Follow the courtroom drama of a capital offense.  Join an investigative reporter as he unravels the case.  Observe the tormented mind of protagonist Lucy Davis as she weaves her life through the homeless streets of Phoenix and murder.

Chapter 1:  The Move

          “Killin’s too good for her. They ought to torture her first!” the man’s voice bellowed from the radio.

          “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme, Al?” asked the deep voice of Jeff Jeffers, radio host and commentator. “We have something in this country called Due Process. Ever hear of that?”

          “Yeah, sure, due process for a child killer. Don’t think so. Shoot her in the head, I say. Let her suffer like that little boy.”

           “Sorry Al, that’s all we have time for tonight. This is Jeff Jeffers, your KFYI host with the most provocative and controversial debates coming your way -- live from the Valley of the Sun. Tonight we’ve been discussing Debra Milke.  A Mother who told her four year old son that he was going to see Santa Claus.  When all along she conspired with Jim Styers and Roger Scott to take the child to the desert and shoot him in the head...”

           Lucy Davis, dressed in a T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, stretched out on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She reached over and turned off her favorite radio program, sorry she hadn’t called- in to voice her opinion on how Debra Milke deserved to die. But she could always phone in tomorrow and give her opinion about something else.

           She loved talk radio. It connected her to the world. Otherwise, she felt isolated, always had. She’d never found it easy to talk to people. But with talk radio she could speak her mind and not worry whether others looked down on her as the scrawny, plain looking gal from Butte, Montana. When she was on the phone, she could always hang up, something she could never do in a face to face conversation.

           Only once before had talk radio really upset her -- after she called-in. Everything went fine until the DJ turned the entire discussion around and made Lucy look foolish. The program dealt with people who humiliate their families in one way or another. Lucy naturally thought of her older sister Tracy who, about eight years earlier, had run off to Idaho with a preacher’s son and then returned home pregnant.

           The family had been scandalized. Nothing so embarrassing had ever happened to a Davis, not since an uncle had deserted the Army during the Korean War. But that was kept quiet. Everyone in Butte who knew the Davis Family -- every relative, member of the Sunnyside Baptist Church, every neighbor and classmate alike -- knew about the pregnancy. Lucy felt ashamed of her older sister and the pain she had caused their parents.

           With Tracy in mind, Lucy called psychologist Beth Meyerson, KZAM, and offered the story. Then Beth asked Lucy about her love life, discovering Lucy had never had a steady boyfriend. In fact, she had dated one time in her life.  Her best friend Cathy had arranged the blind date, just after high school.  During the entire evening Lucy had felt unbearably shy, while her date couldn't wait to take her home.

           “Don’t you think you might be jealous of your sister’s free spirit?” Beth Meyerson asked.

           “What?” Lucy said, shocked at the turn of events.  She thought she'd get sympathy from Beth, not ridicule.

           “Lucy, what do you think? Is it so terrible to run off and have a child? Sorry Lucy, but sometimes you need to look at your own reactions to a family crisis. Perhaps you’ve been too harsh....”

           The words pierced Lucy’s ears, even after she hung up the phone and turned off the radio. How had her call become so twisted around? Why had Meyerson suddenly examined Lucy's own behavior? Never again did she listen to the Beth Meyerson Hour.

           “Cards are dealt,” a woman called through the house, her voice raspy from decades of smoking.

           For nearly a year, Lucy had been living with her father’s sister, Lucinda Bowers, who was also a great fan of talk radio and TV talk-shows. It was Lucinda, in fact, who started her niece listening to the Jeff Jeffers Hour.

           Tonight, Lucy had promised her aunt a game of gin rummy and she felt obligated to play. After all, Lucinda had invited her to Mesa to live rent free. And as it turned out, Lucy liked the desert, though the summer was hard to take -- but not nearly as difficult as a Montana blizzard.

           “Lucy,” the aunt called impatiently from the kitchen. Once the Jeffers Hour ended at eight o’clock, Lucinda grew steadily tired. If she wanted to play cards, she had to get started.

