Dead And Buried (27 page)

Authors: Corey Mitchell

BOOK: Dead And Buried

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“I wait. And I open the door and find out it’s just a cat. Cat goes by me into, uh, shower area. Close the door behind it. I’m getting ready to go out the bathroom door. The only thing I’m thinking of is leaving right then”—Krebs paused and looked directly at Hobson—“when she opens the door.”

“What happens?” Hobson prodded.

“I hit her.”

“You punched her?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“In the mouth.”

“What’s she wearing?”

“A T-shirt and a pair of underwear.”

“When you punched her, what happened to her?”

“It knocks her back against the wall and I keep punching her.”

“How many times did you punch her?”

“Three or four times.”

“And what happens to her?”

“Goes unconscious,” Krebs recalled without a hint of remorseor regret.

“Where is she laying?”

“In the entranceway, right in front of the door.”

“Then what do you do?”

“Tie her up,” Krebs coolly replied.

“OK, where did you get the rope?”

“Brought it with me.”

“Is it the same rope you used on Rachel?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t leave the rope on Rachel?”

“Same type of rope. White nylon.”

“How’d you tie her up?”

“Hog-tie, same as before.”

“When you say hog-tie, explain it to me.” Hobson wanted to hear it directly from Krebs’s mouth.

“Hands behind the back, feet tied together, bunched up to the hands,” Krebs unemotionally replied as he dropped his head down and rested his hands placidly in his lap.

“Is there a rope around her neck?”

“No.”

“Do you gag her?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you gag her?”

“I brought duct tape with me.”

“So you put duct tape across her mouth?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you ever go upstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you go upstairs for?”

“Pillowcases.”

“What do you do with the pillowcases?”

“One pillowcase, put it over her head and tie it on.”

“Why did you do that?”

“So she couldn’t identify me.”

“Was she bleeding?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you wearing a mask?”

Krebs paused interminably before he responded. His voice was quiet, only slightly above a whisper. “Panty hose over my head.”

“And you had gloves on?”

“Yeah. Brown gloves. Brown cloth gloves.”

“Where did you get the panty hose from?”

Krebs shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands up. “Uh, I don’t know. I think they were at the ranch.”

“Anything else you take from upstairs?”

After a ten-second pause, he finally answered, “Some CDs, I think.”

“What kind of CDs were they?”

“All kinds of CDs. Rock, country, easy listening, I guess you’d call it.”

“Do you put them in a pillowcase or do you just carry them?”

“Put them in a pillowcase.”

“Anything else you took from upstairs?” Hobson inquired one more time.

“I think I stuffed some clothes in there.”

“Some of her clothes?”

“Some sweats, yeah.”

“Why’d you take the sweats?”

“To keep her warm. Took the stuff out of my truck.”

“What else did you take from the house?”

“VCR.”

“Why’d you take the VCR?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’d you do with the VCR?”

“Threw it away.”

“Did you take anything else from downstairs?”

“Videotapes for the VCR.”

“Where’d you throw the VCR away at?”

“Dumpster.”

“What Dumpster?”

“No, not a Dumpster,” Krebs corrected himself as he rolled his head around to pop his neck.

“Hmmm?” Hobson did not quite hear him.

“I said, ‘No, not a Dumpster.’ ” Then, rather curiously, Krebs said to Hobson, “I haven’t been lying so far, there’s no sense of starting now.”

“That’s true. I appreciate that. Did you take anything home with you from her house?”

“Just the clothes and the CDs.”

“OK, and all that got dumped out here?”

“No. Some of the clothes are in the closet at home.”

“Your closet?” Krebs nodded yes. “Which closet, the one in your bedroom?”

“Yeah.”

“What are the clothes that are in there?”

“Some sweats.”

“What color?”

“Black, I think.”

“Black sweats. Just one pair?”

Krebs waited several seconds before he responded. “I don’t know, Larry.”

“Why’d you keep the sweats?”

“Stupid.”

“All right. What do you do then?”

“Looked around, seen nobody was around, went back into the house, got her.”

“She’s still unconscious?”

“No.”

“She’s conscious now?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she struggling at all or ...”

“Yeah,” Krebs quickly responded.

“OK. What do you do with her?”

“Take her out and put her in the truck.”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you put her?”

“Behind the seats.”

“Same location?” Krebs silently nodded his head in the affirmative.“OK. The pillowcase is over her head now, right, so she can’t see you?”

“No.”

“What do you do to the house?”

