Small Sacrifices (38 page)

"No. First of all, I don't have the right. Nobody has the right to judge whether another person lives or dies. If I chose that I should die, I would take pills--because it's painless."

"But who would take care of the kids?" Wuest asked.

"Whomever. My parents would, of course. If I were to kill myself, I would take pills, because I don't want to hurt. I don't like pain. I'm very bad with pain; I can't even stand a splinter. I would not take my children's lives because God gave them life to

do with as they saw fit. He simply loaned those kids to me to raise in the best way possible. So that when they became adults they would have a better start. It is not my decision whether their lives should stop or not and so I wouldn't do that. So even in a fit of depression, I wouldn't do that . . . God decides when you go--and crazy men decide."

Kurt Wuest suddenly asked Diane about Lew. Yes, she was

still in love with him.

. "Would you call it," Wuest began tentatively, "... an lobsession?"

"No, an obsession is something that you can't let go of-there were times in the past when I became obsessed with him."

"Have you let go of him?"

"Yes ... I still love him . . . you don't hang on just because you still love."

They threw the tough question out harshly. Had Diane shot her children to get Lew back?

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She shook her head impatiently. "He doesn't like trouble. If I had gone to the extent of shooting my kids, that would never bring Lew back."

"Not if you weren't caught," Wuest put in.

"Oh that's insane. Even if I wasn't caught, Cheryl is still dead ... It's going to affect me emotionally—probably for the rest of my life . . . Lew can't handle that. It's the stupidest motive in the world to kill—to kill the kids for Lew's sake." And yet. And still. It was the most cogent reason they had come up with.

Diane turned suddenly to Doug Welch. "I'm learning to play the game. This is very interesting. You can twist a word and make somebody look guilty."

The tape rolled on. The little office was full to bursting with the sound of Diane's voice.

"As the days progressed, I saw you guys were assholes. You couldn't be trusted as far as I could throw you. And I may be strong, but some of you weigh a lot."

She was growing angrier. Wuest reminded her that she could leave at any time.

"I also know that I am not guilty; I have no reason to get up and leave until you become offensive—and you're working on it—

you really are. You're getting close. Borderline."

They were cops again. How could she have forgotten that?

"You have something to say?" Wuest asked.

"Oh my God," she cried. "You are so fucked up. I've told you everything I could!"

But she had lied to them, they pointed out. She had withheld the fact that the gunman knew her.

"You told us everything you could a month and a half ago, two months ago," Wuest said. "And now we get more stuff and who knows what the hell we will have next week?"

"Tell you what, guys—I'll make you a deal . . . OK. Next time I remember something, fuck ya. You can find the guys yourself, 'cause I know I didn't do it. You can chase your little tails for the next twenty thousand years if that's what it takes. You don't like my help—you can fuck it."

Th&y offered the door. She shook her head.

(, "I'm having too much fun."

But she wasn't. Somewhere, along the way, Diane's control had wavered; she had lost the debate. These two young detectives had turned nasty on her.

She wasn't going to leave until she won.

Doug Welch was the worst, nipping at her with his questions. He had been polite, respectful, bitten his tongue for two solid months. Now, he could allow enmity to creep into his voice. He told her she hadn't had the guts to commit suicide.

"No guts? If I had the guts to shoot my own flesh and blood, why wouldn't I have the guts to end it all and not remember any of it?"

"Diane's a pretty important person, Diane's Number One; Diane always has been Number One," Welch hammered. "Steve wouldn't be a good father and you don't want him to have the kids."

"You're right. I agree with that."

"And you're very--you're possessive of those kids."

"I love my kids, yes."

"Well, it goes beyond love. It goes--there's a lot of possessiveness."

"It goes to being willing to die for them, yeah--" she said.

"Wait a second," Wuest said. "Would you give your own life for your children?"

"Yes."

"And you stood there and watched them get shot? And you didn't do a damn thing."

"I guess so. I don't know."