           Lucinda Bowers was as addicted to cards as she was to talk shows and Friday night bingo at the church. Every Tuesday evening she met her friends from Bethany Church for a game of rummy. On Thursday afternoons the same women met for a game of Pinochle, during the Donahue Show. Throughout the rest of the week, Lucinda made sure she played two or three games of gin rummy with her niece.

           Lucinda never had any children of her own. Hadn’t been able to and she never remarried after her husband died when she was 36. In many ways the fifty-six year old widow felt responsible for Lucy, her namesake. Her niece lived in a world of her own, a world that no one, except maybe the cat Sylvester, could enter. Lucy never made any friends and her parents had always give more attention to Tracy, the pretty and popular daughter. So unlike Lucy.

           During summer visits to Butte, Lucinda had paid special attention to Lucy, hoping to win over the shy little girl. But Lucy had always seemed so remote, as if her aunt were a stranger. This had disappointed Lucinda, time and time again, but it also made her more determined to gain her niece’s affection. And now, she had done just that, by opening her home to Lucy.  By taking care for her delicate little niece.  By being Lucy's friend.

           Lucy entered the kitchen, a long narrow room with dishes and stacks of newspapers along the counter by the sink.  On the refrigerator, under a collection of magnets, were receipts, shopping lists and pictures of Lucy as a child.  There were no pictures of Tracy, or the baby she gave up for adoption.  

           Lucy's aunt sat at a small metal table in one corner of the room. Beside her was a Sonny radio cassette player tuned to KYFI.  “Hope they put that woman to death,” Lucinda said, fanning the cards in her hand. Her gray hair was pinned in curls and she smelled of a recently smoked cigarette. 

           It was an ongoing controversy: Whenever Lucinda complained about the litter box odor, Lucy argued that the house reeked of cigarette smoke, even though Lucinda had agreed to smoke outside the house or in her own bedroom.  Lucinda hated upsetting her niece, especially when it came to Sylvester.  

           Lucy had rescued the cat from the pound, after arguing about it with Lucinda.

           “They stink and shed hair all over the place. I've seen it at Mrs. Bomrock's house and I don't want it here,” Lucinda had insisted.

           “But these animals need a home,” Lucy had argued. “Besides, Mrs. Bomrock has five cats! One cat won’t hurt this place. And cats are very clean animals. They bury their shit in litter boxes?”

           In the end, Lucinda agreed to the cat and eventually accepted it as part of the household. At times, Lucy even caught her aunt talking to Sylvester as if he were a grandchild.

           Lucinda pulled her pink corded bathrobe around her chest and said, “Imagine telling a child he’s going to see Santa Claus, then taking him out to the desert and shooting him in the head. Point blank. Makes me sick to think about it.”

           “Yeah, they’ll get death,” Lucy replied, sorting her cards at the small kitchen table. “Both of them.”

           “Can’t get rid of a child cause you don’t want him around. Not like an animal or something. Lord, that woman never should’ve had children to begin with.”

           Lucy merely nodded, not wanting to talk about the Milke case anymore, especially to her aunt who might start whimpering about being a childless widow. It was too depressing. So she matter-of-factly asked her aunt what she had done that day. It had been a day filled with Sally, Phil and a visit to the Price Club to buy kitchen towels.

           Lucinda held up the eight cards, eying her niece for signs of gin. She knew how tricky Lucy could be at a hand of rummy. And Lucinda hated to lose when she was so close to winning.

           “How was work?” Lucinda asked. She slowly drew a card and disposed of another.

           Lucy looked up from her fanned out cards.  She liked working at the Rabies Control Center, a job Lucinda helped her land, through a member of Lucinda's church.  

