dispatched from the hospital to remove Lieth Von Stein’s body, a news crew from the local TV station.
“Take a number and get in line,” David Sparrow told the news crew, who were not allowed inside the crime scene tape. No one would be talking to them for a while yet, not until things had been sorted out.
One young man was allowed behind the tape. Andrew Arnold once had dated Angela briefly, and they had remained close friends. She had called him after telephoning her brother. He identified himself to Sergeant Tetterton, and Tetterton told him that Angela was inside and it was okay to go on in. Bonnie, Tetterton told him, was still alive, but Lieth was dead, although Angela didn’t know it yet. Angela was sitting in the living room when he came in. She had little to say, and Arnold didn’t know what to say to her. The two sat quietly until Tetterton came to tell Angela that her stepfather was dead. When he did, Tetterton said later, he saw what he thought was a tear beginning to well in the corner of one eye. Shortly afterward, Sergeant Hope came to suggest that Angela ride downtown to the police department with him so that he could take a statement from her. Her friend, Hope said, could follow in his own car.
In the emergency room at Beaufort County Hospital, only a half-mile from the swarming scene on Lawson Road, Dr. Elizabeth Cook was determining the extent of Bonnie Von Stein’s injuries. Her patient was alert but acting “bizarre,” as Dr. Cook later described it.
“Is he dead?” Bonnie asked as the doctor worked over her. “I’m glad he’s dead. He’s not suffering. He’s out of his misery.”
Dr. Cook had found that her patient had three ragged lacerations on her head: two near the hairline at the center of her forehead, each about an inch long; another over her right eyebrow, this one larger, C-shaped. Bonnie’s left thumb was swollen and bruised, perhaps broken, although she still could move it.
Her most serious injury was to her chest. Above her right breast was a bruise the size of a grapefruit. Just to the right of her sternum was a two-inch stab wound, deeper on the right than on the left. The blade had apparently glanced off the bone and cut into the chest wall. The lung had not been penetrated, but it had partially collapsed.
Dr. Cook ordered a transfusion, started an IV, and began inserting a catheter into the chest to allow the wound to drain and the lung to re-inflate.
“Can’t you put me to sleep?” Bonnie asked as the doctor worked.
“No, darling, I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Bonnie’s breathing improved almost immediately, and Dr. Cook went on to suture all her wounds and order a second unit of blood before admitting her to the hospital’s intensive care facility.
At the Public Safety Building at North Carolina State University, Patrolman Michael Allen and Lieutenant Theresa Crocker had managed to get the agitated young man they’d picked up at emergency call box EO8 calmed enough to learn that his name was Christopher Pritchard. His sister had called him in his dorm room a little before five to tell him that their parents had been beaten and stabbed and that he’d “better get his butt home.” He couldn’t find his car keys. And he had been so upset that he had left his dorm not knowing what to do until he saw the call box and asked for help.
Allen and Crocker told him that they would try to find out for certain what had happened and asked if he would like something to eat or drink while they did it. He declined and perched in a chair hugging his knees.
Melvin Hope had just radioed Michelle Sparrow that he was leaving 110 Lawson Road to bring Angela Pritchard to the police station when Michelle got a call from Patrolman Allen at N.C. State. She gave him the number for the direct line to the Washington Police Department and told him to wait five minutes and call Sergeant Hope for details.
Lieutenant Crocker notified her supervisor of the situation, and after she
“Take a number and get in line,” David Sparrow told the news crew, who were not allowed inside the crime scene tape. No one would be talking to them for a while yet, not until things had been sorted out.
One young man was allowed behind the tape. Andrew Arnold once had dated Angela briefly, and they had remained close friends. She had called him after telephoning her brother. He identified himself to Sergeant Tetterton, and Tetterton told him that Angela was inside and it was okay to go on in. Bonnie, Tetterton told him, was still alive, but Lieth was dead, although Angela didn’t know it yet. Angela was sitting in the living room when he came in. She had little to say, and Arnold didn’t know what to say to her. The two sat quietly until Tetterton came to tell Angela that her stepfather was dead. When he did, Tetterton said later, he saw what he thought was a tear beginning to well in the corner of one eye. Shortly afterward, Sergeant Hope came to suggest that Angela ride downtown to the police department with him so that he could take a statement from her. Her friend, Hope said, could follow in his own car.
In the emergency room at Beaufort County Hospital, only a half-mile from the swarming scene on Lawson Road, Dr. Elizabeth Cook was determining the extent of Bonnie Von Stein’s injuries. Her patient was alert but acting “bizarre,” as Dr. Cook later described it.
“Is he dead?” Bonnie asked as the doctor worked over her. “I’m glad he’s dead. He’s not suffering. He’s out of his misery.”
Dr. Cook had found that her patient had three ragged lacerations on her head: two near the hairline at the center of her forehead, each about an inch long; another over her right eyebrow, this one larger, C-shaped. Bonnie’s left thumb was swollen and bruised, perhaps broken, although she still could move it.
Her most serious injury was to her chest. Above her right breast was a bruise the size of a grapefruit. Just to the right of her sternum was a two-inch stab wound, deeper on the right than on the left. The blade had apparently glanced off the bone and cut into the chest wall. The lung had not been penetrated, but it had partially collapsed.
Dr. Cook ordered a transfusion, started an IV, and began inserting a catheter into the chest to allow the wound to drain and the lung to re-inflate.
“Can’t you put me to sleep?” Bonnie asked as the doctor worked.
“No, darling, I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Bonnie’s breathing improved almost immediately, and Dr. Cook went on to suture all her wounds and order a second unit of blood before admitting her to the hospital’s intensive care facility.
At the Public Safety Building at North Carolina State University, Patrolman Michael Allen and Lieutenant Theresa Crocker had managed to get the agitated young man they’d picked up at emergency call box EO8 calmed enough to learn that his name was Christopher Pritchard. His sister had called him in his dorm room a little before five to tell him that their parents had been beaten and stabbed and that he’d “better get his butt home.” He couldn’t find his car keys. And he had been so upset that he had left his dorm not knowing what to do until he saw the call box and asked for help.
Allen and Crocker told him that they would try to find out for certain what had happened and asked if he would like something to eat or drink while they did it. He declined and perched in a chair hugging his knees.
Melvin Hope had just radioed Michelle Sparrow that he was leaving 110 Lawson Road to bring Angela Pritchard to the police station when Michelle got a call from Patrolman Allen at N.C. State. She gave him the number for the direct line to the Washington Police Department and told him to wait five minutes and call Sergeant Hope for details.
Lieutenant Crocker notified her supervisor of the situation, and after she
Similar Books