"Figure that one out," Welch said. Diane was as enraged as he had ever seen her. Would she get angry enough to tear the sarcastic, superior facade away--to "remember" what was in the void? "You stood by and watched your kids executed, lady."

"Yeah--I agree with you."

"And then you hung around long enough for the guy to talk to you."

"No."

"Yeah."

"He didn't say anything afterward, except 'Don't say anything.'

That's not talking."

"But there was other conversation. You just don't happen to recall it."

"That's right."

"Or want to--"

"Right. Before the shooting, because I remember from the shooting on. Something was said before the shooting."

"What?"

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"I don't know."

"Back to the void again."

"I forgot I wasn't going to try with you guys. You're assholes. You don't really want to know the truth. You just want to find a way to clean this up--"

"We want to know the truth--"

"No, you don't."

"From the beginning, you kept throwing us little bits and pieces ..."

"I'm sorry if my mind--OK. I'll tell you what. I'll make a deal with you guys. You don't make deals--I forgot."

"We don't make deals," Wuest agreed.

"Well then, fuck you. I was going to say--give me two weeks and I'll give you the whole story in a pie-pan. I can't guarantee that either, 'cause I don't know if I'll ever really remember."

"You can walk out, you can walk out anytime you want."

"I'm about ready to."

"How many mothers," Welch's voice cut through the tension, deliberately dripping venom. She half-smiled at him; they both knew he was playing a part. Still, his words shook her.

"How many mothers who are good, wholesome, loving mothers-like you--are not going to protect their children in time of danger?"

"I have no idea."

"One was [killed], and Mom gets away with a little hole in the arm?"

"I don't know."

"Isn't that bizarre?"

"Yeah it is."

"Mom didn't do any fighting or anything. Isn't that strange?"

"And this guy is one hell of a shot," Wuest added.

"You were the biggest threat to this man," Welch continued.

"He wanted your car. The kids weren't a threat as far as witnesses were concerned. You were. Why does he shoot the kids? And then lets you drive away, Diane?"

"Good question," she said. And then, in a rush, "I told you

* he didn't come to take the car." T "Not three little kids. He didn't--what?" Welch asked.

"He didn't come to take the car."

"That's what you've told us he asked for."

"Ummmm . . . you're right. I did."

"That's right."

"Oh crud," Diane sighed suddenly. "My arm hurts." The corner was tightening around her, and her voice was

softer and less sure. Suddenly, her wounded arm hurt.

"That guy's quite a shot," Welch droned. "He hit three little bodies in a dark car and hits them all dead center, and the big adult person--out in the open, standing right next to him. He hits you in the arm. Think about it, Diane."

"You're right. You're right. Hmmmmm. I've thought about it."

"Any response?"

"Yeah. I'm not going to tell you guys. God!"

"Scary, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Did you just remember something new?"

"Damned if I'm going to tell you guys." "Why don't you get it off your chest?"

"Huh uh."

"You've been playing-games since the beginning," Welch kept after her. "You thought you really pulled one over on us."

"I'm curious," Kurt Wuest said, "I'm curious about this incredible thought or remembrance--"

"No, you're not," she hissed. "No you're not. You're a lying asshole and if you say that, you're a double liar." Suddenly, Diane sat straight up, a look of dawning revelation on her face.

"I just remembered how--"

"But I'm not going to tell you guys," Wuest mimicked.

"You're right. I'm not--it's--"

"This man shoots three little bodies in a car--" Welch spat out. "Damn near dead center . . . and then a big adult gets winged in the arm--"

"The one that could have hit him on the head with a rock--or

| anything," Wuest said.

"The one that could have done something to prevent the kids from being shot to begin with--and who stands by and watches her kids be executed--" Welch echoed.

^'All right," Diane breathed.

"And then doesn't tell the cops the whole story when she gets there, because she's afraid of this man who threatened her and who called her by name and referred to her tattoo. Come on, Diane. We are playing hardball here. Remember?"

