Free Who Killed Chrissy?: The True Crime Memoir of a Pittsburgh girl's Unsolved Murder in Las Vegas by Beverly Simcic Page A

massage, and we talked and
talked about sports, mainly boxing of course, and he’s just the greatest guy—he
tipped me a hundred bucks and told me to call him when I open my health club
here, and he’ll see if he can recommend some clients.”
    “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,