Authors: Jessica Treadway
Lacy Eye (28 page)
Despite myself, I laughed and took it from him. “I'm not worried.” I wiped my tears and said, “What
happened
to her?” I didn't expect he would have an answer, but I'd needed to ask the question for longer than I realized until that moment.
Warren spoke so quietly that I wasn't sure, at first, what it was he'd said. “I really appreciate this, Hanna.”
“What?”
“Your opening up like this. You're usually soâI don't know. Held in.” He folded his arms across his chest to illustrate what he meant. “I thought maybe it was me.”
“No,” I told him. “It's the Swedish way.” The words, my mother's, popped out before I could plan them. When the prison called to tell me that my father had died in his cell while playing solitaire, I remembered all those nights of watching him turn over cards as he sat beside my mother, who quilted silently beside him. “Why don't you guys ever talk to each other?” I'd asked her once, and she told me again that it was “the Swedish way.” “We keep to ourselves,” she said.
“Ah. âThe Swedish way.'” Warren smiled. “I'm glad to know there's a name for it.” He leaned in, and I thought he meant to kiss me, but then I realized that the intention was my own.
He kissed me backâI thought I heard a small groan during itâand then put his hand up to my temple. I couldn't help pulling back and drawing a piece of hair over my damaged eye.
“Don't,” he said, pushing the hair back in its place. “I'd rather see you.” He lifted his forefinger and traced it over my longest scar. The touch made me cry, and I reached out to clutch him close. “Hanna,” he said, “Do you know what you're doing?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, then shook my head.
“Have you been with anybody sinceâ?” he said. I shook my head again. “Me, either,” he said.
I began to unbutton his shirt and let him pull me down next to him on the couch. When he felt for my breasts, brushing my nipples lightly, I felt myself responding with a surge, suddenly r
ememberin
gââas I had not beforeâthat the last time Joe and I had made love was that Friday night after Thanksgiving three years earlier, only a few hours before we were attacked in the same bed. We were both upset by what had happened with Rud and Dawn that day, and the sex was more comfort than anything else, as well as a way to allow us both to sleep when otherwise we might not have been able to.
I had testified to the court that the last thing I remembered, before waking up in the hospital, was watching Dawn and Rud pull away in her Nova, which Joe and I believed contained the items he had stolen from our house. Now I was remembering something that had happened hours after that. The realization was almost strong enough to make me want to sit up, stop Warren, and tell him about it, but then the desire
not
to do soâand, perhaps, not to remember?âovertook me, and I began grinding against him in a way I hadn't felt myself move in years, since long before Joe died, since early on in our marriage. At first I thought I felt Warren wondering if he should keep going, but then he began moving with me, and I found myself giving in to the impulse to express what it felt like to have this man touch me the way he did, to feel my body react in ways I hadn't been sure it still knew how to, until now.
When we lay against each other afterward, I felt my head drop forward in the way that meant I was almost asleep, and forced myself to sit up, grabbing hastily for my clothes in an effort to rearrange myself. Warren took his time, sitting up slowly and swinging his feet over the side of the couch next to mine, laying a hand on my knee before putting his shirt back on without refastening any of the buttons.
“Are you okay?” he said. I knew the polite thing to do was to say yes and ask him if he was, too, but the words stuck in my throat. I tried to nod, but then I was crying again, and I gave up and buried my face in his shoulder until we both ended up laughing, though I'm sure neither of us could have said why.
“Ah, Hanna,” he said, hugging me close. We just listened to each other breathe for a few minutes, and though I tried hard not to because it seemed disloyal to Joe, I recognized how good it felt to be held again.
I dozed a little, then jerked awake to the sensation that I had forgotten something. “What time is it?”
He craned his neck to see the clock on the mantel. “Eleven twenty.”
I swore and jumped up. “Abby. I've got to go.”
He got up, too, bumping his shin on the coffee table. “Do you want me to come?”
“No. Why?” Then I realized I had been rude. “I mean, I don't think so. There's no need. But thanks for offering.”
