann answered her own office phone to hear Dan's angry voice on the other end. He demanded that she get home right away, her co-workers remember. He had discovered the video from her "Internet boyfriend," and sounded mad as hell. When Roseann refused to leave work, Dan called back repeatedly to harass her.

Roseann got in touch with her sister Nancy. She also called an attorney. Both advised Roseann not to go back to the house.

Instead, she asked Pat if she could crash at her house for a few days.

"I was scared of Dan coming over here, but she's my sister, so of course I said, 'Yeah.'" Roseann arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back. She stayed for a week.

Luckily, the apartment she originally leased was still available and she made plans, again, to move in.

Roseann's family says Dan couldn't tolerate Roseann making any decisions for herself. "If something was not his idea, forget about it," Pat says. "Even the divorce… he wasn't going to accept it."

That week, while Roseann stayed with Pat, Dan found someone with computer skills to break into Roseann's Internet account. He altered the password so she couldn't log on.

On Saturday, May 2, Roseann drove a van over to the house on Passmore Street to retrieve a few of her things. Fearing that Dan would not let her take anything without a struggle, Roseann showed up with two of her sisters and two friends. As an extra precaution, she requested police to be there when they arrived.

Dan barred anyone except Roseann from entering the house, which the cops said was his prerogative.

Dan refused to help his wife carry anything. Even while she struggled to lug a heavy oak chest, TV, and loveseat down the stairs. He merely shadowed her, making sure Roseann didn't take anything he considered "his."

If Roseann was determined to leave, Dan was just as determined to make it difficult for her.

That morning in May when Roseann showed up with an entourage of people to help her move out, snooping neighbors wondered where all her supporters materialized from since they'd never seen Roseann with friends before.

"It was quite a circus for a street where nothing ever happens," one neighbor says. "It was certainly the first time we'd ever heard noise out of that house."

 

Roseann wanted to avoid sticking her daughters in the middle of her problems with Dan. After Roseann moved out, she tried to keep their relationship as "normal" as possible. But she knew both Little Roseann and Michelle were angry with her for "breaking up the family." She thought Dan was telling them, "Your mother has a secret friend" and wanted them to understand that she needed to find happiness on her own.

Roseann's co-workers say that she used to talk about her girls constantly and they seemed to have a close relationship.

In a May 5 e-mail to her friend Nick Wells—whom she also met through the Steve Forbert newsletter—Roseann is obviously concerned about them:

I spent time with my youngest daughter yesterday… Today, my oldest daughter, Roseann, and I went shopping. I want to keep doing the things we always did together. I know they are grown, but it still affects them. I'm glad they are there for their father too… they had dinner with him last Saturday and Sunday. He needs them. He wasn't around much when they were little and never got very close with them before now… so some good has come from all this.

Though her situation was still far from perfect, those close to Roseann noticed a marked change in her attitude after she got her own place.

"The last three weeks of her life, she was very happy," says Linda Brownlee, one of Roseann's co-workers at the hospital and her closest friend. "She was looking forward to her new life."

Roseann was planning three separate vacations and had just placed a deposit on a beach house. She made plans to see Steve Forbert when he swung through Philly at the end of May.

Pat Siwinski was another work friend of Roseann's. The two women were part of a lunch crowd that ate together several times a week. She remembers Roseann commenting on how nice it was to live alone for the first time. "She was very happy to be on her own."

There were few material possessions left at the house on Passmore Street that Roseann was adamant about getting. Of course, Roseann's computer brought her a lot of pleasure, but she had pretty much given up hope that Dan would ever give it to her. She didn't think it was fair that Dan wanted to keep all the family photo albums, since she was the one who always brought along the camera and snapped the pictures. Dan did hand over some photos to Roseann—after cutting out all the images of himself.

On May 20, however, Roseann spoke to Dan. She told friends he seemed to have a change of heart. Perhaps he was accepting the inevitability of a divorce, after all. He invited Roseann to drop by later and pick up the camcorder.

Siwinski remembers that during lunch that day, Roseann mentioned her plans to go over to Dan's. The comment itself didn't strike Siwinski as bizarre. Rather, she remembered it because Roseann brought it up three separate times. The prospect of dealing with Dan was clearly on Roseann's mind, Siwinski says. Like she was battling with herself over whether to go.

Initially, Roseann told Dan she would stop by around 7 p.m. That would work out well because Roseann had a late afternoon appointment to get the oil changed in her car. Plus, if she came in the evening, their daughter, Michelle, would be in the house.

