To Die For (19 page)

From the kitchen, a hallway led to the bathroom and the master bedroom. Dora was lying on her right side, curled against the bathroom door jamb. Her legs protruded from the bathroom and into the hall, where they rested beneath a dozen family photos. Her left hand was raised against her face, and her fingers—stiff from rigor mortis—were outstretched, frozen in an unsuccessful attempt to ward off the attacker. Her hands, fingers and forearms bore multiple bruises and cuts; blood was caked under her fingernails. She was wearing gray stretch slacks and a light pink shirt. Blood had soaked through the soft gold carpet in the hallway, had splittered low on the walls, had pooled on a purple towel in the bathroom, and had matted the area around Dora's head. So savage was the attack that hanks of gray hair lay on the carpet. Dora's pearl clip-on earrings and her glasses, worn around her neck with a beaded neckchain, had been ripped off during the struggle and had landed on the carpet near her feet. Yellow placards, like dozens of small easels, littered the floor, numbering the beige princess phone and the cord, tied in a slip knot, that lay under her bent left leg, the jewelry, her glasses, the hair and numerous bloodstains.

A gruesome trail of blood splatters and smears and overturned furniture in the master bedroom told Antoniadas where the attack had begun. He thought Dora was assaulted in the bedroom, where a little blue lamp had been knocked off a white-and-gold–trimmed dresser and a metal chair had been overturned. A pencil-holder on the desk was also upended. The attacker probably surprised Dora from behind, strangling her. After that, the struggle moved into the hallway where blood splatters reached hip level along the walls. Dora must have been doubled over when she was struck in the back of the head with the iron. Years ago, when Antoniadas was a young cop on patrol, he had to use his baton to strike a suspect on the shoulder, but when the man turned to run away, Antoniadas struck him squarely on the head, causing blood to spray everywhere. He knew head injuries caused spatters.

Later, when he started investigating homicides, he got many first-hand looks at the forceful spray and the profuse gushing that comes from a hard blow to the head. Just like clusters of stars suggest to an astronomer the origin and velocity of celestial bodies, the constellation of bloodstains dotting Dora's white walls chronicled the order and direction of the attack. Coming up with precise data about space from millions of miles away is about as difficult as looking at a crime scene and deducing an exact order of events that accounts for every injury, every piece of evidence, each blood drop, smear and spatter. Murder scenes have puzzling pieces that don't seem to fit because the action that occurs during a frenzied attack rarely makes much sense. Nevertheless, detectives pride themselves on the hypotheses they form about how murders occurred. While their deductions may never make it to court, they can help them track the killer.

The first set of splatter marks was on the wall just outside Dora's bedroom, slanting slightly downward from left to right. The second set was to the right, covered the door to the linen closet, and slanted at a similar angle. There was much more blood and it covered a larger surface area than the first set of dots. At its lowest point, the dots were much closer to the floor, indicating that after the first blow, when Dora was crouched over, the second blow was delivered while she lay even closer to the floor. The third set of splatter marks on a second door in the hallway showed that the struggle continued to the right. It was about the same level as the second set. The largest bloody carpet stain, at about the center of the hallway, showed where Dora probably collapsed to the floor, bleeding from multiple blows.

From there, the assault moved toward the bathroom. Judging from her body position, it looked as if she had tried to crawl into the bathroom, but she could have been dragged there with the phone cord around her neck. A fourth set of blood splatters had sprayed on the hallway wall just outside the bathroom, indicating that she was on the ground by this time. Those marks were congruent with another large carpet stain. Dora had either continued crawling away, or she'd been rolled over. Next to the open bathroom door, directly across from where she lay, the imprint of her blood-matted hair smeared against the door at floor-level. Next to it was a towel so soaked with blood that one could barely see its original purple color. Dora had come to a rest directly against the bathroom doorway. Bloody smears on the wall inside the bathroom, close to the floor, showed that something had rubbed against the wall. By that point in the attack, Antoniadas thought Dora had to have been either unconscious or dead. The smears could have been made by the killer, whose clothing who would have had a fair amount of blood on it. Dora was left with both eyes blackened and her scalp literally split open. Antoniadas thought that the killer dragged Dora, with the phone cord around her neck, into the bathroom to beat her. It probably didn't take long. Less than a minute. The killer was probably in and out of the house in 10 minutes.