“I was doing it for my own sake,” he said, reaching out again to brush my hair from my face.
I made what felt like a bold move myself, cupping his chin in my hand. “Warren. I mean it: thank you. Let's talk in the morning, okay?”
He agreed, walked me to the door, took my coat out of the closet, dropped it, laughed at himself, then helped me slip it on. “Be careful,” he said as I went out, and I realized that they were the same words I'd said to Dawn when she left a few hours before.
A
bby met me at the door, whimpering, and I let her out into the backyard because I didn't like to walk her so late, even around the neighborhood. Besides, I had a voice-mail notification, and I thought I should listen in case it was Dawn.
I was relieved at first when I heard Peter Cifforelli's voice, but the feeling vanished as soon as I understood what he was saying. “Are you insane, Hanna?” the message began, and I wanted to cut it off, but I was stopped dead by the accusation in his voice. “How could you let her do something like that? Okay. Okay.” In the background I thought I could hear Wendy urging him to calm down. “Listen, if you haven't done it already, go look up the
Bloody Glove
website. It'll be all over the news tomorrow. Call me.” Then he hung up, the click so loud I could feel the anger in it.
I wished more than anything that I could ignore what I'd just heard. For a moment I considered just letting Abby in and going to bed. But I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't find out what Peter had been talking about.
Reluctantly I went to my computer, which I'd used only a few times since reading the archived news stories about the attack. Feeling my stomach constrict, I searched for
The Bloody Glove
and, when the site came up, closed my eyes in something resembling prayer before I clicked. At the sight of the main headlineâ“Daughter Confesses in Brutal Dad-Slay”âI felt a collapsing sensation in my chest.
What had Cecilia done to Dawn now?
The following is an interview between
Bloody Glove
investigative reporter Cecilia Baugh and her childhood friend and former murder suspect Dawn Schutt, who escaped indictment after her parents were attacked in their bed in Everton, N.Y., on the night after Thanksgiving three years ago. The attack, committed with a croquet mallet taken from a set in the family's own garage, resulted in Joseph Schutt's death and severe injury and disfigurement to Dawn's mother, Hanna Schutt.
In previous statements, Dawn has always contended that neither she nor Rud Petty was present in the Schutt house that night. Last month Rud Petty won appeal of his conviction, and he will face a new trial in the spring.
Dawn Schutt requested two conditions for talking to our reporter: that the
Glove
pay her an undisclosed amount of money, and that nothing in it be printed or in any other way revealed until after Petty's trial is over, when Dawn believes her boyfriend will be acquitted and released, and they will resume their lives together under new identities.
Though the
Glove
did pay her a significant sum for this interview, which took place at a coffee shop in Everton, we decided in the public interest not to honor Dawn's request to withhold the information it contains.
BG:
Thanks for sitting down with us today, Dawn. I'm sure this can't be easy.
DS:
No, it isn't.
BG:
Our readers might wonder if you feel like you're taking a risk here, talking to me.
DS:
Well, I thought it throughâall the things you saidâand you're right, it's worth it. By the time people see this, Rud will be free. They can't put him on trial twice for the same thing. Like what happened to me.
(Ed. Note: Dawn Schutt is mistaken, here, about her own legal status; since she has never stood trial for the crime, she will not face double jeopardy if the district attorney chooses to bring charges at a later date.)
BG:
Okay, let's get to that night. What happened after you and Rud were questioned earlier in the day in connection with the burglary at your house?
(Ed. Note: The Everton police had been called to investigate the theft of several valuable items from the Schutt home when the only person present in the house was Rud Petty, who claimed he was asleep when the burglary took place.)
