The Sleeping Beauty Killer

12

“Are you sure I can’t get you some tea?”

It was the third time that Paula had offered. In between, she had repeatedly straightened the hem of her skirt, stood to adjust a painting on the wall, and shifted constantly in her corner of the sofa.

“Actually, that would be lovely.” Laurie had no interest in tea, but was willing to drink sour milk if it would give her a break from the woman’s nervous energy.

Once Paula had left the room, Casey said, “I’m having flashbacks to the last time I was under the same roof with my parents, right after Hunter was killed. They came up from D.C. and insisted on staying in my apartment because they didn’t want me to be alone. I wasn’t sure I wanted that, either. But for two straight days, my mother offered me fruit, cheese, juice, tea. She’d stand up in the middle of a conversation and start scrubbing the kitchen counters. The floors were so clean, you could see your reflection.”

By the time Paula returned with a sterling silver tea tray, Laurie had shifted the discussion to the night of Hunter Raleigh’s murder.

“What time did you leave the gala at Cipriani?” she asked.

“It was shortly after nine o’clock. I felt horrible causing Hunter to leave his own party. The waiters were only beginning to serve dessert. I offered to take a cab, but he insisted on coming with me. I was terribly ill, barely able to stand up, and I think he could see that something was very wrong. It was only later that I realized that someone had drugged me.”

We will definitely get to that subject, Laurie thought. But she wanted to hear the big picture first, from beginning to end.

“So Hunter’s driver took you both back to Hunter’s house?”

“Yes, Raphael. He was waiting outside with the car.”

“You didn’t want to just stay in the city since you weren’t feeling well?” In addition to Hunter’s country home in New Canaan, both Casey and Hunter had apartments in Manhattan.

Casey shook her head. “That house was magical. I really thought I’d feel better once we got there. I was in and out of sleep during the drive. I should have known immediately that something was wrong no matter what the hour. Normally, I am a very difficult sleeper. I could never sleep in a car or on a plane.”

Even the prosecution conceded that Casey had Rohypnol in her system. The only question was whether she had taken the drug herself after shooting Hunter, to create an alibi, or if someone else had drugged her earlier in the night.

Laurie knew from reviewing the case that the police had pulled a photograph of Hunter’s car passing through the toll lane on the Henry Hudson Parkway. Casey was sitting upright in the backseat, next to Hunter. At trial, the prosecutor offered the image into evidence to disprove Casey’s claim of being drugged at the gala, rather than after the murder, by her own hand.

“Was fatigue the only symptom you were experiencing?” When Laurie’s friend Margaret was convinced she’d been drugged, she said the feeling was very different from simply being tired.

“No, it was awful. I was dizzy and confused and nauseated. I felt hot and cold at the same time. I was having a hard time speaking, like I couldn’t remember any words. I just remember feeling like I had absolutely no control over my mind or body. I remember praying to God to help me stop feeling that way.”

It was the exact same feeling that Margaret had described.

“You called 911 after midnight,” Laurie noted. “Twelve-seventeen A.M. to be exact. What happened between the time you got home and that emergency call?”

Casey blew her long bangs out of her eyes. “It’s so weird to be talking about this again. For years, I’ve replayed that night over and over in my head, but no one has wanted to hear my side of the story ever since I was first arrested.”

Laurie heard her father’s voice in her head: If she’s so innocent, why didn’t she testify? “I have to correct you, Casey. People desperately wanted to hear your version, but you didn’t take the stand.”

“My lawyer told me not to. She said they had found a couple of people who heard Hunter and me having some intense fights. Yes, that would look bad for me on trial. The prosecution would tear me to pieces by confronting me with every time I ever lost my temper. Just because I speak my mind doesn’t make me a murderer.”

“If you do our show, we’d be asking you the same tough questions. Do you understand that?” Laurie asked.

“Absolutely,” Casey said. “I’ll answer anything.”

“With a polygraph?”

Casey agreed without hesitation. Laurie would not actually use the technology because it was unreliable, but Casey’s willingness to undergo lie detection weighed in her favor. Laurie decided to throw in another test of her openness by asking whether she would be willing to waive attorney-client privilege so her attorney could speak to Laurie directly. Once again, she agreed.

“Please, go on with your story,” Laurie urged.

“I barely remember going into the house. As I said, I was floating in and out of sleep. Hunter woke me when we pulled into the drive. Raphael offered to help when I had trouble getting out of the car, but then I managed to get inside, holding on to Hunter’s hand. I must have gone straight to the couch and passed out. I was still wearing my evening gown when I woke up.”

“And what happened when you woke up on the sofa?”

“I stumbled to the bedroom. I still felt woozy, but I was able to make it down the hall. Hunter was on the bed, but not in it-not like he was sleeping, but as if he’d fallen backwards onto it. I know from photographs that the blood was actually on his shirt and the duvet, but at the time, it seemed like he was absolutely covered in blood. I ran to him and shook him, begging him to wake up. When I checked his pulse, I thought I felt something, then realized it was my own hand trembling. He was already cold. He was gone.”