To Die For (12 page)

Dana ran her fingers through her blonde curls and mumbled something about having to use up a gift certificate to get a perm at another salon. Dana said she wanted to get her hair cut again.

Dana quickly changed the subject and lapsed into her usual joke-telling mode with Laureen, who rarely understood her sense of humor. Laureen sensed that Dana still didn't seem herself. Dana usually came into the shop after work, when no one else was there, because she liked the solitude of an empty salon. Dana often told Laureen that she liked the one-on-one attention—a bit of pampering at the end of a long day. But this time, it was the middle of the day and the shop was busy with chattering customers. Laureen saw Dana look around uncomfortably at the other customers in the shop and figured she needed some personal attention.

Laureen sat Dana down and got started with the manicure and pedicure. As usual, Dana wanted a rich purple nail color. Purple was her favorite color. If she didn't get purple nails, she chose bright colors or blues. As a nurse, Dana liked her nails fairly short.

Sitting at a small work table across from Dana, Laureen held Dana's hand and cleaned off the old polish. Then she noticed something else about Dana. She was wearing a loose-fitting black-and-white dress with brand new black cowboy boots. In all the years she'd known Dana, she'd never once seen her in a dress. As she sat there cleaning off Dana's old polish, she realized it was probably a way to camouflage her weight gain, so she decided not to say anything about it.

Laureen decided to change the subject to something relatively safe—like the murders. Everyone was talking about them. Frankly, it was making Laureen uncomfortable. Canyon Lake was such a small community, the murders seemed magnified in importance because everyone thought it was a local resident. It was the kind of eerie feeling that made you look twice at everyone you saw and think, “Could that be the murderer?”

“I've been kind of out of it since I had this cold,” Laureen said. “But have you heard about the murders here? What do you think?”

“Oh, I heard that they're connected to the two in San Diego,” Dana said.

Laureen nodded, her head down looking at Dana's nails. She didn't read the papers much, so she hadn't heard that.

“Really?” she said, wanting to hear more.

Dana said nothing. Laureen looked up and Dana looked away.

“Did I tell you Jason and I went shopping?” Dana said. “I bought Jim three pairs of shoes and Jason needed pants so I bought him a bunch of jeans and shoes. He goes through them so fast.

“And I took him to lunch,” Dana said. “He drove me crazy the way he was running around the tables.”

“He's such a cute kid,” Laureen said. “They've got so much energy at that age. I bet he runs your legs off.”

“Yeah,” Dana said. “He calls me ‘Mom' now. His mother lets him call me ‘Mom.' And then sometimes he calls me his ‘other Mom.' That's cool too.”

Laureen sometimes wondered whether Dana was getting too close to Jason. She'd warned her about that before, but this time she let it go.

Dana talked on about fixing up the house she shared with Jim, trying to turn it from the kind of place where a single man lived with his son into a family home. She cleaned and organized. She cooked. She re-arranged. She shopped. She bought curtains. It was shaping up.

As they finished up, the hairstylist came over to guide Dana to the hair-cutting area of the salon.

“Dana,” said Sharon Callendar. “I heard that your grandmother was one of the, you know, that she was one of the ones who was killed.”

Laureen looked up sharply. She'd been sitting with Dana for an hour and thought it was peculiar that Dana hadn't mentioned that. Weren't they just talking about the murders?

“Well, she was actually my step-grandmother-in-law…” Dana said.

“I am so sorry,” Sharon said.

So, Laureen thought, that's why Dana was acting funny. She got up from her seat and walked a few steps toward Dana to give her a hug. But as she hugged her, Dana recoiled. During their friendship of eight years, Laureen had never hugged Dana, but she instantly felt strange about Dana's cool response. Laureen felt uncomfortable and wished she hadn't tried to hug her.

“Thank you for your concern,” Dana said stiffly, “but, um, we weren't that close.”

CHAPTER SIX

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 16, 1994, 9 A.M.

“Name?”

“Dana Gray.”

“What's your number?”

“34-7036.”

“O.K., have a seat and a counselor will be with you in a moment.”

