by Ann Mullen
“I’m not going to let that happen. I’m trying to get some caffeine in her body, otherwise, she’s going to be in for a long nap.”
“Prozac… shove one of those pills down her throat and you’ll have to pull her off the ceiling. When my husband died, the doctor put me on Prozac and Valium. The Valium worked, but the Prozac jacked me up so much, I refused to take anymore. I still have the bottle. It’s in my bathroom cabinet. I guess they’re still good. It was the Valium that I was talking about putting in my tea.”
“Hold it. I don’t like the idea of giving Dakota that drug. What if she’s allergic to it?”
“Maybe we’ll pass on the pill, Helene. I think we’ll stick with the coffee.” He poured the last of the coffee in her mouth, and she swallowed it again. Then, he walked back to the kitchen and refilled the cup.
I looked over at Helene. “Maisy said she was hungry. Would you mind fixing the kids a sandwich?”
“But it’s almost dinnertime. You want them to eat sandwiches before dinner?”
“Dinner might have to wait for a while, Helene. We’re going to get the truth out of her before we do anything else.”
Helene hesitated as if she couldn’t grasp my illogical timing. She was watching us try to interrogate Dakota, and right in the middle, I ask her to go feed the kids. I’m sure she wondered whether I thought they would starve if she didn’t give them something to eat right then.
“But I want to be here. I want to hear what she has to say.” She glared at Dakota with a menacing look. “You might as well tell them what they want to know. Billy knows all kinds of ways of extracting information from a criminal like you… and it won’t be fun. You don’t stand a chance.”
Helene went to the kitchen, mumbling under her breath. “Yep, I’m gonna miss it all. Gotta fix sandwiches right this minute. Just can’t wait.” She prepared the sandwiches and walked out, still mumbling to herself.
I called to her. “Come back when the kids finish eating. By then, we’ll just be getting to the good part.”
Helene picked up the pace.
Billy continued with the coffee, until Dakota put a stop to it. “Enough. It’s making me sick… to my… stomach.” She leaned over, puked, and then pleaded for a washcloth.
Billy went to the kitchen, got a hand towel, and then dabbed her mouth. He tossed the towel on the dining room table and held up the cup. “Ready?”
Dakota stared up at Billy with droopy eyes. “No… no more.”
Billy stepped back. “Just trying to wake you up.”
I grabbed a chair from the table, turned it my way, and then straddled it. I scooted closer to Dakota and propped my arms up on the back of the chair. “This is going to be long and ugly, unless you wanna skip the niceties and get down to business. It’s your choice. You can tell us what we want to know, or Billy can beat it out of you. Myself… I don’t care one way or the other, but before we turn you over to the sheriff, we’re going to have our answers.” I leaned in. “You’re a bad person. You tried to have my mother killed. If you die in this chair, it won’t hurt my feelings a bit.” I smiled wickedly at her as I lied. “Your boyfriend, Gavin Preston died in this chair. Oh, we slapped him around a bit, and that was fun, but it was your poison that killed him. Anti-freeze, really? Don’t you know that stuff shows up on a tox screen? What were you thinking… or did you just not care? I’m betting you thought you were going to get away… run from the devastation you caused… start a new life. That ain’t gonna happen.”
I was surprised when Billy reached down, pulled a knife from his boot, and then pressed the shiny blade up against her face. “I going to ask you a question, and if you lie, I’m going to cut you. I’ll start with your face.”
Her droopy eyes widened.
I had to wonder if he really would. Could he do that? This wasn’t the man I know. The man I know would never be so cruel. But then, I had to think about his actions. You see, most people fear Indians. They have a preconceived notion that they’re all like the ones they used to see in the old westerns where the Indians kill the white man and then scalp him, women included. Maybe that’s what Billy was doing. He was trying to bring back those memories of another time, and that old fear. I sat there and said nothing, waiting for Billy’s question and her response. If she lied, what would he do then?
Dakota trembled, keeping her eye on the knife the whole time. She was awake now, and she didn’t move an inch. “It’s over… I give up… what do you want to know?” Tears ran down her face.
