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this? It was still tacky, even wet.
    What Chris didn’t realize was that there was blood spattered from one end of the kitchen to the other: on the refrigerator, cabinets, doorjamb, table, chairs, floor. Even the carpet in the living room had patches of blood, and there were droplets leading up the stairs.
    The moment Chris noticed the blood, he reached for the telephone, which was on a small ledge between the kitchen and living room, about a foot-and-a-half away from Jeanne. By now, Chris was a wreck. Shaking. Stuttering. Mumbling to himself. Trembling to the point of having difficulty dialing the three numbers.
    What the hell happened? Jeannie? Oh my God, Jeannie .

C HAPTER 9
     
    No sooner had the 911 operator picked up the line did Chris McGowan explain what he found inside Jeanne’s Dumaine Avenue home. He sounded disoriented, panicky and confused.
    “My…my…girlfriend is here. She’s in a pool of blood in her kitchen.”
    The operator confirmed the address. Then, “OK, do you know what happened?”
    “No, I just walked in the door.”
    After being asked to do so, Chris placed his trembling hand on Jeanne’s back, but he couldn’t feel any movement.
    “I was just too shaken,” he recalled later. “There was no way I could have felt for a pulse.”
    “How old is she?” asked 911.
    “She’s forty-three…. There’s blood all over the place.”
    “Is she conscious?”
    “I…no. I just walked in.”
    The 911 operator was composed, trying to keep Chris focused on details. Chris was crying. All sorts of scenarios were running through his mind. It was starting to sink in that something horribly violent had taken place inside Jeanne’s home and Jeanne was badly hurt. More than that, was there an intruder in the house? Something told Chris that whatever happened to Jeanne had just occurred. He wasn’t sure: Had she fallen or had someone hurt her? He couldn’t tell for certain.
    “Can you just lean down and see if she’s still conscious and breathing?” 911 asked again.
    “OK, hold on one second.”
    As the 911 operator waited, she could hear Chris yelling as he walked away from the telephone line. “Hold on. Jeannie…oh, Jeannie…she’s not moving.”
    “Is she breathing?” 911 asked when Chris picked up the line again. “Did you put your ear next to her mouth and see if she’s breathing?”
    “All right. Hold on. Oh. My. God. Hold on.”
    There was a few seconds of silence.
    “No!” said Chris. “I don’t believe. No, I don’t hear anything.”
    Chris told the operator his full name and who he was in relation to Jeanne. He gave the operator a few details about Jeanne: age and full name.
    “OK, we’re going to get you some help, Chris.”
    “Thank you.”
    Chris asked if he could turn off the television set in Jeanne’s living room. It was too loud. He couldn’t concentrate.
    “I don’t know what she hit her head on,” Chris continued after returning, “I don’t know what she hit her head on, but there’s, there’s stuff all over.”
    The operator said, “Hold on, Chris,” then dialed a police officer in the immediate area of the house.
    “911, agent 161, requesting an ambulance in Nashua at Dumaine Avenue…. That’s going to be for a Bravo 1, forty-three-year-old female, she’s not conscious, not breathing. It looks like a nonrecent death.”
    “OK, we’re on our way,” the officer responded.
    “Chris? You still there?”
    The operator asked Chris if he could pick up another “portable phone” in the house so he could walk out of the house, but still stay on the line.
    Chris switched phones.
    “I wanted you to just back away from the room and try not to touch anything.”
    “OK. She’s not moving. She’s in a pool of blood.”
    “You don’t know how long she’s been there?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “And you think she hit her head?”
    “I…I don’t know, I really…”
    For about one minute, Chris and the operator discussed the last time Chris saw