Who Killed Chrissy?: The True Crime Memoir of a Pittsburgh girl's Unsolved Murder in Las Vegas (10 page)

“You’re
opening a health club?” I said almost choking on my sandwich.

“Yes,
that’s my plan,” she said, a bottle of lotion in each hand.  “I met this guy at
the health food store in the plaza the other day when I went shopping for my
uniform. He’s looking for a partner, so we’re talking about it. I don’t really
know where it’s going right now, but I’m making my own plans, too. I’m going to
do it one way or another.”

I
smile at her and I feel happy for her, and as I get ready to respond, she is
already changed into her usual sweat pants and tank top and she says, “Hey, I
have to leave; I’m going to buy a bike so I don’t have to walk to the plaza
anymore.  Then I’m going over to the health food store to meet that guy again.
Maybe I’ll see you later on.”

“Okay,
see ya later Chris.” I wished that she could be this happy and cheerful all the
time.

This
was the first realization that she was planning to stay in Vegas. And I am
planning to leave soon; I’d have to see how things were going with my boredom
of sunbathing and slot machines. I wasn’t ready to think about it, I just
wanted to stop thinking about Chris and her daily encounters, and I wish she
could have more positive ones, such as this one, which obviously made her day.
She had been given some positive reinforcement by feeling worthy of something
in the form of an accomplishment, and I felt it. It seemed to have provided her
with an immediate jolt of energy and sense of achievement.  She felt respected
for her knowledge and abilities. I knew these motivations well from being in
sales since leaving high school.

Later
on that evening, Chris is still gone and I decide to take a cool dip in the
pool and then try out the hot tub.  There are about four other people at the
pool, and among them is a black guy who looks like an athletic type, muscled up
and not bad looking. He eventually finds his way over to me in the pool and we
start a conversation. He tells me he’s a prizefighter from Philly, who’s there
to win some money. I believe him—he looks the part. His name is Fred; that’s
all he gives me.

After
the others leave, Fred makes a move on me and since I’m horny and desperate for
sex, I give in. We are just finishing up a very quick, blank sex act in the
pool when Chris arrives on her new bike. I introduce her to Fred as the
prizefighter from Caesar’s Palace, and she starts questioning him about the big
fight coming up in a few more days. I am feeling the complete stupidity of my
ridiculously unsatisfying sex act, and I have nothing to say, while Chris rolls
into conversation with Fred.

Fred
explains to both of us that when he’s hanging out at Caesar’s and when he has
nothing to do, he is walking around taking Polaroid photos of people and
charging them so he can make some extra money. Then he invites us both to meet
him there on June 11, the day of the fight, and tells us he’ll take some great
shots of us both dressed up when we arrive at Caesar’s. So we plan on running
into him over there on fight day when we look like movie stars.

Chris
and I are back in the apartment and I head for the shower. She is picking up
the phone to call Pittsburgh and see how things are with Marty back at her
place.

When
I come out of the shower, I can hear her screaming at Marty on the phone. She’s
pacing the living room with the long phone cord wrapped around her arm and
they’re arguing about her cat having escaped from the apartment.  She is
screeching, “You idiot, why did you let him get out, I told you he would run, I
told you he would take off if you opened the door. Don’t let it happen again,
do you hear me?”….She’s ordering this macho cop guy, Marty, around like she’s
an Army sergeant and he’s a lowly soldier with no rank.  I smirked to myself
and picked up the hair dryer.

I
desperately wanted to avoid even hearing another screaming match, so I started
walking towards the patio to dry my hair. She was thankfully calming down
though, and the last thing I heard her say to Marty was, “When you come out
here bring my fur coat, it’s very cold here at night.”  And I thought…Oh, Marty
must be coming out here. But I wasn’t going to talk about it or question her on
it; I didn’t care. I figured I’d be long gone on my way back to Pittsburgh
before any of this happened anyhow.  Whatever she was planning, I knew I
wouldn’t be there for it—I didn’t want to be there for it.

The
fur coat Chris was referring to was her one and only beautiful three quarter
length beaver coat that Chuck Werner had bought her. I had borrowed it once,
and remembered it’s warmth on a freezing Pittsburgh night.  She cherished it.

She
hung up the phone and when I looked up from drying my hair she was staring
intently at me, “Listen, I’ll tell you right now, don’t
ever
mention to
Marty that I was hanging out with a black man; he would kill me.”

After
that comment I assumed she had been hanging out with Fred.

“What
Chris, you’re not allowed to talk to a black person, is that the rule?” I said
jokingly, and then went back to drying and combing my hair.

She
flipped her arm up at me Italian style and then went to the kitchen.

I
knew that absolutely I wasn’t going to be in Vegas when Marty the creep
arrived, and found myself wondering where he was going to stay when he arrived.

O
n the morning of June 11, 1982 in Las Vegas, Nevada,
we were both up early. We wanted to get some sun, do laundry and get ready for
a long afternoon and evening at Caesar’s Palace for the big event. It would
take both of us hours to prepare, as we had to look our glamorous best in case
we encountered any movie stars.