           A few months earlier, Lucy had been certified as a Lab Technician and she now helped destroy unwanted animals.  It was a very tough job, but too many unwanted animals were dumped off at the pound, daily.  Besides, Lucy felt that downing animals would prepare her for nursing, a career she hoped to have, one day, after she saved enough money and felt better prepared to enter college.  High School had been the worst time of her life and the idea of facing a similar experience nearly paralyzed her.   

           “I shoveled shit and helped euthanize a few dozen cats and dogs.  Lots of real cute puppies.”  Though Lucy was grateful that Lucinda's friend, Mr. Diehl, had got her the job -- there was only so much you could say about the downing of animals, a point Lucinda never quite remembered. 

           “Just askin doll. Don’t get touchy.”

           Lucy looked at her aunt, “I’m not being touchy. Now play."  At times like this, Lucy knew she couldn’t stay with Lucinda much longer.  She was 25 and needed to live on her own, something she had never done before. It was time to be with people her own age, not with Lucinda and her cigarette smoking, card playing friends who discussed what they bought at the Price Club.

           “Gin,” Lucinda pounced her cards on the table.

           Lucy merely added up the points.  She really didn’t care about winning or losing -- though she never hinted that gin was a silly game she played to humor her aunt.  That would be too cruel, Lucy knew, and she owed her aunt too much gratitude to spoil the older woman’s enjoyment. 

***

           “This is your host, Jeff Jeffers, with the most provocative and controversial radio talk show anywhere at any time....”

           Lucy and Lucinda listened from the kitchen table, two phones sat before them -- one from Lucinda's bedroom.

           “Tonight’s guest is Dr. Brent Johnson, psychiatrist and renowned professor at Brown University,” Jeffers said. “His recent book -- Who’s at Fault? Who’s to Blame? -- deals in part with the heartbreak of the adulterer. It’s now number nine on the New York Times Best Seller list. Congratulations, Dr. Johnson.”

           “Thank you, Jeff.”

           “Dr. Johnson, your book raises an interesting point. Usually we consider the heartbreak of the victim, not the betrayer. I understand you’ve interviewed over two thousand adulterers in the past two years while compiling this book. Were any of them patients?”

           “Well, obviously Jeff, I’m not at liberty to disclose who they were. That would be betrayal,” he chuckled, “but seriously, most responses came through my surveys in Cosmopolitan and Gentleman’s Quarterly.”

           “I see. As you say in your book, and I quote, ‘…often the adulterer bears the most pain and sorrow, especially when the innocent spouse is unaware of the infidelity.’ Do you mind commenting on that?”

           “Ha, imagine,” Lucinda broke in, “an adulterer feeling pain and sorrow.”  To Lucinda, adultery was sin against the Lord’s commandment. Had her husband lived, she could hardly imagine him betraying her. Nor could she see herself betray his memory by gallivanting around with another man. Her life was simple, peaceful, and she intended to keep it that way.

           Lucy shushed her aunt and picked up the phone. It had been a week since her last call-in and she felt like talking with Mr. Jeffers. She would explain how devastated she’d be if her one true love cheated on her. And it would be “true love,” she reasoned, or no love at all. She wasn’t the type of girl to casually go out with just anyone.

           “... and so we’re left to think of the unoffending spouse as the victim,” Dr. Johnson spoke, “but as a patient of mine once said, ‘the worst heartbreak is to betray someone you love.’”

           “Yes, I see. But then why betray in the first place, if it brings such pain?” Jeffers asked.

           “Right,” Lucy said, as she dialed 555-KYFI.

           This time Lucinda hushed her to be quiet.

           “If it were so easy to do right, no one would ever do anything wrong,” said Dr. Johnson from the radio.

           “And so you’re saying the adulterer is the real victim. I think most of our listeners will find that hard to swallow. I for one do.”

           “No no no,” Johnson replied. “Don’t you see, everyone’s a victim. That is, anyone with a conscience.”

           “Hard to appreciate all this Doctor. But let’s open the discussion to our listeners and see how they feel. First caller is a Mr. Wayne Halston from Deer Valley. Mr. Halston, are you there?”