I mocked her. “Ah, the woman cries. I didn’t know you had it in you, Dakota. Oh, that’s right, your name isn’t really Dakota, is it? What about your girlfriend, Olivia? What’s her real name? Where did you come from? How many people have you killed?”
Dakota kept watch on the knife as sweat beaded on her forehead and then ran down her face, mingling with her tears. “Make him… take the knife… from my face.”
It was obvious that she wasn’t going to be able to withstand a brutal interrogation. The thought of having her face scarred for life and her body being used as a punching bag must’ve gotten to her… or maybe, it was the idea that she might actually die where she sat… at the hands of an Indian prone to killing and scalping people. Yep, that last one must’ve done the trick.
Billy took the knife from her face, but held it close by. “Instead of wasting my time with a bunch of questions, why don’t you just tell us what turned you into a killer? You can start your story by telling us who you are. We’ll go from there.” He grabbed a chair, sat down, and then crossed his legs, the knife still in his hand, resting on his lap. “I’m waiting.” He leaned forward. “And remember, the first time you lie to me, I’m cutting you. That ought to really wake you up.” He waved the knife to validate his promise, and then slapped it across his legs.
Dakota jumped and almost tipped over the chair. She regained her composure somewhat and began her tale, knowing that if she lied, she was doomed to die… or so she thought.
She was still doped up, but she managed to tell her tale. “Six years ago, I was married to a man that everyone loved. He was nice to everyone except me. Oh, he started out like the perfect husband, but it wasn’t long until his dark side came out. He beat me… always screamed at me. I tolerated it. I didn’t know what to do. Then, one day he went too far.”
Her tears dried up, and her eyes opened wider. She was slowly coming out of her stupor. “We were on our way to visit his folks when he went ballistic after I told him I wanted to spend more time with my sister. He hated her. He pulled the car off the road… got out and dragged me out of the car. He dragged me to the woods and started knocking me around. I was in shock. He’d been brutal… so many times, but this time was different. This was the end of the road for me, and I knew it when I looked into those dark, menacing, evil eyes. He’d snapped and was going to beat me to death. Finally, he hit me so hard he knocked me to the ground. The place was littered with trash, condoms… nasty junk. He jumped on me… raised his hand back… I grabbed the first thing I could… I cut his throat with a broken bottle. He fell on me, making a gurgling sound. I was covered in his blood. I sat there on that damp and nasty ground, trying to come to grips with what I had done.”
“You were just defending yourself,” Helene said, coming back into the room. She walked over to the sink and set the dishes down. “No one would blame you for that.”
“Yes… they would. I know what happens in cases like these. I’d go to prison. Nobody would care that my husband beat me. No, all they’d see was a woman who murdered her husband. So, I called 9-1-1… said we’d been attacked by a hitchhiker my husband picked up. I told them the guy had killed my husband and was going to kill me. I screamed and cried for them to come save me. Then, I got in the car and drove off. Later, I dumped the car in a Wal-Mart parking lot. My sister and I disappeared. We took the money our folks left us… changed our looks… got a new identity.”
“So… Olivia’s your sister.”
“Yes… but her name isn’t Olivia… its Bernice. I’m Denise… Denise Sutton. You might’ve read something in the paper about me. They never found my body. The case went cold and off the radar. We laid low for over a year. They stopped looking, so we came here. The Body Shop was my idea.”
Billy leaned back. “Whose idea was it to start the killing?”
“Roger preyed on me like a hawk. Do you know what that’s like? A hawk swoops down with razor sharp talons, snatches his prey by the neck, and squeezes until the prey is beaten… dead.”
Helene walked over to her. “Ah… so… the prey bites back.”
“Exactly. Why not? They deserved it. They beat their wives just like Roger beat me. Someone had to stop them… so I did. I made them pay for their crimes, and it made me feel good to do it. I helped those women.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “You helped no one but yourself. You wanted to make every man pay for what your husband had done to you. You wanted revenge. You got a charge out of it. That’s sick.”
