Snake in the Garden

Yeah, okay, so he’s a pretty funny guy. If it’s one thing I’ve observed through these proceedings, it has been that humor is most often used to gloss over the most terrible presentments, the most horrific events, or the general pain and fears and anxieties of the joker. Robertson is not a good guy, if you manage to look past the smile he wears for everybody else. Behind these witty comments and good natured behavior lies a man who connived his way to his position in life, somebody who takes a sadistic satisfaction in putting other people’s flaws under the microscope, and who leads a secret life behind his post as manager of a consulting firm, father of two, volunteer of the united way and golf buddy of a doctor, city council member, bank examiner, and plumber.

You might be wondering what exactly he does in his secret life. We’re all wondering about that, right? I am perhaps the most privy to his actions that occurred over the last seven years during the cracks in his daily routines, the moments when he could easily be unaccounted for in his more public life. He took advantage of overnight stays out of town for his job, of weeks spent in Vegas and Orlando for national conferences, of half-days off work for doctor appointments. Robertson enrolled his kids in several activities and then talked his wife into taking them, so that he would have hours of time unaccounted for.

Okay, so hard evidence is lacking, but there were clues. Suspicious receipts. Scratches on his hands. Out-of-state bank accounts. Your imagination is already whirring, as is mine. But in the end everyone will line up and say, “He was the last person in the world you would expect of something like this,” or “he was always there to help when you needed him.” Not me, though. I will be the first to say that I had suspected all along. Some people just leave you feeling that way. My Aunt always told me that every garden has its snake. One day he’ll slip up, and I’ll be there to catch him.