DS:
We drove back up to my house because Rud wanted to talk to my father. He didn't like the way Daddy treated him after that cop cameâso suspicious, when there was no real evidence Rud had done anything at all. He said he just wanted to talk, though. Nothing more than that. I said to Rud something like, why don't we just wait until tomorrow, when everybody's cooled off? But he said he was too pissed, he had to get it out of his system. I didn't want to go with him, but he said he needed me. I always liked when he said that; it made me feel good. The whole ride, he talked about how it wasn't fair of my father to accuse him of burglary, and how humiliated he felt. I tuned him out after a while, because it's not like he wanted me to say anything. When we got there, of course, the house was dark, because it was after midnight. I knew they would be asleep. I asked him if we could just leave, and wait until tomorrow. Or just go in and go to sleep ourselves, wake up and see things fresher in the morning. Rud said, “No, I have a plan. It'll be fine. Trust me, Dawnie.” He was the only one who ever called me that, and I liked it. My sister and other kids used to call me Ding-Dongâwell, I don't have to tell you that. You remember. I hated it. But I liked when he called me Dawnie. It made me feel cool. I said we should ring the bell, but Rud said, “Don't wake them up.” I thought he was being considerate. So I told him I knew where the spare key was, hidden in the flower box at the front of the house, but when I took it out and turned around to show him, he wasn't there. I opened the front door with the key and pressed in the code for the alarm in the entryway.
Then Rud came up behind me and I saw he had a croquet mallet from the garage. He had a pair of gloves on. “What are those for?” I asked him, and he just said, “Nothing.”
BG:
But what did you think when you saw him holding the croquet mallet? And why did his saying “Nothing” make sense to you?
DS:
(shrugging)
I don't know. I guess it sounds kind of stupid. I know, Ding-Dong, right? But sometimes he does things like that, for no reason. Anyway, Abby came in from the TV roomâ
BG:
And Abby would be your dog?
DS:
Yeah. We've had her since I was nine. She's named after Abigail Adams, because I was doing a project on her the weekend we went to the shelter and picked her out.
BG:
I remember that project. Awesome Women of the World. I did mine on Mother Teresa. Go ahead.
DS:
Well, Abby came in and she was yipping a little at first, but when she saw it was me, she started licking my hand. I said, “Good girl.” Rud took her by the collar and began pulling her toward the basement. “What are you doing that for?” I asked. I told him to stop it. But he yanked her down the stairs, and I heard him closing the laundry room door to keep her in there.
BG:
When the police entered the home the next morning, the dog had been severely injured. Probably with the same weapon that attacked your parents, they saidâthe croquet mallet.
DS:
(wincing)
That was an accident, Rud said. He loved animals. He would never hurt one on purpose.
BG:
Dawn, no offense, but do you know how absurd that sounds? When he's accused of smashing your parents' skulls? Sorryâdo you want to take a break?
DS:
(shaking head)
No. Let's just get it over with. So we went upstairs, where the bedrooms are. Rud made me go first. I was about to knock on my parents' door, but Rud pushed it open before I could. My mother's a heavy sleeperâit takes a lot to wake her upâbut my father isn't.
BG:
Do you realize you're referring to your father in the present tense?
DS:
Really? God, Cecilia, you notice everything.
BG:
Thanks. Okay, go ahead. So your father's a light sleeperâ
DS:
And he sat up right away in the bed and said, “Who is that?” I said, “It's me, Daddy,” and he turned on the light. He was mad, I could tell. He likes his privacy, and he didn't want us thereâespecially Rud. He said, “What are you doing? It's the middle of the night.” He threw his feet over the edge of the bed, but Rud got him sideways before I knew what was happening. The sound of the croquet mallet hitting my father's skullâI'll never forget that as long as I live. Sorry. (
Ed. Note: Here, Dawn Schutt presses fingers into her forehead.)
I must have made a noise or something, because Rud told me to shut up. He went to swing the mallet again, and I saw my father look up at me. He expected me to catch Rud's arm and try to stop him. I could see that. But I couldn't move.
My mother, believe it or not, was just waking up. My father used to say she could have slept through Pearl Harbor. She didn't get what was going on, right away. She saw me standing there, and she said my name. Then she asked, “Are you okay, honey?”
My father was trying to get at his inhalerâhe kept it on the nightstand in case he woke up in the night and couldn't breathe, because of his asthma. He was fishing around with his hand, but he knocked the inhaler onto the floor. I picked it up and gave it to him, but Rud saw me do it, smacked it away from my father, and stomped on it. Crushed it to pieces.
