Who Killed Chrissy?: The True Crime Memoir of a Pittsburgh girl's Unsolved Murder in Las Vegas (8 page)

Chris
arrived the next day, and she was aggravated and bitchy.  She smacked the door
to my room as she passed by on the way to hers, slammed into her room next door
and threw her bags on the bed in a fit. She said that Marty had known about the
trip, but then disappeared and avoided her so as to possibly get out of feeding
her cat. She did finally corner him and gave him the key to her apartment and
instructions for the cat, so in other words, she had to force him to commit to
doing something for her. I thought that was awful, and wondered why she even
bothered with this creepy self-centered guy. 

I
truly didn’t want to think about Marty right now, the thought made me
nauseous….

So I
quickly changed the subject on her and asked if she wanted to go get something
to eat. Buffets were included in the package, so we got in line for the dining
area at the Holiday Inn.

The
hotel staff was handing out gifts to all the guests, and someone handed Chris a
small toy wind up dog that barked and jumped around the floor; it was the
cutest thing I’d ever seen. I was handed a cosmetic bag and thought I’d ask
Chris to exchange gifts with me since she had no children, and I didn’t think
she’d have any use for the little dog.

She
was winding up the dog quickly and playing with it on the floor when I asked
her, “Why don’t you trade me for the cosmetic bag Chris, my son would just go
nuts over that little dog.”

She
yelled back at me right away in a louder than normal voice, “Why would I want
to give you this dog? I think he’s cute and I’m keeping him.”  I thought she
was joking with me.  But her face morphed into anger a minute later, and I knew
she was serious.

“But
Chris,” I started begging, “please think about how you will never use that
little dog again, and my son would enjoy it so much.” I simply could not fathom
why she would want this dog, except that she just didn’t want me to have it,
and I was having a difficult time believing that she was being so mean about
it. The pure selfishness of this was getting to me. I wasn’t in any way a
selfish person. I didn’t under-stand selfishness on any level.

She
opened her purse and yanked out a half-eaten candy bar, cocked her hip, looked
at me and said, “So should I give you my candy bar, too?  I don’t know why you think
I should share anything with you—get your own.”

The
embarrassment I felt while standing in the lobby of the hotel was too much for
me, and even though I was starving and hadn’t eaten all day, I wanted to walk
away. She was loud and obnoxious, and she wasn’t going to quit.

My
mouth hung open and I left the dinner line and walked back to my room where I
sat on the bed and cried. I simply couldn’t believe her cockiness, her
arrogance and her outright horrible attitude. I had not seen this behavior
before in Chris, but then again, I didn’t know her well. I wanted to go home. 
She was acting like she had suddenly become possessed by demons, and I didn’t
get it; I didn’t understand it.

I
had never seen this side of Chris, because if I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here
in Vegas with her by my side—no way. I didn’t hang with people like this; it
wasn’t in my book of rules for friendships.  She was not herself, not the
person I knew, and it was slowly sinking in that I didn’t know her, and hadn’t
known her, and that I should just make the best out of my vacation here in
Vegas with or without her. I didn’t have a problem with that; I was independent
enough to not allow that to matter to me. I could chalk it up to not knowing
enough about someone’s real personality—that’s all it was—and I could avoid her
for the rest of the vacation. She gave me the feeling now that she was running
wild in a strange city, and I was uncomfortable with that feeling. I knew that
when you were unfamiliar with your surroundings you should proceed with caution
on every level.

The
next morning Chris banged on my door. She was all dressed and ready to go to
the pool at Caesar’s, and I could see she had forgotten yesterday’s incident.
“Hey, let’s just hang out and see who we can see over there, and I’m going to
try and get some tickets to the fights.”

I
was cautious of her now, more reserved and more defensive, anticipating more
bizarre behavior from her. I said, “Look Chris, it’s obvious to me that we are
not here together on a vacation; we are here separately, and I’m not sure I am
enjoying that so much, also I think that it’s dangerous. I used to live in New
York City, and I can tell you that you shouldn’t be making friends with people
around here; too many transients come through this town.  Just be careful
please.”

Chris
looked puzzled, “You can do what you want, and I’m doing what I want, OKAY?”….

She
turned abruptly and walked away towards the elevator.

I
wasn’t one to argue with anyone about their impulsive behavior. I didn’t care.

I
got ready quickly and met her in the lobby of the hotel.  We hailed a taxi and
headed to Caesar’s Palace for an afternoon of sunshine and stargazing.

I
walked directly towards the pool at Caesar’s while Chris said she’d meet back
in the lobby in two hours. When I returned to the lobby I saw her sitting at
the bar with several men who appeared to be with the Holmes Cooney fights. She
introduced me and one of the men bought me a drink. 

Shortly
after I sat down, the men left and Chris was smiling and happy.

She showed
me two tickets to the fights, and I didn’t say a word, waiting for her to offer
the explanation if she wanted to give one….

Chris
sat there and finished her soda—she didn’t drink alcohol. I wanted to ask how
she maneuvered those tickets, but before I could verbalize it, she turned to me
and said, “I have agreed to give this promoter guy a deep tissue massage, and
it’s going to be my first professional gig as a masseuse.  I am going to buy
the white shirt and pants, and he has informed me that the hotel will send up a
table to his penthouse suite. I’m really excited.”

