“Temperament-tested?”
“Yes.”
“And what is that, please?”
“We test the dogs for three things. First, their reaction to having their teeth looked at; second, how they act when a rawhide toy is taken away from them; and, third, what they do when their eating is interrupted.”
“Why those three things, Ms. Troy?”
“Because they are the three most common experiences a dog will have to go through as a pet. The teeth thing is to see how he or she will react to a veterinarian examination. The rawhide is to simulate what might happen during play. And the food test is to see what he’ll do if a child tries to pull him away from his food or play with him while he’s eating.”
“I see. Are these tests common in all animal shelters?”
“I can’t speak for all animal shelters, but I know they are routinely carried out at many shelters.”
“At no-kill shelters too?”
“I suppose.”
“Thank you. Please continue telling us about the family that wanted to adopt a dog.”
My kids have a dog in Manacor, Tory. A little yellow beagle. Her name is Evita.
Yes, I know, Renaldo. You told me they probably would not have been able to bring her with them if they came here. I remember.
Now they all alone, Tory. They no have a daddy anymore.
Yes, I know, Renaldo. I’m sorry.
“So after they agreed to everything and said they understood what I had explained to them, I took them in the back where we keep the animals.”
“How many animals were in the shelter this day, Ms. Troy?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Go on.”
“As is usually the case, the kids went nuts as soon as they walked into the kennel area. They started running from cage to cage, talking to the animals, calling each other to come and look at different animals. This was typical. And of course, the dogs were all barking and standing up on their hind legs. It really was quite a sight. And quite a racket. A lot of the newer dogs even stopped owner-searching when the kids were there.”
“Owner-searching?”
“A lot of newer dogs surrendered to a shelter go through a period of owner-searching, when they do nothing but, well, search for their owners. It takes time for them to acclimate to the shelter. It’s very sad to see.”
“I see. And what were the parents doing during all this commotion?”
“They just stood there. They both had huge smiles on their faces.”
“Why was that?”
“Because they were happy that their kids were so excited about getting a companion animal.”
“Is companion animal the preferred term over pet these days, Ms. Troy?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Did this family pick out a pe—sorry—companion animal?”
“Yes.”
They took the miniature collie, right? I liked that dog from the moment we took him in.
Yes, Phil, they took the collie. He was a beautiful animal.
He was scheduled to be euthanized that afternoon, wasn’t he?
Yes, his week was up.
Lucky for him, then, right?
Yes, lucky for him.
“Which animal did they select, Ms. Troy?”
“A miniature collie.”
I’m praying for you, Tory.
Give it a rest, Phil.
I’m serious. You are in my prayers.
You are such a goddamned hypocrite.
Hey! No blaspheming, please. And what is that supposed to mean anyway?
Do you think I forgot the Home Depot incident? Did you thank God when you pocketed the money the girl gave you by mistake, Philip? Did you?
“What happened then, Ms. Troy?”
“I filled out the paperwork, gave them a receipt and an instruction sheet, and walked them out to their car.”
“I see. What did you do next, Ms. Troy?”
“I did the workup sheet for that day’s euthanasia agenda.”
“How many animals were scheduled for that day, Ms. Troy?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Perhaps this will help refresh your memory?”
“Where did you get that? That’s the workup sheet.”
“How we acquired it is not relevant, Ms. Troy. Could you just look it over and tell us what it says, please?”
“If you already knew how many were euthanized that day, why did you ask me?”
“Judge?”
“Ms. Troy, simply answer Mr. Loren’s questions, please. This is not a debate.”
“Could you look it over, please, Ms. Troy?”
“I’m looking it over. So?”
“Could you tell the court how many animals were scheduled for euthanasia that afternoon?”
“Nine.”
“Four dogs and five cats. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Could you please tell the court how you euthanize animals, Ms. Troy.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am not going to describe the procedure. I just won’t do it.”
“Judge?”
“Ms. Troy?”
“I’m sorry, Judge. I just can’t do it.”
“Your Honor?”
“Yes, Ms. Payne?”
“Sidebar?”
“Make it quick.”
“Your Honor, my client is on trial for six felony murders, not for euthanizing animals. Is it really necessary to subject the jury to a graphic description of how animals are killed at animal shelters? She will have to describe how she killed her coworkers. Isn’t that enough? I have a feeling my honorable colleague is grandstanding, Your Honor.”
“Carolyn, I resent that!”
“Oh, come on, Brawley. You know you’re going for shock value. So get over it, will you?”
“Counselors! Address your comments to me and only me, please? Ms. Payne, did Ms. Troy describe the animal euthanasia process in her competency interviews with Dr. Bexley?”
“In detail, Judge.”
“Mr. Loren, would you accept entering into evidence the transcript of the particular session in which the defendant described the process to Dr. Bexley?”
“The jury will have access to this material, Judge?”
“Of course.”
“Then I agree. I simply want the details of what she does—sorry—what she did for a living to be part of the trial record.”