But Dan tried to convince Roseann to come earlier. In case they argued, he said, why subject Michelle to it?

Mike constantly worried for Roseann's safety, but he was particularly troubled by the idea of her being alone in the house with Dan.

Mike called Roseann later that day. He wanted to share his gut instincts without sounding alarmist, as illustrated in excerpts from their taped conversation:

"…I know you are in charge and everything… But if you asked my opinion, and you were interested in what I thought, I would like you, if you need to go over there today, go when Michelle is there," Mike says. "Because you know, he's already talking about arguin'. What a bunch of bull that would be, ya know? There's no sense in going over there and getting stressed out, doin' damage to my sweet Roseann."

"Maybe he doesn't want Michelle there because he doesn't want them seeing how he is toward me…" Roseann speculates.

"I think that's exactly it," Mike interjects. "I think you hit it there… Probably you should go over there when she's there, and if he wants to argue, go ahead and argue so she can see how unreasonable he is."

"He wants to guard her feelings about him arguing in front of her… well, he's done that before…" Roseann points out. "I guess I should let him call the shots but I'm just thinking he'll give me my things if I play it his way… I wanted to go home, get changed and rest for a little bit before I had to go take the car. I told him 7 o'clock, he said come earlier when Michelle's not there."

"Well, that's too bad," Mike asserts. "He's always had his way. It'll do him good to not have his way. It will make him realize he has no control over you anymore."

"Yeah, but then he'll say don't come at all. Then I can't get my camcorder."

"Well, just come anyway. Just tell him you had to take care of some things. You have a life, you know. If you don't get your camcorder, there's other camcorders—I'll buy you a camcorder…"

"You're sweet… I think I'll call him like 3, 3:30 and say I can't get over there before I get to the car place so it's gonna have to be after," Roseann sounds decided.

"…Tell him you called the place and tried to change the appointment but this is the only time they could get ya. Tell him you were worried about your car. He's a man, he'll understand that…"

"I'd like to go there and not just run in and run out. And maybe get some other things," Roseann says. "But Michelle was upset when I was there before. Maybe I shouldn't go when Michelle is there."

"I just don't like the sound of that, 'In case we are arguing.' You don't have to argue," Mike says, concerned.

"Well, when she was there, he wasn't so bad that day when I was moving," Roseann says. "But she left. Then he started an argument…"

Mike offers support, "I want you to be strong in the way God would want you to be strong. That's what I'm praying for. That even if you are abused and mistreated and misspoken to, then you can have the sweetness that you are," he says. "I probably don't even need to pray for something like that. But, you know, I love ya."

Roseann doesn't sound comforted. "He still keeps saying it is so upsetting for him to see me take things. It's like my own things."

"Tell him to turn his back," Mike advises.

 

Naturally, one of Dan's neighbors watched as Roseann pulled her blue Mitsubishi into the driveway around 4:30 p.m. on May 20. Roseann grabbed a large box from the back seat and walked to the door. Minutes later, she was dead.

The call reporting a woman shot at 340 Passmore St. came into 911 at 4:36 p.m.

According to neighbors, Dan ran out of the house screaming, "My wife just committed suicide… I told you she was crazy… she killed herself." Witnesses say he appeared to be irrational—running around the yard, mumbling about Roseann shooting herself, banging on the house next door.

A man who lives in the other side of the LaBrakes' heard the commotion and dashed outside. He spotted Dan, who repeated that his wife had just killed herself. The neighbor followed him back into the house. Reportedly, he saw Roseann's body in the upstairs bedroom.

Meanwhile, a police officer happened to be visiting the house across the street from the LaBrakes'. Peering through the window, he noticed Dan's nextdoor neighbor run outside. The cop wasn't sure what was going on—he hadn't heard the shots—but he suspected something was wrong.

The cop sprinted across the street and identified himself. The neighbor told him, "Somebody got shot." When the police officer entered the upstairs bedroom, he discovered Roseann lying in a pool of blood. "As soon as I looked at her, I knew she was gone."

A single bullet entered Roseann's upper lip. It traveled through her head, hitting the top of her spinal column, and then ricocheted into her brain. She died instantly. A second bullet pierced a photo album found on the floor next to her body.

The cop says he was surprised when Dan identified the woman as his wife. "She looked almost like a teenager… dressed in shorts and that long hair."

