Limb from Limb by George Hunter

Author:George Hunter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2009-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

“She started to get back up when I put my hand around her neck, because she kept saying that—that it was over, that she was going to take the kids, and because I hit her…that was it,” Stephen recalled. “And I said, ‘No, you hit me first,’ and she said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She said, ‘Cops aren’t going to think that. I’m calling the police.’ I put my hands on her neck and choked her.”

“Was she fighting with you?” McLean asked.

“There wasn’t much fighting going on,” Stephen said, his voice cracking again. “At one point, she…”

“It’s OK,” McLean said. “Take a break.”

Stephen ignored her: “I think at one point she realized I wasn’t stopping…but it was too late. She scratched my hand. She finally grabbed my hand at one point, but it was too late then, and I couldn’t stop then. I knew I was going to prison. I panicked.”

The detectives again asked Stephen to clarify exactly where he was when the altercation began, and he reiterated he was near the doorway that separated the master bedroom from the bathroom. Stephen drew a crude map of the layout of the rooms.

“The armoire is here, and…there’s a window right here, and a window in the back,” Stephen said, referencing the map. “She was standing here, and I was standing here.

“I said something about Lou and her, and she slapped me, and then I hit her back and she fell toward the bedroom,” he said, adding details about the beginning of the fight. “I heard something hit. I don’t know if she hit her head on the wall, on the floor, but…she was knocked for a loop. That’s when she started saying shit, right at me. It was venomous—‘That’s it. I’m done. I can ruin your life now.’

“And she basically [was] lying right there,” Stephen said, again referring to his map. “And by then I was here, and that’s when I grabbed her as she started to sit back up, and I grabbed her on the back.”

“Did you push her back onto the floor?” McLean wondered.

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember,” McLean repeated. “OK.”

“And I’m sorry,” Stephen sniveled. “I—I don’t—”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Steve,” McLean reassured him. “It’s OK.”

“I just don’t remember exactly how it went,” Stephen said.

Kozlowski interjected, “I’m not trying to make this graphic, but, unfortunately, some of this—”

“It has to be, I know,” Stephen conceded.

“We have to have the details, unfortunately,” McLean said.

“I know.”

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