I
was planning a black dress with pink accents and a matching pink hibiscus
flower in my hair. Nothing special. I had brought along a nice cool cotton
dress that was Marilyn-Monroe-ish in style and some nice high-heeled, open toed
shoes to match.

I
didn’t know what Chris had planned until I saw her getting dressed.  She had a
great looking oriental patterned silk dress that fit her like a glove and
showed off all her curves. It was black and mixed with a few other colors, and
I liked it a lot. But when she emerged from the bathroom with long curly hair I
lost it.

“Chris,
where did you get the great wig?” I said, staring at her.

“I
bought it, does it look good?”

I
pretended to act skeptical, and she got impatient, so I confessed quickly,
“Yes, it looks absolutely ravishing, I like the way the curls surround your
face and soften it.”

She
knew she looked good, and I wanted to do her makeup perfectly so she could
smile, be happy and go out the door feeling really good about herself.  I was
hoping for a calm, peaceful day full of fun at Caesar’s Palace, and
anticipating seeing movie stars all over the place.

Chris
goes to the fridge and pulls out two small sealed plastic cups the size of shot
glasses, and motions like she’s toasting, looks over at me and says, “Do you
want to do some shots?”

“Shots
of what, Chris?” As I knew she didn’t drink, I wondered what she was holding.
She opens one of them and shows me dark green looking goo that looked like
spinach. All I could say was, “Yuck, what is that?”

“It’s
sea kelp and it’s really good for you.” Then she leans her head back and gulps
down the green goo like a shot of whiskey.

“Where’d
you get that stuff?  It looks like puke; I’d never eat that crap! Who says it’s
good for you?”

“Ben,
my friend from the health food store. We ate Chinese together the other night
after I bought my bike, and he explained the health benefits from kelp, and it
makes sense to me.”

“Well,
you go right ahead and eat it if you like. I’m not touching it.”

We
carefully loaded our glamorous selves into a taxi and anxiously sat in the back
seat trying not to mess up our hair. We were both excited and could not wait to
arrive at Caesar’s. We already felt like we were missing out on something
because the taxi was driving too slowly for our excitement overload.

When
we pulled up in front of Caesar’s, the place was buzzing like we’d never seen
it before. People and limousines were everywhere, and we dashed right out of
the taxi so quickly we almost tripped on our heels. We noticed flashes going
off in the lobby and as we entered the opulent front doors, we caught a quick
glimpse of Sylvester Stallone and his entourage of people moving towards the
center of the room with reporters, microphones and cameras. It was so exciting.
We both stood there until security pushed us over and out of the way of all the
action.  Stallone was magnificent.

As
we slinked around the bejeweled lobby, I noticed Fred come walking towards us.
He was dressed up and had his camera hanging around his neck. It wasn’t a
Polaroid though; it looked like a regular camera to me. He asked if we wanted
to pose over by the statues in the lobby and we thought that was a good idea,
so we stood there while Fred snapped away. Chris was happy; I was happy, and it
looked like this was going to be a smooth-flowing afternoon. The fights were
scheduled in a few hours, so we continued to walk around the bar and gaming
areas to see who else we could see.

The
ladies rooms were packed with women, and it looked like a war zone every time
you had to go in there. Too many people, too much crowded noise, I was getting
annoyed. I was just not a crowd person. I never even liked Christmas shopping
in Pittsburgh at the downtown department stores. I hated crowds.

People
had started streaming towards the gates to go outside, so we got swept along.
As soon as we emerged into the fight arena area, the heat smacked us right in
our faces like a ball of fire. Wow, it was scorching, blistering hot. As I sort
of expected, our free seats were in the proverbial peanut gallery and we had to
climb and climb.  Chris jogged up the steps while I lagged behind, not wanting
to even go there. We weren’t seated more than fifteen minutes when I knew I
didn’t want to endure this. It wasn’t worth it. I was already so overheated I
felt sick, so I told Chris I was going to the ladies room to cool off.

As I
slowly stepped my way down from the peanut gallery seats, I knew in my mind
that I wasn’t going back up there.  Too much work to see two guys punch each
other around….

On
my way to the ladies room, I ran into Fred standing by the front entrance. He
seemed to be lurking. There was something about this guy who was always lurking
around; I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I told him I was leaving and
asked him if he had tickets to the fight and he said he didn’t. So I handed him
my ticket stub and told him to have fun, and to please tell Chris I’d see her
later on at the apartment. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

I
hopped a taxi and headed back to Woodbridge. I tore off my hot clothing and
threw on my bikini. I couldn’t wait to jump into the ice-cold water at the
pool.

After
cooling off, I called Kathy Roberts and asked her if she wanted to have
breakfast the next day because I’d probably be leaving soon and wanted to say
goodbye.

“Sure,”
she said. “That sounds great; let’s get up early. I’ll pick you up at eight
o’clock.”