           “Yes. Good evening, Jeff,” the voice spoke. “First, I want to say I enjoy your program. Listen to it every night.”

           “Thank you, Wayne. And good evening. What do you have to ask our guest tonight?”

           “Well, Doctor Johnson. I think you’re full of it! There’s only one victim when someone’s unfaithful. And that’s the innocent person. Not the person who cheats.  Not the Guilty Party.”

           Lucinda nodded, intently listening to the program.

           “I’m next,” Lucy told her aunt.

           “It’s our old friend Ms. Lucy Davis from the animal shelter….”

           “No, that’s the Rabies/Animal Control shelter…”

           “Oh, OK… And you’re the Rabies Lady?” Jeffers laughed, amusing Lucy. “How you doing out there, Lucy? Good to hear from you.”

           “Fine, thanks, Mr. Jeffers,” Lucy motioned for her aunt to turn down the radio.

           Lucinda picked up her bedroom phone to listen.

           “Well, Lucy, do you agree with our doctor here?”

           Lucy appreciated how Jeffers led the caller into the discussion, encouraging their responses. He had much more style than that Beth Meyerson.  When he did ridicule a caller it was for a very good reason. Like the time that idiot called in ranting about this oil refinery north of Phoenix. Jeffers reminded the caller, in a clear and sarcastic voice, that clean oil helps lower air pollution and refineries clean oil, and, “don’t let us forget, the refinery out there is providing lots of people with jobs!”

           “Doctor,” Lucy said. “I think you’re misplacing sympathy…. You're doing all of us a disservice. I mean, why should we care about the guy who commits adultery? He’s not the victim. He’s the culprit.”

           “But consider this,” Lucy heard Dr. Johnson over the phone, “doesn’t everyone suffer in the long run?”

           “Of course,” Lucy faltered a moment trying to recall the point she had wanted to make. “But by giving some sleazy guy all this attention, we forget about the real victim. The innocent person. Right?”

           “Let’s look at it this way, Ms. Davis. Have you ever been hurt by someone? A boyfriend, lover?”

           “Well, no,” she grew uncomfortable.  It had turned personal and she didn’t want to get caught in another trap about herself.  She had to focus entirely on the issue.

           “Are you married?”

           “Well, no.”

          "Do you have a boyfriend now, Ms. Davis?”

           “Well....” Lucy neared her hand to the receiver, ready to hang up. Lucinda desperately waved to stop her.

           “Does our friend Lucy Davis have a boyfriend?” Jeffers voice sounded over the phone and radio. “We’ll find this out after a break....”

           Lucy held the phone away, flustered, as if face to face with someone.

           Lucinda again motioned her not to hang up, but it was too late. Lucy couldn’t bear revealing her personal life on the radio. It had happened before and she swore it would never happen again.

           “Now why’d you go and do that?” Lucinda asked, disappointed. “You could’a lied if you wanted to. Don’t have to say what’s true on talk radio.”

           “Awh forget it,” Lucy said as Lucinda turned the radio back up. Lucy wasn’t sure she wanted to listen, fearing the worst, but she couldn’t remove herself from the kitchen.

           “...Ms. Lucy. Are you there?” Jeffers voice called from the radio. “Well folks, it appears our friend is no longer with us. Let’s assume then, she has no boyfriend. No wonder she can’t sympathize with the adulterer. Right Dr. Johnson?”

           “Turn it off!” Lucy screamed, leaping from her chair to turn off the radio.

           Lucinda stopped her, grabbing her arm. “I have a right to listen. It’s my house.....”

           “Right,” Lucy responded, soberly pulling away. She then left for her bedroom and slammed the door.

           As she lay on her bed, her mind spun with Jeff Jeffers' ridiculing words, "she has no boyfriend," and her aunt's “this is my house.”  The the situation was unbearable.  She had no choice now, but to make a change.