The small bathroom was outfitted with matching light pink chenille for the toilet, rug, and bath mat. Small, pink guest soaps were arranged by the tub. Blood spots lightly dotted the wall, toilet, counter and rug, probably flung when the killer was cleaning up. The yellow numbered tags marking the blood dots were hanging from the wall and the toilet tank; they were propped up on the counter for the photographer. Next to an array of lotions and hand soaps which Dora had put in flowered containers next to the sink, lay the Black & Decker iron, black on top, and shiny, bright chrome on the bottom. It had been neatly deposited in the sink and a bloody flowered towel was hanging from the faucet. Resting next to the iron was a clear bar of golden-hued soap. The hand towel was twisted, wrung out, and plopped over the cold water faucet handle. When an ID tech removed the iron to allow the photographer to take a picture, Antoniadas saw that the left side was dented.

The master bedroom held clues about what happened after the murder. Wallpaper, white with an airy pattern of blue flowers, matched the bedding. Dora's nightstand was largely bare save for a small flashlight, a phone, a clock radio, a tissue box, and three containers of cold remedies. A bulletin board on the wall next to her bed held a big map of Indiana adorned with family photos. Dora's large black purse was unzipped and sitting on her bed, its wallet missing. A desk drawer containing financial statements from Provident Bank had been pulled open. It was the only open drawer. A large black jewelry box on top of a dresser was undisturbed. There were just three small blood dots on the dresser, next to Dora's walker and an old-fashioned hair salon–style bonnet hair dryer. Another tiny blood dot was on a white jacket hanging from the door. More blood dotted the carpet in front of the closet door. Antoniadas thought these drops were, in police parlance, cast-off, meaning that those spots were inadvertently flung from the killer's hands or clothing during the search for valuables after the murder.

As Antoniadas walked through the crime scene with the ID techs, putting together the scene in his mind, he continued stumbling upon details. An ironing board was set up in a second bedroom. The door to that bedroom was shut when the police got there and was one of the areas sprayed with blood in the hallway. Did the killer see the iron in the bedroom and then neatly shut the door before attacking Dora? The iron also could have been stored in the hall closet, which meant that the killer had shut the linen closet door before attacking Dora. But that left the question of why the killer, needing a viable murder weapon in a hurry, would choose to rummage through a linen closet.

The other odd detail was the phone cord. Not only was it still attached to the phone, it had been removed from the victim's neck. If the phone cord had been ripped from the wall, why hadn't the killer unplugged the receiver instead of strangling the victim while it dangled from her neck? Antoniadas thought the cord could have slipped off the victim while the killer used it to drag Dora to the bathroom. There was no sense in driving himself crazy. He'd seen too many crime scenes, too many blood smears he couldn't explain. Murder defied logic.

“The sheriff's here to see you.”

The deputy surprised him. Antoniadas turned around.

“The sheriff?”

“Yes.
The
sheriff,” the deputy said, referring to Sheriff Cois Byrd, the elected sheriff of Riverside County. He rarely came out to crime scenes unless one of his deputies was shot. Antoniadas knew the sheriff was here because he was expecting a lot of publicity. The press would be all over the place in the morning and, with the additional publicity, the community would be in an uproar. Byrd wanted to know what was going on. None of this worried Antoniadas. He was just the detective. Byrd was the politician.

“I'll be right out,” Antoniadas said.

It was 9:41 p.m. Antoniadas stepped outside the house and ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape to greet the sheriff, who was wearing a business suit. He was alone. No entourage—no press people, no secretary, no assistants.

Antoniadas briefed him so that he would be informed enough about the case to talk to the media. This was the third killing of an elderly person in a month. Counting last Thursday's assault on Dorinda Hawkins, it was the fourth attack.

