The Beautiful Life and Tragic Death of Parker Moore -- Sample Chapter

DerekJohnson

PROLOGUE

His childhood room remained mostly untouched after his murder. To keep things the same offered the vague illusion that he was still with them. Or could come back. Someday.

But then came that mournful Sunday. In the spring of 2018, Doug and Julee Moore sold their Woodinville home and were moving to nearby Kirkland. Now they’d spend the day going through their son’s things and emptying his old room, three and a half years after his death.

Their 27-year-old daughter Hayley arrived. She’d made the hour-long drive from West Seattle. Her eyes held a faraway look. She joined her parents in the kitchen, where coffee was quietly served.

Then they began.

First were the books. In his 20 years, Parker had accumulated tons of them. His mom set aside his favorites but also kept the ones he read the summer before his death. Curiously, they dealt with near-death experiences.

Most prominent were his football helmets – the one from Woodinville High School and the one from the Linfield Wildcats. Plus his cowboy hats and country music CDs. And his cell phone, from which he’d texted up to five girls a day.

But clothes triggered the most trauma. (Parker always possessed a GQ flair.) The family hauled his clothes down to the family room. Julee designated three piles. The first pile was for keepers. The second was for offering to Parker’s friends. And the third would be given to Goodwill. Julee held up various shirts, feeling the fabric, pressing them against her face in the hopes his scent still lingered.

It didn’t take long for Doug and Hayley to cry. On this day, tensions between father and daughter receded. They clasped each other as torrents of deep, racking sobs poured forth. “I remember feeling so hopeless,” Julee said. “Having lost my only son and having the two other most important people in my life in such deep despair.”

The family would have given anything to suddenly hear Parker’s voice call out from the foyer. To see him come into view. His powerful 6’ frame filling the entryway. That warm smile brightening the room like a klieg light. Those intelligent blue eyes that sparkled with happy confidence. Said friend Christine Horne: “It was this level of confidence we all wish we had.”

The family would have given anything to see him head straight for the fridge and raid someone’s leftovers. To see him plunk down in a swivel chair at the kitchen island and dig in.

On the top of Parker’s forehead was the place where his shock of blonde hair had begun to recede. His mom would greet him by walking up from behind. She’d wrap her arms around his muscular shoulders. She’d poke or kiss the little cowlick of hair on the back of his head, and say, "It all started here," or "This is where it all began." Even at 20 years old, Parker enjoyed this little ritual. Julee would say, "I love you, baby boy." And he’d say, "I love you, mommy girl."

Parker would then talk sports endlessly with his dad, and reality TV shows with his sister. When he thought something was funny, his nose scrunched up and he smiled wide. He’d bang his palm on the counter once or twice for good measure.

“Every single person that knew him, even mildly, could see that this guy was not only a great human but he was going to get some stuff done here in this life,” friend Nick Luitgaarden said. “Deep down everyone was excited to see what he was going to do and accomplish. He was going to give so much to this world. This made his murder eight hundred times more shocking.”

But Parker was gone and nothing could bring him back.

After handing over the keys to their Woodinville home, Doug and Julee moved to their new home in Kirkland. It was built into the side of a steep hill and offered an astonishing view of Lake Washington.

Soon after, I paid them a visit. It was to be the final formal interview for this book about Parker. Ever since I approached them, they had been open and candid about the murder and their family struggles. Not once had they tried to dictate the terms of the book.

During the final interview, Julee shot a glance toward Doug. He nodded and began to speak.

“We were talking about this the other day,” Doug said. “If there was one thing we were concerned about with the book, our concern is that it’s somehow going to be viewed as okay about Parker being killed. Even if we win the lottery ten times and we’ve got all these wonderful people who reached out and became nicer to us because Parker died. And even all the people you’ve spoken to that have told amazing stories about how Parker impacted their lives. I can appreciate that there are people who have changed and grown because of it. But I’m concerned that the book would give any indication that life is better because Parker died. We want to be completely clear that none of that can ever justify what happened to our boy.”

During the dozens of interviews for this book, many of Parker’s friends, relatives, coaches, and teammates told their stories. Lives were changed because he lived. Lives were shattered because he died. These interviews produced cathartic moments of crying and anguish. Over and over.

One such moment came before Christmas 2017. I visited the home of Parker’s longtime barber, Randall Hauser. By Woodinville standards, his house was modest.

Hauser was now retired, almost 70 years old. He’d spent 12 years in Lompoc Federal Prison for drug smuggling. This was a hard-nosed guy. He’d twice become a millionaire and twice lost it all. Then he became a barber. He cut Doug and Parker’s hair for years and years. “Randall is just one of those wonderful people that have come into our life,” Doug said.

“People ask me if I have any regrets,” Hauser said. “No, I don't have any regrets. I've got my dog and my big fat TV and a fridge full of food, and the fucking Seahawks who have really been pissing me off. No, I don't have any regrets.”

He was asked about the Moores.

“Doug is such an incredible guy, that I feel honored that he likes to spend time with me,” Hauser said. “I’m not an incredible guy. I know where I come from. I was just so honored by their attention and friendship. I don’t achieve that very often, a connection with people who are the very foundation of our earth.”

The conversation went deep about Parker. Hauser suddenly broke into wailing sobs. He buried his face into his arms that rested on the table. Then he looked up.

“Right this moment, I would step in front of that knife without a second’s thought,” he said. “I’ve had a good life. I’ve done a lot of things. And to have him taken away, and for me to still be living my existence here, it’s just so unfair. It furthers my belief that there aren’t any fake gods or fake bullshit, that fate and whatever hand it deals, is what we have to deal with. Because there is no God that would ever take a man like Parker. It doesn’t teach anybody anything. Him staying here would have been most valuable, you know?”

Hauser paused to compose himself. Then he continued.

“It just strengthens my belief that it’s just a crappy crapshoot and some of the people get taken away sooner than they should be,” he said. “Parker was a light. And you get a reprobate like me who is just a crusty old fucker, and I’m still here. And that is one of the most insulting things about this whole situation.”

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