The look on my father's face thenâI can't even begin to describe it. It made me freeze up, and I couldn't move. As soon as I heard him gasping, I started to have trouble breathing, myself. And that hadn't happened in, I don't know, six years.
BG:
The newspaper accounts described you as requesting an inhaler in the police car that transported you to the hospital where your mother was. Was this a flare-up of the asthma you suffered when you were a child?
DS:
I don't know. I think it would have been more psychological.
BG:
Sorry for interrupting. You can go on.
DS:
Rud hit him again, and this time my father went down on the floor with a funny kind of sound, like surprise. There was blood everywhere. I almost slipped in it. He gave a big groan and then he went quiet, lying there on the floor. I couldn't believe when I read in the papers that he wasn't actually dead thenâthat he got up and tried to do all that stuff, get dressed and unload the dishwasher, but on the other hand that was just like him. Routine. Order. I'm surprised he never joined the army, he loved that kind of thing.
BG:
The investigators couldn't believe it, either. That he was able to move as much as he did, with the injuries he sustained.
DS:
Well, that was my father. He was unusual.
BG:
And your motherâ
DS:
My mother was trying to get up, and Rud swore and went toward her. I could see she was going to reach for the phone on the bed table, and I wanted her to get to it and call 911. Things were out of control, I wanted it to stop. But Rud pulled the cord out of the wall. My mother just looked at me, as if she didn't know who I was. “Dawn?” she said, like she'd made a mistake or something. As if I might have been someone else. That's when Rud pushed her down and then swung the mallet. I think I screamed, and he told me to shut up again. He hit her and hit her, and blood flew all over the wall.
BG:
You must have been hysterical.
DS:
I was. Rud threw the mallet onto the bed and grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the room and down the stairs. He still hadn't said much of anything, the whole time, except those two wordsâ
shut up
. When we got to the door, I wanted to go back in and check on Abby in the basement, make sure she was okay. I knew my parents were dead, or at least I thought so, but I wasn't really thinking. If that makes any sense. I thought I could still save Abby.
(Ed. Note: Here, Dawn Schutt closes her eyes.)
But Rud was too strong. He pulled me to the front door and bashed the alarm pad against the wall, then put his arm around meâlike we were on a dateâand took me out to the car. I thought he would start talking like he always did, but instead he turned the music up loud. Bad music, stupid music, the heavy metal he listens to when nobody's around that he wants to impress. It always gave me a headache, but what could I say? He wanted it. Loud music made him horny, he said.
Once we got on the Thruway about twenty minutes downstate, he pulled the car over and we had sex. I can't say he made me do itâI wanted to. It felt like if we did something normal, maybe it meant what just happened hadn't really happened or something. That probably sounds like Ding-Dong Dawn to you. I don't know, Cecilia.
(Ed. Note: Dawn Schutt covers her face with her hands.)
I'm doing my best.
BG:
You're doing fine.
DS:
Thanks. After that we just kept driving; we didn't even stop to pee or for food or gas or anything. We got to his apartment and went inside, and Rud fell asleep right away. But first he took his clothes off, because there was blood all over them.
BG:
You know the prosecution contended that because your boyfriend worked in a vet's office, he knew how to clean up blood. For instance, in his car. They didn't find any. Can you explain how that happened?
DS:
Before we left, he grabbed my father's old down L.L.Bean jacketâwe used to tease him whenever he wore it; we called him Puff Daddyâout of the closet, and went to put it on over his clothes. I said, “No, not that one,” but he already had it on. He took his shoes off and told me to, too, and we stopped at the McDonald's on the way out of town and stuffed them in the trash.
I'd been aware of the sour panic rising in my throat as I read, and suddenly I had to pull myself away from the desk as my stomach heaved and I expected to vomit. For a few minutes I sat with my head almost in my lap, focusing on the nausea instead of on what I had just read. Then, when I realized it was a false alarm, I forced myself back to the screen.