Needle Work: Battery Acid, Heroin, and Double Murder by Fred Rosen Page B

legs was another. Then there was the washcloth.
    Tim had stuffed it in her mouth to stop her from screaming. The gag was secured with another pair of hose tied around her head.
    Tim hit Nancy in the stomach. He hit her again and again and again, his rage crashing down like a pile driver into her saggy middle.
    Nancy kept moaning.
    “Shut up, shut up,” Tim yelled, hitting her harder and harder. “If you don’t, I’ll kill ya right here in the basement.”
    Carol heard Nancy making noises; that’s how she knew she was conscious. Then Tim pointed the gun at Nancy. He handed Carol a syringe and said, “Shoot her.”
    Carol looked at it. She had no idea what it was loaded with, but she knew it was full. Tim ordered her to inject Nancy with the mystery liquid. But Carol didn’t want to. Hell, she had no idea what was in the syringe. She tried to stall, but Tim insisted.
    Carol looked down the barrel of the gun. She was convinced that if she didn’t do it, he would kill her. So she did, sticking the needle in Nancy’s ankle. Carefully, quickly, she pushed the plunger and watched the fluid drain into her leg. Nancy moaned.
    Tim hit her in the face again and ordered her to shut up.
    “Okay,” said Carol, standing up, “it’s done. I injected her.”
    “Fill it up again,” Tim ordered in a cold voice.
    He pointed at the shelf near the foot of the bed. For the first time since they’d come downstairs, Carol saw the clear plastic jug filled with hydrochloric acid Tim had placed there. She knew what the stuff was. Jessie had used it to fill up the lawn mower’s battery.
    Tim had decided to kill Nancy by injecting her with the deadly acid.
    With no choice, Carol plunged the needle into the jug and pulled the plunger back. She tried taking her time filling it up, but he kept hurrying her. She explained that she had to make sure she got the air out of it—otherwise, Nancy would die from an embolism.
    The clear white fluid filled up the hollow cylinder to the halfway point. She brought it up to the light and squeezed a bit out of the tip. Carol’s fright-filled eyes followed the path of the needle toward Nancy’s arm. It was like somebody else doing it. Finally, when she could delay no longer, Carol delivered the injection into Nancy’s arm and watched as the sharp needle penetrated the skin and the acid burned her.
    “I saw that,” Tim said.
    He’d been watching her like a hawk.
    “You only had it half full. Fill it up. All the way.”
    Carol couldn’t bluff anymore. She had to fill the syringe to the top, or Tim would kill her for not doing what he wanted. She went through the same procedure, going slower, trying to think.
    When she could delay no longer, she shot the liquid subcutaneously, hoping it wouldn’t get into any veins or do anything too damaging. But despite her best efforts, Nancy moaned in pain.
    Tim watched with a relentless eye, smoking intensely, covering both of them with the automatic. Whenever Nancy moaned, he ordered her to be quiet.
    Six times, Tim told her to inject Nancy; six times, Carol filled the syringe with the hydrochloric acid and plunged the needle into Nancy’s skin. Carol gave injections in Nancy’s leg, arm and stomach; then Tim told her, “The neck”; and she plunged the needle into her neck.
    Nancy kept moaning and moaning. Then, suddenly, the moaning stopped. Her eyes stayed open, but there was nothing there; the light had gone out.
    Nancy Billiter was dead. Just as well. By that time, the needle was spent.
    Suddenly, Nancy jerked up. She hadn’t been dead after all. Maybe she was playing possum or maybe she had just gone out for a minute. Whatever. She rose up and began struggling against her bonds.
    Tim whacked at her face with the barrel of the gun. The metal slammed into flesh. She bled heavily, but the force of the blow drove her back down to the mattress.
    “Lay down and be quiet,” Tim commanded.
    Carol thought she heard her kids waking up and ran upstairs to