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Inside the Mind of BTK

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Q<br />

25<br />

Afew hours later back in Wichita, Kris Casarona<br />

had a smile plastered on her face as she walked into <strong>the</strong> lobby <strong>of</strong> my<br />

hotel and took a seat in <strong>the</strong> tiny lounge.<br />

“It’s over,” she said. “It’s so over. I can’t believe I just threw away<br />

my exclusivity like that. I just got <strong>of</strong>f <strong>the</strong> phone with one <strong>of</strong> my friends.<br />

They can’t believe I did this. Now I have nothing.”<br />

I sat <strong>the</strong>re watching her, sipping my Chardonnay, not saying a<br />

word.<br />

“You want a drink?” I asked.<br />

“Yeah,” she said. “Jack Daniel’s and Coke . . . You know, <strong>the</strong> code<br />

word that Dennis and I use for you is Daniel because you’ve got <strong>the</strong><br />

same initials as Jack Daniel’s—JD.”<br />

“Why in God’s name do you need a code name for me?” I asked.<br />

“It was Dennis’s idea,” she said. “But we were both convinced that<br />

whenever we spoke to one ano<strong>the</strong>r, <strong>the</strong> police were listening to us.”<br />

“They probably were,” I told her. “Or <strong>the</strong>y should have been. You<br />

know, <strong>the</strong>y want to be able to pin ano<strong>the</strong>r murder on Dennis. Something<br />

after 1994, so <strong>the</strong>y can stick him on death row.”<br />

317

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