“That’s right, I am sick.” Dakota was now more alert. “Roger banged me up pretty bad. I was bruised, cut, you name it. Bernice got me to a doctor. He patched me up. Then, I had that nervous breakdown. Killing Roger made me sick. Bernice took me to see a psychiatrist, but I never told him that I killed my husband. Kept that one to myself. I wasn’t that insane. Bernice told the doctor that Roger beat me and would kill me if he found me, so the doctor helped us out. Kept everything on the down-low. Things were going well, until you showed up. You caused me nothing but trouble. We were happy with our lives, and you took that away from me when you meddled in my business and killed my sister.”
“You killed your sister, not me. You still don’t see that, do you? It was your fault. Maybe you should go back and see that doctor again. You’re nuts. You belong in a loony bin. You might’ve been an innocent victim when you killed Roger, but that ended when you started killing other people. Now, you’re going to get the needle.”
Denise laughed at me in a wicked way. “After what I just told you, you think any jury would convict me? I went crazy. My husband abused me… almost beat me to death. Drove me over the edge. My psychiatrist will testify to that. He knows how bad off I was.”
“Yeah… but he didn’t know you killed your husband. What do you think he’ll have to say when he hears that?”
“He’ll be shocked at first, but then he’ll say he’s not surprised. I was terrorized and had to defend myself. He’s not going to throw me under the bus.”
I laughed. “We’ll see about that. Oh, by the way, my cat wants to thank you for the gift.”
“What gift?”
“Why… your wedding band, of course. We’re going to sell it for the gold and buy Spice a new collar. You know… one of those expensive ones.”
I was making up some good lies, but she didn’t care.
Helene grunted. “What about Gavin Preston? Don’t you feel the least bit of remorse for killing him? He was your boyfriend… lover.”
“Gavin was nobody. He let me down and deserved to die.”
“Jesse’s right, lady, you are crazy. You’re never going to get away with killing Gavin and those other men. The evidence just keeps piling up against you. The sheriff has the wine bottle. He’s going to find your prints on it.”
“So what? My prints have been on a lot of wine bottles. That doesn’t prove a thing. Catch me with the bottle in my hand and then you might have something.”
“You need to pay for what you’ve done.” Helene’s eyes narrowed, her anger building. She calmly walked over, picked up her handgun from the table, and aimed it at Denise’s chest. “You deserve to die. Your killing spree stops here.”
No one said a word, and no one moved. We stared at Helene as Denise sucked in her breath, fear seizing her body. She closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable, but the inevitable never came. Helene lowered the gun and placed it back on the table.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Geez, Helene, you scared me half to death.” Billy dropped his knife on the table next to his coat, reached over, picked up the gun and tucked it in the waist of his pants. “Don’t ever do that again. I almost had a heart attack.”
“Why? You thought I was going to shoot her, didn’t you?”
“No, I was afraid you’d miss and hit one of us.”
Denise exhaled and looked down. The crotch of her pants was wet. “See what you made me do? It’s all your fault. Not only am I dressed in these hideous clothes, but now, I’ve peed on myself. I hope you’re happy.”
I had no sympathy for someone like her. “Hmm… ain’t that a pity. They’re going to haul your pee-pee butt off to jail. Want me to call the crisis hotline?”
Billy pulled out his cell phone. “Well… I guess this party’s over. Time to call out the dogs.”
Denise giggled like a little girl. “And what are you going to tell them? That the three of you beat me into confessing to crimes I didn’t commit? I’m not well, you know.”
Helene spat at her. “I never touched you!”
“No, you’re not well, Denise… Dakota… whatever your name is, but that won’t matter when I play my phone recording of our conversation to the police. I think they’ll find it very interesting. Hmm… and so incriminating.”
Denise was furious. She started screaming at us, hurling accusations, saying ridiculous things, ranting about anything and everything—most of which was gibberish—all of which was lies. Either she was playing the crazy person card, or she was going down a long, dark road to nowhere. Maybe this time she was a goner. She’d lost the only person she ever really cared about, and now she was alone. There was nothing left for her. If she wasn’t a killer, I could almost feel sorry for her… but she was a killer. When did the coin flip from being a victim to being a killer? I wanted to ask her, but she wouldn’t know. She was in her own little world now… or at least she seemed to be. She stopped hollering, became quiet, and looked as if she was spacing-out. Her eyes wandered in a freaky way and her head bobbed. Was she a nut case, or was she acting? I couldn’t tell.
