News

Neighbor can't shake deaths

After a man shot his wife then himself, the woman's two children ran to the neighbor's door.

By BEN MONTGOMERY, Times Staff Writer
Published September 28, 2007

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PALM RIVER - Ed Davis can't sleep. His hands shake so violently he needs a breath before he sips his coffee. He tries to nap and he sees her face, the whites of her rolled-back eyes, foam in her mouth, blood running through his fingers.

His curse is proximity.

Davis lives across the street and a few mobile homes down from 7017 Glen Cove Drove, a single-wide where, sheriff's deputies say, a man shot his wife four times in front of her children Wednesday afternoon and then shot himself in the head. It was Davis' door the children ran toward, the 8-year-old boy dragging his 5-year-old sister by the arm, over a picket fence, screaming in Spanish and pounding his chest, "Carmello mato mami! Carmello mato mami!"

Carmello killed Mommy.

"He looked like he seen a ghost," said Davis, who cuts grass and does handy work for his neighbors at River Bay Mobile Home Park off Palm River Road and 78th Street.

Davis ran across Glen Cove Drive and found the back door open. Scared the killer might be in the trailer, he moved inside with stealth. He found Carmello Badillo, 31, slumped against a kitchen wall, gurgling, a .380-caliber gun by his hand and a wound in the side of his head. Badillo died Thursday in the hospital. Laura Diaz, 30, a pretty woman he called Lola, was on her back. Davis lifted her by the neck and blood ran from her hair. He fled the house, vomiting, as police arrived and ordered him to the ground.

Neighbors said they knew Diaz, a slim Argentinian, and Badillo, a sometimes mechanic from Puerto Rico, had a troubled year-long marriage. But it wasn't until neighbors talked after the shooting that the pieces came together: Diaz lived in fear of a jealous husband who constantly called her cell phone, drove past the home during work hours to make sure she was alone, dictated what she wore and wouldn't let her hold a job.

"She told me once that he was trying to get her fat," said Maria Beeson, 33, who considered Diaz a friend. "He was trying to get her pregnant, but she was on birth control."

One neighbor reporting seeing Badillo slap Diaz. Diaz confided in another that Badillo wouldn't let her wait tables at a Latin restaurant. Beeson recalled that Diaz complained he wouldn't let her wear shirts that showed her stomach.

Diaz had two children from a previous relationship, and Badillo grew jealous when she spoke with their father on the telephone, Beeson said.

A sheriff's spokeswoman said deputies had responded just once to the address in the past year, to serve a warrant. She couldn't say late Thursday what the purpose was or to whom the warrant was served. Badillo had no criminal record in Florida.

Neighbors said the two were friendly in public. They were often seen headed toward the Tampa Bypass Canal with fishing poles. A few weeks ago, they hosted a birthday party for one of the children. Badillo grilled hot dogs, hamburgers and chicken. Diaz embraced Beeson before she left and said, "I'm glad you came over," Beeson recalled.

Davis said Badillo had lost three or four jobs in the past year. The last time he saw Diaz alive was around 3:30 p.m. Wednesday. She was in the passenger seat of a white Mitsubishi, her head bowed. Badillo was driving.

"She didn't wave," said Davis. "And she always waved."

Badillo and Diaz were arguing about finances and the fact that Badillo had not gone to work, sheriff's detectives said. At home, they said, Badillo walked to the bedroom and retrieved the handgun, then shot his wife dead in the kitchen before turning the gun on himself.

When deputies arrived, neighbors carried the children to them. The little girl, crying, would not look at the home. The boy stared out the back window of a sheriff's cruiser.

The children have been placed with the Department of Children and Families until their father can arrive from California.

On Thursday, a bouquet of Mexican petunias wilted on the driveway near an index card, which read: "We miss you very much."

Badillo died at 12:30 p.m. Thursday. Davis said he hoped Badillo lived long enough to remember what he did.

Times Researcher John Martin contributed to this report. Ben Montgomery can be reached at bmontgomery@sptimes.com or 813 661-2443.

[Last modified September 28, 2007, 01:28:25]