“Ms. Payne?”
“Agreed.”
“Step back. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, at this point the Prosecution is entering into evidence the transcript of a competency interview with the defendant conducted by Dr. Baraku Bexley in which Ms. Troy describes the animal euthanasia process. This material will be available to you for review in the jury room during your deliberations. Proceed, Mr. Loren.”
What do you think that was about, Tory?
I don’t know, Marcy. Why don’t you ask them?
Ha-ha, very funny.
“Did you euthanize the animals that afternoon, Ms. Troy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The gas chamber was occupied.”
“It was filled with the bodies of your six victims, isn’t that correct, Ms. Troy?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell the court how you killed your coworkers that afternoon, Ms. Troy.”
“Do I have to?”
“I’m afraid so, Ms. Troy. Begin by telling us how, and in what order, you subdued them.”
“I poked them all in the back of the neck with a syringe of Pavulon. Pancuronium bromide.”
“What does Pavulon do, Ms. Troy?”
“It’s a paralyzing drug.”
“It is used in lethal-injection executions, is it not?”
“Yes.”
You poked me hard, Tory. It felt like the worst bee sting I ever had.
Yes, I know, Teresa.
“Can you tell us a little about
this drug, please?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Whatever you can share with us, please.”
“Well, Pavulon is used in surgeries to paralyze the lungs and diaphragm and stop breathing.”
“In what doses?”
“Between twenty and fifty micrograms per pound of body weight.”
“And what is a microgram?”
“A millionth of a gram.”
“So, a hundred twenty-five-pound person—say, someone like Marcy or Teresa—if I’m doing my math correctly, would have received around five or six milligrams of the drug before surgery. Is that correct?”
“Very good, Mr. Loren! You must have been excellent in math in school.”
“Thank you, Ms. Troy, but can we stick to the line of questioning, please? Am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how many milligrams are used for lethal injections?”
“Yes.”
“And that is?”
“One hundred milligrams.”
“I see. And could you tell the court how many milligrams you used for each of your victims?”
“I don’t remember.”
“It was close to ten milligrams, Ms. Troy.”
“Is that a question?”
“And how long does Pavulon take to work, Ms. Troy?”
“Up to three minutes.”
“That’s with the conventional use of the drug. But isn’t it true that it can also take effect almost immediately?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it true that if a drug is injected directly into a vein or artery, the effect is almost immediate?”
“Yes.”
“The autopsy reports state that your six victims were each injected into the posterior internal jugular vein, which resulted in the drug rushing into the pulmonary veins and immediately circulating throughout the bloodstream. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Was this intentional?”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Troy, before you began working at the animal shelter, you were a sales representative for a pharmaceutical company. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you leave that position?”
“I didn’t leave it. I was laid off.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t need me anymore. The company set up a Web site for ordering drugs, and doctors and hospitals started taking care of their pharmaceutical needs on their own.”
“I see. I’d like to ask you a direct question now, Ms. Troy.”
“These haven’t been direct?”
“Did you steal several syringes of Pavulon from the drug company before you were laid off?”
“I won’t answer that.”
“Very well. I think that answer tells us enough. Getting back to the afternoon of the crimes, do you recall in what order you injected your coworkers?”
“Yes.”
“Could you tell us, please?”
“Jake, Teresa, Marcy, Renaldo, Ann, and Phil.”
“So after they were all incapacitated by the Pavulon, what did you do next?”
“I dragged them into the gas chamber.”
“And then?”
“I closed and sealed the door.”
“And then?”
“I turned on the gas.”
“And then?”
“I stood there.”
“You just stood there as the lethal gas was being pumped into the chamber into which you had just dragged your six coworkers?”
“Yes.”
“How long did you just ‘stand there,’ Ms. Troy?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it longer than fifteen minutes?”
“Probably.”
“What did you do next?”
“I vented the chamber.”
“And then?”
“I opened the door.”
“And what did you see, Ms. Troy?”
“They were all dead.”
“Your six coworkers—Jake, Teresa, Marcy, Renaldo, Ann, and Phil—were all dead. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Could you describe what you saw, please?”
“What do you mean?”
“Could you tell the court how they were situated?”
Yeah, Tory, tell them how we were situated. Tell them what you saw. Tell them how I had my arms around Ann. And tell them how Teresa was curled up in a fetal position by herself in the corner. And tell them how Renaldo was sitting with his back against the rear wall with his eyes wide open. And tell them how Philip and Marcy were in each other’s arms with their faces pressed together. Tell them all about that, Tory. Go ahead, I dare you.
Fuck you, Jake.
“Ms. Troy?”
“Yes?”
“Could you please answer the question?”
“About how they were situated?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Oh, come now, Ms. Troy. I’m sure you can recall what you saw.”
“Objection. The witness said she did not remember, Your Honor.”
“Move on, Mr. Loren.”