“Ah, Billy, let me make that call to the sheriff. I just want to see if he’ll answer me.” I grabbed my cell phone, touched the screen, and waited. After two rings, the call went to voice mail. I held my phone away from my face. “See, he’s doing it again. He’s screening my calls.”
Denise yelled out something crazy again.
“Shut up!” Helene screamed at her. “Somebody please call the sheriff before that lunatic drives me insane! I can’t stand it anymore! I should’ve shot her when I had the chance. Where’s my gun?”
I called the sheriff’s number again, but as usual, he didn’t answer. “Okay, that’s it. He’s ignoring me. I’m going to send him a 911 text. See how he reacts to that.” I sent the text, and a few seconds later, Billy’s cell phone rang.
“Ah, it’s Sheriff Hudson.”
“Guess he doesn’t like talking to me.”
Denise’s ranting made it impossible for Billy to hear. He walked out of the room and down the hall. I heard him say something about Denise, but that was about all I got from the conversation.
Helene walked over and showed me the screen of her cell phone. “I Googled Denise Sutton, and look what I found. It says here that she disappeared in 2008 after being attacked by a hitchhiker. Her husband was killed and she’s never been found… and neither has the hitchhiker.”
“That’s because I made him up, you idiot!” Denise started humming. The tune sounded like one I’d heard in my childhood, but I couldn’t place it.
“The sheriff ought to be here soon, Helene. Why don’t you go stay with the kids until he arrives and takes away Miss Crazy over there?”
“It’d be my pleasure.” She looked over at Denise. “I’ve had enough of her noise. She ain’t right, you know. Why is she acting like that?”
“She’s finished and she knows it. She thinks that if she acts crazy enough, she’ll avoi
d death row.” I glared back at Denise. “You might as well shut up. It’s not going to work. Being crazy won’t keep that needle out of your arm.”
“You think she’ll really get the death penalty?” Helene whispered.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “I just like tormenting her. At least she won’t escape again. Once the sheriff locks her up, we won’t have to worry anymore. She’ll be out of our lives for good. You go sit with the kids and I’ll keep an eye on Crazy Lady over there, okay?”
When Helene walked out of the room, Denise called me over. “Jesse, come here. I’ve got something to tell you.”
The last thing I wanted was to listen to more of her bull, but my curiosity made my feet move. “What do you want? You got more lies to tell me?”
She grinned. “Jesse, you’re getting old. Maybe it’s time you got yourself a new occupation before you get yourself or someone in your family killed. You’re not cut out for this kind of work.”
“Oh, I don’t do so bad. I got you, didn’t I?”
“I’ll never see the inside of a prison.” She smirked, and then laughed out loud. “You see, I know how this game is played. I can do crazy, and once the judge hears from my doctor, there’s no way I’ll stand trial. He’ll send me to a psych hospital for evaluation, and I’ll escape. You’ll see. It’s going to play out just like I said, and down the road, I’ll come back for you.”
I stared her in the face. “Well, maybe I should save the system the cost of a trial.” I went to my purse and took out my gun. I aimed it at her. “Yep, I could shoot you right now, and all of this would be over.”
“Oh, yeah? I’m tied to a chair, and now you’re going to shoot me. I don’t think so. How would that look? You’d be the one going to jail.”
“Actually, I’m just making sure you don’t try anything stupid. I wasn’t going to shoot you. I’d miss the trial, and I sure don’t want to do that. I’m going to be around to see you fry.”
“You were right about the shampoo.”
“What?”
“A little skin irritant goes a long way. A dab of ammonia wreaks havoc on the scalp and you don’t need much… itchy… scaly… yuck… nasty stuff. Burns the skin right off in patches. Oh, and those vitamins… it doesn’t take much Panatral to drive a person insane. Did you know that? I picked up that little tidbit off the internet. Yep, that’s right. That’s why Billy’s mother almost died. Too bad she didn’t kick the bucket.”