Who Killed Chrissy?: The True Crime Memoir of a Pittsburgh girl's Unsolved Murder in Las Vegas by Beverly Simcic Page A

it. The scene that Detective Green had described to me was
playing in my head now, over and over again. I saw her lying on the bathroom
floor slumped over the tub. I must have swayed because Gibbs grabbed me by the
armpit to steady me. Then they both walked me over to sit down on the laundry
room bench. Gibbs pulled coins out of his pocket and bought me a Coke, and I
just sat there sipping on it, gratefully.
    They
walked me back to my apartment so we could sit in the air conditioning and
finish the questioning. I still could not cry because I knew this wasn’t really
happening to me.  What the hell was I doing here? What the hell was happening
to me right now? I wanted to be Dorothy and click my heels together and be back
in Pittsburgh with my family—right now.
    I
gave them everything I knew. Fred had tried to rob me, and I was trying to find
Chris to warn her about it. I also mentioned that photographs that she had in
her possession and told them that it was a bulging envelope full of them and
they should be in her apartment, and if they weren’t there that it meant Fred
had done it, because I didn’t believe Chris would ever give up something that
someone had given her, and if they weren’t there it meant that Fred had taken
them after he did away with her. They told me that her apartment was clean and
tidy and they hadn’t found any photographs.
    I
told them she had a lot of jewelry and that she wore it on her person all the
time.  They told me there was no jewelry found in the apartment at all—none. So
then I knew Fred had robbed and killed her, I knew it.
    I
also mentioned that I overheard a conversation between Chris and her boyfriend,
Marty, back in Pittsburgh, and that he was supposed to come out to Vegas, but
that she had moved out before I knew anything more about that. They said they
would follow up on all the information I’d given them.
    When
they left, I felt like I was alone and going to die. I called home and I called
my son’s father, Rick, who was in Seattle performing. I don’t know why I called
him; I just wanted someone to talk to, someone I knew. My mother was distraught
and told me to hurry up and get out of there as fast as I could.  Rick said the
same thing. I got off the phone and called for flight reservations. Either
there were no available flights for the weekend or I didn’t have the available
funds to purchase the ticket price, I don’t remember to this day.  I made the
reservation to fly out Monday morning, June 28.
    I
locked the door to my apartment, but I knew someone was coming for me. I knew I
was next because Fred knew that I knew he did it. I removed the drawers from
the small dresser and pushed it out of the bedroom and over in front of the
door. I tried to push the sofa but it wouldn’t budge, so I stacked the drawers
up on top of the dresser against the locked door.
    I
called Kathy Roberts and told her what happened and asked her to come and get
me as soon as possible. She said their car was in the shop and they wouldn’t be
able to come and get me until Sunday afternoon, the best they could do, and
their house was too far away to travel by taxi, so I settled for her offer. 
She said, “You can come over Sunday afternoon and then spend the night and
we’ll drive you to the airport Monday morning.”
    Great,
but I had to spend this night and the next night at Woodbridge, and I was so
terrified now that I could only sit in the chair in the middle of the living
room and stare at the dresser against the door. I sat up all night and could
not close my eyes for one minute.
    I
did not eat anything and by dawn I was hungry and tired.  I had to prepare
myself for lock up in my apartment, and I knew I had to walk to the convenience
store for supplies.
    I
had to drag all the piled up furniture away from the door, walk to the end of
the apartment complex and down the highway to the convenience store to purchase
supplies to get me through.
    It
was hard to move at this point,