A gun, a .357 Magnum, lay about four feet from her body.

"She must have shot herself," Dan yelped.

The police officer asked him a series of questions.

"Were you inside or outside when it happened?"

"I don't remember."

"Did you touch anything?"

"I don't remember," Dan repeated.

Two bicycle cops patrolling Rising Sun Avenue responded to the 911 call and were next to arrive on the scene. Within minutes, the street was swarming with police cars.

On the evening of the shooting, Dan was taken in for questioning and let go about five hours later. Police have not released his statements. Roseann's family learned from detectives that Dan told police he was downstairs when he heard two shots ring out. He ran up the steps to find Roseann bleeding.

On May 21, the day following the shooting, Pat called Dan. She demanded an explanation for Roseann's death.

Pat recalls Dan telling her how Roseann came over for the camcorder. Dan told Roseann he was going to freeze all the assets, that he would sue her for adultery and that he wasn't going for any "quickie divorce." According to what Dan told Pat, it was at this point his wife reached for the gun.

Dan told her the gun hit the floor, they struggled for it and two bullets accidentally discharged.

Roseann's family questions what they believe are discrepancies in Dan's story.

Dr. Patricia Kauffman, the medical examiner who performed Roseann's autopsy, said the barrel of the gun was four to six inches away from Roseann's face when it was fired.

"Usually when someone commits suicide, they put the muzzle well into their mouth—almost 100 percent of the time," says Kauffman. "Never have I seen the gun four to six inches away. That's why it was suspicious."

According to Roseann's death certificate, 340 Passmore St. is listed as her permanent address. In reality, she had moved out three weeks earlier. Dan is named as the informant.

The day after the shooting, Dan called Roseann's father and apologized for her death. Sobbing, George told Dan, "You took away one of my reasons for living."

When George asked him to describe what happened in detail, Dan broke down in tears and said he couldn't talk right then. He never called back.

It's been more than nine weeks since Roseann's death.

Police detectives won't comment on the case while it's still open. The Philadelphia District Attorney's Office is preparing to take the case to a grand jury. "We can only talk about a case after it goes to trial," says Charles Gallagher, chief of homicide for the DA's Office.

The DA's Office is actively investigating. A prosecutor met Mike in Springfield, Illinois, to interview him.

Since Roseann died, her daughters have had very little contact with her family. At the funeral, they stood on either side of their father. Their grandparents and aunts on Roseann's side of the family feel hurt the girls have cut them off, and express confusion about it. "They lost their mother and now maybe they are afraid to lose their father," is their collective response.

In a July 8 e-mail, Little Roseann tells City Paper that her mother's death was an accident:

There have been suggestions from some quarters that my mother was abused by my father and that he is in some way responsible for her death. I can assure you that my mother was never abused by my father in any way and that her death was a sad and unfortunate accident.

Dan's attorney, Richard Michaelson—a former homicide prosecutor in the Philadelphia DA's Office—declined to comment on the situation. "I suggest you let the police do their work. And we are confident that if the police do their work, there will be no charges brought against my client," he says.

In a July 15 letter to Nancy, Michaelson attempts to explain why Dan has neglected to return phone messages left by Roseann's family:

It has come to my attention that you have made several attempts to discuss Roseann's death with Daniel. I can assure you that he would like nothing more than to meet with you and answer your questions. However, at the present time he is acting in accord with my instructions to him that he is to discuss this matter with no one until the police investigation has been completed.

Since Roseann died, Mike says he just goes through the motions of getting through each day. Nothing has much meaning anymore. Earlier this month, Mike went to a Steve Forbert show for the first time since the shooting.

"After a few songs, I got so emotional…" his voice trails off. "I thought I was ready to see Steve again but I wasn't." The performer took Mike backstage and tried to console him. "He was real nice and concerned."

Just last week, Forbert called Mike to check up on him. Forbert still feels terrible about the whole incident, Mike says, as if he, somehow, personally played a role in the tragedy. "I told him he's not responsible—we were just two people who both loved Steve Forbert."

Another sad consequence of Roseann's death is that Mike has lost his passion for playing music. He's only picked up his guitar once since receiving the news. Two days after her death, Mike strummed out a tune in memory of his lost love, called "My Roseann Marie." Mike's heart aches along with the chorus:

There's no way to describe this day

with its dark looming cloud hung over

I'll miss you and all the things we'll never do

'cause the lies of the past came true.