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The Gate House :: Demille Nelson
Страница: 481 из 490” Then Detective Jones might inquire, “What did you mean by ‘take care of him’?”
Of course, we were not officially suspects in a homicide, but someone was dead, so Susan and I needed to be careful of what we said.
I’d already told Susan, before the first detective arrived, to state unequivocally that she believed our lives were in danger and that was why she’d shot a man who was not actually armed at the moment she shot him. I further advised her, as her attorney, to state that the perpetrator had ignored her command to stop and put up his hands and that he lunged at her.
This was no small technicality, unfortunately, and I didn’t want the grand jury to have any doubts. The reality, of course, was that Susan was aiming for his heart, then wanted to finish off Anthony with a shotgun blast to the face. I certainly understood why she’d want to do that, but I wasn’t sure if the police or the district attorney would understand – especially considering her unjustifiable murder of the alleged assailant’s father.
Bottom line here was that Susan Stanhope, nice lady that she was, had another side to her personality, which she’d shown ten years ago and which, I hoped, would not show itself again for a while.
As Susan related her story, Ms. Donnelly jotted a few notes and so did the Homicide Squad supervisor, Lieutenant Kennedy, but they let Susan do all the talking.
Susan reached the point in her story when Anthony Bellarosa and Tony Rosini literally dragged her up the stairs and into the bedroom, pulled off her robe and panties, and tied her to the bedposts.
I could see that Ms. Donnelly, too young to be hardened yet by stories of human depravity, was visibly upset. I thought of Carolyn and wondered what a few more years in the Brooklyn DA’s office would do to her.
Susan, too, was becoming upset at this point in her story, but she took a deep breath and pushed on. She said, “Bellarosa tied me facedown on the bed, then used a belt – I think John’s belt – to beat me on the buttocks…”
I stood and said, “I haven’t heard this, and I don’t need to. Please let me know when Mrs. Sutter comes to the point where I enter the bedroom.”
I left the office and went outside for some air. By now, there were a half dozen police cars in the forecourt and a number of crime scene vehicles, but the ambulance was gone, and I assumed that they’d taken Anthony’s body to the morgue. Well, I thought, if they didn’t take too long with the autopsy, then Anthony and Uncle Sal could be waked together, maybe in the same funeral home in Brooklyn where Frank had reposed.
Of course, we were not officially suspects in a homicide, but someone was dead, so Susan and I needed to be careful of what we said.
I’d already told Susan, before the first detective arrived, to state unequivocally that she believed our lives were in danger and that was why she’d shot a man who was not actually armed at the moment she shot him. I further advised her, as her attorney, to state that the perpetrator had ignored her command to stop and put up his hands and that he lunged at her.
This was no small technicality, unfortunately, and I didn’t want the grand jury to have any doubts. The reality, of course, was that Susan was aiming for his heart, then wanted to finish off Anthony with a shotgun blast to the face. I certainly understood why she’d want to do that, but I wasn’t sure if the police or the district attorney would understand – especially considering her unjustifiable murder of the alleged assailant’s father.
Bottom line here was that Susan Stanhope, nice lady that she was, had another side to her personality, which she’d shown ten years ago and which, I hoped, would not show itself again for a while.
As Susan related her story, Ms. Donnelly jotted a few notes and so did the Homicide Squad supervisor, Lieutenant Kennedy, but they let Susan do all the talking.
Susan reached the point in her story when Anthony Bellarosa and Tony Rosini literally dragged her up the stairs and into the bedroom, pulled off her robe and panties, and tied her to the bedposts.
I could see that Ms. Donnelly, too young to be hardened yet by stories of human depravity, was visibly upset. I thought of Carolyn and wondered what a few more years in the Brooklyn DA’s office would do to her.
Susan, too, was becoming upset at this point in her story, but she took a deep breath and pushed on. She said, “Bellarosa tied me facedown on the bed, then used a belt – I think John’s belt – to beat me on the buttocks…”
I stood and said, “I haven’t heard this, and I don’t need to. Please let me know when Mrs. Sutter comes to the point where I enter the bedroom.”
I left the office and went outside for some air. By now, there were a half dozen police cars in the forecourt and a number of crime scene vehicles, but the ambulance was gone, and I assumed that they’d taken Anthony’s body to the morgue. Well, I thought, if they didn’t take too long with the autopsy, then Anthony and Uncle Sal could be waked together, maybe in the same funeral home in Brooklyn where Frank had reposed.