Dana sat down in a black plastic consular chair. A handful of other people were already waiting. Since losing her nursing job in November, Dana had gone out on a few interviews arranged by the Employment Development Department, the glorified name given to the state unemployment office. When Dana had called to check in the day before, her counselor had found two job leads. She'd only been half-heartedly looking for work. In the last week, she'd filled out applications at a Sav-On drug store, and the Von's and Albertson's grocery stores in Lake Elsinore and Temecula. But if she wanted unemployment benefits, she had to dance to the tune of the EDD's drummer and go on their job interviews.

A harried counselor called out her name and she was led into a cubicle. He had two computer print-outs from employers that the EDD had matched with likely candidates. He handed the print-outs to Dana, who scanned them. She frowned. The first job opening was for a part-time janitor at a business in Brea, a city in neighboring Orange County that was about 30 minutes away. The counselor had circled the name of the contact and the phone number.

A janitor? This is what they think I'm good for? From a nurse to a janitor?

The second one was a part-time waitressing job at Murrieta Hot Springs for $4.25 an hour.

“Thank you,” Dana said icily as she walked out the door.

9:30 A.M.

“Joe?”

Jeri's voice was tentative.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking about all the things you've told me, you know, about the suspect,” she said quietly.

She paused. Joe could hear her taking a breath.

“It sounds a lot like my step-daughter.”

Joe could feel his hand tighten around the phone.

“What's her name?”

“Dana Sue Gray.”

Joe was excited, but cautious. He wanted to get the information from her and then think about it first before jumping to conclusions. He asked Jeri if Dana spelled her name “Gray” or “Grey.” She gave him the basics—her date of birth, address, phone number. As she gave the address, Joe noted that her home was about a mile from the Sav-On drug store where the suspect had used June's credit cards on February 28 and again the next morning, March 1. He also made a mental note that the antique store where Dorinda was attacked was not far from Dana's house. He asked for a description. Jeri said that Dana was five feet, two inches and had blonde hair. So far, that fit the description of the suspect. Of course, as Russell's daughter, she knew Norma Davis, who was Jeri's step-mother-in-law, as well as June Roberts, but there was no connection to Dorinda. Greco vaguely recalled hearing about Dana when he was going through Norma's victimology with Jeri, but figured she had certainly passed over Dana as someone worth mentioning to a homicide detective. Dana and her husband, Jeri told him, once lived in Canyon Lake, but had moved out last summer. They'd had money problems and had separated. But she still had her resident permit and could go in and out of Canyon Lake without raising any suspicion. In addition, Dana had a key to Nana's condo.

Joe realized that Jeri was speaking in a monotone as if she was numb or in shock. Joe thought it took a great deal of courage for any parent—or step-parent—to make this kind of a call. Despite the obvious stress she was under, Jeri sounded somewhat hesitant, but remained poised.

“Tell me about her,” he said gently.

“Well, she just recently changed her hair color,” Jeri said. “She told me that she'd just cut the split ends off a bad perm.”

“What color did she dye her hair?” Joe asked.

“Red. She just dyed it red. We just saw her this weekend,” Jeri said. “That's one of the things that made me think. Remember what you said about the hairdresser who wouldn't color the woman's hair red because it would fall out?”

Joe remembered. He wanted to know about the boy. Did she have a step-son?

“She lives with her boyfriend and his son. It's not her step-son, but she just told me that he's now calling her ‘Mom,'” Jeri said.

Joe wanted a description of the boy and Jeri told him—5 years old, blonde. So far, everything matched. He was getting anxious. This was it. This was paydirt. For all the times he'd gone up to talk to Jeri, this was the information that he sensed Jeri knew. From his desk, he could see Wyatt talking with Lt. Gaskins in the detective bureau across the room. Joe couldn't wait to tell them.

“What's his name?” Joe asked. He'd never told Jeri the boy's name.

“Jason.”

Joe asked for his last name, but Jeri didn't know. She said she would find out and call back. A few minutes later, she did.