I
didn’t say anything. Honestly, I didn’t care how she got the tickets; I wasn’t
planning on being in Vegas for the fights. She could go her own way. I didn’t
care anymore what she did. I was tagging along half interested in her
escapades.

In
the taxi on our way back to the hotel, I casually asked Chris how she was
planning to stay longer than the five-day vacation package, and she told me she
was already looking around for a weekly rate at a place that rents studio
apartments. I didn’t know if she had included me in this scenario, and it
didn’t matter. I wasn’t interested in boxing, and I was thinking about getting
back home to Pittsburgh.  We only had one day left at the Holiday Inn on the
Strip, and the rooms were too expensive to purchase for an extended stay. 

I
realized at this point that Chris had not planned on including me for the
Holmes Cooney fights at Caesar’s Palace on June 11. I knew that she had planned
on being in Vegas for the fights all along. It didn’t sink in until I tallied
up the calendar days in my mind and figured out that our package would run out
long before the June 11 fight date.  It didn’t matter; I never paid attention
to her when she was blabbing about the fights because it just didn’t interest
me.  However, I believe that the fights were something she was thinking about
for a long while, and they were important to her.

I
was perfectly content with my own little world of pretend glamour, and she
could stay in her own little world of rough and tough pursuits—no problem.

The
next day Chris was nowhere to be found. I got dressed and went to Caesar’s to
the pool, and while there met a couple from Los Angeles who were vacationing
for a month. Kathy and Larry Roberts said they had rented a house in the
suburbs about thirty minutes from the Strip, and told me I was invited for
sunbathing and lunch anytime if I wanted to escape the busy atmosphere of the
city. They were friendly and courteous, most likely around the same age as me,
in their early to mid-thirties, but I had no expectations of anything with
these people other than casual chitchat.  I needed to take my mind off the
situation with Chris, and this was the perfect distraction. I had no intention
of giving these two people any personal information, nor was I going anywhere
with them other than hanging out in the casino. I imagined this particular
scenario was common in Vegas—people chatting and touring together, and I felt
comfortable with the very casual nature of the relationship.

Kathy
was a small, petite woman with light brown shoulder length hair, who wore
colorful shorts and tops with different designs on them.  Not something I would
wear but she always looked neat and manicured. Her friendly smile stood out for
me, she had nice teeth and wore peach lipstick like I did. Larry was common
looking, a bit taller than me at under six foot, with darker brown hair, dark-colored,
thick-rimmed glasses and a boney looking face. Neither one was glamorous, both
seemed like normal people, and they mentioned they had been to Vegas before,
which to me was a big plus for informational purposes….

The
three of us spent the day playing the slots and then they invited me to try my
hand at Baccarat, which I’d never even heard of. I sat there and called out
guesses when they told me to. I had spent about fifty bucks enjoying myself,
and within an hour I had won eleven hundred dollars at a game that I never
heard of. I was overjoyed and took the money to Western Union the next day and wired
it home to my mother. I did not want to have that kind of cash on my person in
Vegas, and I had enough of my own money left that I didn’t need it.

When
I arrived back at the hotel, Chris was in the buffet line and I asked her what
she was planning to do. She said, “I found a cheap place called Woodbridge Inn
Apartments that’s within walking distance of the Strip for a hundred bucks a
week; don’t you want to stay longer? Aren’t you having fun?”

I
guess I was having fun, getting tan and enjoying myself, but I felt guilty as
hell about staying longer and spending more money. Money I shouldn’t have been
spending in the first place. But hell, half of one hundred was only fifty
bucks, and I assumed she wanted a roommate to share the studio apartment, so I told
her I’d stay a little longer—I had just won eleven hundred dollars and I felt
good.

I
confess I had secret thoughts of winning more money playing the slots because I
could not have sat in on a game of Baccarat and known what to do by myself. I
did enjoy the slots and had been accumulating the silver dollars that I won. I
had planned on taking home as many as possible for my son; I knew he’d enjoy
them, and he’d think they were a valuable exotic treasure that mom had brought
him.

Kathy
Roberts had given me her phone number if I wanted to meet at the casino, and I
was fantasizing about winning more money.

I
phoned my mom to see if she would mind watching my son for another week. She
told me to enjoy myself, but then added, “I had a very strange dream the other
night, and I just want you to be careful out there.”

“What
kind of dream Mom, what was it about?” I was curious, but half-interested.

My
mom was a lapsed Catholic who didn’t go to church anymore, and it wasn’t like
her to tell me about religious dreams, so I felt it odd when she told me she
woke up in the middle of the night for no reason, glanced at the floor next to
her bed and saw the illuminated face of Jesus. She said she lay awake and
prayed for my safety after this experience. I knew that she was just worried
about me being away from home, and put the entire conversation out of my mind.
The only thing I wanted to hear was that she was fine with watching my son. I
felt secure with him being with my mom.

I
had nothing to worry about.  My son was safe with Mom and I was having fun.

We
both packed up our suitcases and headed for Woodbridge Inn Apartments at 700 E.
Flamingo Road via a short taxi ride. The Woodbridge Inn was within walking
distance of Caesar’s Palace.

A
fter moving our luggage to the new location, we
hurriedly yanked our bikinis out of our bags and onto our bodies and headed to
the pool. Each section of the apartment complex had a pool area with hot tub,
laundry room and rambling pathways leading to the next section of units. Our
small studio apartment was on the second level, up a flight of stairs, similar
to a motel setting. The entire complex looked like a glorified motel.