“No, it’s okay, Judge. I guess I do remember. I’ll tell him what he wants to know.”
“Very well. Proceed.”
But that’s not what you saw, is it, Tory?
Shut up, Jake.
“Could you tell us how they were situated, Ms. Troy?”
“They were all crowded together on the floor.”
“Yes, they were, weren’t they? They were all crowded together—lying next to and on top of each other—just the way you dragged them into the chamber, weren’t they, Ms. Troy?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do then?”
“I just stood there looking at them. Then Tommy showed up.”
“Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor. The Prosecution rests.”
“Ms. Payne? Questions?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Proceed.”
“Tory, do you believe in the euthanasia of animals?”
“I accept it.”
“Why?”
“Because there are worse things than death for many of these animals.”
“Such as?”
“Starving, suffering, and being alone and unloved.”
“Could you tell us how many shelter animals are adopted?”
“Seven out of ten are euthanized.”
“Why did you kill your coworkers, Tory?”
“I don’t know.”
“You possess great love for animals, don’t you, Tory?”
“Yes, I do. Although I’m not sure that love is the right word.”
“And why is that? What word would you use to describe your feelings for animals?”
“Respect.”
“Respect?”
“Yes.”
“What happened inside you that Friday, Tory?”
“Friday is euthanasia day. It always rains on Friday.”
“It doesn’t always rain on Fridays, Tory.”
“Yes, it does. It was raining that Friday. I remember. The animals cry when I close the door. And it was raining.”
“Tory, are you all right?”
“The animals cry when I close the door.”
“No further questions. The Defense rests.”
“You may step down, Ms. Troy.”
Well, you’re all done, Tory. In more ways than one.
You’re right, Jake. I really think you’re right about that.
“Mr. Loren? Closing argument?”
“Yes, sir. I’m ready.”
“Go ahead, then.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Ladies and gentlemen. I have a law degree. I read books. And I like to think I can conversationally hold my own in the arena of ideas and intelligent discourse. I also have great respect for the truth. And I believe that facts are facts and that facts often, if not always, reveal the truth. Victoria Abigail Tr
oy is guilty of six counts of premeditated murder. Now, you may be asking yourself, how does he know with such certainty that the murders were premeditated? Simple. The Pavulon syringes. Victoria Abigail Troy deliberately carried six syringes of pancuronium bromide with her to work that rainy Friday. What does premeditation tell us, ladies and gentlemen? It tells us that her plea of not guilty by reason of insanity is laughable at best, and a legal and moral travesty at its worst. Did Victoria Abigail Troy kill her six coworkers? Jake, Ann, Marcy, Philip, Renaldo, and Teresa? Yes. Did Victoria Abigail Troy think about committing these murders beforehand? Yes. Was Victoria Abigail Troy insane at the time she committed these horrible crimes? Unequivocally no. So where are we now, ladies and gentlemen? You’ve heard the witnesses. You are aware of the evidence. You know of her crimes. All you need to do now is retire to the jury room, agree on a guilty verdict, and also agree to recommend the death penalty for the defendant. The facts are plain. And the facts reveal the truth. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Loren. Ms. Payne?”
“Yes, Your Honor, thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, in 1979, the Irish rock group the Boomtown Rats had an enormous, worldwide hit with their song, ‘I Don’t Like Mondays.’ You may know this song. They play it on FM rock stations all the time. Now, why am I talking to you about a twenty-three-year-old rock song? Because of the story behind the song. On January twenty-ninth, 1979, a sixteen-year-old San Diego, California, girl who lived across the street from an elementary school took the rifle her daddy had given her for Christmas, walked to a window, and opened fire on the schoolyard. She managed to kill the principal and the head custodian. She also wounded eight children and a police officer. When the police made contact with her and asked her why she was doing this terrible thing, she responded, ‘I don’t like Mondays.’ Imagine. Something as simple as a dislike for Mondays caused this teenage girl to snap. If nothing but a Monday could trigger a murder rampage in a young girl, is it so far-fetched that the emotional trauma of Tory doing what she had to do as part of her job could trigger what she did? Was the young playground shooter temporarily insane at the time she committed these murders? We all certainly have our ideas about that, but the question is moot. The girl pled guilty and is currently in a federal penitentiary serving a twenty-five-years-to-life sentence. Tory Troy similarly snapped, ladies and gentlemen, but in her case, her abandonment of everything she knew about right and wrong was due to something far more vile than a Monday. She simply couldn’t take the mass slaughter anymore … the massacring of scores of innocent animals … every Friday … for almost a year. Put yourself in her position, ladies and gentlemen. Would you be able to handle going to work and executing dogs and cats—some of whom were no more than puppies and kittens? Would you be able to cope with such a horrible duty? Each of you must look inside yourself and answer those questions honestly. And if the answer is ‘no,’ or even ‘I don’t know,’ then it is your profound duty to return with a verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity. Thank you.”
Dialogues Page 22