“Go back in, try and wipe up the blood.”

“How’d you wipe it up with?”

“The towel that was there.”

“A towel or a rug?”

“A towel.”

“Did you do anything to the cat?”

“No.”

“Did you leave him some food or something?”

“No.”

“Cat’s still wandering around?”

“Uh, cat I locked in the bathroom, I believe.”

“Then what’d you do?”

“Went home.”

“Where was her purse at? Did you ever see it?” Krebs shook his head no. “What about the eight ball?”

“That was on her keys.”

“Where did you get that at?”

“Off the coffee table.”

“Why did you take her keys with the eight ball?”

“Don’t have a clue.”

“Does (the number) eight have some significance to you?”

“Subconsciously, yeah, maybe.”

“What’d you do with the key ring and the stuff that was on there?”

“It’s out by the ranch.”

“Where?”

“Throw’d off, up in the bushes.”

“When did you do that? Was that the day you knew you were going to be searched?” Hobson continued the questioning.

“No, it’s before then.”

“Before. The day that you knew they were going to search your house and you got home earlier?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you hide or destroy anything?”

“No.”

“Everything was already gone?” Krebs silently nodded his head yes. “But you forgot about the eight ball?”

“Didn’t even think about the eight ball.”

“And where did you put it after you got home?”

“In the wooden box.”

“You took the keys on the eight ball with you when you walked out? Did you lock the door?”

“I believe so.”

“So you carry her out, put her in your truck, how about a belt buckle? Did you take a belt buckle?”

“No.”

“Like the ones you design?” Hobson mentioned this in referenceto Krebs’s prison hobby of making oversize belt buckles with an infinity logo. “No belt buckle was taken?” Krebs shook his head no again.

“Then where did you go?”

“Home.”

“So you’re driving down the freeway, she’s in the back, tied up, conscious now, but she’s got duct tape on her mouth, right? She can’t scream, yell? OK, and then you get off the freeway where?”

“Same place, San Luis Bay Drive.”

“Then where do you go?”

“See Canyon Road. Davis Canyon Road. Go to my house this time.”

“Where do you park the truck?”

“I take that back. I put her at the cabin,” Krebs replied, referringto the A-frame cabin, where he murdered Rachel Newhouse less than four months earlier.

“You went to the cabin first?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Same one?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pull in that little driveway?” Krebs nodded his head yes. “Carry her up to the cabin?” Again he nodded his head. “Then what do you do?”

“Leave her on the couch.”

“Then where do you go?”

“Home.”

“Then what do you do?” Hobson asked, attempting to keep Krebs focused.

Krebs stopped for a moment, placing his hands behind his head and clasping them together; then he spread his chained legs.

“Drink some more,” he finally replied after a seemingly endless wait.

“OK, you drink some Yukon Jack or ...”

“Jack Daniel’s.”

“Is the sun coming up yet?”

“It’s starting to get light. That’s why I put her at the cabin instead of bringing her to the house.”

“Then what do you do?”

Krebs shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Real close to what I told you before.”

“Do you go down to the woodpile?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you get there?”

“Truck.”

“So you drive your truck down there. Why do you drive down to the woodpile?”

“ ’Cause I know Debbie’s gonna be going to work soon.” Krebs was referring to Debbie Wright.

“OK, and you want Debbie to see you?”

“Yeah.”

“And does Debbie come by and see you?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing when she comes by?”

“I split some wood. Talked to her for a minute. She goes off to work.”

“What do you do?”

“Go down and get Aundria.”

“Where do you put her?”

“Bring her up to the house.”

“You put her in the truck?”

“Yeah.”

“In the front or the back?”

“Back.”

“And she’s conscious?”

“Yes.”

“Then you take her up to the house, and what happens?”

“Raped her a couple of times through the day.”

Hobson wanted Krebs to slow down and backtrack on the details now. “You get her up to the house between eight and eight-thirty? She’s still wearing panties and a T-shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you put her at the house?”

“On the bed.”

“In your bedroom? OK, and you cut the ropes off?”

“Freed her hands and her feet. Her hands are still tied, her feet are still tied, but they’re not tied together.”

“Is this when you raped her the first time?”

“Yeah,” he replied unemotionally.

“Did you rip her panties off, take them off?”

“Pulled them off.”

“Were they torn? It’s gonna be a little—”

“I believe so,” Krebs interjected.

“It’s gonna be a little hard to get them over her feet if they aren’t torn,” Hobson continued.