By all accounts, for almost two decades, Mary Elizabeth Harriman believed that her husband, Russell Williams, was an officer and a gentleman.
The couple would sometimes be seen walking hand-in-hand in their Ottawa neighbourhood. He would carry her luggage into their home when she returned from the airport on one of the many trips she made as associate executive director of the Heart and Stroke Foundation of Canada.
Former neighbours said Harriman and Williams shared many interests: golf, boating, fitness and their beloved cats, Curio and Rosebud.
To their neighbours, they seemed the perfect power couple: She was the well-mannered charity executive; he was the spit-and-polish — if often silent — air force colonel. There was never a flicker of public discord between them.
"They couldn't have been better neighbours. We couldn't fault them for anything: they were great people," remembers Shirley Fraser, who held the keys to their house and fed their cat when they were out of town.
"You couldn't ask for better people. They were the perfectly normal family."
For Harriman, that perfectly normal world was obliterated earlier this year when the country discovered that her husband had been arrested for the sex slayings of two women.
Her officer and gentleman is now a convicted rapist and murderer.
Williams received two concurrent life sentences this past week with no chance of parole for 25 years after confessing to killing two women and sexually assaulting two others.
He also pleaded guilty to more than 80 counts of break and enter and theft of women's lingerie.
The 52-year-old Harriman was not in Belleville, Ont., this past week to watch as Williams was presented with the lurid evidence against him. She did not return phone messages.
Indeed, ever since her husband's arrest, she has assiduously tried to evade the public spotlight that has accompanied the case.
Yet she remains the focus of intense interest: Did she have any hint of Williams' sexual deviance? How does she manage the memories of their two decades together? Can she rebuild a normal life?
Court documents — and Williams' own taped confession — suggest Harriman firmly believed her husband was an honourable soldier until the winter's day when he revealed to police that his uniform masked a monster.
"On or about Feb. 8, 2010, I became aware of criminal charges against my husband," Harriman wrote in a civil suit affidavit that represents her only public statement to date since Williams' arrest.
"The revelation of these charges has been devastating to me."
The charges also shocked the three families in the Ottawa suburb of Orleans who lived near Williams and Harriman — and considered the couple part of a close circle of friends.
"It was the biggest shock of my life and I'm 71 years old," said George White, a retired air force technician who attended Williams' swearing-in ceremony as commander of Canadian Forces Base Trenton in Ontario.
White has written letters to both Williams and Harriman. To Williams, he expressed his regret that the colonel's life has gone so terribly wrong. To Harriman, he offered unconditional support.
"I told her we are there to support her and we are her friends; we're here to lean on," he says. "I wanted to let her know we haven't deserted her."
Neither Williams nor Harriman has responded.
In his police interview, excerpts of which were played in court, Williams repeatedly told investigators he was worried about his wife and how his revelations would affect her.
"Dearest Mary Elizabeth," Williams wrote in a note penned at the end of his confession,
"I am so very sorry for having hurt you like this. I know you'll take care of Sweet Rosie (their cat). I love you."
Shirley Fraser, 62, a retired civil servant who now drives a school bus, says she has no doubt that Harriman was victimized by Williams.
"My heart bleeds for her," says Fraser. "My biggest prayer is that she will be able to come through this. I can't imagine what she's going through."
Mary Elizabeth Harriman was born on Nov. 15, 1957, the only daughter of Frederick and Irene Harriman.
She grew up in Madsen, a rough mining town in northwestern Ontario, just south of Red Lake. Her father worked as chief geologist with a local mine.
She was a talented student who excelled at Red Lake District high school, where she graduated with honours. Harriman went to the University of Guelph in Ontario and graduated in 1980 with a bachelor of applied science. She later returned to school to work on a master's degree in adult education at St. Francis Xavier University in Nova Scotia.
It was sometime during the late 1980s that Harriman — Mary-Liz to her friends — was introduced to a young air force pilot by the name of David Russell Williams.
Williams had studied at the country's best schools, Upper Canada College and the University of Toronto, and was an accomplished trumpet player.
Harriman was five years Williams' senior, but the two hit it off: she seemed to soften his sharp edges. They were married in a small, happy ceremony in Winnipeg on June 1, 1991.
Williams was posted to CFB Portage la Prairie in Manitoba as a flying instructor. Harriman settled into life as a military wife and followed her husband as he moved first to CFB Shearwater in Nova Scotia — she became involved there with a provincewide nutrition awareness program — then, in 1995, to Ottawa.
In Ottawa, Williams joined 412 (Transport) Squadron where he flew the CC144 Challenger jet, ferrying VIPs across the country.
The couple put down roots: Harriman went to work as a lobbyist for the Heart and Stroke Foundation of Canada. They found a corner-lot home on a quiet street in Orleans, where they would live for the next 13 years.