“OK, his last name is Wilkins,” Jeri said. “Dana's boyfriend's name is James Wilkins. His son's name is Jason Wilkins.”

It was her.

“That's a lock,” Joe said.

Joe felt elation and panic all at once. Oh my God, he thought, I have a suspect. I've got to get moving. I've got to get this person into custody. First he wanted Jeri to come to the station. He didn't want to talk about this on the phone.

“No, I can't,” Jeri said, her voice staying strong. She was still at work. She mentioned leaving early. How was she going to tell Russell?

“What's going to happen to her?” Jeri asked. “What are you going to do?”

Greco explained that he had to obtain a search warrant, which involved writing down a detailed explanation of the evidence that would convince a judge to allow them to enter a suspect's home to search it. The judge had to read it, ask questions, and then sign it before anyone could search Dana's house. After that, he would take Dana to the station and question her. If there was enough evidence, he would arrest her, then send the case with a summary of the evidence to the D.A.'s office so they could make a decision whether to file charges. If there was enough evidence, a prosecutor would file charges against her for murder and from that point the case would be in the hands of the courts.

Jeri told Greco that Dana would be home after 1 p.m. today. She'd told Jeri and Russ that weekend that she had a new job.

“O.K.,” Greco said, trying to keep his mind from leaping ahead. “I'll call you and let you know as soon as there's a decision either way about filing charges.”

Greco wanted to ask Jeri a favor. He asked if she would delay telling Russell about Dana's impending arrest until after she was in custody. He didn't want Dana's father somehow getting ahold of her and tipping her off. Jeri agreed. Then she asked Greco for a favor. Could Greco keep her name out of the newspapers? Greco promised that he would.

Jeri could barely breathe when she hung up the phone. What she didn't tell Greco was that she was afraid of Dana. And she had no idea how she was going to break the news to Russell. Dana was Russell's only daughter. On Sunday, when Dana showed up with newly dyed red hair, something clicked. All of the details Greco had been telling her over the past few weeks suddenly fell into place in the most horrifying way. She tried to put it out of her head. It could not be, she had said to herself. This can't be right. After a sleepless night, Jeri went to a neighbor's house to examine a composite sketch of the woman who had attacked the antique store clerk to see if she could recognize even a hint of Dana's facial features in it. She tried to tell herself that the sketch did not resemble Dana, but it stuck in her mind. Then one last detail nagged her—Greco had said that a stove clerk had seen the suspect driving some sort of black van or sport utility vehicle. On Tuesday, she asked her son what kind of vehicle Dana's boyfriend drove and he told her that Jim drove a dark-colored pick-up truck. Oh my God, Jeri said to herself. She became very agitated and anxious and finally realized there were too many similarities for this to be a coincidence. She confided in her son. He had insisted on calling the police, but she refused. If anyone has to do this, she told him, it's me.
I will do it.

Now Jeri was confused about what to do next. She was frightened that she would be Dana's next victim. She was afraid to go home. She couldn't decide whether to hide out at her son's house or go home. The hard part would be telling Russell. She decided to go home and wait for him so she could break the news. But she would be prepared. She wasn't going to let Dana do to her what she'd done to Nana. Jeri left work early and drove home. The minute she walked in the front door, she set the cordless phone on a table next to her chair in the living room, put the dog on a leash and sat in her chair with a gun in her lap waiting for Russell to come home.

10 A.M.

Dana drove through the well-trimmed gates of Murrieta Hot Springs, down the long drive lined with huge palm trees, and parked by a small sign designating the personnel office. She was wearing a dark flowered print shirt and dark pants. She was neat, clean and professional-looking.

“Hi, I saw an ad in the paper for a waitress.”

“You want an application?”

Dana sized up the woman behind the counter. The last time she had been here, Dana was wearing a brand-new bathing suit, carrying a brand-new beach bag, and getting a massage. She doubted that anyone in the administration office of the resort would recognize her.

“Yes, thank you,” Dana said. She reminded herself that she was only doing this because she was trying to get unemployment benefits. It was humiliating.