calm. Throughout a barrage of questions, she stuck to her story, appearing somewhat distraught, yet eager to help. She didn't know why John Sharp had cooked up that story about her making him lie, but supposed it was because he was mad at her because she'd asked him to move. And she certainly knew nothing about the bones they'd unearthed, in fact, she suggested, once they found out how old the bones were, they'd find that she had nothing to do with it.
Frustrated, Cabrera told Mrs. Puente that he held her accountable for the bones they'd found. He tried a bluff. "Dorothea, I know if we dig, we're going to find more," he said ominously. "I know that, I know that."
"Well, I didn't put 'em there," she replied. "I couldn't drag a body any place."
No one had said anything about "dragging" bodies.
"I believe that," he conceded, "but I believe there's somebody else involved here. Somebody else. Because here's people that are still getting checks and they haven't even been seen, hide nor hair, Dorothea. You have to look at it from my view, dear. I look at it, and I think, nothing makes sense."
"Sir," she interjected with dignity, "I have not killed anybody."
This seemed to be going nowhere, but Cabrera pressed on, raising questions about the whereabouts of Ben Fink.
Dorothea maintained that she'd kicked him out of the house, and he'd gone up to Marysville "I told him not to ever come back on the property," she explained.
She looked awfully old and small to be a killer And with each of Cabrera's questions, she'd blink uncomprehendingly , blameless as a house cat, then offer up some semi-plausible reply. Asked about finding in her yard a curious amount of corrosive lime (a substance used in treating sewage, which might also be used to dissolve human tissue), Puente explained that she was using the lime to "soften the dirt."
She also made extravagant proposals: They could tap her phone, she suggested, so they could monitor any incoming calls from Bert. Or, she offered, she could hire a contractor to dig up the yard, so they could see she had nothing to hide. And of course she had no problem with taking a polygraph examination, though she thought it might be better to wait until Monday, to give her nerves a chance to settle.
At times, Cabrera goaded her about her criminal record. He even claimed that they'd known about bodies in her yard for a whole year, which seemed to startle Mrs. Puente.
Finally, the interview wound down, Dorothea seeming tired. "Well," she said wistfully, "I wish Mr. Montoya would show up right now."
"I just don't think he's going to," Cabrera replied.
"He is, he is," she insisted. "I believe in God, and I know he's going to show up."
Cabrera remembered something else, "Okay, one thing I need to ask you is, ah, we'd like to dig some more, okay?"
She nodded.
"And that might entail, ah, digging up that concrete where those flowers are."
"That's okay."
"Okay, do you have any problem with us digging, or—"
"No."
"None whatsoever?"
"No."
"Because you don't have to let us."
"Look, I want to get this over with."
Meanwhile, the investigation at 1426 F Street was becoming something of a spectacle. Bright yellow police tape cordoned off the crime scene, announcing to all who drove past on busy F Street that something was up. Now crime scene investigators had arrived, and other officers stepped aside as they methodically examined the site, plotting diagrams, taking photographs, measuring and marking locations. City workers had arrived, and since rain was on the way, a protective canopy was quickly erected over the grave site.
Of course, a body cannot be discovered within a mile of the state capitol without the press showing up. Damp reporters strained against the police tape, calling across to various people at the scene who looked to be in the know. They queried and scribbled, working for the facts, hoping for a scoop, while brazen cameramen stomped about, looking for the best angles.
Next-door
Frustrated, Cabrera told Mrs. Puente that he held her accountable for the bones they'd found. He tried a bluff. "Dorothea, I know if we dig, we're going to find more," he said ominously. "I know that, I know that."
"Well, I didn't put 'em there," she replied. "I couldn't drag a body any place."
No one had said anything about "dragging" bodies.
"I believe that," he conceded, "but I believe there's somebody else involved here. Somebody else. Because here's people that are still getting checks and they haven't even been seen, hide nor hair, Dorothea. You have to look at it from my view, dear. I look at it, and I think, nothing makes sense."
"Sir," she interjected with dignity, "I have not killed anybody."
This seemed to be going nowhere, but Cabrera pressed on, raising questions about the whereabouts of Ben Fink.
Dorothea maintained that she'd kicked him out of the house, and he'd gone up to Marysville "I told him not to ever come back on the property," she explained.
She looked awfully old and small to be a killer And with each of Cabrera's questions, she'd blink uncomprehendingly , blameless as a house cat, then offer up some semi-plausible reply. Asked about finding in her yard a curious amount of corrosive lime (a substance used in treating sewage, which might also be used to dissolve human tissue), Puente explained that she was using the lime to "soften the dirt."
She also made extravagant proposals: They could tap her phone, she suggested, so they could monitor any incoming calls from Bert. Or, she offered, she could hire a contractor to dig up the yard, so they could see she had nothing to hide. And of course she had no problem with taking a polygraph examination, though she thought it might be better to wait until Monday, to give her nerves a chance to settle.
At times, Cabrera goaded her about her criminal record. He even claimed that they'd known about bodies in her yard for a whole year, which seemed to startle Mrs. Puente.
Finally, the interview wound down, Dorothea seeming tired. "Well," she said wistfully, "I wish Mr. Montoya would show up right now."
"I just don't think he's going to," Cabrera replied.
"He is, he is," she insisted. "I believe in God, and I know he's going to show up."
Cabrera remembered something else, "Okay, one thing I need to ask you is, ah, we'd like to dig some more, okay?"
She nodded.
"And that might entail, ah, digging up that concrete where those flowers are."
"That's okay."
"Okay, do you have any problem with us digging, or—"
"No."
"None whatsoever?"
"No."
"Because you don't have to let us."
"Look, I want to get this over with."
Meanwhile, the investigation at 1426 F Street was becoming something of a spectacle. Bright yellow police tape cordoned off the crime scene, announcing to all who drove past on busy F Street that something was up. Now crime scene investigators had arrived, and other officers stepped aside as they methodically examined the site, plotting diagrams, taking photographs, measuring and marking locations. City workers had arrived, and since rain was on the way, a protective canopy was quickly erected over the grave site.
Of course, a body cannot be discovered within a mile of the state capitol without the press showing up. Damp reporters strained against the police tape, calling across to various people at the scene who looked to be in the know. They queried and scribbled, working for the facts, hoping for a scoop, while brazen cameramen stomped about, looking for the best angles.
Next-door
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