Byrd asked if Antoniadas needed anything and told him what he already knew—they wanted to see this case solved and he had the resources of the department at his disposal for the asking.

A moment passed. Antoniadas asked the sheriff if he wanted to make a walk-through of the crime scene.

Byrd was an elected official, more comfortable making small talk at a political dinner than he was processing a crime scene, but at heart, he was still a cop. Byrd asked, “Is that a good idea?”

“No,” Antoniadas said, breathing a sigh of relief. He didn't like lookey-loos anyway.

Antoniadas went back to work and Byrd stuck around for about an hour. After he left, the sheriff had hamburgers and coffee delivered to the crime scene.

*   *   *

When Greco got back to the interview room, Bentley was still questioning Dana about the bankbook. Greco used a yellow, lined legal pad to write a note to James.

Dora Beebe was killed in Sun City today,
he wrote. James was careful to register no visible response. He scribbled a quick note back to Greco.

“And you see, uh, a checkbook, and you go, ‘What the hell, I might as well cash it,' right? How much did you cash it for?”

“I went to the bank for $2,000,” Dana said.

“Where is the $2,000?”

“At home. I can get it back. I haven't spent any of it.”

“Well, well, that's nice. So, you go in there and you write a check, you, you just show them her I.D. then?”

“No, I didn't,” Dana said. “I didn't have her I.D. I just had the bankbook … I asked her for a savings withdrawal form and I signed it and that was it. They did not ask me for any I.D.”

“And what was the lady's name?”

“Beebe. Beebe.”

“Beebe what?”

“Dora Beebe, or something like that.”

“How do you, how do you spell Beebe?” Bentley asked, also registering no response.

“B-E-B-E,” Dana said.

“OK. What time was that?”

“Let's see. I don't know. I don't know, I can't say. About an hour or so after I … I had her purse when I thought about it, you know, ‘What should I do?' and…”

“Did she…” Bentley began.

“I saw the bankbook and I was tempted,” Dana said.

“But you knew it was wrong,” Bentley said.

“Yes, I knew it was wrong, but I was tempted by that bankbook,” Dana said.

“OK.”

“But I did not take or spend anything of her credit cards or nothing.”

“Now where, now where are all the credit cards and everything?” Greco asked.

“Well, I took the ones I thought,” Dana gave a little laugh and a sigh, “I would try and use, and I put 'em in my house. But I didn't use any of them. I just put 'em away.”

“OK. Where are they in your house?”

“They're in my sock drawer,” Dana said.

“OK,” Bentley said. “This person, you didn't happen to know her?”

“Uh-uh,” Dana said. “Never seen her before.”

Greco shot a sideways glance at McElvain. Dana had just slipped. If she'd just found a bankbook lying around a supermarket parking lot, then she never would have seen the person from whom it was stolen. It was a very incriminating statement. They were sure that Bentley caught it, too, but no one wanted to challenge her yet. They just wanted to keep her talking.

McElvain switched subjects. They knew she'd killed someone today. Today. A few hours before, she was killing Dora Beebe. She had to be feeling some stress. He wanted to push her a little and at least get her to admit using June's credit cards. One of the tactics he and Greco had discussed involved creating a scenario in which Dana would be comfortable admitting that she had used the cards, like saying she was financially strapped or saying that everyone makes mistakes. Suggesting a few excuses can make a suspect comfortable admitting some small steps. Then they could build on those steps and, hopefully, keep pushing the suspect into admitting her entire role in a crime.

“Earlier, you know,” he said slowly, “you were stating things that are contrary to the evidence that we have.”

“Yes,” Dana said. “I think so.”

“And it's not a ‘maybe' mistake. It's not, well, maybe someone looks like me,” he said. “It's definitely you. It's, uh, a lot of us get into positions where we make mistakes, we do things, because of financial difficulties. And that's…”

“I admit I've been very, very stressed,” Dana said.

“OK. And, and I can understand that,” McElvain said. “We've all been in those positions where we get…”

“When I saw that bankbook,” Dana said, interrupting, “I just thought, ‘Yea!' ‘Yippee!'”