A small gathering formed most nights on the front patio of Bob and Terry Gagne's house.
The Gagnes would be joined by Shirley Fraser and George and Shirley White for coffee and a chat. Often, they'd watch together as Col. Russell Williams, who lived across the street, set off on his evening jog. They'd sometimes give him a little good-natured ribbing when he came back in a sweat.
"We used to bug him," remembers George White, a retired air force technician.
"The bunch of us would be out having coffee and he'd be coming home, all wore out from running. I'd say, where'd you go today? Kanata?"
(Kanata is an Ottawa suburb.)
Both Harriman and Williams would regularly cross the street to join the coffee klatch. Neither would drink coffee, but they'd both stand and talk.
"She was more talkative, she was more open than he was," remembers Terry Gagne.
"He'd look at you now and then, but most of the time he'd be staring at the ground. He'd shake his head, 'Yes, no, or whatever.' "
Neither Harriman nor Williams discussed their private lives.
"She was very quiet, very reserved, very professional," White says of Harriman.
Still, Harriman would discuss her work, her cat and her golf game.
Harriman and Williams often spent long periods of time apart from one another since they both had jobs that took them away from home.
At home, the couple doted on their black-and-white cat, Curio. "That was their baby," says Fraser. "They didn't have any children; they were crazy for the cat."
For years, they kept a BMW and a Nissan Pathfinder in their driveway, along with a sizable boat. They would often go boating together: Harriman would read while Williams fished.
Harriman and Williams both enjoyed flourishing careers. She had taken on a senior executive's role at the Heart and Stroke Foundation of Canada. He was on a trajectory toward the military's general officer ranks.
In July 2009, he became commander of CFB Trenton, the country's largest airbase.
Months later, their neighbours were surprised when a "for sale" sign went up in front of the couple's home. Neither Williams nor Harriman had said anything about their plans.
"We were quite shocked when we saw the sign go up," says White. "We thought, 'Oh no, they were such great neighbours. What will happen? Who will move in?'"
The couple bought a fashionable new Ottawa townhouse — it was Harriman's dream home, according to Williams — in December.
Less than two months later, news of Williams' arrest rocked the street's coffee klatch.
"A few of us, close friends, we went through three stages," says White. "The first stage, when the blast of news come out, we said, 'Can't be, can't be, they've made a mistake, can't be our Russ.' "
Then, as more details emerged, the group began to entertain the possibility that Williams was guilty — even though they still didn't believe it.
Finally, they accepted it.
"Yes, he's guilty," says White. "We feel we've been betrayed by the friendship, but anyway, life has to go on."
A former member of Harriman's golf foursome says she can't imagine how her old friend is dealing with her own sense of betrayal: "She is a beautiful lady that doesn't deserve this kind of occurrence in her life."
Harriman's future once seemed perfectly secure: she and her husband both pulled in six-figure salaries. Their careers were in ascendance.
That financial security, however, is now as uncertain as so many of the things that Harriman once took for granted.
A $2.45-million civil suit has been launched by a sex-assault victim against Williams and his wife. The suit claims damages against Williams for sexual assault, aggravated assault, battery, and mental distress; it claims damages against Harriman for allegedly transferring assets in violation of the Fraudulent Conveyances Act.
It alleges that Harriman acquired the couple's $694,000 townhouse six weeks after Williams' arrest in order to shield it from legal claims.
In her lawsuit, the victim alleges the deal was grossly in Harriman's favour. She paid Williams $62,000 in cash for full ownership of the home and assumed the mortgage; in return, the Tweed cottage, purchased for $178,000, was transferred to Williams.
In a statement of defence, Harriman says she entered a "domestic contract" with Williams on March 22 that gave him "good and due consideration" for their matrimonial home.
"I had absolutely no intention whatsoever to have the matrimonial home fraudulently conveyed to me for the purpose of defeating the claims of the plaintiff," Harriman wrote in an affidavit in the case.
"At all times, my intent in executing the conveyance was to provide for my financial security."
In her affidavit, Harriman assures the court she doesn't intend to sell her house, dispose of assets or leave the city.
"I have strong ties to the Ottawa community and my reputation in the community is exemplary," she said.
Harriman is trying desperately to limit the damage already done to her place in that community.
She has asked for an order sealing documents expected to be filed in the case. More details about her professional life, personal finances and legal affairs "could have a significant negative impact upon me," she said.
A motion to seal the documents is to be argued Jan. 25.
Bob Gagne, her old neighbour, finds it hard to imagine how she deals with her memories: a storehouse of shared moments now haunted by the other Russell Williams.
"I wish her the best," he says, "because it's going to be tough."
you and thank you on that decision.