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Welch wondered if she was going to slap him.

"I know--Tell you guys what--"

"It's your turn at bat."

"OK! Since you guys seem to think I should have brought the guy in with me, I will get him myself and I'll bring him back.

'Cause I know who did it!"

"You do know who did it?"

"Yes, I do. I damn sure do!"

"You know this person," Welch said, surprised. "You know his name?"

"Yes I do. Yes, I do."

"You know him by name?"

"Yes."

"You saw him shoot your kids?" Wuest asked quietly.

"Yup."

"That's pretty important."

Diane was on her feet, poised for flight. "And I saw him grab my arm, and yank my arm out, and shoot my arm and say,

'Now try to get away with it. Bitch!' And I'm leaving 'cause I know who did it. Bye."

Doug Welch's office was open on one side; they could see Diane all the way down the hallway to the front door of the Criminal Investigation Division. She was running, jogging as fast as she could to get away from them. The door opened, slammed. She was gone.

Welch's voice follows a long silence. "The time is 17:46, and Diane has just departed the office. We are concluding the tape." The two young detectives sat in Doug Welch's shadowy office. They had it all on tape--but they weren't sure what they had. They had pushed her into some manner of admission, but they'd lost her.

The phone rang, and they both jumped.

It was Diane.

They had badgered her into a "breakthrough." She remembered tile whole night now, she knew who had done it--but that he "wasn't present." However, she herself would find a way to t prove it. p| '

I "You're telling us that you know who shot your kids," f^K' Si

Wuest echoed, while Doug Welch fumbled frantically with the tape recorder.

"I damn sure do. I remember the whole fucking night." Diane would not tell them who the "shooter" was, but she assured them the killer was too scared to hurt anyone else.

"I'm not playing that game anymore, I'm not playing by your rules. I'm going to find the asshole myself."

It was uglier than she had realized, she told them. But she couldn't trust them. She didn't believe that the cops could bring the killer to justice.

"What was uglier than you thought?" Wuest asked her.

"The fact that somebody could hate me so much that they'd destroy my kids just to get even with me ... If I don't say anything, maybe he'll never get another chance to shoot the kids—because the kids won't be a threat to him."

"What else do you have to tell us, Diane?"

"How the yellow car ties in. How many people were there. What they did to me. Why there's a time lapse and everything took so long.

"And just because I tell you exactly what happened that night, that doesn't mean you can prove he did it. It's a losing battle. I quit. I give up. If you guys want to throw me in jail, have at it. I—Steve wins this time. This is the ultimate. I quit. I'm not going to fight him anymore. He won. Goodbye."

The phone went dead.

Kurt Wuest and Doug Welch stared at each other. What the hell did they have now? Diane had changed her story again. And what had she meant that she'd "quit"?

She scarcely seemed to have quit at all. They had the feeling that she had only gone away for a while to gather strength. Early the next morning, Doug Welch and Kurt Wuest were in Fred Hugi's office. They turned the tape recorder on and Hugi and DA Pat Horton listened along with them through the long,

| long tapes as Diane's voice rose and fell. She had told them everything; she had told them nothing.

And now, they were out of time. And the county was out of money. There was no arrest. To the outside observer, the Downs investigation appeared to be over.

It was not over; it had only gone underground. If Fred Hugi could have, he would have found a way to go back and save them sll. Of course, he could not. But there was no way he was going 264 ANN RULE

to drop his mission to bring Diane into court. Without investigators, he was only slowed; he was not stopped.

Hugi lay awake long into the summer night, listening to owls and nighthawks in the forest outside. He went through game plans in his head but more often he worried about Christie and Danny. It had been easier, somehow, when he could sit outside ICU and watch over them as they slept. They seemed more vulnerable to him now, as if they were still prey.

In July of 1983, I changed the beneficiary on my ^

$50,000 life insurance policy. It paid off whether death was natural, accidental, or suicide . . . I changed it so my children would benefit, and not the guardian