           Before long Sylvester scratched at the door. She let him in and lay back on the bed. The large cat pounced up beside her and nudged her hand with his head as if saying, “I'm here.  It's me.  Nothing else matters.”  She scratched him, but still felt miserable.  For too long she'd avoided changing things that just weren’t right -- lack of friends, living with an old aunt and lack of a love life. She even resented her parents for being such country bumpkins.

           She held the cat above her.  Tomorrow she would make changes, she vowed, uplifting her spirits somewhat. She’d look for an apartment and maybe enroll in nursing school, or at least find a less depressing job.

           The next day she asked an officer at the shelter about finding an inexpensive apartment in the area. “Try a roommate,” the older man suggested. “The ASU paper has ads.”

           Lucy considered the matter, dreading the possibility of sharing an apartment with a stranger.  However, she would do so, if she failed to find an inexpensive studio near the Shelter.  She had to move from Lucinda’s home and make a life of her own.

           Over the next several days, Lucy spent her lunch hour checking into nearby apartments. She didn’t want to make Lucinda suspicious by coming home late from work.  She wanted to avoid the confrontation, knowing Lucinda  would hate seeing her move away, despite what she had said.

           Within a week Lucy found an inexpensive studio near Durango Street, not far from the shelter.  The place was perfect, except pets weren’t allowed, but Lucy figured she’d sneak Sylvester in. No one would know the difference. He was a quiet, older cat that asked for little more than food, water and a comfortable place on Lucy’s bed.

           The following Saturday morning, Lucy broke the news to her aunt, and packed her things for the move.

           “Sweetheart,” Lucinda protested, "you can’t leave. I need you here. You’re my little girl... and we’ve had such a short time together. Not even a year.”

           Lucy said nothing as she collected her novels around the house, her things in the bathroom and a few dishes from the kitchen. Lucinda followed her around at first and again apologized for saying "it's my house." But her efforts were fruitless.

           Lucy was already on her own, for the first time in her life. And though she did love her aunt, the only family member who ever even took notice of Lucy, she had no time for sentiment.

           Lucinda finally retreated to her bedroom, refusing to acknowledge that Lucy was moving away.

           “I’m leaving now,” Lucy shouted from behind her aunt's bedroom door. She held Sylvester’s carrying case in one hand and a shopping bag of magazines and paper plates in the other. “Aunt Lucy, I’ll visit you every week, for a game of rummy.... And, you’ll come visit me. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

           Lucinda kept silent in her room, so Lucy left the house and placed Sylvester on the passenger seat of her green 1980 Toyota. The car had been a gift from Lucinda, when Lucy first arrived from Butte.

           Before taking off, Lucy paused in the driver's seat, somewhat nervous that she was actually on her own. "Well, this is it kid," she said to Sylvester. He meowed from his carrier.

           Suddenly, Lucinda appeared at the side door of the house, wearing her pink corduroy bathrobe. She walked up to the car, though it was beginning to rain.

           Lucy quickly unrolled the window.

           The older woman placed one hundred dollars in Lucy's hand. Her reddened eyes sadly gazed at Lucy. It seemed she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.  It seemed as if Lucinda were seeing her niece for the last time.

           “Thanks,” Lucy finally said. “It's not all that bad.  We’ll spend Christmas together.”

           The older woman smiled and backed from the car, then returned to the house, just as it started to pour.

           "I love you,” Lucy called from behind. She pitied the older woman. But she had more important matters to worry about now. She had to pay her rent, buy her food and fall in love with someone.

           When Lucinda was back inside the house, Lucy backed from the driveway and headed for her new apartment across town. It had been an exhausting morning.  She felt emotionally put upon by her aunt and the day was only half over. She would probably be too exhausted that night to listen to the radio or watch television. Most likely, she and Sylvester would plop on the hide-a-bed sofa and quickly fall asleep.

© 2000 by Teresa Allen. All Rights Reserved.

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(last edit:  12-22-00:  Merry 2001 Holiday Season!)